Church and School in Early Modern Protestantism: Studies in Honor of Richard A. Muller on the Maturation of a Theological Tradition 9004258280, 9789004258280

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Church and School in Early Modern Protestantism

Studies in the History of Christian Traditions General Editor

Robert J. Bast

Knoxville, Tennessee In cooperation with

Henry Chadwick, Cambridge Paul C.H. Lim, Nashville, Tennessee Eric Saak, Liverpool Brian Tierney, Ithaca, New York Arjo Vanderjagt, Groningen John Van Engen, Notre Dame, Indiana Founding Editor

Heiko A. Oberman†

VOLUME 170

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/shct

Church and School in Early Modern Protestantism Studies in Honor of Richard A. Muller on the Maturation of a Theological Tradition

Edited by

Jordan J. Ballor David S. Sytsma Jason Zuidema

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2013

Cover illustration: Franeker Academie, from Winsemius (1622). Courtesy: Tresoar, Leeuwarden.

This publication has been typeset in the multilingual “Brill” typeface. With over 5,100 characters covering Latin, IPA, Greek, and Cyrillic, this typeface is especially suitable for use in the humanities. For more information, please see www.brill.com/brill-typeface. ISSN 1573-5664 ISBN 978-90-04-25828-0 (hardback) ISBN 978-90-04-25829-7 (e-book) Copyright 2013 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Global Oriental, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers and Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. “Justification by Faith Alone: Martin Luther among the Early Anglicans” copyright David C. Steinmetz. “Lumina, non Numina: Patristic Authority according to Lutheran Arch-Theologian Johann Gerhard,” by Benjamin T.G. Mayes copyright Concordia Publishing House. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper.

CONTENTS List of Illustrations���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������xi List Abbreviations�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� xiii List of Contributors������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������xix Acknowledgements and Dedication����������������������������������������������������������������xxv Introduction: The Dogma Is Not Necessarily the Drama������������������������� xxvii  Carl R. Trueman PART I

FIRST GENERATION REFORMERS (ca. 1517–1535) Justification by Faith Alone: Martin Luther among the Early  Anglicans�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������3  David C. Steinmetz Philip Melanchthon and Wittenberg’s Reform of the  Theological Curriculum����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 17  Timothy J. Wengert Academic Heresy, the Reuchlin Affair, and the Control of  Theological Discourse in the Early Sixteenth Century���������������������������� 35  Amy Nelson Burnett Influences in Luther’s Reforms��������������������������������������������������������������������������� 49  Fred P. Hall Pastoral Education in the Wittenberg Way������������������������������������������������������ 67  Robert Kolb François Lambert d’Avignon (ca. 1487–1530): Early Ecclesial  Reform and Training for the Ministry at Marburg������������������������������������ 81  Theodore G. Van Raalte PART II

SECOND GENERATION REFORMERS (ca. 1535–1565) The Idea of a ‘General Grace of God’ in Some Sixteenth-Century  Reformed Theologians other than Calvin��������������������������������������������������� 97  J. Mark Beach

vi contents Calvin’s Reception and Reformulation of the Necessitarian  Concepts of the Early Reformation on Human Will, Providence,  and Predestination������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������111  Kiven S.K. Choy The duplex gratia Dei and the Organization of Calvin’s Institutes:  ordo docendi or ordo salutis?�������������������������������������������������������������������������123  Cornelis P. Venema Calvin’s Hermeneutics of the Imprecations of the Psalter������������������������135  Paul Mpindi The Italian Convert: Marquis Galeazzo Caracciolo and the  English Puritans�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������153  Emidio Campi Confluence and Influence: Peter Martyr Vermigli and Thomas  Aquinas on Predestination����������������������������������������������������������������������������165  Frank A. James III Peter Martyr Vermigli, Scholasticism, and Aquinas’ Justice  of War Doctrine������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������185  Mark J. Larson Moral Philosophy and Moral Theology in Vermigli�������������������������������������199  Sebastian Rehnman Word and Spirit in the Piety of Peter Martyr Vermigli as Seen  in his Commentary on 1 Corinthians����������������������������������������������������������215  Jason Zuidema PART III

EARLY ORTHODOXY (ca. 1565–1640) The Man in the Black Hat: Theodore Beza and the Reorientation  of Early Reformed Historiography��������������������������������������������������������������227  Raymond A. Blacketer From Professors to Pastors: The Convoluted Careers of Jean  Diodati and Théodore Tronchin������������������������������������������������������������������243  Karin Maag

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vii

Swiss Students and Faculty at the University of Heidelberg,  1518–1622�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������255  Charles D. Gunnoe Jr. Johannes Piscator’s (1546–1625) Interpretation of Calvin’s  Institutes�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������271  Heber Carlos de Campos Jr. The Academization of Reformation Teaching in Johann Heinrich  Alsted (1588–1638)�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������283  Byung Soo Han Theology and Piety in Ursinus’ Summa Theologiae�������������������������������������295  Lyle D. Bierma Law and Gospel in Early Reformed Orthodoxy: Hermeneutical  Conservatism in Olevianus’ Commentary on Romans��������������������������307  R. Scott Clark Laurence Chaderton: An Early Puritan Vision for Church  and School���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������321  Joel R. Beeke The Danzig Academic Gymnasium in Seventeenth-Century  Poland�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������339  Dariusz M. Bryćko Arminius on Facientibus Quod in Se Est and Likely Medieval  Sources����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������347  J.V. Fesko Bona Conscientia Paradisus: An Augustinian-Arminian Trope����������������361  Keith D. Stanglin A Promise for Parents: Dordt’s Perspective on Covenant  and Election������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������373  W. Robert Godfrey Type, Anti-type, and the Sensus Literalis: Protestant Reformed  Orthodox Approaches to Psalm 2����������������������������������������������������������������387  Todd Rester The Holy Spirit and the Church’s Mission: The Perspective of the  Reformed Confessions������������������������������������������������������������������������������������401  Yuzo Adhinarta

viii contents  The Attempt to Establish a Chair in Practical Theology at Leiden  University (1618–1626)������������������������������������������������������������������������������������415  Donald Sinnema Theologia practica: The Diverse Meanings of a Subject of  Early Modern Academic Writing�����������������������������������������������������������������443  Aza Goudriaan Lumina, non Numina: Patristic Authority According to Lutheran  Arch-Theologian Johann Gerhard���������������������������������������������������������������457  Benjamin T.G. Mayes The Logic of the Heart: Analyzing the Affections in Early Reformed  Orthodoxy����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������471  David S. Sytsma Reformed Education from Geneva through the Netherlands to  the East Indies��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������489  Yudha Thianto PART IV

HIGH ORTHODOXY (ca. 1640–1725) ‘A Grievous Sin’: Gisbertus Voetius (1589–1676) and His  Anti-Lombard Polemic�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������505  Willem J. van Asselt Voetius on the Subject and Formal Act of Happiness—A Scholastic  Exercise���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������521  Andreas J. Beck Revealing the Mind of God: Exegetical Method in the Seventeenth  Century���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������533  Henry M. Knapp Reason Run Amok? The Protestant Orthodox Charge of  Rationalism against Faustus Socinus (with Special Consideration of a ‘Smoking Gun’ Passage from De Jesu Christo Servatore)���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������551  Alan W. Gomes

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Johannes Cocceius as Federal Polemicist: The Usefulness of the  Distinction between the Testaments����������������������������������������������������������567  Brian J. Lee ‘A Smattering of the New Philosophy’: Étienne Gaussen  (ca. 1638–1675) and the Cartesian Question at Saumur�������������������������583  Albert Gootjes Nonconformist Schools, the Schism Act, and the Limits of  Toleration in England’s Confessional State����������������������������������������������597  James E. Bradley Piety, Theology, Exegesis, and Tradition: Anna Maria van  Schurman’s ‘Elaboration’ of Genesis 1–3 and Its Relationship to the Commentary Tradition���������������������������������������������������������������������������613  John L. Thompson John Howe (1630–1705) on Divine Simplicity: A Debate over  Spinozism�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������629  Reita Yazawa Orthodoxy, Scholasticism, and Piety in the Seventeenth-Century  Further Reformation: Simon Oomius��������������������������������������������������������641  Gregory D. Schuringa Mylius on Elleboogius: A Fatal Misinterpretation���������������������������������������653  Godfried Quaedtvlieg The Shape of Reformed Orthodoxy in the Seventeenth Century:  The Soteriological Debate between George Kendall and Richard Baxter������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������665  Jordan J. Ballor G.W. Leibniz and Protestant Scholasticism in the Years 1698–1704���������679  Irena Backus PART V

LATE ORTHODOXY (ca. 1725–1790) The Uniqueness of Christ in Post-Reformation Reformed  Theology: From Francis Turretin to Jean-Alphonse Turretin���������������699  Martin I. Klauber

x contents  Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758) and the Nature of Theology���������������������711  Adriaan C. Neele Calvinism as Reformed Protestantism: Clarification of a Term���������������723  Herman Selderhuis Reconsidering the Platonism of Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723–1792)  and Its Role in His Thought on the Education of Artists����������������������737  Nathan A. Jacobs The Bristol Academy and the Education of Ministers in  Eighteenth-Century England (1758–1791)��������������������������������������������������749  Jeongmo Yoo Bibliography of the Works of Richard A. Muller������������������������������������������765  Paul W. Fields and Andrew M. McGinnis Index�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������795

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Fig. 1.  Annual Number of Swiss Matriculants to the University of Heidelberg by Decade����������������������������������������������������������������������������265 Fig. 2. Origin of Swiss Students at the University of Heidelberg 1559–1583�����������������������������������������������������������������������������266 Fig. 3. Origin of Swiss Students at the University of Heidelberg 1583–1621������������������������������������������������������������������������������267 Fig. 4. Cornelis Hendrikus Elleboogius (1603–1701)������������������������������������654

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS I. Primary Sources ANF  Ante-Nicene Fathers, ed. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson, 10 vols. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1973–1974) Aquinas, Opera Thomas Aquinas, Opera omnia (Rome: Commissio Leonina, 1882-) Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae Aquinas, ST Arminius, Opera Jacob Arminius, Opera theologica (Leiden: Godefridus Basson, 1629) Arminius, Works James Nichols, in The Works of James Arminius, trans. James Nichols and William Nichols, 3 vols. (London, 1825, 1828, 1875; reprint, Grand Rapids: Baker, 1986) The Works of Saint Augustine (Hyde Park, NY: New Augustine, Works  City Press, 1990-) BC  The Book of Concord: The Confessions of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, ed. Robert Kolb and Timothy J. Wengert (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000) Bullinger, Decades Heinrich Bullinger, The Decades of Henry Bullinger, trans. H.I., ed. Thomas Harding, 4 vols. (Cambridge: The University Press, 1849–1852) Calvin, Institutes John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. John T. McNeill, trans. Ford Lewis Battles (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1960) CC Philip Schaff, ed., The Creeds of Christendom, 3 vols. (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1877) CO John Calvin, Opera quae supersunt omnia, ed. G. Baum, et al. (Braunschweig: C.A. Schwetschke, 1863–1900) CR  Corpus Reformatorum: Philippi Melanthonis opera quae supersunt omnia, ed. Karl Bretschneider and Heinrich Bindseil, 28 vols. (Halle: Schwetschke, 1834–1860) CSEL  Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum, 96+ vols. (Vienna: Holder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1866-)

xiv

list of abbreviations 

Lombard, Sentences Peter Lombard, The Sentences, trans. Guilio Silano, 4 vols. (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 2007-) Lombard, Sententiae Lombard, Sententiae in IV Libris Distinctae, 2 vols. (Grottaferrata: Collegii S. Bonaventurae Ad Claras Aquas, 1981) LW Jaroslav J. Pelikan and Helmut T. Lehmann, ed., Luther’s Works, 55 vols. (St. Louis: Concordia, 1955–1986) MBW  Melanchthons Briefwechsel: Kritische und kommentierte Gesamtausgabe, ed. Heinz Scheible, 12+ vols. (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 1977- ); Texte: Melanchthons Briefwechsel: Kritische und kommentierte Gesamtausgabe: Texte, ed. Heinz Scheible et al., 11+ vols. (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 1991- ) MWA  Robert Stupperich, ed., Melanchthons Werke in Auswahl, 7 vols. (Gütersloh: Mohn, 1951–1975) The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, ed. NPNF1  Philip Schaff and Henry Ware (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996) OS  Calvini opera selecta, ed. P. Barth and G. Niesel, 5 vols. (München: Kaiser, 1926–1952) PL J.-P. Migne, ed., Patrologia Latina, 217 vols. (Paris: Imprimerie Catholique, 1844–1865) PG J.-P. Migne, ed., Patrologia Graeca, 161 vols. (Paris: Imprimerie Catholique, 1857–1866) Turretin, Institutes Francis Turretin, Institutes of Elenctic Theology, ed. James T. Dennison Jr., trans. George Musgrave Giger, 3 vols. (Phillipsburg: P&R, 1992) Turretin, Institutio Francis Turretin, Institutio theologiæ elencticæ, 3 vols. (Geneva: Samuel de Tournes, 1679–1685) Ursinus, Commentary Zacharias Ursinus, The Commentary of Dr. Zacharias Ursinus on the Heidelberg Catechism, trans. G.W. Williard (Phillipsburg: Presbyterian & Reformed, 1985) UUW  Urkundenbuch der Universität Wittenberg: Teil 1 (1502–1611), ed. Walter Friedensburg (Magdeburg: Selbstverlag der Historischen Kommission, 1926)



list of abbreviations

xv

Vermigli, NE Peter Martyr Vermigli, Commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, ed. Emido Campi and Joseph C. McLelland, trans. Kenneth Austin, et al. (Kirksville, MO: TSUP, 2006) Voetius, Exercitia Gisbertus Voetius, Exercitia et Bibliotheca, Studiosi Theologiae (Utrecht: Wilhelmus Strick, 1644) Voetius, SDT Gisbertus Voetius, Selectarum Disputationum Theo­ logicarum, 5 vols. (Utrecht: Johannes Waesberg, 1648–1669) WA  Luthers Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe [Schriften], 65 vols. (Weimar: Böhlau, 1883–1993) WA Br Luthers Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe: Briefwechsel, 18 vols. (Weimar: Böhlau, 1930–1985) WA TR Luthers Werke: Tischreden, 6 vols., in WA (1912–1921) II. Secondary Sources AAE  Arminius, Arminianism, and Europe: Jacobus Arminius (1559/60–1609), ed. Th. Marius van Leeuwen, Keith D. Stanglin, and Marijke Tolsma (Leiden: Brill, 2009) Heppe, RD Heinrich Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, trans. G.T. Thompson (Eugene, OR, 2008) Muller, AC Richard A. Muller, After Calvin (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003) Muller, Arminius Richard A. Muller, God, Creation, and Providence in the Thought of Jacob Arminius: Sources and Direc­ tions of Scholastic Protestantism in the Era of Early Orthodoxy (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1991) Muller, “Calvinists I”  Richard A. Muller, “Calvin and the ‘Calvinists’: Assessing Continuities and Discontinuities between the Reformation and Orthodoxy I,” Calvin Theo­ logical Journal 30.2 (1995): 345–375 Muller, “Calvinists II”  Richard A. Muller, “Calvin and the ‘Calvinists’: Assessing Continuities and Discontinuities between the Reformation and Orthodoxy II,” Calvin Theo­ logical Journal 31.1 (1996): 125–160

xvi

list of abbreviations 

Muller, Decree Richard Muller, Christ and the Decree: Christology and Predestination in Reformed Theology from Calvin to Perkins (Durham: Labyrinth, 1986) Richard A. Muller, Dictionary of Latin and Greek Muller, DLGT  Theological Terms (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1986) Muller, PRRD Richard A. Muller, Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics. The Rise and Development of Reformed Orthodoxy, ca. 1520 to ca. 1725, 4 vols. (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2003) Muller, S&O Richard A. Muller, “Scholasticism and Orthodoxy in the Reformed Tradition: An Attempt at Definition” (Grand Rapids: Calvin Theological Seminary, 1995) Muller, UC Richard A. Muller, The Unaccommodated Calvin: Studies in the Foundation of a Theological Tradition (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000) PS Carl Trueman and R. Scott Clark, ed., Protestant Scho­ lasticism: Essays in Reassessment (Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1999) W.J. van Asselt and E. Dekker, ed., Reformation and R&S  Scholasticism: An Ecumenical Enterprise (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2001) III. Journals AR Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme BSHPF Français Catholic Historical Review CHR Church History ChH Church History and Religious Culture CHRC Calvin Theological Journal CTJ The Downside Review DR Harvard Theological Review HThR Nederlands archief voor kerkgeschiedenis / Dutch Review NAKG  of Church History Evangelical Journal EJ Journal of Ecclesiastical History JEH Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society JETS Journal of the History of Ideas JHI Journal of Religious Ethics JRE

JRH LQ NTT PP RGG RJ RRR SCJ MAJT WTJ ZfK

list of abbreviations

xvii

Journal of Religious History Lutheran Quarterly Nederlands theologisch tijdschrift Past and Present Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart Reformed Journal Reformation and Renaissance Review Sixteenth Century Journal Mid-America Journal of Theology Westminster Theological Journal Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte IV. Encyclopedias

ADB Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie Biografische lexicon voor de geschiedenis van het BLNP  Nederlandse Protestantisme, 6 vols. (Kampen: J. H. Kok, 1978–2006) Haag1 Eugène Haag and Émile Haag, La France protestante, 1st ed., 10 vols. (Paris: Joel Cherbuliez, 1846–1858) Neue Deutsche Biographie NDB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Ed. H.C.G. ODNB  Matthew and Brian Harrison. 60 volumes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation (New York: Oxford OER  University Press, 1996) Theologische Realenzyklopädie (Berlin: de Gruyter, TRE  1976–2007) Zedler Johann Heinrich Zedler, Grosses vollständiges UniversalLexicon Aller Wissenschafften und Künste (1732–1754) V. Publishers Brill BTT Cornell CUAP CUP Duke

E. J. Brill Banner of Truth Trust Cornell University Press Catholic University of America Press Cambridge University Press Duke University Press

xviii Eerdmans Fortress HUP IUP IVP JHUP Kluwer Mellen OUP P&R PUP RHB SAP SCES SDG SPCK TSUP TTC UCAP UCP UMP UNCP UNDP UofT V&R WJKP WP W&S YUP

list of abbreviations  William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company Fortress Press Harvard University Press Indiana University Press InterVarsity Press Johns Hopkins University Press Kluwer Academic Edwin Mellen Oxford University Press Presbyterian & Reformed Princeton University Press Reformation Heritage Books Sheffield Academic Press Sixteenth Century Studies Soli Deo Gloria Publications Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge Truman State University Press T & T Clark University of California Press University of Chicago Press University of Michigan Press University of North Carolina Press University of Notre Dame Press University of Toronto Press Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Westminster John Knox Press The Westminster Press Wipf and Stock Yale University Press VI. Catechisms and Confessions

CA CoD HC SHC WCF WLC WSC

Augsburg Confession (format CA I.5) Canons of Dordt (format CoD III-IV.10) Heidelberg Catechism (format HC Q/A 1) Second Helvetic Confession (format SHC XIII.4) Westminster Confession of Faith (format WCF X.4) Westminster Larger Catechism (format WLC Q/A 1) Westminster Shorter Catechism (format WSC Q/A 1)

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Yuzo Adhinarta (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is on the faculty at the Reformed Evangelical Seminary in Indonesia. Willem J. van Asselt (Ph.D., Utrecht University) is Senior Lecturer Emeritus Church History, Department of Theology, Faculty of Humanities, Utrecht University and Professor of Historical Theology, Evangelische Theologische Faculteit, Leuven, Belgium. Irena Backus (D.Phil., Oxon; Dr. theol. Hab., Bern; Hon. D.D., Edinburgh; D.D., Oxon) is professor at l’Institut d’histoire de la Réformation in Geneva. Jordan J. Ballor (Dr. theol., Zurich) is a research fellow at the Acton Institute for the Study of Religion & Liberty in Grand Rapids, MI, and associate director of the Junius Institute for Digital Reformation Research at Calvin Theological Seminary. J. Mark Beach (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is Professor of Ministerial and Doctrinal Studies at Mid-America Reformed Seminary in Dyer, IN. Andreas J. Beck (Ph.D., Utrecht University) is Dean and Professor of His­ torical Theology, and director of the Institute of Post-Reformation Studies at the Evangelische Theologische Faculteit, Leuven, Belgium. Joel R. Beeke (Ph.D., Westminster Theological Seminary) is President and Professor of Systematic Theology and Homiletics at Puritan Reformed Theological Seminary and a pastor of the Heritage Netherlands Reformed Congregation in Grand Rapids, MI. Lyle D. Bierma (Ph.D., Duke) is the Jean and Kenneth Baker Professor of Systematic Theology at Calvin Theological Seminary in Grand Rapids, MI. Raymond A. Blacketer (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is pastor of First Cutlerville Christian Reformed Church in Byron Center, MI. James E. Bradley (Ph.D., University of Southern California) is the Geoffrey W. Bromiley Professor of Church History at Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, CA.

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Dariusz M. Bryćko (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is Assistant to the Ministers at the First Presbyterian Church (ARP) in Columbia, SC. Amy Nelson Burnett (Ph.D., University of Wisconsin-Madison) is Paula and D.V. Varner University Professor of History at University of NebraskaLincoln in Lincoln, NE. Emidio Campi (Dr. theol., Prague; Dr. theol. Hab., Zurich, Hon. D.D., Presbyterian College, Montreal) is Professor Emeritus at the University of Zurich. Heber Carlos de Campos Jr. (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is Assis­ tant Professor of Historical Theology at Andrew Jumper Graduate Studies Center in São Paulo, Brazil, and a Research Associate, Jonathan Edwards Centre Africa, University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa. Kiven S.K. Choy (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) teaches at the Alliance Bible Seminary in Hong Kong. R. Scott Clark (D.Phil, Oxford) is Professor of Church History and Historical Theology at Westminster Seminary California in Escondido, CA. John V. Fesko (Ph.D., Aberdeen) is Professor of Systematic and Historical Theology at Westminster Seminary California in Escondido, CA. Paul W. Fields (M.Div Westminster, M.L.S. Syracuse) is a Theological Librarian at Calvin Theological Seminary and Curator of the H. Henry Meeter Center for Calvin Studies. W. Robert Godfrey (Ph.D., Stanford University) is President and Professor of Church History at Westminster Seminary California in Escondido, CA. Alan W. Gomes (Ph.D., Fuller Theological Seminary) is Professor of Historical Theology at the Talbot School of Theology/Biola University, La Mirada, CA. Albert Gootjes (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is a translator of numerous books and articles on the history of Reformation and postReformation theology, and research fellow at the Junius Institute for Digital Reformation Research at Calvin Theological Seminary. Charles D. Gunnoe Jr. (Ph.D., University of Virginia) is Executive Vice President, Provost, and Dean of Faculty at Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, MI.



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Aza Goudriaan (Ph.D., University of Leiden) is assistant professor of patristics at the Faculty of Theology, VU University Amsterdam and a Research Associate, Jonathan Edwards Centre Africa, University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa. Fred P. Hall (Ph.D., Fuller Theological Seminary) is President Emeritus at the American Lutheran Theological Seminary in Fort Wayne, IN. Byung Soo Han (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is a translator of numerous books and Vice President at Reformed Orthodoxy Institute of Yullin Church. Nathan A. Jacobs (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is Assistant Professor of Religion & Philosophy at John Brown University, Siloam Springs, AR. Frank A. James III (D.Phil., Oxford; Ph.D., Westminster Theological Seminary) is President and Professor of Historical Theology at Biblical Theological Seminary in Hatfield, PA. Martin I. Klauber (Ph.D., Wisconsin—Madison) is an affiliate professor at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Il. Henry M. Knapp (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Beaver, PA. Robert Kolb (Ph.D., University of Wisconsin) is Missions Professor of Systematic Theology Emeritus at Concordia Seminary in Saint Louis, MO. Mark J. Larson (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is a student in International Politics at Regent University, Virginia Beach, VA. Brian J. Lee, (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is the pastor of Christ Reformed Church in Washington, DC. Karin Maag (Ph.D., Saint Andrews) is Professor of History at Calvin College and the Director of the H. Henry Meeter Center for Calvin Studies in Grand Rapids, MI. Benjamin T.G. Mayes (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is an editor at Concordia Publishing House in St. Louis, MO.

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Andrew M. McGinnis (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is research assistant at the H. Henry Meeter Center for Calvin Studies in Grand Rapids, MI. Paul Mpindi (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is the French Team Leader at Back to God Ministries International. Adriaan C. Neele (Ph.D., Utrecht University) is Research Scholar at Yale University Divinity School, Director of the Jonathan Edwards Center at Yale University, and Professor Extraordinary at the University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa. Godfried Quaedtvlieg (D.D., Universiteit Johannes Maccovius) is Professor of Psycho-Theology at Harvard Divinity School where he serves as chief Coptic papyrus manuscript writer for the Jesus’ wife project. Sebastian Rehnman (M.Phil, Gothenburg, and D.Phil, Oxford) is Professor of Philosophy at the University of Stavanger and Adjunct Professor of Philosophy of Religion at Misjonshøgskolen, Stavanger, Norway. Todd Rester (Ph.D. cand., Calvin Theological Seminary) is a doctoral candidate and director of the Junius Institute for Digital Reformation Research at Calvin Theological Seminary. Gregory D. Schuringa (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is Senior Minister at Faith Christian Reformed Church in Elmhurst, IL. Herman Selderhuis (Th.D., Apeldoorn) is Professor of Church History and Polity at the Theological University Apeldoorn and Director of Refo500. Donald Sinnema (Ph.D., University of St. Michael’s College, Toronto) is Professor of Theology Emeritus at Trinity Christian College in Palos Heights, IL. Keith D. Stanglin (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is Associate Professor of Scripture and Historical Theology at Austin Graduate School of Theology in Austin, TX. David C. Steinmetz (Th.D., Harvard) is the Amos Ragan Kearns Distinguished Professor Emeritus of the History of Christianity at Duke Divinity School in Durham, NC.



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David S. Sytsma (Ph.D., Princeton Theological Seminary) is research curator of the Junius Institute for Digital Reformation Research at Calvin Theological Seminary. Yudha Thianto (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is Professor of Theology at Trinity Christian College in Palos Heights, IL. John L. Thompson (Ph.D., Duke) is Professor of Historical Theology and Gaylen and Susan Byker Professor of Reformed Theology at Fuller Theologial Seminary in Pasadena, CA. Carl R. Trueman (Ph.D., Aberdeen) is Professor of Historical Theology and Church History and Paul Woolley Chair of Church History at Westminster Theological Seminary in Glenside, PA. Theodore G. Van Raalte (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is Professor of Ecclesiology at the Canadian Reformed Theological Seminary in Hamilton, ON. Cornelis P. Venema (Ph.D., Princeton Seminary) is President and Professor of Doctrinal Studies at Mid-America Theological Seminary in Dyer, IN. Timothy J. Wengert (Ph.D., Duke) is The Ministerium of Pennsylvania Professor of the History of Christianity at The Lutheran Theological Seminary in Philadelphia. Reita Yazawa (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) resides in Japan. His dissertation is titled “Covenant of Redemption in the Theology of Jonathan Edwards: The Nexus between the Immanent and the Economic Trinity”. Jeongmo Yoo (Ph.D., Calvin Theological Seminary) is a postdoctoral fellow at The Southern Baptist Seminary, Louisville, KY. Jason Zuidema (Ph.D., McGill) is Affiliate Assistant Professor in the Depart­ ment of Theological Studies at Concordia University, Montreal, QC.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS AND DEDICATION The scope and scale of Richard Muller’s influence on more than a generation of scholarship of the Reformation and post-Reformation periods is unlikely to be properly appreciated in the near future. But this volume represents an initial attempt toward that end. The size of this collection of essays produced in his honor is merely emblematic of the literature inspired by his helpfully revisionist career. The variety of the essays, both in terms of content as well as in terms of the institutional affiliations of the authors, speaks to the diverse audiences in which Richard’s insights have found positive reception. In attempting to find a unified theme around which to organize this Festschrift, the dynamic relationship between the church and the academy, between the pulpit and the lectern, was chosen, not because it exhausts the implications of Richard’s work, but because it represents one of the key insights of his approach to the sources. Richard’s work on properly contextualizing theologies of the Reformation and post-Reformation eras is grounded in careful explication of the self-understanding of these figures within the broader diversity of the trends in intellectual history and historical theology. In this regard his work stands in remarkable continuity rather than discontinuity with previous generations of his academic forebears, David Steinmetz and Heiko Oberman. Any project of this size can only be achieved with the encouragement and assistance of a large number of people. Besides the encouragement of all the contributors to the volume, we appreciate the kind words of Lugene Schemper, Stephen Grabill, Dave Holmlund, Tony Lane, Elsie McKee, Susan Schreiner, Tom Osborne, Takahashi Yoshida, Kim Riddlebarger, Tom Pfizenmaier, James A. DeJong, Rowland Ward, John Duff, Sungho Lee, Won Taek Lim, Sang Hyuck Ahn, Stefan Lindblad, and Jai-Sung Shim. Thank you to Ronald Feenstra, Lyle Bierma, Julius Medenblik, and Ina DeMoor for help in organizing the launch of the book in October 2013 in the presence of Professor Muller. Special thanks to Jay Collier for kindness at a particularly important juncture in the planning process. Also thanks to Arjan van Dijk, Ivo Romein, Robert Bast, Rebecca Lindner, the external readers and the whole team at Brill. We appreciate their clear answers knowing that we were on a tight schedule.

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Above all, we all thank our families, friends and colleagues for the myriad ways they have shown support and love for us during the many months of preparation and editing required to bring this collection of essays to press.

INTRODUCTION THE DOGMA IS NOT NECESSARILY THE DRAMA Carl R. Trueman It is an honour to write an introduction to this Festschrift for Richard Muller. I could have written a scholarly article on some aspect of Reformed orthodoxy; but Richard’s role in my academic life has been much more than simply that of a scholarly mentor. He has been a personal friend; and one of the oft untold aspects of scholarly enterprise is the role of friendship. It is one thing to read a book by an influential scholar; it is another to sit and hear him lecture, seeing an original mind in action. Even greater, though, is the intimate interaction of casual conversation among friends. And some such conversations have an impact far beyond their immediate context. Indeed, as I reflect upon all that I have learned from Richard, my mind goes to the halcyon days of the late nineties when, over a period of years, Richard and I would visit our friend, Willem van Asselt in the Netherlands, give lectures at Utrecht University, and spend many hours sitting outside Dutch cafes, drinking fine Belgian beer and talking history. It was there that I learned that good historians are marked not only by knowledge of primary and secondary sources but also by careful reflection on historical method. Indeed, the historian who is not methodologically self-conscious is a poor historian indeed. And it was in one such conversation that Richard made a statement which fascinated me and which has become a significant component of my own historical approach: “Not everything which presents itself in a historical text as a doctrinal problem necessarily has a doctrinal cause or a doctrinal solution.” To borrow a phrase from Dorothy L. Sayers and turn it on its head: the dogma is not necessarily the drama. This point is crucial. There is always a tendency for intellectual historians to overestimate the power of ideas and then to abstract them from their historical context. In part this is no doubt an understandable reaction to the repudiation of intellectual history within the larger historical guild. To reduce human beings to mere puppets in some larger drama of the flow of capital or of psychological forces inaccessible to the historical

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agents seems self-evidently reductionist and contrary to human experience: we all know that ideas can be powerful forces in shaping history. Yet too often intellectual historians forget that ideas are the actions and the instruments of real people whose identity and whose lives cannot be reduced to a set of abstract principles. Perhaps nowhere is this more evident than in the history of theology. The church trades in ideas; blood has been spilled over ideas; historians of the church must inevitably take ideas with the utmost seriousness. Yet Richard’s work has demonstrated time and time again that the history of doctrine needs to be rooted in more than just the history of doctrine. The development of Reformed orthodoxy, like the development of Christian dogma in general, is not the quasi-Hegelian outworking of some inner dynamic principle; rather it is the result of a complex interplay of intellectual and material factors. There is of course the inherited linguistic and conceptual tradition of past doctrine which brings with it its own logical and rhetorical conventions. But then there are philosophical traditions, pedagogical methods, library holdings, even matters of book production to consider. In addition to these we might add the social context (e.g., urban or rural, kingdom or republic), the existence of political and military alliances, the shifting sands of social psychology, the personal experiences of particular individual thinkers, and the networks of formal and informal personal relationships that existed. Some or all of these factors play significant roles in every book written in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, in every debate which took place, and in every confession formulated. The realization of this wider framework for understanding the development of doctrine in a way that does not sacrifice the significance of doctrinal content is evident in the changing shape of Richard’s own work. One need only compare the kind of arguments made in Christ and the Decree with those in The Unaccommodated Calvin or After Calvin to see how he has himself integrated wider questions of context into his explanations of the shifts in emphasis and even content which he discerns in Reformed thought during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In the earlier work, doctrinal development is explained in doctrinal terms. The narrative is compelling and, dare I say it, true; but it lacks attention to wider factors which may have been of influence. The later works represent a broadening of perspective. For example, there is the problem of the ordering of the topics in Calvin’s Institutes which had been a battleground between dogmaticians for many years. Richard’s proposal—that Calvin was persuaded by the topical ordering his friend Melanchthon proposed

introduction xxix for Paul’s argument in the Letter to the Romans—is beautiful in its simplicity, its plausibility, and the fact that it does not require that we have access to Calvin’s inner theological mind or, worse still, that we see him on the road to Barthianism nearly 400 years too early. I have found this broadening perspective to be most helpful. Take, for example, the problem of assurance which emerges in some sections of Puritan theology in seventeenth century England. This is enshrined in the Westminster Assembly’s separation of faith and assurance. An older school of approach saw this variously as the result of an over-emphasis on predestination or “limited atonement.” Both may have played a role in certain instances but the question of assurance is one which always arises in concrete individual and community contexts. It cannot be reduced in advance to a matter of merely doctrinal origin. Lack of assurance was a condition which affected real people; and it was a problem to which their pastors needed to respond. The early Reformers, such as Luther and Calvin, placed a high premium on assured faith. This was at a time when, thanks to the transformation of church pastoral practice in light of Reformation criticisms and the impact of urbanization on social and family relations, the world must have seemed increasingly unstable to the men and women who sat under such preaching. Geographical and social mobility eroded the extended family. The rise of new professions meant that the transfer of skills from one generation to another took on new forms. The world was being turned upside down. It would not seem surprising, therefore, that Reformation preaching and teaching not only transformed pastoral practice; it also transformed the kind of pastoral problems which preachers and theologians had to address. To put it bluntly, people only suffer from lack of assurance when they are told that assurance is a possibility, indeed, even normative for Christians. That is what the Reformation did; and the people’s response, given the dramatic changes at play in wider society, was one which generated examples of those who did not enjoy that which they were told to expect as the norm. Given this, the shift on assurance and faith in the seventeenth might seem less a doctrinal deviation from some early, putatively pristine Reformation Protestantism and more a necessary modification of that theology in the light of the pastoral practice and problems which that theology helped to create and to which it had to respond. Yet it is only as one casts one’s evidential and methodological net wider, beyond the mere words on the page of the massive doctrinal tomes, and acknowledges that ideas are actions performed in particular contexts as responses to specific

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circumstances in order to achieve certain intended ends, that one can start to formulate answers of any real adequacy. Richard Muller has played a key role not only in deepening our understanding of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; he has also demonstrated in the evolution of his own work the importance of sound historical method in exploring the nature of texts. The history of theology is not just the history of doctrinal debates, nor of exegesis. It is the history of real people acting in real concrete circumstances. His work, and the essays contained in this volume, bear witness to that fact. The dogma may sometimes be dramatic, but it is rarely if ever the whole of the drama. That is perhaps the greatest of Richard Muller’s many methodological contributions.

PART ONE

FIRST GENERATION REFORMERS (ca. 1517–1535)

JUSTIFICATION BY FAITH ALONE: MARTIN LUTHER AMONG THE EARLY ANGLICANS David C. Steinmetz When Henry VIII died on 28 January 1547, he had already outlived Martin Luther by slightly more than a year.1 Although the two men never met, they had clashed publicly in a brief but intense paper war. The hostile exchange started in 1521 when Henry, without prior warning, attacked Luther in a treatise called the Assertio Septem Sacramentorun (The Defense of the Seven Sacraments).2 The Pope, delighted as much by the welcome appearance of a royal treatise against Luther as by its contents, rewarded Henry with the grand title, Defensor Fidei (Defender of the Faith). If Henry thought he could bring Luther back into line by his forceful intervention on behalf of traditional Catholic theology, he was sadly mis­ taken. Luther was in fact far more dismissive of Henry’s theological gifts than cowed by his theological arguments. In his 1522 reply to Henry, Luther observed wryly to his readers that “You would think that this book had been written by the dearest enemy of the King to disgrace the King forever.”3 Unfortunately for Henry, his relationship to Luther (which never improved) did not end there. By 1522 Luther had his own English disciples and enough writings in circulation in England to inspire a book burning in Cambridge. In fact, since 1521 a small group of Cambridge intellectuals, nicknamed “Little Germany,” had gathered in the White Horse Inn next to King’s College to discuss Luther’s reforming ideas and their reception in England. Robert Barnes, an Augustinian friar later martyred under Henry VIII for his persistent and outspoken Protestantism, is now thought to have been chair. Thomas Bilney, Thomas Cranmer, Hugh Latimer, Miles

1 This essay was given as a lecture at Nashotah House Episcopal Theological Seminary on 19 April 2012 as part of a larger theological conference on justification in the Anglican tradition. 2 The full text of the Assertio Septem Sacramentorum is easily available online from the University of Toronto and Cornell University Libraries. 3 An English translation of the full text of Luther’s reply to Henry VIII, Martinus Lutherus contra Henricum Rex Angliae, trans. Buchanan (New York: Charles Smith, 1928), has been provided online by Project Canterbury.

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Coverdale, Mathew Parker and the ever irascible John Bale participated at one time or another in these discussions. Even the conservative Catholic, Stephen Gardiner, may have attended some sessions, though, undoubtedly, more out of intellectual curiosity than sympathy with Luther’s views. In short, despite Henry’s best efforts, Luther had appar­ ently come to England to stay. Gordon Rupp once suggested that many of the early followers of Luther in England (and elsewhere in Europe) should be known as “Martinians” rather than as Lutherans. Rupp reserved the name “Lutheran” for Prot­ estants who subscribed to the Augsburg Confession (especially in the stricter form known as the Invariata) and who sided with Luther in the controversy with Reformed theologians over the nature of the Lord’s Supper. In other words, Martinians were somewhat more loosely-defined fol­ lowers of Luther. While they certainly accepted many, if not most, of Luther’s negative criticisms of the Catholic Church and a great many of his positive solutions, they did not necessarily accept all. The Eucharist was a case in point. Although Luther rejected transubstantiation (a fact all of his disciples hailed), he nevertheless affirmed a physical real presence of Christ’s body and blood in the elements of bread and wine (a theological point acceptable to loyal Lutherans but generally unacceptable to the less loyal company of Martinians). To affirm such a physical real presence meant that the body and blood of the risen Christ transcended the ordi­ nary limitations of space and time (a doctrine which many Martinians regarded as a danger to the real and inescapably finite humanity of the Redeemer). To put it simply, the risen humanity of Christ shared for Luther the divine attribute of omnipresence (or, as he called it, ubiquity). But if the risen humanity of Christ were omnipresent as Luther argued, then it was almost impossible for Martinians to escape John Calvin’s reluc­ tant conclusion that the Luther they so admired gave Christ a “monstrous body.”4 Reformed theologians like Martin Bucer (Regius Professor of Divinity at Cambridge) and Peter Martyr Vermigli (Regius Professor of Divinity at Oxford) could not agree with Luther’s doctrine of the omnipresence or 4 For a fuller, but still brief, introduction to the issues in the controversy over the Eucharist in the sixteenth century see my Taking the Long View: Christian Theology in Historical Perspective (New York: OUP, 2011), 115–126. See also on “monstrous body” David Bagchi and David C. Steinmetz, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Reformation Theology (New York: CUP, 2004), 126.



martin luther among the early anglicans5

ubiquity of Christ’s risen humanity. They stressed rather Christ’s finite humanity and his role as intercessor at the right hand of the Father. Their views did not exclude a doctrine of the real presence of Christ, but such a presence should by necessity be regarded as a spiritual rather than a phys­ ical real presence: Christ present by the Holy Spirit, Christ present in his divine nature hypostatically conjoined to his finite humanity, or Christ substantially present in the power and effect of his crucified and risen flesh for human salvation. But no physical real presence, whether Catholic or Lutheran, could Reformed theologians bring themselves to affirm. Nicholas Ridley in his A Treatise agaynst the Errour of Transubstantiation echoed the views of Bucer, Vermigli, and Calvin, if not all their complex arguments.5 I If it is relatively easy to specify how early Anglicans related to Luther’s Eucharistic theology (that is, as Martinians rather than as Lutherans), it is somewhat more difficult to specify precisely how they related to Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith alone. The problem is not with Thomas Cranmer, who is clear enough, but with Luther scholarship, which seems unable to agree about the best way of interpreting Luther. Finnish scholar­ ship in particular has challenged what the Finns have labeled a Kantian way of reading Luther that does not, in their view, do justice to Luther’s pre-Kantian ontology. One does not have to agree with the Finns on every point (as I do not) to realize that Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith alone is often misstated and even more frequently misunderstood. Part of the misunderstanding rests on the categories that are used to explain what Luther had in mind. For example, the bishops at the Roman Catholic Council of Trent committed an enormous category error in their reading of Luther when they explained justification by faith alone as justi­ fication by credulitas, faith understood as an intellectual assent by believ­ ers to what they regarded as orthodox Christian teaching. The catch, as the Tridentine fathers cheerfully pointed out, was that orthodoxy by itself does not and cannot justify. After all, “the devils also believe and tremble.” Every wicked spirit from Lucifer to Screwtape is as primly ortho­ dox as saints Peter and Paul. Heterodoxy is not an illusion devils allow themselves. 5 T.H.L. Parker, ed., English Reformers (Louisville: WJKP, 1966), 289–320.

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But mere orthodoxy understood as fastidiously correct belief, does not justify, however laudable correct belief may be. Faith only justifies, Trent insists, when it is infused by the virtue of love. What does justify therefore is not faith alone (understood as correct belief) but the “faith that works by love” (what the scholastics called faith formed by love). All of this would have been to the point if what Luther had meant by justification by faith alone was justification by mere belief, thus paying an enormous and undeserved compliment to the justifying power of correct doctrinal formulations. But he didn’t, so it doesn’t. Trent condemned as Luther’s teaching an error Luther himself condemned.6 When Luther talked about justification by faith alone he was talking about justification by faith as fiducia or trust. If Augustine analyzed the human predicament by asking the fundamental question, “Whom do you love?”, Luther asked the related but equally fundamental question, “Whom do you trust?” Justification by faith alone is about trusting the true God who can in fact make good on every promise given to poor erring human­ ity, however improbable such a hopeful outcome may appear to common sense and prudential reason. Unfortunately the human race has been already seduced by the empty promises of all the little gods who cram themselves into every nook and cranny of the social and intellectual world human beings inhabit. These little gods fancy themselves as serious rivals of the God and Father of Jesus Christ. Unfortunately, all of them without exception are utterly unworthy of trust and inevitably let their adherents down, sometimes gently, sometimes with a nerve-shattering thud. Luther does not accept the notion that human beings are ever reli­ giously neutral. Whatever one puts one’s final trust in, whether wealth or beauty or power or justice or reason or sex or even human decency, that is one’s god. It may be enormously admirable or dangerously selfdestructive. But if that object of trust is the last thing one clings to when all else fails, if it is the last refuge to be abandoned in the face of inevitable calamity, then it is one’s god, whatever other name it may bear. That is what Luther means when he says that faith creates gods and idols. If the ultimate object of trust is not the true God, but only an illusion, a transi­ tory deceit of the mind’s eye, then it is an idol and like all other idols will prove utterly and disastrously unworthy of trust.7 6 The best treatment of the sessions of Trent in which the doctrine of justification is discussed and defined is still Hubert Jedin, A History of the Council of Trent, vol. 2 (New York: Nelson, 1961). 7 Martin Luther, Large Catechism I.1–2, in Triglot Concordia: The Symbolical Books of the Evangelical Lutheran Church (St. Louis: Concordia, 1921), 565.



martin luther among the early anglicans7

Justification, however, reorients faith. It redirects the faith of the justi­ fied to the only God worthy of trust. In the end, everyone justified by faith alone is a former idolater, in fact if not in name. Former idolaters know by sad experience what it means to trust what is not, and can never be, wor­ thy of trust. In the recent past, Luther’s doctrine of justification was often explained by reading it through the lens of the Formula of Concord (1577), a Lutheran confession of faith written more than thirty years after Luther’s death. In this reading Luther made a sharp distinction between justification or what Christ has done for believers (Christus pro nobis) and sanctification or what Christ has done and is doing in believers (Christus in nobis). It is a distinction famously made by Philip Melanchthon and widely accepted in Protestant circles ever since.8 In this formulation justification is understood to be an entirely forensic act in which the righteousness of Christ is imputed to the believing man or woman, who is clothed with a righteousness of which he or she is not the author. Justification understood in this way is regarded more as a change in legal status before God than as an inner transformation, though this change in status provides the indispensable basis for an inner renewal of the self. Justification is logically distinct but temporally simultaneous. That is, it never occurs alone but coincides with a transformative act called regeneration (or new birth) and marks the beginning of a slow transfor­ mative process called sanctification. Still critics (and not all of them Finnish) have wondered where in all this forensic activity is the Pauline theme of union with Christ. Union with Christ seems primarily reserved for the work of sanctifica­ tion. Unlike justification, sanctification is not, and never can be, com­ pleted in this lifetime. Justification is a momentary act completed as soon as faith flickers into life; sanctification a slow process that does not end before death, even in very great saints. I cannot say that Luther never made use of this sharp distinction between justification and sanctification or quoted Melanchthon’s views without at least some degree of approval. What I can say is that making a sharp distinction between justification and sanctification is not at all typi­ cal of the theological account Luther customarily gave when he explained what he thought Paul meant by justification by faith alone. 8 One of the best introductions of Luther’s thought from a more traditional perspective is Paul Althaus, The Theology of Martin Luther (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1966).

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What is typical of Luther is to call the whole process—justification and sanctification— justification by faith alone.9 It is a process that extends over the whole life of the believer. Its basis is disconcertingly simple and never shifts. On the first day of one’s spiritual life as well as on the last day of one’s growth in grace the terms remain the same. Any person who is justified by faith alone is justified by faith alone, never by faith and some­ thing else. St. Francis of Assisi at the end of his long spiritual pilgrimage and the wobbliest new convert to Christianity taking his or her first steps in faith are justified in exactly same way. Both are justified by faith alone and by nothing else. Justification is therefore not an event over, past, and done, something completed last Tuesday. It is not an act that can now safely be laid aside in order to worry with the more pressing ethical questions of sanctification. Justification is the description of a forgiven and transformed life in which growth in grace never becomes even the partial ground on which one is accepted by God. By faith alone means precisely that: alone. The Law of God plays its own important role in justification, not so much as a manual of rules to follow (though Luther can ring the changes on the ten commandments with the best of them) but as a holy demand that cannot be met, a demand that strips away illusions and drives even the greatest saint to cling more tightly to Christ. Indeed, the greater the saint, the greater the perception of sin. Progress in the spiritual life is often experienced as no progress at all. But it is precisely those who cling tightly to Christ and despair of their own virtues who are transformed by Christ. In the end, it is never possible to grow past union with Christ. In that sense, a Christian is always a beginner. Luther’s early reflections on justification made use of the image of a spiritual marriage between Christ and the Christian. This image rests in turn on a distinction in canon law between property (whatever belongs to one by right) and possession (whatever one has the undisputed use of). In any marriage a bride and groom bring to the relationship what belongs by right to them and gain the right to make use of the property of the other. This fact lays the groundwork for what Augustine called the commercium admirabile, the happy exchange. Christians bring their property (that is, their sins) to Christ, who takes possession of them and takes them away. 9 For a brief introduction to Luther’s earliest reflections on justification see my Luther and Staupitz: An Essay in the Intellectual Origins of the Protestant Reformation (Durham: Duke, 1980), 78–92. It is striking how many of Luther’s mature themes are already in his earliest lectures on the Psalms.



martin luther among the early anglicans9

Christ brings his righteousness to Christians, who gain the rightful use of a righteousness which is theirs only by marriage. No one participates in this happy exchange outside the spiritual marriage in which Christ and the Christian are united by faith. No union with Christ, no benefits, not even the forensic attribution of an alien righteousness. Perhaps even this stress on union with Christ may be an underreading of the text from a Finnish perspective. The gift to the Christian through union with Christ is Christ himself: not merely a set of qualities, or a favor­ able but unearned judgment, or a habit of grace.10 It is Christ who protects Christians from sin, death, and devil, and not just Christ’s righteousness. The Christian is clothed with the righteousness of Christ because the Christian is clothed with Christ. Justification is first and foremost about the real presence of Christ.11 Luther does make a sharp distinction of his own between human life in relationship to God (coram Deo) and human life in relationship to others (coram hominibus). Every human being stands in these two fundamental relationships, which are governed by very different principles. These rela­ tionships must always be kept distinct and never confused, even though they intersect in every human being. Confusion of life before God with life before the world is a never-failing formula for bad theology. In relationship to God the Christian is always a recipient who receives gifts and never an agent who gives them. The idea of meritorious gifts to God is for Luther utter nonsense. Christians cannot give gifts to God, not because their gifts are flawed or inadequate or done from mixed motives (which, of course, they are), but because God did not ask for them. They are worse than imperfect; they are embarrassingly irrelevant. Life before God is life governed by the gospel. God asks for faith, not works, and gives the faith for which he asks. Charles Wesley put Luther’s point very well when he wrote: What shall I render to my God For all his mercy’s store? I’ll take the gifts he hath bestowed And humbly ask for more! 10 His 1535 Commentary on Galatians runs very much in this direction. See, for example, this quotation: “But the reason why faith makes us just is that it seizes Christ, the noble and precious treasure, and keeps him present.” Cited by Margarete Steiner and Percy Scott, trans., Day By Day We Magnify Thee (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1950), 240. 11 The best introduction to the Finnish school of Luther research is Carl E. Braaten, Union with Christ: The New Finnish Interpretation of Luther (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998).

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In relationship to the world around them Christians are liberated by God to do good works and give those works without qualification, reserva­ tions, or hidden conditions to their neighbors. For Luther, neighbors are not people who live in geographical proximity (though they, too, may be neighbors in the biblical sense). Neighbors are all the people, wherever they live and whoever they may be, with whom one comes in contact. The answer to the question who is my neighbor is disarmingly simple. Your neighbor may be (and is very likely) the very next person you encounter. Christians are called to be Christ to these neighbors, to share with others the unqualified love of which they have been the cheerful beneficiaries. In this sphere, good works, however flawed and imperfect, are anything but irrelevant. They are the lifeblood of a justified existence. To be Christ to the neighbor is one aspect of Christian ethics. To see Christ in the neighbor is the other.12 After all, God is not sick or in prison, not widowed, not an orphan, not starving or homeless or impoverished. But Christ encounters the justified as someone sick, imprisoned, wid­ owed, orphaned, homeless, and impoverished. The annoying man at the intersection with a sign that says “will work for food” may in fact be Jesus Christ hidden under an off-putting dissonant appearance no one expected. “Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.” The words from the Gospel form a text that Luther can­ not and will not ignore. Christians should not give good works to the exalted Christ, who does not need them, but to the lowly neighbor who clearly does. Seeing and serving Christ in the neighbor lies at the heart of Christian ethics as Luther understands them. In his Preface to his translation of Romans, Luther seems genuinely amazed that anyone who is justified by faith would ask about a proper motivation for doing good works, as though there were an alternative. The inquirer only proves by this question that he or she knows no more about faith, works, or anything else that matters in justification than a cow knows about geometry. A Christian does good works as an apple tree bears apples. Before anyone even raises a question about good works, Christians have already done them. What will not work as a strategy is to preach to the apple tree on bear­ ing pears, however eloquent the preacher or moving the illustrations. Lecturing the unrighteous on bearing the fruits of the Spirit will yield 12 WA 20:514: “See that you do not fail to see me. I shall be close to you in every poor and wretched man, who is in need of your help and teaching, I am there right in the midst. Whether you do little for him or much, you do it unto me.”



martin luther among the early anglicans11

similarly disappointing results. St. Paul, after all, was not an Aristotelian, who thought the habit of virtue was the result of the repeated practice of virtuous acts. In Luther’s view Aristotle had it backwards. The righteous do what is righteous, freely, spontaneously, maybe even gleefully, because they are united to Christ, a simple principle but unfailingly accurate. II Thomas Cranmer was more knowledgeable about Luther and Lutheranism than most English theologians of his generation.13 He had not only been an active participant in the group who gathered in the 1520s in the White Horse Inn in Cambridge to discuss Luther’s writings, but also served in 1532 as an ambassador of Henry VIII to the court of the Emperor Charles V. During that period, Cranmer lived for several months in Nuremberg, where he met the principal Lutheran reformer of that city, Andreas Osiander. He also wooed and married Osiander’s niece, Margaret, a risky thing for a future Archbishop of Canterbury to do in Henry’s England, where clerical celibacy was still expected and enforced. Even after he returned to England, Cranmer maintained a lively corre­ spondence with Osiander, an often stubborn and difficult man who had a genuine gift for turning potential allies like John Calvin into real enemies. Osiander was perhaps best known among Lutherans as an unremit­ ting  critic of Melanchthon. What Osiander particularly loathed was Melanchthon’s sharp division of justification from sanctification and his reduction of justification to a forensic act.14 If the Finnish school of Luther studies had existed in his time, he would have joined it, though, it must be admitted, he defended some positions the Finns do not. Nevertheless both share a strong accent on union with Christ as the heart of Luther’s doctrine of justification. In any event, Cranmer was well aware of the division of Osiander from Melanchthon and the possibility of Osiander’s alternative readings of Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith alone. 13 In 1548 Cranmer issued an English catechism, A Short Instruction into Christian Religion. The Short Instruction was a translation of the Nuremberg Catechism and consisted of catechetical sermons based on Luther’s Small Catechism. The sermons were almost cer­ tainly written by Osiander for young German catechumens and translated into Latin by Justus Jonas. 14 For a brief introduction of Andreas Osiander see my Reformers in the Wings, 2nd ed. (New York: OUP, 2001), 64–69. See also the bibliography on 181.

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Cranmer oversaw in 1547 the publication of the First Book of Homilies. The book was sent to English bishops during the early months of the reign of Edward VI and distributed by their archdeacons to the priests and par­ ishes of their diocese. The homilies came to the parishes, not only as aids to preaching, but as official statements of the kind of teaching expected in a properly reformed Church of England. If the Reformation agenda of the homilies had been missed by anyone when they were first issued in the reign of Edward VI, their real purpose was reiterated in the early months of reign of Elizabeth I. For example, in the Anglican statement of faith, the Thirty-Nine Articles of 1563, the Elizabethan text declares: “Wherefore, that we are justified by Faith only is a most wholesome Doctrine, and very full of comfort, as more largely is expressed in the Homily of Justification.” The homily in question was Cranmer’s “Homily of the Salvation of Mankind.” Cranmer may also have written the adjoining homilies “On the True and Lively Faith” and “Of Good Works Annexed unto Faith,” though that is by no means clear.15 However, since every clergyman in England was required by statute in 1571 to sign the Thirty-Nine Articles with its specific reference to the homily “Of Salvation,” the erstwhile Marian Catholic was left no escape from agreeing to Cranmer’s official teaching on justification by faith alone, that or lose his position. Bishop Gardiner for his part had no doubt from read­ ing Cranmer’s homily that his Metropolitan “would have taught how faith excluded charity in the office of justifying.”16 The Articles themselves on justification and good works are quite brief. Justification is about being “accounted righteous,” though whether that means because of a forensic act or union with Christ or both is difficult to tell.17 The ground of justification is Christ’s merit and nothing else, cer­ tainly no good works sinners can do to justify themselves before God. The Articles regard all works done prior to justification as sinful and unpleas­ ing to God because they were not done in faith. This means that no works performed by unjustified men and women can be merits of congruity (a kind of half-merit that rests on God’s generosity rather than the actual worth of the work performed). Works of supererogation (“Voluntary Works besides, over, and above, God’s Commandments”) are also dis­ missed out of hand, since even the greatest saints must confess they are unprofitable servants. And, in a sentence Luther would have loved, the 15 The text of these homilies is found in Parker, English Reformers, 262–286. 16 Cited by Parker in his introduction to the Homilies, in English Reformers, 257. 17 I cite the 1571 English version of the 1563 Articles.



martin luther among the early anglicans13

Articles insist that good works “spring necessarily out of a true and lively faith,” a “faith…as evidently known as a tree discerned by the fruit.” While Luther would have a good deal more to say, there is nothing in these Articles on justification uncongenial to his thought. The homily repeats the points made in the Thirty-Nine Articles and expands them slightly. Cranmer wants his hearers to know that justifica­ tion by faith is by faith alone and by nothing else. The good works of the not yet justified are regarded by God as sinful, not only because they are hopelessly flawed and imperfect but, even more importantly, because they are not works done in faith. Faith therefore becomes part of the defi­ nition of virtue. Just as Augustine had insisted that works not motivated by the selfless love of God and neighbor were only splendid vices, so Cranmer insisted that so-called good works that do not spring from a lively trust and confidence in God can never be regarded as truly good. No faith, no virtue. While the good works of Christians done in faith are acceptable to God, they are still flawed and imperfect, and cannot under any circumstances be offered to God as merits that will supplement the work of Christ. The atonement of Christ does not need to be supplemented. It is not flawed, imperfect, or inadequate to justify the most doubtful candidate for divine mercy. Justification by faith is therefore justification by faith alone or it is not justification at all. Cranmer wants to ward off the error of critics, who, like the bishops of the Council of Trent, think that faith is a mere intellectual assent to true doctrine. Trust and confidence are the words that come readily to Cranmer’s lips when the subject is justifying faith. Like Luther, Cranmer regards the justified as people who have risked their lives on the promises of God and who have trusted therefore what is in fact utterly trustworthy. But their confidence receives no additional guarantees that make faith superfluous or lessen the psychological weight of the risk they have taken. Cranmer is also eager to guard against the notion that it is faith that justifies, when it is Christ who justifies. Faith links the justified man or woman to Christ, but the agent of justification is, and remains, Christ alone. Cranmer seems to have nothing to say about the dispute between Melanchthon and Osiander over the correct reading of Luther on the dis­ puted issue of justification as imputation or justification as the result of union with Christ. Perhaps the issue was too difficult to be raised in the context of parish preaching or at least too difficult for 1547. What Cranmer does stress over and over again is the atoning work of Christ, conceived largely along Anselmian lines. If Osiander is the apostle

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of the work of Christ in nobis, Cranmer is the evangelist of the objective work of Christ pro nobis. Unlike Cranmer, Luther is particularly fond of the Christus Victor approach to Christ’s atonement, stressing the fact that Jesus Christ has taken the side of poor erring humanity against the formi­ dable enemies that oppress it, especially sin, death, and devil. Christ has broken the power of these enemies by his cross and resurrection, and set the oppressed free. Luther can also use themes from Pierre Abelard that stress human alienation from God as the principal problem overcome by the cross. But Luther is never as dedicated to Anselm’s theory of the atonement as Cranmer is. Cranmer wants to talk about the atonement as a “ransom” and about the violated justice of God that must be satisfied in order to release the full saving power of the mercy of God. It is clear for Cranmer that it is God the Father to whom the atoning work of Christ is directed. Therefore confidence and trust in Christ’s atonement lie at the heart of justification by faith alone as Cranmer understands it. It is not a point that Luther is quick to make, but also not a point that Luther would not readily concede. T.M. Parker once remarked that Cranmer had offered a moderate ver­ sion of the doctrine of justification by faith alone.18 It is difficult to see what he meant. If he meant that Cranmer never mentioned in his homi­ lies the forensic imputation of Christ’s righteousness to the believer or offered any of Osiander’s criticisms of this construction of Luther’s teach­ ing, he was certainly correct. If, on the other hand, he meant that Cranmer had tried to find a middle way between Luther and Rome, he was certainly wrong. There had been repeated attempts to find a theological middle way between Luther and Rome, first at Regensburg and later at the Council of Trent itself. The proposed compromise was called the doctrine of double justice and merged a traditional Catholic base with a more or less Lutheran superstructure. Unfortunately, the Catholic way of salvation left Christians at death not yet fit to share the beatific vision or stand in the presence of a holy God. The advocates of double justice therefore argued that the merits of Christ would be imputed to Christians in sufficient quantity at death to make up for any shortfall in their inherent righteousness. Inherent righteousness was a product of the believer’s lifelong cooperation with infused grace. The compromise formula of inherent righteousness plus a 18 T.M. Parker, The English Reformation to 1558 (Oxford: OUP, 1950), 124.



martin luther among the early anglicans15

supplementary imputation of Christ’s merits ultimately failed, cordially hated by both Luther and Rome. T.H.L. Parker was puzzled by T.M. Parker’s use of the word “moderate” and asked how any doctrine of justification by faith alone could be moder­ ate, when every other alternative to “faith alone” (faith and something else; indeed, faith and anything else) was in principle excluded.19 While Anglicans who signed the Thirty-Nine Articles in good faith and read the First Book of Homilies in agreement with Cranmer might be Martinian on the question of the nature of the Eucharist, they were staunchly Lutheran in their understanding of justification by faith alone. Stephen Gardiner saw that shining and obvious fact immediately when he read Cranmer’s homily in 1547. Cranmer like Luther had removed love from the “office of justifying,” though not from the life of faith. In the end both men held that justification is by faith alone or it is not by faith at all.

19 Parker, English Reformers, 257.

PHILIP MELANCHTHON AND WITTENBERG’S REFORM OF THE THEOLOGICAL CURRICULUM Timothy J. Wengert The Reformation of the Western church, sparked by Martin Luther’s 95 Theses of 1517, instigated a series of institutional crises not simply for the papacy and its supporters but even more seriously for the Evangelicals. During the 1520s, new forms for liturgy, preaching, music and church order, among other things, developed in Wittenberg, electoral Saxony and elsewhere. For the University of Wittenberg itself, however, which could of course boast of having originated the entire affair, change developed relatively slowly. After 1525, for example, the granting of theological doctorates, a right granted by the pope at the university’s founding in 1502, came to a complete standstill.1 For the arts faculty, change came more quickly, instigated during the rectorate of Philip Melanchthon in 1523–1524.2 Here, at least according to the reconstruction by Heinz Scheible, Melanchthon went far beyond the humanist additions to the medieval curriculum for the humanities undertaken in 1518 (at which time Melanchthon became professor of Greek) in that he eliminated all vestiges of lectures on Aristotle according to the medieval viae.3 In this reform, classic languages (Latin, Greek and Hebrew) and Melanchthon’s own unique approaches to grammar, rhetoric, and dialectics (the medieval trivium) dominated. Wittenberg’s so-called “other reformer” also instituted, alongside disputations, the regular holding of

1 See Karl Förstemann, ed., Liber Decanorum facultatis theologicae Academiae Vitebergensis (Leipzig: Tauchnitz, 1838), 28. 2 See Timothy J. Wengert, “Higher Education and Vocation: The University of Wittenberg (1517–1533) between Renaissance and Reform,” in The Lutheran Doctrine of Vocation, ed. John A. Maxfield (St. Louis: Concordia Historical Institute, 2008), 1–21. 3 See Heinz Scheible, “Aristoteles und die Wittenberger Universitätsreform,” originally published in Humanismus und Wittenberger Reformation, ed. Wartenberg and Beyer (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1996), 123–144, now in Heinz Scheible, Aufsätze zu Melanchthon (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 125–151; and his 1999 presentation at the Luther Congress, “Die Reform von Schule und Universität in der Reformationszeit,” originally published in Luther-Jahrbuch 67 (1999): 237–262, now in H. Scheible, Aufsätze, 152– 172. See also his “Die Philosophische Fakultät der Universität Wittenberg von der Gründung bis zur Vertreibung der Philippisten,” now in H. Scheible, Aufsätze, 91–124.

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academic declamations, many of which he then wrote for students to deliver over the next four decades.4 The reform of the theological faculty, which de facto began with the accession of Elector John the Steadfast to the electorship in 1525 and his appointment of Luther and Melanchthon to special chairs, culminated in 1533 (at the beginning of his son John Frederick’s rule) with the development of new statutes, written by Melanchthon and shaped by his theological interests. This essay analyzes these regulations and measures their importance for the early routinizing of theological training in Protestant lands. Richard A. Muller has spent a lifetime cataloguing developments in the later Reformation, especially among Reformed churches and theologians. This work investigates the beginnings of a peculiarly Wittenberg and Melanchthonian approach to theological reform. In these statutes we discover that central aspects of Melanchthon’s approach to theology, pedagogy, and ecclesiology came to full expression and thus contributed to the development of uniquely Lutheran churches. They successfully shaped several generations of Lutheran theologians—friends and foes alike—so that Melanchthon’s distinctive brand of doing Evangelical theology became hardwired into every candidate for doctor of theology, not simply through his writings and lectures but also through the very rules governing the life of Wittenberg’s theology faculty and its granting of degrees.5 The Changed Situation of 1533 Wittenberg’s refusal to issue doctorates in theology during the decade before 1533 may indicate a certain uncertainty, precipitated by the Reformation, about whether the university retained degree-granting rights. In the late-medieval university, degrees were granted in a pub­ lic  defense of theses, presided over by a master teacher in the faculty (a Master of Arts in the case of the humanities; a doctor [Latin for teacher] of theology, medicine, or law in the higher faculties). These degrees gave the recipients certain rights to teach. Although masters of arts degrees were awarded already in the 1520s in Wittenberg, after 1525 all granting of 4 See Horst Koehn, “Philip Melanchthons Reden: Verzeichnis der im 16. Jahrhundert erschienenen Drucke,” Archiv für Geschichte des Buchwesens 25 (1984): 1277–1495. 5 For Melanchthon’s influence on “foes,” see Robert Kolb, “Philipp’s Foes, but Followers Nonetheless: Late Humanism among the Gnesio-Lutherans,” in The Harvest of Humanism in Central Europe, ed. Fleischer (St. Louis: Concordia, 1992), 159–177.



reform of the theological curriculum19

theological doctorates ceased. Not only were the rights of the university to grant such degrees under question, the very progress toward that degree— beginning with a Bachelor of Bible, proceeding to the rank of Sententiarius (the right to lecture independently on Peter Lombard’s Sentences) and finally to doctor theologiae (teacher of theology)—implied agreement with the very late-medieval approach to theology that no longer obtained in Wittenberg. Indeed, Melanchthon, who received his Bachelor of Bible under Luther’s supervision in 1519, short-circuited his own progress toward a doctorate, then refusing to lecture on Lombard and instead lecturing on a set of theological topics derived from Paul’s letter to the Romans—lectures published in 1521 as his Loci communes. Moreover, as had already been the case for von Staupitz and Luther, Wittenberg’s academic tradition emphasized lectures on the biblical text by its professors. This meant that, having received the license to lecture on the Latin text of the Bible in 1519, Melanchthon already possessed the only right he would need to continue this work in the theological faculty right up until the end of his life in 1560. In the 1530s, however, the ad hoc arrangements for teaching of the 1520s, which saw a parade of theological teachers and students in Wittenberg’s classrooms (including Andreas Karlstadt, Nicholas von Amsdorff, Justus Jonas, Francois Lambert, and Johannes Bugenhagen— not to mention Luther and Melanchthon), no longer could provide enough official lecturers. Caspar Cruciger, Sr., who had spent the late 1520s in Magdeburg with Nicholas von Amsdorff in order to improve his public speaking abilities, and Bugenhagen, who lacked a doctorate in theology, were waiting in the wings for some manner of public recognition of their relationship with the university. Moreover, by the 1530s Wittenberg’s central role in training ministerial candidates meant that other Evangelical territories were seeking to have the leaders of their churches obtain the appropriate authorization to teach and direct their congregations. The appearance of old heresies in new dress (promulgated by such thinkers as Hans Denck, Johannes Campanus, and others) also put renewed pressure on the Evangelicals to safeguard what they regarded as the pure teaching of the gospel. Perhaps even more importantly, the breakdown in negotiations at the Diet of Augsburg in 1530 led to an emerging self-awareness among the Evangelical signers of the Augsburg Confession.6 Just as Elector John’s 6 See Robert Kolb, Confessing the Faith: Reformers Define the Church, 1530–1580 (St. Louis: Concordia, 1991), 13–62.

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unilateral decision in 1527 to instigate a visitation of the churches in his territories had contributed to the Emperor Charles V’s calling of the diet in Augsburg to discuss the religious crisis in the Empire, so now the complete breakdown of those discussions and the imperial decree mandating acceptance of the Confutation of the Augsburg Confession, coupled with the freedom harbingered in the Nuremberg Armistice of 1532, precipitated  the granting of theological degrees by the University of Witten­ berg  and the performance of ordinations especially under the aegis of Wittenberg’s general superintendent, Johannes Bugenhagen. With Elector John’s death in 1532, the University now had a perfect opportunity, under his son and new elector, John Frederick, to reconstitute the theological faculty and its curriculum along strictly Evangelical lines. For this job, no one was more ready and able than Philip Melanchthon, whose students would later designate him Praeceptor Germaniae, teacher of Germany. Years as teacher in both the humanities and theology and his role as chief drafter of the Augsburg Confession and as author of its defense against the Confutatio (the Apology of the Augsburg Confession from 1531) made him the perfect (and only) candidate for writing new statutes for the theological faculty. What he then developed wove together all of his theological predilections: a respect for humanist training in languages, the centrality of training in the Bible (according to his own exegetical principles), and the need for rules of faith—old and new. These curricular innovations influenced generations of theologians trained in Wittenberg who then eagerly spread this model to other parts of the Holy Roman Empire. The Theological Statutes of 1533 The first lines of the statutes for the theological faculty demonstrated the decisive role played by the presentation of the Augsburg Confession in 1530. “As in the churches of our realm and in the lower level schools, so also in the university … we desire the teaching of the gospel consonant with the confession that we presented in Augsburg in 1530 to the Emperor Charles.”7 What had begun as an act of confession of faith before a hostile emperor on 25 June 1530 had already become a measure of true teaching in Saxony, so that the statutes continue, “We have established this teaching to be the true and perpetual consensus of the catholic church of God, to be piously and faithfully put forth, conserved and propagated.” As these words make 7 UUW, 154 (no. 171).



reform of the theological curriculum21

clear, the Augsburg Confession’s authority for Saxony’s churches rested on its content (so that “this teaching” is said to be a true and faithful consensus) and on its appeal, crucial to the negotiation in Augsburg, to its catholicity.8 Yet the sense that the Confession represents a norm for teaching was also clear from the series of passive infinitives (proponi, conservari et propagari). As Heiko Oberman has argued, the promulgation of the Confutatio by the Emperor spurred the development of Protestant and Roman Catholic orthodoxy, a movement implied by these three verbs.9 The worry over a new outbreak of old heresies, sparked among other things by the brief visit of the anti-Trinitarian Johannes Campanus to Wittenberg in 1530, led Melanchthon to include a warning against aberrations in Trinitarian doctrine: “We most strictly prohibit the spreading and defense of old heresies condemned in the synods of Nicea, Constantinople, Ephesus and Chalcedon.”10 Not satisfied simply to admit assent to these doctrines, Melanchthon added a crucial connection to biblical truth: “We assent [to these doctrines] and judge them to have been handed down in apostolic writings in a sure and certain way.” He then defined which synodical decrees were binding by referring again to the Augsburg Confession.11 Rather than view this as a symptom of the conservative or even reactionary character of Wittenberg’s reform, these opening comments on what this first article labeled as the “Types of Teaching” (genera doctrinae), demonstrate its commitment to the continuity of the church catholic’s teaching and simultaneously to what later Lutherans designated as “the creed [symbolum] of our time,” the Augsburg Confession.12 This guaranteed that unlike in other Protestant churches, many of the later struggles among Lutherans focused on that confession of faith, its authority, and its interpretation.13   8 See, for example, the conclusion to the first part of the CA (in BC, 59), quoting from the Latin: “As can be seen, there is nothing here that departs from the Scriptures or the catholic church, or from the Roman church, insofar as we can tell from its writers.”   9 Heiko A. Oberman, “Dichtung und Wahrheit: Das Wesen der Reformation aus der Sicht der Confutatio,” in Confessio Augustana und Confutatio, ed. Iserloh (Münster: Aschendorff, 1980), 217–242. 10 UUW, 154. 11 CA I.5 (BC, 36) mentions the Manichaeans, the Valentinians, the Arians, the Eunomians, the Mohammedans (universally understood at this time as a Christian heresy) and the Samosatenians—old and new (a reference to Johannes Campanus). 12 See the Formula of Concord, Solid Declaration, Binding Summary, 5 (BC, 527). 13 See, for example, Andreas Osiander’s attack on the Augsburg Confession and Wittenberg doctorates, recently described in Wengert, Defending Faith: Lutheran Responses to Andreas Osiander’s Doctrine of Justification, 1551–1559 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 16–21, 328–330.

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The rest of the document outlined the workings of the theological faculty, beginning in article two with the designation of four professors, subjected to the university rector, admitted to positions based on the agreement of the faculty and on their possession of a “public testimony of a doctoral degree gained from this institution or from others.”14 Teachers of this “college” had responsibility to run the affairs of the faculty “by common counsel” and “chiefly [to] preserve concord in doctrine.” This admonition, which (despite tensions) Luther and Melanchthon held to throughout their tenure at the University, marked a highly prized goal of the Wittenberg reformation: theology done by conversation rather than fiat.15 In direct line with this, the compilers of The Book of Concord, several of whom had studied at Wittenberg, placed the word Concordia in the book’s title. In the event that teachers came from other institutions, the statutes insisted that they be publicly examined and that all who either received a doctorate at this institution or came from elsewhere “promise that they will faithfully follow and defend this consensus of teaching.”16 The third article focused on the teaching responsibilities of the four professors. At all times [semper] one was to lecture on a book of the Old Testament and another on a book of the New. In large measure, this concentration on biblical lectures went back to the founding of the University and the early lectures of Johann von Staupitz and, above all, his successor Martin Luther, who began lectures on the Psalms in 1513 and followed them with lectures on Romans, Galatians, and Hebrews before returning to the Psalms. What changed, however, was not the concentration on biblical lectures but the elimination of scholastic lectures on the Sentences of Peter Lombard. Not content to designate generally such biblical preaching, Melanchthon then listed specific books of the Bible to concentrate on “most wisely”: Romans, the Gospel of John, the Psalms, Genesis and Isaiah. Stressing these books revealed an important aspect of Melanchthon’s own construal of good theology: “For these books can most greatly instruct the students about the chief loci of Christian doctrine [de praecipuis locis doctrinae christianae].”17 The point of repeated lectures on these books was 14 UUW, 154 (art. II). 15 See Wengert, “Luther and Melanchthon - Melanchthon and Luther,” Luther-Jahrbuch 66 (1999): 55–88, now in Wengert, Philip Melanchthon, Speaker of the Reformation: Wittenberg’s Other Reformer (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2010), no. X. 16 UUW, 155. Matthias Flacius, a teacher at Wittenberg until 1548, left in part because he knew that his position would have broken that promised consensus. 17 UUW, 155 (art. III). This puts the lie to the oft-repeated claim that Wittenberg ­theology was exclusively Pauline. From the outset, it included lectures on a wide variety of



reform of the theological curriculum23

the same as Luther’s much earlier advice to readers of his translation of the New Testament in 1522, so that students could get to the heart of Christian teaching. This third article, however, contained more of Philip’s approach to Christian doctrine than simply his preference for biblical lectures. It also mandated that one of the instructors regularly lecture on Augustine’s On the Spirit and the Letter. Although this directive was not as assiduously followed as the preceding, we do find in the early 1540s a Wittenberg printing of Augustine’s tract, with Melanchthon’s preface, in preparation for lectures by Bugenhagen.18 Again, Melanchthon provided justification for these lectures, “so that the students may see that the teaching of our churches has the testimonies of educated Fathers.” The testimonia Patrum, a phrase that Melanchthon also employed in the Augsburg Confession, constituted one of the important aspects of his theological program, especially demonstrated in the Apology of the Augsburg Confession and in later editions of the Loci communes, where testimonies from the fathers comprise a major contribution to the book.19 Melanchthon refused to leave this article at that. Having experienced late-medieval scholastic lectures at both Heidelberg and Tübingen and fully supporting humanist critiques of the same, he included a warning against a return to the infighting that marked much of that form of teaching.20 Indeed, one cannot rightly understand Wittenberg’s theology outside of the blend of humanism and Evangelical doctrine that marked all of their teaching. Moreover, in expositions let simple truth be openly sought after, according to God’s command, and may it be explained both rightly and properly and with a perspicacious type of speech. Neither let the professors play around with ambiguous concealments, nor let them either accuse or insult colleagues in any public lectures or disputations. But let whoever would do these things be punished by the severe judgment of the entire university.21

biblical literature. However, Wittenberg rejected the notion of a lectio continua in Sunday preaching or in weekly lectures in favor of a concentration, typical for Wittenbergers, on what they regarded as the most important books. 18 See Wengert, “Philip Melanchthon and Augustine of Hippo,” LQ 22 (2008): 249–267, now in Wengert, Philip Melanchthon, Speaker, no. IV. 19 See especially, Peter Fraenkel, Testimonia Patrum: The Function of the Patristic Argument in the Theology of Philip Melanchthon (Geneva: Droz, 1961). 20 See Erika Rommel, The Humanist-Scholastic Debate in the Renaissance and the Reformation (Cambridge: HUP, 1995). 21 UUW, 155.

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Even more important than the standard warnings against internecine warfare within the theology faculty, was Melanchthon’s plea for simplicity, truth, correctness, and clarity. All of his work in rhetoric and dialectics for the arts faculty and his theological production as well bore witness to this goal. Indeed, in a later struggle with Andreas Osiander, the Königsberg professor accused Melanchthon of a complete lack of clarity, a very serious charge for someone who staked his reputation on the opposite.22 Melanchthon knew strife in academia not only over theological ideas but also over far more mundane things, so that his fourth article insisted that professors not schedule courses at the same time of day and that they distribute the teaching load “without conflicts born of ambition but openly and peacefully.”23 Again, as befitted someone as interested in good morals for this life as in good theology for the next, Melanchthon provided the underlying motivation for regulating such matters, here combining his vision of the academy with his understanding of the church. “For it is most greatly worthy for this theological assembly [coetus] to be a place ruled by the best people [aristocraticum], truly and heartily [ex animo] subject to the glory of God, the welfare of the church and tranquility.” Of course, the current habit, especially in Germany, of separating theological education from the needs of the church had no place in Melanchthon’s thinking. Indeed, he understood both the need for an assembly of the best people (using a neologism from Greek, aristocraticum) but subject to God and the church. Here, too, we find mention of tranquility as a goal for life in the theological faculty. Although some biographers of Melanchthon have assumed that he fulfilled this mandate in his own behavior,24 this statute’s ideal meant that Melanchthon, despite his often caustic remarks and attacks on former students, would often cloak his behavior in this, to use Heinz Scheible’s word for it, psychogram, all the more to tip the theological debates of the era in his favor.25 Nevertheless, he also cherished

22 See Wengert, Defending Faith, 302–310. 23 UUW, 155 (art. IV). 24 See, especially, Clyde Manschreck, Melanchthon: The Quiet Reformer (New York: Abingdon, 1958). 25 See Heinz Scheible, “Luther and Melanchthon,” LQ 4 (1990): 317–339; Wengert, “The Day Melanchthon Got Mad: A Study in Lutheran Ecclesiology,” LQ 6 (1991): 419–433; and Wengert, “‘Not by Nature Philoneikos’: Philip Melanchthon’s Initial Reactions to the Augsburg Interim,” in Politik und Bekenntnis, ed. Dingel and Wartenberg (Leipzig: Evan­ gelische Verlagsanstalt, 2007), 33–49; now both in Wengert, Philip Melanchthon, Speaker, nos. VII & XIII.



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tranquility, an atmosphere in Wittenberg that Melanchthon maintained throughout his career.26 Article five laid out the basic structure for public disputations, to be held four times a year. First, Melanchthon insisted that they cover material “useful for listeners being educated.”27 But he immediately added two important caveats: first, that the material be shown to the dean of the theological faculty ahead of time, and second, that those who failed to do this would have their disputation postponed until the entire faculty had examined the theses (propositiones). The appeal for peace also arose in article six, which outlined the procedure in case of controversy over “ecclesiastical dogma, and one or more might seem to disturb concord in teaching.”28 The dean of the theological faculty, the rector, and the entire faculty (tota universitas) became involved. In particularly serious cases, even the prince could be called upon to set up suitable judges to examine the case and render a decision. Melanchthon could scarcely have imagined that forty years later, in the 1570s, his own son-in-law would be subject to this very procedure and dismissed from service by an outside panel of judges in the wake of the so-called Crypto-Calvinist, or better CryptoPhilippist, controversy over the Lord’s Supper.29 The last line of this article underscored Melanchthon’s worry over the contumacious spreading of bad doctrine through the very system of disputations designed to create teachers in the church. “Condemned theses may not be defended, and if someone obstinately defends them, he must be restrained with such severity so that he cannot spread bad opinions more broadly.”30 The prevention of the spread of bad teaching—here 26 In this connection, Johannes Agricola’s attack on Luther in the late 1530s and early 1540s represented a severe test of these rules. Luther’s excoriation of lawyers on Wittenberg’s faculty also probably represented a breach of this etiquette. For the former, see Joachim Rogge, Johann Agricolas Lutherverständnis unter besonderer Berücksichtigung des Antinomismus (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1960), 132–210; and for the latter James Estes, “Luther’s Attitude toward the Legal Traditions of His Time,” Luther-Jahrbuch 76 (2009): 77–110. 27 UUW, 155 (art. V). Luther’s disputations from the 1530s, which covered topics such as the authority of the Council of Constance, justification, private masses and secret marriages, demonstrate this concern. See WA 39/1. 28 UUW, 155 (art. VI). 29 Robert Kolb, “Historical Background of the Formula of Concord,” in A Contemporary Look at the Formula of Concord, ed. Preus and Rosin (St. Louis: Concordia, 1978), 12–87, 291–301; Irene Dingel, “Historische Einleitung,” in Die Debatte um die Wittenberger Abendmahlslehre und Christologie (1570–1574), ed. Dingle (Göttingen: V&R, 2008), 3–15. 30 UUW, 156 (art. VI).

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labeled mere opinions—threatened later to turn Evangelical faculties into war zones, with professors defending errant theses and losing their positions with stunning regularity.31 In early modern Evangelical universities, bachelor and master degrees were given in the arts faculty and doctorates in the higher faculties of medicine, law, and theology. Thus, Melanchthon dedicated a large portion of the articles to describing doctoral promotions. Candidates had to have attended six years of lectures by professors of theology at either Wittenberg or another institution that “embraces the pure teaching of the gospel.”32 By 1545, the old medieval intermediate degrees of Bachelor of Bible and Sententiarius disappeared, but in this oldest set of Evangelical statutes, Melanchthon still described a Biblicus as one who knew Romans and John. Here Melanchthon’s unique approach to biblical interpretation shone through the statutes. Indeed, when we discover this method permeating the entire “school” of Wittenberg biblical interpreters, this represents not simply a slavish imitation of the Praeceptor Germaniae but strict adherence to the very statutes of the University.33 It is necessary, however, in learning to see what are the chief loci, what are the causes (initia), culminations (progressiones) and goals (metae) of each doctrine—how we wish to understand the whole. To a great extent, the epistle of Romans shows these loci and goals (metae). Indeed, if you add the doctrine of the Trinity from John’s gospel, you have the whole body of ecclesiastical doctrine.34

The statutes also still called a second degree “Sententiarius” and explained that in the past it was customary to lecture on Peter Lombard’s Sentences. However, because Lombard departed from “the pure teaching of the gospel” in the third book on justification and in the fourth on the sacraments, “therefore now a Sententiarius may lecture on the chief rules of doctrine from Paul [percepta … summa doctrinae ex Paulo] according to the judgment of the dean and senior faculty in theology, [or] some Psalms or something from the prophets.”35 Here again the statutes encapsulated 31 In addition to the Crypto-Philippists in Wittenberg, one thinks of such teachers as Joachim Mörlin (1553: Königsberg), Tileman Hesshus (1560: Heidelberg) and Matthias Flacius (1561: Jena). 32 UUW, 156 (art. VII). 33 See, for example, Georg Major’s work, as described in Wengert, “Georg Major (1502– 1574): Defender of the Wittenberg’s Faith and Melanchthonian Exegete,” in Melanchthon in seinen Schülern, ed. Scheible (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1997), 129–156. 34 UUW, 156. Progressio was a technical term in rhetoric for the gradual buildup of a speech. 35 UUW, 156.



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Melanchthon’s own approach to theology, which moved from biblical interpretation to the Bible’s central themes. It was thus no accident that in the 1550s students such as Tileman Hesshus or Martin Chemnitz held lectures on Melanchthon’s Loci communes theologici, which had quickly become Wittenberg’s equivalent to Lombard’s Sentences.36 This emphasis on the “percepta … summa doctrinae” may also explain why on 23 May 1533 Melanchthon himself commenced a series of lectures that became in 1535 the second edition of the Loci.37 Only after these two stages could a public disputation be held for the promotion to doctor of theology. The statutes, constructed in part to criticize late-medieval practices, forbade “the foolish behavior of night celebrations” (ineptae vesperiarum), which were often a part of earlier celebrations. Melanchthon’s reason for such a ban elucidates his view of this degree. For if we judge accurately, no degree in all of life is more difficult to hold and is a greater burden than this order, to which is commended explication and adjudication of heavenly doctrine. What can be thought to be greater? Therefore let that public announcement of public witness be filled with gravity, so that the rest of us may find reason to think about the greatness of the burden. A person is to approach this degree reverently, as if coming to the altar. Let such a one offer to draw near with good and learned people for governing the church, which experiences enormous struggles.38

If the frivolous festivities of late-medieval degree granting came under attack at the end of the seventh article, the eighth took on a far more serious challenge. Until the Reformation, doctors of theology were also celibate. The article began with a comparison of this degree to the moral standards demanded by Paul (in 1 Timothy 5:22) for ordination, concluding that those with bad theology or bad morals were not to receive this degree. Positively speaking, the statutes applied Paul’s criteria for epis­ copal office from 1 Timothy 3:2–4 and Titus 1:6–8 to new doctors of theology. And small wonder! In the first class of recipients were two general ­superintendents: Johannes Bugenhagen and Johannes Aepinus. More 36 In the case of Chemnitz, the lectures came years prior to his earning a doctorate at the University of Rostock. 37 MBW 10:415. This may also indicate a terminus ad quem for the statutes, which may have been readied for the summer term 1533 that commenced on 1 May. They certainly were in place by 16 June 1533 with the promotion of Wittenberg’s first three Evangelical doctors of theology: Johannes Bugenhagen, Caspar Cruciger, Sr., and Johannes Aepinus (who was superintendent of the churches in Hamburg). See below. 38 UUW, 156.

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importantly and in light of the break with tradition, the statutes provided reasons for allowing married persons to receive the degree, directly criticizing the demand for celibacy in the old ordinances.39 The other articles dealt with the running of the faculty: the selection of a dean (article nine), the acceptance of teachers [doctores] from other institutions (ten), the calling of annual or semi-annual meetings of the students to examine their fitness for ministry (eleven). Article eleven also revealed how Melanchthon blended pedagogy and ecclesiology. Pastors and deacons from the surrounding area were also to receive invitations to these meetings, “For it is necessary that schools be seedbeds [seminaria] of the churches.”40 Article twelve entrusted the seal and records to the dean, with the admonition to pay attention to “witnesses of doctrine and morals, which are ascribed to ecclesiastical ministers.”41 Article thirteen dealt with the proper administration of the fees for promotions, according to “customary practice.”42 Why? “Because it is fitting that some token of gratitude be shown toward those who sustain the work of disputations and examinations.” The final article (fourteen) served as a peroration to the whole. Here, too, Melanchthon managed to blend administration, pedagogy, and ecclesiology. Of all forms of administration in life, the most difficult is ecclesiastical, and is more properly divine than human. Therefore, we cannot include all things in laws. But let these doctors, since they confess the laws handed down by prophets and apostles and see the form of administration handed down in Scripture, diligently contemplate this and prudently imitate it in their business. Above all, however, let them strive to guard consensus in pure teaching and let them avoid ambitious struggles among themselves. For often ambitions, depraved jealousy and factions destroy church and governmental rule.43

The article also admonished professors to watch for errant doctrine and behavior in their students, and prohibit the publication of libelous and 39 UUW, 157 (art. VIII): “Nec veteres de celibatu leges et vincula ullis imponimus, quae multis exilium attulerunt et in multis mediocribus impediverunt veram invocationem dei, quia, donec manent conscientiae vulnera, non potest fieri vera invocatio. At injustae illae leges subinde refricant haec ineffabili dei consilio ordinatum esse ad consociandum et conjungendum genus humanum et ad conservationem ecclesiae. Et sciant hoc genus vitae deo placere et bonis scholam esse multarum virtutum.” 40 UUW, 157 (art. XI). 41 UUW, 157 (art. XII). 42 UUW, 157 (art. XIII). 43 UUW, 157–158 (art. XIV).



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calumnious books (like all early modern universities, Wittenberg also practiced censorship of the press). It concluded with what Peter Fraenkel has described as the central metaphor for Melanchthon’s understanding of the church: an assembly of teachers and learners.44 Finally, let them remember that this theological assembly [coetus] ought to be similar to the schools of Elijah, Elisha, John the Baptist, Christ, John the Evangelist, Polycarp, Irenaeus, and similar people. For whenever the church flourished, it had some such scholarly assemblies [coetus], through which godly teaching was propagated. May our assemblies also imitate their studies and mores.45

For Melanchthon, the succession of prophetic and apostolic teaching formed the backbone of continuity in the church and established its teachers’ authority and, here, the appropriate model and authorization for theological study. Immediate and Long-Term Consequences Wittenberg’s theological faculty was not the first to be reformed around Evangelical principles. For example, the University of Marburg developed  its own standards already in the 1527, and yet not without Melanchthon’s help.46 But Wittenberg’s renewed statutes were by far the most influential. In 1545, when Melanchthon undertook a revision of the statutes, he preserved most of the language and rules of the earlier document and strengthened its ecclesial core. For example, the exordium cited Ephesians 4 (vv. 8, 11, 14) and Isaiah 59:21 regarding the gifts of the Spirit to the church. It also referred to the college of priests and Levites in the Old Testament as another example of the coetus theologicus, as well as the post-New Testament schools in Antioch, Ephesus, and Alexandria. The first law underscored the school’s commitment to the gospel and Christ’s presence there (Matthew 18:20). In the second article, Melanchthon listed not the councils but the three ecumenical creeds alongside the Augsburg Confession. In listing the subjects of lectures, he mentioned for the first 44 Peter Fraenkel, Testimonia Patrum. See also Wengert, “Caspar Cruciger Sr.’s 1546 ‘Enarratio’ on John’s Gospel: An Experiment in Ecclesiological Exegesis,” ChH 61 (1992): 110–133. 45 UUW, 158. 46 See Barbara Bauer, ed., Melanchthon und die Marburger Professoren (1527–1627): Katalog und Aufsätze (Marburg: Universitätsbibliothek, 2000).

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time lectures on the Nicene Creed, which Caspar Cruciger, Sr., then commenced and, upon his death, Melanchthon continued. From these additions, one can detect the origins of the corpus doctrinae that Melanchthon would publish near the end of his life.47 In article seven, Melanchthon dropped all mention of the Bachelor of Bible or the degree of Sententiarius. In the same article, he again stressed the seriousness of the doctorate and its roots in the ancient church: “For thus also in the beginning there were scholarly assemblies in the church, so that there were guardians and witnesses to the original and pure teaching by whom teaching would be propagated. So Irenaeus refutes Marcion by citing Polycarp whom he had heard, who had faithfully guarded the teaching handed down by the apostle John.”48 Melanchthon also inserted two new articles (fourteen and fifteen), which established a library (still in existence) and insisted that students know Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. These statutes also had an immediate effect: the granting of three doctorates to Bugenhagen, Cruciger, and Aepinus. Everyone in Wittenberg and, indeed, in Saxony and beyond understood the importance of this act. From other sources, including a long entry by Justus Jonas (the newly elected dean) in the theology faculty’s Liber Decanorum (the first entry since 1525), we learn just how central they thought this was. Just after the departure of the papal nuncio, Ugo Rangoni, Elector John Frederick and his spouse, Sybilla were in Wittenberg to work on a reply.49 Upon hearing from Luther that doctoral oaths were to be administered to the three candidates, the elector expressed his desire to witness the ceremony, which was then moved up to 16 June 1533 in accordance with his wishes. Luther called together the entire senate of the theological faculty. In a solemn ceremony, which included testimonies to the candidates’ erudition and godliness, they received the doctoral insignia. In the evening, Philip Melanchthon composed theses on the topics of faith, the church, and human traditions, which the candidates then defended on the follow­ ing  day.50 Among those who posed questions to the candidates were 47 See Irene Dingel, “Melanchthon und die Normierung des Bekenntnisses,” in Der Theologe Melanchthon, ed. Günter Frank (Stuttgart: Thorbecke, 2000), 195–211. 48 UUW, 263 (art. VII). He also mentioned Basil’s citation of Gregory Thaumaturgos. 49 For this and the following, see the Liber Decanorum, 28–30. See also the memoranda produced on the heels of the nuncio’s departure in MBW 1333, 1334, 1335, and 1341 (Texte 5:427–436, 444–454) and WA Br 6:480–491. 50 These became part of the “Disputationes” found in volume three of Melanchthon’s Opera (Basel, 1541), 3:333, and now printed in CR 12:517–520. (See MBW 2780 [Texte 10:451– 459] for Melanchthon’s preface, dated 27 July 1541.) In the Opera the three sets of theses were labeled “Gaspar Creuciger Rector Academiae,” “De Ecclesia D. Ioannes Pomeranus,”



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Melanchthon, other unnamed theologians from Wittenberg (presumably Jonas and Luther), and “Antonius Anglus” and “Alexander Scotus.”51 The presence of Barnes and Alesius bestowed an international aura to the procedure. The prince remained in attendance for the entire disputation, accompanied by Duke Johann Ernst (John Frederick’s brother), Prince Francis of Lüneberg, Duke Magnus of Mecklenburg, Duke Ernst of Braunschweig (the son of Philip), the count [Karl] von Gleichen,52 Wolfgang Reißenbusch (teacher and rector of the school in Lichtenberg), Doctor Johann Rühel (counselor to the Archbishop of Mainz), and Georg Spalatin.53 Among the local dignitaries were Wittenberg’s sheriff, Johann Metzsch, Johann von Minckwitz (the prefect in the Saxon court whose son had enrolled at Wittenberg that year),54 and Bernhard von Mila (provincial governor in Wittenberg). Later that day, the entire group assembled in the Castle Church for the formal ceremony presided over by the dean, Justus Jonas. At the same time, Jonas noted, Nicholas Glossenus (who had received a Master of Arts the previous year), future preacher in Reval and later professor in Greifswald, was promoted as a licentiate in theology.55 After the ceremonies, the Elector hosted a banquet in the castle, filling by Jonas’ estimate between eighteen and twenty tables: “By this munificence, the prince wanted to declare his [good] will toward this school. Wherefore we also wanted to describe these details [minora], so that posterity may understand by what singular propensity of soul, by what love, the illustrious prince in the first year of his reign acted toward the teachers of the gospel and the studies of godliness.”56 The following day, 18 June 1533, Justus Jonas gave a festive declamation, as was already customary and “De traditionibus humanis D. Ioannes Aepinus.” The topics matched the Liber Decanorum: justification, church, and human traditions. 51 The former was Robert Barnes. According to Album Academiae Vitebergensis ab A. Ch. MDII usque ad A. MDLX, ed. Karl Förstemann [hereafter Album] (Leipzig: Tauchnitz, 1841), 149, the same “Antonius Anglus” matriculated as a doctor from Oxford University on 20 June 1533. Alexander Scotus was Alexander Alesius from Scotland, who matriculated as a Master of Arts from St Andrews in Scotland on 7 October 1533 (Album, 151) and received his Master of Arts from Wittenberg on 14 October 1533. He later became professor of theology in Leipzig. See MBW 11:55–56 & 114–115. 52 Especially Count Karl von Gleichen (1518–1599), who matriculated on 30 September 1533 (Album, 150). See MBW 12:153f. 53 The princes were on their way to a meeting of the Smalcald League in Schmalkalden, held at the end of the month. 54 See Album, 148. 55 See MBW 12:155. 56 Liber Decanorum, 30.

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when awarding the masters of arts degrees, probably written by Philip Melanchthon and titled “On Degrees in Theology.”57 The opening lines make clear that the Elector was also present for this part of the ceremony.58 Its intent was to prove that such a granting of degrees accorded with the practice of Paul, Christ, and the prophets and apostles, and to praise the Elector’s good sense in supporting such education. One other smaller speech from these festivities, delivered by “Valentin Anspach,” has also been preserved.59 This short thanksgiving, written by Melanchthon and dated in the Corpus Reformatorum 1533, was a customary part of such degree ceremonies.60 A younger student would often deliver the official thanks to the teachers and any other important personages present. In this case, he not only mentioned that people were receiving doctoral degrees but also named several of the princes present in a list that corresponded to Jonas’ own account.61 Although the speech itself was simply puffery, it nevertheless helps adumbrate the significance for the revitalization of theological studies that the granting of these degrees represented. This ceremony, when combined with the statutes, reflected Wittenberg’s growing self-awareness as a center for theological training in the Holy Roman Empire. Here Melanchthon’s concern for erudition and clarity and his insistence on the loci method for biblical interpretation and theology, grounded in the fathers and the confession presented at Augsburg, came to full expression. Bugenhagen and Cruciger would remain his colleagues until their deaths, and, although Melanchthon would later cross swords with Johannes Aepinus over adiaphora and the descent into hell, these two theologians also provided a united front against Andreas Osiander over the all-important doctrine of justification.62

57 CR 11 227–231. It could be that the date (18 June) is incorrect and that the speech was delivered the previous day as part of the ceremonies. 58 CR 11:227: “Non opinor in hoc laudatissimo coetu quenquam, adeo imperitum esse communium officiorum vitae, ut consilium nostrum in promovendis Doctoribus Evangelii reprehendat, praesertim cum viderit in hoc consessu Illustrissimum Principem nostrum, Saxoniae Ducem, Electorem caeterosque Principes, et viros sapientissimos, qui cum sua praesentia testentur se consilium nostrum probare, nemo poterit sine summa impudentia, suum iudicium istorum authoritati anteferre.” 59 “Valentinus Harthungus de Anspach” [Valentin Hartung from Ansbach] matriculated at the University of Wittenberg on 12 July 1530. See Album, 139. 60 CR 10:916–917. 61 Specifically he mentioned (CR 10:917) the elector, Duke Johann Ernst of Saxony, the Rector (Caspar Cruciger) and the count [Karl] von Gleichen. 62 See Wengert, Defending Faith, passim.



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Thus, the statutes provide further clarity on the development of a peculiarly Wittenberg brand of theology, devoted not so much to Luther as to the creeds of the ancient church, the Augsburg Confession and, above all, the theological method of Philip Melanchthon. When combined with his view of church as a community of teachers and learners, these statutes defined the ethos of theological education during the Reformation.

ACADEMIC HERESY, THE REUCHLIN AFFAIR, AND THE CONTROL OF THEOLOGICAL DISCOURSE IN THE EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURY Amy Nelson Burnett Richard A. Muller’s research has highlighted the blending of humanist methodology with Aristotelian philosophy over the later sixteenth cen­ tury to produce the Protestant orthodoxy that dominated theology facul­ ties through the seventeenth century. The relationship between humanism and scholasticism was not always so cozy, however. Research on German humanism in the early sixteenth century has done much to clarify the issues at stake between humanists and schoolmen, emphasizing the role of personality conflicts as well as questions of theological content and dif­ fering methodologies.1 Erika Rummel has also highlighted the importance that scholastic theologians attached to having the proper credentials in order to study the Bible: those who approached Scripture without such credentials were condemned for “putting a sickle to another man’s crop.”2 The argument over whether a doctorate in theology was needed in order to pursue biblical and patristic studies was only one aspect of the larger challenge that humanists posed to the authority of scholastic theo­ logians. Up through the fifteenth century the church had maintained a monopoly on theological discourse, concentrating it in the hands of prel­ ates, theologians and canonists and developing mechanisms to deal with deviant views. With Erasmus at their head, the biblical humanists of the early sixteenth century demanded that they be included among those considered competent to shape theological discourse. The Reuchlin affair would draw their attention to one of the key mecha­ nisms for controlling theological discourse, the process of academic con­ demnation. The debate that resulted from the condemnation of Reuchlin’s Augenspiegel fundamentally weakened the procedures used to identify 1 J.H. Overfield, Humanism and Scholasticism in Late Medieval Germany (Princeton: PUP, 1984); Erika Rummel, The Humanist–Scholastic Debate in the Renaissance and Reformation (Cambridge: HUP, 1995); Charles G. Nauert, Humanism and the Culture of Renaissance Europe, second ed. (Cambridge: CUP, 2006); for a summary of research, Charles G. Nauert Jr., “Humanism as Method: Roots of the Conflict with the Scholastics,” SCJ 29 (1998): 427–438. 2 Erika Rummel, “The Importance of Being Doctor: The Quarrel over Competency Between Humanists and Theologians in the Renaissance,” CHR 82 (1996): 187–203.

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and suppress heresy in an academic context, so that when those measures were employed against Luther, they proved ineffective. An understanding of the traditional method of controlling academic discourse and its distor­ tion by the Reuchlin affair thus illuminates one generally unnoticed aspect of the early humanist–scholastic debate that shaped initial reac­ tions to the charges of heresy leveled against Luther’s 95 Theses. Academic Condemnation The medieval concept of heresy is difficult to pin down.3 Central to the definition developed by both theologians and canon lawyers was the idea, derived from Augustine and Jerome, that heretics pertinaciously held to new teachings that deviated from the interpretation of Scripture inspired by the Holy Spirit. The thirteenth–century theologian Robert Grosseteste was credited with a definition that became standard: “Heresy is a state­ ment chosen by human opinion, contrary to holy Scripture, and pertina­ ciously defended.” The distinction between simple error and pertinacity was crucial for the discussion of heresy. As Augustine expressed it, one who erred in matters of faith could not be a heretic if he did not defend his error pertinaciously and was willing to be led to the truth. Discussions of heresy within scholastic theology would emphasize the difference between error, which was a defect of the intellect, and pertinacity, which was a defect of the will.4 This definition meant that there was a distinction between heretical teaching and heretical individuals. In the thirteenth century the church adopted and elaborated inquisitorial procedures used in Roman criminal law for both the identification of specific heresies, especially academic heresy, and the prosecution of those suspected of holding heretical beliefs.5 The use of inquisitorial procedure in the prosecution of heretical 3 The best overview is Othmar Hageneder, “Der Häresiebegriff bei den Juristen des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts,” in The Concept of Heresy in the Middle Ages, ed. Lourdaux and Verhelst (Louvain: University Press, 1973), 42–103. 4 Winfried Trusen, “Rechtliche Grundlagen des Häresiebegriffs und des Ketzerverfahrens,” in Ketzerverfolgung im 16. und frühen 17. Jahrhundert, ed. Guggisberg et al. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1992), 1–20; Edward M. Peters, “Transgressing the Limits Set by the Fathers: Authority and Impious Exegesis in Medieval Thought,” in Christendom and its Discontents, ed. Waugh and Diehl (Cambridge: CUP, 1996), 338–357; Ulrich Mauser, Der junge Luther und die Häresie (Güterlsoh: Mohn, 1968), 10–33. 5 In contrast to popular misconceptions, there was no single institutional Inquisition under papal jurisdiction through the medieval period, and there was significant regional



academic heresy and the reuchlin affair37

individuals is relatively familiar, but the process for investigation of hereti­ cal teachings has only recently gained the attention of medievalists. Better described as academic condemnation in order to distinguish it from the process aimed at individuals, the investigation of teaching alleged to be heretical was closely associated with the development of the medieval university and the emergence of corporations of masters of theology whose authority rested on their intellectual expertise.6 The practice of academic condemnation was a means of controlling dissent and keeping academic lectures and disputations within the bounds of orthodoxy. It therefore supplemented the oaths taken by theol­ ogy students at certain points in their education, as well as the more infor­ mal socialization process that occurred over the long course of study necessary to become a master of theology.7 The procedure developed con­ siderably over the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and differed some­ what between Paris and Oxford (the two universities that have been most studied), but there were certain common features. Individual proposi­ tions drawn from a person’s works could be judged either by the faculty as a whole or, increasingly, by an appointed commission. By the end of the thirteenth century, each article was classified according to the degree of error or of danger that it posed to the faithful; such labels ranged from heretical and erroneous to ill–sounding and absurd. Pastoral concern was used to justify the condemnation of articles that sounded or might be mis­ understood as heretical by simple Christians (prout sonant), even if within their original context they could be accepted as orthodox. Those whose variation. In Germany, episcopal inquisitors were commissioned on an ad hoc basis when heresy was seen to be a problem at the local level. Papal inquisitors had many other eccle­ siastical responsibilities, and to the extent they prosecuted heretics, they tended to focus on cases with political or ecclesiastical implications; Richard Kieckhefer, Repression of Heresy in Medieval Germany (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1979), 1–10, 83–112. 6 J.M.M.H. Thijssen, Censure and Heresy at the University of Paris 1200–1400 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1998), 93–7. On the problem of terminology, ibid, x, and Andrew E. Larsen, The School of Heretics: Academic Condemnation at the University of Oxford, 1277–1409 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 12–14. 7 With very few exceptions it was applied entirely to students of philosophy and theol­ ogy; masters of theology were only rarely censured; Mary Martin McLaughlin, Intellectual Freedom and its Limitations in the University of Paris in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries (New York: Arno, 1977), 207–208; Guy Fitch Lytle, “Universities as Religious Authorities in the Later Middle Ages and Reformation,” in Reform and Authority in the Medieval and Reformation Church, ed. Lytle (Washington: CUAP, 1981), 69–97; Thijssen, Censure, 113–117; J.M.M.H. Thijssen, “Academic Heresy and Intellectual Freedom at the University of Paris, 1200–1378,” in Centres of Learning, ed. Drijvers and MacDonald (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 215–228. On the course of study, William J. Courtenay, Schools and Scholars in Fourteenth Century England (Princeton: PUP, 1987), 41–48.

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teachings were condemned had the right to appeal from the university to the papal curia, but after the final decision had been made, the author had to retract his errors or come under suspicion of heresy because of his pertinacity.8 The goal of academic condemnation was to bring about the submission of the author, not to exonerate him; there were no acquittals in cases heard at the university of Paris. The process of academic condemnation might have little long–term effect on the career of the person whose arti­ cles were condemned, but in some cases individuals were removed from teaching positions or denied access to further academic degrees. Moreover, the procedure itself can only be described as punitive. Those under inves­ tigation could be confined for years while the legal process dragged on. The public ceremony of recantation, in which the author read each article aloud and swore not to teach or defend the condemned views, was a form of ritual humiliation. Resistance to such condemnation might result in excommunication or fines. The spectre of condemnation was therefore a strong incentive for teachers to refrain from making provocative state­ ments that might lead to denunciation. In England, the intensification of academic scrutiny in order to detect Lollardy helped contribute to a more conservative approach to theology in the fifteenth century.9 Propositions condemned by academic specialists could be used author­ itatively, in the same way that conciliar decisions were, but such lists had essentially consultative rather than juridical status. In their discussions of ecclesiastical authority, theologians recognized that they were subordi­ nate to the magisterium of the church hierarchy.10 Their authority extended over their own academic community but needed further endorsement if it was to reach outside the university. A decision by the appropriate authority, whether pope, council, or bishop, was necessary to turn “that which should not be taught” into heresy strictly defined and universally condemned. To give one important example, separate lists of   8 William J. Courtenay, “Inquiry and Inquisition: Academic Freedom in Medieval Universities,” ChH 58 (1989): 168–181; Thijssen, “Academic Heresy;” Thijssen, Censure, 1–39; Larsen, School of Heretics, 5–18; Winfried Trusen, Der Prozess gegen Meister Eckhart: Vorgeschichte, Verlauf und Folgen (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1988), 164–183.   9 Thijssen, Censure, 33–35; Larsen, School of Heretics, 270–272, 284–287; Andrew E. Larsen, “Academic Condemnations and the Decline of Theology at Oxford,” History of Universities 22 (2008): 1–32. 10 Thijssen, Censure, 90–97; Courtenay, “Inquiry,” 177–180. Courtenay cites examples of authoritative use, but he also acknowledges that papal condemnations had universal force in a way that university and episcopal censures did not; this implies that the latter were perceived as less authoritative.



academic heresy and the reuchlin affair39

articles drawn from John Wyclif’s works were condemned at Oxford and at Paris, but only the former condemnation received authoritative status when it was endorsed by the Council of Constance, and only then were those propositions used as the basis for condemning the articles taken from Jan Hus’ writings.11 Although it was called heresy, suspect teaching identified through the process of academic condemnation was dependent on a long chain of rea­ soning and could be said to oppose Scripture only in a very indirect way. The condemnations themselves might rest as much on philosophical or canonistic arguments as on scriptural grounds. There could be muted pro­ test against condemnations that were perceived to be ill–advised, if not just plain wrong. The arbitrariness of condemning propositions merely for sounding heretical (prout sonat) was questioned already in the thirteenth century.12 Contemporaries also acknowledged the role of non–theological factors underlying academic condemnation. Thus an account of the inter­ rogation of Johann Rucherat von Wesel for heresy in 1479 ended by attrib­ uting the harshness of his sentence to the fact that all but one of those present were realists and regular clergy “triumphing over a secular priest who did not particularly venerate their Thomas.”13 Despite these criticisms, however, the process itself was not fundamen­ tally questioned, and it proved to be an effective way of supervising theo­ logical discourse through the later Middle Ages. It effectively placed the determination of heresy in the hands of specialists in theology and canon law, whether located in the papal curia or within a university faculty. Acting with the authority of the church hierarchy, the men who identified 11 Edith C. Tatnall, “The Condemnation of John Wyclif at the Council of Constance,” in Councils and Assemblies, ed. Cuming and Baker (Cambridge: CUP, 1971), 209–218; Walter Brandmüller, Das Konzil von Konstanz 1414–1418 (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1991), 1:325–359. 12 Larsen, School of Heretics, 261–267; Thijssen, Censure, 30–33; Bernard McGinn, “Eckhart’s Condemnation Reconsidered,” The Thomist 44 (1980): 390–414. 13 Larson, School of Heretics, 273–284, emphasizes the importance of inter–order rivalry and other political tensions as motives underlying academic condemnations at Oxford. On Wesel, Gustav Benrath, “Johann Rucherat von Wesel,” TRE 17:150–153; Otto Clemen, “Über Leben und Schriften Johanns von Wesel,” Deutsche Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 8 (1897–1898): 143–173; the “Examen Magistrale ac theologicale Doctoris Ioannis de Wesalia Concionatoris Vuormaciensis,” in Commentariorum Aeneae Sylvii Piccolominei Senensis, de Concilio Basileae celebrato (Basel: Cratander, 1523), 344, makes the following judgment: “Dempto solo articulo de processione spiritussancti, in alijs uidetur non ita graui censura fuisse castigandus, si indutiae datae fuissent, si consultores ei fuissent adhibiti, si non omnes uno solo dempto, fuissent de uia realium. Et nisi forsitan impetus quidam irrepsis­ set in religiosos, triumphandi de seculari, & praesertim de eo qui illorum Thomam pecu­ liariter non coluerat, forsitan poterat cum eo mitius, humanius, & clementius, benigniusque actum & processum fuisse.”

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heresy and directed the process by which it was adjudicated controlled a powerful mechanism for regulating academic discussion of theological questions. An important development in the process of academic condemnation over the fifteenth century was the expansion of the theology faculty’s competence to judge theological debate beyond the university commu­ nity. The introduction of printing brought an increase in the availability of written works and the possibility of the broader diffusion of questionable ideas. Into the early sixteenth century the Paris theology faculty issued judgments on a variety of cases that concerned not only their own mem­ bers but also those on topics ranging from usury and calendar reform to Cajetan’s defense of papal authority.14 The Cologne theology faculty also claimed the right of book censorship, and in 1507 it denounced proposi­ tions drawn from the published work of the jurist Peter of Ravenna. At a hearing before a commission representing each of the university’s facul­ ties, Peter submitted to the demand to abstain from teaching the ques­ tionable doctrines. Within a few months, however, he began a literary feud with the Cologne faculty that has been seen as a prelude to the Reuchlin affair.15 The procedure just outlined would be followed against Johannes Reuchlin, but in his case it spun out of control. In response to the efforts of the Cologne theology faculty to condemn Reuchlin’s Augenspiegel as heretical, humanists began to assert not only that they were qualified to participate in theological discourse but also that they had the right to judge such discourse. Paradoxically, the Reuchlin affair both increased exponentially the frequency of accusations of heresy and fundamentally vitiated the effectiveness of one procedure used to suppress it. The prec­ edents it established set the stage for the reactions of both sides after the publication of Luther’s 95 Theses. The Reuchlin Affair The Reuchlin affair has received considerable attention not only as the cause célèbre that pitted scholastic theologians against humanists but also

14 James K. Farge, Orthodoxy and Reform in Early Reformation France: The Faculty of Theology of Paris, 1500–1543 (Leiden: Brill, 1985), 115–125. 15 Charles G. Nauert Jr., “Peter of Ravenna and the ‘Obscure Men’ of Cologne,” in Renaissance. Studies in Honor of Hans Baron, ed. Molho and Tedeschi (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University, 1971), 609–640.



academic heresy and the reuchlin affair41

for the light it sheds on early modern antisemitism. It has long been acknowledged that the Reuchlin affair helped pave the way for the initial response to Luther. My purpose here is to look more specifically at the way it contributed to the collapse of the normal procedure for dealing with statements that were theologically suspect.16 At the center of the debate were propositions drawn from a book intended for the broader public, Reuchlin’s Augenspiegel, published in the fall of 1511. The Augenspiegel combined a polemic against Johann Pfefferkorn with a defense of the memorandum Reuchlin had written opposing the confiscation of Jewish books, which Reuchlin’s opponents believed was too favorable to the Jews. The book was denounced to the theology faculty of Cologne soon after its publication, and the dean of the faculty, the Dominican Jakob Hoogstraeten, took charge of the investiga­ tion. Hoogstraeten was the papal inquisitor for the western provinces of the Empire and a close ally of Pfefferkorn in the campaign against Jewish books, and so he was hardly a disinterested party. Reuchlin learned in October 1511 that Arnold von Tongern, one of the faculty’s members, had been charged with examining his book and identi­ fying statements that were theologically suspect. He immediately wrote to von Tongern, stressing his submission to the church and stating that he would gladly modify his position if the faculty told him where changes were necessary.17 He received a copy of the propositions identified as sus­ pect, but the theology faculty refused to identify more precisely what he needed to change in his book; their goal was Reuchlin’s submission to their authority, not a revised version of the Augenspiegel. Reuchlin’s cor­ respondence with the theology faculty grew testier over the next several months, culminating in the faculty’s demand that Reuchlin should not 16 The most recent treatments of the Reuchlin affair (with discussions of earlier research cited) are Hans Peterse, Jacobus Hoogstraeten gegen Johannes Reuchlin: ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Antijudaismus im 16. Jahrhundert (Mainz: Zabern, 1995), 13–15; Erika Rummel, The Case Against Johann Reuchlin: Religious and Social Controversy in Sixteenth– Century Germany (Toronto: U of T, 2002), 36–40; and David Price, Johannes Reuchlin and the Campaign to Destroy Jewish Books (New York: OUP, 2011), 9–12. The introductions to the relevant volumes of Reuchlin’s correspondence also contain useful summaries of develop­ ments, Johannes Reuchlin, Briefwechsel (Stuttgart: Frommann–Holzboog, 1999–), 2:XVI– XXI and 3:XIII–XLI. Fundamental for understanding the legal process against Reuchlin are the two articles by Winfried Trusen, “Johannes Reuchlin und die Fakultäten. Voraussetzungen und Hintergründe des Prozesses gegen den Augenspiegel,” in Gundolf Keil, et al., ed., Der Humanismus und die oberen Fakultäten (Weinheim: Acta Humaniora, 1987), 115–157, and “Die Prozesse gegen Reuchlins ‘Augenspiegel.’ Zum Streit um die Judenbücher,” in Reuchlin und die politischen Kräfte seiner Zeit, ed. Rhein (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1998), 87–131. 17 Ulrich [Kollin] to Reuchlin, 26 October 1511, Reuchlin, Briefwechsel, 2:200–201; Reuchlin to Arnold von Tongern, 28 October 1511, Reuchlin, Briefwechsel, 2 202–205.

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only prevent the sale of copies of the Augenspiegel at the upcoming Frankfurt book fair but should also publish a retraction, so no one might think he deviated from the catholic faith.18 Rather than doing so, Reuchlin presented his own defense to the public. In the spring of 1512, in time for the Frankfurt book fair, he published an expanded German defense of his memorandum.19 Arnold von Tongern responded in the fall of 1512 by publishing his Articuli sive Propositiones, a list of the propositions he had drawn from the Augenspiegel along with commentary. This in turn prompted Reuchlin to write a Defensio contra calumniatores suos Colonienses, published in the spring of 1513.20 The Defensio has been analyzed as a justification of the Jews’ right to their books, as a contribution to the humanist–scholastic debate, and as a slanderous polemic against the Cologne theologians.21 Its true signifi­ cance, however, rests on the fact that it challenged the moral, legal, and intellectual competence of the Cologne theology faculty to judge heresy. Although written as a direct address to Emperor Maximilian, asking the emperor to protect Reuchlin’s good name, the Defensio was intended to shape public opinion in a way that would prevent condemnation of the Augenspiegel as heretical. Reuchlin moved the right to judge the suspect propositions, and the book from which they were taken, out of the aca­ demic sphere and into the public forum. In so doing he changed the parameters of the debate entirely. The Defensio followed four important rhetorical strategies. First, Reuchlin asserted repeatedly that he had never said or written anything that opposed the orthodox church and its head, the pope, and that he will­ ingly submitted to the church’s judgment in all things. In this way he tried to head off any accusation of personal heresy based on pertinacious asser­ tion of error.22 18 Hoogstraeten and the Cologne theology faculty to Reuchlin, 29 February 1512, Reuchlin, Briefwechsel, 2:278–281. 19 Ain clare verstendnus in tütsch uff doctor Johannsen Reüchlins ratschlag von den juden büchern was a translation and expansion of the Latin response to possible objections to Reuchlin’s memorandum contained in the Augenspiegel; cf. Reuchlin to the Cologne theol­ ogy faculty, 27 January 1512, Reuchlin, Briefwechsel, 2 234; Johannes Reuchlin, Sämtliche Werke, vol. 4 (Stuttgart: Frommann–Holzboog, 1999), 173–196. 20 The semi–annual Frankfurt book fair was decisive for the timing of publication. The pamphlets were published specifically for successive meetings of the fair; Reuchlin, Briefwechsel, 3:XVIII. 21 Price, Reuchlin, 148–150; Rummel, Case against Johannes Reuchlin, 18–19; Trusen, “Reuchlin,” 144–150; Overfield, Humanism and Scholasticism, 266–268. 22 Reuchlin, Schriften, 204/205; cf. 220/221, 260/261, 264/265, 274–277, 280/281, 284/285, 294/295, 434/435.



academic heresy and the reuchlin affair43

Second, rather than defending himself against heresy, he took the offensive and accused his opponents of slander. Reuchlin charged that his enemies were at fault in searching for heresy where there was none, and their denunciations should not be believed. He claimed that their chief goal was to destroy his reputation and his good name, and that he was in fact forced to publish his Augenspiegel in order to protect himself from their lies.23 Strategically, this was an extremely important move, because it shifted attention away from the fact that a grave charge had been lev­ eled against Reuchlin’s book and focused it explicitly on the motives and misdeeds of his opponents. Third, Reuchlin undermined the credibility of the Cologne theology faculty. He was scathing in his criticism of his opponents. They were not genuine theologians instructed in doctrine, Scripture and ethics, who showed brotherly love to all. Instead, they were theologists or even diabo­ lists, more concerned with sophistical syllogisms than with Scripture, who loved to argue and who were sunk in all manner of vice.24 To promote their own purposes, they misrepresented Reuchin’s position in his advice concerning Jewish books, they used faulty logic to find heretical state­ ments in Reuchlin’s book, and they mistranslated, abridged, and other­ wise distorted his words, so that others would endorse their condemnation of it.25 Quite apart from their moral failings, however, Reuchlin argued that the Cologne theologians had no legal right to judge his book. The status of Jewish books was a matter of law, not of theology, and as a jurist he had based his advice on legal principles. His memorandum was written in obe­ dience to the emperor’s command, and it was intended only as advice, to be followed or not as the emperor decided. It was the responsibility of the bishops, and not the theology faculty, to determine whether there was anything questionable in the Augenspiegel.26 Finally, Reuchlin attacked the entire procedure followed in academic condemnation. He criticized the practice of judging suspect propositions prout sonant, excerpted from a written work without regard for context, and he cited biblical and classical examples as well as the principles of Roman law to demonstrate that the genuine meaning of a statement had to be determined on the basis of the author’s intention. He mocked the 23 Reuchlin, Schriften, 204/205, 216–221, 234/235, 286/287–308/309, 332/333, 386–389. 24 Reuchlin, Schriften, 236–245, 282/283. 25 Reuchlin, Schriften, 332–433. 26 Reuchlin, Schriften, 256–265, 276–279.

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claim that a statement might sound heretical or suspect to pious ears; only the deaf ears of the godless could possibly be offended by what he had written. It was ridiculous and unreasonable for the theology faculty to ask him to retract statements that were offensive without explaining precisely how they offended.27 The Cologne theology faculty responded immediately to this challenge to its authority. When advised by the law faculty that they had little chance of successfully prosecuting Reuchlin for slander, the theologians turned instead to the emperor and asked him to forbid sale of the Defensio, a request that was granted.28 In August it officially condemned the Augenspiegel.29 It also asked other theology faculties to judge the work on the basis of the suspect propositions drawn from it. The Louvain theology faculty was the first to respond. Stressing the fact that it was the special province of theology faculties to define heretical or erroneous teaching, the Louvain theologians unanimously concluded that the book should be prohibited and existing copies burned. The theology faculty of Mainz con­ curred, although it noted that since Reuchlin claimed to believe only “what is fitting to a Christian” and submitted to the decision of the church, the condemnation should not affect his good name. The theology faculty of Erfurt was even more favorable to Reuchlin, stressing his reputation as a learned man skilled in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, known for the integrity of his life, who humbly submitted himself to the Roman church. Nevertheless, his incautious words might lead to error or heresy, and therefore it also endorsed the suppression of the Augenspiegel.30 Even before the arrival of the decisions of the other faculties, Hoogstraeten took the next step and, in his role as papal inquisitor, initi­ ated formal legal proceedings in Mainz to condemn the book as heretical and to burn all existing copies—in effect changing the faculty’s consulta­ tive decision into a juridical one. Before an official condemnation could be issued, however, the pope intervened and called for a new investigation to be led by the bishop of Speyer. In March 1514, the bishop declared that the Augenspiegel contained neither errors nor heresy. 27 Reuchlin, Schriften, 266–275, 286–293. 28 The faculty’s appeal to the emperor was made indirectly, through the Cologne town council, Adolf Kober, “Urkundliche Beiträge zum Reuchlinschen Streit: Ein Gedenkblatt zum 30. Juni 1922,” Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judenthums N.F. 31 (1923): 110–122, esp. 120–221. 29 Peterse, Hoogstraeten, 33–24; Price, Reuchlin, 150–151. 30 The condemnations of Cologne (16 Aug.), Louvain (28 July), Erfurt (3 Sept.), and Mainz (13 Oct.) in E. Böcking, Ulrichi Hutteni Equitis Operum Supplementum, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1864; repr. Osnabrück, 1966), 1:133–138.



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Hoogstraeten appealed this decision to the papal curia, and as support for its case, the Cologne faculty sent a translation of the Augenspeigel to the theology faculty of Paris, which formally condemned it in August. Reuchlin’s case proceeded slowly, but by July 1516 the commission was prepared to issue a decision that complaints against Reuchlin’s book were unfounded. At the last minute, however, Pope Leo X intervened and sus­ pended the case for an indeterminate period. Ironically, by this stage of the conflict the issue of heretical content— Reuchlin’s statements about the Jews—had receded into the background. Reuchlin himself was a jurist, and he had a sound grasp of inquisitorial procedure. Over the course of the process, he and his legal advisors exploited legal irregularities in his opponents’ actions to have the case thrown out of court. Reuchlin’s defenders had no interest in the issue of Jewish books that had started the controversy but focused instead on the procedure for and the proponents of condemnation. Reuchlin’s initial strategy of deflecting attention away from the actual content of his book and focusing on the procedure used to identify and condemn suspect statements was therefore successful—at least until the Luther affair again raised the question of heresy. Just as important as the legal proceedings was the publicistic battle waged on Reuchlin’s behalf. Reuchlin had not attacked scholastic theol­ ogy in general, nor did he discuss the methodological approach of human­ ism. Nevertheless, the similarities with broader humanist concerns were evident, and they were made obvious in the Letters of Obscure Men, espe­ cially the second volume published in 1517. The letters mocked the eager­ ness of theologians to label anyone who disagreed with them as heretics and portrayed Reuchlin’s scholastic opponents, especially Hoogstraeten, as ignorant, vainglorious laughingstocks.31 Such characterizations fit only too well with Erasmus’ lampooning of theologians in his Praise of Folly, which had already provoked a rebuke from the Louvain theologian Martin Dorp.32 In his response to Dorp, which from 1516 on was published as a 31 See, for example, Böcking, Supplementum, 1:19–20, 33–35, 195–196, 196–198, 206–210; on the publicistic importance of the Letters for the humanist cause more generally, Erika Rummel, The Confessionalization of Humanism in Reformation Germany (Oxford: OUP, 2000), 12–15. 32 The exchange between Dorp and Erasmus is described by Erika Rummel, Erasmus and his Catholic Critics, 2 vols. (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1989), 1 1–13, and Daniel Kinney, “Introduction,” in Thomas More, In Defense of Humanism, ed. Kinney, vol. 15, The Complete Works (New Haven: YUP, 1986), xix–xxviii. Whether the letters represented a real and serious disagreement between Erasmus and Dorp or, as Lisa Jardine has suggested, were a “performance” intended to promote the humanists’ approach to theology is not as

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preface to the Praise of Folly, Erasmus made fun of scholastic theologians who sat in judgment and issued condemnations, supposing themselves wise even though they were ignorant of Greek and Hebrew, and he con­ trasted them with genuine theologians who devoted themselves to the study of Scripture.33 Thomas More would go even further in his own letter to Dorp, mocking the sophistical use of dialectic in theology and pointing out that any statement could be misrepresented when taken out of con­ text. His letter was an eloquent defense of the humanist approach to the­ ology.34 Last but not least, in an Epistola apologetica written in support of Reuchlin, Willibald Pirckheimer criticized theologians whose use of dia­ lectic went beyond the proper bounds. He prescribed a humanist course of study for those who wanted to earn the name of theologian, and then listed those who were worthy of that label, including a certain “Martinus Lueder Augustiniani.”35 Only a few weeks later, the publication of Luther’s theses on indulgences would initiate a new controversy that soon eclipsed the Reuchlin affair. The Luther Affair In taking action against the Augenspiegel, the various university theology faculties had followed the normal procedure for academic condemnation. The notoriety caused by the publicistic debate that ensued under­ mined the credibility of that process, however, as quickly became appar­ ent through the controversy that followed the publication of Luther’s 95 Theses. Because the Wittenberg theology faculty supported Luther, denunciation would have to come from outside of Wittenberg. The arch­ bishop of Mainz initiated this process by asking the Mainz theology fac­ ulty to evaluate the theses and by forwarding them to the papal curia.36 important for this discussion as the actual positions presented in the exchange; Lisa Jardine, Erasmus, Man of Letters: The Construction of Charisma in Print (Princeton: PUP, 1993), 111–122. 33 Collected Works of Erasmus, 3:111–139, esp. 122–124. Significantly, in his letter to Dorp, Erasmus also made several points intended to ward off accusations of heresy, including the fact that he himself had a doctorate in theology and that his editorial work was supported by many prelates and pious theologians—and opposed only by a few who were truly ignorant. 34 Kinney, More, 2–127, esp. 28–45. More’s letter, written in the late summer/fall of 1515, was not published during his lifetime but circulated in manuscript. 35 Emil Reicke, et al., Willibald Pirckheimers Briefwechsel (Beck: Munich, 1940–2009), 3 146–172, esp. 158–163. 36 Although the Mainz theology faculty stated that the theses seemed to go against the teaching of the church, it refused to make a final judgment; Wilhelm Borth, Die Luthersache



academic heresy and the reuchlin affair47

Like the Reuchlin affair, the “Luther Affair” would proceed in two are­ nas, the publicistic battle in Germany and the legal process in Rome. The latter was hampered from the beginning by the elector’s protection of Luther, and by the fall of 1518 the legal question had changed from whether Luther’s teachings were heretical to whether Luther himself was a perti­ nacious heretic. This was a much more serious charge, especially since the legal process had papal authorization. The publicistic debate, however, would take up those questions concerning the identification of heresy and the procedure for judging academic heresy that had been raised—and left unanswered—by the Reuchlin affair. The fundamental issue was whether a published work contained state­ ments that should be condemned, and if so, where those statements fell on a scale that ranged from poorly phrased or open to misinterpretation (male or prout sonant) to heretical or blasphemous. Just as important as the practical definition of heresy was the question of how it was identified. Could the objectionable contents be satisfactorily determined on the basis of propositions removed from their context? It had always been common for those accused of heretical teaching to argue that such a pro­ cedure distorted their ideas, but Reuchlin and his defenders had gone fur­ ther, both ridiculing and pouring scorn upon the prout sonant principle, and they did not hesitate to accuse those who employed it of slander. Even some of Luther’s Catholic opponents felt that the initial accusations had gone too far. Cajetan’s focus on theses 7 and 58 at Augsburg can be seen as tacit acknowledgement that Luther’s accusers had suspected heresy where there was none.37 A second issue concerned who had the right to judge whether a state­ ment was heretical: a restricted group trained in scholastic theology, or the learned public who read the pamphlets of Reuchlin and his support­ ers. Reuchlin himself distinguished between “pious and learned theolo­ gians” and his opponents in Cologne. His humanist supporters identified this distinction with their own broader claim that the ones most qualified to interpret Scripture were those who could study the text in the original languages rather than those who had the proper academic credentials. The impact of Reuchlin’s Defensio can be judged by the frequent use of the (Causa Lutheri) 1517–1524. Die Anfänge der Reformation als Frage von Politik und Recht (Lübeck: Matthiesen, 1970), 29–32; Peter Fabisch and Erwin Iserloh, Dokumente zur Causa Lutheri (1517–1521), 2 vols. (Aschendorff: Münster, 1988–), 1 293–309. 37 On Cajetan’s careful reading of and response to Luther, see Jared Wicks, “Roman Reactions to Luther: The First Year, 1518,” CHR 69 (1983): 521–562, esp. 538–551.

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term “theologist” in humanist correspondence and publications from 1513 on. While Reuchlin may not have intended to go so far, his more enthusi­ astic supporters developed the implications of the Defensio to challenge the theologians’ monopoly on the right to judge theological discourse. The corrosive consequences of these unresolved issues can be seen in Bonifacius Amerbach’s reaction to the Paris theology faculty’s condemna­ tion of Luther in 1521: They thunder only that it is heretical, scandalous, offensive to pious ears and the like, without citing Scripture, undermining his foundation, or giving rea­ sons for what they call errors. But if this ought to be the manner of con­ demning heretics henceforth, there will be no need to maintain so many colleges of priests and theologians, since anyone from the number of chief censors whose character is more senseless than lead, or thicker than wood, or blunter than a pestle, can condemn with such words and concepts, where it is done not with sacred letters but with force, not with reasons but with authority, not with a collection of scripture passages but with bundles of wood.38

A significant and influential public audience now called into question a procedure whereby a relatively small group of academic experts had the authority to police theological discourse and to condemn propositions removed from their context without giving a more detailed rationale for their judgment. In the wake of the Reuchlin affair, charges of academic heresy leveled by scholastic theologians became an object of derision rather than something to be feared.39 In the second decade of the six­ teenth century, theology faculties lost their moral authority to monitor academic discourse in Germany, with fateful consequences for the early Reformation.

38 To Andrea Alciato, 11 June 1521, Alfred Hartmann, Die Amerbachkorrespondenz, vol. 2: Die Briefe aus den Jahren 1514–1524 (Basel: Universitätsbibliothek, 1943), 308. 39 In response, scholastic theologians would change their own strategies for dealing with ideas deemed heretical; for one example, see Mark Crane, “A Scholastic Strikes Back: Noël Béda’s ‘Apologia...adversus clandestinos Lutheranos’ (1529),” Opuscula 1.3 (2011): 1–12, http://opuscula.synergiesprairies.ca/ojs/index.php/opuscula/issue/view/3, accessed 12 July 2012.

INFLUENCES IN LUTHER’S REFORMS Fred P. Hall Introduction Martin Luther was born into late medieval and Renaissance Roman Catholicism. As he matured through the church’s training system, its teachings and demands terrified him. Coincidentally he encountered the Vulgate Bible and often found it at odds with the church. Franz Lau called his education and life experience, as well as the Holy Spirit working through Scripture, the “midwives” of Luther’s spiritual birth, which in turn brought Luther to peace with God as he became reformer of the church and of education.1 Influences Home Martin Luther was born 10 November 1483, to Hans and Margaretta in Eisleben, and grew up in Mansfeld in Anhalt Saxony. Luther’s parents sought success for their family by thrifty living and hard work. Hans, a peasant, and Margaretta, from an established burgher family, were both from Eisenach. Throughout his life Luther’s speech and writing reflected the popular peasant dialect and folklore of his home town.2 Hans succeeded in copper mining and in the community:3 Many never became more than common laborers. But Hans Luder did. Within seven years he had started his own enterprise in the copper business. Not long after he became a member of Mansfeld’s city council. Less than 25 years after Martin’s birth, Hans and his partners owned at least six mine shafts and two copper smelters.4 1 Franz Lau, Luther, trans. Fischer (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1963), 58ff. 2 Julius Köstlin, Life of Luther, 2nd ed. (New York: Longmans, 1900), 21ff. 3 Heiko Oberman, Luther: Man between God and the Devil, trans. Walliser-Schwarzbart (New Haven: Yale, 1989), 83ff.; Martin Brecht, Martin Luther: His Road to Reformation, 1483– 1521, trans. Schaff (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1985 (PB 1993)), 3ff. 4 James M. Kittelson, Luther the Reformer (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 33.

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Hans was involved with church leadership and some clashes over clergy monetary demands. Hans’ and Margaretta’s home included a typical latemedieval religiosity.5 They raised Martin with discipline so harsh that it often estranged parents and children,6 but he absorbed the determination and work ethic of his parents.7 Though uneducated, they gave Martin a good education, compelling him to be a good student and to succeed in life beyond their achievements.8 After God, Luther said, he owed all to their love in the home and their gift of his education.9 Luther’s culture included superstitions of medieval Catholicism and the devil’s dark realm.10 Indeed, “Hans’ mines and woods and home were, he believed, inhabited by elves, gnomes, witches, and spirits. Always the other world and the next life were close at hand.”11 From his childhood Luther sensed the reality of the devil that strongly appeared in his later views.12 This, coupled with the fear induced by medieval Catholicism, tormented him until his theological breakthrough.13 Early Education Preparing for advanced education, Luther attended the Mansfeld Trivialschule until 1486. There he studied Latin, prayers, confessions, the creed, the Decalogue, the Latin Vulgate Bible, the liturgy, grammar/syntax, classical literature, and music theory. Latin schools wove religious training into the curriculum, and prepared him for his later work in classical Latin at Magdeburg, Eisenach, and Erfurt.14 In 1497 Luther continued his university preparations at Magdeburg while living with the Brethren of the Common Life—a community of disciplined service. Luther was shamed by the devotion of Prince Wilhelm of Anhalt, a frail Franciscan begging monk, who wasted away to die through fasts and self-flagellation.15    5 Brecht, Luther, 11.   6 Heinrich Boehmer, Road to Reformation, trans. John W. Doberstein and Theodore G. Tappert (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1946), 6.    7 Oberman, Luther, 87.    8 Bernard Lohse, Martin Luther’s Theology, trans. and ed. Harrisville (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999), 28ff.    9 Brecht, Luther, 7. 10 James Atkinson, Martin Luther and the Birth of Protestantism (Atlanta: Knox, 1981), 19ff.   11 Reginald W. Deitz, Luther and the Reformation (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1953), 33ff. 12 Lohse, Theology, 29. 13 Brecht, Luther, 11ff; Boehmer, Road, 20. 14 E.G. Schwiebert, Luther and his Times (St. Louis: Concordia, 1950), 110–117. 15 Boehmer, Road, 17.



influences in luther’s reforms51

After a year Luther left Magdeburg to complete his pre-university schooling at Eisenach in Thuringia, near relatives of his parents.16 He lived with Heinrich Schalbe—“The most pious home in Eisenach.”17 Through the Schalbes Luther met supporters of the Franciscans, known as “Schalbe’s collegium,” and Vicar Johannes Braun. Here “Luther came to know joyful piety. In the group gathered about Braun, songs and motets for various voices were sung, giving Luther access to the world of music.”18 Luther called Braun “his very closest friend.”19 Luther continued Trivialschule at the school of St. George with his best teacher of Latin, Rector John Trebonius, and another teacher, Wiegand Geldennupf. These teachers motivated their students beyond rote memorization and strict discipline, so that Luther could read ancient authors, give speeches, and write essays and poetry in Latin. Luther was fortunate to have teachers who recognized his ability, gave him a quality education, and recommend him for university.20 Eisenach was a congenial, comfortable atmosphere dominated by strong religious conviction and often the scene of stimulating conversations with distinguished guests. One of the most frequent of these was the vicar of St. Marien [Braun], who was also in charge of the Franciscan monastery at the foot of the Wartburg, the Barfuesser Kloster.”21

Later Luther would characterize “his stay in Eisenach as one of the happiest periods of his life.”22 Perhaps this genuine Christian witness assisted Luther in his anguish over the next four years as he desperately sought assurance of God’s acceptance.23 University Luther began university studies with a host of background influences. As his university studies mixed with his previous experiences, Luther encountered challenges that wrought significant changes in his life and attitudes. The University of Erfurt was Germany’s premium school. Located midway

16 Brecht, Luther, 15–18. 17 Boehmer, Road, 19. 18 Lohse, Theology, 31. 19 Oberman, Luther, 100ff. 20 Kittelson, The Reformer, 39. 21 Schwiebert, Times, 127f. 22 Schwiebert, Times, 128. 23 Kittelson, The Reformer, 40.

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between Mainz and Electoral Saxony, Erfurt never achieved political or ecclesiastical autonomy because of competition between Mainz and Saxony.24 In his Ninety-five Theses (1517) against the indulgences sponsored by the Archbishop of Mainz, Luther, of Saxon Wittenberg, tripped into this theo-political strife. In April 1501, “Martinus Ludher ex Mansfelt” [age 17] entered the liberal arts department at the University of Erfurt, joining the bursa of Saint George at Lehmann’s Bridge: “As long as he was a member of the bursa, day and night, whether he was in the house or outside, he was constantly under the regulations and under the strict oversight of the master of the bursa as well as of the instructors and proctors of the university.”25 Luther worked toward the Master’s degree while preparing for the Bachelor’s examination. He passed the Bachelor’s examination in fall 1502, finishing thirtieth in a class of fifty seven. In early 1505 he completed his Master’s degree, ranking second of seventeen students. Luther’s university studies equipped him with the philosophical form and theological methods that he later utilized to apply scriptural teaching against the religious establishment of his day. His later work benefited more from the methods of his education than from the content. In his Reformation work Luther applied the methods skillfully, using various languages in his expositions and translations of Scripture in disputations, theology, philosophy, ethics, and education, and in comments on ecclesiastical and societal matters.26 Luther held that disputation was in itself the best method for the development of the logical faculties. In his own case, at all events, this method was eminently successful. He had already gained a reputation among his fellow-students as a sharp dialectician and ready disputant, and had on this account been nicknamed the “philosopher.”27

Philosophy Luther’s education emphasized scholastic philosophy and theology.28 However, he later exited scholasticism to become its strongest critic. 24 Brecht, Luther, 23–29. 25 Boehmer, Road, 22ff. 26 Boehmer, Road, 23–25; Oberman, Luther, 114. 27 Boehmer, Road, 24. 28 Leif Grane, “Luther and Scholasticism,” in Luther and Learning, ed. Harran (Selinsgrove: Susquehanna University, 1985), 52.



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Scholasticism Late-medieval scholastic theology included two schools: via antiqua, tracing from Thomas Aquinas through Duns Scotus, and via moderna, issuing from the English scholar, William of Occam and Gabriel Biel, a protagonist of Occam and the via moderna. A sort of “second Occam,”29 Biel affiliated with the Brethren of the Common life and was influential at the University of Tübingen from 1484 until his retirement in 1489. Via antiqua is associated with realism, which maintained that “universals have real substantial existence.”30 Via antiqua emphasized logic and dialectic to analyze everything using Aristotelian syllogistic reasoning to penetrate even the mysteries of God and the world beyond this life. It elevated the use of human reason. Aristotle reigned supreme.31 In contrast, via moderna has been identified with nominalism, which maintained that universals have no existence independent of being thought, and are merely names (hence “nominalism”) representing nothing that really exists.32 Reality is the experience of the universal principles in the lives of individuals. Thus, “Via Moderna maintained that humans cannot penetrate the mysterious realms of God by logic, but held that divine truth was only revealed by the Holy Scriptures, which must be accepted through faith.”33 At Erfurt, a via moderna stronghold, nominalism influenced Luther’s scholastic education. The “leading lights” at Erfurt, Jodocus Trutfetter (from Eisenach) and Bartholomaeus Arnoldi (von Usingen) introduced their students directly to Aristotle’s texts instead of using commentaries. They interpreted Aristotle more critically, and with more understanding, than elsewhere in Germany. Luther was fortunate to complete his liberal arts studies in one of the most dynamic faculties in Europe.34 Trutfetter (1460?–1519) taught at Erfurt and Wittenberg. By 1504 he was a distinguished doctor of theology at Erfurt, dedicated to the philosophy of Occam and Biel.35 Bartholomaeus Arnoldi von Usingen (ca. 1464–1532) received his M.A. at Erfurt in 1491. He was highly esteemed among his

29 Oberman, Luther, 118. 30 Anthony Flew, ed., A Dictionary of Philosophy, 2nd ed. (New York: St. Martin’s, 1984), 299. 31 Ernest G. Schwiebert, The Reformation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 245. 32 Flew, Dictionary of Philosophy, 250. 33 Schwiebert, Reformation, 245. 34 Oberman, Luther, 116, 114. 35 Schwiebert, Reformation, 245.

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colleagues and was Luther’s close friend.36 His teaching followed Biel obediently.37 He maintained that, Christ has redeemed the faithful from the servitude of sin and the power of the devil, but not from the Law. Christ…has given his Holy Spirit to the Church to establish the new ceremonial and judicial laws, and he has retained the moral law. Christ has fulfilled and perfected the law of Moses in order that He be imitated.38

Thus, the New Law is the Lex imitationis, necessary for salvation. This linked Usingen through Biel to the Imitatio Christi spirituality of the Brethren. Usingen’s understanding of salvation as solely a gift of God referred only to an outer structure: “Salvation is unmerited; but God has obliged himself to accept man’s virtuous acts. Man provides the substructure, the substance of the act; its meritoriousness is a gift of God.”39 Usingen maintained that man’s free will takes “the initiative to open the door of his heart for God’s gracious assistance.”40 In late-medieval scholastic theology this action of human initiative is summarized with the expression facere quod in se est (to those who do what is in them), God will not deny grace.41 Scholastics immediately preceding the Reformation taught that God recognizes the natural human capacity to turn to him by doing the best they can and honors that with grace to bring one to repentance, confession, forgiveness, and justification. This is Erasmus’ semi-Pelagian view that Luther opposed in The Bondage of the Will (1525). Trufetter and Usingen applied the fundamental principles of via moderna: “all philosophical speculation must be tested by…experience and reality-based reason,” while “All theological speculation must be tested by the authority of the Scriptures as interpreted by the Church.”42 By its tests of experience and Scripture, nominalism became a key factor in the development of natural science and theology. Trutfetter and Usingen formulated the common core of nominalism, consolidating its fundamental principles into a cohesive program at Erfurt. They wrote handbooks and philosophies to introduce students to the application of nominalistic criteria.43 36 T. Kolde, “Arnoldi, Bartholomaeus,” in New Schaff-Herzog, 1:304. 37 Heiko Oberman, The Harvest of Medieval Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2000), 4, 180. 38 Oberman, Harvest, 118. 39 Oberman, Harvest, 179. Cf. Harry J. McSorley, Luther Right or Wrong? (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1969), 198ff. 40 Oberman, Harvest, 180ff. 41 Muller, DLGT, 113. 42 Oberman, Harvest, 118ff. 43 Oberman, Harvest, 118.



influences in luther’s reforms55

Luther’s scholastic training had diverse effects. On the one hand, “this challenging climate of intellectual innovation,”44 in which his study was pursued “under gifted professors, for whom he maintained high esteem, Luther received an excellent introduction to medieval scholasticism.”45 Luther “learned to think in a scholastic way according to…via moderna, and mastered the subject of theology according to late medieval standards.”46 But, however, the aspect of nominalism that depended upon doing one’s best to qualify for grace increased his terror and his spiritual assaults (Anfechtungen).47 Humanism Humanism brought classical anthropology, including form, style and substance, from the Renaissance to the Reformation. Erasmus, Luther, and Melanchthon were key formulators of Christian humanism.48 The influence of humanism stretched from Luther’s early university attendance through his translation work in the middle 1530s. At Erfurt Luther discovered the humanists and treasured their literature.49 Later, humanism gave Luther access to biblical languages (Greek and Hebrew), classical literature, Scripture, and the early fathers. He demonstrated astonishing knowledge of the classics; e.g., during the Leipzig debate (1519), he used scriptural and patristic sources and classical rhetoric to express basic Christian concepts.50 At Wittenberg (from 1513), Luther used the classics, the fathers and acclaimed language scholars, Reuchlin (Hebrew) and Erasmus (Greek).51 He encouraged exegetes to drink deeply from the Scriptures and to criticize the fathers and classics when they neglected the theology of the Scriptures.52 This principle was foundational for Wittenberg’s “New Theology,”53 and transformed Wittenberg into a center of biblical humanism.54 His writings during that period show that “theological depth 44 Oberman, Luther, 119. 45 Schwiebert, Reformation, 429. 46 Grane, “Luther and Scholasticism,” 53. 47 Lau, Luther, 55ff. 48 Lewis W. Spitz, “Luther and Humanism,” in Luther and Learning, 69ff; Spitz, Luther and German Humanism (Aldershot: Variorium, 1996); Manfred P. Fleischer, ed. The Harvest of Humanism in Central Europe (St. Louis: Concordia, 1992), 28ff. 49 Spitz, “Luther and Humanism,” 74. 50 Spitz, Luther and German Humanism, vii. 51 Oberman, Luther, 123ff. 52 Schwiebert, Reformation, 438. 53 Schwiebert, Reformation, 259. 54 Schwiebert, Reformation, 450.

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resulted from years of study of the Holy Scriptures and the history of early Christianity. He did not wish to found a new church but to cleanse and reform Christianity by a return to its original standards of doctrinal teachings.”55 Monastery From childhood through university, Luther experienced heightened Anfechtungen concerning his acceptance before God, exacerbated by the gruesome deaths of several colleagues. His fear of sudden death terrorized him. At Erfurt he searched Scripture to find peace. When lightning struck nearby, he saw God calling him to become a monk to resolve his aggravations.56 As he relates, “I took the vow not for the sake of my belly, but for the sake of my salvation, and observed all of our statutes very strictly.”57 The Augustinian requirement, humbly to love God and neighbor, exposed his self-centeredness. This root of sin hopelessly entwined him.58 The Erfurt Augustinian monastery introduced several influences: discipline, scriptural orientation, the mentorship of Johann von Staupitz, Saint Augustine, and ordination. Discipline Luther entered the monastery fearing God’s punishment and feeling he must live out God’s law. Since monasteries enable such performance, he willingly submitted to the Augustinians who, he perceived, practiced the monastic life most rigorously. His discipline included stringent submission and obedience to Christ, the pope, the church, her teachings, his order, and his superiors. His character, rooted in his home, school, and university experiences, served him well in the monastery. Luther followed the directives of the Augustinians in prayer, confession, study, mortifications and Bible memorization—often exceeding the requirements; e.g., when Staupitz directed Luther to prepare for ordination, and later for the doctorate in Holy Scriptures, Luther obeyed, although not without protestations.59

55 Schwiebert, Reformation, 426ff. 56 Brecht, Luther, 46–49. 57 LW 54: 338; WA TR, 4. 58 Walther von Loewenich, Martin Luther: The Man and His Work, trans. Denf (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1986), 73. 59 Oberman, Luther, 122.



influences in luther’s reforms57

Scripture The day Luther entered the monastery he received a red leather-bound copy of the Latin Vulgate Bible—a significant event. Shortly afterward, Johann von Staupitz, vicar of Augustinian convents, mandated “that the Holy Scriptures were to be read zealously, heard piously, and fervently made one’s own.”60 Armed with his new Bible under these requirements, Luther’s biblical theological formation began.61 Observing Luther’s interest in Scripture, Staupitz directed him to memorize the Bible.62 Luther learned the book; reading it as directed; knowing every page,63 “practically by heart, and could quote it freely in his lectures without verification, and even cite the Bible passages, in which reference, scholars claim he seldom made a mistake.”64 Johann von Staupitz While in the cloister Luther’s mentor was Dr. Johann von Staupitz, VicarGeneral of the Observant Augustinian order and first professor of Bible at the University of Wittenberg.65 As Steinmetz writes, “Staupitz’s earliest influence seems to have been exclusively through pastoral conversations, [as] a skilled counselor who enabled Luther to face what he feared and resolve…his acute theological anxieties.”66 Staupitz valued Augustine and biblical exposition.67 He focused on human redemption, “The dialogue between heaven and earth, between the self-giving misericordia [mercy] of God and the dire miseria of man.” Luther called him, “a preacher of grace and the cross.” Staupitz’s goal was that the “task of the theologian is the confession of the praise of God.”68 As Luther’s superior, Staupitz directed him to study Scripture, become a priest, become a vicar of monasteries, journey to Rome, earn his theological doctorate, and assume the teaching position at Wittenberg. As Luther’s spiritual counsel,69 Staupitz helped him know that behind the authority of the church, with futile religious attempts of contrition or heroic devotion, stands the prior grace of the electing God whose mercy is shown 60 Brecht, Luther, 60. 61 Boehmer, Road, 39. 62 Oberman, Luther, 136. 63 LW 54:14, WA TR #116. 64 Schwiebert, Reformation, 438. 65 David C. Steinmetz, Misericordia Dei (Leiden: Brill, 1968), 5. 66 Steinmetz, Context, 13. 67 Brecht, Luther, 54. 68 Steinmetz, Misericordia, 1. 69 Brecht, Luther, 54.

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in the wounds of Christ. Luther clung to this hope for the rest of his life.70 Staupitz protected Luther following the indulgence controversy, and introduced him to like-minded communities.71 He helped Luther understand penance and forgiveness and set him on the path to the Ref­ ormation.72 Luther proclaimed that he received everything from Staupitz, “being my father in the doctrine and having given birth (to me) in Christ.”73 For Luther, Staupitz was God’s agent to initiate Luther’s life work on all fronts. Augustine During his time of development Luther mined Augustine’s corpus. Luther’s knowledge of Augustine increased rapidly from 1513 to 1518 as he struggled to interpret the Psalms and the writings of Saint Paul.74 As Steinmetz observers, “Regarding Romans 9, Luther is not drawn to the position in the Expositio, though he knows it, but stays with the [harsher] position of Augustine in the Enchiridion, however much he may fear that Augustine’s mature position is too strong a drink for the immature.”75 Though informed by Augustine’s Expositio of Romans, Luther maintained the primacy of Scripture as needed for his hearers, and did not merely echo the writings of even Augustine. In discussing the fathers, Luther noted, “It’s necessary to stick to the clear Word of God and not to human opinions.”76 Ordination Recognizing Luther’s capabilities, the order called him to the priesthood when he had completed his noviate and monastic profession in 1506. After his ordination in 1507 he began teaching philosophy at the Erfurt order in April 1508 and later at Wittenberg, 1508–1509. His studies included Gabriel Biel’s work on the Mass and his expansive commentary on Lombard’s Sentences (Collectorium), Occam’s Questiones, and other scholastic scholars covering Scripture and church practices.77 Later he worked through Biel’s dogmatics and history. This work reinforced Luther’s nominalist theology to prepare him for his early lectures on Lombard’s Sentences. 70 Steinmetz, Context, 9–11, 19. 71 Leif Grane, Martinus Noster (Mainz: von Zabern, 1994), 18, 28, 151. 72 David C. Steinmetz, Luther and Staupitz (Durham: DUP, 1980), 3. 73 Oberman, Luther, 152; WA Br 11:67. 74 Steinmetz, Context, 12. 75 Steinmetz, Context, 20. 76 LW 54 260, No. 3695. 77 Brecht, Luther, 71.



influences in luther’s reforms59 Doctoral Studies/Early Teaching

Luther’s graduate studies, following via moderna, concentrated on Lombard’s Sentences and the Holy Scriptures. Luther taught at Erfurt and Wittenberg while completing the stages of certification for the Doctor of Theology (1507–1512):78 Biblicus (Erfurt 1509), Sententiarius (Wittenberg 1509), Formatus (Erfurt 1510), Licentiatus (Erfurt 1511), and Doctor of Theology (Wittenberg 1512). Staupitz recommended Luther as professor of Bible at Wittenberg. Frederick the Wise paid the fee. The chancellor granted the license, and Karstadt conferred the degree on 19 October 1512. Effects of the Influences Luther experienced radical changes while serving as Lectura in Biblia at the University of Wittenberg. In 1513–1518 he lectured on the Psalms, Romans, Galatians, and Hebrews, and experienced his theological breakthrough. He became the reformer who, through biblical humanism, transformed the university curricula and dethroned Aristotle. With the support and assistance of the Wittenberg faculty he developed his “Theology of the Cross” (theologia crucis). With the assistance of his colleague Philip Melanchthon, Greek and Hebrew were introduced after 1518. Reflecting the influence of humanism, Wittenberg became the center of the German Reformation from which streamed thousands of students and reformers to spread Wittenberg’s “New Theology” throughout the continent.79 Teaching During his early teaching (1513–1518) Luther presented his rejection of scholastic theology and his theologia crucis. Luther considered the Psalms to be the prayers of Christ and his interpretation concentrated on the message of Christ. He was not a theological analyst but a listener of the Holy Spirit, and one who proclaimed the message that he heard. This listening was the beginning of his theological work.80 Luther became aware of the Spirit’s work through the Word, which brings one under the will of God and into union with Christ. His teaching was not from a prescribed 78 Brecht, Luther, 90ff., 125ff.; Schwiebert, Reformation 230ff., 429ff.; Oberman, Luther, 139–145. 79 Schwiebert, Reformation, 481. 80 LW 10:4–10; Bernard Lohse, Martin Luther: An Introduction to His Life and Work, trans. Schultz (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 29.

