The Shiny Object, the Lust of man, and the Corruption of Judgment
Men of this world are readily moved by shiny objects. Their judgment is not governed by the whole character of a thing, but by some single quality which pleases the eye, excites the imagination, gratifies the flesh, or confirms an affection already formed. Where they discover one element which they are pleased to commend, they will often justify the whole on account of it.
A film may be full of profanity, blasphemy, fornication, cruelty, vanity, and every species of moral confusion; yet if it is beautifully photographed, skillfully acted, emotionally affecting, or celebrated by the world, men will call it a triumph. A song may glorify lust, rebellion, drunkenness, despair, or contempt for God; yet if the melody is pleasant, the voice powerful, or the production ingenious, they will applaud it as great art. A person may be proud, profane, dishonest, impure, tyrannical, or openly hostile to the truth; yet if he possesses wit, beauty, charisma, intelligence, courage, influence, or worldly success, men will cleave to him and defend him.
They may not openly approve every evil contained in the object of their admiration. They may even admit, when pressed, that much of it is corrupt. Nevertheless, the one shining quality has obtained such command over their affections that it becomes an advocate for the whole. They do not say that the wickedness is good; they merely refuse to condemn the thing in which the wickedness dwells. Thus they continue to praise, recommend, imitate, and cherish what they are forced to confess to be deeply polluted.
The shiny object does not need to remove the evil. It only needs to make men unwilling to judge the evil according to its true weight.
This is one of the ordinary effects of the fall upon human judgment. The affections seize upon what is pleasant, and the understanding is then summoned to justify what the affections have already chosen. Men commonly imagine that they first examine and then love. In truth, they frequently love first and afterwards invent reasons for their love. Their judgment becomes the servant of appetite.
The object, however, need not be wholly imaginary. The attractive quality may be real. A corrupt film may truly be skillfully made. A wicked man may truly be courageous (though not in a morally upright sense). A false religion may truly possess buildings of architectural magnificence, historical continuity, disciplined institutions, or a strong sense of community. The error does not consist in denying that any created excellence exists. It consists in allowing one subordinate excellence to obscure the predominant character of the whole.
One jewel does not sanctify a heap of refuse.
One admirable quality does not transform vice into virtue.
One moving experience does not convert falsehood into truth.
One fragment of beauty does not render blasphemy acceptable.
Fallen man, however, continually reasons as though a little worldly brilliance has the power to consecrate and bless a great corruption. He reverses the order of moral judgment. Instead of asking whether the whole is true, good, and lawful, he asks whether there is anything within it that pleases him, and having found that one thing, he treats his pleasure as sufficient warrant for retaining the rest.
The First Shiny Object
This corruption appeared at the beginning. The serpent did not present evil to Eve as evil. He adorned rebellion with promises of wisdom, elevation, liberty, and likeness to God. The forbidden fruit was made to appear not merely edible, but desirable.
Scripture says:
“And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat. And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons.”
Genesis 3:6–7
The fruit was a shiny object. It was pleasant to the eyes. It promised wisdom. It appeared to contain some good which could be separated from the commandment of God. Eve permitted the apparent excellence of the object to overrule the plain prohibition of the Lord.
The pattern remains unchanged. Sin rarely presents itself stripped of every attraction. It must borrow something from the goodness of God in order to become desirable. Evil has no native beauty. It adorns itself with stolen goods: pleasure, intimacy, strength, freedom, beauty, knowledge, community, courage, sentiment, or splendour. These things are good in their proper order, but sin detaches them from the law of God and employs them as bait.
The sinner then fixes his eye upon the borrowed good and refuses to behold the corruption which carries it.
Art and Entertainment
In art and entertainment, the shiny object is commonly called excellence. Men argue that the work is profound, moving, technically accomplished, culturally important, psychologically subtle, or historically significant. Such judgments may at times be true to a certain extent. Yet none of them answers the moral question.
A work may be expertly made and wholly dedicated to the lusts of men.
Skill does not sanctify the use of skill.
Beauty does not excuse blasphemy.
Emotional power does not justify moral corruption.
