Calvinism and Robots: Why Calvinism Doesn’t Kill Freedom—It Redefines It

There is a common argument often used against Calvinism: if Calvinism is true, then human beings are nothing more than robots. The assumption is that robots do not make real choices; they merely execute what they have been programmed to do. Therefore, if God is sovereign over all things, human freedom must be an illusion.

This objection, however, rests on a misunderstanding—both of robots and of human freedom.

Robots can, in fact, make choices if they are designed to do so. The real question is not whether a robot chooses, but according to what parameters it chooses. Intelligent systems evaluate their environment and respond according to their internal design. When functioning properly, they choose what best aligns with the purpose for which they were created. When they fail, we do not call this “freedom”; we call it a bug.

The same confusion appears in how many people think about human freedom. Modern assumptions often treat human beings as if they were created without any higher purpose—morally neutral, teleologically undefined, and therefore free in an absolute sense. Scripture presents a very different picture.

Human beings were created in the image and likeness of God, with a clear purpose: to glorify Him and exercise dominion over His world. Our design—body, mind, and soul—is intentional and purposeful. We are not blank slates. We were made for something. And true freedom is not the ability to act against our design, but the ability to live in harmony with it.

We do make real choices. We deliberate, desire, and decide. But a truly functional human being will always choose what brings the greatest glory to God. When we choose otherwise, this is not an expression of freedom—it is evidence of corruption.

We do not sin because we are free. We sin because our nature has been corrupted. Sin is not a feature of our design; it is a distortion of it—and one for which we are fully responsible. The human “system” is broken, not neutral.

Salvation, then, is not merely God forgiving our sins. It is also God restoring us. Sanctification is the gracious process by which God repairs what sin has damaged, reshaping our desires so that we increasingly love what we were created to love. Glorification is the final state in which this restoration is complete—a humanity fully healed, no longer able or willing to rebel, and therefore perfectly free.

In that sense, the end of redemption is not the loss of freedom, but its fulfillment.

God is truly sovereign, and He is truly our Creator. He did not create us without purpose. Our design is intentional, and in that limited sense, the analogy with robots can be helpful. But the difference is profound. We are not machines. We are image-bearers. We act morally, personally, and covenantally. Our choices are not mechanical—they are meaningful. When rightly ordered, they participate in the greatest of all endeavours: filling the earth with the glory of God.

Jesus Himself shows us what true freedom looks like. He was not perfect because He could do whatever He wanted. He was perfect because He delighted in doing only the will of the Father. He boasted not in autonomy, but in obedience.

The kind of freedom celebrated today is not a virtue. It is often a celebration of malfunction—of sin, disorder, and rebellion. It is boasting in our bugs. Christians should not be captivated by this vision of freedom. We should desire something better.

True freedom is not choosing against God’s design, but choosing according to it. It is becoming fully human again.

Maybe, in the end, robots have something to teach us after all—something about living according to design.

Nino Marques