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curriculum but from the understanding of Christ he gained from prayerful listening to the Holy Spirit through the Word.81 Luther also listened to the message of the church and her teachers and by using nominalist methods he compared them with Scripture. Where the authorities and teachers differed from the Word of God, he called for disputations to present the differences for discussion. Through his Christocentric approach Luther emphasized the issues of humility, pride, judgment, trust, and one’s personal relationship with God. Christ’s humility on the cross, e.g., showed how everyone must humble themselves under God’s judgment to receive his grace: “Luther was particularly concerned with questions about the righteousness of God and the justification of people.” Even in the early lectures, Lohse writes, it was characteristic that Luther “considered every question from the standpoint of damnation and salvation, from sin and grace, or from the attempt to realize oneself in contrast to receiving the “alien” righteousness of Christ.82 Luther stated the basis of his lectures on Psalm 69: For surfeit now reigns to such an extent that there is much worship of God everywhere, but it is only going through the motions, without love and spirit, and there are very few with any fervor. And all this happens because we think we are something and are doing enough. Consequently we try nothing, and we hold to no strong emotion, and we do much to ease the way to heaven, by means of indulgences, by means of easy doctrines, feeling that one sigh is enough. And here God properly chose the things that are not to destroy the things that are. For one who from a sincere heart considers himself to be nothing without a doubt is fervent and hastens toward progress and that which is good.83

The emphasis was obedience, humbly submitting to God’s judgment. This is the life of continual repentance.84 The contrite sinner, in union with the righteous Christ in his suffering and death, is raised with Christ in his resurrection and ascension.85 Luther’s “Theology of Humility” became his theologia crucis and justification by faith. As he had experienced, the Psalms apply to those with Anfechtungen to affirm them in their despair, and to give them hope. In Romans, Luther encountered the “obedience of faith” (Rom. 1:5).86 As in the Psalms, the disciple is humbled in union with Christ’s humility. 81 Brecht, Luther, 130ff.; LW 10:219, 294. 82 Lohse, Luther, 29. 83 LW 10:351. 84 Oberman, Luther, 162; LW 31:25. 85 LW 10:351–384. 86 LW 25:5.



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Trusting the promises of God leads to justification by faith and life in the Spirit. This trust was important as Luther came to his Reformation breakthrough, discovering the power of God hidden under the contrary and not expressed through the obvious—theologia crucis rather than theologia gloria. Breakthrough From his university days until ca. 1518, Luther continued to be troubled regarding his assurance of salvation. As he learned more of Augustine and his teaching of predestination, Luther’s Anfechtungen heightened his dread that, despite his monkery, God had not elected him.87 Humanistic research led him to the fathers and Scriptures so the Holy Spirit could work through Scripture to bring him to his theological and spiritual breakthrough. His breakthrough occurred incrementally from 1509–1519. 1509. Luther’s marginals on Augustine’s works indicate both his interest in Augustine and his realization of the contradiction between Aristotle and the church’s teaching. Integrating Augustine’s arguments into his lectures, Luther depended on Scripture against the arguments of reason— human philosophy cannot comprehend Scripture. Faith’s questions must be resolved through Scripture, otherwise, philosophy has violated the Word of God.88 1513–1515. Through the Psalms, Luther learned obedience, repentance, faith and trust. The Spirit works through God’s Word to defeat philosophy.89 1515–1516. In Romans, Luther found his “breakthrough” regarding the righteousness of God: (1:17) “Only in the Gospel is the righteousness of God revealed (that is, who is and becomes righteous before God and how this takes place) by faith alone, by which the Word of God is believed…. For the righteousness of God is the cause of salvation. And here again, by the righteousness of God we must not understand the righteousness by which He is righteous in Himself but the righteousness by which we are made righteous by God. This happens through faith in the Gospel.90 (3:20) Therefore, “grace alone justifies.”91 In Romans 3:21, however, God still

87 Lau, Luther, 59. 88 Oberman, Luther, 159ff. 89 LW 10:4. 90 LW 25:151ff. 91 LW 25:242.

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required self-control over carnal weaknesses, “For grace is not given without this self-cultivation.”92 1518. In Explanations of the Ninety-five Theses, Theses 1 and 2, Luther referred repentant Christians to the priest who pronounces God’s for­ giveness because Christ gave his followers authority to forgive the repentant.93 1519. From Galatians, Luther proclaimed that God forgives those who hear the word of Christ, confess their sins in his name, and trust that God forgives them and draws them to himself through Christ (Gal. 2:15f, 21).94 This completed Luther’s “incremental breakthrough.” Through Scripture, the Holy Spirit led him to his breakthrough and guided his later work as pastor, expositor, reformer and educator, influencing thousands of students throughout Europe. Opposition to ‘Scholastic’ Theology Study and teaching of philosophy, theology, and Scripture showed Luther contradictions between scholasticism and Scripture which he resisted: “Smoke of the earth has never been known to lighten heaven; rather it blocks the stream of light over the earth. Theology is heaven, yes even the kingdom of heaven; man, however, is earth and his speculations are smoke.”95 Luther criticized Biel’s theology and rejected the facere quod in se est, demonstrating his independence from this aspect of nominalism.96 Using scholastic methods and Scripture he opposed scholasticism and latemedieval Catholic theology. Luther’s Disputation Against Scholastic Theology (1517), theses 20–30, attacked Biel claiming that an “act of love without God’s grace ... is impossible for the natural man.” Indeed, Luther railed against the idea “that natural man could prepare himself for God’s saving grace by his own efforts and natural powers.”97 Other theses include rejection of the view “that doing all that one is able to do can remove the obstacles to grace” (33), as well as affirmation that “nature … necessarily glories and takes pride in every work which is apparently and outwardly good” (37) and that “we do not become righteous by doing righteous deeds but, having been 92 LW 25 244. 93 LW 31:83ff. 94 Oberman, Luther, 165; LW 27:220f, 241ff. 95 Oberman, Dawn, 93-103, citation on 94. 96 Oberman, Dawn, 101. 97 Schwiebert, Reformation, 455; LW 31:10ff.



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made righteous, we do righteous deeds” (40). The Disputation opposed scholasticism’s perversion of Augustine with Aristotle: “43. It is an error to say that no man can be a theologian without Aristotle; 44. Indeed, no one can be become a theologian unless he becomes one without Aristotle.”98 When tested by Augustine and Scripture scholasticism was proven Aristotelian rather than Christian—departing from early Catholicism.99 Luther expressed this departure: If a man receives grace by doing what is in him, it seems impossible that not everyone or at least the majority of men might be saved … When man is proud, sins, etc., does he do such a work by himself or is it done by another? Of course, he himself does it … and by his own strength. Therefore, on the contrary, if he does what is in him, he sins.100 Therefore Luther rejected scholasticism. Using Augustine, nominalism, and Scripture, he replaced Aristotle’s priority with his theologia crucis.101 Theologia Crucis and the Holy Spirit For Luther, the essence of true theology is theologia crucis,102 as expressed in his commentary on Psalm 5:12, “The cross alone is our theology.”103 God can only be known by his revelation in the cross of Christ’s sufferings. Christians share those sufferings in union with Christ. God is not known by human religious activity reaching up to God, but by God, hidden in the shame of human sin, suffering, and death on the cross, reaching down to sinful humanity. The Holy Spirit draws us to God to see his love revealed in this mystery of the cross.104 Luther’s conception of the Holy Spirit begins with his understanding of theologia crucis. In his comment on Psalm 32:8, “I will instruct you and teach you the way you should go,”

98 LW, 31 11-16. 99 Schwiebert, Reformation, 456. 100 LW, 31:68ff. 101 While opposing primary influences of Aristotle, Luther often used his methods in Gospel presentation. This is interpreted as continuity from pre-Reformation scholasticism to post-Reformation Protestant scholasticism. See D.V.N. Bagchi, “Sic et Non: Luther and Scholasticism,” in Protestant Scholasticism, ed. Trueman and Clark (Carlisle: Paternoster, 1999), 14-15; Richard A. Muller, “Scholasticism, Reformation, Orthodoxy, and the Persistence of Christian Aristotelianism,” Trinity Journal, n.s., 19.1 (1998): 94-96. Cf. Lohse, Theology, 40f., for Luther’s approach to God is through the lowness of one’s own cross, not by reason. 102 Paul Althaus, The Theology of Martin Luther, trans. Schultz (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1966), 25. 103 WA 5:176. 104 Regin Prenter, The Church’s Faith, trans. Jensen (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1968), 38ff.

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Luther summarizes his theologia crucis as he paraphrases God as a pastor:105 This is where I want you to be. You ask that I deliver you. Then do not be uneasy about it; do not teach Me, and do not teach yourself; surrender yourself to Me. I am competent to be your Master. I will lead you in a way that is pleasing to Me. You think it wrong if things do not go as you feel they should. But your thinking harms you and hinders Me. Things must go, not according to your understanding but above your understanding. Submerge yourself in a lack of understanding, and I will give you My understanding. Lack of understanding is real understanding; not knowing where you are going is really knowing where you are going. My understanding makes you without understanding. Thus Abraham went out from his homeland and did not know where he was going (Gen. 12:1 ff.). He yielded to My knowledge and abandoned his own knowledge; and by the right way he reached the right goal. Behold, that is the way of the cross. You cannot find it, but I must lead you like a blind man. Therefore not you, not a man, not a creature, but I, through My Spirit and the Word, will teach you the way you must go. You must not follow the work which you choose, not the suffering which you devise, but that which comes to you against your choice, thoughts, and desires.106

The life of faith, in theologia crucis, is complete submission, taught, led, and empowered by the Holy Spirit. Through obedience in suffering, the Holy Spirit brings believers into union with Christ in his sufferings for their sin. He bears their sin, and they share in his righteousness. This is not Imitatio Christi, but God’s grace working through his gift of the obedience of faith. Luther’s discipline of study, his understanding of both the usefulness and weaknesses of the tools of humanism and nominalism, his loyalty and submission to the authority of Scripture, and his growing awareness of the work of the Holy Spirit propelled him into his roles of reformer of the church and of German education. Conclusion The above influences contributed to Luther’s life work in his diverse callings. He had assimilated Scripture and established the Reformation upon it. He was transformed from one fearing God’s wrath into a bold protagonist of the powerful God who rescues the faithful. 105 Psalm 32:10. 106 LW 14:152.



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Luther’s capacity for hard work combined his parents’ example and their demands of him. In studies he mastered the materials. He sought God’s favor in relentless monasticism and mercilessly disciplined his body. He mastered the languages and content of the Bible to find peace with God. His self-discipline released from within him his seemingly limitless capacity to maximize his life space in service for his Lord. Luther’s dependence upon the Holy Spirit working through Scriptures was the most significant influence in his life and work. Humanism’s work—ad fontes—provided him an authentic foundation in Scripture and the teachings of true Catholicism in the church fathers. As he assimilated these resources he led his attack against the errors of the church and her teachers. Luther began his Reformation work by rejecting important elements of the scholastic theology he had received from Biel through Trutfetter and Usingen. He opposed as Pelagian the teaching that man’s free will can take the initiative to open the door of his heart to receive God’s gracious assistance to receive God’s gift.107 Rather, Luther depended upon the Holy Spirit to bring together Christ’s cross with the lives of repentant, faithful followers according to theologia crucis—the “New Wittenberg Theology.” Luther’s inclusion of the humanities in the communication of his work revolutionized education across Europe—from elementary to university. He went beyond dialectics or Aristotelian logic to promote Ciceronian rhetoric, history, poetry, classical and biblical languages, Latin drama, and the natural sciences. Luther’s humanism replaced scholastic dialectics with rhetoric, because Scripture contains rhetorical statements, not a collection of syllogisms. Rhetoric was important as Luther presented Scripture as the carrier of God’s truth. Alongside this he emphasized the  Holy Spirit’s working through Scripture to bring about spiritual awakening. When Luther used the methods of nominalism to test, by Scripture, the teaching of the church, he found himself in a battle of authorities. In his 95 Theses he appealed to the authority of the pope to overturn indulgences and lost. At Leipzig he appealed to the authority of the councils and lost again. He thus declared that God’s authority, expressed in Holy Scriptures, ruled over the authorities of pope, councils, or their magisterium, saying (1520), “And now farewell, unhappy, hopeless, blasphemous Rome! The wrath of God has come upon you in the end, as you deserved, 107 Oberman, Harvest, 180ff.

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and not for the many prayers which are made on your behalf, but because you have chosen to grow more evil from day to day!”108 Luther and Melanchthon called for the reconstitution of education in Germany to reform the church’s understanding and preaching of the gospel. Aristotle and Plato had to be abandoned because their ancient pagan philosophy opposed the teaching of Scripture. Preparation in biblical languages was necessary to understand Scripture and Luther’s lectures and fully appropriate his theologia crucis.109 Luther’s treatises, To the Christian Nobility (1520) and To the Councilmen of all Cities in Germany That They Establish and Maintain Christian Schools (1524) proposed general education (male and female) to promote spiritual growth and good citizenship. It included the best features of humanism alongside Christian training. Luther claimed that this plan would enrich community life by teaching the Gospel and founding public libraries. Students would learn the Gospel, languages, Scripture, the fathers, and the history of the church. These reforms were adopted in several German cities in 1524.110 Influences on Martin Luther, beginning with the tough discipline of Hans and Margaretta, followed by rigorous studies in university and monastery and capped by his dependence upon the powerful work of the Holy Spirit through God’s Word produced a man whose influence subsequently reformed the church and education. His influence still permeates the lives of the faithful today.

108 WA 6:329. 109 Schwiebert, Reformation, 450. 110 LW 45:344.

PASTORAL EDUCATION IN THE WITTENBERG WAY Robert Kolb Curriculum lies close to the heart of every culture; the execution of the plan for educating the common people and its leadership shapes the daily lives of all. Changes in the social, economic, political, ideological, and reli­ gious perceptions of both leadership and the general population effect changes in the plan for formal and informal learning in every society. One example of this is found in the redefinition of what it means to be Christian instituted in Wittenberg as Martin Luther’s insights into Scripture grew in the course of his personal engagement with the biblical texts on which he was lecturing at the university there in the 1520s. Luther had grown up with an expression of Christianity which relied on human performance of good works, chiefly the sacred works prescribed in the rituals of worship and daily life, to maintain the relationship between the sinner and God. Through his engagement with Scripture as monk and as academic theologian, on the basis of personal experience and of pre­ suppositions bequeathed him by his Ockhamist instructors, the young Wittenberg professor came to define Christianity as God’s approach to human beings, as a God of conversation and community. God came to sin­ ners with his Word, framed partly in terms of his expectations for their performance of his will, to be sure, but centered in his promise of forgive­ ness of sins, life, and salvation.1 This refocusing of the nature of the Christian faith demanded the refocusing of requirements for pastoral ministry and the preparation for pastoral service. In Wittenberg a new curriculum developed to serve this redefined church. That promise, Luther believed, was made effective through the death and resurrection of the Incarnate Word Jesus of Nazareth, the second person of the Trinity. The Wittenberg professor came to view the Christian life as grounded in trust in Christ. Because of the mystery of the continuation of sin and evil in the lives of God’s chosen people, their lives must be constantly listening to his expectations, which drive them to repentance, and to his promise, which renews their life through their trust in Christ. Luther labeled God’s expectations, in a specifically focused, technical sense, “law” and his 1 See Robert Kolb, Martin Luther, Confessor of the Faith (Oxford: OUP, 2009), 42–71.

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promise “gospel.” (He recognized broader uses of both terms in Scripture, of course.) In the distinction of law and gospel, God’s expectations for his human creatures, and God’s re-creative promise of new life through Christ, Luther saw and taught the fundamental rule for understanding God’s Word addressed to his people in the Bible. Philip Melanchthon joined Luther on the Wittenberg faculty in the midst of the senior colleague’s development of his new definition of being Christian. In his opening address at the university in 1518 Melanchthon not only issued his famous call for general curricular reform in the arts or humanities. He also called specifically for reform of the curriculum in theology since “theology really demands the highest possible capacity for thinking, for intensive concentration, and for precision in analysis.” Because the basis of theology lies in texts in Hebrew and Greek, the mas­ tering of these languages was absolutely necessary for future study on the theological faculty, he asserted.2 Melanchthon’s vision for the educational reforms of biblical humanism merged with and grew from Luther’s vision for reform in church and theological faculty.3 His achievement of the degree of “Doctor in Biblia” in 1512 had imposed upon Luther the obligation of lecturing on Scripture. Methods of biblical interpretation in the Late Middle Ages varied significantly; university and monastery often presented different approaches to the treatment of the text.4 Luther announced in the published version of his first lectures on Galatians (delivered 1516–1517, published 1519) that readers would find there a different kind of commentary: a “testimony” of his faith rather than a traditional scholastic analysis of the text.5 His narrative approach paved the way for and influenced the style of the homiletical commentaries of some of his disciples.6 It did not determine the more general form in 2 MSA 3:40; Michael Beyer, et al., ed., Melanchthon deutsch. Bd 1. Schule und Universität, Philosophie, Geschichte, und Politik (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1997), 57–60. 3 See Helmar Junghans, “Martin Luthers Einfluß auf die Wittenberger Univer­ sitätsreform,” in Die Theologische Fakultät Wittenberg 1502 bis 1602, ed. Dingel and Wartenberg (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt; 2002), esp. 70; and Robert Kolb, “The Pastoral Dimension of Melanchthon’s Pedagogical Activities for the Education of Pastors,” in Philip Melanchthon: Theologian in Classroom, Confession, and Controversy, ed. Dingel et al. (Göttingen: V&R, 2012), 29–42. 4 Christopher Ocker, Biblical Poetics before Humanism and Reformation (Cambridge: CUP, 2002). 5 WA 2:449, 16–31; LW 27:159. 6 Cyriakus Spangenberg, e.g., among his seven homiletical commentaries on Pauline epistles, Ausslegung der Ersten Acht Capitel der Episteln S. Pavli an die Ro[e]mer (Strassburg: Samuel Emmel, 1566); see Robert Kolb, “Learning to Drink from the Foundations of Israel, Cyriakus Spangenberg Learns Hermeneutics from Luther,” and “Preaching and Hearing in



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which published lectures from the university podium were processed or appeared in print, however. They generally followed the style of Melanchthon’s published lectures, something of a combination of new humanistic linguistic and rhetorical analysis with medieval methods which offered glosses on words and phrases and scholia presenting longer comment on the ideas of the text. In addition, Melanchthon emphasized the organization of these ideas for preaching and teaching in the form of topics (loci communes).7 Melanchthon’s vision of theological education materialized in a “plan for the studies of a student of theology,” composed around 1529, widely circulated in manuscript before its initial publication in 1537. It also shaped Wittenberg’s revised theological curriculum introduced in 1533. What had already emerged in practice as the Wittenberg way of educating pastors over the previous decade took on formal structure. Peter Lombard’s Sententiae had disappeared, replaced by a course of study consisting almost completely of biblical studies. The 1533 program prescribed that lectures be given on Romans, the Gospel of John, Psalms, Genesis, and Isaiah, along with Augustine’s De litera et spiritu.8 Melanchthon’s earlier informal plan commended, in addition to these books, Galatians (along with Luther’s commentary of 1519), Colossians (and his own commentary and his 1521 Loci communes), either Matthew’s Gospel or Luke’s as prepa­ ration for John, Deuteronomy, and the minor prophets.9 Two aspects of these plans are noteworthy. Melanchthon wanted more from his students than merely a knowledge of the text. They were also to cultivate the ability to teach; his humanistic principles led him to creative combinations of rhetoric, directing the delivery of the biblical message to the lives of hear­ ers and readers, with dialectic, shaping the thinking of the student’s and Luther’s Congregations, Village Pastors and Peasant Congregations,” in Luther’s Heirs Define His Legacy, ed. Kolb (Aldershot: Variorum, 1996), XIII, 1–12, 13–37; Simon Musaeus, Richtige vnd Reine Auslegung des Ersten Buchs Mosy/Von den dreyen Grossmechtigen Reichen… (Magdeburg: Kirchner, 1576); Nikolaus Selnecker, Der gantze Prophet Jeremias… Item/Der Prophet Sophonias/Ausgelegt (Leipzig: Jacob Bärwald, 1566), and five similar vol­ umes on the prophets. 7 On Melanchthon’s exegetical contributions, see the works of Timothy J. Wengert, especially “The Biblical Commentaries of Philip Melanchthon,” in Philip Melanchthon: Theologian, 43–76; Philip Melanchthon’s Annotationes in Johannem in Relation to Its Pre­ decessors and Contemporaries (Geneva: Droz, 1987); Law and Gospel, Philip Melanchthon’s Debate with John Agricola of Eisleben over Poenitentia (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1997); and Human Freedom, Christian Righteousness. Philip Melanchthon’s Exegetical Dispute with Erasmus of Rotterdam (Oxford: OUP, 1998). 8 UUW 1:155. 9 MBW 3: 670–677.

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the parishioner’s engagement with and use of the message. To that end, in accord with the predominant humanist method of teaching and learning, he encouraged the gathering of individual passages of Scripture into orga­ nized topics, Aristotle’s τόποι, so that God’s Word could make its impact on the lives of believers. Second, Melanchthon insisted that the message be delivered as God’s threat against sinners and his promise of salvation to the chosen, whom the Holy Spirit brings to faith through law and gospel. He also stressed the preservation of Christian freedom—in Luther’s sense of living by faith in Christ’s liberation from sin, death, and the devil for service to the neighbor.10 Melanchthon intended his original Loci communes of 1521 to serve as a handbook for the study of Romans.11 Teaching on the basis of the topics Paul treated in Romans should serve to bring hearers to know Christ and recognize the benefits he bestows.12 The systematization of the message in the form of lectures on the topics set forth in Melanchthon’s Loci com­ munes as those necessary for good preaching and teaching slowly crept back into the curriculum alongside exposition of the biblical text. Before Melanchthon’s death he or select students offered lectures on his later editions of the Loci. In addition, the text of the Nicene Creed served as the basis for lectures on the fundamentals of biblical teaching.13 As Timothy Wengert points out, the program of curricular reform which Melanchthon set in place in 1533, like his Loci communes itself, was designed to carry out the same task in the theological faculty for which he had composed the Augsburg Confession in the forum of the imperial diet: to “present, preserve, and propagate” the biblical message as expressed in the “true and perpetual consensus of the catholic church of God.”14 The Wittenberg theologians carried out that task not only in person in the lec­ ture hall but also in print, taking advantage in yet another way of Johann

10 MBW 3:670–677; cf. Oswald Bayer, “Melanchthons Theologiebegriff,” in Der Theologe Melanchthon, ed. Frank (Stuttgart: Thorbecke, 2000), 26–27; cf. Robert Kolb, “Teaching the Text, The Commonplace Method in Sixteenth Century Lutheran Biblical Commentary,” Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance 49 (1987): 571–585. 11 Volker Stolle, “Erkennen nach Gottes Geist: die Bedeutung des Römerbriefs des Paulus für Melanchthons Loci communes von 1521,” Lutherische Theologie und Kirche 21 (1997): 190–218. 12 MSA 2,1:5–8. 13 Hans-Peter Hasse, ed., Philipp Melanchthon: Enarratio secundae tertiaeque partis Symboli Nicaeni (1550) (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1996). 14 See Wengert’s essay in this volume, “Philip Melanchthon and Wittenberg’s Reform of the Theological Curriculum”; on the statutes for the Wittenberg theological faculty, cf. UUW 1:154.



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Gutenberg’s inventive genius and the commercial savvy of their printers. Their lectures appeared as commentaries. Among the earliest strategies for propagation of their message was what Wengert has dubbed “the Wittenberg Commentary,” a series of treatments especially of the New Testament by the Wittenberg group and others more or less closely associ­ ated with them.15 Luther and Melanchthon, with their Wittenberg colleagues, Justus Jonas, Johannes Bugenhagen, and Caspar Cruciger the Elder, defined their goal in lecturing to be the preparation of pastors and teachers for the churches and schools of Saxony, the German lands in general, and much of western Christendom. As they appeared in print, Luther’s commentar­ ies often adhered to the “testimony-style” of presentation which he adver­ tised in 1519, but some of his commentaries also were recorded in something closer to the traditional medieval method of gloss and scholia. The latter style and method dominated the published commentaries of his colleagues. That method does not as readily permit ascertaining to what extent Melanchthon, for example, strove in the classroom to direct the students from what they were learning about the words of Scripture to their application in pastoral ministry although some indications suggest that he indeed endeavored to do precisely that on occasion.16 Luther’s narrative-catechetical style in many of his commentaries enables us to “hear” him telling the students how to preach, teach, and give pastoral care on the basis of the text. For instance, in his “mirror of the prince” in the form of comment on Psalm 82 (1530), Luther reminded readers of the obligation of pastors to rebuke the sins of the princes or municipal offi­ cials in their communities. Instead of encouraging revolt, he argued, “it would lead to much more rebellion if preachers would not condemn the vices of their rulers.” For failing to hold rulers accountable makes the mob angry and discontented, and it also strengthens the tyrants’ wickedness. The preachers become accomplices of such evil and bring guilt upon themselves when they avoid such a preaching of repentance to govern­ ment officials. For “the office of the Word is not the office of a courtier or a hired hand. He is God’s servant and minion.”17 Such directives and rec­ ommendations occur quite frequently in Luther’s published lectures. The vast majority of their students took their Wittenberg education into service in congregations as preachers or teachers of God’s Word. 15 Wengert, Melanchthon’s Annotationes, 31. 16 Kolb, “Pastoral Dimension,” 38–40. 17 WA 31,1 196,19–198,18, esp. 197,3–198,2 and 198,12–13.

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A few succeeded their professors at the university podium. Some of them, like their instructors, published these lectures as commentaries for the benefit of pastors and teachers as they prepared to carry out their duties at the parish level. Most Evangelical theological faculties within German speaking lands and other nations followed the pattern set down by the Wittenberg curriculum rather closely. Daniel Gehrt has analyzed sources which reveal what lectures were being offered—and over which examina­ tions were being given—in the 1550s and 1560s in Jena. Evidence of several kinds reveals lectures on Melanchthon’s Loci and on a parallel textbook which reproduced only passages of Scripture, not other comments from the fathers or logical analysis of the texts, the Syntagma of Johannes Wigand and Matthaeus Judex.18 Wigand himself had offered such lectures at the end of the 1550s in Jena. Biblical lectures included those on Genesis, Exodus, the Psalter, the prophetic books, John’s Gospel, the Passion of Christ, Romans, 1 Corinthians, and Galatians. Disputations and exercises with instructors broadened the educational program of the university, sharpening skills in rhetoric and dialectic in particular.19 Theological learning undoubtedly followed a similar path at most universities staffed by Luther’s and Melanchthon’s students. Four of the most prominent of their students, David Chytraeus (1531– 1600), Nikolaus Selnecker (1530–1592), Tilemann Heshusius (1527–1588), and Johannes Wigand (1523–1587), provide examples of the continued use of the Wittenberg ideals of preparing students for service to church and society by shaping their understanding of the biblical message and their ability to apply it to their hearers. These Latin commentaries arose out of  classroom lectures.20 These commentaries digest, if not dehydrate, the classroom material for the printed page, and thus the echo of what 18 Johannes Wigand and Matthaeus Judex, ΣΥΝΤΑΓΜΑ, seu Corpus doctrinae Christi, ex novo testamento tantum… (Basel: Oporinus, 1558); see Robert Kolb, “The First Protestant ‘Biblical Theology.’ The Syntagma of Johannes Wigand and Matthaeus Judex,” in Hermeneutica Sacra, ed. Johansson, et al. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 189–206. 19 Daniel Gehrt, “Die Harmonie der Theologie mit den studia humanitatis. Pfarrerausbildung in Jena um 1558 im Spiegel des Diariums des Adam Sellanus,” in Institutionen und Formen gelehrter Bildung um 1550—Die Leucorea zur Zeit des “späten” Melanchthon, ed. Matthias Asche et al. (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, forth­coming). 20 For specific mention of the lectures behind these commentaries, see, e.g., David Chytraeus, In Genesin Enarratio (Wittenberg: Crato, 1561), A2a; Chytraeus, In Exodvm Enarratio, tradita (Wittenberg: Crato, 1561), A5b. Heshusius mentioned that he had given lectures on Romans in Heidelberg when professor there ten years before the publication of his commentary, had repeated them for pastors during his ministry in Magdeburg, and was finally bringing them into print from the University of Jena in 1571: Explicatio epistolae Pavli ad Romanos. Tradita piae iuuentuti in Academia Iensi (Jena: Huttich, 1572), (?)4a.



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actually happened in the classroom becomes somewhat faint. Nonetheless, these four second-generation Wittenberg commentators lectured and then turned the material of their lectures to print for the same reason: to aid the pastoral ministry and proclamation of the gospel of the next gen­ eration of pastors. The four represent a range among those who were des­ tined in their generation, the immediate successors to the Wittenberg reformers, to sort out significant elements of the Wittenberg way of teach­ ing God’s Word. Melanchthon arranged for his famulus David Chytraeus to be called to the University of Rostock, where he remained till his death, exercising strong influence on Nordic, Baltic, north German, and Austrian churches. Although personally friendly with Melanchthon to the Preceptor’s death and little involved in the public controversies over his theology, Chytraeus held to Luther’s understanding of the Lord’s Supper quite strictly and opposed the Crypto-Philippistic interpretation of Christ’s presence in the sacrament. Nikolaus Selnecker also rejected the Crypto-Philippism among some colleagues in electoral Saxony but pursued a generally “Philippist” course in the controversies of the 1550s and 1560s. Selnecker served as a court preacher and electoral official in electoral Saxony and BraunschweigWolfenbüttel and as professor at the Universities of Leipzig and Jena. Tilemann Heshusius and Johannes Wigand, on the other hand, became critics of Melanchthon’s positions on a series of issues, especially the free­ dom of the will and the presence of Christ in the Lord’s Supper; they were leaders among the “Gnesio-Lutherans.” Wigand held professorships at the Universities of Jena and Königsberg, Heshusius at Rostock, Heidelberg, Jena, and Helmstedt. All four shared the same (Wittenberg) view of Scripture. As Heshusius simply asserted in the preface of his Psalm commentary, “the Holy Spirit is the author of the Psalms” and they have therefore the “highest author­ ity.”21 Selnecker developed his understanding of God’s work in creating the Scriptures and in guiding the church’s use of them in a prolegomenon to his Genesis commentary.22 Wigand emphasized the continuing role of the Holy Spirit, as “perpetual teacher of the church of God,” in aiding read­ ers and teachers of Scripture throughout the history of God’s people.23 21 Tilemann Heshusius, Commentarivs in librvm Psalmorvm (Helmstedt: Jacob Lucius, 1586), A1a. 22 Nikolaus Selnecker, In Genesin, privm librvm Moysi (Leipzig: Rhamba, 1569), A1a-A4b. 23 Johannes Wigand, In XII. Prophetas minores Explicationes svccinctae (Basel: Quecum, 1566), *2a-*7b.

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All four viewed their lectures in much the same way Wigand and Judex described the purpose of their commentaries in their Syntagma: as sup­ port for the public ministry of teaching God’s Word so that, like the Ethiopian eunuch when hearing Philip’s commentary on Isaiah 53 (Acts 8:35), their hearers might receive redemption through the Messiah.24 Chytraeus not only published a number of his university lectures; he also issued a handbook for beginning students in the theological faculty, drawn up on the basis of an earlier oration on Melanchthon’s loci com­ munes, his On Beginning the Study of Theology Properly25 and Prolegomena to Reading the Text of the Evangelists, both of which followed and adapted Melanchthon’s plan for theological education, with references to Luther’s practice of theology as well.26 Luther’s prescription that theological study presume the medieval lectio of the text and proceed with oratio, meditatio, and tentatio27 had found an echo already in Melanchthon and provided Chytraeus, too, with his foundation. Prayer launches proper theological study, seeking Christ’s teaching and governing minds and hearts through his Holy Spirit, “so that we recognize him as our redeemer, together with the Father and the Holy Spirit, call upon him, and worship him,” arousing fear of God and faith as well as obedience in the lives of the students.28 24 From the extension of their ΣΥΝΤΑΓΜΑ into the Old Testament, Johannes Wigand and Matthaeus Judex, ΣΥΝΤΑΓΜΑ, SEV CORPVS DOCTRINAE Veri & omnipotentis Dei, ex ueteri Testamento tantum... (Basel: Oporinus, 1563), 7. 25 David Chytraeus, De studio theologiae recte inchoando (1560; Wittenberg: Johannes Crato, 1566). See Thomas Kaufmann, Universität und lutherische Konfessionalisierung. Die Rostocker Theologieprofessoren und ihr Beitrag zur theologischen Bildung und kirchliche Gestaltung im Herzogtum Mecklenburg zwischen 1550 und 1675 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1997), 257–285; and Marcel Nieden, Die Erfindung des Theologen. Wittenberger Anweisungen zum Theologiestudium im Zeitalter von Reformation und Konfessionalisierung (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 91–95. Chytraeus’ contemporary in Wittenberg, Viktorin Strigel, composed a similar, though very brief, work, entitled “ratio discendi theologiam,” dated 28 September 1557, with many of the same ideas. It appeared in print fifteen years after Strigel’s death, in Reformed circles, in Enchiridion theologicvm, ed. Christoph Pezel (Bremen: Theodor Gluichstein, 1584), A21a-A28a; see Gehrt, “Die Harmonie der Theologie.” Strigel’s posthumously published, work, Ratio legenda Scripta Prophetica et Apostolica, ed. Christoph Pezel (Herborn: Christiopher Corvinus, 1587), contains very brief introductions to each biblical book but does not advise students on how to structure their studies. 26 David Chytraeus, ΠΡΟΛΕΓΟΜΕΝΑ in lectionem Textvs Evangelistarum quorum seriem versa Pagella indicabit (Rostock: Jacobus Transylvanus, 1564). 27 Bayer, “Melancthons Theologiebegriff,” 44–47; Timothy J. Wengert, “Melanchthon, biblischer Theologe der Neuzeit,” in Melanchthon und die Neuzeit, ed. Frank und Köpf (Stuttgart: fromann-holzboog, 2003), 28–31. 28 Chytraeus, De studio theologiae, 1a-b. Thomas Kaufmann’s assertion that Chytraeus’ approach is “in no way to be taken for granted in a student of Melanchthon,” Universität, 262, misrepresents Melanchthon’s view and the practice of most of his students. The start­ ing point of study with prayer and fear of God resembles the hermeneutical steps outlined



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Following prayer, reading the sacred texts “assiduously and attentively” was necessary for learning the biblical message, with careful consider­ ation of grammar and syntax—Chytraeus recommended Franciscus Vatablus’ Annotationes—focusing on the narrative, and then the sense of a section, and finally on individual words.29 Chytraeus followed Melanchthon’s advice of reading two chapters a day so that the student can complete reading Scripture’s 1,360 chapters in two years; preferably they should be read in both Latin and Luther’s German translation. Next, the student should recognize how the passages fit into the rule of faith, which Chytraeus called, according to Wittenberg usage, “the body of doc­ trine” (corpus doctrinae) or “theological topics.”30 That was what had to be drilled into the minds and hearts of Christian hearers. The Apostles and Nicene Creeds could aid in organizing one’s own topics, as could John of Damascus’ De Orthodoxa Fide, Peter Lombard’s Sentences, and Wittenberg materials, including Luther’s catechisms, Melanchthon’s Loci, or his Examen Ordinandum, composed as a guide for preparing candidates for ordination for their examinations in 1552/1554. Fourth, students must master dialectics and rhetoric because these tools help ascertain the true meaning of what is written. Practicing dialectic and rhetorical skills in public disputations constituted the fifth pillar of theological education, followed by mastering Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. Seventh, reading the commentaries of the ancient fathers of the church aids learning, and alongside them Chytraeus urged recourse to the commentaries of Luther and Melanchthon. Eighth, reading histories of the church strengthened the student’s theological underpinnings, and finally Chytraeus added “philosophical studies,” in moral philosophy and in the wisdom of ancient pagans such as Plato, Seneca, Cicero and others. In addition, he

in Augustine’s De doctrina christiana, Book 2, an important source for pre-critical Protestant exegetes. See Muller, PRRD, 2:458–459, 492–494, 502–503. 29 Those Wittenberg heirs who did not develop the “rules” for learning theology as extensively as Chytraeus did insisted, for instance in Wigand’s words, on the “diligent and continual reading and hearing of the divine Word,” for “in the assiduous meditation on the divine Word the Holy Spirit ignites and strengthens the gifts of knowledge, faith, consola­ tion and new life more and more,” In Epistolam S. Pavli ad Galatas Annotationes (Wittenberg: Johann Crato, 1580), 10. 30 On the development of the term “corpus doctrinae” in Wittenberg usage, see Irene Dingel, “Philip Melanchthon and the Establishment of Confessional Norms,” LQ 20 (2006): 146–169, republished in Dingel et al., Philip Melanchthon: Theologian, 161–180. Wigand and Judex viewed their assembly of Biblical passages under topics as necessary for proper read­ ing (and teaching) of God’s Word in such a way that people would come to faith and to faithful Christian living, ΣΥΝΤΑΓΜΑ...ex ueteri Testamento, 6.

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advised a command of physics, mathematics, arithmetic, astronomy, and geography.31 Chytraeus’ tenth “rule” completing theological learning left the class­ room and books, setting the entire process in the midst of daily life: stu­ dents must finally learn to see the light of God’s promises through the cross, through suffering and the assaults of Satan. “Since theology is not simply cognition and knowledge but in particular takes place in the use and practice of true piety, it is not enough that the mind is instructed with great erudition and wonderful turns of phrase. It is also necessary that in the will and heart the true feelings of piety, repentance, faith, comfort, patience, prayer, and love of God and neighbor are present. It is not pos­ sible to experience these feelings apart from genuine sorrows, fears, and spiritual struggles, a sense of terror and consolation, of faith and joy in the Lord.”32 For the study of theology, like the heart of the teaching of the gospel, aims at the consolation of afflicted consciences suffering under the wrath of God, beset by sorrow for their sins. Learning that requires the aid of the Holy Spirit.33 His earlier Prologomena to Reading the Text of the Evangelists had briefly treated prayer and cross as well as the meditation that was to sort out the messages of law, which leads to repentance, and gospel, which God gives to the disconsolate, repentant sinner who comes in faith to the cross of Christ.34 Following Melanchthon’s emphasis on proper “method” as the key to effective study and communication, Chytraeus demonstrated how students should organize what they read into usable topics, suitable for preaching and teaching in such a way that cultivates faith and obedience among their hearers. Three principal approaches or “methods” are possi­ ble for presenting and learning knowledge in any field of study: The 31 Chytraeus, De studio theologiae, 2a-26a. In his In Genesin Commentarius, 8–10, Selnecker outlined nine “regulae” as well, but his list deviated somewhat from Chytraeus’. They embraced: turning alone to the divine Scriptures; viewing Christ as the center of the Scriptures; being diligent in reading, teaching, and consolation; seeing the whole of divine teaching as a body; studying grammar, dialectic, the languages, history, ethics, physics, chronology, topography, etc.; reading the “approved and authentic teachers of the church;” listening to the voice of the ministry of the church; diligently observing and practicing the distinction of law and gospel; and exercising repentance and prayer. On 13–15 he set forth another four-step guide to considering the text: first, reading the narrative; second, consid­ ering the chief circumstances in each chapter; third, considering the topics treated and how they fit into the body of Christian doctrine; and fourth, considering the specific aspects and factors in each chapter as well as in the whole book. 32 Chytraeus, De studio theologiae, 26b. 33 Chytraeus, De studio theologiae, 27b-28a. 34 Chytraeus, ΠΡΟΛΕΓΟΜΕΝΑ, A2b-A3b.



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“­synthetic” method moves from the prior, from the foundational elements, through to the goal or end of the discipline being practiced. The “analytic” method moves from the goal or purpose for which the knowledge serves back to its origins. The “definitive” method sets down definitions of the chief elements of the teaching in a kind of synopsis and then breaks down and explains the parts of these chief elements. Chytraeus pointed out that the source of knowledge in theology, Christian teaching, does not gain its principles from nature or by logical demonstration on the basis of experi­ ence but “only from God’s Word revealed through the prophets and apos­ tles.”35 Precisely this approach of careful reading, sorting insights gleaned from reading the Biblical texts into appropriate topics for teaching, and application in the exercise of true piety constituted the goals that he was trying to foster in his students at his “Zaraphath on the Baltic coast” when he published his lectures on Deuteronomy.36 In the lecture hall Chytraeus concentrated on the exposition of the text of Scripture although he also aided students in identifying what they should take from the text to combine with other passages under specific topics that would shape the minds and hearts of their hearers. His com­ mentary on Genesis states its goal as the cultivation of “true piety and knowledge of God and of helping the young become accustomed to read­ ing the Sacred Scriptures, just as Timothy’s mother and grandmother did with him” (2 Tim. 3:14–17). Chytraeus applied his goal of familiarizing stu­ dents with the text and then helping them learn “method” by suggesting the topics found in texts and placing them in the proper locations within the “body of doctrine” so that the students could better grasp what God’s will and Word are. Chytraeus recalled that he had experienced this him­ self when Melanchthon had taken him as a boy of thirteen into his home, demonstrating that Wittenberg theory had translated itself into prac­ tice.37 In 1572 he asserted that in “the actual arena of true theology and the Christian religion,” God is at work daily to “arouse, nurture, cultivate, and preserve” the faith of his people through two instruments, “through his Word given in reading and careful meditation, and through the daily exer­ cise of true repentance, faith, prayer, obedience, sorrow, and consolation 35 Chytraeus, ΠΡΟΛΕΓΟΜΕΝΑ, A7b-B1b. 36 David Chytraeus, In Devteronomivm Mosis Enarratio (Wittenberg: Schleich and Schöne, 1575), b4b-b5a. 37 Chytraeus, In Genesin, Enarratio, A3b-A7b. Chytraeus repeated the same description of his goals in his lectures in In Exodvm Enarratio, A4b-A5b; in Explicatio Micheae et Nahvmi Prophetarvm (Wittenberg: Crato, 1565), B4a; and Commentarivs in Matthaevm Evangelistam (Strassburg: Rihel, 1556), a2b-a4a.

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in the school of holy cross (without which no one can be viewed by God as a Christian).”38 Chytraeus’ commentaries display the Wittenberg theory at work. His commentaries listed loci which, e.g., Moses had taught in each biblical chapter at the beginning of his commentary chapter and used these chap­ ters to organize his treatment of the text while at the same time drawing their content from the text. He helped students orient their reading of Exodus with a careful exposition of the distinction of law and gospel, which could be used as a test of their ability to apply the insights of the book pastorally to their congregations.39 His contemporaries also employed the loci method. For example, Selnecker’s became quite exten­ sive, and he explained to readers that proper reading of the prophetic and apostolic writings always needed to refer parts of the text to the proper topical categories.40 Chytraeus’ commentary on Leviticus, edited by his brother and col­ league Nathan, spends 108 pages presenting the Biblical understanding of sacrifice and sacrifices before coming to the actual text of the book because students had to understand that the foundation of our salvation and the basis of our entire religion and the Christian faith is the teaching concerning the priesthood and the sacrifice of the Son of God, our Lord and redeemer Jesus Christ, sacrificed for us on the altar of the cross, which alone merited for us the forgiveness of sins, righ­ teousness, and eternal life and without which the faith of the pious and their calling on God and their hope of eternal life in the face of God’s wrath, in the sorrows of repentance, in all dangers and the struggle of death could not be attained or acquired.41

It is not clear whether Chytraeus offered this orientation to the students in his lectures or prepared it for publication as part of the commentary that preachers would use. 38 David Chytraeus, In Nvmeros sev qvartvm librvm Mosis Enarratio (Wittenberg: Crato, 1572), A7a. Cf. his similar definition in In Psalmvm Confitemini (Rostock: Ferber, 1590), 2–3, 4. 39 Chytraeus, In Exodvm Enarratio, 10–14; cf. a similar section in his In Nvmeros… Enarratio, 1–3; and in In Devteronomivm Mosis Enarratio, 1–6; Explicatio Micheae, B4a; and Commentarivs in Matthaevm, 1a-5b. His Wittenberg contemporaries also stressed the foun­ dational nature of their law-gospel hermeneutic, see, e.g., Tilemann Heshusius, Explicatio epistolae Pavli ad Galatas (Helmstedt: Lucius, 1579), 7b-8b, 1a-7b. 40 Nikolaus Selnecker, In Acts apostolorvm Annotatio grammatica... (Jena: Thomas Rhebart, 1567), B4b-B5a. 41 David Chytraeus, In Leviticvm, sev tertivm librvm Mosis... (Wittenberg, 1569), 1.



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Like his contemporaries, Chytraeus believed that Christ stands at the center of Old Testament as well as New.42 Johann Wigand explained the importance of reading Daniel: no prophet computes the time of the Savior’s advent more precisely and speaks of his death and victory. Reading the prophets in general helps focus on the articles of faith which are fully detailed in the New Testament, especially on the promises of Christ and his benefits, as well as on the history of the church under attack from its enemies, and the story of the faithful throughout history. But most impor­ tantly, they witness to the Savior and Redeemer.43 This brief overview reveals how four Wittenberg students continued their instructors’ emphasis on exposition of the biblical text within the framework of pastoral concern for the life of repentance and the forgive­ ness of sins. Marshalling current humanistic insights into the nature and effective use of language and Luther’s conviction that God’s Word is per­ formative, re-creative, as it calls to repentance and bestows new life through Christ, these Wittenberg disciples continued to serve the practi­ cal needs of the church, at least theoretically, within the framework of the Wittenberg understanding of the believers’ living in the midst of the battle between God and Satan, sin and the life of faith and obedience.

42 See Chytraeus, ΠΡΟΛΕΓΟΜΕΝΑ, A2a-A3b, where he places the teaching that God is creator and Christ is redeemer at the center of his body of doctrine; cf. Chytraeus, In Exodvm, A4b; In Devteromivm, 3–5; Historia Iosvae imperatoris popvli Israel, terram promis­ sam occupantis & distribuentis (Rostock: Myliander, 1577), 1–6. 43 Johann Wigand, Danielis Prophetae Explicatio brevis… (Jena: Huttich, 1571), (:)2a-2b. Cf. Wigand’s similar comments in his In Esaiam prophetam Explicationes breves (Erfurt: Mechler, 1581), A2a-A5a. Wigand also asserted that Christ is the center of New Testament books as well, see his In Evangelivm S. Iohannis Explicationes (Königsberg: heirs of Johannes Daubmann, 1575), 1b-2a.

FRANÇOIS LAMBERT D’AVIGNON (ca. 1487–1530): EARLY ECCLESIAL REFORM AND TRAINING FOR THE MINISTRY AT MARBURG Theodore G. Van Raalte Introduction It was after one of our convivial conbibials—full of the usual stories and wisecracks—that Dr. Muller privately suggested François Lambert d’Avignon as yet another “Reformer in the wings” ripe for further study.1 Herewith my thanks to Dr. Muller for the suggestion, together with my deep appreciation for his excellence in writing and teaching, his confidence in his students (which I needed), and his affable personality. François Lambert was the first ordained monk of France to embrace openly the doctrines of Reform, ca. 1522, and the first Protestant ex-monk to enjoy holy matrimony.2 In the eight short years that remained for him he produced significant commentaries on all the Minor Prophets, the Song of Songs, Luke, and Revelation, besides a doctrinal compendium, and treatises on marriage, ministerial calling, and the Lord’s Supper, among others.3 He also received an appointment as founding theology professor in Philip of Hesse’s University of Marburg in 1527.4 This school came about in part due to what most scholars have treated as Lambert’s 1 Compare McGoldrick: “Lambert...a reformer who, like Hamilton, has not received attention commensurate with his contributions to the Protestant cause.” James Edward McGoldrick, Luther’s Scottish Connection (Cranbury: Associated University, 1989), 41. 2 Lambert married “Christina” of Ertzberg on 13 July 1523. Luther married Katharina von Bora on 13 June 1525. Several older biographies exist. Gerhard Müller, Franz Lambert von Avignon und die Reformation in Hessen (Marburg: N.G. Elwert, 1958); Roy Lutz Winters, Francis Lambert of Avignon 1487–1530: A Study in Reformation Origins (Philadelphia: United Lutheran Publication House, 1938); Louis Ruffet, Lambert d’Avignon le réformateur de la Hesse (Paris: J. Bonhoure, 1873); Friedrich Wilhelm Hassencamp, Franciscus Lambert von Avignon (Elberfeld: R.L. Friderichs, 1860). The following dictionary entries are noteworthy: Haag1, 6:238–243; Johannes Tilemann, Vitae Professorvm theologiae, qui in illvstri Academia Marbvrgensi, a sva fvundatione, ad nostra vsqve tempora docvervnt (Marburg: Muller, 1727), 1–13. 3 The definitive working bibliography is: Reinhard Bodenmann, “Bibliotheca Lambertina,” Pour Retrouver François Lambert: Bio-bibliographie et études, ed. Fraenkel (Baden-Baden: Koerner, 1987), 9–213. See also: Reinhard Bodenmann, “Une lettre oubliée de François Lambert d’Avignon, BSHPF 142 (1996): 170–173. 4 The University of Marburg is now the oldest Protestant university.

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own proposals before and after the Synod of Homberg in 1526, where a new church government was proposed with elected church officers and a school for training preachers.5 Because of its uniqueness and early date, substantial study of this church order has occurred. Unfortunately all scholars seem to have ignored the detailed arguments of William J. Wright who showed that many of its ideas derive from Philip of Hesse rather than Lambert and were designed for Philip to have very tight control of the church. At any rate, further study must begin with Wright.6 The present essay entertains a related and completely unexplored question also very important for study of the early stages of the Reformation, namely, how Lambert’s—and to some extent, Philip’s—intellectual and pedagogical practices fit within the late medieval and early modern periods, particularly in the context of the training for the ministry and the establishment of Philip of Hesse’s University of Marburg. Where does the early reformer François Lambert fit? Judging by some of the secondary literature, he castigated the “sophists” and “scholastics”

5 The articles produced after the Synod were: “Reformatio ecclesiarum Hassiae juxta certissimam sermonum Dei regulam ordinate in venerabili synodo per elementissimum Hessorum principem Philippum anno 1526 die 20 Octob. Hombergi celebrata, cui ipsemet princeps illustrissimus interfuit,” in Die evangelischen kirchenordnungen des sechszehnten Jahrhunderts, ed. Richter (Wiemar: Landes Industriecomptoirs, 1846), 56–69. Winters writes, “Because the ‘Reformatio ecclesiarum Hassiae’ was a child born before its time, the dream of Francis Lambert of Avignon was not realised until the Reformed Churches were established in Switzerland, France, Holland, Scotland, and America.” Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 129. See, however, note 6. 6 On the Reformatio’s origins, Philip Schaff summarized some older scholarship, “It is a matter of dispute, whether Lambert originated these views, or derived them from the Franciscan, or Waldensian, or Zwinglian, or Lutheran suggestions.” Philip Schaff, History of the Christian Church, 2nd. ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1910), 460. The discussion continued in Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 93–95, 122; W. Maurer, “Franz Lambert von Avignon und das Verfassungsideal der Reformatio Ecclesiarum Hassiae von 1526,” ZfK 48 (1929): 208–260; and Alton O. Hancock, “Philip of Hesse’s View of the Relationship of Prince and Church,” ChH 35.2 (1966): 165–167. Wright, however, showed that Philip of Hesse (and behind him, Melanchthon and Luther) played a much more important role in devising the Reformatio than Lambert. Further, Philip wanted the “entire clergy” subject to  him (his idea, not Luther’s). William J. Wright, “The Homberg Synod and Philip of Hesse’s Plan for a New Church-State Settlement,” SCJ 4.2 (1973): 23–46, esp. 30–33, 45–46. Unfortunately more recent authors have not noticed Wright’s arguments and have thus fallen into some of the traps of the older discussion. Rainer Haas, “Lambert’s ‘Paradoxa’ und die hessischen Kirchenordnungen,” Pour Retrouver François Lambert, 257–272; Willem van’t Spijker, “Gemeente en Ambt bij Franciscus Lambertus,” Ambt en Aktualiteit, ed. Folkerts et al. (Haarlem: Vijlbrief, 1992), 73–86; Eugène Vassaux, Eglises réformées d’Europe francophone: Droit et fonctionnement (Paris: Harmattan, 2008), 37–38; Gury SchneiderLudorff, “Philip of Hesse as an Example of Princely Reformation: A Contribution to Reformation Studies,” RRR 8.3 (2006): 301–319.



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who preceded him and had little appreciation for philosophy.7 But does this make him as such a “humanistic Biblicist” as one author has said, or a mere “Biblicist” in “opposition to a ‘humanist scientific ideal’,” as another has said?8 Varied descriptions like this need not surprise us. Like many figures of his time, Lambert worked within a surging humanism that was finding its way within the established academic and scholastic structures. As a Protestant, he was also fighting hard for the legitimacy of reading Scripture in its own right, without allowing philosophy to serve as a principium. Instead of trying to label Lambert, we need to pay attention to the variety of motifs that his written works and his context present to us, and describe their conjunction and interaction.9 The present essay examines some of Lambert’s rhetoric against the scholastics who preceded him and balances this with various scholastic motifs present in his writings, in his disputational theses, and in the pedagogy of the University of Marburg— all to make the argument that he carried out his biblical exegesis and polemics with significant recourse to existing scholastic methods. His main concern was that nothing would undermine the priority of Scripture in theology. The Need for Well-Trained Ministers For the first decades of the Reformation the Protestant movement and even the reforming movement within the Roman Catholic Church suffered from an acute shortage of learned and faithful leaders. Three recent authors provide statistical cases. Jonathan Reid—who helpfully includes Lambert within the connections of what he has termed the “Navarrian Network”—describes the situation faced by the reforming bishop of Meaux, Guillaume Briçonnet, in 1520–1521. Briçonnet found only fourteen of his secular clergy “capable of preaching the gospel” whereas fully fortythree could not even rightly administer the sacraments. Sixty others were given a year to improve but most were dismissed after the year.10 Matters 7 Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 104, 113–114, 133. Winters significantly overstates the case as an examination of Ruffet will show. Ruffet, Lambert d’Avignon, 89–93, 97–98. 8 Van’t Spijker writes of Lambert’s “verzet tegen een ‘humanistisch wetenschaapsideeal’,” and speaks of a superficial Biblicism, whereas Winters gives the designation, “humanist-Biblicist.” See Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 114; van’t Spijker, “Gemeente en Ambt bij Franciscus Lambertus,” 86. 9 Muller’s UC provides a good model. 10 Jonathan Reid, The King’s Sister—Queen of Dissent: Marguerite of Navarre (1492–1549) and her Evangelical Network (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 1:164–165. The connections of Lambert to

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were even worse when parishes opted to break with the Roman Church. Burnett states, “With the Reformation [of Basel, in 1529], then, the number of clergy serving Basel’s church dropped from over four hundred to about a dozen.”11 James Blakeley found that when Lausanne officially embraced the Reformation in 1536 about fifty percent of the laity converted, but only 1.6 percent of the clergy.12 Guillaume Farel, a contemporary of Lambert whom Reid also counts as a member of the “Navarrian Network,” laboured hard to secure pastors for the Pays de Vaud: three in 1528–9; about eight shortly after; about forty by 1536 when Calvin arrived in Geneva, also to be recruited by Farel.13 Luther and Melanchthon had a great concern for good civil leaders, especially in view of the Peasants’ War, and argued that it was the responsibility of the secular authorities to educate the young. This, together with the need for trained Protestant preachers, moved the young Philip “the Magnanimous” of Hesse to establish a system of Latin trivial (i.e. using the trivium) grammar schools as well as the University of Marburg.14 Only one type of curriculum was approved in the trivial schools, so as to standardize the education in preparation for the university: “Latin grammar school curriculum with religious instruction.”15 As part of the process of convincing others of his plan, Philip called a Synod at Homberg, held from 20 to 22 October 1526. He had Lambert present theses for disputation regarding the religious re-organization of Philip’s territories. When Philip judged that Lambert had defended his theses successfully, a committee, to be led the “Navarrian Network” are not very strong, but are described by Reid on 277–279 and 312. Reid’s thesis, based on extensive analysis of correspondence, is that Marguerite of Navarre served—at times covertly—as patron of a wide network of reforming, Reformed, and evangelical leaders. See esp. 257–260. 11 Amy Nelson Burnett, Teaching the Reformation: Ministers and Their Message in Basel, 1529–1629 (Oxford: OUP, 2006), 27. 12 James J. Blakeley, “Popular Responses to the ‘Reformation from Without’ in the Pays de Vaud” (PhD diss., University of Arizona, 2006), 177. Blakeley estimates that up to fifty percent of the Reformed clergy in the Pays de Vaud up to 1600 were actually from France— hence the title of his dissertation (see also pages 183–184). 13 Jason Zuidema and Theodore Van Raalte, Early French Reform: The Theology and Spirituality of Guillaume Farel (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011), 99–100. 14 Lambert himself had pleaded with Francis I in a dedicatory letter of 1526 for the freedom to establish true ministers of the Word of God in each place. He argued that for the last several centuries such men had been absent. Ruffet, Lambert d’Avignon, 65–66. 15 William J. Wright, “The Impact of the Reformation on Hessian Education,” ChH 44.2 (1975): 193. The specification of Latin was in opposition to the German schools favored by the merchants and burghers. Philip wanted a higher education to prepare more students for university which would in turn equip students for better civic and religious leadership. He gave the university professors strict control over the curriculum of the preparatory schools, to ensure uniformity. See Wright, “The Impact,” 194.



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by Lambert, was established. It produced the Reformatio ecclesiarum Hassiae, of which articles 29 through 34 dealt with the establishment of a new education system. Article 29 was entitled, “Concerning the University of Marburg.” Although this plan never was passed into law as such, a series of edicts did follow which established much of it, and on 1 July 1527 effected the institution of the University of Marburg.16 Wright has shown that in the decade prior to 1526 the humanistic influences that had earlier brought advances in Hessian education were waning and matriculations to universities by Hessians were down by fortyone percent. However, a few decades later, when Philip’s reforms were in effect, matriculations rose by sixty-five percent.17 Philip had inherited a somewhat chaotic situation wherein higher education was underappreciated. His university was to be key to resolving this problem. Regulations of the University of Marburg Article 29 of the Reformatio envisioned a number of the late medieval faculties—theology, law, medicine, and mathematics (a mix of the practical and liberal arts)—as well as language professors, reflecting the humanist advances of the past century.18 Philip appointed eleven professors: two for law, one for medicine, two for poetry, one each for Hebrew and Greek, two for rhetoric and dialectics, one for pedagogy, and two for theology.19 The latter two were Adam Kraft, who was soon busied with other tasks, and François Lambert, who for the next three years took the lion’s share of teaching theology.20 Evidently the University sought to provide a well-rounded curriculum from the start, one that included instruction not just in the “Queen of the Sciences,” but also in other non-biblical academic subjects. This was Lambert’s institutional context. The university’s 16 Wright concludes, “Although the document itself was never enacted as law, by the year 1532, the settlement described in the Reformation had been implemented by a series of individual princely orders, with the exception of a few minor details. Hence the Reformation was neither a unique, revolutionary creation of the Frenchman Lambert, nor the ineffectual outcome of a simple debate. It was basically the new settlement, or as the title announced, the ‘Reformation of the Hessian Church...’ with emphasis on, ‘...by the grace of his most beneficent prince, Philip, and with the special participation of his highness’.” Wright, “The Homberg Synod,” 46. See note 5 above for the full Latin title. 17 William J. Wright, “Evaluating the Results of Sixteenth Century Educational Policy: Some Hessian Data,” SCJ 18.3 (1987): 415, 420. 18 Richter, ed., “Reformatio ecclesiarum Hassiae,” 68–69. 19 Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 103. 20 Müller, Lambert in Hessen, 52; Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 104.

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curriculum will be described momentarily; the preparatory schools for boys used Melanchthon’s curriculum.21 Two documents were adopted on 31 August 1529, while Lambert served at the University. The first was Philip’s Freiheitsbrief, where he stipulates the textbooks and authors to be studied in each faculty.22 For our purposes, we note simply the use of the Greek classics (Homer, Hesiod, Aristophanes, Theocrates) for Greek language study, the use of Latin classical sources for rhetoric (Cicero, Quintillian), the use of Aristotle for natural philosophy (physics, the heavens, the soul, etc.), and Agricola and Trapezuntius for philosophy and dialectics.23 The latter two authors show that the school was definitely oriented in a humanist direction.24 This fits the wider picture of European university curricula, for starting by the late 1520s the more intricate medieval scholastic logic and the use of Aristotle in metaphysics gave way to humanist-type dialectics until a revival of the former began in the 1570s.25 Logic was still taught from 1530–1580, but it was more obviously appointed to the practical end of serving rhetoric. The mention of Melanchthon’s rhetoric and dialectic later in the Freiheitsbrief underlines this, for although he included almost all of Aristotle’s material, he did not observe Aristotle’s key distinction between the Analytics, which covered arguments of certainty, and the Topics, which covered probable arguments.26 Rather, Melanchthon had the material of the Analytics serve rhetoric. As his career progressed, Melanchthon moved away from the Ciceronian-Agricolan dialectics and further toward Aristotle.27 At any rate, Philip’s University included Aristotle, but mostly as mediated through Melanchthon, Trapezuntius, and Agricola. 21 Wright, “The Impact,” 193–194. Note that schools for girls were also to be established, though with a more immediately practical focus. 22 Bruno Hildebrand, ed., Urkundensammlung über die Verfassung und Verwaltung der Universität Marburg unter Philipp dem Grossmüthigen (Marburg: Elwert’sche UniversitätsBuchhandlung, 1848), 6–18. 23 Hildebrand, ed., Urkundensammlung der Universität Marburg, 10–11. 24 On these authors, see Peter Mack, A History of Renaissance Rhetoric (Oxford: OUP, 2011), 39–47, 56–75. 25 Mack, Renaissance Rhetoric, 21, 31, 108, 123, 183–184; Burnett, Teaching the Reformation, 116, 120–121; Brian Copenhaver and Charles B. Schmitt, Renaissance Philosophy (Oxford: OUP, 1992), 96. 26 Wilhelm Risse, Die Logik Der Neuzeit (Stuttgart: Frommann, 1964), 1:14–16. Observe also the distinct trajectories he identifies per his division of chapters; Mack, History of Renaissance Rhetoric, 110; Kusukawa, “Lutheran Method by Philip Melanchthon,” 347. This does not mean that Melanchthon ever regarded arguments based on Scripture as having only a probable authority. See Quirinius Breen, Christianity and Humanism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1968), 102–103. 27 Risse, Die Logik der Neuzeit, 1:79.



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The second document, the statutes of the University, described the classroom activities in more detail. Philip sets the tone of this document with an introductory statement on the wisdom of the ancient saying that a “republic where philosophers begin to rule or kings to philosophize” is blessed.28 Before long we encounter the expected medieval practice of holding disputations, but it is held up side by side with the newer humanist practice of the declamation. Statute three regarding the choosing of the dean of the arts faculty stipulates his task as follows: “in order that he may preside over the declamations and disputations, distributed at the appointed times, of each of the professors and their students.”29 According to statute five, the school does not want to make the students utterly hostile to their studies by overworking them. Yet, though they would enjoy lecture free days, this freedom was granted, “so that they might diligently repeat all of the lectures in their minds, and by private and public declamations and disputations apply themselves more eagerly and in this way be made more keen for learning.”30 Presumably the teachers and students were familiar enough with such declamations and disputations that detailed instructions in the statutes were not necessary.31 We only learn that they were to occur every Saturday afternoon. This statute, the ninth, specified, “For the advantage of the students we have above all ordered that on every Saturday afternoon (when those who are doing their work diligently in the Paedagogium are also present32), one of the scholars [scholastici] or auditors [auditoribus] shall hold a declamation of learned and appropriate argument, or else a disputation that is no less fitting.”33 28 “Quapropter Rempublicam tunc felicem fore, sapienter ille dixit, si quando aut philosophi regnare aut reges philosophari coeperint.” Hildebrand, ed., Urkundensammlung der Universität Marburg, 19. Compare Wright, “The Impact,” 182. 29 “ut declamationibus et disputationibus per singulos Professores atque discipulos in tempore disponendis praesit.” Hildebrand, ed., Urkundensammlung der Universität Marburg, 21. 30 “Non ut a studiis interim sint adolscentes prorsus alieni, sed quo praeauditas lectiones singulari diligentia animo revolvant, publicisque et priuatis declamationibus atque disputationibus sese propensius accomodent atque in hunc modum ad discendum reddantur vegetiores.” Hildebrand, ed., Urkundensammlung der Universität Marburg, 22. 31 In a later period the regular practice was that the professor wrote the theses and the student defended them orally. In the present statute, the professors receive mention before the students, suggesting the same. “per singulos professores atque discipulos.” Keith Stanglin, Arminius on the Assurance of Salvation: The Context, Roots, and Shape of the Leiden Debate 1603–1609 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 56–58. 32 The Paedagogium was the preparatory school for boys in Marburg, to prepare them for university matriculation. All of Philip’s other preparatory schools were to follow its curriculum. 33 “E studiosorum vtilitate inprimis fore duximius, si ex scholasticis atque auditoribus quispiam singulus Sabbatinis diebus post meridiem (praesentibus etiam iis, qui Paedagogio

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The declamatio was a rhetorical exercise rooted in Ancient Greece and Rome wherein the student was assigned a concrete situation, usually asked to impersonate a character, and then expected to argue either pro or con using all the rhetorical moves he knew.34 The disputatio was a more structured exercise of logic wherein the opponens presented a thesis against which either of two things happened. In the older Greek model his fellow student respondents could raise objections, attempting to force him to commit an error in logic; in the newer, early modern model, a respondent posited an anti-thesis and the two argued against each other.35 The Marburg curriculum probably envisions the latter. Overall, the curriculum allowed for both the more scholastic disputation that overtly tested logic and the more humanist declamation that overtly tested rhetoric. The development of theses for disputation at the university would have fallen quite naturally to Lambert, given the significant number of his published collections of theses for public disputation. Indeed, it is important to note the continuity of practice from the medieval scholastic university disputations to Luther’s ninety-five theses and the many other public religious disputations that followed in the German and Swiss territories in the next fifty years. Lambert’s Public Disputations Lambert himself was recruited for the Reformation partly through a public disputation between Zwingli and himself in Zurich on 17 July 1522. For four hours they disputed on prayers to the Virgin Mary and the saints, with Zwingli convincing Lambert that such prayers were unscriptural. This was when Lambert finally laid aside his religious habit.36 At the time Lambert was on a journey for his Franciscan order. He had already come through Geneva, Bern, and Zurich; now he quickly turned this into a religious pilgrimage wherein he met the early Protestant leaders in Basel and then moved on to Eisenach and Wittenberg. While in Eisenach in December of operam nauant) declamatiunculum argumenti eruditi atque appositi aut disputationem non minus accommodam habeat.” Hildebrand, ed., Urkundensammlung der Universität Marburg, 25. My thanks to Albert Gootjes for translation help. 34 Robert J. Penella, “The Progymnasmata in Imperial Greek Education,” Classical World 105.1 (2011): 77–79, 85. 35 Ignacio Angelelli, “The Techniques of Disputation in the History of Logic,” The Journal of Philosophy 67.20 (1970): 800–815. 36 Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 30–31.



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1522 Lambert posted 139 theological theses which he prepared to defend against any worthy opponent. No interlocutor came forward.37 Thereafter, writing propositions seems to have come almost naturally to Lambert. After teaching for a year at the University of Wittenberg, he left for Strasbourg but stopped in Metz. In the winter of 1523 he prepared 116 theses for public disputation, which he would defend against anyone provided that Scripture would be the only foundation for argument.38 The defense was prevented, but the theses became his Farrago, a work that was published in 1525 and translated into English in 1536.39 The Farrago consists of 385 propositions which Lambert calls paradoxa or positiones. Each one is a brief numbered proposition argued in scholastic style, without ornate prose.40 Lambert’s call to Marburg by Philip of Hesse also involved theses for disputation at the Synod of Homberg (20–22 October 1526). Though the architect of many of the ideas of the 148 propositions was more likely Philip than Lambert, nevertheless Lambert played an important part in drafting them and was also their public defender.41 Just as he himself was secured finally for the Reformation by disputing with Zwingli, so Lambert himself used the disputations at the Synod of Homberg to win others.42 Exhibiting theses for public disputation, like Luther’s 95, was an act with deep medieval scholastic roots. Its role in the early Reformation has as such not been overlooked, but the characterization of such theses as being continuous with the medieval era, bearing strong scholastic form, and bringing into the public a common academic pedagogical tool has not been sufficiently emphasized. The public disputations of Lambert and others also helped convince theological students of the necessity to practice the same in class, to be equipped for the public defense of the faith. 37 Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 36–37. 38 Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 52–53. 39 François Lambert, Farrago omnium fere rerum theologicarum ([Strasbourg: Jo. Hervagen, 1525]); The Summe of Christianitie, trans. Revel ([London: Robert Redman], 1536). 40 Lambert recognizes the tightness of these propositions when he directs the reader to a discussion in his other writings for a “fuller” discussion of the same. Lambert, Farrago, 42v. 41 François Lambert, Apud sanctam hessorum synodum Hombergi congregatam pro Ecclesiarum reformatione Dei verbo disputanda et deseruienda proposuit (Erphordie: Jo. Loersfelt, 1527). For discussion, see Wright, “The Homberg Synod,” 28–30. 42 Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 73–76. Note the many other public disputations of the Reformation, such as those of Heidelberg (1518), Leipzig (1519), Basel (1524), Baden (1526), Bern (1528), Marburg (1529), Rive (1534), Geneva (1535), Lausanne (1536), Worms (1540), Regensburg (1541), Worms (1557) as well as meetings such as the Colloquy of Poissy (1561).

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With Lambert’s late medieval to early modern context now clearer to us, we should not be surprised to find scholastic motifs, even in his biblical commentaries. Scholastic Motifs in the Midst of Anti-Sophistic Statements The bulk of Lambert’s publications were Scripture commentaries which grew out of his public lectures. His sources and methods have been studied by Fraenkel, Engammere, and Hobbs. Not surprisingly, Fraenkel concludes that the influence of Lambert’s predecessors in the Order of Franciscans is quite evident in his commentary on Luke. Lambert overtly chose to follow the locus method because he was convinced that comparing Scripture with Scripture in a kind of concordance method— something quite Franciscan, actually—did justice to the ultimate divine authorship of Scripture. He contrasted this to the “Sophists” who excelled in “carnal wisdom.”43 Yet while Lambert polemicizes against Nicholas of Lyra, Fraenkel shows that in fact Lambert often follows in particular Nicholas of Lyra and Ludolphe de Saxe, as well as Pelbart de Temesvár and Nicolas Denys.44 Engammere’s study of Lambert’s Canticles commentary likewise concludes that Lambert’s method has strong connections with his predecessors in terms of reliance on allegory, as well as the precedence of the spirit over the letter.45 Although Lambert’s knowledge of Hebrew and Greek grew between 1524 and 1530, he refused to bring this into the pulpit, keeping his distance from both scholastic and humanist studies of method in preaching, arguing that they undermined the preacher’s reliance on the Holy Spirit. Hobbs correctly points out that these views also had late medieval precedents.46 These three studies show that many elements of Lambert’s exegesis were continuous with the past. They also help explain why the authors noted at the outset of this study disagreed over whether to call Lambert a “superficial Biblicist” (van’t Spijker) or a “humanistic Biblicist” (Winters). Whereas van’t Spijker’s designation is closer to 43 Pierre Fraenkel, “François Lambert, son commentaire sur l’Evangile de Luc et certaines traditions exégétiques de son ordre: trois sondages,” Pour Retrouver François Lambert, 215–237 (esp. 217–218, 220, 222). 44 Fraenkel, “François Lambert,” 222, 226, 228–230 and passim. Lyra, Temesvár, and Denys were all Franciscans. 45 Max Engammere, “François Lambert et son commentaire du Cantique des Cantiques,” Revue d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses 70.3 (1990): 304, 309. 46 Engammere, “François Lambert,” 300; R. Gérald Hobbs, “François Lambert sur les langues et la prophétie,” Pour Retrouver François Lambert, 273–301 (esp. 282–283).



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Lambert’s view of himself, neither term does justice to Lambert in context. Overall, Lambert preferred a more “simple” explanation of the Scrip­ tures. In an early work he calls the Scholastics “very deceptive theologians.”47 Yet, the real issue for Lambert was not humanist versus scholastic but both of these versus the Bible. Thus, Engammere considers Lambert’s critique of the pope to include an attack on both the humanist and scholastic camps, because both are founded on the power of human reason.48 Lambert’s 385 position statements in the Farrago fully agree with this observation, for his remarks against the sophistae (he never mentions scholastici) always have to do with particular doctrines, not their method.49 In fact at one point Lombard is mentioned approvingly.50 Once we realize this is the case, we no longer read Lambert’s slurs against the sophists as if aimed at scholastics, but against any thinkers who in any way undermined the priority of Scripture. This might lead us to call Lambert a Biblicist but, as noted, such a designation runs the risk of decontextualizing Lambert’s work. Like his theses for public disputation and his Farrago, other works were structured by numbered theses. For instance, his work on marriage develops 69 positiones in scholastic style, ending with a more humanist set of five poetic songs. One important excursus within Lambert’s commentaries also deserves mention for its scholastic style: when commenting on Hosea 4:19 he writes out a disputation on the question of the human will’s freedom of choice. Like Luther, Lambert opposes Erasmus, arguing that apart from conversion the will’s choice is always bound to sin. In rather scholastic fashion— since the question of whether such freedom exists (an sit?) is the whole point of the disputation—he begins with a definition of the will itself (quid sit?) and then proceeds to build the discussion around three further questions, closing with 38 summarizing theses all designed to prove one thing, namely that the will of man is captive and bound and can of

47 François Lambert, In regulam Minoritarum, et contra uniuersas perditionis sectas ([Strasbourg: Jo. Hervagen, 1525]), d7r. 48 Engammere, “François Lambert,” 305. 49 Lambert, Farrago, 23v, 44v, 50v (paradoxes 90, 302, 373). See also Lambert, In regulam Minoritarum, 17r, 20r. 50 Lambert, Farrago, 39r (paradox 241). Lambert references Lombard’s Sentences, II dist. 4. This reference is puzzling since the topic Lambert is treating (in what sense the eucharist is a sacrifice) appears in Sentences, IV dist. 9–12.

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itself do nothing good and nothing pertaining to eternal blessedness.51 Throughout the volume the marginal notations also itemize Lambert’s “proofs” one by one, and note where he is answering objections. Like his numerous theses for disputation, these are remarkably scholastic. Other examples of scholastic motifs in Lambert include theological distinctions, such as between the visible and invisible church and between external and internal calling.52 One could also note how many of his paradoxa in the Farrago are enthymemes chock full of syncategorematic terms such as therefore, wherefore, whosoever, all, only, for, it follows that, etc. Their logical connections are tight. Also very interesting, though not necessarily scholastic, is the binary structure of parallel positive and negative articles in Lambert’s Somme chrestienne of 1529, very much akin to the “double” structure of Farel’s Summaire of the same year.53 Conclusion Lambert’s use of scholastic motifs not only makes him a teacher of his time, but also accords well with his own premises in his Commentarii de prophetia. When he discusses the secular sciences, his concern is that when they become foundations to argument, they render faith uncertain. All human sciences are not useless, but they cannot help us spiritually and eternally. One does not need to study Aristotle before explaining the Scriptures, argues Lambert. As long as one understands the language at hand, only the Holy Spirit is needed for understanding.54 But even here one must not overextend the argument. Lambert is particularly speaking about preaching, not all learning. He is rejecting some of his past experience as an itinerant Franciscan preacher. Outside of preaching, his own practices of writing theses and propositions, of relying on past scholastic exegetes, and of teaching at the university level where logic and rhetoric belonged to the curriculum show that 51 The disputation on freedom of choice was translated into English. François Lambert, The minde and judgement of maister Fraunces Lambert of Auenna of the wyil of man (London: John Day, 1548), See 70r-74r for the 38 theses. 52 Winters, Lambert: Reformation Origins, 116–118. The distinction between internal and external calling was quite programmatic for Lambert. See François Lambert, Commentariorvm...de sacra coniugio ([Strasbourg: Jo. Hervagius, 1524]), 4v. 53 For Lambert’s Somme chrestienne, see Müller, Franz Lambert von Avignon, 134–177. On Farel’s Summaire, see Zuidema and Van Raalte, Early French Reform, 19–20, 29. See also Lambert, De sacra coniugio, 7v-12v where a series of 42 contrasting pairs exhibit God’s Word versus human invention. 54 Ruffet, Lambert d’Avignon, 89–92.



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he was not averse to learning. Indeed, he says as much, asking his readers near the end of the discourse not to misunderstand, as if he thinks no one can cultivate knowledge in philosophy, the sciences, and the arts (note both philosophy and the arts receive mention). He simply wants to underline that they cannot bring one to God and for that reason are “refuse” and “filth” compared to divine knowledge.55 As he says elsewhere, a university education is useless for understanding the Bible, “unless (nisi) the Holy Spirit be present.”56 One must situate Lambert in these early years of the Reformation when the rhetoric against the established church was very strong, when areas of agreement were not in view, and when justification for separation was very much needed. Above all, he viewed the Reformation as a return to the Scriptures as the sole foundation for theology. Yet already at this early stage he finds himself training future pastors at a university and thus working within a scholastic milieu with the reality of needing to educate students in the categories and distinctions of theology.57 Educating and polemicizing simply with the plain explanation of the Scriptures, apart from any philosophy or deeper reflection on method, would soon prove more difficult for Protestants than Lambert anticipated. His own practices prove the point. His pedagogical situation reveals a mix of scholastic disputations and humanist declamations while his writings evidence a modest increase of Hebrew and Greek study together with a multitude of short, propositional, scholastic-type arguments. We may conclude that while his concerns were mainly biblical exegetical, nevertheless—and not unexpectedly—he also utilized a variety of scholastic tools from his context to express these concerns.

55 Ruffet, Lambert d’Avignon, 97–98; cf. Lambert, Farrago, 13v, 14r-v (paradoxes 2, 8, 11, 12). 56 “nisi adsit Spiritus sanctus.” Lambert, Farrago, 43v (paradox 293). Italics added. 57 Cf. David V.N. Bagchi, “Sic et Non: Luther and Scholasticism,” in PS, 3–15.

PART TWO

SECOND GENERATION REFORMERS (ca. 1535–1565)

THE IDEA OF A ‘GENERAL GRACE OF GOD’ IN SOME SIXTEENTHCENTURY REFORMED THEOLOGIANS OTHER THAN CALVIN J. Mark Beach Introduction An inadequately explored feature of sixteenth-century Reformed theology is how Reformed writers of that era treat the idea of a common or general grace of God (generalis gratia Dei). To be sure, within contemporary scholarship on Calvin’s theology, the subject of common grace has seen periodic analysis, though without achieving a consensus on what a general grace of God involves and implies for the whole of his theological enterprise. Much of that scholarship has concerned itself with comparing Calvin’s position to subsequent figures in theology or to some other topic or issue, such as natural law. What is more, Calvin’s treatment of a general grace, or even his idea of divine grace as such, has not been examined in relation to his Reformed contemporaries—which is to say, scholars have not asked how mid-sixteenth-century Reformed theologians, besides Calvin, may have addressed this issue.1 1 The literature that treats Calvin’s notion of a general grace of God, that is, a grace that is not salvific in character, is neither massive nor minuscule. Two broad interpretations of Calvin’s views prevail. The first maintains that, for Calvin, while the blindness of human depravity necessitates God’s redemptive initiative and provision, including the gift of special revelation and the illuminating work of the Holy Spirit for redemption, God also works in and upon all humans through a “generalis gratia.” This “grace” has at least a fourfold effect, namely (1) the restraint of sin; (2) the retention of certain “natural gifts”—bringing forth positive benefits both morally, socially, and epistemically; (3) the use of earthly possessions as divine gifts for human enjoyment; and (4) the preservation of the created order itself, which means therefore that human vocation, which is rooted in creation, cannot be divorced from divine redemption and faithful service to God. See Herman Bavinck, “Calvin and Common Grace,” Presbyterian Theological Review 7 (1909): 437–465; printed in Calvin and the Reformation, ed. Armstrong (New York.: Revell, 1909; repr., Grand Rapids: Baker, 1980), 99–130, 225; Herman Kuiper, “Calvin on Common Grace” (Ph.D. diss., Free University of Amsterdam; Goes, NL: Oosterbaan & Le Cointre; Grand Rapids: Smitter, 1928); Abraham Kuyper, De Gemeene Gratie, 3 vols. (Amsterdam: Höveker & Wormser, 1902–1904), passim; Quirinus Breen, “Calvin and Common Grace,” in Religion and Culture 5 (1923–1924): 119–120; 131; 151–152; 171–172; Religion and Culture 6 (1924–1925): 3; idem, John Calvin: A Study in French Humanism, 2nd ed. (Hamden: Archon, 1968), 165ff.; V. Hepp, Het Misverstand in Zake de Leer der Algemeene Genade (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1923), 14–17; Fred Bronkema, “The Doctrine of Common Grace in Reformed Theology or New Calvinism and the Doctrine of

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In this essay I shall argue that some sixteenth-century Reformed theologians, contemporaries of Calvin, are not unaware of and in fact employ either the precise language of a divine generalis gratia or make use of the concept. Insofar as there has been some intermittent scholarship devoted to Calvin’s use of this idea, and the concept is woven into the fabric of his theology, and insofar as this concept plays a role in how Calvin could affirm a radical human depravity alongside an acknowledgment of the positive contributions of unsaved persons to various aspects of human culture—in art, science, and ethics—it is worth considering how other Reformed writers from that period address these sorts of issues. Specifically, was the language or the idea of common grace a commonplace? How was such a notion distinguished from saving grace? Did Reformed writers, contemporaries of Calvin, parrot one another on the idea of a non-saving grace that mitigates the full effects of human sin? Indeed, what are the continuities and discontinuities that might be discerned and explored in this regard? In posing such questions, this brief essay is not attempting to lay out the entire scope of the doctrine of grace of the theologians under analysis, either in its salvific or non-salvific sense. Instead, this essay merely attempts to demonstrate that questions surrounding the definition of divine grace, specifically a general grace in distinction from a saving grace, Common Grace” (Th.D. diss., Harvard University, 1928); Eugène Choisy, “Calvin’s Conception of Grace,” in The Doctrine of Grace, ed. Withley (New York: MacMillan, 1932), 228–234; Werner Krusche, Das Wirken des Heiligen Geistes nach Calvin (Göttingen: V&R, 1957), 95f.; and Paul Helm, “Equity, Natural Law, and Common Grace,” in his John Calvin’s Ideas (New York: OUP, 2004), 347–388. The second school of interpretation pertaining to Calvin’s idea of common grace travels in a mildly different direction, being more cautious in speaking about a “doctrine” of common grace in Calvin’s theology. These scholars form an alternative consensus in detecting only the seeds or the “embryonic” construct of such a doctrine. Some of these writers argue a bit anachronistically in saying that since Calvin doesn’t give a formal treatment to common grace, making it a topic of his theology, he has no “doctrine” of common grace. See James William Anderson, “The Grace of God and the Non-elect in Calvin’s Commentaries and Sermons” (Th.D. diss., New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, 1976); Richard Arden Couch, “An Evaluation and Reformulation of the Doctrine of Common Grace in the Reformed Tradition” (Ph.D. diss., Princeton Theological Seminary, 1959); J. Douma, Algemene Genade: uiteenzetting, vergelijking, en beoordeling van de opvattingen van A. Kuyper, K. Schilder en Joh. Calvijn over ‘algemene genade’ (Goes, NL: Oosterbaan & Le Cointre, 1981); Charles B. Partee, “Calvin on Universal and Particular Providence,” in Readings in Calvin’s Theology, ed. McKim (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1984), 69–88; idem, The Theology of John Calvin (Louisville: WJKP, 2008), 116–119; and Walter Campbell Campbell-Jack, “Grace without Christ? The Doctrine of Common Grace in Dutch-American Neo-Calvinism” (Ph.D. diss., University of Edinburgh, 1992), Chapter 7, “John Calvin: Common Grace in Embryo,” 196–235. I offer an extended survey of most of these materials in “Calvin’s Treatment of Divine Grace and the Offer of the Gospel,” MAJT (2011): 56–63.



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was not unknown among sixteenth-century Reformed thinkers, which demonstrates that Calvin was not the sole voice working with this idea. Calvin’s Reformed Contemporaries on Divine Grace Heinrich Bullinger (1504–1575) Among sixteenth-century Reformed writers the doctrine of divine grace comes to varying degrees of strict definition. Heinrich Bullinger, for example, Zwingli’s successor at Zürich, and one of Calvin’s theological colleagues, treats divine grace in a rather formal and precise manner.2 In his Fourth Decade, Bullinger seeks to offer a definition of grace that honors the range of meaning that the term has within Scripture itself, for throughout the Bible the word “grace” is used in a variety of ways, as is the case in common speech. In exploring the range of meaning that is attached to the word “grace” in Scripture, Bullinger notes that “the gifts of God are called grace, because they are given gratis, and freely bestowed without looking for any recompence.” Yet the apostle clearly distinguishes “gift from grace” in Romans 5, for grace denotes divine “favor” and “good-will” toward us, whereas a gift is what God bestows to us according to his “good-will,” such as “faith, constancy, and integrity.” Thus, those persons about whom we say, ‘They are in God’s grace,’ are the very ones God dearly loves and favors “more than others.” “In that sense,” writes Bullinger, “Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord: Joseph found grace in the eyes of the lord of the prison; and the holy virgin is read to have found grace with the Lord, because she was beloved of God, and very dear unto the Lord….”3 However, 2 Important works on Bullinger include Emidio Campi, Heinrich Bullinger und Seine Zeit: eine Vorlesungsreihe (Zürich: TVZ, 2004); Bruce Gordon and Emidio Campi, ed., Architect of Reformation: An Introduction to Heinrich Bullinger (1504–1575) (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2004); Fritz Büsser, Heinrich Bullinger (1504–1575): Leben, Werk, und Wirkung, 2 vols. (Zürich: TVZ, 2004); Fritz Blanke, Heinrich Bullinger: Vater der reformierten Kirche (Zürich: TVZ, 1990); Carl Pestalozzi, Heinrich Bullinger: Leben und ausgewählte Schriften (Elberfeld: R.L. Friderichs, 1858); and Fritz Blanke, Der junge Bullinger 1504–1531 (Zürich: Zwingli Verlag, 1942); also see the shorter treatments of Bullinger’s life and work given by J. Wayne Baker, Heinrich Bullinger and the Covenant: The Other Reformed Tradition (Athens: Ohio University, 1980), xi-xxvi; David Steinmetz, “Heinrich Bullinger (1504–1575): Covenant and the Continuity of Salvation History,” in Reformers in the Wings (1971; reprint, Grand Rapids: Baker, 1981), 133–142; also see Justus Heer and E. Egli, “Bullinger, Heinrich” in Realencyklopädie für protestantische theologie und Kirche, ed. J.J. Herzog, et al., 3rd rev. ed., 24 vols. (Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1896–1913), 3:536–549. 3 Heinrich Bullinger, Sermonum decades quinque, (Zürich, 1557), IV.i.178–79; trans. Decades, IV.6–7.

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for his part and in connection with his particular argument, Bullinger wishes to define “grace” as having a specifically salvific content, calling grace that “favour and goodness of the eternal Godhead, wherewith he, according to his incomprehensible goodness, doth gratis, freely, for Christ’s sake embrace, call, justify, and save us mortal men.”4 In his work, De gratia dei justificante nos propter Christum (1554), Bullinger differentiates between various theological senses of divine grace. According to Bullinger, we meet with three different uses of the word grace (gratia) in Scripture and sacred disputation. There is that “general grace of God, which God has appointed for us all and which rains upon the good and the evil….” None are justified before God by this sort of grace. Scripture also speaks of a “special grace” which is God’s favor bestowed to us individually and embraces us “according to his goodness and mercy and adopts us as sons for Christ’s sake through faith.” The recipients of this grace are those who are justified. Indeed, St. Augustine championed this understanding of grace against Pelagius (while not denying a general grace) inasmuch as saving grace is not according to our merit but solely according to God’s mercy for Christ’s sake. Finally, says Bullinger, there is that grace which God pours in the human heart and brings forth all kinds of good works which testify of his grace working in us.5 Here Bullinger clearly distinguishes between a divine grace that brings us to salvation (gratia specialis), a divine grace that enables us to bear the fruits of salvation (gratia effusa), and a grace that is resident in or expressive of the creation itself, eliciting its benefits (creationis beneficium), that is, the created capacity of human beings, along with the gifts and talents that are part of being human (gratia generalis).6 Bullinger notes that Pelagius took this “general grace” as sufficient in itself, despite the fall, to enable humans to choose God and live for him. In view of what Bullinger says about this gratia generalis in distinction from gratia specialis, it is also important to consider his remarks about “the law of nature.” In fact, it would seem that the idea of a “law of nature” is connected to what Bullinger says about a general grace of God, which is expressive of the blessings of the created order itself. According to Bullinger, there is a law of nature, or what we might call a law of creation, that abides in humans in spite of the fall and its corrupting 4 Bullinger, IV.i.178–79. (Decades, IV.1, 7). 5 Heinrich Bullinger, De gratia dei iustificante…libri IV (Zürich, 1554), 7. 6 Bullinger so clearly distinguishes between these three sorts of divine grace that he sets each off via a marginal heading.



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effects. Bullinger links this to the human conscience. Thus the law of nature is “an instruction of the conscience,” which means that God has oriented human hearts and minds in “a certain direction.” In this way, God instructs humans in what they are both to seek and to avoid. And the conscience, verily, is the knowledge, judgment, and reason of a man, whereby every man in himself, and in his own mind, being made privy to every thing that he either hath committed or not committed, doth either condemn or else acquit himself. And this reason proceedeth from God, who both prompeth and writeth his judgments in the hearts and minds of men. Moreover, that which we call nature is the proper disposition or inclination of every thing. But the disposition of mankind being flatly corrupted by sin as it is blind, so also is it in all points evil and naughty.7

It would seem that, for Bullinger, a general grace of God is directly associated with the law of nature and the human conscience—including the divine judgments which are written on the human heart. The original constitution and order of the creation, yes, even its remnants after the fall, bespeak a divine grace in a general sense. As is evident from the above quotation, however, Bullinger doesn’t deny the fall or its destructive effects. The law of nature, due to human depravity, can be twisted so as to oppose the written law of God; it thus remains and must remain answerable to the law of God. Nonetheless, because of this law of nature, even Gentiles, or at least wise Gentiles, are able to offer wisdom that conforms to the Ten Commandments and the law of God. Pythagoras, for example, confesses but one God who is the maker and keeper and governor of all things. Likewise, Zaleucus, Cicero, Seneca, and others argue for laws that conform to various divine commandments.8 But this wisdom doesn’t in itself reach up to God. For Bullinger, nature still needs grace; otherwise, it is “without force and effect.”9 In short, this means that to the degree any Gentiles can receive the praise of righteousness (so, Melchizedek, Job, Jethro, and others) and come to salvation, they are “saved, not by the works of nature, or their own deserts, but by the mercy of God in our Lord Jesus Christ.”10 This likewise ties into Bullinger’s discussion whether those works that heathens do, which have some show of virtue or goodness, ought to be regarded as sins instead of good works. Bullinger maintains that the   7 Bullinger, Decades, II.194; Sermonum, II.i.36.   8 See Sermonum, II.i.37ff. (Decades, II.197ff.).   9 Sermonum, II.i.38 (Decades, II.205). 10 Sermonum, II.i.38 (Decades, II.205–206).

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“worthy deeds” of unbelievers should not be “despised or utterly contemned” inasmuch as such actions are “not altogether done without God.” Moreover, such works are very useful in the maintenance and restoration of “tranquillity” among nations and governments.11 And therefore did the most just Lord enrich certain excellent men and commonweals with many and ample temporal gifts; for upon the Greeks and many Roman princes he bestowed riches, victories, and abundant glory: and verily, civil justice and public tranquillity was in great estimation among many of them. Others received infinite rewards, because they did constantly and manfully execute the just judgments of God upon the wicked rebels and enemies to God.12

We see that in Bullinger’s thought the idea of a general grace of God comes to clear expression as he links the concept to the created order and man’s created constitution. The benefits of the creation—even in the remnants after the fall—betoken a divine grace. This is the grace Pelagius commandeered and sought to make sufficient in itself to enable humans to aspire after God and receive salvation. While acknowledging the virtuous works of the heathen as being in some sense dependent on God, Bullinger comes up short of any “formal” or “full” notion of a general grace of God. Wolfgang Musculus (1497–1563) The next theologian we will briefly examine, being a contemporary of Calvin, is Wolfgang Musculus.13 Like Bullinger, Musculus also takes up the definition of divine grace in unmistakably formal ways. Musculus addresses himself to the meaning of the biblical words usually translated “grace” as used in both Hebrew (‫ )חן‬and Greek (χάριϛ). Both of these terms 11 Sermonum, III.x.174 (Decades, III.419). 12 Sermonum, III.x.174 (Decades, III.419). 13 For an account of Musculus’ life and his theology, see Ludwig Grote, Wolfgang Musculus, ein biographischen Versuch (Hamburg, 1855); Rudolf Dellsperger Rudolf Freudenberger, and Wolfgang Weber, ed. Wolfgang Musculus (1497–1563) und die oberdeutsche Reformation (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997); Robert B. Ives, The Theology of Wolfgang Musculus (Ph.D. diss., University of Manchester, 1965); also see Richard Muller, “Wolfgang Musculus (1497–1563),” in Encyclopedia of the Reformed Faith, ed. McKim (Philadelphia: WJKP, 1992), 248; Hartmut Lohmann, Biographisch-Bibliographisches Kirchenlexicon, vol. 6 (Herzberg: Bautz, 1993), s.v. “MUSCULUS, (Müslin, Mäuslin), Wolfgang (Dusanus),” 381ff.; Reinhard Bodenmann, Wolfgang Musculus (1497–1563), Destin d’un Autodidacte Lorrain au Siècle des Réformes (Geneva: Droz, 2000); and Jordan J. Ballor, Covenant, Causality, and Law: A Study in the Theology of Wolfgang Musculus (Göttingen: V&R, 2012).



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exhibit a range of meanings.14 The most important senses of ‫ חן‬and χάριϛ bring Musculus to this definition: Therefore, Grace is, as touching this present matter, that affection of favoure, when we love a man hartely, and whatsoever through thys favoure is freely and franckelye given without respecte of anye deserte or duetie. This definition of grace we muste diligentlye keepe, that wee maye well understande these thynges, whyche the holye Scripture dothe ascribe unto Goddes grace, least we be seduced by some meanes, and make voyde the glorye of the grace of God.15

Musculus argues that for God there exists no inconsistency or problem to be both just and gracious.16 Musculus maintains that the source of divine grace is God’s own goodness, and it is an expression of God’s freedom. Consequently, whatever is not free, is not grace and does not find its wellspring in God’s goodness, which is absolutely necessary if grace, purely conceived, is to be grace.17 Yet, although grace ensues from God’s goodness, we must discern that both abide in God co-eternally.18 Musculus also considers “how many sortes there be of this grace of Gods goodnesse.” He argues for the distinction between “grace purposing” and “grace working.” Of course, he is speaking of grace unto redemption.19 It is clear that Musculus has a very robust doctrine of divine grace in the Augustinian mode. Within that mode, however, the issue is whether he allows any room for a general, non-salvific, grace of God. We discover that Musculus is not averse to speaking about the unregenerate doing good in some manner. “[The unregenerate man] may in deed be dryven or moved some other waye to speake with his tong, or to worke with his hande in some sorte, that which is good.”20 It appears that this is associated with what Musculus has to say regarding the Noahic covenant, which he describes as a general covenant in distinction from a special covenant. “The generall covenante is that, which he [God] made with hys whole frame of the earth and all that dwelleth therein, as well beastes as men, with the day also and the night, winter and sommer, cold and heate, seede 14 See Wolfgang Musculus, Loci communes in usus sacrae theologiae candidatorum parati [hereafter LC] (Basel, 1564), 147; trans. Commonplaces of Christian Religion (London, 1578), 296. 15 LC, 186; Commonplaces, 296. 16 LC, 186; Commonplaces, 296–297. 17 LC, 187; Commonplaces, 298. 18 LC, 187; Commonplaces, 298. 19 LC, 187; Commonplaces, 298. 20 LC, 31; Commonplaces, 46.

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time and harvest, etc.”21 Musculus calls this a general covenant because it has to do with the whole world; consequently, it may also be described as earthly and temporal, for it altogether concerns the regular order of the world. Indeed, in commenting on God’s covenant with the world, as stipulated in the covenant with Noah, Musculus is brought to use the terminology of “common grace.” And I do not speake for that, that I do condemne so noble, manifest and generall grace of oure creator, withoute which this world can not endure, bycause it is earthly and temporal. God forbidde. Surely he [sinful man] is not worthy to enjoy the good everlasting, that maketh nothing of the earthly and temporall goodes. Yea he is unthankefull for the gifte of hys life, and not worthy to enjoy this aire whiche he doth breath of.22

Clearly, for Musculus, God’s preserving of the world is an expression of divine grace, for with this preservation comes also the gift of life and its temporal benefits. However, this is still far removed from affirming that this sort of grace—this general grace—has anything to do with eternal salvation or “the good everlasting.” For the special covenant of God is an everlasting covenant that God mercifully “hathe vouchsaved to make with his electe and beleeving.”23 Thus this covenant does not pertain to all but only to Abraham, the father of all believers, and his seed.24 For Musculus, then, a general grace of God comes to expression in the divine preservation of the world, not only according to God’s general providence, but specifically according to a gracious divine covenant, the covenant made with Noah. Moreover, Musculus, like Bullinger, is not unaware of the rich range of meaning of the biblical words for grace. However, insofar as we have been able to ascertain from Musculus’ Commonplaces, while he does take up divine grace as a topic of theology, he does not attempt any extended application of the idea of a “general grace” beyond what we have already noted. It is important to note that Musculus is not averse to using the phrase “general grace,” and when he does so, there is no mention of the Pelagianizing abuse of these words. Instead, the phrase is couched in an overtly gracious context, namely God’s promise never again to destroy the world with a flood—or even more, his promise to maintain the world for the well-ordering of life and blessing.

21 LC, 179; Commonplaces, 284. 22 LC, 179; Commonplaces, 285. 23 LC, 179; Commonplaces, 285. 24 LC, 179ff.; Commonplaces, 285.



the idea of a ‘general grace of god’105 Peter Martyr Vermigli (1499–1562)

Peter Martyr Vermigli is the last Reformed theologian, being a contemporary of Calvin, whom we wish to examine on the matter of divine grace.25 He, like the other theologians we have surveyed, presents a formal and strict definition of grace which he believes is in full harmony with Scripture: “It is the good will of God, that commeth voluntarilie of his owne accord, whereby he holdeth us deare in Jesus Christ, and forgiveth us our sinnes, giveth us the holie Ghost, a perfect life, and everlasting felicitie.”26 Noteworthy about this definition of grace is that it is salvific in purpose, free in origin, and focused wholly in Christ. With this definition, Vermigli understands “not onlie what we may call grace, but also by whom we have the same; and in like maner what the chiefe effects of the same are.”27 He later appeals to Augustine’s exposition of John 1:16—“grace for grace”—wherein grace must be understood as that which is “freelie given.” And if we ask what it is that is freely given, the answer is that which is not rendered as due, for if it were due us, then we must conceive of it as a reward that is rightly bestowed, as if we had been good before God’s grace reached us.28 Like Bullinger, Vermigli speaks of the “common grace of creation.”29 However, he is quite suspicious of, even hostile to, this terminology— which, given how it is defined in this context, is a reasonable reaction for a Reformed theologian. Vermigli opposes the view that conceives of common grace as a Pelagianizing prevenient or enabling grace, so that in God giving this grace to all people they can proceed to bear fruits of faith and repentance of themselves. This is the Pelagian heresy.30 25 Sources on Vermigli include Frank A James III, ed., Peter Martyr Vermigli and the European Reformation: Semper Reformanda (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2004); Torrance Kirby, et al. ed., A Companion to Peter Martyr Vermigli (Leiden: Brill, 2009); Joseph C. McLelland, Peter Martyr’s Loci Communes: a literary history (Montreal: Faculty of Religious Studies, McGill, 2007); Jason Zuidema, Peter Martyr Vermigli (1499–1562) and the Outward Instruments of Divine Grace (Göttingen: V&R, 2008); John Patrick Donelly, Calvinism and Scholasticism in Vermigli’s Doctrine of Man and Grace (Leiden: Brill 1976), and J.P. Donelly et al. ed., A Bibliography of the Works of Peter Martyr Vermigli (Kirksville: TSUP, 1991); Philip McNair, Peter Martyr in Italy: An Anatomy of Apostasy (Oxford: Clarendon, 1967); Joseph C. McLelland, The Visible Words of God: A Study in the Theology of Peter Martyr 1500–1562 (Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd, 1957). 26 Peter Martyr Vermigli, Loci communes D. Petri Martyris Vermilii...ex variis ipsis autoris scriptis, in unum librum collecti & in quatuor Classes distribute. 2nd ed. (London: Vautrollerius, 1583), III.2.9 (p. 480); The Common Places of Peter Martyr, trans. Anthony Marten [hereafter CP] (London: Henry Denham, 1583), III.2.49. 27 Loci communes, III.2.9 (p.480); CP, III.2.49. 28 Loci communes, III.2.16 (p.483); CP, III.2.53. 29 Loci communes, III.4.84 (p.560); CP, III.2.156. 30 Loci communes, III.4.24 (p.523); CP, III.4.107.

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What Vermigli finds untenable and erroneous in this appeal to a “common grace” is that those who do so actually turn grace into nature, “for in that they assigne a grace, whereby they can atteine unto righteousnes without Christ, they are both against Christ, and the Mileuitane Councell, and the holie scriptures.” And, again, “in that they make grace common unto all men, they turne it into nature; and they saie that some will use it, some will not use it.”31 The Pelagian conception thus reemerges in this way. Vermigli also sharply contests the notion of a “preventing grace” (i.e., a prior acting or prevenient grace) which is to be distinguished from another, more absolute grace, called an “after following grace.” Not that Vermigli denies this distinction as such, provided it receives proper definition, which he provides.32 In discussing the doctrine of predestination and the grace of God that fits with divine election, that is, the grace that brings the elect to salvation, Vermigli again turns to the phrase or idea of a common grace. Thus in the context of discussing how God regenerates sinners and draws them into his kingdom, Vermigli asserts emphatically: “We in no wise saie, that grace is common unto all men [i.e. predestinating grace or all the benefits of Christ that belong to those who are predestinate], but is given unto some; and unto others, according to the pleasure of God, it is not given.”33 However, Vermigli, implicitly and indirectly acknowledges another sense of divine grace which in some respect is common to all people, for in commenting on 1 Cor. 12:11—“that One and the selfe-same spirit distributeth unto all men as pleaseth him”—Vermigli states that the Spirit is the source of the “graces and free gifts” that belong to all people. However, he also says that these words may “no lesse be transferred unto the grace, whereby we are renewed unto salvation, seeing God is alike free in the one and the other.”34 We see, then, that for Vermigli what is clearly objectionable about making grace common to all people is that grace is properly speaking a salvific term; grace is saving grace. And for Vermigli this grace may never, following Pelagius, be erroneously converted into nature. Indeed, the transformation of grace into nature “in no wise agreeth with the doctrine of the holie scriptures.”35 Thus Vermigli is not afraid to affirm that “outward 31 Loci communes, III.4.24 (p.523); CP, III.4.107. 32 Loci communes, III.4.24 (p.523); CP, III.4.107. 33 Loci communes, III.1.38 (p.462); CP, III.1.26. 34 Loci communes, III.1.39 (p.464); CP, III.1.28. 35 Loci communes, III.1.40 (p.464); CP, II.1.28.



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calling” is common to the elect and reprobate alike and that God, according to his mercy, causes the sun to rise upon the good and the evil. Vermigli also asserts that “both the predesinate and the reprobate are partakers of some of the benefits of God.”36 But even this common mercy of God is not altogether common, notes Vermigli. For example, the commodities that are suited for our bodies are unequally distributed among men. Similarly, while some persons enjoy a measure of natural happiness and the blessings of good health, others are born either leprous or blind or deaf or mentally handicapped or otherwise poor, and are without “all manner of natural felicitie; neither attaine they unto it at anie time...”37 Vermigli also acknowledges that natural gifts are sometimes called graces: I grant indeed, that there be manie free gifts, by which the godlie cannot be discerned from the ungodlie; such are the gifts of toongs, prophesieng, the gifts of healing, and other such like; which things doo no lesse happen unto the evill, than unto the good. On the other side, faith, hope, and charitie, belong onelie to the saints.38

Likewise, there are many “natural gifts”—such as, “pregnancie of wit, strength of bodie, and such like”—that are “sometimes called graces.” Unfortunately, the Pelagians turned these things into free will. Thus, in refuting Pelagius the church had to address this abuse of making the grace of natural gifts into a grace that regenerates and justifies sinners.39 Vermigli’s burden and concern is that however we decide to speak of and understand grace, we must safeguard that it is something freely and divinely bestowed. This means that grace is neither according to our works nor is it another word for our works. For we are made acceptable to God entirely by “the good will of God,” not by any of our efforts.40 Conclusions Given this short analysis of a select portion of the writings of Bullinger, Musculus, and Vermigli on their respective treatments of divine grace, and more specifically a general grace of God, we offer the following conclusions based on the range of material we have considered. 36 Loci communes, III.1.43 (p.465); CP, III.1.30. 37 Loci communes, III.1.43 (p.465); CP, III.1.30. 38 Loci communes, III.2.14 (p.482); CP, III.2.52. 39 Loci communes, III.2.14 (p.482); CP, III.2.52. 40 Loci communes, III.2.14 (p.482); CP, III.2.52.

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First, the idea of a general grace of God was a theological concept shared by mid-sixteenth-century Reformed theologians. It is clear that Bullinger, Musculus, and Vermigli (each contemporaries of Calvin), accept to varying degrees some notion of a non-saving divine favor or goodness directed toward the non-elect and unbelievers. Bullinger and Musculus employ the terminology of a general grace of God. This idea, then, is neither a novelty among Reformed writers of this period nor a commonplace; perhaps it is better described as a hybrid notion that emerges from the topic of grace and the nature of human depravity. We have discovered that each of these writers has something to say about a “general grace,” and each even makes “grace” a formal topic of theology—this last trait is absent in Calvin’s theology. Each of these writers is quite clear about the meaning of grace, standing in the Augustinian tradition and conceiving of saving grace in a wholly monergistic fashion; but as an addendum to this topic it is recognized that there also exists a non-saving or general grace of God. Second, Bullinger, Musculus, and Vermigli affirm that the idea of divine grace may properly be stretched beyond the narrow range of human salvation. Each of them offers strict and formal definitions of grace. Bullinger and Musculus do so only after they have examined the range of meaning that the biblical terms for grace have in Scripture. That simple exercise, however, demonstrates that the biblical concept of divine grace cannot be narrowly confined to individual salvation, strictly speaking, though of course divine redemption remains the most prominent and vital aspect of the biblical concept of grace as elicited by the biblical materials. Even Vermigli, whom among the writers we examined displayed the most caution toward the language of common grace, does not deny that the unregenerate are granted divine “illuminations,” which are of grace. For example, in considering divine grace, Bullinger, Musculus, and Vermigli respectively offer a specifically Augustinian definition of grace. Vermigli, for instance, calls it “the good will of God, that comes voluntarily of his own accord, whereby he holds us dear in Jesus Christ and forgives us our sins, gives us the Holy Ghost, a perfect life, and everlasting felicity.” The concern of these theologians is to distinguish grace, rightly understood, from synergistic misconceptions and outright Pelagian abuses. Since at that time the locution “general grace” had, for some, a specifically Pelagian aroma, Reformed theologians were guarded in how they used those words. Some, like Vermigli, were hesitant to use the term, whereas others, like Bullinger and Musculus, were careful to define it. Thus we see Bullinger and Vermigli explicitly attacking a notion of “general grace” that identifies grace with nature along Pelagian lines.



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Third, for these Reformed theologians, grace—whether conceived as saving or non-saving in scope—remains a free gift of divine mercy. It is not earned, merited, warranted, or deserved by fallen human beings in any capacity. The gifts that are bestowed to fallen people, whether these gifts be understood as part of the original, unfallen, creation order or as in some way a particularly given talent or ability, or as the station one has in life, bringing some degree of happiness, or as the general welfare of civil order and justice, securing safety and physical wellbeing, all such gifts, and many others, remain gifts, which by definition are undeserved and unearned. God freely bestows these blessings to the unregenerate, and by implication, to the reprobate. In so doing all persons owe a debt of gratitude to God for such gifts. Thus the word “grace” invariably emerges in the respective discussions of these theologians. No other word quite suffices to express the fact that what is given to undeserving sinners, even if what is given is not the gift of salvation, is not their due—it is of grace. Musculus, in particular, associates the idea of this general divine grace with the Noahic covenant. Fourth, these theologians view the virtues in the unregenerate as a fruit of a general grace of God. To varying degrees, each of these writers admits the idea of virtue in the non-elect, properly qualified, and affirms that the natural gifts which abide among fallen humans are, in some sense, an expression of divine kindness or mercy. Thus Bullinger speaks of heathen writers offering wisdom that conforms to the Ten Commandments. In fact, the virtues that non-believers exhibit are “not altogether done without God.” Although Vermigli would shy away from using the word “grace” to describe this, even he acknowledges that God is the author of these blessings, terming them gifts and graces. Thus we see how the idea of a general grace of God is not altogether uncommon in Reformed theology in the middle of the sixteenth century. The gifts that come to fallen humans, the blessings that bedeck their lives, and the benefits that allow the human project—even in its rebellion against God—to move forward are divine gifts, divine blessings, and divine benefits. Last, the several portraits of grace and common grace as formulated by some of Calvin’s contemporaries prove to be, not surprisingly, distinct but also not incongruous with one another. Bullinger, Musculus, and Vermigli hold in common the idea that God acts upon unregenerate persons in a manner that is gracious, being undeserved and kindly, but also nonsalvific in character. This general sort of divine grace, however, remains distinct from grace in its saving operations. All of the above shows that, among mid-sixteenth-century Reformed theologians, Calvin was not a solitary voice sounding the idea of a general grace of God.

CALVIN’S RECEPTION AND REFORMULATION OF THE NECESSITARIAN CONCEPTS OF THE EARLY REFORMATION ON HUMAN WILL, PROVIDENCE, AND PREDESTINATION Kiven S.K. Choy John Calvin’s reception of the necessitarian concepts of the early Reformation in his defense of Martin Luther’s early Reformation doctrine of the bondage of human will had a significant and complex impact on his reformulation of the human will, providence, and predestination.1 On the one hand, with his contemporary Reformers, Calvin reverses Luther’s practice, adopts the scholastic distinctions concerning necessity, affirms the genuine contingency of human will, and discontinues the necessitarian argument for the bondage of human will.2 On these issues, Calvin seems to safeguard the classical Augustinian affirmation of the genuine integrity of secondary causality. On the other hand, though he does not repeat the necessitarian argument Luther used in the early Reformation, Calvin does adopt key necessitarian concepts and expressions taught by Luther and other early Reformers.3 While Luther (following Augustine) basically set the discussion of active presentation of divine willing of 1 For further development of the themes in this article see Kiven Choy, “Calvin’s Defense and Reformulation of Luther’s Early Reformation Doctrine of the Bondage of the Will” (Ph.D. diss., Calvin Theological Seminary, 2010), 220–263. For key bibliography see Hermann Barnikol, Die Lehre Calvins vom unfreien Willen und ihr Verhältnis zur Lehre der übrigen Reformatoren und Augustins (Neuwied: Heusersche Buchdruckerel, 1927); John Calvin, The Bondage and the Liberation of the Will: A Defense of the Orthodox Doctrine of Human Choice Against Pighius, ed. Lane, trans. Davies (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1996); Calvin, Defensio Sanae et Orthodoxae Doctrinae de Servitvte et Liberatione Humani Arbitrii, ed. Lane (Geneva: Droz, 2008); John L. Girardeau, The Will in Its Theological Relations (Columbia: Duffie, 1891); Matthew C. Heckel, “‘His Spear through My Side unto Luther’: Calvin’s Relationship to Luther’s Doctrine of Will” (Ph.D. diss., Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, 2005); A.N.S. Lane, “The Influence upon Calvin of His Debate with Pighius,” in Auctoritas Patrum II, ed. Leif Grane, et al. (Mainz: Philipp von Zabaren, 1998), 125–139; Lane, “Did Calvin Believe in Freewill?” Vox Evangelica 12 (1981): 72–90; Harry J. McSorley, Luther: Right or Wrong? An Ecumenical-Theological Study of Luther’s Major Work, The Bondage of the Will (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1969); Muller, Decree; L.F. Schulze, Calvin’s Reply to Pighius (Potchefstroom: Pro Rege, 1971); L.F. Schulze, “Calvin’s Reply to Pighius—A Micro and Macro View,” Calvinus Ecclesiae Genevensis Custos, ed. Neuser (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1984), 171–186. 2 Cf. Choy, “Calvin’s Defense,” 107–219. 3 Cf. McSorley, Luther: Right or Wrong? 21, 329, 342; Choy, “Calvin’s Defense,” 67–104.

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hardening in a post-fall framework, Calvin was unique among his peers in applying the necessitarian concepts and language to the divine ordination of the fall. This constitutes a major characteristic in Calvin’s formulation of the relationship between primary causality and second causality. Calvin’s Reception of the Necessitarian Concepts of the Early Reformation Even though Calvin does not employ the necessitarian arguments of the early Reformation, he does adopt various necessitarian concepts advocated in the early Reformation. Hence, we shall find that in at least five aspects of the necessitarian concepts there are essential continuities between early Reformation necessitarian concepts and Calvin’s doctrines of providence and predestination. First of all, Calvin adopts some of the active concepts of divine omnipotence advocated by the reformers in the early Reformation. In the defense for the bondage of human will, Luther set the precedent to use an active concept of divine omnipotence to defend the idea of “sheer necessity.” Anthony Lane points out that “Pighius assumed that Calvin agreed with Luther’s teaching that ‘nothing happens to us contingently, but everything by sheer necessity.’ Calvin’s embarrassment was that he did not agree— but could not say so openly without displaying Protestant disunity.”4 In addition, Ulrich Zwingli set an important, but perhaps notorious precedent for applying the necessitarian concepts to divine providence. Zwingli explicitly minimizes the integrity of second causality: “Secondary causes are not properly called causes. This is of fundamental importance for the understanding of Providence.”5 Zwingli also uses pantheistic language to characterize the nature of the creation, “everything that is, is in Him and through Him and a part of Him.” And “there is nothing which is not of the Deity.”6 Zwingli argues, “I say, by divine oracles, we must admit that there is only one true cause of all things.”7 In addition, Zwingli emphasizes that divine providence is active and never idle: “For this also is altogether incontrovertible, either Providence cares for all things and is 4 Lane, “Bondage,” 7. Cf. LW 33:112. 5 Ulrich Zwingli, “Reproduction from Memory of a Sermon on the Providence of God,” in On Providence and Other Essays, ed. Hinke (Eugene: W&S, 1999), 138. For Latin text of this work, see Ulrich Zwingli, Opera (Zürich: Froschoverum, 1545), 1:352a-379. 6 Zwingli, “Providence,” 143. 7 Zwingli, “Providence,” 154.



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nowhere idle or listless, or there is no Providence at all. And if there is no Providence, there is no Deity.”8 Zwingli is also not shy in naming God as author of sins: “What God does, He does freely, uninfluenced by any evil motion, therefore, also, without sin. David’s adultery, so far as concerns God as the author [authorem] of it, is no more a sin to God, than when a steer covers and impregnates a whole herd.”9 Although his presentation was not as pointed as that of Luther and Zwingli, and he disliked those harsh sayings of Zwingli, and provided more nuanced distinctions to affirm the genuine contingency of secondary causality, Calvin did adopt some active concepts of divine will similar to that of the early Reformers.10 In his discussion on providence, Calvin presents the active manner of divine omnipotence in a way similar to that of Luther: And truly God claims, and would have us grant him, omnipotence—not the empty, idle, and almost unconscious sort that the Sophists imagine, but a watchful, effective, active sort, engaged in ceaseless activity [sed vigilem, efficacem, operosam, et quae in continuo actu versetur]. Not, indeed, an omnipotence that is only a general principle of confused motion, as if he were to command a river to flow through its once-appointed channels, but one that is directed toward individual and particular motions.... For when, in The Psalms, it is said that “he does whatever he wills” [Psalm 115:3], a certain and deliberate will is meant.11

Calvin uses words, like “watchful, effective, active sort,” to present God’s omnipotence as an active, operative and directive will: “a certain and deliberate will.” Calvin also argues that God is not an idle God and there is no mere divine permission. At the very beginning of the Institutes, Calvin rejects the idea of an idle God: What good is it to profess with Epicurus some sort of God who has cast aside the care of the world only to amuse himself in idleness? What help is it, in short, to know a God with whom we have nothing to do?...not that they deprive him of his being, but because, in despoiling him of his judgment and providence, they shut him up idle in heaven.12 8 Zwingli, “Providence,” 233. 9 Zwingli, “Providence,” 182–183. 10 In the Bolsec controversy Calvin resented Bullinger for linking his position to some of the extreme sayings in Zwingli. Cf. Cornelis P. Venema, “Heinrich Bullinger’s Correspondence on Calvin’s Doctrine of Predestination, 1551–1553,” SCJ 17.4 (1986): 61. 11 Calvin, Institutes, I.xvi.3. Italics added. Cf. “Now where is God’s omnipotence, if such sovereignty is conceded to the devil that he carries out whatever he wishes, against God’s will and resistance?” Institutes, I.xiv.3. 12 Institutes, I.ii.2; I.iv.2. Italics added. Cf. Institutes, III.xxii.6.

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Calvin assumes that if we speak of mere permission, we speak of an idle God.13 Calvin clearly opposes a passive concept of divinus concursus, or in his words, “a general principle of confused motion,” that unavoidably goes along with secondary causality.14 Calvin emphasizes that only an active government of all things, evil or good, may truly represent the essential characteristic of God as a creator: For now I propose to refute the opinion (which almost universally obtains) that concedes to God some kind of blind and ambiguous motion, while taking from him the chief thing: that he directs everything by his incomprehensible wisdom and disposes it to his own end. And so in name only, not in fact, it makes God the Ruler of the universe because it deprives him of his control.15

Luther set the precedent of an active concept of God’s omnipotence, and Calvin followed closely. For them, the divine will is never merely passive. The second major precedent Luther set before Calvin is the emphasis on active and literal representation of hardening and reprobation. Following Luther, Calvin preferred to adopt biblical expressions in key theological formulations. Luther condemns Erasmus for not following Moses and Paul literally: “Absurdity, then, is one of the principal reasons for not taking the words of Moses and Paul literally [simpliciter].”16 Luther assumes that the active presentation is a literal way to read the Bible: If we have carried conviction on this point, we have won our case, and having exploded the tropes and glosses of men, we can take the words of God literally [simpliciter], with no necessity to make excuses for God or to accuse him of injustice. For when he says, “I will harden Pharaoh’s heart,” he is speaking literally [simpliciter], as if he said, “I will act so that Pharaoh’s heart may be hardened” or “so that through my working and doing it may be hardened.”17

The word “literally” is very informative about Luther’s formulation. Luther argues that being offensive to human reason is not an excuse for not following the biblical tone and teaching.18 To Luther, no matter how, the 13 Institutes, I.xviii.1. Cf. John Calvin, Calvin’s Calvinism: Treatises on the Eternal Predestination of God and the Secret Providence of God, trans. Cole (Grand Rapids: Reformed Free, [1987]), 294–295. 14 Cf. Institutes, 1.xvi.4. 15 Institutes, I.xvi.4. 16 LW 33:173; WA 18:707. Italics added. 17 LW 33:179–180. 18 LW 33:173.



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biblical way should be preferred.19 The key for Luther is the “author’s intent.”20 Luther believes that only in this way may we truly present the full force of the author’s intent in the texts. To put it in a word, this license of interpretation comes to this, that by a new and unprecedented use of grammar everything is jumbled up [ut nova et inaudita grammatica omnia confundantur], so that when God says “I will harden Pharaoh’s heart,” you change the person and take it to mean “Pharaoh hardens himself through my forbearance.” “God hardens our hearts” means that we harden ourselves when God delays our punishment.21

For Luther, if we do not follow the principle of “literal representation of the biblical expressions” consistently, the divine Word would be easily twisted. By what authority, for what reason, with what necessity is the natural meaning of the word thus twisted for me? What if the reader and interpreter should be wrong? What proof is there that this twisting of the word ought to take place in this passage? It is dangerous, and indeed impious, to twist the word of God without necessity and without authority.22

We find a similar argument in Calvin, too. Calvin says, “We ought not to admit any distinction between God’s permission and his wish. For we see the Holy Spirit—the best master of language—here clearly expresses two things; first, what God does; and next, what he does by his own will.”23 Calvin emphasizes the importance of this, “so do I deem it in no way dangerous if we simply adhere to what Scripture teaches.”24 This is a key conviction of Calvin: to teach the full force of the biblical texts. Calvin understands the offensive nature of this active presentation of God’s government of evil acts. Yet he strongly believes that it is the way of the Bible and he has to follow: Since the expression seems harsh to delicate ears, many soften it away, by turning the act into mere permission; as if there were no difference between doing and permitting to be done; or as if God would commend his passivity, and not rather his power. As to myself, I am certainly not ashamed of speaking as the Holy Spirit speaks, nor do I hesitate to believe what so often occurs in

19 LW 33:175. 20 LW 33:165. 21 LW 33 167. Italics added. WA 18:703. 22 LW 33:165. Italics added. 23 Calvin, Comm. on Daniel 4:35. 24 Institutes, II.iv.3. Cf. Institutes, I.xviii.2.

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kiven s.k. choy Scripture, that God gives the wicked over to a reprobate mind, gives them up to vile affections, blinds their minds and hardens their hearts.25

Calvin adopts the rationale of Luther set in the early Reformation: “Speak as the Holy Spirit speaks.” This “literal representation of the biblical expressions” clearly signifies the continuity between the two Reformers. The third important similarity is that Luther set the precedent to use the term “ordain” (ordinare) to characterize reprobation. Throughout his Institutes, Calvin repeatedly uses the term “ordain” to emphasize the idea that “Scripture teaches that all things are divinely ordained [ordinari].”26 In particular, in the famous passage where he calls the decree of the fall dreadful, Calvin emphasizes that “God foreknew what the end of man was to be before he made him, and foreknew, because he had so ordained [ordinarat] by his decree.”27 We find similar precedent in Luther’s The Bondage of the Will: “For he is here speaking of the preached and offered mercy of God, not of that hidden and awful will of God whereby he ordains [ordinantis] by his own counsel which and what sort of persons he wills to be recipients and partakers of his preached and offered mercy.”28 Calvin’s usage is in line with “the literal representation of the biblical expressions.” In his Institutes, Calvin twice uses the term to translate Acts 13:48: “as many as were ordained [ordinati] to eternal life believed.” It is likely that both the precedent set by the early Reformers and the biblical text in Acts 13:48 provide Calvin with the incentive to extend the use of the “ordain” and to apply it to the fall.29 The fourth precedent Luther set is his use of a nominalist or perhaps Scotist concept of divine will and his emphasis on the divine will being inscrutable: For if there were any rule or standard for it, either as cause or reason, it could no longer be the will of God. For it is not because he is or was obliged so to will that what he wills is right, but on the contrary, because he himself so wills, therefore what happens must be right. Cause and reason can be assigned for a creature’s will, but not for the will of the Creator, unless you set up over him another creator.30 25 Calvin, Comm. on Ex. 4:18–23. Italics added. 26 Institutes, I.xvii.1. Cf. Institutes, I.xvi.8–9, I.xvii.3, III.xxiii.6–9, III.xviv.2; Calvin’s Calvinism, 246. 27 Institutes, III.xxiii.7. 28 LW 33:139; WA 18:684. 29 Institutes, III.xxiv.13, III.xxiv.17. Divine “ordination” (ordinatio) is also a term frequently used by Calvin to represent similar ideas. Cf. Institutes, I.xvi.8, III.xxiii.4, III.xxiii.6, III.xxiii.8–9, III.xxiv.3, III.xxiv.15. 30 LW 33 181. Italics added.



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It is enough to know simply that there is a certain inscrutable will in God, and as to what, why, and how far it wills, that is something we have no right whatever to inquire into, hanker after, care about, or meddle with, but only to fear and adore.31

Calvin has a similar nominalist idea of divine will: “For God’s will is so much the highest rule of righteousness that whatever he wills, by the very fact that he wills it, must be considered righteous.”32 Quoting Augustine, Calvin also argues that the divine will is “unsearchable” and “inscrutable.” Similarly to Luther, Calvin argues that we should not seek “a deeper cause than God’s secret and inscrutable plan.”33 Heckel here makes a good contribution by arguing that both Luther and Calvin uphold “the nominalist principle that God’s will is the unquestionable norm of righteousness.”34 Both Reformers emphasize this nominalist idea of divine will, when they handle the problem of the bondage of human will and the problem of God’s sovereignty over sins. David Steinmetz points out that Bucer also teaches something similar in his commentary on Romans (1536): “‘The mere will of God,’ he writes, ‘is the cause of everything and that will is itself justice.’”35 Hence, we may conclude that the similarity implies that the precedent of using a nominalist concept of divine will set by the early Reformers in their handling of the bondage of human will and predestination had a great impact on Calvin’s formulation. The fifth precedent Luther set is the argument that God should not be counted as the proper cause of the active governing over sins because human will after the fall is by nature evil. Heckel points out that there are many similarities between Luther and Calvin on this issue.36 Luther argues that God cannot do evil, “yet he uses evil instruments,” and Calvin argues that God uses “even bad tools.”37 Both Reformers argue that the responsible cause of the evils is the “inborn necessity in the wicked themselves.”38 Luther emphasizes that God “acts in them as they are and as he finds them.” Calvin quotes Luther explicitly and argues that “the doing of

31 LW 33 140. Cf. LW 33:139, 145, 147. 32 Institutes, III.xxiii.2 33 Institutes, III.xxiii.5, III.xxiv.12. 34 Heckel, “Calvin’s Relationship,” 238. 35 Martin Bucer, Metaphrases et enarrationes…in Epistolam ad Romanos, (Strasbourg: Wendelin Rihel, 1536), 395a. Cf. David C. Steinmetz, Calvin in Context (New York: OUP, 1995), 148, and 155n35. 36 Heckel, “Calvin’s Relationship,” 131–141. 37 LW 33:176; Calvin, Bondage, 40; Cf. LW 33:17. 38 Heckel, “Calvin’s Relationship,” 134.

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evil originates from them.”39 Luther also points out that God does not do so “by creating evil from scratch.” Using a post-fall framework, Luther argues that God does not create the evil will of Satan. God “finds the will of Satan evil,” because after the fall of Satan, the will of Satan “has become evil through God’s deserting it and Satan’s sinning.” Hence, God “cannot help but do evil with an evil instrument.” Using the example of Pharaoh, Luther argues that in hardening Pharaoh, God does not do anything evil. It is because as God presents God’s words through Moses from without, Pharaoh “of necessity” is hardened and provoked owing to “its inborn defect and natural corruption.” Based on this rationale, Luther argues that he “can take the words of God literally, with no necessity to make excuses for God or to accuse him of injustice.”40 Calvin also has a similar analogy: “Well and good, for he works through them. And whence, I ask you, comes the stench of a corpse, which is both putrefied and laid open by the heat of the sun? All men see that it is stirred up by the sun’s rays; yet no one for this reason says that the rays stink.”41 This simile of sun and heat had been used in the debate between Erasmus and Luther.42 Through this review of the five precedents Luther and early Reformers set before Calvin, we are convinced that Calvin basically adopts the lines of thought of Luther’s necessitarian concepts. Calvin’s Extension of the Active Concept of God’s Sovereign Will to the Fall of Adam One of the most important modifications Calvin makes in his reformulation of Luther’s view is that he does not limit the scope of the active concept of God’s sovereign will in a post-fall framework, but he repeatedly applies it also to the fall of Adam.43 This constitutes a major discontinuity between Luther and Calvin. It is interesting that on the one hand, Calvin, in his core commitment to sticking with the Bible, repeatedly teaches that we should teach if the Bible teaches and we should stop if the Bible stops. Calvin explicitly reaffirms this principle when he begins his discussion on election: 39 LW 33:176; Calvin, Bondage, 49. 40 LW 33:178–179. Cf. LW 33:176. 41 Institutes, I.xvii.5. 42 Cf. LW 33 170, 172. 43 For Calvin’s adoption and adaptation of Luther’s re-interpretation of Augustine, see Choy, “Calvin’s Defense,” 234–244.



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For Scripture is the school of the Holy Spirit, in which as nothing useful and necessary to be known has been omitted, so nothing is taught but what it is of importance to know... The best rule of sobriety is, not only in learning to follow wherever God leads, but also when he makes an end of teaching, to cease also from wishing to be wise.44

On the other hand, in the case of the fall, Calvin seems to be pushed both by his convictions and the heated debates, to explicitly affirm a point on which the Bible does not say much. Calvin himself admits that “it is not stated in so many words that God decreed that Adam should perish for his rebellion.” Rather it is the concept of God’s sovereignty that pushes him to question whether God “would have created the noblest of his creatures to an uncertain end.” Calvin argues that as the fall had such a great consequence, God must have ordained the fall and the fall in some way pleased him.45 Luther was not the main source for Calvin’s concept of divine ordination of the fall, but we find that the formulations made by Martin Bucer and Lorenzo Valla may constitute possible sources for Calvin’s concept of the divine ordination of the fall. Valla, in particular, provided clear precedents for using active terminology to describe the relationship between God’s will and the fall of Adam. In his Commentary on Romans (1536), Bucer also uses similar concepts to defend God’s hardening. First of all, Bucer argues that as God allows men to fall when he alone can save them from falling, the idea of mere permission does not work: It also cannot fail to judge it inhuman that God even allows men to fall [Deum vel permittere libi] when he alone can save them from falling, and cruel, that he punishes the fallen when, bereft of his aid, they could not help falling. We must accordingly reject the judgment of reason in this area, and confess that the judgments of God are ‘a great abyss’ and inscrutable, yet righteous… Consequently, once it is agreed that it belongs to God’s glory to declare that he hardens, blinds, and gives up to depraved reason whom he chooses, it will be obvious that it can also be said that God foreknew and ordained [destinasse] these very people for such a fate before he created them; for he accomplishes all things according to a predetermined and settled plan.46

44 Institutes, III.xxi.3. Cf. Institutes, III.xxi.2. 45 Institutes, III.xxiii.7. 46 Martin Bucer, Common Places of Martin Bucer, trans. and ed. Wright (Abingdon: Sutton Courtenay, 1972), 98; Metaphrases, 359a.

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Here Bucer has many pieces that are common to Calvin’s formulation: mere permission does not satisfy human reasoning; we need to confess the judgments of God as an abyss, inscrutable, yet righteous; the hardening is a just condemnation and punishment; it belongs to God’s glory to give up; God’s destination of mankind was before God created them; and God accomplishes all things according to a predetermined and settled plan. This commentary is one Calvin highly praised and knew thoroughly. This may be one of the keys sources for Calvin’s necessitarian concepts in his doctrine of predestination. Yet here Bucer does not explicitly extend the scope to Adam. Moreover, Bucer’s line is also compatible with what Augustine teaches in Against Julian and Bucer basically puts it in a postfall framework to handle the problems of God’s hardening. Another possible precedent is Lorenzo Valla (1407–1457). Luther and the young Melanchthon used Valla as an example to argue for the denial of free will. The most influential move was Luther’s identification of his position with that of Valla in The Bondage of the Will.47 Nevertheless, following the growth of theodical concern, Melanchthon completely reversed his position and severely condemned Valla as a representative of Stoicism in the 1530s.48 Both the mature Luther and Calvin do not follow Melanchthon’s change. In Table Talk, Luther maintains a similar stance on Valla: “Laurentius Valla was the best Italian I’ve ever seen or heard of in all my life. He argued well about free will.”49 Valla argues that there is a divine preordination involved in divine foreknowledge: “God foresees it because the future is preordained.”50 Valla explicitly applies the concept of reprobation and the concept of hardening to Adam before the fall: I will not hide the fact that certain men have dared to inquire into this purpose, saying, those who are hardened and reprobated are justly hardened and reprobated, for we come out of that lump polluted and converted into clay by the guilt of the first parent. Now, if I may cut across much and reply by one argument, why was Adam, made of unpolluted matter as he was, himself hardened for sin and why did he make the universal lump of his offspring of clay?51

47 LW 33:72. Cf. Erasmus, “On the Freedom of Will: A Diatribe or Discourse,” in Luther and Erasmus: Free Will and Salvation, trans. and ed. Rupp (Philadelphia: WP, 1969), 43. 48 Cf. Choy, “Calvin’s Defense,” 124–140. 49 WA TR 1, No. 259. Quoted in “General Introduction,” LW 54. 50 Lorenzo Valla, “Dialogue on Free Will,” in The Renaissance Philosophy of Man, ed. Cassirer, et al. (Chicago: UCP, 1950), 176–177. 51 Valla, “Dialogue,” 177. Italics added.



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Valla extends the hardening logic to Adam too. He also uses “hardening language” to describe the fall of the angels: What was done to the angels was similar. Some of them were hardened, some obtained mercy, although all were of the same substance, from the same unpolluted lump which up to this point, if I may say so boldly, remained in the nature of a substance and in the quality of a material that is, so to speak, golden.52

Valla ends this with an inscrutable concept of divine will: “I said that the cause of the divine will which hardens one and shows mercy to another is known neither to men nor to angels.”53 This extension of “hardening” terminology to Adam and angels before the fall is something the orthodox and the earlier Augustinian tradition did not do. We cannot conclusively locate the exact source of Calvin’s idea in extending the necessitarian concepts of divine will to apply it to Adam before the fall. Nevertheless, we have clearly documented that Calvin basically adopts most of the necessitarian concepts advocated by Luther in the early Reformation. The brief example by Bucer and a similar argument by Valla are probably direct sources for Calvin. The refusal to use divine permission to handle the predestination of the fall of Adam, and the use of active language and concepts to affirm God’s sovereignty over the fall, together with the adoption of the necessitarian concepts and presentations advocated by Luther, add a strong deterministic tone and character to Calvin’s reformulation of the doctrines of providence and predestination. Two Sides of Calvin As a whole, Calvin does provide a more nuanced formulation that distinguishes the necessity caused by inward corruption and that caused by divine sovereignty, and gives more explicit affirmation to the natural freedom and contingency of secondary causality in his reformulation than Luther does. Nevertheless, in applying the active presentation of the divine will to the case of Adam before the fall, Calvin actually deviates from the post-fall framework of Augustine and Luther. On this, Calvin was unique among his peers and was probably the first major codifier who explicitly and repeatedly teaches an active ordination of the fall. 52 Valla, “Dialogue,” 177. Italics added. 53 Valla, “Dialogue,” 180.

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These may constitute two seemingly contradictory emphases in Calvin’s formulation of human will, providence, and predestination. Following the trend of the second phase of the Reformation, in his reaffirmation of the genuine integrity of secondary causality, Calvin looks like a classical Augustinian. In his adoption of necessitarian concepts and in particular his idea of the divine ordination of the fall, the deterministic side of Calvin is revealed. This may be the source of various debates among Calvin scholars on the exact nature of Calvin’s view of determinism and human will and the ambiguity in reading Calvin.

THE DUPLEX GRATIA DEI AND THE ORGANIZATION OF CALVIN’S INSTITUTES: ORDO DOCENDI OR ORDO SALUTIS? Cornelis P. Venema The title of one of Richard Muller’s studies of Calvin’s theology, The Unaccommodated Calvin, attests to a principal feature of his contribu­ tions to the study of Reformation theology and the subsequent period of Reformed orthodoxy: the historical interpretation of the leading theolo­ gians of the period must not be unduly shaped by contemporary theologi­ cal interests or debates, but must be disciplined by attention to the historical and theological context of their reformatory labors.1 Rather than accommodating the reading of Calvin’s writings so as to enlist him as an ally in present-day theological controversy, Calvin’s writings need to be treated within the historical framework from which they first emerged. In Muller’s estimation, among the principal and most egregious illustrations of a non-contextualized interpretation of Calvin’s theology, and ones that considerably influenced Calvin’s studies throughout the early and midtwentieth century, were the nineteenth century advocates of a “central dogma” thesis and the twentieth-century neo-orthodox portrayals of a non-scholastic and non-Aristotelian Calvin. Whether in the interest of rejecting Calvin’s putative “decretal” theology in favor of a more existen­ tial, Lutheran theology, or in the interest of pitting Calvin’s Christocentrism against an austere doctrine of the divine decrees, the study of Calvin’s theology was inappropriately governed by modern theological emphases rather than sixteenth-century concerns. One interesting facet of the discussion regarding how Calvin’s theologi­ cal writings are to be interpreted in their sixteenth-century context is the interpretation of the history and organization of Calvin’s Institutes, 1536– 1559. The history and development of Calvin’s Institutes have often been the focus of discussion in the study of Calvin’s theology, and offer an example of how contemporary theological interests can influence the interpretation of Calvin’s decisions regarding the placement of a particu­ lar theological topic in the ordo docendi of the Institutes. For example, Calvin’s decision to treat the doctrine of predestination toward the end of 1 Muller, UC.

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Book III of the Institutes has often been adduced as evidence for a more soteriological and christological treatment of the doctrine than that of the scholastic theological tradition, which treated predestination as a pars providentiae.2 However, more recent, contextualized studies of the organi­ zation of Calvin’s Institutes have shown that the placement of the doctrine of predestination in Book III reflects specific sixteenth-century factors, such as the organization of the Institutes after the pattern of Melanch­ thon’s Loci communes, which itself reflects the sequence of topics in the book of Romans, and Calvin’s ongoing polemics with his theological contemporaries.3 The aim of the following study is to offer a small contribution to and illustration of the need to interpret the history and organization of Calvin’s Institutes in its sixteenth-century context. Interpreters of Calvin’s Institutes have often commented on his unusual ordering of the two benefits that believers receive when they are united by faith to Christ—regeneration or repentance and justification.4 In Book III of the Institutes, Calvin provides an account of the work of the Holy Spirit in uniting believers to Christ, and of the two benefits of this union, which Calvin terms the duplex gratia Dei. Rather than treating the “first” of these benefits, justification, before the “second,” Calvin informs his reader of his decision to reverse this sequence and thereby go contrary to the ordo docendi that might have been antici­ pated. Though Calvin’s decision to follow this unusual sequence of topics has elicited some discussion in studies of Calvin’s Institutes, its signifi­ cance for an understanding of the way Calvin organizes his Institutes within the context of sixteenth-century theological controversy has not been a special focus of study. Since Calvin extensively comments on the reasons that led him to follow this unusual order, he provides some insight into the kinds of considerations that played a role in the general organiza­ tion and arrangement of topics in the Institutes.

2 See, e.g., Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics (Edinburgh: TTC, 1957), II/2:80–88; Edward Dowey, The Knowledge of God in Calvin’s Theology, 3rd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 211–212; and Basil Hall, “Calvin Against the Calvinists,” in John Calvin, ed. Duffield (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1966), 27. 3 See, e.g., Muller, UC, 118–139; and Paul Helm, “Calvin, the ‘Two Issues,’ and the Structure of the Institutes,” CTJ 42.2 (2007): 341–348. 4 Though Calvin uses the language of “regeneration” or “repentance” and “justifica­ tion”  for these two benefits, the more common terminology in the history of theology is “sanctification” and “justification.” In what follows, I will commonly use “repentance” and “sanctification” as synonyms to describe the second of these two benefits that Calvin denominates the “twofold grace” of God in Christ.



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Since my treatment of the topic of the ordering of the duplex gratia Dei aims in a small way to contribute to the interpretation of the organization of Calvin’s Institutes, I will begin in what follows with a brief summary of the general distribution of topics in the Institutes. I will then review the way Calvin orders the topics of justification and sanctification in succes­ sive editions of the Institutes. Since he provides an extended explana­ tion for his unusual ordering of these topics, Calvin’s own comments on the matter will receive special attention. In the concluding section of the study, I will identify and evaluate several theological explanations of Calvin’s unusual order, some of which betray a reading of Calvin’s theology that is unduly abstracted from his historical context. The Organization of the Institutes: General Observations5 The history of the writing of Calvin’s Institutes is a fascinating one. From the first edition in 1536 until the final Latin edition of 1559, the Institutes grew from a libellus, a little book, to a large book, consisting of four vol­ umes. If the first 1536 edition of the Institutes was comparable to a little chapel, the final Latin edition of 1559 is comparable to a great cathedral. Or, to use a metaphor from Herman J. Selderhuis’ biography,  John Calvin: A Pilgrim’s Life, if the first edition drifted into publication as a little “sail­ boat” of six chapters, the final Latin edition had grown into a “large cargo ship” of some eighty chapters.6 Throughout the course of his life, Calvin was intermittently focused upon enlarging his Institutes, reordering its treatment of the loci communes and disputationes of traditional theological discussion and contemporary controversy, until he pronounced himself “satisfied” that the work “had been arranged in the order now set forth.”7 Although there remain differences of opinion among interpreters of Calvin regarding the structure of the Institutes, several features are com­ monly acknowledged. 5 For treatments of the history and organization of Calvin’s Institutes, see, Julius Köstlin, “Calvin’s Institution nach Form und Inhalt, in ihrer geschlichtlichen Entwicklung,” Theologische Studien und Kritiken 41 (1868): 7–62, 410–486; B.B. Warfield, “On the Literary History of Calvin’s Institutes,” in John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. John Allen, 7th ed. (Philadelphia: Presbyterian Board of Christian Education, 1936), xxx–xxxi; Jean-Daniel Benoit, “The History and Development of the Institutio: How Calvin Worked,” in John Calvin, ed. Duffield (Appleford: Sutton Courtney Press, 1966), 102–117; and Muller, UC, 118–139. 6 Herman J. Selderhuis, John Calvin: A Pilgrim’s Life (Downers Grove: IVP, 2009), 229. 7 Calvin, Institutes (Battles/McNeil), “John Calvin to the Reader, 1559,” 3.

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Whereas the first edition of the Institutes was clearly constructed as a basic catechetical manual, consisting of six chapters that treat the tradi­ tional topics of the law or Ten Commandments, the Apostles Creed, and the Lord’s Prayer, subsequent editions of the Institutes exhibit a more sys­ tematic and comprehensive pattern of treating the full range of the loci communes of Christian theology. Each successive edition of the Institutes, beginning with a 1539 Latin edition compiled during Calvin’s tenure as a pastor in Strasbourg, expands the treatment of topics, adding material derived from Calvin’s exegetical labors and polemical disputes with con­ temporaries. Though the 1539 Latin edition expands to seventeen chap­ ters, almost three times the number of the first edition, it retains the catechetical arrangement of the first edition. However, with each succes­ sive edition thereafter, Calvin moves in the direction of a summary of the Christian faith that has the character of a summa theologica, a compre­ hensive summary of the principal topics of Christian theology, arranged in an appropriate order and sequence. The shift from a strictly catechetical arrangement to a more systematic arrangement occurred in the context of Calvin’s writing of his commentary on Romans (1539). In the introduction to his Romans commentary, Calvin clearly distinguishes between his exposition of biblical texts and the treatment of the traditional topics and disputations of Christian theology, which he reserves to his Institutes.8 In the course of Calvin’s expansion of the Institutes from a simple cat­ echetical manual to a comprehensive summary of the principal topics of Christian theology, the arrangement and re-arrangement of topics increas­ ingly reflects the pattern and sequence of topics in the book of Romans. In his analysis of the organization of Calvin’s Institutes, Muller has argued that Calvin’s pursuit of an ordo recte docendi or “right order of teaching” was significantly influenced by Melanchthon’s 1521 and 1535/1536 editions of his Loci communes. Like Melanchthon, Calvin was profoundly shaped by his commentary on the book of Romans, which led him to distinguish the theological task into two areas, commenting on the biblical text and treating the topics of theology that arise within the framework of exegesis. The fruit of the first task is the biblical commentary; the fruit of the second task is the theological summary or “instruction” (Institutio) in the Christian faith. Thus, in the arrangement of topics from the 1539 Latin edition until the greatly expanded edition of 1550, the sequence reflects the structure of 8 See John Calvin, The Epistles of Paul to the Romans and Thessalonians, ed. Torrance and Torrance (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1960), 1–4; and T.H.L. Parker, John Calvin: A Biography (Philadelphia: WP, 1975), 72–73.



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the book of Romans and particularly the order of topics in Melanchthon’s Loci communes: the doctrine of sin and the nature of free choice; the law of God in contrast with the gospel; grace, justification, and faith; the fruits of salvation in faith, love, and hope; the people of God, especially the rela­ tion of Old and New Testaments; the Christian life and good works; the sacraments; the magistrate; and scandal or offense.9 While the order of topics in Calvin’s Institutes cannot always be explained by the influence of the book of Romans or Melanchthon’s Loci communes, there is broad cor­ respondence between them. The final Latin edition of the Institutes represents an arrangement of topics that significantly revises the structure of earlier editions. For the first time, Calvin arranges his summary of topics in four books, which broadly correspond to the four divisions of the Apostles Creed. In the final arrangement of topics, Calvin sets forth the “twofold knowledge (duplex cognitio) of God and ourselves,” which contains the sum of all Christian wisdom, in four books: Book I treats the knowledge of God, the Triune Creator; Book II treats the knowledge of God as Redeemer in the person and work of Jesus Christ, the Mediator; Book III treats the knowledge of God, the Holy Spirit, who binds the believer to Christ; and Book IV treats the doctrine of the church, the “external means” whereby Christ through the Spirit joins believers into fellowship with himself. Though the fourfold creedal division of the final Latin edition of the Institutes retains much of the sequence of topics in earlier editions, and therefore does not invari­ ably follow the sequence of topics in the creed, it does represent a more “satisfying,” to use Calvin’s term, distribution of the loci communes of Christian theology. Furthermore, the Trinitarian pattern of the creed also accommodates Calvin’s distinction between the “twofold knowledge” of God as Creator and Redeemer. Within these broad contours, most of Calvin’s decisions regarding the sequence and arrangement of topics in the history and development of the Institutes can be explained.10 The Organization of Calvin’s Treatment of the duplex gratia Dei Before considering Calvin’s explanation for the unusual order of his treatment of the twofold grace of God, justification and sanctification, in 9 See Melanchthon, Loci communes theologici, in CR 21; and Muller, UC, 127–130. 10 Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, 134, offers an important comment regarding the relation of the content of the successive editions of the Institutes: “Calvin did not work by excision and replacement: virtually the entirety of the 1536 Institutes remains in the 1559 edition.”

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Book III of the final Latin edition of the Institutes, it will be helpful to observe the order of Calvin’s treatment of the topic in the various Latin editions of the Institutes. 1536. In the first edition of the Institutes, Calvin treats the doctrine of justifi­ cation at the close of the first chapter, after an extended exposition of the law or Decalogue. Repentance or sanctification is treated separately and briefly, in chapter 5, which deals with the Roman Catholic sacrament of pen­ ance. In the exposition of repentance, Calvin affirms that “the whole sum of the gospel is contained under these two headings, repentance and forgive­ ness of sins.” 1539. In the second edition of the Institutes, Calvin treats the twofold grace of justification and sanctification in chapters 5 and 6, within the setting of the doctrine of faith and the exposition of the Apostles Creed. For the first time, Calvin adopts an order of teaching that considers repentance or sanc­ tification first (chapter 5), and then justification (chapter 6). Calvin offers a partial explanation for his decision to follow this order in chapter 6. 1543, 1550. In the third and fourth editions of the Institutes, Calvin retains the order established in the second edition, treating repentance before justification. 1559. In the final Latin edition of the Institutes, Calvin continues to follow the order established in the second edition of 1539. However, he adds an important explanation of his decision to treat repentance first in the intro­ duction to the doctrine of repentance in Book III, chapter 3.

What this overview of the various editions of the Institutes shows is that Calvin consistently ordered his exposition of the two benefits of the believer’s union with Christ in an unusual manner. None of the revisions or changes in the sequence of topics in the organization of the successive editions of the Institutes led Calvin to alter his decision, first reflected in the 1539 or second edition, to treat repentance or sanctification before jus­ tification. Calvin follows this order in every edition of the Institutes with the exception of the 1536 or first edition where justification is treated briefly in the first chapter on the law of God (Decalogue), and repentance is treated in the fifth chapter on the false sacraments. That Calvin chooses to adopt this order is especially remarkable, since it reverses the sequence of what he terms the “second” (repentance) and the “first” (justification) of the benefits of union with Christ. Furthermore, the order of the treat­ ment of the twofold grace of God in the Institutes does not correspond to the order Calvin follows in his Catechisms of 1537 and 1545.11 In both of 11 Instruction et Confession de Foy 1537 (OS 1:393–395); Catechismus Ecclesiae Genevensis 1545 (OS 2:93–96).



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these catechisms, Calvin first treats justification and then repentance, reflecting Calvin’s own insistence that justification is the “first” or princi­ pal benefit of God’s grace in Christ. Calvin’s own awareness of the unusual nature of the sequence of repen­ tance first and then justification is confirmed by two lengthy explanations that he offers for it. The first of these explanations, which occurs in the introduction to the doctrine of repentance in chapter 3 of Book III, was added to the final Latin edition of 1559. The second of these explanations occurs at the beginning of chapter 11 of Book III, which introduces Calvin’s extensive treatment of the doctrine of justification. Most of the second explanation in chapter 11 dates back to material already included in the second 1539 edition of the Institutes. Due to the importance of these expla­ nations for an interpretation of Calvin’s decision to follow his unusual order of treating the two benefits of the believer’s union with Christ, they need to be quoted in full: Now, both repentance and forgiveness of sins—that is, newness of life and free reconciliation—are conferred on us by Christ, and both are attained by us through faith (Iam quum utrunque nobis conferat Christus, et utrunque fide consequamur, vitae scilicet novitatem, et reconciliationem gratuitam). As a consequence, reason and the order of teaching demand that I begin to dis­ cuss both at this point (ratio et docendi series postulat ut de utroque hoc loco disserere incipiam). However, our immediate transition will be from faith to repentance. For when this topic is rightly understood it will better appear how man is justified by faith alone, and simple pardon; nevertheless, actual holiness of life, so to speak, is not separated (neque…separetur) from free imputation of righteousness. Now it ought to be a fact beyond controversy that repentance not only constantly follows faith, but is also born of faith (Poenitentiam vero non modo fidem continue subsequi, sed ex ea nasci)…. [N]o one can embrace the grace of the gospel without betaking himself from the errors of his past life into the right way, and applying his whole effort to the practice of repentance.12 Of regeneration indeed, the second of these gifts, I have said what seemed sufficient. The theme of justification was therefore more lightly touched upon because it was more to the point to understand first how little devoid of good works is the faith through which alone we obtain free righteous­ ness by the mercy of God; and what is the nature of the good works of the saints with which part of this question is concerned. Therefore we must now

12 Institutes, III.iii.1 (OS 4:55). Most of this statement was added in the final, 1559 edition of the Institutes, an edition characterized by its greater attention to the structure of the whole and the relation of its parts. Cf. the French edition of the Institutes, 1560: “...la raison et ordre requierent que ie commence a traiter icy des deux.”

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cornelis p. venema discuss these matters thoroughly. And we must so discuss them as to bear in mind that this is the main hinge on which religion turns (praecipuum esse sustinendae religionis cardinem), so that we devote the greater attention and care to it. For unless you first of all grasp what your relationship to God is, and the nature of his judgment concerning you, you have neither a founda­ tion on which to establish your salvation nor one on which to build piety toward God.13

In these two passages, Calvin offers two distinct reasons for the odd order that he chooses to follow, namely, treating repentance before justification. First, he believes that this order of treatment will convince his readers that justification is by faith alone apart from works. In the first passage, this consideration is referred to explicitly when Calvin notes that “when this topic [i.e., sanctification or regeneration] is rightly understood it will better appear how man is justified by faith alone, and simple pardon.”14 According to Calvin, it will be impossible to introduce such works as a partial cause of justification, since his preceding discussion of them com­ pels the conclusion that they are not such as could justify. In that discus­ sion, Calvin argues that there is no sinless perfection in this life, and that, however much believers advance in holiness, they must still rest their hope on God’s mercy in order to have fellowship with him. But it is also referred to indirectly in the second passage, which notes that this order will assist Calvin’s readers when the topic of justification is taken up, since a clear picture will have already emerged as to “the nature of the good works of the saints, with which part of this question is concerned.”15 Far from suggesting that Calvin wishes to place more emphasis upon sanctifi­ cation than justification, the order Calvin follows serves to buttress the basic Reformation claim that believers are justified by grace alone through faith alone, and not upon the basis of meritorious works. Calvin adopts what appears to be an unusual order, not to diminish the Reformation emphasis upon justification by faith alone, but to confirm it. Second, Calvin believes that this order of treatment will also convince his readers that, though justification is not based upon good works, it cannot be separated from its necessary accompaniment, repentance. Accordingly, in the first passage, Calvin identifies a second consideration for adopting this order: it will show how “actual holiness of life, so to speak, 13 Institutes, III.xi.1 (OS 4:182). 14 Institutes, III.iii.1 (OS 4:5) “…melius patebit quomodo sola fide et mera venia iustifice­ tur homo.…” 15 Institutes, III.xi.1 (OS 4 182): “…et qualia sint sanctorum bona opera, in quibus pars huius quaestionis versatur.”



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is not separated from free imputation of righteousness.”16 And similarly, in the second passage, he states that this order of treatment will enable his readers to understand “how little devoid of good works is the faith through which alone we obtain free righteousness by the mercy of God.”17 By treat­ ing sanctification before justification, it will be clear that these two bene­ fits are granted inseparably and simultaneously to all who are joined to Christ by faith and indwelt of his Spirit. Once again the order of treat­ ment  serves Calvin’s polemical and apologetic purpose to defend the Reformation view of justification against the counter-Reformation, which argued that the Reformation view undercut the necessity of good works in salvation. Thus Calvin acknowledges in both passages that these two aspects of God’s grace are inseparable, being conferred by Christ and obtained through faith. He also acknowledges that justification is the “first” and sanctification the “second” of these parts.18 In short, Calvin’s “order of teaching” in the Institutes does not imply that he is indifferent to the distinction or theological relation between the benefits of justification and sanctification.19 Summary Observations Regarding Calvin’s Ordering of the Twofold Grace of God When Calvin’s explanations for his decision to treat repentance before jus­ tification are viewed within the framework of the broader observations we have made regarding the organization and sequence of topics in the final edition of the Institutes, several observations may be made. First, Calvin recognizes that his ordering of topics is unusual, and does not appear to conform to the dictates of what he calls “reason and the order of teaching” (ratio et docendi series). Since both of the benefits of free justification and repentance are granted inseparably and simultane­ ously to all believers who are united to Christ, the order of teaching 16 Institutes, III.iii.1 (OS 4:5): “…neque tamen a gratuita iustitiae imputatione separetur realis (ut ita loquar) vitae sanctitas.” 17 Institutes, III.xi.1 (OS 4 182): “…et quam otiosa non sit a bonis operibus fides, qua sola gratuitam iustitiam, Dei misericordia obtinemus.” 18 Institutes, III.iii.1 (OS 4:55). The relative priority of justification, while not explicitly indicated in the first passage, is suggested by Calvin’s comment that “repentance not only follows faith, but is also born of faith” (Poenitentiam vero non modo fidem continue subsequi, sed ex ea nasci). 19 See Paul Helm, John Calvin’s Ideas (Oxford: OUP, 2004), 405–406, for a discussion of the careful (scholastic) way Calvin articulates the concomitance and theological subse­ quence of sanctification in relation to justification.