Artistic success is not righteousness.
Indeed, the greater the skill, the greater may be the danger, because evil presented beautifully enters more easily into the affections. A crude falsehood may be rejected at once; a falsehood clothed in poetry, music, splendour, or tragedy may be received into the heart before the understanding has perceived its true character.
The Christian must therefore ask more than, “Was this well made?” He must ask, “What was made? What does it commend? What passions does it aim to stir? What does it teach me to admire, pity, excuse, or desire? Does its beauty serve truth, or does beauty become the handmaid of corruption?”
The world often treats excellence as though it were morally neutral. But gifts are judged not only by their existence, but by their employment. The musician’s talent, the actor’s skill, the poet’s imagination, and the director’s craft remain gifts of divine providence; yet those gifts may be pressed into the service of rebellion. To praise the gift while refusing to condemn its use is to separate what God has joined: power and accountability.
A golden vessel may still contain poison.
Personal Justification
The same corruption governs the judgment of persons. Men commonly forgive in those they admire what they would condemn in those they dislike. Charisma excuses pride. Beauty excuses vanity. Intelligence excuses unbelief. Success excuses cruelty. Humour excuses obscenity. Strength excuses tyranny. Kindness in one narrow sphere is made to outweigh habitual wickedness in another.
The admired quality becomes a refuge into which every accusation is driven.
A man says, “He is generous,” as though generosity abolished impurity.
“He is sincere,” as though sincerity made error true.
“He is brilliant,” as though brilliance reconciled him to God.
“He has done much good,” as though some visible benefit to the world cancelled a life of rebellion against the divine law.
Men are particularly unwilling to judge those whom they love, depend upon, or wish to imitate. The affections become advocates, and evidence is weighed according to personal attachment. The question ceases to be, “What is this person before God?” and becomes, “What do I find admirable in him?”
Thus one shining attribute shields the whole man from righteous examination.
This is not charity. Charity does not call evil good, nor does it refuse to see corruption because corruption dwells in one whom we esteem. True charity rejoices in the truth. It does not honour a person by flattering him into greater wickedness. It distinguishes gifts from grace, amiability from holiness, worldly usefulness from reconciliation with God, and outward virtue from the obedience of faith.
The world cannot maintain these distinctions because it judges according to appearance. God judges the heart, the principle, the end, and the whole course of the life.
The Gravest Form: Religious Justification
The principle reaches its most solemn expression in religion. Here the shiny object does not merely excuse a corrupt pleasure or an immoral man. It may become the means by which a false system claims authority over the conscience and promises peace with God.
Men love accessible religion.
They desire a religion which fallen nature can perform without the efficacious work of grace in the soul. They prefer acts which the natural man can see, understand, repeat, purchase, attend, or complete. Give him a ceremony, a sacred building, an ecclesiastical office, a prescribed prayer, a visible sacrifice, a human priesthood, a holy object, an ancient tradition, or a sequence of outward duties, and he can persuade himself that religion lies within his own power.
Do this and be justified.
Say this prayer and be absolved.
Receive this sacrament and be made secure.
Submit to this institution and be within the true fold.
Attend this mass and obtain grace.
Perform this penance and satisfy for sin.
Repeat the rosary.
Receive baptism within the church.
Confess to the priest.
Participate in the sacramental system.
Remain externally united to the ecclesiastical body.
Here religion becomes accessible to the sinner because it can be undertaken by the sinner without the prior miracle of a new heart.
The body can kneel while the heart remains proud.
The lips can repeat prayers while the understanding remains dark.
The hands can receive the sacrament while the soul remains without Christ.
The sinner can submit to an institution while remaining unsubmissive to God.
He can admire his perception of holiness without being truly holy.
He can possess the sign while lacking the thing signified.
He can perform religion while remaining dead in trespasses and sins.
True religion, by contrast, requires a miracle from above.
Christ does not say merely, “Learn these ceremonies,” but:
“Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. Nicodemus saith unto him, How can a man be born when he is old? can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born? Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.”
