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In a recent conversation with a dear friend, we were discussing the Catholic doctrine of purgatory—specifically, why any further purification would be necessary after death. For him, the idea seemed not just excessive but unnecessary: if someone has already believed in Christ, isn’t his soul already saved, secured, and sealed for heaven? Why would something immaterial—and supposedly “redeemed”—still require cleansing? Beneath this question lies an important assumption: that the soul, once saved, is spiritually untouchable. But is that what Scripture teaches?
To understand the logic of purgatory, we have to understand what is being purified. Is it merely the body, with its fleshly appetites and mortal corruption? Or is it also the soul—the inner self, the seat of love, freedom, and moral formation? Scripture tells us that nothing unclean will enter the presence of God (Revelation 21:27), and yet many popular accounts of salvation sidestep the question of whether the soul, even after initial belief, remains vulnerable to sin, compromise, or moral decay. For many, once a person is “saved” by faith—”saved” understood primarily as a moment of trust in Christ—the soul is seen as complete and guaranteed, no longer susceptible to damage. Sanctification becomes optional or cosmetic, as if the “real” self is already ready for glory.
But this raises a more focused question: What, exactly, is the soul—and what happens to it after we first believe? Is it a fixed essence, perfected the moment we come to faith? Or is it the seat of ongoing moral development—the part of us that must be purified in order to see God? Scripture does not present the soul as an isolated spark of divinity or a quarantined, flawless core. It speaks instead of body, soul, and spirit; of heart, mind, strength, and will. It describes the whole person as being saved—or lost. And again and again, it shows that the soul is not yet finished. The soul must be shaped, guarded, sanctified. Yet many Christians speak of it as though it were already clean, already eternal, already safe—regardless of how one lives after conversion. This is not the view of the apostles, nor of the early Church. The soul, far from being untouchable, is shown in Scripture and tradition to be morally alive, relationally at risk, and in need of safeguarding to the very end.
To get to the truth of the matter, we must ask: What does Scripture actually say about the soul?
The common assumption that the soul is some kind of pristine, untouchable part of us—a pure spiritual core sheltered from damage—is not what the Bible teaches. In Scripture, the soul is not only vulnerable; it is morally implicated. It can be stained, troubled, wounded, and even lost. Far from being immune to damage, the soul in biblical language is dynamic—it can grow, it can fall, it can be sanctified, and it can perish.
Take, for example, the words of Jesus in Matthew 10:28: “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” This warning is not aimed at outsiders; it’s directed to disciples. Jesus makes clear that the soul is not automatically protected—it remains at risk. The soul can still be destroyed—eternally—if one turns from God.
This is not a warning in isolation. James 5:19–20 speaks just as plainly: “My brothers, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and someone brings him back, let him know that whoever brings back a sinner will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins.” These are Christians—“my brothers”—whose souls are in peril. The implication is clear: the soul is not beyond reach of harm simply because it once knew the truth.
We also find that the soul can be stained or corrupted by sin. 1 Peter 1:22 calls believers to “purify your souls by obedience to the truth.” If the soul were inherently pure or immune to moral injury, there would be no need for purification. But Scripture assumes the opposite: our choices leave a mark on the soul. Sin wounds it. Obedience heals.
In Scripture, the word “soul” (nephesh in Hebrew, psyche in Greek) normally refers not to an abstract or untouchable essence, but to the whole person—their very life, their deepest self in its vulnerability, its desires, and its exposure to loss. For instance, when David prays, “Deliver my soul from the sword, my precious life from the power of the dog!” (Psalm 22:20), the parallelism makes clear that his “soul” is his entire self—his life at risk, not some hidden, untouchable core. Indeed, many psalms speak of the “soul” being poured out, endangered, or rescued. The soul in biblical thought is never locked away in a vault; it is the living, longing, suffering person whose fate hangs in the balance. The “soul” is what is most at stake in salvation.
Sirach 7:29 urges us, “With all your soul fear the Lord, and revere his priests.” The soul is not a passive presence—it is the seat of reverence, capable of fearing God, worshiping, choosing. This same verse is quoted by Cyprian of Carthage in the third century,1 who elsewhere shows no hesitation in treating the soul as deeply active, responsive, and rewardable.
In one of his letters, Cyprian encourages believers undergoing persecution with these words:
“Believe us, dearly Beloved, that your innocent soul, which has feared neither the first attacks of the world, nor refused to go into exile, nor hesitated to leave the city, nor shrunk from abiding in a desert place, is not far from the hundredfold reward.”2
This “innocent soul” is not a fixed status but a hard-won spiritual condition. It has feared, endured, chosen—and therefore stands near to its reward. The soul is not dormant. It can be formed or deformed. It can be preserved in innocence or stained by cowardice, rebellion, or compromise.
So we cannot treat the soul as though it were quarantined from our actions or insulated from the effects of sin. The soul is shaped—for good or ill—by the lives we live. And this shaping continues even after conversion. The soul is not a sealed relic, but a living and vulnerable center of our identity before God.
In sum, the Bible and early Christian tradition present the soul not as an untouched core, but as the spiritual self that can be stained or sanctified, sickened or restored, ruined or redeemed. The soul is not just something we have—it is something we are becoming. And if that is true, then we must take care not only to preserve it, but to protect it. Because in the biblical worldview, the soul can be harmed—and the soul can be lost.
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