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suggests that they should be treated together. However, Calvin chooses to treat these topics separately, and in a peculiar sequence, in order to achieve a didactic and apologetic purpose. Within the context of the ongo­ ing dispute with Roman Catholic teaching, Calvin believes that the order he adopts will simultaneously advance the Reformation’s doctrinal case on two fronts: first, it will show why justification cannot be based upon meritorious good works, but is freely and graciously based upon the impu­ tation of Christ’s righteousness alone; and second, it will show why the charge of antinomianism against the Reformers is invalid, since true believers are simultaneously justified and sanctified. The primary occa­ sion for Calvin’s unusual ordering of topics is his polemic for the Reformation doctrine of justification in the face of Roman Catholic criti­ cism. The considerations that play a determinative role are, accordingly, didactic, polemical, and even rhetorical.20 Second, though Calvin’s exposition of the twofold grace of God seems to present an exception to a more general pattern of following the sequence of topics in the book of Romans, where justification is treated prior to sanctification, the theological points that Calvin aims to make by means of the sequence adopted is anticipated in Calvin’s own commen­ tary on the book of Romans. Already in his 1539 commentary on Romans, Calvin had argued that “free remission of sins cannot be separated from the Spirit of regeneration. This would be, as it were, to rend Christ asun­ der.”21 Even though the sequence of topics in the Institutes (first repen­ tance and then justification) does not follow the pattern of the book of 20 Since these considerations are neither strictly logical nor derived from the nature of the subject at hand, they may be termed “didactic” and “rhetorical.” They belong to the rhetorical category of “deliberative discourse.” For the role of rhetoric in the organization of Calvin’s Institutes, see, Quirinus Breen, Christianity and Humanism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1968), “John Calvin and the Rhetorical Tradition,” 107–129; E. David Willis, “Rhetoric and Responsibility in Calvin’s Theology,” in The Context of Contemporary Theology, ed. McKelway and Willis (Atlanta: JKP, 1974), 43–63; and William J. Bouwsma, “Calvinism as Theologia Rhetorica,” in Calvinism as Theologia Rhetorica, ed. Wilhelm Wueller (Berkeley: Center for Hermeneutical Studies in Hellenistic and Modern Culture, 1986), 1–21. Though Muller properly objects to Bouwsma’s general claim that Calvin’s Institutes is not “logically ordered” (Muller, UC, 130), Bouwsma does make an apt comment on the rhetorical shaping of Calvin’s arrangement of topics in the Institutes, which seems applicable to his decision to treat repentance before justification in Book III: “The Institutes is not logically ordered; it consists of a series of overlapping topics generally following the order of the Apostles Creed. This organization allowed Calvin the flexibility for a variety of persuasive strategies. …[T]he text is throughout a complex mixture of demonstration, advocacy, and apologetic.” Willis, “Rhetoric and Responsibility,” 57, explicitly cites Calvin’s treatment of justification and repentance as an instance of “rhetorical correlation.” 21 Calvin, Romans and Thessalonians, 164.



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Romans, the theological emphases of Calvin’s treatment of the doctrine of the twofold grace of God are already present in his Romans commentary. Calvin’s decision to reverse the sequence illustrates that many of his spe­ cific decisions about the placement of topics derive from distinct polemi­ cal and contextual considerations. Within the broader framework of Calvin’s use of the fourfold division of the Apostles Creed and the sequence of topics in the book of Romans, the arrangement of topics in the Institutes displays considerable flexibility in the distribution of topics based upon occasional and polemical concerns. Third, despite Calvin’s own explanation of his decision to place the ben­ efit of repentance before justification in the exposition of the twofold grace of God, interpreters of Calvin’s theology have often been tempted to appeal to it in order to support theological points that wrest Calvin’s theol­ ogy from its sixteenth-century context. Calvin’s explanation of his order of treatment offers no support to inferences that would ascribe undue theo­ logical significance to his placing repentance before justification. Calvin expressly claims that his ordering of the topics serves the purpose of but­ tressing the case for the Reformation’s doctrine of justification by faith alone.22 In spite of these comments by Calvin, some interpreters have appealed to his treatment of repentance first as an indication that he wished to give greater emphasis to repentance as the principal benefit of the gospel.23 This interpretation hardly seems likely, since Calvin terms justification the “main hinge of the Christian religion.” Though Calvin undoubtedly wants to emphasize the inseparability and simultaneity of justification and sanctification as the twofold benefit of the believer’s union with Christ, he nonetheless views justification to be the “first,” and sanctification the “second,” of these benefits. Other interpreters have maintained that Calvin treats repentance first as an indication that he grants no “priority” to justification in relation to sanctification, as is the case in the later, orthodox formulations of a Reformed ordo salutis.24 22 Cf. Albrecht Ritschl, A Critical History of the Christian Doctrine of Justification and Reconciliation (Clifton: Reference, 1966), 3:185: “And yet Calvin’s doctrinal delineation, however puzzling may be the sequence of its ideas to him who has been accustomed to the traditionary doctrine of Luther and Melanchthon, as that is found in certain text-books, is determined precisely by a chief regard to the original reformation phenomenon of the subjective consciousness of justification.” Ritschl is one of few interpreters who have noted the importance of Calvin’s order for underscoring the importance of justification. 23 See, e.g., Alfred Göhler, Calvins Lehre von der Heiligung (München: Chr. Kaiser, 1934), 105; and Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV/1:509–511. Both Göhler and Barth interpret this order as an indication of Calvin’s primary interest in sanctification. 24 See, e.g., Richard B. Gaffin Jr., “Biblical Theology and the Westminster Standards,” WTJ 65 (2003): 176–177; Mark A. Garcia, Life in Christ: Union with Christ and Twofold Grace in

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According to these interpreters, Calvin co-ordinates the two benefits of justification and sanctification, and thereby presents a position at odds with the later Reformed formulations of the ordo salutis. Unlike later for­ mulations of the ordo salutis in the period of orthodoxy, which place justi­ fication prior to sanctification in the appropriation of salvation, Calvin views the relative order of these two benefits as an “indifferent” matter. Since Calvin does view both of the benefits of the twofold grace of God within the more basic context of the believer’s union with Christ, this interpretation properly recognizes that Calvin’s ordo does not exhibit the kind of precise formulation and linear presentation of the various aspects of salvation that marked the formulations of the orthodox period. However, this interpretation tends to over-interpret the significance of Calvin’s decision to treat repentance before justification in the sequence of topics in the Institutes. And fourth, though Calvin’s treatment of repentance before justifica­ tion in his Institutes may seem to imply a measure of indifference regard­ ing the particular order and priority of justification in the appropriation of salvation, he does exhibit a keen interest throughout his writings in the way the two benefits of justification and sanctification are interrelated. For example, I have previously noted that he often speaks of justification as the “first,” and of repentance as the “second” of these two benefits. For Calvin, the relation of sanctification to justification is like that between the sun and its heat. In his commentary on Romans 4:6, Calvin notes that the “righteousness of works…is the effect (effectus) of the righteousness of faith, and the blessedness which arises from works is the effect of the blessedness which consists in the remission of sins…. We should consider here the order of causes as well as the dispensation of the grace of God.”25 As with so many features of Calvin’s theology, it is not enough to cite Calvin’s Institutes alone. The treatment of doctrinal loci communes in the Institutes, particularly the topic of the relation between justification and sanctification, must be assessed in terms of the entire corpus of Calvin’s writings, including his commentaries and sermons.

Calvin’s Theology (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2008), 140–147, 258–264; and Craig B. Carpenter, “A Question of Union with Christ? Calvin and Trent on Justification,” WTJ 64 (2002): 381–385. 25 Calvin, Romans and Thessalonians, 87. For a further discussion of this point, see my Accepted and Renewed in Christ: The ‘Twofold Grace of God’ and the Interpretation of Calvin’s Theology (Göttingen: V&R, 2007), 172–175.

CALVIN’S HERMENEUTICS OF THE IMPRECATIONS OF THE PSALTER Paul Mpindi Introduction Calvin’s exegesis of the imprecations of the Psalter offers an ideal place to examine the proposal that Calvin’s exegetical principles both shared elements of late medieval hermeneutics and also moved him away from late-medieval exegesis toward a more direct application of the literal meaning of the text to his contemporary situation. Not only does Calvin himself point toward this pattern of interpretation in several prefaces to his Old Testament commentaries, it is also the case that the imprecations of the Psalter make heavy demands on the exegete (particularly in terms of contemporary address or application) and thereby cause him to reveal his exegetical principles.1 In order to achieve its goal, the present study analyzes Calvin’s exegesis of the imprecatory texts of the Psalter both in the light of medieval exegesis and in the light of sixteenth-century exegesis of the text. The study is divided into three sections: the first section provides a short overview of the exegesis of the imprecations of the Psalter, in the early church, in medieval times, and in the era of the Reformation. The purpose of the section is to discover the different hermeneutical trends prior to Calvin and to develop a paradigm against which Calvin’s hermeneutics of the imprecations of the Psalter will be evaluated. The second section analyzes Calvin’s exegesis of two key imprecatory passages of the Psalter. 1 See Calvin’s prefaces to his Commentaries on the Psalms, the Mosaic, Joshua and Romans. John Calvin, lohanllis Calvini Conzmentarius in Librum Psalnzorum (Geneva: Oliva Roberti Stephani, 1557); lohannis Calvini Commentarius in Librum Psalmorum, CO:XXXI, cols. 14–36; Commentaires de M. leall Calvin sur Ie livre des Pseaumes. Ceste traduction est tellement reveue, & fidelement conferee sur Ie latin qu’ on La peutjuger estre nouvelle (Geneva: C. Badius, 1561), i-vi; Commentaires de Iehan Calvin sur Ie livre des Pseaumes, vol. I (Paris: Meyrueis, 1859), v-xij; Mosis Libri V, cum lohannis Calvini Commentariis. Genesis seorsum: reliqui quatuor infonnam harmoniae digesti (Geneva: Henr. Stephanus, 1563). fols. *iir*iiir; *iiiv-*v.v; Commentaires de M.lean Calvin, sur les cinq liures de Moyse. Genesis est mis a part, les autre quatre liures sont disposez enfonne d’Hannonie (Geneva: François Estienne, 1564), fo1. *ir-*ivv; “lohannis Calvini Commentarius in Epistoli Pauli ad Romanos,” in Studies in the History of Christian Thought, vol. XXII, ed. Parker (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 1–10.

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The purpose of the section is not to offer an exhaustive study of each psalm, but to analyze Calvin’s hermeneutical patterns in the light of traditional and sixteenth-century exegesis. The final section concludes the study by highlighting the characteristics of Calvin’s hermeneutics of the imprecations of the Psalter, indicating the elements of continuity and discontinuity between Calvin and his predecessors and contemporaries, and rehearsing the broader question of modern scholarship’s assessment of Calvin’s Old Testament exegesis. Early Jewish and Christian Interpretation of the Imprecations of the Psalter In general, early Jewish exegesis approached the Psalter spiritually and read it as a prophecy announcing the coming messiah. The Septuagint, the Targumim, and the Peshitta all follow a future-predictive and messianic interpretation of the Hebrew Psalter.2 They considered David as a prophet predicting the arrival of the messianic time. The prayers of the Psalter in general, and the imprecatory passages in particular, are considered as prophecies concerning the coming messiah, and the vindication of the people of God. This was especially true for the Qumran community. Con­ fronted with the destruction of the national and spiritual life of the Jewish nation, the Qumran community emphasized the messianic approach of the Psalter by accentuating its eschatological scope. According to Qumran’s exegesis, the Psalter announces the coming of the messianic king who is going to vindicate the community of the righteous. And the imprecations of the Psalter are but prophecies announcing the destruction of the enemies of true Israel. But during the rabbinic period, and the development of the fourfold methods of biblical interpretation, most Jewish commentators started reading the Psalter both historically and prophetically.3 Thus, there developed among Jewish commentators the consensus that the Psalms speak both of the earthly kingdom of God as experienced by Israel under the 2 See J.W. Wevers, “The Interpretative Character and Significance of the Septuagint Version,” in Hebrew Bible/Old Testament. The History of Its Interpretation, vol. 1. From the Beginnings to the Middle Ages (Until 1300), ed. Saebo (Göttingen: V&R, 1996), 84–107. 3 See B.J. Gelles, Peshat and Derash in the Exegesis of Rashi (Leiden: Brill, 1981); D. Weiss Halivni, “Plain Sense and Applied Meaning in Rabbinic Exegesis,” in The Return to Scripture in Judaism and Christianity, ed. Ochs (New York: Paulist, 1993), 107–141; and idem, Peshat and Derash: Plain and Applied Meaning in Rabbinic Exegesis (Oxford: OUP, 1991).



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leadership of David and his dynasty, and the eschatological kingdom of God to come during the reign of the messiah.4 Rabbinic exegesis explains the imprecations of the Psalter, both historically and eschatologically. The enemies cursed in the Psalms are first identified as David’s historical enemies, then as the enemies of the people of God who would be destroyed by the messiah in the future. Following on the footsteps of Jewish exegesis, Christian commentators adopted the Jewish spiritual reading of the Psalter and profited from the Jewish historical reading as well.5 Early church fathers, medievals, and reformers all used Jewish sources to argue that Jesus was the awaited messiah of Israel. This, however, had as a result the shift of Jewish exegesis toward a more historical reading of the Psalter, which in turn helped many late-medieval Christians and early reforming interpreters to rediscover and adopt a literal-historical reading of the text. Jewish literal (historical) reading of the text explained the Psalter in the light of King David as the corporate representative of Israel. According to this reading, David was the paradigm of the believer who in his spiritual life experiences both God’s grace and his hiddenness. Christian interpreters of the late medieval and early Reformation period who adopted a literal-historical reading of the text went beyond Jewish limitations of the literal meaning of the Psalter to David and their hesitations concerning the eschatological messiah, and applied it to Christ both typologically and paraenetically.6 While many exegetes including Luther and Bucer also argued that messianic Psalms had as their literal sense Christ’s incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension, Calvin gave priority to the life of David, resulting in more limited and infrequent christological interpretation.7 Often with Jewish exegesis in the background, traditional Christian exegesis of the Psalter offers a reading of the Psalter that moves from a purely spiritual reading to a more historicalliteral, historical-prophetic and to a purely prophetic reading. And this is especially true for their interpretation of the imprecations of the Psalter. In general, most medievals and reformers go beyond, or bypass, David’s 4 See J.J. Brierre-Narbonne, Les prophéties messianiques de l’Ancien Testament dans la literature juive (Paris: Geuthner, 1933); Brierre-Narbonne, Exégèse rabbinique des prophéties messianiques, 5 vols. (Paris: Geuthner, 1934–1938). 5 D.C. Mitchell, The Message of the Psalter: An Eschatological Program in the Book of Psalms (Sheffield: SAP, 1977), 33. 6 G. Sujin Pak, The Judaizing Calvin: Sixteenth-Century Debates over the Messianic Psalms (Oxford: OUP, 2010), 13–75. 7 Pak, The Judaizing Calvin, 77–101.

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historical enemies, and apply directly the curses of the Psalter to the enemies of Christ. Calvin’s Interpretation of the Imprecations of the Psalter An overview of Calvin’s commentary on the Psalter reveals forty instances where the reformer considered the passages commented upon as imprecatory.8 Given the large number of the imprecatory passages, the following section limits itself to Calvin’s exegesis of two key imprecatory passages found in Psalms 109 and 137. To evaluate Calvin’s exegesis we will give a brief review of traditional understandings of each psalm, an analysis of Calvin’s interpretation in its sixteenth-century setting, and some concluding remarks on the elements of Calvin’s hermeneutic in continuity and discontinuity with previous tradition.9 Psalm 109 (108):6–20, 29 Most traditional commentators follow the rereading of Psalm 109 (108) by Peter in Acts 2 and explain it as the prayer of Christ foretelling his persecution by the Jews and the punishment of Judas who betrayed him. Traditional exegetes insist on the fact that although harsh, the imprecations voiced against Judas are not evil wishes, but prophecies concerning the fate of Judas who died by his own hand.10 For the first time, Calvin also agrees that Psalm 109 is not only the prayer of David, but as he represented another person than himself, the prayer 8 “Individual Psalms”: Psalms 3:8; 5:11; 6 11; 7:11; 9:16–18, 20–21; 10 15; 11:6; 12:4–5; 17:13–14; 28:4–5; 31:18–19; 35:1–8, 26; 52:7; 36:12–13; 40:15–16; 41:11; 54:7; 55 10, 16, 24; 56:8; 58:6–11; 59:6, 12–14; 63:10–11; 64:8–10; 69:23–29; 70:3–4; 70:3–4; 71:13; 109:6–20, 29; 139 19–22; 140:10–12; 141:10; 143:12; 144:5–8. “Communal Psalms”: Psalms 68:20–24; 74:11; 79:6, 12; 83:10–18; 94 1–2, 23; 135:8; 137:5–9. 9 The following analysis limits the dialogue between Calvin’s exegesis of the imprecations of the Psalter and the exegesis of Jerome, Augustine, Cassiodorus, Theodoret, Aquinas, Lyra, Luther, Bucer, and Wolfgang Musculus, when applicable. The preceding fathers and sixteenth-century commentators have been chosen because they are among those who could be considered as both representative of traditional and sixteenth-century exegesis and might have, directly or indirectly, influenced Calvin’s exegesis. 10 St. Jerome, The Homilies of Saint Jerome, vol. 1, trans. Ewald (Washington: CUAP, 1964), 255–269; Augustine of Hippo, Exposition on the Book of Psalms, in NPNF1, 8:537–538; A. Cassiodorus, Explanation of the Psalms III, trans. Walsh (N.Y.: Paulist, 1990), 103; J. Chrysostom, Commentary on the Psalms II, 2 vols., trans. Hill (Brookline: Holy Cross, 1998), 1–8; Theodoret of Cyrus, Commentary on the Psalms: Psalms 73–150 (Washington: CUAP, 2000), 200–201; Nicholas of Lyra, Postilla super totam Bibliam, 4 vols. (Strasburg, 1492: Microform).



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voiced in Psalm 109 applies to Christ, the head of the church, and applies to each believer as a member of the body of Christ.11 Calvin argues that through his persecution, David is a figure of Christ and a model for the church, the body of Christ called to complete the suffering of its head, the Lord Jesus-Christ. But contrary to traditional commentators, Calvin does not apply the content of the psalm directly to the life and passion of Christ. Instead, Calvin offers a historical and theological explanation of the psalm based on the life and trial of David. Thus Calvin reads the imprecations in verses 6 to 20 in the light of trials experienced by David. Again, before commenting on the imprecations themselves, Calvin reminds his readers of the three important hermeneutical rules to follow in the interpretation and application of the imprecations of the Psalter. First of all, he argues that the imprecations of the Psalter do not result from David’s carnal passions; second, David did not call God’s vengeance in order to defend his personal and private cause; and finally, David did not utter these imprecations under an excessive zeal. Calvin encourages believers to avoid misusing the imprecations of the Psalter, as is the case in Catholic circles, where private citizens hire monks in order to recite these prayers against their personal enemies.12 Calvin urges believers to renounce personal vengeance or give way to their carnal passion or excessive zeal.13 To those tempted to use David’s imprecations as an excuse for personal cause, Calvin cites the words of Christ against his disciples: “You do not know what spirit leads you.”14 Now, returning to the words of the imprecations voiced in verses 6 to 20, Calvin argues that David asks God to appoint an evil man as a prosecutor against his enemy, because the enemy lives in contempt of God and endeavors to find wicked ways to destroy the innocent. Thus he deserves to suffer the tyranny of another wicked person who would rule over him. But Calvin quickly contends that believers should guard against being in a hurry when they pray against their enemies. They should give way to the grace of God, since by God’s grace, the person who oppresses us today may become our friend tomorrow. Here Calvin joins traditional exegesis in his 11 Calvin, Pseaumes II, 323. 12 This is an echo of Luther’s exegesis of Psalm 109. Luther, Selected Psalms III, in LW 14:257. 13 This also echoes Luther. “It is wrong to curse on your own account for personal vengeance or some other personal end.” Luther, Selected Psalms III, in LW 14:258. 14 Calvin, Pseaumes II, 325. Musculus follows a double reading of the text and applies it to Judas’ betrayal of Christ as restated by Peter in the book of Acts, W. Musculus, In Sacrosanctum Davidis Psalterium Commentarii (Basel: Hervagiana, 1551), 1397–1398.

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concern for the conversion of the wicked, but he does so without resorting to a christological application of the text as found in the fathers and in his contemporaries. Returning to the text, Calvin explains the imprecations asking for the condemnation of the wicked as a judicial procedure in a human court, where the wicked after due process is found guilty and sentenced according to his guilt. But expounding verse 8, where David asks God to reduce the number of days of the enemy and that his office be given to another person, Calvin suspends his historical approach and accepts Peter’s rereading of the psalm and its application to the plight of Judas.15 Against Jewish commentators who change the common meaning of the word “office” and read it as “administration” or “wife” or “soul,” Calvin indicates that this is due to their malice. Calvin contends that Jewish commentators change the text to avoid agreeing with Peter’s christological application of the text to Judas. Another important point holds Calvin’s attention in David’s prayers against his enemies. In verses 13 to 15, David asks God to exterminate the posterity of the wicked and erase their name from the memory of humanity. Calvin argues that one should not misunderstand David as asking God to punish without discrimination the members of the family of the wicked. Calvin contends that it is contrary to God’s righteous nature to punish the innocent pesle mesle with the wicked. Instead, David asks God to deprive the reprobate of his grace and of the light of his Spirit so that they become the vessels of wrath and left to perdition, even before they are born.16 Now to those who would argue against the harshness of David’s imprecations, Calvin argues that the enemies are actually the ones to blame since their cruelty toward the innocent is unspeakable. They oppress the weak with such cruelty as if they were beating on a dead dog! Calvin sees an antithesis between the unrestrained cruelty of the enemies against the weak and God’s rigorous and irrevocable judgment against them. But to avoid any triumphalism or misuse of these imprecations by believers, Calvin revisits the subject and argues that believers should be patient with those who oppress them, since they are still unable to distinguish in this life between the elect and the reprobate.17 Calvin encourages 15 Musculus, In sacrosanctum Davidis Psalterium Commentarii, 1397–1398. 16 Calvin, Pseaumes II, 328. Calvin, Institution, III.xxiv.12 (Benoît, 1541). 17 See Calvin’s treatment of the punishment of the reprobate (enemies) in the light of the doctrine of predestination in Calvin’s Institutes. Calvin, Institution, III.xxi, xxii, xxiii, xxiv. See the discussion on Calvin’s doctrine of divine predestination in François Wendel, Calvin: Origins and Development of His Religious Thought, trans. Philip Mairet (New York:



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believers to pray for their salvation. Notice here that Calvin joins traditional exegesis on the tropological level. He too shares their concern for the salvation of the wicked. Traditional exegetes reach their conclusion from a spiritual and christological level and Calvin reaches his conclusion from a theological and practical level. Calvin’s doctrine of double predestination serves as the foundation of his practical application of the imprecations of the Psalter in the context of the church. However, this does not forbid believers, who are innocent and have purified themselves from vindictiveness from calling God to exercise his judgment and vengeance on their behalf against their enemies. Calvin argues that believers should not curse their enemies or wish their physical death, although they can pray God to defend their cause. And since God distinguishes in this life between the elect and reprobate, he will destroy those of their enemies who are part of the reprobate, since the reprobate are doomed from eternity.18 In other words, Calvin sees the possibility of the use of the imprecations by believers, as long as they limit themselves to calling God’s vengeance against their enemies and leaving its execution to God. God himself will choose among their enemies those who are vessels of destruction and those who are elect and cannot be cursed. Thus the imprecations of the Psalter were used by David and may be used by believers against the reprobate, although only God knows the reprobate and can execute his judgments against them. It is important to notice that although Calvin agrees with the tradition that in Psalm 109 David speaks as a figure of Christ and his Church, Christ himself is completely absent in his treatment of the imprecatory passages, but in verse 8 where he allows Peter’s christological rereading of verse 8 in Acts 1:23 to briefly surface in his historical and theological exposition. Christ reappears in the concluding section of the psalm, where Calvin treats David and believers’ righteousness through Christ and not through their own works.19 It can be argued that Calvin’s hermeneutics of the imprecations formulated in Psalm 109 are built around the doctrine of divine predestination. As believers have been elected by God before the creation of the world for his glory, in the same way the reprobate have been designated before the creation of the world to face God’s wrath. Calvin solves the ethical Harper and Row, 1963), 263–284; T.H.L. Parker, Calvin: An Introduction to His Thought (Louisville: Westminster, 1995), 113–121. 18 Calvin, Pseaumes II, 329. 19 Calvin, Pseaumes II, 330–331.

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difficulty raised by the harsh imprecations voiced by David in Psalm 109 by identifying the wicked as the reprobate. Again, Calvin’s hermeneutic of Psalm 109 is based on a dialogue between his theology (the Institutes) and his exegesis. His interpretation of Psalm 109 goes beyond the christological application followed in traditional exegesis, and beyond the historicalliteral reading followed by his contemporaries. Calvin follows a theological reading, which without negating the historical and christological dimensions of the text, endeavors to answer the difficult question of the punishment of the wicked and of his offspring. The doctrine of divine predestination becomes the hermeneutical key that allows Calvin to unlock the meaning and application of the imprecations of Psalm 109 for his readers.20 Psalm 137 (136):5–9 Most traditional commentators agree that the people of Israel prayed Psalm 137 (136) in captivity in Babylon. However, many exegetes read it spiritually and apply its content to the struggle that the church (the new Israel) has to endure in the world (the new Babylon).21 The imprecations formulated in the psalm are directed against those who persecute the church. The imprecations do not wish them evil but are prophecies about God’s judgment against those who will not repent and join the church.22 Lyra however offers a more historical-literal reading of the psalm. He argues that the psalm was sung by the people of God exiled in Babylon and explains the harshness of the imprecations formulated in verses 5–9 as pertaining to the language of war and as prophecies forecasting the destruction of the Babylonians.23 Similarly, Theodoret argues, “In other words, since they for their part treated their infants cruelly, the inspired author prophesied the like punishment for them. Consequently Cyrus is declared blessed for punishing them and freeing the Jews.”24 In his commentary on Psalm 137, Calvin stays very close to the historical sense of the text. Calvin reads Psalm 137 in the light of the geopolitical context of the Ancient Near Eastern world and the prophetic literature of 20 For a discussion of the subject see H.J. Selderhuis, Calvin’s Theology of the Psalms (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007). 21 Augustine, Exposition on the Book of the Psalms, 630–632; Cassiodorus, Explanation of the Psalms III, 359–365. 22 Cassiodorus, Explanation of the Psalms III, 363. 23 Lyra, Postilla super totam Bibliam. 24 Theodoret, Psalms 73–150, 324–325.



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the Old Testament. Against those who argue that Psalm 137 is a prophecy of David foretelling the future exile of Israel and its suffering in Babylon, Calvin contends that the author of the psalm is unknown. But he argues that the author, a prophet, wrote a lament on behalf of the people of God in exile in Babylon to encourage them to cling to the service of the true God, and hope for their salvation, in spite of the difficulty of their social and political situation. Calvin indicates also that the mention of the people’s cry and tears is a sign of their repentance and humility before God. According to Calvin, the prophet and the people exiled in Babylon acknowledged their past sins and hoped for God’s forgiveness and deliverance. The people’s repentance and hope become the foundation for their use of the imprecatory prayer against their enemies. Calvin indicates that the imprecations formulated in Psalm 137:5–9 target two main enemies of the people of Israel: the Edomites, the descendants of Esau, and the Babylonians, the invaders and oppressors. Calvin explains that the psalmist (prophet) calls God’s vengeance against the Edomites, because they were guilty of treason. They betrayed Israel by siding with the Babylonians who destroyed the holy nation. Now the prophet is asking God to avenge the wrong done to his people. Calvin indicates that the psalmist is not throwing out curses without control. By using imprecations against Edom, the psalmist acts as God’s trumpet and confirms previous oracles of destruction made by Jeremiah, Ezekiel and Obadiah against them.25 Calvin argues that God’s judgment against Edom was inevitable as it confirmed Israel’s election against those who would doubt it because of the exile. Calvin contends that the psalmist is not prophesying God’s judgment against Edom, but rather is asking God to actualize the punishment he has already promised against Israel’s unfaithful relative.26 In other words, according to Calvin, the imprecations formulated by the psalmist do not forecast God’s punishment of the Edomites, as defended by Theodoret, but broadcast, announces, as a “trumpet” what God had already foretold through his prophets Ezekiel and Obadiah. And Calvin justifies these imprecations, although gruesome, by returning to the theme of the reprobate and the elect. He argues that Edom will be punished because it has not been elected by God and is part of the reprobate. Again, the doctrine of predestination becomes the foundation of Calvin’s justification of the ethical aspect of the imprecations found in Psalm 137.

25 Musculus, In sacrosanctum Davidis Psalterium Commentarii, 1601–1602. 26 Calvin, Pseaumes II, 526.

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The second enemies the psalmist prays against are the Babylonians. Calvin argues that with the eyes of faith, the psalmist sees God’s hidden judgment against the Babylonians. Calvin insists that the psalmist does not prophecy, but sees the destruction of the enemies by the eyes of faith looking into the mirror of the Word, the prophetic Word uttered by God. Calvin contends that the imprecations asking God to destroy the Babylonians and to kill their children by striking them against the rock happened through the military hands of the Persians kings.27 Cyrus and Darius become God’s hired agents through whom he inflicts judgment and death against the enemies of his people. Calvin argues that no one should blame the prophet for the harshness of his imprecations. The Babylonians must be treated the way they treated the nations they conquered. As their soldiers killed Israel’s children without mercy, in the same way Cyrus and Darius’ soldiers should strike their little children.28 Furthermore, Calvin indicates that the psalmist is not speaking from the movement of his own soul, but is taking words from the mouth of God himself and is praising his just judgment.29 Thus, following some traditional commentators who read Psalm 137 historically, Calvin provides a historical-literal exegesis of the psalm. But although he puts Israel in Babylon during the time of his exile, Calvin, unlike his predecessors, does not consider the imprecations uttered in the body of the psalm as prophecies concerning the future demise of Israel’s traditional enemies (Edom and Babylon). Calvin argues for a more practical reading of the imprecations formulated in Psalm 137. According to him, they are but words of faith, uttered by the psalmist in anticipation of the application of God’s promised judgment against the enemies of his people. Calvin’s Hermeneutics of the Imprecations of the Psalter To conclude the present section on Calvin’s exegesis of the imprecations found in the individual and communal Psalms, it can be argued that Calvin followed three main hermeneutical principles. First of all, Calvin read the imprecations of the Psalter historically and literally, i.e., he explained them in the light of David’s and Israel’s struggles against 27 Calvin, Pseaumes II, 526. 28 Musculus, In sacrosanctum Davidis Psalterium Commentarii, 1603. 29 Calvin, Pseaumes II, 526–527.



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personal and national enemies.30 Calvin acknowledged that the imprecations of the Psalter were directed against Saul and his followers, or against Absalom and his accomplices (in the individual Psalms), and were directed against the individuals inside Israel or the nations outside Israel that threatened the existence of the people of God. Calvin also read the imprecations of the Psalter theologically. He endeavored to ground the language and the meaning of the imprecations of the Psalter in the theological concepts and language already avail­ able  in  his doctrinal writings, namely the Institutes. The doctrines of divine providence and its corollaries: divine justice, election, judgment, covenant, become in Calvin’s exegesis indispensable hermeneutical tools for unlocking the meaning of the imprecations of the Psalter for his readers. Finally, Calvin read the imprecations of the Psalter tropologically. Calvin used the language of the imprecation of the Psalter and the theology he built around it as ground for the practical encouragement for believers faced with trials and suffering from their enemies in their daily life. Analysis of these three directions both underlines Calvin’s connections with the earlier tradition and demonstrates his individuality as an interpreter. On the issue of connection and continuity, the historical, theological or doctrinal, and tropological readings correspond with three out of the four elements of the quadriga. On the issue of Calvin’s own individual contribution, the historical or literal foundation has become far more accentuated and of consistently greater importance to the framing of the doctrinal and moral dimensions than in nearly any one of Calvin’s predecessors or contemporaries. The characteristics of Calvin’s hermeneutics of the imprecations of the Psalter can now be laid out in dialogue with traditional and sixteenth-century exegesis in order to establish more specific elements of continuity and discontinuity. It was argued in the preceding sections that traditional biblical commentators approached the imprecations of the Psalter in two ways. They approached them either spiritually or both historically (literally) and spiritually. Most fathers could not accept the harshness of the imprecations of the Psalter on the literal level. Following Augustine, they argued that the imprecations of the Psalter were not descriptions or prescriptions of David’s thirst for vengeance against his enemies. Instead, they were

30 For example, see Calvin’s treatment of David in the context of Absalom’s rebellion.

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prophecies forecasting the eschatological demise and destruction of the enemies of Christ and of his church.31 Now, read as prophecies forecasting the eschatological destruction of the enemies of Christ and his church, traditional commentators endeavored to add a second hermeneutical level to the imprecations of the Psalter in order to completely remove their ethical difficulty. They argued that although prophecies, the imprecations of the Psalter did not actually forecast the literal destruction of the enemies of Christ and the church; instead they forecast their spiritual demise, i.e., their spiritual transformation. Thus the death wished by the psalmists upon their enemies did not mean their physical destruction but their spiritual death to the world and to its pleasures, which implies their conversion to Christ. In order to achieve this eschatological and christological reading of the imprecations of the Psalter, traditional commentators had to have recourse to a hermeneutics of correspondence. Historical events and people of the Old Testament were now associated with historical events and people in the life and ministry of Christ and his church. The historical and literal David corresponds in traditional exegesis to the historical and literal Christ. Thus the first tendency in traditional hermeneutics of the imprecations of the Psalter acknowledges the historical level of the text, but only as it serves as a “springboard” that allows the development of the true meaning of the text, i.e., the eschatological-christological (spiritual) meaning. Another important group of traditional commentators accepts the eschatological and christological reading of the imprecations of the Psalter, but only in the context of their immediate historical and literal meaning. Traditional and sixteenth-century biblical commentators like Theodoret, Aquinas, Lyra, Luther, Bucer, and Musculus acknowledge two hermeneutical levels to the imprecations of the Psalter: the historical and the christological (spiritual) levels. Traditional and sixteenth-century commentators who practice a double reading of the imprecations of the Psalter argue that the imprecations mean what they state on the literal level. They argue that the imprecations of the Psalter are meant to foretell either the disarming or the destruction of David’s or Israel’s enemies, on the historical-literal level. Thus David is a prophet who does not describe his feeling of vengeance against his enemies. Instead, he is a prophet who 31 This history is developed in Paul Mpindi, “Calvin’s Hermeneutics of the Imprecations of the Psalter” (Ph.D. diss., Calvin Theological Seminary, 2003), ch. 2.



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forecasts God’s personal decision to punish his enemies and the enemies of his people.32 Now, as our analysis of Calvin’s exegesis of the imprecations of the Psalter has shown, the reformer of Geneva shared the same historical-literal methodology followed by his predecessors. Like his forerunners and contemporaries, Calvin acknowledges that David voiced the imprecations of the Psalter in his function as the representative of God and the representative of his people, Israel.33 With traditional commentators, Calvin agrees that the enemies against whom David and Israel are praying are the historical characters described in the narrative books of the Old Testament. But Calvin disagrees with traditional commentators on the nature of the imprecations of the Psalter. According to Calvin, the imprecations of the Psalter are not prophecies foretelling the future punishment of David’s or Israel’s enemies. Calvin contends that it is uncommon to biblical prophecies to forecast future events with such historical accuracy. On the contrary, Calvin argues that the imprecations of the Psalter, although harsh and gruesome, do mean what they say on the historical and literal level. The imprecations of the Psalter do indeed describe the physical destruction of the enemies of David and of Israel. Calvin explains that instead of explaining the imprecations of the Psalter as prophecies that forecast the future, they ought to be explained and understood as David’s and Israel’s confessions of faith that broadcast or anticipate God’s impending judgment against the wicked.34 It is important here to mention the theological difference between the understanding of the imprecations of the Psalter as prophecies or as confessions of faith. Prophecy, according to traditional commentators, is a prediction, a foretelling in advance of God’s future action. A confession, on the contrary, is an utterance based on the faith and understanding of divine nature and action.35 In other words, traditional commentators see David as a mystical character that foresees the future and witnesses to God’s punitive action against his enemies and the enemies of his people. Calvin’s David, on the contrary, is a strong believer, a theologian who understands the nature and action of God on his behalf and on the behalf of his people based on his past promises and action in history. This opens 32 For specific examples see Mpindi, “Calvin’s Hermeneutics,” 80–97. 33 Among many other examples, see Calvin’s comments on Psalm 3:8. 34 For example, Calvin, Pseaumes, 226; and, Calvin, Pseaumes II, 526. 35 See Calvin’s comments on Psalm 139. Pseaumes II, 537–538.

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the door to the second characteristic of Calvin’s hermeneutics of the imprecations of the Psalter: his theological reading of the text. Calvin’s Theological Interpretation of the Imprecations of the Psalter We argued in the preceding lines that instead of understanding the imprecations of the Psalter as prophecies foretelling the future punishment of David’s enemies or of the enemies of his people, Calvin understood the imprecations of the Psalter as David’s confession of faith in God’s nature and action. The preceding exegetical analysis of Calvin’s interpretation of the imprecations of the Psalter has shown that Calvin’s hermeneutics is based on his doctrinal teaching on divine providence. Throughout his exegesis Calvin bases his interpretations of the imprecations of the Psalter on two important aspects of God’s providence: his universal rule and role as the overseer of human affairs, and his judicial function as the heavenly judge who saves the innocent (the elect) and punishes the guilty (the reprobate). Calvin explains the imprecations of the Psalter as the expression of David’s faith and understanding of the workings of divine providence as manifested in his universal rule and his overseeing of human affairs. Over and over again, Calvin argues that David’s (and Israel’s) enemies are foolish in their unjustified attacks against him because they fail to acknowledge God’s universal rule and his overseeing activity over human affairs.36 According to Calvin, only the blindness of David’s enemies to divine providence, to his universal rule, explains their unrelenting attacks and their unspeakable cruelty against him. But contrary to the enemies’ blindness, Calvin’s David is endowed with a special vision, the capacity to see with the eyes of faith the heavenly throne of God, from where he carefully watches and controls both the course of the universe and the workings of human history. But David’s providential God does not only oversee human affairs. From heaven, he acts as the universal judge who discriminates between the innocent (the elect) and the guilty (the reprobate).37 Here the doctrine of divine election is closely intertwined with the doctrine of divine providence in Calvin’s theological understanding and ethical justification of the imprecations of the Psalter. Calvin agrees that the imprecations of the Psalter are harsh and gruesome on the historical and 36 Calvin, Pseaumes, 225. 37 See, especially, Calvin’s comments on Psalm 35 and 109.



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literal level, however, he maintains that they are both theologically and ethically sound because they express God’s providence through his judging activity against the wicked, who are the reprobate, doomed for destruction. Calvin’s doctrine of divine predestination as expression of God’s providence becomes the ground for his ethical justification of the imprecations of the Psalter.38 According to him, the imprecations of the Psalter are theologically and ethically sound because they are but the manifestation of David’s faith in God’s active discrimination between the elect and the reprobate in human history. According to Calvin, the imprecations of the Psalter are the actualization in human history of God’s eternal decree through which he saved through grace some from the fallen humanity and passed over some and predestined them for eternal damnation. This opens the important tropological question concerning David’s capacity to use the imprecatory language in the Psalter without falling into sin. Calvin’s Tropological Interpretation of the Imprecations of the Psalter In his commentary on the imprecations of the Psalter, two to three times, Calvin rehearses the difficult ethical questions raised concerning David’s use of the imprecatory language. In other words, how could David use such harsh language without falling into sin? Calvin gives three hermeneutical rules to be followed by those who want to understand the ethical meaning of the imprecations in the context of the Psalter and in the context of the Christian life. First of all, Calvin argues that the imprecations of the Psalter do not result from David’s carnal passions or his personal vindictiveness. Calvin contends that David was a preud’homme, a godly man, who has shown so many times that he was incapable of such passions.39 Calvin argues that as God’s anointed and a type of Christ in the Old Testament, David enjoyed a special endowment from the grace of Christ that made him incapable of such negative feelings. Secondly, Calvin argues that David’s imprecations 38 The relationship between divine predestination and divine providence in Calvin’s ethical justification of the imprecations of the Psalter is a motif already present in Calvin’s doctrinal argument. In his 1539, 1543, and 1550 editions of the Institutes as well as in the 1552 treatise Concerning Eternal Predestination Calvin had linked providence and divine predestination. See John Calvin, Institution de la religion chrétienne, vol. 3, ed. Pannier (Paris: Les belles lettres, 1961), 57–131; Calvin, Concerning the Eternal Predestination of God, trans. Reid (London: Clarke, 1961). For the discussion see Wendel, Calvin, 177–184; Susan Schreiner, The Theater of His Glory: The Nature and the Natural Order in the Thought of John Calvin (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1991), 7–37. 39 Calvin, Pseaumes, 225.

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were not caused by his excessive zeal for his personal and private cause, but only by his zeal for the cause of God. David did not ask God to punish his enemies because they oppressed him personally, but because by oppressing him they were calling into question his anointing as God’s servant.40 Thus they were calling into question God’s divine election. Calvin explains that David asked God to punish his enemies only because they were opposing God himself. And finally, Calvin indicates that David used the imprecations of the Psalter as a representative of the holy nation. He used the imprecations not for his own sake, but for the sake of the people of God. In other words, Calvin argues that David’s third use of the imprecations is acceptable only because he used them as a representative of the people of God.41 After laying out the three hermeneutical principles for understanding David’s use of the imprecations in the Psalter, Calvin lays out three ethical rules that should guide Christians in their use of the imprecations of the Psalter. Our exegetical analysis indicated that Calvin acknowledged that Christians are allowed to use imprecations against their enemies, but only if they meet the following conditions: First of all, according to Calvin any believer who wants to use the imprecations of the Psalter or the imprecatory language against his enemies must be free of any spirit or feelings of personal vindictiveness.42 Calvin argues that believers who are led by the desire for personal vengeance cannot adequately use imprecations against their enemies without falling into sin. Calvin discourages believers who are tempted to use the imprecations of the Psalter to defend their personal and private cause. He argues that as David, believers must always ask themselves before considering the use of the imprecatory language if they are facing personal enemies, or are facing enemies who are opposed to God and to his people. Second, believers can use the imprecations of the Psalter or the imprecatory language only if they are representatives of the body of Christ. And third, Calvin explains that even as representatives of the body of Christ, believers should be careful not to be possessed by an excessive zeal even for the cause of God. Calvin reminds his readers of Jesus’ rebuke against his disciples who were asking the permission to command fire from heaven to destroy the inhabitant of the Samaritan village who did not welcome them (Luke 9:55).43 40 Calvin, Pseaumes, 225. 41 Calvin, Pseaumes, 225. 42 Calvin, Pseaumes, 349. 43 Calvin, Pseaumes II, 11.



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From the preceding conditions it is clear that Calvin acknowledges the use and applicability of the imprecations of the Psalter and the imprecatory language in the context of the church on the theological and theoretical level only. On the practical level, Calvin agrees that it is almost impossible for believers to fulfill these moral conditions. Furthermore, Calvin argues that believers cannot use imprecations indiscriminately against their enemies since on the theological level, only the reprobate deserve to be cursed because they have been eternally predestined for destruction. And Calvin points out that on the human level and in history, believers are incapable of distinguishing the elect from the reprobate. Calvin explains that all the enemies of believers are not de facto part of the reprobate. Some among believers’ present enemies are part of the elect who will in the future repent and come to the saving knowledge of Christ. Calvin’s concern for the salvation of believers’ enemies stands in continuity to traditional commentators’ practical concern for the salvation of the enemies of Christ and his church. Although reached from different starting points, Calvin’s tropological analysis of the imprecations of the Psalter locates his exegesis within the moral and spiritual concerns that guide traditional hermeneutics. With traditional commentators, Calvin agrees that believers, because of their limited understanding of divine election, should wish the salvation of their enemies instead of wishing their destruction as expressed through the imprecations of the Psalter.44 The preceding conclusions about Calvin’s interpretation of the imprecations of the Psalter allows us to argue that, in general, Calvin’s hermeneutics follows the general framework laid out by traditional com­ mentators. In other words, Calvin models his hermeneutics of the imprecations of the Psalter according to the three main patterns that govern traditional exegesis. Like traditional exegesis, Calvin’s exegesis of the imprecations of the Psalter is historical-literal, spiritual (theological) and tropological. On the historical and tropological levels, Calvin’s hermeneutics of the Psalter is similar to traditional hermeneutics. With traditional exegesis, Calvin agrees that the imprecations of the Psalter are historicalliteral prayers uttered by David against historical-literal enemies who threatened his life and the life of the elected nation he represented. With traditional exegesis, Calvin agrees that on the tropological level believers should not use the imprecations of the Psalter or the imprecatory language against their enemies, but exercise patience and pray for their 44 See Calvin’s comments on Psalm 10.

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salvation instead. Believers’ genuine appeal for justice should always be directed to God, the righteous judge, the only one who can rightly punish those among their enemies who deserve his punishment. The only noticeable difference between Calvin and traditional hermeneutics of the imprecations of the Psalter resides on the spiritual level. Traditional hermeneutics followed a spiritual reading that was based on an eschatological-christological understanding of the text. Calvin however distances himself from the traditional eschatological-christological reading of the text. Instead, he argues for a theological reading that emphasizes the historical faith of the psalmist in divine providence as it manifests itself through God’s judicial function. This explains why in Calvin’s hermeneutics, there is no need for a christological reading of the text.45 Traditional commentators needed a christological reading of the text in order to base its ethical validity on the life and ministry of Christ. But Calvin bases the ethical value of the imprecations of the Psalter not on its eschatological relationship with the life and ministry of Christ, but instead in its direct relationship to David’s faith in divine providence, i.e., his government of human affairs and his judicial function.46 Divine providence becomes the hermeneutical key that allows Calvin to unlock the meaning of the imprecations of the Psalter both on the historical-literal, theological and tropological levels. David is a mirror for Calvin and his readers not because through him believers of all time learn to foresee or foretell the future destruction of their enemies. David is a mirror for Calvin and his readers only because through him, believers of all times learn to see, by the eyes of faith, the manifestation of God’s providence in human history. The enemies, although cruel and seemingly unstoppable, are not a real threat for believers who cling to God’s providence. Because through his providence, God not only oversees the universe, but he intervenes actively in human affairs in order to discriminate between the innocent and the guilty and to punish the latter. David is a mirror, because through his faith in God’s providence, he teaches believers to rise over actual trials and suffering and witness to the impending judgment of God against their oppressors.

45 See Calvin’s comments on Psalm 28 for example. 46 Calvin, Institution, I.xvi; I.xvii; I.xviii; II.iv.6–7; III.xx.40. See the discussion in Wendel, Calvin, 177–184; Parker, Calvin, 43–49; Susan Schreiner, Where Shall Wisdom Be Found: Calvin’s Exegesis of Job from Medieval and Modern Perspectives (Chicago: UCP, 1994), 121–155.

THE ITALIAN CONVERT: MARQUIS GALEAZZO CARACCIOLO AND THE ENGLISH PURITANS Emidio Campi I am delighted to have been invited to add a little stone to the great mosaic honoring Richard A. Muller with whom I have had the privilege and the pleasure to work on a number of projects over the past years. I wish in this paper to address an intriguing subject that has not until now been thoroughly discussed: the impact of Galeazzo Caracciolo’s conversion narrative on later generations, especially among English Puritans on both sides of the Atlantic. The name of the Italian marquis who in 1551 left wealth, property, and family in his country and settled in Geneva as a fully-fledged Calvinist may not be on everybody’s lips today, yet in sixteenth-century Geneva he was one of the most respected residents, and his personal religious experience was held up as a model for the Protestant convert in the Reformation and post-Reformation era.1 It is worth recalling the story not only for its own sake but also for the benefit of contemporary scholarship that keenly explores conversion narratives from a variety of disciplinary perspectives and may not be aware of the existence of Caracciolo’s narrative.2 Who was Galeazzo Caracciolo? Far from being an episode of purely personal significance, the story of Caracciolo’s conversion is squarely anchored in the broader context of the 1 See Robert M. Kingdon, Adultery and Divorce in Calvin’s Geneva (Cambridge: HUP, 1995), 143–165; Jeannine E. Olson, “An Example from the Diaspora of the Italian Evangelicals: Galeazzo Caracciolo and his Biographies,” Reformation 10 (2005): 45–76; and Machiel A. van den Berg, Friends of Calvin (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 196–205. 2 Research in the area of religious conversion, including anthropological, psychological, sociological, and literary perspectives, is increasing, but scholars seem to have no knowledge of Caracciolo’s story. See, e.g., Andrew Buckser and Stephen Glazier, ed., The Anthropology of Religious Conversion (Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2003); Hetty Zock, “Paradigms in Psychological Conversion Research: Between Social Science and Literary Analysis,” in Paradigms, Poetics and Politics of Conversion, ed. Bremmer, et al. (Leuven: Peeters, 2006), 41–58; Henri Gooren, “Reassessing Conventional Approaches to Conversion: Toward a New Synthesis,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 46 (2007): 337–353; Lieke Stelling, et al., ed., The Turn of the Soul: Representations of Religious Conversion in Early Modern Art and Literature (Leiden: Brill, 2012).

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Italian Reformation. Contact with and reflection on the doctrine of the so-called spirituali, or spiritual people—the circle around the Spanish exile Juan de Valdés in Naples and the English cardinal Reginald Pole in Viterbo—were decisive not only for him, but also for such leading divines as Bernardino Ochino and Peter Martyr Vermigli, and for such noblewomen as Isabella Brisegna, Giulia Gonzaga, and Vittoria Colonna.3 Galeazzo Caracciolo was born in Naples in January 1517.4 He came from an old Neapolitan aristocratic family. His father Colantonio distinguished himself in the service to the Aragonese and the Spanish kings in the war against the Angevin for possession of the throne of Naples, and had been rewarded by a variety of honors, the most important of which carried the title of marquis of Vico. The mother Giulia descended from the prominent family of the Carafas, which claimed various archbishops and cardinals, including Galeazzo’s great-uncle, Giovanni Pietro Carafa, who was elected pope in 1555, taking the name Paul IV. When he was fifteen-years-old his father’s influence procured for him the position of page to Charles V, King of Spain and Holy Roman Emperor, then residing in Brussels. At the age of twenty Galeazzo married the daughter of the wealthy landowner and Duke of Nocera, Vittoria Carafa, who brought rich possessions to her husband that would further ensure his social status and affluence. This, however, does not seem to have been just a marriage of convenience, but rather a harmonious and loving relationship. Over the fourteen years in which they lived together in great opulence, they had six children (four sons and two daughters). A friend, Gian Francesco Alois, introduced Galeazzo in the early 1540s to the spirituali of Naples. Personal encounters, discussions, and reading of clandestine books led him gradually from criticism of devotional practices and commands of the church to proper understanding of the doctrine of justification by grace alone, and to deep commitment to Christian faith. The more immediate instrument of his conversion was the abbot of the convent of San Pietro ad Aram, Peter Martyr Vermigli, who 3 Massimo Firpo, “The Italian Reformation and Juan de Valdes,” trans. John Tedeschi, SCJ 27 (1996): 353–364. For fuller bibliography, see John Tedeschi, et al., The Italian Reformation of the Sixteenth Century and the Diffusion of Renaissance Culture: A Bibliography of the Secondary Literature, ca. 1750–1997 (Modena: F.C. Panini; Ferrara: ISR, 2000). 4 E. William Monter, “Caracciolo Galeazzo,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani [= DBI], vol. 19 (Rome: Istituto dell’Enciclopedia italiana, 1976), 363–336; and the brilliant study by Benedetto Croce, “Un calvinista italiano, il marchese di Vico Galeazzo Caracciolo,” La Critica 31 (1933): 84–104, 161–178, 251–265, 321–339, repr. in Croce, Vite di avventure, di fede e di passione (Milan: Adelphi, 1989), 197–297.



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was forced to leave Italy in 1542 and eventually became one of the preeminent Protestant reformers. The particulars of Caracciolo’s religious experience  are narrated in a work written soon after his death by Niccolò Balbani, minister of the Italian church in Geneva, and then translated into Latin, French, and English (we shall return to Galeazzo’s rich literary afterlife): At that time Peter Martyr was in hand with Paul’s First Epistle to the Corinthians, and as he was showing the weakness and deceitfulness of the judgment of man’s reason in spiritual things, as likewise the power and efficacy of the Word of God in those men in whom the Lord worketh by His Spirit—amongst other things he used this simile or comparison: If a man, walking in a large place, see afar off men and women dancing together, and hear no sound of instrument, he will judge them mad, or at least foolish; but if he come nearer them, and perceive their order and hear their music, and mark their measures and their courses, he will then be of another mind, and not only take delight in seeing them, but feel a desire in himself to bear them company and dance with them. Even the same (said Martyr) betides many men, who, when they behold in others a sudden and great change of their looks, apparel, behavior, and whole course of life, at the first sight they impute to melancholy, or some other foolish humour; but if they look more narrowly into the matter, and begin to hear and perceive the harmony and sweet consent of God’s Spirit, and His word in them (by the joint power of which two this change was made and wrought, which afore they counted folly), then they change their opinion of them, and first of all begin to like them, and that change in them, and afterwards feel in themselves a motion and desire to imitate them, and to be of the number of such men, who, forsaking the world and his vanities, do think that they ought to reform their lives by the rule of the Gospel, that so they may come to true and sound holiness.

Continuing, the account explains: This comparison by the grace of God’s Spirit wrought so wonderfully with Galeacius (as himself hath often told his friends) that from that hour he resolved with himself more carefully to refrain his affections from following the world and his pleasures, as before they did, and to let his mind about seeking out the truth of Religion, and the way to true happiness.5

5 [Niccolò (Nicolao) Balbani], The Italian convert: news from Italy of a second Moses: or The life of Galeacius Caracciolus, the noble marquess of Vico. Containing the story of his admirable conversion from popery, and forsaking of a rich marquesdom for the Gospels sake. Illustrated with several figures. Written first in Italian, thence translated into Latin by Reverend Beza; and for the benefit of our people put into English: and now published by W. C. (London: A. Roper, 1677), 8–10. Subsequent references in the text refer parenthetically to this edition.

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Caracciolo’s conversion occurred in 1541.6 It was a spiritual experience that transformed his identity and produced significant lifestyle changes, but did not correspond with a clear break from the Roman Catholic Church. Whereas the failure of the religious colloquy of Ratisbon in 1541 coupled with the ensuing reorganization of the Roman Inquisition reinforced in some spirituali such as Ochino and Vermigli the conviction to separate from the church of Rome and induced them to leave Italy for­ ever,  Caracciolo did not make this dramatic decision until 1551. In the meantime he continued to serve the Emperor in a number of diplomatic missions. On 21 March 1551, however, at the age of thirty-four years, he departed from Naples, as if he had intended going to the Emperor’s court in Augsburg, but in fact he left behind wife, children, title, and possessions to move to Geneva where he was to live the rest of his life. Having overcome the initial suspicion toward the refugee, Calvin and the reformers of the Swiss cities were delighted with the conversion of the Neapolitan marquis. They had high hopes it would help spread their message in the multifaceted Italian religious world of the 1550s. Before long, Caracciolo became one the most respected residents of the city. Whereas Calvin was not granted citizenship in Geneva until 1559, Caracciolo became a citizen already in 1555, and so in later years he could take part in the city’s government as member of the Grand Council, and subsequently of the Small Council. He was instrumental in building up the Italian Reformed church.7 Calvin dedicated the second edition (1556) of his Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians to Caracciolo.8 Likewise, the first Italian translation of Calvin’s Institutes (1557) by Giulio Cesare Pasc[h]ali was dedicated to him.9 For years Galeazzo’s relatives made efforts to win him back, but he opposed an obstinate refusal to recant the new faith, even when they used the threat of disinheritance as a means of persuasion. Still hopeful, however, that he could be reunited with his family, he went repeatedly to Italy to convince his wife to turn Protestant and join him in Geneva. She refused each time, so in 1569 he petitioned the Consistory for a divorce with the 6 [Niccolò Balbani], The Italian convert, 10. 7 Oscar Grosheintz, L’Eglise italienne à Genève au temps de Calvin (Lausanne: Borgeaud, 1904); E. William Monter, “The Italians in Geneva, 1550–1600: A New Look,” in Genève et l’Italie, ed. Monnier and Balmas (Geneva: Droz, 1969), 53–77. 8 CO 16:11–14 (no. 2380). See Mirjam van Veen, “‘In excelso honoris gradu.’ Johannes Calvin und Jacques de Falais,” Zwingliana 32 (2005): 5–22. 9 Mario Richter, “Giulio Cesare Paschali. Attività e problemi di un poeta italiano nella Ginevra di Calvino e di Beza,” Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa 1 (1965): 228–257.



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right to remarry. The request was problematic, but was granted after ­in-depth discussion which involved also the Swiss Reformed churches, especially Heinrich Bullinger and Peter Martyr Vermigli on behalf of the Zurich church. Grounds for the annulment were the so-called Pauline privi­lege of 1 Corinthians 7:12–15, allowing separation from a non-­Christian spouse as a justification for divorce.10 In 1560 Galeazzo married a widow of French extraction and a religious refugee in Geneva, Anna Framéry, whose modest dowry he may have appreciated, since he had been effectively disinherited. They lived together in apparent contentment for twenty-six years. Caracciolo died in Geneva in 1586, his wife a year later. By then the “Lord Marquis,” as the Genevans affectionately called their honourable citizen, had become somewhat of a living monument of the city and a hero within the Reformed world.11 From Historia to News of a Second Moses Soon after Caracciolo’s death, Niccolò (or Nicolao) Balbani, a close personal friend and minister of the Italian church in Geneva, wrote the account of his dramatic life.12 Balbani casts his biography in the classical encomium mode. It describes only in general terms Caracciolo’s life, and pays scant attention to his education, career, personality, or his first marriage. It does not even place emphasis on Galeazzo’s conversion per se, which is, however, unequivocally attributed to God, to avoid any misconceptions about the person’s qualities being innate. It is also clear that the notion of conversion refers to a change from Catholicism to Calvinism and does not mean just a broad “turning to God.” Indeed, it presents the convert as one, who throughout the “grievous combats betwixt the flesh and the Spirit” resolved to abandon “Popery” and to embrace the “true Religion.” Balbani’s scope is to portray Caracciolo as militant Calvinist opposed to Nicodemism, that is, the position of those Protestant who in public conformed to Catholic doctrine and participated in the Catholic 10 Kingdon, Adultery, 156–163. 11 The City minted a medal bearing his portrait in 1556 with the inscription “I chose to sit at the threshold of the house of my God than dwell in the tabernacles of wickedness,” echoing the words of Ps. 84:10. See Eugène Demole, “Médaille inédite de Galéas Caracciolo,” Revue suisse de numismatique 22 (1920): 85–89 and Croce, Vite di avventure, 241. 12 [Niccolò Balbani], Historia della vita di Galeazzo Caracciolo, chiamato il Signor Marchese: nella quale si contiene un raro e singolare essempio di costanza e di perseveranza nella pietà e nella vera religione (Geneva: n.p., 1587; repr., Firenze: Tip. Claudiana, 1875). On Balbani, see Carlo Ginzburg, “Balbani, Niccolò (Nicolao),” in DBI, 5:336–342.

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sacramental system for fear of persecution. The careful choice of documents makes this evident, for Balbani inserted two letters in the biography: one was from Marco Antonio Flaminio (1498–1550), a renowned Italian poet who had been part of the circle of the spirituali in Naples, but for whom a final split from Rome was unbearable; the second letter was that from Calvin, dedicating to Caracciolo the second edition of his commentary on First Corinthians, in which the reformer praises the strong coherence of Galeazzo’s faith and life. In short, more than a biography or even a panegyric, the writing is a splendid piece of confessional propaganda against Nicodemism. The Vita was originally composed in Italian and then translated into Latin, French, and into English.13 Presumably the book would have not made such a great impact on later generations of English Puritans if William Crashaw had not given to his English translation the extravagant and catchy title: Newes from Italy of a second Moses.14 William Crashaw (1572–1626) was a Puritan divine, fellow of St. John’s College, Cambridge, and preacher at the Inner and Middle Temples in London, but above all he prided himself on being an anti-Catholic controversialist.15 Moreover, he seems to have organized much of the promotional effort of the Virginia Company of London which financed the first permanent English settlement in the New World.16 There is a certain irony in the fact that his son, the poet Richard Crashaw (ca. 1613–1649), converted from Anglicanism to Roman Catholicism during the English Civil War, settled in Italy, and became canon of the Holy House of Loreto, one of the most revered Marian shrines in the world, where he was buried. Turning to Crashaw’s translation, the author’s address to the reader explains that it is based on the Latin version instead of the original Italian text, and that he has not attempted a literal, but a free rendering into English. Despite the dubious reliability, the translation is generally solid, but not without its flaws. Crashaw’s insertions are only partly identifiable  because they are not always put in square brackets; it repeats the 13 For the full list of translations and English editions see Olson, “An Example from the Diaspora,” 70–76. 14 Newes from Italy of a second Moses or, the life of Galeacius Caracciolus the noble Marquesse of Vico… ([London]: H.B. for Richard Moore, 1608). The 1635 edition and the subsequent editions changed the book title: The Italian convert: news from Italy of a second Moses. See note 5. 15 Mary Morrissey, Politics and the Paul’s Cross Sermons, 1558–1642 (Oxford: OUP, 2011), 186. 16 Andrew Fitzmaurice, “American Corruption,” in The Monarchical Republic of Early Modern England, ed. McDiarmid (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 219.



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confusions and inaccuracies of the Latin version, particularly with respect to the names of persons and places. Totally arbitrary—although understandable from a commercial point of view—is the incorrect attribution of authorship of the Latin translation to Théodore de Bèze instead of François Hotman. Furthermore, it is mentioned that the translation was made “divers years ago,” and had circulated among “private friends” before it was published in 1608. The dedicatory epistle prefixed to the work demands close attention. Crashaw dedicated his translation to “Lord Edmund Sheffield…Lady Dowglass his mother, and Lady Ursula his wife, and to all the vertuous ofspring.” Edmund Sheffield (ca. 1564–1646) was Lord Lieutenant of Yorkshire and Lord President of the Council of the North from 1603 to 1619, which means that he governed the whole of the north of England in the King’s name. Significantly, Crashaw uses Caracciolo’s story as a springboard for a wider discourse on the resurgence across the country of Catholic cultural influence after James I’s accession, and as a powerful weapon in religious warfare: If any Papists (musing, as they use and measuring us by themselves) do suspect the story to be some feigned thing, devised to allure & entice the peoples minds, and to set a flourish upon our Religion, as they be a thousand false and feigned stories and miracles use to do, I answer, first in the general, far be it from us & our Religion to use such means, either for our selves, or against our adversaries: no, we are content the Church of Rome have the glory of that Garland. Popery being a sandy, and a shaken, a rotten & a tottering building, needs such props to under-set it, but truth dare shew herself, & fears no colours.17

Becoming more specific, he expresses the hope that the book may provide the additional spiritual fortification to Lord Sheffield to espouse the Puritan vision of life and church: Go forward Noble Lord, in the Name of the Lord of host still to honor that honourable place you hold, still to defeat the vain expectation of Gods enemies, and to satisfie the godly hopes & desires of holy men,…still to subplant Superstition, Popery, Ignorance and wilful blindness: and to plant and disperse true Religion in that City, and these Northern Countries. But all these means still shewing yourself an holy & zealous Phinehas (under the great Phinehas our most worthy Soveraign) to execute Gods judgment and to take vengeance on the Zimri & Cozbi of our Nation:18 namely, on Popery and Prophaneness, the two great sins which have pull’d down God’s plagues on 17 Caracciolo, Newes from Italy of a second Moses, A4v. 18 See Num. 25:6–15.

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The above quotations show a subtle but discernible change in the scope of the book in its English translation. Caracciolo is no longer the absolutely uncompromising figure in the Nicodemite controversy which ravaged the sixteenth-century continental Reformation, but he becomes rather a symbol of the steadfast Puritan critique of the established church hierarchy and its pro-Catholic attitude in seventeenth-century England. Newes from Italy of a second Moses is only one of many such conversion accounts circulating in Puritans’ gathered churches. Although it is not known whether Crashaw wanted to communicate with this specific audience or a wider one, the publication of Caracciolo’s story bears all the earmarks of the Puritan anti-Catholic controversy, which was “to contribute meaningfully toward the cause of the looming English Civil Wars.”20 It is this contemporary ecclesiastical and political environment that helps explain the popularity of Caracciolo’s biography in England from the beginning of James I’s tenure to the Glorious Revolution. Of great importance in our considerations is the unexpected, striking comparison that Crashaw institutes between Moses and the subject of his narrative: I may say much rather than Jacob—Few and evil have my days been; yet in these few days of mine something have I seen, more have I read, more have I heard; yet never saw I, heard I, or read I any example (all things laid together) more nearly seconding the examples of Moses than this of the most renowned Marquess Galeacius. Moses was the adopted son of a king’s daughter; Galeacius the natural son and heir apparent to a Marquess; Moses a courtier in the court of Pharaoh, Galeacius in the court of the emperor Charles the Fifth; Moses by adoption a kin to a Queen; Galeacius by marriage to a Duke, by blood son to a Marquess, nephew to a Pope; Moses in possibility of a kingdom, he in possession of a Marquesdome; Moses in his youth brought up in the heathenism of Egypt, Galeacius noozeled [=schooled] in the superstition of Popery; Moses at last saw the truth and embraced it, so did Galeacius; Moses openly fell from the heathenism of Egypt, so did Galeacius from the superstition of Popery. But all this is nothing to that which they both suffered for their conscience. What Moses suffered Saint Paul tells us—‘Moses, when he was come to years, refused to be called the son of Pharoah’s daughter, and chose rather to suffer adversities with the people of 19 Caracciolo, Newes from Italy of a second Moses, A7r–7v. 20 Philip Major, “‘Most necessarily to be known’: The Conversion Narratives of Samuel Smith,” in The Turn of the Soul, 153–175, here 173. See also Olson, “An Example from the Diaspora,” 64.



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God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season; esteeming the rebuke of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt.’ Nay, Moses had rather be a base brick maker amongst the oppressed Israelites, being true Christians, than to be the son of a king’s daughter in the court of Pharaoh amongst idolaters. In like case noble Galeacius, when he was come to years and knowledge of Christ, refused to be called son and heir to a Marquesse, cupbearer to an Emperor, nephew to a Pope, and chose rather to suffer affliction, persecution, banishment, loss of lands, livings, wife, children, honours and preferments, than to enjoy the sinful pleasures of Italy for a season, esteeming the rebuke of Christ greater riches than the honours of a Marquesdome without Christ, and therefore, seeing he must either want Christ or want them, he despoiled himself of all these to gain Christ.  …So excellent was the fact of Moses, and so heroical, that the Holy Ghost vouchsafes it remembrance both in the Old and New Testament, that so the Church in all ages might know it and admire it, and doth chronicle it in the epistle to the Hebrews almost two thousand years after it was done. If God himself did so to Moses, shall not God’s Church be careful to commend to posterity this second Moses, whose love to Christ Jesus was so zealous, and so inflamed by the heavenly fire of God’s Spirit, that no earthly temptations could either quench or abate it; but to win Christ, and to enjoy Him in the liberty of His Word and Sacraments, he delicately contemned the honours and pleasures of the Marquesdome of Vicum—Vicum, one of the paradises of Naples, Naples, the paradise of Italy—Italy of Europe—Europe of the earth; yet all these paradises were nothing to him in comparison of attaining the celestial paradise, there to live with Jesus Christ.21

It is not the purpose of this paper either to explain the simile employed by Crashaw in his dedicatory letter or to grasp the meaning that the scriptural image of Moses had for the Puritan minister. Hermeneutical study of his sermons is necessary if we are to appreciate the theological idea set forth in this comparison—the contemporaneity of the office of the prophet, which is not unlike the understanding extant in the writing of the reformers.22 Nevertheless, it would be difficult to resist the conclusion that the comparison Crashaw makes between Moses and Caracciolo was intended to the effect of raising the reader’s estimation of the Italian convert. There can be no doubt that he succeeded in achieving his goal: Galeazzo’s biography in the translation of Crashaw was printed at least nine times in the seventeenth century (1608, 1612, 1635, 1639, 1655, 1663, 1668, 1677, and 1689) in England, and two times in the eighteenth century (1751, 1794) in New England. 21 Caracciolo, Newes from Italy of a second Moses, A3r–A4v. 22 See, e.g., Jon Balserak, Establishing the Remnant Church in France: Calvin’s Lectures on the Minor Prophets, 1556–1559 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 77–91.

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Caracciolo’s Literary Afterlife in the New England Colonies There is evidence that Newes from Italy of a second Moses or rather The Italian convert, as the book became to be known since the 1635 edition, circulated not only in England but on both sides of the Atlantic. Jeannine Olson discovered a copy of the 1612 edition of the Crashaw translation at the John Carter Brown Library in Providence, Rhode Island.23 A copy of the 1668 edition of the work belonged to the Harvard College Library when a major fire in 1764 destroyed almost all books and scientific instruments. The fire, however, spared 400 or so volumes that were on loan to faculty and students. Among them there was also The Italian convert.24 Furthermore, there is evidence that in 1685 a Boston bookseller in London bought four copies of the book.25 Finally, a clear indication of the popularity of Galeazzo Caracciolo’s story in the colonies comes from the most prominent (and controversial) history of early New England. When at the dawn of the eighteenth century Cotton Mather in his Magnalia Christi Americana looks back on the distant story of New England settlement and celebrates its endurance and cultural richness, to honor the memory of the first governor of Plymouth, William Bradford, he finds no better epithet for him than “Galeacius Secundus.”26 After the Glorious Revolution, enthusiasm for new editions of Car­ acciolo’s biography apparently waned in England, but not in the colonies. Yet colonial booksellers were dependent on London for their commerce and, of course, operated within a system of privileges and agreements designed to reduce business risk. When the English offer could no longer meet the American market demand, local printer-booksellers resolved to print in 1751 and in 1794 two editions of The Italian convert.27 This is all the more startling since throughout the eighteenth century not only was very little known in the country concerning Italian works in the original language, but there was a dearth of American translation of Italian masterpieces. It seems that the first edition of Dante’s Divine

23 Olson, “An Example from the Diaspora,” 67. 24 Robert F. Seybolt, “Student Libraries at Harvard, 1763–1764,” Publications of the Colonial Society of Massachusetts 28 (1930–1933): 449–461. Reference: Wing B544 variant. 25 Worthington Chauncey Ford, The Boston Book Market 1679–1700 (Boston: The Club of Odd Volumes, 1917), 145. 26 Magnalia Christi Americana… (London: Thomas Parkhurst, 1702), 2:1. 27 [Niccolò Balbani], The Italian convert… (Boston: Thomas Fleet, 1751); The Italian convert… ([Boston]: S. Hall, 1794).



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Comedy printed in America was Henry Francis Cary’s translation in 1822, while the first of the many translations of Boccaccio’s Decameron was not seen until 1850. Only three books by Italian authors were translated and published in America before 1800, and none of the three dealt with literature. They were in chronological order: Niccolò Balbani’s The Italian convert (1751), Cesare Beccaria’s An Essay on Crimes and Punishments (1773), and Luigi Cornaro’s The Sure and Certain Method of Attaining a Long and Healthful Life (1788).28 Cesare Beccaria was a jurist, philosopher, and politician who in his treatise condemned torture and the death penalty. Luigi Cornaro (1467–1566) was a Venetian nobleman who wrote treatises on dieting, including Discorsi della Vita Sobria (Discourses on the Sober Life). All in all, Galeazzo Caracciolo could not have agreed more with that editorial choice.

28 Howard R. Marraro, “Italian Culture in Eighteenth-Century American Magazines,” Italica 22 (1945): 21–31; Giorgio Spini, “The New England Puritans and Italy,” Storia Nordamericana 3 (1986): 95–105; Center for Migration Studies, Special Issue: Four Centuries of Italian American History 16 (2000): 143–146.

CONFLUENCE AND INFLUENCE: PETER MARTYR VERMIGLI AND THOMAS AQUINAS ON PREDESTINATION Frank A. James III Introduction In his Paradiso, Dante Alighieri describes predestination as a mystery whose “root lies hidden from the intellect.”1 By its very inscrutability, the idea of predestination has fascinated theologians from Augustine to Pannenberg.2 It also has been a central dogma, as it were, for Richard A. Muller’s ground-breaking research. When he published his doctoral dissertation over twenty-five years ago, Christ and the Decree, few could have anticipated that his approach to the development of post-Reformational theology would have lasting value. His was after all a rather obscure area of research, which hitherto had been largely the domain of dead-whiteEuropean-males with hard to pronounce names. From the outset of his career, Muller recognized the historiographical significance of Peter Martyr Vermigli and the doctrine of predestination. In Christ and the Decree, Muller made what many considered a rather startling academic judgment: We must divide the laurels between Calvin and Vermigli in judging the influence of their respective doctrines of predestination. Whereas Calvin’s basic structure and definition, which designates election and reprobation as almost coordinate halves of the decree, had more impact…[it was Vermigli’s conception of predestination that] would eventually be enunciated as the confessional norm of Reformed theology.3

1 Divine Comedy, Paradisio, Canto XX: “O Predestination! How remote and dim, Thy root lies hidden from the intellect which only glimpses the First Cause Supreme! And you, ye mortals, keep your judgment checked, since we, who see God, have not therefore skill To know yet all the number of the elect, And such defective sight is sweet for us, Because our good is refined by this good, That which God wills we also will.” 2 Wolfhart Pannenberg’s dissertation: Die prädestinationslehre des Duns Skotus in Zusammenhang der scholastischen Lehrntwicklung (Göttingen: V&R, 1954). 3 Muller, Decree, 70–71. Cf. Charles Schmidt, Peter Martyr Vermigli, Leben und ausgewählte Schriften nach handschriftlichen und gleichzeitigen Quellen (Elberfeld: R.L. Friderichs, 1858), 106: “Da Martyr, neben Calvin, am meisten zur Feststellung dieser Lehre beigetragen hat, so ist wichtig, seiner Entwicklung derselben nachzugehen.”

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This essay will focus on this important dead-white-European-male “codifier” of Reformed theology Peter Martyr Vermigli and his doctrine of predestination. Among Vermigli scholars, one of the central historiographical issues centers on the question of Thomistic influence.4 It has been argued that Vermigli embraced essential aspects of Thomistic theology, under whose influence Vermigli became a harbinger of Reformed scholasticism. It was Brian Armstrong who set in motion what has become the dominant interpretation of Vermigli. He promoted the thesis that “the prime source of this new trend toward Aristotle and eventually Protestant scholasticism was the Italian Aristotelians.”5 Armstrong identified the “villainous triumvirate” of Peter Martyr Vermigli, Theodore Beza, and Girolamo Zanchi as “the three early reformers who most evidently inclined toward the budding Protestant scholasticism.”6 Of these three, Vermigli and Zanchi provided the Italian connection, and of the two Italians, it was Vermigli who prepared the way for Zanchi to follow.7 Thus, if one follows Arm­ strong’s analysis, Vermigli emerges from the scholastic troika as the inaugurator of Reformed scholasticism. Subsequently, and with more caution, both John Patrick Donnelly8 and J.C. McLelland9 noted “echoes” of Thomas in Vermigli’s theological outlook. This essay proposes to address this historiographical question of Thomistic influence by comparing Vermigli and Aquinas with respect to the mysterious doctrine of predestination. Encountering the Doctor Angelicus Josiah Simler, Vermigli’s contemporary and earliest biographer in his Oratio, specifically identifies Thomas as a theological influence: “he [Vermigli] had hitherto devoted himself chiefly to Thomas and [Gregory 4 Cf. J.C. McLelland, ed., Peter Martyr Vermigli and Italian Reform (Waterloo: Wilfred Laurier, 1980); J.P. Donnelly, Calvinism and Scholasticism in Vermigli’s Doctrine of Man and Grace (Leiden: Brill, 1976); and Muller, Decree. 5 Brian G. Armstrong, Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy: Protestant Scholasticism and Humanism in Seventeenth-Century France (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1969), 38. 6 Armstrong, Calvinism, 87. 7 Armstrong, Calvinism, 131. 8 Donnelly, Calvinism, 207. 9 J.C. McLelland, “Scholastic or Humanist?” in Peter Martyr Vermigli and Italian Reform, 141–151. He states that Vermigli made “full use of Aristotelian-Thomistic form and content” 148.



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of] Rimini as was the custom in the schools.”10 Vermigli’s first encounter with Aquinas occurred at the University of Padua in its famous Universitas theologorum.11 The faculty of theology had the authority to examine candidates and to grant degrees, but the responsibility for the actual teaching of theology was delegated to the two dominant mendicant orders: the Ordo Praedicatorum and the Ordo Fratrum Minorum.12 The Dominicans had responsibility to teach theology according to the via Thomae, and the Franciscans according to the via Scoti.13 As Antonino Poppi states, “theology in Padua finds its splendid origins in the monasteries of the Dominicans and Franciscans.”14 However, participation in the faculty of theology at Padua was not exclusive to these two orders. Like most Italian university towns, the studia monastica of other leading religious orders also participated in theological education.15 Simler again provides specific information that Vermigli studied with two Dominicans identified as Gaspare Mansuetti da Perugia and Alberto Pascaleo da Udine.16 Vermigli was neither a Dominican nor a Franciscan, but as a member of the Studium at S. Giovanni di Verdara of the Canons Regular of St. Augustine, he fully participated in the theological faculty of the University. Mansuetti in particular had published a volume on Thomas and had an excellent reputation as a scholar, proponent and disciple of Thomas.17 In all likelihood it was Mansuetti who gave Vermigli his first taste of the Summa Theologiae. To determine the continuities and discontinuities we will examine Thomas Aquinas’ definitive exposition on predestination in the Summa 10 Josiah Simler, Oratio de vita et obitu viri optimi, praestantissimi Theologi D. Petri Martyris Vermilii… (Zürich: Christophorum Froschouerum Iuniorem, 1563), 4. Cf. Donnelly, ed., Life, Letters, and Sermons (Kirksville: TSUP, 1999), 17. 11 Antonino Poppi, “La Teologia nell’Universita e nelle Scuole,” in Storiae Cultura al Santo di Padova: Fra Il XIII e Il XX Secolo, ed. Antonino Poppi (Vicenza: Neri Pozza, 1976), 3:6, gives the exact date: 15 April 1363. 12 David Knowles, The Evolution of Medieval Thought (New York: Vintage, 1962), 161. 13 Giovanni Brotto and Gasparo Zonta, La facoltà teologica dell’Università di Padova (Padua: Tip. del Seminario, 1922), 129–131. The chair of metaphysics was established sometime around 1442 and was entrusted to the Dominicans “rinforzare la posizione del tomismo.” As of 1490, Dominicans held a chair in Metaphysics and in Theology, as did the Franciscans. 14 Poppi, “La Teologia,” 3. 15 Paul F. Grendler, The Universities of the Italian Renaissance (Baltimore: JHUP, 2004), 366–370. 16 Oratio, 3. Cf. Philip McNair, Peter Martyr in Italy: An Anatomy of Apostasy (Oxford: OUP, 1967), 103–106. 17 Mansuetti’s volume was titled, Dichiarazione di due opuscoli di San Tommaso (Exposition of Two Opusculae of Saint Thomas). Cf. McNair, Peter Martyr, 103.

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Theologiae, Ia.23, under eight articles.18 As for Vermigli we will consider his two main loci on predestination from his early commentary on Genesis composed in 1543–1544 and his Romans locus derived from his lectures in Oxford (1550–1552).19 Juxtaposing Predestinarian Schemes Vermigli’s first concentrated exposition of the doctrine of predestination in his Genesis locus refers favorably to Thomas by name.20 In order to gain insight into the predestinarian predilections of Thomas and Vermigli, we will examine four theological concepts: pradestinatio, meritum, praescentia, and reprobatio. While this is not an exhaustive comparison, it will nevertheless explore constitutive elements in their respective views on predestination. Praedestinatio ad vitam As has been generally recognized, the governing principle of Thomas’ conception of predestination is that it is pars providentiae. For him “everything falls under His [God’s] providence,” including predestination.21 As a sub-category of divine providence, predestination is treated as a part of the doctrine of God.22 This is especially significant, for it established the normative late medieval approach to predestination. From the Middle Ages to the Reformation, predestination was understood to belong to theology proper rather than to soteriology.23 Not only is predestination pars providentiae but it has exclusive reference to eternal salvation. Thomas defines predestination as the “planned sending of rational creatures to the end which is eternal life… [which] is termed predestination, for to predestine is to send.”24 Following Aristotle, 18 Thomas had earlier taken up the question of predestination in his Quaestiones disputate de Veritate, Quaestio 6 (composed 1256–1259), but his definitive thought is found in the Summa Theologiae. 19 For background, see F.A. James, Peter Martyr Vermigli and Predestination: The Augustinian Heritage of an Italian Reformer (Oxford: OUP, 1998), 41–49. 20 Peter Martyr Vermigli, In Primum Librum Mosis, qui vulgo Genesis dicitur Commentarii doctissimi… (Zürich, 1569), fol. 100r. 21 Thomas Aquinas, ST, 60 vols. (London: Blackfriars, 1964–1966), Ia.23.1. 22 ST, Ia.23.1. 23 Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, trans. Bromiley et al. (Edinburgh: TTC, 1957), II/2:78. 24 ST, Ia.23.1. For a general conceptual parallel with Vermigli, see his In Epistolam S. Pauli ad Romanos commentarij… (Basel: Petrum Pernam, 1558), 412: “Imo nemo praedestinatur nisi ad id, ut efficiatur membrum Christi.”



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Thomas sees God as the First Cause, who moves all secondary causes to a predetermined end. In the case of predestination, the end is eternal life. As Thomas conceives predestination, it does not have reference to reprobation. For him, predestination has to do with that part of providence which entails only the positive goal of salvation, namely praedestinatio ad vitam.25 In striking contrast, nowhere in his formal discussion does Vermigli describe predestination as pars providentiae.26 Vermigli certainly read Thomas, but he did not follow his lead on this point. His orientation to predestination is determined in large part by locating his discussion of the subject in a biblical context in which soteriological concerns are paramount. The locus on predestination is strategically placed at the end of the ninth chapter of Romans where Vermigli is convinced predestination is a primary concern of St. Paul. Indeed, for him the placement of predestination originates from his conviction that this doctrine derives directly from Romans 8 and 9. He briefly touches on the relationship between providence and predestination, but his stress is on their differences not their unity.27 Providence, as he articulates it, has a broader vista having to do 25 ST, Ia.23.1. 26 The only exception I have found where predestination is brought into close relation with providence is a tract, whose authorship is disputed—De providentia et praedestinatione. There is a notable history of debate about the authorship of this treatise, which was discovered by Rudolph Gualter along with two other tracts, and included in his 1580 edition of Vermigli’s Loci Communes. See Alexander Schweizer, Die protestantischen Centraldogmen in ihrer Entwicklung innerhalb der reformierten Kirche, 2 vols. (Zurich: Orell, Füssli, 1853), 1:267, 285; Otto Ritschl, Dogmengeschichte des Protestantismus, 4 vols. (Göttingen: V&R, 1908–1927), 3:249; and Charles Schmidt, Leben, 107, 215, 216, all concluded that Heinrich Bullinger was the author. Peter Walser, Die Prädestination bei Heinrich Bullinger im Zusammenhand mit seiner Gotteslehre (Zürich: Zwingli Verlag, 1957), 201–210, disputed Bullinger’s authorship and pointed to Vermigli. Joachim Staedtke, “Drei umstrittene Traktate Peter Martyr Vermiglis,” Zwingliana 11 (1962): 553–554, concluded that authorship was irresolvable. John Patrick Donnelly, “Three Disputed Vermigli Tracts,” in Essays Presented to Myron P. Gilmore, ed. Sergio Bertelli and Gloria Ramakus, 2 vols. (Florence: Nuova Italia, 1978), 1:37–46, raised the question again and reached the conclusion that Vermigli “almost certainly wrote the three tracts.” However, there are two undisputed facts. First, the manuscript is unsigned. Second, the text is definitely not in Vermigli’s handwriting. In the final analysis, authorship cannot be determined without additional evidence. Because of the disputed nature of this treatise, we have not taken it into consideration in our analysis. 27 Romanos, 410. Specifically, Vermigli points out that providence differs from predestination in two primary ways. (1): “providentia omnes creaturas complectitur: praedestinatio autem, quemadmodum nos de ea loquimur, sanctis tantum et electis convenit.” (2): “Deinde providentia dirigit res ad naturales fines: praedestinatio autem ducit ad ea, quae naturam superant: quale est, adoptari in filium Dei, regenerari, imbui gratia recte vivendi, postremo pervenire ad gloriam.”

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with God’s governance and administration of His creation.28 In contrast, predestination has an exclusively soteriological focus, which is clearly exhibited in Vermigli’s formal definition of predestination: Predestination is the most wise purpose of God by which He has decreed firmly from before all eternity, to call those whom He has loved in Christ to the adoption of sons, to be justified by faith, and subsequently to glorify through good works, those who shall be conformed to the image of the Son of God, that in them the glory and mercy of the Creator might be declared.29

At the outset of his treatment of this subject in the Romans locus, Vermigli carefully distinguishes between predestination as commonly understood (praedestinatio communiter) and predestination as properly understood (praedestinatio proprie).30 He acknowledges that some theologians speak broadly of an all-encompassing doctrine of predestination, in which both the elect and the reprobate are referenced.31 However, Vermigli adds that the Scriptures “do not often use predestination in this sense,” and hence he concludes that properly speaking predestination (praedestinatio proprie) refers to “the elect only.”32 At this point, Peter Martyr agrees with Thomas, albeit for different reasons. Vermigli’s locus on predestination in his commentary on Genesis is revealing. His point of departure for his discussion is the story of Jacob and Esau in Genesis 25. From the outset, Vermigli appeals to Romans 9 for theological guidance in interpreting the Old Testament story of Jacob and Esau. To Vermigli’s mind, the story of Jacob and Esau orbits around Paul’s exposition of Romans 9.33 He rejects out of hand any interpretation of this passage which sees it merely in terms of a temporal blessing of the posterity of one and not the other. For Vermigli, this is a soteriological discussion 28 Romanos, 410. Providence is defined as, “Dei ordinata, immobilis, et perpetua universarum rerum adminsitratio.” Vermigli offers another abbreviated definition of providence as, “dirigit res ad naturales fines.” This abbreviated definition is similar to the one he gave in the 1543 Genesis commentary: “Esse rationem, qua Deus utitur in rebus dirigendis ad suos fines.” See Genesis, fol. 115v. 29 Romanos, 411. Precisely the same soteriological orientation is evident in his earlier Genesis locus on predestination, where Vermigli interpreted the Old Testament story of Jacob and Esau within a soteriological framework. Cf. Genesis, fol. 100v. 30 Romanos, 409. 31 Romanos, 409. Referring to praedestinatio communiter, he writes, “Hac ratione nec impij, nec Diabolus ipse, neque peccata excludi possunt a praedestinatione.” 32 Romanos, 410. Alluding to praedestinatio proprie, he states, “Neque aliud ista vox significabit, quam Dei de creaturis suis aeternam dispositionem ad usum aliquem suum. Caeterum sacrae litterae hanc vocem non facile usurpant, nisi de electis.” Cf. Muller, Decree, 63–64. 33 Genesis, fol. 100r.



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of things “divine and celestial.”34 He gives separate attention to the topic of divine providence, but it is located in another locus from this same commentary.35 This is important because it demonstrates that even in these early Protestant years (1543–1544) he treats predestination in its own right rather than as a sub-category of providence. While Thomas and Vermigli differ on the relationship of providence to predestination, they agree that predestination has exclusive reference to divine election. Thomas and Vermigli have another predestinatrian convergence, not often noted. The Doctor Angelicus identifies a rather precise schema in which predestination finds its ultimate source in the love of God: “I answer that, Predestination logically presupposes election; and election presupposes love.”36 Construed logically, the starting point is God’s unfathomable love (dilectio). This is an unconditional love that issues from the pure and mysterious goodness of God. The second component is election (electio). Moved by His unfathomable love, God chooses or elects some creatures (humans or angels) for eternal blessing.37 When Thomas speaks of predestination (praedestinatio), he distinguishes between the end and the means. Issuing from God’s unfathomable love (dilectio), he chooses (electio) to rescue some and then charts (or determines) their course (praedestinatio) toward the final outcome for the chosen loved one which he calls praedestinatio ad gloriam (predestination to glory).38 The pre-ordained means by which the end will be secured is called praedestinatio ad gratiam (predestination to grace).39 Clearly drawing from Thomas, Vermigli has a predestinarian scheme that aligns precisely with Thomas. He states, “We also should remember what we have taught at other times, namely that love, election, and the predestination of God are ordered in such a way that they logically follow 34 Genesis, fol. 100r. 35 In the Genesis locus on Providence (fols. 115v-116r), Vermigli does not identify predestination in terms of providence, as Thomas does. Characteristically, providence is described by Vermigli in terms of God as “Ruler and Governor of the world” or God’s “care and government” over the world. It has a creational orientation, whereas predestination has a soteriological orientation. Only in the broadest sense are providence and predestination linked, and that is simply because they both issue from the one sovereign will of God. Vermigli’s aim in his discussion of providence is to counter the notion of chance rather than to build a doctrine of predestination upon the edifice of providence. 36 ST, IIIa.23.4. 37 ST, Ia.23.4. Thomas makes this point repeatedly. 38 ST, Ia.23.3. 39 ST, Ia.23.3.

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the other.”40 Vermigli draws attention to the same three components: dilectio, electio, and praedestinatio. There is a difference in that Vermigli identifies election and predestination while Thomas distinguishes them. Although this predestinarian schema does not receive the same level of attention, it is clear that his three-fold sequence owes something to Thomas, at least in part. That God’s love is the starting point of predestination is reflected as well in Vermigli’s formal definition: “Predestination is the most wise purpose of God by which He has decreed firmly from before all eternity, to call those whom He has loved….”41 One of the key concerns of Muller in his first book was the role of Christ in predestination. Thomas Gilby, editor of the Blackfriars critical edition of the Summa Theologiae, observed that Thomas’ formal discussion of predestination (Ia.23) “says little about our predestination in Christ.”42 However, it is clear that Thomas saved this discussion for a later section of the Summa where he explicitly asserts that predestination includes, not only the final goal of eternal salvation for the elect, but also the temporal means by which predestination is secured, namely, the atoning work of Christ on the cross: …for God, by predestinating from eternity, so decreed our salvation, that it should be achieved through Jesus Christ. For eternal predestination covers not only that which is to be accomplished in time, but also the mode and order in which it is to be accomplished in time.43

In Vermigli’s understanding, the role of Christ in predestination is much more highly developed, but follows a similar trajectory. For him, the will of God is active and effectual in predestination, but it is not a direct unmediated act of the Father. God the Father accomplishes his will by means of the incarnation and redemptive work of Christ, who implements the will of the Father. As mediator, Christ is the guarantor and connecting link between the eternal choosing and temporal implementation. As he develops the role of Christ in election, he makes an important distinction. When speaking of the mysterious purposes of God ab aeterno, Vermigli employs the unqualified designation “God,” indicating the entire Godhead is in view without any distinction of the divine persons or their functions.44 However, when the focus is more specifically on predestination, 40 Romanos, 411. 41 Romanos, 411. 42 ST, Blackfriars Edition, XXX, 107n. 43 ST, IIIa.24.4. I should note that that this observation clarifies my previous analysis in Peter Martyr Vermigli and Predestination, 124. 44 Genesis, fol. 100v.



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there is a pronounced christological orientation. The mediatorial role of Christ in predestination is stressed: “Christ is the prince and the head of all the predestined.”45 In his soteriological vision, Christ is the exclusive mediator through whom all of the soteric effects of predestination come to the elect, namely vocation, justification, and glorification. Praescientia Dei One of the perennial questions revolving around the doctrine of predestination is the role of divine foreknowledge (praescientia): is divine predestination based on foreknowledge? Thomas approaches this question by addressing whether predestination is based on anything in the one predestined, in the course of which he addresses the matter of foreknowledge. He is unequivocal: since “predestination is in the one who predestines and not in the one predestined,” therefore “foreknowledge is not in the things foreknown, but in the One who foreknows them.”46 Medieval theologians had given a great deal of attention to foreknowledge in an effort to soften the harshness of Augustine’s doctrine of predestination.47 It is perhaps surprising that Vermigli’s formal definition of predestination ignores foreknowledge. This is noteworthy since he does in fact understand the ordo salutis (Romans 8:29–30) as a causal sequence which would logically mean that foreknowledge is the cause of predestination. Vermigli resolves the tension by arguing that praescientia (even though it is prior in the soteric sequence) functions conjunctively not causally.48 When joined (coniuncta) to predestination, praescientia refers to divine omniscience in general. On the other hand, predestination properly pertains to the divine will. His reasoning here is that divine knowledge of future events is logically dependent upon a prior divine will to create such future events. Therefore, although fundamentally joined together in the ordo salutis, praedestinatio is logically prior to praescientia. But there is no mistaking the fact that Vermigli renounces all attempts to make predestination conditioned on foreknowledge. To do so is Pelagian.49 45 Romanos, 412. 46 ST, Ia.23.2. 47 Duns Scotus for example, while affirming that predestination is not based on foreknowledge but on the divine will alone, nevertheless insists that reprobation is based on foreknowledge of sin (Opus Oxoniense I dist. xl q. unica n.2). Cf. Pannenberg, Die prädestinationslehre des Duns Skotus, 95–100. 48 Romanos, 410. 49 See F.A. James, ed. and trans., Predestination and Justification (Kirksville: TSUP, 2003), xxvi-xxviii.

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Eternal salvation does not depend on human temporal good works, but like everything else depends on the will of God.50 Meritum One of the most highly charged theological issues of the Reformation period was the proper understanding of merit. Augustine set the theological trajectory with his famous maxim: “God crowns your merits not as your merits, but as His own gifts.”51 Thomas develops a rather ingenious approach which combines merit and predestination. He affirms that “God pre-ordains that He will give glory because of merit.” In other words, God creates a soteric system in which human merit is an intermediate cause of predestination to final glory. However, Thomas then moves one step back on the soteric chain of cause and effect and points out that the final cause of that human merit is nothing but the grace of God, who “also pre-ordains that He will give grace to a person in order to merit glory.” In the final analysis, God is the sovereign first cause of predestination, although Thomas admits an intermediate meritorious cause in the service of and in consequence of the divine First Cause. Accordingly, all elements in his doctrine of predestination are sovereign acts of God, willed unconditionally and without consideration to foreseen works or merits.52 God is moved to predestine some to eternal life by nothing other than His mysterious and groundless love (dilectio). Meritorious good works therefore are the effect not the cause of predestination. Vermigli is in accord with the general proposition of Thomas that merit is not a cause of predestination, but he emphatically departs from Thomas’ suggestion that human merit is an intermediate cause. Vermigli asserts unequivocally: those who are predestined to salvation are elected without reference to merit.53 Neither directly nor indirectly do meritum de condigno (condign merit) or meritum de congruo (congruent merit) figure in Vermigli’s understanding of human good works as a possible cause for predestination. According to Vermigli, all human works, because they issue from corrupt hearts, are utterly without merit. All positive references to merit are related directly and exclusively to Christ, whose works alone are meritorious.54 One finds precisely the same dismissive view of human merit in the earlier Genesis locus.55 50 Romanos, 414. 51 Augustine, De gratia et libero arbitrio, xv. 52 ST, Ia.23.5. 53 Romanos, 414. 54 Romanos, 420–421. 55 Genesis, fol. 100r.



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Reprobatio Throughout most of church history, the real problem inherent in the doctrine of predestination is its dark corollary—reprobation. Thomas defines reprobation as “that part [of divine providence] which relates to those who fall short of the goal of eternal life.”56 He cannot escape the hard logic that by electing some, God did not elect others.57 When he asks, “Why does He [God] choose some to glory while others He reprobates?” he can only reply, “His will is the only ground.”58 According to Thomas, those who have been overlooked by divine election are “permitted” to fall into sin in time. His language here is important. Earlier, when he wanted to communicate divine causality in election, he employed the terminology of divine volition.59 However, when speaking of reprobation, he consistently couches it in terms of “permission” rather than the more causal divine willing, following Augustine. This is precisely because he wanted to avoid the suggestion that divine reprobation is in some sense the cause of the human fall into sin. If God is not the cause of this fall, how then does Thomas explain it? To explain the divine permission for some to fall short of eternal life, Thomas appeals to a rather vague and ethereal moral balance of the universe. He puts the case as follows: “…for the sake of the completeness of the universe diverse grades of beings are required, some of high degree and some of humble. In order to maintain multiformity of real values, God permits evils to happen, lest…many goods be hindered.”60 For proper symmetry, the universe requires that the good cannot exist except over against its obverse.61 Thomas does not address why this is so. This natural state of affairs is a presupposition which provides the only explanation of the divine permission for some to fall short. The reprobated are left in their sins and therefore liable to punishment. Reprobation, declares Thomas, “is the cause why we shall meet our deserts in the future, namely eternal punishment.”62 Those non-elect who fall into sin by God’s permission are then justly punished for their sins. Thomas is unambiguous about the origin of human sin: man himself is 56 ST, Ia.23.3. 57 ST, Ia.23.4. 58 ST, Ia.23.5. 59 ST, Ia.23.5. Cf. Ia.23.3. 60 ST, Ia.23.5. 61 Cf. ST, Ia.22.2. 62 ST, Ia.23.3.

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the exclusive cause. God is neither the cause of human sin nor is he unjust in permitting it: “Although one whom God reprobates cannot gain grace, nevertheless the fact that he flounders in this or that sin happens of his own responsibility.”63 Thomas therefore will not allow the reprobate to lay a claim against God: “He who grants by grace can give freely as He wills, be it more or less, without prejudice to justice, provided He deprives no one of what is owing.”64 Aquinas points out that there is a clear causal asymmetry between predestination and reprobation. Whereas predestination can be said to cause both the means and the end for eternal salvation, reprobation can only be said to have a causal reference to the end, where sins are justly punished. Thomas is adamant that reprobation be completely disassociated from any causal link to the instrumentality of human sin.65 Yet there is also a kind of symmetry to his understanding of reprobation. On the one hand, he stressed love (dilectio) as the ultimate cause of predestination. Surprisingly, he also speaks of God hating the reprobate. He states, “In so far as He [God] does not will this particular blessing of eternal life, He is said to hate (odio) or reprobate them.”66 Although Thomas’ logic compels him to admit this divine hatred, he does not develop this any further. Vermigli follows closely in Thomas’ footsteps: “God delivers some out of this misery; those he is said to love (diligere). Others he passes over and these is he said to hate (odisse).”67 He too decides not to expand further on this divine hatred. Considered in itself, the idea of predestination to eternal life is unremarkable in late medieval thought. Some medieval theologians had clearly articulated a praedestinatio ad vitam aeternam based solely on the sovereign mercy of God.68 However, many other late medieval theologians nuanced the doctrine of predestination in such a way as to stress the efficacy of the human will, which was indicative of the late medieval drift toward semi—Pelagianism.69 Vermigli’s treatment of reprobation 63 ST, Ia.23.3. 64 ST, Ia.23.5. 65 ST, Ia.23.3. 66 ST, Ia.23.3. Thomas’ comment here is no doubt derived from his preceding citation of Malachi 1:2–3 where God says: “Jacob I loved but Esau I hated.” 67 Romanos, 413. Vermigli did not venture so boldly in the Genesis locus to speak of divine hatred. 68 See for example, Adolar Zumkeller, “The Augustinian Theologian Konrad Treger (ca. 1480–1542) and his Disputation Theses of May 5, 1521,” in Via Augustini, ed. Oberman and James (Leiden: Brill, 1991), 130–141. 69 Jaroslav Pelikan, The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine (Chicago: UCP, 1984), 4:10ff.



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represented a substantial rebuttal to this trend. His definition of reprobation is the obverse of his definition of predestination. We may define reprobation as the most wise purpose of God, whereby He has before all eternity constantly decreed, without any injustice, not to have mercy on those whom He has not loved, but passes over, that by their just condemnation, he might declare his wrath toward sins and also declare his glory.70

Many late medieval divines and even some early Protestant theologians exhibited a certain reticence when it came to the doctrine of reprobation, especially where it touched on the matter of divine causality.71 Vermigli manifests none of this reticence. He is unequivocal in his Romans locus, as he was in the Genesis locus, in asserting that reprobation issues from the sovereign free will of God:72 “By reprobation we understand the purpose of God not to have mercy. Indeed, that purpose is no less free than the other purpose of showing mercy.”73 For Vermigli, reprobation is viewed as the sovereign prerogative as the potter over his clay vessels. The imagery of the potter and the clay in Romans 9 is theologically formative. This follows the same line of thought as the Genesis locus, that God has the sovereign right of the Creator to do as he pleases with his creation. According to the Romans locus, “God is a potter who has the right to make from the same lump of clay one vessel for honor and another for dishonor.”74 This echoes his earlier statement that “God chose one and cast away another, as in the example he (Paul) adduces of…vessels which God, in the manner of a potter can prepare for himself, some for honor, some for reproach.”75 God acts in absolute freedom. Just as the potter fashions the clay without any external consideration beyond his own purposes, so the sovereign will of God in eternity is free to elect Jacob and

70 Romanos, 413. 71 Vermigli’s colleague at Zurich, Heinrich Bullinger, is an example of a leading reformer who did not articulate a doctrine of reprobation. See J. Wayne Baker, Heinrich Bullinger and the Covenant (Athens: Ohio University, 1980), 27–54. 72 Genesis, fol. 100v. 73 Romanos, 414–415. 74 Romanos, 412. Although he offers no formal definition in the Genesis locus, predestinarian parallels with the Romans locus abound. The most notable parallel is the identification of the cause of predestination with the propositum Dei. Cf. Genesis, fol. 100r-v. 75 Romanos, 413: This term poteste connotes not only power but the right or prerogative to exercise that power. Vermigli cites with particular gusto the words of Christ from Matthew 20:15: “Is it not lawful for me to do with my own what I will?” and then adds: “The same thing is taught by Paul in Romans ix.23 when he talks about the power of the potter.” Cf. Genesis, fol. 100r.

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to reject Esau without considering their future good deeds or mitigating circumstances.76 Although God’s will is absolutely sovereign and free, God wields it passively in reprobation. By passive willing, Vermigli means something more than mere permission, but less than an active willing.77 For Vermigli, God is not to be pictured as sitting back and permitting matters to take their course. Rather, God engineers and orchestrates men and events without coercion in order to produce his predetermined soteric result. To reprobate is characteristically described as “not to have mercy” or “passing over.”78 It would appear that the language is intended to avoid the terrible image of a dispassionate deity arbitrarily hurling helpless victims into a lake of fire. His vision of election and reprobation is more complicated; it portrays God as actively rescuing some sinners, but deliberately and mysteriously by-passing others. Although more developed, this idea is reflective of his earlier locus.79 Furthermore, this sovereign will of God in eternity is also absolutely immutable.80 Because God is the divine potter, his will cannot be altered. Vermigli further adds that the propositum Dei is efficacious.81 It is a powerful will in which intention and accomplishment are indistinguishable. What the divine potter wills cannot fail to be realized in precisely the manner intended. As mentioned earlier in this essay, Vermigli specifically mentions Thomas in his Genesis locus. There he borrows an analogy from the Doctor Angelicus to explain the divine will in election and reprobation: Thomas Aquinas has a wonderful analogy. When a builder builds a house, he has in front of him bricks of exactly the same shape and quality and will be able to give a general reason as to why he places some of them on the highest part, but others on the lowest part. Because when he builds a house he must lay a foundation, then put on the gable and roof. But if you were to ask him, “Why do you put that stone on the foundation but another on the top?” he would doubtless be able to give you no other answer than that it was according to the judgment of his will….82

Vermigli appreciates this analogy because it underscores his own theological conviction that all explanations for predestination ultimately find their resolution in the sovereign will of God. The divine will is absolutely 76 Romanos, 417. 77 Romanos, 37, 381, 480. Cf. Donnelly, Calvinism, 118. 78 Romanos, 430. Cf. Romanos, 413. 79 Genesis, fols. 100r-v. 80 Romanos, 411. 81 Romanos, 411. 82 Genesis, fol. 100v. The reference to Thomas is found in ST, Ia.23.5.



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free and absolutely just. There is nothing in man “which could compel God into such a plan of predestining us.”83 Like the master builder in Thomas’ analogy, God the Creator has the inherent sovereign right to create his universe in any way that seems right to him. Vermigli is not satisfied simply to state the matter positively, but, in addition, delineates what is not the cause of reprobation. Since it was commonplace in medieval theology to ascribe the cause of reprobation to foreseen sins, Vermigli rebuts this viewpoint. Predictably he reasserts his view that it is the sovereign free will of God (propositum Dei) which is the ultimate and exclusive cause of reprobation. Therefore, one cannot admit “that foreseen sins are the cause of man’s reprobation. Sins do not cause God to purpose that He will not have mercy.”84 With a hint of Augustinian sarcasm Vermigli reasons, “if sin were the true cause of reprobation, then no one would be elect.”85 The matter of divine reprobation naturally gives rise to the even more perplexing question of God’s relationship to human sin. Standing on the razor’s edge, Vermigli affirms both the sovereignty of God and human responsibility. His logic is much more candid, and he does not side-step the stark conclusions.86 He acknowledges that, in some sense, God is the cause of sin. With Romans chapter 9 as his theological reference, Vermigli concludes, “it cannot be denied, but that God in a sense wills…sin.”87 Undergirding this conclusion is his assumption that all things derive their existence and sustenance from the Deity. In his conception of divine causality, sin is therefore linked to God as the ultimate ground of existence. God, as the Creator and conservator of all things, is the cause of all human actions, including sins. According to Vermigli, God is the cause of sin in the sense that he creates and governs all that comes to pass, including actions of sinful men. “There can be nothing,” asserts Vermigli, “except that which God wills to be.”88 At certain points in his locus, Vermigli employs language which goes beyond governance. Sins may be “inflicted” (infliguntur) or “imposed” upon men by God as divine punishment for prior sins.89 With striking directness, Vermigli writes, “He [God] is the 83 Genesis, fol. 100v. 84 Romanos, 413. 85 Romanos, 426. 86 Romanos, 436. 87 Romanos, 423. Cf. Donnelly, Calvinism, 118. 88 Romanos, 436. 89 Romanos, 413. Vermigli uses such terms as “gubernatione ac regimine…infliguntur… impulsu…inclinat…”

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cause of those actions which in us are sins. In so far as those actions are of God, they are just, for God punishes sins by sins. Therefore sins as punishment are inflicted upon men by God as a just judge.”90 The infliction of additional sins upon sinners is an expression of divine justice. Vermigli does not specifically address the question of whether this is a harsh justice. But sin for him, because of its heinous nature, is inherently deserving of the severest justice. Harsh or not, imposing sin as a punishment for sin is just. God is not only the divine potter; he is also the divine judge. God does not “pour into us any new malice (malitia).”91 For Vermigli, the divine governance of sins is simply an acknowledgment that the providence of God encompasses not only good works but also human sin. In sum, God is the author of sinful acts, but not their sinfulness: “[God’s] predestination is the cause of all good works done by the elect and in the elect. …But sins, although in a sense subject to the will of God, yet they are not produced by God’s will as good works are.”92 There is, for Vermigli, a divine asymmetry in the relation of God to the production of good and bad acts. With respect to good acts, God not only creates and sustains the act itself, but actively moves the will to do good acts. However, God’s relationship to evil acts is different. Divine causality is limited to the existence and maintenance of the act itself and does not include the doing of evil.93 Vermigli’s treatment of God’s role in Adam’s sin is especially poignant. Adam’s fall did not catch God unawares, for as Vermigli observes, “God knew that Adam would fall if not confirmed by the Spirit and granted more grace and yet God did not help him or stop him from falling.” It was within God’s power to prevent Adam’s fall, “but God did not.”94 Vermigli cannot claim to provide an explanation as to why God did not help Adam, he only defers to the sovereign prerogative of the Creator to do as He wishes in accord with his “hidden and unspeakable wisdom.”95 Neither does Vermigli shy away from the logical conclusion of his analysis, for he states, “God in a sense willed that first sin and was in a sense the author.”96 Even more striking is the three—pronged assertion that God presented Adam with the “opportunity to sin,” “a wife who enticed him to sin,” and 90 Romanos, 413. 91 Romanos, 413. 92 Romanos, 436. 93 Romanos, 423. 94 Romanos, 427. 95 Romanos, 431. 96 Romanos, 427.



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finally, “the act of disobedience itself could not have occurred without the power of God.”97 As was the case in his earlier locus, there remains a concern to protect the judicial—ethical integrity of the divine will.98 He insists in both loci that the divine will is just in condemnation as well as in reprobation. In condemnation, God’s will exercises a forensic justice. God holds man accountable for his violations of divine standards and is just in condemning all sins, whether original or actual.99 It must be recognized that divine punishment is designed for the guilty only. Vermigli’s conception of original sin means that those who suffer eternal punishment get what they deserve. God’s actions in this instance are therefore perfectly just. Gemina Praedestinatio It would appear that Thomas’ view of predestination is something more than single predestination, but less than double predestination. Even when he finds himself perilously close to the precipice of gemina praedestinatio, he seems to stop short. He seeks to preserve the sovereignty of God in salvific matters, yet at the same time to grant man the ability to merit eternal life. All predestinarian enigmas are ultimately reconciled in the unfathomable providence of God. Providence allows Thomas a measure of latitude by subordinating soteriology to the infinite mysteries and paradoxes of theology proper. From the preceding analysis it should be obvious that Vermigli taught a thoroughgoing doctrine of gemina praedestinatio. It qualifies as double in view of his teaching that both election and reprobation issue from the one will of God. Moreover, it is clear that he taught the doctrine of gemina praedestinatio throughout his Protestant career from Strasbourg to Zurich. Insofar as it concerns the ultimate purposes of God, there is an absolute causal symmetry in election and reprobation. God’s relationship to the one is precisely the same as it is to the other. Both “the ends and the means of election and reprobation are comprehended under the purpose of God (Dei proposito).”100 With the image of Jacob and Esau dancing in his head, Vermigli declares that “one of the two brothers was taken and the other rejected only by the will of God.”101 If there is an eternal choosing of 97 Romanos, 427. 98 Genesis, fol. 100v. 99 Romanos, 441. Cf. Genesis, fol. 100v. 100 Romanos, 425. 101 Romanos, 417.

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undeserving people in election, there is also an eternal rejecting of other undeserving persons in reprobation. There are two different soteric destinations, but one divine point of departure. Not once does he offer a qualification to this fundamental assertion: God reprobates some from sheer free will. He argues that the purposes of God are not tyrannical, irrational, or capricious, even if they are mysterious. Against such notions, Vermigli insists that the purposes of God are not motivated by a cruel enjoyment of punishment. God is not cruel.102 The ultimate design of reprobation is rather to display divine justice, and that is good. Concluding Postulations The convergences and divergences between Vermigli and Thomas on the doctrine of predestination leave little doubt that Vermigli’s doctrine of predestination was informed by Thomas. However, acknowledging this is not to suggest that Vermigli simply replicates Thomas. He clearly departs from Thomas in important ways. St. Paul, Augustine, and Gregory of Rimini were more important influences on Vermigli’s thought, as I have argued elsewhere.103 We will conclude with several observations. First, the Thomas of the Summa Theologiae was a dedicated follower of Augustine who sought to utilize Aristotelian methodology in order to articulate better that theological outlook. It is notable that Thomas incessantly cites the antiPelagian writings of Augustine in the Summa Theologiae on predestination. This is in contrast to his earlier treatment of predestination in his Quaestiones disputatae de Veritate (1256–1259), where Augustine is occasionally mentioned. This is because Augustine’s anti-Pelagian writings were not accessible to Thomas until later. Joseph Wawrykow suggests that Aquinas’ doctrine of predestination was significantly impacted by reading Augustine’s late works on grace, of which Thomas was unaware until he discovered them at the papal court in the 1260s.104 It has been well recognized that the mature Thomas self-consciously sought to reflect the theology of Augustine.105 M.-D. Chenu underscores this: “Aquinas inherits from 102 Romanos, 423. 103 James, Peter Martyr Vermigli, 93–150. 104 Joseph P. Wawrykow, God’s Grace and Human Action: “Merit” in the Theology of Thomas Aquinas (Notre Dame: UNDP, 1995), 266–276. 105 Michael Dauphinais, et al., ed., Aquinas the Augustinian (Washington: CUAP, 2007), xi-xiii.



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Augustine a theological and philosophical patrimony outside of which it is impossible to conceive a Saint Thomas.”106 Second, Vermigli found Thomas’ theology in the Summa Theologiae especially congenial because it was Augustine’s theology. As a deeply committed Augustinian, he would have found a natural affinity with Thomas the Augustinian. This is not to take something away from the genius of Thomas, rather it is to appreciate the deeper theological forces at work. It takes an Augustinian to know an Augustinian. Third, Vermigli found Thomas’ methodology in the Summa Theologiae especially effective because it was articulated through a methodology derived from Aristotle. In his Oratio, Josiah Simler makes the important observation about Vermigli’s studies at the University of Padua, namely that he had a particular appreciation of Aristotelian methodology.107 An Augustinian theology framed within an Aristotelian methodology would have been quite alluring to an Augustinian like Vermigli who also had a special fondness for clear-headed and logical methodology. Finally, the theological-methodological matrix of Augustine and Aristotle in Thomas’ doctrine of predestination elucidates Vermigli’s contribution to Reformed orthodoxy. His Thomistic merger of Augustinian theological orientation with Aristotelian methodology was one of the shaping influences on emerging Reformed orthodoxy. Of course, as one of the primary theological conduits to the next generation of Reformed theologians, Vermigli was no mere epigone of Thomas or even Augustine; he contributed his own theological nuances as well as his own scriptural and exegetical insights garnered from the dynamic paradigm shift that was the Reformation. But does his important role as the theological ringleader of Armstrong’s “villainous triumvirate” make Vermigli a villain? Richard Muller would no doubt remind us that one man’s villain is another man’s ‘codifer’ of Reformed theology.

106 M.-D. Chenu, Toward Understanding Saint Aquinas, trans. Landry and Hughes (Chicago: Henry Regenery, 1963), 151. Cf. Jean-Pierre Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, trans. Robert Royal (Washington: CUAP, 1996–2003), 1 264. 107 Simler, Oratio, 3.

PETER MARTYR VERMIGLI, SCHOLASTICISM, AND AQUINAS’ JUSTICE OF WAR DOCTRINE Mark J. Larson A renewed interest in Thomist theology arose in the sixteenth century. Catholic Thomists included Cardinal Cajetan, Sylvester of Ferrara, Francesco Vittoria, and Domingo Bañez. A Thomist revival occurred even within Protestantism. John Patrick Donnelly has given significant attention to this phenomenon in the thought of Jerome Zanchi.1 He also draws attention to the fact that Thomistic elements are to be found in the teaching of the Italian Reformed theologian Peter Martyr Vermigli, but he does not develop this argument at any length.2 The purpose of this essay is to expand upon Donnelly’s thesis and thereby to underscore its legitimacy with respect to the theology of Vermigli. Vermigli (1499–1562) was trained in scholastic theology in general and in Thomist theology in particular.3 He entered the University of Padua at the age of nineteen, and he received his doctorate in theology, probably at the age of twenty-six.4 While at Padua, Vermigli studied the theology of Thomas Aquinas in depth.5 This essay will argue the thesis that in Vermigli’s treatise Of War he not only reflected the methodological style of medieval scholastic theology, but he also made a deliberate attempt to reproduce the actual substance of Aquinas’ teaching on the just war.6 This is noteworthy in light of the 1 J.P. Donnelly, “Calvinist Thomism,” Viator 7 (1976): 441–455. His “Italian Influences in the Development of Calvinist Scholasticism,” SCJ 7 (1976): 81–101, is also helpful. 2 Torrance Kirby, “From Florence to Zurich via Strasbourg and Oxford: The International Career of Peter Martyr Vermigli (1499–1562),” in Bewegung Und Beharrung: Aspekte Des Reformierten Protestantismus, 1520–1650, ed. Moser and Opitz (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 135. 3 Frank A. James, “Peter Martyr Vermigli: At the Crossroads of Late Medieval Scholasticism, Christian Humanism and Resurgent Augustinianism,” in PS, 63. 4 Philip McNair, Peter Martyr in Italy: An Anatomy of Apostasy (Oxford: OUP, 1967), 116–117. 5 Donnelly, “Calvinist Thomism,” 442–443. Cf. Robert M. Kingdon, “The Function of Law in the Political Thought of Peter Martyr Vermigli,” in Reformatio Perrennis: Essays on Calvin and the Reformation, ed. Brian A. Gerrish (Pittsburgh: Pickwick, 1981), 166. 6 Alister E. McGrath, “Protestant Orthodoxy,” in The Science of Theology, ed. Avis (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986), 154, makes the unqualified declaration that “the first phase of the Reformation witnessed intense hostility towards scholastic method.” A more nuanced position is reflected in Jason Zuidema, Peter Martyr Vermigli (1499–1562) and the Outward Instruments of Divine Grace (Göttingen: V&R, 2008), 26–27.

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observation made by Richard Muller that the “absence of clear or direct citation of medieval sources is, it ought to be noted, quite typical of Protestant theology and philosophy.”7 This is also striking due to the fact that in a typical political locus in his Common Places, his arguments, as Robert Kingdon notes, are “often explicitly anti-Catholic.”8 Frank James more specifically states, “Vermigli was quite sweeping in his criticism of the theological ideas of the leading late medieval scholastic theologians. He says of Lombard, Thomas, Scotus or Ockham—‘they filled everything with darkness.’”9 For Vermigli to reproduce the teaching of Aquinas on the just war is also interesting when one considers that Vermigli tended to quote from Augustine with great frequency.10 It would have been easy for him to set forth his just war teaching by completely bypassing Aquinas, positioning himself completely within the Augustinian tradition on the doctrine of the just war. Holy War Context Before we proceed to an examination of the position of Aquinas and Vermigli on the subject of the justice of war, we shall briefly consider the historical setting in which Vermigli articulated his teaching. For the sake of comparison and contrast, we shall also at this point reflect upon the approach of Martin Luther in setting forth classical just war ideas in opposition to holy war practice in the sixteenth century. Vermigli expounded his just war doctrine against the background of holy war practice both on the part of the Roman Catholic Church and the Ottoman Turks. While Vermigli insisted that a just war must only be author­ized by the proper civil authority, the Catholic Church and the Ottoman Empire undertook wars under the leadership of religious figures—popes on the one hand and sultans on the other.11 7 Muller, Arminius, 37. 8 Kingdon, “The Function of Law,” 161–162. 9 James, “Peter Martyr Vermigli,” 66. Donnelly, “Calvinist Thomism,” 442, draws attention to Vermigli’s frequent disagreements with Aquinas. 10 Kingdon, “The Function of Law,” 163. F.A. James, “Vermigli, Peter Martyr,” in Dictionary of Major Biblical Interpreters, ed. McKim and Peabody (Downers Grove: IVP, 2007), 1008. 11 James Turner Johnson, The Holy War Idea in Western and Islamic Traditions (University Park: Pennsylvania State University, 1997), 37–38.



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Holy war advocates within the Christian political tradition had long believed that the church had the authority to declare war. The First Crusade had been proclaimed by Urban II in 1095 to liberate Jerusalem  from Muslim control and oppression. The crusade mentality continued into the sixteenth century. A crusade league—including Spain, Venice, and the papacy—defeated the Turks in the Battle of Lepanto on 7 October 1571. The Ottoman Turks were likewise proponents of holy war in sixteenthcentury Europe. Sultan Suleyman regarded himself as being a central religious figure in world history. Like Mohammed, the founder of the Islamic religion, he prosecuted holy war with a vengeance in the Balkans.12 The history of Islam from the time of Mohammed in the seventh century to the Reformation era in the sixteenth century was one of holy war,13 conquest in the name of Allah.14 Indeed, the future territorial integrity of the European heartland looked ominous as the 1520s were drawing to a close.15 The Turks appeared to be invincible; no one had been able to stop them.16 Before the forces of Suleyman, two citadels had fallen in succession, Belgrade (1520) and Rhodes (1521). The Hungarians had been massacred at Mohacs (1526).17 When Luther penned his treatise On War against the Turk (1529), Suleyman—the religious head of the Islamic world—was poised to strike again. Luther wrote, “It is a fact that the Turk is at our throat.”18 While Vermigli provided for the Protestant world a positive restatement of Aquinas’ teaching on the justice of war, Luther expended his energies in repudiating holy war ideas as practiced by the Catholic and Islamic communities. He simply assumed the long-standing medieval just

12 Robert Irwin, “Islam and the Crusades, 1096–1699,” in The Oxford History of the Crusades, ed. Riley-Smith (Oxford: OUP, 2002), 221. 13 Bernard Lewis, The Crisis of Islam: Holy War and Unholy Terror (N.Y.: Random House, 2003), 37. 14 Thomas Munck, Seventeenth Century Europe: State, Conflict and the Social Order in Europe, 1598–1700 (London: Macmillan, 1990), 367. 15 Paul K. Davis, Encyclopedia of Invasions and Conquests from Ancient Times to the Present (New York: Norton, 1996), 150; Eugene F. Rice and Anthony Grafton, The Foundations of Early Modern Europe, 1460–1559, 2nd ed. (New York: Norton, 1994), 11. 16 Gregory J. Miller, “Luther on the Turks and Islam,” in Harvesting Martin Luther’s Reflections on Theology, Ethics, and the Church, ed. Wengert (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 193. 17 Hugo Hantsch, “Zum ungarisch-türkischen Problem in der allgemeinen Politik Karls V,” in Festschrift Karl Eder zum Siebzigsten Geburtstag, ed. Mezler-Andelberg (Innsbruck: Universitätsverlag Wagner, 1959), 58. 18 Martin Luther, On War against the Turk (LW 46 204).

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war tradition19—although he never conceded any legitimacy to any element of the political theology of Aquinas.20 Luther spoke strongly against the holy war tradition in the church.21 “The pope and the bishops,” he said, “would be destroying their calling and office to fight with the sword against flesh and blood.”22 He added, “They are not commanded to do this; it is forbidden.”23 He also focused upon the head of the Catholic Church: “It is not right for the pope…to lead a church army.”24 Luther had no use for the crusade ideology in which “the pope, along with his followers, wages war.”25 Luther was equally vehement in his denunciations of Islam—particularly due to the fact that Suleyman and his predecessors waged war without a just cause. “Anyone can easily see,” he added, “that Mohammed is a destroyer of our Lord Christ and his kingdom.”26 He contended, “The Turk’s Koran or creed teaches him to destroy…the Christian faith.”27 The Turks themselves were nothing but “the army of the devil.”28 Luther forcefully stated, “When the spirit of lies had taken possession of Mohammed, and the devil had murdered men’s souls with his Koran and had destroyed the faith of Christians, he had to go and take the sword and set about to murder their bodies.”29 Thus, while Luther reflected his dismay with Catholic neglect of the justice of war category of the proper civil authority for the prosecution of war, he affirmed his outrage at the Islamic disregard for the justice of war constituent of the necessity of a just cause. With respect to Christian Europe, Luther insisted that the civil magistrate alone is authorized by God to make war. In his piece Against the Robbing and Murdering Hordes of Peasants (1525), he went so far as to chastise the emperor for his inactivity pertaining to the threat of Suleyman and his Turkish horde. “It is not difficult to show,” Luther complained, “that up to now the banner has been 19 Gregory J. Miller, “Fighting Like a Christian: The Ottoman Advance and the Development of Luther’s Doctrine of the Just War,” in Caritas Et Reformatio, ed. Whitford (St. Louis: Concordia, 2002), 44. 20 Roland H. Bainton, Christian Attitudes toward War and Peace: A Historical Survey and Christian Re-evaluation (New York: Abingdon, 1960), 136–140. 21 Miller, “Fighting Like a Christian,” 48. 22 LW 46:165. 23 LW 46:165. 24 LW 46:168. 25 LW 46:180. 26 LW 46:177. 27 LW 46:178. 28 LW 46:193. 29 LW 46:179.



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regarded as a mere piece of silk, for otherwise the emperor would long ago have unfurled it, the princes would have followed it, and the Turks would not have become so mighty.”30 With respect to the Islamic Turks, on the other hand, Luther referred to them as a “wild and barbarous people.” Their lifestyle was “carnal” and “dissolute.”31 Their warfare did not meet the jus in bello criteria. Their wars were therefore nothing more than “robbing and murdering, devouring and destroying more and more of those that are around them.”32 Vermigli contrasts then with Luther in the manner in which he presented his just war position. While Luther assumed the legitimacy of the classical Augustinian just war doctrine and castigated others for their deviations from it, Vermigli self-consciously reproduced the Thomist tradition. He worried less about the refutation of erroneous contemporaneous practices, choosing instead to present positive instruction on the classical justice of war doctrine for the benefit of the Reformed churches of his own time. Aquinas and the Augustinian Tradition Before we examine Vermigli’s exposition, let us briefly consider Aquinas’ essay Of War.33 In this famous discussion, Aquinas stated, “In order for a war to be just, three things are necessary.”34 He then mentioned the first of three necessary constituents that must be included in a war that is just: “First, the authority of the sovereign by whose command the war is to be waged.” He stated, “For it is not the business of a private individual to declare war, because he can seek for redress of his rights from the tribunal of his superior.”35 Aquinas’ discussion in the thirteenth century was certainly nothing new. The same three elements of a just war were found in the teaching of Augustine of Hippo. It seems evident that Aquinas moved the discussion

30 LW 46 190. 31 Luther, On War against the Turk, 175. 32 Luther, On War against the Turk, 178. Cf. Rice and Grafton, The Foundations of Early Modern Europe, 137. 33 Aquinas’ influential treatment of the just war doctrine is presented in ST, IIaIIae.40.1–4. 34 ST, IIaIIae.40.1. All quotations from Aquinas’ essay Of War, q. 40, are from the fivevolume English translation Summa Theologica (Allen: Christian Classics, 1948). 35 ST, IIaIIae.40.1.

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back to the patristic framework after other medieval thinkers developed more complex discussions of what a just war actually is.36 In his classic treatment in Reply to Faustus, Augustine affirmed that the justice or injustice of a particular war depended upon certain factors, which he then went on to develop.37 In one sentence, he specified the three constituents that Aquinas would later include as being the three necessary things for a war to be just. Augustine wrote, “A great deal depends on the causes for which men undertake wars, and on the authority they have for doing so; for the natural order which seeks the peace of mankind, ordains that the monarch should have the power of undertaking war if he thinks it advisable, and that the soldiers should perform their military duties in behalf of the peace and safety of the community” (XXII.75).38 Augustine here presented the crucial elements to which Aquinas would later appeal. While Aquinas would mention the authority of the sovereign, Augustine spoke about how the natural order ordained that the monarch had the authority to make war.39 While Aquinas discussed the necessity of a just cause, Augustine referred to the importance of the causes for which wars were undertaken.40 While Aquinas stressed that there had to be a rightful intention, Augustine wrote about seeking the peace of mankind and prosecuting a war in behalf of peace.41 There can be little doubt that the Augustinian just war trajectory gained additional momentum when it was promulgated once again by Aquinas in the thirteenth century.42 We may also draw the conclusion that the Thomist approach to just war thinking gained credence within the Reformed community after it was staunchly advocated by Peter Martyr Vermigli in the sixteenth century. We now turn our attention to a consideration of his locus on the subject of war.

36 Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: CUP, 1975), 220, 269. 37 Henrik Syse, “Augustine and Just War: Between Virtue and Duties,” in Ethics, Nationalism, and Just War: Medieval and Contemporary Perspectives, ed. Syse and Reichberg (Washington: CUAP, 2007), 36. 38 Augustine of Hippo, Reply to Faustus the Manichaean, in NPNF1, 4:301. 39 David A. Lenihan, “The Just War Theory in the Work of Saint Augustine,” Augustinian Studies 19 (1988): 56–57. 40 ST, IIaIIae.40.1. 41 ST, IIaIIae.40.1. 42 Gregory M. Reichberg, “Is There a ‘Presumption against War’ in Aquinas’ Ethics?” in Ethics, Nationalism, and Just War, 76.



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Scholastic Methodology Vermigli’s theological excursus on war originally appeared at the end of his biblical commentary on 2 Samuel 2.43 The structure of his commentaries was to include theological loci at strategic places in the midst of his running commentary on the biblical text.44 After Vermigli died, the doctrinal loci which were scattered throughout his biblical commentaries were abstracted from their original setting, gathered together, and arranged in a format resembling Calvin’s Institutes.45 The essay De bello was removed from its place at the end of his exposition on 2 Samuel 2, and it was placed in the fourth part of what became The Common Places. The locus on war is presented in chapter seventeen, and it consists of thirty-three sections. Of War—the locus that Vermigli wrote on the doctrine of war—immediately presents the characteristic medieval order of teaching. With respect to the topic of war, Vermigli from the outset seems to be providing answers to the three traditional questions that the medieval mind would ask concerning any subject of discussion.46 As to the first question—Does it exist?—Vermigli seems to have been answering it by way of the opening statement in the locus (IV.17.1): “Because in the holie Historie, there is often mention made of war: I thought good to speake somewhat of that matter.”47 The simple point 43 Frank A. James, “Peter Martyr Vermigli: Probing His Puritan Influence,” in The Practical Calvinist, ed. Lillback (Fram: Christian Focus, 2002), 150–151. 44 John L. Thompson, “The Survival of Allegorical Argumentation in Peter Martyr Vermigli’s Old Testament Exegesis,” in Biblical Interpretation in the Era of the Reformation, ed. Muller and Thompson (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 256. Cf. Robert M. Kingdon, “The Political Thought of Peter Martyr Vermigli,” in Peter Martyr Vermigli and Italian Reform, ed. McLelland (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier, 1980), 123. 45 Robert M. Kingdon, “Peter Martyr Vermigli and the Marks of the True Church,” in Continuity and Discontinuity in Church History, ed. Church and George (Leiden: Brill, 1979), 203–204. Cf. Luca Baschera, “Independent Yet Harmonious: Some Remarks on the Relationship between the Theology of Peter Martyr Vermigli (1499–1562) and John Calvin,” CHRC 91.1–2 (2011): 46. 46 A proper teaching procedure in the scholastic mentality asked these questions in the following order: Does it exist (an sit)? What is it (quid sit)? Of what sort is it (quia sit)? 47 Peter Martyr Vermigli, “Of Warre or Battell,” in The Political Thought of Peter Martyr Vermigli, ed. Kingdon (Geneva: Droz, 1980), 61. The locus provided by Kingdon in this volume presents paragraphs one through twenty of Vermigli’s full locus of thirty-three paragraphs in The Common Places, trans. Marten (London, 1583). Most of the citations in this paper are from the more readily available edition prepared by Kingdon. I appeal in these instances to page numbers in Of Warre or Battell. Any citations from paragraphs twenty-one through thirty-three are referred to the page numbers in the sixteenth-century edition The Common Places [hereafter CP], along with the book, chapter, and paragraph.

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that he was making is that wars do exist. The second question of the medieval student—What is it?—was likewise answered in the opening section (IV.17.1): “And just warre maie thus not unaptly be defined. It is an Hostile dissention whereby through the Princes edict mischiefes are repressed by force and Armes, to the intent that men may peaceably and quietly live by justice and godlinesse.”48 The answer to the third question—Of what sort is it?—was likewise addressed in due order (IV.17.2). Vermigli wrote, “Hereof are gathered those three properties which commonly are ascribed unto right warfaring.” He then specified, “First, that there is required the authoritie of the Prince: Secondly, an honest cause, to wit, that peace be sought for: Lastly that it be done with a good mind.”49 This then is how Vermigli proceeded. He provided the answers to the customary questions that would be raised in a scholarly setting. His years of training in scholastic theology at the University of Padua had decisively shaped his approach to theological reasoning.50 Another methodological approach of the medieval schools appears throughout the locus on war—the introduction of the quaestio, followed by the disputatio. The first of these questions which is raised concerns whether or not it is lawful to wage war. The question and the disputation begin in section three. The second issue raised by Vermigli relates to the question of godly nations forming military alliances with the ungodly. The question and the disputation begin in section twenty-four. The third matter that is approached by this method concerns whether treason is ever lawful. This question and disputation begins in section twenty-nine. The style used by Vermigli closely resembles the approach that Aquinas employed.51 By way of example, let us observe Vermigli’s first quaestio and dispu­ tatio. After dealing with the existence, nature, and qualities of war in IV.17.1–2, Vermigli expanded upon the subject of war by posing a question, and then following it with a disputation. The question at hand in IV.17.3, as it has already been stated, is whether or not it is lawful to wage war. Vermigli initiated this debate with the statement: “Now come I to the Question.”52 The actual disputation begins with a presentation of the 48 Of Warre, 61. 49 Of Warre, 62. 50 As James notes, “Peter Martyr Vermigli: At the Crossroads of Late Medieval Scholasticism, Christian Humanism and Resurgent Augustinianism,” 67, Vermigli was a “scholastic with respect to his methodology.” 51 Marvin W. Anderson, “Vermigli, Peter Martyr,” in OER, 1996. 52 Of Warre, 63.



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objections to war posed by the Anabaptists, identified as “the furies and plagues of our time.”53 Vermigli then moved from the objectio in IV.17.3 to his responsio in IV.17.4–13. Sounding very much like Aquinas, Vermigli began this section with the statement: “But on the contrarie part, that it is lawfull to make warre, it may be proved by most strong Arguments.”54 Finally, having given a positive presentation of the doctrine of war, he in the style of Aquinas provided a direct rebuttal to the arguments used by the Anabaptists (IV.17.14–20). Thomist Doctrine There is no question that Vermigli engaged in the writing of his theological essays in a style that is reminiscent of Aquinas himself. It is also quite clear that the substance of his just war doctrine—pertaining to the category of the jus ad bellum—was heavily informed by Aquinas. This conclusion is more than probable even though he did not quote Aquinas by name in his locus on war, and even while the essay is replete with explicit references to Augustine by name. There are two pieces of evidence that suggest that Vermigli framed his discussion on just war against the background of his training in Thomist doctrine. In the first place, Aquinas was the medieval theologian who pared down the requirements of a just war to three things. Vermigli was no doubt referring to this Thomistic conception in his statement that there are “three properties which commonly are ascribed unto right warfaring.”55 In the second place, Vermigli’s one-sentence definition of what a just war actually is follows the very order of Aquinas’ delineation of the three things that are necessary for a just war—the authority of the sovereign, a just cause (specifically, that there is some fault in those that are attacked), and a rightful intention (namely, the advancement of the good). The just war, Vermigli contended, may be defined in this way: “It is an hostile dissension whereby through the Princes edict mischiefes are repressed by force and Armes, to the intent that men may peaceably and quietly live by justice and godlinesse” (IV.17.1).56

53 Of Warre, 63. 54 Of Warre, 64. Emphasis added. 55 Of Warre, 62. 56 Of Warre, 61–62.

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This statement shows that Vermigli did not embrace the holy war doctrine that the church has the authority to initiate armed conflict. He maintained the classic position of the just war tradition that the civil magistrate alone has the right given to him by God to declare and prosecute war when there is a just cause. Although the papacy continued to embrace the crusade ideology—that it is legitimate for a bishop, including the pope, to wage war—such a holy war perspective found no advocate in the thinking of Vermigli. Before we consider in more detail Vermigli’s teaching on the subject of a legitimate cause for war, let us reflect briefly upon the position of Aquinas on the same issue. Aquinas had laid down the general principle that “those who are attacked, should be attacked because they deserve it on account of some fault.”57 Aquinas alluded to a specific fault when he referred to that which a nation had “seized unjustly.”58 This was obviously a reference to an invasion, the naked aggression of one nation against another. It was an issue which he elaborated upon in his discussion of warfare and holy days. He argued from the lesser to the greater in his contention that there are times when fighting must occur on such days. He observed, “Physicians may lawfully attend to their patients on holy days.”59 He affirmed, “Now there is much more reason for safeguarding the common weal (whereby many are saved from being slain, and innumerable evils both temporal and spiritual are prevented), than the bodily safety of an individual.”60 He then drew this conclusion: “Therefore, for the purpose of safeguarding the common weal of the faithful, it is lawful to carry on a war on holy days, provided there be need for doing so.”61 It is true that Aquinas “saw the just war as a defense of the community.”62 It should also be noted though that Aquinas referred in this passage to “safeguarding the common weal of the faithful”—protecting the reipublicae fidelium.63 Obviously, to defend the commonwealth of the faithful, which is one of the bases for a just war, necessarily entailed the defense of the freedom to practice the Christian religion in 57 ST, IIaIIae.40.1. 58 ST, IIaIIae.40.1. 59 ST, IIaIIae.40.4. 60 ST, IIaIIae.40.4. 61 ST, IIaIIae.40.4. 62 Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages, 290. 63 The Latin text of this passage is provided in St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, vol. 35 (London: Blackfriars, 1972), 92.



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public. Every defensive war is in fact a safeguarding of all the fundamental constituents of liberty—which includes the right to practice the true religion in its purity. Vermigli sounded virtually an identical note on these issues regarding the constituents of a just war. As we have seen, Vermigli defined war as a state of hostilities instigated by the civil magistrate whereby “mischiefes are repressed by force and Armes.” He then went on to unpack this definition in terms of Aristotle’s four-fold causality.64 “Here have we comprehended the foure kindes of causes,” he noted.65 He then gave these specifics: “The forme, is hostile dissention: the matter are the mischiefes which ought to be repressed: the efficient cause is the Magistrate: the ende is, that wee maie live justly and godly.”66 While Aquinas concentrated upon “some fault” which brought on a deserved attack,67 Vermigli similarly focused upon the existence of “mischiefes which ought to be repressed.”68 Faults, mischiefs, and things that are amiss are the causes for a just war. But a just war is also defensive, both in relationship to the commonwealth and the true religion. The necessity for defending the commonwealth, Vermigli contended, is rooted in natural law. Generally speaking, natural law teaches that “good men should be holpen, and evill men repressed.”69 Later, in the same locus on war, Vermigli provided more information as to what he regarded the content of natural law to be. Contextually, he was dealing with subject of treason. He made the statement that “the Citizens are sworn unto the Magistrates, to defend the Citie or publike weale when need shall require.”70 He added, “And though they were not sworne, yet the naturall and common law requireth the same of them.”71 He then drew an analogy by directing attention at how a human being protects his or her own body: “And this doe the members of all living things testifie, which doe willingly and most readily indanger themselves for the body, and for the nobler parts thereof, I mean the head or heart.”72 The point that he was making was simply this; “The verie which thing Citizens 64 John Patrick Donnelly, “Peter Martyr Vermigli’s Political Ethics,” in Peter Martyr Vermigli: Humanism, Republicanism, Reformation, ed. Campi (Geneva: Droz, 2002), 61. 65 Of Warre, 62. 66 Of Warre, 62. 67 ST, IIaIIae.40.1. 68 Of Warre, 62. 69 Of Warre, 67. 70 CP, IV.17.30, 298. 71 CP, IV.17.30, 298. 72 CP, IV.17.30, 298.

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are by the lawes of nature bound to doe for their countrie, if it be in daunger.”73 Nature itself teaches that a citizen must rise to the defense of his country. What about a minister? At this point, we should point out that Vermigli dissented somewhat from Aquinas. The great Dominican theologian had maintained that for “bishops and clerics” it was “not lawful for them to fight.”74 In fact, it was not only “unbecoming for them to slay or shed blood,” but “they should be ready to shed their own blood for Christ, so as to imitate in deed what they portray in their ministry.”75 Vermigli agreed that generally speaking “for the Ministers of the Church to beare armes” was “not lawful.”76 He did, however, contemplate the possibility of an exception to this general rule. What should a minister do “if an enemie upon the sudden besiege the Citie, and hath even now laide siege to the walles”?77 Vermigli took this position: “The Minister of the Church may rightly take Armes and repell violence, and doe that which becommeth a good Citizen.”78 He did, however, set down this qualification: “Notwithstanding when other souldiers shall come, he must retire himselfe to his office.”79 Standing in both the Thomist and the Reformed tradition, Vermigli believed that the magistrate was to defend the commonwealth and the true religion, “the Commonweale and the ordinaunce of God.”80 Reflecting upon the prince and his duty, Vermigli affirmed, “He ought in no wise to seeke his owne but the glorie of God and safetie of the Church: and especially if the enemie be such, as mindeth either to destroy or pervert the worshipping of God.”81 A just war in the Thomist tradition necessitated not only the proper civil authority and a just cause, but it also required a right intention. Aquinas explained a “rightful intention” in terms of seeking “the advancement of good,” as having the “object of securing peace.”82 The advancement of good—namely, the securing of peace—was an indispensable element in the teaching of Vermigli concerning the justice of 73 CP, IV.17.30, 298. 74 ST, IIaIIae.40.2. 75 ST, IIaIIae.40.2. 76 Of Warre, 71. 77 Of Warre, 72. 78 Of Warre, 72. 79 Of Warre, 72. 80 Of Warre, 70. 81 Of Warre, 70. 82 ST, IIaIIae.40.1.



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war. Vermigli announced the object of a just war in his initial definition of war. A war is prosecuted “to the intent that men may peaceably and quietly live by justice and godlinesse.”83 Later, in the same locus, he provided some elaboration: “Neither can a warre be justlie enough made, unlesse it be taken in hand for an other thing. And that other thing is, that safe peace may be kept.”84 He then gave a memorable antithetical statement: “Insomuch as peace is not ordained for warre sake, but warre is taken in hand for peace sake.”85 Conclusion Peter Martyr Vermigli gave significant attention to the development of Reformed political thought in the sixteenth century. He showed a willingness to draw upon the methodology and even the substance of Aquinas’ theology at various points. He demonstrates that the Protes­ tant  Reformation did not hasten the disappearance of scholasticism.86 A rebirth of Thomist theology occurred even among the Reformed.

83 Of Warre, 62. 84 CP, IV.17.21, 293. 85 CP, IV.17.21, 293. 86 Donnelly, “Calvinist Thomism,” 454.

MORAL PHILOSOPHY AND MORAL THEOLOGY IN VERMIGLI Sebastian Rehnman Introduction This essay aims to explicate the relation between moral philosophy and moral theology in Reformed orthodoxy by analysis of the early and influential Protestant reformer Pietro Martire Vermigli (1499–1562).1 It attempts to make a contribution to the more basic issue of the relation between faith and reason in Reformed orthodoxy and to solve contradictory interpretations. For claims of ethical knowledge on the basis of human reason on the one hand and claims of ethical knowledge on the basis of divine revelation on the other, raise the issue of the relation between reason and faith. For the claim that there are two kinds of moral truths assumes that some truths are discoverable by human understanding and some are not. Granted that there are two kinds of moral truths, the question arises as to how (if at all) moral truths that are above and beyond the comprehension of reason are related to moral truths that are within the comprehension of reason. In short, how, if at all, are moral philosophy and moral theology related? Contradictory Interpretations In the secondary literature there are contradictory interpretations of the early Reformed orthodox view of the relation between moral philosophy and moral theology. This entails that at least one of these interpretations cannot be true. On the one hand, Servais Pinckaers claims that “Protestant thought always maintained a basic opposition between the Gospel and philosophy.”2 This opposition between moral philosophy and moral theology is 1 This essay is primarily based on Vermigli’s In primum, secundum et initium tertii libri Ethicorum Aristotelis ad Nicomachum commentarius, ed. Guilio Santerenziano, et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2011 [1563]). All page references are to the 1563 Froschauer edition although the critical edition has been used, since the 1563 edition is readily available on the Internet and the critical edition has its pagination in the margin. Hereafter Ethicorum. 2 Servais Pinckaers, The Sources of Christian Ethics, trans. Noble, 3rd ed. (Edinburgh: TTC, 1995), 204, similarly 286, 288 and 290–291.

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found, according to Jill Kraye, in Vermigli.3 However, Vermigli maintains that the relation between theology and philosophy is a congruent one. For throughout his commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics there is an emphasis on the compatibility and complementarity of reason and faith, moral philosophy and moral theology.4 In the few places where he expresses disagreement, he also explains that this is due to the inaccessibility of revelation to Aristotle.5 Vermigli moreover explicitly denies incompatibility: Let us return to that from which we digressed, namely whether this discipline [facultas] is incompatible with religion [pietas]. I maintain that it is no more against it than the study of the heavenly bodies, the art of navigation, war, fishing, hunting and indeed the prudence of human law (which everyone understands is necessary for public administration)…. What can be nobler than to know oneself and this we know chiefly from this source [of moral philosophy]?… There is not little delight in knowing this demonstrative discourse [scientia], within whose confines the light of nature should sustain itself and to which it may itself be able to proceed in its own right. 3 Jill Kraye, “Renaissance Commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics,” in Vocabulary of Teaching and Research between Middle Ages and Renaissance, ed. Weijers (Turnhout: Brepols, 1995), 106–108. 4 Ethicorum, 10, 22, 37, 43–44, 68–69, 91–92, 109–110, 118–119, 122, 135, 137, 180, 200–201, 209, 211, 220–221, 227, 239, 257–258, 292–295, 319, 325, 330, 332–333, 338–339, 346–347, 364, 385, 392–393, 397, 400–401, 421–426. “Usually Martyr finds the two [Aristotle and Scripture] in agreement.” J.P. Donnelly, Calvinism and Scholasticism in Vermigli’s Doctrine of Man and Grace (Leiden: Brill, 1976), 47, similarly Luca Baschera, Tugend und Rechtfertigung: Peter Martyr Vermiglis Kommentar zur Nikomachischen Ethik im Spannungsfeld von Philosophie und Theologie (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 2008), 124, 134–135, 154, 240. 5 Sometimes Vermigli expresses a difference between himself and Aristotle in terms of ambiguity and emphasis (Ethicorum, 236–237). Although Vermigli argues that Aristotle should have borrowed first principles from metaphysics concerning God, he could not know from philosophy that there is a divinely given happiness since it is only revealed by God (224; similarly on this naturally unknowable happiness 201, 224, 239, 257, 261–262, 294 and 308). This happiness of justification by Christ through faith Aristotle did not know (200, 309). This is softened though with the remark that Aristotle may have had “an awareness of ignorance” about what remains after death (263). Vermigli also distances himself from Aristotle on the mortality of the soul (238–239), but argues elsewhere that the nature of the human mind cannot be known in this life (82, 83). Vermigli argues similarly concerning Aristotle’s ignorance of the doctrine of sin. “For he did not see the corruption of the mind; hence he speaks in this way” (294; similarly 227, 258, 294). “However, Aristotle could not see this corruption of our nature, since he was destitute of faith and the light of the divine scriptures” (309; Cf. 294, 422, 425). Yet, “we see that philosophers acknowledged the disease and vice of nature” (389). Likewise, according to Vermigli, Scripture agrees in the main with Aristotle over virtue towards friends and relatives, but he could not know that there is the divinely infused virtue of charity that extends even to enemies (264). Cf. “In this work the Philosopher speaks of happiness as it can be held in this life. For the happiness of the other life exceeds every investigation of reason.” Thomas Aquinas, Sententia libri Ethicorum, I l.9n.11 (par. 113) (Opera, 47.1).



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Christian religion is moreover strongly kindled by attention to pagan ethics. For we understand by comparison how far those things delivered in the divine scriptures surpass those in philosophy. It is a common saying that when differences [opposita] are compared with one another they become clearer. Nor can mistakes be easily avoided unless they are first known. Therefore, whoever knows both disciplines [facultas] will more easily avoid the mistakes of human philosophy, especially when properly demonstrated in their places.6

From this it is clear that moral philosophy and moral theology are compatible and complementary. Although moral theology greatly excels and occasionally corrects moral philosophy, they are not opposed to each other. For this reason the study of moral philosophy is encouraged: In short, who would not altogether defer to learned and distinguished philosophers? They are not wrongly thought to have discovered truth. They labored mightily and diligently, inquiring into it night and day. From this we learn that their books and writings should not be rejected without fear but should rather be read carefully, since from them we will acquire something of the truth, as we should not easily believe that their authors erred in every way.7

It would be dangerous to reject moral philosophy, because it discovers truth and should therefore be carefully studied. So, it is clear both that Vermigli endorsed a view that philosophical and theological discourses about morality can be compatible and complementary, and that Pinckaers and Kraye are mistaken in their interpretations.8 On the other hand, Joseph McLelland claims that “Peter Martyr’s introduction to his commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics provides an excellent statement of his position on the classic question of the relationship of reason and revelation.”9 It “is a weighty discourse on the relation between philosophy and theology” and “in particular the relation between philosophical and theological ethics.”10 According to this account, “the 6 Ethicorum, 9–10. 7 Ethicorum, 206. “All that I have said is true and of orthodox faith, so that it agrees [congruo] easily with what Aristotle says here. The papists…are most severely pressed not only by the oracles of the divine scriptures but also by the authority of Aristotle.” Ethicorum, 265. 8 Anyone knowledgeable about Protestant confessions and recent research into late medieval and renaissance thought must be astounded by Pinckaers’ polemical comparison of papal and evangelical moral theology for which he does not refer to one source. 9 Joseph C. McLelland, “Translator’s Introduction,” in Vermigli, Philosophical Works: On the Relation of Philosophy to Theology, ed. McLelland (Kirksville: TSUP, 1996), 3. 10 Joseph C. McLelland, “Introduction,” in Vermigli, NE, xvi, xxi.

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two systems of morality agree.”11 However, nowhere in Vermigli’s commentary can an explicit and systematic treatment of the harmonious relation between reason and faith, philosophy and theology, moral philosophy and moral theology be found. Such accounts are, of course, to be found in other authors.12 Nevertheless, McLelland must believe that some account can be found in Vermigli of “the relation between philosophical and theological ethics.” He claims that a “reverse order is significant” for “the strong difference between the two disciplines.” For he maintains that according to Vermigli, “action precedes contemplation” in philosophy but contemplation precedes action in theology.13 However, Vermigli explicitly rejects the attempt to distinguish demonstrative discourses (scientiae) on the basis of the operations of intellect and will.14 Nor does McLelland’s reference to Vermigli support his case, since Vermigli there merely claims that one has to be moderate for serious studies and hints at his endorsement of the traditional distinction between acquired and infused virtue.15 The assertion that action can take precedence over knowledge is also contrary to Vermigli’s anthropology: “No one is ignorant that knowledge comes before [will and tendency], since we cannot love the unknown.” Indeed, “we see certainly two operations in the human being. For it understands and thereon acts.”16 Thus action always follows some knowledge whether 11 McLelland, “Translator’s Introduction,” 3. 12 There are, for example, weighty discourses and excellent statements of the relation between reason and revelation, philosophy and theology in, say, Thomas Aquinas, Super Boëthium De Trinitate, q. II.2–4 (Opera, 50); Aquinas, Liber de veritate catholicae fidei contra errores infidelium seu Summa contra Gentiles, ed. P. Marc, et al. (Taurini/Romae: Marietti, 1961), I.3–8, Bartholomaeus Keckermann, Systema ethica (London: Norton, 1607) 2–11, Turretin, Institutio, I.viii-xiii, and Voetius, SDT, 1:3. Donnelly writes: “Martyr never wrote a treatise on the proper relation of philosophy and theology and the role that reason is to play in theology.” So, “his teaching on reason and revelation and on theological methodology must be culled from his scattered remarks and from his actual practice.” Donnelly, Calvinism and Scholasticism, 42, 43. On the relation of philosophy and theology in Reformed orthodoxy generally, see the magisterial Muller, PRRD, 1:360–405. 13 McLelland, “Introduction,” xxiv. 14 Ethicorum, 2. 15 “The cause of this difference is that human contemplation is acquired by study and diligent reflection; and therefore moderation of the affections is required. But what we hold on faith is received by the breath [afflatus] of God. Therefore, preparations are not necessary.” Ethicorum, 8, Cf. 56, 319. In Ethicorum Vermigli seems only to use the expression ‘imparted virtues’ (virtutes inspirata), whereas in his commentary on the epistle to the Romans (P.M. Vermigli, In epistolam S. Pauli apostoli ad Romanos (Basel: Petrus Perna, 1560) he appears mainly to use the phrase ‘infused virtues’ (virtutes infusa). 16 Ethicorum, 2 and 19 respectively, and similarly in P.M. Vermigli, “De libero arbitrio,” in Loci communes ed. Massonius (London: Vautrollerius, 1583), 971. Elsewhere Vermigli writes that we first know and then desire (Ethicorum 397) and that there are first opinions and then affections (435).



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of faith or reason. So, Vermigli provides no explicit and comprehensive statement of the relation between moral philosophy and moral theology, and McLelland is mistaken in interpreting him as propounding a reversed relation between knowledge and action in moral philosophy and moral theology. Here it may even be said that both interpretations above are mistaken because they assume an explicit distinction between moral philosophy and moral theology, whereas Vermigli never uses the phrase “moral theology” or “theological ethics” in his commentary.17 However, this is because he does not consider himself there primarily as a theologian—“I am now acting as a philosopher”18—and the distinction is theological, because it supposes that there is a divine revelation while (arguably) theology but not philosophy supposes revelation. Yet, the commentary may contain the concept of moral theology although not the phrase, since Vermigli continuously compares the teachings of Holy Scripture and those of the Nicomachean Ethics. Still, there seem to be two problems in talking about moral theology with reference to Vermigli’s commentary. First, it is problematic to talk about moral theology, because there Vermigli only speaks about theology as theoretical (and not practical) and about philosophy as (partly) practical,19 and therefore seems to exclude a practical discourse of moral theology. Second, it is problematic to talk about moral theology in connection with this commentary, because here Vermigli only talks about the art or skill (ars et facultas) in Holy Scripture on the one hand and the demonstrative discourse (scientia) of moral philosophy on the other.20 However, these problems can easily be solved. First, Vermigli denies in one passage that theology is practical because we cannot do or make God and affirms that theology is theoretical because we can know God. Yet throughout his commentary he expresses what he (purportedly) knows from revelation about action and a practical demonstrative discourse expresses what it knows in action.21 Thus he uses a concept of moral theology as the practical subject that expresses what it knows from revelation in action. Second, he contends that the cause of the supernatural human 17 The closest formulation is this: “Discrimen hic mihi notetur inter philosophiam moralem atque nostra theologia.” Ethicorum, 215. 18 Ethicorum, 51; Cf. 136. In digressing theologically, Vermigli seems sometimes impatient to return to philosophy: “Let us return to Aristotle.” 225. 19 Ethicorum, 3, 8. “Vermigli die Theologie den theoretischen Wissenschaften zuordnet.” Baschera, Tugend und Rechtfertigung, 132 n. 42. 20 Cf. Ethicorum, 43 and 10, 311. 21 Cf. Ethicorum, 2–3, 8, 47.