John 3:3–8
Nothing could be less accessible to fallen man than this. He cannot give himself birth. He cannot create spiritual sight. He cannot command the wind of the Spirit. He cannot raise himself from death, remove his heart of stone, illuminate his own understanding, or produce saving faith from an unbelieving nature.
He must be acted upon by God.
He must be called by the ministry of the word.
He must be quickened.
He must be drawn.
He must be given a new heart.
He must receive faith as a gift.
He must be united to Christ by the Spirit.
The gospel therefore strips man of every religious advantage which can be possessed without regeneration. It does not deny the appointed outward means of grace, but it denies that the outward means operate as human machinery or confer salvation apart from the sovereign work of God.
Roman Catholicism as the Eminent Example
Within the history of Western Christianity, Roman Catholicism furnishes the most eminent example of religion adorned with shiny objects. Its power over the natural imagination lies not merely in its formal theology, but in the whole sensible world it constructs around the worshipper.
There is the appeal of antiquity.
There is the claim of historical continuity.
There is the grandeur of cathedrals.
There is the solemnity of vestments.
There is the smell of incense.
There is the mystery of Latin.
There is the visible elevation of the host.
There are statues, images, candles, relics, shrines, processions, pilgrimages, feast days, bells, chants, priestly orders, and venerable ceremonies.
There is a powerful sense of community: a church spread through nations, centuries, languages, and cultures.
There is an appearance of certainty: one visible institution claiming to speak with final authority.
There is the emotional comfort of belonging to something ancient, vast, and outwardly glorious.
These are the shiny objects of Papism.
They need not all be equally impressive to every person. One man is drawn by architecture; another by antiquity; another by order; another by community; another by sacramental assurance; another by the apparent escape from Protestant division; another by the grandeur of the liturgy. Yet whatever the particular attraction, the effect is often the same: the admired feature becomes a justification for the entire system.
The convert or admirer reasons:
Surely a religion so ancient cannot be false.
Surely worship so beautiful must be holy.
Surely a church which built such cathedrals must possess divine authority.
Surely so vast a tradition cannot have departed from the apostles.
Surely that which moves me so deeply must be the presence of God.
But none of these conclusions follows.
Antiquity is not apostolicity.
Grandeur is not holiness.
Unity is not truth.
Emotional power is not the testimony of the Spirit.
Institutional continuity is not doctrinal fidelity.
Ceremony is not obedience.
The question is not whether Rome can produce an atmosphere of religion. The question is whether its doctrines and worship are commanded by God in his word.
The golden calf also possessed religious splendour. The worshippers proclaimed a feast to Jehovah. The altar, sacrifice, celebration, and communal participation were all present. Yet the whole was abominable because God had not commanded the image by which they sought to worship Him.
False worship is not rendered true because it is solemn.
The Accessibility of Papist Religion
The Roman system is accessible to fallen man because so much of it can be possessed outwardly, mechanically, and institutionally. A man may receive baptism, attend mass, confess his sins to a priest, perform penance, recite the rosary, venerate images, receive the consecrated elements, submit to papal authority, and remain in sacramental communion with the church, while still lacking a spiritual apprehension of Christ by faith.
Official Roman theology contains qualifications concerning disposition, grace, mortal sin, and the proper reception of the sacraments; nevertheless, the entire structure directs the sinner’s confidence towards a visible ecclesiastical and sacramental system. Grace is presented as something ordinarily administered through the church’s priesthood, rites, merits, satisfactions, and sacramental acts. The sinner is taught to seek peace through participation in these appointed channels rather than to rest immediately and wholly upon the perfect righteousness of Christ received by faith alone.
The Reformed objection is therefore not that Rome contains no serious thought concerning the inward life, nor that every Roman Catholic believes outward performance alone sufficient. The objection is that the system itself joins human works, ecclesiastical mediation, sacramental operation, and accumulated satisfactions to the sinner’s justification and restoration.
The conscience is not directed solely to the obedience and sacrifice of Christ for justification and peace with God. It is drawn into a continuing structure of priestly acts, sacramental repetitions, penances, merits, temporal punishments, indulgences, and ecclesiastical judgments.
