Bavinck’s Wonderful Works, Ch. 2 — "The Knowledge of God"

To know someone is fundamentally different from knowing facts about them. We can study a person’s biography, memorize their habits, and list their achievements without ever having met them or experienced the warmth of their presence. When it comes to God, we are prone to the same mistake. We easily swap a collection of theological doctrines—information about Him—for a personal, living communion with Him. In the second chapter of The Wonderful Works of God, Herman Bavinck addresses this crucial distinction. He shows us that the knowledge of God is not an intellectual trophy we win, but a covenant relationship into which we are graciously drawn.

The Promise of the Covenant and the Gift of Immanuel

The entire arc of Scripture runs between two points of direct communion. It begins in Eden, where God created humanity in His image to know, love, and live with Him in eternal blessedness. It ends in the New Jerusalem, where the redeemed will see God face-to-face. Everything in between is the history of divine revelation. At the heart of this revelation is the central promise of the covenant of grace: "I will be a God unto you, and you shall be my people." This is not a static legal arrangement, but a promise of mutual self-giving. God pledges Himself to His people so that they might give themselves entirely to Him.

This covenant promise finds its midpoint and its peak in Christ, the true Immanuel, which means "God-with-us." In Him, the eternal Word became flesh, full of grace and truth. Christ does not merely bring us a report about God; He is God expressed and God given. In His own person, He reveals the Father and shares the Father's life with us. Through Him, the ancient promise, "I will be a God unto thee," becomes the present reality, "I am thy God."

When the church throughout history responds by confessing, "Thou art our God," it is not reciting an abstract academic doctrine. It is testifying to a lived reality. The prophets, apostles, and saints of Scripture did not philosophize in abstract concepts. They spoke of what God meant to them in the midst of trouble, joy, and daily life. Because their hearts overflowed with His goodness, the natural world supplied them with metaphors. God was their king, shepherd, physician, and father; He was their shield, rock, fountain, and portion. For these believers, even heaven itself would be empty and stale without Him, because the love of God far transcends any created good.

Christ defines this communion as the very essence of salvation. Standing on the edge of the Kidron valley, preparing to enter Gethsemane as our High Priest, He prayed that His obedience unto death would secure this gift for His people. Eternal life, He declared, is this: to know the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom He has sent.

The Unique Character of the Knowledge of God

The knowledge Christ speaks of is not a higher degree of human learning. It is entirely different in its origin, its object, its essence, and its effects.

First, this knowledge differs in its origin because it is wholly a gift from Christ. We acquire worldly knowledge through our own intellectual effort, study, and research. But we cannot discover the Father on our own. He is not found at the end of a philosophical search or an academic syllabus. Christ alone knows the Father because He has been in the Father’s bosom from all eternity, sharing His divine nature and attributes. To know God, we must receive this knowledge from Christ with the simplicity of children. Throughout His earthly life—in His words, His miracles, His suffering, and His death—Christ perfectly declared the Father. He is the dependable revealer because He is the Sent One, anointed by God to save His people from their sins.

Second, this knowledge is unique in its object, which is God Himself. Human science and philosophy are bound to the creation; they cannot rise to the Eternal. While God has revealed His power and divinity in nature, human sin has so defaced our perception that we turn general revelation into idolatry, exchanging the glory of the Creator for the creature. The physical world is both a revelation and a concealment of God. But Christ reveals the Incomprehensible. How could finite creatures, whose breath is in their nostrils, ever know the infinite God before whom angels veil their faces? We do so by looking at Christ. At the cross, the character of God is unveiled in its fullness: He is gracious, merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love. We know Him because He first knew us.

Third, this knowledge differs in its essence. It is not mere information (notitia), which is simply an affair of the intellect. It is a real knowing (cognitio) that engages the heart and moves the will. It is possible to possess vast information about God’s law without a heart prepared to do it. Even the devils believe in God’s existence and tremble, yet they do not love Him. Jesus did not know God as a professional theologian or scribe; He knew the Father through direct, loving communion and perfect obedience. True knowledge and love are inseparable; we know God only to the extent that we love Him. This is the knowledge of faith—a childlike trust that rests in the forgiveness of sins and the promise of eternal life.

Finally, this knowledge is unique in its effects. Human study and wisdom often bring weariness and sorrow, as Ecclesiastes warns. Natural knowledge can enrich our minds, but it cannot rescue us from the grave. The knowledge of God in Christ, however, is itself eternal life. Because God is the God of the living, those who are restored to His fellowship are raised above death. To know Him is to enter a joy that the grave cannot touch.

Glorifying and Enjoying Him Forever

This distinction shapes how we understand the task of theology. True theology is not a detached academic exercise or a collection of dry propositions. It is a search to understand God’s revelation under the guidance of His Spirit, so that we may honor His name. A true theologian is simply one who speaks out of God, through God, and about God for the sake of His glory. In this, there is no difference between the learned scholar and the simplest believer. Both share the same Lord, the same faith, and the same baptism.

When John Calvin began his catechism, he asked about the chief end of human life and answered: "To know God by whom we were created." The Westminster divines echoed this, declaring our chief end is to "glorify God, and to enjoy him forever." The knowledge of God is not a path to intellectual pride, but the doorway to worship. It satisfies our restless hearts by anchoring them in the One for whom we were made, turning our study into praise and our lives into an offering of thanksgiving.