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end of human action can be demonstrated in this life from its effects22 and this implies that there is a demonstrative discourse of moral theology. Moral theology would then be that part of theology which deals with human acts as they are supernaturally ordered to God. However, something more explicit is needed to decide Vermigli’s view of the relation between moral philosophy and moral theology. The Differences and Agreement between Moral Philosophy and Moral Theology To recapitulate, there are contradictory interpretations of the Reformed orthodox view of the relation between moral philosophy and moral theology. These are mistaken in different ways and can therefore be rejected. However, to decide the relation between moral philosophy and moral theology in Reformed orthodoxy some positive evidence is needed and this will be given in this section. There appears to be only one passage where Vermigli explicitly treats “the differences and agreement between divine scripture on the one hand and human philosophy on the other”: The end of philosophy is that we reach that beatitude or happiness that can be acquired here by human powers. The end of Christian religion is that in us that image is renewed to which we are made in righteousness and holiness of truth, so that we grow daily in the knowledge of God until we are led to see him (as it were) with face uncovered. From the Nicomachean Ethics we will not hear about the remission of sins, about fear and faith towards God, nor justification through faith, Christ and similar things. For these are disclosed by God’s will and cannot be elicited from the natural knowledge of any creatures. We do not deny that often the same things happen to be praised in the Nicomachean Ethics and taught by God in Holy Scripture. But then the matter is the same, although not the form, properties and principles. For in these the reason is different and the properties diverse; nor are the principles the same.… Thus what Christians do, is done by the impact of the Spirit of God.… What philosophers do according to ethical directions, they do under the lead of human reason. They are incited to what is to be done from what they thus judge to be honourable and right, but Christians from what God thus deems. The former think that one ought so to act to accomplish and complete oneself; the latter that one ought to be obedient to the divine. The former believe in themselves; the latter in God and the words of the law that he himself gave. The former labour from self-love; the latter are driven by the love of the one God. From these many differences it

22 Cf. Ethicorum, 83 and 31, 77–79, 82, 90.



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happens that the same thing with respect to the matter pleases God and is condemned by his judgment. So much for the differences and agreement between divine scripture on the one hand and human philosophy on the other.23

This passage makes it clear that moral philosophy and moral theology agree on matter but differ on ends, forms, reasons, properties and principles. Vermigli uses “difference” (differentia) here for the specific characteristic that distinguishes what one thing is from what another thing is, and thus for an essential or formal difference and not an accidental or material one.24 He uses “agreement” (consensus) for affirmations of both discourses that are consistent.25 But what is the “end” (finis), why is “happiness” (beatitudo seu felicitas) specified, what is the “matter” (materia), what are the different “form” (forma), “reason” (ratio), “properties” (proprietas) and “principles” (principia)? Vermigli does not say. Clearly he assumes some account of the unity and distinction between the two moral discourses here, and perhaps his listeners understood the many assumptions for such an account. But even so there appears to be an abundance of terms for a hylemorphist such as Vermigli, for whom every created thing is composed of the potentiality of matter and the actuality of form. Thus his account of the unity and distinction between moral philosophy and moral theology needs to be explicated. To begin with, Vermigli is not here concerned with the differences and agreement between a particular act of reason and a particular act of faith in a given action, but with “philosophy” and “Christian religion.”26 These terms stand for the parts of his most basic epistemological division: “All our knowledge is either revealed or acquired; the first branch [membrum] is theology and the other is philosophy.”27 Unlike brutes, humans can discourse about the object of their knowledge and say something universal about something particular. Such language-use occurs when the reason and form is designated without particular conditions. For instance, when we say ‘the human being is rational’, where the expression is not concerning this or that particular human, but concerning the common

23 Ethicorum, 8–9. 24 Cf. Rudolphus Goclenius, Lexicon philosophicum (Frankfurt: Becker, 1613), 532–535. 25 Cf. Goclenius, Lexicon, 451. 26 The term pietas is here translated “religion,” since “piety” and “devotion” carry wrong connotations (especially in connection with philosophia) and religio is synonymous with pietas. Similarly Ethicorum, 10. 27 Ethicorum, 1.

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The most perfect kind of discourse is demonstrative discourse (scientia), since it produces perfect knowledge of the cause or reason why an object cannot be otherwise than it is.29 Such discourses differ over whether their end is knowledge or action and over whether their object can or cannot be construed.30 Demonstrative discourses about practice differ in turn as to their end and object.31 So Vermigli is here concerned with the differences and agreement between two demonstrative discourses that produces perfect knowledge of why some activity cannot be other than moral or immoral. In philosophical and theological discourse about morality “the matter is the same.” The term “matter” is in this passage repeatedly connected with the phrase “same thing,” namely mind-independent entities, singulars, or particulars.32 “Just as the water from rain and from a spring is the same matter while its powers, properties, and principles are very different.”33 The real thing we talk about in morality is the human act, since the “matter” consists of “human actions.”34 For it is possible to discourse demonstratively about the subject “human act” despite its changeability and variety.35 For the nature of the human power (facultas) of acting can be demonstrated from “the kind of demonstration” that is “from effects (commonly called a posteriori).”36 Thus “human action … depends on and is ruled by choice” and it is the operation of the intellect that rules choice: “There is choice when we prefer one of two propositions.”37 In other 28 Ethicorum, 15. 29 Ethicorum, 38, 53, 90, 245, 311, 433. 30 Ethicorum, 2, 58, 276, 309–310, 311–312. 31 “Materia itaque ac res est eadem [in politica et ethica…] non sane quod materia variet, sed quia extensio non est eadem. […] fines politices vel ethices non re, sed tantum ratione differre” Ethicorum, 42. 32 Ethicorum, 46. 33 Ethicorum, 9. 34 Ethicorum, 312. 35 Ethicorum, 314, 45–46. 36 Ethicorum, 31; Cf. 77–79, 82, 90. 37 Ethicorum, 13. Cf. “Thus it is clear that there is free choice [liberum arbitrium] when a tendency [appetitus] is brought forth by what intelligence or the power of knowledge has declared…Thus we can define free choice as some power of volition that follows the cognitive part while it rejects or desires something beyond.” Vermigli, “De libero arbitrio,” 971. It is generic natural science (including generic anthropology) that clarifies and demonstrates that human acts are voluntary acts informed by understanding. Cf. Ethicorum, 229–230, 195, 4; Aristotle, De anima, ed. Ross (Oxford: Clarendon, 1961) 434a5–21; and Thomas Aquinas, Sententia libri De anima, in Opera omnia, 45.1:61–145 (840–846).



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words, “some end is set before [praestitutus] human activity [humanis rebus].”38 But demonstrative moral discourse is not merely descriptive but prescriptive of the human act, since it establishes the end to which human action should be ordered: It should argue about actions.… First, since this demonstrative discourse [scientia] is not ordered to knowledge, but constantly looks at the actions themselves. For we learn it not to discourse demonstratively [sciamus], but truly to become good. Since this skill [facultas] has this scope, it is fitting that it dwells especially on the actions themselves.… It includes indeed knowledge, but that is not its principal end. The second reason … is that this demonstrative discourse of happiness and virtues should chiefly consider the particular kind [of action] that contains and produces these dispositions.39

Demonstrative discourse about morality is ordered to humans becoming good. “The sense of ‘good’ is that which according to its nature should be desired or (as is said) is desirable.”40 So, humans become good by pursuing what should be desired or is desirable according to human nature. Moral discourse is moreover “discourse of happiness,” because as completion (perfectio) of human nature happiness is the ultimate end and highest good of human action.41 For happiness is desired for itself and everything else is desired for the sake of happiness42 and there must be an ultimate human end from the absurdity of its denial: “unless we want to proceed infinitely and make our tendency utterly vain, there is one end above all in human things.”43 Moral discourse focuses furthermore on the kind of action that contains and produces virtue, because “virtue is the completion of nature”44 and the “necessary means” of happiness.45 “Happiness and virtue are wholly united to one another, since happiness is either the effect or cause of virtue. It is effect as it depends upon it as its end, but it is 38 Ethicorum, 11. 39 Ethicorum, 311. 40 Ethicorum, 14. I analyse Vermigli’s metaphysics of goodness in a forthcoming paper. 41 Ethicorum, 75. 42 “Happiness…is never desired on account of something else.” Happiness is sufficient in itself “in regard simply to the person whom we call happy.” Ethicorum, 178; similarly 174. Happiness is the highest good. Ethicorum, 96, 99, 200. However, “almost everyone agrees about the name ‘happiness’, although they disagree about the thing by which it may be constituted.” Ethicorum, 71, similarly 16. 43 Ethicorum, 32. 44 Ethicorum, 358. 45 Ethicorum, 272; similarly 93, 274. Virtues are not only means, but “are indeed good in themselves” (51, 102). Vermigli’s account of virtue is analysed in Sebastian Rehnman, “Virtue and grace,” Studies in Christian Ethics, 25.4 (2012), 472–493.

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cause since it brings about virtue in us.”46 Thus moral philosophy and moral theology agree in that the matter is deliberate action for the ultimate human end of happiness. What about the end and form of moral discourse? It is here that the differences between moral philosophy and moral theology begin to appear. For everything is what it is by its form: “All things are first in matter (which is the great mother of everything), since they are elicited from it when they come into being. Before, they are thus (as the philosophers say) potential.”47 It is form that actualizes or brings about what something is. “Matter has the propensity in itself to receive it [form], but it requires an efficient cause.”48 Now, only forms bespoken out of matter (abstractio) can enter into demonstrative discourse, because “everything becomes known by its form.”49 Thus form is the specific description/prescription under which the human act is known and that for the sake of which the human act is undertaken. The matter of the human act has propensity to receive form from either moral philosophy or moral theology. Moral philosophy and moral theology are what they are by their forms and form each in turn the matter of the human act into existence. Since moreover it is the power of intelligence or reason that expresses itself in moral discourse, Vermigli uses the words “form” and “reason” interchangeably in this passage.50 In any human act what is performed is expressible in a statement as it is a judgment that determines choice and thus a human must have (implicitly or explicitly) a “reason” (ratio) for acting.51 Thus moral philosophy informs the human act under “the lead of human reason,” whereas moral theology informs it “from what God judges.”

46 Ethicorum, 297. 47 Ethicorum, 143. 48 Ethicorum, 302. 49 Ethicorum, 148, Cf. Aristotle, De anima, 424a18; Aquinas, Sentencia libri De anima, II l.24n.18–75 (551–554). 50 The second sentence repeats the words ‘properties’ and ‘principles’ but exchanges forma for ratio. These words are also connected in Ethicorum, 15, 16. Compare: “At quandoque fit, ut idem sit subiectum ac materia, quia tum non eadem est forma et ratio doctrinae seu methodus, deo perfectio et exquisita tractatio non eadem requiritur.” Ethicorum, 194. In the introduction Vermigli outlines his “reason and form of interpretation” (Ethicorum, 7), namely specifies or determines his whole commentary. Similarly artifacts have their own “qualitates, formas & proprietates” 341. 51 Vermigli sets out the relation between form, artist and artifact in the following way: “the known form … contains the concept [ratio] of efficient [cause], since it moves the mind as object.… The very external thing is the final cause … as it contains the concept [ratio] of good and completes either the agent or his action” (Ethicorum, 29). In the case of ethics, however, finality remains in the agent or the action.



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Philosophy “gathers knowledge from created things,” whereas theology from revealed things.52 The goal of moral discourse is to make humans good whether by human or divine reason.53 Thus the human act is considered either under the form of human reason in moral philosophy or the form of divine reason in moral theology. Moreover, form and end are closely related as the end is contained in the form. For form is “a cause in the sense of a final cause.”54 Humans act for deliberate ends and the known form or intention specifies the end of the respective discourses about the human act. Recall that happiness is the ultimate end of human action: happiness is … a first principle and a cause of goods, and not just whatever cause but a final. This kind of cause is surely the highest. For matter depends upon form, and form is indeed given by the efficient cause, but the end excites the agent cause and there cannot be something beyond the end by which it is moved.55

The ultimate end of happiness is the final cause of action as it (apparently or really) contains the concept of good and (apparently or really) completes the agent with the goods of virtue. But “the human being has a twofold happiness.”56 There is the end of moral philosophy whose object is the humanly acquirable happiness and there is the end of moral theology whose object is the divinely graced happiness: This lies between us and philosophers that they propose that the ultimate end should be acquired by one’s own virtues and diligence, whereas we think from the divine scriptures that this peculiar good cannot be obtained unless we are helped by the Spirit and grace of Christ.57

52 7. Cf. “For wisdom is twofold, namely earthly wisdom called ‘philosophy’, which considers the lower causes (namely caused causes) and bases its judgements on them; and divine wisdom or ‘theology’, which considers the higher (that is, the divine) causes and judges according to them. The higher causes are the divine attributes, such as divine wisdom, goodness, will and the like.” Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones disputatae de potentia, ed. P.M. Pession, 10th ed. (Taurini-Romae: Marietti, 1965) q. 1.4co, and Aquinas, Super Boëthium De Trinitate, q. 2.2c. 53 Cf. “Since all legislators, who have strived to make humans good, belong to this category, it makes no difference whether they have applied divine or human reasons to this,” 273 (erroneously paginated “274”). 54 Aristotle, Physics, ed. Ross (Oxford: Clarendon, 1936), 199a33. 55 Ethicorum, 270. He continues: ‘In Physics, book 2, therefore, Aristotle quite rightly declared that the end is the cause of causes.’ 56 Ethicorum, 2. 57 Ethicorum, 36. Notice here how Vermigli uses the words ‘end’ and ‘good’ interchangeably.

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The matter of moral philosophy and moral theology is the ultimate end of the human act, but the form is either acquired by human reason or gifted by grace. For “the natural end that philosophers have established” is “that humans should live from reason according to excellent virtue.”58 Yet, the gospels set forth [that …] in this life the ultimate end and highest good is that we are justified by Christ, received into grace of the eternal Father to whose wrath we are liable from birth…. Indeed, the highest good of this life is no other than that which we will have later and the only difference is a degree of perfection.59

Moral philosophy discourses about the human act as it is ordered to its ultimate natural end, whereas moral theology discourses about the human act as it is ordered to its ultimate supernatural end. The end of moral philosophy can be elicited (just like form out of matter) from the natural knowledge of creation under the lead of human reason, whereas the end of moral theology is disclosed by God’s will in Holy Scripture. The end of moral philosophy is formed by human power, whereas the end of moral theology is formed by divine grace. The natural human end is to live by reason according to acquired virtue while the supernatural human end is to live by faith according to infused virtue. This leads us to the different properties of moral philosophy and of moral theology. For these belong to their different forms, since matter and principles do not strictly have properties. Rather properties derive from the form, since they coincide properly with the essence of a substance or thing and the essence is experienced through its properties.60 Vermigli writes for example: “There are of course two properties of our nature. For nature herself has made us both intelligent and social.”61 We perceive that humans regularly behave intelligently and socially, and can demonstrate that these properties are entailed by rationality. The predicate “is rational” then makes explicit what we generally perceive of the vague subject “human (being).” Likewise the properties of moral philosophy and of moral theology derive from their different forms. Vermigli seems to suggest perishability and imperishability here:

58 Vermigli, “De libero arbitrio,” 973. 59 Ethicorum, 77. 60 Cf. “proprium enim non est de essentia rei, sed ex principiis essentialibus speciei causatur, unde medium est inter essentiam et accidens sic dictum.” Aquinas, ST, 22nd ed., 6 vols. (Taurini/Romae: Marietti, 1940) Ia.77.1ad5. 61 Ethicorum, 181.



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In the coming age this happiness [of justification by faith] will be complete, uninterrupted and one continuous act, while Aristotle’s happiness (as his definition suggests) often perishes. He wants the activity by which a human is happy to flow from outstanding virtue and we too deem that, since we say that the actions of the faithful are not right and pleasing to God unless they are seeds of faith, hope and charity (which we hold to be the outstanding virtues). We agree likewise about the long duration of time, since while we live here we need perseverance, but in our homeland we believe that happiness is everlasting. Only in this last difference there is disagreement between Aristotle and us, since he requires worldly goods and we contend that here on earth these are not necessary for a Christian to be happy.62

Although natural happiness could be imperishable, good dispositions and material conditions often perish. Elsewhere Vermigli writes that supernatural happiness is safe, secure and “cannot be altered” while natural happiness is unsafe, unsecure and can be altered.63 These properties follow their respective standards (regula): Here I may note a difference between moral philosophy and our theology: the former makes an analysis of the judgement of wise and good humans and the latter of the laws and words of God. Can it be doubted which speaks more truly? Do you prefer to bring the trial of human action to the wise and honest who sometimes err so much, or rather to defer to the supreme judgment of God who always speaks the truth? Surely the latter must be a firm and certain standard. Therefore, when falsehood and fickleness is inborn in a human by inherent corruption, such standing [dignitas] cannot be conceded on this issue.64

Divine as well as human reason can then inform the human act of the ultimate end of happiness, but the judgement of human wisdom is fallible, fickle, frail and uncertain while the judgment of divine wisdom is infallible, firm and certain. Elsewhere Vermigli similarly writes that divine reason is constant, certain and unchangeable whereas human reason is inconstant, uncertain and changeable,65 and that divine and human words differ in strength and power to change humans.66 Last, there are the different principles of moral philosophy and moral theology. Philosophy and theology are demonstrative discourses since they argue from principles. For demonstrative discourse about morality has to begin somewhere, in something that cannot be demonstrated by 62 Ethicorum, 200–201; Cf. 309. 63 Ethicorum, 257–258. 64 Ethicorum, 215. 65 Ethicorum, 54. 66 Ethicorum, 69.

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that discourse, and thus assume a beginning from which everything else in that discourse derives. Such starting-points are called “principles” or “first principles,” where the predicate contains the reason why it exists in the subject.67 Demonstrative discourse about practice pursues truth in order to get something done and an end informs the doing of something. Hence ethics has to begin with establishing its first principle about the ultimate human end, whether philosophical or theological. Whereas demonstrative discourse about nature shows that the human being acts for an ultimate end on account of free judgments, such discourse about morality acquires that end. If the first principle is that happiness is the ultimate human end, then demonstrative moral discourse starts with inductively and dialectically establishing what constitutes happiness and that the ultimate human end is included in happiness. Vermigli demonstrates dialectically that there must be an ultimate human end from the absurdity of its denial, because the starting point of ethics can only be proven by showing that its opposite is contradictory.68 Now, it is this ultimate human end that yields a moral discourse its principle. The end of moral philosophy is the natural ultimate end and therefore the principles of moral philosophy are known by reason through experience. The end of moral theology is the supernatural ultimate end and therefore the principles of moral theology are accepted by faith in revelation. Thus moral philosophy and moral theology differ over whether their principles are from reason or from faith. Conclusion This essay has explicated the relation of moral philosophy and moral theology in Vermigli. In the secondary literature there are contradictory interpretations of the Reformed orthodox view of this relation. According to one interpretation there is opposition between moral philosophy and moral theology, and according to another there is agreement between these demonstrative discourses. At least one of these interpretations of Reformed orthodoxy cannot be true. On the one hand, this essay has exposed the mistake in interpreting Vermigli as propounding a relation of opposition, since he clearly contends that philosophical and theological 67 Ethicorum, 38, 53, 199. 68 “in rebus humanis finis est quidam supremus omnium, nisi velimus in immensum progredi et appetitum nostrum facere prorsus inanem.” Ethicorum, 32.



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discourses about morality can be compatible and complementary. On the other hand, this essay has shown the mistake in claiming that there is an explicit and systematic account of the agreement of moral philosophy and moral theology, since Vermigli plainly did not write such a treatise. Thus both interpretations of the Reformed orthodox view of ethics are mistaken. However, Vermigli obliquely claims that in moral philosophy and moral theology “the matter is the same” but not the “end,” “form,” “reason,” “properties and principles.” This suggests that philosophical and theological discourses about morality are consistent in their affirmations about the matter but that their specific ends, forms, reasons properties and principles are distinctive. This essay has established what Vermigli’s statement implies. Moral philosophy and moral theology agree in that the matter is deliberate action for the ultimate human end of happiness. They differ primarily by form, reason, and end. Form is the specific description/prescription under which the human act is known and that for the sake of which the human act is undertaken. In other words, the known form is the reason for acting. But the human act is considered either under the form of human reason in moral philosophy or under the form of divine reason in moral theology. For the matter of the human act has propensity to receive form either from moral philosophy or from moral theology. Forms and ends are moreover closely related as the known forms specify the deliberate ends of the human act. According to the form of human reason in moral philosophy, the ultimate end of human action is completion of self. According to the form of divine reason in moral theology, the ultimate end of human action is communion with God. The ultimate natural human end of moral philosophy is to live by reason according to acquired virtue, while the ultimate supernatural human end of moral theology is to live by faith according to infused virtue. In other words, the end of moral philosophy is the happiness acquirable by human powers, whereas the end of moral theology is the happiness gifted by divine grace. Furthermore, from the form of natural happiness derives the property of perishability, and from the form of supernatural happiness derives the property of imperishability. Last, the principles of moral philosophy are known by reason through experience, whereas the principles of moral theology are known by revelation through faith. Thus, since deliberate action for the ultimate human end of happiness can be informed both by philosophy and theology, there is, according to Vermigli, a relation of compatibility and complementarity between moral philosophy and moral theology. He can affirm both moral philosophy and

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moral theology, because he affirms not only one matter but also two forms, reasons, ends, properties and principles. This accounts for the two discourses being united while still being distinct. Moral philosophy does not exclude nor compete with moral theology, and moral theology does not abolish but completes moral philosophy.69

69 I thank the editors for comments on the penultimate version of this essay.

WORD AND SPIRIT IN THE PIETY OF PETER MARTYR VERMIGLI AS SEEN IN HIS COMMENTARY ON 1 CORINTHIANS Jason Zuidema Introduction Though Peter Martyr is well known as a schoolman, he is not necessarily known for his contributions to worship or to discussions of Christian piety. At first glance, most of his comments seem concerned principally with questions of philology or theology—a confirmation that he was a ‘scholastic’ theologian that helped impose Aristotle on the biblical piety of the earliest reformers.1 Yet, such an opinion would not be reflective of his thought or contributions to the efforts for reform across Western Europe. Some scholars have presented nuanced and helpful examinations of individual works of Vermigli like the collection of his public prayers on the Psalms, but a wider view of his thought on Christian worship and life of merits study.2 Such a study would not be designed to repristinate Vermigli’s thought to address our contemporary ecclesiological challenges, but, rather, to understand a neglected, important aspect of Vermigli’s contribution to the efforts for reform in his own time. 1 Understanding the ‘scholasticism’ (among other ‘isms’) of Vermigli has been a concern of a great deal of recent scholarship. For the most recent bibliography of Vermigli studies literature see my ‘Vermigli Studies Bibliography,’ in A Companion to Peter Martyr Vermigli, ed. Kirby et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 499–518. Since the time that bibliography was published, several fine studies, all by researchers affiliated with the Institut für Schweizerische Reformationsgeschichte, must be added: Luca Baschera, Tugend und Rechtfertigung: Peter Martyr Vermiglis Kommentar zur Nikomachischen Ethik im Spannungsfeld von Philosophie und Theologie (Zürich: TVZ, 2008); Luca Baschera and Christian Moser, ed., Petrus Martyr Vermigli: Kommentar zur Nikomachischen Ethik des Aristoteles (Leiden: Brill, 2011); Michael Baumann, Petrus Martyr Vermigli in Zürich (1556– 1562): dieser Kylchen in der heiligen gschrifft professor und laeser (Zürich: TVZ, 2011); Christian Moser and Peter Opitz, ed., Bewegung und Beharrung: Aspekte des reformierten Protestantismus, 1520–1650 (Leiden: Brill, 2009). For themes related to Vermigli’s medieval theological heritage see: Jason Zuidema, “Le rôle de la christologie dans la pensée de Pierre Martyr Vermigli (1499–1562),” Études théologiques et religieuses 84.1 (2009): 81–93. 2 A modern English translation of Vermigli’s collection of prayers with critical notes is found in J.P. Donnelly, “Introduction,” in Vermigli, Sacred Prayers drawn from the Psalms of David (Kirksville: SCES, 1996). For comment on these prayers see Emidio Campi, “The Preces Sacrae of Peter Martyr Vermigli,” in Peter Martyr Vermigli and the European Reformations, ed. James (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 251–266.

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In conversation with a range of scholars interpreting Vermigli’s commentaries and treatises, especially those works on his commentary on 1 Corinthians, this essay will begin to reveal the scope of Vermigli’s optic when thinking about worship, prayer, and the work of the Holy Spirit in the Christian life. This essay will focus its comments on a key issue in Vermgli’s New Testament exegetical work—the practical effects of a proper understanding of the relationship between Word and Spirit in worship. Though other passages could be chosen, this relationship is seen in the preface to Vermigli’s 1 Corinthians commentary and exemplified in comments on chapter 14 of that letter. In this commentary, particularly when touching on the subject of different or strange languages, Vermigli’s concern for piety is wrapped together with his concern to understand the proper use of language by the Holy Spirit. His critique focuses on the improper use of foreign languages by the Roman Catholics, especially the use of Latin during the Mass. Not surprisingly, Vermigli was engaged in intense public debate with Catholics in England at the time of these 1 Corinthians lectures. Yet, beyond the critique of Catholicism that had become predictable in like-minded reformers, we see in Vermigli’s comments an avenue to gather a better sense of the developments in Reformed liturgy, including prayer, preaching, the sacraments, and sacred music. Peter Martyr’s Comments on 1 Corinthians Historical Context In the year after the death of Henry VIII on 28 January 1547, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, sought new ways to bolster the cause of reform that was now openly promoted under the guidance of the protectors of the boy-prince Edward VI. Among other solutions, Cranmer proposed the invitation of several continental theologians to assist in this task. He explained his rationale in a letter to Albert Hardenberg in 1548: For the purpose of carrying this important design into effect we have thought it necessary to have the assistance of learned men, who, having compared their opinions together with us, may do away with doctrinal controversies and establish an entire system of true doctrine.3 3 Cranmer to Hardenburg, 28 July 1548, in Cranmer, Works, ed. Cox (Cambridge: CUP, 1846), 2:423.



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Though several leading continental scholars were not in a position to accept the invitation, a number came, including Bernardino Ochino, Martin Bucer, and Peter Martyr Vermigli.4 Even though Vermigli was no stranger to the pressures of balancing his comments between religious traditionalists and more radical reformers, the situation in which he took up his work in England was especially hazardous. Arriving in London on 20 December 1547, he had many deep and important conversations about the challenges to the Church in England with Cranmer at his residence in the following months. Indeed, he was soon deeply involved in promotion of reform in England as he was assigned to the Regius professorship of Divinity at Oxford University early in 1548. Oxford proved to be a challenging post: in the first place, his work was under the disapproving eye of the former Regius Professor, Richard Smith, a man of “unstable character” and advocate of conservative theology who was recently deprived of the post to make way for Vermigli.5 More, Vermigli arrived in Oxford with his wife, a former nun, Katherine Dampmartin, causing a significant scandal. Philip McNair sums up well Oxford’s reaction to Martyr: “outrage.” McNair continues, “For this quondam Augustinian of the Canons Regular of the Lateran Congregation possessed one highly equivocal commodity that scandalized the good Catholics of the English realm more than his doctrine, and that was his wife … For Richard Smith and his fellow Recusants it was axiomatic that sin-in-the-head sprang from sin-in-the-bed….”6 Unlike Cambridge University which since the early 1520s had known the “hotter type” of reformers like the recently relicensed preacher Hugh Latimer (ca. 1485– 1555), Oxford had not yet really encountered them.7 As Cranmer and Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset and Lord Protector of England during the minority of Edward VI, began legislating reform, particularly in the Royal Injunctions of 1547, the necessity of teachers who 4 On Vermigli in England during the reign of Edward VI see Philip McNair, “Peter Martyr in England,” in Peter Martyr Vermigli and Italian Reform, ed. McLelland (Waterloo: WLU, 1980), 85–106; M. Anne Overell, “Peter Martyr in England 1547–1553: An Alternative View,” SCJ 15.1 (1984): 87–104; Overell, Italian Reform and English Reformations, c. 1535–1585 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), chs. 4–5; Peter Ackroyd, “The Unwelcome Bridle; Peter Martyr Vermigli, the Doctrine of the Church and the English Reformation” (PhD diss., Edinburgh University, 2002). 5 Overell, “Peter Martyr,” 87. 6 McNair, “Peter Martyr in England,” 96 and 99. 7 For comparison see, Alec Ryrie, The Gospel and Henry VIII: Evangelicals in the Early English Reformation (Cambridge: CUP, 2003), ch. 5; and also Charlotte Methuen, “Oxford: Reading Scripture in the University,” in A Companion to Peter Martyr Vermigli, 71–94.

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could articulate these positions from Scripture and the history of theology was evident. These Injunctions, focused on a revival of preaching, Scripture reading in the vernacular, support for clergy, and the reform of all Roman Catholic ‘fantasies’ and ‘idolatry,’ were met with opposition in many places in Edward VI’s kingdom.8 Nonetheless, the cause of reform progressed with a Book of Homilies, a revision of the Book of Common Prayer, and various revisions of doctrinal and canonical standards for the English Church.9 Vermigli thought it wise to lecture on key Pauline Epistles as Regius professor. His comments on the weighty texts of 1 Corinthians 10 and 11, now much studied in Vermigli scholarship, provoked outrage from some auditors and inspired a treatise and public debate on the meaning of Christ’s presence in the Eucharist.10 Scholarly analyses of Vermigli’s theology in England have mostly focused on the text of that debate and its echoes in the Corinthians commentary. Interestingly, until recently little has been written about the rest of the Corinthians commentary.11 The 1 Corinthians lectures were given over two years at the beginning of Vermigli’s tenure which commenced at Oxford in March 1548.12 The lectures of the second year were more heated as he approached the controversial chapters on the Eucharist and the related debates and publications. In March 1550 he began his comments on Paul’s Letter to the Romans. Vermigli’s commentary on Corinthians, his first major printed commentary, was soon revised and published in 1551 by Christopher Froschauer,   8 Felicity Heal, Reformation in Britain and Ireland (Oxford: OUP, 2003), 157–66. Such is also the central thesis of Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England, 1500–1580 (New Haven: YUP, 1992).   9 On Vermigli’s participation in or influence on these events, see McNair, “Peter Martyr,” 86–89; John F. Jackson, “Law and Order: Vermigli and the Reform of Ecclesiastical Laws in England,” in Peter Martyr Vermigli and the European Reformation, 267–290; Torrance Kirby, The Zurich Connection and Tudor Political Theology (Leiden: Brill, 2007); Diarmaid MacCulloch, “Peter Martyr Vermigli and Thomas Cranmer,” in Peter Martyr Vermigli: Humanism, Republicanism, Reformation, ed. Campi, et al. (Geneva: Droz, 2002), 173–201; Methuen, “Oxford: Reading Scripture in the University,” 71–94. 10 Vermigli, Tractatio de sacramento eucharistiae… (London, 1549). A modern English edition with critical notes on Vermigli’s sources is Vermigli, The Oxford Treatise and Disputation on the Eucharist, 1549, trans. and ed. McLelland (Kirksville: TSUP, 2000). 11 On Vermigli’s introduction to his commentary see Methuen, “Oxford: Reading Scripture in the University,” 85–90 and Zuidema, “The Primacy of Scripture in Peter Martyr Vermigli’s Understanding of Theological Education,” in Konfession, Migration und Elitenbildung, ed. Selderhuis and Wriedt (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 99–108. On the whole 1 Corinthians commentary see Jon Balserak, “I Corinthians Commentary: Exegetical Tradition,” in A Companion to Peter Martyr Vermigli, 283–304. 12 See McLelland’s introductory comments in Oxford Treatise, xix–xx.



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the same Zurich printer that would take on a number of the Italian’s other major manuscripts.13 Analysis Any reading of Vermigli’s commentary is aided by his preface to the commentary in which he speaks of his hermeneutical principles.14 In this preface he speaks of the dignity and profit of Scripture, the authority of Scripture, and a method for preparing to study Scripture.15 Like other Reformed theologians, Vermigli talks of Scripture’s authority in relation to the Christ—Scripture is the audible words of the one Incarnate Word.16 Those in positions of authority in the Church only have real authority insofar as they properly use Scripture.17 To live by its authority one must understand that Scripture is affirmed by the Holy Spirit and by its own testimony—it is superior to the opinions of any Church leader or council (the critique of a Roman Catholic understanding of the authority of the Magisterium is made clear here). Vermigli writes, “For it is not permitted either to a council or to the Church to interpret the Scriptures according to its own will, for that would be to lord it over the faith of the faithful.”18 Yet, it is not just a me-and-my-Bible type of religious authority. Rather, Vermigli argues for a proper study and spiritual disposition. In an important passage for our purposes, Vermigli writes: From these things we can conclude that those who fall into error in their interpretation of Scripture strive against their own sin, because they have not prayed enough, nor have they sufficiently delved into the study of them. The one who is inexperienced and uneducated in the word of the divine scriptures must not discourage any from this beautiful exercise. Just as, for instance, the pearl lies hidden in the worthless oyster, or as grain is shaken loose from the husks, so also the shining and gleaming truth is drawn out from the simple Word of the Holy Scriptures. Moreover, we should

13 Vermigli, In Selectissimam D. Pauli Priorem ad Corinth. epistolam…Commentarii (Zurich: Froschauer, 1551). I have used the 1572 second edition for this essay. Hereafter Corinth. 14 A modern English translation of the Introduction to Vermigli’s 1 Corinthians commentary is found as Vermigli, “The Authority of Scripture,” in The Peter Martyr Reader, ed. J.P. Donnelly, et al. (Kirksville: TSUP, 1999), 67–80. 15 See Zuidema, “The Primacy of Scripture,” passim., and chapter 4 of Zuidema, Peter Martyr Vermigli (1499–1562) and the Outward Instruments of Divine Grace (Gottingen: V&R, 2008). 16 Vermigli, Corinth. 1r. 17 Vermigli, Corinth., 1v. 18 Vermigli, “The Authority,” 74 (Corinth., 2r).

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jason zuidema especially guard against undertaking to read those things while still stuck in our prejudices. You should distinguish the moods: “I came that you may learn,” not that you may drag the Scriptures somehow or other (which the heretics do) into your way of thinking.19

The link for our study on Vermigli’s piety is this: the proper reading of Scripture takes a great deal of time and prayer. This is especially true for church leaders, as their main task should be reading and applying Scripture. The implications of Vermigli’s hermeneutic require, it would seem, a substantial reorganization of any minister’s time. That is, the scholarly life and the ministerial life are not that different—both require prayer and significant study of the text of Scripture. This hermeneutical assumption is underlined repeatedly throughout the commentary. As one example among many, consider his comments on 1 Corinthians 14, one of the chapters in which the Apostle discusses spiritual gifts.20 After the challenges of defending his reading of 1 Corinthians 10 and 11, Vermigli continued his push for a proper understanding of how language and the words of God actually work in the Christian life. A number of verses in this chapter prompt Vermigli to discuss the use of foreign languages in Church. As Paul, in Vermigli’s reading, says that foreign languages do not build up others, so Vermigli explains that these languages communicate nothing from the mind of the speaker to the mind of the hearer. Any language that is not understood by the hearer is entirely useless for corporate Christian worship.21 This critique is leveled not only at the use of Latin by Roman Catholics in the Mass, but also at the overly complicated rhetoric by preachers using the vernacular: But in an unknowen toong, the remembrance is no whit renewed; but rather buried. There is heard a sound, a singing, and a muttering, but there is in a maner nothing of the words perceiued: yea and sometimes there be sermons made so intricate and difficult, that they can be understood but euen of a verie few.22

If worshippers are supposed to say ‘Amen’ to the various parts of the liturgy, they must be able to understand what they are affirming.23 19 Vermigli, “The Authority,” 76 (Corinth., 3r). 20 An English translation of Vermigli’s comments on 1 Corinthians 14 is found in The Common Places of…Peter Martyr, trans. Marten (London, 1583), III.13.19–23. Hereafter CP. 21 CP, III.13.19. 22 CP, III.13.20. 23 CP, III.13.21.



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Vermigli’s critique of the conservative clergy is made clear in his argument that the intention of holiness does not guarantee true holiness: I maruell at them which babble, that a good intent (as they speake) of praising God, of giuing thanks, and of praieng, dooth suffice: and that it is not required, that the words, whereby these things are doone, should be knowen unto them that stand by. This is a pernicious deuise: for it affirmeth onelie a sincere purpose (which we also require) to be sufficient; and it taketh awaie from the people of God, the manifold and sundrie fruits, which the holie spirit is woont to bring foorth, through knowledge of holie words.”24

A couple of important details are emphasized here: first, that ‘sincere purpose’ is not enough to produce true spirituality. Vermigli highlights a common concern of most reformers.25 Like many other reforming theologians, Vermigli commonly accused the conservatives of replacing true piety with human-made traditions that only seemed authentic. Second, improper use of language in worship deprived the worshippers of the “manifold and sundrie fruits” that are done by the Holy Spirit through “knowledge of holie words.” That is, Scripture has power to do something positive in the lives of hearers when used by the Spirit and understood. Since the conservative theologians are fundamentally confused on these points, Vermigli says, “Wherefore this infamie must be removed, with singular indeuor, from the holie congregations of Christian men.”26 The comments on 1 Corinthians 14 agree with many similar ones both in Vermigli’s commentary and in the rest of his extant corpus. What we see is that his critique of the Roman Catholicism with which he was familiar was not just based on a kind of proof-texting from Scripture, but on hermeneutical assumptions about the place of Scripture in the divine and human relationship. Particularly, we note the presumed role of the Holy Spirit and a proper understanding of the text of Scripture. Without the power of the Holy Spirit and the active understanding of the reader and hearer, Scripture cannot bear fruit. This assumption made an impact in two areas: first, it left Vermigli and the reformers who argued like him open to the critique by conservative theologians that they were subjectivising Scripture—a very real threat, given the appeal to the Holy Spirit by the more radical Anabaptists.27 24 CP, III.13.23. 25 Compare with the conclusions of Jason Zuidema, “Calvin as Apologist,” in Calvin@500, ed. Topping and Vissers (Eugene: Pickwick, 2011), 67–85. 26 CP, III.13.23. 27 For a wider perspective on this critique see Brad Gregory, The Unintended Refor­ mation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society (Cambridge: HUP, 2012), chapter 4.

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Vermigli’s hermeneutic (and his sacramental theology with it) was based primarily on the objective presence of the Holy Spirit. That is, Vermigli was arguing that in treating Scripture in the right manner, the Holy Spirit would do his proper work. Yet, how could Vermigli assure his students and readers that he was truly interpreting Scripture in the right manner? For many conservative theologians (and even Protestant critics) this seemed like a circular argument. Second, it also deeply informed the piety of those who were attracted to a similar reforming cause. It refocused corporate worship on comprehension of words, filtering liturgical and sacramental actions through their comprehension. Vermigli’s critique here lined up with the kinds of projects for reform that would be common in the Edwardian period and, later, in the reign of Elizabeth. Comparisons Vermigli was not alone in connecting the authority of the minister to larger spiritual realities and the comprehension of the text of Scripture. No doubt, these same concerns were central to the thought of a number of other reformers under Edward VI who also considered it their “singular indeuor” to remove the “infamies” argued by more conservative theologians. Consider, for example, the rhetoric of preachers during the same period at Paul’s Cross, the famous outdoor preaching station outside of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. In the Edwardian era, as had been the case before and after, this was a place that attracted large audiences that wished to hear sermons that often concerned the main points of contention between church and crown or conservatives and reformers. While others can be noted, one of the most memorable preachers was the sometime bishop of Worchester, Hugh Latimer.28 Though he enjoyed Henry VIII’s favor for several years, Latimer had been silenced for the last part of the King’s reign as the king was increasingly concerned with the diversity of doctrine in his realm.29 However, after King Edward was crowned, Latimer, and many other preachers like him, were encouraged 28 On Latimer and Paul’s Cross, see Allan G. Chester, Hugh Latimer: Apostle to the English (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1954); The Works of Hugh Latimer, ed. George Corrie (Cambridge: CUP, 1844); Susan Wabuda, Preaching During the English Reformation (Cambridge: CUP, 2002); Millar MacLure, The Paul’s Cross Sermons, 1534–1642 (Toronto: UofT, 1958); Mary Morrissey, Politics and the Paul’s Cross Sermons, 1558–1642 (Oxford: OUP, 2011); See also my essay on Latimer in A Companion to Paul’s Cross, ed. W.J. Torrance Kirby (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming). 29 Lucy Wooding, Henry VIII (London: Routledge, 2009), 250–257.



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to preach for reform. Testifying to the importance of Latimer’s voice, he was asked to be one of the first major reforming voices to preach at Paul’s Cross. Though he preached perhaps as many as eight times in early 1548 from the open air pulpit, he is best remembered for the only extant sermon, one named the ‘Sermon on the Plougher’ in later literature.30 Latimer’s call in this sermon is to make all “prelates,” those with any “spirituall charge” from country priest to city bishop, to be diligent plowmen of Scripture.31 That is, rather than have undue concern for liturgical actions, administration or politics, as Latimer thinks many conservatives theologians have, all priests should show primary concern for preaching that “feeds” hearers.32 In an oft-quoted phrase, Latimer argues that these kinds of preachers should be promoted by a reforming church: Great is theyr busines, and therefore greate should be theyre hyre. They have great laboures and therfore they ought to have good liuinges, that they maye comodiously seade theyr flocke, for the preachynge of the worde of God unto the people is called meat. Not strauberies, that come but once a yeare and tary not longe, but are sone gone: but it is meat. It is no deynties.33

The renewed emphasis on preaching, especially the kind of preaching that was understood by the hearers present, is clear in Latimer’s argument. But he also argues for the importance of a proper spiritual presence, albeit in a roundabout manner. His argument is that when no legitimate preaching of Scripture is done, there is still a spiritual presence among the people: the Devil is at work. Probably shocking to some in his audience, Latimer argued that the Devil was the most active bishop in England.34 Indeed, Latimer was concerned that proper preaching of God’s word be based on God’s Word and led by his Spirit, lest that evil spirit take over.35 These comments by Latimer at Paul’s Cross help us contextualize the promotion of what the reformers considered a proper relationship between Word and Spirit that would be again highlighted in the following year in Vermigli’s lectures on 1 Corinthians. 30 The first edition is: [Hugh Latimer], A notable sermo[n] of ye reuerende father Maister Hughe Latemer, whiche he preached in ye Shrouds at paules churche in Londo[n], on the. xviii. daye of Ianuary, 1548 (London: John Day and William Seres, 1548), [STC 15292a]. Hereafter Sermon. 31 Sermon, B.iii.recto. 32 Sermon, A.iv.verso and B.iv.verso. 33 Sermon, A.vi.recto. 34 Sermon, C.ii.recto. 35 Compare with comments in Susan Wabuda, “Latimer, Hugh,” in ODNB.

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A study of Vermigli’s piety and its echoes in other English reformers during the reign of Edward VI does more than just ‘humanize’ the Florentine reformer. In fact, such efforts at making a reformer directly relevant to the piety of a contemporary strand of Christianity usually says more about the reader than Vermigli himself. As a point of comparison, consider the various attempts to attribute some humanité to John Calvin in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.36 Though certain aspects of those studies helpfully reorient earlier scholarship, they can also be seen as presenting ‘accommodations’ of Calvin to their times.37 In like manner, a study of Vermigli’s theology runs the risk of misunderstanding its original context and impact. However, a study of Vermigli’s piety, especially his contributions to an understanding of corporate Christian worship and the Christian life, are not topics that should be avoided in Reformation scholarship. A scholarly understanding of Vermigli’s life must note that Vermigli was not simply a ‘systematic’ or ‘scholastic’ theologian, by definition of those words in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Rather, he was a student of Scripture that sought to make his work relevant to other domains of thought and to the life of the Church and individual Christians in the successive cities in which he taught. In particular, his understanding of the practical role of the Holy Spirit and diligent study, helps nuance portraits of his theology that would focus too much on his philological or philosophical concerns. The practical impact of the piety of this Italian exile is seen in England. Our study situated Vermigli’s thought in his years as Regius Professor of Divinity at Oxford University. Understanding the challenge of reform in that period and hearing echoes in his contemporaries, we can better understand the reasons for which he was compelled to comment on 1 Corinthians and support the efforts for reform of the English Church under Edward VI. Though his time in England would be cut short by Edward’s death and Mary’s accession to the throne, Vermigli was one who was instrumental in shaping both the thought and the piety of the exiles who returned to remodel the Church of England in the reign of Elizabeth.38

36 See, for example, Richard Stauffer, L’humanité de Calvin (Paris: Delachaux et Niestlé, 1964). 37 See also Muller, UC. 38 See especially, Kirby, Zurich Connection, chs. 4–5.

PART THREE

EARLY ORTHODOXY (ca. 1565–1640)

THE MAN IN THE BLACK HAT: THEODORE BEZA AND THE REORIENTATION OF EARLY REFORMED HISTORIOGRAPHY Raymond A. Blacketer The Five Points of Reassessing “Calvinism” When Richard A. Muller published Christ and the Decree in 1986, it fell like a bomb onto the playground of the neo-orthodox historical theologians.1 The study of Calvin and the Reformed tradition had received a boost from Barth and his disciples; but now the presuppositions and prejudices that came to be typical of the field began to face serious and substantial critique, and not only from one individual or any ostensible “school” of thought, or even of any one confessional tradition. Rather, the mythology about Calvin and “Calvinism,” created somewhat by Barth but more so by his ideological heirs, could not bear the scrutiny of scholars actually reading early Reformed thinkers in their historical contexts rather than through a modern dogmatic filter. Muller’s study of the relationship between Calvin’s thought and that of later “Calvinist” thinkers began as a doctoral dissertation at Duke University Divinity School in 1976—one that changed the mind of his mentor David Steinmetz regarding the character of later Reformed thinkers such as Theodore Beza.2 At around the same time, other scholars were challenging the received narrative about later “Calvinists” distorting the pristine thought of Calvin.3 The older narrative began to crumble, and further research by numerous scholars over several decades has eroded the plausibility of pitting Calvin against the (so-called) Calvinists. Certainly 1 Karl Adam remarked that Karl Barth’s Römerbrief “schlug…wie eine Bombe auf dem Spielplatz der Theologen ein….” See “Die Theologie der Krisis,” Hochland 23.2 (1926): 276–277. 2 Cf. the traditional view of Beza in Steinmetz’s Reformers in the Wings (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971; repr. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1981), 162–171, with the substantially revised second edition (Oxford: OUP, 2001), 114–120. 3 See, for example, studies of Beza’s thought that appeared in the 1970s: Ian McPhee, “Conserver or Transformer of Calvin’s Theology? A Study of the Origins and Development of Theodore Beza’s Thought, 1550–1570” (PhD diss., University of Cambridge, 1979); Jill Raitt, The Eucharistic Theology of Theodore Beza: Development of the Reformed Doctrine (Chambersburg: American Academy of Religion, 1972); Tadataka Maruyama, The Ecclesiology of Theodore Beza: The Reform of the True Church (Geneva: Droz, 1978).

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there remain those who desperately want to save Calvin for neoorthodoxy, to read the Reformation through the Church Dogmatics, but that enterprise can no longer bear serious historical scrutiny.4 The essays in this volume not only serve as proof enough of that point, but they represent the fruit of a turn for the better in the study of Reformation and post-Reformation thought. Much has changed since Muller published Christ and the Decree, including Muller’s own assessment of the historiographical issues.5 This shift is not the sole result of one man’s work, but neither should Muller’s influence be underestimated.6 At the risk of reducing these historiographical changes to an ill-fitting five-point acronym, there are several changes that one can observe in the study of the early Reformed tradition. First, there is a growing, corrective awareness that it is misleading to refer to the Reformed tradition as “Calvinism.” John Calvin was an exceptionally gifted and important contributor to this theological tradition, so much so that his name became virtually synonymous with Reformed thought. But he was neither the founder of that tradition, nor was he the Reformed churches’ only formative intellectual leader.7 A corollary is that Calvin’s writings are not the sole benchmark for evaluating contributions of other Reformed thinkers, nor does further development and refinement of theological thought necessarily represent a corruption or betrayal of some ostensibly pristine revelation that was Calvin’s sole possession. In addition, scholarship has evidenced an increasing awareness that Reformed theology after Calvin was a diverse, dynamic, and developing phenomenon. Calvin did not always completely agree with his Reformed contemporaries: for example, with Bullinger on predestination or with Wolfgang Musculus on paedocommunion. Later debates about the extent

4 An example of this futile enterprise is the doubly-misnamed Evangelical Calvinism, ed. Habets and Grow (Eugene: Pickwick, 2012). 5 See R.A. Muller, “Predestination and Christology in Sixteenth Century Reformed Theology” (PhD diss., Duke University, 1976); and cf. the first edition of Muller, Decree, with the reprint and Muller’s methodological preface (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2008). 6 Nor should this historiographical shift be reduced to “the Muller thesis,” as does Martin I. Klauber, “Continuity and Discontinuity in Post-Reformation Reformed Theology: An Evaluation of the Muller Thesis,” JETS 33 (1990): 467–475. Muller’s contribution has more to do with historiographical method than one’s conclusions. 7 See, e.g. Emidio Campi, “Calvin, the Swiss Reformed Churches, and European Reformation,” in Calvin and His Influence, 1509–2009, ed. Backus and Benedict (New York: OUP, 2011):119–143; Donald W. Sinnema, “Calvin and the Canons of Dordt (1619),” CHRC 91.1–2 (2011): 87–103.



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of Christ’s redemption also illustrate how this tradition encompassed a diversity of viewpoints within a clearly identifiable theological trajectory.8 Confessional consolidation, the teaching of Reformed theology, the training of pastors, and the ongoing apologetic task required adaptability. The churches of the Reformed fold faced external challenges such as attacks by fellow Protestants in the Lutheran tradition, who refused to make common cause with the Reformed, as well as ongoing opposition from Roman Catholic apologists. Internal conflicts included the Remon­ strant controversy, which required further definition and refinement of Reformed doctrine at the Synod of Dordt and the outright proscription of Remonstrant opinions, and the lesser controversy surrounding Moïse Amyraut, which did not rise to the level of heresy or formal ecclesiastical exclusion.9 There is indeed change and development from Calvin (and others of his generation) to later Reformed thinkers, but contrary to the older historiographical mythology, there are identifiable patterns of continuity as well as development and diversity in early Reformed theological thought.10 Third, the ongoing reassessment by researchers of later Reformed thinkers and their works is less hostile, prejudicial, and stereotyping than much scholarship of the mid-twentieth century, which was heavily influenced by neo-orthodox theological concerns and criteria, as well as by nineteenth-century assumptions about all-controlling central dogmas. More scholars are now carefully analyzing these sources in their historical context, instead of categorizing and pejoratively dismissing these thinkers and their works as rigid, dry, lifeless, rationalistic, or deductive. As a result, scholars are now discovering previously unmined veins of Reformed biblical, pastoral, and theological reflection in later Reformed authors and similarly overlooked contemporaries of Calvin. Fourth, researchers have substantially reappraised the nature of “scholasticism” among Reformed theologians of the Reformation and 8 On this diversity, see R.A. Muller, Calvin and the Reformed Tradition: On the Work of Christ and the Order of Salvation (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2012), cited as CRT, and R.A. Blacketer, “Blaming Beza: The Development of Definite Atonement in the Reformed Tradition,” in From Heaven He Came and Sought Her: Definite Atonement in Historical, Biblical, Theological and Pastoral Perspective, ed. Gibson and Gibson (Wheaton: Crossway, 2013): 119–139. 9 Contra Brian G. Armstrong, Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy (Madison: UWP, 1969), cited as CAH. On the variations of hypothetical universalism, see CRT, ch. 5. 10 Note Muller’s “Reassessing the Relation of Reformation and Orthodoxy: A Methodological Rejoinder,” American Theological Inquiry 4.1 (2011): 3–12, which counters oversimplified caricatures of his work and of changing scholarly trends.

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post-Reformation eras. Many scholars now recognize that “scholastic” is most properly a designation of method, rather than a specific and predictable doctrinal content. The term scholastic, as employed in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, is precisely equivalent to the modern term academic, with all the positive, neutral, and pejorative implications that its use in a given context might imply. The fact that theologians in the Reformed tradition resorted to the academic method of making careful distinctions and definitions, arising (it should be emphasized) from exegetical reflection, does not imply, as older scholarship frequently alleged, that these thinkers abandoned an original and pristine Christ-centered Biblicism for rationalistic, deductive systems divorced from piety. Scholars have also come to see the continued use and adaptation of Aristotelian categories and fourfold causality not as an obvious indication that a thinker has abandoned the original genius of the Reformation, but as part and parcel of renaissance humanist dialectic. The final point is that scholars increasingly realize that no early Reformed thinker’s work is reducible to a central motif, nor can it be judged according to any modern theological standard, which in any case would be arbitrary and anachronistic. And this is where Muller himself has changed. Christ and the Decree still operated with the presupposition that Reformed thinkers had to measure up to a certain christological criterion; they had to be “Christocentric,” as neo-orthodoxy had framed the question. But in fact it would be impossible to find any theologian of the early modern era who was not in some sense Christocentric, and it would definitely be impossible to find any who were Christocentric in the same way that Barth and his epigones were. Even the anti-Trinitarians of the early modern period focused on Christ as a moral example, if not the divine Son of God. This trend of evaluating early modern thinkers according to modern vogues later evolved into the tendency to make the doctrine of the Trinity the central criterion (or, more recently, union with Christ).11 But like all of Christendom apart from the aforementioned antiTrinitarians, early Reformed thinkers were universally and thoroughly Trinitarian. The evolving depiction of Theodore Beza illustrates these historiographical shifts.

11 See Muller, PRRD, 4:71, and CRT, esp. chs. 1 and 5.



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Beza as Villain A 1597 portrait of an aging Théodore de Bèze, in which Calvin’s successor in Geneva dons a black hat, hangs in the La Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français in Paris.12 The narrative in which Theodore Beza plays the villain who ruined Reformed theology has been current since at least the mid-seventeenth century, when Moïse Amyraut sought to identify his own speculative schema of decrees with the primordial thought of Calvin and to drive a wedge between the teachings of Calvin and Beza in order to further his own theological agenda, thus presaging the historiographic mythology that pitted “Calvin against the Calvinists.”13 The thesis that Beza transformed Calvin’s humanistic, biblical thought into a deductive, rationalistic system prevailed in the mid-twentieth century and was largely shaped by modern theological agendas.14 This was not always the case. The Edinburgh historical theologian William Cunningham (1805–1861) more accurately perceived that Beza’s mature thought was a development, not a desertion, of Reformed doctrine: “the points of alleged difference between [Calvin and Beza] in matters of doctrine, respect chiefly topics on which Calvin was not led to give any very formal or explicit deliverance, because they were not at the time subjects of discussion, or indeed ever present to his thoughts.”15 Older theologically-oriented scholarship tended both to produce caricatures of important figures such as Beza and to ignore the broader context in which they wrote. But gradual signs of change began to appear 12 The portrait can be viewed online: http://www.museeprotestant.org, accessible at date of publication. 13 Amyraut refers to Beza as a great figure, but in the matter of election he employed a “methode particuliere” which others were not obliged to follow. See Amyraut, Defense de la doctrine de Calvin sur le sujet de l’election et de la reprobation (Saumur: I. Desbordes, 1644); cf. Armstrong, CAH, 159. Muller has demonstrated that Amyraut read his own rather speculative schema of decrees back into Calvin’s writings, CRT, ch. 4. 14 See, e.g., Hans Emil Weber, Reformation, Orthodoxie und Rationalismus, 2 vols. in 3 (Gütersloh: C. Bertelsmann, 1937–1951); Edward A. Dowey, The Knowledge of God in Calvin’s Theology, 3rd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), esp. 218; Armstrong, CAH; Walter Kickel, Vernunft und Offenbarung bei Theodor Beza: Zum Problem der Verhältnisses von Theologie, Philosophie und Staat (Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 1967); Johannes Dantine, “Das christologische Problem in Rahmen der Prädestinationslehre von Theodor Beza,” ZfK 77 (1966): 81–96; and idem, “Les Tabelles sur la doctrine de la prédestination par Théodore de Bèze,” Revue de théologie et de philosophie 16 (1966): 365–377. 15 William Cunningham, The Reformers; and the Theology of the Reformation (Edinburgh: TTC, 1862), 349. Cunningham’s analysis of the problem of Calvin’s view of the extent of Christ’s redemption (395–402), even after a century and half, is still insightful.

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in the 1970s, as new studies of Beza and later Reformed theology emerged that began to question the received narrative.16 An examination of John Bray’s 1971 analysis of Beza’s treatise De praedestinationis doctrina will serve to illustrate this scholarly transition.17 A Document Debated At the outset one should emphasize that Bray’s study represents a marked advance over some previous and particularly hostile examinations of Beza’s thought. Thus Bray, for example, has a somewhat nuanced take on scholasticism, recognizing its transformation and continuation in the Renaissance and Reformation, and the continued use and adaptation of Aristotelian philosophy in that time period. Yet Bray still labors under the negative stereotypes of scholasticism that characterize it as a rationalistic, deductive method, and thus a betrayal of Calvin’s original genius.18 The result is an unresolved tension in Bray’s study, which represents a double-exposed snapshot of scholarship in transition. Bray writes: Although there are strong similarities between the Tabula [Praedestinationis] of 1555 and Beza’s De Praedestinationis doctrina of 1582, the differences are consistent and significant. By 1582 it appears that the scholastic, rationalistic tendencies within Beza have come more to the fore. The basic terms used in both works—decree, predestination, foreknowledge—are given a more precise, rationalistic definition. By 1582 Beza has dropped such anthropocentric terms as “love” and “hate.” There has been an infusion of Thomistic terminology. And, perhaps most significantly, Beza’s earlier strictures which reminded one of the mystery involved in predestination are almost entirely absent from this later work. It would appear that now the only mystery consists of determining who is to be included in the ranks of the reprobate. In spite of the fact that the lectures upon which De Praedestinationis doctrina was based were, ostensibly, an exegesis of Romans 9, in fact, the text of Romans 9 has been exploited by Beza as an opportunity to expound his theory of predestination. Thus one discovers that Beza has read into the text of Romans 9 controversies in which he himself was involved; he has sought justification in Romans 9 for his own theories concerning predestination; 16 E.g. Raitt, The Eucharistic Theology of Theodore Beza; McPhee, “Conserver or Transformer of Calvin’s Theology?” 17 De praedestinationis doctrina et vero usu tractatio absolutissima, ed. Raphael Egli, 2nd ed. (Geneva: E. Vignon, [1582] 1583). This is a corrected reprint of the original 1582 edition. See Frédéric Gardy, Bibliographie des œuvres théologiques, littéraires, historiques et juridiques de Théodore de Bèze (Geneva: Droz, 1960), 187. 18 John S. Bray, Theodore Beza’s Doctrine of Predestination (Nieuwkoop: DeGraaf, 1975), 9–17.



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and he has drawn conclusions from the text far beyond what many exegetes would view as justified. At the same time, one must remember that Romans had provided an opportunity earlier for Luther and Calvin to expound their theories of predestination. The difference is that Beza’s comments were far more systematic and scholastic.19

The evidence, however, supports no such conclusions. Moreover, an analysis of Beza’s latter work demonstrates, if anything, far more exegetical argumentation and “humanist” analysis of the biblical text than the far more concise Tabula. But before we get into those details, we should dispense with a number of faulty presuppositions, inherited from a tendentious scholarly tradition, that taint Bray’s perception of this document. First, Bray operates with the assumption that “scholastic” implies “rationalistic,” rather than “academic.” One should not assume that greater conceptual precision and an insistence on conceptual coherence somehow imply rationalism; otherwise virtually every theologian who engaged in debate, including Luther and Calvin, would be considered rationalistic. Leaving aside the patently false contention that Beza has dropped the terms “love” and “hate” from the De praedestinationis doctrina (in fact he uses these terms scores of times throughout the treatise, particularly in relation to the exegesis of God’s love of Jacob and hatred of Esau in Romans 9:13, pp. 62–73, 83–85, much more so than in the Tabula), it is a puzzling contention that Beza’s discussion of divine predestination should somehow be “anthropocentric” (Paul speaks of divine love and hate, after all). Moreover, there is no “infusion” of “Thomistic” terminology, and even if there were, one could not deduce from this that Beza had become addicted to reason—a charge that Beza believes applies to his opponents (e.g. 104). Beza does cite Aquinas as an example of the exegetical strategy of interpreting universal statements of God’s saving will as applying to all classes of people, and not every individual, but this distinction goes back to Augustine and is common in the Christian tradition. In fact, Beza cites Thomas reluctantly and displays an obvious aversion to traditional “scholastic” theology. His distaste is for what he considers traditional academic theology’s Pelagian tendencies, not for its rather useful distinctions, such as that between God’s voluntas signi and voluntas beneplaciti. These distinctions, despite their medieval academic pedigree, figured in Calvin’s understanding of the divine will as well.20 Thus here as in his other writings on predestination Beza regularly employs his own clarifying 19 Bray, Theodore Beza’s Doctrine of Predestination, 73. 20 De praed. doct., 103. See Blacketer, “Blaming Beza,” and Muller, CRT, ch. 3.

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distinction regarding a divine promise of salvation that is indefinite rather than universal, since the promise of the gospel does not in fact come to all persons who ever lived.21 He similarly faults other writers for failing to distinguish between absolute necessity and necessity of the consequence—an error to which modern interpreters of Beza have also been liable. Thus Beza can say that persons sin both voluntarily and necessarily (101). Second, Bray’s analysis exhibits an imprecise use of the term scholastic which was common in the time he was writing, and which he takes over from dogmatically-oriented writers such as Weber, Armstrong, Dowey, and Kickel, in addition to the older central dogma theories of scholars such as Alexander Schweitzer.22 But why should academic lectures not be “scholastic,” unless one interprets the term in an arbitrary and highly subjective manner to mean any doctrine that strikes the reader as cold, rigid, or overly rational? Of course these lectures are scholastic, that is, academic. Beza was immersed in the work of training students at the Academy at Geneva, both as an administrator and as a professor, in addition to his pastoral duties. In fact, the survival of the Genevan academy was dependent upon Beza’s efforts to keep the institution afloat and to promote its reputation as a leading center of Reformed learning.23 For both Calvin and Beza, well-trained pastors and teachers were particularly crucial to the success of their vision of a Reformed church, which Calvin likened to the “school of God,” and in which congregants were not merely passive observers of priestly rites, but active learners and participants.24 Fourth, Bray mischaracterizes how much continuity in method and content there is between Beza’s Tabula and the De praedestinationis doctrina, so much so that one wonders how carefully Bray read the latter document. At the center of both expositions is Beza’s crucial distinction between the decree and its execution, that is, between God’s immutable will to elect and reject, and the contingent secondary causes that bring 21 See Blacketer, “Blaming Beza.” 22 Alexander Schweizer, Die protestantischen Centraldogmen in ihrer Entwicklung innerhalb der reformierten Kirche, 2 vols. (Zürich: Orell, Füssli und Comp., 1854–1856). Schweizer does not posit a radical disjuncture between Calvin and later Reformed thinkers; cf. Muller, PRRD, 1:124. 23 See Karin Maag, “Recteur, pasteur et professeur: Théodore de Bèze et l’éducation à Genève,” in Théodore de Bèze (1519–1605), ed. Backus (Geneva: Droz, 2007): 29–39; and see also Maag, Seminary or University? The Genevan Academy and Reformed Higher Education, 1560–1620 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1995). 24 See R.A. Blacketer, The School of God: Pedagogy and Rhetoric in Calvin’s Interpretation of Deuteronomy (Dordrecht: Springer, 2006).



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about that will. Beza thus can make God’s grace the sole ground for salvation, while leaving freely-chosen human rebellion the only basis for condemnation, so that God is not the author of sin nor does he condemn persons arbitrarily or unjustly (e.g. 99–100). Beza insists that God does not directly cause persons to harden their hearts against him (22, 101), anticipating the denial by the Canons of Dordt that reprobation is the cause of unbelief in the same way (eodem modo) that election is the cause of salvation. Highly misleading, then, is the recent claim that Beza presented “election and reprobation as exactly symmetrical in God’s mind, both constituting a part of his eternal decree.”25 Beza also foreshadows Dordt’s insistence that God’s call is serious, even for the reprobate (36, 78; cf. CoD III/IV.8). In addition, while Beza considers newly-raised objections to the Reformed teaching on predestination (e.g. 79–83), the main lines of his argument mirror those of his other writings on predestination, including his characteristic distinction between a universal and indefinite salvific will of God.26 Given this basic similarity between the Tabula and De praedestinationis doctrina, though the latter document is more copious and deals with further controversies and objections, it is difficult to find any basis for Bray’s contention that Beza has excised the mystery from the doctrine of predestination. That assertion is itself a mystery. And then there is the historical context. Bray hardly mentions the student who transcribed these classroom lectures at the Genevan Academy, Raphael Egli (1599–1622), except to call him Beza’s “faithful disciple.”27 A little further digging would have revealed that Egli was in fact a brilliant yet highly problematic student who caused Beza significant frustration. Egli’s escapades embarrassed Beza and earned the ire of Beza’s counterpart in Zürich, Rudolph Gwalther.28 Egli would go on to divide his efforts between theology and alchemy, often publishing alchemical works under pseudonyms.29 Despite his youthful indiscretions, Egli went on to teach 25 Backus and Benedict, Calvin and His Influence, 14. The introduction also gets Calvin’s doctrine of predestination completely wrong, claiming that Calvin bases election and reprobation on foreseen faith or unbelief. 26 On this distinction, see Blacketer, “Blaming Beza.” 27 Bray, Theodore Beza’s Doctrine of Predestination, 72. 28 Correspondance de Théodore de Bèze, ed. Alain Dufour et al. (Geneva: Droz, 1960-), 22:xvi, 7–8, 10. Gwalter was very irritated by Egli’s arrogance; Gwalther to Beza, 24 January 1581, Correspondance, 22:25. On Egli’s romantic pursuits, see Gwalther to Beza, 10 March 1581, Correspondance, 22:60–61. 29 See Bruce T. Moran, “Alchemy, Prophecy, and the Rosicrucians: Raphael Eglinus and Mystical Currents of the Early Seventeenth Century,” in Alchemy and Chemistry in the 16th and 17th Centuries, ed. Piyo Rattansi and Antonio Clericuzio (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1994), 103–119.

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New Testament at Zürich and later theology at Marburg. Egli, who was fascinated by the Paracelsian idea of a future alchemical messianic figure known as the Elias Artista, apparently also influenced Johann Heinrich Alsted’s millenarian views.30 Thus the editor of Beza’s work is much more than “a faithful student;” he is a fascinating subject in his own right, whose story sheds light on the state of learning and science in the late sixteenth century. These intellectual connections and contexts, however, were often overlooked in earlier, dogmatically-oriented studies. Nor does Bray devote any attention to the fact that Egli dedicated this work to a fellow student at the Genevan Academy, the Polish nobleman, Count Nicholas Ostrorog (Mikołaj Ostroróg), Castellan of Belz (1567–1612).31 The recipient of this dedication points to Beza’s role in attempting to promulgate and establish the Reformed faith well beyond Geneva and even beyond France and Western Europe.32 The Bohemian Brethren found a welcome reception in the Ostrorog noble family.33 Nicholas’ father Stanislaus Ostrorog was an important figure in the rise of Polish Protestantism. Nicholas matriculated at the Geneva Academy with his brother Jan (or Johannes) on 9 April 1581.34 These two Ostrorog brothers were also the recipients of dedications of learned volumes from Johann Jacob Grynaeus of Basel,35 Johannes Sturm (edited and dedicated by Johannes Lobart) of Strassburg,36 and Johann Wolf (edited and dedicated by Heinrich Wolf) of Zürich.37 Nicholas would go on to establish a Reformed school in Krylow. The dedication to the Polish count represents 30 See Howard Hotson, Paradise Postponed: Johann Heinrich Alsted and the Birth of Calvinist Millenarianism (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 2000), 100–104; and Howard Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, 1588–1638: Between Renaissance, Reformation, and Universal Reform (Oxford: Clarendon, 2000), 59–64, 97–100. 31 On the Ostrorog family, see Theodor Wotschke, “Stanislaus Ostrorog: Ein Schutzherr der grosspolnischen evangelischen Kirche,” Zeitschrift der Historischen Gesellschaft für die Provinz Posen 22.1 (1907): 59–132; Wotschke, “Polnische Studenten in Altdorf,” Jahrbücher für Kultur und Geschichte der Slaven 4.2 (1928): 216–232. Bray uses only Beza’s collected Tractationes Theologicae, which omits the dedicatory letter; nevertheless, he cites Gardy, who indicates the roles of both Egli and Nicholas Ostrorog. 32 See Nancy Conradt, “John Calvin, Theodore Beza and the Reformation in Poland” (PhD diss., University of Wisconsin, 1974). 33 See Edmund De Schweinitz, The History of the Church known as the Unitas Fratrum (Bethlehem, Pennsylvania: Moravian Publication Concern, [1885] 1901), 288–294. 34 See Le livre du recteur de l’Academie de Geneve (1559–1878), ed. Stelling-Michaud, 6 vols. (Geneva: Droz, 1959–1980) 1:106; cf. 5:63–64. On Egli, see 3 228–229. 35 J.J. Grynaeus, Ionae Prophetae Liber, cum Enarratione (Basel: Oporinus, 1581), fol. α 2r. 36 J. Sturm, Linguae latinae resolvendae ratio, ed. Johannes Lobart (Strassburg, Wyriot, 1581), fol. * ii r. 37 Johann Wolf, Esdras: In Esdrae librum primum, ed. Heinrich Wolf (Zürich: Froschauer, 1584), fol. aa 2 r.



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Beza’s attempt both to advance the reputation of the Geneva Academy as an international center for training future Reformed leaders and to lend support to a flagging Reformed cause in Poland, an enterprise into which both Calvin and Beza had invested much effort. Beza’s reflections on God’s providential care and predestining grace would serve as an encouragement to Polish coreligionists who were under attack from Lutherans, Jesuits, and anti-Trinitarians. The document would also provide a formidable defense against attacks on the Reformed perspective on predestination, particularly in its Genevan iteration. Proceeding to an analysis of the method and content of Beza’s lectures, it is clear that Bray’s disapproving analysis (again, under the influence of the negative slant of previous studies) does not hold up. Bray implies that Beza’s approach is deductive and rationalistic rather than exegetical and biblical. But Beza’s method of beginning the treatise with definitions of terms (most of them biblical terms) and reflections on key concepts such as the divine will, differs not at all from Luther’s arguments in The Bondage of the Will or Calvin’s similar arguments in response to Pighius. Beza refers back to this prolegomena a number of times as he analyzes Paul’s text (e.g. 102). Thus, while Beza’s work is academic, it is not an exercise in metaphysical speculation; Beza explicitly rejects such speculation and even turns the accusation back on his opponents. Beza bases his formulations regarding predestination—including reprobation—on the Apostle Paul’s statements in Romans chapter 9, not to mention Exodus 9, which Paul exposits (90–93), as well as on other biblical passages such as Proverbs 16:4, another key text for Beza’s understanding of reprobation serving the end of God’s glory (125–126). Bray, however, refuses to take Beza at his word, implying that this “ostensible” exegesis of Romans 9 is merely a vehicle for Beza to promote his allegedly deductive views on predestination. While one may not agree with Beza’s interpretation of Paul, there is little evidence for Bray’s suspicious suppositions, and no place for such subjective and arbitrary judgments in historical research. Here again, however, Bray is simply following in a furrow already laid bare by other dogmatically-oriented scholars. Beza’s analysis is in fact a verse-by-verse rhetorical analysis of the text, typical of renaissance humanism’s preoccupation with examining arguments (Melanchthon’s treatments of Romans, for example, come to mind). Paul’s image of a potter and his clay, for example, Beza identifies as allegorical (115); Beza similarly identifies Canaan as an allegory of God’s eternal covenant (57). In fact, Beza’s exegesis can be seen as an attempt to

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mitigate what appears to be a rather unqualified assertion of the absolute power, sovereignty, and unquestionable nature of the deity by the Apostle Paul. Thus Beza uses rhetorical analysis to conclude that Paul is referring to the decree in Romans 9:22–23, not its execution in time through contingent causes (119). Beza points out that this teaching is found in Scripture, and thus must be there for a reason (17). In addition, Beza analyzes the meanings of Greek and Hebrew terms, which is an exegetical (even humanistic) activity, not a speculative one.38 Beza’s use of fourfold causality, rather than indicating deductive reasoning or speculation, actually prevents conclusions of determinism and fatalism; Beza uses these concepts to provide a coherent understanding of Pauline teaching (19–20, 43–44, 106, 119–120). And like any exegete of any era, Beza interacts with the Christian intellectual tradition, including the thought of Augustine, Origen, and Chrysostom, as well as engaging his contemporaries, particularly Sebastian Castellio, who advocated a radically different interpretation of the text and the doctrine as part of a longstanding and acrimonious battle with the theologians of Geneva. In addition, Beza is clearly motivated in his exegesis to defend against interpretations that would endanger the crucial Reformation teaching of salvation by grace alone. This explains his frequent references to Pelagius and semi-Pelagians. Beza is convinced that any understanding of predestination that is based on foreseen faith or unbelief, such as proposed by Castellio, Pighius, or later Lutherans, threatens the gains made by the Reformation and Luther himself (e.g. 114, 127). For this reason Beza appends copious sections from The Bondage of the Will to his treatise to demonstrate the centrality of this doctrine (and, ironically, to pit Luther against the Lutherans). Bray neglects to mention the fact that Beza identifies Christ as elect (72–73), or how often Beza backs up his discussion with supporting biblical texts and (in contrast to Castellio) refuses to countenance any demotion of the authority of Paul’s teaching in Romans 9 (112), or Beza’s observation that while Mohammed was a wretched antichrist, other descendants of Ishmael have been and will be included among the elect (57–58). Moreover, interpreters have failed to notice Beza’s distinction between the doctrine per se and its use or practical application, 38 De praed. doct., 1–5 (numerous terms), 8 (κλῆσις), 24–25 (θέλημα), 49 (ἀθετέω), 52 (κληθήσεται) 55 (ἐπαγγελία), 91 (ἐξήγειρα), 94 (analysis of Exodus 9 in the LXX and Aramaic, ַ ָ and ‫)פהר‬. ָ ָ in addition to the Hebrew terms ‫חזק‬



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a methodological distinction that Beza discerns also in the Pauline text (45, 127–128). To that practical, pastoral use of the doctrine we now turn. Pastoral Scholastic Unlike some modern seminary curricula, Beza’s De praedestinationis doctrina exemplifies how early Reformed instruction in pastoral theology was fully integrated with biblical and theological subjects. The curriculum, like this document, was simultaneously practical and academic, pastoral and scholastic. In fact, Beza’s summary of the practical use of this doctrine is that persons should seek their assurance of salvation not in speculations about the divine decree but in the means by which God works out his decree in real time (128–129). Beza emphasizes the role of pastors and teachers in preaching and administering the sacraments; through them God calls persons to faith in Christ, as opposed to alleged visions or even the private reading of scripture (129–130, 150). That external calling comes to fruition in a supernatural internal calling by the Holy Spirit when a person believes the promises of the gospel and begins to live the transformed life of a follower of Christ (131). When faith and repentance are present, Beza the pastor declares, a person may not doubt their election, any less than if they had with their own eyes seen God issue his decree (132–133). No speculation here. But neither is the doctrine of election superfluous, since without it, no one could be sure of their salvation, but would constantly worry about the quality of their faith or good works; thus the doctrine “is the only basis of our faith and hope” (133). The fact that a person believes is enough to infer that one is elect, as one ascends from the effects (faith and repentance) to the cause (God’s decree of election, 133). Beza rejects the charge that teaching predestination (and perseverance) deters people from Christian living (134–135). But instead of focusing on disingenuous adherents, Beza stresses the pastoral problem of persons who undergo exasperating spiritual struggles. Even those who temporarily lose their faith are not lost to God. The resonances of sanctification can sometimes seem so quiet as to be inaudible, and believers can, for a season, even go through hell (135–137). As Beza lectured on this topic to students in Geneva, his coreligionists in lands such as France, England, and Poland were enduring persecutions and threats to their existence; thus Beza’s applications were far from theoretical.

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What is most striking about Beza’s exposition is not speculative conjecture, but pastoral application and sensitivity. Thus he insists that dormant faith is not the same as mere temporary faith and does not imply reprobation; in fact, one cannot even deduce from a person’s unbelief that the individual is reprobate, for every person is an unbeliever at some point in time. Great caution is required in making such judgments (137–138). A person can say, “I believe, and therefore I am elect,” but one cannot say, “I do not believe, therefore I am reprobate” (here Beza references the archetypal cautionary tale of Francesco Spiera, 138–139, 153). Instead of resignation, the unbeliever should make the most of the means of grace, preaching and the sacraments. Even the recognition of unbelief can itself be a step along the way of salvation. Only the elect tend to be concerned about such matters anyway (139). As in his other predestinarian writings, Beza warns against judging any person to be reprobate, apart from special revelation and extreme cases like that of Julian the Apostate. Rather, pastors should teach unbelievers with patience and gentleness, while rebuking delinquents and employing church discipline when necessary (141–142). One must always hold out the hope that conversion may occur. And here is the mystery in Beza’s doctrine of predestination, the mystery that Bray overlooks: even if we see more signs of reprobation than election in an individual, Beza counsels, “the mercy of our Lord God is immense, even in the last breath of life. And many such things often happen beyond all human hope” (141). The Future of Early Reformed Orthodoxy Returning to the current state of scholarship into Beza and the development of Reformed thought, we observe that new appraisals of Beza’s significance continue to appear, including an illustrated overview of his life,39 a substantial collection of essays on Beza commemorating the 400th anniversary of his death,40 and studies of Beza as a humanist,41 a diplomat and leader of the Reformed cause,42 a theologian43 and a 39 Willem Balke, et al., ed., Théodore de Bèze: zijn leven, zijn werk (Kampen: Kok, 2012). 40 Backus, ed., Théodore de Bèze. 41 E.g. Scott M. Manetsch, “Psalms before Sonnets: Theodore Beza and the Studia Humanitatis,” in Continuity and Change, ed. Bast and Gow (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 400–416. 42 Scott M. Manetsch, Theodore Beza and the Quest for Peace in France, 1572–1598 (Leiden: Brill, 2000). 43 See, e.g., Jeffrey Mallinson’s outstanding study, Faith, Reason, and Revelation in Theodore Beza 1519–1605 (Oxford: OUP, 2003).



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pastor.44 A careful examination of his works still leads to the conclusion that “Beza emphasizes not the development of a predestinarian system of theology but the application of election to the life of piety. His purpose in preaching and teaching election, even in preaching the doctrine of the double decree, is the assurance of the elect.”45 Freed from a misleading caricature and a suspect narrative, future scholars of Beza and the development of Reformed thought have much to explore.

44 Shawn D. Wright, Our Sovereign Refuge: The Pastoral Theology of Theodore Beza (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2004); cf. Jill Raitt, “Beza, Guide for the Faithful Life,” Scottish Journal of Theology 39.1 (1986): 83–107. 45 Muller, Decree, 80.

FROM PROFESSORS TO PASTORS: THE CONVOLUTED CAREERS OF JEAN DIODATI AND THÉODORE TRONCHIN Karin Maag Beginning in the mid-sixteenth century, the republic of Geneva, located on the border between France, Savoy, and the Swiss lands, had gained a reputation as a leading center of Reformed theology and teaching. Led by John Calvin, ably seconded by Theodore Beza, the Genevan church served as a reference point for Reformed believers. Its academy, officially founded in 1559 and offering both a Latin school and university-level education, attracted students from across Europe. While some came for very practical reasons, specifically to receive the necessary training in biblical exegesis and preaching to become pastors, others were drawn to the intellectual reputation of the Genevan Academy, even after Calvin’s death in 1564. Later renowned professors, including Lambert Daneau, Isaac Casaubon, and François Hotman, all contributed to the academy’s aura.1 Yet by the early seventeenth century, the situation of Geneva’s church and academy had deteriorated, mostly because the Genevan church and magistrates could not seem to attract and retain men of sufficient caliber to replace the previous generation of leaders who by the turn of the century were increasingly elderly. This contribution will focus on one particular extended episode in the first decade of the seventeenth century, in which a three-cornered debate surfaced beginning in 1606 between the magistrates, pastors, and professors of Geneva over possible solutions for the acute shortage of qualified leading pastors for the Genevan churches. On the professors’ side, the main protagonists were two young instructors, Jean Diodati and Théodore Tronchin, both of whom were at the start of their academic careers and were requested by the magistrates to combine their pre-existing teaching responsibilities with pastoral charges, to fill the gaps in Genevan ministerial ranks. Diodati and Tronchin repeatedly refused to comply, 1 For more on the history of the Genevan Academy in its first sixty years, see Karin Maag, Seminary or University? The Genevan Academy and Reformed Higher Education (Aldershot: Scolar, 1995). All three men listed served as professors prior to 1600: see 41–54 and 71–72.

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arguing that the added responsibilities would over-extend them and, by extension, harm the academy. While the Company of Pastors echoed the professors’ concerns, they did eventually join the magistrates in pressing Diodati and Tronchin to accept these new roles. This contribution will argue that the roots of this conflict went deeper than a debate over the appropriate parameters of professors’ responsibilities, and instead signaled a sea change in the perceived importance of scholarly work and in the power balance between government and ecclesiastical authorities in seventeenth-century Geneva, particularly over the selection and appointment of pastors. In November 1605, Theodore Beza died, at the age of eighty-six. He had led the Genevan church following Calvin’s death in 1564, and his lengthy period at the helm had fostered a period of relatively harmonious relations between church and state in Geneva.2 However, perhaps because Beza was the dominant figure in the Genevan church for so long, and because of his emphasis on continuing in the same paths traced by Calvin, little sustained thought had been given to any plans to renew or rejuvenate the Genevan pastorate. At the same time, the needs of other Reformed churches for strong and dedicated leadership, especially in France, meant that young and promising pastors were regularly lent or sent permanently from Geneva to distant churches, making these ministers unavailable for service in the city. Thus, at the time of Beza’s death, many of the other pastors in Geneva were men who had been at the peak of their powers in the 1560s, 1570s, or 1580s. By the early seventeenth century, a group photograph of the Genevan Company of Pastors could have served as advertising for a retirement community. In 1605, Antoine de La Faye and Jean Pinault were sixty-five, Charles Perrot was sixty-four, while Simon Goulart and Jean Jaquemot were both sixty-two.3 These five men constituted the core of the Company, and they all had been serving in city pulpits for twenty-five years or more. They were joined in their work by a few younger colleagues: David Le Boiteux was fifty, Abraham Grenet was forty-eight, and the junior member was Gabriel Cusin, who at thirty-one had only been serving in a 2 Eugene Choisy, L’Etat Chrétien calviniste à Genève au temps de Théodore de Bèze (Geneva: Eggimann, 1902), 8–19. See also Théodore de Bèze: Actes du colloque de Genève (Septembre 2005), ed. Backus (Geneva: Droz, 2007). 3 The sheer fact of their age was not the only problem. A number of these men were also in failing health: in 1606, the Company of Pastors noted “the ill-health of our brother Monsieur Perrot, who is becoming increasingly sickly.” See the Registres de la compagnie des Pasteurs de Genève, ed. Campagnolo et al. (Geneva: Droz, 1989), 9:210 (hereafter, Registres, 9).



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city pulpit for two years by 1605.4 Geneva urgently needed a few more younger men to take up leadership positions in the Genevan church, especially as the older members of the Company began to fail in health. Because Geneva was a state church, pastors and magistrates shared the responsibility for oversight of the church. The magistrates controlled and paid the pastors’ salaries and ratified their appointment, while the Company of Pastors carried out the day-to-day oversight of the church and selected and presented candidates for ministry to the magistrates and the people for their approval. The precipitating cause of the conflict between the magistrates and pastors of Geneva over appointments to the city’s pulpits was the death of Jean Pinault in September 1606. His death left a hole in the roster of pastors for the city, one that could not easily be filled by stretching the remaining city pastors’ duties, especially given the advanced age of many of them. The usual tactic followed by the Company of Pastors when a vacancy emerged in the city was to promote one of the pastors who served Geneva’s rural parishes. This practice had been followed since the 1540s, and indeed this career progression from a sequence of rural parishes where a pastor gained experience, to a city pulpit as the culmination of one’s career, was the expected path for promising ministers. Following the death of Jean Pinault, therefore, the Company of Pastors prepared to review the capacities and prospects of its rural clergy to promote one of them to the vacancy in the city. However, at this point, the Genevan Small Council (the city’s ruling body of twenty-five magistrates) intervened, and stated that their preferred solution was not to promote one of the pastors from the countryside but instead to have two of the professors in the Genevan Academy add pastoral duties to their academic responsibilities. This strategy was meant as a temporary solution, until the return of an up-and-coming pastor and Genevan citizen, Jean Chauve, who was serving churches in France at the time, and whom the magistrates felt would be a strong candidate to replace Pinault.5 The two professors in question in 1606 were Jean Diodati and Gaspard Laurent. Diodati, born in 1576, had been teaching Hebrew at the Genevan Academy since 1597 and theology since 1599, while the older Laurent, born in 1556, had become the academy’s professor of Greek in 1597.6 4 Information on the ages and lifespans of these pastors comes from the biographical entries in Henri Heyer, L’Église de Genève 1555–1909 (Geneva: Jullien, 1909). 5 Registres, 9:206. 6 See Heyer, L’Eglise de Genève, and Maag, Seminary or University?, 197. On Diodati’s early career, see E. de Budé, Vie de Jean Diodati, théologien genevois 1576–1649 (Lausanne:

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It is worth pausing to analyze the magistrates’ rationale for opposing the Company’s long-standing practice of promoting rural pastors to vacant city pulpits. According to the editors of the Registres de la compagnie des pasteurs, the magistrates’ priority was to have Genevan citizens serve in city pulpits.7 In this period, most of the pastors serving Geneva were either born in France or were born in Geneva but were the sons of fathers who had also been born outside Geneva. Thus these men were not classified as Genevan citizens, since a citizen was someone born to another citizen or to a bourgeois of the city. Why would the city fathers care so much about the citizenship of its leading pastors? In part, it seems, the magistrates wanted to ensure that the city pastors were more firmly under the city’s control—citizens had a strong responsibility to defend and uphold the city’s honor, and to support the city’s priorities. It was also more difficult for a citizen to follow career opportunities elsewhere, since his primary loyalty was to be to his own community. Thus the magistrates preferred to have pastors who were loyal, obedient, and firmly rooted in the city of their birth.8 Given the simmering jurisdictional conflicts between the Genevan pastors and magistrates at the start of the seventeenth century, the government’s preference for citizens when filling vacancies in the clerical corps is understandable. Furthermore, it seems that the magistrates were keen to recruit men of strong and proven reputations as preachers for the city pulpits, and were not convinced that the practice of promoting a junior and relatively unknown pastor from the Genevan countryside would do much to enhance the reputation of the city. In spite of the magistrates’ hopes, Jean Chauve never returned to Geneva to serve as a pastor.9 Once it was clear that Chauve would not come back, the magistrates increased their demands to have professors of the Genevan Academy add pastoral duties to their teaching loads. The magistrates saw no problem in having the professors take on both sets Bridel, 1869), 25–27. For more on Diodati’s life, see William McComish, The Epigones: A Study of the Theology of the Genevan Academy at the Time of the Synod of Dordt, with special reference to Giovanni Diodati (Allison Park: Pickwick, 1989), 1–5. 7 Registres de la Compagnie des Pasteurs de Genève, ed. Gabriella Cahier et al. (Geneva: Droz, 1991), 10:4, footnote (hereafter, Registres, 10). 8 In December 1606, for instance, when the Company of Pastors wanted to nominate Samuel Perrot (bourgeois of Geneva since 1601) to a city pulpit, the Small Council refused to approve the nomination, and instead called on the Company to choose Matthieu Scarron, a citizen with a lengthy Genevan lineage. See the Registres, 9:225, footnote. 9 Chauve did come back in person to Geneva in 1608 to preach and to explain why he could not turn his back on the French churches that had called him to their service. See Registres, 10:89–91.



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of responsibilities: as the minutes of the Company of Pastors report in June 1608, they [the magistrates] feel we should make use of the professors, by laying hands on [ordaining] Messieurs Diodati and Tronchin, so that they can provide assistance as needed. And there should be no reason to object, given that they preach at the congrégations in the presence of the people, and that preaching and teaching are not incompatible charges.10

By 1608, Gaspard Laurent was no longer the magistrates’ first choice. Instead, they favored adding the young and talented Théodore Tronchin to the pastoral roster. Tronchin, born in 1582, had become professor of Hebrew in 1606.11 Thus the Small Council members felt that it made sense to make use of the two young professors’ abilities to help fill the gaps in the pastoral ranks, and saw no reason why Tronchin and Diodati should not combine their teaching and preaching responsibilities. In many ways, their position made sense. Professors of theology, Greek, Hebrew, and humanities were automatically members of the Company of Pastors, and as such, were expected to attend and participate in the weekly congrégations or preaching practice sessions. Thus their skill set and well-integrated role within the Company of Pastors would make them ideally suited to extend their pastoral responsibilities even further and take on more of the tasks of a Genevan pastor. Furthermore, the Small Council had historical precedent on its side, since both Calvin and Beza had combined their pastoral and teaching responsibilities throughout their careers. However, it must be noted that both Calvin and Beza were pastors first and foremost, and saw their teaching duties as part of their overall mission in Geneva. In the case of Tronchin and Diodati, there is no question that these two men were professors first, and the Small Council was asking them to take on new responsibilities by having them serve as pastors in Geneva. However, the Company of Pastors did not react favorably to this scheme. In the same month, responding to the Small Council’s demand, the Genevan pastors noted the problems inherent in having a serving professor combine teaching and preaching roles: It is not appropriate or reasonable to establish a volunteer or honorary ministry, given that such a move not only demeans the charge but also cannot provide the needed relief. Indeed, those who are called to the ministry have 10 Registres, 10:87. 11 See Heyer, L’Église de Genève and Maag, Seminary or University? 197. For more on Tronchin’s life, see McComish, The Epigones, 32–34.

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karin maag to swear an oath, be presented, and follow the standard procedures: therefore this must also be a full ministry. If our brothers are called to this role, they will have to oversee a district, attend the Consistory on the requisite days, and fulfill all the parts of their ministry.12

In other words, the Company of Pastors felt that having Tronchin and Diodati undertake only certain duties of ministry (such as Sunday or weekday preaching) to help fill the gaps was almost the worst possible solution. On the one hand, such a move would introduce a two-tier system of pastors: some with full and others with partial responsibilities, thus weakening the status and authority of the ministry according to the Company of Pastors. On the other hand, having Diodati and Tronchin fulfill all the duties of ministry would clearly be too much for the two men, given their teaching duties. Furthermore, filling the gaps in the pastoral ranks by making use of the academy’s professors would take away opportunities for advancement from promising rural pastors, who might legitimately feel slighted and cast aside if professors were made pastors ahead of them. Instead, on 8 July 1608, the Company of Pastors reiterated to the Small Council its desire to select a new pastor for the city from among the clergy currently serving in Geneva’s rural hinterland.13 It seems the two professors in question agreed with the Company’s perspective on the difficulties inherent in pursuing both occupations simultaneously; already in January 1607, when Diodati had been asked by the Company to consider the Small Council’s request to have him serve as professor and pastor, he replied that “for many reasons he is totally unable to agree to this, given his illness and especially at the moment his very important projects that prevent him from agreeing.”14 Diodati was a prolific scholar, who brought out an Italian translation of the Bible and biblical annotations in 1607 and an Italian translation of the Psalms in 1608.15 When Diodati and Tronchin were approached again in June 1608, they both replied in the negative: Tronchin simply said he could not accept the position of pastor at the moment, while Diodati elaborated, stating that while both he and his parents had wanted him to become a pastor, he could not do so for the time being given his other responsibilities. He also stated that he could not accept the full responsibilities of the pastorate,

12 Registres, 10:91. 13 Registres, 10:96. 14 Registres, 10:3–4. 15 Registres, 10:4, footnote.



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“which he could not manage alongside the teaching of theology.”16 Though both men said no to the idea of serving as pastors at the current time, they left enough of a door open that the proposal kept recurring in the following weeks and months. By July 1608, a concrete proposal was in place to have Théodore Tronchin take on one specific ministerial task, namely to teach the catechism on Sunday afternoons, and celebrate any baptisms that might ordinarily take place during that service. By this point, it seems that the attitude of the Company of Pastors had changed, since the minutes state: Following the prayer, our brother Monsieur Tronchin was strongly urged and requested to accept the charge of catechizing, which will be that much easier for him in that he will have no other ministerial task apart from baptizing if needed and leading the catechism. He will not have any assigned parish or district, nor will he have to attend the Consistory meetings, nor, if he desires, will he need to be presented to Messieurs [the Small Council] or to the population as he would do if he had a full and complete ministry.17

So why had the Company of Pastors changed its views so rapidly on assigning pastoral duties to professors, and on the validity of a partial ministry? One possible answer is that the pressure of pastoral responsibilities on the remaining members of the Company of Pastors had become too much, and practical considerations ended up outweighing points of principle. Yet a more cogent reason for the Company’s about-face stems from the Small Council’s concurrent plan to bring in yet another rising Genevan star currently serving in France to fill the pastoral shortfall in the city. After Jean Chauve had declined the city’s efforts to call him back, the Small Council turned its attention towards recruiting Michel Le Faucheur, who was at the time serving the church of Annonay in France.18 The Company of Pastors resisted the Small Council’s plan, ostensibly on the grounds that Le Faucheur was already committed to his French congregation, and that it was wrong to try to snatch him back to Geneva.19 Yet it seems clear that underlying the Company of Pastors’ opposition was their concern at having the Small Council taking the lead role in selecting and assigning pastors for the city, when the Genevan clergy were determined to keep that prerogative in their hands. In a memorable encounter on 29 July 1608, the magistrates voiced their frustration at what they saw as the pastors’ 16 Registres, 10:92. 17 Registres, 10:97. 18 Registres, 10:96–97. 19 Registres, 10:99–100.

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delaying tactics and lack of support for the government’s plan. The civil authorities argued that they had precedent on their side for being the driving force in the attempt to recall Le Faucheur to Geneva, “recalling very clearly that when the late Monsieur Calvin was in Strasbourg, the members of the Council of Two Hundred were the ones who cried out with one voice ‘Calvinum volumus’, and wrote to him without informing the pastors who were in the city at the time.”20 In response, the Company of Pastors noted firmly, “we have our rules and ordinances which we have sworn to uphold, and we cannot deviate from them. According to them, the election [of pastors] is in our hands.”21 Furthermore, the editors of the minutes of the Company of Pastors suggest that Le Faucheur’s strong personality threatened to overshadow other members of the Company who were therefore unwilling to have him join their group.22 Thus, to counter the Small Council’s contention that the situation in Geneva was desperate and that more qualified pastors were urgently needed, the Company was willing to consider the lesser evil of a partial ministry undertaken by Tronchin in this instance. By September 1608, Tronchin began leading the catechism service on Sunday afternoons at La Madeleine, one of Geneva’s three churches.23 By November 1608, it was Diodati’s turn: the Company of Pastors reminded him of his willingness to consider a ministerial position. In response, Diodati indicated that while he was willing to serve as pastor, he wanted to restrict his involvement to one duty per week, “taking into account his responsibilities as professor of theology.” But by now, the Company of Pastors was convinced that having professors serve as pastors was the way forward, and his fellow ministers refused to do anything more than promise not to overburden him. At the same meeting, the Company agreed to notify the Small Council of Diodati’s entry into ordained ministry “with a full charge, including the oversight of a district and attending Consistory meetings as needed.”24 So much for not overburdening their new colleague in ministry. It would seem therefore that by the fall of 1608, the situation had been resolved, and Tronchin and Diodati were providing pastoral services to the Genevan church alongside their work in the academy. However, the records of the Company of Pastors and the Small Council show that the 20 Registres, 10:100. 21 Registres, 10:100. 22 Registres, 9:122; and Haag1, 6:493–494. 23 Registres, 10:99. 24 Registres, 10:115.



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debate over the professors’ pastoral duties, and, crucially, over their pastoral oaths, stretched all the way into 1612, some four years later. Already in December 1608, shortly before Tronchin and Diodati were to be officially presented to the people as pastors, and were to swear the customary oath of office, Tronchin objected, stating at the Company of Pastors’ meeting that “he did not desire nor had he promised to devote himself fully to ministry and carry out all the duties that come with it, nor did he want to bind himself to this by the oath.”25 His pastoral colleagues attempted to reassure him by saying that he could “declare his caveats to the magistrates in order to maintain a clearer conscience. And as for the responsibilities, he will not be compelled or constrained beyond what he was freely and clearly willing to do.”26 There is no record as to whether Tronchin did notify the magistrates of his unwillingness to fulfill all the tasks of ordained ministry, but it is clear that for both men their teaching responsibilities remained paramount. In November 1611, for instance, the minutes of the Small Council note that there were renewed problems in ensuring pastoral services in Geneva due to the advanced age of some of Geneva’s clergy and because “the Srs. Diodati and Tronchin are busy teaching theology.”27 It would seem, therefore, that the professors were in fact only providing occasional assistance to their ministerial colleagues, in spite of the ongoing shortfall of Genevan pastors. By 1612, the Small Council once again decided to tackle the problem of the lack of ministerial personnel. On 30 June 1612, the Small Council minutes record the following encounter between magistrates and ministers: Messieurs [the magistrates] do not wish to increase the number of ministers currently serving this church, both to spare the population these salary costs and because there are several professors who could carry out some pastoral duties. However, having carefully examined all these reasons, [the pastors] feel it is impossible to take the professors away from their teaching duties and from the school, which is no less important to the population, and for which almost as much care is needed as for the church itself. The professors cannot be expected to carry out district visits. All they can do is to relieve some of the other pastors from some of their preaching duties.28

This time around, the pastors’ response highlighted the needs of the Genevan Academy and emphasized the crucial role played by Diodati and Tronchin in their teaching functions. If Tronchin and Diodati had been 25 Registres, 10:315. 26 Registres, 10:315. 27 Archives d’Etat de Genève, Registres du Conseil 108, fol. 282r. 28 Archives d’Etat de Genève, Registres du Conseil 109, fol. 164r.

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carrying out the full duties of ministry as had been suggested in 1608, this discussion in 1612 would have made little sense. One can infer, therefore, that in fact the Company of Pastors had only made minimal use of Diodati and Tronchin in pastoral tasks in the intervening years, and had allowed them to devote the bulk of their attention to their teaching. Indeed, the Company of Pastors’ reluctance to have the academy’s professors fulfill a greater amount of pastoral duties could also have served to pressure the Small Council to provide more money for new pastoral positions, assuming, of course, that the Company would continue to have the first say over the candidates selected to fill these positions. Even more tellingly, in November 1612, the matter of the ministerial oath for professors resurfaced, with Diodati and Tronchin both objecting that they did not want to swear the oath for pastors, because they had already sworn the oath of loyalty as professors, and they felt that first oath was sufficient. In particular, the two men stated that “they do not want to conform to everything that appears in the ministerial oath, such as visiting the sick, oversight of the districts, and attending the Consistory.” The two men reiterated that they were willing to preach, but nothing further, “declaring that they feel bound to their first charge as the main one, and that they cannot take on two full loads.”29 If the two men had indeed sworn their oath of loyalty as pastors in 1608, this discussion would have been be pointless in 1612. In this instance, both the Company of Pastors and the Small Council replied that taking the oath was in fact compulsory, though the Small Council noted that the professors would not have to visit the sick, oversee districts, or deal with the Consistory.30 Their response to the professors’ concerns was in fact more understanding than that of the Company of Pastors, who promptly assigned the professors to a district, albeit one shared between the two of them.31 Once again, it seems that the Genevan clergy’s pragmatism won the day: if the Small Council was bound and determined to have Diodati and Tronchin be pastors, then the Company wanted to be the one organizing and overseeing the two men’s duties. From then on, Diodati and Tronchin’s responsibilities in the church increased, culminating in their service as the two Genevan delegates to the Synod of Dordt in 1618.32 29 Archives d’Etat de Genève, Registres du Conseil 110, fol. 65 r–v. 30 Archives d’Etat de Genève, Registres du Conseil 110, fol. 65 r–v. 31 Registres, 11 133. 32 On the two men’s contributions to the Synod of Dordt, see De Budé, Vie de Jean Diodati, 113–136; and McComish, The Epigones, 3–4, 32–34, and 46–126.



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The six-year-long effort to get two of the most promising professors of the Genevan Academy to join the ranks of the Genevan clergy is instructive on many levels. Théodore Tronchin and Jean Diodati’s approach to the issue was consistent: their reluctance to take on pastoral duties stemmed from their awareness of the burdens inherent in trying to pursue two different careers simultaneously, and from their understandable commitment to their primary calling, to teach. The Small Council’s approach to the shortage of Genevan pastors was creative, as they pursued with determination a two-pronged approach of recalling talented Genevan pastors currently serving in France and pressuring the best Genevan professors to take on ministerial duties. When the first strategy largely failed, due to the increasing strength and determination of the French churches to retain their pastors regardless of their city of origin, the Small Council turned its attention to its second tack, and consistently insisted on its right to restructure and redistribute responsibilities among pastors and professors in Geneva. For their part, the Company of Pastors’ tactics were the least coherent. Faced with a shortage of clergy, yet unwilling to defer to the Small Council by recalling Genevan pastors serving in France, the Company pursued a vacillating strategy. Although at times they supported Diodati and Tronchin in their commitment to their teaching, the Company also was willing to strong-arm the professors into service as substitute pastors so long as the Company’s oversight of the Genevan church was maintained in the process. While Diodati and Tronchin were undoubtedly assets for the Genevan church, the process of moving them more firmly into pastoral roles shed light on all the fissures in the relationship between the church and civil authorities in Geneva. At the end of the day, the Small Council’s plans for dealing with the ministerial shortfall won out, but at a cost: the Genevan Academy’s priorities were subsumed to the needs of the Genevan church, and the Company of Pastors came face to face with the reality of its increasing inability to oversee and organize pastoral provision in the city as it saw fit.

SWISS STUDENTS AND FACULTY AT THE UNIVERSITY OF HEIDELBERG, 1518–1622 Charles D. Gunnoe Jr. The prominent position of the Electoral Palatinate as the major outpost of Reformed Protestantism in the politics and culture of the Holy Roman Empire in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century is well known. While the Palatine Reformed movement was rooted in the region of the Palatinate itself and neighboring imperial cities such as Strasbourg, the full flowering of Reformed intellectual life in Heidelberg would not have been possible without a substantial infusion of intellectual capital from outside the territory. While in time distinct Dutch, Silesian, and French streams would all make an impression on the Palatine Reformation, in the mid-sixteenth century, influences from German Switzerland and the associate francophone city of Geneva were decisive in molding the distinct Reformed culture of the Palatinate. This survey seeks to track the influence by analyzing the demographic history of the Swiss students and faculty of the University of Heidelberg.1 Swiss faculty members Thomas Erastus, Johann Jakob Grynaeus, and later 1 I extend my gratitude to Erik Gunnoe for preparing the demographic tables that buttress this study. The chief source for the demographic analysis is Gustav Toepke, et al., Die Matrikel der Universität Heidelberg (Heidelberg, 1872–1920). The matriculation list itself is a monument to the quality of primary source scholarship done in this pioneering era. The current study is based on an analysis of the text with extensive cross-referencing of the indices to develop the tables of matriculants from the Swiss cantons. As the early modern matriculation lists themselves were often opaque and the precision of the nineteenthcentury editors in solving all of the geographic riddles does not always stand up to close scrutiny, readers should note that a modest margin of error must be factored into the analysis. Nevertheless, the matriculants data is largely complete and long-term enrollment trends are quite manifest. Furthermore, since faculty, short-term visitors, and long-term students all appear on the matriculation list, the term “matriculants” is not limited to students. A precise geographical definition of “Switzerland” in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is also elusive. Some teleology regarding what later became Switzerland no doubt influenced the late nineteenth-century editors. The early modern recorders themselves appeared to regard the Vaud (under Bernese control through most of the period) and Graubünden as quasi-Swiss. While Geneva was only a marginal associate of the Swiss Confederation in the sixteenth century, it demands inclusion due to its overweening intellectual and religious importance to the region. The sources are available online as “Die Matrikel der Universität Heidelberg 1386–1920 digital” (http://www.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/ helios/digi/unihdmatrikel.html).

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Johann Heinrich Hottinger played crucial roles in establishing, consolidating, and reigniting the Reformed confession. The prominence of Swiss faculty members facilitated the matriculation of large cohorts of students from the major centers of Protestantism in Switzerland. The influx of Swiss students at the university, which reached its apex around the turn of the seventeenth century, offers a concrete metric to track the ebb and flow of Reformed influence. On the one hand, the increasing numbers of Swiss students at the university paralleled the warming political and religious connections of the Palatinate with Zurich, Bern, and Basel from the mid-sixteenth century onward. On the other hand, the attraction of the University of Heidelberg for elite Swiss students was also a testimony to the dominant place of the university in early modern Reformed culture. Prologue While the Palatinate famously played host to the debut of Martin Luther’s theology of the cross in the Heidelberg Disputation of 1518, the territory did not publically adhere to the Protestant cause during the reign of Elector Ludwig V (1508–1544).2 The early evangelical movement, however, made a deep impression on the territory. For example, before confessional identity became an absolute shibboleth, prominent Protestants such as Martin Frecht (1494–1556) and Johannes Brenz (1499–1570) served on the university faculty in the 1520s. While the majority of the faculty remained Catholic, Protestant-minded students may have been a majority. After this first wave passed, the university became something of an intellectual backwater largely due to its poor financial state.3 The student body came predominately from neighboring dioceses in Franconia and Swabia. While the Heidelberg court had been a prominent location 2 See Charles D. Gunnoe Jr., “The Reformation of the Palatinate and the Origins of the Heidelberg Catechism, 1500–1562,” in An Introduction to the Heidelberg Catechism: Sources, History, and Theology, ed. Lyle D. Bierma et al. (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2005), 15–47; Volker Press, Calvinismus und Territorialstaat: Regierung und Zentralbehorden der Kurpfalz 1559– 1619 (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett, 1970); Meinrad Schaab, Geschichte der Kurpfalz, 2 vols. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1988–1992); Eike Wolgast, Die Universität Heidelberg 1386–1986 (Berlin: Springer, 1986); idem, Reformierte Konfession und Politik im 16. Jahrhundert (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter, 1998); Christoph Strohm, Joseph Freedman and Herman J. Selderuis, eds., Späthumanismus und reformierte Konfession: Theologie, Jurisprudenz und Philosophie in Heidelberg an der Wende zum 17. Jahrhundert (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006). 3 Wolgast, Die Universität Heidelberg, 26; Press, Calvinismus und Territorialstaat, 174.



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in early sixteenth-century Rhineland humanism, connections between Switzerland and the Palatinate were rather limited in the second quarter of the sixteenth century. Only seven Swiss students attended the University of Heidelberg in the 25-year period between the Heidelberg Disputation and ascension of Frederick II in 1544.4 In the early sixteenth century, Switzerland was much more on the receiving end of intellectual talent from Heidelberg than vice versa. The native Palatine Johannes Oecolampadius (1482–1531) served the Wittels­ bach court and briefly on the arts faculty before permanently moving to the University of Basel in 1523. Similarly, Simon Grynaeus the Elder (1493/94–1541) and Sebastian Münster (1488–1552) migrated from Heidel­ berg to the University of Basel in 1529. Oecolampadius, Grynaeus, and Münster represent a moderate, humanistic strain within the early Refor­ mation, and thus it is fitting that these Heidelbergers would play a central role in planting this tradition in Basel.5 There was a tentative move toward Protestantism during the reign of Elector Frederick II (1544–1556), but the elector’s commitment to the evangelical faith was at odds with his Habsburg alliance. The defeat of the Protestant forces in the Schmalkaldic War forced him to shelve the nascent magisterial Reformation of the Palatinate. He endeavored to strengthen the financial basis of the university and thus contributed to the university’s revival in the second half of the century. The number of Swiss students increased modestly during the reign of Frederick, but still only averaged in the neighborhood of one student every two years.6 The University of Heidelberg’s turn toward Switzerland and the Reformed confession began in earnest during the reign of Ottheinrich (1556–1559). Ottheinrich was a free-spending patron of the arts who had a special affection for the university and its famed Bibliotheca Palatina. His own broad Melanchthonian Lutheran leanings left him open to the recruitment of highly qualified Reformed intellectuals, and he brought many talented academics to Heidelberg in his brief reign. The individuals 4 Toepke, Die Matrikel, 1:510–587; on early Humanism in the Palatinate, see Henry J. Cohn, “The Early Renaissance Court in Heidelberg,” European Studies Review 1 (1971): 295–322. 5 Oecolampadius first left Heidelberg for Basel in 1515. He returned in the 1520s only to leave definitively for Basel in 1523 after failing to secure a post at the university. Cf. Dagmar Drüll, ed., Heidelberger Gelehrtenlexikon 1386–1651 (Berlin: Springer, 2002), 190–191; 397–399; 420–421. 6 Wolgast, Die Universität Heidelberg, 29; Toepke, Die Matrikel, 1:598–617. There were seven Swiss students from 1544–1556.

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who proved the most significant for moving the Palatinate in the Reformed direction were the Augsburg jurist and political councilor Christoph Ehem (1528–1592), the former Carmelite theologian Pierre Boquin (d. 1582), and the polymath physician Thomas Erastus (1524–1583). While being one of the primary points of contact with the earlier tradition of the Zwinglian flavored Upper-German Reformation, Ehem possessed close connections with the Swiss and in time became a chief advocate for installing Genevan-style reform in the Palatinate.7 The Frenchman Boquin had studied at Wittenberg and Basel, and briefly served as John Calvin’s successor in Strasbourg. If not Swiss himself, he possessed a firm orientation toward Switzerland in general and Geneva in particular and would conclude his career in the service of the Bernese in Lausanne.8 From Baden in modern Aargau, Erastus had studied at the University of Basel and possessed close contacts with church leaders in Bern and Zurich, especially Konrad Pellikan and Heinrich Bullinger.9 Erastus would serve as a virtual clearing house for all things related to the Swiss Germans in the 1560s and 1570s, and his large surviving correspondence in Basel and Zurich documents the depth of these relations. The French jurist and historian François Baudouin (1520–1573) also joined the faculty in this era. Baudouin’s close connections to Calvin and the Genevans made his reconversion to Cathol­ icism in 1561 all the more embarrassing. The reign of Ottheinrich laid the basis for the coming surge of Swiss Reformed influence upon the Palatinate even though only two Swiss students actually matriculated during his brief reign (see Figure 1). Reformed Heidelberg I: The Reign of Frederick III the Pious (1559–1576) Reformed Christianity and pervasive Swiss influence would blossom fully in the reign of Frederick III the Pious. Frederick’s transition from a moderate Lutheran understanding of the Lord’s Supper to a Reformed one was marked by various steps in the years from 1559 to 1564. These steps included the release of the contentious Lutheran superintendent Tilemann Hes­ husius, holding the Heidelberg Lord’s Supper Disputation in 1560, and 7 See Ekkehart Fabian, “Christoph von Ehem,” in NDB, 4:342; Press, Calvinismus und Territorialstaat, passim. 8 Drüll, Heidelberger Gelehrtenlexikon 1386–1651, 48–49. 9 Charles D. Gunnoe, Thomas Erastus and the Palatinate: A Renaissance Physician in the Second Reformation (Leiden: Brill, 2011).



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finally commissioning the Heidelberg Catechism and church order in 1562–1563.10 Almost every major player involved in enacting these steps had had substantial Swiss connections. Ehem and Boquin remained active, and Erastus in particular played a key role in reconstituting the theological faculty in the wake of the Heidelberg Lord’s Supper Dispu­ tation.  While Wolfgang Musculus in Bern and Peter Martyr Vermigli in Zurich declined invitations to join the Heidelberg faculty, the Silesian Zacharias Ursinus (1534–1583) and the Italian Jewish convert Imman­ uel  Tremellius (1510–1580) accepted the call. The Melanchthon student Ursinus had capped his education with a sojourn in Switzerland and was particularly close to the Zurichers. Likewise the legally trained Caspar Olevianus (1536–1587) from Trier, who briefly joined the theology  faculty from 1561–1562 and later became the chief organizer of the Palatine church along Genevan lines, had studied in Zurich and Geneva and remained especially close to Calvin and Theodore Beza.11 When Ursinus resigned his post at the university to focus on his work at the Sapience College (Collegium Sapientiae)—an institution founded by Ottheinrich and repurposed as a theological seminary by Elector Frederick—Girolamo Zanchi (1516–1590) took his place at the university.12 The Italian Zanchi had worked in Strasbourg and more recently in Chiavenna, an Italian enclave controlled by Graubünden, an associate of the Swiss Confederacy.13 Such strong connections to the leaders of the Swiss churches opened the doors to a wave of Swiss matriculants at the university. While the university had never averaged even one student per year in any prior decade, there were twelve matriculants in 1562 alone—the year of the composition of the Heidelberg Catechism. The high point of Swiss German influence came in the early-to-mid 1560s, and Bullinger, Zwingli’s successor and the head of the church in 10 August Kluckhohn, Friedrich der Fromme, Kurfürst von der Pfalz, der Schützer der reformirten Kirche, 1559–1576 (Nördlingen: C.H. Beck, 1879); Gunnoe, Thomas Erastus, 51–139. 11 See Gunnoe, Thomas Erastus; Erdmann K. Sturm, Der junge Zacharias Ursin: Sein Weg vom Philippismus zum Calvinismus (Neuenkirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1972); Andreas Mühling, Caspar Olevian 1536–1587: Christ, Kirchenpolitiker und Theologe (Zug: Achius, 2008). 12 Eike Wolgast, “Das Collegium Sapientiae in Heidelberg im 16. Jahrhundert,” Zeitschrift für die Geschichte des Oberrheins 147 (1999): 303–318. 13 Christopher Burchill, “Die Universität zu Heidelberg und der ‘Fromme’ Kurfürst,” in Semper Apertus: Sechshundert Jahre Ruprecht-Karls-Universität Heidelberg 1386–1986, ed. Wilhelm Doerr et al. (Berlin: Springer, 1985), 1:231–254.

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Zurich, was frequently consulted as an external resource in this period.14 A few Swiss natives joined the faculty, including the great nephew of Simon Grynaeus, Simon Grynaeus the younger (1539–1582), who would serve on the arts faculty from 1563 to 1580. Grynaeus was born in Bern and studied at the University of Basel. He also pursued medical studies, but never secured a more lucrative post on the medical faculty. He enjoys a small place of honor for procuring the first skeleton for anatomical instruction at the university in 1569.15 There was at least some local resentment of the Swiss influx in the 1560s. A prime example of this is the resistance to the attempt to have the Swiss theologian Johannes Brunner appointed to the faculty of the University of Heidelberg. Brunner was first sent out to work in a local parish to take the edge off his Swiss accent. He was eventually appointed to the arts faculty at the university, though his apparent cranky disposition and advocacy of an unbending Zwinglian position on the Lord’s Supper led to his release from the Palatinate in 1567.16 1568 would prove to be the first crest of popularity of Heidelberg for Swiss students in the era of Frederick III with 19 matriculants. That year the controversy over church discipline erupted in the Palatinate. While Olevianus, Ehem, and many church leaders and court insiders were eager to institute what they felt to be a purer biblical model of consistorial discipline as practiced in Geneva and the church under the cross, Erastus and his faction at the university and court were just as resolved to obstruct this initiative. In keeping with Zwingli, Musculus, and Bullinger, Erastus felt that oversight of morals was best left in the hands of the state in a Christian polity. The controversy thus pitted the Genevan vision of discipline and church-state relations against the traditions of Zurich and Bern. The fact that the church authorities suppressed the sale of some of Bullinger’s own writings is an indicator of the decline in influence of the Swiss Germans. Bullinger and Rudolf Gwalther advanced their views on church discipline directly with the elector to little effect.17 14 Walter Hollweg, Der Augsburger Reichstag von 1566 und seine Bedeutung für die Entstehung der reformierten Kirche und ihres Bekenntnisses (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1964); Andreas Mühling, Heinrich Bullingers europäische Kirchenpolitik (Bern: Lang, 2001), 104–130. 15 Drüll, Heidelberger Gelehrtenlexikon 1386–1651, 191–192. 16 Gunnoe, Thomas Erastus, 82–83, 158–160; Drüll, Heidelberger Gelehrtenlexikon 1386– 1651, 54–55. 17 Stimmen aus dem Schweizerischen Reformationszeitalter über die Exkommunikation oder den Kirchenbann (Bern, 1839); See Gunnoe, Thomas Erastus, 135–260.



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With the church disciplinary controversy, the Swiss faculty and student community of Heidelberg also briefly held the unhappy reputation of being a nursery of dissent and heresy. Imperial officials discovered an antiTrinitarian cell among Erastus’ anti-disciplinist partisans in 1570. Simon Grynaeus the younger and the junior faculty member Timotheus Mader from Thurgau were arrested and briefly imprisoned for allegedly assisting the heretics.18 Erastus was later accused of harboring anti-Trinitarian ­sentiments himself, although he was able to clear his name and to have his  fellow Swiss instructors released. The Bernese student Johann Hasler (1548–1585) is the only Swiss person who seems to have actively espoused anti-­Trinitarian ideas. The church disciplinary controversy and the rough handling of these Swiss faculty members at least temporarily soured relations between Geneva and Zurich and further undermined the Swiss German influence upon the Palatinate in the closing years of Frederick III’s reign.19 Reformed Heidelberg II: From the Exile to Triumph (1583–1622) With the death of Frederick III, the Reformed confession and close relations with Switzerland would both be jettisoned by his Lutheran heir Ludwig VI (1576–1583). While some Reformed professors remained at the university in the period from the pious elector’s death until 1580, a reduced number of Swiss matriculants appeared at the university. Count Palatine Johann Casimir established an ersatz university at nearby Neustadt an der Weinstrasse. The “Casimirianum” flourished in this period and the leading theologians Ursinus and Zanchi moved there. With the adherence to the Formula of Concord in 1580 and the departure of the last Reformed faculty members, the Swiss pipeline nearly shut down completely at the university with only three Swiss students matriculating from 1580 to 1583. The Lutheran interlude represented by the reign of Ludwig VI came to an end with his death in October 1583. While Ludwig was formally succeeded by his minor son Frederick IV (r. 1583–1610), the driving force in return to the Reformed confession to the Electoral Palatinate was Ludwig’s brother Count Palatine Johann Casimir who dominated the Palatine 18 Drüll, Heidelberger Gelehrtenlexikon 1386–1651, 364–365. 19 Christopher Burchill, The Heidelberg Antitrinitarians (Baden-Baden: Editions Valentin Koerner, 1989), passim, especially 180–210; Friedrich Rudolf, “Die Kirche in Heidelberg nach den letzen Briefen Bullinger-Beza,” Zwingliana 8 (1944): 95–107; Gunnoe, Thomas Erastus, 211–260.

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administration as Kuradministrator, or regent, from 1583 to 1592. Alongside his father Frederick III, Johann Casimir must be regarded as one of the most influential political supporters of Reformed Protestantism in the sixteenth century. His earlier career had seen him lead two military campaigns into France and the Netherlands on behalf of his co-religionists. Johann Casimir sought to pursue a more irenic religious policy in the Palatinate than that of his brother or father. While he envisioned the Reformed Confession as occupying the lead role, he proclaimed freedom of conscience for Lutherans as long as they would not defame the Reformed position. Key figures from the administration of Frederick III such as chancellor Ehem and the court preacher Daniel Tossanus (1541– 1602) helped reestablish Reformed Protestantism.20 Johann Casimir called upon the Basel theologian Johann Jakob Grynaeus (1540–1617) to reintroduce the Reformed faith at the University of Heidelberg in 1584. Johann Jakob was the son of Thomas Grynaeus, professor in Bern, and greatnephew of Simon Grynaeus the elder. More salient to the Heidelberg context, he was the brother of Simon Grynaeus the younger and the brother-in-law of Erastus.21 Grynaeus prepared the theses for a disputation on the Lord’s Supper at the university from 4–14 April 1584 and acted as the chief Reformed disputant in the event, which focused on “whether Christ’s body was in the bread of the Lord’s Supper, so that it was given from the hand of the minister to the communicant.” The disputation was attended by the regent and his councilors and a large crowd of students. Not surprisingly the Lutheran party at the university objected to both the legitimacy of the disputation itself as well as to Grynaeus’ Reformed position. Nevertheless, at the conclusion of the disputation, the councilors declared that the Reformed side had won. The contentious aftermath of the disputation led to the dismissal of leading Lutheran faculty members and preachers as well as the departure of many Lutheran students.22 But 20 Press, Calvinismus und Territorialstaat, 299–368. 21 Born in Bern, Grynaeus studied at Basel and Tübingen, where he took his doctorate in theology in 1564. After his father’s death, J.J. Grynaeus assumed his former post in Röteln in the Markgrafschaft of Baden outside of Basel. His connection with Erastus had been especially close both intellectually and financially, and Erastus is generally credited with effecting Johann Jakob’s conversion from a Lutheran to a Reformed understanding of the Lord’s Supper. See F. Weiß, “Johann Jakob Grynäus,” in Basler Biographien (Basel: B. Schwabe, 1900), 159–199; Gunnoe, Thomas Erastus, 256–259. 22 Armin Kohnle, “Die Heidelberger Disputation von 1584,” in Zwischen Wissenschaft und Politik, ed. Kohnle and Engehausen (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2001), 455–472; Press, Calvinis­ mus und Territorialstaat, 331; Wolgast, Die Universität Heidelberg, 46; Friedrich W. Cuno, Daniel Tossanus der Ältere: Professor der Theologie und Pastor (1541–1602) (Amsterdam:



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Grynaeus’ work in Heidelberg was short-lived. Because he had not been able to secure his long-term release from Basel, he returned there in 1586, where he succeeded his former mentor and later opponent, Simon Sulzer, as Antistes. Nevertheless Grynaeus remained in contact with Heidelberg, and his short service there played a catalytic role in restoring the Reformed confession. The period from 1584 to 1622 during the reigns of Frederick IV and later Frederick V (1610–1623) would prove to be the second golden age of Reformed intellectual life in Heidelberg. While the leaders of the earlier golden age had all died by the late 1580s, their students were prominent in the late sixteenth-century effervescence. Grynaeus was succeeded at the university by Tossanus from the small territory of Montbéliard in modern France, not far from the German and Swiss borders. Montbéliard was ruled by the dukes of Wurttemberg and had been brought into the Protestant sphere through the efforts of William Farel. Tossanus’ education had been at the universities of Basel and Tübingen. Though not technically a Swiss native, Tossanus represented a Swiss theological viewpoint and remained in continual contact with Zurich, Basel, and Geneva.23 Tremellius’ collaborator Franciscus Junius (1545–1602), who had studied  in Geneva with Calvin and Beza, served as professor of Old Testa­ ment at the university.24 Members of the Ursinus circle such as Jacobus Kimedoncius (1554–1596) and Quirinus Reuter (1558–1613) were especially influential in this era. The tradition of Erastus on the medical faculty was kept alive by his students Theophil Mader of Thurgau (1541–1604) and Henricus Smetius (1537–1614) of Flanders. The jurist and statesman Hippolyt von Colli (1561–1612) was one of the few Swiss German natives to serve on the law faculty in the era.25 The period was noteworthy for the irenic impulse of theologians such as David Pareus (1548–1622). A student of Ursinus, Pareus’ nearly forty years of labor at the Collegium Sapientiae and University of Heidelberg made him the defining figure of the period. Pareus’ most famous work was his Irenicum, which suggested the Lutherans and Calvinist hold a Scheffer, 1898), 168–172; Heinrich Alting, Historia de ecclesiis palatinis (Groningen, 1728), 153–156; J.J. Grynaeus, De Evcharistica Controversia Capita Doctrinae (Heidelberg: Mylius, 1584). 23 Cuno, “Daniel Tossanus,” in ADB, 38:469–474. 24 Tobias Sarx, Franciscus Junius d.Ä. (1545–1602): Ein reformierter Theologe im Spannungsfeld zwischen späthumanistischer Irenik und reformierter Konfessionalisierung (Göttingen: V&R, 2007). 25 Drüll, Heidelberger Gelehrtenlexikon 1386–1651, 86; 363–364; 505–506.

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synod to work out their lingering theological differences. Given that many of these theologians had deep Melanchthonian Lutheran roots themselves, it was natural for them to ground their argumentation upon the work of the great Wittenberg reformers, especially the early period of Luther’s work.26 Catastrophe and Renewal (1622–1652) The golden age of the Reformed Heidelberg which had flourished in the age of Frederick IV and Frederick V came to a definitive close with the tragedy of the Thirty Years War. The starry-eyed Frederick V and his bride Elizabeth Stuart unwisely accepted the Bohemian crown. His short reign and military defeat at White Mountain would earn him the epithet, “The Winter King.” More tragically Frederick’s military misadventures led to the occupation of Heidelberg by Spanish forces in 1622 and the closure of the university. Though the university briefly opened as a Catholic institution during the war years, the occupation of the Palatinate ended the tradition of Heidelberg as an outstanding Reformed university until its rebirth in the 1650s. When peace finally came, the Wittelsbach dynasty was restored to the Palatinate in the person of Karl I Ludwig (r. 1648–1680). Given the close relations that had existed with Switzerland in the golden age, it is not surprising that Karl Ludwig turned again to Switzerland to reignite the Reformed orientation of the University of Heidelberg in 1652. The nephew of Daniel Tossanus, Daniel Tossanus the younger (d. 1655), who had spent his exile in Basel, and Johann Heinrich Hottinger (1620–1667) of Zurich answered the call to restore the Reformed faith to the university and the Collegium Sapientiae. The tradition was restored, but with less prestige and a more humble financial base than the glory days.27 Nevertheless the Swiss students also returned.

26 Howard Hotson, “Irenicism and Dogmatics in the Confessional Age: Pareus and Comenius in Heidelberg, 1614,” JEH 46 (1995): 432–456; Herman Selderhuis, “Eine attrac­ tive Univ Eine attractive Universität—Die Heidelberger Theologische Fakultät 1583–1622,” in Bildung und Konfession, ed. Selderhuis and Wriedt (Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 1–30. 27 Heinrich Steiner, Der Zürcher Professor Johann Heinrich Hottinger in Heidelberg, 1655– 1661 (Zürich: Friedrich Schulthess, 1886); Wolgast, Die Universität Heidelberg, 55–58.



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140 120 100 80 60 40 20 0

1520s 1530s 1540s 1550s 1560s 1570s 1580s 1590s 1600s 1610s 1620s

Figure 1. Number of Swiss Matriculants to the University of Heidelberg by Decade.

Demographic Overview The general trends of Swiss enrollments are manifest and closely parallel the political fortunes of the Reformed Protestantism in the Palatinate. Enrollment of Swiss students quickly spiked during the era of Frederick III and declined sharply during the Lutheran interlude of Ludwig VI. They rebounded immediately with the accession of Frederick IV and the reassertion of the Reformed confession and remained high until the coming of the Thirty Years War. Swiss matriculants tended to average in the range of 5–10 percent of each year’s cohort. The highest enrollment for an individual year was 1585 with 22 matriculants, and the decade with the largest enrollment was the 1590s which averaged 12 matriculants per year. It was a genuinely international era of the University of Heidelberg, and the student body had healthy enrollment from across central Europe, especially France, Silesia, Poland, Hungary, and the Netherlands.28 A closer look at the data reveals some additional trends. While the Heidelberg-Basel connection was of tremendous significance in the confessional history of both territories, Basel students are poorly represented compared to those of Bern or Zurich. Given Basel’s comparatively larger 28 Armin Kohnle, “Die Universität Heidelberg als Zentrum des reformierten Protes­ tantismus im 16. und frühen 17. Jahrhundert,” in Die ungarische Universitätsbildung und Europa, ed. Szögi and Font (Pécs: Univ., 2001), 141–161; Peter Meusburger and Thomas Schuch, eds. Wissenschaftsatlas of Heidelberg University. Spatio-temporal relations of academic knowledge production (Knittlingen: Bibliotheca Palatina), 58–69.

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charles d. gunnoe jr. Francophone "Swiss" (incl. Geneva) 7% Other Swiss (non Francophone) 12% Zurich 35%

Thurgau 4% Basel 7%

Schaffhausen 9%

Bern 26%

Figure 2. Origin of Swiss Students at the University of Heidelberg 1559–1583.

urban population and its closer proximity to Heidelberg, the lower number of students is noteworthy. Many faculty members could count Basel among the institutions that they had attended prior to taking up their posts at Heidelberg, and the Basel and Heidelberg medical faculties seemed to enjoy particularly close connections throughout the period. Furthermore, the exceptional contribution to philological studies remained a common inheritance of Swiss-Heidelberg connection from Simon Grynaeus and Sebastian Münster to Johannes Buxtorf and Johann Heinrich Hottinger. The rather obvious explanation for the comparative underrepresentation of Basel students is the fact that Basel possessed its own university. Thus many of the Basel students that matriculated in Heidelberg were upper level students pursuing advanced studies. Alternatively, while Bern and Zurich possessed arts academies in their territories, most prominently the Zurich academy or Carolinum and the Lausanne Academy in Bernese



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controlled Vaud, their institutions lacked full university status, enhancing the utility of traveling to Heidelberg for a more prestigious credential. Given their moderate size and relative political influence, it is not surprising that the cantons of Zurich and Bern would consistently contribute the most students to the university in both the earlier and later stages of Heidelberg’s prominence as a Reformed institution.29 Schaffhausen’s relative prominence in sending students throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is also striking. As the university advanced in attraction as a genuine international institution in the later seventeenth century, the numbers of matriculants from the allied or Bernese subject Francophone districts picked up markedly. Two regions are especially well represented in the post 1584 period: the Vaud (including Lausanne) and Geneva. The relatively strong enrollment from these allied Francophone districts is indicative of the general international appeal of the university and the strong Calvinist influence on the Palatine theology of this era. As the Genevan Academy did not Other Francophone 2% Vaud 6% Other Swiss (non Francophone) 2% St. Gallen 3% Graubünden 9%

Geneva 15%

Zurich 21%

Bern 18% Basel 10%

Schaffhausen 14%

Figure 3. Origin of Swiss Students at the University of Heidelberg 1583–1621. 29 See Karin Maag, Seminary or University? The Genevan Academy and Reformed Higher Education, 1560–1620 (Aldershot: Scolar, 1995).

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possess university status or a full complement of disciplines, moving on to Heidelberg in a higher faculty such as medicine was advantageous. Also noteworthy is the rise of Graubünden as an origin of students in the late decades of the sixteenth century. While only a handful of Graubünden students had matriculated prior to 1584, 36 matriculated between that date and 1621. Strikingly, though not surprisingly, no students from the Catholic Forest Cantons of Switzerland matriculated to the university during the Reformed era. The prominence of educated dynasties of Protestant pastors was an unintended outcome of Luther’s revolutionary movement. Such multigenerational intellectual dynasties were especially influential in Switzer­ land as we have seen with the Grynaeus clan. The family names of some of the Swiss students at the University of Heidelberg read like a veritable “who’s who” of the Swiss Reformation. A sampling of the prominent names includes Ulmer (4x) from Schaffhausen; Haller (4x), Musculus (4x), and Viret from Bern; de Maerne and Turretin from Geneva; and Buxtorf, Castellio (2x), Curio (2x), Grynaeus (3x), Keller, and Pantaleon (2x) from Basel. Zurich furthermore contributed the celebrity lineup of Gessner, Grebel, Gwalther (2x), Hospinian (2x), Lavater (4x), Pellikan, Simmler, Stucki, Stumpf, Wolff (3x), and finally Zwingli. While not many of these students lived up to the reputation of their more famous forebears, many went on to solid academic careers. Among the more important students were the Paracelsian physician Théodore de Mayerne (1573–1655), the Christian Hebraist Johannes Buxtorf the Younger (1599–1664), and the Zurich theologian Rudolf Hospinian (1547–1626).30 Conclusion Swiss students and faculty played a major catalytic role in making Heidelberg one of the most highly sought out Reformed institutions of higher learning in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. While Thomas Erastus and Johann Jakob Grynaeus were the two Swiss natives who had the most direct impact on the history of Palatinate, a much larger group of individuals from across Europe with strong Swiss 30 The prominent Genevan theologian Théodore Tronchin (1582–1657) is commonly thought to have studied with Pareus ca. 1604, though I have yet to identify him on the matriculation list. Cf. Pierre Bayle, Dictionnaire Historique et Critique (Amsterdam, 1734), 5:401.



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connections magnified this influence tenfold. Indeed the irenic Melanch­ thonian strain as mediated by Zacharias Ursinus and his Silesian successors remained a vital component of the unique Palatine Reformed culture alongside the humanistic-philological contribution of Basel. While the Genevan Calvinist element was well-represented and its theological contribution and disciplinary vision were also essential ingredients in the mix, personnel and students from the Swiss German cantons were far more prevalent among the faculty and students of the university during Heidelberg’s era of prominence as a Reformed institution. The analysis of trends from students and faculty offers some nuance to the ebb and flow of Swiss influence in the Palatinate. It confirms the depth and breadth of the Reformed tradition to which Richard Muller’s work has made an immeasurable contribution to our understanding.

JOHANNES PISCATOR’S (1546–1625) INTERPRETATION OF CALVIN’S INSTITUTES Heber Carlos de Campos Jr. Introduction The question of the interpretation of Calvin in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries has been in vogue for quite some time.1 Opposing answers have attempted overarching solutions to the issue. This short essay is inserted in response to such a question but with a more modest objective. It attempts to look at one important Reformed theologian’s condensed version of Calvin’s Institutes and provide comments about its contribution to a post-Reformation controversy. Before the thesis of this essay is stated, two pieces of information are necessary to set the context: First, the importance of this Reformed theologian; and second, Johannes Piscator’s abridgment of Calvin’s Institutes within this genre of writing. Setting the Context Piscator as an influential Reformed theologian Piscator’s contribution to the Reformed tradition comes from his connections with major representatives of this tradition and is transmitted through his influence as a teacher and writer. He was a student of Jerome Zanchi at Strasbourg. In Tübingen, the Lutheran Jakob Andreae introduced him to Calvin’s Institutes and Piscator’s appreciation for the Genevan reformer grew in proportion to his criticism of the Lutheran faith. Throughout his teaching career he was in close contact with figures such as Zacharias Ursinus, Caspar Olevianus, Franciscus Junius, David Pareus, among others. He corresponded frequently with and had the appreciation of Theodore Beza. Piscator was thus part of a strong Reformed lineage. He was also very influential in his teaching and writings. His fortyone years teaching at the Hohe Schule in Herborn was the occasion for 1 For a vast bibliography on the issue see Muller, “Calvinists I” and “Calvinists II.”

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spreading his beliefs. He provided basic theological training for hundreds of students from all parts of Germany, as well as France, Poland, and Hungary. His writings were voluminous and regarded as important contributions to the spread of Calvinism. His translation of the Bible into German was the first complete translation since Martin Luther’s. Another example of his exegetical expertise was his commentaries on every book of the Bible. Later Reformed theologians, such as Petrus van Mastricht, recommended Piscator to their students as a commentator which should be among the first for them to look at. In sum, a theologian like Piscator, with so many connections to Reformed luminaries and with a wide influence through his teaching and writing, makes it important to investigate how he communicates Calvin’s theology.2 Piscator’s Aphorismi within its genre After highlighting the major networks of influence in which Piscator became involved, it is also necessary to situate his summary of Calvin’s Institutes within the context of this genre. In 1589, Piscator wrote Apho­ rismi doctrinae christianae ex Institutione Calvini excerpti, a type of summary of Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion in aphorisms.3 The Aphorismi arose out of a course on Calvin’s Institutes in Herborn, originally taught by Caspar Olevianus, which Piscator had to take over after the death of the Heidelberg pastor (1587), three years after the inauguration of the school (1584). Thus, by taking this chair for so many years, Piscator’s work became a major source of spreading Reformed theology to Herborn students. This was possibly the most popular book written by Piscator, with eleven Latin editions from 1589 to 1630 and one English translation in 1596.4 Piscator’s Aphorismi is an interesting version of Calvin’s Institutes in comparison with other summaries. Olivier Fatio has analyzed several of these as vehicles of Calvin’s theology especially to laymen and students of 2 For more on Piscator’s life, see Georgio Pasore, Oratio Funebris in Obitum Reverendi et Clarissimi Theologi Johannis Piscatoris (Herborn: Muderspachius & Corvinus, 1625); Johann Hermann Steubing, Caspar Olevian; Johannes Piscator (Leipzig: Cnobloch, 1841), 98–117; Frans Lukas Bos, Johann Piscator: Ein Beitrag Zur Geschichte der Reformierten Theologie (Kampen: Kok, [1932]), 9–31. 3 I will be quoting mainly from the third edition (London: Field, 1595) but also from the 11th ed. (Oxford: Lichfield and Cvrteine, 1630). 4 Johannes Piscator, Aphorismes of Christian Religion: or, A verie Compendiovs abridge­ ment of M. I. Calvins Institutions, set forth in short sentences methodically by M.I. Piscator, trans. H. Holland (London: Field and Dexter, 1596).



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theology in an age where Calvin’s works became less and less printed.5 While summaries such as the ones from Edmund Bunny (1579),6 Guillaume Delaune (1583),7 and Caspar Olevianus (1586)8 more closely follow the structure and the language of Calvin, Piscator aims for an approach which is more free (like Wilhelmus Molichius) and more succinct—a good deal shorter than the other works of the genre.9 Piscator’s reconstructions of Calvin’s doctrines, which do not follow the limits set by the books and chapters of the Institutes, according to Olivier Fatio, “tell us as much about his own theology as about that of Calvin.”10 This points to a heavier interpretative touch present in the Aphorismi than in other books of this same genre.11 Argument Having expanded on the context of the writer and the work, this essay demonstrates that Piscator, in the Aphorismi, portrays Calvin’s doctrine of justification in ways which go beyond what Calvin states in the Institutes. This essay is too short to consider in detail the rest of Calvin’s and Piscator’s works, though it does set them in the background. This study aims to point at possible strands of influence which Piscator’s “Calvinism” might have had on discussions over the doctrine of justification, more specifically the imputation of Christ’s active obedience. A few remarks about the structure and content of the Aphorismi as a whole will be made before dealing specifically with the locus on justification. 5 Olivier Fatio, “Présence de Calvin à l’époque de l’orthodoxie réformée: Les abrégés de Calvin à la fin du 16e et au 17e siècle,” in Calvinus Ecclesiae Doctor, ed. Neuser (Kampen: Kok, 1980), 171–207. 6 Edmond Bunnie, The Institvtions of Christian Religion, trans. Edward May (London: Dawson, 1580). 7 William Lawne, An Abridgment of the Institvtion of Christian Religion, trans. Christopher Fetherstone (Edinburgh: Vautrollier, 1585). Concerning Delaune, see Fatio, “Présence de Calvin,” 184. 8 Caspar Olevianus, Institutionis Christianae religionis epitome (Herborn: Coruinus, 1586). Concerning Olevianus’ Epitome, see Fatio, “Présence de Calvin,” 191. 9 Piscator prefers “aphorisms” to “theses,” for the latter term carries some element of doubtfulness—as in Aristotle’s Topics—of something which one may not avouch to be true, but needs to be logically defended as true. Other times, a “thesis” in Aristotle means some absurd opinion. The “aphorisms,” on the other hand, are debated but not doubted as to their truthfulness. The disputations aim to raise in the students’ awareness of the objections to these aphorisms, but also to see them resolved by the word of God. See Piscator, Aphorismi (1595), 4. 10 Fatio, “Présence de Calvin,” 197. 11 Fatio, “Présence de Calvin,” 199. Yet Fatio concludes by saying that every work surveyed tells us as much about its adaptors as about Calvin, in “Présence de Calvin,” 205.

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The work does not follow the division into four books as it occurs in the Institutes, but instead divides the whole content of Calvin’s masterpiece into twenty-eight loci communes. Because of its brevity and topical division, each chapter aims for cohesiveness, thus omitting some significant elements of Calvin’s work. For example, Piscator brings no aphorisms on the interconnectedness between knowledge of God and knowledge of ourselves with which Calvin starts his magnum opus (Inst. I.i); there is no aphorism on the internal testimony of the Spirit; the chapter on God (locus III) is proportionally very short in comparison to others and leaves out the issue of idolatry upon which Calvin discourses at length; Piscator spends only one aphorism on the bondage of the will which Calvin explores so extensively (Inst. II.iii.6-II.v). The cohesiveness of the Aphorismi also allows for additions to Calvin’s thought which Piscator regards as necessary in light of his context and the development of Reformed theology. For instance, the locus on Scripture has a list of the canonical books (much like the Westminster Confession of Faith) against the Apocrypha, and confronts Trent’s authentication of the Vulgate (Aphorismi, II.x), which amounts to a different opposition to Rome’s doctrine of Scripture than Calvin’s opposition.12 Another example of addition is in the locus on sin (locus VII), where Piscator spends ten long aphorisms (equivalent to half of the chapter) on the distinctions concerning actual sins. All his distinctions follow his typical Ramistic bifurcations.13 Besides the obvious additions to Calvin which are not in the Institutes, there are some emphases from Piscator that provide a different flavor to what Calvin has affirmed. For instance, Piscator closes the locus on angels (locus V) with a warning concerning the enemies and principalities while Calvin comforts the readers with the greatness of God above these creatures (Inst. I.xiv.18, 20–22). Calvin, after all, deals with angels within his treatment of the doctrine of divine providence. Occasionally, an aphorism reflects Calvin’s theology without summarizing a portion of the Institutes. Piscator brings ideas into the text which possibly come from (or, at least, are in line with) Calvin’s commentaries to enhance the topic of the Institutes he is summarizing. When he speaks on angels, his application is that “when danger arises, we ask God for the 12 Piscator calls Holy Scripture the “rule both of faith and life” (regula tum fidei, tum vitae) much like the language of WCF I.2. 13 Piscator, Aphorismi (1595), VII.x–xix.



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protection of holy angels.”14 This is not in the Institutes, but it does resemble what Calvin says in the very same passages that Piscator includes on the margin (Psalm 34:8; 91:11–12). When making the distinction between legal and evangelical covenant,15 Piscator is again not summarizing the Institutes but in continuity with Calvin’s comments on Galatians 4:24.16 In sum, with all these examples, we can get a sense of how Piscator’s abridgment is somewhat free in structure and content. It is important to reaffirm that the purpose of his work was didactic, mainly for class disputations, but also for the purpose of teaching Calvin’s theology to laymen. Thus the reason for omissions, additions—both from outside and from within Calvin’s corpus—and Ramistic bifurcations is to obtain coherence of topics. Such abridgments with adaptations, however, sometimes resulted in less than faithful transmission of Calvin’s theology, as we will see next, phenomena which were not only peculiar to Johannes Piscator.17 The importance of structure and content concerns our topic of justification when Piscator deals with the law of God (locus VIII). If, on the one hand, he is clearer than Calvin in defining the three types of law—moral, ceremonial, judicial—and structuring this whole chapter on these three types, on the other hand, Piscator omits the important section on the three uses of the moral law—the pedagogical, the civil, and the “main” use (Inst. II.vii.6–13)—which hinders his complete understanding on how the law is or is not abrogated.18 He faithfully summarizes Calvin (Inst. II.vii.14–15), saying that for the believer the moral law is not abrogated as an “eternal rule of righteousness” (aeterna justitiae regula), but it is abrogated “both in its curse and in its rigor or rigid demand” (tum malediction tum rigore seu rigida exactione).19 However, the abrogation of the law 14 Piscator, Aphorismi (1595), IV.viii. 15 Piscator actually uses the language of “fedus legale” and “fedus gratuitum” (Aphorismi, IX.v–vii), but the term “evangelical” covenant appears elsewhere in Piscator’s corpus. Cf. Piscator, Analysis Logica Omnivm Epistolarum Pauli, 3rd ed. (London: Bishop, 1608), 421–422; Analysis Logica Evangelii Secundum Matthaeum (London: R.F., 1594), 316; Commentariorum in…Pentateuchus Mosaica (Herborn, 1643), 197. 16 Cf. CO 50:237. In the 1630 edition, Piscator adds material from Franciscus Junius. Cf. Aphorismi (1630), VIII.xvii. 17 Bunny’s abridgment organized Calvin’s thought in tabular form right in the beginning, apparently in Ramistic fashion. Tables are more elaborate in Delaune’s works and, according to Fatio, less true to Calvin’s thought than those of Bunny. See Fatio, “Presence de Calvin,” 184. These are examples of didactic devices that had an influence on faithful transmission of Calvin’s thought. 18 Bunny and specially Delaune are faithful to Calvin in describing these three uses. Cf. Bunnie, The Institvtions, 61v-63r; and Lawne, An Abridgement, 90–91. 19 Piscator, Aphorismi (1595), VIII.xv. Cf. I. John Hesselink, Calvin’ Concept of the Law (Allison Park: Pickwick, 1992), 257–259.

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means much more for Piscator than was explicit in Calvin. Piscator affirmed that in the Evangelical covenant we are not freed from rendering obedience, but we are freed from rendering perfect obedience.20 On the other hand, the eternal obligation of creatures would lead him to say elsewhere that we are obliged to perfect obedience.21 This inconsistency comes out of the lack of distinction between obedience in the context of justification and obedience in the context of sanctification. The Herborn teacher believed that after the Legal covenant was broken, there never was again a demand for perfect obedience of the law in order to be counted right with God. God never again demanded it from us, nor from Christ as our substitute. Calvin never says the standard to be counted righteous was made void even for Christ as our substitute. The Doctrine of Justification in both Documents Piscator was in tune with Calvin on at least three major points of the Protestant understanding of justification: Piscator upheld a forensic view of justification with an extrinsic notion of righteousness imputed rather than the medieval and Roman Catholic notion of infusion; he vehemently excluded human works from justification, clearly distinguishing justification from sanctification; and he believed in the mere instrumentality of faith to grasp the righteousness of Christ rather than being the root from which works of righteousness for our justification come.22 However, for the sake of brevity, the focus here shall be on the topic of imputation of righteousness and its connection to the so-called active obedience of Christ, for in this regard Piscator affirmed, through a mixture of omissions and additions, what Calvin never did say. The focus will be on Piscator first and then we will turn back to Calvin. Piscator writes that the righteousness of Christ which covers a man so he does not appear a sinner in the sight of God is the righteousness 20 Piscator, Analysis…Pauli, 422: “sentiunt enim se iis destitutos esse ad perfectam Legi obedientiam praestandam.” Since we are freed from rendering perfect obedience, there is no reason to fear our frail obedience in this life. In fact, in the 1630 edition of the Aphorismi, Piscator adds that the faithful are freed even from the fear of curse and of damnation: “atque adeo e metu maledictionis atq, damnationis quem rigida exaction perit.” See Piscator, Aphorismi (1630), VIII.xv. 21 Piscator, Apologia disputationis de causâ meritoriâ justificationis hominis coram Deo (Herborn, 1618), 21, 27–28, 94. 22 Cf. J. Wesley White, “The Denial of the Imputation of the Active Obedience of Christ: Piscator on Justification,” The Confessional Presbyterian 3 (2007): 147–154. He argues that Piscator was much more conservative than some modern theologians on justification.



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purchased by the death of Christ (justitiam morte Christi partam).23 He often includes this explanatory note that when he is speaking of the righteousness of Christ, he means the righteousness acquired by Christ’s death.24 Piscator means to exclude the life of Christ in acquiring righteousness for us. He writes, “The impulsive cause, which moves God in order that he may justify us, is the satisfaction and merit of Christ, that is, his obedience that he presented to the Father in experiencing death for us, the obedience imputed to us as righteousness….”25 It is merely the obedience in his death which counts as merit for our redemption and is, thus, imputed. Piscator does not leave out the purpose of Christ’s life in the scheme of redemption: to become the suited sacrifice that pleases and pacifies God. And to the end that this obedience and righteousnesse of Christ might be imputed vnto vs: it was necessarie first that he should yeeld perfect obedience to the law of God himself, liuing thereafter in all holynesse of life. And to performe this, it was necessarie also, that he should be sanctified & without sin from his beginning, & first conception in his mothers wombe: for if he had not bene a holy Priest, and a holy [sacrifice], he could not haue pleased God: and so could not haue pacified him for vs. And yet further I ad, that this our high Priest, and mediator, must be very God, that the obedience of his death might be of price sufficient for our sinnes, and meet to giue vs an euerlasting righteousnesse.26

In aphorism 26 of locus 13, Piscator regards the “full obedience to the law” (integra Legis observatio) to be merely Christ’s death. Interestingly, he cites the reference of Deuteronomy 27:26 and Leviticus 18:5, texts which 23 Piscator, Aphorismi (1595), XIII.iii. 24 Later in the chapter he writes, “justitia Christi (hoc est per mortem Christi parta),” and “justitiam morte Christi partam.” See Piscator, Aphorismi (1595), XIII.xxvi, xxx. This expression is repeated several times in his commentary on Romans. 25 Piscator, Aphorismi (1595), XIII.xv. This is where the numbering in the English translation starts differing from the original Latin. The English translator, Henry Holland, includes a fifteenth aphorism in this chapter which is entirely composed by Holland. In fact, this aphorism goes against the theology of Piscator by presenting a tripartite parallel (guiltinesse, disobedience, corruption paralleled with passion, righteounes and holynesse of Christ) which resembles a construction by Theodore Beza. Cf. Piscator, Aphorismes of Christian Religion, 72. In his epistle to the reader, Holland states that he has not followed the author’s words, though he believes he has been faithful in his translation. See Piscator, Aphorismes of Christian Religion, Aii-r. Holland refers to Piscator’s summary of Olevianus’ Epitome, which Piscator viewed as a faithful, but not verbatim, representation. See Piscator, Aphorismi (1595), 4. Apparently, the only chapters where Holland adds whole paragraphs to the Latin edition are the chapters on justification (1 paragraph) and on the Lord’s Supper (6 paragraphs). 26 Piscator, Aphorismes of Christian Religion, 73.

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would often be quoted by the opposing position to refer to both requirements of the law: punishment and obedience. This distinction between the function of the life being different from the death of Christ—only the latter being imputed to us—comes from his understanding of what justification is, in its very core. He writes, “The form of justification is the very remission of sins, or the imputation of righteousness.”27 He is saying that justification equals remission of sins which equals imputation of righteousness. In a later book, Piscator explicitly calls upon the authority of Calvin to defend his own position. He says that Calvin, in his commentary on Romans 4:6, affirmed that “righteousness, according to Paul, is nothing else than the remission of sins.”28 Piscator is part of a common misinterpretation of Calvin in the period of Protestant orthodoxy. Those who affirmed the imputation of Christ’s active obedience and those who denied it, as Piscator did, assumed that Calvin had exhibited a precise delineation of the imputed righteousness of Christ. When the Genevan Reformer referred to an imputed righteousness or outlined Christ’s mediatorial role and thus referred to his obedience in the context of redemption, in general there was no refinement clarifying how much of Christ’s obedience was actually imputed to the Christian. His ambivalent and inconsistent language, his early stage in the development of the doctrine of imputed righteousness, and his polemical context of opposition to the Roman Catholic doctrine of justification by works all resulted in Calvin’s writings being unconcerned with distinctions which were unfolded later. The judgment if Calvin was in favor or against the imputation of Christ’s active obedience is actually anachronistic.29 With this in mind, it is important to verify how much Calvin in fact says on Christ’s life of obedience. First, it is true that Calvin identified justification with remission of sins. John Forbes (ca. 1568–1634) and John 27 Piscator, Aphorismi (1630), XIII.xiv. 28 Piscator, Apologia disputationis, 50. Piscator drew the same conclusion concerning the work of other Reformers. In a letter to Daniel Tossanus (1541–1602), written in December of 1595, Piscator claims that the teaching of Beza in his 1559 Confession regarding the imputation of righteousness is not supported by Scripture and, thus, Piscator is annoyed by Tossanus accusing him that his teaching is novelty, as if it were not taught by Luther, Ursinus, and Olevianus. In the very next sentence, Piscator mentions the Lutheran Georg Karg and asserts that if he held the same opinion as Piscator did, he should not have abandoned it. See Bos, Johann Piscator, 245. 29 For more on the rather unqualified view of Christ’s obedience in Calvin and other Reformers, see my “Johannes Piscator (1546–1625) and the Consequent Development of the Doctrine of the Imputation of Christ’s Active Obedience” (Ph.D. diss., Calvin Theological Seminary, 2009), especially chapters 2–3.



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Goodwin (ca. 1594–1665) believed that Calvin meant to exclude all things from the matter of our righteousness except the blood and death of Christ alone.30 After all, Calvin presented righteousness as simply opposed to guiltiness and affirmed justification to be made of only one part, remission of sins (cf. Institutes III.xi.3, 4, 11, 21, 22). However, such interpretation disregards the polemical context against the Roman Catholics. In a section from the Institutes quoted by John Goodwin, Calvin affirms, “the righteousness of faith … consists solely in the forgiveness of sins.” Later in this section, he explains what he means: We add that this is done through forgiveness of sins; for if those whom the Lord has reconciled to himself be judged by works, they will indeed still be found sinners, though they ought, nevertheless, to be freed and cleansed from sin. It is obvious, therefore, that those whom God embraces are made righteous solely by the fact that they are purified when their spots are washed away by forgiveness of sins.31

Notice that Calvin is opposing the righteousness of works. That is the reason why justification consists solely in the forgiveness of sins. In another section not quoted by Goodwin, where Calvin is commenting on Romans 4:7, he writes, Surely, Paul does not make the prophet bear witness to the doctrine that pardon of sins is part of righteousness, or merely a concomitant toward the justifying of man; on the contrary, he includes the whole of righteousness in free remission, declaring that man blessed whose sins are covered, whose iniquities God has forgiven, and whose transgressions God does not charge to his account. Thence, he judges and reckons his happiness because in this way he is righteous, not intrinsically but by imputation.32

Here Calvin is defending remission of sins as the whole of righteousness against the idea that justification is also made of intrinsic righteousness. He is not opposing positive righteousness coming from Christ.33 He is merely opposing any righteousness present in us. Secondly, there is no doubt that Calvin regarded Christ’s life of obedience as crucial in the whole of our redemption. Those who held to the 30 John Forbes, A Treatise tending to cleare the Doctrine of Ivstification (Middelburgh: Schilders, 1616), 93–110; John Goodwin, Imputatio Fidei, or A Treatise of Justification (London: R.O. and G.D., 1642), 79–83, 119–124, 212–215. 31 Calvin, Institutes, III.xi.21; CO 2:551. 32 Institutes, III.xi.11; CO 2:542. 33 Calvin’s Comm. Romans, on 4:6, substantiates this idea. See Calvin, Commentaries on the Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Romans, trans. John Owen (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2003), 160–161; CO 49:72.

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imputation of Christ’s active obedience, claiming to be following faithfully the writings of Calvin, often quoted Calvin’s exposition of the Apostles’ Creed in the Institutes: In short, from the time when he took on the form of a servant, he began to pay the price of liberation in order to redeem us. Yet to define the way of salvation more exactly, Scripture ascribes this as peculiar and proper to Christ’s death…. For this reason the so-called ‘Apostles’ Creed’ passes at once in the best order from the birth of Christ to his death and resurrection, wherein the whole of perfect salvation consists. Yet the remainder of the obedience that he manifested in his life is not excluded.34

As if this were not enough, there are portions of Calvin’s other writings that are even clearer on the side of active obedience imputed. In his sermon on Deuteronomy 21:22–23, Calvin refers to the text of Galatians 3:[12-]13 and says that Paul deals with “two things.” The second is the suffering brought by the curse of the law, a clear reference to verse 13. The first, however, seems to be connected to verse 12. He [Paul] sayeth that because wee can not attaine to righteousnesse, but by fulfilling the Lawe in all pointes, and by being discharged before GOD: it behoued our Lorde Iesus Christ to bee subiect to the Lawe, to the intent that his obedience might nowe be imputed unto vs, and God accept thereof as though we brought the like obedience of our owne. When we speake of being justified before God, howe is that to be vnderstoode? Verily that we should obey the things that God commaundeth vs in his Lawe. For the righteousnesse that hee speaketh of is, that he which doeth those things shall liue thereby.35

Later, Calvin adds that we can know that we are righteous in Jesus because he willingly submitte himself to the Lawe, and beare the yoke thereof for vs: for we knowe that he performed the will of GOD his father in all pointes to the full. And so by that meane we be taken for righteous in Iesus Christ. Why so? Because Hee was obedient. Yea and that obedience of his was not for himselfe; there was no subjection in him, neither was hee bounde to any thing: for he is altogether aboue the Lawe: therefore it followeth that he was obedient for vs.36

Thirdly, an idea not present in the Aphorismi, because Piscator opposes it elsewhere in his writings, is the notion of the stability of God’s 34 Calvin, Institutes, II.xvi.5; CO 2:371. 35 John Calvin, The Sermons of M. Iohn Calvin upon the Fifth Booke of Moses called Deuteronomie, trans. Arthur Golding (London: Middleton, 1583), 763; CO 27:693. 36 Calvin, Sermons…Deuteronomie, 763; CO 27:693.