What Christ has made complete is treated as though it must be continually administered, applied, supplemented, or satisfied through the church’s ceremonial economy.
This is precisely what fallen man desires: salvation brought within reach of visible performance.
True religion says:
You must possess Christ.
False religion says:
You must possess the church’s system.
True religion says:
You must be born of the Spirit.
False religion says:
You must enter and remain within the Roman sacramental institution.
True religion says:
The just shall live by faith.
False religion says:
Grace is mediated through rites which you must receive from a priest.
True religion sends the sinner empty-handed to the righteousness of another.
False religion places something in his hands which he may perform, present, repeat, or complete.
The Ceremonial Covenant Fulfilled
The outward glory of Roman ceremony is especially contrary to the spiritual character of the new covenant. God once appointed an elaborate ceremonial economy under Moses. There were priests, vestments, sacrifices, washings, incense, sacred vessels, holy places, feast days, dietary laws, and an earthly sanctuary. These things were not inventions. They were commanded by God.
Yet their glory was temporary because their purpose was preparatory. They were shadows of Christ. When Christ came, fulfilled the law, offered the perfect sacrifice, entered the heavenly sanctuary, and poured out the Holy Spirit, the shadows gave place to the substance.
Paul writes:
“Who also hath made us able ministers of the new testament; not of the letter, but of the spirit: for the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life. But if the ministration of death, written and engraven in stones, was glorious, so that the children of Israel could not stedfastly behold the face of Moses for the glory of his countenance; which glory was to be done away: How shall not the ministration of the spirit be rather glorious? For if the ministration of condemnation be glory, much more doth the ministration of righteousness exceed in glory. For even that which was made glorious had no glory in this respect, by reason of the glory that excelleth. For if that which is done away was glorious, much more that which remaineth is glorious.”
2 Corinthians 3:6–11
The apostle reasons plainly and authoritatively that the glory of the new covenant is of a higher order. The old covenant glory was outward, preparatory, veiled, and temporary. The new covenant glory is spiritual, effectual, unveiled, and abiding.
The return to an elaborate ceremonial religion is therefore not an ascent into greater holiness, but a retreat from substance to shadow. Rome reconstructs a visible priestly economy after the true High Priest has entered heaven. It erects altars after the one sacrifice has been completed. It presents priests offering sacrifice after Christ has sat down at the right hand of God. It multiplies sacred spaces after the true church has become the temple of the Spirit. It surrounds the worshipper with visible splendour when the glory of the new covenant consists chiefly in the inward and effectual work of the Holy Ghost.
The Epistle to the Hebrews presses this point repeatedly:
“And every priest standeth daily ministering and offering oftentimes the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins: But this man, after he had offered one sacrifice for sins for ever, sat down on the right hand of God; From henceforth expecting till his enemies be made his footstool. For by one offering he hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified.”
Hebrews 10:11–14
The contrast is between standing priests and the seated Christ; repeated offerings and one completed sacrifice; continual ceremonial action and a perfected redemption.
Rome’s sacrificial understanding of the mass obscures this finality. However carefully it distinguishes the mass from a new crucifixion, it nevertheless speaks of the eucharistic action as a true propitiatory sacrifice offered through a priesthood. The Reformed churches reject this as abominable blasphemy because scripture everywhere directs the conscience away from a repeated sacrificial ministry to the one offering of Christ, accomplished once and perfected for ever.
The shiny object here is solemnity. The mass appears sacred because the priest stands at an altar, the elements are elevated, bells are rung, words are spoken, and the congregation beholds an enacted mystery. But Scripture does not permit such pompous ostentation to overrule the sufficiency of Christ’s sacrifice.
“It is finished.”
All ceremonies and inventions of men are therefore blasphemous and opposed to the finished work of Christ.
Worship in Spirit and Truth
The spirituality of the new covenant does not mean formlessness, disorder, or contempt for the body. Christians assemble visibly. They hear the preached Word. They pray with their voices. They sing psalms and spiritual songs. They receive baptism and the Lord’s Supper. These are outward ordinances appointed by Christ.
But the simplicity of new covenant worship is deliberate. Its power does not lie in sensual magnificence, theatrical action, sacred costume, images, incense, altars, relics, or an earthly priesthood. Its glory lies in the presence of Christ through the Spirit, working by the Word.
Christ said to the woman of Samaria:
“Jesus saith unto her, Woman, believe me, the hour cometh, when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father. Ye worship ye know not what: we know what we worship: for salvation is of the Jews. But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him. God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.”
John 4:21–24
The old attachment to sacred geography and ceremonial location is set aside. Worship is no longer tied to Gerizim or Jerusalem, to an earthly temple, or to a visible priestly sanctuary. The Father is worshipped in spirit and truth through Christ.
This is why the natural man often finds true worship too plain. There is little to satisfy the eye. The pulpit, the Bible, the water of baptism, the bread and wine of the Supper, the prayers of the saints, two or three gathered in simplicity instead of a multitude of professors—these possess no worldly magnificence in themselves. Their power depends upon faith which is the gift of God.
The Word must be preached correctly and received with meekness.
Christ must be spiritually discerned.
The promises must be rested upon for comfort.
The heart must be lifted to heaven.
The worshipper must come with reverence, humility, repentance, and love.
The natural man prefers visible splendour because visible splendour can affect him without converting him. Music may move him. Architecture may humble him for a moment. Incense may awaken religious associations. Ceremony may produce awe. Community may provide belonging. Yet none of these things requires that the heart be reconciled to God.
A cathedral can make a rebel feel religious without making him obedient.
A liturgy can make an unbeliever feel ancient without making him a Christian.
A sacrament can make a hypocrite feel secure without uniting him to Christ.
An image can move the imagination without enlightening the understanding.
True worship cannot be sustained by such borrowed impressions. It requires the Spirit of God.
The Appeal of Antiquity
Antiquity is among Rome’s strongest shiny objects. Men weary of novelty, fragmentation, and evangelical shallowness are naturally drawn to something that appears old, settled, and continuous. Their dissatisfaction with modern Protestantism may be just. Most of contemporary evangelical worship is irreverent, historically rootless, doctrinally shallow, and governed by entertainment.
Yet disgust with one corruption does not prove the truth of its opposite.
A man may flee the triviality of a modern stage only to enter the superstition of an ancient sanctuary.
He may reject the novelty of evangelicalism only to embrace traditions which are themselves later additions to apostolic worship.
He may confuse the medieval with the primitive, the patristic with the apostolic, and ecclesiastical age with divine authority.
Error does not become truth merely by surviving for centuries. The Pharisaic traditions rebuked by Christ were not invented the day before. Their age did not sanctify them. Indeed, long continuance may strengthen error by surrounding it with inherited reverence.
The question is not, “How old is this?” but, “Was it taught by Christ and His apostles?”
The church is not preserved by clinging indiscriminately to everything ancient. It is preserved by abiding in the apostolic doctrine.
Paul writes:
“But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed. As we said before, so say I now again, If any man preach any other gospel unto you than that ye have received, let him be accursed.”
Galatians 1:8–9
Even apostolic reputation and angelic splendour are not sufficient. Doctrine must be judged by the gospel already delivered.
An angel from heaven would be the brightest of shiny objects. Paul forbids the church to be dazzled even by that.
The Appeal of Community
Community is another shining feature. Rome offers a visible, worldwide body with common ceremonies, recognised authority, historical identity, and institutional unity. In an age of isolation and fragmentation, such belonging is powerful.
Yet community is not a sufficient test of truth.
Babel possessed unity.
Israel united around the golden calf.
The prophets of Baal gathered in great number.
The crowd cried with one voice against Christ.
A united body may be united in error.
John Owen writes, “What peace in the church without truth? All conformity to anything else is but the agreement of Herod and Pilate to destroy Christ and his kingdom. Neither is it this or that particular truth, but the whole counsel of God revealed unto us, without adding or detracting, whose embracement is required to make our peace firm and stable. No halting betwixt Jehovah and Baal, Christ and Antichrist; as good be all Philistine, and worshippers of Dagon, as to speak part the language of Ashdod and part the language of the Jews…”
The true church certainly possesses communion, order, fellowship, discipline, sacraments, officers, and visible assemblies. But its unity arises from truth; truth does not arise from its unity. The church is “the pillar and ground of the truth” because she receives, confesses, and preserves the Word of God—not because her institutional existence creates truth.