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law.37 Calvin has some seminal reflections on the continuity between law and gospel. He writes that “the gospel did not so supplant the entire law as to bring forward a different way of salvation. Rather, it confirmed and satisfied whatever the law had promised, and gave substance to the shadows.”38 Calvin also says that we cannot deny that the reward of eternal life awaits complete obedience, but since observance of the law is found in none of us, God does not reject our imperfect obedience, but “supplying what is lacking to complete it, he causes us to receive the benefit of the promises of the law as if we had fulfilled their condition.”39 In his Commentary on Leviticus 18:5, Calvin reaffirms that the promise of eternal life attached to the law is still in force, though he repeats the scriptural emphasis that sin in us makes the promise impossible to attain; but the authority of the law gives itself support until contemporary times, with promises and threats.40 His Commentary on Romans at 3:31 also appears to address the obedience of Christ’s life.41 In spite of the three elements of Calvin’s theology that were just commented on—justification as remission of sins explained in the context of his polemics with Roman Catholics, Christ’s life of obedience as essential to our redemption, and the notion of stability of the law—this does not mean that Calvin is clear regarding Christ’s active obedience. It just means that he allowed for more than Piscator did. The Herborn teacher closed certain avenues which Calvin never intended to. An evidence to corroborate with this conclusion is that Delaune, considered by Fatio quite faithful to Calvin in his abridgment, states nothing in favor or against the imputation of active obedience in his chapter on justification; the same is true of Bunny’s and Olevianus’ abridgments.42 Conclusion Johannes Piscator’s Aphorismi is not a polemical work opposing the imputation of Christ’s active obedience. Piscator did write polemically 37 Cf. Piscator, “Examen sententiae Domini Theodori Bezae, De justificatione Hominis coram Deo, quae habetur in annotatione ad Rom. 8, v. 2” in Correspondance de Théodore de Bèze, tome XXVII [1586], ed. Dufour et. al. (Geneva: Droz, 2005), 49–63. 38 Institutes, II.ix.4; CO 2:312. 39 Institutes, II.vii.3–4; CO 2:255. 40 See Calvin, Commentaries on the Four Last Books of Moses, trans. Bingham (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1993), 204; CO 25:7. 41 See Calvin, Comm. Romans, 152; CO 49.67. 42 Lawne, An Abridgement, 187–195.

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elsewhere. Here he simply intends to summarize Calvin’s Institutes faithfully. Nevertheless, because of the nature of this work, its veiled influence (Piscator’s theology through Calvin’s name) should not be overlooked. Piscator’s version of Calvin’s doctrine of justification might explain, in part, why in the seventeenth century there are so many disputes as to the genuine Reformed understanding concerning the imputation of Christ’s active obedience. If a good number of students and laymen are reading Calvin through Piscator, since his Aphorismi had so many editions, it is no wonder that a strong minority of Reformed opposed the imputation of Christ’s active obedience thinking that Calvin is on their side. Calvin is on neither side of the debate. But that is a matter for another essay.

THE ACADEMIZATION OF REFORMATION TEACHING IN JOHANN HEINRICH ALSTED (1588–1638) Byung Soo Han Based on his survey of visitation records, Gerald Strauss made a provocative argument that the reformers just superficially realized their aims and failed to indoctrinate the common people with Protestant beliefs.1 This argument prompted a fierce debate and further research into the spiritual and pedagogical effect of the Reformation on the popular religious culture. The research has largely been defensive of a successful reformation.2 By examining the theological education of the Reformed clergy in Basel of the first century after the Reformation, Amy Nelson Burnett showed that the Protestant church leaders, who played a crucial role in teaching the Reformation and were responsible for the solidification of confessional identity, were well trained in Reformation theology and successfully carried out their pedagogical task of transmitting the central beliefs of the Protestant Reformation to the next generation.3 She viewed the success of

1 See Gerald Strauss, “Success and Failure in the German Reformation,” PP 67 (1975): 30–63; Strauss, Luther’s House of Learning: Indoctrination of the Young in the German Reformation (Baltimore: JHUP, 1978); Strauss, “The Reformation and Its Public in an Age of Orthodoxy,” in The German People and the Reformation, ed. Hsia (Ithaca: Cornell, 1988), 89–102. Peter Elmer approves Strauss’ view. Cf. Peter Elmer, Challenges to Authority (New Haven: YUP, 2000), 88–91. 2 James Kittelson, “Successes and Failures in the German Reformation: The Report from Strasbourg,” AR 73 (1982): 153–174; Kittleson, “Visitations and Popular Religious Culture: Further Reports from Strasbourg,” in Pietas and Societas, ed. Sessions and Bebb (Kirksville: TSUP, 1985): 89–102; Geoffrey Parker, “Success and Failure during the First Century of the Reformation,” PP 136 (1992): 43–82; Scott Dixon, The Reformation and Rural Society: The Parishes of Brandenburg-Ansbach-Kulmbach, 1528–1603 (Cambridge: CUP, 2002); Natalie Davis, Society and Culture in Early Modern France (Stanford: Stanford, 1975); Robert Scribner, Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany (London: Hambleton, 1987); Scribner, “Pastoral Care and the Reformation in Germany,” in Religion and Culture in Germany (1400–1800), ed. Roper (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 172–194; Susan KarantNunn, The Reformation of Ritual: An Interpretation of Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: CUP, 1997), 155–228; Christian Grosse et al., “Anthropologie historique: Les rituels reformes (XVIe–XVIIe siecles),” BSHPF 148 (2002): 979–1009; Amy N. Burnett, Teaching the Reformation: Ministers and Their Message in Basel, 1529–1629 (Oxford: OUP, 2003); Heiko A. Oberman, The Reformation: Roots and Ramifications (London: TTC, 2004): 23–52. 3 Amy N. Burnett, “The Evolution of the Lutheran Pastors’ Manual in the Sixteenth Century,” ChH 73.3 (2004), 536–565; Burnett, Teaching the Reformation, 3–15.

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the Reformation as a composite result of education for the ministry, the evolution of preaching, and the practice of pastoral care. She pointed out that “the development of the institutional structure and curriculum of the theology faculty parallels the developments in personnel.”4 With this educational continuity of reformational doctrine in mind, Richard A. Muller characterizes the orthodox or scholastic era of the first two centuries following the Reformation as “the creation of institutional theology, confessionally in continuity with the Reformation and doctrinally, in the sense of the larger system of doctrine, in continuity with the great tradition of the church.”5 The theology of the period, he continues, was not developed in isolation from the Protestant confessions and the ongoing Western intellectual and academic tradition but “a product both of the confessional solidification and of the institutionalized academic culture of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.”6 For the sake of both positive teaching and polemical defense, the theology ought to have been associated with the school method or scholasticism that was being gradually developed in European gymnasia, academies, and universities from the twelfth to the seventeenth century and was characterized “by a thorough use and technical mastery of the tools of linguistic, philosophical, logical, and traditional thought.”7 But this academization of Reformed orthodoxy should not be seen as a departure from Reformation theology. As a blend of theological orthodoxy and methodological scholasticism and a quite complex phenomenon of the intellectual world of the period, the scholastic Reformed orthodoxy of the two centuries after Reformation is almost best illustrated by the most active encyclopedist of Herborn, Johann Heinrich Alsted (1588–1638),8 especially in his encyclopedic works, 4 Burnett, Teaching the Reformation, 14, 128. 5 Muller, PRRD, 1:28. 6 Muller, PRRD, 1:33. 7 Muller, PRRD, 1:35–36. 8 For his biographical and theological study, see August Nebe, “Johann Heinrich Alsted,” Annalen des Vereins für Nassauische Altertumskunde und Geschichtsforchung 10 (1870): 118– 130; Alois Madre, “Raimundus Lullus und Johann Heinrich Alsted,” Estudios Lullianos 4 (1960): 165–180; Robert G. Clouse, “The Influence of John Henry Alsted on English Millenarian Thought in the Seventeenth Century” (PhD diss., State University of Iowa, 1963); Ingo Schultz, Studien zur Musikanschauung und Musiklehre Johann Heinrich Alsteds (1588–1638) (Marburg: Görich & Weiershäuser, 1967); Robert G. Clouse, “Johann Heinrich Alsted and  English Millenarianism,” HThR 62 (1969): 189–207; Walter Michel, “Der Herborner Philosoph Johann Heinrich Alsted und die Tradition” (PhD diss., Universität Frankfurt am Main, 1969); Michel, “Die Theologie des Herborner Professors Johann Heinrich Alsted als Systema Harmonicum,” Archiv für mittelrheinische Kirchengeschichte 22 (1970): 169–186;



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Encyclopaedia biblica (1625) and Encyclopaedia omnium disciplinarum (1630).9 During this era, the field of theological education was gradually expanded to cover the whole realm of the academic world. As Cuno and Hotson pointedly say, there is no single source in which we can “find reflected more of the intellectual world of late sixteenth and early seventeenth century Reformed central Europe than in the microcosm of Alsted’s Encyclopaedia.”10 Alsted’s encyclopedic works are “the culmination and embodiment of several generations of pedagogical and philosophical activity concentrated in a network of Reformed gymnasia, academies, and universities spread across central Europe,” providing “a comprehensive, voluminous but unified conspectus of Reformed theological and philosophical learning in his day.”11 But his encyclopedic work has been blamed for its departure from Reformation theology, especially by Howard Hotson.12 Hotson actually acknowledged Alsted to be “orthodox in content” in his official statements to the synod of Dordt and offered a careful and thorough examination of the formulation and structure of the Encyclopaedia, but he did not pay sufficient attention to the biblical and theological aspect of Alsted’s thought on the locus de homine.13 And Hotson did not make it clear that the whole encyclopedia of teaching and learning in school, most suitable for their renewal according to their original perfection, has God and Scripture for its essential and cognitive principium. This short essay will show another possible interpretation of Alsted’s Johannes Kramer, ed., J.H. Alsted, Herborns calvinistische Theologie und Wissenschaft im Spiegel der englischen Kulturreform des frühen 17. Jahrhunderts (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1988); Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann, “Apokalyptische Universalwissenschaft: Johann Heinrich Alsteds Diatribe de mille annis apocalypticis,” Pietismus und Neuzeit 14 (1988): 50–71; Howard Hotson, “Johann Heinrich Alsted’s Relations with Silesia, Bohemia and Moravia: Patronage, Piety and Pansophia,” Acta Comeniana 12 (1997), 13–35; Hotson, Paradise Postponed: Johann Heinrich Alsted and the Birth of Calvinist Millenarianism (Dordrecht: Springer, 2000); Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted 1588–1638: Between Renaissance, Reformation and Universal Reform (Oxford: Clarendon, 2000); Hotson, Commonplace Learning: Ramism and its German Ramifications, 1543–1630 (Oxford: OUP, 2007).   9 For the structure and contents of those works, see Encyclopaedia Britannica (Cambridge, 1910), 9:372. 10 F.W. Cuno, “Johann Heinrich Alsted,” Reformierte Kirchenzeitung 26 (1903): 26–50; Howard Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, 9, 35. For his international fame, see Pierre Bayle, A Dictionary Historical and Critical, trans. John Bernard et al. (London, 1735), 1:529; Gottfried Zedler and Hans Sommer, Die Matrikel der Hohen Schule und des Paedegogiums zu Herborn, Veröffentlichungen der Historischen Kommission für Nassau (Wiesbaden: Bergmann, 1908), 5:82ff; Samuel E. Morison, Harvard College in the Seventeenth Century, 2 vols. (Cambridge: HUP, 1936), 1:158. 11 Cuno, “Johann Heinrich Alsted,” 26–50; Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, 9, 35. 12 See Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, 81, 89, 111–112. 13 Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, 112.

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academization of the Reformation theology by taking a close look at Alsted’s Scripture-based perspective of anthropology, pedagogy, and philosophy, which may lead us to the possible conclusion that he, though actually referring to the ‘Aristotelian idea’ of tabla rasa as characteristic of human beings after the fall, does not depart from the Reformed tradition on the issue. In a broad sense, the theological academization of the seventeenth century should not be taken as a mark of so-called ‘Pelagianism’ or ‘proto-rationalism’ departing from Reformation teaching. With a thorough and careful inquiry into the primary sources of Bartholomaeus Keckermann and Alsted, Hotson argues that “Keckermann and Alsted departed from the first generation of reformers and agreed with one another” on the ground of three anthropological and educational points: 1) the perfection of the intellectual, volitional, and operative faculties constitutes a major part of the image of God in man; 2) an encyclopedic philosophical education can help restore that image; and 3) that enough principles remains in fallen human nature to provide a natural starting for that process.14 Alsted seems to support Hotson’s argument when he states: Humans are by nature like a tabula rasa on which nothing is written but whatever can be inscribed. Oh you schools, inscribe the characters of piety and humanity! A human is by nature like a white line which can be given any color. Tinge that white line with the vivid hue of honor! Humans when first born into the light of day are like stones out of which any sort of figure can be carved. You have the most skillful sculptors who remake humans in order that the image of God uncovers itself more and more!15

It is possible to reinterpret this quotation in light of Alsted’s theological understanding of human beings’ sinful nature post lapsum. However, it should first be noticed that Alsted wrote the above statement in the context of describing “the providence of God toward schools,” but not in the context of building theological commonplaces, particularly the locus de homine. His doctrinal discussion of anthropology is found in a biblical encyclopedia grounded exclusively on the text of Scripture, Triumphus bibliorum sacrorum seu Encyclopaedia biblica (1625), as well as in the Encyclopaedia septem tomis distincta (1630). Slightly different from Hotson, who puts weak emphasis on the locus de homine in these sources, the present essay will attempt to interpret them properly. 14 Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, 83–84. 15 J.H. Alsted, Encyclopaedia septem tomis distincta (Herborn, 1630), 4:1541.



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In the Triumphus, Alsted asserts, on the basis of Genesis 2:17 and Ephesians 4:24, that God made Adam and Eve upright and good: The grace of their spirit constitutes original wisdom and justice to be naturally propagated and the grace of their body constitutes remarkable immortality and beauty, naturally increased according to the law of creation.16 The continuation of grace or the integrity of nature given to our first parents depends on the covenant of nature whose sacrament was the tree of life. But sin, the discordance from the law of God, entered into the world by Adam in whom all human beings except Christ have been conceived and born with sin. However, its author was not God or human beings but the devil. The penalty of sin is the temporal and eternal, the first and second death of body and soul, and every kind of affliction that is injurious to soul and body.17 The human mind was so darkened by sin that it cannot know what is spiritual. The human will was thus so depraved by sin that it always fights against the divine laws. God, nevertheless, engenders in humans a possibility, in which they can believe, the act of faith itself (ipsum fidei actum), and similarly, a possibility in which they can will and act.18 It is of interest to note that Alsted did not use such terms as ‘us,’ ‘the elect,’ or ‘believers,’ but ‘humans,’ to whom God gives these possibilities. Does it mean that Alsted maintained that God gave all humans the possibility to believe or faith itself? No, he did not. In support of his thesis, Alsted appeals to some biblical testimonies which say that God does give ‘us (nobis, believers)’ a heart to understand, eyes to see, and ears to hear; and God works in ‘you’ the will and the deed for his good pleasure, he illuminates the eye of ‘our’ mind to see, he grants ‘us’ a new heart and a new spirit, he pours out his love in ‘our’ heart through the Holy Spirit, and he makes ‘us’ be born again and raised from death. In the Encyclopaedia, Alsted makes a distinction between the government of human beings before and after the fall. The government of humans before the fall is done in the image of God and in the covenant of nature. He again divides the image of God in human beings into images of nature and of grace: the former is inseparable from them, while the latter is separable. The image of God naturally in humans may be said to be 16 J.H. Alsted, Triumphus bibliorum sacrorum seu Encyclopaedia biblica (Herborn, 1625), 314. 17 Alsted, Triumphus, 319. 18 Alsted, Triumphus, 322–323; Encyclopaedia, 5:1594. There is a history to the idea of possible power going back to Augustine’s distinction between the capacity (posse habere fidem) and actuality of faith (habere fidem). See Augustine, De praedestinatione sanctorum, V.10 (PL 44:968).

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the spiritual, simple, and immortal substance of the soul, faculties of the soul like intellect and will, the light of nature in the intellect, the liberty in the will, and the body’s structure and stature.19 The gracious image of God consists of four things: 1) excellent wisdom and integral knowledge of God and his works in the intellect; 2) original justice and sanctity in the will; 3) perfect disposition of parts, outstanding moderation, eminent beauty, imperial majesty, and immortality; and 4) in the whole humanity, the felicity encompassing the most consecrated communion and familiarity with God, the abundance of all goods and the most beautiful habitation and optimal sustenance, the most absolute authority in all animals, and the fullest immunity from all labor and trouble.20 The government of humans after the fall, according to Alsted, is observed “in free choice, sin, and a repression of sin.”21 Originally, the freedom of the first humans was directed toward both the good and the evil, while that of the fallen humans toward the evil alone. Then he divides the free choice of humans in this world after the fall into two: the free choices of the regenerate and the non-regenerate.22 The free choice of the latter is directed only toward the evil in terms of spiritual things, and nearly toward the evil in terms of moral and civil things, while that of the former is partly directed toward the good and partly toward the evil in terms of moral and civil things.23 Alsted points out that there are grades of freedom by saying that freedom of the regenerate when not yet glorified is from the evil to the good through the grace of God but imperfectly, but freedom after being glorified is from the evil to the good perfectly.24 Likewise, the freedom of the will has different degrees according to its state: in the state of integrity, human beings were able not to sin; in the state of misery, they can do nothing but sin; in the state of grace, sin cannot reign in them; and they are completely unable to sin in the state of glory.25 The freedom related to the regenerate in this world is threefold: from sin, from misery, 19 Encyclopaedia, 5:1594. 20 Encyclopaedia, 5:1594. 21 Encyclopaedia, 5:1595. 22 Alsted further states that while the free choice of the blessed in the next world is directed toward the good alone, that of the condemned in the next world is directed toward the evil alone. Encyclopaedia, 5:1595. 23 At this point, Alsted appeals to Augustine. See Augustine, De libero arbitrio, III.viii (PL 32:1281–1282). 24 Encyclopaedia, 5:1596. 25 Cf. W. van Asselt et al., Reformed Thought on Freedom (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2009), 44–45; Calvin, The Bondage and Liberation of the Will, ed. Lane (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1996), 240, and passim.



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and from necessity. What should be noted here is that it is primarily by divine grace that the regenerate in this world are given this freedom. It is not the result of any discipline or of any science. Next, Alsted makes several distinctions as he examines sin and its effect on human beings. He distinguishes special sin as primary (the fall of Adam and Eve) and generated sin as their corruption. Furthermore, he divides generated sin into natural and actual. The generated natural sin or sin clung to the nature of fallen Adam and Eve is partly the defect or lack of original justice and wisdom and partly a crooked inclination or concupiscence or propensity toward the evil. From the primary sin of the first humans are generated guilt, turpitude, original and actual sin, and any sort of punishment. The propagation of the first transgression to the descendants is done by imputation and real communication, entailing our privation of justice that necessitates the ineptitude for the good and the perversity of all faculties of soul and body. As the derailment in human acts or the deviation from the law of God, the actual sins come from original sin and are varied by reason of causes, effects, subjects, and adjuncts.26 The punishment of sin has many distinctions: in terms of modus there are internal or external, (properly or analogically said) spiritual or corporeal, original or adventitious, ordinary or extraordinary, immediate or mediate, bare punishment or simultaneous transgression, privation of habitual or assistant grace, and damnation or sentence. In terms of grade, Alsted distinguishes major or minor, and by reason of recipient subject, pious or impious humans.27 According to Alsted, the total misery of humankind comes to fulfillment with the vocabulary of death, which is threefold: 1) spiritual death which is the privation of spiritual life in which wretched humans live only in sin, 2) death of affliction which is the privation of youthful felicity and the engrafting of all generic calamity, and 3) spiritual and corporeal death which has its inchoation in terms of damnation and sense. This spiritual and corporeal death is like the carelessness and senselessness of conscience, the greatest terror and desperation of conscience, internal loss of sanity, vivacity, and from it morality, or it is external loss of external good such as suffering and fatigue and poverty, and its consummation, like the total and final separation from divine favor and the plenitude of eternal sin and suffering. Finally, the repression of sin needs to be taken into careful consideration. The repression of sin in the control of divine providence is general 26 Encyclopaedia, 5:1596–1597. 27 Encyclopaedia, 5:1596.

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or special, common or proper. The former is done by law (the law of creation that was inscribed in human heart, the law of nature or moral law as the eternal norm of justice, and the Mosaic Law including moral, judicial, and ceremonial laws). The latter is done by the home or marriage based on Genesis 2, by politics or magistracy grounded in Psalm 82 and Deutronomy 1, or by scholastic society or school.28 For the subject of this essay, let us focus on the school as a medium actualizing the proper or special repression of sin. Regarding the origin of schools, Alsted describes schools as founded on the divine law, the law of nature, and the law of nations. He explains that in the Old Testament God instituted schools, while in the New Testament Jesus Christ sanctified them. Every society which sets up ideals of virtue and felicity is a society according to nature; and all humankind in all ages and generations have approved of schools.29 Especially for the divine origin and sanction of schools, Alsted appeals to some biblical testimonies: Moses was prepared to be a great leader of Israel by being trained and educated in all the wisdom of Egypt. Daniel was educated in a Chaldean school to make the name of God known even to the Gentile kings so they could praise God’s name. Jehoshaphat emphasized school education as the most important factor to make his people knowledgeable in the divine laws and to rid the land entirely of idolatry.30 Alsted continues to emphasize God as the author of schools. In the beginning, therefore, just as the garden of Eden had God for its architect, so the birthday and incunabula of schools which emulate Eden can be referred to no other author, but God. Nay, could the glory of an institution so excellent, so good, in every way so worthy of support, from which the most joyful and copious harvest of mighty blessings flows upon all the mortal race as it were out of the cornucopia of Amalthea, be regarded as referable to another than God, the fountain and source of all good?31

Alsted argues that “always in the world” there have been pious schools above all among the chosen people of God, which through his infinite favor and power have endured even to his day and will remain to the end of the world and will find their completion in eternal life.32 He continues that not just the genesis of school but also its defense manifests the 28 Encyclopaedia, 5:1598–1605. 29 Encyclopaedia, 4:1506. 30 Encyclopaedia, 5:1608. 31 Encyclopaedia, 4:1540. 32 Encyclopaedia, 4:1540.



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inexplicable providence of God. According to Alsted, the first private school was in the house of Adam, while the first public school was erected by Enosh. Alsted also attempts to link schools with the church by saying that “certainly whoever said this said rightly, that the origin of schools is one with the origin of the church.”33 As God, our heavenly father, in the beginning planted a noble vineyard, I mean the church; and having planted it, preserved it from foxes and wild boars; and having preserved it, gave it increase; so in his unspeakable wisdom he added schools to it as nurseries and seminaries, to the end that as often as the plants of the vineyard withered with age, or collapsed in death, they might be replaced by fresh, green, young and vigorous shoots from the garden of the school. Oh, ineffable wisdom of God, whereby he ordained the perennial fountain of the school to subserve the glorious vineyard of his church! Oh, admirable bounty whereby just as he ordained that there should be a seed in this mundane theater that humans and their affairs should never perish! In the garden of his church, thus, he established the school as an inexhaustible seminary, that the shoots and young plants might be transferred into that glorious vineyard and conduce to its eternal life.34

According to Alsted, the absolute aim of pedagogy in schools is “scholastic felicity, located in the union and communion of the minds of the good, and truly in biosophia (βιοσοφία, the wisdom of living well), technosophia (τεχνοσοφία, the wisdom stepping forth from the right perception of arts), and gymnotechnia (γυμνοτεχνία, the exercise or use of the rightly perceived arts).” The relative end is “the conservation of the church, the state, and the household through the erudition and rectitude of morals.”35 The instruction and learning in the schools must be designed to make human beings better with regard to their intellect, will, and speech so that they may accomplish this threefold aim: “to imbue his or her intellect with knowledge or the cognizance of the truth, his or her will with the performance of good, and his or her tongue with eloquence.”36 The aim or purpose of pedagogy was not intended for the salvation of human beings. Alsted connects this threefold aim of pedagogy with philosophy. He acknowledges Keckermann’s view of philosophy as standing for “all 33 Encyclopaedia, 4:1540. 34 Encyclopaedia, 4:1540. 35 Encyclopaedia, 4:1505. 36 Encyclopaedia, 4:1505. With emphasis on the combination of theoria and praxis, Alsted states that “although erudition is an excellent provision for life’s journey, an ornament in prosperity, and a refuge in adversity, yet if it be seen in anyone not accompanied by good conduct, it finds no favor and obtains no praise. For then it is nothing but sugar in a sewer, wine in a poisoned vessel, or a sword in the hand of a mad person.”

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teaching and learning which pertains to the perfection of the intellect and the will, and indeed of the whole human being,” and also Plato’s definition of philosophy as “similitude to God” by teaching true knowledge and good action or the knowledge of the divine, the human, and the causes which they may encounter.37 With reference to the various divisions of philosophy used by Keckermann, Clemens Timpler, and Francisco de Toledo, Alsted emphasizes the division of philosophy into 1) the theoretical, which teaches the way of clearly cognizing to remove the darkness of ignorance in the intellect, 2) the practical, which teaches the way of living well and blessedly to remove the vice in the will, and 3) the poetical, which teaches the way of easily learning theoria and praxis to remove the ineptitude in the poetic intellect.38 This threefold division of philosophy corresponds to natura, doctrina, and usus so that philosophers should develop from nature, doctrine, and use, a threefold discipline of the natural, rational, and moral: “Through this tripartite knowledge human beings reach the one, true, optimal God, without whom no nature subsists, no doctrine is instructed, and no use is expected.”39 This, however, does not mean that human beings can be saved by philosophy without the grace and salvific work of Christ. In this regard, we need to know what Alsted means by philosophy. Pointing out that humans were created by God and gifted with much wisdom, Alsted defines philosophy as “habitus mixed from various habits with specifically different entities.”40 Thus philosophy may not be repugnant to theology in that God is wisdom itself, the fountain, measure, and norm of all wisdom. Philosophy, he further argues, must be subservient to theology and, only if it would insult theology, should it be banished like Hagar; for like Sarah theology remains.41 It is, for Alsted, nonsense to say that what is philosophically true is theologically false.42 True philosophy has God for its supreme cause and is the love of wisdom and is not just grounded in nature and experience but more primarily in Scripture. And it is linked with Scripture and faith in such a way that “Holy Scripture can be the principle of philosophy,” although not of philosophers, because 37 Encyclopaedia, 1:67. Cf. Bartholomaeus Keckermann, Operum omnium (Geneva, 1614), 1:7A. 38 Encyclopaedia, 1:68. 39 Encyclopaedia, 1:69. 40 Encyclopaedia, 1:67, 110. 41 Encyclopaedia, 1:74, 110. This allegory goes back to Clement of Alexandria, Stromata, I.5 (PG 8:717–728). 42 Encyclopaedia, 1:76. Cf. Keckermann, Operum omnium, 1:68.



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“philosophical principles can and ought to harmonize with the light of faith, as the most divine regula.”43 Likewise, he comprehends God’s inspiring of the human soul as the supreme cause of all the disciplines in the schools. The absolute finis of all Scripture-based disciplines by themselves is twofold: the principal and architectonic is the glory of God, and the subordinate is the eternal salvation of human beings and the restoration of God’s image in them, a restored image of God that is chiefly located in wisdom, justice, the sanctity of intellect, and the sanctity of will.44 Every discipline in its own way contributes to the renewal of God’s collapsed image in us. Notably, Alsted argues that it is God who communicates his image to humans and also renews the collapsed image in them.45 Just as in philosophy, so in all other disciplines, Scripture, right reason, and experience are the threefold norm of principles of cognition.46 In particular, Scripture is regarded for every discipline as “the highest principium, principal regula of principia, and divine law from eternity and in eternity.”47 Alsted further claims that “Scripture, reason, and experience are regulative norms and principles of the whole encyclopedia.” For all fields of discipline, in addition, Scripture is “the principium of principia among cognitive principles, just as God is the principium of principia among essential principles.”48 Alsted, though acknowledging that some say there are three principia, namely, the eternal principium in the mind of God, the revealed principium in Scripture, and the principium introduced by the human mind, claims that these three principia are one in reality, since there is only one eternal reason.49 Thus Alsted’s view of human beings and philosophy or discipline should not be understood without a previous consideration of God and Scripture as the highest norm and principium of the whole of philosophy and of every discipline. No Reformed orthodox theologian in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries claims that human beings can be saved by their own human efforts. Likewise, for Alsted, the fallen, sinful human nature cannot be saved by any school activity or by any discipline but only by God’s unfathomable grace. Sin cannot be swept away by any human merit but only 43 Encyclopaedia, 1:77. Cf. Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, 139. 44 Encyclopaedia, 1:73; Triumphus, praefatio. 45 Encyclopaedia, 1:74. 46 Encyclopaedia, 1:76. Cf. Lambert Daneau, Physice Christiana, sive, Christiana de rerum creatarum origine, & usu disputatio, 4th ed. (Geneva: Vignoniana, 1602), 49. 47 Encyclopaedia, 1:76. 48 Encyclopaedia, 1:86. 49 Encyclopaedia, 1:76.

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through the sacrificial blood of Jesus Christ. Academic achievement in school should not be regarded as a meritorious basis for human salvation, but as an aid to the sanctification of the faithful or the restoration of God’s image in humanity. This is what Alsted meant in his encyclopedic works. Only if a science or discipline has Scripture as its principium, might it then be said that its subordinate finis is to intend the eternal salvation of human beings instrumentally by revealing “God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature.” Alsted, however, most clearly claimed that justification and santification are accomplished by the sacerdotal, prophetic, and kingly offices of Christ.50 It is true that Alsted intended the academization of Reformation theology to embrace all kinds of disciplines. But his intention has no ‘Pelagian’ or ‘semi-Pelagian’ connection with the salvation of human beings from sin. His encyclopedic work is rather designed to systematize and institutionalize the Reformation teaching for the perfect restoration of God’s image in fallen humanity. Alsted’s enormous academization, in Muller’s estimation, is “the institutionalization and codification of doctrinal and educational principles and concerns enunciated by the Reformers.”51 And his emphasis on school education should not be taken as a suggestion of a new way to attain human salvation and thus a departure from Reformation teaching. Rather, Alsted would like to stress that all academic activities or disciplines should be grounded in Holy Scripture, the revelation of God who is the supreme wisdom and its fountain. It is in this regard that his use of the phrase “Homines natura sunt veluti tabula rasa” may be properly seen. Thus, I regard Alsted’s encyclopedic work or academization of Reformation teaching as an attempt to expand the successful Reformation into the whole area of human academics.

50 Encyclopaedia, 5:1566. 51 Muller, After Calvin, 109.

THEOLOGY AND PIETY IN URSINUS’ SUMMA THEOLOGIAE Lyle D. Bierma One small window through which to view the relationship between church and school in early modern Protestantism is the Summa Theologiae (“Summary of Theology”), or Catechesis maior (Larger Catechism), composed by Zacharias Ursinus in 1562. Ursinus (1534–1583), who served as rector of the Sapience College (seminary) in Heidelberg and professor of dogmatics at Heidelberg University, is probably best known as the primary author of the Heidelberg Catechism (1563). However, he was also an important early Reformed scholastic theologian and a contributor to the rise of Reformed covenant theology in the second half of the sixteenth century.1 The Summa Theologiae (hereinafter ST), a catechetical work consisting of 323 questions and answers, was once thought to have been written as a preparatory document for the Heidelberg Catechism (HC). Quirinus Reuter, who included it in a posthumous collection of Ursinus’ theological works in 1612, reports that the ST was one of two catechisms commissioned by the magistrate of the German Palatinate, a smaller catechism for children and a larger one for adults, and that a significant part of the HC was based on these two documents.2 Three decades later, Heinrich Alting offered a similar account in his history of the Palatinate church: This task [of preparing the HC] was assigned in 1562 to two theologians, Olevianus and Dr. Ursinus, both of them Germans and accomplished in writing the German language. Each of them prepared his own draft: Olevianus, a popular exposition of the covenant of grace; Ursinus, a twofold catechism—a larger one for those more advanced, and a smaller one for the youth. From these two works the Palatine Catechism was composed.3 1 For a full account of Ursinus’ life and works, see Karl Sudhoff, C. Olevianus und Z. Ursinus: Leben und ausgewählte Schriften (Elberfeld: Friderichs, 1857); G. Bouwmeester, Zacharias Ursinus en de Heidelbergse Catechismus (The Hague: Willem de Zwijgerstichting, 1954); and Derk Visser, Zacharias Ursinus: The Reluctant Reformer—His Life and Times (New York: United Church, 1983). 2 “Catechesis, Summa Theologiae, per quaestiones et responsiones exposita: sive capita religionis Christianae continens,” in D. Zachariae Ursini…Opera theologica, ed. Quirinus Reuter (Heidelberg: Lancellot, 1612), 1:10–11. 3 Heinrich Alting, Historia ecclesiae Palatinae [1644], in Ludwig Christian Mieg, Monumenta pietatis et litteraria virorum in re publica et litteraria illustrium selecta, 2 vols. (Frankfurt: Johannem Maximilianum à Sande, 1701), 1:189.

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To some extent, these early claims about the ST appear to be correct. Although there is a much greater similarity in structure and content between Ursinus’ Smaller Catechism and the HC, parallel wording can also be found between at least twenty-eight questions and answers in the Larger Catechism (ST) and the HC that have no counterparts in the Smaller Catechism. More recent research has shown, however, that these early seventeenth-century accounts of the origin and purpose of the ST were not entirely accurate. In a 1972 study of Ursinus’ theological pilgrimage from Philippism to Calvinism, Erdmann Sturm pointed to an inaugural address that Ursinus presented on the occasion of his appointment to the chair of Dogmatics at Heidelberg University in September 1562. In that address, Ursinus noted not only that the HC was nearly finished but also that he would begin his lectures at the university with “a summary of doctrine” (summam doctrinae) that charted a middle path between a very basic catechism, on the one hand, and a more comprehensive treatment of the loci of theology, on the other. The work that best fits this description is Ursinus’ catechetical “Summary of Theology,” or Larger Catechism. If this identification is correct, then even though the ST exerted some influence on the final form of the HC, its original and main purpose was not to provide a draft for that catechism but to serve as a textbook for theological students at the university.4 What we have in the ST, then, is an example of how one of the leading scholastic theologians of early Protestant Orthodoxy employed a longstanding ecclesiastical genre (catechisms) to teach theology at the highest academic level. Our focus here will be on how Ursinus relates theology to piety in this work, that is, how he connects Christian doctrine to the living out of the Christian life individually and communally coram Deo. What we shall find is that the ST bears out one of the main conclusions of Richard Muller’s decades-long research, namely, that “the authors of scholastic theological systems were frequently persons of considerable piety and, more importantly for the historical record, also wrote works intended to develop and support piety.”5 In what follows, we shall examine, in turn, the pastoral, personal, experiential, and practical focus of the theology of the ST and then explore how all four of these emphases converge in the ST’s doctrine of covenant. 4 Erdmann Sturm, Der junge Zacharias Ursinus: Sein Weg vom Philippismus zum Calvinismus (Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 1972), 239–241, 246; Lyle D. Bierma, “Translations of Ursinus’ Catechisms,” in An Introduction to the Heidelberg Catechism: Sources, History, and Theology, ed. Bierma et al. (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2005), 137–139. 5 Muller, S&O, 28.



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Pastoral Like most Christian catechisms from the last 1600 years, the ST is essentially an explanation of the Apostles’ Creed (Q&A 39–131), the Ten Commandments (Q&A 148–210), the Lord’s Prayer (Q&A 224–263), and the sacraments (Q&A 274–319). Moreover, like Ursinus’ Smaller Catechism just before it and the HC just after it, the ST shapes its exposition of the rudiments of the Christian faith in a pastoral manner. German piety on the eve of the Protestant Reformation had been characterized by an intensity of religious devotion, a fear of the Devil and death, and a quest for the perfect confession—all of which pointed to a widespread lack of certitude of salvation among the devout.6 Protestant catechisms of the sixteenth century, therefore, often sought to address these spiritual anxieties by portraying the Christian message as one of assurance and comfort, and the ST is no exception. As with the Smaller Catechism and HC, the very first question and answer sets the tone for the rest of the work: Q. What firm comfort do you have in life and in death? A. That I was created by God in his image for eternal life, and after I willingly lost this in Adam, out of his infinite and gracious mercy God received me into his covenant of grace, so that because of the obedience and death of his Son sent in the flesh, he might give me as a believer righteousness and eternal life. It is also that he sealed this, his covenant, in my heart by his Spirit, who renews me in the image of God and cries out in me, “Abba, Father”; by his Word; and by the visible signs of this covenant.7

Other religions “leave people in the midst of despair and death,” (Q&A 7), and even Christians in their pre-conversion state need to have the law preached to them before the gospel “so that, terrified by the knowledge of sin and of the wrath of God, they might be stirred up to seek deliverance; and so that they might be prepared to hear the gospel and be converted to God” (Q&A 149). But the gospel then teaches them how to be certain of that deliverance (Q&A 35). Indeed, the gift of true faith that embraces 6 Steven E. Ozment, The Reformation in the Cities: The Appeal of Protestantism to Sixteenth-Century Germany and Switzerland (New Haven: YUP, 1975), 22–32, 49–56; Denis Janz, Three Reformation Catechisms: Catholic, Anabaptist, Lutheran (New York: Mellen, 1982), 8–11. 7 All quotations from the ST are from Zacharias Ursinus, “The Larger Catechism,” trans. Lyle D. Bierma, in An Introduction to the Heidelberg Catechism, 163–223 (here at 163). The Latin text on which this English translation is based is found in August Lang, ed., Der Heidelberger Katechismus und vier verwandte Katechismen (Leipzig: Deichert, 1907), 152–199.

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the gospel is a “firm assurance” by which we are “convinced” that God has graciously bestowed upon us forgiveness of sins, righteousness, and eternal life (Q&A 38). This language of comfort, certainty, and conviction is particularly prevalent in the ST’s treatment of the Apostles’ Creed and the sacraments, both of which present to us in different forms the fundamental truths of the gospel (Q&A 39, 275). When, for example, we believe in Jesus Christ, who is the focus of the second article of the creed, we can derive from the provisions of his threefold office a triple “comfort”: that by him as our king we are given and ruled by the Holy Spirit and defended against all dangers; that by him as our high priest we are reconciled and brought to the Father, so that we can ask and expect all good things from him; and that by him as the true prophet we are illumined with the knowledge of the Father. (Q&A 64)

Faith in Christ as our Lord is “to know for certain that we belong to Christ” (Q&A 68), and trusting in his miraculous conception and birth is “to be certain in one’s heart” of the sinlessness of Christ (Q&A 78). Belief in Christ’s suffering, crucifixion, death, descent into hell, ascension, session, and return in judgment also involves conviction, persuasion, and comfort (Q&A 88, 97, 101, 103), as does believing in the Holy Spirit, the church, the remission of sins, and the resurrection of the body (Q&A 110, 112, 127, 130). One can even be assured of his or her election “because by true faith I embrace the grace of God offered to me, and by that most compelling evidence I know that I have been elected by God to eternal life and will always be kept by him” (Q&A 219). The sacraments, too, are God’s “visible pledges and public testimonies … [that] assure all those who use these ceremonies in true faith that this promise [of grace] certainly belongs to them and will be valid for them forever” (Q&A 275). By such pledges God confirms, or builds up, faith in the hearts of the elect (Q&A 278). Baptism makes us “more certain” of our spiritual washing (Q&A 289), and the Lord’s Supper assures us of and testifies to the certainty of our communion with Christ’s body and blood as we partake of the elements (Q&A 295, 304, 308, 310). From beginning to end, therefore, the theology of the ST has a pastoral tone to it. Ursinus seems to want to impress upon his students, many of whom would become ministers in the church with pastoral responsibilities, that at its core the gospel is a message of assurance and comfort to troubled souls.



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Personal Closely related to this pastoral dimension is the personal focus of the ST, since Ursinus’ concern in the document is to address the spiritual struggles and anxieties of real persons. Nearly half of the questions and answers in the catechism contain pronouns in the grammatical first and second persons (I, me, we, us, our, you). Many of these pronouns are in the first person plural, as we see, for example, in the following question on justification (emphasis added): 133 Q. How are we justified before God in this life? A. Through faith alone in Christ, when God out of his gracious mercy, for us who believe, forgives our sins, imputes to us the satisfaction of Christ as if we ourselves had done it, and on that account receives us in grace without any of our own merits and gives us the Holy Spirit and eternal life.

This use of the first person plural is especially prominent in the exposition of the Decalogue, where it is emphasized that in the Ten Commandments Moses is speaking as much to the church of the 1500s as he was to the ancient people of Israel (Q&A 158). Apparently, Ursinus wants his students to remember that one is never a Christian all alone but is always connected to a community of those who share in the blessings and responsibilities of the Christian life. Nevertheless, there are key places in the ST where he does employ the first and second person singular. We first encounter this in the opening two questions and answers, which, as we have already seen, set a personal and a pastoral tone for the entire catechism: 1 Q. What firm comfort do you have in life and in death? A. That I was created by God in his image for eternal life, and after I willingly lost this in Adam, out of his infinite and gracious mercy God received me into his covenant of grace, so that … he might give me as a believer righteousness and eternal life. It is also that he sealed this, his covenant, in my heart by his Spirit, who renews me in the image of God and cries out in me, “Abba, Father.” 2 Q. How do you know that God has established such a covenant with you? A. Because I am truly a Christian.

Ursinus also shifts to the singular in the critical questions on the meaning of remission of sins (“I know for certain that because of the satisfaction of Christ, all my sins have been forgiven me in such a way that God will never

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call me into judgment for them,” Q&A 127) and on the assurance of election: 219 Q. But inasmuch as no one is saved except those whom God from eternity has elected to salvation, how can you be convinced that the promise of grace pertains to you when you don’t know whether you are elect? A. Because by true faith I embrace the grace of God offered to me, and by that most compelling evidence I know that I have been elected by God to eternal life and will always be kept by him. For if he had not elected me from eternity, he would never have given me the Spirit of adoption.

As important as the community of the saints is in the ST, the individual does not get lost in the crowd. The good news of the gospel is first of all one of comfort to each believer personally, to each sinner who stands before God in need of grace. The answers to these key questions, therefore, turn out to be not dispassionate doctrinal statements but living testimonies or confessions of faith on the lips of individual believers. Experiential Closely related to this personal focus of the ST is, in turn, its recurring emphasis on religious experience as a significant part of the Christian life. For Ursinus the theological truths at the heart of the Christian faith are not abstract propositions but realities that are lived and experienced. The tone is set already in Q&A 1, where Ursinus evokes the words of Romans 8:15–16 in his assertion that God seals his covenant “in my heart by his Spirit, who … cries out in me, ‘Abba, Father.’” According to Romans 8, it is actually we who cry to the Father, but Ursinus has recast that response as the voice of the Holy Spirit deep within the heart of a believer. This experiential tone carries over into three of the four major sections of the catechism: the expositions of the creed, the law, and prayer. As we have already noted, Ursinus’ analysis of the Apostles’ Creed contains a number of references to faith as, in part, the experience of assurance or certainty. To believe in Jesus’ conception by the Holy Spirit and his virgin birth, for example, is to be “certain in one’s heart” of these truths and of their impact on our salvation (Q&A 78). Belief in other doctrines of the creed, too, involves being “firmly convinced” (Q&A 88), “really persuaded” (Q&A 97), “persuaded in our hearts” (Q&A 101), “sustained by this comfort” (Q&A 103), and “know[ing] for certain” (Q&A 127). But Ursinus suggests that there is more to the life of faith than just conviction or certainty by also employing the verb sentire (to feel or experience) to describe



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such belief. To believe in the Son of God means “to feel in one’s heart by the testimony of the Holy Spirit that we have been adopted by God as children because of his only begotten Son” (Q&A 66). Those who “feel in their hearts” that they have received new life because of Christ’s resurrection may be said to believe in the risen Christ (Q&A 92). To believe in the Holy Spirit and in the life everlasting, respectively, means “to feel in one’s heart” that the Spirit is at work in us (Q&A 112) and “to experience in our hearts already now the beginnings of eternal life” (Q&A 131). And we will know whether we are in the church of the saints if we “experience the beginnings of true faith and conversion to God in us” (Q&A 124; cf. also Q&A 222). What exactly are these feelings and experiences of faith and conversion that go beyond a firm conviction? We may get some clues from the ST’s expositions of the law and prayer. Humanity, says Ursinus, was created for the purpose of worshipping God with one’s whole life “in eternal happiness” (Q&A 13), a happiness that could be attained originally through obedience to God according to the law (Q&A 14). The summary of this obedience and law is the love of God and neighbor (Q&A 15), the latter of which involves not just the doing of good to all but also the “desire” for such good (Q&A 16). Having fallen into sin, however, unconverted humanity needs to have the law preached so that they become “terrified by the knowledge of sin” and “stirred up to seek deliverance” (Q&A 149). And the lifelong conversion of a Christian through interaction with the law includes both mortification, that is, sorrow and hatred for our sin (Q&A 144), and vivification, which is both “joy in God” and “a love and burning desire for righteousness” (Q&A 145). The invocation of God in prayer, too, is “a burning desire of the soul” to petition God for physical and spiritual gifts and to thank God for them (Q&A 225). Indeed, sincere prayer is rooted in a “true sense of our misery and … an anxious and ardent desire for the grace of God” (Q&A 228)—a desire that comes from the Holy Spirit, who must “kindle it in our hearts” (Q&A 229). Happiness, terror, stirrings, sorrow, hatred, joy, misery, and burning desire—all of these are emotions and experiences associated with the Christian’s ongoing journey of faith and conversion in a life of good works and prayer. Practical Finally, the ST’s treatment of the essentials of Christian theology has a very practical focus. The contents of the catechism suggest that for Ursinus

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the Christian religion involves not just a set of divinely revealed truths to be mastered by his students but also the students’ response to those truths in the practice of the Christian life. Doctrine is always connected to devotion. Built into us as image-bearers of God already at creation is “the inclination and desire of the whole person” to live according to the true knowledge of God and “to worship God in eternal happiness with one’s whole life” (Q&A 12, 13). To speak of God as Trinity, therefore, is not only to confess that God is one essence in three distinct persons but also to acknowledge that this Trinitarian God is the one “in whom we are baptized, and whom we are commanded to worship” (Q&A 43). To believe in Jesus Christ means to recognize not only that Christ has acted on our behalf in fulfilling his threefold office of prophet, priest, and king but also that “we are made kings with him, who have dominion with him over all creatures for eternity; and priests, who already now offer ourselves and all that is ours as thank offerings to God; and prophets, who truly know and glorify God” (Q&A 64). The sanctification of the elect, too, involves both God’s work in believers and their response. The Holy Spirit teaches the elect the will of God through the ministry of the gospel, regenerates them, makes them temples of God and members of Christ, and preserves them for eternal life. But all of this is so that they, in turn, “might mortify the works of the flesh [and] walk and advance in newness of life” (Q&A 110). The same is true of the church. On the one hand, it is “a community of persons elected by God for eternal life and born again by the Holy Spirit” (Q&A 113). It is holy because Christ redeems it, clothes it with his righteousness, and renews it by his Spirit (Q&A 114). On the other hand, it is we who embrace the gospel in faith and obedience, participate in the sacraments, and “contribute whatever gifts each has received from God to the enrichment of the whole church” (Q&A 113, 116). The action verbs, therefore, that Ursinus associates with the practice of the Christian life—live, worship, obey, honor, love, do good, be grateful, revere, trust, offer, acknowledge, invoke, glorify, be content, testify, praise, meditate, confess, embrace, contribute, proclaim, etc.—all leave the reader with the impression that, like Calvin’s Institutes, the ST is not just a “summary of theology” but a handbook on Christian piety. Covenant of Grace Scholars in the past have differed greatly in their view of Ursinus’ role in the rise of post-Reformation orthodoxy, particularly in how he formulated



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the relationship between covenant and predestination. Some have seen in his doctrine of covenant an attempt to palliate a harsh double predestinarianism inherited from Calvin.8 Others have claimed that his doctrine of the covenant of grace, especially its human dimension, is virtually swallowed up by his doctrine of predestination.9 Neither of these positions, however, can be defended on the basis of the ST. When covenant and predestination are mentioned together in this catechism, they appear wholly compatible (see e.g., Q&A 33) but never in such a way that the human role in the covenant is diminished or undermined (see, e.g., Q&A 224, 266). The importance of this human dimension in Ursinus’ covenant of grace is illustrated by the convergence in this one doctrine of the four emphases we have found in the theology of the ST as a whole: pastoral, personal, experiential, and practical. Like the other teachings in the ST, the doctrine of covenant always has in view the spiritual needs, religious experience, and practical living of believers, individually and communally. As we noted earlier, the pastoral and experiential tone of the catechism comes to expression already in the first question: “What firm comfort do you have in life and in death?” What is also worth noting, however, is that the answer to Q. 1 explains this comfort largely in terms of the covenant of grace: That … out of his infinite and gracious mercy God received me into his covenant of grace. … It is also that he sealed this, his covenant, in my heart by the Spirit, who renews me in the image of God and cries out in me, “Abba, Father,” by his Word, and by the visible signs of his covenant.

Such covenantal assurance lies at the very heart of the gospel: 35 Q. What does the gospel teach? A. What God promises us in his covenant of grace, how we are received into it, and how we know we are in it—that is, how we are delivered from sin and death, and how we are certain of this deliverance.

Indeed, God instituted the ministry of the church “so that through it he might receive us into his covenant, keep us in it, and really convince us that we are and forever will remain in it” (Q&A 265). As aspects of this ministry, both of the “visible signs of [God’s] covenant” offer the believer an assurance related to this covenant of grace. The benefit we receive from the sacrament of baptism is that throughout our lives of ongoing 8 E.g., Heinrich Heppe, Dogmatik des deutschen Protestantismus im sechzehnten Jahrhundert, 3 vols. (Gotha: Perthes, 1857), 3:139–160. 9 E.g., J. Wayne Baker, Heinrich Bullinger and the Covenant: The Other Reformed Tradition (Athens: Ohio University, 1980), 203.

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conversion, we can be “certain of the covenant established with God” (Q&A 288). And in the Lord’s Supper, Christ testifies that he most certainly communicates his body and blood to believers, “so that the covenant established with God in baptism may be valid for them forever” (Q&A 295). Ursinus responds pastorally to the spiritual anxieties of his day in part by appealing to a biblical concept that underscores the validity and certainty of salvation: the covenantal relationship between God and his people. Not surprisingly, this relationship is often cast in personal terms, firstperson singular as well as plural. My comfort in life and death is that God receives me into the covenant of grace and seals this covenant in my heart by the Spirit and the visible signs of this covenant (Q&A 1). “How do you know that God has established such a covenant with you? Because I am truly a Christian,” that is, one who is grafted and baptized into Christ (Q&A 2, 3). “Your” hope of eternal life is received “from the gracious covenant that God established anew with believers in Christ” (Q&A 30). And God wants to receive us into the covenant of grace in such a way that he does not go against the covenant established in creation, that is, that he neither treat us as righteous nor give us eternal life unless his law has been perfectly satisfied, either by ourselves or, since that cannot happen, by someone in our place. (Q&A 135)

This covenantal language is directed at persons not in the abstract but who are sitting in the author’s own classroom and in the pews of their future parishioners. Finally, this pastoral, experiential, and personal approach to the doctrine of covenant in the ST is complemented by a strong emphasis on practical Christian living. The covenant of grace, after all, is a “mutual promise,” not simply one in which God vows to be a gracious father to believers and give them eternal life but also one “in which they in turn pledge to accept these benefits in true faith and, as befits grateful and obedient children, to glorify him forever” (Q&A 31). The mutuality of this covenant is highlighted every time we participate in the sacraments, the visible signs of the covenant: Sacraments are ceremonies instituted by God and added to the promise of grace, so that he might represent to them the grace promised in the gospel, that is, the communication of Christ and all his benefits; and so that, by these visible pledges and public testimonies, as it were, he might assure all those who use these ceremonies in true faith that this promise certainly belongs to them and will be valid for them forever; and so that those using them might, on their part, bind themselves to perseverance in true faith and piety toward God. (Q&A 275)



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The contours of this piety are found in the divine law, which teaches us “what God requires of [mankind] after establishing a new covenant of grace with him—that is … how he ought to conduct his life after being reconciled to God” (Q&A 10). This covenant, therefore, is “valid only for those who keep it,” meaning that “we are obligated not only to believe in Christ but also to live holy lives before God.” Without the fruit of good works in our lives we “can neither boast of faith nor take comfort in partnership in the divine covenant” (Q&A 141). Conclusion In the mid-1990s, Richard Muller published a lengthy essay outlining his comprehensive reappraisal of the historiography of Reformed orthodoxy.10 Among his ten basic premises was a challenge to the scholarship of the previous 150 years that had detected little of the Reformation’s theology of piety in the age of scholasticism that followed. Muller argued that for many of the great Reformed scholastics of the post-Reformation period—Perkins, Ames, Voetius, and Baxter, for example—it is not easy “to draw a firm line between scholasticism and pietism.”11 Although they wrote technical academic treatises that employed the scholastic method, they were also men of great personal piety and produced theological works that emphasized piety and praxis.12 Based on our examination of the ST, Zacharias Ursinus should be added to this list of pious scholastic theologians. While certainly a practitioner of the scholastic method in some of his writings,13 Ursinus also composed catechetical works like the ST and HC that, as we have seen, are pastoral in tone and stress the interrelationship between theology and piety in the lives of Christian believers. However, unlike the HC, which was composed primarily for young people and lay adults, the ST was a mid-level theological text intended for students at the seminary and university. What we find in the ST, therefore, is a theology of piety that made its way not only into a work by a major Protestant scholastic but also, and more remarkably, into the very arena in which he plied his trade—the classrooms of the highest schools in the land.

10 Muller, “Calvinists I”; “Calvinists II.” 11 Muller, “Calvinists II,” 145. 12 Muller, “Calvinists II,” 144–146. 13 E.g., Corpus doctrinae Christianae (Hanover: Aubrius, 1634).

LAW AND GOSPEL IN EARLY REFORMED ORTHODOXY: HERMENEUTICAL CONSERVATISM IN OLEVIANUS’ COMMENTARY ON ROMANS R. Scott Clark Introduction Before 1513 Martin Luther (1483–1546) understood that God had made a covenant whereby he was prepared to co-act with those who capitalize on the natural endowments given by God, that “to the one who does what lies within him, God denies not grace.”1 In this Pelagianizing scheme, justification is a process in which God recognizes the sanctified as righteous on the basis of their inherent righteousness achieved by grace and cooperation with grace. Between 1513 and 1521 Martin’s theology gradually underwent a series of revolutions. At the end of the process he was articulating what we know as the Protestant doctrine of sin, grace, the imputation of Christ’s righteousness as the ground of justification, and faith as trusting, receiving, and resting in Christ alone as the sole instrument of justification. These were not the only changes in his theology, however. Concomitant with these developments was a change in the way he read Scripture. Since the third century most of the church most of the time had understood Scripture to contain only one kind of speech: law. When the pre-Reformation church said “gospel” they meant only “the new law.” As early as 1513– 1514, in his first course of lectures on the Psalms, Luther began to recognize a more profound difference between law and gospel than just the degree of grace.2 By 1518 he was expressing the substance of what we know as the law-gospel hermeneutic. The law, he said, is a “word of perdition, a word of wrath, a word of sadness, a word of anguish, the voice of a judge and a defendant, a word of trouble, and a word of curse.” The gospel, however, is “the word of salvation, the word of grace, a word of solace, a word of joy, 1 WA, 1.359. Luther’s condemnation of the Franciscan pactum, in 1518, was a repudiation of his earlier view. On his theological development see R. Scott Clark, “Iustitia Imputata Christi: Alien or Proper to Luther’s Doctrine of Justification?” Concordia Theological Quarterly (2006): 287–294. 2 WA, 4:9.

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the voice of the bridegroom and the bride, a good word, a word of peace….”3 For sinners, the law, relative to acceptance with God, is bad news because it demands what we cannot give but the gospel is good news because it announces that God will (in the case of the Old Testament) accomplish or has (in the case of the New Testament) accomplished in Christ, for sinners, what the law demands. By 1532, Luther was able to say that making this “certum discrimen inter legem et Euangelion, inter praecepta et promissiones” (certain distinction between law and gospel, between commands and promises) is “die höchste kunst in in derr Christenheit” (the highest art in Christendom). For Luther, failure to observe this distinction marks one as a pagan or Jew.4 Did the Reformed accept Luther’s distinction or did they become, in Luther’s categories, pagans and Jews? The question under consideration in this essay is that of the continuity between Martin Luther and early Reformed orthodoxy on the hermeneutical distinction between law and gospel and the development of this principle by the Reformed in their covenant theology. As ­representative example, we will discuss Caspar Olevianus’ (1536–1587) commentary on Romans.5 There are three approaches to the question of substantial continuity between the Lutherans and the Reformed on this point, to affirm it, to deny it, and to ignore it. Introductory surveys of the history of interpretation frequently take the last approach. No less a Reformed stalwart than Louis Berkhof, in his Principles of Biblical Interpretation, published after decades of biblical and theological study, surveys the hermeneutical principles of the Reformation but never mentions what was arguably the most important hermeneutical principle of the Reformation, though he did discuss and affirm the distinction in his Reformed Dogmatics (1932).6 Those handbooks that do address the law-gospel distinction typically assign it to the Lutheran tradition.7 This ignorance of the distinction also appears in 3 WA, 1:616. 4 WA, 36:9, lines 9, 28–29. See also Martin Luther, “The Distinction Between the Law and the Gospel: A Sermon By Martin Luther January 1, 1532,” Concordia Journal 18 (1992): 153–163. 5 Caspar Olevianus, In epistolam…ad romanos notae…cum praefatione Bezae (Geneva, 1579). Hereafter Romanos. 6 Louis Berkhof, Principles of Biblical Interpretation (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1950), 25–27, Berkhof, Systematic Theology, 4th ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1941), 612–614. 7 See e.g., Alan J. Hauser and Duane F. Watson, ed., A History of Biblical Interpretation: The Medieval Through the Reformation Periods, 2 vols. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), where the editors speak of the “law-gospel hermeneutic” (2.51) in the context of Luther and Melanchthon and Timothy Wengert speaks of the “developing Lutheran hermeneutical principle of law-gospel” (2.326). See also D. L. Puckett, “John Calvin,” in Historical Handbook



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more historical treatments even where recognition of it would seem to be essential. For example, John Leith’s brief essay, in ecumenical dialogue with mainline Lutherans, gave no indication whatever that, for Calvin (or for other Reformed theologians) there is any antithesis between the law and the gospel.8 The second approach, represented by Peter Lillback and Mark A. Garcia, regards the distinction as solely Lutheran and even antithetical to the Reformed hermeneutic. Lillback argues that Luther’s discovery of the law-gospel hermeneutic introduced an “inescapable tension” between his doctrine of justification and his doctrine of sanctification, which problem Calvin’s covenant theology was intended to resolve.9 He argues that, relative to the ordo salutis, Luther’s hermeneutic saw two words in Scripture, Law and Gospel, which “required the separating of faith and grace from law.” In contrast, “the covenantal hermeneutic of the Reformed created an emphasis upon the mutually necessary presence of faith and love.”10 Garcia elaborates on Lillback’s approach by contrasting Luther’s “universal extension and application of a Law-Gospel hermeneutic” the effect of which was to relegate all conditional passages in Scripture “to the category of Law as distinct from Gospel” whereas Calvin rejected such an approach and regarded such passages as “gospel.”11 Garcia concludes, “Lillback was quite correct to identify a hermeneutical disagreement between Luther and Calvin: Luther’s strict use of the Law-Gospel hermeneutic must not be reconciled simplistically with Calvin’s broader and more complicated use of similar language.”12 A third approach and that advocated in this essay, represented by I. John Hesselink, Andrew Bandstra, and Michael Horton, is to see fundamental unity between Lutheran and Reformed traditions on the of Major Biblical Interpreters, ed. McKim (Downers Grove: IVP, 1998), 171–179 where Calvin’s hermeneutic is surveyed with no recognition of the presence of a law-gospel hermeneutic. 8 John H. Leith, “Creation and Redemption: Law and Gospel in the Theology of John Calvin,” in Marburg Revisited, ed. Empie and McCord (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1966), 141– 151. A similar approach is evident in Wayne G. Strickland, ed., The Law, the Gospel, and the Modern Christian: Five Views (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1993), where two chapters ostensibly describe the Reformed approach to law and gospel but do so in purely redemptivehistorical terms with no reference to a hermeneutical distinction. 9 Peter A. Lillback, The Binding of God: Calvin’s Role in the Development of Covenant Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2001), 70–71. 10 Lillback, The Binding of God, 125. 11 Mark A. Garcia, Life in Christ: Union with Christ and Twofold Grace in Calvin’s Theology (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2008), 75, 76. 12 Garcia, Life in Christ, 77.

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distinction between law and gospel in justification but which also sees development in the way Reformed theologians articulated that distinction when accounting for redemptive history, covenant theology, and eschatology. Hesselink argues that when speaking of “law and gospel” Calvin was more likely to be speaking in redemptive-historical rather than hermeneutical categories.13 When speaking redemptive-historically or covenantally, Calvin used the terms law and gospel in the traditional way to speak of the old and new covenants or Moses and Christ. In those cases, his emphasis tended to be on the substantial unity of redemptive history.14 Hesselink also observes helpfully that, when Calvin wanted to speak in hermeneutical categories, however, he used the terms “promise” and “curse.”15 Hesselink says that “a careful comparison of Luther’s and Calvin’s exegesis of key law-gospel passages in Galatians shows that the two reformers are in fundamental agreement on this issue.”16 Calvin’s comments on Galatians 2:19 might well be taken to be Luther’s.17 “Here,” he says, “Calvin is as uncompromising as Luther. There are two kinds of promises and two kinds of righteousness: legal promises and evangelical promises, the righteousness of works and the righteousness of faith. These are two opposing systems which are totally unreconcilable.”18 Building on Hesselink’s 1961 doctoral research on this topic, Andrew Bandstra argued a similar case in 1976.19 Michael Horton’s thorough 1997 essay consolidated the case for a fundamental unity between Calvin and the confessional Lutheran position on the law-gospel hermeneutic.20 In his essay Horton suggests a trajectory of research into Reformed orthodoxy. This paper begins to take up that task. This essay argues that despite the various areas of genuine disagreement (e.g., Christology, Baptism, the Supper, and the theory and practice of worship) between Luther and early Reformed orthodox theologians, the latter were not conscious of departing from Luther on the law-gospel 13 I. John Hesselink, “Law and Gospel or Gospel and Law: Calvin’s Understanding of the Relationship,” in Calviniana: Ideas and Influence of Jean Calvin (Kirksville: SCS, 1988), 16–17. 14 Hesselink, “Law,” 17–23. 15 Hesselink, “Law,” 16. 16 Hesselink, “Law,” 25. 17 Hesselink, “Law,” 26. 18 Hesselink, “Law,” 29. 19 Andrew Bandstra, “Law and Gospel in Calvin and Paul,” in Exploring the Heritage of John Calvin, ed. Holwerda (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1976), 11–39. 20 Michael S. Horton, “Calvin and the Law-Gospel Hermeneutic,” Pro Ecclesia 6 (1997): 27–42.



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hermeneutic and Caspar Olevianus’ commentary on Romans is a clear example of this conservation of Luther’s hermeneutic. The Law Gospel Distinction in Romans A striking facet of Olevianus’ commentary on Romans, on which we focus in this essay, is his strong concern with the doctrine of justification and the distinction between law and gospel. Olevianus used the word iustitia (righteousness) no fewer than 580 times in his commentary.21 He used some form of the word “justified” (iustifcare) 282 times.22 Some form of the verb “to impute” or the noun “imputation” occurs 116 times.23 Eighteen times he used some variation of the phrase iustitia coram Deo (righ­ teousness before God).24 In seven different places he discussed the righteousness of Christ as extra nos.25 The expression sola fide occurs four times but the doctrine of justification sola fide is strewn throughout the commentary.26 For Olevianus, the central message of Romans was not predestination.27 He was a student of Calvin and a strong predestinarian, but he neither deduced his theology from the doctrine of predestination nor from any other alleged central dogma. Rather, in certain respects, he read the book of Romans in a way that one might have expected an orthodox Lutheran to read it. Olevianus was a man seized by the Protestant understanding of the gospel of justification and that commitment was evident from the beginning of his commentary. Explaining Romans 1:1 he offered a summa of the gospel. He said that the “Holy Spirit affirms constantly through Paul” that the gospel is “the forgiveness of sins and eternal life to be freely given to believers on account of the Son.”28 Indeed, in proper Lutheran fashion, at the outset of the commentary he argued that, in order to understand Romans, two

21 Calvin used the noun iustitia about 500 times in his commentary on Romans. 22 Calvin used it about 160 times. 23 Calvin used it less than 60 times. 24 Calvin used similar expressions about fifteen times in his commentary on Romans (1671 edition). 25 Calvin used the expression extra nos three times. 26 Calvin used the expression five times. 27 Much of this section of the essay is drawn from R. Scott Clark, “Olevianus and the Old Perspective on Paul: A Preliminary Report,” The Confessional Presbyterian 4 (2008): 21–24. 28 Romanos, 2.

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things must be understood: the gospel and “the distinction between law and gospel.”29 Here we begin to see the hermeneutical function of the law-gospel distinction in Olevianus’ reading of Romans. It was not simply a theological abstraction but rather he regarded it as the teaching of Scripture to be employed, on analogy with Scripture, in the interpretation of Scrip­ ture.  His understanding of both what the gospel is and what Romans teaches about it were inextricably bound up with Luther’s law-gospel hermeneutic. For Olevianus, as for Luther, Melanchthon, Bucer, and Calvin, the moral law was God’s law and it was revealed in creation before the fall, as part of a legal covenant,30 republished to national Israel, and published universally in nature and in the human conscience.31 The nature of God is reflected in his law and the nature of the law is that it must be satisfied. No one since Adam, including the patriarchs, prophets, or others, who has fulfilled the law or satisfied its demands.32 The law demands works but we are all unable to satisfy the law because of the corruption of our nature.33 According to Olevianus, the gospel is that God has promised and Christ has fulfilled the promise that the seed of the woman will crush the head of the serpent.34 The history of redemption was never far from Olevianus’ consciousness. He appealed repeatedly to the prophets and to the history  of salvation to show the fundamental unity of the covenant of grace. For Olevianus, it was not possible to set redemptive-historical categories against hermeneutical or theological categories. They were complementary because he found expressions of the law and the gospel throughout redemptive history. In his comments on 1:17–21 he quoted Romans 3:28 to establish his analogy of Scripture and framework for interpretation. Romans 1:17–21 is about law, righteousness, and acceptance with God. The gospel, not the law, saves sinners and the gospel saves those who believe and the Spirit uses 29 Romanos, 2–3. 30 On Olevianus’ doctrine of the republication of the moral law to Israel see R. Scott Clark, “Christ and Covenant: Federal Theology in Orthodoxy,” in Companion to Reformed Orthodoxy, ed. Selderhuis (Leiden: Brill, 2013). 31 Romanos, 3. This language is virtually identical to that used by Philipp Melanchthon in his 1551 Loci communes. See MWA, 2/1.66.37–67.1–14. 32 He argued on the basis of the grammar of Isaiah 64:5 that the prophet included himself when he said that all our righteousness is as a menstrual rag. See Romanos, 3. 33 Romanos, 3. 34 Romanos, 3.



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the gospel to create faith in the elect.35 The righteousness demanded by the law, he argued, is “either proper or alien, i.e., from God.”36 He defined iustitia propria as “a righteousness of proper strength” which is required by God’s law (written or unwritten).37 Alien righteousness is simply that which is imputed to the believer.38 According to Habakkuk 2 and Romans 1:17 the righteousness that comes through the gospel is not proper, therefore it is alien to us and received through faith.39 Here we see another example of Olevianus’ debt to Luther and another reason why we cannot make facile distinctions between Luther’s doctrine of justification and that of early Reformed orthodoxy. The distinction between iustitia aliena et propria was bequeathed to Olevianus not by Calvin, who certainly taught it, but by Martin Luther beginning with his Sermo de duplici iustitia in 1518.40 Commenting on 1:19, Olevianus again appealed to the hermeneutical distinction. He argued, It is to be observed that it is quite possible to distinguish between the law and the gospel. The righteousness of God is to be sought in the gospel. For that is perfection of the sort of sanctity which is able to stand before God and it is called the righteousness of God not only because it is freely given by God and on account of the Son but also because it is only able to bear the rigor of the divine judgment.41

The distinction between law and gospel is not the distinction between old and new but between two different paths to acceptance with God. This is how he interpreted Philippians 3:9, 2 Corinthians 2:5, Isaiah 53, and Jeremiah 33, each of which he quoted or cited immediately following his reassertion of the law-gospel distinction. Those who are aware of the current controversy in New Testament studies about the nature of Judaism in the first century and concerning relations between Paul and Second Temple Judaism may be interested to hear Olevianus’ interpretation of Romans 3:20. The expression “ex operibus legis” (from the works of the law) is misconstrued by the “Papistae” to refer only to the ceremonial laws, so that when Paul says that no one is justified before God by the works of the law, according to Olevianus’ 35 Romanos, 27. 36 Romanos, 28. He uses this same argument in his interpretation of Romans 3:21, Romanos, 134. 37 Romanos, 31. 38 Romanos, 31. 39 Romanos, 28. 40 On this see Clark, “Iustitia Imputata Christi,” 266–310. 41 Romanos, 29–30.

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sixteenth-century Roman opponents, he was only saying that we need not keep the ceremonial laws any longer.42 He was not saying that we are not justified through Spirit-wrought sanctity and cooperation with grace.43 On the contrary, Olevianus interpreted the expression “ex operibus legis” to include both the ceremonial law and “the other works mandated in the Decalogue.”44 He defended his interpretation by appealing to Paul’s discourse earlier in Romans 3, where Paul cited examples of transgression of the Decalogue not transgression of the ceremonial law.45 He carried on by appealing to Romans 7, which he, like Calvin and the rest of the Reformed orthodox in the period, interpreted as referring to Paul the Christian, and to Galatians 3, all of which “proves that we are not justified by the law because the law says, ‘Cursed is he who does not continue in all things to do them.’”46 Thus he took that portion of Romans 3 as law, not gospel. What was implied earlier in his comments on chapter 1 was now clearly articulated. For Olevianus, the Roman Catholic and Galatian errors were essentially the same. God’s law demands inherent righteousness. Both the Judaizers and Romanists set up systems that purported to enable one to obtain inherent righteousness. Whether it was by grace and cooperation with grace was immaterial since both systems made the same fundamental mistakes. They downplayed the effects of sin, they downplayed the nature of the demands of the law, and they failed to distinguish between law and gospel. This is how Olevianus interpreted Romans 3:21. Thus far in the epistle Paul has given an extended syllogism.47 All we sinners are under condemnation because of our failure to obey perfectly God’s righteous law revealed in nature and in the “legalis foedus.”48 The gospel, however, offers to believers what the law demands: perfect, intrinsic righteousness. Christ’s righteousness, which was intrinsic to him, is ours extrinsically, by imputation, and received through faith alone. Thus the purpose of the law is to teach sinners the righteous judgment of God and their need for a Savior so that they might look “outside themselves” in order that “they might receive by faith the righteousness offered efficaciously in the gospel,” unless, of course, “they wish to remain under condemnation.”49 42 Romanos, 132–133. 43 Romanos, 133. 44 Romanos, 133. 45 Romanos, 133. 46 Romanos, 133. 47 Romanos, 134. 48 Romanos, 134. 49 Romanos, 134.



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Thus, when Paul says, “they are justified” in Romans 3:24, he means to teach, “they are absolved or they receive the remission of sins freely (δωρεὰν), by a free gift.” This is the reason that it is necessary “to retain the exclusive particle (gratis).”50 Here Olevianus echoes Calvin’s 1548 comment on Galatians 5:6, where he said, “Therefore when you move to the subject of justification, be careful about making any mention of charity or works, but hold on tenaciously to the exclusive particle….”51 By retaining “the exclusive particle,” Olevianus means retaining sola before grace. We hang on tenaciously to the exclusive particle because our justification is owed (debitus) entirely to the sole obedience (sola ipsius obedientia) of the Son of God for believers.52 All the honor is owed to him and not to anything done by or even in us. According to Olevianus, we also hang on tenaciously to the exclusive particle “in order that our conscience might have a firm consolation, because if the promise depends upon the condition of our worth it is made uncertain. Wherefore it is freely by faith in order that the promise might be firm.”53 All this leads to his remarkable conclusion in his discussion of this passage when he tied Paul’s doctrine of justification to the Protestant hermeneutical breakthrough. The fourth reason Paul spoke as he did regarding justification is: [W]e should retain [retineatur] the distinction between the law and the gospel. The law does not promise freely, but under a condition, if you shall have done everything. And if it be that one has transgressed it only once, he has no promise of the forgiveness of sins in the law or legal covenant. The gospel, however, promises freely the forgiveness of sins and life not if we shall have fulfilled the law, but for the sake of the Son of God, through faith.54

Two things are striking about this language. The first is how utterly indistinguishable this passage is from anything one might read in Luther or Melanchthon or, indeed, in the Book of Concord. To prove this assertion one need only to compare Olevianus’ language with that of Philip Melanchthon’s 1521 Loci communes where it says, “In the whole of Scripture there are two parts, the law and the gospel. The law reveals sin and the gospel reveals grace. The law exposes disease, the gospel shows the 50 Romanos, 148. 51 John Calvin, Commentarii in Pauli Epistolas, ed. Feld (Geneva: Droz, 1992) 120. Contrast this view with that advocated in Lillback, Binding, 125. 52 Romanos, 148. 53 Romanos, 148. 54 Romanos, 148.

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remedy.”55 It is not the case, he continued, “as they commonly think that the law and the gospel are distinguished temporally,” as if the law refers to the OT and the gospel to the NT. Rather, the law and the gospel have been revealed in every epoch. The law has always revealed sin and the gospel has always revealed the means by which men are justified. This was also the language of Melanchthon’s Apology of the Augsburg Confession (1530), subsequently part of the Book of Concord under Article 4: All Scripture should be divided into these two main topics: the law and the promises. In some places it communicates the law. In other places it communicates the promise concerning Christ, either when it promises that Christ came and on account of him offers the forgiveness of sins, justification, and eternal life, or when in the gospel itself, Christ, after he appeared, promises the forgiveness of sins, justification, and eternal life.56

The Latin text of the Apology speaks of the “remissionem peccatorum, iutificationem, et vitam aeternam.” Variations of this expression are found repeatedly in Olevianus’ works, fifteen times to be precise. Nine of those instances are in his commentary on Romans. The verbal similarity is impossible to miss. Because of his doctrine of the double benefit of Christ, he introduced variations into the formula so that in one instance it might be “remissionem peccatorum et renovationem ad vitam aeternam,” or “initia vitae,” or in one instance he used “resurrectio carnis” in place of “renovatio” or “initia.” In other words, Olevianus deliberately echoed not only the early Protestant language of Luther and Melanchthon but there is also no evidence that he saw any fundamental difference between his doctrine of justification, on this point, and that of the confessional Lutherans. Remember that he published his commentary on Romans just one year before the Book of Concord appeared. The Formula of Concord had been in print for two years and Olevianus had been a participant in some heated exchanges with confessional Lutherans. Indeed, he was the recipient of orthodox Lutheran wrath in Heidelberg when he refused to officiate at a mixed marriage, namely the marriage between a Lutheran girl and a confessional Reformed boy, who just happened to be Johann Casmir (1543– 1592), the third son of prince Frederick III (1515–1576), the Elector Palatinate. His refusal to conduct that wedding cost him a job when he, 55 MWA, 2/1.66.28–35. 56 BC, 121.5–6. The Latin text of the Apology is taken almost verbatim from Melanchthon’s Loci communes. See Concordia Triglotta: The Symbolical Books of the Ev. Lutheran Church, German-Latin-English. (St. Louis: Concordia, 1917), 120, §5.



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with all the Reformed, were ejected from Heidelberg in 1576 on the death of Frederick III and the accession to power of Frederick’s second son, Ludwig VI, a gnesio-Lutheran. Nevertheless, despite his personal experience and his theological misgivings about aspects of Lutheran theology, Olevianus did not take the opportunities afforded him in several volumes to distinguish clearly between his doctrine of justification, his hermeneutic, and that of the gnesio- Lutherans, even though he had personal motive to do so. The second thing one notices from the passage of Olevianus above is a form of the verb retinere. The most literal rendering is “to retain” but it might just as well be translated “uphold” or “preserve.” In biblical usage, in the Vulgate, Olevianus’ childhood Bible, and in Beza’s Latin New Testament, which Olevianus used for his commentary on Romans, it usually means “hold fast.”57 Olevianus did not say explicitly whom he had in mind when said that the law-gospel distinction is to be retained, but, given what we know about his context and the strong continuities between his biblical hermeneutic and that of Luther and the Lutheran confessionalists, there are three groups he might have had in view: the Reformed, the Anabaptists, and the Romanists. To speak to the first: the evidence is overwhelming, whether we look at Calvin, or Beza, Ursinus, Zanchi, Perkins, Diodati, Gomarus, Polanus, Wollebius, Pemble, Twisse, Owen, or Turretin, that the Reformed adopted and used the law-gospel distinction explicitly and implicitly from the midsixteenth century through the seventeenth century.58 After an extensive search of dozens of Reformed authors in the sixteenth and seventeenth century I can find none inveighing against Luther’s law-gospel distinction. Olevianus did occasionally speak to the Anabaptist denial of justification sola fide et sola gratia, as in his comments on Romans 5:19, where he condemned both “Pelagius and the Anabaptists” for teaching that sin comes only through the imitation of Adam.59 His usual object of criticism was the Romanist denial of justification sola gratia, sola fide.60 It seems 57 See e.g., Robert Webber, ed., Biblia Sacra Iuxta Vulgatam, 4th ed. (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1969), Exod. 9:2, Job 2:3 and Theodore Beza, ed., Iesu Christi D. N. Novum Testamentum Sive Novum Foedus (Geneva: 1565), Luke 8:15, John 20:23, Hebrews 3:6. 58 See R. Scott Clark, “Letter and Spirit: Law and Gospel in Reformed Preaching,” in Covenant, Justification, and Pastoral Ministry: Essays By the Faculty of Westminster Seminary California, ed. Clark (Phillipsburg: P&R, 2006). 59 Clark, “Letter and Spirit,” 199. 60 To see a comparison of Olevianus’ doctrine of justification with that of his German Jesuit counterpart, Peter Canisius, see chapter 7 of R. Scott Clark, Caspar Olevian and the Substance of the Covenant (Grand Rapids: RHB, 2008), 181–209.

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most likely that when he wrote about the necessity of holding on to the law-gospel distinction he had in mind his Romanist opponents who, in his view, had let go of a biblical distinction. Another way of putting this would be to say that, for Olevianus, the law-gospel distinction was so basic, so fundamental, that he would not imagine that anyone in the Reformed church would even bring it into question. Finally, let us consider the last place where Olevianus discussed the law-gospel distinction explicitly, in his comments on Romans 10:1. He wrote of the distinction between legal righteousness, which, because it teaches perfect obedience and promises life under the condition of the impossible (Rom. 8, “which is impossible from the law”) for it is not possible for us to apprehend eternal life thus, however fast we may run; and the distinction between the righteousness of faith offered in the gospel, which is not only possible but also easy [facilis], of course, for the believer, of whom also there is to be a beginning with a denial of proper righteousness.61

For Olevianus, the law is one principle. It is conditioned upon, as he said, “perfect obedience” to a perfect, unyielding demand for righteousness. This he called “legal righteousness.” Adam had the potential for achieving such legal righteousness, but he refused. We children of Adam do not have the potential to achieve such righteousness but the demand continues unabated because the divine nature has not changed and the demands of justice have not changed. For Olevianus, what the law demands, the gospel gives. Perhaps the most striking word in this passage is the adjective facilis (easy). To be sure Olevianus was no proponent of what today is called “easy believism” or sometimes “cheap grace.” He was a vigorous doctor of the double benefit, i.e., that we are justified by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone, in order that we may be renewed and sanctified and conformed to Christ by grace, through faith. For Olevianus, the Christian life begins and flows out of the gospel of justification. It begins by looking outside of oneself (extra nos). The Christian life consists of self-denial but it begins with the denial of “proper righteousness.” The expression “proper righteousness” was a reference to the Romanist doctrine that we are justified because and to the degree we are sanctified, to the degree we possess inherent, intrinsic or proper righteousness. The Protestants agreed that there needed to be a righteous man with perfect, personal, inherent righteousness and condign merit, and that 61 Clark, Caspar Olevian, 485.



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man, they said was the God-Man Jesus Christ. His inherent righteousness is “iustitia aliena” to us and it becomes ours when it is imputed to us and received through faith alone.62 In short, for Olevianus, our justification was hard for Christ. It cost him perfect obedience in our place but it is easy for us who have only to trust in Christ the righteous. It is evident from the opening pages of Olevianus’ Romerbrief and throughout his exposition of the other Pauline epistles that those who wish to juxtapose the confessional Reformed and Lutheran biblicalhermeneutical systems cannot do so without ignoring Olevianus. Conclusion In January 1547, the delegates to the Council of Trent issued thirty three canons on the doctrine of justification. Canon 11 categorically rejected the doctrine justification only on the basis of the imputation of Christ’s righteousness in favor of the infusion of charity into the heart as the basis of justification. With equal clarity canon 12 denied explicitly the Protestant doctrine that faith, in the act of justification is nothing but confidence in the divine mercy, which forgives sins for Christ’s sake. These canons, categorical rejections of the Reformation doctrine of justification, arose from a particular and ancient way of reading Scripture. That reading of Scripture was that it is all law and all gospel, that the law is the gospel and the gospel is the law. They were merely two sides of the same divine Word. Since the Reformation there have been two irreconcilable ways of reading Scripture. Either it contains throughout one word, law, or two words: law and gospel. From Luther’s hermeneutical breakthrough in the second decade of the sixteenth century through the seventeenth century there was a strong consensus among confessional Lutheran and Reformed Christians that Luther was correct. There were challenges to the panProtestant consensus. The Arminians raised questions in the early seventeenth century. Richard Baxter would challenge the consensus in the mid-seventeenth century and the Scottish neonomians would fall away from Protestant hermeneutical orthodoxy in the eighteenth century.63 62 See Romanos, 27, 30, 134, 141, 160. 63 Regarding Arminius and the Remonstrants on justification see W. R. Godfrey, “Tensions Within International Calvinism: The Debate on the Atonement at the Synod of Dort, 1618–1619” (Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 1974), 40–43; and J. V. Fesko, Beyond Calvin: Union with Christ in Early Modern Reformed Theology (1517–1700) (Göttingen: V&R,

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The title of this paper suggests that the law-gospel distinction belonged to early Reformed orthodoxy. Was Olevianus’ hermeneutical and theological Lutheranism unique or was his theology representative of early Reformed orthodoxy? The scope of this paper precludes any survey but the evidence is quite strong for the conclusion that Olevianus’ doctrine, hermeneutic, and praxis of the law-gospel distinction was by no means unique. It was, in every phase of Reformed orthodoxy and in every geographical place, a fundamentum. Caspar Olevianus’ commentary on the book of Romans, read in its context, stands as a strong indicator of the hermeneutical continuity between Luther and Reformed orthodoxy. In it Olevianus articulated an intentionally and precisely anti-Tridentine doctrine of justification because he embraced an anti-Tridentine hermeneutic. As far as he knew his was the hermeneutic of his teachers Theodore Beza and John Calvin, his Heidelberg colleague Zacharias Ursinus, and Martin Luther and Philip Melanchthon before them, and most importantly of all, that of Romans itself.

2012), 276–284. On Baxter, see R. Scott Clark, “How We Got Here,” in Covenant, Justification, and Pastoral Ministry, 15n27.

LAURENCE CHADERTON: AN EARLY PURITAN VISION FOR CHURCH AND SCHOOL Joel R. Beeke Laurence Chaderton (ca. 1536–1640) was the spiritual patriarch of the Puritan movement that emanated from Cambridge University and ushered in renewal to the church in Britain, the Continent, and the New World. Combining rigorous academic discipline, a fifty-plus-year career in teaching and educational administration, warm spirituality, and endearing love, he influenced a rising generation of both ministers and magistrates. Yet he remains a largely unknown figure, standing in the backdrop of the very leaders he mentored. While the published works of Chaderton are few,1 some very significant unpublished notes remain,2 as well as a small but meaty body of secondary literature on his life.3 1 Laurence Chaderton, An Excellent and Godly Sermon…Preached at Paul’s Cross the XXVI Daye of October, An. 1578 [hereafter Excellent] (London: Barker, [1578]); A Fruitfull Sermon, Vpon the 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. & 8. verses of the 12. Chapiter of the Epistle of S. Paul to the Romanes [hereafter Fruitfull] (London: Walde-graue, 1584); De justificatione coram Deo et fidei perseverantia non intercisa, published in a bundle of treatises by Matthew Hutton, et al., ed. Anthony Thysius under the title, Brevis et dilucida explicatio…de electione, praedestinatione ac reprobatione (Harderwijk, 1613). The authorship of the anonymous Fruitfull Sermon will be discussed below. Many thanks to Paul Smalley for his research assistance on this article. 2 For example, there are Chaderton’s papers in Pembroke College Library, Cambridge, MSS LC.II.2.164, and Lambeth Palace Library, MS 2550. There are also his handwritten marginal notes in a number of extant books. 3 William Dillingham, Vita Laurentii Chadertoni…Una Cum Vita Jacobi Usserii (London, 1700); ET: William Dillingham, Laurence Chaderton (First Master of Emmanuel), trans. and ed. E.S. Shuckburgh (Cambridge: Macmillan and Bowes, 1884); John G. Mager, “The Life of Laurence Chaderton, Puritan, 1536–1640” (MA thesis, Washington University, 1949); H.C. Porter, Reformation and Reaction in Tudor Cambridge (Cambridge: CUP, 1958), 235– 242; Everett H. Emerson, English Puritanism from John Hooper to John Milton (Durham: Duke, 1968), 102–108; Patrick Collinson, The Religion of Protestants: The Church in English Society 1559–1625 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982), 151–152; Rebecca S. Rolph, “Emmanuel College, Cambridge, and the Puritan Movements of Old and New England” (Ph.D. diss., University of Southern California, 1979), 23–31, 42–140; Peter Lake, Moderate Puritans and the Elizabethan Church (Cambridge: CUP, 1982), 25–54, 116–168, 243–261; Arnold Hunt, “Laurence Chaderton and the Hampton Court Conference,” in Belief and Practice in Reformation England: A Tribute to Patrick Collinson from His Students, ed. Wabuda and Litzenberger (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), 207–228; Sarah Bendall, Christopher Brooke, and Patrick Collinson, A History of Emmanuel College, Cambridge [hereafter, Bendall, Emmanuel] (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1999), 30–42, 177–186. Rolph, Lake, and Hunt are especially valuable for quotations of Chaderton’s unpublished notes.

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This essay will first summarize Chaderton’s life; second, examine Chaderton’s work at Cambridge; and third, explore his view of church offices as expressed in his Fruitfull Sermon on Romans 8:3–8 (1584). The Life of Laurence Chaderton Laurence Chaderton was probably born in 1536, in Oldham, near Man­ chester. His father was of an ancient and honored lineage with considerable wealth, and was devoted to the pre-Reformation faith.4 It was only in 1534 that the Act of Supremacy declared the English monarch to be the church’s head instead of the pope. During Chaderton’s childhood, he saw Edward VI reign briefly as a reforming king and Queen Mary drive many Protestants into exile. Initially a poor student more interested in hunting and hawking, Laurence’s interest in reading revived under a skillful tutor. He entered Christ’s College in 1562, four years after Elizabeth was crowned Queen. He engaged in archery and wrestled against Richard Bancroft (1544–1610), saving him from harm during a violent “town and gown” brawl, which won him a valuable ally for later days when Bancroft became Archbishop of Canterbury. Chaderton also came into the sphere of influence of the developing Puritan movement. In the 1560s, men such as Thomas Cartwright and Edward Dering taught in Cambridge, while future Puritan pastors like Richard Greenham, Richard Rogers, and Walter Travers studied alongside of Chaderton. Queen Elizabeth was consolidating her hold on the church by insisting on uniformity of practice among the clergy, enforced by Matthew Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury.5 Chaderton was thrust into this bubbling pot of controversy as a young undergraduate. Through study and struggle of soul, Chaderton became convinced of the Reformed faith. His father, dismayed by the change, sought to move him from the university to the Inns of Court to study law, with a promise of £30 a year. When he declined the offer, he was sent a shilling, a wallet, and the advice to beg for a living.6 But Chaderton persevered in his newfound faith, graduating BA in 1567, becoming a fellow of 4 Various sources identify his father as Thomas Chaderton or Edmund Chaderton. For “Thomas” see Dillingham, Chaderton, 28; Emerson, English Puritanism, 102. For “Edmund” see F.R. Raines in Dillingham, Chaderton, 31; Bendall, Emmanuel, 31. 5 Emerson, English Puritanism, 8–15. 6 Dillingham, Chaderton, 4.



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the college the next year, and graduating MA in 1571. He served as lecturer (or preacher) at St. Clement’s Church, Cambridge, for fifty years, preaching the Bible with zeal for conversion and personal piety.7 Gabriel Harvey summed up Chaderton’s preaching with the word “methodical”—a very Puritan term.8 Chaderton married Cecelia Culverwell in 1576 after establishing himself financially.9 The story is told that the minister accidentally used the name of the bride’s sister in the ceremony, to which Chaderton exclaimed, “No, no; it is Cecelia I want!”10 His wife was “a very pious, modest, and sensible woman, with whom he lived in the closest affection for about fifty years.”11 She died in 1631. They had one child, Elizabeth, who married Abraham Johnson.12 Collinson says that Chaderton became “the pope of Cambridge puritanism.”13 Rebecca Rolph writes, “His great influence resulted from his erudition, character, high ideals, political tact, teaching ability, and probably not least, his remarkable longevity.”14 In the 1570s and 1580s, Chaderton busied himself at Christ’s College in various posts. In 1578, he was created BD. In 1581, he engaged in a controversy with Peter Baro (1534–1599), a French professor of theology at Cambridge, over the nature of justifying faith.15 Sir Walter Mildmay (d. 1589), the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Privy Councilor under Queen Elizabeth, was zealously seeking a way to raise up Reformed preachers of the gospel. He drafted Chaderton in 1584 to be the first master of Emmanuel College.16 When Chaderton had an offer for a position with ten times the financial remuneration, Mildmay told him that if he would not be the master, there would be no college. Chaderton took the plunge. When John Whitgift (ca. 1530–1604) became Archbishop of Canterbury in 1583, he led a systematic suppression of nonconformity in the church, 7 Dillingham, Chaderton, 12–13. 8 G. Gregory Smith, ed., Elizabethan Critical Essays, 2 vols. (Oxford: OUP, 1904), 2:281. 9 Dillingham, Chaderton, 35. 10 Dillingham, Chaderton, 9. 11 Dillingham, Chaderton, 8. 12 On Chaderton’s Culverwell relations, see Porter, Reformation and Reaction, 231–35. 13 Patrick Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement (Berkeley: University of California, 1967), 125. 14 Rolph, “Emmanuel,” 42. 15 Dillingham, Chaderton, 6. 16 Bendall, Emmanuel, 42: “Sir Walter Mildmay’s deed of foundation was dated May 25th 1584, his statutes for the college, October 1st 1585…. By December 1587, it was possible to clear away the builders’ rubble and to hold a ceremony of dedication.”

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including attempts to reform the church along the lines of Presbyte­ rianism.17 It was in this context that the anonymous Fruitfull Sermon (1584) was published. Chaderton was “an active Presbyterian” who helped organize an elder-based discipline in the 1580s and tended to avoid wearing the surplice and kneeling at communion.18 As Peter Lake has written, Puritan concerns about church order were driven by the “intensely evangelical impulse” of shaping the church for the sake of “edification.”19 The classis movement fell apart in the 1590s through the pressure of Archbishop Whitgift and the offensiveness of the Marprelate tracts (1588–1589) against the bishops.20 In 1595–1596, Cambridge was engulfed in a controversy over the sovereignty of divine grace. William Barrett publicly opposed the Reformed doctrines of predestination, assurance, and perseverance of the saints; under fire, he left Cambridge and converted to Roman Catholicism.21 The Lambeth Articles (1595), which Chaderton signed along with seven other college heads, sought to safeguard the Reformed orthodoxy of Cambridge.22 Though never incorporated into the Anglican Articles of Religion, the Lambeth Articles did influence the Irish Articles of Religion (1615), which in turn were a major source for the Westminster Confession of Faith (1647). Baro became embroiled in this controversy, which forced him to leave Cambridge. After Elizabeth died and James ascended to the throne, Chaderton attended the Hampton Court Conference (January 1604) as one of four representatives of Puritan concerns about the doctrine and liturgy of the church.23 The king called the conference in response to the Millenary Petition for reformation in the church’s ministry, discipline, and prayer 17 Emerson, English Puritanism, 22–24. 18 Emerson, English Puritanism, 103. See Lake, Moderate Puritans, 46; Bendall, Emmanuel, 179. 19 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 2–3. 20 Emerson, English Puritanism, 25–26. See Queen Elizabeth I, A Proclamation against Certain Seditious and Schismatical Bookes and Libels (London: Barker, 1588 [1589]). 21 Bendall, Emmanuel, 40–41; Rolph, “Emmanuel,” 102. 22 Rolph, “Emmanuel,” 100. 23 On the Hampton Court Conference and its context, see Roland G. Usher, Recon­ struction of the English Church, 2 vols. (New York: Appleton, 1910), 1:285–333; 2:331–365. M.H. Curtis, “Hampton Court Conference and Its Aftermath,” History 46 (1961): 1–16; Stuart B. Babbage, Puritanism and Richard Bancroft (London: SPCK, 1962), 43–73; Frederick Shriver, “Hampton Court Re-visited: James I and the Puritans,” JEH 33.1 (1982): 48–71; Patrick Collinson, “The Jacobean Religious Settlement: The Hampton Court Conference,” in Before the English Civil War, ed. Tomlinson (New York: St. Martin’s, 1983), 27–51; K.C. Fincham, “Ramifications of the Hampton Court Conference in the Dioceses, 1603–1609,” JEH 36.2 (1985): 208–227; Peter White, Predestination, Policy, and Polemic: Conflict and



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book. The classic (but biased) record of the Hampton Court Conference is William Barlow’s The Sum and Substance of the Conference.24 Barlow reports that Chaderton requested of the king not to compel godly ministers to use the surplice and the sign of the cross in baptism. The king is said to have replied that “men quiet of disposition, honest of life, and diligent in their callings” could request exemptions from the bishop, but men “of a turbulent and opposite spirit” would be forced to conform.25 However, Chaderton was rebuked for the practice of “sitting communions in Emmanuel College” (instead of kneeling to receive the Lord’s Supper).26 After the Hampton Court Conference, the Puritan cause suffered. By November 1604, Richard Bancroft had replaced Whitgift as Archbishop of Canterbury. He was zealous and severe in demanding strict conformity. Chaderton’s friendship with Bancroft, having once saved the Archbishop’s skin in their undergraduate days, shielded him from some of the political liabilities of his own Puritanism. Chaderton himself did not wear the surplice until ten months after the Hampton Court Conference, when the king gave an order to “remove him if he continue[d] obstinate.”27 In the midst of the negative fallout for the Puritans, the Hampton Court Conference did implement one of their requests: the production of a new revision of the Bishops’ Bible based upon the Hebrew and Greek texts with comparison being made to the Tyndale, Matthew, Coverdale, Great, and Geneva Bibles. In 1611, this translation was published and became known as the Authorized Version or the King James Version. Chaderton, a good Hebrew scholar, was one of seven men who worked on Chronicles to Song of Solomon.28 All the men on the team would work independently on a text and then meet together to choose the best translation.29 Chaderton’s handwritten notes were still visible years later in a Hebrew Bible with Rabbinic commentaries published by Daniel Bomberg.30 Consensus in the English Church from the Reformation to the Civil War (Cambridge: CUP, 1992), 140–152; Hunt, “Laurence Chaderton,” 207–228. 24 William Barlow, The Svmme and Svbstance of the Conference, which, it pleased his Excellent Maiestie to have with the Lords, Bishops, and other of his Clergie…at Hampton Court, Ianuary 14, 1603 (London: Windet, 1604). 25 Barlow, Svmme and Svbstance, 99–100, sig. O2r-v. 26 Barlow, Svmme and Svbstance, 102–103, sig. O3v-O4r. 27 Hunt, “Laurence Chaderton,” 219. 28 Gordon Campbell, Bible: The Story of the King James Version (Oxford: OUP, 2010), 35, 39, 49–50. 29 Rolph, “Emmanuel,” 125. 30 Dillingham, Chaderton, 5.

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In 1613, Prince Charles came to the school with Frederick, Prince Elector Palatine and virtually forced the venerable professor to accept the honor of Doctor of Divinity.31 It is said they almost had to break down the door of his library to get him to come out.32 Around 1618, he let go of his lectureship at St. Clement’s Church, being about 82 years old and having preached there for almost fifty years. Forty ministers signed a letter pleading with him not to resign, attesting to God’s saving blessing upon his preaching. Dillingham said that his preaching was marked by “diligence” and “consistency”; he preached on nearly the entire New Testament.33 Sadly his sermons were not preserved for future generations. Chaderton resigned his mastership of Emmanuel College on 26 October 1622, exhorting the fellows to mutual peace, humility, and dependence upon the grace of God.34 The resignation of Chaderton was skillfully managed so as to guarantee passing the baton to John Preston and thus continue the Puritan succession. He gave himself to a quiet, disciplined life of private study in Cambridge. In his old age, he could still read his Greek New Testament in small print without glasses, and “in his Hebrew Bible the smallest point did not escape his sight.”35 Chaderton lived to see three grandsons and one step-grandson graduate MA from Emmanuel College.36 He died on 13 November 1640, over one hundred years old. Thus Everett Emerson dubs him “the Puritan Methuselah.”37 His moderate Puritan stance led him to teach Reformed and Presbyterian doctrine, though not to openly resist the powers that be, but instead, as he wrote, “to pray for the change.”38 Chaderton’s Work at Cambridge The Church of England faced a dire lack of ministerial competence in the latter half of the sixteenth century. In 1551, John Hooper examined 311 31 Dillingham, Chaderton, 11. From late 1612 to early 1613 Frederick V (1596–1632) visited England to marry Elizabeth, daughter of King James I. 32 Dillingham, Chaderton, 11. 33 Dillingham, Chaderton, 12. 34 Thomas Ball claimed that the fellows and others pressured Chaderton to resign, but Dillingham rejected that as “invention or imagination.” See Thomas Ball, The Life of the Renowned Doctor Preston, ed. Harcourt (Oxford: Parker, 1885), 79–86; and Dillingham, Chaderton, 15–16. 35 Dillingham, Chaderton, 22. 36 Porter, Reformation and Reaction, 235. 37 Emerson, English Puritanism, 102. 38 Hunt, “Laurence Chaderton,” 218.



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clergy and found that 168 could not repeat the Ten Commandments and thirty-one did not know the author of the Lord’s Prayer.39 Edward Dering remarked decades later that “scarce one parish of an hundred” had a godly minister capable of rightly fulfilling his office.40 Chaderton inherited Dering’s concerns and gave his life to raising up gospel preachers. Lake wrote, “In many ways he can be regarded as Dering’s successor.”41 Chaderton lamented that the church suffered everywhere from “swarms of idle, ignorant, and ungodly curates and readers, who neither can, nor will, go before the dear flock of Christ in soundness of doctrine, and integrity of life.”42 To meet this need, he trained great Puritan leaders at Emmanuel College such as Arthur Dent, William Perkins, and Arthur Hildersam. He also promoted the Ramist method for theology and preaching, which influenced Perkins and his student, William Ames, whose Marrow of Theology exemplifies Ramist analysis.43 Chaderton believed that the preaching of the Bible was a special means of grace blessed by God, even more useful than the printed page. He wrote that the reading of a sermon is not half as profitable as hearing it preached, for written material lacks “the zeal of the speaker, the attention of the hearer, … [and] the mighty and inward working of his Holy Spirit” which God promises to the preaching of the Word.44 Therefore the greatest work of the college was the training of ministers, which is precisely what the statutes of Emmanuel College said.45 The breadth of Chaderton’s influence is illustrated by the students under his mastership. In its first two decades of operation (1584–1604), Emmanuel College trained 832 men. In 1621, a year before Chaderton’s retirement, the college had 260 members. That is not to say that all these men became ministers; in fact, only a third entered ordained ministry and a substantial number became lawyers and magistrates. The college was 39 Later Writings of Bishop Hooper, ed. Nevinson (Cambridge: Parker, 1852), 130, 151. 40 Edward Dering, epistle to the reader of A Briefe and Necessarie Catechisme or Instruction, in Workes, More Large than Ever (London: Linley and Flasket, 1597), sig. A3v. 41 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 25. On Edward Dering see Patrick Collinson, “A Mirror of Elizabethan Puritanism: The Life and Letters of ‘Godly Master Dering,’” in his Godly People: Essays on English Protestantism and Puritanism (London: Hambledon, 1983), 288–323. 42 Chaderton, Excellent, C3r. See Mal. 2:7. 43 Wilbur S. Howell, Logic and Rhetoric in England, 1500–1700 (New York: Russell & Russell, 1961), 179, 206–207, 222, 210. 44 Laurence Chaderton, “To the Christian Reader,” in An Excellent and Godly Sermon, A3v. 45 Statute 21, in The Statutes of Sir Walter Mildmay Kt Chancellor of the Exchequer and One of Her Majesty’s Privy Councillors; Authorized by Him for the Government of Emmanuel College, trans. and intro. Stubbings (Cambridge: CUP, 1983), 60.

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thus a culture-shaping force in producing and positioning Puritan leaders in callings sacred and secular.46 Emmanuel’s influence reached across the Atlantic. Of the approximately one hundred Cambridge men who immigrated to New England from 1629 to 1640, thirty-three were of Emmanuel College, including Thomas Hooker, John Cotton, Isaac Johnson, Nathaniel Ward, John Ward, Nathaniel Rogers, Samuel Stone, Thomas Shepard, Richard Saltonstall, Simon Bradstreet (husband of the poet Anne), and John Harvard, namesake of Harvard College.47 Thus it was that this oak scattered acorns of gospel ministry across England and the New World. Training a minister of the gospel was no small task. Chaderton felt that every minister must be able “to teach sound doctrine by the true interpretation of the word and to confute all contrary errors by unanswerable arguments and reasons.”48 For a minister to be competent in this high calling, he must be well qualified in Hebrew and Greek, rhetoric, logic, the whole Bible to compare Scripture with Scripture, scholarly commentaries, ancient church councils, and secular history.49 They must hold disputations on “all the principal questions in controversy between us and the papists and other heretics.”50 Such requirements highlight what Lake calls “the central role to be played by the university in the propagation of true religion.”51 Chaderton not only connected young men with godly tutors at Cambridge but also used his network of friendships in the Puritan brotherhood to find pulpits for graduates and (as much as in his power) defend them from anti-Puritan authorities.52 Furthermore, he organized “prophesyings” where ministers would gather, several would preach, and then all would discuss the doctrine and its manner of application so as to sharpen each other’s preaching skills.53 He himself had participated in a study group with John Carter, Lancelot Andrewes, Ezekiel Culverwell, John Knewstub, and others, where after prayer one man would comment on the Greek or Hebrew terms, another on the grammar, another the logic, 46 Bendall, Emmanuel, 45, 47–48. 47 Porter, Reformation and Reaction, 241–242. 48 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 36. 49 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 36–37. 50 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 37. 51 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 38. 52 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 39–40. 53 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 43; Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement, 126–127. See also Paul S. Seaver, The Puritan Lectureships: The Politics of Religious Dissent, 1560–1662 (Stanford: Stanford UP, 1970).



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another the sense and meaning, and another the doctrine of a Scripture text.54 Chaderton brought this practice of conference into the academy for the training of new preachers and theologians.55 Yet religion was not simply a matter of knowledge, skill, and organization. Chaderton said that faith is “not the bare naked knowledge” of God’s revealed truth, but “a sure and certain persuasion of the heart grounded upon the promises of God and wrought in me by the Holy Ghost whereby I am persuaded that whatsoever Christ hath done for man’s salvation he hath done it not only for others but also for me.”56 This is nearly an exact quotation of the Heidelberg Catechism (Q. 21), showing the linkage between the Puritans and the continental Reformed.57 The ministry is a spiritual work—not merely a form of education but a means of supernatural experience that Chaderton said changes “our affections” by “the power of the Spirit whereby all the faculties of his mind are moved.”58 The college statutes indicated that fellows should select preachers for churches based on who was “best endowed with those gifts which the Holy Spirit bestows upon the true pastor.”59 Chaderton said, “They shall hear his [Christ’s] voice by his ministers…. Therefore he will send his minister to gather and call his sheep.” Preaching is nothing less than “the voice of Christ” by which “we shall be brought to Christ.”60 Yet Chaderton did not place the power of salvation in the hands (or voice) of the minister. He made a distinction between “the calling of the minister of God” and “of God himself,” saying, “The second calling is the voice of God himself which is applied to the inward ear of the inward man.” This is the office of “God himself and of his Spirit”; salvation belongs to the electing God.61 Lake writes that Chaderton held the “orthodox” position on predestination unto salvation by grace alone.62 Chaderton said that while men have wills, “yet the changing of our will, and making it

54 Samuel Clarke, “The Life and Death of Master John Carter,” in The Lives of Thirty-two English Divines Famous in Their Generations for Learning and Piety (London: Birch, 1677), 133. 55 Bendall, Emmanuel, 50–51. 56 Chaderton, lectures on John, cited in Lake, Moderate Puritans, 127. 57 Chaderton’s Presbyterian contemporaries Thomas Cartwright, Samuel Culverwell, and Robert Wright were students in Heidelberg in the early 1570s. See Bendall, Emmanuel, 35. 58 Chaderton, lectures on John, cited in Lake, Moderate Puritans, 128. 59 Statute 38, in The Statutes of Sir Walter Mildmay, 82; Bendall, Emmanuel, 26. 60 Chaderton, lectures on John, cited in Lake, Moderate Puritans, 130. 61 Chaderton, lectures on John, cited in Lake, Moderate Puritans, 156–157. 62 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 150.

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unto good…do proceed only from the Spirit of regeneration.”63 Christ purchased all good thoughts and desires by His death, and the Spirit gives them.64 Chaderton said that ministers of the sovereign Savior must preach “true doctrine” in “plain evidence of the Spirit, and power.”65 Many men “stuff their sermons” with unnecessary technicalities or showmanship,66 when instead they should preach heavenly doctrine “after a heavenly and spiritual manner.”67 God rejects preaching that entertains rather than convicts and converts men to God.68 Ministers must serve with “contempt of all earthly praise” and “zeal of God’s glory.”69 And they must do all this in tender love for the flock, with gentleness like nursing mothers and pleading fathers.70 This was Chaderton’s vision for the ministry of the Word. This was the “product” that his school aimed to construct. He knew that such a ministry would bear the reproach of the world; but if the Lord Jesus was hated by men for His preaching, in the same way His servants will be slandered— “hence,” Chaderton said, “cometh these slanderous names of puritan and precisian.”71 William Bedell (1571–1642) remembered Chaderton in a more positive way. Writing in 1628 to James Ussher, he recalled how, in his days as a student at Emmanuel College, “that good father Dr. Chaderton” taught him “the arts of dutiful obedience, and just ruling.”72 Chaderton taught men by precept and example to be servants faithful in their stewardship. Chaderton’s View of Church Offices In this final section of the essay, I wish to give focused attention to the sermon in which Chaderton gave strong expression to his Presbyterian views. In the classis movement in the late sixteenth century, English ministers sought to set up a system of Presbyterian collegiality among pastors under the umbrella of the official (and still episcopal) church. From their 63 Chaderton, Excellent, C8v [no pagination]. 64 Excellent, C7v-C8v [no pagination]. 65 Excellent, F4r [no pagination]. 66 Excellent, F6v-7r [no pagination]. 67 Excellent, F5v [no pagination]. 68 Excellent, F6r [no pagination]. 69 Excellent, F8r-v [no pagination]. 70 Excellent, G2r. 71 Chaderon, lectures on John, cited by Lake, Moderate Puritans, 132. 72 William Bedell, letter of 15 April 1628, in The Whole Works of the Most Rev. James Ussher (Dublin: Hodges, Smith, and Co., 1864), 15:398.



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perspective, they were trying to form the wings of a biblical church inside the chrysalis of unbiblical traditions. Chaderton operated within this episcopal system. William Sancroft went so far as to claim that Chaderton “often professed that they who dislike the government by bishops would bring in a far worse both for church and state.”73 However, as our biographical sketch has indicated, Chaderton’s private writings strongly favored Presbyterianism versus episcopacy. He regularly attended Presbyterian synods; indeed, he sometimes led them as moderator. The participants regarded him as an expert regarding questions of Presbyterian church order.74 We find this ecclesiological order expressed firmly in the sermon we now consider. The Fruitfull Sermon on Romans 12:3–8 was published anonymously in 1584. It consists of 80 pages, octavo, and would have taken approximately two hours to preach as written. The preacher said “my time is almost spent”—on page 69!75 It was evidently a popular tract. A sermon preached in 1590 to confute it noted that there had already been “diverse impressions of the Fruteful Sermon,” that is, more than one printing.76 Emerson writes that the sermon went through four editions and was regarded as “an authoritative statement of Puritan principles,” being cited by Dudley Fenner in 1587 and John Udall in 1588.77 While acknowledging that Chaderton had Presbyterian beliefs, Rolph finds the sermon too harsh in its criticism of the Anglican hierarchy for the moderate Cambridge academic, and hypothesizes that it might instead originate from daring Edward Dering.78 However, it was widely believed at the time that Chaderton was the author. Lake and Collinson offer the testimony of four Separatists in the 1590s and 1600s that attributed the sermon to Chaderton,79 and separatists were not the only ones to say so. George Cranmer (1563–1600), grand-nephew of Archbishop Thomas Cranmer and student of Richard Hooker, made critical remarks on “Mr. Chatterton in the fruitful sermon.”80 73 Bendall, Emmanuel, 36. 74 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 26. 75 Chaderton, Fruitfull, 69. 76 Thomas Rogers, A Sermon vpon the 6. 7. and 8. Verses of the 12. Chapter of S. Pauls Epistle vnto the Romanes; Made to the Confutation of So Much Another Sermon, Entituled, A Frutful Sermon (n.p.: Windet, 1590), A1v. 77 Emerson, English Puritanism, 103. Neither Fenner nor Udall identified the author. 78 Rolph, “Emmanuel,” 91. 79 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 26–27; Collinson, The Religion of Protestants, 151n36. 80 George Cranmer, “Notes on the Sixth Book of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity,” in The Works of that Learned and Judicious Divine, Mr. Richard Hooker, 2 vols. (New York: Appleton,

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Lake writes, “The actual text of the sermon corresponds almost exactly with Chaderton’s other known attitudes and in fact provides a beautiful example of the moderate, respectable puritan attitude to presbyterianism.”81 We do well, however, to bear in mind the caution that Chaderton may not have authorized its publication nor had opportunity to revise what may be the notes of an auditor. Nor do we know when he preached it prior to its publication in 1584. Part of the severity of its language linking episcopacy to the antichrist and whore of Babylon could perhaps be attributed to his more youthful days. Chaderton would not be the only person whose basic beliefs endure unchanged but whose manner of expression mellows with age. But the following observations may be made about the doctrine of the Fruitfull Sermon. First, it teaches absolute truth on the basis of the divine authority of Scripture. The sermon opens with an assertion that Romans 12:3–8 “contain a perpetual law, touching the government of Christ’s church,” and warning that while keeping this law is “the safety of the body,” the breaking of it is “the destruction thereof.”82 Though written by Paul, the apostle was only the scribe writing the Lord’s words, “the penman of the Lord’s inditement,” just as Moses was the writer of God’s commands.83 Of its principles this sermon said that Christ “himself is the author and no man.”84 If we add to the doctrine of the Scriptures, then we dishonor Christ “as perfect governor of his church.”85 Thus Chaderton had a high view of Scripture, regarding it as the Word of God. The apostle had the “authority” to give a law in the “name” of Christ which binds the church “even to the coming of Christ.” For his teaching did “not proceed from himself, or any other mortal man, but only from the Lord of hosts, whose apostle he was.”86 The teaching of the apostles was the law of Christ, and hence not a matter of changing customs or culture, but perpetual and sufficient.87 They are “the eternal decrees of Christ.”88 The church must not dam up the life-giving waters of divine 1844), 2:125. Cranmer disputed Chaderton’s interpretation of “him that teacheth to be a doctor, him that exhorteth to be pastor, him that distributeth to be a deacon, him that ruleth a lay elder, him that showeth mercy a widow.” He was plainly referring to this sermon. 81 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 27. 82 Chaderton, Fruitfull, 1. 83 Fruitfull, 2. To “indite” is to compose, write, or dictate what is to be written. 84 Fruitfull, 77. 85 Fruitfull, 78. 86 Fruitfull, 3. 87 Fruitfull, 77–79. 88 Fruitfull, 72.



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grace or muddy them with “man’s inventions, and popish traditions.”89 Like the noble Bereans (Acts 17:11), the hearers of a teacher must “search diligently” to confirm that the doctrine they receive is true and “soundly and purely gathered out of the Word.”90 Chaderton said, “Faith leaneth only upon the Word.”91 Second, the sermon teaches faithfulness in our callings and submission to proper human authorities for the public good. Each person has a place in the structure of society where he must serve with contentment, using the gifts God provides.92 Like soldiers in an army, each one should keep his place in the ranks lest disorder and sorrow result.93 Lake writes, “Chaderton outlined the doctrine of callings, which saw society as an interdependent whole with each person given a finite social role to which he ought assiduously to keep. For both the role and the gifts necessary to fulfill it come directly from God.”94 This is no social or political radicalism, but a vision for a carefully ordered and hierarchical society where all live in the wisdom of “discreet moderation.”95 The wise man of a low position will no more attempt to pluck the crown from the king’s head than a heavy stone flies up into the sky.96 Collinson wrote of Chaderton’s view of society, “Order should be preserved by each member respecting his proper place.”97 Yet he was no utopian; he realized that from the twin fountains of “self-love and ambition” a corrupt stream poisoned all fallen mankind with envy towards those above us, strife with our peers, and contempt for those below our social status.98 The proper posture of all men “from the highest to the lowest” is to bow down “before the majesty of God” and seek the humble graces of the Holy Spirit.99 Let each one use his gift for the public good and not try “to stretch it farther” beyond his calling.100 As Paul wrote in Romans 12:4–5, the church is a body with many different members and different offices.101 Each member must have his office 89 Fruitfull, 7. The streams of water here are biblical church officers. 90 Fruitfull, 60. 91 Fruitfull, 61. 92 Fruitfull, 11. 93 Fruitfull, 16. 94 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 28. 95 Chaderton, Fruitfull, 10. 96 Chaderton, Fruitfull, 24. 97 Collinson, The Religion of Protestants, 151. 98 Chaderton, Fruitfull, 20. 99 Fruitfull, 24. 100 Fruitfull, 28. 101 Fruitfull, 32–34.

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and only one office.102 The Lord gives to each one his vocation, “to be as it were his standing place, out of which he should not step one foot.”103 Every member belongs to the others and must serve for the benefit of all.104 Collinson wrote, “In the view of this presbyterian, the disorder of society was due to a profound and structural disorder in the Church.”105 He therefore made an extended appeal to the queen and her councilors to implement what he believed to be biblical church principles.106 Third, the sermon teaches the distinct offices of pastors, teachers (or doc­ tors), rulers, deacons, and attenders upon the poor. Chaderton derives these public offices from Romans 12:6–8. These are gifts of God which the people of God must receive.107 The sermon compares each office to part of the body: “God hath given us in great mercy pastors and doctors to be our eyes, to lead and direct us in the ways of truth and holiness: elders, and deacons to be our hands, to keep us and hold us in the way, and also to reach unto us those things we want: attenders upon us, to be our feet when we are not able otherwise to do.”108 Therefore the Church of England is maimed in its lack of biblical officers and is monstrous in the multiplications of unnatural members, like a body with only one leg but two heads. Chaderton boldly declared, “Archbishops, bishops, deans, archdeacons, deacons, chancellors, commissaries, officials, and all such as be rather members and parts of the whore and strumpet [prostitute] of Rome.”109 This Puritan and Presbyterian viewpoint appears in Chaderton’s handwritten marginal notes in various books. In margins of the 1559 Ordinal (book of liturgical rites for ordaining church officers), he wrote that “the work and ministry of a bishop” is “all one ministry with the priest,” and episcopacy is “no ministry ordained by Christ.” The ministers should be chosen by the people, not appointed merely by the bishop.110 In the margins of one of William Barlow’s sermons (published in 1606), Chaderton wrote regarding presbyters and bishops, “Yes, the names are distinct, not their office, or function.”111 Where Barlow had written of bishops being 102 Fruitfull, 38–41. 103 Fruitfull, 13. 104 Fruitfull, 46–50. 105 Collinson, The Religion of Protestants, 151. See Chaderton, Fruitfull, 17, 72–73. 106 Chaderton, Fruitfull, 73–77. 107 Fruitfull, 51–53. 108 Fruitfull, 48. 109 Fruitfull, 36–37. 110 Hunt, “Laurence Chaderton,” 215; Rolph, “Emmanuel,” 77–78. 111 Hunt, “Laurence Chaderton,” 210.



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“ordained,” Chaderton wrote “elected.”112 Thus his views on church government remained fundamentally the same from the reigns of Queen Elizabeth I to King James I. The Fruitfull Sermon explains the function of the true offices: A “prophet” is a “minister of the Word of God, which abideth in the true and sincere interpretation thereof, to the edification of his own peculiar flock.”113 There are two kinds of prophets: doctors and pastors. The doctor is a teacher who expounds the canonical Scriptures in true doctrine.114 The pastor applies that doctrine by exhortation and administers the sacraments.115 In these two offices, Chaderton observed “the wisdom and mercy of God” who has provided us with ministers to address the two parts of the soul: the mind in its “darkness and ignorance” and the heart in its “rebellion and enmity” against God.116 It is interesting to note that in 1588, the society of Emmanuel College assigned two of its senior fellows to focus upon exhortation and application of doctrine to the students and administering the sacraments, and two senior fellows to give themselves to teaching sound doctrine and confuting error. This reflects the division of labor between pastors and teachers. Chaderton was directed to focus on preaching to reflect his great gifts.117 The pastor must apply his exhortations with discernment and discrimination, giving milk to some and meat to others, exhorting rich and poor, slave and free, educated and uneducated. He must lead the sheep to wholesome food, heal the sick, bring home the straying, and strengthen the weak. He must rightly divide the Word (2 Tim. 2:15). To the weak he brings promises of divine mercy, the godly he exhorts to make progress, and the wicked he exhorts to repentance by the everlasting judgments of God. In all things, he seeks to “feed, feed, feed” the flock of God with the Word of God.118 Lake says, “There could be no clearer statement of the evangelical core of the puritan impulse than that.”119 Next we pass from “the ministers of the Word” to “other officers.” There is the deacon, who distributes the shared generosity of the church to the 112 Hunt, “Laurence Chaderton,” 216. 113 Chaderton, Fruitfull, 56. 114 Fruitfull, 57. 115 Fruitfull, 61. 116 Fruitfull, 64. 117 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 45. 118 Chaderton, Fruitfull, 62–63. 119 Lake, Moderate Puritans, 33.

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poor.120 There are ruling elders, who include the pastors and doctors, and assist them in “admonishing the unruly, and encouraging the good.”121 There are also widows appointed to help the poor and immigrants.122 Fourth and lastly, this sermon teaches that proper church government glorifies God in Christ. He said, “Christ the king and governor of his church, must rule it till the coming of himself by his own offices and laws.”123 All the members of the body should have one head, Jesus Christ—not a pope or bishop.124 The author realized that his point will cause him to be “slandered of the papists and others, with the devilish sect of Puritans: we are thought to bear scarce good will unto her Majesty.” He declared “my love and affection towards my sovereign,” indeed his willingness to die to preserve the queen’s life.125 But Christ is “the king of kings, and prince of princes,” and gave the offices of the church “in the day of his coronation, when he led his enemies in triumph, to show the glory of his kingdom, and his princely power,” and therefore we dare not lightly regard His order for His church.126 Chaderton ends with a prayer that “only the glory and victory of Christ, our only, king, prophet and priest, may be established, to whom with the Father and the Holy Ghost, three persons and one eternal God, be all praise, glory and honor, now and forever. Amen.”127 Conclusion In Laurence Chaderton we find a man of strong convictions regarding the proper structure of the Church of England, yet also a man of remarkable moderation in his willingness to operate within the existing episcopal system. What motivated him to do so? In the end it appears that his abiding passion was the vision of training men who would proclaim the Scriptures to his nation. Making the gospel of Christ his great priority and believing that preaching was the great means of applying the gospel to sinners, he 120 Chaderton, Fruitfull, 65. 121 Fruitfull, 67–68. 122 Fruitfull, 70. 123 Fruitfull, 78. Cf. p. 12. 124 Fruitfull, 41–45. 125 Chaderton, Fruitfull, 45. “The devilish sect of Puritans” probably refers to the heretical Cathari, an ascetic, Docetic sect, for Puritan is an English rendering of the Greek katha­ roi or “pure ones.” 126 Fruitfull, 65. 127 Fruitfull, 80.



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poured out his long life into a university education that prepared ministers to serve Christ in England. Though many passing through the halls of Emmanuel College ended up in legal professions, this too satisfied his purpose, for the magistrates were “nursing fathers” and “nursing mothers” to the gospel ministry (Isa. 49:23). Chaderton carried out this vision with remarkable academic and administrative gifts, aided by his network of relationships with both family and friends. His legacy was over a thousand men trained and sent out—and all the lives they have affected even to this day. In 1899, J.B. Peace wrote in the Emmanuel College Magazine, “We must recognize in the personal influence of Chaderton perhaps the finest endowment any college ever enjoyed.”128

128 Cited in Rolph, “Emmanuel,” 31.

THE DANZIG ACADEMIC GYMNASIUM IN SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY POLAND Dariusz M. Bryćko The Polish city of Gdańsk (Danzig) played a crucial role in sustaining Protestantism in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, which in the post-Reformation period had permanently turned toward Catholicism and slowly began to limit the religious tolerance that the Konfederacja Warszawska (1573) had once granted Polish Protestants. In the sphere of education, the Gdańskie Gimnazjum Akademickie (Akademisches Gymnasium Danzig), or Danzig Academic Gymnasium, became well known for training young Protestants not only from Poland-Lithuania but also from abroad. Under the leadership of the Reformed theologian Jakub Fabricius from 1580–1629, the Danzig Gymnasium reached a high academic status (it was sometimes even compared to a university), and produced several excellent theologians, philosophers, and scientists of early modern Europe. The gymnasium’s list of alumni includes Peter Crüger (1580–1639), Johann Botsack (1600–1674), Abraham Calov (1612–1686), Johannes Hevelius (1611–1687), Jakob Teodor Klein (1685–1759), Andreas Gryphius (1616–1664), Christian Hoffmann von Hoffmannswaldau (1616–1679), Heinrich Kühn (1690–1769), Gottfried Lengnich (1689–1774), Michael Christoph Hanow (1695–1773), and Daniel Gralatha (1708–1767), as well as its most famous alumnus—and, later, professor of philosophy— Bartholomäus Keckermann (1572–1609). In this brief essay, I would like to draw a historical sketch of Keckermann’s immediate context and thus supply English historiography with some necessary but missing historical and biographical information, in the hope of contributing to a better understanding not only of Keckermann’s surroundings but also of the complexity of Reformed Christianity in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.1

1 Celebrating the 450th anniversary of the Danzig Gymnasium’s establishment, Polish scholars have produced five massive volumes with primary and secondary literature, as well as many illustrations, concerning the school. Volumes 1–4 were published in 2008, Volume 5 in 2012: Gdańskie Gimnazjum Akademickie, ed. Kotarski, et al., 5 vols. (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2008–2012). Hereafter GGA.

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Since 1457 Gdańsk had enjoyed special privilege in the Polish kingdom, as King Casmir IV Jagiellon had granted it autonomy for its opposition to the Teutonic Order in Prussia. This privilege limited the Polish king’s rights toward Gdańsk and gave the city independent jurisdiction, legislation, and administration. After the incorporation of Royal Prussia into the Kingdom of Poland, Gdańsk continued, with some changes, to enjoy a ­limited independence, confirmed by the successive kings of the vast Commonwealth. Gdańsk’s unique status allowed it to exercise more religious freedom and it soon became a major stronghold of Protestant Christianity in the country. Further, due to its economic prosperity and coastal location, Gdańsk also became an attractive destination for an ethnically diverse population that included Jews, Germans, Dutch, and even Scots. Culturally, German language dominated in the city, but citizens of Gdańsk were able to share Polish and German languages, and, despite hailing from various cultures, often found themselves united by the Protestant confessions and the Polish Crown. The majority of the inhabitants were Lutheran, but Gdańsk also was home to a significant Reformed minority that exercised great influence; thus many Reformed found the city to be a safe place in otherwise Catholic-dominated Poland-Lithuania.2 Daniel Kałaj, a persecuted Reformed pastor and later superintendent of the Reformed Church in Lithuania, preached at Gdańsk’s Kościół Piotra i Pawła (St. Peter und Paulus Kirche). Kałaj describes in the following poem the town that had granted him safety: In a word—Gdańsk has all fortune A precious jewel in the Polish crown An abundant marine food pantry A lighthouse for those lost at sea A guard and a key to the Baltic Sea And what is most important: a treasury of God’s Word!3

2 For more information on Gdańsk’s religious and political situation, see Katarzyna Cieślak, Między Rzymem, Wittenbergą, a Genewą. Sztuka Gdańska jako miasta podzielonego wyznaniowo, (Wrocław: Fundacja na Rzecz Nauki Polskiej, 2000); Maria Bogucka, Przemiany ustrojowe i społeczne (1570–1655) in Historia Gdańska, vol. 2, part 2.5 (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Morskie, 1982), 543–578; Maciej Ptaszyński, “Kto tu rządi? Spór między Gdańskiem a Stefanem Batorym o charakterze władzy w szesnastowiecznej Rzczypospolitej,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 67 (2003): 89–103. 3 Daniel Kałaj, Klimakteryk Heroiczny to jest sześć dziesiat y trzy poematów (Gdańsk: David Freidrich Rhet, 1673), 3r. (facsimile available, ed. and transcribed by Edmund Kotarski, Zakład Narowdowy im. Ossolińskich, 198). For more information on Kałaj and his theology, see my book, The Irenic Calvinism of Daniel Kałaj (d. 1681): A Study in the History and Theology of the Polish-Lithuanian Reformation (Göttingen: V&R, 2012).



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The Danzig Gymnasium was not the only school in the Commonwealth to offer a Protestant education: there were two others in Royal Prussia—in Elbląg (Elbing) and Toruń (Thorn)—as well as in other parts of PolandLithuania, such as Poznań (Posen), Złotoryja (Goldberg), Kryłów, and Pinczów, to mention a few; and, of course, there was the famous Akademia Rakowska, or Racovian Academy, that hosted the Socinian school.4 The initiative to establish the school in Gdańsk originated with the city council, which recognized the need for an institution that could not only educate the local youth but also strengthen Protestantism in the city. The building for the gymnasium came from a dissolved Franciscan monastery that its last superintendent, Johann Rollau, passed on to the council on 30 September 30 1555. Interestingly, the agreement between Rollau and the council included special provision for two Franciscan monks, who retained their right to continue living in the former monastery building.5 The gymnasium was officially opened on 13 June 1558, with a dedicatory speech by Johann Hoppe, a former professor and rector of the nearby Królewiec (Königsberg) University and Chełmno (Kulm). Rector Hoppe presided over the school, which initially did not possess the status of gymnasium, from 1558 to 1560, and hired only four instructors.6 The initial goal was to conduct education following Renaissance and Reformation models, bringing up youth in “piety and eloquence.” In these early stages of the school’s development, next to studying Scripture, students were required to read ancient pagan writings and master Latin and Greek.7 The next rector, Henrich Moller, served for seven years (1560–1567). In that time he expanded the curriculum and brought teachers of mathematics as well as the well-known poet Achacy Cureus, the Latin teacher Michael Retellius, and a Hellenist, Klemens Friccius. Moller also started a school theater, with students acting in plays based on biblical and classical texts; this increased the school’s popularity in the city, as locals could attend the plays the students performed.8 Moller and the next rector of the gymnasium, Andreas Franckenberger (1557–1589), both studied under Phillip Melanchthon (1497–1560) and shaped the school’s curriculum influenced by the their famous master.9 4 Lech Morzecki, “Gdańskie Gimnazjum Akademickie. Zarys dziejów,” in GGA, 1:14. 5 Morzecki, “Gdańskie,” 14. 6 Morzecki, “Gdańskie,” 16. 7 Józef Budzyński, “Dawne humanistyczne Gimnazjum Akademickie w Gdańsku w XVI i XVII,” in GGA, 4:26. 8 Budzyński, “Dawne,” 26. 9 Mariusz Brodnicki, “Filozofia w Gdańskim Gimazjum Akademickim” in GGA, 1 184–185.

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Franckenberger governed the school between 1567 and 1576 and further expanded and formalized the curriculum; the school officially reached the  status of a gymnasium and published statutes, titled Constitutio nova  Gymnasii Dantiscani (1568). Józef Budzyński, in his discussion of the constitution, comments on an increasing Melanchthonian influence in which philosophical studies accompanied the study of Scripture. Medicine, astronomy, law, ethics, and dialectics also were added. Further, Franckenberger advocated public and private disputations, stressed the study of Greek and Latin, and even included Hebrew. This expansion of philosophical studies was not done at the expense of piety, which early modern scholarship considered inseparable from proper study. Thus Franckenberger’s statutes included a lengthy treatment of the practical expectations the school had of its students, including discussions of honor, proper behavior, modesty, and even hospitality. Moreover, every day of study was to begin with morning devotions and brief Bible and catechism study in Latin (or German for the lower grades), which the top three classes were to use for instruction as well as common conversation.10 Finally, Franckenberger’s statutes continued to adapt to the needs and demands of the school and were published in various editions until 1759.11 His service was appreciated enough to earn him a professorship of rhetoric and history in Wittenberg.12 After Franckenberger’s resignation and departure to his prestigious new post, the Gdańsk City Council struggled for nearly four years to find a worthy substitute who could take on the leadership of the school, and the young gymnasium began to experience some decline. Finally, in 1580, the council decided to call Jakub Fabricius (or Schmidt, 1580–1629), the son of one of the council members and an alumnus of the gymnasium. Despite these seemingly nepotistic connections, Fabricius was well qualified to undertake the task: he had been educated in Bremen, Wittenberg, Heidelberg, and Basel, and shortly before taking the academic post he had served in the prestigious Mariacki Church (Marienkirche). His service for the Gdańsk school lasted almost half a century; he governed it and taught theology courses until his death in 1629. Fabricius became the longestserving rector in the whole history of the gymnasium and the only one who was native to the city—all the future rectors were to come from outside of Gdańsk. 10 For analysis of the document see Budzyński, “Dawne,” 27–31. 11 Morzecki, “Gdańskie,” 22. 12 Morzecki, “Gdańskie,” 19.



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Theology always had played an important role in the history of the school; however, Fabricius gave theology even higher prominence in the curriculum and even in administration. When, in 1585, Fabricius took over teaching theology from Michael Coletus (a proponent of Lutheran orthodoxy and doctrinal opponent of Fabricius) the role of rector become permanently tied to the role of theology professor, who was also required to preach at the Świętej Trójcy Church (Trinitatiskirche)—a church that quickly became affiliated with the school and known for its Reformed worship and doctrine. Shortly after Fabricius assumed the chair of theology, a conflict between the gnesio-Lutheran ministers and the more Reformed ministers exploded when, in 1586, Peter Praetorius, a man known for his Calvinist orientation, was ordained to ministry with the firm support of the gymnasium and the city council. Since most of the city sided with the gnesio-Lutherans, the conflict escalated, leading to riots that resulted in a temporary shutdown of the school and even an army intervention to preserve peace in the city. The gymnasium was reopened shortly after the conflict ended, but the debates between gnesio-Lutherans and Reformed continued. These disputes provide important backdrop to the future operation of the gymnasium, for Fabricius and his Reformed professors came under constant attack from conservative Lutherans. Polish historiography mentions an incident in which Keckermann once had to escape his opponents by dressing in women’s clothes.13 After Fabricius’ death the gymnasium quickly reverted to the gnesio-Lutheran camp. The next two rectors, Johann Botsack and Abraham Calov, were known for their Lutheran orthodoxy and later for their contribution to the fiasco of the Colloquium Charitativum (1645), a significant irenic endeavor by King Władysław IV Waza to bring about religious unity and peace in the Commonwealth.14 Fabricius himself outlines the history of the conflicts with the gnesioLutherans in his Historia Notulae Geanensis15 and we learn more about theological aspects of the disputes in Reformatus augustanus written by his assistant and the vice-rector Georg Pauli (1585–1650).16 Further, in 13 Maria Bogucka, Życie codzienne w Gdańsku XVI i XVII w. (Warszawa: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1967), 162. 14 Benjamin T.G. Mayes, “Syncretism in the Theology of Georg Calixt, Abraham Calov, and Johannes Musaus,” Concordia Theological Seminary Quarterly 68.4 (2004): 291–317. 15 This manuscript is mentioned by Sławomir Kościelak, “Szermierze Teologii z Gimnazjum Gdańskiego,” in GGA, 1:334. We were, however, unable to locate it. 16 Georg Pauli, Pauli Reformatus augustanus, id est, apologia pro dictatis suis scholasticis, Georgius quibus, reformatae religioni addictos Augustanae Confessionis socios esse, solide

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Denkschrift des Rektors Fabricius über das Schulsystem des Gymnasiums, 1628 r., the seventy-eight-year-old Fabricius produced a memoir in which he describes his tiresome tenure, spending a considerable amount of time defending his controversial curricular reforms, which included expanding the gymnasium’s lower grades in order to offer basic courses in writing and reading.17 This reform came under criticism because it dispensed with the need for private tutors, or so- called “corner schools” (winkelschulen), which were not associated with the gymnasium but benefited from its existence. In effect, many local educators and even the city’s mayor, Arndt von Holten, argued that Fabricius was undercutting the economic stability of the educational system and trying to monopolize it.18 Fabricius defended himself by arguing that young students usually were coming from very diverse economic and educational backgrounds (thus many were unprepared to enter the gymnasium), and that the present arrangement of tutors was unhelpful in overcoming the gaps. He argued that the purpose of his reform was to create a more unified educational system and believed this was the only way to guarantee the success of the gymnasium’s two final grades, which prepared students for further university studies.19 According to Nadolski, Fabricius’ insistence on this controversial expansion of the lower grades prevented the school from achieving its highest academic potential. Fabricius became so preoccupied with reform that he neglected to further develop the upper two grades, and thus failed to utilize fully the presence and popularity of the internationally known Keckermann. He also strongly disagreed with Keckermann’s pedagogical proposals to elevate philosophy’s role in the curriculum.20

probaverat, opposita paraballetairo Joannis Botsacci… (Bremen: Villiers, 1637); Kościelak, “Szermierze Teologii z Gimnazjum Gdańskiego,” 334. 17 The Polish translation of the German original was provided by Bronisław Nadolski in Gdańskie Gimnazjum Akademickie: Księga pamiątkowa dla uczenia czterechsetnej rocznicy założenia Gimnazium Gdańskiego, 1558-1958 (Gdynia: Wydawnictwo Morskie, 1959), 243– 276. Nadolski located the German original in the National Archive in Gdańsk and notes that the text was transcribed by Wanda Klesińska and attached at the end of an essay about metaphysics (300, 42/174). More recently the text has been published again in the original German and in a new Polish translation, in GGA, vol. 2. 18 Bronisław Nadolski, “Memoriał rektora Gimnazjum Gdańskiego Jakuba Fabriciusa z r. 1628,” in Gdańskie Gimnazjum Akademickie (1959), 243. 19 Budzyński, “Dawne,” 34. 20 Nadolski, “Memoriał rektora Gimnazium Gdańskiego,” 249–252; Morzecki, “Gdańskie,” 24. Sławomir Kościelak, “Szermierze teologii z Gimnazjum Gdańskiego,” in GGA, 1:336.



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Others have discussed Keckermann’s philosophy of education and noted its influence on the Protestant universities in Europe and the New World, so there is no need to comment further on these topics here.21 However, following Richard A. Muller, we can simply quote Keckermann, who argued that true philosophy in no way contradicts theology, since nothing truly known of God’s power or divinity can be repugnant to theology. Keckermann writes, “In sum, the natural knowledge of God is not contrary to the supernatural, knowledge gained from nature is not repugnant to knowledge gained by grace, the book of nature does not overturn the book of scripture: therefore neither does philosophy conflict with theology.”22 This captures well Keckermann’s position, which was in no sense trying to overturn the role of theology or scrutinize it with reason or science. In Keckermann’s view, both supernatural and natural revelation were true and complemented each other; studying them together created a curricular system that could be termed both truly Christian and truly academic. Fabricius, on the other hand, promoted the more conventional approach. Perhaps due to his disputes with gnesio-Lutherans (who already saw the Reformed approach as too philosophical, compromising basic biblical doctrine with manmade knowledge), he was unable to appreciate the approach of his famous colleague that in no sense contradicted Reformed orthodoxy. Keckermann, who taught in Gdańsk for only seven years (1602–1609), instructed three yearlong courses in philosophy, which often included lectures in logic, physics, ethics, politics, economics, geometry, and other disciplines.23 Due to his differences with Fabricius he never became a rector or even pro-rector (contrary to what some English sources suggest), failing to be honored with an important administrative role by his own alma mater. However, his influence on students was powerful—many of them had come to Gdańsk only because of Keckermann, and his students were the cream of the crop of the Danzig Gymnasium. One of these was Heinrich Nicolai (1605–1660), who became a well-known philosopher and 21 Muller, After Calvin, 122–136; Howard Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted 1558–1638: Between Renaissance, Reformation and Universal Reform (New York: OUP, 2000); Joseph Freedman, “The Career and Writings of Bartholomew Keckermann (d. 1609),” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 141.3 (1997): 305–364; William T. Costello, The Scholastic Curriculum at Seventeenth Century Cambridge (Cambridge: HUP, 1958). 22 As quoted in Muller, After Calvin, 128, from Keckermann’s Operum omnium quae extant (Geneva, 1614), vol. 1, col. 70G-71A. 23 For the most comprehensive analysis of Keckermann’s thought, see Danilo Facca, Bartłomiej Keckermann i filozofia (Warszawa: Polska Akademia Nauk Instytut Filozofii i Socjologii, 2005).

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a future rector of the gymnasium. Another famous Reformed thinker who had some indirect influence on the school, after Keckermann, was the Bohemian theologian and philosopher Jan Amos Komenský (1592–1670), whose residency in nearby Elbląg brought him within close proximity to the school. Johann Mochinger (1603–1652), a professor of rhetoric at Danzig Gymnasium, edited the German version of Komenský’s Ianua linguarum and reviewed his work Didactica magna. A great supporter of Komeński and the seventh rector of the school, Johann Maukisch (who governed the gymnasium from 1651 to 1669) was also greatly influenced by the Bohemian philosopher.24 Despite disputes with the gnesio-Lutherans and disagreements with Keckermann, the gymnasium flourished under Fabricius and experienced its greatest development, reaching a nearly academic status and establishing a reputation that benefited the school for centuries. In fact, it continued to operate until the Second World War. Budzyński states that in 1580 the gymnasium had only 65 students, but by 1600 that number had increased to over 200 students and 7 instructors.25 Between 1644 and 1650 the number of students grew above 900, with the highest number of graduates reaching 168 in 1644.26 Altogether, between 1580 and 1655, the number of students reached 5713, only half of whom were from the city of Gdańsk.27

24 Budzyński, “Dawne,” 41. 25 Budzyński, “Dawne,” 33. 26 Morzecki, “Gdańskie,” 25. 27 Budzyński, “Dawne,” 39.

ARMINIUS ON FACIENTIBUS QUOD IN SE EST AND LIKELY MEDIEVAL SOURCES J.V. Fesko Introduction Identifying the source of an idea in an early modern theologian can be a challenging task, especially with a controversial figure such as Jacob Arminius (1560–1609). Arminius was accused of introducing heterodox teaching into the Reformed churches of the Netherlands. His detractors believed he was under the influence of Roman Catholic thought through the works of Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274), Francisco Suárez (1548–1617), and Luis de Molina (1535–1600).1 A form of this allegation surfaced against Arminius when he was accused of teaching the medieval maxim, Facientibus quod in se est Deus non denegat gratiam (“Do what is in you and God will not deny his grace”).2 This essay explores the question of whether Arminius held to the facientibus. The essay will prove that Arminius did teach it and that the likely source of the idea is an eclectic patchwork of medieval theologians, which confirms the claims of Richard Muller; namely, Arminius reintroduced the facientibus to Protestant theology. A corollary of proving this thesis, in line with the theme of this collection of essays, is to show that early modern theologians such as Arminius employed ideas from the past tradition. This pattern of using old ideas is not peculiar to Arminius, as it was also com­ mon to the Reformed tradition.3 But in the case of Arminius, the essay will show that every idea from the past was not esteemed as equally as others. In other words, Arminius’ use of the facientibus shows continuity with the medieval past, a link that was not welcomed by his Reformed peers. The essay examines the state of the question, a survey of Arminius’ use of 1 Richard A. Muller, “Arminius and the Scholastic Tradition,” CTJ 24.2 (1989): 266. 2 On this idea see Heiko A. Oberman, “Facientibus quod in se est Deus non Denegat Gratiam: Robert Holcot, O.P. and the Beginnings of Luther’s Theology,” HThR 55.4 (1962): 317–342; Oberman, The Harvest of Medieval Theology: Gabriel Biel and Late Medieval Nominalism (1963; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2000), 132–134; Muller, DLGT, 113, s.v. “facere quod in se est.” 3 See, e.g., Irena Backus, ed., The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 2:627–744, 839–1038.

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the facientibus in its historical context, and will then suggest the likely medieval sources from which Arminius gleaned the facientibus. State of the Question John Mark Hicks Within Arminius studies there is a sliver that has dealt with the specific question of Arminius’ understanding of the facientibus. In his 1991 essay John Mark Hicks appeals to Arminius’ use of the beggar analogy to dem­ onstrate that faith is the gift of God and that the sinner is passive in the reception of Christ’s righteousness. Hicks claims, “Whether one refers to ‘laying hold’ or ‘holding out an empty hand,’ the point is that faith is a human act enabled by grace and it contains no merit within itself.’ Calvin and Arminius are agreed on these points.”4 In all fairness, Hicks does not enter into a protracted examination of Arminius’ use of the beggar anal­ ogy but simply points out that the Dutchman employed this figure to illus­ trate the gracious nature of salvation as well as to show his agreement with John Calvin on this point. Richard A. Muller Richard Muller has come to different conclusions. Muller has not devoted a specific essay to the subject but in three different places briefly treats the question. In his dictionary of theological terms, Muller contends that Arminius reintroduced the facientibus into Protestant theology.5 In an essay on the federal motif in Arminian theology, Muller highlights Arminius’ understanding of the role and necessity of obedience in the new covenant. The necessity of obedience, argues Muller, is related to Arminius’ synergistic understanding of God’s grace and the sinner’s will in the act of regeneration. Muller points to Arminius’ qualified acceptance of the facientibus as evidence of Arminius’ synergism. Specifically, his view of the universal prevenient grace, according to Muller, gives Arminius’ sote­ riology a synergistic cast at the nexus between fallen human will and the divine grace of regeneration.6 In a different essay Muller draws attention 4 John Mark Hicks, “The Righteousness of Saving Faith: Arminian Versus Remonstrant Grace,” EJ 9.1 (1991): 30–31. 5 Muller, DLGT, 113, s.v. “facere quod in se est.” 6 Richard Muller, “The Federal Motif in Seventeenth Century Arminian Theology,” NAKG 62.1 (1982): 107.



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to this point in his explanation of Arminius’ use of the beggar analogy. Muller contends that Arminius does advocate the necessity of grace and faith for a person’s salvation; he then mentions the beggar and offers the following analysis: “The analogy of the beggar, however, together with the assumption that human nature may be ready to receive faith, does bear a certain resemblance to the dynamic of the late medieval maxim, ‘facienti­ bus quod in se est, Deus non denegat gratiam.’”7 The combination of the qualified acceptance of the facientibus together with the always-ready beggar present two key pieces of evidence, that in Muller’s judgment, qualifies Arminius as a synergist. Keith Stanglin Stanglin’s analysis of Arminius is set in the broader context of his doctrine of assurance and does not focus directly upon the particular issues sur­ rounding the facientibus. Nevertheless, Stanglin offers analysis of Armin­ ius’ Declaration of Sentiments before the States General.8 The Declaration is important because it comes from Arminius late in his life and therefore offers a glimpse at a number of theological topics from Arminius’ mature thought. Beyond these observations, Stanglin offers brief analysis of Arminius’ use of the facientibus. Stanglin keenly highlights the polemical context in which the facientibus was attributed to Arminius; if his oppo­ nents could link him to this “catch-phrase,” then they could argue that his theology was Roman Catholic and semi-Pelagian and perhaps that Arminius was under the influence of the Jesuits or Pelagius himself.9 In contrast, Stanglin argues that Arminius believed that the facientibus was legitimate if God’s grace preceded, accompanied, and followed the believer in his regeneration and subsequent Christian life. Such a qualifi­ cation, contends Stanglin, separates Arminius’ understanding of the facientibus from earlier medieval renditions of the same.10 On this point Stanglin takes issue with Muller’s reading of Arminius and places doubt upon the contention that Arminius reintroduced the  facientibus. But if Arminius did reintroduce the concept, Stanglin believes that his version is different from medieval Roman Catholic views,     7 Richard Muller, “The Priority of the Intellect in the Soteriology of Jacob Arminius,” WTJ 55.1 (1993): 60.    8 Keith Stanglin, Arminius on the Assurance of Salvation: The Context, Roots, and Shape of the Leiden Debate, 1603–1609 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 11.    9 Stanglin, Arminius, 82. 10 Stanglin, Arminius, 83.

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particularly that of Gabriel Biel (ca. 1420–1495). Additionally, Stanglin argues, “Arminius should not be portrayed as attempting to rescue an orthodox meaning for the phrase. He seems to have no positive affinity for it, but only uses it here apologetically contra his opponents.”11 Summary The literature on Arminius and the facientibus is admittedly small, but reveals two different readings—one that places his doctrine in an Augustinian trajectory (Hicks and Stanglin) and another that contends that Arminius is synergistic and hence, semi-Pelagian (Muller).12 These readings center upon two key questions. First, how does Arminius use the specific phrase? Second, how does Arminius employ the analogy of the beggar? Answers to both of these questions will prove the thesis that Arminius reintroduced the facientibus and provides the platform to inves­ tigate likely sources for this teaching. Arminius on facientibus quod in se est in Context Qualified Acceptance In his Apology Against Thirty-One Articles, Arminius addresses the charge that he embraced the facientibus. He quickly dismisses a Pelagian version of the accusation, namely that a person can do good works without the assistance of divine grace. Arminius writes, “It never came into our minds to employ such confused expressions as these, which, at the very first sight of them, exclude grace from the commencement of conversion.” Instead, Arminius argues, “We always and on all occasions make this grace to pre­ cede, to accompany and follow; and without which, we constantly assert, no good action whatever can be produced by man.” Arminius even argues that Adam in his pre-fall state required the grace of God to do good.13 In fact, Arminius reverses the accusation and claims that anyone who argues that Adam was able, apart from divine grace, to do good would be guilty of 11 Stanglin, Arminius, 83n40. 12 Though it should be noted that use of the facientibus does not automatically commit a theologian to a particular soteriology—the statement must be read in the broader con­ text of a theologian’s work. See David C. Steinmetz, Luther in Context (1986; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1996), 61–62. 13 Jacob Arminius, Apology Against Thirty-One Theological Articles, XVII, in Works, 2:19. Apologia…adversus Articulos quosdam Theologicos, in Opera, 158–159.



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promoting Pelagianism. Arminius therefore dismisses the accusation as an absurdity.14 However, despite his dismissal of the accusation, Arminius does accept the facientibus in the following manner: But this article excludes primary grace with sufficient explicitness, when it says, ‘To him who does what is in himself.’ For if this expression be under­ stood in the following sense, ‘To him who does what he can by the primary grace already conferred upon him,’ then there is no absurdity in this sen­ tence, ‘God will bestow further grace upon him who profitably uses that which is primary.’15

Arminius adopts the facientibus so long as the sinner’s ability to do what is in him is preceded by God’s grace. Along these lines Arminius asks, “How can a man, without the assistance of divine grace, perform anything which is acceptable to God, and which he will remunerate with the saving reward either of further grace or of life eternal?”16 Arminius clearly affirms the necessary antecedent grace of God. In this context, there is no explicit indication of synergism in Arminius’ soteriology. The Beggar Analogy But elements of synergism do surface in Arminius’ explanation of the nature of faith. Arminius writes, A rich man bestows, on a poor and famishing beggar, alms by which he may be able to maintain himself and his family. Does it cease to be a pure gift, because the beggar extends his hand to receive it? Can it be said with propri­ ety, that ‘the alms depended partly on the liberality of the donor, and partly on the liberty of the receiver,’ though the latter would not have possessed the alms unless he had received it by stretching out his hand? Can it be correctly said, because the beggar is always prepared to receive, that ‘he can have the alms, or not have it, just as he pleases?’ If these assertions cannot be truly made about a beggar who receives alms, how much less can they be made about the gift of faith, for the receiving of which far more acts of divine grace are required!17

The use of the illustration is not, in and of itself, evidence of synergism. Rather, the fact that Arminius claims that the beggar is “always prepared to receive” (semper paratus sit pauper ad accipiendum) reveals an element of 14 Apology, XVII (Works, 2:19–20; Opera, 158–159). 15 Apology, XVII (Works, 2:20; Opera, 159). 16 Apology, XVII (Works, 2:20; Opera, 159). 17 Apology, XXVII (Works, 2:52; Opera, 176).

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synergism. This is not a mere slip of the pen on Arminius’ part, as else­ where he is explicit on this point. In his Private Disputations Arminius writes, But that special concurrence or assistance of grace [auxilium gratiae], which is also called ‘co-operating and accompanying grace,’ [gratia cooperans et concomitans] differs neither in kind nor in efficacy from that exciting and moving grace which is called preventing and operating [praeveniens et operans], but it is the same grace continued. It is styled ‘co-operating’ or ‘con­ comitant,’ only on account of the concurrence of the human will, which operating and preventing grace has elicited from the will of man. This con­ currence is not denied to him to whom exciting grace is applied, unless the man offers resistance to the grace exciting.18

Arminius clearly states that if a person’s will concurs with prevenient grace, then more grace is given unless he resists the prevenient grace. In other words, God’s grace is not denied to those who do what is in them. This analysis can be confirmed by a comparison with other similar expres­ sions from the immediate historical context. Contextual Comparisons The use of the beggar analogy does not immediately render a theolo­ gian  guilty of synergism.19 In Reformed works before, during, and after Arminius’ life, theologians commonly employed this analogy in their discussions on the doctrine of faith. In his lectures on the Heidelberg Catechism Zacharias Ursinus (1534–1583) explains that when a person is justified by faith alone, it is not by meriting said faith but only by receiving it. Ursinus writes, “When it is said, This beggar is enriched only by receiv­ ing alms, all works and merits are excluded therefrom, yea, even the very acceptance of alms, in as it is viewed as a merit.”20 In another commentary on the catechism Jeremias Bastingius (1551–1595) explains, “Last of all true faith being as a hand, whereby I receive Christ unto myself, it can no more be said being considered in itself to deserve at God’s hand righteousness and life, than the hand of a leprous man does deserve, that a man that is

18 Arminius, Priv. Disp. LXX.vi (Works, 2:451; Opera, 431). 19 E.g., Martin Luther, “Wir sein pettler,” in WA TR, 5:317–318 (no. 5677); cf. Heiko A. Oberman, “Wir Sein Pettler. Hoc Est Verum. Covenant and Grace in the Theology of the Middle Ages and Reformation,” in The Reformation: Roots and Ramifications (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994): 91–115, esp. 105–108. 20 Ursinus, Commentary, 332; Ursinus, Corpus Doctrinae Orthodoxae, sive Catecheticarum explicationum (Heidelberg: Rhodii, 1616), 357.



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clean should reach an alms unto it.”21 In his Body of Divinity James Ussher (1581–1656) explains that faith justifies as an instrument, “or hand of the soul stretched forth, to lay hold on the Lord our righteousness,” and that faith is “only the instrument to convey so great a benefit unto the soul, as the hand of the beggar receives the alms.”22 Likewise, Westminster divine Thomas Goodwin (1600–1680) explains the passive nature of faith with the beggar illustration: “It is faith that is only a receiver, that is, it does nothing else but receive; it returns not. Does the hand of a beggar that takes alms, return any thing to the man that gives? No, it only takes it.”23 The presence and use of the beggar analogy per se is no immediate indica­ tor of synergism, as Ursinus, Bastingius, Ussher, and Goodwin all employ the illustration and maintain a monergistic soteriology. But what does stand out in contrast to Arminius is that these four sam­ pled theologians do not argue that the beggar is always ready to receive. Reformed theologians held that God’s gratia praeveniens (prevenient grace) was necessary for a sinner’s conversion, as did Arminius. The differ­ ence between Arminius and the Reformed is that the former believed that prevenient was resistibilis (resistible), whereas the latter believed grace was irresistible (gratia irresistibilis). The Reformed believed that preve­ nient grace was given exclusively to the elect whereas Arminius held that it was given universally to all.24 The contrast between the Reformed and Arminius on this point arises in a comparison between the latter’s beliefs and the declarations of the Synod of Dordt (1618–1619). Dordt states that the effects of the fall upon human nature were devas­ tating: “He brought upon himself blindness, terrible darkness, futility, and distortion of judgment in his mind; perversity, defiance, and hardness in his heart and will; and finally impurity in all his emotions.”25 The Canons also state, “All people are conceived in sin and are born children of wrath, unfit for any saving good, inclined to evil, dead in their sins, and slaves to sin; without the grace of the regenerating Holy Spirit they are neither will­ ing nor able to return to God, to reform their distorted nature, or even to 21 Jeremias Bastingius, An Exposition or Commentarie Upon the Catechisme… (Cambridge: Legat, 1595), fol. 125; Bastingius, In Catechesin Religionis Christianae… Commentarii (Dordtrecht: Caninius, 1588), 206. 22 James Ussher, A Body of Divinity: or the Sum and Substance of Christian Religion (1645; London, 1702), 174. 23 Thomas Goodwin, An Exposition of the First and Second Chapters of Ephesians, in Works (London: T.G., 1681), serm. XXII (p. 298). 24 Muller, DLGT, 132, s.v. “gratia praeveniens, gratia resistibilis.” 25 The Canons of the Synod of Dort, 1618–1619, III/IV.1, in Creeds and Confessions of Faith in the Christian Tradition, ed. Pelikan and Hotchkiss (New Haven: YUP, 2003), 2:583.

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dispose themselves to such reform.”26 Given humanity’s fallen nature, God must regenerate in a saving and efficacious way. God only regenerates “his chosen ones” so that the elect “are certainly, unfailingly, and effectively reborn and do actually believe.”27 Theodore Beza (1519–1605) gives a pithy description of humanity’s condition when he writes, “For, in all this, we are more than dumb, deaf, and blind through the corruption of our nature. It would be no more possible for us even to which to believe than it would be for a dead man to fly.”28 By way of contrast, in his Declaration of Sentiments, Arminius explains how he defines grace: “It is an infusion (both into the human understand­ ing and into the will and affections,) of all those gifts of the Holy Spirit which appertain to the regeneration and renewing of man—such as faith, hope, charity, etc; for, without these gracious gifts, man is not sufficient to think, will, or do any thing that is good.” Arminius argues the necessity of grace both for the converted sinner and for the one who needs conversion; he stipulates, “I ascribe to grace the commencement, the continuance and the consummation of all good.” However, Arminius identified the crux of the debate over freedom of the will: “For the whole controversy reduces itself to the solution of this question, ‘Is the grace of God a certain irresist­ ible force?’” Arminius replies in the negative: “With respect to which, I believe, according to the scriptures, that many persons resist the Holy Spirit and reject the grace that is offered.”29 Beyond the issue of the efficacy of grace, Arminius also believed that supernatural prevenient grace was not limited to the elect but universally dispensed through God’s providence: “We preserve the distinction of the goodness which is in [creatures], (1.) According to their nature, through creation: (2.) According to grace, through the communication of super­ natural gifts, and elevation of dignities: (3.) According to the right use both of nature and grace. Yet we ascribe the last two also to the act of provi­ dence.”30 This position is different than the common Reformed view, exemplified by Francis Junius (1545–1602), who argues for a universal and particular providence, of which the former deals with nature and the later with grace. Particular providence is specifically according to the good

26 CoD, III/IV.2, in Creeds, 2:584. 27 CoD, III/IV.11–12. 28 Theodore Beza, The Christian Faith, trans. James Clark (Lewes: Focus Christian Ministries, 1992), IV.v; Beza, Confessio Christianae Fidei (Geneva: Crispini, 1570), 18. 29 Dec. Sent., IV (Works, 2:664; Opera, 122). 30 Priv. Disp. XXVIII.v (Works, 2:367; Opera, 372); Muller, Arminius, 236, 250.



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pleasure of God given only to the elect.31 Similar formulations appear in the works of Amandus Polanus (1561–1610), Johannes Wollebius (1589– 1629), William Perkins (1558–1602), and is also reflected in the declarations of Dordt quoted above.32 One area that reveals some of the exegetical foundation for Arminius’ understanding of the facientibus is his exegesis of Romans 7. In the broad contours, Reformed theologians typically identified the person described in this debated passage as regenerate man, who is under grace, not under the law. In his commentary on Romans, for example, Calvin explains that the man in view is one “who has already been regenerated” and that the conflict between doing good and choosing evil “does not exist in man until he has been sanctified by the Spirit of God.”33 The annotations produced by the Synod of Dordt on Scripture argue that Romans 7:1–14 addresses the power of law and sin in the “corrupt and unregenerate man” but that at vv. 14ff refer to man’s regenerate state as one “delivered from the domin­ ion of sin.”34 The Westminster Assembly’s Annotations offer a similar interpretation.35 Arminius, on the other hand, argues that Romans 7:14ff refers to an unregenerate person living under the law, not under grace.36 Arminius defines what it means to be unregenerate: But an unregenerate man is—not only he who is entirely blind, ignorant of the will of God, knowingly and willingly contaminating himself by sins with­ out any remorse of conscience, affected with no sense of the wrath of God, 31 Francis Junius, Theses Theologicae Leydenses et Heydelbergenses, XVII.3, in Opuscula Theologica Selecta, ed. Abraham Kuyper (London: William and Norgate, 1882), 158; Muller, Arminius, 244–245. 32 Amandus Polanus, The Substance of Christian Religion (London: Oxenbridge, 1595), 49–50, 87; Johannes Wollebius, Compendium Theologiae Christianae, I.xxviii.1, in Reformed Dogmatics, ed. and trans. Beardslee (Oxford: OUP, 1965); William Perkins, A Golden Chaine (London: Alde, 1592), XXXV (fol. P3v-P4r). 33 John Calvin, Romans and Thessalonians, trans. Ross Mackenzie (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), comm. Rom. 7:14 (pp. 148–149); Richard Muller, “‘Scimus enim Quod Lex Spiritualis Est’: Melanchthon and Calvin on the Interpretation of Romans 7.14–23,” in Philip Melanchthon (1497–1560) and the Commentary, ed. Wengert and Graham (Sheffield: SAP, 1997): 230–231. 34 Theodore Haak, The Dutch Annotations Upon the Whole Bible (London: Rothwell et al., 1657), comm. Rom. 7:14. 35 Annotations Upon all the Books of the Old and New Testament (London: Evan Tyler, 1657), comm. Rom. 7.14. Cf. Joel E. Kim, “History and Exegesis: The Interpretation of Romans 7.14–25 from Erasmus to Arminius,” in Always Reformed, ed. Clark and Kim (Escondido: WSC, 2010), 154–172. 36 Jacob Arminius, A Dissertation on the True and Genuine Sense of the Seventh Chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, Intro (Works, 2:490; Opera, 825).

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The detrimental effects of sin do not rule out the presence of all goodness in the unregenerate. In several places Arminius argues that there is some good in the unregenerate.38 This residual good is natural to fallen human­ ity, though it is present only because of God’s grace. Arminius writes, “But these things, and others, (if any such there be,) are attributed to the unre­ generate, without any injury to grace and the Holy Spirit; because they are believed to be, in those in whom they are found, through the operation of grace and of the Holy Spirit.”39 One of the chief good acts that Arminius has in mind is the unregener­ ate person’s response to the law of God. He argues that the ideal response to the law is love, not servile fear. But all things considered, even the fear of punishment is better than nothing. Arminius explains this point with a quotation from St. Augustine: Therefore, lest the devil take possession of thy heart, let this servant [fear] have the precedence in it, and preserve a place within for his lord and master who will soon arrive. Do this, act thus, even from fear of punishment, if you are not yet able to do it from a love of righteousness. The master will come, and the servant [fear] will depart; because when love is perfected, it casts out fear.40

This quotation bears a resemblance to the facientibus, as the fear-stricken person does what is in him to please the master, and the master responds with more grace by driving out fear. Considering that Arminius attributes these powers to the unregenerate person, it illustrates how he is different from his Reformed peers; the beggar is always ready to accept the gift of faith because of God’s universal prevenient grace, a grace that can be resisted. Arminius’ construction is not Pelagian, but it does fall into a semiPelagian category. Potential Sources From whom did Arminius glean these theological commitments, namely the universality of supernatural prevenient grace thus enabling fallen 37 Diss. Rom., pt. I (Works, 2:498; Opera, 830–831). 38 Diss. Rom., pt. I, comm. Rom. 7.18–19 (Works, 2:530–31; Opera, 848). 39 Diss. Rom., pt. I (Works, 2:542; Opera, 855). 40 Diss. Rom. (Works, 2:542; Opera, 855).



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humanity to embrace faith and salvation? The most likely answer comes from a number of medieval theologians, including Biel, Aquinas, and Lombard and the belief in the creational (or providential) dispensation of prevenient grace.41 The idea of universal prevenient grace is not common to Reformed the­ ology as previously demonstrated by the citations from Junius and Dordt. Calvin, for example, rejects the idea when he writes: This grace the Lord deigns not to give to any person promiscuously, accord­ ing to the observation commonly attributed, if I mistake not, to Occam, that it is denied to no man who does what he can. Men are to be taught, indeed, that the divine benignity is free to all who seek it, without any exception; but since none begin to seek it, but those who have been inspired by heavenly grace, not even this diminutive portion ought to be taken from his praise. This is the privilege of the elect, that, being regenerated by the Spirit of God, they are led and governed by his direction.42

Several comments are in order regarding Calvin’s statement against the facientibus. First, Arminius read, cited, and owned copies of Calvin’s Institutes, as is evident in his writings as well as the auction catalog of his library.43 Second, the idea that Calvin rejects (universal prevenient grace) is the very idea that Arminius promotes. Third, Calvin incorrectly identi­ fies the source of the facientibus as William of Ockham (ca. 1287–1347), but the source is actually Biel’s commentary on Lombard’s Sen­ tences.44 Nevertheless, Calvin marked a path back to the middle ages and Biel’s theology. And, given the nature of commenting on the Sentences, Calvin’s remark would have given Arminius a signpost to the medieval conversation. Hence, there is no specific need to connect the source of universal pre­ venient grace exclusively to Biel alone. Biel’s comments originate with Lombard’s own position on creational prevenient grace. Lombard explains, for example, that fallen humanity is in need of God’s grace to heal and free the will from the effects of sin.45 Lombard then draws a comparison 41 Cf. Muller, Arminius, 235–268. 42 John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Allen, 2 vols. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1949), II.iii.10; Calvin, Institutionis Christianae Religionis (Geneva: Stephanus, 1559). 43 C.O. Bangs, ed., The Auction Catalogue of the Library of J. Arminius (Utrecht: HES, 1985), 16, 20. 44 Calvin, Institutes (Battles/McNeil), 304n27. 45 Peter Lombard, The Sentences, trans. Guilio Silano, 4 vols. (Toronto: PIMS, 2008), dist. II.xxvii.2; Lombard, Sententiae in IV Libris Distinctae, 2 vols. (Grottaferrata: Collegii S. Bonaventurae Ad Claras Aquas, 1981).

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between rain and divine grace. The earth receives rain, but this rain should not be confused with the earth, seed, or fruit that arises as a result of the rain. In similar fashion: The rain of divine blessing is freely poured into the earth of our mind, that is, the choice of our will, that is, it is inspired by grace—which God alone does, and not man with him. By this grace, the will of man is bathed so as to germinate and produce fruit, that is, it is healed and prepared to will the good, according to which the grace is called operating; and it is assisted to do the good, according to which the grace is called co-operating. And that grace is not unsuitably termed ‘virtue,’ because it heals and aids the infirm will of man.46

Lombard links providence and the dispensation of grace as that which heals the will of man and enables him to choose that which is good. And in the same context, Lombard acknowledges the concept of prevenient grace: “And that prevenient grace, which is also a virtue, is not the use of free choice, but rather the good use of free choice comes from it. It is ours from God, not from ourselves.”47 The connection between prevenient grace and providence also appears in Biel’s thought. But to understand Biel’s arguments a brief rehearsal of two medieval theological terms is necessary. Aquinas argues that grace should be divided into two categories gratia gratis data (freely given grace) and gratia gratum faciens (sanctifying grace).48 He explains that sanctify­ ing grace is “the grace by which man himself is united to God” and freely given grace “is the grace by which one man cooperates with another so that he might be brought back to God.” Aquinas further stipulates, how­ ever, that the freely given grace is bestowed to humanity beyond their capacity of nature and merit and is distinguished from sanctifying grace, which makes sinners pleasing and acceptable to God.49 For Aquinas, both  forms of grace are given to the church, as sanctifying grace is for the  individual and freely given grace is for the common good of the whole church.50 These terms are important because of the way Biel uses them in con­ junction with his understanding of divine providence. Unlike Thomas, who links these two forms of grace to the church and its ministry, Biel 46 Lombard, Sentences, dist. II.xxvii.2. 47 Lombard, Sentences, dist. II.xxvii.8. 48 Thomas Aquinas, ST, vol. 30, The Gospel of Grace (New York: Blackfriars, 1972), IaIIae.111.1. 49 ST, IaIIae.111.1. 50 ST, IaIIae.111.5.



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identifies the freely given grace with fallen humanity’s natural abilities.51 In a sermon Biel distances himself from Pelagian teaching and argues for a twofold grace of God, which is given to creatures apart from merit as a gift. But Biel states that without this grace, all are unable to think, live, or act.52 On this feature of Biel’s doctrine, Oberman comments, Thus Biel allows for the gift of the gratia gratis data [freely given grace], so closely identified with the gifts of creation that it in this manner performs functions which man, not only in principle but as a matter of fact, can per­ form himself. And however strongly Biel speaks about man’s misery result­ ing from original sin, the preparatory grace of God is not understood as man’s last and only hope, but as a divine intervention in the natural order which points to the freedom of God to relieve man in particular cases from the arduous but possible task of preparing himself.53

In his exposition of the mass, a book owned by Arminius, Biel makes a similar type of argument when he maintains that the Eucharist has uni­ versal saving effects even upon the creation itself: That bread is well called pan, which means everything, because it bestows on man the pilgrim everything that relates to salvation. For by his fall man ruined everything. He violated the beautiful order established by his maker. Through disobedience he despised his God; he accused his neighbor, flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone; in himself he subjected reason, the will’s guide, to appetite. Therefore, he required a triple remedy to make perfect recompense: a sacrifice to placate God; the diffusion of charity by which he might communicate with his neighbor; grace to restore the order in himself. The bread of Christ, the most excellent sacrament, confers all these. For it is the offering of a sacrifice to God, a communion in charity with the neighbor, viaticum and refreshment for oneself.54

For Biel, man ruined everything in the fall and the Eucharist restores everything. Grace is universally dispensed.55 Others have likewise concluded 51 Oberman, Medieval Theology, 138. 52 Gabriel Biel, Sermones Dominicales Gabrielis Biel Spirensis Hyemales Estiuales De Tempore Sermones Medicinales (Hagenau, 1510), serm. XXIX; Oberman, Medieval Theology, 138n59. 53 Oberman, Medieval Theology, 140; cf. Gabriel Biel, Collectorium in IV Libros Sententiarum Guillelmi Occam (1501; Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag, 1977), II dist. 28.1a3 dub.2N. Biel takes issue with Gregory of Rimini (ca. 1300–1358), an Augustinian who believed that sinners need freely given grace for every good act (Biel, Sententiarum, II dist. 28.1A; Oberman, Medieval Theology, 140n64). 54 Gabriel Biel, Canonis Missae Expositio, I,7, as quoted in Lawrence F. Murphy, “Gabriel Biel and Ignorance as an Effect of Original Sin in the Prologue to the Canonis Missae Expositio,” AR 75 (1984): 52; cf. Biel, Canonis Missae Expositio, ed. Oberman and Courtenay, vol. 1 (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag GMBH, 1963), prologus (p. 7). 55 Murphy, “Gabriel Biel,” 52.

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that Biel reduces the freely given grace (gratia gratis data) to the general providence of God.56 What was common in the middle ages was very uncommon in Arminius’ Reformed context. The similarities between Arminius and these medieval doctors on universal prevenient grace through creation and providence support Muller’s contention that Arminius reintroduced the facientibus to Protestant theology.57 Conclusion In this brief exploration of Arminius and the facientibus, we have com­ pared the Dutchman’s views and exegesis against his own immediate his­ torical context, which demonstrated that Arminius did not directly learn the doctrine from his Reformed context. Rather, the likely source is that Arminius mined medieval theology for alternative ideas to what he learned from his Reformed context. Evidence of Arminius’ spadework is evident throughout his works as he makes positive and negative reference and citations not only to contemporaries but also to medieval and patris­ tic writers.58 Also, given the auction catalog from his library, Arminius was in personal possession of a number of medieval volumes, including Lombard’s Sentences, Biel’s Canonis Missae Expositio, and the Summa of Aquinas, which would have given him easy access to these ideas.59 However, although beyond the scope of this essay, there are other indica­ tors that medieval theologians were the fount from which Arminius drew the facientibus, such as Biel’s contention that faith is notitia, and Arminius’ own priority of the intellect in his doctrine of faith.60 Given the surveyed evidence, pace Hicks and Stanglin, it appears that Muller’s thesis is cor­ rect: Arminius reintroduced the facientibus to Protestant theology and he drew this idea from Biel, Aquinas, and Lombard in an eclectic manner.61

56 John L. Farthing, Thomas Aquinas and Gabriel Biel (Durham: Duke, 1988), 159. 57 Muller, Arminius, 235. 58 E.g., Arminius, Dissertation, Pt. 1, Rom. 7:18–19 and “The Ancient Fathers,” in Works, 2:529–544, 552–559. 59 Muller, “Arminius and the Scholastic Tradition,” 266; Bangs, Auction Catalogue, 4, 5. 60 Muller, “Priority of the Intellect,” 55–72; Murphy, “Gabriel Biel,” 56; Paul van Geest, “Aquinas or Augustine? On the sources of Gabriel Biel’s Canonis Missae Expositio,” Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 11.1 (2007): 76, 80; G.R. Evans, “Robert Kilwardby, Gabriel Biel, and Luther’s Saving Faith,” in The Medieval Theologians, ed. Evans (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001), 360–361; Ulrich G. Leinsle, Introduction to Scholastic Theology, trans. Miller (Washington: CUAP, 2010), 239–240. 61 Muller, “Priority of the Intellect,” 71; Muller, Arminius, 268.

BONA CONSCIENTIA PARADISUS: AN AUGUSTINIAN-ARMINIAN TROPE Keith D. Stanglin The modest revival of interest in and study of the Dutch theologian Jacob Arminius (1559–1609) in the last three decades owes much to the efforts of Richard A. Muller, who in 1988 called for a “new perspective” on the theol­ ogy of Arminius. Although Arminius has been a sort of ancillary project to his larger agenda on early modern Reformed theology, Muller’s important 1991 monograph and many illuminating articles on Arminius have demon­ strated how much remains to be done for historians and theologians who wish to understand Arminius and the movement he inspired. In short, Muller has clarified Arminius’ relationship to the Reformed tradition and has shown that he was a key figure in the early development of Protestant scholasticism, revealing that there is much more to Arminius’ penetrating theology than a controversy about predestination.1 In addition to Arminius’ unqualified and eminent position as a Prot­ estant scholastic, like most Reformed scholastics of his day, he stressed that the Christian faith was incomplete without the practice of piety. He was a minister at heart, preaching and pastoring in Amsterdam for fifteen years (1588–1603), more than twice the length of his later tenure as a theol­ ogy professor in Leiden (1603–1609). In fact, his particular emphasis on good works—for instance, his high expectation for sanctification along with the acknowledgment that sin can precipitate a fall from grace—set him apart from many of his Reformed contemporaries and reinforced their charges of semi-Pelagianism against him.2 The prominence of right living for Arminius is summed up well in his oft-cited motto, which is the topic of this essay: bona conscientia paradisus (a good conscience is para­ dise). In this essay, the historical problems surrounding Arminius’ motto will be described, then the origin of the motto and its historical trajectory 1 I have documented the contribution of Muller to Arminius studies more fully in Keith D. Stanglin, “Arminius and Arminianism: An Overview of Current Research,” in AAE, 8–13. 2 These issues related to sanctification are treated in Keith D. Stanglin, Arminius on the Assurance of Salvation: The Context, Roots, and Shape of the Leiden Debate, 1603–1609 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 115–142; Keith D. Stanglin and Thomas H. McCall, Jacob Arminius: Theologian of Grace (New York: OUP, 2012), 170–176.

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will be discussed, and finally, brief observations regarding Arminius’ thoughts on conscience will be presented. Historical Problems There are two initial historical problems with the motto, bona conscientia paradisus. First, although it has been described by several biographers as Arminius’ motto, it is difficult actually to trace the motto directly to Arminius himself. In his extant works, Arminius neither proclaimed the phrase as his motto nor wrote these three words in sequence. The first biographical sketch of Arminius—the funeral oration delivered by his friend Petrus Bertius (1565–1629)—says nothing of a motto. The first bit of positive evidence comes from a print of Arminius done by the Leiden art­ ist, Willem van Swanenburg (1580–1612). This earliest surviving image of Arminius was published in a collection of prints in 1609. The second edi­ tion, which appeared in 1613, added the motto in all capital letters into the oval frame surrounding Arminius’ bust.3 This is the first appearance in print of this motto being connected with Arminius. The motto was often included in subsequent prints and portraits. What about the first literary reference? Having checked the first Remonstrant history, written by Joannes Uytenbogaert in 1646, I did not find a reference to this motto.4 Rather, the first literary reference that con­ nects this phrase to Arminius is found in volume two of Geeraert Brandt’s four-volume History of the Reformation in the Low Countries, first published in 1674. A Remonstrant minister charged by the Remonstrant Brotherhood with documenting their history, Brandt (1626–1685) wove many new sto­ ries about and epistolary excerpts from Arminius into his account of recent Dutch ecclesiastical history. After reporting Arminius’ death, Brandt wrote, “As a motto (sinspreuk) he used these words, BONA CONSCIENTIA PARADISUS, the good conscience is a Paradise.”5 An image 3 These prints are reproduced in Marijke Tolsma, “Iconographia Arminiana: Portraits from 1609 until ca. 1850,” in AAE, 241–242. 4 Joannes Uytenbogaert, Kerckeliicke historie, vervatende verscheyden gedenckwaerdige saecken, 2nd ed. (Rotterdam: Naranus, 1647). 5 Geeraert Brandt, Historie der Reformatie, en andre kerkelyke geschiedenissen, in en ontrent de Nederlanden, vol. 2 (Amsterdam: Rieuwertsz, 1674), 108, emphasis original: “Tot een sinspreuk voerde hy dese woorden, BONA CONSCIENTIA PARADISUS. De goede conscientie is een Paradijs.” ET: The History of the Reformation and Other Ecclesiastical Transactions in and about the Low-Countries, from the Beginning of the Eighth Century, Down to the Famous Synod of Dort, vol. 2 (London: Wood, 1721), 63.

       bona conscientia paradisus: an augustinian-arminian trope 363 of Arminius, based on the original Swanenburg print, appears a few pages earlier in G. Brandt’s book, with a poem by Brandt across the bottom and the Latin motto centered across the top.6 The first full-scale biography of Arminius was published posthumously in 1724 by G. Brandt’s son, Caspar Brandt, also a Remonstrant minister. After he recorded Arminius’ death and presented a brief physical descrip­ tion of his subject, he also mentioned the motto (symbolum) of Arminius.7 The placement of the motto within the biography, along with the distinct and unexplained format in upper-case letters, reflects Caspar’s depen­ dence, in this case, on his father’s account. James Nichols, the English translator of Arminius, transferred these words of C. Brandt verbatim into his biographical appendix that appeared in the first volume of Arminius’ Works in 1825. Now in English, but with the same familiar format, Nichols translated the motto: “A GOOD CONSCIENCE IS A PARADISE.”8 The next biography of Arminius was by J.H. Maronier, another Remonstrant minis­ ter. Like his predecessors, Maronier noted the motto of Arminius toward the end of his account, after describing the death and physical description of Arminius. Maronier only added that this was the “motto of his seal (zegel).”9 Maronier’s account in this section follows that of the younger Brandt point for point, and there is little evidence of independent research regarding the motto. Like C. Brandt and James Nichols, it appears that Maronier was merely passing on what he inherited ultimately from the elder Brandt. For the last 300 years, a host of other writers have likewise attributed this motto to Arminius. The most recent biographer of Arminius, Carl Bangs (1922–2002), departed from three centuries of convention and simply omitted any mention of the motto. The reason for the omission is not clear, but for such a thorough biographer to leave this oft-repeated detail untouched implies that he felt the motto played no significant role in the life of Arminius. It is interesting, then, that the description of Arminius’ motto in the biographies seems to be based primarily on G. Brandt’s account from 1674 (65 years after Arminius’ death), and the earliest connection of the motto with Arminius appears on a print from 1613, though it is not 6 G. Brandt, Historie, 86. The print also appears in Tolsma, “Iconographia Arminiana,” 243. A different print that lacks the motto appears in Brandt, History, 49. 7 Caspar Brandt, Historia vitae Iacobi Arminii, 2nd ed., with preface and notes by Johann Lorenz von Mosheim (Braunschweig: Meyer, 1725), 202–203. ET: The Life of James Arminius, trans. John Guthrie (Nashville: Stevenson and Owen, 1857), 378–380. 8 James Nichols, in Arminius, Works, 1:310, emphasis original. 9 J.H. Maronier, Jacobus Arminius: Een biografie (Amsterdam: Y. Rogge, 1905), 339.

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specifically designated as his motto. The first account of Arminius’ life by Bertius and the latest, definitive biography by Bangs both say nothing of the motto. In light of Maronier’s comment about the “motto of his seal,” perhaps the only remaining route to pursue would be Arminius’ own ring, whose seal contained the three-horned coat-of-arms and with which he formed the wax seal on his letters.10 The ring was in the possession of the Remonstrant professor Abraham des Amorie van der Hoeven (1798–1855), also a descendant of Arminius, whose family donated it to the Boymans Museum in Rotterdam in 1890. Unfortunately, in 1971 this ring was stolen from the Rotterdam museum in which it resided.11 An extant photograph of the ring, however, reveals the seal but contains no inscription.12 If the motto appeared on the underside of the ring, there is no way to know now. But whatever Maronier meant by the motto of Arminius’ “seal,” it was not visible on the seal itself. These observations are not to suggest that the motto is a chimera or has no connection whatsoever to Arminius. Rather, I am only demonstrating that it is more difficult than it first appears to trace this motto directly to Arminius. Second, even if it is granted that Arminius consciously chose this motto for himself, the immediate origin of it is unclear. Eric Cossee writes that the motto “is said to originate from Aemilius.”13 This Theodorus Aemilius, also known as Dirck Amelgersz, was the otherwise obscure priest of Oudewater who became the patron and tutor for the young, fatherless Jacob Arminius before the latter went abroad to study.14 But I am not aware of any documentation for the origin of Arminius’ motto in Aemilius. 10 The ring is mentioned in Gedenkschrift van de viering van het 250-jarig bestaan der Remonstrantsche Broederschap, te Rotterdam (Rotterdam: Wyt & Zonen, 1869), 36. See also G.J. Hoenderdaal, “De theologische betekenis van Arminius,” NTT 15 (1960): 91. Hoenderdaal contrasts the ring of Arminius, which then was located in the “historisch museum te Rotterdam,” with the wedding ring of Episcopius. The latter is still worn by Episcopius’ successor, the Remonstrant professor of theology, on special occasions. 11 This theft has not been widely publicized, and I became aware of it in the course of this research. Wilhelmus Hermanus Vroom, Het wonderlid van Jan de Witt en andere vaderlandse relieken (Nijmegen: SUN, 1997), 47, only mentions that “de ring is niet meer aanwezig.” 12 My thanks go to Liesbeth van der Zeeuw, curator of art and applied arts, Museum Rotterdam, for her assistance in locating the photograph of this zegelring and its certificate of authenticity. The photograph matches the wax seal impression from this ring, which is still visible on many of the letters of Arminius extant in the university libraries of Leiden and Amsterdam. 13 Eric H. Cossee, “Arminius and Rome,” in AAE, 74. 14 On Aemilius, see Carl Bangs, Arminius: A Study in the Dutch Reformation, rev. ed. (1985; repr., Eugene: W&S, 1998), 33–34, 384–386.

       bona conscientia paradisus: an augustinian-arminian trope 365 The Remonstrant professor G.J. Hoenderdaal (d. 1998) was known to credit the motto to Aemilius, but his reason for doing so is not clear. The only plausible connection appears in Bertius’ funeral oration for Arminius, in which he states that Aemilius “took frequent opportunities of exhorting [Arminius] to lay aside and reject all consideration of worldly matters, and to view himself as devoted (adsereret) to God and his own con­ science.”15 Despite this indication of Aemilius’ impact, his connection with Arminius’ motto is tenuous; Arminius surely heard about the impor­ tance of conscience from other teachers and in other settings as well. What is beyond doubt is that this statement and the sentiment it reflects precede Arminius. The Background of Arminius’ Motto Whether or not bona conscientia paradisus was Arminius’ explicit motto, it undoubtedly was attached to Arminius’ image by 1613 and to his biogra­ phy by 1674, and, for ease of reference, we may continue to designate it as “Arminius’ motto.” And whether or not it had its immediate origin in Aemilius’ instruction, it may be possible to trace its more remote origins in the preceding Western tradition. An exact citation may be difficult to find, but the sentiment can be found in nearly direct quotations in a number of writers. Before limiting the search to Christian authors, it must be acknowledged that serious reflection on the conscience predates Christianity, much of which approaches the sentiment of the motto. For example, when the ancient Corinthian ruler Periander (d. 585 bc) was asked what freedom is, he replied, “A good conscience.”16 The concept of the moral conscience that was developed in Plato became the object of deeper reflection in Epicurean and especially Stoic philosophy.17 But the association of the conscience with paradise in particular certainly nar­ rows the scope of possible antecedents, for the term paradise is not native

15 Petrus Bertius, De vita et obitu reverendi et clarissimi viri D. Iacobi Arminii oratio. Dicta post tristes illius exsequias XXII. Octob. Anno M D.C.IX., in Arminius, Opera, fols. 002r; Works 1 17–18. 16 Joannes Stobaeus, Anthologium, III.xxiv.12, ed. Wachsmuth and Hense (Berlin: Weidmann, 1894), 3:604: “Περίανδρος ἐρωτηθεὶς τί ἐστιν ἐλευθερία, εἲπεν ἀγαθὴ συνείδησις.” 17 For a helpful, recent summary of the important developments on conscience in the Western tradition, see Richard Sorabji, “Graeco-Roman Origins of the Idea of Moral Conscience,” in Archaeologica, arts, iconographica, tools, historica, Biblica, theologica, philosophica, ethica (Louvain: Peeters, 2010), 361–383.

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to the West. Paradise comes from an Old Persian word meaning a walled enclosure or a garden of some sort (walled or not). As a post-exilic Hebrew loanword, it is used three times in the later writings of the Old Testament (Nehemiah 2:8; Song of Songs 4:13; and Ecclesiastes 2:5). The word was brought into the Greek language at least as early as Xenophon (ca. 431–354 bc), whose Anabasis describes Persian royal gardens with this word. The loanword is also used in the LXX in several places, for example, in Genesis 2 to describe Eden. The word has an exclusively religious, heavenly mean­ ing in all three of its uses in the New Testament (Luke 23:43; 2 Corinthians 12:4; Revelation 2:7).18 Paradisus entered Latin via Greek and its use is pre­ dominantly Christian. This is all to say that one should not expect to find pre- or non-Christian Latin writers, and not many Greek writers, using paradise in the context of conscience. Indeed it is in the church fathers where conscience is first clearly linked with paradise. Since the theme of paradise looms large in the narrative of Genesis 2–3, it is not surprising to find extended reflection on this theme in commentaries on these biblical texts. As far as I can tell, Augustine was the first church father explicitly to link the idea of paradise with con­ science. The first step to achieving this connection is his allegorical inter­ pretation of paradise in the creation narratives, already disclosed in his De Genesi adversus Manicheos. In his examination and application of the first couple’s expulsion from the garden, he wrote, “In my opinion, the blessed life is signified by the word paradise.”19 A hint of this figurative interpreta­ tion of paradise may be found in Sirach 40:27: “The fear of the Lord is like a paradise (παράδεισος) of blessing.”20 In his later commentary on the 18 See Joachim Jeremias, “παράδεισος,” in Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, vol. 5, ed. Friedrich (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1967), 765–773; James H. Charlesworth, “Paradise,” in Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 5, ed. Freedman (New York: Doubleday, 1992), 154–155. 19 Augustine, De Genesi adversus Manicheos libri duo II.xxii.34 (CSEL 91 158): “moratus est autem contra paradisum, in miseria, quae utique beatae vitae contraria est. nam bea­ tam vitam paradisi nomine significatam existimo.” ET: On Genesis, in Augustine, Works, 1/13:95. 20 Of course, Augustine was not the first to employ an allegorical method with regard to paradise. Subsequent to Sirach, Philo of Alexandria, Allegorical Interpretation of Genesis II, III, I.xiv.45–46 (Cambridge: HUP, 1929), 174–176, says that “virtue is tropologically called paradise.” Cf. Origen, De principiis, IV.iii.1, in PG 11:377A, who notes the need to allegorize paradise: “And who is so silly as to believe that God like a human farmer planted paradise in Eden in the east, and made in it a visible and palpable tree of life…?” Ambrose of Milan, De paradiso III.12 (CSEL 32/1:272): “Therefore paradise is a certain fertile land, that is, a fertile soul, planted in Eden, that is, in a certain pleasurable or well-tilled land, in which there is delight of soul.” Ephraem the Syrian, Hymns on Paradise, trans. Sebastian Brock (Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary, 1990).

       bona conscientia paradisus: an augustinian-arminian trope 367 creation accounts, Augustine gave a more detailed treatment of paradise and plainly revealed his hermeneutical method: he interprets paradise both literally (corporaliter) and figuratively (spiritaliter).21 After his discus­ sion of paradise in the creation accounts, Augustine was led to deal later with Paul’s mention of paradise in 2 Cor. 12:4 and what paradise means for believers. It is here that he expressed a thought in terms almost verbatim with Arminius’ motto: “So it is not only the third heaven—whatever that is, assuredly something great and sublimely glorious—but also in a person the joy of a good conscience is paradise (laetitia … bonae conscientiae paradisus est). Thus the church is also rightly called paradise for holy people living temperately, righteously, and piously.”22 The agreement of thought and vocabulary with Arminius’ later motto is striking. This Augustinian tropological reading of the paradise of Genesis 2–3 was known also in medieval interpretation. For instance, Hugh of St.-Victor (ca. 1096–1141), preaching about this concept, said, Beloved, examining these things tropologically, that is, morally, we say that the man is formed by God when he is justified, and is placed in paradise, while he is stationed in the secure delight (iucunditate) or delightful security of a good conscience. For, by paradise full of pleasure [Gen. 2:8], what do we understand better than the human mind full of security, from the confi­ dence of a good conscience? “A secure mind is like a continual feast” [Prov. 15:15]. Therefore, by that terrestrial glory of paradise, we grasp (accipimus) nothing more correct than the good conscience of the righteous.23

Hugh went on to say that the earthly paradise signifies the “spiritual, good things of our good conscience.”24 William of St.-Thierry and Bernard of Clairvaux (twelfth century), mutual friends familiar with this interpre­ tation, both wrote of Adam’s expulsion “from the paradise of a good conscience.”25 The same Augustinian interpretation became reasonably widespread in late medieval preaching. For example, the Benedictine monk Pierre 21 Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram libri duodecim VIII.i.1 (CSEL 28/1 229); Augustine, Works, I/13:346. 22 Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram XII.xxxiv.65 (CSEL 28/1:430; Works, I/13:503). Cf. the discussion of this passage in a different context in Mark Glen Bilby, “As the Bandit Will I Confess You: Luke 23.39–43 in Early Christian Interpretation” (Ph.D. diss., University of Virginia, 2012), 118–120. 23 Hugh of St.-Victor, Sermones centum, XLIII (PL 177:1012B-C). 24 Hugh of St.-Victor, Sermo XLIII (PL 177:1012D). 25 William of St.-Thierry, Meditativae orationes, IV, (PL 180:216D). Cf. idem, Expositio altera super Cantica Canticorum, cap. 1 (PL 180:507C). Bernard of Clairvaux, Parabolae, I (PL 183:757C).

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Bersuire (Berchorius) (ca. 1290–1362), who offered tropological interpreta­ tions of the entire Bible, after suggesting various possibilities for allegoriz­ ing, declared that “paradise is the conscience of a righteous man.”26 Another example comes from the Franciscan preacher Bernardinus Senensis (1380–1444), who, in a sermon on good and evil conscience, said, “A clean conscience is a garden of pleasures, that is, an earthly paradise…. Here indeed paradise signifies a clean conscience…. And just as in that paradise the tree of life was planted, so in such a conscience through love the life-giving tree, Jesus Christ, was planted.”27 A final late medieval example of this theme appears in Johannes Trithemius (1462–1516), who was abbot in Sponheim from 1483 until 1506. Among the sermons he preached in Sponheim, one is preserved “On the Serenity of Conscience,” which contains many similes describing a good conscience. Among these comparisons he noted, “A good conscience is the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit and a terrestrial paradise of all favors.”28 Later in the same ser­ mon, he declared that “a good conscience is a fertile field of virtues and the sweet and pleasing smell of the paradise of God.”29 The same link between conscience and paradise appears in some later Protestant writers, particularly within the English Reformed tradition. Arminius’ own English contemporary, William Perkins (1558–1602), built on the allegory of Genesis 3, as did his late medieval predecessors. Perkins wrote,

26 Pierre Bersuire, Bibliorum moralitates, 2 vols. (Antwerp: Hieronymus Verdussius, 1610), 1:7–8: “Vel dic quod paradisus est conscientia viri iusti alta, secreta, illum inata, irri­ gata.” The allegory continues with figurative readings of the other elements of the Genesis account. 27 Bernardinus Senensis, Quadragesimale de evangelio aeterno, feria III, sermo lii, art. 2, cap. 1 (Venice: Juntas, 1591), 524F-G: “Conscientia munda, est hortus delitiarum, id est, paradisus terrestris. Paradisus autem est locus in Orientibus partibus constitutus. Et dici­ tur paradisus Graece, hortus Latine, Edon Hebraice, quod Latine delitiae interpretatur. Coniuncta autem haec duo sonant hortum delitiarum.… Hic quidem paradisus significat conscientiam mundam, quae pollet affluentia gratiarum, et fluit in delitiis suavissimis supernorum. In quibus delectatur, sicut in omnibus divitiis. Et sicut in illa paradiso planta­ tum est lignum vitae: sic in tali conscientia complan[t]atum est per amorem vitale lignum Iesus Christus.” Some of these phrases are dependent on William of St.-Thierry, Speculum fidei, in PL 180:367B-C: “Conscientia earum paradisus voluptatis est, pollens affluentia gra­ tiarum, et castis sanctarum deliciis virtutum.” 28 Johannes Trithemius, Sermones et exhortationes ad monachos Ioannis Tritemii abbatis Spanheimensis, homilia XXV, in Opera Thomae a Campis (Paris: Ioannes Roigny, 1549), part 2, fol. 49v: “Conscientia bona spiritus sancti est habitaculum, et paradisus terrestris omnium gratiarum.” 29 Johannes Trithemius, Sermones, hom. XXV, fol. 50r: “Conscientia bona virtutum ager est fertilis, et odor paradisi dei dulcis atque suavis.”

       bona conscientia paradisus: an augustinian-arminian trope 369 Every man is as Adam, his good conscience is his paradise; the forbidden fruite is the strong desire of these earthly things; the serpent is the olde enemy the devil: who if hee may be suffered to intangle us with the love of the world, will straight way put us out of our paradise, and barre us from all good conscience.30

In accord with the tropological paradise that has nothing to do with physi­ cal location, Perkins then described how the apostle Paul could be con­ tent even in prison. Perkins’ extensive reflections on the conscience inspired later generations of Puritan moral casuistry.31 But, more specifi­ cally, some Puritans also took note of Perkins’ allegory. Richard Sibbes (1577–1635), for example, preached a sermon that first appeared in print in 1629, in which he said, “By his [Satan’s] envy and subtlety we were driven out of paradise at the first, and ever since he envies us the paradise of a good conscience. He cannot endure that a creature of meaner rank than himself should enjoy such happiness.”32 Later, in 1653, the Puritan Thomas Watson (ca. 1620–1686) followed the thought of Perkins when he wrote, “In case of imprisonment, Paul had his prison-songs, and could play the sweet lessons of contentment, when his feet were in the stocks; one calls it bonae conscientiae Paradisus, the Paradise of a good conscience; and if it be so, then in prison we may be in Paradise.”33 After surveying the evidence, one can identify a common trajectory of interpretation. From Augustine through the late medieval era and into the post-Reformation period, there is a consistent tropological hermeneutic, often couched in the genre of sermon, which compares life in the unspoiled paradise of Genesis 2 to a pure conscience, while expulsion from the gar­ den is likened to a guilty conscience.34 For his part, Arminius not only 30 William Perkins, A Discourse of Conscience (Cambridge: John Legate, 1596), 169. 31 For later Puritan examples of cases of conscience, see Richard A. Muller, “Covenant and Conscience in English Reformed Theology: Three Variations on a 17th Century Theme,” WTJ 42.2 (1980): 308–334. 32 Richard Sibbes, The Danger of Backsliding, in The Complete Works, vol. 7 (Edinburgh: James Nichol, 1864), 410. Cf. Mark E. Dever, Richard Sibbes: Puritanism and Calvinism in Late Elizabethan and Early Stuart England (Macon: Mercer University, 2000), 198. 33 Thomas Watson, The Art of Divine Contentment (n.p.: Seeley, 1829), 204. 34 Cf. this consistent sentiment with that of the Nadere Reformatie figure, Cornelis Elleboog (Elleboogius), who, having taken his fixation with all things corporeal to unprec­ edented heights, reportedly put his unique twist on the motto in the following way: “Paradijs niet alleen is de goede conscientie, maer besonder is ‘been van mijn benen en vlees van mijn vlees.’” This quotation from Gen. 2 23 is no doubt an allusion to Elleboog’s unrequited love for Anna Maria van Schurman and his own regretful acknowledgment that the nuptial paradise enjoyed by the original couple was beyond his grasp. For the best recent account of Elleboog’s life and thought, see R.A. Mylius, “In the Steps of Voetius: Synchronic Contingency and the Significance of Cornelis Elleboogius’ Disputationes de

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owned the works of Augustine, but he also cited De Genesi ad litteram, which shows his familiarity with the document and the likelihood that he was aware of Augustine’s treatment of paradise.35 In addition to his flu­ ency in Augustine, he may have had passing knowledge of the medieval piety that expanded on this Augustinian trope. Arminius’ tropological interpretation of paradise is evident in his brief comment on Luke 23:43: “It is not necessary that Paradise should here be understood as the third heaven or the eternal residence (sedes) of the blessed; for it denotes gener­ ally a place of felicity.”36 Thus, even if he did not explicitly advocate the motto that is now associated with him, if his writings are any indication, Arminius would have consented with this expression which was so quickly and fittingly attached to him. Arminius on Conscience Along with the tropological interpretation of paradise, Arminius’ writings also confirm the more general significance he attached to the right under­ standing and use of conscience, even apart from any direct consideration of the motto. He used the word conscientia (Latin) or conscientie (Dutch) at least 240 times in his writings. It is impossible both to provide an exhaustive account of Arminius’ view of conscience and to compare and contrast it with his predecessors and contemporaries in the space allot­ ted.37 Instead, in conclusion, and with a view toward future research pos­ sibilities, I will offer only brief examples of what Arminius meant by conscience and why maintaining a good conscience was so important. Arminius wrote no treatise on conscience, neither did he give a formal Tetragrammato to the Analysis of His Life and Work,” in Scholasticism Reformed: Essays in Honour of Willem J. van Asselt, ed. Wisse et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 92–102. 35 In addition to other individual works of Augustine, Arminius owned a six-volume Opera Augustini published in Paris in 1541. See The Auction Catalogue of the Library of J. Arminius, facsimile ed. with an intro. by Carl Bangs (Utrecht: HES, 1985), 3. For a citation of De Genesi ad litteram, see Arminius, De vero et genuino sensu cap. VII Epistolae ad Romanos dissertatio (Opera, 862; Works 2:556). 36 Arminius, Apologia D. Iacobi Arminii adversus articulos quosdam [XXXI] theologicos in vulgus sparsos, art. X (Opera, 150; Works 2:4). 37 For introductory comparison, see the informative studies by Michael G. Baylor, Action and Person: Conscience in Late Scholasticism and the Young Luther (Leiden: Brill, 1977); Bernhard Lohse, “Conscience and Authority in Luther,” in Luther and the Dawn of the Modern Era, ed. Oberman (Leiden: Brill, 1974), 158–183; Jos E. Vercruysse, “Conscience and Authority in Luther’s Explanation of the Fourth Commandment,” in Luther and the Dawn of the Modern Era, 184–194; David Bosco, “Conscience as Court and Worm: Calvin and the Three Elements of Conscience,” JRE 14.2 (1986): 333–355.

       bona conscientia paradisus: an augustinian-arminian trope 371 definition of it. But he did reveal in his various writings what he felt to be the valuable functions of conscience. One use of conscience comes in the context of a witness or testimony. In this respect, Arminius followed the language of Paul, who appealed to the conscience in this very manner (Rom. 2:15; 9:1; 2 Cor. 1:12). The con­ science bears witness, in a sense, alongside one’s own knowledge. “I know,” Arminius wrote in a letter, “and I have conscience as a witness (testem), that I have not said or done anything to give him [his colleague, Gomarus] a cause of offense.”38 Although the appeal to conscience as a solemn testimony is by no means unique to Arminius, as this example reflects, it was an important function for someone who was being accused by vocal colleagues and churchmen of operating with ulterior motives and clandestine heterodoxy. In other words, in a volatile political and ecclesi­ astical context in which his integrity was sometimes on trial, the appeal to the witness of conscience was no meaningless oath, but instead was a necessary bulwark that affirmed his vocation and honor. Arminius occasionally used conscience also in the context of freedom and binding or obligation. Typically the question is one of freedom with regard to religious belief or practices, again, as it is used by Paul (1 Cor. 8:7–12; 10:25–29). In this sense, the function of the conscience is truthseeking, and often concerns the freedom or restriction of religion by earthly authorities. For example, Arminius spoke disparagingly of those churches that change their laws of religion and seek to “bring into subjec­ tion” and compel the consciences of believers.39 It is also in this sense that the later Remonstrants stressed so much the value of freedom of con­ science, a theme anticipated by Arminius, but exalted to new heights by his successors.40 Finally, and most importantly, for Arminius, good conscience had to do with good works and the life of sanctification. Conscience functioned as a 38 Arminius, Praestantium ac eruditorum virorum epistolae ecclesiasticae et theologicae, 2nd ed., preface by Philip van Limborch (Amsterdam: Wetstenium, 1684), epistola 74, p. 141 (Works 1:261). Cf. Ep. ecc. 101, p. 185 (Works 1:295); Arminius, Disputatio privata LIX.14 (Works 2:434). 39 Arminius, Oratio de componendo dissidio religionis inter Christianos, habita ab auctore VIII. Feb. 1605 [sic] cum rectoratum deponeret (Opera, 80; Works 1:456). 40 See Carl Bangs, “Recent Studies in Arminianism,” Religion in Life 32.3 (1963): 424–425; G.J. Sirks, Arminius’ pleidooi voor de vrede der kerk (Lochem: Uitgave de Tijdstroom, 1960), 59. G.J. Heering speaks of the Remonstrant concept of the “godsdienstig-zedelijk autono­ mie der persoonlijke conscientie” in Gerrit Jan Heering and G.J. Sirks, Het seminarium der Remonstranten driehonderd jaar, 1634–1934 (Amsterdam: Lankamp & Brinkman, 1934), 21–26. Cf. James Calvin Davis, “William Ames’ Calvinist Ambiguity over Freedom of Conscience,” JRE 33.2 (2005): 335–355.

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moral compass that provided positive guidance to believers. A good con­ science means living in a holy and modest manner.41 In the context of a judicious synod that Arminius anticipated, he described the participants’ good conscience as consisting in “not asserting what they consider to be false, nor in concealing what is true (although it may be against them and their party), nor in pressing for certainties things doubtful even to them­ selves.”42 Of more concern than the positive guidance, though, were believers who sinned against conscience.43 Repeatedly sinning against conscience lays waste (vastare) the conscience, grieves the Holy Spirit, and brings eternal condemnation.44 Unlike his Puritan contemporaries, Arminius offered no elaborate casuistry, but his concerns for conscience functioning as a guide in the life of sanctification mirror those of many of his Reformed contemporaries, concerns that would remain prominent in seventeenth-century English Puritanism and the Dutch Nadere Reformatie. If one purpose of the Puritan cases of conscience was to steer between antinomianism and nomism, as Muller has suggested,45 Arminius also finds a place within this tradition, pushing the boundaries of Reformed soteriology with his nomistic empha­ sis on a common theme: the joy, or paradise, gained by bona conscientia.

41 Arminius, Orationes tres de theologia, quas ordine habuit auctor cum lectiones suas auspicaretur, Oratio prima (Opera, 27; Works 1:323). 42 Arminius, Oratio de dissidio (Opera, 89; Works 1:520–521). 43 Arminius, Disputatio publica VIII.6 (Works 2:159). 44 Arminius, Articuli nonnulli XX.5–8 (Opera, 961; Works 2:725). 45 Muller, “Covenant and Conscience,” 308–334.

A PROMISE FOR PARENTS: DORDT’S PERSPECTIVE ON COVENANT AND ELECTION W. Robert Godfrey The Synod of Dordt (1618–1619) was a national synod of the Dutch Reformed Church as well as an assembly of Reformed theologians from all over Europe who gathered in the Netherlands to defend the historic Calvinistic doctrine of predestination and related doctrinal matters. The response of the synod to the Arminian challenge on predestination is contained in the First Head of Doctrine of the Canons of Dordt. Articles 1–16 and 18 of that First Head developed the doctrine of election in a systematic, biblical, and pastoral manner. But Article 17 seems out of place in the development of the doctrine: Since we are to judge of the will of God from His Word, which testifies that the children of believers are holy, not by nature, but in virtue of the covenant of grace, in which they together with the parents are comprehended, godly parents ought not to doubt the election and salvation of their children whom it pleases God to call out of this life in their infancy (Gen. 17:7; Acts 2:39; 1 Cor. 7:14).1

While this article may initially seem surprising, this study will show that it answered a potentially damaging charge about predestination that had been made against Reformed theology in the Netherlands and spoke to a significant pastoral problem in the churches. Even more, Article 17 is a window through which we can see how the fathers at Dordt understood the relationship between covenant and election, through the specific question of the salvation of covenant children. In this article, the Synod asserted its confidence that election could be known through the covenant and that the covenant was grounded in election. The Synod’s confidence reflected its understanding of the relation between time and eternity, between human history and divine decrees, between the visible

1 The text of the Canons of Dordt can be found in CC 3:550–597; P.Y. DeJong, ed., Crisis in the Reformed Churches (Grand Rapids: Reformed Fellowship, 1968), 230–262; and Psalter Hymnal (Grand Rapids: CRC, 1959), 44–66. The Scripture references, which are not cited by Schaff, do not appear in the official Latin text of the Canons, but are printed in the margin of the original Dutch text.

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and the invisible church, between the promise offered to faith and salvation applied to the elect. A careful look at Article 17 gives us an opportunity to see more clearly their thinking on these great themes and is a most appropriate topic with which to honor Dr. Richard A. Muller for his many extraordinary contributions to understanding seventeenth-century theology. Several questions face us in this study. First, what historical circumstances led the Synod of Dordt to make this theological affirmation about covenant children in the first place? Second, what insight does this article give us into Dordt’s theology on the relation between covenant and election? And finally, how did Dordt use biblical evidence to support its conclusions? Our task then is to trace the historical career of Article 17 and then briefly to examine its theological core and its biblical character. Historical Career What, then, was the historical background to Article 17? The discussion of the salvation of infants became serious in the Netherlands ten years before the Synod of Dordt.2 It arose as part of the growing criticism directed against the Dutch theologian and Leiden professor, Jacobus Arminius. In 1608 an anonymous document was circulated in the Netherlands attributing in 31 articles various errors to Arminius and his colleague Adrian Borrius (1565–1630). Articles 13 and 14 maintained that Borrius had taught that “Original Sin will condemn no man. In every nation, all infants who die without actual sins, are saved.”3 Arminius responded to these 31 articles in his “The Apology or Defense.” This response possibly was circulated in manuscript form in 1609.4 In his “Apology” Arminius began his discussion of articles 13 and 14 by defending Borrius saying he had never publicly taught what the articles attributed to him, but had discussed such questions privately. Arminius maintained that there were theological arguments which seemed to 2 For information on some earlier discussion of this issue in the Netherlands, see Erik A. de Boer, “‘O, ye Women, Think of Thy Innocent Children, When They Die Young!’ The Canons of Dordt (First Head, Article Seventeen) between Polemic and Pastoral Theology,” in Revisiting the Synod of Dordt (1618–1619), ed. Goudriaan and van Leiburg (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 261–290. 3 Cited by Jacobus Arminius, “The Apology or Defense,” in The Writings of James Arminius, trans. James Nichols, 3 vols. (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1977), 1:317. 4 Carl Bangs, Arminius (Nashville: Abingdon, 1971), 300.



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substantiate the position attributed to Borrius and that the arguments must be answered before charges of heresy could be made—a defensive strategy used by Arminius. He acknowledged that ancient theology was against Borrius, but noted that it was also against his orthodox Reformed critics since ancient theology taught only baptized infants would be saved. He cited Franciscus Junius, one of his professorial predecessors at Leiden, as an orthodox theologian who agreed with Borrius and then concluded his discussion with this observation: …behold the kind of dogma which is believed by them [his critics]. “All the infants of those who are strangers from the covenant are damned and of the offspring of those parents who are in the covenant, some infants that die are damned, while others are saved.” I leave it to those who are deeply versed in these matters, to decide, whether such a dogma as this ever obtained in any church of Christ.5

Arminius cleverly attempted to turn the tables on his Reformed opponents. They had raised against him his weak stand on original sin, opening him to the charge of Pelagianism. He responded by focusing attention away from himself and onto the Reformed view of children. Arminius implied that his Reformed opponents held a callous doctrine unknown in the church: that some covenant children dying in infancy are damned.6 This controversy, like many of those in Arminius’ life, continued after his death late in 1609. Indeed, the issue of children dying in infancy surfaced very soon in the famous petition for toleration and protection that more than forty followers of Arminius signed in 1610, known to history as “the Remonstrance.” The most famous part of this Remonstrance was its five-point positive summary of Arminian or Remonstrant theology.7 But the Remonstrance is a longer document also containing a five-point rejection of those teachings among the Reformed to which the Arminians particularly objected.8 The Arminians summarized the second point of the teachings they rejected: 5 Arminius, “Apology,” 321. 6 There are a number of studies on the history of the doctrine of infant salvation. The most useful for this study was B.B. Warfield, “The Development of the Doctrine of Infant Salvation,” in his Studies in Theology (New York: OUP, 1932), 411–444. See also R.A. Webb, The Theology of Infant Salvation (Harrisburg: Sprinkle, 1981) and Lewis Bevens Schenck, The Presbyterian Doctrine of Children in the Covenant (New Haven: YUP, 1940). For a Roman Catholic discussion see, Peter Gumpel, S.J., “Unbaptized Infants: May They Be Saved?” The Downside Review 72.230 (1954): 342–458. 7 See CC 1:545–549 and DeJong, Crisis, 207–209. 8 For a brief summary of this five-point rejection, see CC 1:516–517.

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w. robert godfrey That God (so others teach) who willed from eternity in himself to make a decree to choose some men and to reprobate others, has considered the whole human race, not only as created, but also as fallen and depraved in Adam and Eve our first ancestors, and again cursed. Out of this fall and destruction he has determined to save some and to make them holy through his grace and to prove his mercy. And he determined to let others, the young as well as the old, indeed even some children of covenant members, and those baptized in the name of Christ, dying in childhood, remain in the curse through his righteous judgment, to the declaration of his righteousness. He determined both without regard for repentance and faith in the one or impenitence and unbelief in the others. For the accomplishment of these decrees God also uses such means through which the elect necessarily and unavoidably become holy and the reprobate necessarily and unavoidably must be lost.9

Here the Arminians reiterated the charge first leveled by Arminius that the Reformed theology taught damnation for some covenant infants dying in infancy. In 1611 the States of Holland arranged a conference at The Hague (the Collatio Hagiensis) between the Reformed and the Arminians to discuss the issues dividing them as summarized in the Remonstrance. The conference began with the Arminians reiterating their own position and their critique of certain Reformed teachings—including their allegations about Reformed teaching on covenant infants. The Reformed responded to the Arminians with a statement and defense of their own position which came to be known as “the Counter Remonstrance.”10 They summarized their own theological position in seven points. Six of the points were basically directed to stating the Reformed alternative to the five positive points of the Arminians. The second point, however, responded to the second criticism of the Reformed in the Remonstrance. Clearly the Reformed were very sensitive on this matter of children and so in their brief statement declared: that not only adults who believe in Christ and accordingly walk worthy of the gospel are to be reckoned as God’s elect children, but also the children of the covenant so long as they do not in their conduct manifest the contrary; and that therefore believing parents, when their children die in infancy, have no reason to doubt the salvation of these their children.11

  9 Translated from the text given in Jacobus Trigland, Kerklijcke Geschiedenissen begrijpende de geschillen in de Vereenichde Nederlanden voorgefallen (Leiden, 1650), 525. 10 Printed in DeJong, Crisis, 211–213. 11 DeJong, Crisis, 211.



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The centrality given this assertion shows that the Reformed were aware of the theological and especially pastoral importance of the question about covenant children. In an era of high infant mortality the Reformed may have feared that the popularity of their cause would be damaged if the Arminian polemics went unchallenged. The Arminians, in their reply to the Counter Remonstrants, gave thanks to God that the Reformed were not teaching the eternal loss of such covenant children. Yet the issue surfaced one more time at the Hague conference. The Counter Remonstrants stated sharply that “…it is entirely untrue that it was taught by common preachers that some small children of covenant members, dying in infancy, would be left in the curse.”12 This declaration is further evidence of Reformed concern about the polemical damage that could be done to their cause by this issue. At the Synod of Dordt (1618–1619) the Arminians again raised the issue. Certain Arminians, summoned to judgment, were asked by the Synod to give their views of the theology of the Remonstrance. On the first article, dealing with predestination, the Arminians presented their opinions in ten points, the final two of which spoke of children. The Arminians affirmed in thesis nine: All the children of believers are sanctified in Christ, so that no one of them who leaves this life before the use of reason will perish. By no means, however, are to be considered among the number of the reprobate certain children of believers who leave this life in infancy before they have committed any actual sin in their own persons, so that neither the holy bath of baptism nor the prayers of the church for them can in any way be profitable for their salvation.

Thesis ten stated: No children of believers who have been baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, living in the state of infancy, are reckoned among the reprobate by an absolute decree.13

The theology of thesis nine is very similar to the Reformed statement on children in the Counter Remonstrance. The thesis is also similar to the language of the final form of the Canons of Dordt I.17 and the conclusion of the Canons. Thesis ten declared that no children of believers were reprobate. Such a statement may have been designed, like many actions of 12 Schriftelicke Conferentie, gehouden in s’Gravenhaghe inden Iare 1611 (The Hague, 1612), 38. This conference is better known in the literature as the Collatio Hagiensis. 13 DeJong, Crisis, 224.

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the Arminians at Dordt, to try to cause division among the delegates to the Synod. The Arminians knew that the issue of reprobation was a difficult one and by linking it in their thesis to the sensitive matter of covenant children they may have hoped to set the orthodox debating with one another. Their thesis cleverly sought to undermine the Calvinist doctrine of reprobation because according to it Esau as a covenant child would not have been reprobate by an absolute decree. Whatever the precise motivation of the Arminians, their theses clearly put the issue of covenant children before the Synod for its consideration. They forced the foreign delegates from Great Britain, Germany, and Switzerland, who may have been unfamiliar with the issue as it had been debated in the Netherlands, to face the question. The records of the Synod of Dordt (printed in the Acta Synodi) enable us not only to read the final determination of the Synod as we find it in Canons of Dordt I.17, but also to see various preliminary expressions of opinions among the delegates. The working procedure of the Synod had each delegation draft its own response to the Arminians. These opinions (or Judicia) were used as a basis for the final Canons. Since the various responses were printed in the Acta, they show how each of the delegations addressed the issue of covenant children. The delegations actually produced twenty-one sets of opinions on the question of election as raised in the first article of the Remonstrance.14 Ten of these Judicia did not deal with election in relation to children at all.15 The foreign delegations which were silent may not have been fully informed about the history of the discussion in the Netherlands.16 The silence of some Dutch delegations, however, is harder to understand. Perhaps some of the Dutch delegates were unwilling to allow the Arminians to set the agenda for all the topics discussed. They may also have thought that the topic did not deserve so much prominence. Eleven Judicia (four foreign and seven Dutch) did speak to the issue of election and children. The British delegation rejected any notion that “there is no election of children dying before they have the use of 14 The Synod also received two letters from Reformed theologians that evaluated the Arminian theology. One was from Pierre Du Moulin, see Acta Synodi Nationalis…Dordrechti habitae Anno MDCXVIII et MDCXIX (Dordrecht, 1620), 1:289–300, and the other was from David Pareus, see Acta, 1 207–239. 15 The Palatinate, Hesse, Geneva, Emden, Gelderland, North Holland, Zeeland, Friesland, Groningen, and the Walloon churches. The letter of David Pareus is also silent. 16 Yet some, David Pareus for example, were familiar with the printed material coming from the Collatio Hagiensis.



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reason.”17 They argued that if the Arminians defined election in terms of foreseen faith, then infants could not be saved. But the British affirmed that the Scripture showed that some infants were saved and elect. Arminian theology, they concluded, showed how one error led to another. The British did not go on to express themselves on the matter of the children of believers dying in infancy, which is somewhat surprising. The British were usually quite sensitive to the pastoral implications of theology. They clearly saw the absurdity of the Remonstrant position, but if it was thrown in as an apple of discord, the British did not bite. (The colleges of Utrecht and Overijssel took essentially the same position as the British. The same is also true of the letter to the Synod from the great French theologian, Pierre du Moulin.) The Helvetian delegation (from German-speaking Swiss cities) also answered the Remonstrants saying that infants as well as adults were subject to election and reprobation. They expressed their views on covenant children in this way: In respect to the infants of the faithful, since God by virtue of the covenant of grace is their God, and since Paul calls holy those children of at least one faithful parent, and since the Lord of heaven proclaims that such children are the heirs of the heavenly kingdom, if they should die in infancy before the years of discretion, we hope the best for them: We do not doubt that the angels, those ministers and most beloved spirits of that tender age, to whom God always exhibits his face, were especially sent forth for them and most promptly perform in their service.18

This language of the Helvetians was the most restrained of any of the delegations that spoke to this issue. In their own Judicium they did not speak as confidently as either the Arminians or the final form of the Canons. They did later, however, join with all other members of the synod in endorsing the Canons of Dordt. The Nassau delegation expressed itself in language similar to that of the Canons: “Although God could damn infants on account of original sin, Christian parents ought by no means to doubt the salvation of their infants: because the promise was made to them and their children.”19 The Bremen delegation also stated its confidence strongly: We determine about the children of believers only that those who die before the age of doctrinal understanding are loved by God and are saved by the 17 Acta, 2 10. 18 Acta, 2:40. 19 Acta, 2:44.

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w. robert godfrey same good pleasure of God on account of Christ, through Christ, and in Christ as the adult: therefore they are holy from the relation of the covenant, the reality of which is confirmed by grace when they are initiated by sacred baptism and put on Christ.20

The delegation of Dutch professors wrote: There is a great difference between those infants born to parents in the covenant and those not born in the covenant … we conclude that the children of believers dying in infancy ought to be reckoned elect since they are graciously taken away by God from this life before they have violated the conditions of the covenant. We are of the opinion that the children of unbelievers born outside the church of God, ought to be left to the judgment of God. For ‘those who are outside, God will judge,’ 1 Corinthians 5:13.21

This judgment was written by Johannes Polyander, Antonius Thysius, and Antonius Walaeus. Their colleague, Sibrandus Lubbertus, expressed his agreement with their statement but went on to write his own statement. He did not go as far as his colleagues, but focused his response more particularly on answering the Arminians. He expressed himself in two theses: first, “some who are polluted only by original sin are passed over by God in eternal election,”22 and second, “there is election of some infants and reprobation of others.” He supported this second thesis by saying of Acts 2:39, “the promise pertains to infants of the Church.”23 Professor Franciscus Gomarus also wrote his own theses on the first article. He was motivated to do so primarily by his own supralapsarianism which differed from the infralapsarianism of his four professorial colleagues. On infants he wrote, We piously believe that the infants of true believers, covenanted to God through Christ are also elect, if they die before the use of reason, from the formula of the covenant: I am your God and the God of your seed (Genesis 17 and Acts 2:39). But if they should attain to the use of reason, we recognize only those to be elect who believe in Christ, indeed according to the Gospel, only these are saved.24

20 Acta, 2:63. 21 Acta, 3 10–11. 22 Acta, 3:20. This thesis may be a link to the origins of the controversy in the Netherlands if Bangs’ supposition (Arminius, 300) is correct that Lubbertus was the author of the “Thirty-One Articles” against Arminius in 1608. 23 Acta, 3 20. Polyander, Thysius, and Walaeus also expressed their agreement with the statement of Lubbertus. 24 Acta, 3 24.



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The delegates from South Holland also spoke to this issue. One member of the delegation was Festus Hommius, the principal author of the Counter Remonstrance. Their Judicium stated that all children were subject to damnation for original sin and that the children of believers reaching adolescence sometimes are reprobate. Further, whether reprobation can be true of the children of believers dying in infancy without actual sins, they judge that it ought not to be curiously inquired into: but because the testimonies of Holy Scripture exist which destroy all occasion for faithful parents to doubt the election and salvation of their infants, they judge that these promises ought to be accepted: such as those found in Genesis 17:7, Matthew 19:14, Acts 2:39, 1 Corinthians 7:14, and similar texts.25 While the first part of their statement might appear to be equivocating, their concern was to avoid vain speculation and to rest their theology solely on biblical evidence. The language was as confident as that of the Canons. Finally, the delegates from Drenthe judged that believing parents might have “certain hope” of the salvation of their children dying in infancy based on the “good affection” of God revealed in Scripture.26 The final form of Canons of Dordt I.17 reflected many of the concerns expressed in the theses of the delegates.27 Article 17 reflected that the leadership of the Synod and the Synod as a whole believed that they needed to make a pastoral statement on the question of covenant children dying in infancy and that Reformed theology needed to vindicate itself against the false charges made by the Arminians. The final form of the article demonstrated the Synod’s concern to judge the issue on the basis of Scripture and its conviction that the Scripture was clear in testifying that the children of believers were holy on the basis of the covenant of grace. This covenantal relationship assured Christian parents that their children who died in infancy were saved and elect. The conclusion of the Canons returned to this subject. In rejecting certain doctrines falsely attributed to the Reformed, the conclusion repudiated the teaching that “many children of the faithful are torn, guiltless, from their mothers’ breasts, and tyrannically plunged into hell: so that neither baptism nor the prayers of the Church at their baptism can at all profit them.”28 The conclusion at this point, like the Canons throughout, 25 Acta, 3:39. 26 Acten ofte Handelinghen des Nationalen Synodi…tot Dordrecht (Leiden, 1621), 3:120. 27 For a discussion of the drafting process on Article 17, see de Boer, “O, ye Women,” 282–285. 28 CC 3:596.

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rejected any notion of divine tyranny or that any were condemned guiltless or that the ministry of the church was useless. The language of the conclusion in part was designed to react to the Arminian ninth thesis on the first article. In part that language was designed to repudiate Arminian misuse of some celebrated words of John Calvin. John Calvin’s work in general certainly had a great influence on the delegates to Dordt. But as they drew up the conclusion one of his sentences in particular was of concern to them. Calvin in his De occulta dei providentia had written against his critic Sebastian Castellio: “Put forth now thy virulence against God, who hurls innocent babes torn from their mothers’ breasts into eternal death.”29 In context Calvin is vehemently rejecting Castellio’s failure to understand original sin and its consequences as long accepted in the church. Calvin wrote just before this sentence: “You deny that it is lawful and right in God to condemn any one of mortals, unless it be on account of sin committed.”30 Calvin is upholding the fatal consequences of original sin and God’s justice in condemning on the basis of original sin alone. It is not surprising that the Arminians abhorred Calvin’s statement because many of them agreed with Castellio on original sin. Indeed, Calvin’s position on the children of believers dying in infancy in fact seems very similar to that of the Synod of Dordt. While Calvin did not use language that was identical to that of Dordt, various statements of his imply the same teaching. In his theology of baptism which promised a secure relationship to God for the children of believers he wrote: “We on the contrary argue that since baptism is the pledge and figure of the free forgiveness of sins and of divine adoption, it should certainly not be denied to infants, whom God adopts and washes with the blood of His Son,”31 and “…by baptism they [children] are admitted into Christ’s flock, and the symbol of their adoption suffices them until as adults they are able to bear solid food.”32 Even more strongly Calvin declared, “Therefore the grace of the Spirit will always be conjoined to baptism, unless a hindrance arise on our part.”33 29 This is Warfield’s translation (“The Development,” 435, n. 78) and is much more accurate than the very loose translation of Henry Cole, Calvin’s Calvinism (London: Sovereign Grace Union, 1927), 335 (CO 9:312). For a discussion of the availability of Castellio’s writings in the Netherlands, see de Boer, “O, ye Women,” 275. 30 Cole, Calvin’s Calvinism, 334. 31 John Calvin, A Harmony of the Gospels Matthew, Mark and Luke, 3 vols. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1972), 2 252, on Matthew 19:14. 32 Calvin, Institutes, IV.xvi.31. 33 John Calvin, Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965), 82, on Acts 2:38.



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Calvin’s assurance about the children of believers rested, at a deeper level, on the covenant which was the foundation of baptism. In support he cites, as Gomarus and Hommius later would, the covenantal promise of Genesis 17: Yet, (you say) there is danger lest he who is ill, if he die without baptism, be deprived of the grace of regeneration. Not at all. God declares that he adopts our babies as his own before they are born, when he promises that he will be our God and the God of our descendants after us (Genesis 17:7). Their salvation is embraced in this word. No one will dare be so insolent toward God as to deny that his promise of itself suffices for its effect.34

Calvin regarded his theology of children in the covenant as very important. In commenting on 1 Corinthians 7:14 he stated, Therefore this passage is a noteworthy one, and based on the profoundest theology … the fact that the apostle ascribes a special privilege to the children of believers here has its source in the blessing of the covenant, by whose intervention the curse of nature is destroyed, and all those who were by nature unclean are consecrated to God by His grace.35

Article 17 of the Canons of Dordt is basically a specific application of the theology of baptism and covenant articulated by Calvin. Both stressed the special relationship that the children of believers on the basis of the covenant have to God and both supported this covenant with references to Genesis 17 and 1 Corinthians 7:14. Both taught the salvation of such children dying in infancy. Article 17 shared Calvin’s pastoral and theological position and spoke it clearly to the particular historical circumstances of the Netherlands. Theological Core We have traced the discussion about covenant children through its historical development in the Netherlands. We have seen how the Synod of Dordt 34 Calvin, Institutes, IV.xv.20. 35 John Calvin, Commentary on the First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1960), 149 on 1 Corinthians 7:14. See also Calvin, Institutes IV.xv.22, IV.xvi.9, IV.xvi.15, and Calvin’s comments on Ezekiel 16:21, Acts 3:25, and Romans 11:22. See also John Calvin, Letters, ed. Jules Bonnet, 4 vols. (New York: Burt Franklin, 1972), 3:73 where Calvin is consoling a Christian man whose child died unbaptized. Note also Calvin, Sermons on 2 Samuel (Edinburgh: BTT, 1992), 578, sermon on 2 Samuel 12:13–14: “But what we have here is a ‘child of wrath,’ as I have already said. So what is it that saves him? The pure grace of God. Now it is true that God does, indeed, save the little children of his people without baptism. But the sign is still to show us and provide proof that little

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unanimously presented comfort to Christian parents. Now we want to look more deeply into Dordt’s theology and ask how Article 17 was based on a particular understanding of covenant and election. As we seek to understand Dordt’s theology of covenant and election we must be attentive to two of the vital questions that come to the minds of believers: first, how are they to be saved? And second, is that salvation available to them? The Reformed doctrine of election, Dordt insisted, answered the first: from beginning to end it is the grace of God that saves.36 But then the second question arises: if election is fixed and certain in God, how can saving grace be truly available. Here, for Dordt, was the place of the covenant. The covenant was God’s revelation in history of the way of salvation. Through the Church the promise of saving grace was offered to faith and there assurance was given that everyone who believed had salvation and was elect. The Canons of Dordt proclaimed clearly the offer of salvation to all37 and explained the means for planting, nourishing, and assuring faith.38 Dordt’s theology then struck a fine balance between election and covenant. The Canons showed that grace was fully available in the covenant to everyone who believed and they assured everyone who truly believed that his salvation was sure and secure in God. The Christian could know that he was saved and that God had done it. All doubts and threats—whether of human inability or divine exclusion—were removed for the faithful.39 This assured peace was also the possession of all Christian parents who lost their children in infancy. Dordt’s understanding of the relation of covenant and election was neither original nor exhaustive. Rather in the face of a great crisis it restated these great doctrines of Reformed Christianity and established for the Reformed the confessional parameters for further reflection on the great doctrines of grace. The Arminian reactions to Dordt, including the subject of covenant children, were expressed pointedly by Simon Episcopius (1583–1643). Episcopius, leader of the Arminians at the Synod of Dordt, wrote an “Antidote” to the Synod’s work and some of his criticism focused on Article

children are cursed by God, until he has received them in mercy, and according to his promise, which says: I will be your children’s God (Gen. 17:7).” 36 CoD, I.6–11; III-IV.10–14. 37 CoD, I.3; II.5, III-IV.8. 38 CoD, I.12, 16; III-IV.17; V.10, 14. 39 CoD, I.12; V.10; III-IV.15.



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17. His criticisms of Article 17 were basically two:40 first, that the Synod equivocated, and second, that its theology was inconsistent with itself. On the first point, Episcopius asked why the Synod did not say simply that infants were saved. Why write that believing parents ought not to doubt? Episcopius saw the formulation as deliberately ambiguous. This criticism was unjust. The Synod was not hedging; it was not suggesting that parents should believe something doubtful. Indeed the Synod used language almost identical to that of the Counter Remonstrants at the conference at The Hague—language that the Arminians had then accepted as saying clearly that all covenant infants dying in infancy were saved. Episcopius’ second criticism was more interesting and illuminating. He attacked the consistency of Reformed theology. He noted that the Synod declared that God’s will must be judged from Scripture. But, he argued, election was not a matter of revelation but of God’s secret will. Therefore a person might believe in the election and salvation of someone, according to the standards of God’s Word, who was in fact reprobate. For Episcopius the Reformed doctrine of election and reprobation had become a threat to salvation and assurance. Episcopius saw no way to bridge the gap between God’s perceptive and decretive wills. He had missed the genius of Reformed theology which found in God’s Word assured criteria for knowing one’s own election—and the election of the children of believers dying in infancy. Biblical Character We have traced the historical circumstances that led to the Synod of Dordt adopting Article 17. We have looked at the theology inherent in an affirmation like Article 17. The Synod of Dordt believed that its theological canons rested on biblical teaching. In conformity with all Reformed theology, it declared “we are to judge the will of God from His word.” What biblical evidence did the Synod provide for Article 17? The most frequently quoted texts at the Synod were those cited in the margin of the Dutch edition of the Acta. The first was God’s promise to Abraham, Genesis 17:7, “I will establish my covenant as an everlasting covenant between me and you and your descendants after you for the 40 Simon Episcopius, “Antidotum,” Opera Theologica (Amsterdam, 1665), 2:29. Episcopius claimed that the Synod offered hope to parents as a judgment of charity, but not as a judgment of certainty. For discussion of this distinction at the Synod, see de Boer, “O, ye Women,” 278.

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generations to come, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you.” The second was Peter’s words, Acts 2:39, “The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call.” The third was Paul’s statement, 1 Corinthians 7:14, “Otherwise your children would be unclean, but as it is, they are holy”. For the Synod the relation between covenant and election was not problematic. Their reasoning was that those incorporated as infants into the covenant of grace sustained a saving relationship to God unless they later in life rejected that covenant. Since those dying in infancy could not reject the covenant, they must be elect and saved. Here is a simple, yet profound appreciation of the interrelationship of election and covenant. Election was not a matter of speculation or an unknowable threat. Election was always the certain foundation of salvation for God’s people—salvation clearly revealed in the provisions of God’s covenant. Dordt’s correlation of election and covenant in these biblical texts seems to follow the interpretation of Calvin. We see this most clearly in Calvin’s comment on 1 Corinthians 7:14 cited above. He wrote similarly on Acts 2:39, “The addition of their children derives from the word of the promise: ‘I will be thy God, and the God of thy seed after thee’ (Gen. 17:7) where God reckons the children with the fathers in the grace of adoption. This passage therefore sufficiently refutes the Anabaptists who deny baptism to the children of the faithful while they are still infants as though they were not members of the church.”41 Conclusion We have seen the historical, theological, and biblical foundations to Article 17, an article which expressed Dordt’s deep concern for the salvation of the faithful and the glory of God. The article rejected the Arminian claim that the Reformed taught the damnation of dying infants of Christians, answering a very serious pastoral and theological challenge. It offered a clear example that the Reformed doctrine of election did not undermine the promises of God’s covenant, but rather confirmed Christian joy, assurance, and gratitude. It grounded its teaching precisely in biblical passages expressing the covenant of grace for God’s people. Article 17 was indeed a doctrine, in the words of the Canons’ conclusion, directed “to the glory of the Divine name, to the holiness of life, and to the consolation of afflicted souls.” 41 John Calvin, Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, 2 vols. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965), 1:82.

TYPE, ANTI-TYPE, AND THE SENSUS LITERALIS: PROTESTANT REFORMED ORTHODOX APPROACHES TO PSALM 2 Todd Rester There is an interesting question raised by much modern discussion of the literal sense of Scripture among the Protestant orthodox, and it mostly relates to the question of hermeneutics and typology.1 Brevard Childs has identified a process of petrification in Augustine’s sense of the literal sense as it has been utilized from Augustine, Cassiodorus, Thomas Aquinas, and others through the ages.2 Childs rightly notes the impact that Origen and Augustine had on the Latin West’s understanding and method of biblical exegesis. The intention of this essay is to explore not so much the patristic and medieval periods for their own sake, but given these variant strands of exegetical methods, to consider how these impacted Reformed Protestant understandings of typology in the late sixteenth century and early seventeenth century, during the period of confessionalization. How did these early modern exegetes appropriate developments in the understandings of the literal sense that were passed on to them? How did they anchor their typology to avoid the charge of being crassly literal and “earthly” or “Judaizing,” or, so christological that they overlooked the historical context?3 In seeking to answer this question, this brief essay will demonstrate  that two Reformed Protestant exegetes, Franciscus Junius (1545–1602) and William Ames (1576–1633), maintained basic continuity with the Thomistic exegetical tradition on the nature of the literal sense of Scripture, but in carrying Thomas’ premises forward, they represent a trajectory of discontinuity and development. Junius and Ames rejected the threefold spiritual senses as separate senses of Scripture in favor of a unified composite sense historically grounded in the type and anti-type, thereby integrating a materially similar hermeneutics as the medieval 1 D.R. Dickson “The Complexities of Biblical Typology in the Seventeenth Century,” Renaissance and Reformation 23.3 (1987): 253–272. K.E. Greene-McCreight examines spiritual interpretation in Ad Litteram: How Augustine, Calvin, and Barth Read the Plain Sense of Genesis 1–3 (New York: Peter Lang, 1999), 123–149. 2 Brevard Childs, “The Sensus Literalis of Scripture: An Ancient and Modern Problem,” in Beiträge zur alttestamentlichen Theologie, ed. Donner (Göttingen: V&R, 1977), 80–93. 3 For a brief overview of the young Luther’s hermeneutic, see J.S. Preus, “Old Testament Promissio and Luther’s Hermeneutic,” HThR 60.2 (1967): 145–161.

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tradition, while formally enfolding what was known as the spiritual sense into a single composite sense. Junius and Ames are extremely helpful for unpacking what the Reformed Protestants commonly held in this period. Both Junius and Ames are significant figures for this exercise, not simply because both published psalms commentaries and were significant Hebraists in the period of rising Reformed orthodoxy and confessionalization, but because there are delightful contrasts: Ames was an English Puritan trained at Cambridge under the Ramist William Perkins and was frequently described as a puritanus rigidissimus. Junius was a French Reformed exegete and theologian trained in Aristotelian logic and methodology, and a gifted linguist who received further training under Calvin and Beza at Geneva. In that description there is a wonderful juxtaposition of assumptions all too common among many modern scholars about Aristotelian and Ramistic exegesis, as well as about the contrasts between English Puritanism and continental piety. One must not flatten the distinctions between them, yet despite the differences of their methods, the common emphases demonstrate a broad continuity of commitment to Reformed exegetical principles. For example, in their exposition of Psalm 2, both utilize the same threefold schema to explain the general approaches to Psalm 2 in the history of exegesis. Ames, throughout his prolegomenon on the second psalm, and Junius, in the 91st sacred parallel of Psalm 2:1–2 and Acts 4:25–26, both refer to the same three broad exegetical traditions that span back through the medieval to the patristic period.4 For example, Junius comments upon three basic interpretive approaches to Psalm 2, and thus to typology, stating, Indeed [concerning] this passage of David’s, some simply declare that it must be received as concerning David; others, as concerning Christ simply; or others finally concerning David and Christ: of which the former was the type and the latter was the truth of the type. The first opinion, which belongs to the Jews, is that the teaching concerning Christ can therefore be subverted in this way: the second opinion is especially that of the Orthodox Fathers: and the third opinion has been received among our theologians.5 4 Francicsus Junius, Sacrorum Parallelorum, 3rd ed. (London: Bishop, [1591?]), 1:111; William Ames, “Lectiones in Psalmos,” in Operum Guilielmi Amesii [= OGA], vol. 1 (Amsterdam: Janssonius, 1638); Ames, Medulla S.S. Theologiæ, 4th ed. (London: Allott, 1630). 5 Junius, Sacrorum Parallelorum, 1:113.



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Ames also identifies the same three approaches to this particular psalm, stating: There seem to be among authors a triple interpretation of this second [psalm]: (1) of the Jews, who understand this whole Psalm simply as about David, (2) of all the Fathers generally, who simply explain [it as] about Christ, and (3) of our most learned Theologians, who by a certain compound rationale, interpret it as partly about David, but most properly and chiefly about Christ.6

In the first two opinions, Junius and Ames encapsulate an age old polemic among Jewish and Christian exegetes. This persistent and oft-repeated polemic in the Christian tradition against Jewish interpretation claims that the Jewish interpretation is only, or exclusively, literal or earthly. For example, in the patristic period, in Origen’s De Principiis, the Greek text refers to the circumcised who do not believe in our Savior (the Jews in his day) “thinking they are following the language palpable to their senses” whereas the Latin text renders the same phrase as “judging that those statements … ought to be understood literally.”7 In the medieval period this charge surfaces in dialogue between Andrew of St. Victor and his rabbinic tutors, notably Rashi, Rashbam (Samuel ben Meier), and Joseph Bekhor Shor.8 The Christian expositors frequently claim that they are spiritual and therefore transcend higher in their exegesis. In a manuscript translated by Beryl Smalley, Bartholomew the Bishop of Exeter (d. 1184) in Dialogue with the Jews, states, This chief cause of disagreement between ourselves and the Jews seems to me to be this: they take all the OT literally, wherever they can find a literal sense, unless it gives manifest witness to Christ. Then they repudiate it, saying that it is not in the Hebrew truth that is in their books, or they refer it to some fable, as that they are still awaiting its fulfillment, or they escape by some other serpentine wile, when they feel themselves hard pressed. They will never accept allegory, except when they have no other way out. We interpret not only the words of Scripture, but the things done, and the deeds themselves, in a mystical sense, yet in such a way that the freedom of allegory may in no wise nullify, either history in the events, or proper understanding of the words, of Scripture.”9

6 Ames, “Lectiones in Psalmos,” in OGA 1:16–26. 7 Origen, De Principiis, IV.i.8 (ANF 4:356). 8 Beryl Smalley, The Study of the Bible in the Middle Ages (Oxford: Blackwell, 1952), 364: “Their [the Rabbis’] influence on Andrew is imponderable; his whole attitude to his studies may have been affected by his contacts with contemporary rabbis.” 9 Translated by Smalley, The Study of the Bible, 170; from MS Bodl. 482 o. Id.

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As Mayer Gruber points out, there were at least three main Jewish approaches to the biblical text: the halachic or moral approach to the text that outlines duties and vices, the aggadic or allegorical approach, and then with Rabbi Solomon Itzhak—or Rashi—in the eleventh century a synthetic approach that developed along rationalistic and naturalistic lines.10 Among Rashi’s students, there were attempts and tendencies to explain away miracles in terms of strictly natural phenomenon and contemporary cultural practices. Now Ames and Junius do not tell us which rabbis, “Orthodox Fathers,” and Reformed Protestants, they had in mind. But given the three major strands of Jewish exegetical approaches and the typical charge levied by Christian exegetes, it is more than likely that Rashi and his exegetical school are squarely in view. Consider Rashi’s comments on Psalm 2:1 that illustrate the synthesis of aggadic and halakhic exegesis for a polemical end: WHY DO NATIONS ASSEMBLE? Our rabbis interpreted the subject of the chapter as a reference to the King Messiah. However, according to its basic meaning and for a refutation of the Christians it is correct to interpret it as a reference to David himself in consonance with what is stated in the Bible….11

Among others, two of Rashi’s students continue this line, Rashbam (Samuel ben Meier) and Joseph Bekhor Shor. One of the more significant points that the Rabbis argue against the patristic and medieval Christian exegetes is that they bypass David in order to make their christological point, losing the immediate historical context of the psalm, namely the life of David in 1 Samuel 28:4 and 2 Samuel 5:17. With respect to the “Orthodox Fathers,” Origen plainly asserts, “For, with respect to Holy Scripture, our opinion is that the whole of it has a spiritual meaning but the whole does not have a bodily one, because the bodily meaning is in many places proved to be impossible.”12 After beginning with the basic distinction between signs and things and proceeding to the regula fidei13 and analogia fidei,14 in a hermeneutical move similar 10 See Mayer I. Gruber, Rashi’s Commentary on Psalms 189 (Book III) with English Translation, Introduction and Notes (Atlanta: Scholars, 1998), 1–18. 11 Gruber, Rashi’s Commentary, 52.I. 12 De Principiis IV.i.20 (ANF 4:369). On the corporeal sense versus the spiritual sense cf. Origen, De Principiis, IV.i.12 (ANF 4:360) and IV.i.13 (ANF 4:361–362). 13 De Doctrina Christiana, III.ii.2 (NPNF1 2:556–557). Cf. Wieslaw Dawidowski, “Regula Fidei in Augustine: Its Use and Function,” Augustinian Studies 35.2 (2004): 253–299; and Prosper S. Grech, “The Regula Fidei as a Hermeneutical Principle in Patristic Exegesis,” in Interpretation of the Bible (Sheffield: SAP, 1998), 589–601. 14 De Doctrina Christiana, III.xxvi-xxviii (NPNF1 2:556–557).



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to Origen, Augustine instructs his reader in De Doctrina Christiana that 2 Corinthians 3:6—the letter kills but the spirit gives life—is an hermeneutical injunction to lift the mind above corporeal and created matters to drink in eternal light.15 Immediately thereafter this brief exposition in III. vi.10 Augustine launches into a polemic against Jewish interpretation that fixates on the sign instead of the reality of the thing signified. Additionally, even though Augustine warns the reader that it is just as much a faulty interpretation to fail to lift the mind beyond corporeal matters, it is also a faulty interpretation that forces the literal into a spiritual application (III.x.14). That caveat aside, it is extremely significant for the trajectory of biblical exegesis in the Latin Christian West that in Augustine’s exposition of Psalm 2, the word David never appears. The entirety of the psalm is exposited as typical of Christ and as a means of understanding the catholic faith, utterly detaching the text from its historical setting. Augustine’s importance at this point is exemplified and amplified in the work of Isidore of Seville (560–636), who composed several works that would also inform the medieval outlook on the interpretation of Scripture on several fronts.16 Isidore’s more important works include: a gloss of the Vulgate entitled Etymologiarum,17 which was specifically designed to trace out all types of usages of biblical words and their various meanings; Differentiarum sive proprietate sermonum,18 dedicated specifically to the differences between words and things, (a rather Augustinian question raised throughout De Doctrina Christiana); Allegoriae Quaedam Sacrae Scripturae,19 an analysis of the major biblical figures and their importance for the Christian faith; Liber Numerorum Qui in Sanctis Scripturis Occurrunt, a treatise on biblical numerology;20 an exposition of the mystical nature of the sacraments in the Old Testament derived primarily from the early church fathers, Mysticorum Expositiones Sacramentorum seu Quaestiones in Vetus Testamentum;21 and Senten­ tiarum,22 a relatively brief theological system in skeleton form. In the Sententiarum question nineteen, Isidore mentions the same seven rules 15 De Doctrina Christiana, III.v.9 (NPNF1 2:559). 16 For a good overview of the Quadriga and Isidore of Seville, see Henri de Lubac, Medieval Exegesis: The Four Senses of Scripture, trans. Macierowski, vol. 1 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 42–82. 17 PL 82:73–728. 18 PL 83:9–86. 19 PL 83:97–130. cf. De Veteri et Novo Testamento Quaestiones (PL 83 201–208). 20 PL 83 179–200. 21 PL 83:207–423. 22 PL 83:537–738.

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of Tychonius which Augustine cites in De Doctrina Christiana for interpreting Scripture.23 These rules function as an interpretive grid for applying the Scriptures to Christ and the Church emphasizing, among other points: (1) the caput-corpus interpretation of the text with Christ as head and the Church as His body; (2) distinguishing the true and false body of Christ (i.e. the Church); (3) the letter-spirit distinction from 2 Corinthians 3:16 “that is, concerning law and grace” or what is historical and what is spiritual; (4) concerning metonymy and synecdoche; (5) concerning numerology; (6) repetition out of order; (7) concerning Satan and his body, thus the parallel and warfare between Christ and Satan as well as between the Church, the kingdom of God, and Babylon, the kingdom of Satan. It should be at least noted in passing that Thomas Aquinas utilizes these approaches found in Isidore seven centuries later specifically in the proemium of his In Psalmos Davidis Expositio. On Psalm 2 specifically, several key exegetes follow Augustine’s understanding: (1) Aurelius Cassiodorus (490–583) whose comments on Psalm 2 are utilized heavily and almost exclusively on Psalm 2 in Willafrid Strabo’s Glossa Ordinaria,24 which in turn was taken up, commented upon, and amplified throughout the medieval period and into the Protestant Reformation. For example, following Augustine’s simple christological interpretation, Dionysius Carthusianus (1402–1471) takes the same approach, and, mentioning everyone from Jerome to Thomas Aquinas, notes their distinctive contributions and differences. However, it is a slight departure from a strict christological focus in that Dionysius Carthusianus also notes that the psalms generally are prophecies by David and specifically that Psalm 2 is best interpreted in regard to Christ. Dionysius Carthusianus in his proemium on the psalms also specifically summarizes the Quadriga as well as Augustine’s seven rules.25 The “simple interpretation,” by the time one traces the exegesis of Psalm 2 from Origen through the great exegetical compilation of Dionysius Carthusianus, at the beginning of the sixteenth century seems to inextricably intertwine the exegetical method with an ahistorical, christological result. 23 Cf. Isidore, Sententiarum (PL 83:581–586) with Augustine, De Doctrina Christiana, III. xxx.42-III.xxxvii.55 (NPNF1 2:568–573). 24 PL 113:846–847. The eleventh-century Glossa Interlinearis, attributed to Anselm of Laon, is another significant scriptural gloss typically included separately in the scriptural text with Wilafrid’s ninth-century Glossa Ordinaria. See Smalley, Studies in Medieval Thought and Learning (London: Hambledon, 1981), 29–30. 25 See Dionysius a Rickel Carthusianus, In Psalmos Omnes Davidicos (Cologne: Petrum Quentil., 1531), fol. II A2v-fol. III A3r.



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Among early Protestants, Luther’s early exegesis of the psalms follows these same patterns of traditional, Western interpretation utilizing the Quadriga and a spiritual-literal sense (i.e. Christ, the traditional spiritual sense, is the literal sense).26 It is certainly true that there are multiple editions of Luther’s comments on the psalms as he did edit and expand the work throughout the course of his life. Yet for our purposes it is significant to note his starting points to highlight later differences. And so, for example, in Luther’s preface to the 1513–1515 psalter, he asserts the following interpretive rules: Every prophecy and every prophet ought to be understood [as speaking] about Christ the Lord, unless where it is evident with unmistakable words speaking about something else.27 Wherefore whoever excessively explains most of the psalms, not prophetically, but historically, [that person] follows certain falsifying Hebrew Rabbis and crafters of Judaic vanities!28 Whatever concerns the Lord Jesus Christ in his person is said according to the letter.29 Thus on Psalm 2: “Why have the nations raged,” etc. The literal meaning (litera) concerns the roaring of the Jews and Gentiles against Christ in his passion.30

In his 1513–1515 comments on Psalm 2, he locates the speaker as, first and foremost, the Holy Spirit, the orator in the Church and the one who governs the ministry of the word.31 Luther’s comments on this psalm in 1519 immediately begin with an exegesis of Christ’s sufferings under Pontius Pilate and his stand against sin, death, and the Devil rather than with the rule and reign of David.32 This is an interesting shift since his comments in the 1513–1515 edition begin with the inter-Trinitarian colloquium and move to the prophecy of David concerning Jesus Christ whereas the later comments are even more christologically oriented than before his separation from the Roman church. Secondly, as some scholars believe that it is 26 See Luther’s version of a modified Quadriga in Martin Luther Wolfenbütteler Psalter, 1513–1515, ed. E. Roach et al. (Frankfurt: Insel, 1983), 7/fol. 5v. 27 Luther Wolfenbütteler Psalter, 6/fol. 5v. 28 Luther Wolfenbütteler Psalter, 6/fol. 5v. 29 Luther Wolfenbütteler Psalter, 6/fol. 5v. 30 Luther Wolfenbütteler Psalter, 7/fol. 5v. 31 Luther Wolfenbütteler Psalter, 1/fol. 11r. 32 Cf. Luther’s 1519 comments in D. Martin Luthers Psalmen=Auslegung, 1. Band Psalmen 1–25, ed. E. Mulhaupt (Gottingen: V&R, 1959), 26–27; his 1513–1515 comments in Luther Wolfenbütteler Psalter, fol. 11v; and his comments on the Latin Vulgate of Psalm 2:1–2 D. Martin Luther Operationes in Psalmos 1519–1521, vol. 2, ed. Hammer and Biersack (Cologne: Bohlau, 1981), 66–72.

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actually the psalter of 1523–1524 that is distinctively Luther’s, it is noteworthy that Luther did not shed his exegetical models and interpretive patterns simply because of his formal and final break with Rome. And even though Ames certainly refers this position of interpreting Psalm 2 simply in reference to Christ as a patristic interpretation, it is a position alive and well in the early sixteenth century. For Luther, the christological sense is the literal sense. And so without multiplying more examples from similar sources, this position of the “Orthodox Fathers” on Psalm 2 has a rather broad wake in the history of Christian exegesis. The underpinnings of this approach seem to be rooted textually in the primacy of 2 Corinthians 3:16, that is, there is a concern for the letter-spirit distinction which is even carried over into an understanding of law-gospel in Isidore of Seville.33 It is almost axiomatic that a similar method does not necessarily entail or determine a particular interpretation; however, it is noteworthy that from Augustine onward, given these methodological guidelines, there is a strong sense among those surveyed that preserving the interpretive method does tend toward a certain set of exegetical results. Thus, for many of the interpreters in the western catholic tradition, though the method may not prejudice the investigation, it certainly bounds the result, in that a late patristic or medieval theologian or even a Protestant (in Luther’s opinion) who shies away from a spiritual interpretation and gravitates towards a literal or historical interpretation is viewed as “Judaizing.” With respect to the Reformed position as a via media, the composite sense of the type and anti-type is not a position original to the Reformed. There are strong antecedents in exegetes such as Thomas Aquinas, to name one substantial medieval figure. Aquinas, while still defending the utility of the Quadriga, also develops the literal sense in such a way as to arrive at a composite sense of Psalm 2 that is tenable and stable, neither Judaizing nor functioning a-historically. This is possible in part due to his explicit statement that the literal sense grounds and bounds the other three senses.34 The literal sense is “not the figure itself, but that which is figured.”35 Thomas asserts explicitly that it is only on the basis of the literal sense that one may derive an argument,36 that only the literal is necessary,37 and the literal sense can never be false (implying that the spiritual 33 David Steinmetz highlights the importance of 2 Cor. 3:16 for exegetical history in Calvin in Context, 2nd ed. (Oxford: OUP, 2010), 266–268. 34 ST, Ia.1.10co. 35 ST, Ia.1.10ad3. 36 ST, Ia.1.10ad1. 37 ST, Ia.1.10ad1.



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senses could be).38 These are three salient points not lost on later Reformed exegetes of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.39 Aquinas’ formulation opens up another broader way of speaking about the literal sense of Scripture wherein it is the primary meaning of the text and the other senses are but applications of the one primary and necessary sense. Turning our attention from Aquinas’ method to his exegetical results, he interprets Psalm 2 generally as the status of humanity but in its proper matter specifically as “[David’s] tribulations signifying the tribulations of Christ.”40 In his exposition there is a composite sense that in this psalm, David both narrates his own experience as well as prophecies about and typifies the sufferings of Christ. The result of Aquinas’ method is a much more stable interpretation, in that it can function polemically against Jewish interpretations, such as Rashi’s, absorbing the shock of a bare historical orientation by fully acknowledging David’s coronation while also pointing beyond the immediate context to a greater fulfillment in Christ. For example, Aquinas points to Christ as the only possible fulfillment of Psalm 2:7 as it touches upon Christ’s eternal generation as eternal procession, and thus Christ’s eternal, natural sonship and rule, whereas David’s kingship is derivative from the law of God and his adoption is dependent upon Christ’s natural filiation.41 Considering Reformed Protestants, and Junius’ teachers specifically, it is quite easy to find a composite typological approach in Calvin and Beza, among others.42 David Puckett’s work, Calvin’s Exegesis of the Old Testament, is particularly helpful at this point in providing an overview of Calvin’s usage of typology as subordinate to the literal sense. Calvin’s typology, according to Puckett, “depends on two basic arguments: first, the New Testament writers treat Old Testament texts as prophecies that are fulfilled in Jesus Christ; second, the language does not suit the reign of David or any other Old Testament figure, yet it perfectly suits the reign of Christ. These two arguments are his standard defense of typology throughout his Old Testament commentaries” (e.g. Psalm 72; Isaiah 61:1).43 38 ST, Ia.1.10ad2. 39 Cf. William Whitaker, A Disputation on Holy Scripture, trans. and ed. Fitzgerald (Cambridge: CUP, 1849), 403–404, 408–409, citing ST, Ia.1.10. 40 Aquinas, In Psalmos Davidis Expositio, Super Psalmo 2 (http://www.corpusthomisti cum.org/cps00.html). 41 Aquinas, In Psalmos, Super Psalmo 2n4–5. 42 Cf. Wolfgang Musculus, In Davidis Psalterium sacrosanctum Commentarij (Basel: Henricpetri, 1599), 11–26, on Psalm 2. 43 David Lee Puckett, John Calvin’s exegesis of the Old Testament (Louisville: WJKP, 1995), 117–118.

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What is noteworthy here contra the simple christological tradition of exegesis is that Calvin labors to develop typology from the text and does not presuppose an a priori christological interpretation. Calvin’s standard polemic against the Jewish interpreters is that they cannot adequately point to an OT referent for many texts, such as Psalms 2, 22, 89, and 110. This deficiency highlights the need for a christological interpretation via typology. Against the simple christological reading Calvin argues that the more historical detail one can find in the text regarding David, the more stable and cogent the christological parallels there are between the type and anti-type. Illustrative of this method are Calvin’s comments on Psalm 2. Against the Jewish interpretation of the nations being gathered against the Lord’s anointed or Messiah as the Philistines (only one nation), Calvin points out that it squares better as a complementary type being fulfilled in Christ because we know that Christ was not only distressed by domestic enemies—proximately Judas and remotely the Pharisees and Herodians— but also by foreigners in the person of Pilate representing the Romans. Furthermore, there is the apostolic appropriation in Acts 4:24 of Psalm 2, which grants explicit biblical warrant for drawing the connection that Christ is the anti-type of David. Beza’s exposition in his argument and paraphrase of Psalm 2 concurs with Calvin’s.44 Perhaps Beza’s most striking paraphrase is in Psalm 2:2, which he changes from the nations gathering “against Jehovah and against his Christ” to “against Jehovah and against the king designated by Him.” This is the most obvious move to maintain the composite interpretation of the psalm, lest one rush too quickly to a christological interpretation without showing due deference to David’s historical kingship. With respect to the interpretation of the psalm proper, after the general introduction of the historical context and situation behind Psalm 2, Junius in quite traditional fashion speaks of types as figuring either words or things. An allegory is an image expressed in words whereas a type is an image expressed in a thing.45 Also in his exposition of Psalm 2 he outlines several rules for understanding types, namely: (1) first, it is proper not to apply a type more fully to the truth which is obscured to those which either Scripture itself accommodates, or the analogy of faith demands; (2) second, all interpretations of types which indeed are just and conform to the truth are not typical but anagogical; (3) and third, whatever is in the 44 Theodore Beza, Psalmorvm Davidis et aliorvm prophetarvm (London: Vautrollerius, 1580), 4–5. 45 Franciscus Junius, Opera theologica [= OTJ], 2 vols. (Geneva, 1613), 1:632.



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mystery of intercession and of our salvation are proper anagoges of holy types.46 After these preliminary remarks, Junius moves into a proper exegesis of the psalm, taking up the same threefold interpretive issue with which we began our analysis. The first interpretation of the Rabbis he categorically rejects for two reasons: “1. because not all the things which are said in this psalm can apply to David simply and hence either the prophecy is false or the interpretation is false and 2. because it is repugnant to the authority of the Apostles in Acts 2, 4, 13; Heb. 1, 4, and other passages.”47 Interestingly, Junius does not seek to refute the position of the “Orthodox Fathers” but simply passes them by in his commentary stating that at least they acknowledge that the scopus or goal of the psalm is Christ. In Sacred Parallel 91, Junius comments that their simple christological position is “by far more tolerable” than the Rabbis.48 In the third position, to which he holds, “the composite form includes the type and the truth of it, as the history of David displays, but it is chiefly and properly announced in Christ through whom grace and truth have been accomplished.”49 From verse 3 onward, Junius exposits this psalm according to the person, work, office, mission, and vocation of Christ. When Junius arrives at the nature of Christ’s mission and vocation in verse 6 he begins to bring up the question of God’s decree and counsel. And as he progresses through the psalm, Junius applies his third rule of typology and closes out the exposition with an extended treatment of Christ’s triplex munus of prophet, priest, and king. As to the practical application of the psalm, Junius does focus on the implications of these points for the Church as well as for the individual: the goal of the psalm is “that believers may have their consolation in Christ in difficult circumstances, and that their deliberation upon him and their eternal salvation may be strengthened.” For Junius, high doctrine should lead to deep comfort. He then divides the psalm into three parts, an introduction of the theme, a narration concerning God’s counsel and its administration, and finally a didactic section regarding the goal of it all. With respect to the interpretation of Scripture, both Junius and Ames are committed to Aquinas’ basic premise that the literal sense is the most essential and necessary sense of the text. Yet it is Ames that more directly takes up the issue. Consider Ames’ polemic against the Roman Catholic 46 OTJ, 1:634. 47 OTJ, 1:634.70–84. 48 Sacrorum Parallelorum, 1:91. 49 OTJ, 1:634.83–85.

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exegetes on the question of the three spiritual senses found in his prolegomenon to Psalm 2. While outlining the Roman Catholic position on the Quadriga, Ames demonstrates a remarkable familiarity not only with Thomas Aquinas and other medieval scholastics, he also demonstrates a fair acquaintance with his contemporary Roman Catholic interlocutors, for example, Domingo Bañez50 and Robert Cardinal Bellarmine (against whom he wrote a massive four volume set)51 among others. Against the Quadriga, Ames raises four arguments: (1) the three spiritual senses have no basis in Scripture; (2) the three spiritual senses have no basis in Logic, Grammar, or Rhetoric; (3) If the three spiritual senses should exist, they would render Scripture uncertain thereby undermining and diminishing its authority; and (4) arguments can only be established from the literal sense.52 As to the first argument, Ames seeks to curb what he considers to be a problematic use of typology. He maintains that the usage of 1 Corinthians 10:11 where the Apostle Paul says that “all these things happened to them typically,” should be explained only in terms of moral examples. As regards other passages, he maintains that these are only analogies accommodated for the sake of illustration or demonstration and not true other senses. Furthermore, Ames does not deny the use of many allegories as long as they are understood as extended metaphors.53 And in a turn of phrase that sounds quite like Thomas Aquinas he comments that “the type and the thing signified by the type do not constitute two various senses, properly speaking, but they are two parts of one and the same sense.”54 Ames’ comments hearken back to Aquinas’ own composite reading of Psalm 2, in which the sufferings of David should lead us to contemplate the sufferings of Christ, especially since Aquinas utilizes similar justifications as Ames does here. In a similar manner Ames states that if there are two senses in some typical narration, then one sense properly and immediately belongs to the words, and the other sense indeed belongs to the things, not the words, unless through an analogical accommodation.”55 Likewise, Ames’ second argument counters the Roman Catholic assertions with another argument from accommodation, that is that God has spoken in the 50 Ames is engaging Domingo Bañez, Scholastica Commentaria in universam Primam partem Angelici Doctoris D. Thomae (Venice: Iuntas, 1602). 51 Bellarminvs Enervatvs, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Turner, 1629). 52 OGA, 1 22–26. 53 OGA, 1:24. 54 OGA, 1:24. 55 OGA, 1 24.



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Scriptures in a human manner and custom precisely so that He may be understood by humans.56 The third argument is simply a thetical statement and stands just as brief in the text without much explanation other than to assert that two unbelievers who attacked the faith, Porphyry and Julianus, once used the spiritual senses polemically against the Roman Catholic church. The fourth argument has more traction against Bellarmine and Bañez due to the fact that Aquinas seems to open up this possibility by asserting that only the literal sense is necessary for the faith and only the literal sense can be used as the foundation for theological argument. Furthermore, if only the literal sense can never be false then Ames is perfectly justified in arguing against the three spiritual senses: …because (from Bellarmine’s own confession) efficacious arguments ought to be sought only from the literal sense: since it is not always evident from the mystical senses whether they are intended by the Holy Spirit. From which concession it follows that the various senses of this sort are not senses [at all]: since it is neither a sense from the Holy Spirit which is not intended by the Holy Spirit: nor is there any sense of the Holy Spirit from which cannot be gathered a firm argument.57

Ames makes a similar, albeit briefer argument in the Medulla Theologiae: “Henceforth also for one place of Scripture there is only one sense: because the other senses of Scripture not only are not perspicuous and certain, but in fact [do] not [exist] at all: for what does not signify one thing, signifies nothing certain.”58 So in Ames’ exegetical method he actively utilizes the perspicuity of Scripture and the analogy of faith. As to the structure of the psalm, Ames begins in the style of a logical Ramist analysis by stating that the prophet’s purpose is to exhort every kind of human being to subject themselves to the reign of Christ. After outlining the argument of the psalm, he utilizes a repeating analytical structure for every verse or two verses wherein he starts with an Analysis, rendering the basic meaning, which in turn results in questions and answers. Finally, he moves to lessons (documenta) complete with the reasoning for each point (ratio) and their use (usus). Doctrinally he covers the same ground as Junius in general but much more consistently mentioning the practical application. It is in these practical points that the influence

56 OGA, 1:25. 57 OGA, 1:26. 58 Ames, Medulla, I.xxxiv.22.

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of Ramus towards utility and the pastoral tone of Perkins are evident towards right belief and living. In conclusion to the question of where the literal sense is located in a typological passage, for Junius and Ames, the answer is in the composite construction: the more detailed historical setting of the type signifies the words, and thus makes the fulfillment in the anti-type the signification of the things or matters behind the words. On one hand, they are able to do full justice to the historical setting of David and on the other to demonstrate the extent to which the subject of the psalm must be one greater than David. On the question of the relation between form and content, both Junius and Ames, though the former employs a more Aristotelian method versus the latter’s Ramistic one, share a common pedagogical goal in their exposition of Psalm 2: both seek to encourage and edify believers in the doctrine and practice of the Christian faith through a thorough understanding of christological types. Terminating on the same key Reformed doctrinal emphases, both demonstrate a high degree of familiarity with traditional scholastic sources and hermeneutical issues in the western Christian tradition. Both utilize a blend of scholastic distinctions and biblical humanistic methods at times as they deem necessary. Although their exegetical methods are noticeably and strikingly different, the almost plain similarity of their exegetical results is certainly noteworthy as well. Not only do these two representative figures illustrate their differing styles and methods of exegesis, but they demonstrate a broad consistency and high degree of continuity in their concern for early Reformed hermeneutics, doctrine, and piety while seeking to harvest the best of the Christian exegetical tradition.

THE HOLY SPIRIT AND THE CHURCH’S MISSION: THE PERSPECTIVE OF THE REFORMED CONFESSIONS Yuzo Adhinarta With regard to the Reformed tradition, many complain that as a result of the neglect of the teaching of the Holy Spirit and of his work not much attention has been given to missionary efforts and conscience. Myung Yong Kim is merely an example. He writes, “The eclipse of pneumatology in Reformed doctrine leads Reformed churches to ignore the work of the Holy Spirit. The result is the danger of a rigid church, with no mission and no diakonia.”1 Myung makes a correct assertion that mission is an aspect of the work of the Holy Spirit; thus missiology, in the Reformed tradition, generally falls into the locus of pneumatology. However, whether the claim of the neglect of pneumatology is justifiable is a totally different matter. It may be true that the study of the Reformed theology regarding mission has never received due attention in the past due to the generally negative view of so many historians in the past concerning the Reformers— and thus their immediate successors—with respect to missions and evangelism. The claim of Gustav Warneck, a Protestant missiologist, exemplifies this negative sentiment: We miss in the Reformers not only missionary action, but even the idea of missions, in the sense in which we understand them today. And this not only because the newly discovered heathen world across the sea lay almost wholly beyond the range of their vision, though that reason had some weight, but because fundamental theological views hindered them from giving their activity, and even their thoughts, a missionary direction.2

Donald MacGavran, a former professor at the Fuller School of World Missions, also complains about the “silence” of the Protestant creeds 1 Myung Yong Kim, “Reformed Pneumatology and Pentecostal Pneumatology,” in Reformed Theology: Identity and Ecumenicity, ed. Alston and Welker (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 174. 2 Gustav Warneck, Outline of a History of Protestant Missions from the Reformation to the Present Time, 3rd English ed., ed. Robson (Edinburgh: Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier, 1906), 9. See also for examples, Kenneth Scott Latourette, A History of Christianity, 1st ed. (New York: Harper, 1937–1945), 926; Latourette, A History of the Expansion of Christianity, vol. 3 (New York: Harper, 1939), 25–27; J. Herbert Kane, Understanding Christian Missions, 3rd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1982), 140.

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regarding “the missionary function of the Holy Spirit” and states that “the Protestant churches had practically no missionary conscience at all.”3 As the interest of research on the Reformation period grows, an increasing number of scholars find that the negative judgment of Reformers with respect to missions is more untenable.4 With respect to the critique specifically aimed at the Reformed confessions, especially MacGavran’s claim, Robert Recker, Fred H. Klooster, and Anthony A. Hoekema each argue from the perspective of the Belgic Confession (hereinafter bc), Heidelberg Catechism, and Canons of Dordt respectively that the Reformed confessions are not deficient in missionary conscience.5 All three maintain that what could be considered as lacking in the confessions with regard to missions is the modern idea or concept of mission with its emphasis on foreign mission, but not the fundamental and biblical theology of mission. In light of the status quaestionis presented above, a careful study of the major Reformed confessional documents of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries—as historical and textual expressions of what the Reformed orthodoxy taught and believed—is of paramount importance for understanding the doctrine of the Holy Spirit in its relation to the church mission within the Reformed tradition. No doubt Richard Muller’s contribution to the flourishing interest in the study of Reformed orthodoxy has helped raise interests in the study of the Reformed historic confessional documents such as found in this article. As this article will demonstrate, a proper reading of the confessions shows that the confessions do not lack in passion for evangelism when evangelism is understood as the propagation of the gospel of salvation and the church’s evangelistic mission as the mission of the church in propagating and proclaiming the gospel. 3 Donald MacGavran, “A Missionary Confession of Faith,” CTJ 7.2 (1972): 141. See also Richard R. De Ridder, Discipling the Nations (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1975), 212–214. 4 Paul Drew holds that the Reformers’ idea of mission can in no way be brought into harmony with the modern concept, and that the disjunction between them is not in motive but in method. Paul Drews, “Die Anschauungen reformatorischer Theologen über die Heidenmission,” Zeitschrift für praktische Theologie 28 (1897): 1–26, 193–223, 289–316. R. Pierce Beaver gives a good yet brief account of the pioneer Protestant project of colonization and missionary activity off the coast of Brazil during the years 1555 to 1560. R. Pierce Beaver, “The Genevan Mission to Brazil,” in The Heritage of John Calvin, ed. Bratt (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1973), 55–73. See also J. Van den Berg, “Calvin and Missions,” in John Calvin: Contemporary Prophet, ed. Hoogstra (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1959), 167–183; See also Richard A. Muller, “‘To Grant This Grace to All People and Nations’: Calvin on Apostolicity and Mission,” in For God So Loved the World, ed. Leder (Belleville: Essence, 2006), 211–232. 5 Robert Recker, “An Analysis of the Belgic Confession as to Its Mission Focus,” CTJ 7.2 (1972): 158–180; Fred H. Klooster, “Missions—The Heidelberg Catechism and Calvin,” CTJ



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The Church’s Mission as the Missio Dei All Reformed confessions teach that salvation is initiated by and carried out by God through his Son and Spirit. Because of the fall and disobedience of their first parents, humans have a corrupt nature from conception. Without God himself working salvation in them, none will be able or willing to come to God. The confessions attribute the calling out of sinners, which is at the heart of the church’s evangelistic mission, exclusively to God the Father, who works through his Son and Spirit. The mission of the church originates in God and it is primarily the activity of God through the church; it is the mission of God, the Missio Dei. In his Catechism (1537; hereinafter CC37),6 John Calvin clearly states that humans in their sinful nature are completely unable by their own power to turn to and come to God.7 Only Christ, through the power of the Holy Spirit, “calls and attracts us to himself in order that we may obtain deliverance.”8 It is God who draws the elect to himself by the power of the Spirit. Calvin also discusses God’s mission in terms of the expansion of the Kingdom of God when he describes the second petition of the Lord’s Prayer. In CC37 Calvin clearly maintains that the church’s mission comes to fruition solely because of God’s reign, as God is actively “guiding and governing his own by his Holy Spirit.” Praying that God’s reign may come means praying that “the Lord may from day to day multiply the number of his faithful believers … and that he may continually spread on them more largely the affluence of his graces, whereby he may live and reign in them more and more.”9 Calvin expands the discussion further in his Institutes and his commentary on A Harmony of the Evangelists.10 The Scots Confession (1560; hereinafter SC) agrees with Calvin in stressing that the calling of sinners to life—and thus the multiplication of the number of believers—is solely the active work of God himself.11 7.2 (1972): 181–208; and Anthony A. Hoekema, “The Missionary Focus of the Canons of Dort,” CTJ 7.2 (1972): 209–220.    6 “Calvin’s Catechism (1537),” in Reformed Confessions of the 16th and 17th Centuries in English Translation: Volume 1, 1523–1552, ed. Dennison (Grand Rapids: RHB, 2008), 354–401. Hereafter RCET. 7 CC37 IV. 8 CC37 XX (“I believe in the Holy Spirit”). 9 CC37 XXIV (“The Second Petition”). 10 Calvin, Institutes, III.xx.42; Calvin, Commentary on a Harmony of the Evangelists, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, vol. 1, trans. Pringle (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2003), 320. 11 “The Scottish Confession of Faith (1560),” in Reformed Confessions of the Sixteenth Century [hereafter RC16], ed. Cochrane (Louisville: WJKP, 2003), 163–184.

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The confession states that God “preserved, instructed, multiplied, honoured, adorned, and called from death to life His Kirk in all ages since Adam until the coming of Christ Jesus in the flesh.”12 The confession adds later that it is the Holy Spirit who guides the elect into all truth and gives faith to them. Otherwise they will never be able to respond to the gospel of Christ and thereby “should remain forever enemies to God and ignorant of His Son, Christ Jesus” without the Holy Spirit.13 Moreover, God is not only the initiator or the origin of the church’s mission but also the first missionary, the first proclaimer of the gospel. As cited above, the SC confesses that God “called” his church since Adam. The HC (1563)14 concurs and asserts, “God himself began to reveal the gospel in Paradise; later, he proclaimed it by the holy patriarchs and prophets, and portrayed it by the sacrifices and other ceremonies of the law; finally, he fulfilled it through his own dear Son.”15 Although the Holy Spirit is not mentioned in the article, he is surely presupposed by the authors of the catechism. In his commentary on the HC Zacharias Ursinus, the principal author and interpreter of the HC, teaches that the gospel is not a new doctrine, but was already revealed in Paradise immediately after the fall. This is the gospel through which “the Holy Spirit works effectually in the hearts of the faithful, kindling and exciting in them, faith, repentance, and the beginning of eternal life.”16 Caspar Olevianus, a co-author of the HC as some believe, fully concurs with Ursinus and gives an explicit remark on the active engagement of God in conferring the gospel to human sinners. God has not only given his promise of salvation, but also “carries out this promise by giving His Son to die for us and by raising Him.” Olevianus then states, “Along with that [that is, the death and resurrection of Christ], God through Christ both promises us in the gospel and then actually gives us the Holy Spirit.”17 Similar teaching can also be found in the Second Helvetic Confession (1566).18 In the SHC Heinrich Bullinger quotes 2 Cor. 3:6 and rightly states that the preaching of the gospel is the ministry of the Spirit, because the 12 SC V. 13 SC XII. 14 “The Heidelberg Catechism,” in Ecumenical Creeds and Reformed Confessions (Grand Rapids: CRC, 1988), 12–77. 15 HC Q/A 19. 16 Ursinus, Commentary, 101–102. 17 Caspar Olevianus, A Firm Foundation: An Aid to Interpreting the Heidelberg Catechism, trans. Bierma (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1995), Q/A 9. 18 The Second Helvetic Confession (1566), in RC16, 224–301.



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Holy Spirit works in the hearts of believers through the preaching of the gospel, making it an effectual means of salvation.19 Bullinger defines repentance primarily as “the recovery of a right mind in sinful man awakened by the Word of the Gospel and the Holy Spirit.”20 Repentance, that is, the proper response to the gospel, is then the work of God as the Word of the gospel and the Spirit jointly work together in the proclamation of the gospel.21 The CoD (1618–1619)22 also clearly asserts that salvation and thus the proclamation of the gospel are the works of God: “Before the foundation of the world, by sheer grace, according to the free good pleasure of his will, he chose in Christ to salvation a definite number of particular people out of the entire human race.” He then “decided to give the chosen ones to Christ to be saved, and to call and draw them effectively into Christ’s fellowship through his Word and Spirit.”23 Both the election in Christ and the calling and drawing the elect to Christ are initiated solely by God and carried out through his Word and Spirit. In its Second Main Point of Doctrine, the CoD makes explicit what Hoekema calls a kind of Magna Carta for missions, that is the mandate to proclaim the gospel to all: Moreover, it is the promise of the gospel that whoever believes in Christ crucified shall not perish but have eternal life. This promise, together with the command to repent and believe, ought to be announced and declared without differentiation or discrimination to all nations and people, to whom God in his good pleasure sends the gospel.24

Reflecting on this succinct yet apt statement, Hoekema rightly points out the emphatic assertion of the Canons that the gospel “must be declared indiscriminately and without distinction to all peoples.”25 It should also be noted that the CoD also attributes the sending of the gospel to God. It is God who sends the gospel and reveals his will to all nations and people 19 SHC XIII.4. 20 SHC XIV.2. 21 To argue for the sola gratia principle, Bullinger maintains in his Decades the indispensable role of the Holy Spirit in repentance. None are “delivered save those that believe; therefore grace hath somewhat whereby to work in man: for by the pouring of the Holy Ghost into our hearts, the understanding and will are instructed in faith.” Without the work of the Holy Spirit inwardly teaching and regenerating the hearers of the gospel, none can believe in the gospel of Christ, repent, and thus be saved. See Bullinger, Decades, IV.i (9–10, 37). 22 CoD, in Ecumenical Creeds, 122–145. 23 CoD I.7. 24 CoD II.5; Hoekema, “The Missionary Focus,” 214. 25 Hoekema, “The Missionary Focus,” 214, emphasis his.

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according to his “free good pleasure and undeserved love.”26 Moreover, the saving power of the gospel belongs to God alone, who “by the power of the Holy Spirit, through the Word or the ministry of reconciliation,” accomplishes what “the light of nature” or “the law” cannot do, that is, saving those who sincerely believe the promises proclaimed in the gospel.27 Those who hear the gospel are said to be “called seriously” by God himself. In the words of the Canons: Nevertheless, all who are called through the gospel are called seriously. For seriously and most genuinely God makes known in his Word what is pleasing to him: that those who are called should come to him. Seriously he also promises rest for their souls and eternal life to all who come to him and believe.28

Consequently, those who reject the gospel reject God himself who calls them.29 The Canons are therefore by no means deficient of passion for missions. On the contrary, as Hoekema states, the Canons “do express the missionary focus of the Bible” and have “the Missio Dei: God’s redemption of the cosmos through Christ” as its main focus. These are things that MacGavran sees as missing in most creeds. Unquestionably, the Canons are deeply concerned with reconciliation between God and humans. The Westminster standards—that is, the Westminster Confession of Faith (1646), the Westminster Larger Catechism (1647), and the West­ minster Shorter Catechism (1647)—also unwaveringly depict God as active in his mission, calling sinners to himself through the ministry of the Word and the Holy Spirit.30 Both the outward preaching of the gospel or the ministry of the Word and the inward or effectual calling are the works of God through his Spirit by which God calls and draws sinners to him, and offers his grace to them.31 Even though the active role of the Holy Spirit is specially identified in the inward and effectual calling of the elect, it is also undoubtedly true in the outward ministry of the Word. When discussing those who are not elected in connection to the effectual calling, the WCF states that “they may be called by the Ministry of the Word; and may have

26 CoD III/IV.7. 27 CoD III/IV.6. 28 CoD III/IV.8. 29 CoD III/IV.9. 30 The Confession of Faith and the Larger and Shorter Catechism (Edinburgh: Swintoun and Brown, 1683), 3–192. 31 WCF X.1–2.



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some common operations of the Spirit, yet they never truly come to Christ,” denoting that the outward ministry of the Word is never devoid of the operation of the Holy Spirit, who sends, equips with spiritual gifts, and empowers ministers to preach the gospel.32 The WLC defines effectual calling as “the work of God’s Almighty power and grace, whereby out of his free and special love to his elect … he doth in his accepted time invite and draw them to Jesus Christ by his Word and Spirit.”33 It also explicitly states that the faithful ministry of the Word is the work of the Spirit himself. Those who are called to preach the Word are to preach sound doctrine, “not in the inticing words of men’s wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and power,” sincerely aiming at God’s glory, and people’s conversion, edification, and salvation.34 Commenting on the WSC regarding the effectual calling, Thomas Watson, a seventeenth-century English Puritan, illustrates, “The Ministry of the Word is the Pipe or Organ, the Spirit of God blowing in it, doth effectually change Men’s hearts, Acts 10:44.”35 It is thus evident that for the Reformed confessions, since the very beginning of the church, the proclamation of the gospel has never been primarily a human enterprise. Nor is it merely a human activity of promulgating the good news regarding God and his work of salvation by humans. Instead, it is the active work of God himself through the Holy Spirit in calling sinners to come to the salvation which God has himself inaugurated and promised in the gospel. He works through the Holy Spirit in both the external calling through the outward preaching of the Gospel and the inward calling of individual believers. The Propagation of the Gospel by Human Ministries The Reformed confessions teach that God employs human agency to propagate the gospel to generations of humankind across all ages and places. He sends his church, his people, to carry out the mission to proclaim the gospel and to be its living testimony or embodiment to their neighbors. With regard to the church, the mission to bring the gospel to the world can be understood in two senses: institutional and ethical. In the first sense, the church is a God-ordained institution sent to preach the 32 WCF X.4; XXV.3; WLC Q/A 68; WSC Q/A 89. 33 WLC Q/A 67; WSC Q/A 31. 34 WLC Q/A 159. 35 Watson, A Body of Practical Divinity, 128.

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gospel to people through her ministers. In the second sense, the church is God’s people sent to the world to bear witness to the message of the gospel through the life of faith of her members. With respect to the first sense, some Reformed confessions teach that God calls some to assume an ecclesiastical office to preach the gospel. God through his Spirit calls these people, furnishes them with necessary gifts, and sends and entrusts them with the ministry of the Word and sacraments. However, with respect to the second sense, other confessions also explicitly teach that God through his Spirit calls all his people and enables them to do good works, to testify through their godly lives and conversation so that others may begin to know God and be won to Christ. The Preaching of the Gospel by the Ministers of the Word The Tetrapolitan Confession (1530; hereinafter TC) asserts that the sending and the consecration of the ministers of the church for the task of preaching the gospel is the work of the Holy Spirit as he empowers ministers to undertake the offices to which they are assigned.36 The confession cites John 20:22, “Receive the Holy Spirit,” and states that “what constitutes fit and properly consecrated ministers of the Church, bishops, teachers and pastors, is that they have been divinely sent.” As it later describes, being divinely sent means having “received the power and mind to preach the Gospel and to feed the flock of Christ, and also the Holy Ghost who cooperates” in persuading hearts.37 The church’s ministers are thus ministers of Christ insofar as they are endowed by God through his Spirit with his own power and are faithful to God, who sends them to preach the gospel and feed God’s people. The First Helvetic Confession (1536; hereinafter FHC)38 calls the ministers of God’s Word “God’s co-workers,” through whom God “imparts and offers to those who believe in Him the knowledge of Himself and the forgiveness of sins, converts, strengthens and comforts men, but also threatens and judges them.”39 And the highest and chief thing in this office is that “the ministers of the Church preach repentance and sorrow for sins, improvement of life, and forgiveness of sins, and all through Christ.”40 The confession also uses John 20:22 as a biblical reference to state that when 36 “The Tetrapolitan Confession (1530),” in RC16, 54–88. 37 TC XIII. 38 “The First Helvetic Confession (1536),” in RC16, 100–111. 39 FHC XV. 40 FHC XIX.



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the minister performs his tasks, “in all things we ascribe all efficacy and power to God the Lord alone, and only the imparting to the minister.” It means that, as far as the human activity in preaching is concerned, the imparting of the knowledge of God and of the forgiveness of sins as promised in the gospel ought to be ascribed to the minister as the agent of God. But the offering of the knowledge of God and the gospel, along with the converting, strengthening, comforting, threatening, and judging, ought to be understood as God’s acts. It is God through the Holy Spirit who is at work in the preaching of the gospel. The fruit that follows from the ministry of the Word is to be attributed to God alone. In the words of the FHC, “It is certain that this power and efficacy never should or can be attributed to a creature, but God dispenses it to those He chooses according to His free will.”41 As noted earlier, Bullinger in the SHC identifies the preaching of the gospel with the ministry of the Spirit, and thus assumes the integral role of the Holy Spirit in the whole enterprise of propagating the gospel.42 Bullinger also points out that in accomplishing his mission, God uses human ministers. Further, Bullinger even makes a clear conjunction between the ministry of the gospel and of reconciliation. The proclamation of the gospel is primarily the ministry of reconciliation. The preaching of the gospel is the preaching of reconciliation. To reconcile people to himself, God calls his ministers to be his ambassadors. Commenting on 2 Corinthians 5:18 ff., Bullinger states that “the Lord gave the ministry of reconciliation to his ministers.” He then adds that “Christ’s ministers discharge the office of an ambassador in Christ’s name, as if God himself through ministers exhorted the people to be reconciled to God, doubtless by faithful obedience.”43 Such power and authority of the ministers “to open the Kingdom of Heaven to the obedient and shut it to the disobedient” are certainly not of humans, and therefore can only be correctly understood as the power of God, who by his Spirit works through human ministers. Bullinger also explicitly asserts, “God teaches us by his Word, outwardly through his ministers, and inwardly moves the hearts of his elect to faith by the Holy Spirit.”44 Therefore, for Bullinger, in the preaching of the gospel to humans, it is God who actually preaches. When God

41 FHC XV. 42 SHC XIII.3. 43 SHC XIV.8. 44 SHC XVIII.2.

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uses human preachers as his instruments, the gospel does not cease to be the Word of God, for it is the Holy Spirit who speaks through them.45 The Living Testimony of the Gospel by All Believers Although most of the Reformed confessions discuss the propagation of the gospel as the task of the church office which is entrusted with the ministry of the Word, they never deny that the sharing of the gospel is also the mission of the church as God’s people. The confessions teach that all individual believers are called to live out their true faith, to live a new life by faith as they are regenerated, justified, and sanctified in Christ by the Holy Spirit. A few confessions even explicitly teach that believers ought to live out the gospel they believe in and be the living testimony of the gospel to their neighbors through good works. The proclamation of the gospel is the task of all God’s people, every one of them. The TC confesses that the children of God, led by the Spirit of God, should be chiefly devoted to certain actions that are aimed to profit other human beings, their neighbors, which are duly called “the duties of a Christian.”46 These duties are such actions whereby “every one, for his part, may profit his neighbors—first, with respect to life eternal, that they may begin to know, worship and fear God; and then with respect to present life, that they may want nothing required by bodily necessity.”47 Hence believers ought to be concerned with not only their neighbors’ well-being with respect to their bodily needs, but also with their well-being with respect to life eternal. The confession, however, does not specify what actions could incite others to “begin to know, worship and fear God.” However, the confession points out that believers may show themselves to others as “gods,” that is, true children of God, by “love striving for [others’] advantage” as far as they are able.48 Quoting some biblical references (I Jn. 2:10; 4:7; Gal. 5:14), the confession maintains that works are good if they proceed out of faith through love, and that the love of God should be 45 See also Bullinger, Decades, IV.i (5). 46 TC VI. 47 TC VI. HC Q/A 55 might assert the same. The article teaches that each member of “the communion of saints” should consider it a duty to use spiritual gifts “readily and cheerfully for the service and enrichment of the other members.” The word enrichment in the original German text (Heil) can also be translated as salvation. 48 TC IV; see also Calvin’s Catechism (1545) Q/A 199, where Calvin says that God “requires us to love our neighbors and seek their salvation, and all this with true affection and without simulation,” and Institutes, II.viii.40. See “Calvin’s Catechism (1545),” in RCET, 468–519.



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evidenced by the love of others. Good works are acts of faith that are manifested in love toward others. They are works that spring from God’s works of regeneration and sanctification that restore the image of God in believers so that they may “supremely love and most earnestly imitate God” in their lives.49 The confession maintains, For whatever the law of God teaches has this end and requires this one thing, that at length we may be reformed to the perfect image of God, being good in all things, and ready and willing to serve the advantage of men; which we cannot do unless we be furnished with virtues of every kind.50

Therefore, believers may help others “begin to know, worship and fear God” through their life of love, which is always seeking to serve the advantage of others, since this is the life of the true children of God who are regenerated, being reformed, and led by the Spirit of God. The FHC contends for the same thing when it deals with the message of the entire Scripture, that is, the gospel, that “God is kind and gracious to [humans] and that He has publicly exhibited and demonstrated this His kindness to the whole human race through Christ His Son.” The confession then states further that this gospel “comes to us and is received by faith alone, and is manifested and demonstrated by love for our neighbor.”51 The evangelistic mission of individual believers through good works is also acknowledged and taught by the HC. Opening its third part on “Gratitude,” the catechism contends that believers do good works not in order to earn salvation, which they already have by the merit of Christ, but primarily because God through his Spirit is still working in them, renewing them, even when they have been delivered from their misery and redeemed by Christ. The catechism then provides some arguments that further develop the significance of good works in the Christian life. With respect to God, good works are believers’ sincere expressions of gratitude to God for all that he has done for them, so that in all things, praises are due to God. With respect to themselves, good works may be fruits that assure believers of their faith. With respect to others, good works, or believers’ “godly living,” are a living testimony of the gospel by which “neighbors may be won over to Christ.”52

49 TC IV. 50 TC IV. 51 FHC V. 52 HC Q/A 86; see also WCF XVI.2, 3, 5.

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Ursinus further discusses good works as a living testimony of the gospel in his commentary on the HC. For him, good works done for the sake of others have three purposes: First, that “we may be profitable unto our neighbor, and edify him by our example and godly conversation;” second, that “we may not be occasion of offences and scandal to the cause of Christ;” and, third, that “we may win the unbelieving to Christ.”53 Undoubtedly, for Ursinus, this article of the HC refers to personal evangelism. Furthermore, when discussing the necessity of good works to salvation, he maintains that good works are necessary to salvation not as a cause, as if they merited a reward, but as an effect, a consequence, or even as “a means without which we cannot obtain the end.” With Augustine he argues that good works are “necessary to righteousness or justification” in those who are justified “as a part of salvation itself; or, as an antecedent of salvation, but not as a cause or merit of salvation.”54 He later adds, “If we do any works which are good, these works are not ours, but God’s, who produces them in us by his Holy Spirit.” Hence, “if we perform any thing that is good, it is the gift of God, and not any merit on our part.”55 For Ursinus, then, personal evangelism as part of good works, as imperfect as it might be, is also the work of the Holy Spirit in the life of believers. It is part of salvation of all God’s people, a necessary fruit of salvation that the Holy Spirit produces in them.56 Resonant with the TC and FHC, Bullinger’s SHC insists that true faith is efficacious and active through love (Gal. 5:6): “The same [faith] keeps us in the service we owe to God and our neighbor, strengthens our patience in adversity, fashions and makes a true confession, and in a word, brings forth good fruit of all kinds, and good works.”57 These good works grow “out of a living faith by the Holy Spirit and are done by the faithful according to the will or rule of God’s Word.”58 In agreement with the HC, Bullinger also maintains that good works “ought not to be done in order that we may earn eternal life by them, for… eternal life is the gift of God.” Nor are they 53 Ursinus, Commentary, 484; see also Commentary, 466; Olevianus, A Firm Foundation, Q/A 170. 54 Ursinus, Commentary, 485. 55 Ursinus, Commentary, 486. 56 See also William Ames’ commentary on the HC, in which he states, “The operation of the Spirit for the preaching of the gospel is present efficaciously and powerfully for producing the change of a person, which is called the ministry of the Spirit, the law of the Spirit’s life, and the arm of God.” See Ames, A Sketch of the Christian’s Catechism, trans. Rester (Grand Rapids: RHB, 2008), 150. 57 SHC XVI.4. 58 SHC XVI.5.



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to be done for “ostentation” or “gain,” but “for the glory of God, to adorn our calling, to show gratitude to God, and for the profit of the neighbor.” Bullinger then cites, among others, a verse in the Gospel: “Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven” (Matt. 5:16).59 As discussed above in this article, one may agree with Recker, who comments exclusively on the BC, that the Reformed confessions with respect to their genre are not particularly “a rallying call to mission.”60 Therefore one should not approach these documents anachronistically by imposing on or making judgment about them according to the modern idea or concept of mission. With regard to the modern distinction between home missions and foreign missions, it should be noted that the distinction itself is foreign to the confessions. As evident in the whole discussion of the church’s mission in this article, the Reformed confessions never make such a distinction. Rather, the confessions regard the whole world without discrimination—that is, people of all nations, of all places and ages—as the object of the church’s mission. In light of this, therefore, while it may be true that the Protestant Reformation deserves to be called “one of the greatest home missionary projects of all history,” it does not necessarily lead to seeing the Reformed confessions as documents only for home missions.61 What Klooster rightly points out in the HC is also true of other confessions, that the message of the confessions “leads inevitably to missions—both home and foreign missions.”62 As this article has demonstrated, and as Recker, Klooster, and Hoekema have argued for the BC, HC, and CoD, the Reformed confessions, when taken as a whole and properly examined, are not in any sense devoid of mission awareness. Nor do they lack a theology of missions. On the contrary, almost all of the confessions present the gospel. Some present it in the form of the doctrine of salvation and other corollary doctrines, others in the exposition of the Apostle’s Creed. The confessions also understand the church’s mission as the mission of God. God is the author and initiator of the church’s mission; he is always the primary actor, and human ministers are merely his instruments. In addition, the confessions place proper emphasis on the role of the Holy Spirit in the whole enterprise of gospel and thus the church’s mission. The Holy Spirit actively works in both the 59 SHC XVI.6; see also Decades, III.9 (356). 60 Recker, “An Analysis of the Belgic Confession,” 160. 61 See Klooster, “Missions,” 187. 62 Klooster, “Missions,” 208.

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preaching of the gospel and the living testimony of believers. He calls, equips, and sends the ministers of the Word to preach the gospel and also effectually works in the hearers of the gospel, to regenerate, illumine, and renew them from within so that they may come to believe in the message of the gospel. The Holy Spirit also renews the life of believers, leading and guiding them as they walk according to God’s will, and enables them to do good works, through which others may be won over to Christ.

THE ATTEMPT TO ESTABLISH A CHAIR IN PRACTICAL THEOLOGY AT LEIDEN UNIVERSITY (1618–1626) Donald Sinnema The need for practical theology as a distinct discipline within the field of theology was recognized long before this discipline actually became established as a regular part of training for the ministry. In the Protestant world it was not until the mid-seventeenth century that separate teaching of practical theology began to emerge in theological departments of some universities, and it was not until Schleiermacher in the early nineteenth century that this field really came into its own.1 This paper focuses on one significant moment in the early history of this discipline, an attempt by the Dutch Reformed churches to establish a chair in practical theology at Leiden University, their main training school for ministers. Background Ever since the scientific character of theology began to be discussed in the medieval period the question was posed whether theology as a whole is theoretical or practical.2 Aristotle had set up the problematic by regarding the purpose of a theoretical science to be truth and that of a practical science to be action.3 Thomas Aquinas considered theology to be a mixed discipline, speculative (theoretical) and practical at the same time, but more speculative than practical.4 Some other medievals, like Henry of Ghent, considered all of theology to be merely speculative, and others, like Duns Scotus, considered it merely practical; still others, like Giles of Rome, thought it was neither speculative nor practical.5 1 For the history of practical theology as a discipline see E. Achelis, “Die Entstehung der ‘Praktischen Theologie,’” Theologische Studien und Kritiken 65 (1892): 7–43; E. Achelis, Lehrbuch der Praktischen Theologie (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1911), 1:1–19; Th. Harnack, Einleitung und Grundlegung der Praktischen Theologie (Erlangen: Deichert, 1877), 1:29–47; M. den Dulk, Die Geboorte van de Praktische Theologie (Leiden: Rijks Universiteit, 1992). 2 On this issue see Muller, PRRD, 1:340–54. 3 Aristotle, Metaphysics II.1.993b 20ff; XI.7.1064b 1–6. 4 Aquinas, ST, Ia.1.4–5. 5 Achelis, “Entstehung,” 10.

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Within the Reformed tradition this question surfaced as well when the scientific status of theology was considered. The first trace of this is in Peter Martyr Vermigli, who like Thomas asserted that biblical knowledge is both contemplative and practical, but first of all contemplative.6 Bartholomew Keckermann, on the other hand, followed Scotist thinking and considered theology to be only operative or practical.7 At Leiden University as well this question was raised in the theology faculty in the years before the Synod of Dordt. In 1604 Lucas Trelcatius Jr. opted for the Thomist answer that theology is both a contemplative and practical science,8 and it is likely that Franciscus Gomarus took the same position when he taught at Leiden.9 On the other hand, in 1603 Jacobus Arminius followed the Scotist position that all theology in this life is only practical.10 Since this question relates to theology as a whole, these discussions did not foster the emergence of practical theology as a distinct discipline within theology. A real impetus for the conviction that theology has a practical character came from the Reformed philosopher Peter Ramus, whose emphasis on simplicity and practice was a mark of his philosophical reforms. Ramus defined theology as “the doctrine of living well,” and he maintained that “the purpose of doctrine is not knowledge of the matters relating to it, but use and practice.”11 This practical Ramist emphasis was reflected in the Puritan William Perkins, who defined theology as “the science of living blessedly forever,” and in the later definitions of Arminius and William Ames.12 A significant new development occurred when practical theology became regarded as only part of theology. That marked the beginning of 6 Peter Martyr Vermigli, Loci Communes (London, 1583), 181. This passage is drawn from Vermigli’s commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (1563). Cf. Muller, PRRD, 1:341–343. 7 Bartholomew Keckermann, Systema SS. Theologiae (Hanau, 1610; 1st ed. Hanau, 1602), 1. 8 Lucas Trelcatius Jr., Scholastica et Methodica Locorum Communium S. Theologiae Institutio (1st ed. 1604) in his Opuscula Theologica Omnia (Leiden, 1614), 3. 9 Franciscus Gomarus, Disputationes Theologicae in his Opera Theologica Omnia, 3 vols. (Amsterdam, 1644), 3:3. Gomarus only briefly in some corollaries at the end of the first disputation on theology indicates that theology is a mixed science that is more theoretical than practical. Since these disputations were held at various universities throughout his career, it is not certain that the first disputation was actually held during his years as professor at Leiden. 10 Arminius, Opera, 30, 339–340. 11 Peter Ramus, Commentariorum de Religione Christiana Libri Quatuor (Frankfurt, 1576), 6. 12 William Perkins, Armilla Aurea (Cambridge, 1592; translated as A Golden Chaine), 1.



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practical theology as a distinct theological discipline. Although he did not call it practical theology, the first signs of such a distinct discipline in the Protestant tradition appeared with Marburg theologian Andreas Hyperius, who has been called the father of practical theology in the modern sense.13 In the fourth book of his encyclopedic analysis of the field of theology, titled De Recte Formando Theologiae Studio (1556), Hyperius urged advanced theology students, after learning exegesis and dogmatics, to study books about the “practical activities of the churches (Ecclesiarum πράξεις)” and “church government.”14 This included the areas of church history, church polity, church discipline, and liturgy. Following Hyperius, Herborn theologian Wilhelm Zepper was critical of scholastic treatments of theology that did not serve the practical life of the church. In his Politia Ecclesiastica (1607), he blamed the unhappy state of the churches partly on academies where only the theory of theology was taught to candidates for the ministry while practice and church polity were neglected. He observed that theology faculties persisted in continuous theory, in a scholastic treatment of the commonplaces (dogmatics) and biblical exegesis; but about the way to apply the commonplaces and the interpretation of Scripture popularly to edify common people, the way to apply doctrine to troubled consciences, and cases that show the practice of church discipline, there was great silence in the theological schools and in most theology books.15 To correct the situation, he called for the appointment of a practical theologian—and was the first Reformed scholar to do so. Since “the purpose of all theory is practice,” he urged that the “theoretical (theoricos) professors of theology” should be supplemented with one “practical professor (professor practicum),” who was also active in the ministry with experience in church administration and government.16 In Roman Catholic circles the study of canon law, or the system of confession with its cases of conscience, was sometimes called practical theology. For example, Johannes Molanus focused on confession in his Theologiae Practicae Compendium (1585).17 William Perkins, in his A Discourse of 13 Achelis, “Entstehung,” 14, 27. 14 Andreas Hyperius, De Recte Formando Theologiae Studio (Basel, 1556), a5, 17, 528. On the significance of Hyperius for practical theology see Gerhard Krause, “Andreas Hyperius in der Forschung seit 1900,” Theologische Rundschau 34 (1969): 304–316. 15 Wilhelm Zepper, Politia Ecclesiastica (Herborn, 1607), 11–14. The first edition of 1595 does not contain this passage. 16 Zepper, Politia, 29. 17 Achelis, Lehrbuch, 11–12.

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Conscience (1596), referred to “Popish books of practicall or Case-divinitie.”18 It is clear that at the end of the sixteenth century Roman Catholic works of casuistry were called “practical divinity” or theology. Among Protestants Perkins himself was a pioneer in writing works on casuistry. Besides his Discourse, he wrote The Whole Treatise of the Cases of Conscience (1606). He does not seem to have described his own writings on casuistry as “practical divinity.” Yet by the early seventeenth century it was rather common to call any study of the cases of conscience “practical theology.”19 In 1611, when he first developed his theological system, Herborn professor Johann Heinrich Alsted explicitly identified practical theology as a distinct part of theology. In a Ramist chart he divided theology into theoretical (theorica) and practical (practica). The theoretical he divided into natural and supernatural theology (which in turn he divided into catechetical and didactic theology). The practical he divided into soterology (a study of the cases of conscience, which he later called theologia casuum) on the one hand, and prophetic (homiletics) and acroamatic theology (how to listen to sermons) on the other.20 Thus for Alsted practical theology included the cases of conscience, but it was more than just casuistry. In later writings that more fully elaborated his system Alsted dropped this theoreticalpractical distinction.21 While these developments indicate that practical theology was beginning to emerge as a distinct discipline, there was as yet no chair in practical theology at any Protestant university. 18 Thomas Merrill, ed., William Perkins 1558–1602, English Puritanist, His Pioneer Works on Casuistry: “A Discourse of Conscience” and “The Whole Treatise of Cases of Conscience” (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1966), 33. 19 Merrill, Perkins, xi. For example, in 1605 Stephen Egerton, editor of the fourth edition of the Workes (London, 1605) of early Puritan casuist Richard Greenham, in his dedicatory letter to the fourth part stated that “for practicall divinity … he was inferior to few or none in his time.” Cited in Kenneth Parker and Eric Carlson, ‘Practical Divinity:’ The Works and Life of Revd Richard Greenham (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), 5. 20 Johann Heinrich Alsted, Methodus SS. Theologiae in VI Libros Tributa (Hanau, 1619; 1st ed. Offenbach, 1611), 6. The chart is found in the letter of dedication, dated January 1611; the theorica-practica distinction is explained on 34–37. The Methodus of 1611 was the initial one volume version of Alsted’s theological system. 21 In Alsted’s expanded Methodus Sacrosanctae Theologiae Octo Libris Tradita (Frankfurt, 1614; also Hanau, 1623) the distinction does not appear. In his Praecognitorum Theologicorum Libri Duo (Frankfurt, 1614), 51–63, and his Compendium Theologicum, Exhibens Methodum SS. Theologiae Octo Partibus Absolutam (Hanau, 1624), 5–6, Alsted reverted to the Thomist position that theology is a mixed discipline consisting of theory and practice, contemplation and action at the same time. Alsted attended the Synod of Dordt as a member of the Nassau delegation.



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Zeeland Background The original impetus that led to the call for a practical chair of theology came from Classis Walcheren in the province of Zeeland. Meeting at Middelburg on 4 October 1618, this classis sent the following gravamen (overture) to the provincial synod of Zeeland: To give attention to necessary exercises (oeffeninghen) for students to prepare them for the ministry of the Word, so that they not only understand doctrine, but may practice (practiseren) the same gradually for members of the church and be better known.22

A month before the national Synod of Dordt, the provincial synod of Zeeland, meeting at Zierikzee on 9–17 October 1618, considered Classis Walcheren’s request and decided to forward the matter to the national synod. In a gravamen to Dordt focusing on preparation of students for the ministry, it expressed concern for training in the “practice of piety” and called for an examination of students in the “practice of theology.” It is telling that the concern to train students in the practical aspects of the ministry arose from the province of Zeeland, the seed-bed of the Dutch pietist movement (Nadere Reformatie). Though direct evidence tracing the gravamen to individuals is lacking, it is noteworthy that Willem Teellinck at this time was serving as a minister of Middelburg in Classis Walcheren; he was the assessor (vice-president) of the 4 October classis meeting, but he was not a delegate to the Zeeland synod.23 His colleague at Middelburg, Hermannus Faukelius, was delegated to the Zeeland synod and served as its president; it then chose him to be a delegate to the national Synod of Dordt, of which he became an assessor.24 It is also significant that in the neighboring Classis Schouwen, Godefridus Udemans

22 J. Bouterse, ed., Classicale Acta 1573–1620 IV: Provinciale Synode Zeeland, Classis Walcheren 1602–1620 (Den Haag: Instituut voor Nederlandse Geschiedenis, 1995), 304. All translations are mine. 23 On Teellinck see W. Engelberts, Willem Teellinck (Amsterdam: Ton Bolland, 1973). 24 J. Reitsma and S. Van Veen, ed., Acta der Provinciale en Particuliere Synoden, gehouden in de Noordelijke Nederlanden gedurende de Jaren 1572–1620 (Groningen: Wolters, 1896), 5:144, 151. Christiaan Sepp, in Het Godgeleerd Onderwijs in Nederland gedurende de 16e en 17e Eeuw (Leiden: De Breuk & Smits, 1874), 2:20, states that perhaps it was Faukelius who delivered the gravamen to Dordt, but he offers no specific evidence. Following Sepp, H. Kaajan, De Pro-Acta der Dordtsche Synode in 1618 (Rotterdam: De Vries, 1914), 298, says that it was by Faukelius’ initiative that the Zeeland gravamen was sent to Dordt. On Faukelius see J. Borsius, “Hermannus Faukelius, zijn Leven, Karakter en Letterkundige Verdiensten,” Nederlandsch Archief voor Kerkelijke Geschiedenis 4 (1844): 184–348.

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was a pastor at Zierikzee.25 He was the assessor of the Zeeland synod, which also sent him as a delegate to Dordt. Both Teellinck and Udemans were well known leaders of the Nadere Reformatie, which especially sought to cultivate the practice of piety in the Dutch churches. This emphasis they drew from English Puritanism. The original gravamen as found in the acts of the Zeeland synod reads as follows: Because one finds by experience that when students of theology come out of the academies they are in general (door den bant) very poorly trained in the practice of piety (practijcke der godsalicheijt) as well as in church polity, it is decided to present this matter to the national synod and urge it as absolutely necessary for the upbuilding of the congregations of Christ. For this purpose some appropriate means shall be proposed on our behalf in order to correct this deficiency; especially, that they should have practice in the public reading of holy Scripture in the church, and in visiting the sick with a regular minister; that they also should be permitted (though with some limitation) in the consistories so that they may hear and observe the proceedings that are not secret or concerned with individuals (particulier); that they should also be examined to some extent in the practice of theology (practyke van de theologie) before they go on to serve in the church. And from now on efforts shall be made to introduce the same in the churches of this province.26

Practical Theology at the Synod of Dordt The matter of preparation of students for the ministry was taken up early on the agenda of the Synod of Dordt (November 1618 to May 1619)—in the “Pro-Acta” sessions before the Remonstrants (Arminians) arrived to have their views examined. On 16 November the Dutch delegates were asked to copy their gravamina and submit them to the synod’s officers.27 The gravamen actually submitted by Zeeland consisted of only the first half of their original version quoted above; it ends with “…this deficiency.”28 After treating the issues of a new Bible translation, catechism instruction, and the baptizing of slave children, the Synod of Dordt turned to Zeeland’s 25 On Udemans see P. Meertens, “Godefridus Cornelisz Udemans,” NAKG 28 (1935): 65–106. 26 Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 5:149. 27 H.H. Kuyper, De Post-Acta of Nahandelingen van de Nationale Synode van Dordrecht in 1618 en 1619 gehouden (Amsterdam: Hoveker & Wormser, 1899), 414. 28 The Zeeland gravamen as submitted is printed in Kuyper, Post-Acta, 442.



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gravamen in its eighteenth session on Saturday, 1 December. To aid the discussion of the gravamen the Zeeland and South Holland delegates had already prepared written advice on the training of theology students for the ministry. Both of these were then presented and read by a secretary of the synod.29 The South Holland advice suggested requirements for theological students both before and after they are given permission to publicly exhort (proponere).30 Since Zeeland’s advice specifically mentioned “practical theology,” it is more pertinent to our purpose. This advice was basically an expanded version of the second half of Zeeland’s original gravamen.31 Zeeland’s advice first offered some suggestions on the recruitment and selection of students for the ministry and then turned to their proper training. It recommended a standardized five or six year study of philosophy, languages, and especially theology, followed by a study tour of foreign universities and churches. Then, after positive recommendations from ministers and professors and a preparatory examination, students might be allowed to publicly exhort. They should also gain other kinds of practical experience to prepare them better for the ministry. First, they should publicly read Scripture in the churches. Next, it would be useful for them often to be with pastors to discuss with them the various cases of conscience (conscientiae casibus), and to accompany them in visiting the sick and comforting the distressed, and to learn from them how to speak to such people, how to encourage the distressed, and also to learn what sort of prayers should sometimes be said in these circumstances. For even though they ought to come to the churches from the schools trained in speaking, yet what they have learned must be put into practice (ad praxin). This they need to learn from pastors.32

Also, several months before they accept a call, they should be allowed, under certain conditions, to attend meetings of the consistory and of the deacons in order to gain insight on how church government functions, how to discipline, and how to care for the poor. The final recommendation is especially pertinent: Finally, till now in the examination before their promotion attention has been paid only to doctrine, namely whether they are orthodox, which we 29 Kaajan, Pro-Acta, 267. 30 Printed in Kaajan, Pro-Acta, 377, and summarized on 270–271. 31 Printed in the Acta Synodi Nationalis,…Dordrechti habitae Anno MDCXVIII et MDCXIX (Leiden: Elzevir, 1620), session 18, 49–50, and summarized in Kaajan, Pro-Acta, 269–270. 32 Acta Synodi Nationalis, 50.

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donald sinnema admit is primary; nevertheless, one can consider whether it is useful to establish also a practical examination (examen practicum) in which they may be examined whether they are steadfast in the word which is according to godliness (pietatem) [1 Tim. 6:3]33 and are capable of teaching Christian Ethics (Ethicam Christianam) and of forming the conduct of people in every kind of virtue. For it is proper that the man of God be thoroughly equipped for every good work, not only prepared for doctrine and reproof, but also for correction and instruction in righteousness [2 Tim. 3:16–17]. For this it is desirable that the minds of young men in the Colleges and Universities be trained in Practical Theology (Theologia Practica) and instructed in the various cases of conscience (conscientiarum casibus).34

In the next session on Monday the other foreign and Dutch delegations had the opportunity to present their advice on theological education. Almost every delegation, including the Dutch theology professors, expressed their basic approval of the Zeeland recommendations,35 but only the Hesse delegation specifically commented on the need for someone to teach practical theology: Therefore it would be well advised if in the colleges, after study of the languages and philosophy is completed, they first be properly instructed in the body of Christian doctrine, and then, when they have attained a fair knowledge of the theological commonplaces, they also get practice in preaching no less than in disputing, though privately within the walls of the colleges under the supervision and direction of some practical theologian (Theologi practici) well skilled in preaching, whom they may hold up as a model to imitate.36

In the discussion that took place the next day the synod focused on five particular issues: whether candidates for the ministry should be permitted to preach publicly; whether they might baptize; whether they should be allowed to attend consistory and classis meetings; whether they should 33 Text references in brackets are added to identify biblical citations. 34 Acta Synodi Nationalis, 50. John Hales, who observed the synod as chaplain to Dudley Carleton, the English ambassador to the Netherlands, summarized Zeeland’s advice in a letter and noted that it recommended: “That it were fit that even in Universities Youths were trained up in Practick Divinity and Cases of Conscience.” Mr Hales Letters from the Synod of Dort to…Dudley Carleton, in his Golden Remains (London, 1673), 18. 35 The advice of each delegation is printed in Kaajan, Pro-Acta, 369–81, and is summarized on 271–284. Theological delegates Johannes Polyander, Antonius Thysius, and Antonius Walaeus, who would belong to the Leiden theology faculty after Dordt, individually expressed agreement with the Zeeland recommendations, except for certain items, 374–377. None of their exceptions was an objection to the need for training in practical theology and the cases of conscience; yet they did not specifically express support for such training. 36 Kaajan, Pro-Acta, 370.



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read Scripture in worship services; and whether the synod should make a binding decision on these matters for all provinces or only give advice. Except for ruling against permission to baptize, the synod decided to leave these matters to the discretion of the local classes and churches.37 Zeeland’s recommendation that practical theology should be taught in the academies did not come up in these deliberations, except briefly during the discussion whether candidates may be allowed to attend consistory and classis meetings to observe how the churches handled pastoral cases and matters of church polity. In this context Festus Hommius, a Leiden minister and a secretary of the synod, “advised that professors of theology, besides their other exercises, also ought to hold a practical set of lectures (collegium practicum) in which some cases of conscience are treated.”38 The minister of Dordrecht, Balthasar Lydius, “advised that it would be useful that a book on cases of conscience be composed especially for the use of these candidates.”39 In his journal, Swiss theologian and delegate Johannes Breitinger noted that “there was no one who did not say that consideration should be paid to the way and manner of setting up a private practical set of lectures (collegii privati practici) in which cases of conscience and consistorial cases are discussed for the sake of training and preparing ministers.”40 Further discussion took place the next day, and the synod asked Faukelius to draft guidelines for the preparation of candidates for the ministry. He was to make use of the regulations of the Collegium Sapientiae, a training school for ministers in Heidelberg. The matter was then tabled until these guidelines could be presented for approval. However, the Synod of Dordt never returned to the matter.41 Thus the synod took no further action on the teaching of practical theology.