Rome reverses the order when it makes submission to the visible church the decisive rule by which doctrine is known. The church becomes the interpreter of Scripture in such a manner that her judgment cannot finally be judged by Scripture.
“To the law and to the testimony. If they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them.” Isaiah 8:20
The Fundamental Contrast
The distinction may therefore be stated plainly.
Papist religion presents a world which the natural man can enter by bodily acts, ecclesiastical submission, sacramental participation, and ceremonial observance.
True religion requires that God enter the natural man and make him new.
Papist religion offers visible things which can be touched, repeated, carried, kissed, attended, and performed.
True religion requires faith in Him whom we have not seen.
Papist religion impresses the senses.
True religion renews the heart.
Papist religion places confidence in an earthly priesthood and sacramental order.
True religion directs the conscience to the one High Priest in heaven.
Papist religion multiplies ceremonies.
True religion rests in the fulfilled work of Christ.
Papist religion provides the sinner with actions by which he may feel religious.
True religion declares that no action proceeding from an unrenewed heart can please God.
Papist religion is accessible to nature.
True religion is impossible to nature.
The latter does not therefore flatter man. It slays him. It strips him of merit, wisdom, strength, righteousness, priestly mediation, ceremonial confidence, and ecclesiastical boasting. It leaves him nothing but Christ, and even the faith by which he receives Christ must be given from above.
The Danger of Partial Justification
The great deception, then, is not that men openly declare every corruption good. Few are so undiscerning. The deeper deception is that they permit one admired quality to suspend judgment upon the whole.
They say:
The film is profane, but it is beautiful.
The song is corrupt, but it is powerful.
The man is wicked, but he is brilliant.
The church teaches error, but it is ancient.
The worship is unwarranted, but it is magnificent.
The doctrine obscures grace, but the community is strong.
The ceremonies are unscriptural, but they produce reverence.
The mass is contrary to the once-for-all sacrifice, but it feels sacred.
The “but” becomes the doorway through which corruption enters under the protection of admiration.
A righteous judgment does not deny the thing which follows the “but.” It places it in its proper order. Outward beauty has its place, but it must serve the truth. Antiquity is worthy of consideration, but it must agree with the apostles. Community is precious, but it must be communion in the gospel. Ceremony may possess solemnity, but worship must be commanded by God. Emotional power may be real, but it cannot determine doctrine.
The whole must be judged by the Word.
Conclusion
Men of this world are moved by shiny objects because they walk by sight and not by faith. They judge according to immediate impression, visible splendour, personal affection, and sensual power. Once some attractive quality has taken possession of them, they become advocates for what they ought to examine.
In art, the shiny object is beauty.
In entertainment, it is pleasure or skill.
In persons, it is charisma, talent, or success.
In religion, it is antiquity, community, ceremony, grandeur, and visible certainty.
Roman Catholicism gathers these religious shiny objects into one immense and imposing system. It offers the eye a cathedral, the ear a chant, the imagination an ancient succession, the body a ceremony, and the conscience a visible institution. It gives fallen man something he may enter, perform, receive, and possess.
But the kingdom of God cannot be entered by the flesh.
The sinner must be born from above.
He must receive the Spirit.
He must be united to Christ.
He must be justified by a righteousness not his own.
He must worship through the one Mediator.
He must rest in the one sacrifice offered once for all.
He must live by faith and not by sight.
The final question is therefore never:
What looks good and feels good and allows myself and relatives to be accepted?
It is:
What hath God spoken in His word?
For the brightest object often conceals death, the grandest ceremonies abolish Christ from the mind, and the oldest traditions stand condemned before the everlasting Word of God.
The road to hell is paved with the skulls of bishops, monks, popes, prelates and those who appear most holy in the sight of men.