37 These discussions are analyzed by Kaajan, Pro-Acta, 285–298. 38 As reported in the journal of Dutch delegate Caspar Sibelius; cited by Kaajan, ProActa, 292. 39 As reported by Sibelius; cited by Kaajan, Pro-Acta, 292. Earlier William Perkins had written his two books on casuistry, A Discourse of Conscience (1596) and The Whole Treatise of the Cases of Conscience (1606). The former had also been translated into Latin and Dutch, as Anatomia Sacra Humanae Conscientiae (Basel, 1603; reprint 1604) and Een Excellent Tractaet van de Conscientie (Amsterdam, 1598; reprints 1608, 1614), the latter only into Latin, as Aureae Casuum Conscientiae Decisiones (Basel, 1608–09; reprint 1609). Soon after Dordt one of the foreign delegates, Johann Heinrich Alsted, published Theologia Casuum, Exhibens Anatomen Conscientiae et Scholam Tentationum (Hanau, 1621); his Methodus SS. Theologiae (1611) had already focused on cases of conscience in a brief Book IV. 40 Cited in Kaajan, Pro-Acta, 292. 41 Kaajan, Pro-Acta, 298; Kuyper, Post-Acta, 418.

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The next step in the pursuit to establish practical theology shifts to the provincial synod of South Holland, the province where Leiden University was located. Here the matter became part of a campaign to reform the Dutch universities, especially Leiden which had been at the center of the Arminian controversy. In 1618 the South Holland synod of Delft had sent several gravamina to the Synod of Dordt with ten recommendations for reform.42 The main concern was to get rid of professors who were not orthodox, especially those in theology, and replace them with others who would uphold the orthodox Reformed position. The Synod of Dordt basically accepted South Holland’s recommendations and referred them to the States General.43 Such recommendations from ecclesiastical synods could not easily be implemented, however, because the synods had only moral authority in these matters and could only appeal to the States for change. Control of the Dutch universities and appointment of professors was in the hands of the States, with Leiden University locally governed by a board of curators and Leiden burgomasters. Even after the political leadership shifted to those who sympathized with Reformed orthodoxy, the States were reluctant to share control of higher education with church authorities. Nevertheless, soon after the Synod of Dordt concluded, the States of Holland and West-Friesland decided on 4 July 1619 to appoint a commission to reform Leiden University. It was composed of the curators and burgomasters as well as Prince Maurice and several other municipal officials.44 Just prior to the Synod of Dordt the Leiden theology faculty had only two professors, Simon Episcopius, who became the leader of the Remonstrants who were summoned before Dordt,45 and Johannes Polyander, a moderate Contra-Remonstrant who was delegated to Dordt as the theological representative of Leiden University.46 With Dordt’s rejection of Arminianism, Episcopius was removed from his post. 42 Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 3:302. 43 The Synod of Dordt dealt with university reform in sessions 45 and 163. See Kuyper, Post-Acta, 167–170, 175–178, 484–485, and Kaajan, Pro-Acta, 299. 44 P. Molhuysen, ed., Bronnen tot de Geschiedenis der Leidsche Universiteit (‘s-Gravenhage: Martinus Nijhoff, 1916), 2:83–84*. Cf. C. Rademaker, Life and Work of Gerardus Joannes Vossius (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1981), 130. 45 On Episcopius see Anton Haentjens, Simon Episcopius als Apologeet van het Remonstrantisme (Leiden: Adriani, 1899). 46 On Polyander see A.J. Lamping, Johannes Polyander, Een Dienaar van Kerk en Universiteit (Leiden: Brill, 1980).



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Polyander remained as Leiden’s only theologian, with the task to teach New Testament. The reform commission moved quickly and on 9 July 1619 decided to appoint two new professors of theology.47 On 20 July the curators decided to call Pierre Du Moulin as second professor of theology to teach Old Testament48 and Antonius Walaeus as third professor to teach the commonplaces (dogmatics).49 From 23 July to 17 August of the same year the South Holland synod met in Leiden and followed up its concern for university reform.50 The synodical deputies51 reported that they had met with the Leiden curators and received assurance from them that not only the theology faculty but also all other faculties would be reformed according to the Reformed religion.52 In the context of this discussion of university reform the matter of practical theology came up on the agenda: This was the occasion to treat the 26th gravamen,53 which asks: Would it not be beneficial to call a theological professor to Leiden University to teach the students of theology Christian Ethics (Ethicam Christianam), by which is meant Practical Theology (Theologiam Practicam)? The answer was that this is necessary and for this purpose Mr. William Ames, whom the present synod considers very capable for this position, shall be proposed to the Lord Curators.54

Ames had been a student of the Puritan theologian William Perkins at Cambridge in his native England. There Ames’ thinking was shaped by the practical orientation of Perkins’ theology and of Ramist philosophy. In 1610 he was forced to flee his country because of his strong Puritan convictions. He found refuge in the Netherlands and spent several years as a 47 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:85, 121*. 48 Du Moulin was a leading French theologian and pastor of the Reformed church at Paris. The Paris consistory did not allow him to accept the appointment. On Du Moulin see Lucien Rimbault, Pierre Du Moulin, 1568–1658 (Paris: Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, 1966). 49 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:85. Walaeus was a pastor at Middelburg and professor at the Latin school there. He had served as a theological delegate at Dordt. He quickly accepted the Leiden appointment. On Walaeus see Jan de Lind van Wijngaarden, Antonius Walaeus (Leiden: Los, 1891). 50 It is noteworthy that Festus Hommius served as president of this synod and Balthasar Lydius as secretary. Both had spoken at Dordt of the need for practical theological training. Gisbertus Voetius, later well known for combining orthodox doctrine and practical piety, was also present as the pastor of Heusden. Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 3:325–326. 51 The South Holland synod usually had four synodical deputies, who served a two-year term to represent the synod between its meetings and implement its decisions. 52 Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 3:328–329. 53 The acts of this synod do not indicate which classis had sent this gravamen. Cf. Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 3:399. 54 Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 3:329.

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chaplain of the English community at The Hague. Ames soon became a leader in the polemic against the Arminians, writing several incisive works to counter their errors.55 For these efforts he was appointed as advisor to President Bogerman at the Synod of Dordt. So by 1619 Ames had established himself as an able and orthodox theologian; his later writings would more clearly reveal the practical emphasis of his theology.56 The same synod also decided to recommend that the curators appoint a fifth theology professor to explain the whole Hebrew Bible paraphrastically within the course of a few years. For this position it proposed Antonius Thysius, theology professor at Harderwijk who had also been a theological delegate at Dordt.57 In the afternoon of 8 August the South Holland synod sent its deputies to meet with the curators, then also meeting in Leiden, to urge ongoing reform of the university and to propose the two new positions. According to the synodical acts, the curators thanked the synod for its concern, and promised to consider the recommendations and discuss them with Prince Maurice and the other members of the reform commission. The acts note that afterwards these recommendations were orally presented to the Prince, who likewise promised that he would encourage this work. To strengthen its case for university reform the synod also decided to draw up an official request for presentation to the authorities.58 The curators’ minutes also take note of the 8 August meeting of the synodical deputies with the curators and provide further details: 55 Ames wrote some of the most important polemical writings against the Remonstrants before the Synod of Dordt. These included: De Arminii Sententia, qua Electionem Omnem Particularem Fidei Praevisae Docet Inniti, Disceptatio Scholastica inter Nic. Grevinchovium et Guil. Amesium (Amsterdam, 1613); Rescriptio Scholastica et Brevis ad Nic. Grevinchovii Responsum illud Prolixum, quod Opposuit Dissertationi de Redemptione Generali et Electione ex Fide Praevisa (Leiden, 1615); Coronis ad Collationem Hagiensem, qua Argumenta Pastorum Hollandiae adversus Remonstrantium Quinque Articulos…Vindicantur (Leiden, 1618). On Ames see Keith Sprunger, The Learned Doctor William Ames (Urbana: University of Illinois, 1972); Douglas Horton, trans., William Ames by Matthew Nethanus, Hugo Visscher and Karl Reuter (Cambridge: Harvard Divinity School Library, 1965); Keith Sprunger, “Ames, Ramus, and the Method of Puritan Theology,” HThR 59 (1966): 133–151. 56 In his Medulla Sacrae Theologiae (Franeker, 1623), first drafted for students whom he tutored at Leiden between 1620 and 1622, Ames defined theology in a practical way as “the doctrine of living to God,” a definition that closely reflected that of Peter Ramus. Ames’ main work in the area of practical theology was to be his work on casuistry, De Conscientia et eius Iure vel Casibus (Amsterdam, 1630), later translated as Conscience with the Power and Cases thereof (London, 1639). 57 Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 3:329–330. On Thysius see Sepp, Godgeleerd Onderwijs, 1:171–178. 58 Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 3:330.



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As for the theological professorship, the synod also decided to propose to the Hon. Curators and Burgomasters that since the theological faculty was quite numerous and three professors could not sufficiently lecture to the young men for the time they study here, and since those entering the ministry are principally deficient in practical theology (theologia practica) and are also not sufficiently trained in the cases of conscience—for which the synod thinks that a special professor should be appointed, and also one to explain the Hebrew text of holy Scripture,—therefore the aforesaid synod also wished to recommend to the Hon. Curators and Burgomasters that the theological faculty be provided with two more professors, and for this they wished to propose the persons of Mr. Antonius Thysius and Mr. Ames.59

The curators thanked the synod for its concern, and pointed out that they had begun to reform the university in regard to the theology faculty and would take further action. These minutes continue: Then as regards the increase in the number of professors of theology, [they replied] that they had no special mandate (niet specialicken waeren gelast) in this matter but wanted to take the matter into further consideration, and in due time report on it, just as they would also report if they further encountered any difficulty in reforming the other faculties of the university.60

Since the States had given the reform commission a mandate to reform, not expand, the theology faculty, this was a convenient excuse for the curators. Yet the synodical deputies were satisfied. They left thanking the curators for giving them a hearing and a good answer (goede antwoorde).61 On 27 August the deputies of the South Holland synod again met with the commission for university reform in Leiden and repeated their concerns.62 [The deputies] reminded us of the recommendation presented to us the other time [8 August] about reform of the university, requesting that we not only reform the theology profession, in which they said a good beginning was now made, but also to strengthen it with two more professors, one of whom should interpret the Hebrew Old Testament paraphrastically and the other teach cases of conscience (casus conscientiae).63

The commission responded to several other matters, but promised it would deliberate further on the appointment of more theology professors. 59 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:86. 60 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:86–87. Cf. Horton, Ames, 151–152. 61 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:87. 62 The synodical deputies for the year were the pastors Abraham Muysenholius, Hugo Beyerus, Balthasar Lydius, and Henricus Arnoldi. Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 3:404. 63 As reported in the reform commission’s 31 August report to the States of Holland and West-Friesland. Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:125*.

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The next day the commission went to The Hague to consult with Prince Maurice, and on 29 August it reached several decisions on the dismissal of some pro-Arminian professors at the university and on the theology faculty: Since the aforementioned deputies of the South Holland synod… also urged that the faculty of theology should be provided with two more professors, one of them in the cases of conscience, the other to read and interpret the Hebrew Old Testament in a short paraphrase so that the whole Old Testament can be completed in three years, which would be very useful to prepare students of theology sooner for ministry in the church, hence it is decided that one more professor should first be called, namely one to interpret the Old Testament in the way just mentioned, and for this post there was proposed the person of Mr. Antonius Thysius, professor of theology at Harderwijk, with instructions that the Lord Curators should take steps to make the call in a few days;64 and as for the second requested appointment it is understood that it is not so necessary and therefore for the time being it is turned down (is verstaen, dat deselve zoo nodich nyet en is, ende is die mitsdien voor alsnoch afgeslagen).65

With these decisions the commission for reform of the university considered its work done, and on 31 August it wrote a report of its activities for the States of Holland and West-Friesland.66 On 19 December this report was presented to the States, which approved the work of the commission.67 The States also declared that the ongoing governance of the university would remain with the curators and burgomasters in spite of the actions of the South Holland synod.68 This setback for the appointment of a practical theologian was not simply due to the commission’s judgment that it was unnecessary. That may have been a convenient excuse. More important was a political factor that involved William Ames’ troubled relationship with the English government. Due to his fervent Puritan convictions, Ames had been forced to leave England. In the Netherlands he remained closely tied to the exiled English Puritan community there. At the time he was nominated for the practical theology appointment, he was suspected of having a hand in 64 On 31 August the curators appointed Thysius to be the fourth professor of theology. Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:87. 65 As reported in the commission’s 31 August report. Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:127*. Cf. Rademaker, Vossius, 137. 66 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:119–128*. 67 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:128–129*. The States also noted that Prince Maurice had been involved with the commission and had approved its report. 68 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:131*.



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writing certain Puritan books published at Leiden that were critical of the Church of England’s hierarchy. Hence Dudley Carleton, the English ambassador to the Netherlands, made every effort to oppose Ames’ appointment to Leiden University. On 18 September 1619 Carleton wrote to secretary of state Robert Naunton: Upon some just ground of suspicion, that Mr. Amys hath his hand in many of those books, … I have desired the curators of the university of Leyden not to admit him to a place of public professor, to which he doth pretend, and hath many strong recommendations, until he hath given his majesty full satisfaction; which they do very willingly yield unto; and I am well assured his preferment will here stay, unless his majesty give way unto it.69

Thus it appears that the primary reason the curators did not appoint Ames to a practical theology position was political pressure from England, with whom the Dutch wanted to maintain good diplomatic relations. Several months later, on 22 January 1620, Leiden theology professor Johannes Polyander wrote to Carleton about Ames’ situation.70 Two days later Carleton reported in a letter to Naunton how he responded to Polyander with continued opposition to Ames’ appointment: That which he [Polyander] inlargeth further, concerns Mr. Amys, who seeking for a professor’s place, if not in divinity, yet in logic and some of the sciences, finds friends amongst the curators, particularly Paw of Amsterdam, whose sons he hath under his tutelage; upon knowledge whereof I recommended to Polyander the care (as I have done formerly to the curators) that his majesty should not be affronted with that man’s preferment before he had given full satisfaction to his majesty in those things wherein he hath offended his majesty.71

This letter indicates that Ames had some support among the Leiden curators. It also suggests that Polyander’s support for Ames was motivated more by a personal concern to find any teaching position for Ames—even in the Arts faculty of the university—than by a desire to establish the practical theology position. Although Carleton effectively blocked Ames’ appointment to a Leiden position, the three Leiden theology professors sought to appeal the matter directly to England. On 28 May 1620 Polyander, Walaeus, and Thysius 69 Letters from and to Sir Dudley Carleton, Knt. During his Embassy in Holland, from January 1615/16 to December 1620 (London, 1775), 390. 70 The volume of Dudley Carleton’s Letters mentions this letter in French from Polyander, but does not reproduce it, 435. 71 Carlton, Letters, 435. This letter was dated 14 January 1620, Old Style.

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wrote a letter to George Abbot, the Archbishop of Canterbury, asking him to intercede with King James I to allow Ames to take up the Leiden appointment: Since among the protectors of true religion and patrons of orthodox theologians you deservedly hold the primary place among the British, we thought that it would not be ungracious to your distinguished Reverence if we respectfully commended to you the situation of our unfortunate brother William Ames, a godly and very learned man…. For some years now we have noticed several times the very resolute judgments of your good-will toward our churches, and your distinguished Reverence is not unaware that your Ames is also not ill-deserving in regard to these [churches], because of his faithful defense of sound doctrine against the Remonstrants which he has published here in various writings…. We are distressed by the misfortune that he spends his private life in poverty. We strongly bewail the fact that he has incurred such suspicion of fault on the part of your King that he ordered that he be removed from the pastoral office, and therefore he is not able to be promoted by us to another function.72 We can find no more appropriate remedy to restore him to the favor of your most merciful King than in the great humanity and kindness of your distinguished Reverence, to which alone we are led to take refuge with his name. Therefore we wish that your distinguished Reverence, having been resolutely asked, will plead the cause of Ames before your King as kindly as his sad and extreme necessity demands, which constrains us to be his intercessors according to our duty, lest the exceptional gifts with which God has equipped him remain buried and useless to our churches.73

Festus Hommius, who visited England in June 1620 to present copies of the just published Acta of the Synod of Dordt to King James, the archbishop, and the Prince of Wales, delivered the professors’ letter to Abbot and also personally commended Ames’ cause as something desired by the Dutch church.74 According to Matthew Nethanus, Ames’ first biographer, Archbishop Abbot replied “that he was delighted that an Englishmen endowed with notable gifts was considered worthy of a public professorship outside his own country, but they should know that Ames was not an obedient son of his mother, the Church of England, but a rebel.”75 72 That is, the Leiden appointment. 73 This letter is printed in Albert Eekhoff, De Theologische Faculteit te Leiden in de 17de Eeuw (Utrecht: Ruys, 1921), 3–6. It was written in Walaeus’ hand. 74 Hommius was at this time the regent of the Staten College at Leiden. On his trip to England see Pieter Wijminga, Festus Hommius (Leiden: Donner, 1899), 310–313, and Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:169*. 75 Matthew Nethanus, “Praefatio Introductoria,” in William Ames, Opera (Amsterdam, 1658). The preface is dated 19 July 1658.



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The official reply, written on 24 June by Abbot’s chaplain Thomas Goad, was somewhat more diplomatic but firm: As for the present condition of Ames and our most Serene King’s opinion that you imagined is mitigated toward him, any efforts of a mediator or intercessor in this matter will be in vain, if he who has not a little dishonored the Church, his mother and nurse, continues to fall short, namely in writings launched and published in press….76

On his return to the Netherlands Hommius delivered this letter to the Leiden theologians.77 The attempt to hire Ames for the position of practical theologian at Leiden had failed. Thereafter Ames was no longer mentioned in this connection, although the South Holland synod continued its efforts to secure such a position at Leiden. The support for Ames by the Leiden theology professors is not easy to understand. Does their support for his case indicate their support for a separate position in practical theology? On the surface it may appear so. And Nethanus, Ames’ biographer, also seems to imply this. In 1658 he noted that “the professors of sacred theology themselves eagerly desired (exoptabant) that he would be given to them as a colleague.”78 Other evidence, however, suggests that Polyander, at least, did not support the notion of a separate practical theology position, at the very time that he was lobbying for Ames. This is apparent in the view of theology articulated in the dogmatic cycle of academic disputations drawn up by the Leiden theologians and published in 1625 as the Synopsis Purioris Theologiae. Polyander drafted and presided over the first disputation, titled “On Sacred Theology,” on 6 February 162079—two weeks after he wrote his letter about Ames to Dudley Carleton. This disputation declares that theology as a whole is both theoretical and practical: 76 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2 169*. This letter was dated 14 June 1620, Old Style. Thomas Goad had been a member of the English delegation at the Synod of Dordt, so he was well known to Hommius and the Leiden theology professors, all of whom were at Dordt. 77 Eekhoff, Theologische Faculteit, 4. 78 Nethanus, “Praefatio.” 79 The cycle of disputations that was eventually published in the Synopsis began in February 1620. A list of the proposed disputations for this cycle was published with an oration of Polyander in Orationes Inaugurales a SS. Theologiae Professoribus & Collegii Illust. Ordinum Hollandiae & West-Frisiae Moderatoribus habitae (Leiden, 1620), 3–4; the list bears the title, “Catalogue of Disputations of the Theological Faculty begun in the month of January, in the year 1620.” Actually the cycle began in February, according to Everhardus Bronkhorst, Diarium, sive adversaria omnia quae gesta sunt in Academia Leydensi, 1591–1627 (The Hague, 1898), 147.

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donald sinnema 22. From this the question arises, whether sacred theology is theoretical (theoretica) or practical (practica)? Some theologians reply to this question that it is theoretical, others that it is practical, and others that it is mixed. We agree with the last reply, so we think that it should be called both theoretical and practical, on account of its twofold end, namely its joining together of knowledge and worship of God in this life, and on account of its arranging of the one under the other. For just as godliness (pietas) is subordinated in the holy Scriptures to our salvation and God’s glory, so knowledge is subordinated to godliness (1 Tim. 4:8, Col. 3:16, Titus 1:1). 23. Therefore theory (theoria) and practice (praxis) are not opposed species (differentiae) of theology, but conditions (conditiones) united together and arranged in their order for attaining eternal life. 24. Theology does not consist of bare idle speculation, but of practical knowledge (scientia practica) effectively moving the will and all the affections of the heart to worship God and to love one’s neighbor. Hence faith is said to work effectively through love (Gal. 5:6, 1 Thess. 1:3)….80

The assertion in thesis 23 that theory and practice are not opposed differentiae of theology excludes the possibility of practical theology as a distinct species of theology—that is, a separate theological discipline. Following the emphasis on practice as inherently part of all theology, the dogmatic disputations found in the Synopsis often include a thesis on the use (usus) or fruit (fructus) of the doctrine in question.81 This had long been a feature of Protestant exegetical and dogmatic analysis.82 It seems that Walaeus and Thysius shared the stance of Polyander. The same view of theology is apparent in a statement drawn up by the four Leiden theologians in June 1623,83 as well as in a later work of Walaeus.84 Why then did Polyander and his colleagues take up Ames’ case if they did not support the idea of a distinct discipline of practical theology? Perhaps the best answer lies in their concern for the person rather than the position. That emphasis is evident in Polyander’s letter to Carleton— as much as we know of it—and even clearer in the appeal of the three 80 Johannes Polyander, Andreas Rivetus, Antonius Walaeus, and Antonius Thysius, Synopsis Purioris Theologiae (Leiden, 1625), 6. 81 E.g., Synopsis, 5–6, 151, 176, 210–211, 276. 82 For example, Andreas Hyperius, in his influential volume on how to do theological studies, De Recte Formando Theologiae Studio (Basel, 1556), 381–382, 387, advised that in a scholastic method of exegesis the interpreter should note what in a passage may be useful for the present time—for doctrine, reproof, instruction, correction, or consolation—and in a scholastic method of explaining commonplaces (dogmatics) it is fitting to note how much spiritual fruit can be gained from a doctrine, both publicly for the church and privately for the conscience. 83 See below. 84 Antonius Walaeus, Loci Communes S. Theologiae (Leiden, 1640), ch. 1.



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professors to Archbishop Abbot. Nowhere in these documents is the practical theology position even mentioned. The personal relationship of the professors to Ames was forged at least at the Synod of Dordt where all of them were present. The South Holland Synod’s Later Efforts When the South Holland synod met at Gouda later in the summer of 1620 (4 August), one of the Leiden curators, Rochus van den Honert85 was present to report on the actions of the curators regarding reform of the university. As reported in the acts of this session, It is noted that the Lord Curators still have not been able to decide to call a professor of practical theology (professorem theologiae practicae). It is also understood from Lord Curator van den Honert that the request is not absolutely turned down (afgeslagen) and completely beyond all hope. So the synod (judging that such an appointment (professie) would be most useful and profitable for the churches) has decided that the deputies of the synod shall plead the mind of the synod in writing (scripto) to the Lord Curators, and also give a further explanation of the nature and necessity of this appointment.86

At the same meeting van den Honert offered to bring a report of this to the curators and to do what he could (de goed hand bieden) in the matter.87 Several days later, on 8–10 August, the Leiden curators met and van den Honert reported on various actions of the South Holland synod relating to the university. As for the theology position, the curator minutes simply report “that he had turned down the request of the synod to appoint a professor who would teach Christian Ethics or Practical Theology (Ethica christiana of Theologia practica) by appealing to the finances of the University.”88 There is no indication that van den Honert did anything to support the case for a practical theology appointment. And the synodical deputies had not yet followed up on their mandate to draw up a document that would present this case to the curators.

85 Van den Honert was one of the new curators of Leiden University when the reform of the university began in 1619 at the urging of the Synod of Dordt. On him see Nieuw Nederlandsch Biographisch Woordenboek, 8:817. 86 Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 3:413–414. 87 Reitsma-Van Veen, Acta, 3:414. 88 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:95.

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It seems that the deputies were not very eager to pursue the matter with the curators, because a year later they still had not drawn up a document to present the case for a practical theologian. When the South Holland synod next met at Rotterdam on 20–30 July 1621, the synodical deputies explained that they had planned a certain day to present the synod’s request to the curators, but due to some difficulties that came up they were prevented from doing so. Still, the synod continued to press the matter, although it now offered an alternative proposal: The assembly, noting how necessary and profitable this professorship is for the young students, agreed that the deputies of the synod should earnestly pursue with the Lord Curators that one of the four (enen van de vier) present Professors of Theology be assigned the aforementioned profession.89

Instead of pressing for the separate appointment of a professor in practical theology, the synod now proposed that one of the four Leiden theologians should focus part of his teaching on practical theology. The reason for this shift in strategy was probably due to a realization that the curators would never make a separate appointment in this field, especially after they had just added a fourth theologian to the Leiden faculty. In October 1620 Andreas Rivetus had joined the theology faculty as a second Old Testament Professor.90 Even with this renewed mandate the synodical deputies did not immediately pursue the matter with the curators. When the curators met again on 9 August, the deputies were not present and the issue of practical theology did not come up.91 A year later no further progress was made. The South Holland synod met at Gorinchem on 5–9 July 1622 and reaffirmed the mandate it had given to its deputies: The deputies of this synod, as before, are still instructed … to pursue the matter with all diligence with the Lord Curators of the university, also because it may be found necessary that practical theology be taught by one particular professor in the University of Leiden, since this synod cannot but understand that this profession is highly necessary and profitable for students of sacred theology.92

89 W. Knuttel, ed., Acta der Particuliere Synoden van Zuid-Holland 1621–1700 (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1908), 1:4. 90 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:96. On Rivetus, see H. Honders, Andreas Rivetus als Invloedrijk Gereformeerd Theoloog in Hollands Bloeitijd (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1930). 91 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:103–104. 92 Knuttel, Acta, 1:40.



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Finally, in the fall of that year the synodical deputies presented the case for practical theology in writing to the Leiden curators.93 Since this document, presented to the 9 November meeting of the curators, contains a detailed rationale for teaching practical theology, it is worth reproducing in full: With due respect the deputies of the synod of South Holland state that the synod held at Leiden in 1619, and also all the subsequent synods of Gouda, Rotterdam, and most recently Gorinchem (art. 1), deemed it highly necessary that a professor of practical theology should be called to the University of Leiden, and instructed the deputies of this synod to propose and recommend this earnestly to your Honors. How necessary it is that practical theology be taught is evident not only from the fact that other Reformed universities and illustrious schools have such professors who publicly teach students practical theology94—which they never would have approved or implemented unless they had been completely assured of the necessity and singular usefulness of such a profession—but also from the fact that the goal of the study of sacred theology ought to be practice (praxis): namely, how a student of theology entering the holy ministry of the church may fruitfully take up this ministry. For this it is not only necessary that he should thoroughly understand sacred theology, be sound in the faith, and be able to point out and explain the right meaning of holy Scripture, but also that he should know how to present the use (usum) of all the main points of sacred theology capably to his listeners, so that they may thereby be edified and learn how they ought to benefit from it, whether it be to console their consciences when they are anxious and tempted or to reform their life. This is what students of theology here in this country have lacked till now. They well understand the fundamentals, know how to give a good account of them and how to analyze and interpret the text of holy Scripture fairly well, but when they come to its use and practice, it goes so badly that the congregations that they ought to tend as shepherds draw little benefit from their sermons. The Holy Spirit, however, teaches that the principal goal of church ministry is edification: Christ has given some for the work of the ministry, namely for the edifying of the body of Christ (Ephesians 4:11–12). Likewise, all Scripture inspired by God, says Paul, is profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for instruction (2 Tim. 3:16). Likewise: all that was written is for our edification (Rom. 15:4). Here is where students fall short: they do not know how to reprove the unrepentant for their sins, console and strengthen the weak, admonish the wayward, and instruct everyone according to their condition, situation, and 93 The synodical deputies at this time were Johannes Dibbetzius, Henricus Swalmius, Petrus Nienrode, and Wynandus Schuylius, pastors respectively of Dordrecht, Delft, Rotterdam, and Scheveningen. Knuttel, Acta, 1:61. 94 This claim was soon denied by the Leiden theologians.

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donald sinnema calling. Yet, this task is expressly commanded of them by God, in Ezekiel 33 [34] and in Paul’s letters to Timothy and Titus in various passages. This deficiency is due to the fact that they are not instructed in practical theology. Thus, in this matter the aforementioned deputies in the name as before [of the South Holland synod] request that it may please your Honors to consider this matter maturely and to issue an order that a professor of practical theology be called or that this task be assigned to and required of any one of the four professors of sacred theology, so that when the students enter the church ministry, after also being instructed therein, they may serve the congregations with greater edification, since God’s glory as well as human salvation shall thereby be greatly advanced.95

After the synodical deputies presented their document to the curators and orally made their case for the discipline of practical theology as very useful and necessary, the curators and burgomasters gave their reply: They also judged that the aforementioned profession would not be without use, but that the finances and revenues of the University could not bear that they should call a person newly and expressly to this profession, and that before the aforementioned task is assigned to the present professors of the theological faculty, they ought to be informed and sounded out by the aforementioned curators and burgomasters…. Also, they allow the aforementioned deputies themselves to speak with the theology professors about this matter.96

Within the next three months the Leiden curators and burgomasters consulted with the theology professors about the matter of practical theology. Meanwhile the deputies of the South Holland synod had already communicated with the professors about the request that one of them teach practical theology. At the next curators’ meeting on 7–9 February 1623, a report was made of these consultations. According to the minutes of this meeting, the Leiden theologians had told the deputies: that the same deputies should be satisfied when the aforementioned professors impressed (quamen in te scherpen) practical theology upon the students in their lessons, and applied the same to the conscience after explaining the texts (naer explicatie van de texten de selve totte conscientien te appliceren). This being the case, the aforementioned professors thought that no special professorship of practical theology is necessary (egeen bysondere professie Theologicae practicae noodich te zijn).97

This response of the professors is consistent with the position expressed in the Synopsis. With Ames out of the picture, they forthrightly rejected 95 Eekhoff, Theologische Faculteit, 31–33. 96 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2:107–108. 97 Molhuysen, Bronnen, 2 111–112.



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the idea of separate instruction in practical theology, contending that they incorporated the practical application of theology throughout their teaching. Perhaps pressure from the curators was also a factor, and perhaps each of the four was personally reluctant to focus on teaching practical theology when that option was proposed. When the South Holland synodical deputies had consulted with the Leiden theologians (sometime around the end of 1622), the deputies had requested that the theologians write up their reply to the suggestion that one of them should teach practical theology. This written reply was not immediately forthcoming, so the deputies repeated their request. The theology faculty finally drew up their reply on 6 June 1623. It has been preserved only in draft form, but this well articulates the position of the theologians: …We very much embrace this concern of the synod whereby it strongly desires that no part of theology that may contribute to a complete education in it should be lacking in the theological profession; and we testify that we also have asserted and pursued the same concern, and we are very prepared to do everything we can that may be appropriate and advantageous for advancing theological studies and students of theology. But in regard to practical theology, like you we consider it very useful, yes necessary, since we say that the whole [of theology] is practical in its use, and also, in a large part of it, in its content and subject matter. (For whatever is taught in it has in view the practice of faith and of conduct, and so it extends itself throughout the whole body of theology; and in so far as it forms a definite part, it refers in particular to the Decalogue.) But whether the practical (practica) should be separated and treated separately from the theoretical (theoretica)—as the papists do, who, while separating that part which deals with the Decalogue and the virtues and is occupied with what they call the cases of conscience and the manner of discipline, attach highly useless, superfluous, inquisitive, dangerous, and scandal-filled questions and determine them with great audacity—that we very much doubt. We certainly know of no Reformed university thus far that has followed this as a policy.98 Meanwhile, however, what the synod requires we have done until now (even if not in that way and manner), in all sorts of places joining with doctrine its use and practice (usum et praxim); and by the advice and request of the synod we will further do so all the more diligently. Indeed, we have begun more fully to point out its use and practice—we who are engaged in interpreting the Old and New Testaments do so here and there and as the occasion presents itself, and he who is engaged in explaining the commonplaces (locos 98 Thus the Leiden theologians denied the earlier claim by the synodical deputies that other Reformed universities and schools already had theologians teaching practical theology as a distinct discipline.

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donald sinnema communes) does so in separate concluding loci.99 In fact, we give guidance to the students in practice preaching (exercitio propositionum) and in what are called preparatory exercises (progymnasmatis) for the holy ministry, where the treatment and practice of these is clearly done for that purpose. This is the sum of your request and of our reply, with which we are convinced the synod will be satisfied.100

Again, this statement reflects the position of the Synopsis. No separate treatment of practical theology is necessary. The practical emphasis is to be somehow incorporated in theology as a whole. But now the Leiden theologians were willing to work harder at highlighting the practical aspects. Without support from the Leiden curators and theologians, the South Holland synod then began to back off in its insistence on separate instruction in practical theology. At the next meeting of the synod on 4–12 July 1623, the synodical deputies reported on the developments of the past year: the curators said the university could not at the present time incur the expense of establishing a new theology position, and the Leiden theologians both orally and in writing had shown that such a distinct position was not absolutely necessary (niet soo geheel nodich) because they taught in such a way that “the practice is always explained and pointed out with the theory.” Several persons at the synod who had studied under these professors also testified that this was indeed the case. The synod responded that it considered that the deputies had thus far fulfilled their mandate in this matter, provided that they should renew the request if they ever saw a better opportunity to obtain something in this regard from the curators. Meanwhile, they should keep an eye on the teaching of the professors, and on occasion urge them to make progress on their promise and initial efforts in this matter and as much as possible to be brief in the method and course of theoretical and practical theology.101 It appears that the synodical deputies did keep an eye on the professors, but the practical results of their approach of combining the theoretical and practical in their teaching were not impressive. When the synod met again on 2–20 July 1624, the deputies reported that the Leiden theologians had explained that, though they had done their duty in this regard, they could not bring the students to the practice of theology as quickly as 99 Rivetus and Thysius were the Old Testament professors and Polyander was the New Testament professor; Walaeus was teaching the commonplaces (dogmatics). 100 Eekhoff, Theologische Faculteit, 35–36. 101 Knuttel, Acta, 1:67.



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they wished; this was not due to the lack of a professor in practical theology, but because students sent to the university from the lower (triviale) schools were so ignorant and little educated in the basics of Christian doctrine. Though the theology professors still did not consider it necessary to seek a professor of practical theology, the synod nevertheless thought it would be beneficial that, as the opportunity arose, efforts should continue to obtain such a professor—in view of the fact that there were always two kinds of students in the university, those who enter fresh and inexperienced and those who with time are fairly well trained. To address the problem of incoming students, the synod also instructed all its ministers to urge the rectors of the local schools as much as possible to instill in the youth the basic principles of religion, at their level of comprehension.102 The following year, when the synod met on 21–26 July, the synodical deputies explained that they had found no good opportunity to pursue efforts with the Leiden curators to obtain a professor of practical theology. All the more so because the theology professors still persisted in the idea that such a position was unnecessary, since they “conduct their lessons and proposed exercises in such a way that they instill in the students of theology not only its theory but also its practice, in their public lectures as well as private classes.” The synod now seemed resigned to the situation; it only decided that its deputies should on occasion urge the professors to continue what they were doing (tselve also na te komen).103 In 1626, at the meeting of the South Holland synod on 7–17 July, the deputies reported that they had spoken at length with the Leiden theologians about obtaining a professor of practical theology, but in the end they received the answer that the theology professors did set up and conduct their public teaching with the goal that their students may be instructed and trained in practical theology. The acts of this synod then report: “Consequently, it is unanimously agreed to hereby let this matter rest.”104 And so the years of effort to establish a distinct chair or discipline in practical theology at Leiden University ended, a failure. The succeeding synods did not bring up the matter again. It would be two decades before the separate teaching of practical theology would be considered again at Leiden.105 102 Knuttel, Acta, 1:95. 103 Knuttel, Acta, 1 131–132. 104 Knuttel, Acta, 1 164. 105 In 1644 the North Holland synod at Alkmaar (art. 51) petitioned the theology professors to use Ames’ Conscientia in their teaching at Leiden University. See Horton, Ames, 14.

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It is apparent that in the early seventeenth-century Netherlands and elsewhere the available theological education of students for the ministry was not preparing them to meet the real needs of the churches. The education offered in the universities was much too theoretically or scholastically oriented to effectively address matters of practice.106 Hence the call to appoint a practical theologian at Leiden may be seen as a reaction to the prevalent scholasticism of the day. This reaction came initially from the Nadere Reformatie, which sought to apply the English Puritan emphasis on the practice of piety in the Dutch Reformed churches. The concept of “practical theology” at this time first of all meant study of the cases of conscience, but it also signified training in the practical aspects of the pastoral ministry, such as application-oriented preaching, visitation of the sick and troubled, and pastoral leadership in church administration, church polity, and church discipline. Since it was focused on conduct in the church, it was even equated with Christian ethics.107 The attempt to establish a chair in practical theology failed at Leiden for various reasons. Though lack of funding may have played some role, this was probably a convenient excuse of the Leiden curators to turn down the request. More important was the political factor that prevented Ames from taking the position, resistance on the part of the curators to ecclesiastical pressures on their domain, and the fact that the Leiden theology professors never really supported a separate position in practical theology, even though they personally sought to help Ames. The Leiden theologians resisted such an appointment primarily because of their conception of theology as theoretical and practical at the same time. Although a failure, the attempt to establish the position had the effect of pressuring the Leiden professors to highlight more deliberately the practical implications of their own teaching. In the aftermath of this failed attempt at Leiden, within two decades practical theology clearly emerged as a distinct theological discipline at the nearby Utrecht Academy. There in 1644 Gisbertus Voetius briefly described the field of practical theology and its resources in his Exercitia et 106 Regarding the scholastic climate at this time, see Donald Sinnema, “Reformed Scholasticism and the Synod of Dort (1618–19),” in John Calvin’s Institutes: His Opus Magnum, ed. B.J. van der Walt (Potchefstroom: Potchefstroom University, 1986), 467–506. 107 See Donald Sinnema, “The Discipline of Ethics in Early Reformed Orthodoxy,” CTJ 28 (1993): 10–44.



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Bibliotheca Studiosi Theologiae.108 Two years later in the spring of 1646 he conducted a series of six academic disputations on “practical theology.”109 He sub-divided this field into “moral and casuistic theology” (which focuses especially on the Decalogue), ascetics (which studies devotional practice), and church polity.110 By 1658 the discipline of practical theology had begun to develop so much that Matthew Nethanus, Voetius’ colleague at Utrecht, could sing the praises of Perkins, Ames, Teellinck, Udemans, Rivetus, and Voetius for their major contributions to this field. He had special praise for the work of Voetius: Now for over twenty years … distinguished service has been rendered for the Church of God in this department of theology by our venerable teacher and colleague, the Hon. Gisbertus Voetius, who from the time he was called to this professorship and from the very beginnings of this university to this day has followed that method of teaching. After the theoretical part of theology, where he takes up God and his works, man in four aspects, and the controversies of religion, he leads our students to an integrated and fruitful knowledge of the practical part. In this he explains, first, moral questions and controversies as cases of conscience according to the order of the Decalogue, then, the disciplinary part which has to do with the cultivation of godliness within and without, publicly and privately, and, thirdly, ecclesiastical polity, which is concerned with the things that must be done in the church, with the persons who must do them, with their duties, and with church government.111

Though there was still no separate chair of practical theology, this discipline was now actively being taught by a regular professor.

108 Gisbertus Voetius, Exercitia et Bibliotheca Studiosi Theologiae (Utrecht, 1651; 1st ed. 1644), 490–503. 109 Voetius, SDT, 3:1–59. On Voetius’ significance for the development of practical theology, see W. van ‘t Spijker, “Voetius Practicus,” in De Onbekende Voetius, ed. J. van Oort, et al. (Kampen: Kok, 1989), 244–245. 110 Voetius, SDT, 3:3. Under church polity Voetius included homiletics (theologia practica concionatoria). In his Exercitia he had considered homiletics as a fourth subdivision of practical theology. 111 Nethanus, “Praefatio.” Translation from Horton, Ames, 14–16.

THEOLOGIA PRACTICA: THE DIVERSE MEANINGS OF A SUBJECT OF EARLY MODERN ACADEMIC WRITING Aza Goudriaan A “discipline that came into being in German Protestantism at the beginning of the nineteenth century”: that is how a contemporary reference work describes the meaning of “practical theology” today (as distinct from the medieval discussion about the speculative or practical character of theology as such).1 Thus, “the history of Protestant practical theology … begins, according to general scholarly consensus, with Schleiermacher’s surpassing of the literature providing guidance for the ministry by the understanding of practical theology as the theory of leading the Church.”2 One does not need to doubt Schleiermacher’s significance for the modern history of practical theology to regret the implied neglect of the earlier history of theologia practica. There was such an earlier history. It is the theme of the present essay. What meaning(s) did the Latin term theologia practica have as a subject of academic discourse in early modern publications? The scope of this question is limited in at least two respects here. First, focusing on academic discourse, this essay considers only publications in Latin that use the expression theologia practica (and even so it does not claim to be exhaustive). Thus, while in 1892 E.C. Achelis identified Andreas Hyperius as “the father of practical theology according to the present understanding of

1 Christian Grethlein, “Praktische Theologie, I. Zum Begriff,” Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart [RGG], vol. 6, 4th ed. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 1560–1561. Cf. Christian Grethlein and Michael Meyer-Blanck, “Geschichte der Praktischen Theologie im Überblick—eine Einführung,” in Geschichte der Praktischen Theologie. Dargestellt anhand ihrer Klassiker, ed. Grethlein and Meyer-Blanck (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1999), 1–65. On the continued discussion in early modern Reformed orthodoxy about theology as being practical or theoretical, see Muller, PRRD, 1:340–354; E.C. Achelis, “Die Entstehung der praktischen Theologie,” Theologische Studien und Kritiken 65 (1892): 8–23. I am indebted to Donald Sinnema’s paper in this volume which stimulated me in writing this essay. On the history of theologia practica, see also Achelis, Lehrbuch der praktischen Theologie, vol. 1, 3rd ed. (Leipzig: Hinrich, 1911), 1–14; cf. Christiaan Sepp, Het godgeleerd onderwijs in Nederland gedurende de 16de en 17de eeuw (Leiden: De Breuk en Smits, 1874) 2:387–423. 2 Michael Meyer-Blanck, “Praktische Theologie, II. Geschichtlich in Deutschland, USA, Niederlande, Großbritannien und dem franzözischen Sprachbereich,” RGG, 6:1561.

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the concept,”3 this claim is not discussed in the present essay for the very simple reason that Hyperius did not designate this practical theology as theologia practica, the meaning of which term is precisely what the question is about. Second, while the present study of (what seems to be) the earliest use of theologia practica as a subject of its own is not limited by confession or geography, the conceptual history from Gisbertus Voetius onward focuses on Reformed sources published in the Dutch Republic, the terminus ad quem being Cornelius van Velzen’s monumental Insti­ tutiones theologiae practicae (1748–1757). The Roman Catholic Impulse It seems that the Louvain theologian Johannes Molanus (1533–1585) was the first who used the term “practical theology” to describe the main subject of a book. His work Theologiae practicae compendium was published at least four times, for the first time in 1585.4 Molanus does not provide reflections on what theologia practica means and why he is using the term. The meaning of the term has to be deduced from the book’s contents. Molanus’ work is divided into five parts, which deal with penitence and censure, the Decalogue, virtues and sins, the sacraments, and the Christian state.5 So here practical theology includes ethics, the ecclesiological practice of how to deal with sinners, ecclesiastical ritual, and politics. The moral viewpoint is predominant. It is interesting to note that Molanus considers this book to convey the contents of his teaching at the Royal College.6 Molanus served as the first director of this college instituted in 1579 for the education of those who prepared for pastoral work.7 Apparently he considered what he taught there to be “practical theology.” 3 Achelis, Lehrbuch der praktischen Theologie, 1:10; see also idem, “Die Entstehung der praktischen Theologie,’ 14, 27 (“den Vater der praktischen Theologie in heutigem Sinn des Wortes”). The claim has been relativized based on differing concepts of ‘practice.’ See Gerhard Krause, “Andreas Hyperius (16.5.1511–1.2.1564),” TRE, 15:778–779. 4 É. Amann mentions editions published at Cologne (1585 and 1590), Louvain (1625), and Antwerp (1626); “Molanus, Jean,” Dictionnaire de théologie catholique (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1929), 10:2087–2088. M.W.F. Stone mentions that 1596 William Perkins spoke about “popish books of practical or case-divinitie”; see Stone, “The adoption and rejection of Aristotelian moral philosophy in Reformed ‘Casuistry,’” in Humanism and Early Modern Philosophy, ed. Kraye and Stone (London: Routledge, 2000), 88n84. 5 Joannes Molanus, Theologiae practicae compendium, per conclusiones in quinque trac­ tatus digestum (Cologne: Mylius, 1585). 6 See Molanus, Theologiae practicae compendium, preface. 7 Amann, “Molanus,” 2087.



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The Jesuit theologian Antonio Possevino devoted several publications to academic study, the best known of which is the Bibliotheca selecta.8 In the first volume of this work, published in Rome in 1593, theologia practica appeared as a category distinct from scholastic theology. This practical theology, however, was not as broadly defined as was the case in Molanus. Practical theology, for Possevino, is an equivalent of casuistry: the relevant chapter is entitled “on teaching practical theology or the cases of conscience” (De theologia practica sive de casibus conscientiae docendis).9 Two things are noteworthy here. First of all, Possevino provides recommendations on how to teach practical theology, thus confirming what remained more implicit in Molanus: that practical theology was considered a subject to be taught to students in a systematic manner. Cases of conscience should not, for instance, be taught by a reading of any one author dealing with theme in a mere alphabetical order. Practical theology should rather be related to other branches of theology and its usefulness, both for personal spirituality and for public life, made explicit. Moreover, the term “practical theology” should be explained. It is concerned with “the duties of the Christian life” and thus requires an exposition on what the human conscience is. Practical theology, then, studies “the good, and the qualities of human actions” as related to God. It shows what should be done or rather be avoided. Practical theology, as Possevino saw it, was theological ethics or moral theology. The description “cases of conscience” clearly involves human subjectivity but Possevino’s explanation also makes it clear that he intends a broader discussion of moral theology that has also political relevance.10 Moreover, casuistry as Possevino conceived it had to take into account the different human occupations and positions in society since these implied specific norms concerning right conduct.11

   8 On Possevino (1533–1611), see e.g. Helmut Zedelmaier, “Possevino, Antonio,” Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche, vol. 8, 3rd ed. (Freiburg: Herder, 2009), 451–452.    9 Antonio Possevino, Bibliotheca selecta qua agitur de ratione studiorum in historia, in disciplinis, in salute omnium procuranda (Rome: Typographia Apostolica Vaticana, 1593), 1 278–279 (cf. Antonio Possevino, Apparatus ad studia d. Scripturae, theologiae scholasticae et practicae sive moralis de casibus conscientiae, 4th. ed. [Ferrara: Baldinus, 1609], p. 114v-116v); see also page 9: “de theologia practica, seu conscientiae casibus” (cf. Possevino, Apparatus ad studia, 88, 114). 10 Possevino, Bibliotheca selecta, 278–279. (Possevino knew Molanus’ Theologiae practi­ cae compendium, 279). 11 Possevino, Apparatus ad studia, 119r-120r.

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Earlier research has pointed out that Johann Heinrich Alsted in his 1611 Methodus S.S. Theologiae identified a theologia practica that consisted of three different branches: soterological (“or the schools of temptation”), prophetic, and acroamatic practical theology.12 Theoretical theology, on the other hand, was either natural or supernatural; the latter was divided into catechetic and didactic theology.13 Alsted’s definition of practical theology as being concerned with spiritual combat, preaching and listening to sermons, is markedly different from the earlier concepts of Molanus and Possevino. It reveals a clearly Protestant focus on the preaching of the Word of God. The need for academic instruction in practical theology was discussed in 1618 at the Synod of Dordt, which Alsted attended.14 The Synod, however, did not take any binding decision on this point. The Zeeland proposal that provided the occasion for the Synod’s deliberations at this point suggests that practical theology had the same meaning as with Possevino: it was to be occupied with cases of conscience.15 In 1622 the Lutheran minister Paul Egard published an exposition of the biblical book Ecclesiastes under the title of Theologia practica.16 The scope of the book is limited in the sense that it is concerned with the “practical theology of the most wise king of the Israelites, Salomon” as laid down in one book of the Bible. Yet it covers the human microcosm, a “compendium of the entire theology,” and a “practical theology.” The human ‘microcosm’ as represented in Solomon’s book shows the human misery, the divine providence, the worship that is due to God, and the end of life. As a theological ‘compendium’ Solomon discusses “everything that is necessary 12 See above Donald Sinnema, “The Attempt to Establish a Chair in Practical Theology at Leiden University (1618–1626)”; Stone, “Reformed Casuistry,” 76 and 88n84. 13 Johann Heinrich Alsted, Methodus ss. Theologiae (Hanau: Eifrid, 1634), 6; 279, cf. 284. 14 On this and the aftermath, see Sinnema, “The Attempt.” On the Dordrecht discussions, see also Hendrik Kaajan, De pro-acta der Dordtsche Synode in 1618 (Rotterdam: de Vries, 1914), 260–303. The Zeeland advice was later mentioned by e.g. Johannes Hoornbeek, Theologia practica (Utrecht: Versteeg, 1663), 1:16–17. 15 Acta synodi nationalis, in nomine Domini nostri Iesu Christi autoritate DD. Ordinum generalium Foederatum Belgii Provinciarum Dordrechti habitae anno MDCXVIII et MDCXIX (Dordrecht: Canin, 1620), 51–53, here esp. 53 (sessio 18). Cf. Kaajan, Pro-acta, 291–292. Leonhard Hell’s suggestion that Alsted influenced the Synod’s concept is implausible; Entstehung und Entfaltung der theologischen Enzyklopädie (Mainz: Zabern, 1999), 93n47. 16 Paul Egard, Theologia practica sapientiss. regis Israelitarum seu Salomon Ecclesiastes exhibens microcosmum describens totum hominem, qualis olim fuerit, jam sit, esse debeat, Deo, proximo, sibi, et tandem futurus sit (Hamburg: Carstens, [c. 1622]). On Paul Egard (ca. 1580–1655), see Udo Sträter, “Egard, Paul,” RGG, 2:1065.



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to know for salvation,” The book of Ecclesiastes also offers a practical theology, since Solomon tells about his personal experiences, suggesting the need to join theory and practice together: “True theology does not consist in theory only and in naked knowledge but in a daily and excellent praxis and experience. The practical theologian is the true theologian.”17 Though emphasizing the need for practical theology, this book clearly was no blueprint for practical theology as a distinct subject of academic teaching. Voetius’ Wide-Ranging Concept Practical theology was a distinct theme in Gisbertus Voetius’ guide to the study of theology, the Exercitia et bibliotheca studiosi theologiae, published for the first time in Utrecht in 1644, followed by a revised version in 1651 and a Frankfurt edition in 1685.18 This work includes a bibliography on “practical theology” in which four different aspects or sub-disciplines are distinguished: (1) ethics or casuistry, (2) ascetics, (3) ecclesiastical polity, and (4) homiletics.19 Since this broad definition of theologia practica comprised the theoretical reflection on various aspects of practice, Voetius’ chapter on the practical training of theological students is not simply a reflection of the four elements of practical theology, although all of them are included in one way or another. The usual idea of practical training, Voetius reports, was that it concerned homiletic exercises. Since the field of “theological praxis and ecclesiastical pragmatics” clearly extended beyond homiletics alone, Voetius wanted to train his students in other aspects of practical church life as well.20 Still, the main part of Voetius’ discussion of practical training was devoted to “making and holding sermons.”21 The other three components of the practical training were concerned with the “writing of all kinds of meditations, supplications, and 17 Egard, Theologia practica, pp. [i]-[ii] of the preface. 18 I used the 1651 edition: Voetius, Exercitia et bibliotheca studiosi theologiae (Utrecht: J. a Waesberge, 1651). On this work, see Andreas J. Beck, Gisbertus Voetius (1589–1676). Sein Theologieverständnis und seine Gotteslehre (Göttingen: V&R, 2007), 106–108; Muller, After Calvin, 110–116; F.G.M. Broeyer, “Theological Education at the Dutch Universities in the Seventeenth Century: Four Professors on Their Ideal of the Curriculum,” in The Formation of Clerical and Confessional Identities in Early Modern Europe, ed. Janse and Pitkin (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 121–126. On Voetius and practical theology, see e.g. Beck, Voetius, 175–181; C.A. de Niet, Gisbertus Voetius, De praktijk der godzaligheid (TA AΣKΗTIKA sive Exercitia pieta­ tis–1664). Tekstuitgave met inleiding, vertaling en commentaar, 2 vols. (Utrecht: De Banier, 1996), 1:xxvi-xxvii, 12–14; 2:23–25. 19 Voetius, Exercitia et bibliotheca, 490. 20 Voetius, Exercitia et bibliotheca, 175. 21 Voetius, Exercitia et bibliotheca, 190–221.

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prayers of thanksgiving” (scribendis omnis generis meditationibus, preca­ tionibus, gratiarum actionibus),22 then oral presentations of sermons and prayers as if in a public church service,23 and finally various pastoral tasks that Voetius differentiates in (a) consolations (consolationes), (b) admonitions (adhortationes), (c) casuistry (casus conscientiae), (d) pastoral advice (concilia theologica), “mostly with respect to ecclesiastical polity but often with respect to moral and ascetical theology,” and (e) various matters of secretarial character.24 In the 1646 university disputations “On practical theology,” Voetius’ personal definition of practical theology is only slightly different from the description in the Exercitia et bibliotheca.25 Here Voetius distinguished three parts of practical theology (as distinct from dogmatics): (1) casuistry or moral theology, (2) ascetics, (3) ecclesiastical polity with prophetic theology or homiletics.26 The third component takes together what were separate elements in the Exercitia et bibliotheca. Voetius mentions also other meanings of the term. In a general sense, theologia practica means theology as such since it is as a whole a “practical discipline.” In a more specific sense, practical theology can on the one hand indicate the practical use of a theoretical point. It can on the other hand indicate the non-dogmatic part of theology, either in a broad sense meaning everything except what are the objects of faith, or in a narrower sense moral theology.27 Johannes Hoornbeek: Departure from Voetius One of Voetius’ most talented students was Johannes Hoornbeek, who had also studied at Leiden. Hoornbeek became professor of theology at Utrecht (1644) and subsequently in Leiden (1654). In his Leiden years he published 22 Voetius, Exercitia et bibliotheca, 176–178. 23 Voetius, Exercitia et bibliotheca, 178–180. 24 Voetius, Exercitia et bibliotheca, 180–190. 25 Gisbertus Voetius, “De theologia practica,” [Johannes Cuypius, 21 February 1646], Selectae disputationes theologicae (Utrecht: Waesberge, 1659), 3 1–11; “De theologia practica, pars secunda,” [Jacobus Pricquius, 28 February 1646], ibid., 11–21; “De theologia practica, pars tertia,” [Abraham Rodenburch, 7 March 1646], ibid., 21–31; “De theologia practica, pars quarta,” [Isaac Jansenius, 14 March 1646], ibid., 31–42; “De theologia practica, pars quinta” [Wilhelmus Schomaker, 21 March 1646], ibid., 42–51; “De theologia practica, pars sexta” [Jacobus Pricquius, 21 March 1646], ibid., 51–59. Selections from these disputations have been translated into English in Reformed Dogmatics: J. Wollebius, G. Voetius, F. Turretin, ed. Beardslee (New York: OUP, 1965), 265–316. 26 Voetius, “De theologia practica,” SDTh, 1:2–3. Achelis, Lehrbuch, 1:12. 27 Voetius, “De theologia practica,” SDTh, 1 1–2.



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the first volume of his Theologia practica in 1663. The second volume followed in 1666, the year when Hoornbeek died. Both volumes appeared in a second edition in 1689.28 Hoornbeek’s inaugural lecture at Utrecht was about the study of theology. In it he described a number of subjects that a student of theology had to deal with successively: philosophy and literature, Biblical exegesis, doctrinal theology, controversial theology, ecclesiastical law, and church history.29 Practical theology is not a specific subject here. With respect to doctrinal theology Hoornbeek notes that it is strictly inseparable from praxis: nothing is truly known if the corresponding praxis is not simultaneously observed.30 The latter point was driven home in a most emphatic way in Hoornbeek’s Theologia practica. This work, it has been claimed, is “not a practical theology in the contemporary sense but a spiritual ethic of an ascetic color.”31 More significantly, it is not a work on practical theology in the Voetian sense of the term either, in which case it would have covered ethics, ascetics, ecclesiastical law, and homiletics. The first volume deals with what Hoornbeek called “the general matters of the Christian life.”32 These can be summarized, Hoornbeek writes, by five points: “Repentance for sin, the necessary conversion by the grace of the Holy Spirit, faith in Christ, holiness of life, and finally the firm consola­ tion of the soul against all evils.”33 The sequence of chapters of the first volume of the Theologia practica does not correspond neatly to these five aspects, but the essential point here is that the Christian life is the focal point around which several books and chapters are placed. If God, predestination, creation, and providence are discussed, and if Christ, his birth, passion, resurrection, ascension, and celestial glory are dealt with, dogmatic topics are considered as related to the life of the Christian.

28 Johannes Hoornbeek, Practicae theologiae pars prior (Utrecht: Versteeg, 1663); Practicae theologiae tomus alter (Utrecht: Hendrik Versteeg, 1666). On Hoornbeek (1617–1666), see Johannes Wynand Hofmeyr, Johannes Hoornbeeck as polemikus (Kampen: Kok, 1975) (here page 50 on Theologia practica); G.P. van Itterzon, “Hoornbeek (Hoornbeeck, Horenbeek), Johannes,” in BLNP, 2:259–261; Ernst Feil, Religio (Göttingen: V&R, 2001, 3:46–57. 29 Johannes Hoornbeek, “Oratio de studio s.s. theologiae,” in his Orationes habitae in Academia Ultrajectina (Utrecht: Waesberge, 1658), 3–17, here 10–14. Cf. Van Itterzon, “Hoornbeek,” 259. 30 Hoornbeek, “De studio s.s. theologiae,” 12–13. 31 Van Itterzon, “Hoornbeek,” 260–261. 32 Hoornbeek, Theologia practica, 1:27. 33 Hoornbeek, Theologia practica, 1:27.

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Volume two deals with the general duties that are connected with the state of grace (book 8), followed by an exposition on the specific duties, first toward God (book 9), then toward the neighbor (book 10).34 In volume two Hoornbeek announced an exposition on the “various conditions of life” as well as of death but volume three of Practica theologia was never published.35 Theologia practica in Hoornbeek is a theology that is related to Christian life. The book has dogmatic, ethical, and ascetic dimensions.36 In contrast to Voetius’ broad definition of theologia practica, ecclesiastical law and homiletics are left out in Hoornbeek’s concept.37 On the other hand, the dogmatic dimension that Voetius left out of practical theology is, to some degree, brought into it. Melchior Leydekker: Praxis of the Faith When the Utrecht professor Melchior Leydekker in 1683 published a series of university disputations under the title of Medulla theologiae practicae, his intention was not to give a systematic exposition of practical theology in the broad Voetian sense—even though he referred to Voetius’ disputations on the subject. Instead, the book offers a series of “Meditations on the Heidelberg Catechism in which is shown the power and efficacy that the Reformed faith has with respect to true piety.”38 Leydekker’s intention was to “join theory and praxis.”39 The same applied in 1694 when Leydekker published a commentary on the Heidelberg Catechism in which, according to the title page “the principles of the faith are demonstrated and the marrow of practical theology

34 Cf. Hoornbeek, Theologia practica, 1:27. 35 Hoornbeek, Theologia practica, 2:1. 36 Achelis, Lehrbuch, 4, mentions only dogmatics and ethics. 37 On homiletics, Hoornbeek authored a special series of disputationes ‘De ratione concionandi’, held in 1645–1646; the Latin text has been edited and translated into Dutch by T. Brienen, De eerste homiletiek in Nederland. Ontstaan, vertaling, inhoud en verwerking van de homiletiek De Ratione Concionandi van Johannes Hoornbeeck (Kampen: De Groot Goudriaan, 2009). 38 Melchior Leydekker, Medulla theologiae practicae seu meditationes ad Catechesin Heidelbergensem quibus vis et efficacia reformatae fidei ad veram pietatem ostenditur (Utrecht: Clerck, 1683) [Göttingen University library]. The reference to Voetius is found on p. ii of the “Praefatio ad S.S. theol. studiosos.” On Leydekker, see W.J. van Asselt, “Leydekker (Leydecker, Leidekker), Melchior,” in BLNP, 4:307–310, here 307 on the Medulla theologiae practicae. 39 Leydekker, Medulla theologiae practicae, “Praefatio,” e.g. p. [ii].



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is made clear.”40 In the preface, Leydekker argued that it was important to keep theory and praxis together.41 He did not wish to neglect one in favor of the other. Addressing his (former) students, Leydekker said that they should not focus on the practical side of the things only; his intention was to “note the praxis of the articles of faith, in order for you to have a marrow of practical theology.”42 Here, in other words, practical theology is neither a separate academic discipline nor a qualification of theology as such, but the practical side of the truth of faith that the Catechism explained. This is one of the two more specific meanings of theologia practica discerned by Voetius, which was however significantly different from Voetius’ own multi-pronged concept of practical theology.43 Campegius Vitringa: The Affections of the Spiritual Life In 1716 Campegius Vitringa published a booklet on practical theology: Typus theologiae practicae sive de vita spirituali ejusque affectionibus, com­ mentatio.44 Vitringa, who taught at the University of Franeker from 1680 until his death in 1722, is known mainly as a talented exegete and as a Cocceian theologian who valued the life of piety.45 The latter element is obvious in his small work on practical theology. As the title of the book reveals, Vitringa offers a theologia practica that is concerned with the “spiritual life and its attributes.” The expression “spiritual life” means “the status of a human in Christ.”46 Vitringa did not want to give an exposition on what he saw as the usual theme of theologia practica, the moral duties,  which in his estimation were far better known generally than what he thought was rather essential: spiritual life, its attributes, and its development.47 Vitringa considered the ethical definition of practical theology as far too narrow and accordingly he himself wrote about spiritual 40 Melchior Leydekker, De veritate fidei reformatae ejusdemque sanctitate libri III, sive commentarius ad Catechesin Palatinam quo principia fidei demonstrantur et theologiae practicae medulla exhibetur (Utrecht: Clerck, 1694). 41 Leydekker, De veritate fidei, p. [iii]-[v] of the praefatio ad lectorem. 42 Leydekker, De veritate fidei, p. [v] of the prefatio ad lectorem. 43 Voetius, ‘De theologia practica,’ SDTh, 3:1. 44 Franeker: Wiebe Bleck, 1716. Cf. W.F.C.J. van Heel, Campegius Vitringa Sr. als godgel­ eerde beschouwd (The Hague: Belinfante, 1865), 41, 113–117: the Typus theologiae practicae has been translated into Dutch, French, German, Hungarian. 45 K.M. Witteveen, “Vitringa, Campegius (Kempe),” in BLNP, 3:379–382. 46 Vitringa, Typus theologiae practicae, 1. 47 Vitringa, Typus theologiae practicae, praefatio, [20–23].

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life, its attributes, causes, and parts such as the denial of oneself, the bearing of the cross, and following Jesus.48 Vitringa indicated what means can be used to obtain and strengthen spiritual life. He pointed, among other things, to the use of sacred singing, public worship, examination of oneself, and fasting. He also paid attention to the opposite of the spiritual life, spiritual death, listing the criteria that distinguished the spiritual life from spiritual death. What Vitringa offered was an account of practical theology that concentrated on the spiritual life of the Christian. Herman Witsius: The Duties of Piety Herman Witsius (1636–1708) had been one of Vitringa’s teachers but his work on theologia practica was published posthumously in 1729, more than a decade later than Vitringa’s work on the subject.49 During his theological studies particularly Gisbertus Voetius, Johannes Hoornbeek, and Samuel Maresius influenced Witsius.50 He later became a professor of theology himself, successively at the universities of Franeker, Utrecht, and Leiden. Witsius’ Schediasma theologiae practicae was published posthumously by Hendrik Carel van Byler, a minister in the province of Groningen, who based his edition on two different copies—one copy being dated in 1696—of notes taken during Witsius’ private lectures at Utrecht.51 Van Byler stated that in the Schediasma Witsius “revealed how much he was able to accomplish in casuistic theology,” and Witsius’ modern biographer Van Genderen likewise considered it a work on ethics—or ascetics, which Van Genderen considered a part of ethics.52 The classification as a work on ethics is not surprising since Witsius approached the subject from the angle of duties (officia). What the book offers, reportedly in Witsius’ 48 Vitringa, Typus theologiae practicae, praefatio, [21], [23]. 49 Witteveen, “Vitringa,” 379. Herman Witsius, Schediasma theologiae practicae, quo veri ac interioris Christianismi genuinum exercitium, ac generaliora saltem, atque universaliora pietatis officia, quanta ut fieri potest brevitate exponuntur (Groningen, 1729). On Witsius, see J. van Genderen, Herman Witsius. Bijdrage tot de kennis der gereformeerde theologie (The Hague: de Bres, 1953), here 4, 80–81, 167, 174–176, 250, on the Schediasma and its Dutch translation, which appeared in 1731 and was republished in 1732 and 1874. See also J. van Sluis, “Witsius, Herman,” in BLNP, 4:456–458. 50 Van Sluis, “Witsius,” 456. 51 See Van Genderen, Witsius, 80–81. On Henricus Carolinus a Byler (1692–1756), see A.J. van der Aa, Biographisch Woordenboek der Nederlanden, vol. 2.2 (Haarlem: van Brederode, 1855), 1705–1707. Cf. Byler in Witsius, Schediasma, preface, [51]-[60]. Witsius taught at Utrecht between 1680 and 1698. 52 Van Byler in Witsius, Schediasma, preface, [52]; Van Genderen, Witsius, 4, 167 (ethics), 173–176 (“that part of ethics which in his day usually was called ascetics”).



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words, is an exposition on the “most important and universal Christian duties regarding (a) God, (b) Christ, (c) oneself, and (d) the neighbor.”53 In this way Witsius chose the second of what he considered three different approaches to teaching practical theology. One way was to add a practical application to an explanation of a biblical text or a theological issue. Petrus van Mastricht chose this approach, which according to Witsius is most suitable in sermons. The second approach, which Witsius considered characteristic of an academic setting, was to “teach methodically the duties of piety and virtue, presupposing the theory of the matters that need to be known.” Hoornbeek provided an example of this method— Witsius probably thought of the second volume of Hoornbeek’s Theologia practica. The third manner of teaching practical theology was by way of meditations and soliloquies between “God and the soul.” Examples of this approach, that Witsius considered highly suitable for personal use, could be found in Augustine, Johann Gerhard, and others.54 In his lectures on practical theology, therefore, Witsius chose to delineate “the duties of piety,” and in adopting this approach he followed his former teacher Hoornbeek. Cornelius van Velzen: Moral Theology and Ascetics The Groningen professor Cornelius van Velzen (1696–1752) was the author of Institutiones theologiae practicae in three volumes. The first two tomes appeared in Groningen in 1748.55 Two years later Van Velzen published a summary of this two-volume work under the title of Theologiae practicae medulla, an extremely rare book of 627 pages.56 After Van Velzen’s death in 1752, the third volume of the Institutiones theologiae practicae was published. According to the preface, Van Velzen himself had made the major 53 Witsius’ preface in idem, Schediasma, [13]. 54 Witsius’ preface in idem, Schediasma, [10]-[12]. According to Christiaan Sepp, Petrus van Mastricht worked at Utrecht under the title of “professor theologiae practicae”; Het godgeleerd onderwijs in Nederland gedurende de 16de en 17de eeuw (Leiden: De Breuk en Smits, 1874), 2:405. 55 Cornelius van Velzen, Institutiones theologiae practicae, vols. 1–2 (Groningen: Bolt & Velzen, 1748). On Van Velzen, see D. Nauta, “Velzen, Cornelius van,” in BLNP, 3:366–368; on the Institutiones theologiae practicae, see also Christiaan Sepp, Johannes Stinstra en zijn tijd. Eene bijdrage tot de geschiedenis der kerk en school in de 18e eeuw (Amsterdam: Sepp, 1865), 1:96–98; W. Geesink, Gereformeerde ethiek, ed. V. Hepp (Kampen: Kok, 1931), 2:496–497, and index s.v. 56 Cornelius van Velzen, Theologiae practicae medulla, expressa ex majori opera in usum academicae juventutis (Groningen: Bolt, 1750).

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part of it ready for publication; an unnamed editor added an exposition on the heavenly beatitude from among the author’s papers.57 When Van Velzen wrote his Institutiones, he noted that his lectures on practical theology were the only yearlong series of lessons taught on the subject at any university in the Dutch Republic at that time.58 From the Synod of Dordt in 1618 until a Groningen synod held in 1730, the teaching of practical theology had been encouraged but after practical theology thrived in the seventeenth-century and still found some competent supporters, it also had become neglected in some quarters in Van Velzen’s own time.59 Van Velzen defined practical theology as “the doctrine or science that considers the holy life of the regenerated human being on the basis of revelation, reason, and experience.”60 This practical theology comprised both a theoretical part, consisting of divine jurisprudence and moral theology that lays down Christian duties, and a practical or ascetical part that considers “the praxis of these duties in the subjects.”61 The first two volumes of the Institutiones theologiae practicae thus consist of a “moral theology” that delineates the “duties of piety.” The third volume offered ascetics (paying attention to the natural human state and the state of grace including its effect, spiritual life with its various characteristics) as well as a practical theology of the life in heavenly beatitude.62 In comprising both ethics and ascetics, as two perspectives on the “duties of piety,”63 Van Velzen’s theologia practica combined different viewpoints that had dominated earlier approaches (Witsius’ “duties of piety,” Vitringa’s affections of the spiritual life) but without arriving at the comprehensive view of theologia practica that Voetius developed. Ethics and ascetics were the first two elements of practical theology as Voetius defined it. It also comprised ecclesiastical law and homiletics. 57 Cornelius van Velzen, Institutiones theologiae practicae, vol. 3 (Groningen: Bolt, 1757); see p. [3] of the preface. 58 Van Velzen, Institutiones theologiae practicae, preface, p. [v] and 1: 9; also quoted by Sepp, Stinstra, 1: 97. In the preface, Van Velzen notes that this claim was true when expressed during his lectures. Afterwards at the University of Franeker, Petrus Laan started teaching a course on practical theology, but he died even before Van Velzen wrote his preface in April 1743. On Petrus Laan (1695–1743), see A. de Groot, “Laan, Petrus,” in BLNP 2:292; F. Postma & J. Van Sluis, Auditorium Academiae Franekerensis. Bibliographie der Reden, Disputationen und Gegenheitsdruckwerke der Universität und des Athenäums in Franeker 1585–1843 (Leeuwarden: Fryske, 1995), 376. 59 Van Velzen, Institutiones theologiae practicae, 1:8–9. 60 Van Velzen, Institutiones theologiae practicae, 1:2. Cf. Van Velzen, Theologiae practicae medulla, 1–2. 61 Van Velzen, Instututiones theologiae practicae, 1 14–17. 62 Van Velzen, Institutiones theologiae practicae, 2:[5] of the praefatio. 63 Cf. Van Velzen, Theologiae practicae medulla, 1–2.



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Conclusion In 1724, Salomon van Til considered it inappropriate to use the term theo­ logia practica—a qualification of theology as such—to designate only a specific part of it. He proposed theologia paracletica instead.64 A few years later Friedrich Adolph Lampe published a treatise on theologia activa but he identified it with theologia practica.65 This terminological fluctuation suggests that by the beginning of the eighteenth century theologia prac­ tica had not yet gathered a definitive consensus for being the name of choice for a theological sub-discipline concerned with Christian praxis. The brief and selective survey given in this essay indicates that from the late sixteenth century onward differences of opinion existed as to what the precise meaning of the term theologia practica was or should be. Still, at several points there is a clear continuity. The most important may be that, from Molanus to Van Velzen, moral theology was a characteristic element in most works on theologia practica as a sub-discipline of its own. Vitringa consciously chose the different angle of the spiritual life that he considered far more needed but he did not deny that moral theology was a part of theologia practica. On the other hand, in none of the works discussed above did theologia practica imply guidelines specifically for ministers—even though, obviously, these works were meant for future ministers. If Grethlein and Meyer-Blanck correctly assume that practical theology developed in the early nineteenth century out of manuals of pastoral theology, the works on theologia practica mentioned in this essay are not the precursors of practical theology.66 Yet these works show that moral theology and, to a somewhat lesser extent, ascetics, were dominant components of the early theologia practica. Voetius’ broad definition includes church polity and homiletics in addition to moral theology and ascetics and it seems to have found no immediate followers at all. The ‘Voetian’ content of what is considered to be a Dutch ‘Voetian school’ cannot be taken for granted.

64 Sepp, Godgeleerd onderwijs, vol. 2, 406–407. Cf. Antonius Driessen, Homo vetus et novus, redactus in formam systematis practici sive theologia mystica pseudo-mysticae quali­ cunque opposita (Groningen: Cost & Groenewout, 1728), 1–2. 65 F.A. Lampe, Delineatio theologiae activae (Utrecht: van Paddenburg, 1727). 66 Grethlein and Meyer-Blanck, “Geschichte,” 5.

LUMINA, NON NUMINA: PATRISTIC AUTHORITY ACCORDING TO LUTHERAN ARCH-THEOLOGIAN JOHANN GERHARD Benjamin T.G. Mayes Even a casual reading of post-Reformation Lutheran “arch-theologian” Johann Gerhard (1582–1637) shows the enormous role that the early church fathers play in his theology.1 He is often credited (incorrectly!) with coining the word “patrology” in the title of his posthumous 1653 Patrologia,2 even though previous books had been printed with that title.3 But there is a truth underlying this fable: Gerhard’s fame and extensive use of the fathers surely hastened the adoption of the term “patrology” as a technical name for the science of the church’s fathers. Likewise, Protestants’ patristic interest did not end with the Refor­ mation. Throughout the seventeenth century the study and publication of  the fathers flourished.4 The overwhelming presence of the fathers in 1 Gerhard was styled “arch-theologian” during his lifetime by Matthias Hoë von Hoenegg: Erdmann Rudolph Fischer, The Life of John Gerhard, trans. Dinda and Hohle (Malone: Repristination, 2001), ch. 18, §2, p. 295. We shall normally use the definition of “early church fathers” provided by Johannes Quasten, Patrology, vol. 1 (Utrecht: Spectrum, 1975), 1. In countless places of his 1617 commonplace On the Church, Gerhard quotes no less than sixty-three of St. Augustine’s works. By comparison, only thirty-eight of Martin Luther’s works were quoted in this commonplace. Johann Gerhard, Theological Com­ monplaces: On the Church, trans. Dinda, ed. Mayes (St. Louis: Concordia, 2010). 2 Johann Gerhard, Patrologia, sive De Primitivae Ecclesiae Christianae Doctorum Vita ac Lucubrationibus Opusculum posthumum, ed. Gerhard (Jena: Georg Sengenwald, 1653). The claim is made by: Muller, AC, 52; Hubertus R. Drobner, The Fathers of the Church: A Comprehensive Introduction, trans. Schatzmann (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2007), 5; Quasten, Patrology, 1:1. Cf. Andreas Merkt, Das patristische Prinzip: Eine Studie zur theolo­ gischen Bedeutung der Kirchenväter (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 147, who qualifies the claim for Gerhard’s coinage. 3 Raphael Custos, Πατρολογια, id est Descriptio S: Patrum Graecorum & Latinorum, qui in Augustana Bibliotheca visuntur (Augsburg: [Custos], 1624); Caspar Heunisch, Patrologia Ex certis fundamentis Historicis atque Chronologicis accurate deducta (Rotenburg & Leipzig: Autor, 1639). 4 Archer Taylor and Frederic John Mosher, The Bibliographical History of Anonyma and Pseudonyma (Chicago: UCP, 1951), 50; Bengt Hägglund, “Das Verständnis der altkirchlichen Tradition in der lutherischen Theologie der Reformationszeit bis zum Ende des 17. Jahrhunderts,” in Chemnitz-Gerhard-Arndt-Rudbeckius, ed. Bitzel and Steiger (Waltrop: Hartmut Spenner, 2003), 15–53, here 52; Jean-Louis Quantin, “Un manuel anti-patristique: Contexte et signification du ‘Traité de l’emploi des saints Pères’ de Jean Daillé (1632),” in Die Patristik in der frühen Neuzeit, ed. Frank et al. (Stuttgart: Frommann-Holzboog, 2006), 299–325.

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Gerhard’s writing, in particular, brings up the questions: What authority did the early church fathers have in Gerhard’s theological work? And how do the fathers comport with the Protestant emphasis on the authority of sola Scriptura in general? Finally, how should one regard and approach the fathers? Before the 1950s, the common consensus among scholars was that the Reformation set forth two different approaches to the relation of biblical authority and patristic authority: biblicism (set forth by Martin Luther) and traditionalism (set forth by Philipp Melanchthon).5 But Peter Fraenkel’s study of Melanchthon and the fathers changed this general view, placing Melanchthon and Luther very much in the same camp.6 Since then, studies of this question have tended to treat the Reformers as representing basically the same viewpoint: Scripture alone was the formal norm for matters of faith, while the fathers continued to be used as a resource.7 This point of view tends to emphasize the lack of patristic authority among sixteenth-century Protestants. This newer, unified view must not be allowed to camoflage the spectrum of approaches that existed among Reformation-era and postReformation-era Protestants. Case in point: Johann Gerhard is usually classified as holding firmly to the authority of sola Scriptura for theology, with an extensive use of the fathers as a polemical resource.8 True as this is, it does not cover all that Gerhard has to say on the topic of patristic 5 Otto Ritschl, Dogmengeschichte des Protestantismus (Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1908), 1:400. 6 Peter Fraenkel, Testimonia Patrum: The Function of the Patristic Argument in the Theology of Philip Melanchthon (Geneva: Droz, 1961); see also Hägglund, “Das Verständnis,” 23–31. 7 E.g., Scott H. Hendrix, “Deparentifying the Fathers,” in Auctoritas Patrum: Contributions on the Reception of the Church Fathers in the 15th and 16th Centuries, ed. Grane et al. (Mainz: von Zabern, 1993), 55–68. See also the many studies in Silke-Petra Bergjan and Karla Pollmann, ed., Patristic Tradition and Intellectual Paradigms in the 17th Century (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010); Leif Grane et al., ed., Auctoritas Patrum; Leif Grane et al., ed., Auctoritas Patrum II: New Contributions on the reception of the Church Fathers in the 15th and 16th cen­ turies (Mainz: von Zabern, 1998); Günter Frank et al., ed., Die Patristik in der frühen Neuzeit: Die Relektüre der Kirchenväter in den Wissenschaften des 15. bis 18. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart: Frommann-Holzboog, 2006); Irena Backus, Historical Method and Confessional Identity in the Era of the Reformation (1378–1615) (Leiden: Brill, 2003); Backus, ed., The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West: From the Carolingians to the Maurists, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1997), which unfortunately overlooks most Lutheran theologians; Merkt, Das patristische Prinzip. 8 Johann Anselm Steiger, “Johann Gerhards Tractatus de legitima Scripturae Sacrae interpretatione und die patristische Tradition,” in Patristic Tradition and Intellectual Paradigms in the 17th Century, ed. Bergjan and Pollmann (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 59–71; Hägglund, “Das Verständnis,” 49; Bengt Hägglund, Die Heilige Schrift und ihre Deutung in der Theologie Johann Gerhards: Eine Untersuchung über das altlutherische



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authority. An examination of his Method of Theological Study, which includes an extensive section on how to read the fathers, reveals some positive approaches to the fathers’ authority that do not comport with the prevailing models.9 While Gerhard does not accord the fathers divine authority, he does still recognize that they retain some positive authority among all who claim to be their heirs. They are lumina, non numina (“lights, not divinities”). How to Read the Fathers In 1617, shortly after becoming a professor of theology at the University of Jena, Johann Gerhard set forth a complete course of study for students of theology, the Method of Theological Study.10 Gerhard expected that beginning theology students would already have learned Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and philosophy (and perhaps also Syriac and Aramaic).11 After that, Gerhard set forth a five-year course of theological study. The first two years were devoted to the study of Holy Scripture, the study of loci com­ munes (dogmatic theology), and participation in disputations.12 In the third year the student added polemics against Roman Catholic theology. The fourth year was for the study of polemics against the Calvinists and Photinians (i.e., Unitarians), and for the study of preaching.13 Finally, in the last year of theological study, Gerhard gave his program for reading church history in general and the writings of Luther, the early church fathers, and the scholastics specifically.14 Schriftverständnis (Lund: Berlingska Boktryckeriet, 1951), 175; Ritschl, Dogmengeschichte, 1:400–402. 9 Johann Gerhard, Methodus Studii Theologici: Publicis, prælectionibus in Academia Jenensi Anno 1617. exposita [hereafter Methodus] (Jena: Steinmannus, 1620). Marcel Nieden, “Theologie—Rechtfertigung des Theologen? Anmerkungen zur ‘Methodus studii theologici’ Johann Gerhards von 1620,” in Zur Rechtfertigungslehre in der Lutherischen Orthodoxie, ed. Sträter and Appold (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2003), 55–69, does not deal with Gerhard’s patristic reading program. 10 Regarding similar courses of study written by Wittenberg theologians, see Marcel Nieden, Die Erfindung des Theologen: Wittenberger Anweisungen zum Theologiestudium im Zeitalter von Reformation und Konfessionalisierung (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006). 11 Methodus, 38–138. 12 On the practice of disputations in Lutheran theological education, see Kenneth G. Appold, Orthodoxie als Konsensbildung: Das theologische Disputationswesen an der Universität Wittenberg zwischen 1570 und 1710 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). 13 Methodus, 138–236. 14 Methodus, 236–321. The same four groups of historical-theological writings are encouraged by Johann Förster (see Nieden, Erfindung, 170). See Nieden, Erfindung, 221, 235, and Backus, Historical Method, 270–275, for other patristic reading programs.

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Gerhard’s section on Luther’s writings is quite short, only three full pages, whereas the section on the early church fathers is quite long, filling 54 pages. (The section on the scholastics weighs in at 23 pages.)15 Gerhard presents his instructions on reading the fathers in four parts (membra). First Part: A Negative Approach to the Fathers The first part asserts that the fathers’ writings are not norms of truth in the church. That is to say, Scripture alone is the norm and rule of truth in matters of faith, and the fathers’ writings are not. This evaluation of the relative authority of Scripture and the fathers rests on the doctrine that Scripture is perfect and perspicuous. The Holy Spirit attributes the title “norm and judge” to Scripture alone; God calls people back to His Word alone; Christ and the apostles appeal only and uniquely to Scripture. The fathers, on the other hand, deny that their writings are equal to the canonical Scriptures; they refer readers back to Scripture as the only norm; and they allow everyone the freedom to judge their writings on the basis of it.16 The norm in matters of faith, Gerhard asserts, ought to be “credible in itself” (αὐτόπιστος), perpetual, immutable, free of all error, and internally consistent (ἀκλινής). Holy Scripture has all these characteristics, but the fathers’ writings do not. Gerhard backs up each of these points with copious citations from the fathers themselves.17 This first part thus sets forth the negative approach to the fathers, stating what they are not, and claiming that their authority is less than that of Holy Scripture. Second Part: Positive Approach to the Fathers The second part sets forth a positive approach to the fathers, stating in what ways they are useful and even constructive for Lutheran theology. 15 Discussing Luther, Gerhard (241–244) encourages students to begin not with the early Luther, to whom so much 20th and 21st-century attention has been directed, but to Luther’s German writings from the time of the Augsburg Confession (1530) until his death. Only then should they go back to read the earlier writings. The same method can be seen regarding his Latin writings; students should start with the Genesis lectures (1535–1545) and only then read the other Latin writings of Luther. The chapter on the reading of the scholastics (298–320) is mostly an examination of their errors. The scholastics can be useful polemically, since many arguments against contemporary Roman Catholic doctrines can be found in them. Students are encouraged to read only Lombard’s Sentences, Thomas Aquinas’ Summa theologica, and the commentaries of Bonaventure and Biel on the Sentences. 16 Here Gerhard refers the reader to his locus de ecclesia, p. 1022, which is Theological Commonplaces: On the Church, §204, point 6, p. 411 of the Concordia edition. 17 Methodus, 244–252.



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This part begins with the statement that, despite their deficiency of authority compared to the Scriptures, the fathers’ writings should not be eliminated from the church.18 Gerhard typically understates his case. In fact what he is arguing here is that the fathers have a real, positive value and that ignoring them would mean a great loss to the church. He states that they do, in fact, have some authority, though not divine authority.19 He writes, “It is not the case that, if divine authority is denied them, no authority is owed to the fathers’ writings. They are not judges of faith, but they are witnesses and informers [of it]. They are not divinities, but they are very bright lights [non sunt Numina, praeclara tamen lumina]….”20 He then proceeds to put the various patristic writings into three general ­categories: exegetical, elenctic, and proclamatory (demegorica). Patristic Exegesis Of these, Gerhard teaches that the fathers’ exegetical writings are of service if they are used as follows: (1) The true and genuine meaning of the biblical text needs to be sought from the scope, context, original languages, the analogy of faith, etc.21 Only then can the conforming interpretations of the fathers be added, in order to show that the interpretation is not new. Sometimes also the fathers’ writings teach a sense of Scripture that we would not have found by our own effort. Philipp Melanchthon’s use of Judges 14:8 is applicable here: “If you had not plowed with my heifer, you would not have found my proposition.”22 Here Gerhard gives reasons why students should read and note patristic exegesis. If God wanted to admonish wise Moses through Jethro the Midianite, then we should allow ourselves all the more to be instructed by the writings of so many most excellent men.23 Moreover, “While the interpretations of the ancients are not to be considered ‘authentic’ nor are to be made equal to the canonical Scriptures, nevertheless their labors should be acknowledged and proclaimed with a grateful and pious mind, since they were the special instruments of the Holy Spirit and they rendered their wholesome service to the church which at that time had been 18 Methodus, 255. 19 Methodus, 256. 20 Methodus, 256. All translations are my own. 21 See Bengt Hägglund, “Glaubensregel und Tradition bei Martin Chemnitz,” in Chemnit-Gerhard-Arndt-Rudbeckius, 55–64. 22 Methodus, 257–258; on Melanchthon’s use of Judges 14:18, see Fraenkel, Testimonia Patrum, 234–238. 23 Methodus, 258.

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gathered to Christ.”24 (In connection with the claim that the fathers were “special instruments of the Holy Spirit,” Gerhard cites 1 Thess. 5:19–21.) Again, Gerhard reasons, if we use the exegetical writings of recent authors and benefit from them, then we surely should not completely reject the exegetical writings of the ancients.25 And “it is indeed true that most of them were ignorant of the holy language [Hebrew], and as a result in the interpretation of Scripture they sometimes stumble and depart from the proper and genuine sense of the passage, yet in very many of them they ‘walk rightly according to the truth’ [Gal. 2:14] and observe the right path.”26 In summary, Gerhard says about patristic exegesis, “Wherefore one should think that God has preserved the writings of purer antiquity not in vain, but rather that they might be an aid for investigating the position of Scripture and that, when the true position has been seen from the Scriptures, the minds of the godly may be confirmed even more.”27 Thus Gerhard in this section continues to emphasize that the fathers’ authority is less than Scripture, but at the same time he here emphasizes not just their usefulness as an exegetical resource, but he ascribes a certain amount of authority to them and obliges students to become familiar with them and learn from them. Patristic Controversial and Didactic Literature The next category of patristic writings, “elenctic,” also includes didactic works.28 This section is notable for Gerhard’s discussion on the “consensus of antiquity,” which he seems to take in the sense of a consensus of evangelical Lutheran doctrine with antiquity. It is not just an appeal to agreement with Scripture (the writings of the most ancient prophets and apostles) but also to agreement with some, if not most, of the fathers who lived after the apostles. He does not assume that there was complete unanimity and consensus among all the early Christians, so while the “consensus of antiquity” functions to exclude novel doctrines, one must still distinguish right from wrong in the fathers’ writings.29 Gerhard writes that “didactic works” are those in which the fathers “explain and confirm the articles of faith, [and] show us the perpetual consensus of the catholic 24 Methodus, 258. 25 Methodus, 258–259. 26 Methodus, 259. 27 Methodus, 259. 28 Methodus, 259. 29 Methodus, 259–260.



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church in the fundamental articles.” He continues by both limiting the fathers’ authority and praising them: “We do not claim with the Papists that the fathers’ writings are the norm of truth in the articles of faith. Yet at the same time the consensus of antiquity in the truth must not be despised; for what can be more delightful to a godly mind than to look upon the kinship of doctrine that our churches have with the early church, as Tertullian (De praescript.) names this consensus?”30 Thus, according to Gerhard, when the Papists accuse us of novelty in doctrine, it is not only correct to appeal to the “Ancient of Days” (Dan. 7:13) and the most ancient writings of the prophets and apostles, but it is also correct to show the agreement of our doctrine with that of the early church fathers, especially of those who lived closest to the time of the apostles. Our church, says Gerhard, has always done this. Once again, as he does so often, Gerhard bolsters his argument here with testimonies from Augustine and many other fathers.31 This twofold approach to the fathers—sometimes negative (denying their authority) and sometimes positive (claiming their authority and support)—is found by Gerhard in Holy Scripture itself: Therefore when the testimonies of the fathers agree with the oracles of Scripture, then these admonitions find a place: “Remember the days of old; ask your father and he will announce it to you; your elders, and they will tell you” (Deut. 32:7). “Do not move the ancient landmark that your forefathers have set” (Prov. 22:[28]). “Do not depart from the discourse of the aged, for they themselves learned from their parents, because from them you will learn understanding” (Sirach 8:[9, v. 11 Vulgate]). “Thus says Jehovah: Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it. Thus you will find rest for your souls” (Jer. 6:16).32

But when the fathers strayed from the path of Scripture, then what applies is Ezk. 20:18–19; Matt. 23:9–10; and 1 Cor. 7:23. Gerhard quotes Athanasius (De sent. Dionysii), who writes against the Arians: “Seeing that they can have nothing from Scripture for their heresy, they turn to the fathers, like plunderers. Since they hear something bad about their efforts, they imagine that they have upright and modest companions, and just as the Jews, when convicted with Scripture, they take refuge in their father Abraham.”33 Not only does Gerhard demote the fathers’ authority, his Roman Catholic 30 Methodus, 259–260. 31 Methodus, 260. 32 Methodus, [262]-263. 33 Methodus, 263.

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opponents do this, too, placing the fathers’ authority beneath the authority of the pope, as the Expurgatorii indices testify.34 But what Gerhard is emphasizing in this section is the usefulness and authority of the fathers (subordinate to Scripture). Another reason to read and know the fathers is polemical in nature: to see the stages of how the Roman bishop embraced antichristian tyranny.35 Finally, in a long quotation from Aegidius Hunnius, whose works Gerhard had studied avidly, Gerhard returns to the claim that all fundamental Lutheran doctrines can be found in the early church fathers, and thus the fathers’ writings can be used to identify novel (and thus false) doctrines.36 He writes, “As a conclusion about investigating this consensus of antiquity in articles of faith, I am noting down this passage of Dr. Hunnius in Quaest. & respons. de praedest., tom. 1. Operum, col. 901.”37 He then quotes Hunnius: I do not deny that the fathers, or ecclesiastical writers, wrote in various ways about various articles. But it is certain that when confirming all the articles of the Christian religion some clear statements and testimonies can be cited from their records. Now if the dogma [of the Huberians’ universal election]38 had been revealed in Holy Scripture, how could it have happened that during so many centuries and even the entire time of the Christian church, nothing had been handed down about it? We know that the fathers, or ecclesiastical writers, had their blemishes and errors in diverse articles, yet this remains firm and certain: no locus in all of theology can be demonstrated, of which express testimonies are not found in that erudite antiquity—if not in this father, at least in that; if not in all, still in some—nor can any instance be given that would break this affirmation or even weaken it.39

By quoting Hunnius without reproach, Gerhard indicates his approval for  this approach to patristic authority; patristic testimony plays an 34 Methodus, 263, referring to works such as Index Expvrgatorivs Librorvm…sacri Concilij Tridentini decretum ([Strasbourg:] Zetzner, 1599); Index librorvm prohibitorvm (Bologna: Giovanni Rossi, 1564); and Index expurgatorius librorum…sacri Concilii Tridenti decretum Philippi II Regis (Strasbourg, 1609). 35 Methodus, 264. 36 Johann Anselm Steiger, “Johann Gerhards Bibliothek—ein neuer Fund,” ZfK 116 (2005): 243–246. 37 Methodus, 265; referring to Aegidius Hunnius, Articvlvs De Providentia Dei; Et Aeterna Praedestinatione Sev Electione filiorum Dei ad salutem (Frankfurt: Spies, 1596), as contained in Opervm Latinorvm (Wittenberg: Müller, 1607), 1:901. 38 See Gottfried Adam, Der Streit um die Prädestination im ausgehenden 16. Jahrhundert: Eine Untersuchung zu den Entwürfen von Samuel Huber und Aegidius Hunnius (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 1970). 39 Methodus, 265–266, quoting Hunnius, “Articvlvs De Providentia Dei,” in Tomvs Primus Opervm Latinorvm, 901.



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i­mportant role in excluding new, unheard-of doctrines. If the fathers did not teach it, then it is false—which is not to say that everything they taught was right. This approach, which might be called praescriptio novita­ tis40 or an “argument from patristic silence to exclude novel doctrines,” is, indeed, sometimes used by Gerhard to exclude Roman Catholic doctrines in polemical contexts.41 However, in his Theological Commonplaces I have so far only found him using this argument in the context of polemics against Roman Catholics, who accorded the fathers too much authority in his view. That is, this argument functions on the basis of Gerhard’s opponents’ assumptions. But does it function outside of that context? This argument from patristic silence would only function if one held that the extant writings of the early church fathers discussed every doctrine revealed in Scripture. That is, one would have to hold to some kind of doctrine of the sufficiency of the fathers. Gerhard, however, does not believe that this is true.42 When he uses the argument from patristic silence against his Roman Catholic adversaries, he is careful to stress that the judge and norm of truth in matters of faith is not the fathers, but Holy Scripture alone.43 Usually Gerhard does not use an argument from patristic silence. He prefers instead to appeal to a consensus of his doctrine with the early church fathers. In his locus On the Church, written in the same period of his life as the Methodus, he claims that all Lutheran doctrines are testified by the early church. “Are the Evangelical churches joined by a kinship of doctrine with the ancient church closest to the times of the apostles? We affirm this constantly and prove this consensus of doctrine in the individual controversies.”44 Patristic Proclamation Gerhard’s third category of patristic writings is “proclamatory” (demegor­ ica), which he subdivides into “admonishing” (παραινετικά), “consoling” (παραμυθητικά), and “teaching” (νουθετικά). Students should read the 40 Fraenkel, Testimonia Patrum, 281–282. 41 Gerhard, Theological Commonplaces: On the Church, §§205–206, pp. 414–423. 42 See Johann Gerhard, Tractatus De Legitima Scripturae Sacrae Interpretatione (1610) Lateinish-deutsch, ed. Steiger and von der Lieth (Stuttgart: Frommann-Holzboog, 2007), §§90, 92, 142, 146; Theological Commonplaces: On the Church, §203, points 5 and 6, p. 410; Theological Commonplaces: On the Nature of Theology and on Scripture, §463, point 4, p. 419. 43 E.g., Gerhard, Theological Commonplaces: On the Church, 415, 417. 44 E.g., Gerhard, Theological Commonplaces: On the Church, §207, p. 423.

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fathers and make excerpts of passages related to these practical topics. Gerhard shows here his interest in practical piety, writing, “I think it is without controversy that more piety, conscience, and zeal existed in the church in those first times nearest to the era of the apostles, than in the exhausted and frigid old-age of these last times.”45 Parts Three and Four: Rules for Reading the Fathers The third part of this section of Gerhard’s Methodus gives general rules for reading the fathers, while part four gives specific rules. Nearly all of these rules lead Gerhard’s students to read the fathers critically. Only in this way will their reading be “fruitful.”46 In part three, Gerhard gives the following rules: (1) One must use judgment when reading the fathers, according to the norm of Scripture (1 Thess. 5:21). (2) First have a summary of the true doctrine in mind as a guide. This is why study of the fathers was delayed until the fifth year of theological study.47 (3) Distinguish the genuine writings of the fathers from corrupt and spurious ones. Gerhard here gives a rather long discussion of the science of distinguishing pseudepigraphal works from genuine.48 The results of his own life-long work in this field were published posthumously as his Patrologia.49 (4) Distinguish philosophical writings from theological. Here Gerhard lists examples of errors that result when Platonic and Aristotelian philosophies are applied to theology.50 (5) Even though the earlier fathers have some erroneous opinions, nevertheless the earlier fathers are by all means to be preferred to the later ones. The farther from the apostles, the more impure the stream of tradition becomes. Here Gerhard discusses various views of when the patristic era ended. Some say it ended around 600 ad, at the time of 45 Methodus, 266. On Gerhard’s focus on piety in the Methodus, see Nieden, “Theologie— Rechtfertigung des Theologen?” 46 Methodus, 266. 47 Methodus, 138–139. 48 Methodus, 268–277. 49 Johann Gerhard, Patrologia, sive De Primitivae Ecclesiae Christianae Doctorum Vita ac Lucubrationibus Opusculum posthumum, ed. Johann Ernst Gerhard (Jena: Georg Sengenwald, 1653). 50 Methodus, 277. He also discusses the importation of pagan rituals into the church; here his discussion parallels On the Church §§227–228, pp. 451–457.



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Gregory the Great (since then the antichristian Roman pontiff was confirmed by Phocas, Gerhard says). Some extend the patristic era to 1000 ad, when scholastic theology began to reign in the church. But if it is defined by complete purity of doctrine, Gerhard explains, then it ended not long after the times of the apostles. Rather than defining the patristic era in this way, Gerhard prefers to distinguish three classes of “fathers” (so-called because they are distinct from the scholastics). The first class includes fathers from the apostles to the Council of Nicea, ad 325. The second class extends from Nicea to the Second Council of Constantinople, 681 ad. The third class continues from then until ad 1172, when Peter Lombard, the “Master of the Sentences,” lived. Before moving on, Gerhard gives a list of ecclesiastical authors in each century from the first to the twelfth, providing his students with the beginnings of a patrology here within the confines of his Methodus.51 (6) In what order should students read the fathers? In his usual fashion, Gerhard first lists the opinion of others: a chronological order, giving preference to Ambrose, or giving preference to Augustine. Then finally Gerhard gives his own suggestion (modestly introduced as being the position of “others”): Others prescribe observing another order of reading in the fathers’ writings. It seems most suitable during the fifth year of theological study to open and read the letters of Ignatius; Justin’s Apologies and the Dialogue with Trypho; Irenaeus’ Against Heresies; Tertullian’s Apology, The Prescriptions [of Heretics], The Resurrection of the Flesh, and Against Marcion; Cyprian’s letters; Nazianzen’s orations; Cyril [of Jerusalem]’s Catechetical Lectures; the didactic and polemical writings in the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh tomes of Augustine;52 Damascenus’ The Orthodox Faith; etc. Afterwards, if one has the desire and time, [it seems most suitable] to observe the temporal order among the others, with the exception of Bernard [of Clairvaux] alone, who alone after Augustine—just as Augustine after the apostles— should be preferred to all others.53

Here the immense importance of Augustine is immediately obvious, along with the claim that after the apostles, Bernard is second best. With regard to Bernard, this is an interesting claim, since in many of Gerhard’s Theo­ logical Commonplaces he quotes other fathers more often, such as John 51 Methodus, 277–283. 52 For a full listing of what this includes, see Johann Gerhard, Patrologia, 3rd ed. (Jena: Fleischer, 1673), 359–393. 53 Methodus, 286–287. Cf. Nieden, Erfindung, 172.

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Chrysostom or Athanasius.54 But the primacy of Augustine for Gerhard’s theology should be apparent to even a casual reader.55 He quotes Erasmus’ praise of Augustine with obvious approval: In Athanasius we admire the sacred and diligent clarity of teaching. In Basil, beyond his subtlety, we fondly kiss his pious and gentle sweetness of speech. In Chrysostom we embrace the abundance of speech flowing forth freely. In Cyprian we venerate his spirit, worthy of martyrdom. In Hilary we are amazed at his greatness of speech, equal to the greatness of his subject matter, which is, so to speak, an exalted style [coturnum]. In Ambrose we love some sweet stings and modesty, worthy of a bishop. In Jerome we rightfully praise the riches of his provision of the Scriptures. In Gregory we acknowledge pure sanctity, not embellished by any pretense. In Augustine there are all these things.56

(7) Exegetical, dogmatic, and moral comments should be excerpted in the student’s commonplace books (blank books prepared by students for note-taking according to subject).57 Part four continues the list of rules for how to read the fathers fruitfully. In these rules Gerhard is showing his concern that the accurate, genuine understanding of Scripture be known. He is an exegetical theologian at heart. The specific rules, set forth mostly in the form of warnings, are: (1) In the proclamatory and homiletical writings, the fathers are rather free with their rhetoric; therefore not all of their statements should be taken too strictly. (2) In polemical and dogmatic writings, they sometimes sieze on something and bend it too much against their adversaries. (3) In exegetical writings, their emotions are calmer, but they all (except Jerome) were ignorant of Hebrew. On account of their inexact version of the Bible they often “hallucinate” and depart from the genuine sense of Scripture, and sometimes they indulge their genius too much. 54 Examples include On the Church and Theological Commonplaces: On the Nature of Theology and on Scripture, trans. Dinda, rev. ed., ed. Mayes (St. Louis: Concordia, 2009). 55 The same held true for most of the Reformers: Christoph Burger, “Erasmus’ Auseinandersetzung mit Augustin im Streit mit Luther,” in Auctoritas Patrum, 1–13, here 13; Robert Kolb, “The Fathers in the Service of Lutheran Teaching: Andreas Musculus’ Use of Patristic Sources,” in Auctoritas Patrum II, 105–123, here 123; Anthony Lane, “Justification in Sixteenth-Century Anthologies,” in Auctoritas Patrum, 69–95, here 95; Hägglund, “Das Verständnis,” 17, 21n, 40. 56 Methodus, 284–285. 57 Methodus, 287. On the use of loci books, see Ann Moss, Printed Commonplace-Books and the Structuring of Renaissance Thought (Oxford: Clarendon, 1996).



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(4) In homiletical, exegetical, and didactic writings they sometimes skip over the literal sense of a passage of Scripture, or touch upon it lightly, and immediately sink into allegories that are harsh, forced, and unfitting. (5) In poetic writings they indulge their own genius quite freely and follow the elegance of verse rather than the accurate understanding of Scripture. (6) When controversies had not yet arisen, they speak more securely. (7) Sometimes they yield to the custom of their times. (8) Sometimes they attribute too much to uncertain rumors and take expressions from the common people. In historical matter they follow the assertion and authority of their predecessors without any examination and judgment of discretion. (9) One must pay close attention to whether they are setting forth and confirming a dogma ex professo et in propria sede, or whether they are just mentioning it in passing. One must also pay attention to whether they are disputing as from their own position or as from the position of someone else, and whether they are stating something as certain, or just as probable.58 Summary In the Methodus studii theologici, Gerhard taught his students how to read the fathers fruitfully. He impressed upon them the importance of using the best scholarly aids available. Spurious works and passages must be distinguished from the genuine. The fathers must be read in the context of their age and their controversies. That is to say, the fathers must be approached within their historical context or they can be easily misunderstood. Gerhard has gone into detail to make clear what the fathers are not: norms of truth in the church. But besides this negative approach to the fathers, Gerhard also has a very positive approach. Constructively for Protestant theology, Gerhard recognizes that without the writings of the fathers, many exegetical insights would be lost. Thus one cannot simply replace the fathers with an appeal to sola Scriptura. The fathers are irreplaceable. Without the fathers, the church’s knowledge of Scripture would be decreased. The fathers also play an important role in polemics for 58 Methodus, 288–298.

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Gerhard. They were, after all, the common patrimony of the divided confessions, and an appeal to their writings was important and effective among discussion partners who wanted to be the successors of those revered fathers. Gerhard in the Methodus also includes the argument from patristic silence against novel doctrines, although more often his polemical use of the fathers simply demonstrates continuity between his teaching and some, if not all, of the fathers. The fathers are lumina, non numina, “lights, not divinities.” Gerhard does not allow the fathers to fall into the tenebrae. If his many rules seem to lessen the fathers’ authority and discourage students from believing what they read, his actual use of the fathers shows the immense importance they had in his theological writing throughout his life. Whatever criticism Gerhard had toward the fathers, he criticized as one who stood within that very Christian tradition. He criticized not all that the fathers wrote, but only some; he criticized not from the outside, but from the inside; he criticized not on the basis of subjective whim or the spirit of the age, but on the basis of Holy Scripture. His theology continued to be intensely formed by the fathers, since the tradition of the ancient church was not just his history, but also a part of his own present.59

59 Cf. Hägglund, “Das Verständnis,” 53.

THE LOGIC OF THE HEART: ANALYZING THE AFFECTIONS IN EARLY REFORMED ORTHODOXY David S. Sytsma Introduction While the study of early modern Reformed anthropology, particularly with respect to Calvin and the imago Dei, has lately become a subject of greater focus,1 the study of the emotions—or “affections” and “passions” as they were known2—has been largely neglected by scholars of early modern Reformed theology. Despite the fact that affections played a “prominent role” in the theological anthropology of many Reformed theologians,3 including Jonathan Edwards,4 scholarship on the seventeenthcentury background has not advanced much beyond Perry Miller’s general observation that Puritans displayed Aristotelian and Thomistic tendencies.5 By contrast, there is now enough secondary literature on the history of emotions in the medieval period to provide an initial sketch of major schools of thought, and studies on Aquinas and Thomism have grown to 1 See Jason Van Vliet, Children of God: The Imago Dei in John Calvin and His Context (Göttingen: V&R, 2009), 16–18. 2 Étienne Chauvin, Lexicon rationale sive thesaurus philosophicus (Rotterdam: Van der Slaart, 1692), s.vv. “affectus,” “passio ethicè.” 3 Kelly M. Kapic, Communion with God: The Divine and the Human in the Theology of John Owen (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007), 53; cf. J.I. Packer, The Redemption & Restoration of Man in the Thought of Richard Baxter (Vancouver: Regent College, 2003), 109–111. 4 See Brad Walton, Jonathan Edwards, Religious Affections and the Puritan Analysis of True Piety, Spiritual Sensation and Heart Religion (Lewiston: Mellen, 2002); and Paul Lewis, “‘The Springs of Motion’: Jonathan Edwards on Emotions, Character, and Agency,” JRE 22.2 (1994): 275–297. 5 See Perry Miller, The New England Mind: The Seventeenth Century (Boston: Beacon, 1961), 254, with sources on 515–516. Miller had a wider grasp of the materials, including continental sources, than J.R. Fulcher, “Puritans and the Passions: The Faculty Psychology in American Puritanism,” Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences 9 (1973): 123–139; C.L. Cohen, God’s Caress: The Psychology of Puritan Religious Experience (Oxford: OUP, 1986), 28–29, 118–119; and Norman Fiering, Moral Philosophy at Seventeenth-Century Harvard (Chapel Hill: UNCP, 1981), 147–198. Reformed orthodoxy is entirely neglected in Karl-Heinz zur Mühlen, “Affekt II. Theologiegeschichtliche Aspekte,” in TRE 1:599–612; Karl-Heinz zur Mühlen, “Die Affektenlehre im Spätmittelalter und in der Reformationszeit,” Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte 35 (1992): 93–114; and J. Lanz, “Affekt,” in Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie (Basel: Schwabe, 1971-), 1:89–100.

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the point of observing that early modern Thomism was a variegated and in no way homogenous commentary tradition.6 Likewise, historians of early modern philosophy, although mostly motivated by the desire to understand so-called canonical philosophers (e.g., Descartes, Hobbes, and Spinoza), have begun to contextualize these philosophers against the background of Thomist and Protestant traditions.7 The relative neglect of the affections by scholars of early modern Reformed theology is understandable given that historical theologians tend to focus on systematic and controversial topics from dogmatic theology where discussion of the affections is largely (though not entirely) absent.8 Even so, affections were an integral part of Reformed theology, appearing in the law and prayer sections of catechisms, which inter­ preted  the commandments as applying beyond outward actions to the soul’s affections.9 Thus, while affections did not feature prominently in dogmatic loci, they were important for genres of a practical nature. The present essay will examine the development of Reformed treatments of the affections in the period of early orthodoxy (ca. 1565–1640), during which time extensive treatments of the affections flourished. I will argue that discussion of the affections during this period grew within the broad framework of the Aristotelian psychology and certain polemical concerns initially established by early Reformed theologians. With the 6 On the medieval period see Peter King, “Emotions in Medieval Thought,” in The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Emotion, ed. Goldie (Oxford: OUP, 2009), 167–187; and Simo Knuuttila, Emotions in Ancient and Medieval Philosophy (Oxford: OUP, 2006), 177– 286. On early modern Thomism see Peter King, “Late Scholastic Theories of the Passions: Controversies in the Thomist Tradition,” in Emotions and Choice from Boethius to Descartes, ed. Lagerlund and Yrjönsuuri (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 2002), 229–258. 7 See literature in Amy M. Schmitter, “17th and 18th Century Theories of Emotions,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/emotions -17th18th/; Schmitter, “Passions and affections,” in The Oxford Handbook of British Philo­ sophy in the Seventeenth Century, ed. Anstey (Oxford: OUP, 2013); and Martin Pickavé and Lisa Shapiro, ed., Emotion and Cognitive Life in Medieval and Early Modern Philosophy (Oxford: OUP, 2012). Among the older sources see Anthony Levi, French Moralists: The Theory of the Passions 1585–1649 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1964); and Voukossava Miloyevitch, La Théorie des Passions du P. Senault et la morale chrétienne en France at XVIIe siècle (Paris: Rodstein, 1934). 8 Cf. Aza Goudriaan, “The Synod of Dordt on Arminian Anthropology,” in Revisiting the Synod of Dordt (1618–1619) (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 81–106, at 103: “The Synod indicated much less disagreement over the sinful status of the affections, the third component of the soul, after the Fall.” 9 Jean Calvin, Catechismus ecclesiae Genevensis (1545), in OC, 6:70, 72, 76 (Law), 86 (Prayer); HC Q/A 109, 113 (Law), in CC, 3:347–148; WLC Q/A 99, 105, 135–136, 138, 139–142, 147–148 (Law), 189 (Prayer), in The Confession of Faith, and the Larger and Shorter Catechisme (London, 1651), 106, 109, 123–127, 130–131, 147. Also note CoD III/IV.1 (CC, 3:564).



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advent of Protestant universities and academies, Reformed ethicists and theologians treated the affections in greater detail, with a majority drawing on a generally Thomistic approach to the nature and division of the affections, although not without a dissenting Scotistic minority. As an introduction to an often-overlooked topic, the essay’s scope will be limited to setting forth attempts to describe the most general nature and divisions of the affections, as well as some recurring controversial themes related to the nature of affections themselves, leaving aside treatments of particular affections or their relation to conversion and soteriology. Affections at the Intersection of Ethics and Anthropology Discussion of affections both prior to and during early orthodoxy was scattered over a variety of intersecting topics. On the one hand both theologians and philosophers were interested in the ontological aspect of the affections in relation to faculties of the soul. On the other hand since affections relate to the perception of good and evil, philosophers often treated affections in the context of ethics as principles of action. Theologians, for their part, felt obliged to address the related problem of concupiscence in the context of the scope of the Decalogue. Thus, among the Reformers, in the context of philosophical genres, we typically find a more detailed description of the nature of the affections, while in the context of theological genres we find a greater focus on fallen corrupt desires. For example, Calvin, in addition to recognizing the rational appetitive faculty of the will, follows Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics in distinguishing between irascible (vim irascendi) and concupiscible (vim concupiscendi) appetites—a traditional division of the affections, as we shall see—yet he does not dwell on the details of these appetites.10 Rather, Calvin repeatedly returns to the problem of inordinate desire in relation to the Decalogue.11 10 The marginal note to the 1559 Institutes reads “Arist.lib.1./Ethi.cap.ult./Item lib.6./ cap.2.” See Jean Calvin, Institutio christianae religionis (Geneva: Stephanus, 1559), I.xv.6 (p. 59). The Battles/McNeill edition (1 193n23) contains various errors: (1) it omits this reference to Aristotle’s Ethics with respect to the appetites; (2) it inaccurately cites Themistius, whom Calvin does not cite until later; and (3) it translates vim concupiscendi as “the capacity to desire inordinately” rather than the neutral (and correct) “power of desiring.” The sixteenth-century editions avoid these problems, including Thomas Norton’s translation, which correctly translates vim concupiscendi as “power of Desiryng.” See The Institution of Christian Religion (London, 1561), fol. 55r. For Calvin’s relation to medieval Aristotelian faculty psychology, see Muller, UC, 159–173, and for problems with the Battles/McNeill edition, 67–78. 11 Calvin, Institutio, II.ii.24, II.viii.39, II.viii.45, II.viii.49–50, III.xvii.1.

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By contrast, in their philosophical works on ethics, Philipp Melanchthon, Peter Martyr Vermigli, and Andreas Hyperius offer somewhat more detailed discussion of the nature and kinds of passions, albeit quite cursory by comparison to some seventeenth-century treatments.12 With the rise of Reformed orthodoxy, we find continued discussion of the affections in anthropological treatises, expositions of the Decalogue, and ethical treatises. The Aristotelian psychology of the earlier Reformers was more fully fleshed out in larger treatments de homine, including the affections, as theologians and philosophers more explicitly drew on medieval precedents. Girolamo Zanchi, for example, follows Aquinas’ division of the passions and cites him to the effect that in the state of innocence Adam had passions directed toward the good, such as love and joy, but not toward evil, such as sadness or hatred.13 The affections of course also continued to be addressed in the context of expositions of the tenth commandment throughout the era of orthodoxy, which often cursorily address the nature of the affections before turning to the problem of inordinate desire.14 More than either anthropological treatises or expositions of the Decalogue, however, ethical treatises addressed the nature and divisions of the affections in great detail. Among these books of Reformed ethics, one of the most impressive treatments of the affections, although ignored by surveys of the era, is the Ethicorum Libri Duo (1603) of Abraham 12 See Vermigli, NE, 314–324; reprinted in Vermigli, Common Places (London, 1583), 405–411; Philip Melanchthon, Philosophiae moralis epitome, I (CR 16:50–56); Ethica doctrinae elementa, I (CR 16:201–207); Enarrationes aliquot librorum ethicorum Aristotelis, III.v (CR 16:352–355); and Andreas Hyperius, In Aristotelis Ethica annotationes (Basel, 1586), 95–97. On Melanchthon’s influence on Reformed ethics, see Donald Sinnema, “The Discipline of Ethics in Early Reformed Orthodoxy,” CTJ 28 (1993): 10–44. 13 Girolamo Zanchi, De operibus Dei intra spatium sex dierum (Neustadt, 1591), pars tertia, II.iii (527a-528a), III.iv (643b-644b), citing Aquinas, ST, Ia.95.2. Others who dealt with the affections in the context of psychology include: Lambert Daneau, Isagoges christianae pars quinta, quae est de homine (Geneva, 1588), 15v-17r; Pierre de La Primaudaye, Academie francoise, 4th ed. (Lyon, 1591), 14v-18r; Otto Casmann, Psychologia Anthropologica; Sive Animae Humanæ Doctrina (Hannover, 1594), 403–422; and Philippe de Mornay, The true knowledge of a mans owne selfe (London, 1602), 118–172. 14 See Lambert Daneau, Ethices christianae (Geneva, 1577), II.xvii (302v-312v); Jeremias Bastingius, In Catechesin Religionis Christianae…Commentarii (Dordrecht, 1588), 393–397; Andrew Willet, Hexapla in Exodum (London, 1608), 427–430; George Downame, An abstract of the duties commanded, and sinnes forbidden in the Law of God (London, 1620), M4v; John Weemes, An Exposition of the Morall Law, or Ten Commandments of Almightie God (London, 1632), 329–343; Johannes Wollebius, Christianae theologiae compendium (Basel, 1634), 406–415; André Rivet, Praclectiones in cap. XX. Exodi. (Leiden, 1637), 314b-317b; Anthony Tuckney, Praelectiones theologicae (Amsterdam, 1679), 235–242; Johannes Marckius, Compendium theologiae Christianae, 3rd ed. (Amsterdam, 1722), 260–262; and Turretin, Institutio, XI.xxi.



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Scultetus (1566–1625), court preacher to Frederick V of the Palatinate.15 This work contains an extensive 180-page section on the affections that dwarfs the previous sections on virtues (100 pages) and the blessed life (15 pages).16 Although the affections are a regular feature of later ethical treatises of Reformed orthodoxy, few of them display such an intense interest in the affections.17 Until the early seventeenth century the affections remained a small part of disparate works relating to anthropology and ethics. But in the first half of the seventeenth century, particularly ca. 1620–1640, we witness a new development in England. Likely due to the practical focus of Puritans, there is a remarkable surge of interest in the affections with treatises either focused on, or entirely devoted to, the affections. Among the earliest of these is The Portraiture of the Image of God in Man (1627; 2nd ed. 1632; 3rd ed. 1636) by the Scottish minister John Weemes, which as the title page advertises, “The second [part] containing, the passions of man in the concupiscible and irascible part of the soule … All set downe by way of collation, and cleared by sundry distinctions, both out of the Schoolemen, and moderne Writers.”18 Unlike some of the Puritan works of this time, which were often written in popular sermonic form, Weemes does not hide many of his scholastic sources and distinctions.19 Only a few years after the third edition of Weemes’ Portraiture, Edward Reynolds (1599–1676), a Westminster divine and later Bishop of Norwich, wrote 15 Scultetus was later professor of OT at Heidelberg and a delegate to the Synod of Dordt. See Cuno, “Scultetus, Abraham” (ADB, 33:492–496). 16 Abraham Scultetus, “De affectionibus animi dignoscendis & emendandis,” in Ethicorum Libri Duo (Ursellis, 1603), 123–308. 17 See Franco Burgersdijck, Idea philosophiæ moralis, vii-viii, in Idea philosophiæ, tum moralis, tum naturalis (Oxford, 1631); William Pemble, A Summe of Morall Philosophy (Oxford, 1632), 15–57; Pierre Du Moulin, Ethicorum seu Doctrinae Moralis (Amsterdam, 1645), 10, 62–74; J.H. Alsted, Scientiarum omnium Encyclopaediae, 4 vols. (Lyon, 1649), 3:23–25; Daniel Sinapius, Dissertationes Ethicæ (Leiden, 1645), 38–43; Adrian Heereboord, Collegium Ethicum, 54–61, in Philosophia, Naturalis, Moralis, Rationalis (Leiden, 1654); Gisbert ab Isendoorn, Ethica Peripatetica (Harderwijk, 1659), 201–237; Isaac Schoock, Idea Philosophiae Moralis (Frankfurt an der Oder, 1672) 20–30; Johann Rudolph Rodolph, Ethica duobus libris comprehensa (Amsterdam: Daniel Tschiffely, 1696), 74–112; and Benedict Pictet, Medulla ethicae christianae (Geneva, 1712), 273–341. As far as I am currently aware, only Pictet’s is comparable, but he writes in a post-Cartesian framework. 18 John Weemes, The Portraiture of the Image of God in Man, 3rd ed. (London, 1636), 139–231. 19 Other popularly oriented Puritan works include Thomas Cooper, The Mysterie of the Holy Government of our Affections (London, [1620?]); William Fenner, A Treatise of the Affections; Or the Soules Pulse (London, 1641); and John Ball, The Power of Godlines (London, 1657), 172–272. Fenner’s Treatise was subsequently republished on multiple occasions (1642, 1650, 1657; Works: 1651, 1657, 1658).

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A Treatise of the Passions and Faculties of the Soul of Man (1640) that like Weemes drew heavily on scholastic sources and distinctions.20 Although some attention has been given to Reynolds’ Treatise in past accounts of early modern affections, such studies have largely ignored the Reformed treatments that preceded him, including Weemes.21 The developments sketched here point to common affective concerns shared by Reformers, Reformed scholastics, and Puritans that belies the older caricatures of Protestant orthodoxy as “dry” and “arid.”22 It also under­ scores the problematic character of any rigorous contrast between the academic concerns of Reformed scholastics and pietistic Puritans.23 In fact, the Puritan treatises on the affections grew up in the soil of an already abundant scholastic literature, which furnished categories for popular works such as Richard Baxter’s Saints Everlasting Rest.24 The Nature of the Affections Treatments of the affections during the early orthodox period, like those of the medieval scholastics, typically begin by defining them in relation to the parts of the soul in general and the faculties of intellect and will more specifically. The medieval scholastics, although generally in agreement on the (Aristotelian) division of the soul into rational and sensitive parts, resulting in a twofold division of rational appetite (will or voluntas) and sensitive appetite, were not agreed on whether affections were found primarily in the sensitive appetite or in the rational appetite. Anselm and Abelard, following the suggestion of Augustine’s City of God XIV.6 that affections are “no more than acts of the will,” held that affections are kinds of willing. Scotus and Ockham continued this reading of Augustine, arguing that affections were in the appetitive faculty in general, and therefore 20 Edward Reynolds, A Treatise of the Passions and Faculties of the Soul of Man (London, 1640), 31–344 (326–344 are misnumbered). Reynolds’ Treatise was often reprinted (1647, 1650, 1651, 1656, 1658; Works: 1678, 1679), and translated into Dutch by Petrus Heringa: Een verhandeling van de herts-tochten en mogentheden van de ziele des menschen (Amsterdam, 1667). 21 Miller, New England Mind, 251–252; Fulcher, “Puritans and the Passions,” 130–131; Jill Kraye, “Aπαθεια and Προπαθειαι in Early Modern Discussions of the Passions: Stoicism, Christianity and Natural History,” Early Science and Medicine 17 (2012): 230–253 at 250–252. 22 Cf. Muller, AC, 25–26, 47–48. 23 Cf. Muller, AC, 105–121; and Schuringa, “Orthodoxy, Scholasticism, and Piety” in this volume. 24 2nd ed. (London, 1651), Part 4, Chapter 9 (184–185, 191–208).



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in both will and sensitive appetite. Although Aquinas also drew heavily on Augustine’s City of God, he nonetheless argued that since bodily changes are essential to emotions (e.g. one’s blood boils when angry), they must be located in the sensitive appetite. Aquinas thus sharply distinguished between acts of the sensitive and rational appetites, preferring the term passiones for ordinary emotions and affectiones for analogous volitional acts of God, angels, and humanity.25 Although not uniform in the use of terminology—they refer variously to passiones and affectiones—most of the Reformed orthodox authors follow Aristotle and Aquinas in placing the affections in the sensitive appetite and view bodily change as essential to them. Franco Burgersdijck offers this definition of affectus: “An affection is a motion of the sensitive appetite, with an unnatural change of the body, with respect to a good or evil object, a proposition, and evaluation, from the imagination (phantasia), for pursuing the former and avoiding the latter.”26 A nearly identical definition, employing the more Thomistic term passio, is found in Weemes: “A passion, is a motion of the sensitive appetite, stirred up by the apprehension, either of good or evill in the imagination, which worketh some outward change in the body.”27 Like Aquinas, Weemes places the passions “betwixt the body and the minde” in the sensitive part of the soul and “not in the reasonable” (ruling out Scotus), so that they are “in the will and understanding, as commanding and ruling them; but in the sensitive part, as in the proper subject.” More specifically, the affections depend on the imagination (or “phantasie”) to apprehend an object, the intellect to judge it as true or false, and the will to determine its relative good or evil in relation to us. Only under the guidance of the intellect and will are the affections moved with respect to some perceived good or evil.28 Although Weemes does not cite Aquinas on the affections’ subordinate dependence and participation in the intellect and will, Reynolds makes the same point and he does cite Aquinas.29 25 This is a simplification of a much more complicated narrative. See King, “Emotions,” 171–182; and on the distinction between passiones and affectiones, Robert Miner, Thomas Aquinas on the Passions: A Study of Summa Theologiae 1a2ae22–48 (Cambridge: CUP, 2009), 35–38. For Aquinas’ use of Augustine, see Mark D. Jordan, “Aquinas’ Construction of a Moral Account of the Passions,” Freiburger Zeitschrift für Philosophie und Theologie 33 (1986): 71–97. 26 Burgersdijck, Idea philosophiæ moralis, 75. Cf. Rudoph Goclenius, Lexicon philosophicum (Frankfurt, 1613), s.v. “Passio”; Aquinas, ST, IaIIae.22.3. 27 Portraiture, 139. See similarly, Zanchi, De operibus Dei, 527a. 28 Portraiture, 140–141. 29 Reynolds, Treatise, 38, citing Aquinas, ST, Ia.81.3.

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A somewhat more eclectic approach to the nature of the affections is found in Abraham Scultetus. Having defined affections as “commotions of the soul’s appetitive faculty” (commotiones ab appetente facultate), he devoted a chapter to the question, “In what way do commotions arise in the rational part?”30 In that chapter, after contrasting the positions of Augustine and Scotus to those of Aristotle and Aquinas, he tries to reconcile the two positions: “Therefore the soul’s affections are in the lower appetite, as the proper seat, although they also consider, and as we explained, affect the higher. In which way Scotus can be united with Thomas, nor do I suppose Augustine and Galen to have thought differently.”31 Despite this conciliatory stance, by placing the “proper seat” of the affections in the sensitive appetite, Scultetus appears to favor the position of Aquinas. Although the majority of Reformed authors in early orthodoxy favor the placement of the affections in the sensitive appetite, there is at least one significant deviation from this view. The Puritan William Fenner, recognizing the majority opinion, argued like Augustine and Scotus for the affections as kinds of willing. In his words, “As the affections are motions, so they are the motions of the will. I know Aristotle and most of our Divines too, doe place the affections in the sensitive part of the Soule, and not in the will, because they are to be seene in the beasts.”32 He provides both psychological and Scriptural argument. Psychologically, the affection of shame shows that it is possible to be moved without relation to the sensitive part of the soul. From Scripture he observes that Paul in 1 Thess. 2:8 (“Being affectionately desirous of you, we were willing”) “couples his affections and his will together in one, and his affection that he had to the Thessalonians, hee seats in his will.” Likewise, Fenner argues, Scripture says that good angels “desire” (1 Pet. 1:12) and evil angels “believe and tremble” (James 2:19), which would not be possible unless the angels, who lack a sensitive soul, have affections in their will.33 Then leaving no doubt as to his Scotist sympathies, Fenner concludes the argument, “and therefore Austen, and Galen, and Scotus, and why say I them, the scriptures say the affections are motions in the heart.”34 30 Ethicorum, 129, 132. 31 Ethicorum, 134. On p. 133 he contrasts the opinions of Augustine, Galen, and Scotus with those of Cicero, Aquinas, and Aristotle. 32 Fenner, Treatise, 5. Fiering, Moral Philosophy, 159–165, notes that Fenner was known to leading New England Puritans, but does not discuss him in relation to Reformed treatises such as Weemes and Reynolds. 33 Treatise, 5–6. 34 Treatise, 6.



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The fact that Fenner felt compelled to provide such arguments against the opinion of “most of our Divines” illustrates the dominance not of a Scotist, but rather of an Aristotelian or Thomist opinion—reflecting a sharp distinction between sensitive and intellectual appetites—among the Reformed. At the same time, the examples of Fenner and Scultetus show that there was not complete uniformity of opinion, and should therefore caution us from concluding that the Reformed tradition was without qualification either Thomist or Scotist with respect to the nature of the affections. We can conclude, however, that the Reformed tradition prior to the spread of Descartes’ concept of the soul, which denied a sensitive part, generally placed the affections in the sensitive appetite with a minority favoring a Scotist view. Incidentally, this conclusion places Jonathan Edwards in discontinuity with the mainstream of early Reformed orthodoxy, though perhaps in continuity with Fenner, since Edwards located the affections entirely in the will.35 Categorizing the Affections Of all the medieval scholastics, Aquinas’ Treatise on the Passions (Summa theologiae, IaIIae, qq. 22–48) was, in the estimation of one medieval historian, “the most extensive medieval treatise on the subject,”36 and in another, “a treatment so masterful that it eclipsed the works of his predecessors.”37 By contrast, although their respective treatments of the affections were “deep and principled,” Scotus and Ockham did not offer complete treatises on the topic.38 Given also the availability of early modern Roman Catholic treatises on the passions that adapted and popularized Aquinas’ treatise, it is understandable that the Reformed would draw on Aquinas’ treatise.39 35 Jonathan Edwards, Religious Affections, ed. Smith (New Haven: YUP, 1959), 97–98. Fiering, Moral Philosophy, 164, plausibly sees in Fenner an anticipation of Edwards. Contra Walton, Jonathan Edwards, 146–148, who on the basis of Aquinas’ view of volitional love as the first mover of both the will and affections (ST, Ia.20.1), argues that there is precedent in Aquinas for Edwards’ placement of the affections entirely in the will. If there were any medieval precedent here, it would be Scotus not Aquinas. For further discontinuities with Reformed orthodoxy on the related faculty of the will, see Richard A. Muller, “Jonathan Edwards and the Absence of Free Choice: A Parting of the Ways in the Reformed Tradition,” Jonathan Edwards Studies 1.1 (2011): 3–22. 36 Knuuttila, Emotions, 239. 37 King, “Emotions,” 176. 38 King, “Emotions,” 180. 39 In addition to the numerous commentaries on the Summa theologiae, there were popular vernacular treatises, e.g., Nicolas Coëffeteau, A Table of Humane Passions. With

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A variety of factors contribute to analyses of the affections in both medieval and early modern treatises on the affections. Generally all authors presume that affections require an object to which they relate, considered under various aspects.40 Since such objects can appear to be either good or evil, present or future, simple or difficult to obtain, they allow for a variety of emotional responses. Ancient philosophers, upon whom both medieval and early modern authors elaborate, observed these factors and based their classifications on them. The Stoics identified four basic affections: delight (present good), distress (present evil), desire (future good), and fear (future evil). Plato and Aristotle distinguished between simple and difficult to obtain objects, from which they derived the distinction between concupiscible (simple desiring) and irascible (angry) affections. Augustine bequeathed these ancient classifications to the medieval scholastics.41 Aquinas drew on these ancient classifications and built an elaborate classification of the affections. Following Augustine’s City of God XIV.7, he arranges the affections in a teleological path from inclination to movement to rest, reflecting the beginning, middle, and end of a series of emotions in the process of pursuing good and avoiding evil.42 In this schema, the concupisible affections of love (amor) and hate (odium) are principle inclinations toward good and evil, respectively; desire (desiderium) and aversion (abominatio) are motions toward or away from imminent good or evil; and joy (gaudium) and sadness (tristitia) are final affections resting in present and obtained good or evil.43 Aquinas classifies the irascible affections, which respect objects as difficult to obtain, according to whether they tend toward or away from either good or evil, whether future or present. The affections of hope (spes) and despair (desperatio) tend toward or away from good, respectively, while the affections of boldness (audacia) and fear (timor) tend toward or away from evil, respectively.44 Anger (ira), which seeks to overcome a present evil, is a unique affection

their Causes and Effects, trans. E.G. Sergiant (London, 1621), a translation of Tableau des passions humaines (Paris, 1620); and Thomas Wright, The Passions of the Minde in Generall, 2nd ed. (London, 1604). On Coëffeteau, see Levi, French Moralists, 142–152. 40 E.g., Zanchi, De operibus Dei, 527b; Vermigli, NE, 316. 41 King, “Emotions,” 169–170. 42 Aquinas, ST, IaIIae.25.2. Cf. Miner, Thomas Aquinas, 82–87; Kevin White, “The Passions of the Soul (IaIIae, qq. 22–48),” in The Ethics of Aquinas, ed. Pope (Washington: Georgetown UP, 2002), 107; and Jordan, “Aquinas’ Construction,” 90–93. 43 Aquinas, ST, IaIIae.25.2, 4. 44 Aquinas, ST, IaIIae.23.2.



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without a contrary, since the contrary tendency away from a present evil is not possible.45 Both the Reformers and their orthodox successors distinguish between concupiscible (επιθυμητικόν; concupiscibilis) and irascible (θυμικόν; irascibilis) faculties in the sensitive appetite. The distinction is a commonplace, and as such only indicative of a shared Aristotelian psychology rather than a particularly Thomist influence. Many authors simply refer to Aristotle for the distinction.46 “All the passions,” writes Weemes, “may be reduced first, to the concupiscible and irascible faculties of the Soule.”47 Similarly, Pierre Du Moulin explains, “There are two kinds of appetite, one is called concupiscible, the other irascible. The concupiscible is first, for anger is not stirred up except after desire. On that account we become angry since [something] is opposed to our desire.”48 With respect to the further question of exactly how these appetites are distinguished, there is less agreement. The Jesuit Francisco Suárez (1548–1617) is known to have departed from Aquinas’ real distinction between concupiscible and irascible powers, favoring rather a merely conceptual distinction of various functions exercised by a single appetitive power.49 While many Reformed authors do not seem to oblige a merely conceptual distinction, since they speak of multiple appetitoria or facultates (Zanchi, Scultetus, Weemes), others writing after Suárez grant a conceptual distinction. Burgersdijck clearly states that the concupiscible and irascible “are not faculties differing in the thing itself, but by reason alone. For there is one and the same faculty, which is called ἐπιθυμία and θύμος….”50 Adriaan Heereboord, while conceding that a real distinction is “the more common opinion,” yet like Burgersdijck argued that a conceptual distinction is “more probable” because “the appetites’ subjects and objects do not differ as things themselves but rather by reason….”51 While Reformed theologians even prior to the rise of orthodoxy had divided the sensitive appetite into concupiscible and irascible aspects, 45 Aquinas, ST, IaIIae.23.3. 46 See Calvin, Institutio, I.xv.6; Vermigli, NE, 403; Hyperius, In Aristotelis Ethica annotationes, 96; Zanchi, De operibus Dei, 527a; Scultetus, Ethicorum, 135–143; Burgersdijck, Idea philosophiæ moralis, 91–92; Goclenius, Lexicon philosophicum, s.v. “Appetibile, Irascibile”; Du Moulin, Ethicorum, 10; Pemble, A Summe of Morall Philosophy, 19; Heereboord, Collegium Ethicum, 56b-57a; Isendoorn, Ethica Peripatetica, 216; Sinapius, Dissertationes Ethicæ, 38; Voetius, SDT, 5:225; and Turretin, Institutio, XI.xxi.1. 47 Weemes, Portraiture, 142. 48 Du Moulin, Ethicorum, 62. 49 King, “Late Scholastic Theories,” 238–244. 50 Burgersdijck, Idea philosophiæ moralis, 92–93. 51 Heereboord, Collegium Ethicum, 56b-57a.

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over time Aquinas’ particular account of the eleven affections gained in popularity, as contemporaries attest. In an appendix to a 1638 disputation, Gisbertus Voetius observed that while the affections are commonly treated in small physical, ethical, and practical books (libelli), “the scholastics on Thomas [Summa theologiae] IaIIae.22–49 should be consulted above all for solid learning.”52 Benedict Pictet, writing in a post-Cartesian context, still observed three main opinions on the enumeration of the affections: “The opinions vary, some ennumerate thirteen as Aristotle does, others ennumerate eleven as Thomas Aquinas, and Descartes ennumerates six, to which he reduces all others.”53 Likewise, Heereboord noted that “all the scholastics follow [Aquinas’ enumeration] and [it is] the common [opinion] of the philosophers.”54 Although neither Pictet nor Heereboord were personally satisfied with Aquinas’ account, their retrospective remarks indicate that prior to Descartes Aquinas’ classification figured largely in accounts of the affections, and this is exactly what we find. The Reformed authors during the early orthodox period often turned to Aquinas’ classification of the affections at least to frame the state of the question, and many of them followed Aquinas quite closely. Among the authors who clearly agree with Aquinas’ enumeration are Alsted, Scultetus, Weemes, Du Moulin, and Reynolds. These authors, while recognizing various alternative theories, ultimately follow Aquinas’ account of six concupiscible and five irascible affections. Alsted reproduces Aquinas’ eleven affections in a Ramist chart bifurcated first according to concupiscible and irascible appetites, and second according to their relation to good or evil, where the concupiscible appetites are ordered in temporal sequence (like Aquinas) by initial motion, absence of object, and presence of object.55 Scultetus states, “I, along with Thomas, draw up eleven particular affections: love, hate, desire, flight or aversion, joy or delight, sadness, and these in the concupiscible part, but in the irascible part hope, despair, fear, boldness, and anger.”56 Weemes, who repeatedly cites Aquinas throughout his particular exposition of the affections, draws up 52 Voetius, “Paralipomœna ad disp. 10. de creatione,” in SDT, 1:804. 53 Pictet, Medulla ethicae christianae, 273–274. 54 Heereboord, Collegium Ethicum, 58b. 55 Alsted, Encyclopaediae, 3 25a. 56 Scultetus, Ethicorum, 154. In his following explanation he draws on Aquinas for how particular affections relate to one another, as e.g., despair follows fear (Ethicorum, 155, citing ST, IaIIae.45.2), hope precedes joy, and fear precedes sadness (Ethicorum, 158–159, citing IaIIae.25.1). He also writes that Aquinas’ teaches eruditè in IaIIae.23.2 (Ethicorum, 158).



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the same schema as Aquinas, including identical definitions of each particular affection.57 Reynolds, like Scultetus and Weemes, had obviously been reading Aquinas carefully on the nature of the affections, although his exposition of particular affections is mostly peppered with classical and biblical illustrations.58 In addition to the methodological similarity with Aquinas in providing separate treatments of the nature, causes, and effects for each of the eleven affections, Reynolds’ overview of the divisions of the affections mirrors Aquinas by placing the concupiscible affections in a teleological path from the “first springings” (hate and love), to those in between but not yet united to their object (desire and aversion), to those finally united to present good or evil (delight and sorrow).59 Reynolds perhaps represents the most developed Reformed treatise on the affections that follows a Thomist enumeration. Without examining in detail the contents of each affection, it is safe to say that a significant number of Reformed authors of early orthodoxy adopted a generally Thomistic division of the affections. This Thomist schema continued to be espoused throughout the seventeenth century.60 Polemical Themes There are at least two recurring polemical themes in early orthodoxy that relate directly to the nature of the affections. First, the Reformed deny the Stoic notion of ἀπάθεια. Second, they affirm, against many contemporary Jesuits, the sinfulness of involuntary appetitive motions that precede the affections (primo primi motus). These areas of controversy are traditional points of debate which, originating prior to the Reformation, were addressed by Reformers but then developed in more detail in early Reformed orthodoxy. The Reformers and Reformed orthodox sided with a tradition of opposition to Stoic ἀπάθεια going back to Augustine’s City of God XIV.9—by no means the dominant patristic opinion61—and perpetuated by some 57 Weemes, Portraiture, 142–143, citing Aquinas, e.g., on 164, 172, 175, and 212. 58 Cf. citations to ST in Reynolds, Treatise, 37, 38, 49 167, 259. 59 Reynolds, Treatise, 39–40. 60 E.g., in New England by Charles Morton; see Fiering, Moral Philosophy, 233. See also Isendoorn, Ethica Peripatetica, 217–237; and Richard Baxter, Methodus Theologiae Christianae (London, 1681), I.225, who adopts Aquinas’ six concupiscible passions with­ out  modification, but expands Aquinas’ five irascible passions to nine to fit his unique trichotomization. 61 See Knuuttila, Emotions, 118–135, 141–144, 176; Gérard Verbeke, The Presence of Stoicism in Medieval Thought (Washington: CUAP, 1983), 48; and Paul Gondreau, The

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medieval theologians, including Aquinas.62 Melanchthon and Calvin included polemics against ἀπάθεια, while Vermigli openly disagreed with Basil and Gregory Nazianzen, whose ἀπάθεια “must be completely rejected.”63 Furthermore, the revival of Stoicism in the 1580s led by Justus Lipsius ensured that the early orthodox authors would oppose ἀπάθεια with even greater vigor.64 While the Reformed adherence to a generally Aristotelian doctrine of the soul, with its affirmation that moderated affections are natural and good, certainly strengthened this opposition, these polemics also shared with Augustine a theological motivation.65 Many authors include distinct polemical chapters or sections against ἀπάθεια, and others, following Augustine, appeal to the example of Christ’s affections.66 Weemes, for example, cites the same proof texts as Augustine: Christ himselfe tooke these passions upon him, therefore they cannot bee sinne, Luke 10.21. Hee was angrie, Marke 3.5. He was sad, Math. 26.38. and rejoyced, Luke 10.21. They are sanctified by regeneration. The Apostle, Rom. 1.30 condemnes the want of naturall affection, hee calls them ἄστοργοι, without naturall affection.67

In order to clarify that Christ was in full control of his passions, many theologians also make use of a medieval notion, originating with Jerome’s exegesis of Mt. 26:37 (Jesus “began to be sad”), of propassion or “prepassion.”68 Even while making the dogmatic point against ἀπάθεια, some Passions of Christ’s Soul in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas (Münster: Aschendorff, 2002), 284n50. 62 Knuuttila, Emotions, 155–156, 160; Gondreau, Passions, 53–54, 127–128, 285–286; Miner, Thomas Aquinas, 88–92, 290. 63 See Melanchthon, Philosophiae moralis epitome, I (CR 16:51–55); Ethica doctrinae elementa, I (CR 16:205–206); Enarrationes aliquot librorum ethicorum Aristotelis, III.v (CR 16:352); Calvin, Institutio, III.viii.9; and Vermigli, NE, 317–318. 64 On Neo-Stoicism, see Jill Kraye, “Neo-Stoicism,” in Encyclopedia of Ethics, ed. Becker and Becker, 2nd ed., 3 vols. (New York: Taylor & Francis, 2001), 2:1228–1232; Levi, French Moralists, 51–111; and for England, J.H.M. Salmon, “Stoicism and Roman Example: Seneca and Tacitus in Jacobean England,” JHI 50.2 (1989): 199–225. Opposition was strong in England; see Henry Sams, “Anti-Stoicism in Seventeenth- and Early Eighteenth-Century England,” Studies in Philology 41.1 (1944): 65–78; and Kraye, “Aπαθεια and Προπαθειαι,” 230–253. 65 Cf. Miller, New England Mind, 253–255, 261. 66 See Reynolds, Treatise, 46–50; Du Moulin, Ethicorum, 73–74; Scultetus, Ethicorum, 144–145; and Isendoorn, Ethica Peripatetica, 210–211. 67 Weemes, Portraiture, 159, citing Rom. 1:31 incorrectly as 1:30. These verses are cited in Augustine, City of God, XIV.9. 68 See Weemes, Portraiture, 146–147; Reynolds, Treatise, 49; and Edward Leigh, Annotations upon all the New Testament Philologicall and Theological (London, 1650), 156. Cf. Kevin Madigan, The Passions of Christ in High-Medieval Thought (New York: OUP, 2007), 57–58, 67–71; Gondreau, Passions, 366–372; Kraye, “Aπαθεια and Προπαθειαι,” 247–252.



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writers play down differences by stating with Augustine that when one considers their view of reason’s rule over the passions, there is little overall difference between the Stoic and Peripatetic views.69 In general, an antipathy for Stoic ἀπάθεια, inherited from Augustine and utilizing the example of Christ, is characteristic of early Reformed orthodoxy. If the polemics against ἀπάθεια reflect the per se goodness of the appetitive faculty and its passions, the polemics with respect to primo primi motus reflect the Reformed consensus on the post-lapsarian condition of humanity, in which humanity “contracted impurity in all its affections.”70 The controversy, in a nutshell, is whether initial inordinate motions of non-rational appetites, prior to the consent of the intellectual faculties, constitute sins of concupiscence. This question was widely debated among medieval theologians. Augustine viewed inordinate initial desires as a result of original sin, but denied the actual sinfulness of such desires until one actually delights in it.71 Peter Lombard, drawing on Augustine, provided a succinct account in Sentences II dist. 24.6–12. However, he altered Augustine’s view by adding that initial inordinate desires are the “lightest” venial sins.72 Those who disagreed with Lombard introduced a distinction between first and secondary initial movements, the former being exempt from sin.73 Although Aquinas among others followed Lombard in affirming the sinfulness of initial inordinate desires, the contrary view gained popularity among latemedieval Franciscans, and the doctrine became dominant among Roman Catholics through the influence of the sixteenth-century Parisian nominalists and the school of Salamanca.74 By the early seventeenth century, the Jesuit controversialist Martin Becanus could write that while Lombard, Aquinas, and Cajetan held that the initial motions of the sensitive appetite are venial sins, yet the “common opinion” among Roman Catholics is that these motions are “neither mortal nor venial sins.”75

69 See Sinapius, Dissertationes Ethicæ, 40, citing Augustine, City of God, IX.4; and Reynolds, Treatise, 49, citing Aquinas, ST, IaIIae.24.2,3 (wherein Augustine is cited). 70 CoD III/IV.1 (CC 3:564). 71 Knuuttila, Emotions, 169–171. 72 Knuuttila, Emotions, 181–183. 73 Knuuttila, Emotions, 184–187. 74 R.A. Couture, L’imputabilité morale des premiers mouvements de sensualité de Saint Thomas aux Salmanticenses (Rome: Editrice Pontificia Università Gregoriana, 1962), esp. 220. 75 Martin Becanus, Summae theologiae scholasticae pars secunda (Paris, 1620), 326–327. Note Becanus against Cajetan: “Est contra Caiet. cuius sententia est erronea.” (333).

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Early Reformed orthodoxy found this contemporary Roman Catholic, and particularly Jesuit, development entirely problematic. Weemes and Andrew Willet offer some of the most detailed responses to contemporary Roman Catholic opinion on primo primi motus.76 Weemes summarizes the Roman Catholic view thus: “The Church of Rome granteth that the full consent is mortall sinne. Secondly, that the delight is a veniall sinne, because it is but semiplena deliberatio, but they deny motum suggestionis to be a sinne.”77 He also notes the alternative terms primo-primi motus, secundo-primi motus, and secundi motus, while arguing that the primoprimi motus are condemned by the tenth commandment, and the others are condemned by Christ’s interpretation of the seventh commandment (adultery) in Matt. 5:28.78 Perhaps reflecting Lombard’s description of first motions as the “lightest” venial sins, Weemes says their involuntary nature excuses sin “in part, but not fully” (in tanto, sed non in toto).79 Willet, for his part, in his Exodus commentary after dividing sin into “three degrees” of appetitus, assensio, and actio, cites Calvin’s interpretation of the tenth commandment that even without consent if desire “tickles” (titillat) us, this suffices for guilt.80 Willet also notes a minor difference among the Reformed: whereas Franciscus Junius interprets the tenth commandment as applying only to initial inordinate motions, Zacharius Ursinus interprets it as applying to the broader category of original corruption itself. Willet agrees with Ursinus.81 In his Romans commentary, Willet includes a polemical section on the sinfulness of involuntary motions, in which he responds in detail to the Jesuit Benedictus Pererius’ assertion that desires lacking the will’s consent are not sinful.82 As the seventeenth century advanced, the early orthodox polemic on primo primi motus became a common aspect of Reformed treatments

76 See also Daneau, Ethices christianae, 304v-307r; Bastingius, In Catechesin, 297–298; and John Dod, A Treatise of Exposition upon the Ten Commandments (London, 1603), 97v-98v. 77 Weemes, Exposition of the Morall Law, 332. 78 Weemes, Portraiture, 139–140. Cf. William Perkins, The Workes, 3 vols. (London, 1631), 3:55b (on Matt. 5:28). 79 Weemes, Portraiture, 139. 80 Willet, Hexapla in Exodum, 428, citing Jean Calvin, Mosis libri V, cum Johannis Calvini commentariis (Geneva, 1563), 396 (CO 24:720). 81 Willet, Hexapla in Exodum, 429; cf. Franciscus Junius, Opera theologica, 2 vols. (Geneva, 1607), 1:309; and Ursinus, Commentary, 605–606. 82 Andrew Willet, Hexapla…vpon…Romanes (London, 1611), 342–346; cf. Benedictus Pererius, Secundus tomus…super Epistola beati Pauli ad Romanos (Ingolstadt, 1603), 755–761.



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of the tenth commandment.83 One Reformed controversialist, Festus Hommius (1576–1642), even detected a similar problem with the Arminian view of concupiscence. He argued that various Arminians, including Arminius himself, held that “the inclination to sinning is not a fault, or sin properly so called, but thus metonymically named, because it is the cause or effect of sin.”84 Hommius further noted that Arminius referred to “an inclination to sinning, which existed even before [the Fall] in humanity.”85 Although a detailed comparison of Arminian and Jesuit views of primo primi motus is beyond the scope of this essay, if Hommius is correct (a point that would require a study in its own right), then it is possible that one could find—in addition to the Arminian use of the Jesuits’ scientia media opposed by the Reformed—another convergence of Arminian and Jesuit opinion in contrast to that of the Reformed.86 Conclusion In the era of early Reformed orthodoxy (ca. 1565–1640), the affections were treated in a variety of genres, both philosophical and theological. As this era progressed, with the rise of Puritanism, distinct treatises focusing on the affections flourished particularly in England (ca. 1620–1640). Reformed authors, following a strict Aristotelian division between the intellectual and sensitive appetites, generally define the nature of the affections as motions of the sensitive appetite, although William Fenner represents an exception to this mainstream opinion. They divide the affections themselves according to the ancient division between concupiscible and irascible appetites. While these aspects reflect an Aristotelian psychology shared with Reformers including Calvin and Vermigli, many 83 See Rivet, Praclectiones, 315a; Tuckney, Praelectiones, 235–237; Turretin, Institutio, XI.xxi; and Andreas Essenius, Synopsis Controversiarum Theologicarum (Utrecht, 1677), 39. 84 Festus Hommius, Specimen controversiarum Belgicarum (Leiden, 1618), 53. I am grateful to Aza Goudriaan for drawing my attention to this source. See similarly, Goudriaan, “The Synod of Dordt on Arminian Anthropology,” 103n107. 85 Hommius, Specimen, 54. He cites Jacob Arminius, Articuli nonnulli diligenti examine perpendi… ([ca. 1607]), 18. On the approximate date for Arminius’ Articuli see Keith Stanglin and Richard Muller, “Bibliographia Arminiana,” in AAE, 277. 86 On the Arminian use of scientia media, along with Reformed opposition to it, see Richard A. Muller, “Arminius and the Scholastic Tradition,” CTJ 24.2 (1989): 263–277; Muller, Arminius, 143–166; Muller, PRRD, 3:417–432; Eef Dekker, “Was Arminius a Molinist?” SCJ 27.2 (1996): 337–352; Stephen Hampton, Anti-Arminians: The Anglican Reformed Tradition from Charles II to George I (Oxford: OUP, 2008), 210–211, 254–259; Keith Stanglin and Thomas McCall, Jacob Arminius: Theologian of Grace (Oxford: OUP, 2012), 65–69.

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early orthodox authors also accept Aquinas’ classification of six concupiscible and five irascible passions and adopt Aquinas’ specific definition of each. The polemics with respect to the affections concern both their nature and corruption. There is a general consensus, shared with the Reformers, against Stoic ἀπάθεια. Here the traditional arguments from Christ’s example, originally put forth in Augustine’s City of God, play a large role. We also find a strong polemic against the Roman Catholic majority opinion, argued by Jesuits, that first motions of the sensitive appetite (primo primi motus) are not sinful on account of their involuntary nature. In both cases the early Reformed orthodox respond to long-standing debates stretching back at least to the medieval era—they are, as Heiko Oberman and Richard Muller have contended, “participants in an ongoing dialogue.”87

87 Muller, PRRD, 4:387.

REFORMED EDUCATION FROM GENEVA THROUGH THE NETHERLANDS TO THE EAST INDIES Yudha Thianto John Calvin believed that education should be an integral part of the church’s work in ensuring that Christians know what they believe. His first edition of the Institutes was developed following the standard format of a catechism, with some elaborate explanation on the Ten Commandments, the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, the sacraments, and relationship between church and state. Knowledge stands front and center in Calvin’s theological argument. While the 1536 edition of the Institutes was short enough to function as a handy instruction in faith, Calvin saw the need to provide more suitable materials to be used as catechetical tools for the young. The publication of his first catechism in 1537 was a testimony to his effort to provide a suitable teaching tool. Written in French, the 1537 catechism, according to Paul Fuhrmann, was “Calvin’s own popular compendium of his earliest Institutio.”1 In his lifetime Calvin published additional catechisms.2 One year after the publication of the 1537 catechism, he published another one, in Latin, entitled Catechismus, sive Christianae Religionis Institutio.3 Pointing to the 1537 French edition of the catechism, in the preface of the 1538 catechism Calvin stated that a similar work has been published by the approval of the church of Geneva, but currently the work is published in Latin for the 1 Paul T. Fuhrmann, “Historical Foreword,” in John Calvin, Instruction in Faith (1537) (Philadelphia: WP, n. d.), 8. The original French title of the catechism is: Instruction et confession de foy dont on use en l’église de Genève (CO 22:25–74). Unless otherwise noted, quotations from Calvin’s 1537 catechism in this essay will be taken from this English translation, referenced as: Catechism 1537, followed by page number. 2 Some of them are: L’Institution puérile de la doctrine Christienne faicte par maniere de dyalogue, written between 1538 and 1541 (OS 2:152–156), Le Catéchisme de l’église de Genève, c’est a dire le formulaire d’instruire les enfents en la Chrestienté, published in 1542 (CO 6 1– 134), and the 1545 Latin translation of the catechism under the title: Catechismus ecclesiae Genevensis, hoc est, formula erudiendi pueros in doctriner Christi (CO 6 1–146). For a more complete description of the publications of Calvin’s works, see Wulfert de Greef, The Writings of John Calvin, Expanded Edition, trans. Bierma (Louisville: WJKP, 2008). 3 CO 5:313–362. English translation in I. John Hesselink, Calvin’s First Catechism: A Commentary, trans. Battles (Louisville: WJKP, 1997), 1. Unless otherwise noted, quotations of Calvin’s 1538 catechism will be taken from this English edition, and referenced as: Catechism 1538, followed by page number.

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purpose that “the sincerity of that faith may be manifest also to other churches everywhere.”4 This short statement clearly indicates that he had the global church in mind. In Geneva, during Calvin’s lifetime there were some booklets being published that contain basic instruction for young children to learn how to read and write. An example of such booklets is entitled L’ABC François.5 These booklets do not bear the names of the authors, most likely because they were not original works by an author, but only a collection of teaching material, as well as selection of biblical texts, the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostles’ Creed, the Ten Commandments, and several standard prayers to be used at school. These booklets also functioned as a very basic instruction to reading and writing for young children.6 While these works do not bear the name of any particular author, one can see in them Calvin’s influence. A similar idea was adopted by the Dutch Reformed churches in the sixteenth century. Later on, when the Dutch sailed to the East Indies to monopolize the trading of spices it was adopted by the ministers who brought Reformed Protestantism to the archipelago. Six years after the first Dutch people set their feet on the coasts of the East Indian archipelago in 1596, the Dutch established the United Dutch East India Company (Verenigde Oost-Indische Company; hereafter VOC) in 1602 with its headquarters first located in Ambon, but then moved to Batavia. In 1611, the company published its very first book for the East Indies, a small booklet, written in Malay, entitled Sovrat ABC, or the “ABC Letter” which is in many ways an adaptation of the church of Geneva’s idea of combining the teaching of literacy to young children and faith instruction. While this booklet does not bear the name of its writer or compiler, scholars and historians of the VOC believe that this booklet was composed or written by Albertus Ruyl, a koopman or merchant working for the VOC in the East Indies.7 The focus of this essay is a close comparison between the Sovrat ABC and the 1551 L’ABC François8 to show that the extent of Calvin’s 4 Catechism 1538, 1. 5 L’ABC François ([Geneva: Crespin], 1551). Another similar work came under the title ABC et chrestienne instruction bien utile, (Geneva: Davodeau and de Mortiѐre, [1552]). 6 De Greef, The Writings of John Calvin, 117. 7 [Albert Ruyl], Sovrat ABC, Akan meng ayd jer anack boudack sepercy deayd ‘jern ‘ja capada segala manusia Nassarany: daen berbagy sombahayang Christiaan (Amsterdam, 1611). 8 A copy of this work is kept at the British Museum, London, call number 3504. dg. 15. first section. There is a modern reprint of the text by Rodolphe Peter in Revue d’Histoire et de Philosophie Religieuses 45 (1965): 11–45. English translation of the text in Rodolphe Peter,



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reformation reached the other side of the globe in less than a century. In so doing the essay will demonstrate that Reformed education in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries always took into consideration the integration of the knowledge of the content of the Christian faith and the knowledge of the world surrounding believers. The L’ABC François roughly follows the structure of Calvin’s 1537 and 1538 catechisms, with the focus on the Ten Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Apostles’ Creed. The main goal of the catechism is to teach the youth with the basic doctrines of the church. The catechism was used to prepare these young people to make profession of faith before they were allowed to partake in the Lord’s Supper. For Calvin this profession is the reaffirmation or confession of the people’s baptismal vow. He makes it clear that those who want to be reckoned among God’s people and be “admitted to that spiritual and most sacred banquet” must make their own oath.9 He likens the relationship between baptism and confirmation to circumcision and renewal of the covenant in the Old Testament time.10 Neither of the 1537 and 1538 catechisms take the question and answer format.11 In these catechisms, Calvin starts with the explanation on sensus divinitatis, followed by an explicit statement that in contrast with nonbelievers who pervert the idea and knowledge of God, believers must ensure that seeking the true is the focus of their lives.12 He then moves on to the topic of the true and false religion, with an obvious polemical intention, without naming names, that the Papacy is the false religion. From here he continues to the big theme of human beings as created good, the fall of human beings into sin, and salvation only found in Jesus Christ.13 Explanation of the Ten Commandments follows the topic on salvation. Calvin makes it clear that following the law of God as expressed in the Ten Commandments is not a condition for salvation, but an expression of what righteous living must look like.14 Directly connected to the teaching “The Geneva Primer or Calvin’s Elementary Catechism,” trans. Raynal, in Calvin Studies V, ed. Leith (Davidson: Davidson College, 1990), 135–161. References to this work in this essay will be taken from this English translation as L’ABC, followed by the original page numbering of the 1551 edition provided by Peter in the reprint of this text. 9 Catechism 1538, 3. 10 Catechism 1538, 4. 11 The dialogue or question and answer format was used in the in the publication of Calvin’s subsequent French Catechism L’Institution puérile de la doctrine Christienne faicte par maniere de dyalogue, written between 1538 and 1541. 12 Catechism 1537, 17, cf: Calvin, Catechism 1538, 7. 13 In both editions of the catechism, these are the topics of articles 4–7. 14 Catechism 1537, and Catechism 1538, articles 8–12.

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on the Ten Commandments is Calvin’s view of election and predestination. The placement of this topic shows Calvin’s clear intention to teach the people that salvation completely depends on God’s goodness toward his people, and is not a result of work.15 Faith, justification and sanctification are the next main teachings to be discussed. Calvin plainly shows that faith is a gift of God.16 People are justified in Christ through faith so that they can lead a sanctified life through faith in order to obey the law. The symbol of our faith, he shows, is the Apostles’ Creed. In the catechism he carefully explains, very much as he does in the Institutes, each article of the creed.17 Faith brings hope. Calvin explains that hope is “a sure persuasion of the truth of God which can neither lie nor deceive us, and be neither vain nor false.”18 This hope rests on faith as its foundation, but at the same time, hope nourishes faith.19 A person who is well grounded in her faith understands that she has nothing to rely on herself, and therefore in order to find help she must go outside of herself and rely on God. That is why Christians must pray. Calvin simply explains prayer as a communication between God and us, in which we pour out in words our joys, sighs, and all the thoughts of our hearts.20 In order to assist us to pray correctly, he writes, God our Father has provided us a model for us to pray in the Lord’s Prayer.21 The next part of the catechism is Calvin’s elaborate explanation of the meaning of the Lord’s Prayer, dividing the prayer into six petitions and carefully explicating the significance of each petition in the lives of believers. The last part of the catechism deals with the sacraments, ecclesiastical offices, excommunication and the relationship between the church and the civil magistrates. In many ways the catechism follows the development of Calvin’s thoughts from the 1536 edition of the Institutes. The catechisms of 1537 and 1538 can be seen as a very condensed form of the Institutes. However, the catechism is still not a handy tool to be used in the classroom to teach the children. Simpler pedagogical material was still needed for more practical purposes to teach the children in the classroom. 15 Catechism 1537, 37; Catechism 1538, 17. 16 Catechism 1537, and Catechism 1538, article 15. 17 Article 20 in both the 1537 and 1538 catechisms. 18 Catechism 1537, 55. 19 Catechism 1537, 56. 20 Catechism 1537, 57. 21 Catechism 1537, 59; Catechism 1538, 29.



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The L’ABC François serves the practical need to teach the young children. It can be seen as a very condensed version of Calvin’s earliest catechisms intended specifically to lay the ground to teach Reformed beliefs to the children. Rodolphe Peter believes that even though Calvin was not even the editor of the booklet, the fact that the main content of this teaching material closely resembles Calvin’s catechism bears witness to the Reformer’s strong influence behind this work. Peter is very confident in calling this booklet “an excellent résumé of Calvin’s catechism, bearing the imprint of the master.”22 The L’ABC François starts with the introduction to the alphabet. According to the instruction, the teaching of the alphabet is to be done in one week, with the first day devoted to teaching the children the letters a, b, c, and d, the second day to teaching e, f, g, and h, and so forth until the sixth day in which the pupils should learn the last four letters in the alphabet. The seventh day is intended as a review day when the pupils are to repeat all the letters.23 The editor of the booklet comments that this pedagogical method of introducing about four letters per day within one week’s period is more efficient than making the pupils memorize all the letters all at once. In so doing, the editor writes, “the apprentice will learn more in a week than [s]/he can in two months, if [s]/he says all the letters at one time.”24 Once the pupils memorize the letters, they must then be taught how to write those letters, one or two letters on each day. The teacher or the master is required to demonstrate to the students how to write each letter two or three times before the pupils attempt writing on their own. The section ends with the list of the letters in upper case.25 Following the lesson on the alphabet is the text of the Lord’s Prayer, printed with each petition occupying one line, and on the margin the editor includes notes that say “first petition,” “second petition,” and so forth.26 These notes are meant to help the pupils to connect between this primer and Calvin’s catechisms. In the catechisms Calvin clarified the meaning of the Lord’s Prayer one petition at a time to show how one should pray. By learning through this primer the pupils will also be able to see that each line in the prayer amounts to one petition. The Apostles’ Creed is listed after the Lord’s Prayer. The editor writes marginal notes to show that the 22 Peter, “The Geneva Primer,” 139. 23 L’ABC, 3. 24 L’ABC, 3 25 L’ABC, 3. 26 L’ABC, 4–5.

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creed is divisible into four parts. The first part is the belief in God the Father Almighty. The second part is on Jesus Christ, the third part is the belief in the Holy Spirit. The fourth part covers the belief in the church.27 The text of the Ten Commandments comes after the Apostles’ Creed. The booklet mentions that the Ten Commandments are written in Exodus chapter 20.28 There are clear headings to show the parts of the Ten Com­ mandments. The first statement, “I am the Lord your God…” is called “the preface,” which is then followed by the commandments that are grouped into two tables, following the standard Reformed understanding of the Ten Commandments.29 This division is a reminder of Calvin’s insistence on understanding the division of the two tables. In the catechism he explains that “the first table has in a few commandments set forth the worship appropriate to [God’s] majesty, the second, the duties of charity owed to one’s neighbor.”30 At the end L’ABC François includes the summary of the Law as given by Jesus in Matthew 22, to love the Lord with all heart, mind, and soul, and to love neighbors as oneself.31 The booklet includes standard prayers to be used by the pupil—and by extension by the entire family—at home. These are some variations of prayers before a meal and after a meal, in longer or shorter forms, morning prayer, evening prayer before bed time, a morning prayer based on Psalm 119, and a brief prayer before starting to work.32 These prayers are certainly intended to help the youngsters say the right prayers besides the Lord’s Prayer on each appropriate occasion. In faithfully following the prayers they will then learn to pray constantly, throughout the day, in their vernacular. The L’ABC François has a section it calls “a treatise” to teach those who intend to make a profession of faith before they are allowed to partake of the Lord’s Supper.33 The placing of this short treatise in the booklet clearly shows that after the children are taught how to read and write, and once they have an adequate understanding of the Lord’s Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten Commandments, they are ready to move on to make their profession of faith. Toward the end of the booklet there is a list of questions and answers to be used for the ministers to ask the children 27 L’ABC, 5–6. 28 L’ABC, 7 29 L’ABC, 8. 30 Catechism 1538, 11. 31 L’ABC, 11. 32 L’ABC, 12–16. 33 L’ABC, 16.



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their knowledge of the doctrine of the church before the children are allowed to partake in the Supper.34 There are 21 questions that the minister should ask and 21 answers provided for the children to answer. These questions and answers are also included in the last part of Calvin’s 1553 catechism.35 The booklet includes an elaborate list of Bible verses that are considered “especially useful and of great value.”36 It is obvious that these verses are meant for the children to know the teaching of the Bible and to live accordingly. The first passage to be included is taken from Colossians 3:20–4:1, in which Paul instructs children to obey their parents because it pleases the Lord. When we look at this passage in conjunction with Calvin’s teaching on the Ten Commandments, especially on the fifth commandment, we can see that the decision to place this passage here is a well-considered decision to teach the children to obey, in Calvin’s own view, not just their biological parents, but also any other people whom God has placed to have authority above them, including the civil magistrates, ministers, and teachers.37 There are 44 passages in total that are included in this booklet, covering 13 pages of the booklet.38 Some of these passages are only one verse long, but many are quotations from multiverses passages, such as the Beatitudes, Jesus’ teaching of the judgment day in Matthew 25, and many of Paul’s exhortations for people to be obedient to God. The last section of the L’ABC François is a list of cardinal numbers from 1 to 100.39 Its placement here must not have been an afterthought, but an appropriate introduction for the children to know how to count, after they know how to read (and write) and understand the basic teaching of their Christian faith. In all, the entire booklet could then function as pedagogical material—or a simple curriculum—to teach the young children to live as Christians who can also function properly in society. The Dutch came to the East Indies for the first time in 1596. While the their main intention in colonizing the region was for gaining wealth through the spice trade, an intention to spread Christianity in the form of 34 L’ABC, 35–38. 35 John Calvin, Catechisme c’est a dire le formulaire d’instruire les enfans en la Christiente, faict en maniere de dialogue, ou le Minsitre interogue, & l’enfent respond ([Geneva]: Estienne, 1553), 114–117. 36 L’ABC, 20. 37 Catechism 1538, 13. 38 L’ABC, 20–33. 39 L’ABC, 39.

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Reformed Protestantism came alongside. Only within a decade after the Dutch started the VOC in 1602 efforts to establish Reformed churches in the land were visible. Almost exactly copying what Calvin did, the Dutch ministers took the education of the young in the knowledge of the Christian doctrine as their first step. Also mimicking Calvin’s approach, the ministers saw the importance of using the vernacular as the language of instruction. Even though the East Indian archipelago is a vast chain of islands with hundreds of different ethnic groups speaking their own regional languages, the archipelago had long before the arrival of the Dutch been united by the use of Malay as the lingua franca. For the Dutch, teaching the young children of the East Indies in Malay—instead of in Dutch—proved to be a significant move toward ensuring that the children would be able to understand the content well, and the use of Malay throughout the entire archipelago helped the Dutch maintain unity and control over all the people. The 1611 publication of the Sovrat ABC—or the “ABC Letter”—was clear proof that the approach of the church of Geneva in educating the young was adopted by the Dutch and then applied in the East Indies. In the Netherlands, Philip van Marnix (1540–1598) had written a short catechism with teaching material somewhat similar to the L’ABC François. The little book was never published in Van Marnix’ lifetime.40 In the Netherlands this work was known as Cort Begryp.41 This short catechetical book was seen to be a suitable tool to spread Christianity to the East Indies, the newly colonized region.42 Even though the Sovrat ABC does not mention the name of the author or translator, there is strong reason to believe that Ruyl was the translator of the work of Van Marnix into this Malay edition. We find proof in Ruyl’s other work. In 1612 Ruyl translated and published another catechetical book of Van Marnix, entitled Spieghel van de Maleysche Tale.43 In this translation, Ruyl wrote a dedicatory epistle, explaining that in the previous year he had translated another work of Van Marnix, entitled “A. B Boek” from low Dutch into Malay.44 Van Toorenenbergen believes that Ruyl translated the Sovrat ABC based on 40 J.J. van Toorenenbergen, “Het ‘Cort Begryp’ in de Oost-Indiën,” in his Philips van Marnix van St. Aldegonde Godsdienstige en Kerkelijke Geschriften, vol. 3 (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1891), xxvii. 41 Gerrit Tjalma, Phillips van Marnix, Heer St. Aldegonde, (Amsterdam: Scheffer, 1896), 147. 42 Van Toorenenberger, “Het ‘Cort Begryp’ in de Oost-Indiën,” xxvii. 43 Albert Ruyl, Spieghel van de Maleysche Tale ende Welcke sich die Indiaensche Jeucht Christlijck ende Vermackelick Kunnen Oeffenen (Amsterdam: Pietersz, 1612). 44 Ruyl, Spieghel van de Maleysche Tale, A2 recto.



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Van Marnix’s work.45 The anonymity of the publication of the Sovrat ABC was also a reflection of what happened in Geneva. Like its Genevan counterpart, the Sovrat ABC does not clearly mention an author or compiler, because what is important is the content of the work. The Sovrat ABC starts with a list of the alphabet in four different typescripts.46 The second page is an introduction to vowels and a list of combinations of consonants and vowels to help the children learn how to read. Unlike the L’ABC François, the Sovrat ABC does not explicitly provide direction on how the school teacher should introduce the pupils to read. The text of the Ten Commandments is printed right after the lesson on the alphabets. The Sovrat ABC also mentions “Exodus 20”47 underneath the title of the Ten Commandments to show the biblical source of the commandments. It is worth noting here that by the time this booklet was published for the people in the East Indies, there was no Malay translation of the Bible available for the people to use. The first Malay translation of the Gospel of Matthew was published in 1629, and the entire Bible was finally translated into Malay in 1733. The mention of Exodus 20 in the booklet, therefore, functions as an early introduction of the Biblical text for the people in the East Indies, before they had the Bible in their language. The placement of the Ten Commandments first in the booklet follows the order that Calvin set in the 1537 and 1538 catechisms. The text of the Apostles’ Creed is included right after the Ten Com­ mandments,48 which is then followed by the text of the Lord’s Prayer.49 Directly following the Lord’s Prayer are short teachings regarding baptism and the Lord’s Supper.50 The placement of these two teachings about the sacraments after the Lord’s Prayer demonstrated Dutch adaptation in transplanting the Reformed beliefs and practice in the East Indies. As they started to teach the young people the rudiments of Reformed Christianity, they also had to teach them the meaning of the sacraments. Since the people were still in the earliest stage of understanding what it means to be Protestant,51 these two texts helped them understand what the 45 Van Toorenenberger, “Het ‘Cort Begryp’ in de Oost-Indiën,” xxix. See also John Landwehr, VOC: A Bibliography of Publications Relating to the Dutch East India Company, 1602–1800 (Amsterdam: van der Krogt, 1991), 662. 46 Sovrat ABC, A2 r. 47 Sovrat ABC, A3 r. 48 Sovrat ABC, A4 r. 49 Sovrat ABC, A4 v. 50 Sovrat ABC, A5 r. 51 Roman Catholicism had already been introduced to the people of the East Indies more than half-a-century before the arrival of the Dutch. The Portuguese had been to the

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sacraments were about. The teaching on baptism is a paraphrase of Jesus’ charge to the disciples to go and make disciples of all nations and to baptize them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The instruction on the Lord’s Supper is a paraphrase of Jesus’ institution of the Lord’s Supper as written in the four gospels. There is no mention of the sources of the biblical passages in the booklet. The teaching on the sacraments does not go into deeper theological explanation of the sacraments as visible signs of God’s promises like what we find in the L’ABC François. Such theological explanation was not yet needed by the new Protestants in the archipelago. What they needed was just a biblical foundation to celebrate the sacraments. At that point in the history of the Reformed church in the East Indies, what the people needed to know was that the celebration of the sacraments was something that Jesus had told the disciples to do. The Sovrat ABC includes instruction on how to confront brothers or sisters in faith who sin, as Jesus teaches in Matthew 18.52 This inclusion further shows the effort of the Dutch to teach the indigenous people how to live as Christians in obedience to the teaching of Jesus. As disputes were undoubtedly common among people, new believers should know how to rebuke their brothers and sisters privately. By following the teaching of Jesus faithfully, the people could prevent much bigger fights with their neighbors. Morning prayer, evening prayer, prayer before meal, and prayer after meal form the last part of the Sovrat ABC.53 This is another clear proof that the Dutch wanted to apply the teaching and practice of the Reformed church in Geneva to the East Indies. Unlike the L’ABC François, the Sovrat ABC only includes one example of each prayer. This is understandable, considering that the Malay-speaking people were still learning the basic teachings and practices of Reformed Christianity. They did not need different texts to say their prayers. It was only important for them to know how to pray without being burdened with various ways of praying. In the East Indies, the task of educating the children of the indigenous people fell on the laps of the schoolmeesters or schoolteachers. The Church Order of Batavia, or the Batavia Kerkenordening, published in 1643, archipelago in the middle of the sixteenth century and some Jesuit missionaries had spread Roman Catholicism into the archipelago before the Dutch brought Reformed Protestantism. 52 Sovrat ABC, A5 v. 53 Sovrat ABC, A6 r–A7 v.



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included the regulation for schoolteachers in the East Indies.54 The church order specifically regulated that schoolteachers had the duty to teach the young the fundamental teachings of the church, to teach them how to pray, to sing the Psalms, and to catechize. In addition, schoolteachers must also teach the youngsters to obey their parents, the government, and the ministers, as well as to learn how to read and write and to live morally.55 Each week the schoolchildren had two half-day play times, on Wednesdays and Saturdays. In the afternoons the children must learn the fundamentals of Christianity.56 School teachers in the orphanages must lead the morning and evening prayers before meals, the singing of the Psalms, and also read the questions from the catechism and expect the children to give the answer to the question. The question and answer of the catechism were based on the previous Sunday afternoon’s sermon on the catechism.57 They must also teach the children of the natives the fundamental teaching of Christianity, while teaching them reading and writing. The Dutch interest in educating the young of the Indies in religious knowledge had already been reflected in the earlier form of the church order of Batavia, written in 1624.58 Since then there had been significant emphasis on teaching the young children of both the Dutch and the native people, not just writing and reading, but also the catechism. The schools were opened for both groups of children. Van Boetzelaer notes that the church decided that unbaptized children of the local people who received blessing from the church through the imposition of hands were bound to the church and therefore should be included as children who belonged to the church.59 A report sent by the church council of Ambon in the eastern part of the archipelago to the church council in Batavia, dated 14 June 1626 testified that the young children in Ambon and the smaller islands surrounding it had been well catechized by a school teacher by the name Anthoni 54 For a further look at the early transplantation of Reformed Protestantism in the Indies and the use of the church orders of Batavia, see Yudha Thianto, “Elements of Calvin’s Theology and Practice in the Reformed Churches of Java in the Seventeenth Century,” in John Calvin, Myth and Reality, ed. Burnett (Eugene: Cascade, 2011), 91–106. 55 Kerkenordening van Batavia 1643, article 78. 56 Kerkenordening van Batavia 1643, article 79. 57 Kerkenordening van Batavia 1643, article 82. 58 “Kerken Ordeninge Gestelt voor de Kercken in Oostindien Articulen,” Batavia 1624. The archive of the document used in this essay is a part of the collection of The OudSynodaal Archief van de Nederlandse Hervormde Kerk, catalogued by Janssen, Catalogus van het Oud-Synodaal Archief. 59 Van Boetzelaer, De Protestantsche Kerk in Nederlandsch-Indie, 34.

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Clement, who was a young man with good dedication to what he did.60 The report further says that within the Fort of Ambon the school had been doing well with 115 students registered at the region of Hative. Another school in a nearby village named Soya had 94 students.61 Another report from Ambon to Batavia, dated 8 September 1628, told the church in Batavia that catechism classes in Ambon were held every Sunday afternoon. Included in this report is a request for more catechism books to be sent from Batavia to Ambon, because there was a great need of such books, for the good work among the children in Ambon.62 A letter from the church council of Ambon to the church council of Batavia written on 15 September 1631 showed an even faster growth of the schools in Ambon. At the time of the writing of the letter there were 20 schools located in and around Ambon, with a total of 702 children enrolled. The annual need of these schools included 11 or 12 reams of writing paper, 3000–4000 pens, 2000 copies of catechism books in Malay, and 50 psalm books.63 While the request did not specify which Malay catechism book the church in Ambon needed, we can see that education in Ambon progressed as it was intended. The request of catechism books for the schools in Ambon showed that catechizing was done at school. Considering that the Sovrat ABC was published only a couple of decades earlier, the small catechism book could very well be the most important teaching material used in the schools there. This close comparison between the L’ABC François and the Sovrat ABC demonstrates that education stood at the center of the Reformed mindset. Geneva had ably shown that teaching the young people the most basic doctrines of the church would ensure the growth of the church. Calvin’s insistence proved to be effective, since the teaching of the Reformed faith spread wider within the next few decades of the work that he started in Geneva. As the Netherlands became Reformed a similar approach was also adopted. Interestingly, as we have seen here, the Dutch were quick to bring a similar approach half a globe away, as they started colonizing the East Indies. This move alone shows an indication that the Dutch had seen the usefulness of the method to teach the young people this basic knowledge of Christianity together with instruction on how to read and 60 The report was signed by J. de Praet V.D.M., the clerk of the church in Amboina, and Adriaen Gijsbertsz, an elder of the church. See, Arsip Nasional Republik Indonesia (ANRI), Archief protestantse gemeenten 136, fol. 31–33. 61  ANRI, Archief protestantse gemeenten 136, fol. 33. 62 ANRI, Archief protestantse gemeenten 136, fol. 45–46. 63 ANRI, Archief protestantse gemeenten 136, fol. 71.



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write—presumably at school—in their country. This must have been the reason why they were quick to apply the method for the children in the East Indies. In the East Indies the task of teaching the young people was the primary responsibility of the schoolteachers. As indicated through the reports written by the church council of Ambon to Batavia during the first three decades of the presence of the Dutch in the archipelago, Reformed education for the indigenous children grew significantly. The correspondence between the two church councils also demonstrated that catechism books were greatly needed by the schools in Ambon and the surrounding areas.

PART FOUR

HIGH ORTHODOXY (ca. 1640–1725)

‘A GRIEVOUS SIN’: GISBERTUS VOETIUS (1589–1676) AND HIS ANTI-LOMBARD POLEMIC Willem J. van Asselt Introduction The motto of Utrecht University, which dates from 1634 and continues to be used today, reads “Sol Justitiae Illustra Nos,” and was consciously chosen by the university’s founding fathers. Based on Psalm 84:11 (“The Lord our God is a sun and a shield”) and Malachi 4:2’s reference to the “Sun of Righteousness,” the motto was a prayer for the illumination of the mind through the light of God’s justice as the source of all knowledge and scholarship.1 In the current secular society of the Netherlands, such a maxim hardly holds any meaning for Utrecht’s state university, especially after the faculty of theology was recently forced to give up its place following more than 400 years of existence. Lest we forget this tradition, and above all to pay tribute to the impressive contribution to scholarship made by my dear friend and colleague Richard A. Muller, who in 1999 even held an honorary chair at Utrecht University, I would like to consider the most important of the university’s founding fathers, Gisbertus Voetius (1589–1676). His scholarship and social and ecclesiastical activity as a protagonist of a further reformation (“Nadere Reformatie”) in the Dutch Republic were emphatically built on that prayer: Sol Justitiae Illustra Nos. This prayer is one with which Richard Muller will certainly be able to identify as well. A Grievous Sin: Lombard Banking In 1673, Jean-Baptiste Stouppe, the French commander during the French occupation of the city of Utrecht, reported the following about the elderly Voetius: 1 In 1634 the Utrecht City Council founded a “Gymnasium Illustre” which two years later was elevated to the status of a university. The arms and motto of the Illustrious School were taken over by the university and have formed the emblem of Utrecht University ever

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willem j. van asselt Voetius held and continues to hold that it is a sacrilege to leave the use of ecclesiastical goods to lazy bellies that serve neither church nor state, and that so-called “Lombards” who lend money at usurious rates should in no way be admitted to the Lord’s Supper because they practice a trade forbidden by the Word of God.2

One element mentioned in this quote is Voetius’ persistent battle with the “Lombards,” or private lending bankers. An outsider like Stouppe clearly understood this campaign as one of the most remarkable features of the professor and pastor’s public activity. What were the background and motives for this campaign, and what do they tell us about Voetius’ concern for the people of “small means” (klein vermogen) in the Golden Age?3 For as prosperous as the Dutch Republic may have been at the time, we must be careful not to form any illusions guided by our own modern standards. Recent scholarship estimates that as much as ten percent of the population was forced to seek welfare help.4 One of the points that found its way frequently to the agenda of provincial synods in the seventeenth century was the protest (gravamen) against “grievous” or “grave and manifest sins” (“roepende” or “krytende ende uytstekende zonden”). Voetius addressed such sins in a wide variety of his writings, and his biographer A.C. Duker concluded that this expression encompassed a wide-ranging variety of sins ranging from rather trivial to serious ones.5 since. It consists of the escutcheon of the City of Utrecht in the middle of a radiant sun, surrounded by the words “Sol Justitiae Illustra Nos.” See R. van den Broek, Hy leeret ende beschuttet. Over het wapen en de zinspreuk van de Universiteit Utrecht (Utrecht: Universiteit Utrecht, 1995). 2 Jean-Baptiste Stouppe (Stoupa), La religion des Hollandais, representée en plusieurs lettres écrites par un officier de l ‘armée du Roy, a un pasteur & professeur en theologie de Berne (Cologne: Pierre Marteau, 1673), 35 (held in the ‘Bibliotheek van de Mij der Ned. Letterkunde’). Stouppe’s booklet appeared in Dutch translation with the title: De religie vande Hollanders, vertoont in diversche Brieven, Gheschreven door een Officier vande Conincklijcke Fransche Armée, aen eenen Professeur vande Theologie in Berne (Ceulen: Meertensz, 1673, held by the library of the Universiteit van Amsterdam). 3 See A.Th. van Deursen, Mensen van klein vermogen. Het ‘kopergeld’ van de Gouden Eeuw (Amsterdam: Bakker, 1992). 4 See e.g. Catharina Lis and Hugo Soly, Armoede en kapitalisme in pre-industrieel Europa (Antwerp: Standaard Wetenschappelijke Uitgeverij, 1986); Van Deursen, Mensen van klein vermogen, 73–82 (‘Eerlijke armoede’); L. Noordegraaf, “De Arme,” in H.M. Beliën et al., Gestalten van de Gouden Eeuw (Amsterdam: Bakker, 1995), 315–347; Joke Spaans, Haarlem na de Reformatie. Stedelijke cultuur en kerkelijk leven 1577–1620 (The Hague: Stichting Hollandse Historische Reeks, 1989); eadem, Armenzorg in Friesland 1500–1800. Publieke zorg en particuliere liefdadigheid in zes Friese steden (Hilversum: Verloren and Leeuwarden/ Fryske Akademy, 1997). 5 See A.C. Duker, Gisbertus Voetius (Leiden: Groen, 1989; repr. Leiden: Brill, 1897–1915), 2 271n10. Cf. Voetius, SDT, 4:97–98, 297.



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The “grievous sins” in all cases included the business of the “Lombards” or “pawnbrokers.” The name ‘Lombard’ derives from the fact that they came from Lombardy or Piedmont in Italy. When a civil war ravaged this area in the middle of the thirteenth century, many of its inhabitants scattered to different cities spread throughout Europe. When the economy grew in much of the Netherlands and a shortage was experienced in means of exchange, the Lombard bankers established themselves there. With their knowledge of money and loans they functioned as financial development workers.6 Whether or not they could settle in a particular area depended on the permission of the local government, but it was often readily granted because the government charged fees for granting a patent (octrooi). Furthermore, the Lombards were appealing to the government because they stimulated economic growth and in particular the development of cities.7 Although the lending banks developed in different ways in different countries, one of the features common to them was their monopoly on pawnbroking. There were government regulations for this sector, but private Lombards often circumvented these regulations illegally. Such unauthorized loans directed particularly at the poorest segment of the population were mostly responsible for the Lombards’ bad reputation.8 Although even in large cities there were not many lending banks at the beginning of the sixteenth century, and although they were commonly in the hands of a small number of family networks, they did play a considerable role in public life.9 They were characterized as “usurers” as an indication of the moral and legal revulsion they incurred by their profession. The same revulsion is evident from the measures taken against them in the sixteenth century by the Roman Catholic Church in the Southern Netherlands.10 During the early years of the Republic, their bad reputation underwent no change. In fact, the social denunciation of the Lombards 6 For the history of these lending banks, see H.A.J. Maassen, Tussen commercieel en sociaal krediet. De ontwikkeling van de bank van lening in Nederland van lombard tot gemeentelijke kredietbank, 1240–1940 (Hilversum: Verloren, 1994). 7 It is remarkable that the oldest known patent in the Netherlands was granted in 1260 by the city of Utrecht. See Maassen, Tussen commercieel, 40–42. 8 See C.J. van Heel, De Banken van Leening in Nederland nader onderzocht (Haarlem: Kruseman, 1851), 2. 9 See G. Voetius, C. de Maets, Joh. Hoorbeeck, Res judicata, dat is: Extracten uyt de resolutien der synoden, ende oordelen der academien in dese Vereenichde Nederlanden over de negotie der ghenaemde lombarden (Utrecht, 1646), 28, 48 (2nd ed. 1657). Cf. Voetius, SDT, 4:585–588. 10 For an overview, see S. Conard, God en Goud. De situatie van de lombarden in de Zuidelijke Nederlanden van de zestiende eeuw (M.A. thesis, University of Ghent, 2004; http:// www.ethesis.net/lombarden/lombarden_inhoud.htm).

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even increased. Accordingly, merchants attempted on the whole to distance themselves from the ‘Lombards’ and their pawnbrokers. In their eyes, the ‘Lombards’ were usurers who lacked the class of large bankers and investors.11 The Position of the Reformed Church In the middle of the seventeenth century, the grudge held against the Lombards was only increased by the Reformed church and its repeated anti-Lombard decisions made between the 1581 synod of Middelburg and ca. 1650.12 Of course, the measures could touch only the bankers who were members of the church, and forbade the “table holders” (tafelhouders), their family, and their staff from attending the Lord’s Supper table. Already before the resolution enacted at Middelburg in 1581, the 1574 synod of Dordrecht forbade the Lombards from partaking of the Lord’s Supper, and the synod of Bolsward in 1588 similarly suspended a woman who lived with a Lombard from the table. Sometimes even magistrates who leased lending banks were placed under ecclesiastical censure. In 1619 the synod of Leeuwarden forbade deacons to accept gifts from Lombards for the poor. Other synods decided that Lombards were not welcome as a part of the church at all, and that they or their spouses could not act as witnesses to a baptism. “Table holders,” whether they were members of the church or not, had to stand at the back of the church during the service. The bells were not tolled at their passing, and they were buried under the gallows alongside thieves and murderers. Lending banks were like the two faces of Janus: while they were in theory intended to aid the poor, in practice they imposed an overly great burden on society’s weakest members. For many governments, however, the Lombards not infrequently remained “desirable foreigners” because they represented an economic interest and because their services were absolutely necessary. In his study on the development of lending banks in the Netherlands from 1260 to 1940, H.A.J. Maassen noted that the number of Lombards increased during the period of the Republic. In fact, they could be found in every provincial city of some significance.13 11 See Conard, God en Goud, 48–49. 12 See J. Reitsma and S.D. van Veen, Acta der provinciale en particuliere synoden, gehouden in de Noordelijke Nederlanden gedurende de jaren 1572–1620, 8 vols. (Groningen: Wolters, 1892–1899), 2:148; 3 155, 252, 284; 4:92, 345; 5:246; 6:37, 237, 240, 280, 452. 13 For the exact numbers in each province during this period, see Maassen, Tussen commercieel, 297.



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In order to prevent excesses, some cities decided to institute their own lending banks.14 The Amsterdam town council thus established a “house of lending” to serve the “alleviation of the poor and the prevention of all other improper usury.” These banks did not only serve the poor, however. The Dutch West India Company also borrowed money from it, while the names of stadholders and royals appear in their books as well. In this time of an incipient capitalism, however, the government-run lending banks were of greater interest to the economy than to the people of “small means” who could only pledge items of low value as security. They had to turn to private Lombards and their pawnbrokers, since they were more accessible than the government’s lending banks. The Lombards were often in business even on Saturday evenings and on Sundays. Those who needed money urgently could even obtain one day loans—although some brokers charged interest for an entire week. Furthermore, they sold the pawned items at much higher prices and kept the proceeds to themselves. Particularly valuable pledges were left in the bank for two or three years until the interest was so high that the owner was no longer able to redeem them. The poor reputation of the lending bankers was mostly due, however, to the small securities they took and to the profit they made on these items by failing to keep to the rates that applied to them.15 The Republic’s opposition to these practices was inspired by Reformed theologians and pastors. Already in the Leiden Synopsis purioris theologiae (1625), a leading manual of Reformed theology, the high interest rates were identified as “usury” (foenus) and condemned for being “cruel” (saevum) and “monstrous” (immane) to the poor.16 Numerous commentaries on the Heidelberg Catechism addressed the practice of lending at interest in their exposition of Q&A 110 (‘you shall not steal’), although not all commentators were agreed.17 The difference between them is something to which we will return later on. Utrecht as the Center of the Reformed Protest The city of Utrecht formed the center of the opposition to usury. In 1646 the Utrecht professors of theology Voetius, Carolus De Maets, and 14 For example, Rotterdam, Gouda, Hoorn, Middelburg, Oudewater, Arnhem, Amersfoort, Deventer, and Groningen. 15 See Maassen, Tussen commercieel, 146–147. 16 Synopsis purioris theologiae, disp. XXXVII.35. 17 See A.Th. van Deursen, Rust niet voordat gy ze van buiten kunt. De Tien Geboden in de 17e eeuw (Kampen: De Groot Goudriaan, 2004), 192–195.

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Johannes Hoornbeeck published a collection entitled Res judicata containing numerous decisions made by Dutch academies and synods on the issue.18 The criticism of the Utrecht theologians stemmed from their conviction that it was specifically society’s poorest members who were victimized by the lending banks, because the Lombards only lent money to them with a security and because the interest they charged was often not at the 32.5% maximum fixed by the government, but at 50% or even 80%. They stated that no interest at all could be demanded from the “totally destitute who live on alms.” Furthermore, securities with a value of fl. 100 or less could incur no more than 16.25% interest. Loans of fl 4.- or less should not incur any interest after a period of 32 weeks had passed.19 Lombards with much higher rates were a “cancer” and “plague” exhausting the city’s poorest people.20 Their practices were characterized as “enticements and impulses to theft and robbery” and as “thievery and piracy on land,” equal to “squeezing down to the very marrow the blood out of the poor, who have to go door-to-door to find bread.”21 Furthermore, this treatise hardly bothered to distinguish between the government lending banks and the Lombards. The Utrecht theologians thought that both all too often charged much too high a rate of interest. What is more, the government banks lent money for useless expenditures, for squandering, and for questionable purposes.22 The core objection of the theologians, however, was to usury. But what exactly should be qualified as usury? Was there ‘legitimate’ interest, and if so, what were the criteria? When and how could one speak of a legitimate and acceptable code of conduct for creditors and debtors at a lending bank? Voetius devoted himself to this question over a period stretching more than two decades. Voetius’ Disputations on Interest It was shortly after he first occupied a chair in theology that Voetius had his students defend theses on interest (De usuris).23 Two such dis­ putations were in fact held, the one on 25 June 1636 and the other on 13 May 1637. Later he added an appendix to these disputations in which 18 The full title reads: Res judicata, dat is: Exracten uyt de resolutien der synoden, ende oordelen der academien in dese Vereenichde Nederlanden over de negotie der ghenaemde lombarden (Utrecht, 1646). 19 Voetius, Res judicata, part II,17. See also preface, 38. 20 Voetius, Res judicata, 25 and part II, preface, 5. 21 Res judicata, II,28; II,21. Cf. Duker, Voetius, 2:275, 276. 22 Van Deursen, Mensen van klein vermogen, 74–76. 23 See Voetius, SDT, 4:555–576.



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he explicitly addressed the position of trapezitae or ‘table holders.’24 The occasion for these disputations was a 1629 publication of a Franeker banker, Jean Jacques Gerbin, in which the author offered numerous arguments in favor of such pawnbroking.25 In the first disputation Voetius treated the question at the hand of a number of Old and New Testament passages which Christian thinkers had used in their condemnation of the practice of exacting interest, including Exodus 22:25, Leviticus 25:35–37, Deuteronomy 23:19–20, and Luke 6:33–35. He also approvingly cited a long list of medieval scholastic discussions and conciliar decrees in which usury was seen as a sin against justice.26 According to Voetius, the rejection of usury depended on a number of fundamental principles. Usury was first of all a legal problem to be treated according to the current view of law. Human law can change, and is only an application of the unchangeable law of nature. Above it stands the divine law which God has revealed through Scripture, and it condemns the practice of usury. When it came to a fixed rule (regula) and norm for acceptable interest, Voetius referred his readers to existing civil law—although, he charged, it had to follow the rules of Christian love (caritas), equity (aequitas), and prudence (prudentia). Christians distinguish themselves in this matter in the restraint of moderation (temperamentum epieikias) they show when they seek less profit than the law actually permits. Theologically he derived this code of conduct from Matthew 7:12 (“in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you”), 1 Thessalonians 4:6 (“no one should wrong or take advantage of a brother”), and 1 Corinthians 13:6 (“Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth”).27 In an appendix to the second disputation (de trapezitis), Voetius treated fifteen anticipated objections to his position. He focused in particular on numerous statements regarding the exacting of interest made by various authorities (auctoritates) from the history of the church, especially the church fathers, early church councils, and canon law. Of special note is 24 Voetius, SDT, 4:575. 25 Voetius, SDT, 4:575: “Hunc enim in finem Franekerae anno 1629 vernaculo sermone edita est anonymi D.I.W.P.P. diascepsis de Usura trapezitica a Joh. Jac. Gerbino trapezita Franequerano appensa in frontispicio hac hedera: Ad exercitium studiosae juventutis.” 26 For medieval discussions on interest, see J. Noonan, The Scholastic Analysis of Usury (Cambridge: HUP, 1957). In 1139 the second Lateran Council pronounced a blanket ban on the exacting of interest. Forty years later, the third Lateran Council excommunicated all usurers and kept them from a Christian burial. The same tough stance was followed by the councils of Lyon (1274) and Vienna (1312). 27 Voetius, SDT, 4:573: ‘Quaest[io]: “Ex te ipso conferes temperamentum epieikias, ut scil. in stipulatione minus lucrum quaeras, quam leges concedunt; ad haec non tam quaeras, quam a ditiori honeste oblatum acceptas […] Quo applicandae illae regulae Matth. 7.12, 1 Thess. 4.6, 1 Cor. 13.6.”’

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Voetius’ discussion of Thomas Aquinas, who had argued that exacting interest (usura; the English is derived from quod interest, “what comes in between,” namely “what makes the difference”) is as such unjust and in conflict with the law of nature because when someone exacts interest, he sells something two times or else sells something that is not (quia idem bis venditur, vel venditur id quod non est).28 Voetius was as suspicious of money as Thomas had been, for he did not consider the value of money to equate its use.29 However, Thomas Aquinas’ argument could no longer be maintained in a seventeenth-century urban and commercial society that no longer could be imagined without money as the medium of exchange. This reveals once more that Voetius did not oppose every form of loans that had to be repaid with interest. He did polemicize heatedly against the extreme or merciless usury—foenus—that ‘table holders’ imposed on everyone, including the poor, foreigners, and even the victims of fire, flood, plague, exile, or captivity.30 He considered the ‘table holders’ to be “leeches” that sucked the blood from the oppressed members of society: their misery allowed the bankers to lead a grandiose life.31 Voetius was also indignant at the kinds of securities the Lombards took in pledge. He thought an exception ought to be made for tools and especially for clothing, since the latter was the only way in which people could appear decently in public places such as the street, market, or church. Voetius argued that for many people, lending banks were nothing less than hell because once they had fallen in, they could no longer escape.32 Protest against the Establishment of a Government Lending Bank in Utrecht When soon afterwards the government of Utrecht entertained the possibility of opening a “Christian and upright” lending bank as an alternative 28 Aquinas, ST, IIaIIae.78.1 29 Voetius, SDT, 4:568. 30 Voetius used the term “usura” in the classical way of pledging land, goods, or cattle as security. He chose the term “foenus” for a specific application of this custom, namely, the abuse of a monetary loan which current English usage refers to as “usury.” 31 Voetius, SDT, 4:575: “Injustas esse usuras illas [Longobardorum] dicimus tum ratione debitoris, tum ratione creditoris. Ratione debitoris, quia promiscue exiguntur ab omnibus faribus & civibus aeque ac peregrinis, pauperibus, tenuibus, incendio, inundatione, pestis bellive flagello, exilio, captivitate, aliave calamitate oppressis; & magnam, si non maximam partem illorum exsucto sanguine tam splendide vivunt trapezitae, contra Ex. 22:25, Lev. 25:35, 36, 37, Deut. 15:11, Amos 8:6.” 32 Voetius, SDT, 4:575.



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to the Lombards and sought the advice of the theological faculty, Voetius together with his colleagues Schotanus and De Maets composed a brief document in November 1642 that urged the magistracy in clear words not to throw its reputation to the wind by permitting a “destructive usury that gradually brings the lender down.” Usury was like “drinking the blood of the poor down to the very marrow.”33 Did lending banks for many people not represent the last stop on their way to poorhouses? In their advice, the Utrecht theologians drew attention in particular to the poor for whom the interest rates were simply too high. The theologians also set a number of conditions drawn from Scripture to determine to whom money could be lent (Ex. 22:25, Lev. 25:35–38) and what kinds of things could and could not be pledged as security (Ex. 22:26 and 22:27, Deut. 24:10–13).34 The theologians’ advice was not heeded, however. The acts of the Utrecht city council from 27 November 1643 report that, after consultation with several local Lombards, the proposal of Voetius and his colleagues was not adopted.35 Instead of establishing a bank itself, in August 1645 the city in fact enacted an ordinance granting a patent to an existing “lending table” in Utrecht. The ordinance and patent were proclaimed from city hall and published in print. It was argued that the best way to control usury was to regulate it.36 The Utrecht theologians refused to give up so easily, however. In their sermons, lectures, and speeches they, under Voetius’ leadership, continued to bemoan what they saw as a grievous sin on the part of the lending banks. In mid-December 1645, Voetius preached a sermon on Luke 19:23 (the parable of the talents) in the Domkerk and called the “practice” of the ‘table holders’ an evil that no Christian could bear with a good conscience because outrageously high interest rates were charged and because the bankers drew no distinction between different people and different kinds of security taken in pledge. The Lombards, appealing to their contract with the city’s magistracy, submitted a gravamen against this sermon and requested that the government to take measures against the “insults and slander” emanating from the pulpits.37 33 On this, see Res judicanda judicata, part II,51. 34 On this advice, see Duker, Voetius, 2:275–278. 35 The Lombards whom the Utrecht magistracy had commissioned to serve the lending bank were Johanna del Corne, widow of the Lombard Daniel de Milaen, and her son-in-law Paulo Emilio de Fareris. For them, see Duker, Voetius, 2:279n1, 281. 36 For the text of the patent issued by the Utrecht magistracy, see Duker, Voetius, 2:XCIX (appendix LXXXIV). 37 See Duker, Voetius, 2:281.

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The Lombards Suspended from the Lord’s Supper in Utrecht After 1646, the polemics over the lending banks quieted down for some time until they broke out again in 1655. The occasion was the conflict between the Utrecht consistory and a “table holder” and his wife. Johanna Coldé, who had come to Utrecht with an attestation from Dokkum in late-1656 together with her husband Gerrit de Jongh, who was a treasurer of the lending bank, was barred from the Lord’s Supper immediately upon her arrival. She was informed that her husband’s profession was an “impropriety” and that she had to do everything to bring her husband “to detest himself.”38 She protested fiercely and sent an appeal to the classis and synod. The classis of Utrecht dealt with the case in June of 1657 and decided against the consistory.39 These events led the theological faculty of Utrecht—then composed of the professors Voetius, Essenius, and Nethenus—to publish a sequel or second volume to their Res judicata, a work that was reprinted in 1657 as well. This second work is the most exhaustive of the polemical works against the “table holders.”40 It is introduced with an account of the conflict to date numbering more than 60 pages quarto. The first two chapters once more enumerated the arguments against the “sinful business” of the Lombards, now supplemented with new explanations from a variety of synods, theologians, and jurists. In the third chapter, the arguments by which the Lombards had defended their profession were countered, while the fourth chapter refuted the “complaints” (exceptien) of the lending bank owners. A National Affair The ‘bank issue’ did not remain restricted to Utrecht alone. For an understanding of the proportions the polemics took on, one can turn with profit to a bundle in the holdings of the Utrecht University library that collects various writings for and against lending banks.41 38 Notulen Utrechtse kerkenraad, 29 December 1656. See Van Lieburg, De Nadere Reformatie in Utrecht, 87. Van Lieburg writes “Condé” rather than “Coldé.” 39 Voetius refers to this matter in SDT, 4:585–586. 40 The full title reads: Tweede deel van Res judicata vervattende het gemeijn ende kerckelijck gevoelen, over de negotie der genaemden lombaerden. Tot noodige verdedinge van de eere en leere der gemeijne Gereformeerde kercken. Uytgegeven door de professoren der theologie in de academie tot Utrecht (Utrecht, 1657). Cf. Voetius, Politica Ecclesiastica, I, pars I, 779–788. 41 Shelfmark: F. qu. 381.



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All works date from between 1656 and 1658, when the issue was debated at a national level.42 One interesting piece is the eight-page pamphlet Vrage raekende ‘t stuck van leeninghe op interest ende panden (Question Touching the Lending with Interest and Securities) from a certain Sebastiaen Coningh from Leiden, who held a share in the publicly patented bank in that city.43 When in 1656 he was kept from the Lord’s Supper table, he appealed to the States of Holland which decided that he ought to be admitted to the sacrament. With a long list of quotations from other Reformed theologians like Johannes Maccovius and Johannes Cloppen­ burg, Coningh gave a rebuttal of the Utrecht position in the first part of this pamphlet. At the end he published a number of “church attestations” that demonstrated that some Lombards had indeed been accepted as members of the church in Delft and elsewhere and were admitted to the table. He further sought support from Petrus Cabeljau (1610–1668), pastor at Leiden and regent to the States College (Statencollege), who held that Lombards ought to be admitted to the celebration of the Eucharist.44 Aside from this pamphlet, the bundle contains a work from the Utrecht advocate Justus Kriex, himself the son of a Lombard and husband to a “table holder,” entitled Noodige verantwoording voor de huysen ofte bancken van leeninghe (Urgent Apology for Lending Houses or Banks; 1658). This work was directed against the second part of the Utrecht theologians’ Res judicata.45 Eleven years earlier, Kriex had already thrown himself into the controversy with his pamphlet Noot-wendig bericht (Necessary report; 1647) in which he addressed the first part of the Res judicata and appealed to arguments from Claudius Salmasius, professor at Leiden, and Samuel Maresius, professor at Groningen, who both defended ‘table holders’ and lending banks.46 Kriex may well have identified himself on 42 See also J.A. Cramer, De theologische faculteit te Utrecht ten tijde van Voetius (Utrecht, 1932), 56–58. 43 The full title reads: Vrage raekende ‘t stuck van leeninghe op interest ende panden, den eerwaarden, godvrugtigen, hooghgeleerden, wijsen, ende seer bescheijdenen leeraers ende opsienders der Gereformeerde Kercken Jesu Cristi…reverentelijck voorghestelt door Sebastiaen Coningh, deel-genoot der publijcke, gheoctroyeerde bank van leeinghe binnen Leyden. (Johannes Coole, Boeckvercoper, 1656). 44 For Cabeljau (or Cabbeljauw), see BLNP 2:114–115. 45 The full title reads: Noodige verantwoording voor de huysen ofte bancken van leeninghe, binnen de Vereenigde Provincien, tegen sekere boeckskens genaemt: Res Judicata, oordeel des eerw. Classis, & vande professoren der theologie tot Utrecht, ende anderen, uytgegeven door J. Kriex, der Rechten Doctor, ende Advocaat inden Ed. Hove van Utrecht. Matth. VII.I, Ne judicate, ut ne judicemini. (Utrecht: Dirck van Ackersdijck, en Gijsbert van Zijll, 1658). 46 Claude de Saumaise (Salmasius, 1588–1653), originally from France, was a late humanist scholar who succeeded J.J. Scaliger at Leiden in 1630. He denied that the

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the title page as a ‘doctor of law’ most consciously, since in 1636 Voetius had attempted to prevent him from his receiving his doctorate at the university of Utrecht.47 The bundle also contains the work by means of which Maresius came into conflict with Voetius. In his Considerationes erotematicae circa foenus trapeziticum (1657) as well as earlier writings on the matter, Maresius indicated that he was no proponent of taking measures against the practices of the “table holders.” Moreover, he thought that he had Calvin on his side in that the Genevan Reformer considered the exacting of interest to be lawful and the government had the duty to maintain laws against usury.48 But for the rest, the Groningen professor saw no reason to keep ‘table holders’ from the Lord’s Supper. Maresius also pointed out to his Utrecht colleague that the government in many cities had itself taken charge of the lending banks, and that Voetius’ kindred spirit and friend Johannes Cloppenburg had considered this lawful.49 Maresius asked whether Voetius ought to bar from the table even the public servants who worked for the governments that maintain this policy. If ‘table holders’ declared that they were ready to reduce interest rates, Maresius saw no reason to prevent their admission to the sacraments.50 Lord’s Day 42 of the Heidelberg Catechism When the issue regarding lending banks had spread from Utrecht to Leiden through the “Coningh affair,” the Leiden classis published a treatise entitled Res iudicanda, saecke die noch staet te beoordelen (Res iudicanda, A Matter That Still Needs to be Decided Upon) as a response to

exacting of interest was in conflict with natural and divine law. For Salmasius’ tenure as professor at Leiden, see W. Otterspeer, Groepsportret met Dame. Het bolwerk van de vrijheid, de Leidse universiteit 1575–1672 (Amsterdam: Bakker, 2000), 290–291, 335–337. 47 See L. Rietema, “Kriex: een familie van Tafelhouders,” in Jaarboek van het Centraal Bureau voor Genealogie en het Iconographisch Bureau (The Hague: Centraal Bureau, 1977), 76–77. 48 Calvin allowed the exacting of interest as long as it did not conflict with aequitas and brotherly love. Maresius failed to mention that Calvin and other Reformed theologians did not allow all forms of interest. On this topic, see Christoph Strohm, Ethik im frühen Calvinismus (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1996), 258n313, and the secondary scholarship there. 49 In 1637 Cloppenburg, when he was still pastor at Brielle, authored a treatise Onderwijsinge van woecker at the commissioning of the synod of South Holland in which he approved the establishment of lending banks by the magistrates (100–101, cap. 11). 50 For a summary of this work, see D. Nauta, Samuel Maresius (Amsterdam: Paris, 1935), 295–296.



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Utrecht’s Res judicata (= A Matter That Has Been Decided Upon).51 This work too is found in the bundle held at Utrecht University, and it is largely composed of arguments that were already offered by Conigh, Kriex, and Maresius. According to the deputies appointed by the classis of Leiden, the Utrecht theologians were introducing “an entirely unheard of usury theology” into the teaching and liturgy of the Reformed church. Their qualification of lending banks as “stores of injustice” was entirely misguided. Individual Lombards may indeed have cheated, but in principle their profession was “honest and reputable.” It was not up to the church to decide on money matters and to determine what is and is not a lawful profession. This was the prerogative of the ‘political’ judge.52 Theologically the debate soon came to revolve around the explanation of Lord’s Day 42 of the Heidelberg Catechism. The Utrecht theologians considered that this Lord’s Day, as well as the admonition in the Lord’s Supper form to the unrepentant to abstain from the table, specifically included usurers among those who break the eighth commandment. For that reason, they argued, those who practice usury must be kept from the Lord’s Supper. The Leiden deputies emphatically discarded this interpretation. In support, they alleged that the adjective “unjust” in the catechism’s clause referring to “unjust weights and measures, merchandise, money, and usury” (onrecht gewicht, el, maat, waar, munt, ende woeker) applied individually to each of the members of that list. This meant, so they argued, that the catechism implicitly draws a distinction between different forms of usury: “proper usury” and “improper usury.”53 The Leiden deputies furthermore argued that the laws concerning usury in Exodus 22, Leviticus 25, and Deuteronomy 23 ought not, as the Utrecht 51 The full title reads: Res judicanda, Saecke die noch staet te oordeelen, van de bancken van leeninghe, by de magistraten opgerecht, ende onder soo danighen ordre ghebraght, als sy oordeelen met de billijckheyt ende het voordeel van hare onderdanen wel over-een te komen. Off de selve, by de opsienders der Kercke, moeten werden aangemerckt als winckels van onrechten woecker, aen welcke geen litmaet der Gereformeerde Kercke magh ghemeenschap hebben? Waer-in overwogen werden de bedenckingen van de Eerw: Heeren Professoren der H. Theologie tot Wtrecht, in haer Schrift, ghenaemt Res Judicata. Ende wert verdedicht het gravamen en advijs der Eerw. Classis van Leyden, ende Neder-Rhijnlandt, als wettigh en wel ghestelt, conform de H. Schriftuere, Catechismus, Liturgie, Synodale Resolutien, ende de ghemeene pracktijcke der Gereformeerde Kercken. Door de Gecommitteerden des E. Classis van Leyden, volghens speciale last en order daer toe aen haer E.E. gegeven. (Leyden: Hendrick Verbiest. Boeck-verkooper, woonende op de Lange-Brugge, 1658). 52 See Res judicanda, Aenspraeck tot den Christelijcken Leser, 8 en 9. For this view the Leiden classis referred to 2 Chronicles 19:10–11. Christ too, so the classis claimed, did not want to be a judge in matters concerning “money and goods”: he left them to for the worldly authorities to decide upon. In support, the classis appealed to Luke 12:13. 53 Res judicanda, 81.

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theologians had done, to be considered as part of the Old Testament moral laws as “an expression of the law of nature that is common to all nations, but as part of the civil law and the specific legal system of the nation [of Israel].”54 As a result, the laws could not simply be applied to the banking question of those days. In that very same year, a 112-page treatise entitled Res judicanda judicata ofte apologie voor den armen en geringen in den lande (A Matter-To-BeDecided That Has Been Decided Upon, or Apology for the Poor and Weak in the Land) appeared in Utrecht.55 Although the author cannot be identified, Voetius, Essenius, and Nethenus in their approbation wrote that he was well-known to them, and someone through whom “the truth concerning destructive usury is defended with force and clarity in a godly manner.” This work supplied extensive critical annotations to the Leiden publication and sharply condemned governments that tolerated or even initiated lending banks with the church’s approval. The author further charged that the Res judicanda was not really written by the deputies of the Leiden classis, but came from the arsenal of Petrus Cabeljau, an outspoken proponent of the government’s involvement in banking.56 The Leiden classis was compared to Ephraim and its leaders over whom the prophet Isaiah made the following pronouncement: “Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees, to deprive the poor of their rights and withhold justice from the oppressed of my people, making widows their prey and robbing the fatherless” (Is 10:1–2). The argument that the Heidelberg Catechism in Lord’s Day 42 drew a distinction between different kinds of usury was also indignantly rejected. Both the catechism as well as the liturgical form for the celebration of the Lord’s Supper speak “not of usury in the air, but of usury in time especially in regard to the Lombards.”57 What is more, the author argued that the 54 Res judicanda, Aenspraek tot den Christelijcken Leser, 6. 55 This work too is found in the aforementioned bundle with the shelfmark F. qu. 381. The full title reads: Res judicanda judicata, ofte apologie voor den armen en geringen in den lande: waer in vertoont wort dat de negotie van de particuliere tafel-houders, lombarden genaemt, strijt met Godts woort, catechismus, liturgie, en synodale resolutien, en de gemene praktijke der Gereformeerde kerken. Zijnde een antwoort op seker boeksken genaemt Res judicanda, etc. Met een consultatie hoe de banken van leenigh van haer gewone gebreken gesuyvert souden worden. Jes. 10 vs. 1, 2: Wee den genen, die ongerechtige insettingen insetten, etc. (Utrecht: Jan van Waesberge. Boeckverkoper over het Stad-Huys, 1658). On this pamphlet, see Duker, Voetius, 2:293n1. 56 See Res judicanda judicata, Aen de Leser, 2: “…maar [wij] waren door den naem van Gecommitteerden, gestelt op het hooft des Boecks, in die dwalingh misleyt: Nu beter onderrecht zijnde, willen wij geern schult bekennen, en dit voor ongetwijffelt vasthouden, ‘t is alleen Cabeljauws werk.” 57 Res judicanda judicata, 80.



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Latin text of Lord’s Day 42 did not support the interpretation according to which the adjective “unjust” (inaequalis) ought to be understood as applying to the noun “interest” (usura) as well.58 Thus the business of the ‘table holders’ was not only in conflict with the Word of God, but also with the catechism, liturgy, synodical resolutions, and the general practice of the Reformed churches. The Government Settles the Dispute The implacable struggle against the ‘table holders’ which the Utrecht faculty waged under the leadership of Voetius was brought to an end by the States of Gelderland and Holland.59 A resolution of 30 March 1658 determined that “the subject of lending banks does not pertain to the province of the consistories.” They further determined that ecclesiastical bodies had had no right to pronounce themselves on interest rates, and that the Utrecht pastors had no business numbering bankers who had a government patent “among the ranks of unjust usurers.”60 In 1664 the States of Utrecht announced to the synod that the issue of lending banks pertained to the civil government. Bankers who followed the interest rates set by the government—21 2/3% instead of 32.5%—could no longer be considered usurers.61 These measures weakened the church’s attack on the lending banks, and the critical idealism of the “Nadere Reformatie” suffered a defeat at the hands of the government. When, shortly before his reconciliation with Voetius, Maresius looked back on the battlefield, he noted with some satisfaction that his view had been victorious in both the ecclesiastical and political arena.62 Conclusions The social involvement of the “Nadere Reformatie” was expressed by Voetius among other ways by his polemic against the Lombards. In his radical, prophetic criticism of what he saw as a serious abuse, he showed 58 Res judicanda judicata, 79. The Greek (!) and Latin editions of the Heidelberg Catechism are said to add an adjective to all examples with the exception of usury. 59 This resolution can likewise be found in the bundle with shelfmark F. qu. 381: Resolutien op het stuck van de bancken van Leeninghe, genomen door de Staten van Gelderland en Holland (Amsterdam, 1658). 60 Resolutien, 7–8. 61 Gemeentelijk Archief Utrecht: Bewaarde Archieven II no. 1216. 62 Nauta, Maresius, 297.

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his empathy with and compassion for the interests and needs of the weakest members of society in his time. Although he could at times be rather fierce in his activity against this “grievous sin,” it all came from his concern for the temporal and eternal welfare of the people.63 His polemical stance caused his voice to be heard, and he strove indefatigably to implement the social consequences of his program for further reformation. Voetius hoped for the government’s unconditional support, while rejecting any form of authority that gave the government a say in the church. As we saw, this stance not only was bound to bring about conflict with local and national governments as it indeed did, it furthermore caused division within the Reformed church itself. All the same, Utrecht was like the smith’s fire in which weapons were forged to protest against the policy of the regents who out of economic and political motives often had little interest in the radical social criticism of Voetius and his followers. As shareholders in various city banks or else as pawnbrokers and regulators, they had a vested interest in the conflict. Aside from this power struggle with the government, anti-Roman Catholic sentiments may also have played a role in the affair. After all, many ‘table holders’ and their descendants were of Italian origin and could easily be associated with the church of Rome. A certain degree of xenophobia may also have been a factor. Poor social conditions always need their scapegoat, and the pawnbrokers’ origin no doubt made them an easy target. Over the course of the centuries, the spiritual leaders had built up a rather negative image of the bankers, and Voetius could make easy use of it. All the same, this does not take away from the fact that the Utrecht professor and pastor took up the cause of the “poor masses” (schamele gemeente) in his conflicts with the government.64 He employed all his exegetical knowledge and rhetorical capacities to express his compassion for the poor in his city and land. In one of his disputations on interest he noted the following words: “Only let there be equity with every outcome and case; let us not build our houses on the ruin of our neighbor.”65 

63 Elsewhere I have described Voetius’ efforts as a soteriological and social pragmatism. See W.J. van Asselt, “Gisbertus Voetius, gereformeerd scholasticus,” in Vier eeuwen theologie in Utrecht, ed. de Groot and de Jong (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2001), 99–108 (104). 64 The expression comes from Nauta, Maresius, 297. 65 Voetius, SDT, 4:573: “Modo in omnem eventum & casum parata sit aequitas; nec ex ruina proximi quis domum suam aedificet.”

VOETIUS ON THE SUBJECT AND FORMAL ACT OF HAPPINESS—A SCHOLASTIC EXERCISE Andreas J. Beck Gisbertus Voetius (1589–1676) is surely one of the theologians who was of particular importance for both church and school in early modern Protes­ tantism. When he became professor of theology at the new Illustrious School of Utrecht in 1634, he had already served as a pastor for 23 years, and he continued to combine church ministry with four decades of professorship, including even a rectorate. He not only trained generations of students in academic theology, but was also the major theological leader of the Dutch Nadere Reformatie.1 Voetius was also famous for his disputations over which he presided on Saturdays in the aula of the University of Utrecht, many of which can be found in the five volumes of his Selectae Disputationes. The second volume includes two “exercises” on articles of Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologiae.2 In the present essay I want to honor the groundbreaking work of Richard A. Muller on Reformed orthodoxy and scholasticism by looking at the exercise on the article about the “subject and formal act of happiness” (as Voetius called it).3 This scholastic exercise deals with the debate between the Thomistic and Scotistic schools on the question whether beatitude or happiness (beatitudo) is situated in the intellect (as Aquinas held), or the will (as Scotus argued), or in both faculties.4

1 See Muller, AC, 109–115; Aza Goudriaan, Reformed Orthodoxy and Philosophy, 1625–1750. Gisbertus Voetius, Petrus van Mastricht, and Anthonius Driessen (Leiden: Brill, 2006); Andreas J. Beck, Gisbertus Voetius (1589–1676). Sein Theologieverständnis und seine Gotteslehre (Göttingen: V&R, 2007). 2 Voetius, SDT, 2:1193–1217, 1217–1239. 3 “Exercitatio ad Thomae I.II. Q. III. Art. IV. de beatitudinis subjecto et actu formali”, pars 1, resp. Johannes Petko Somoso, 5 March 1563 (SDT, 2:1217–1218); pars 2, resp. Isaacus Clemens, 12 March 1653 (SDT, 2:1228–1239). 4 Cf. Georg Wieland, “Happiness: The Perfection of Man,” The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, ed. Norman Kretzmann et al. (Cambridge: CUP, 1982), 673–86; James McEvoy, “Ultimate Goods: Happiness, Friendship, and Bliss,” The Cambridge Companion to Medieval Philosophy, ed. A.S. McGrade (Cambridge: CUP, 2003), 253–274.

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The articulus under consideration is part of Aquinas’ tract on happiness or beatitude at the beginning of the prima secundae of his Summa Theologiae (qq. 1–5).5 In this tract, Aquinas first discusses man’s last end or ultimate purpose of life, which is God, whereas happiness means the acquisition of the ultimate goal (q. 1). Next he explains that happiness does not consist in earthly things or created good, but in God alone (q. 2). The other three questions deal with the nature of happiness (q. 4), its conditions (q. 5) and how it is attained (q. 6). Each question includes eight articles, making up a total of forty articles.6 Aquinas starts his discussion of the nature of happiness in the third question by arguing that happiness is non-creaturely (a. 1). After that, he spells out that it is an activity or operation (a. 2), but only of our intellec­ tive part, not of our sensitive part (a. 3). The fourth article is the one which Voetius discusses in his “exercise”; it argues that happiness is an activity of the intellect rather than of the will. The next article specifies that it is an activity of the speculative and not the practical intellect (a. 5). This activ­ ity, in turn, consists in dwelling on the theoretical sciences (a. 6), but not in the consideration of angels (a. 7). Instead, human happiness consists in the vision of God’s essence (a. 8). Aquinas’ conception of happiness or beatitude has clearly intellectual­ ist traits by which he departs from the Augustinian tradition. This is partly due to Aristotelian influences, although it should be noted that Aquinas by no means follows Aristotle in all respects, but surely speaks as a Christian theologian.7 The intellectualist setting of happiness in Aquinas’ theology becomes especially clear in the article that is discussed by Voetius. In his discussion, Voetius follows the structure of this article. But first, he renders its question: “If happiness be an activity of the intellectual part, is it an activity of the intellect or of the will?” Voetius rightly observes, that, 5 ST, IaIIae.3.4. I use in this article the New Blackfrairs edition: Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologae, vol. 16: Purpose and Happiness (IaIIae.1–5), ed. Thomas Gilby (Cambridge: CUP, 2006), along with the more literal translation of the Fathers of the English Dominican Province. 6 Cf. Georg Wieland, “Happinness (Ia IIae, qq. 1–5),” in The Ethics of Aquinas, ed. Stephen J. Pope (Washington: Georgetown University, 2002), 57–68; Stefan Gradl, Deus beatitudo hominis: eine evangelische Annäherung an die Glückslehre des Thomas von Aquin (Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 161–361. 7 See Denis J.M. Bradley, Aquinas on the twofold human good: reason and human happiness in Aquinas’ moral science (Washington: CUAP, 1997), 323–481.



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as the corpus of the article shows, the question at stake is actually more limited: it concerns the activity related to the “being of happiness” and what happiness “essentially is,” thus its very essence.8 Next, Voetius presents the five objections in article 8 in the form of syllogisms. They all argue that happiness consists in the will: because happiness consists in peace (with reference to Augustine and Ps. 147:3);9 because happiness is the supreme good, which is an object of will; because the last end corresponds to the first mover, which is the will in regard to operations; because happiness belongs to the most excellent activity, which is of the will (with reference to 1 Cor. 13); and finally because of the authority of Augustine who sees a relationship between human good will and happiness.10 The authoritative text that Aquinas cites in the sed contra is John 17:3a: “And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God.” Voetius, however, thinks that it does not help to answer the question at stake. Referring to commentaries of the Jesuits Juan de Maldonado (1535–1583) and Cornelius à Lapide (1567–1637) and the Franciscan Alfonso de Castro (1495–1558), he argues that the text is not about knowledge of God in the next life (in patria), but only in this life (in via). Moreover, it relates knowledge to eternal life in a metonymic sense only. Thus this Scripture does not even prove that eternal life exclusively consists in knowledge in this life, not to mention the afterlife.11 When he moves to Aquinas’ solution in the corpus of the article, Voetius first admits that, according to Aquinas, happiness not only consists in its essence but includes its proper accident, the accompanying pleasure or delight (delectatio). Still, the position of Aquinas is quite rigid when he says that “as to the very happiness, it is impossible for it to consist in an act of the will.”12 According to Voetius, Aquinas supports his rigid statement with one single argument, namely that happiness can only formally consist in the act that attains it, which is not true for the act of will.13 Voetius hastens to make clear that he is not convinced by the argument of Aquinas. In addition, he refers to the refutations by the Franciscans Richard of Middleton (ca. 1249–1302) and Juan de Rada (ca. 1545–1608) 8 SDT, 2:1217. 9 SDT, 2:1217; Augustinus, De civitate Dei XIX.10 (PL 41:636); Ps. 147:3. 10 SDT, 2 1217–1218; Augustine, De Trinitate XIII.6 (PL 42:1020). 11 SDT, 2 1218–1219. For the last point, Voetius quotes Juan de Maldonado, Commentarii in quaturo evangelistas, vol. 5 (Paris/London: Moguntiae), 503. 12 Aquinas, ST, IaIIae.4.3co. 13 SDT, 2:1219.

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and the Jesuit Gregorio de Valencia (1549–1603).14 What is more, he also cites Scotus who criticized Aquinas for not distinguishing a priority of ori­ gin or generation from a priority of perfection and for not including love (amor) in his list of relevant acts of will, but only desire and delight.15 In his own response, Voetius insists, with Scotus, that the relevant priority in the act that attains happiness concerns the priority of perfec­ tion, which the will has over the intellect, and not the priority of origin, according to which the intellect indeed comes first. Moreover, “it is the act to will friendship, namely the enjoyment of love, by which we adhere to God as he is seen and loved because of himself.”16 It does not come as a surprise that Voetius is also not convinced by most of Aquinas’ answers to the five objections mentioned above; he can only accept the first one. Interestingly, he applies Scotus’ distinction of two kinds of priority to 1 Cor. 13: Love is higher than faith in perfection, although the act of faith comes before the act of love in the order of generation. The same is true for the will in relation to the intellect.17 The Controversy After having introduced the text of Thomas himself, Voetius moves to the controversy itself. He starts his discussion by giving a detailed over­ view of the diverse opinions of scholastic theologians, the church fathers, and the Reformed theologians. In the works of scholastic theologians which he has “at hand,” Voetius distinguishes no less than eight different positions.18 First, there is the position of Aquinas and the Thomists “who say, that the act of happiness is essentially and formally in the intellect to the exclusion of the will” (1222). Voetius refers to Durandus of St. Pourçain (ca. 1230–1296), Johannes Capreolus (ca. 1360–1444), and the Dominicans Paulus Soncinas (d. 1494), Francis de Sylvestris (1474–1528), and Domingo de Soto (1494–1560).19 14 Richard of Middleton, Super quatuor Libros Sententiarum (Brescia: V. Sabbius, 1591), ad Sent. IV, d. 49, a. 1, q. 7 (653b-655a); Juan de Rada, Controversiae theologicae inter S. Thomam et Scotum, 4 vols. (Cologne: J. Crithius, 1620), pars 4, controv. 12 (4:268a-321b); Gregorio de Valencia, Commentariorum theologicorum tomi quatuor, 4 vols. (Ingolstadt: Sartorius, 1591–1597), vol. 2, d. 1, q. 3 p. 4 (2:58–76). 15 SDT, 2 1219–1220 with Scotus, Ordinatio IV, d. 49, q. 4, nn. 8–9 (ed. Vivès XXI, 99b-100b); Voetius seems to use the phrasing of Cajetanus (or a common source); see S. Thomae Aquinatis Opera omnia iussu impensaque Leonis XIII P. M. edita, t. 6 (Rome: 1991), 30a-31b. 16 SDT, 2:1220. 17 SDT, 2:1221. 18 SDT, 2:1222. 19 SDT, 2:1222.



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Second, Voetius mentions the opinion of Scotus and most Scotists who situate the formal act of happiness in the will. This position has also been defended by Alfonso de Castro, O.F.M. (1495–1558) and, “espe­ cially subtle and elaborately,” by Juan de Rada, O.F.M. Obs. (ca. 1545–1608).20 All the other opinions defend in one way or another a middle ground between both extremes. Thus the third group of scholastics even abstains from judgment and states that both opinions can be defended as being equally plausible. For this, Voetius cites the Thomist Juan Alfonso Curiel (d. 1609), the “quasi-Thomist” Gregorio de Valencia, the nominalist Gabriel Biel (ca. 1420–1495), and two authors of famous commentaries on Script­ ure, namely, Juan de Maldonado and Cornelius à Lapide.21 The fourth position finds essential happiness constituted in both acts and is defended by Hugh of St. Victor (ca. 1097–1141), Albertus Magnus, O.P. (ca. 1200–1280), John of Bassolis, O.F.M. (d. 1347), Thomas of Strasbourg O.E.S.A. (d. 1357), Marsilius of Inghen (ca. 1340–1396), the Franciscans Richard of Middleton, Andrés de Vega (1498–1549), and Antonio de Córdoba (1485–1578), and the Jesuits Francisco Suárez (1548–1617) and Rodrigo de Arriaga (1592–1667).22 Another position is taken by the Dominican Petrus de Palude (ca. 1280–1342), who distinguished a double happiness: the contemplative happiness of the intellect and the practical happiness of the will. According to the sixth opinion the act of happiness consists “in the vision of the intellect, the love of the will, and its delight in the seen and loved God.” This is defended by the Franciscan Bonaventura (1221–1227) and endorsed by John Major (1467–1550).23 The seventh option is advocated by Peter Auriol, O.F.M. (ca. 1280–1322), who constitutes the act of happiness in joy or delight. Suárez indicates that he once inclined to a similar opinion, and Adam Tanner, S.J. (1571–1632) also inclined to it. Finally, there is an eighth position, taken by Giles of Rome, O.E.S.A. (1243–1316), that happiness forms a genus, whose species are the acts of intellect and will.24 Concerning the church fathers, Voetius observes that it cannot be reconstructed for certain what they would have thought about the 20 SDT, 2 1222. 21 SDT, 2:1222–1223. 22 SDT, 2:1223–1224. 23 SDT, 2:1224. 24 SDT, 2:1224. Voetius is careful enough to indicate that he could not consult the works of Giles of Rome and depends on the summary by Nicholaus Denyse O.F.M. Obs. (d. 1509).

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question at stake. When discussing the Reformed theologians, Voetius first notes that very few of them touched that question at all. Some of them remain undetermined with the Heidelberg Catechism (q. 58), while others, such as Polanus, just enumerate all things about the glorious perfection of the soul and body in heaven.25 Voetius also mentions Lambert Daneau (ca. 1530–1595), who rejects the Thomistic opinion. There are very few others who follow Aquinas, although they, as Voetius thinks, “did not precisely exclude with Thomas the act of will from essen­ tial happiness,” but rather wanted to express “that the vision is the prin­ ciple and foundation of happiness.”26 Interestingly, Voetius here gives a brief biographical note and explains that initially he did not object to the opinion of Aquinas, although he did not want to exclude the will as the subject of happiness.27 This position turned out to be unsatisfying, however: “But later, when I weighed the issue more carefully, I came to believe that the opinion of Thomas barely could sustain a rigorous examination … and that essential and formal hap­ piness is to be constituted either in both acts, or in the act of will alone.”28 Voetius is now ready to discuss the state of the controversy or the status quaestionis.29 First, he clarifies what the controversy is not about. To men­ tion only some points, it is not about the questions whether both the act of intellect and will are required for happiness, or whether both acts are included in happiness, or whether “knowledge, perfect love, holiness, delight, joy, enjoyment, and glory” all belong to the state of happiness. It is also not debated whether the vision of God is the ultimate perfection of the intellect and the enjoyment of God the ultimate perfection of the will.30 Having clarified what the controversy is not about, Voetius defines the status controversionis: Does the happiness of the whole intellectual nature, which can be made happy in itself, … formally consist in the act of the intellect, namely, in vision,

25 SDT, 2:1125. See Amandus Polanus von Polansdorf, Syntagma Theologiae Christianae, 2 vols. (Hanau, 1609–1610), VI.lxxv (2:3337–3338). 26 SDT, 2:1225. Voetius refers to the Synopsis purioris theologiae, disp. 52, thesis 14 (with theses 10 and 11) and notes that Daniel Tilenus (1562–1633) nevertheless defended the Thomistic opinion. Cf. also Muller, PRRD, 3:381–384. 27 Cf. Voetius, Syllabus problematum theologicorum…. Pars prior (Utrecht: Aegidius Roman, 1643) A2v–A3r; SDT, 5:226–227. 28 SDT, 2:1125. 29 I skip Voetius’ discussion of several related hypotheses in SDT, 2 1225–1226. 30 SDT, 2:1228.



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or in the act of the will, and the latter either in love (or enjoyment) [amore seu fruitione], or in delight (or joy) [delectatione seu gaudio]? Or does it con­ sist in those two, or even three acts together, so that happiness is one act, not by an essential union in itself, but an aggregation, or so that those acts are partial (or two) moments, which essentially constitute one essential whole?31

This is surely a complex and perhaps even cumbersome formulation, but its benefit is that it covers the whole array of possible options which Voetius has discussed earlier in this bipartite disputation. He also clarifies, in the passage omitted from the citation, that the controversy is restricted to happiness that can be attained by mind-gifted creatures, namely, angels and human beings, and does not include the uncreated happiness of God himself. Voetius’ Own Opinion Voetius now moves to his own solution, the determinatio, which he intro­ duces with a note of caution. Thus he makes it very clear that this debate does not affect the doctrine of the church, as it is expressed in the confes­ sions and catechisms, nor does it affect Reformed theology as it is taught in the schools. It only concerns a discussion within scholasticism. Voetius again underlines that almost all Reformed theologians do not touch this debate in their works.32 Voetius presents his own opinion in the form of seven conclusions. The first five conclusions repeat some points on which both Thomists and Scotists could agree.33 In the sixth conclusion, Voetius shows his clear preference for the Scotistic answer, if the question is formulated in a clear and focused way. If the act is considered in its ultimate analysis as it attains the happy making object “completely, ultimately and immedi­ ately,” Voetius agrees with the Scotists that the act at stake is the act of love or enjoyment rather than the act of vision. In the seventh conclusion, he insists that those who prefer to leave the matter undecided should at least recognize that the opinion of Aquinas is “not certain or solid.” Thus happiness should not be ascribed to the act of intellect only and to the exclusion of the act of will.34 31 SDT, 2:1228–1229. An essential union is a union of parts which are inextricably or inseparably linked to each other, whereas an aggregation is a composition of separable parts. Cf. Rudolph Goclenius, Lexicon philosophicum quo tanquam clave philosophiae fores aperiuntur (Frankfurt: M. Becker, 1613), 291–302, esp. 300–301. 32 SDT, 2:1229. Cf. for Voetius on happiness Beck, Voetius, 184–189. 33 SDT, 2:1229–1230. 34 SDT, 2:1230.

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Voetius now proceeds to give reasons for his opinion. First, he mentions his own arguments before he discusses those of Scotus and of others who argue against the position of Aquinas. Voetius’ first reason assumes that formal happiness belongs to “the most outstanding act of the intellectual nature,” as Thomas himself acknowledges.35 Since such an act is love, and not cognition, it follows that formal happiness is situated in the act of love. Voetius here presupposes that relevant conclusions can be drawn from inchoative happiness in this life (in via) to full happiness in the afterlife (in patria), as it is also defended by Martinus Becanus, S.J. (1563–1624). Moreover, Thomists should acknowledge that love is more important than faith.36 Voetius presents his second argument in the form of a syllogism, as he did with the first and with many other arguments in this disputation. It runs as follows: (1) In which act there is formally the last attainment of the beatific object, and consequently the final perfection of the intellectual nature, in that act consists formal happiness. (2) But the last attainment of the beatific object, and consequently the final perfection of the intellectual nature, is in the act of will and not in the act of the intellect. (3) Therefore formal happiness consists in the act of will and not in the act of the intellect.37

The conclusion (3) indeed follows from the major premise (1) and the minor premise (2). Voetius proceeds by giving an argument for the minor, again in the form of syllogism. This argument boils down to the point that, in faculty psychology, the act of intellect precedes the act of will, whereas the act of will finally attains the object.38 Voetius gives a third but less important reason for his position: Since the arguments of Aquinas are not really convincing, it is safer to stay away from the opinion of Aquinas and to follow Scotus who is able to present counterarguments. In this way one avoids related discussions about the superiority of the contemplative life or theoretical speculative theology.39 Voetius does not seem to like the articles of the question at hand, in which 35 SDT, 2:1230. Voetius seems to have in mind ST, IaIIae.3.4 obj. 4 together with IaIIae.3.4 ad 4, and perhaps also IaIIae.5.5 ad 2. 36 SDT, 2:1230. Voetius cites Martin Becanus, Summa theologiae scholasticae (Rouen: Joh. Behourt, 1652), pars 1, tract. 1, cap. 1, q. 3 (209b). 37 SDT, 2:1230–1231. 38 SDT, 2:1231. 39 SDT, 2:1231.



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Aquinas defends such positions.40 Moreover, theology is for Voetius a practical rather than a theoretical or mixed discipline, as he argues elsewhere.41 Voetius complements his own reasons with three reasons from Scotus himself. Although Voetius refers to Ordinatio IV, d. 49, qq. 4–5, these reasons are not directly traceable to Scotus’ works, but rather reflect the summaries of Scotus’ opinion in scholastic manuals and commentaries.42 Still, they are surely in line with the position of the doctor subtilis.43 The first reason says that the love of friendship (amor amicitiae), which presupposes the vision of God, is closer to the happy making object than the vision of God. Thus happiness consists formally in the love of friendship.44 The second argument also centers around love: The act of understanding is ordered to love, and not vice versa, and thus love must be the ultimate formal end rather than the act of understanding.45 The third argument says that formal happiness consists in the act of will because this act is more desirable than the act of the intellect. Voetius is aware, of course, that these reasons have been rejected by Thomists such as Johannes Capreolus, Paulus Soncinas, Cajetanus, Juan Alfonso Curiel, Gregorio de Valencia, and Martinus Becanus, but he does not find their responses convincing “if you look at the substance of the reasons.”46 Having discussed the arguments of Scotus, Voetius adds thirteen other supporting arguments which are defended by other opponents of Aquinas, including the Scotists.47 Three arguments are particularly interesting: the sixth argument says that the will is essentially made happy because it is “essentially and formally free.”48 According to the eighth reason, happiness belongs to the highest potency, which is the will, as it is “made complete by love.”49 And the last argument exemplifies that an absurd 40 See ST, IaIIae.3.6, 8; cf. ST, Ia.1.4. 41 See Beck, Voetius, 175–181; cf. Muller, PRRD, 1:340–354. 42 Cf. Scotus, Ordinatio IV, d. 49, qq. 4–5, incl. q. ex latere (ed. Vivès XXI, 93b-180a) and Scotus, Rep. Par. IV, d. 49, qq. 2–4 (ed. Vivès XXIV, 620a-640b) with Juan Alfonso Curiel, Lecturae seu Quaestiones in D. Thomae primam secundae (Antwerp 1621), q. 3, tract., q. 6, §§ 5–12 (69a-78a); Juan de Rada, Controversiae theologicae, pars 4, controv. 12, art. 4 (4:296a-305a). 43 Cf. Walter Hoeres, Der Wille als reine Vollkommenheit nach Duns Scotus (München: Pustet, 1962), 220–226, 297–311 (esp. 303–308). 44 SDT, 2 1231; cf. Scotus, Ordinatio IV, d. 49, q. 5 nn. 2–3 (ed Vivès XXIV, 171b-172b). 45 In support of this argument Voetius adopts from Scotus an alleged quote of Anselm, which in fact is a summary of Anselm, Cur Deus Homo II.1 (PL 158:400C-401C). 46 SDT, 1:1232. 47 SDT, 2:1232–1234. 48 SDT, 2 1232. 49 SDT, 2 1232–1233.

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consequence would follow “if every act of will were to be excluded from essential happiness,” namely, the consequence that one could be blessed if one only sees God without having delight in him. Voetius indicates that he supports this argument, if “delight” (delectatio) is replaced by “love” (amor), “by which the intellectual nature finally and perfectly achieves, holds, and keeps God, and enjoys Him.”50 Voetius ends the discussion of Scotistic arguments by pointing out some other absurd consequences of the Thomistic responses to the Scoti­ stic position: The beatific vision could be “upheld without love and joy” by God’s absolute power. Likewise, “misery and sadness” would not be absolutely incompatible with happiness. Moreover, it would be possible that the human will would not love God, the Highest Good, and never­ theless possess him by the beatific vision and be completely satisfied. And finally a “beatific making vision … would be purely speculative, not practical.” Thus this vision “would not steer us to love God, because only free acts are steerable.”51 The concluding part of the determinatio or solution of Voetius consists in a lengthy refutation of Thomistic arguments. He derives these argu­ ments from Curiel’s Lectura seu Quaestiones and uses manuals of de Rada and Gregorio de Valencia for his response.52 Voetius’ discussion does not substantially add new aspects to what already has been said during this disputation, but it is worth mentioning that he repeatedly refers to the importance of love for happiness and the union with God.53 The Weight of the Controversy In the next section of the disputation Voetius discusses the weight of this controversy. First, he reports that some Catholic scholastics judge that this dispute is more philosophical or metaphysical than theological in nature. Some consider the question as merely theological-scholastic and admit that one may safely hold different opinions. Next, Voetius observes that most Reformed theologians do not even touch this debate and tacitly 50 SDT, 2:1233–1234. Voetius also rephrases the fifth argument by referring to the Heidelberg Catechism (q. 58). 51 SDT, 2 1234. See also Martin Becanus, Summa, pars 1, tract. 1, cap. 1, qq. 4–5 (210b-212a); the first three consequences are discussed in q. 4 and the final one in q. 5. 52 Curiel, Lecturae seu Quaestiones, q. 3, tract., q. 6, §§ 8–9 (71b-74); de Rada, Contro­ versiae theologicae, pars 4, controv. 12, art. 4 (4:296a-305a); de Valencia, Commentariorum theologicorum tomi quatuor, vol. 2, d. 1, q. 3 p. 4 (2:58–76, esp. 61–66). 53 See esp. SDT, 2:1235, where Voetius also refers to his disputation De amore Dei (SDT, 3:79–91).



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assume that it is not part of ecclesiastical doctrine. Voetius’ own opinion is that this controversy indeed belongs more to “philosophical-theological meticulousness and subtlety than to common faith and theology.” This does not mean, however, that it would be inappropriate to deal with this question, as it surely has its own benefit. This debate does not only help to untangle some related issues, but also to better understand the scho­ lastics. Voetius confesses that it pleased him to compare the scholastic opinions with his own theology and find fault with their less solid speculations.54 Concerning the weight of this debate, Voetius is not entirely happy with Becanus’ summary according to which it concerns mainly formal happiness “in its perfect and formal status” and in its nature and essence.55 He prefers the assessment of Richard of Middleton, who says that the blessed are “immediately united with God by the intellect” in the aspect that God is “the first and most true being,” and by the will in the aspect that God is “the highest being.” Richard also clarifies that happiness is more situated in the act of will than in the act of intellect.56 The best judgment, however, is given by de Rada, who concludes that the vision of God is related to the intellect and the enjoyment of God to the will.57 In the last section of this disputation, Voetius formulates three con­ cluding remarks. First, he notes, in general against the scholastics, that they repeatedly construct axioms that lead to errors and uncertain theol­ ogy. Second, it turns out that the distinction of the Thomists between the contemplative and active life is not helpful as they erroneously presuppose the vision of God by his essence. Third, Voetius lists several obsolete questions that follow from the opinion of the Thomists and are discussed by them to no avail. In contrast, he only addresses a single question to the Scotists, namely whether it is not rather an eager desire (concupiscentia) than the love of friendship, by which we love God as our good.58

54 SDT, 2:1237. 55 SDT, 2:1237–1238; cf. Becanus, Summa, pars 1, tract. 1, cap. 1, q. 3 (209a). 56 SDT, 2 1238; cf. Richard of Middleton, Super quatuor libros, IV, d. 49, a. 1, qq. 6–7 (4:651a-655b). 57 SDT, 2:1238–1239; cf. de Rada, Controversiae theologicae, pars 4, controv. 12, art. 3 (4:291a-296a, esp. 292a-295a). Voetius mentions also three other conclusions of de Rada. 58 SDT, 1:1239. For the last conclusion, Voetius refers to Becanus, Summa, pars 1, tract. 1, cap. 1, q. 3 (210a).

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At the very beginning of this “exercise,” Voetius cites 1 Cor. 2:9 and warns the reader that one can only speak with modesty about the nature of eter­ nal life. Where the Scriptures remain silent, docta ignorantia is more appropriate than holding strong opinions.59 This is also true for the controversy on the subject and formal act of ultimate happiness, which is not part of the confessional statements, as Voetius repeatedly emphasizes. Thus he does not find fault with the other Reformed theologians who, with very few exceptions, did not touch this controversy at all. In contrast he complains that the scholastic theologians were prone to inappropriate speculations. On the other hand, Voetius seems to believe that such an exercise related to a scholastic debate is useful for students in an academic setting and for their preparation for church ministry. Moreover, he shows a clear preference to Scotus’ more voluntarist view, although in earlier works he was inclined to the intellectualist Thomistic position. With the Franciscans, Voetius formally locates happiness either in both of the faculties or, preferably, in the will alone, since love, not knowledge, is the noblest act of an intellectual nature. What Voetius finds lacking in Aquinas’ position is the enforcement of the love of friendship or in fact an eager desire and enjoyment with which the will finds rest in God as the greatest good. It might not be by chance that the central figure of the Nadere Reformatie had a clear sympathy for the Augustinian-Franciscan tradition in this debate, as he also had in his doctrine of God where he emphasized the pivotal role of the divine will.60

59 SDT, 2:1217. 60 See Beck, Voetius, 329–358, 435–439.

REVEALING THE MIND OF GOD: EXEGETICAL METHOD IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY Henry M. Knapp The Criticism and Reassessment of Seventeenth-Century Exegesis It is a commonly held belief that the seventeenth-century exegetical work produced by Reformed authors contributed little, if anything, to the development of scriptural interpretation. The whole period is often viewed as a regressive time in biblical studies where the advances in hermeneutics and exegesis made by the sixteenth-century Reformers were arrested and betrayed by the very theologians who claimed to be their intellectual descendants, a retreat to the false methods, presuppositions, and conclusions of the medieval period.1 This traditional critique of seventeenth-century biblical interpretation falls largely along three lines: (1) that the exegesis of that time served only to provide proof texts for dogmatic and polemic works;2 (2) that their exegesis reverted to the scholasticism of the medieval times, abandoning the freshness and vitality of the humanism as promoted by the Reformers;3 and (3) that the biblical interpretations of this era were academically mediocre due to the expositors’ neglecting and/or rejecting scientific advances in biblical studies and their embracing of erroneous and

1 Howard Teeple, The Historical Approach to the Bible (Evanston: Religion and Ethics Institute, 1982), 66–70; Frederic Farrar, History of Interpretation (New York: Dutton, 1886); Robert Grant, The Bible in the Church (New York: MacMillan, 1960); J.K.S. Reid, The Authority of Scripture: A Study of Reformation and Post-Reformation Understanding of the Bible (London: Methuen, 1962); Kemper Fullerton, Prophecy and Authority (New York: Macmillan, 1919). 2 Farrar, History of Interpretation, passim; Henry Virkler, Hermeneutics: Principles and Processes of Biblical Interpretation (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1981), 67; Dean Freiday, The Bible: Its Criticism, Interpretation and Use in 16th and 17th Century England (Pittsburgh: Catholic and Quaker Studies, 1979). 3 David Dockery, “Study and Interpretation of the Bible,” in Foundations for Biblical Interpretation, ed. Dockery et. al. (Nashville: B&H, 1994), 43; Jack Rogers and Donald McKim, The Authority and Interpretation of the Bible: An Historical Approach (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1979), 147–188; David Dockery, Biblical Interpretation, Then and Now (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1992), 160–161.

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debilitating presuppositions about the Scripture. As a consequence, in the view of one scholar, “the Reformation principle of exegesis, namely, the one grammatico-historical sense, is in the way of being completely abandoned.”4 In recent decades there have been a growing number of scholars who have challenged this analysis of seventeenth-century exegesis. Rather than mining Scripture for isolated proof texts, these scholars claim that the orthodox exegete saw his role as bridging the gap between the technical aspects of exegesis and the application of the text to the contemporary body of believers.5 The definition and value of “scholasticism,” particularly in a pejorative sense, has equally been challenged, effectively undercutting the negative prejudice applied to anything which appears to have scholastic characteristics.6 This debate between the older, critical evaluation of seventeenth-century exegesis and its more recent reassessment is part of the larger dispute over the faithfulness of the post-Reformation orthodox to the Reformers’ thought. Under the epithet of “Calvin vs. the Calvinists,” one theory claims that there is a great discontinuity between the Reformers and their followers, either a substantial modification or a fatal deviation from the refreshing theological insights of the sixteenth century. A subset of this theory asserts that the exegetical practices of orthodoxy followed the same deteriorating path, reflecting the precritical presuppositions7 common during the medieval era, instead of the more scientific, higher critical views which, reportedly, germinated in the Reformation, lay stagnant during the orthodox period, and finally flowered with the development of biblical higher criticism. This “discontinuity theory” has been countered by more recent scholarship which has argued that there is a strong trajectory 4 Fullerton, Prophecy and Authority, 175. 5 Richard A. Muller, “Biblical Interpretation in the 16th & 17th Centuries,” in Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters, ed. McKim (Downers Grove: IVP, 1998), 135–136; Richard Muller, “Joseph Hall as Rhetor, Theologian, and Exegete: His Contribution to the History of Interpretation,” in Solomon’s Divine Arts, ed. Sheppard (Cleveland: Pilgrim, 1991), 11–37; Milton Terry, Biblical Hermeneutics: A Treatise on the Interpretation of the Old and New Testaments (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1974), 683. 6 Muller, PRRD; Muller, S&O; PS. 7 The term “precritical” is clearly anachronistic and is being used here in its modern scholarly sense to denote the set of presuppositions and exegetical approach to the Bible which dominated the practice of interpretation until the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. See David Steinmetz, “The Superiority of Pre-Critical Exegesis,” Theology Today 37 (1980–1981): 27–38; Richard Muller and John Thompson, “The Significance of Precritical Exegesis: Retrospect and Prospect,” in Biblical Interpretation in the Era of the Reformation, ed. Muller and Thompson (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 335–345.



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of thought between the three eras—medieval, Reformation, and orthodoxy—and the greatest discontinuity is in fact between the precritical and modern higher critical periods.8 In order to evaluate the validity of the older criticism directed at the interpretive practices of the seventeenth century, and its more recent positive reassessment, this study will survey various post-Reformation English exegetical manuals and other works which addressed biblical interpretation. The goal will be to see how the Puritan divines themselves approached the interpretive process. Source Material There is a wealth of primary material which may be examined in this exercise. The preface to published commentaries frequently included some discussion of important methodological principles, as for instance in the commentaries by William Perkins, John Mayer, and Matthew Poole.9 Larger systematic and theological works—such as those by Edward Leigh and William Whitaker—often also contain explicit interpretive rules or canons.10 Robert Boyle, Francis Osborne, Nicholas Byfield, and others wrote tracts encouraging the reading of Scripture by the laity, including guidelines for proper interpretation, and Thomas Hall authored an introductory text on biblical exegesis for students preparing for ministry.11 Other theoretical works focused on specific interpretive techniques, such as John Wilson’s defense of the analogy of Scripture in The Scriptures Genuine Interpreter Asserted and John Weemes’ use of Hebraic insights in interpretation in his Christian Synagogue and Exercitations Divine.12 Most 8 See especially the summary and the literature in Muller, “Calvinists I” and “Calvinists II.” 9 Rodolfe Cudworth writes the “Epistle Dedication” for William Perkins, A Commentarie or Exposition Vpon the Fiue First Chapters of the Epistle to the Galatians, in The Workes of that Famous and Worthy Minister… William Perkins, vol. 2 (London: Legate, 1616–1618); John Mayer, A Commentarie upon the New Testament, 3 vols. (London: Haviland, 1631); Matthew Poole, A Commentary on the Holy Bible, 3 vols. (1685; repr. London: BTT, 1979). 10 Edward Leigh, A Treatise of Divinity consisting of Three Bookes (London: Griffin, 1646); William Whitaker, A Disputation, trans. Fitzgerald (Cambridge: CUP, 1849). 11 Robert Boyle, Some Considerations Touching the Style of the H. Scriptures (London: Hen. Hall, 1663); Francis Osborne, The Private Christians non vltra (Oxford: Robinson, 1656); Nicholas Byfield, Directions for the Private Reading of the Scriptures (London: M.F., 1648); T[homas] W[ilson], Theologicall Rules, to Guide Vs in the Vnderstanding and Practice of Holy Scriptures (London: Griffin, 1615); Thomas Hall, Vindiciae Literarum (London: W.H., 1655). 12 John Wilson, The Scriptures Genuine Interpreter Asserted (London: T.N., 1678); John Weemes, The Christian Synagogue, in The Workes of Mr. John Weemes (London: Cotes, 1636);

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useful, however, are the explicit treatments of the exegete’s overall task, including William Perkins’ The Arte of Prophecying and Henry Lukin’s An Introduction to the Holy Scripture.13 Though not as explicit in detailing “technical” aspects of interpretation, John Owen’s Causes, Ways, and Means clearly outlines the steps necessary in arriving at the Spirit’s “intendment” for a text, and “seeking to understand the mind of God.”14 Precritical Hermeneutical Principles and Presuppositions When the Puritans discuss the means of understanding Scripture, they are describing in general the exegetical techniques, both of humanistic and scholastic influence, which they employ in their treatment of the text. Of course, in terms of the seventeenth-century biblical interpretive enterprise, the distinction between the influence of scholasticism and that of humanism is somewhat artificial, anachronistic, and far from clear cut. Most of the techniques used by orthodox biblical commentators which show great continuity with the medieval age have, nevertheless, been altered to some degree in light of the changing academic environment of the intervening centuries. Similarly, “humanistic” exegetical techniques frequently have roots in the scholasticism of previous centuries. It is possible, nonetheless, to identify a more dominant influence of most exegetical methods—tracing a primary trajectory to either the academic approach of the medieval scholastics, or to that of Renaissance humanism. These individual techniques, however, all operate within the bounds of seventeenth-century precritical hermeneutic principles. These principles largely insist on the coherent and consistent message of Scripture (the analogia fidei and the analogia Scripturae) and the application of the Bible’s message to the beliefs, practices, and expectations of the church family—all guided and directed by the Spirit of God himself.

John Weemes, Exercitations Divine (London: Cotes, 1632). Cf. Jai-Sung Shim, “Biblical Hermeneutics and Hebraism in the Early Seventeenth Century as Reflected in the Work of John Weemse” (Ph.D. diss., Calvin Theological Seminary, 1998). 13 William Perkins, The Arte of Prophecying, in Workes, vol. 2; Henry Lukin, An Introduction to the Holy Scripture (London: S.G., 1669). 14 John Owen, The Causes, Ways, and Means of Understanding the Mind of God, in The Works of John Owen, vol. 4 (Carlisle: BTT, 1991), 119.



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The Spiritual State of the Interpreter Post-Reformation theologians uniformly affirmed that the true sense of the Bible could only be discovered by the believer who sought God’s assistance throughout the exegetical process: “God must earnestly be sued vnto by prayer, that he would blesse these meanes, and that he would open the meaning of the Scriptures to vs that are blind.”15 The importance of the Spirit’s work in proper interpretation was tied directly to the nature of the text itself—as the one who inspired the Bible, the Spirit was the one most competent to explain its intended meaning: “the Scriptures are to be understood by that Spirit that dictated them.”16 The first priority in interpretation, then, is “fervent and earnest prayer for the assistance of the Spirit of God revealing the mind of God, as in the whole Scripture, so in particular books and passages of it.”17 The reason for prayer prior to interpretation is for “the inlightening of their minds by the holy Ghost.”18 This necessity is in no way to be understood as a limitation of the Scripture—illumination is needed, not to supply some lack in the nature or character of the text, but due to the finite state of man and, especially, his fallen condition: “If our minds be not corrupted or depraved, there is no need of the gospel or its grace; and if they are, we cannot understand the mind of God therein without especial illumination.”19 The Analogy of Faith It would be difficult to overestimate the importance of the analogy of faith in the post-Reformation orthodox’s hermeneutical strategy. The Puritans defined the analogy as the overall sum of Christian doctrine, “those common principles, generally agreed upon amongst Christians.”20 Perkins identifies the analogy with the Apostles’ Creed, while Whitaker adds “the contents of the Lord’s Prayer, the Decalogue, and the whole Catechism.”21 Regardless of its specific composition, the analogy of faith was understood 15 Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:737. Cf. Whitaker, Disputation, V.ix.467; James Durham, Song of Solomon (1668; repr. Edinburgh: BTT, 1982), 25; Weemes, Christian Synagogue, 41. 16 Leigh, Treatise, 180–181. Cf. Whitaker, Disputation, V.viii.451; Wilson, Theologicall Rules, 2, 125 17 Owen, Causes, Ways, and Means, 4:201. 18 Leigh, Treatise, 189. Cf. Wilson, Theologicall Rules, 7–8; Whitaker, Disputation, V.iii.415; Durham, Song of Solomon, 25; Weemes, Exercitations, I.xv (p. 163). 19 Owen, Causes, Ways, and Means, 4 138. 20 Lukin, Introduction, 33. 21 Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:737; Whitaker, Disputation, V.ix.472.

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as being grounded in “the constant and perpetual Sentence of Scripture in those places that are undoubtedly plain and obvious to our Under­ standing.”22 Thus the exegetical influence of the analogy of faith depended upon Scripture itself. The analogy of faith provided a clear boundary between acceptable and non-acceptable biblical interpretations. All biblical exegesis was to be tested by this presupposition; “whatever exposition is repugnant to this analogy must be false.”23 The Analogy of Scripture According to the analogia Scripturae, the surest and truest guide for determining the meaning of a particular text is to seek its explanation within the rest of Scripture: “the supreame and absolute meane of interpretation is the Scripture it selfe.”24 Since the Bible teaches a unified truth, one passage cannot be logically contradictory to another—“for God’s word must alwayes bring perfect truth, it cannot fight against it selfe.”25 John Wilson defends this Scriptura sui interpes principle as “the sole rule of interpretation” against competing “rules” of rationalism which attempt “to make use of the same method in Theology that Des Cartes had done in Philosophy.”26 Objecting to reason or philosophy as the “only infallible rule of interpretation,” Wilson insists that “in expounding Scripture we must be regulated and determined by the Scripture it self.”27 In practice, the commentator, acting in accordance with the analogy of Scripture, was to arrive at his exegetical analysis of a particular text by comparing it with other scriptural passages; through this comparison, the meaning of obscure texts could be deduced from parallel plainer ones: “whatsoever speaks darkly and uncertainly in any place, is to be explained by it self in those other places, where it speaks more plainly,” or, “one place must be compared and collated with another; the obscurer places with the plainer or less obscure. For though in one place the words may be 22 Wilson, Scriptures Genuine Interpreter, 169. Cf. Lukin, Introduction, 33, 36; Cudworth, “Epistle Dedication,” 2 177. 23 Whitaker, Disputation, V.ix.472. Cf. Leigh, Treatise, 183; Weemes, Christian Synagogue, 41; Wilson, Theologicall Rules, 32, 113–114; Lukin, Introduction, 33–36; Wilson, Scriptures Genuine Interpreter, passim; Owen, Causes, Ways, and Means, 4 224. 24 Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:737. 25 Leigh, Treatise, 192. Cf. Weemes, Christian Synagogue, 60; Whitaker, Disputation, V.viii.459. 26 Wilson, Scriptures Genuine Interpreter, 17. Wilson is reacting to Lodewijk Meijer, Philosophia S. Scripturae Interpres (Eleutheropoli [Amsterdam], 1666). 27 Wilson, Scriptures Genuine Interpreter, 169.



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obscure, they will be plainer in another.”28 Ignoring the analogy of Scripture as an exegetical step is “the root of almost all the errors and heresies that are in the world.”29 By its consistent application, the interpreter can be assured that he will not be led into error by misinterpreting a single text. Application to the Contemporary Church According to seventeenth-century hermeneutical assumptions, the scriptural text was intended ultimately for the continual benefit of the whole Church; the “great end” of the Bible lies in its perpetual witness to modern believers, “the whole people of God, consisting of persons of all Ages, Nations, Sexes, Complexions and Conditions,” written, “in such a way as that none of all these might be quite excluded from the advantages designed them in it.”30 For the post-Reformation orthodox, the task of biblical interpretation was not complete until the text was communicated to the present Christian community; “right exegesis opens Scripture to the life of the church.”31 Therefore, true exposition must include an hortatory or “uses” section, to “drawne out such doctrines as naturally arise from the text, shewing withall how they ought to be applied for confutation, correction, instruction, consolation.”32 Owen likewise notes the goal of interpretation is not to learn “the form of the doctrine of godliness, but to get the power of it implanted in our souls.”33 The Influence of Scholasticism in Puritan Exegesis Within this overall precritical approach to the Bible, the influence of scholasticism is readily evident in the Puritan exegetical methodology, and reflects the depth of continuity which existed in exegetical practice between the medieval, Reformation, and post-Reformation eras. Many of 28 Wilson, Scriptures Genuine Interpreter, 169; Whitaker, Disputation, V.ix.471. Cf. Durham, Song of Solomon, 47–48; Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:738; Poole, Commentary, 1:vii. 29 Owen, Exposition of Hebrews, 19:188. 30 Boyle, Some Considerations, 21–22. Cf. Wilson, Theologicall Rules, 57; Osborne, Private Christians; Byfield, Directions. 31 Richard Muller, “William Perkins and the Protestant Exegetical Tradition: Interpretation, Style, and Method,” in William Perkins, A Cloud of Faithful Witnesses: Commentary on Hebrews 11, ed. Augustine (Cleveland: Pilgrim, 1991), 87. 32 Cudworth, “Epistle Dedication,” 2:179. Cf. Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:737, 750. 33 Owen, Causes, Ways, and Means, 4:205.

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the techniques used to discover the true design of the biblical text, and then to express it meaningfully, were developed and utilized in the previous centuries. These techniques often had a very “scholastic” flair and history, and include a frequent use of distinctions and definitions to clarify theologically ambiguous scriptural texts; the consistent reference to previous church authorities and theologians; the application of pedagogical forms such as the locus style and the quaestio approach; and, most importantly, the use of reason and demonstrative arguments in explaining a text. Distinctions and Definitions One of the more prominent tools employed by the Puritans in expounding upon a text’s meaning, is the use of finely construed distinctions and definitions, particularly when confronted by an exegetically difficult pericope. For example, in identifying the proper referent for the title ὁ θεός in Hebrews 1:1, Owen distinguishes between two different ways of predicating names to God, either essentially (essentialiter) where the entirety of the Godhead or divine essence is intended, or personally (personaliter) when the referent is to one of the persons in the Trinity in relationship to the other persons. It is this very distinction which is denied by the Socinians, and Owen is careful not to appear to be introducing extrabiblical ideas simply to make a theological point. He defends his decision to distinguish between essential and personal predication on exegetical grounds because the opening verse speaks of God, ὁ θεός, while later in the sentence, the Son, ἐν υιῷ, is specifically identified, “evidently distinguished from him whom he intends to denote by the name God in this place.”34 Such examples abound in Puritan writings and testify to their scholastic heritage. Style and Teaching Methodology It is worth noting that, in general, the structure of many Puritan com­ mentaries roughly follows the scholastic (i.e., academic/pedagogical) model—or at least has identifiable scholastic elements. According to the charac­teristics outlined by Richard Muller, a work is “scholastic” when it concentrates on 1) identifying the order and pattern of argument suitable to technical academic discourse, 2) presenting an issue in the form 34 Owen, Exposition of Hebrews, 19:7.



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of a thesis or question, 3) ordering the thesis or question suitably for discussion or debate, often identifying the “state of the question,” 4) noting a series of objections to the assumed correct answer, and then 5) offering a formulation of an answer or an elaboration of the thesis with due respect to all know sources of information and to the rules of rational discourse, followed by a full response to all objections.35

To take a representative case: while Owen’s Exposition of the Epistle to the Hebrews hardly matches Muller’s definition when compared with a classical piece of scholasticism such as Thomas Aquinas’ Summa theologiae, the structure is still readily evident. Owen’s prolegomena-like Exercitations serve to set the stage and frame the argument for his exposition, and the point behind the “state of the question” is arguably similar to what Owen pursues in the early part of his handling of each pericope—fixing the text, clarifying linguistic issues, identifying lexical concerns, and so forth. In nearly every verse Owen introduces and dialogues with alternative understandings of the text, much like the formal scholastic model of objections and answers. Finally, Owen’s interpretation of a passage is summarized in a series of practical doctrines or uses. The point here is not that Owen consciously employed a formal scholastic structure when interpreting the book of Hebrews; rather, the similarities are more likely a function of his life-long association with the academic community at Oxford (including extensive “scholastic” training) and his desire for pedagogical clarity.36 Connection with Church Tradition The way in which the Protestant orthodox referenced previous church fathers and theologians further illustrates both their separation from, and connection with, the medieval scholastic method. Like the Reformers of the previous century, the seventeenth-century Puritans derided the medieval “scholastic” tradition of commenting upon previous church authorities’ work: the “schoolmen” are chiefly to be censured, “who setting aside the scriptures, haue vanished away in vaine speculations in their Questions vpon Lombard the Master of the Sentences, & vpon Thomas their new Master.”37 The Reformed orthodox did, however, recognize the value of

35 Richard Muller, “Ad fontes argumentorum: The Sources of Reformed Theology in the 17th Century,” Utrechtse Theologische Teeks 40 (1999): 4. 36 For an assessment of Owen’s scholastic training and academic environment, see Sebastian Rehnman, “John Owen: A Reformed Scholastic at Oxford,” in R&S, 181–203; Rehnman, Divine Discourse (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2002). 37 Cudworth, “Epistle Dedication,” 2:177.

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the communio sanctorum in gaining an understanding of the mind of God: “out of a orthodoxall writings, we must get aid not onely from the latter, but also from the more ancient Church.”38 Thus the orthodox encouraged the study of the theological work of other Christian thinkers, yet warned against granting to them the authority and force of the Scripture itself. Leigh, Whitaker, Weemes, and others all recognized the value of orthodox, as well as Catholic and Jewish interpreters—as long as they were all read with discernment.39 In light of their cautious support of reading the work of previous scholars, the orthodox produced lists of “approved” expositors.40 Perhaps the most useful guide in this area is the published bibliographic reference, Gisbertus Voetius’, Exercitia et Bibliotheca. In this spectacular collection, Voetius gathers a vast list of resources for the entire academic curriculum, with the whole second half of the work dedicated to theological material—books on textual studies, interpretation manuals, lexical and grammatical resources, and commentaries on every biblical book.41 The Role of Reason When the orthodox wrote of the role of reason and philosophy in their exegetical method, they stressed both its usefulness and its limitations. Rational argumentation was to be used to draw conclusions from the biblical material, but reason itself was consistently denied the status of being the standard; rather, it functioned in a supportive role, subservient to Scripture. Wilson’s The Scriptures Genuine Interpreter Asserted is an excellent example of the detail and clarity with which the orthodox sought to stress this point in the face of opposition from Socinian rationalism and Cartesian philosophy. Wilson’s thesis is that Scripture itself is the only “rule of faith” and was not subject to the dictates of reason or philosophy. He readily acknowledges a role for reason in the exegetical process, for, “it is undeniable, that for the Interpreting of Scripture, there is a necessary 38 Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:736. 39 Leigh, Treatise, 183; Whitaker, Disputation, V.ix.473; vi.434; Weemes, Christian Synagogue, 273; Hall, Vindiciae, 8–9; Poole, Commentary, 1:vii; Boyle, Some Considerations, 38. See also David Sytsma, “‘As a Dwarfe set upon a Gyants shoulders’: John Weemes (ca. 1579–1636) on the Place of Philosophy and Scholasticism in Reformed Theology,” in Die Philosophie der Reformierten, ed. Frank and Selderhuis (Stuttgart: FrommannHolzboog, 2012), 299–321. 40 Mayer, Commentarie upon the New Testament, 3:A3v-A3r; Leigh, Treatise, 184–188. 41 Gisbertus Voetius, Exercitia, Studiosi Theologiae (Utrecht: Wilhelmus Strick, 1644). See also, Thomas Barlow, Autoschediasmata, De Studio Theologiae (Oxford: Lichfield, 1699).



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use of the Faculty of Reason, and the several actings of it,” but reason’s role is “instrumentally subservient” to Scripture.42 Consequently, orthodox theoreticians taught the importance of learning and applying reason, philosophy, and logic for the exegetical process; all ministers should be “expert” in logic and philosophy, for “Logicke teacheth the Preacher to Analize and divide his Text, collect true and proper Doctrines from it, assisteth him in confuting of Heresies, solving all questions.”43 Scripture itself employs rational argumentation, thus “sanctifying” its use: “neither is Logick a profane thing, (as some profane ones imagine) for the Scripture itselfe useth many Logicall Arguments, from the cause, the effect, the consequent, from mercies, judgements, and from the Old Testament.”44 In light of the importance of the faculty of reason to the orthodox, it is not surprising that deductive reasoning and demonstrative arguments are liberally scattered throughout Puritan exposition. Expositors rarely resort to explicitly framed syllogisms; nevertheless, the major premise, minor premise, conclusion form of argumentation frequently undergirds their presentation of the material. The Influence of Humanism in Puritan Exegesis Most of the techniques mentioned above demonstrate the great continuity of the Reformed exegetical practice with the interpretative methods employed throughout the medieval era. However, granting again the somewhat artificial nature of this distinction, even a cursory analysis of the actual exegesis of the era reveals an equal indebtedness to the style and principles of Renaissance humanism which had developed in the previous two centuries. The extensive attention given to the knowledge and use of the original languages is a good example of an exegetical technique which clearly flows from the Renaissance desire to “return to the sources.” Other examples include the advances in philology and attention to grammatical and syntactical issues, the study of cognate languages, the developing interest in Judaism and other Hebraic studies, the concern for the history of the text (giving rise to textual criticism), and the use of

42 Wilson, Scriptures Genuine Interpreter, 24. 43 Leigh, Treatise, 181. Cf. William Ames, The Marrow of Theology (1629; repr. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1997), I.xxxiv.26; Lukin, Introduction, 33. 44 Hall, Vindiciae, 7. Cf. Boyle, Some Considerations, 62–64, 68–70.

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rhetorical and persuasive argumentation. Each of these in some minor way is connected to an earlier scholastic tradition, but they largely grow out of humanistic concerns and were adapted into the exegetical methodology of the Reformed orthodox as a result of the commentators’ exposure to these new academic developments.45 The Original Languages The most obvious effect of humanism on the practice of biblical interpretation was a renewed appreciation and use of the Greek and Hebrew languages; prospective divinity students “must labour for a competent knowledge in the originall tongues the Hebrew and Greek,” so that they may “see with their owne, not anothers eyes.”46 Biblical study in the original languages allows one to arrive at the “precise” meaning of a text: “Some knowledge, at least, of these languages is necessary for a precise understanding of the Scriptures, for they are to be understood by the same means required for other human writings, i.e., skill and experience in logic, rhetoric, grammar, and the languages.”47 Translations are not bad, since they provide access to the Word for many, yet, “the emphasis and force of the word is more clearly seen in the Originall Text, then in a translation.”48 Knowledge of Greek and Hebrew also helps expose inadequate interpretations: “such faults and blemishes in versions the heretics, and above all the papists, abuse to the confirmation of their errors; which, however, are most easily removed by an inspection of the originals and a know­ ledge of the languages.”49 A working knowledge of the languages serves as a guard against misinterpretations and even heresy.50 This Renaissanceinspired concern for the original languages is uniformly shared by

45 See, Richard Muller, “Biblical Interpretation in the Era of Reformation: The View of the Middle Ages,” in Biblical Interpretation in the Era of the Reformation, 13–16; Muller, PRRD, 2:59–62. 46 Leigh, Treatise, 181. 47 Ames, Marrow, I.xxxiv.26. 48 Hall, Vindiciae, 3. Whitaker, Disputation, V.ix.468, notes that error results from the use of the Vulgate instead of the original languages. 49 Whitaker, Disputation, V.ix.469–470. 50 John Owen, Vindiciae Evangelicae: or The Mystery of the Gospel Vindicated, in The Works of John Owen, vol. 12 (Carlisle: BTT, 1991), 50. See also, John Owen, Πνευματολογια: or, A Discourse Concerning the Holy Spirit, in The Works of John Owen, vol. 3 (Carlisle: BTT, 1991), 49–51, where he cites various examples of where reliance on the Vulgate and corrupt texts led to erroneous interpretations.



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Reformed exegetes and theologians, as is reflected in the depth and breadth of the biblical language section in Voetius’ bibliography.51 Linguistic, Lexical, and Grammatical Concerns The importance of a mastery of linguistic and grammatical issues was universally acknowledged by Reformed authors; exegetes “must Consider the Text exactly in it selfe, the Grammer of it must be sifted, the nature of every word by itself and the alteration it admits in diversity of construction.”52 The true exegete brings no other meaning to the Scripture but what the grammar of the text, understood in its proper context, allows: “we impose no sense upon them, we strain not any word in them, from, beside, or beyond its native, genuine signification, its constant applica­ tion  in the Scripture, and common use amongst men.”53 A vast bulk of material also testifies to the Puritan awareness of different literary forms and language in the Scripture, and the need to handle them appropriately.54 The advances in philology brought about by the Renaissance studies also enabled (and compelled) the exegete to be more exacting in their lexical studies. The production of biblical lexicons in English like William Robertson’s The Second Gate and Andrew Symson’s Lexicon Anglo-GraecoLatinum Novi Testamenti, as well as various lexicons available in Latin, allowed the Puritan expositors to explore in depth the nuances of meaning in particular words.55 Leigh provides a list of approved lexicons of the Hebrew (including those by Buxtorf, Avenarius, Forster, Schindler) and Greek (Stephanus, Budeus, Scapula) and concordances (Buxtorf for the OT, Stephanus for NT Greek, Kirchers LXX Greek, Cotton/Newman in English), as does Voetius in his bibliography.56 51 See Wilson, Scriptures Genuine Interpreter, 10; Osborne, Private Christians, 19; Boyle, Some Considerations, 7–9; Wilson, Theologicall Rules, 19–20, 59; Weemes, Christian Synagogue, passim; Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:744–749; Voetius, Exercitia, 287–306. 52 Leigh, Treatise, 182. Cf. Lukin, Introduction, 139–171; Hall, Vindiciae, 6. 53 Owen, Vindication of the Trinity, 2:394. 54 Benjamin Keach, Tropologia; A Key to Open Scripture Metaphors (1682; repr. London: William Hill Collingridge, 1856); Weemes, Christian Synagogue; Weemes, Exercitations; Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:744–749; Lukin, Introduction, 45–110. 55 William Robertson, The Second Gate, or, The Inner Door to the Holy Tongue: Being a Compendious Hebrew Lexicon or Dictionary (London: Robinson & Sawbridge, 1654); Andrew Symson, Lexicon Anglo-Graeco-Latinum Novi Testamenti, or, A Complete Alpha­ betical Concordance of All the Words Contained in the New Testament (London: W.Godbid, 1658). 56 Leigh, Treatise, 182; Voetius, Exercitia, 287–302.

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henry m. knapp Cognate Languages and Judaism

In addition to advances in the study of biblical languages, the Renaissance also brought about a vibrant interest in the cognate languages (Syriac, Chaldean, Aramaic, and others), and a deeper appreciation for nonbiblical Jewish writings. Recognizing their value in the exegetical process, the orthodox urged the “use of Paraphrases and versions among which the Chaldee and the Septuagint for the Old Testament, the Syriacke and the Arabicke for the New excell.”57 Use of a translation or version, however, is not without limitations—they are reliable only in so far as they faithfully express the divine originals: “no versions are fully authentic except as they express the sources, by which they are also to be weighed,” and, “a Translation is authenticke, in so farre as it agrees with the originall.”58 The divine status accorded the Scripture by the Reformed did not extend to the versions: Weemes points to the LXX as a good example, demonstrating its interpretive value, while denying it “inspired” status on the grounds that it was intentionally altered to avoid political retribution by the Ptolomites.59 In the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the theologians and exegetes in England were becoming increasingly aware of the potential benefits of an in-depth knowledge of the post-biblical Jewish tradition. Leigh provides a list of the best Jewish commentators, “the pure Masters of the Hebrewes,” including Maimonides, Kimchi, Ezra, and Jarchi. He does, however, also issue this warning: “men in a burning fever cannot dreame of things more ridiculous, then some of the Rabbines have seriously written and taught.”60 Other Puritans echoed Leigh’s encouragement and concerns, notably the excellent Hebraists John Weemes and John Lightfoot, and Voetius’ bibliography included a large section on Hebrew, Rabbinic, and other cognate language materials.61 Textual Study The Renaissance heritage is also apparent in the post-Reformation orthodox’s examination of the biblical manuscripts. Notwithstanding the

57 Leigh, Treatise, 182. 58 Ames, Marrow, I.xxxiv.29; Weemes, Christian Synagogue, 68. 59 Weemes, Christian Synagogue, 69–70. Boyle, Some Considerations, 7–9. 60 Leigh, Treatise, 183. 61 Boyle, Some Considerations, 14, 21–22, 31–36; Weemes, Christian Synagogue; Weemes, Exercitations; Voetius, Exercitia, 295–307.



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seventeenth-century debate about the origin of the Hebrew vowel points,62 the Puritans’ were aware and receptive to a limited examination of the history of the text as a part of the exegetical method. In preparing to proclaim the biblical message, an examination of diverse textual variants is necessary—and when different textual traditions are found, various steps are to be taken to identify the correct wording. The most appropriate reading is the one which is found through a collation of existing texts, an analysis in light of the analogy of faith, the grammatical construction of the immediate context, and the occasion and scope of the passage.63 Perkins quickly and decisively heads off the appearance that he is doubtful of the Scripture’s reliability: “I lay downe this rule, not because I thinke that the Hebrew and Greeke text is in all copies corrupted … but that the diuers readings, which in some places haue crept in, either by reason of the vnskilfulnes, or negligence and ouersight of the Notaries, might be skanned and determined.”64 John Weemes is another respected Reformed scholar who acknowledged the necessity and value of text work in the interpretive process. Weemes’ “first help” in the interpretation of Old Testament passages was to note the marginalia of the Masorah Bible. He recognized three possible outcomes from a comparison of the margin reading and the line reading: either (1) the Scripture itself “alludes to both” and therefore both are to be a part of one’s interpretation, (2) the marginalia is not “contrary to the text,” in which case it can serve as a good illustration, or (3) the Masorite reading is contrary to the text. One assesses if the line reading or the marginal reading is correct by examining the “drift of the place” (i.e., the scope and occasion), the context, the analogy of Scripture, grammatical helps, and the evidence of other versions.65 Once again, Voetius’ bibliography shows that he expected text critical work to be an important part of one’s academic training.66

62 For an overview and analysis of the consequences of this debate see Theodore Letis, “John Owen Versus Brian Walton: A Reformed Response to the Birth of Text Criticism,” in The Majority Text, ed. Letis (Grand Rapids: Institute for Biblical Textual Studies, 1987), 145– 190; Richard Muller, “The Debate over the Vowel Points and the Crisis in Orthodox Hermeneutics,” Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies 10 (1980): 53–72; John Bowman, “A Forgotten Controversy,” Evangelical Quarterly 20 (1948): 46–68. 63 Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:749. 64 Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:749. 65 Weemes, Christian Synagogue, 45–48. 66 Voetius, Exercitia, 504–523.

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henry m. knapp Rhetorical Argumentation

Finally, the influence of humanism on the seventeenth-century exegetical method is evident in the manner in which exegetes of the time present their material. One of the major advances gained through the Renaissance was a renewed concern and appreciation for rhetorical skills and persuasive, as opposed to demonstrative, argumentation—see, for instance, Voetius’ full bibliography on Rhetorico, Oratorio, Epistolico, and Poetico.67 Protestant authors incorporated these developments into their works in varying amounts and in various ways. Calvin’s commentaries are well known for their discursive, verse by verse analysis presented breviter et faciliter. Yet, other commentators adopted any number of differing styles—a combination of exposition and extended dogmatic discussion, the three-, four- or more- fold methods addressing textual, theological, and practical issues, paraphrases with brief or extended annotations, purely textual and linguistic studies, or little exegetical comment with an extensive theological treatment.68 Some Puritan commentaries, like Owen’s Exposition of Hebrews, hardly classifies as brevitas et facilitas, but neither does it intend to be a theological presentation. Like most other exegetical work done by the post-Reformation orthodox, his is an eclectic mixture of different expository styles. In general, many expositors followed Perkins’ preaching technique—a reading of the text, exposition to give the sense and understanding of the text as illuminated by Scripture itself and other commentators, the gathering of doctrinal concerns, answering objections, and the application of the meaning to the belief and practice of the church.69 Conclusion This examination of the exegetical methodology promoted by English post-Reformation orthodox interpreters calls into question the validity of the traditional critique of the biblical work produced during this time. True, precritical assumptions about the nature and role of the

67 Voetius, Exercitia, 308–325. 68 See Gerald Sheppard, “Interpretation of the Old Testament between Reformation and Modernity,” in Perkins, A Cloud, 46; Muller, “William Perkins and the Protestant Exegetical Tradition,” 74–76. 69 Perkins, Arte of Prophecying, 2:673. Owen explains his “style” in the various “Prefaces” of his work, Exposition of Hebrews, 17:9, 14–15, 18–19, 22.



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Bible continued to influence the exegetical task, but the fruit of the Renais­ sance is hardly absent. In Puritan theological writings, and throughout their examination of the scriptural text, the picture emerges of a biblical commentator thoroughly absorbed in, and shaped by, (1) precritical exegetical assumptions about the biblical text, (2) scholastic techniques which stretch back to the centuries prior to the Reformation, and (3) methods reflecting the humanistic advances of the Reformation and postReformation era.

REASON RUN AMOK? THE PROTESTANT ORTHODOX CHARGE OF RATIONALISM AGAINST FAUSTUS SOCINUS (WITH SPECIAL CONSIDERATION OF A ‘SMOKING GUN’ PASSAGE FROM DE JESU CHRISTO SERVATORE) Alan W. Gomes In their polemical writings the Protestant orthodox (PO) theologians commonly attempt to isolate the proton pseudos, or “first lie” of an adversary’s theological system. The proton pseudos is the fundamental error from which all of the other errors in the system are thought to radiate. As we would expect, the PO take great care to scrutinize the proton pseudos of the “worst [heretics] of all,” the Socinians. These are worse by far than even the Papists, who “at least hold to much of the foundations of religion” even as the Socinians “destroy everything.”1 The consistent answer from the PO, whether Lutheran or Reformed, is that the foundational error in Socinianism is an overweening use of reason in theology. The question of the proton pseudos relates immediately and organically to the issue of theological principia, or the fundamental starting point(s) for one’s theological system. As Richard A. Muller has well documented, in their elaborate prolegomena the PO set forth Scripture alone as the principium cognoscendi or “cognitive foundation” for theological knowledge and for the construction of theological system.2 In contrast, the PO charge that the Socinians substitute reason as the source that furnishes the material for theology. As the famed Lutheran polemicist Abraham Calovius put it, the Socinian dogmatic proceeds from two faulty principia (de principiis), “which are corrupt reason and a perversion of Holy Scripture” (quae sunt corrupta ratio & Scripturae S. depravatio). However, as Calovius makes clear in the ensuing discussion, these principia are not coordinate or of equal weight, for Scripture, even defectively interpreted, takes a backseat to reason. Indeed, reason is the ultimate Socinian norm, since it determines ahead of time what Scripture can and cannot teach.3 The Reformed 1 Johannes Hoornbeek, Summa controversiarum religionis (Utrecht, 1653), VII: De Socinianismo, 448. 2 Muller, PRRD, vol. 2. 3 Abraham Calovius, Socinianismus profligatus (Wittenberg, 1652), De natura religionis Sociniana, 25. He made this same point earlier in the strongest terms—namely that the

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characterize the matter similarly. Francis Turretin charges the Socinians with a use of reason in excessu,4 positioning it as “the sole judge and norm of faith” (ut ratio sola iudex & norma fidei hîc sedeat).5 The Lutherans and the Papists, on the other hand, err in defectu, advancing such plainly irrational dogmas as, e.g., the ubiquity of Christ’s body.6 As Turretin would have it, the Reformed, like Goldilocks’ porridge, achieve the ideal via media, neither too hot nor too cold but just right where reason is concerned.7 The PO do not hurl the charge of rationalism merely against Socinianism in general, but they sometimes excoriate Faustus Socinus (FS) in particular. The PO aver that Faustus’ epigones simply follow the lead of their master when they, too, employ this approach to theology. In attempting to fasten this indictment against FS, the PO frequently draw upon a small number of carefully selected texts in FS’s corpus. To their mind, these appear to establish programmatically the priority of reason over faith—sometimes, they say, in exactly those words.8 In particular, Socinus’ magnum opus and frontal assault against the doctrine of Christ’s satisfaction, his famous De Jesu Christo Servatore (DS), contains one of the most commonly cited texts.9 The specific passage in question appears in DS part 3, chapter 6.10 The gist of the passage, as understood by the PO, is that FS rejects the doctrine of satisfaction as contrary to reason. Accordingly, he would not accept it even if the Bible taught it repeatedly and explicitly. Thus it appears to them that they have their smoking gun: an unequivocal passage in which FS—in an unusual and perhaps even

Socinians exalt reason above faith (rationem ita elevant supra Scripturam)—in his Scripta philosophica (Lübeck, 1651), prefatio lectori, 122–123. 4 Turretin, Institutio, I.viii.2. 5 Francis Turretin, De satisfactione Christi disputationes (Geneva, 1666), disp. 10.7. 6 Turretin, Institutio, I.viii.2. See also Institutio, I.viii.24. John Owen makes this same point exactly. See Sebastian Rehnman, Divine Discourse: The Theological Methodology of John Owen (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2002), 114–115. 7 Rehnman, 115. For further examples of Protestant polemic in this connection see Klaus Scholder, “The Relationship between Reason, Scripture and Dogma among the Socinians,” in The Birth of Modern Critical Theology, trans. Bowden (London: SCM, 1990), 26–45, esp. 26–27, 153n56. 8 For example, the following passages are commonly cited to this end: Andrae Dudithio S.P. (vol. 1 of Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum quos Unitarios vocant [BFP]; Amsterdam, 1668) 1:502; Tractatus de ecclesia, 1:344; Ep.2 ad Balcerovecium, 1:425. (Note that the first two volumes of the BFP comprise the Opera omnia of Socinus. All of my citations to the works of Socinus are to the volume and page number in the BFP.) 9 Faustus Socinus, De Jesu Christo Servatore, 2:115–246. 10 DS, 2:204.



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unguarded moment of candor11—overtly puts himself on record as exalting reason over the Bible as the final rule of faith. (We shall hereafter refer to this text as the SGT, or “smoking gun text.”) But is this, in fact, what FS advocates in this oft-cited passage? Has he truly shifted the entire ground for doing theology from Scripture to reason? The Smoking Gun Text (SGT) from DS 3.6 I have given below the entire SGT and its surrounding context, both in Latin and in my translation. Note that different PO writers cite differing portions and amounts of it. Ex iis, quae hactenus dicta sunt, tandem apparet, nullo modo potuisse Christum pro peccatis nostris divinae iustitiae satisfacere: non modo quia rei ipsius natura id nulla prorsus ratione ferre potest, ita ut inter ea, quae planè impossibilia sunt, numerari debeat: verum etiam, quia etiamsi id alioqui per se fieri aliquo pacto posset, ea tamen, quae ad id peragendum necessariò requirerentur, eiusmodi sunt ut ne in ipso quidem Christo reperiri potuerint, omnia licèt in eo fuerint, quae esse potuerunt. Praeterquàm quòd nonnulla in ipso reperta sunt, quae eiusmodi satisfactionem penitus excludant.

From what we have discussed thus far, it is finally evident that Christ could not in any way make satisfaction for our sins to divine justice. First of all, such satisfaction is utterly impossible by the very nature of the case. We should classify Christ’s satisfaction with all other impossible occurrences. But even if satisfaction were inherently possible in general, Christ could not meet the conditions requisite for accompli­shing this satisfaction, even granting that he could meet any requirement that is possible to meet. (This does not even take into account the fact that some of the characteristics that we do find in Christ thoroughly exclude satisfaction of this sort.)

11 E.g., Heidanus says that although they try to mask it, nevertheless “sometimes their true expressions erupt from their unwilling hearts” (vera voces etiam quandoque ab invitis pectoribus erumpant). Abraham Heidanus, Diatriba de Socinianismo (Amsterdam, 1678), II.ii.2 (in De origine erroris, 504).

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Quare nequeo satis mirari, quid iis in mentem venerit, qui nobis primi istam satisfactionem fabricarunt; cum ea, quae fieri non posse apertè constat, divinis etiam oraculis, ea facta fuisse, in speciem disertè attestantibus, nequaquam admittantur (& idcirco sacra verba, in alium sensum, quàm ipsa sonant, per inusitatos etiam tropos, quandoque explicantur) nedum tunc pro compertis & plane veris affirmentur, atque aliis obtrudantur, cum ne verbum quidem in universis sacris litteris de ipsis extet.

I cannot fathom how those who first concocted that doctrine of satisfaction for us could have ever come up with it. After all: since it postulates occurrences that clearly could never happen, these are not at all to be admitted, even with the biblical text, on the face of it, directly affirming them. (And for that reason the sacred words of Scripture are sometimes explained in another sense than they sound, through unusual figures of speech.) How much less, then, should these occurrences be affirmed as certain and plainly true and foisted upon others, since indeed the word is not found anywhere in holy Scripture.

Nam si vel unus saltem locus inveniretur, in quo satisfactionis pro peccatis nostris Deo per Christum exhibitae mentio fieret: excusandi fortasse viderentur. Ego quidem, etiamsi non semel, sed saepe id in sacris monimentis scriptum extaret: non idcirco tamen ita rem prorsus se habere crederem, ut vos opinamini. Cum enim id omnino fieri non possit, non secus atque in multis aliis scripturae testimoniis unà cum caeteris omnibus facio, aliqua, quae minùs incommoda videretur, interpretatione adhibita, eum sensum ex eiusmodi verbis elicerem qui & sibi ipsi constaret, & perpetuo eiusdem scripturae tenori non adversaretur.

If one could adduce even a single passage that mentions satisfaction, set forth for our sins, that Christ offered to God, then perhaps they could be excused for holding the view. But as far as I am concerned, even if I found it written in the Bible not once but often, I would still not believe the doctrine altogether as12 you do. Since satisfaction could in no way occur, I would do what everyone else does in the case of many other passages of Scripture: I would put forth an interpretation that appears less disagreeable, and thereby elicit the sense from words of this sort that is both internally consistent and not opposed to the entire tenor of Scripture.

12 Or, “in the way that.”



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The Orthodox Use of the SGT Though there is some variation in how the PO handle the SGT, in general they attempt to use it to the same effect, viz., to demonstrate that in the Socinian theology, whatever offends reason cannot be true, despite what Scripture may say. Some PO writers interpret Socinus to mean that if the doctrine of satisfaction were taught in the Bible, he would just reject the Bible simpliciter. Others conclude FS to be saying, in effect, that he would believe in the Bible but would force it to fit with his preconceived ideas. But in either case, it is reason and not Scripture that determines the doctrine. Abraham Calovius, whom we mentioned earlier, cites the SGT to show that the Socinians “first establish what can and cannot be believed by reason’s own judgment” and then “afterwards twist the Holy Scriptures” to fit this. The SGT, Calovius believes, shows clearly that FS is unwilling to submit to what Scripture contains merely because it contains it, but when it seems to him that what Scripture teaches cannot be so, he twists the text to have some other meaning.13 Francis Turretin references the SGT in his De satisfactione Christi disputationes (1666). Here he presents this text to showcase not only the rationalistic but also the hypocritical character of the Socinian method. On the one hand, the Socinians impugn the doctrine of satisfaction because one does not find words like “satisfaction” or “Christ’s merit” verbatim in the Scriptures. But on the other hand, the SGT makes it clear that FS would not accept the doctrine even if he did find it verbatim in holy writ, thus unmasking the “sham and a fraud” (fucum & fraudem) of the Socinian method. Turretin concludes that the final goal in all of this is to position reason “as the sole judge and norm of faith” (ut ratio sola iudex & norma fidei hîc sedeat).14 Herman Witsius offers the SGT in his 1677 De oeconomia foederum Dei as a cautionary tale of what attitude one ought not to have when approaching the task of theology. “Surely,” Witsius warns, “we arrogate to ourselves too much if we dare to assume that we should weigh the conformity of divine right against the little measure of our reason.” Witsius cites the SGT as illustrative of “a horrendous monster of abominable heresy and of profane arrogance.” In contrast, the proper attitude of modesty would

13 Calovius, Socinianismus proflilgatus, 25. 14 Turretin, Disputationes, disp. 10.7.

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dare not “revoke in doubt” whatever one “should find written even once in the Bible.” Nor ought we “import into the words of Scripture another sense more agreeable to reason,” which we know to be “blind and foolish and clamoring against God.”15 John Wallis, in Letter 3 of his Explication and Vindication of the Athanasian Creed (1691), draws significantly upon the SGT in his attempt to demonstrate the rationalistic bent of the Socinians and their perversion of scriptural teaching. The Socinians, Wallis remarks, claim that “Scripture contains nothing that is repugnant to manifest Reason.”16 But in the practical outworking of this principle, they reject as Scripture’s true meaning whatever “they think not agreeable to Reason,” and so “they must put such a Force upon the Words, how great soever, as to make them comply with their sence.”17 He further cites a passage from FS, which he claims showcases his arrogance in explicitly holding all other interpreters in utter disdain. He quotes him as saying, “though all the World be against it,” he would nonetheless obstinately cling to his own idiosyncratic interpretations of Scripture.18 Nor, Wallis charges, does FS limit his scorn merely to uninspired ecclesial writers, but as the SGT shows, he extends his censure to the biblical authors as well: “As for me (saith he) though it were to be found written in the Sacred Moniments, not once, but many times, I would not yet for all that believe it so to be.” And a little before, in the same Chapter, (having before told us, that he thought the thing Impossible,) he adds… “When it doth plainly appear, (or when he thinks so, whatever all the World think beside) that the thing cannot be; then, though the Divine Oracles do seem expressly to attest it, it must not be admitted: and therefore the Sacred Words are, even by unusual Tropes, to be interpreted to another sence than what they speak.” Which Sayings are, I think, full as much as I had charged him with.19

Finally, consider John Edwards of Cambridge, who takes aim at the Socinian theological method in his Socinian Creed (1697). As with the other writers we have examined, Edwards charges the Socinians with distorting and twisting the Bible to fit their own preconceived opinions 15 Herman Witsius, De oeconomia foederum Dei (1677), II.v.8. 16 John Wallis, An Explication and Vindication of the Athanasian Creed, Letter 3 (London, 1691), 44. 17 Wallis, An Explication, 44–45. (Emphasis original.) 18 Wallis, An Explication, 46, quotes Socinus from his third letter to Dudith: “Unusquisque sacrae Scripturae ex suo ipsius sensu Interpres: eaque quae sibi sic Arrident pro veris admittere debet ac tenere, licet universus terrarum Orbis in alia omnia iret.” 19 Wallis, An Explication, 47.



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rather than allowing the Bible to form their views. But when even dis­ torting Scripture’s meaning will not yield their desired result, they will “abandon it rather than they will quit their own Conceptions.”20 In proof, Edwards cites the portion of the SGT that reads, “‘For my part,’ saith he, ‘though it were extant in the Sacred Monuments of the Scripture, and there written not only once, but many times, I would not for all that believe it.’”21 From this Edward concludes that the Socinian handling of holy writ evinces the plain marks of irreligion and atheism.22 Evaluating the Orthodox Use of the SGT Have the PO rightly grasped Socinus’ intent in this particular text? And does their conclusion of a rationalistic methodology follow from the evidence? To answer this, our approach must be twofold. First, our understanding of this text needs to be set within the overall context of FS’s thought. To do otherwise is to run the risk of “cherry picking” certain phrases outside of and apart from the overall shape of his thought. Then, having fairly set forth his views on such matters as the role of reason, Scripture, and traditional exegetical practice in theology, a close reading of this text with careful attention to some of its key features will yield fruit. Faustus Socinus and the Question of “Rationalism” 23 Considering the FS corpus as a whole, apart from this particular text, is FS properly classified as a rationalist? For if the shape of FS’s thought is non- or even anti-rationalist, then it should give one pause before taking the SGT in a rationalistic sense, particularly if other interpretations of it suggest themselves that might be more congenial to the overall tenor of his thought. At the outset it is important to clarify that in speaking of “rationalism” and “reason” we do not have in view merely “the rational exercise of the mind” which is “the basic work of the understanding that belongs to all intellectual disciplines, including theology.”24 Rather, the issue here is 20 John Edwards, The Socinian Creed (London, 1697), 21. 21 Edwards, Socinian Creed, 21–22, quoting the SGT (translation his). 22 Edwards, Socinian Creed, 22. 23 For this section on FS and the question of rationalism I have adapted some material from my earlier article, “Some Observations on the Theological Method of Faustus Socinus (1539–1604),” WTJ 70 (2008): 49–71. 24 Muller, PRRD, 1:237.

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whether reason furnishes the material for dogmatics, not whether this data must be rationally apprehended or whether the rational faculty must be involved in drawing out the implications of and interconnections between revealed data. As I have noted elsewhere,25 it certainly is true that Socinus believed the doctrines of the Christian faith consonant with recta ratio. But this would hardly make Socinus a “rationalist.” For him, as for the Christian tradition generally, faith and reason cohere and do not contradict. Now, it is certainly true that Socinus regarded the doctrines of his opponents to be unreasonable at many points and he leveled logical proofs against them. The orthodox, for their part, were more than happy to return the favor. But neither Socinus nor the orthodox ever pitted reason against Scripture; they both believed that a right hermeneutic would always produce an interpretation amenable with recta ratio, and certainly not one that would contradict it.26 It is also significant that one finds explicit denials by FS of the competency of reason in things divine. Consider his De auctoritate sacrae scripturae of 1570, his famous apologetic treatise on the authenticity and reliability of the Bible. FS raises the question of the possibility of using “reasons” (rationes) to overturn some doctrine of the New Testament. This Socinus rejects as an utter impossibility, given the fallibility of reason in matters of faith. Socinus states, “Moreover, concerning [the use of] reasons [for overthrowing a New Testament doctrine]: This way is much too fallible in a matter which depends upon Divine revelation, such as the Christian faith.”27 In terms of actual practice, we are struck by the fact that he almost always supports his conclusions by exegesis first with little room given to arguments derived from reason. Consider, for instance, the summary of his teaching at a pastor’s conference held at Rakow in 1601, just three years before his death. This colloquium is significant because it evinces Socinus’ mature thought, speaking en famille, as it were, to his most faithful disciples at the close of his life. In this colloquium Socinus canvasses a wide swath of doctrinal truth, both theoretical and practical. What is striking here is the almost complete lack of arguments offered from reason, whether in support of the doctrines he affirms or against those he decries. Instead, one is confronted with chapter and verse at almost every turn. 25 Gomes, “Theological Method of Socinus,” 56–61. 26 So Turretin (Institutio, I.viii.19). 27 Socinus, De auctoritate sacrae scripturae, 1:267.



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Consequently, FS’s own claims that he is committed to “sola scriptura” do not ring hollow.28 FS and the “Analogia Fidei” or “Analogia Scripturae” We must also consider the use that FS makes of the analogia fidei or analogia Scripturae. Socinus clearly enunciates his understanding of this principle and heartily endorses its application. In his commentary on the first chapter of John, he states, “Nearly all theologians everywhere testify that no better or more secure method of interpretation can be found than that to expound Scripture by Scripture.”29 FS invokes this principle repeatedly. To cite but a few such cases, FS argues for Christ’s likeness to us in all things—not only from the specific testimony of Heb. 4:5, but “from the entire analogy of Holy Scripture” (ex universa Scripturae Sacrae analogia).30 He questions the necessity of continuing to practice water baptism in the church age, suggesting that it is the clear profession of Christ that “agrees with the analogy of faith” (fideique analogia consentiat) and not some particular expression of it in the form of an external rite, which may not be relevant in the present era.31 And he warmly rejects chiliasm as an error “pernicious and contrary to the analogy of our faith” (analogiaeque fidei nostrae repugnantem, & perniciosam).32 As noted in the citation from his John commentary above, FS believes that in adhering to and judiciously applying the principle of the analogia Scripturae, he is doing nothing novel but is situating himself firmly in classic exegetical practice. This is important in light of the charge leveled by some of his opponents who, as noted earlier, have suggested that FS sees himself as cutting his own swath, methodologically untethered from and even hostile to the sensibilities and traditional practices of other exegetes. The unorthodoxy of the conclusions that he reaches through his application of the analogy of Scripture is an altogether different question from 28 Note, for instance, FS’s complaint that the cause of so many dissentions is “that most do not truly hold to the Word of God alone (soli Dei verbo plaerique revera non adhaerent)” and “all their Christian doctrine is not derived from the divine oracles alone (ab illis [i.e., Scripture] solis universa Christiana doctrina non petitur).” (Ad Matthaeum Radecium Epistola III, 1:381). 29 Socinus, Explicationis primae partis primi capitis Iohannis, 1:78. 30 Socinus, Christianae religionis brevissima institutio, 1:657. 31 Socinus, De baptismo aquae disputatio, 1:720, 722. 32 Socinus, Contra chiliastas, de regno Christi terreno per annos mille, 2:457. See also 2:460.

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whether any such deviations arise from a methodologically alien approach to the text and/or from the substitution of a new principium—be that new principium reason or anything else. Instead, such differences may be attributable to FS’s particular execution of the method rather than to an altered theological method per se. Even if one were to grant that FS’s interpretations of certain texts are implausible, erroneous, strained, heretical, etc.—and at not a few points such a conclusion appears inescapable—it would not necessarily follow from this that they are so because of a use of reason in excessu. Instead, one could just as well conclude that the deviations arise from a misapplication of the analogy of faith. Now, if FS has a different sense of the Christian faith’s center of gravity, it would occasion little wonder when, in his attempts to line up certain texts in analogy to it, he derives conclusions at variance with his orthodox opponents. But if this different theological center does not emerge from reason but is itself derived from Scripture—as FS understands it, of course—then his deviations would flow not from a use of reason in excessu but from a different sense of Scripture’s overall center. Although space does not allow for a detailed consideration of the essence of Christianity as FS conceives it, it is easy enough to summarize it succinctly.33 According to Socinus, “The Christian religion is the heavenly doctrine, teaching the true way of attaining eternal life. Moreover this way is nothing other than to obey God, according to those things which he commands us through our Lord Jesus Christ (Heb. 5:9).”34 The precepts (praecepta) and promises (promissa) of the Christian religion form its core. The promises pertain to immortal life and the precepts outline the way of attaining it. These two elements are, as he puts it, beyond any doubt the “summa” of the Christian religion, about which, whatever their other disagreements, “all who profess that religion are seen to agree.”35 From where, in turn, does this conception of the Christian faith appear? I see no evidence that reason furnishes this somewhat moralistic center. Rather, it appears to me that Socinus begins with the Bible and finds in it the teaching that those who obey the commandments of Christ will attain immortal life. About this, Socinus argues, all Christians agree and always have.36 And in the most general sense he is certainly correct, mutatis 33 I have argued this at length in “The Theological Method of Faustus Socinus,” 62–63. 34 Summa Religionis Christianae, 1:281. 35 De auctoritate, 1:272; emphasis original. 36 De auctoritate, 1 272.



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mutandis in order to comport with the variegated Christian perspectives on the relationship between faith and works. Some Specific Observations on the SGT I believe that when we give due weight to certain features of the SGT, it becomes apparent that FS is not putting reason above faith but is simply endorsing the use of and enunciating his understanding of the analogy of Scripture. FS begins the SGT by observing that he has already established the impossibility of satisfaction. In the earlier chapters of part 3 he has argued against the possibility of satisfaction on logical, theological, moral, and exegetical grounds.37 In chapter 5, the section immediately preceding the SGT, he has focused specifically on the question of whether Christ could gain literal merit for us through his obedience. Here, too, he concludes this to be impossible, involving inherent (logical) contradictions, moral incongruities, and especially exegetical problems. For good measure, he even employs (or hijacks, as some might say) an argument from Calvin in which Calvin appears to acknowledge that Christ could not gain true and proper merit for us, as the orthodox theory requires.38 So, to this point in part 3, and particularly in the immediately preceding context of chapter 5, FS has not attempted to establish his case through anything that one could reasonably characterize as rationalistic—though he does not ignore altogether what he sees as the inherent logical problems with the doctrine. Now, granting (from his point of view) that the orthodox doctrine of satisfaction entails logical, theological, moral, and exegetical impossibilities, Socinus marvels that anyone would advocate that theory of satisfaction (istam satisfactionem). For one thing, FS says that one finds neither the word “satisfaction” anywhere in holy Scripture (ne verbum quidem in universis sacris litteris) nor the thing itself, i.e., “satisfaction, set forth for our sins, that Christ offered to God” (in quo satisfactionis pro peccatis nostris Deo per Christum exhibitae mentio fieret). But even if one were to find repeated references in the Bible to “satisfaction,” these should not be

37 See my “De Jesu Christo Servatore: Faustus Socinus on the Satisfaction of Christ,” WTJ 55 (1993): 209–31. 38 See my “Faustus Socinus and John Calvin on the Merits of Christ,” RRR 12.2–3 (2010): 189–205.

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taken at face value. Were he to encounter such apparent (in speciem) references to it, he would follow the same procedure that any reputable exegete would do when faced with obviously impossible phenomena: he, like they, would not admit such things (nequaquam admittantur). Rather than interpret the words literally or at face value (“how they sound,” quàm ipsa sonant), he would instead explain them figuratively (per … tropos), even if the proposed rendering might produce an uncommon or unusual (inusitatos) way of expressing the matter. In so doing, he would produce an interpretation that is at once internally consistent and agreeable to the entire tenor of Scripture (sibi ipsi constaret, & perpetuo eiusdem scripturae tenori non adversaretur). This approach should hardly occasion surprise, granting that FS would merely be doing what all exegetes do in the case of many other passages of Scripture (in multis aliis scripturae testimoniis unà cum caeteris omnibus facio).39 And, we should note, FS himself has already done exactly this in his insistence that the references to “redemption,” which one does find repeatedly throughout holy writ, should and must be understood simply as a metaphor for our liberation from sin.40 Now, if FS were to find satisfaction for our sins mentioned in Scripture, he makes it plain that he would not deny the true teaching of Scripture. Here we must pay close attention to his wording, where he states, “Even if I found it written in the Bible not once but often, I would still not altogether believe the doctrine as you do” (etiamsi non semel, sed saepe id in sacris monimentis scriptum extaret: non idcirco tamen ita rem prorsus se habere crederem, ut vos opinamini).41 In this phrase of the SGT one must not pass over too quickly the important qualifiers “altogether” (prorsus) and “as” (ut)—much less omit them completely, as John Edwards does in his severely truncated citation of the SGT. Prorsus carries the sense of “exactly, just, precisely, absolutely.”42 Here Socinus does not intend to say that he would deny satisfaction categorically—as if he had used the adverb nequaquam—but rather that he would believe it, just not exactly

39 That FS has in mind the procedure followed by all exegetes is consistent with the verbs “admittantur” and “explicantur.” Impossible meanings “are not admitted,” i.e., by sound exegetes, and the words “are explained” by these same exegetes through figures of speech. 40 Space does not permit a discussion of why FS thinks literal redemption an impossibility. But see Gomes, “Faustus Socinus on the Satisfaction of Christ,” 220–222. To cite but one of many references one could produce in FS that makes this point, see DS, 2:143, in which he unpacks the redemption metaphor. 41 Emphasis added. 42 Lewis and Short, A Latin Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon, 1984), s.v. “prorsus.”



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or precisely in the same way as his opponents. Then, the Latin word ut, rendered by “as” in English, has in this instance a similar semantic range to its English translation, together with the same attendant ambiguities. Considered in isolation, one could theoretically understand FS to be saying, in effect, “You believe in satisfaction but I do not; therefore I would not do as you do by believing in such a thing.” But it is far more probable, given the context both of the sentence and of the argument in which it is set, to take ut as an adverb of manner, equal in force to quomodo or eo modo quo (“in the way that”). On those terms, his meaning would be, “You believe in satisfaction. I do as well, but not in the same way that you believe it.” This is further reinforced by his professed incredulity at “those who first concocted that (istam) [doctrine of] satisfaction.”43 The pronoun iste can carry a sense similar to tantus or talis, i.e., “such, of such a kind.” It also can be employed with contemptuous force—here something along the lines of, “that satisfaction of yours.” I believe both aspects of iste apply here. In what way might FS allow for a satisfaction of sorts? He hints at this briefly in DS 3.2, in which he contrasts “true” or “literal satisfaction” (vera satisfactione) with what God requires in order to grant pardon for sin: To prove my case clearly, it is worth pointing out that God was accustomed to forgive transgressors their sins graciously, apart from any literal satisfaction, even before Christ came to provide the salvation that I am discussing. I said “literal satisfaction” because God no doubt has always demanded something from people whom he has forgiven. Perhaps we could even go so far as to say that this “something” takes the place of satisfaction. This is especially so because it is certain that this is partly the way that the person who has been forgiven of his sins has fully satisfied the divine will…. God has always demanded purity and innocence of life from those he has forgiven. When a person makes mistakes, God demands that this purity already typify his life (even though at that particular moment the person falls short) or, if purity is not already characteristic of his life, that it become so.44

Again, as FS makes clear in the SGT, he does not believe that the Bible anywhere makes reference to satisfaction for our sins, and hence he need not expend the effort to come up with a version of the doctrine of satisfaction that is consonant with the analogy of Scripture. However if, for the sake of argument, he were to find references to it in Scripture, he has 43 Lewis and Short, Dictionary, s.v. “iste.” 44 Socinus, DS 3.2 in BFP, 2:188.

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stated forthrightly the procedure he would follow, namely, to affirm it but in such a way that is not disagreeable (quae minùs incommoda) to the entire tenor of Scripture (perpetuo eiusdem scripturae tenori). Concluding Thoughts From what we have seen, the PO have not been entirely accurate in their interpretation of FS’s theological method in general and in their handling of the SGT in particular. One possible reason for this may be an unwarranted assumption that widely divergent theological conclusions demonstrate, ipso facto, a widely divergent theological method. Abraham Heidanus states this as axiomatic in his anti-Socinian De origine erroris of 1678: So great an alteration of doctrine in the Christian religion, in which its entire shape is turned upside down, could not be brought about without a substructure of new principia. For because a new way of salvation, which thus far has escaped the notice of mortals, is shown, it was also necessary to prescribe a new way and method of investigating it.45

In my view, Heidanus is incorrect, and I believe later Unitarian writers, such as Joshua Toulmin and Stephen Nye, had little difficulty in repelling this charge against Socinus.46 Toulmin correctly observes that Socinus’ statements on how to interpret Scripture, even in the SGT, could hardly “be said more truly or more like a Protestant.” Even if one were to grant that FS “fell into material errors,” even errors “fatal to salvation,” one could not fault him for his approach, and so in that case he would be “entitled to our generous pity” as opposed to the “anathemas and hatred” he would deserve had his errors arisen from truly perverse method of doing theology.47 45 Heidanus, De origine erroris 503–504 (de Socinianismo, II.ii.1). Wilbur concurs, remarking that in this assessment Heidanus “discerned that the root of the matter lay in giving human reason precedence over Scripture in any disputed question of religious belief.” Earl Morse Wilbur, A History of Unitarianism, 2 vols. (Boston: Beacon, 1945), 1:558. 46 Joshua Toulmin, Memoirs of the Life, Character, and Sentiments, and Writings of Faustus Socinus (London: Brown, 1777), 154–172; Stephen Nye, Observations on the Four Letters of Dr. John Wallis in Unitarian Tracts (London: 1691), 12–20. 47 Toulmin, 171. Stephen Nye likewise defends FS against the charge of rationalism, offering a bevy of citations from FS and concluding, “I know not what could be said more truly, or more like a Protestant” (Nye, 14).



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In short, I see little to distinguish the method of FS as such from that of his PO contemporaries. In my view, we must abandon the notion that FS is a rationalist,48 or a subconscious rationalist,49 or a forerunner of modern rationalism,50 or a hybrid of rationalism and supernaturalism51— so commonplace in the literature on Socinus—if we are to form a proper estimate of the great heresiarch and his work.

48 So, Maurice A. Cauney, “Socinians,” in An Encyclopedia of Religions (New York: Dutton, 1921), 330; Martin I. Klauber and Glenn S. Sunshine, “Jean-Alphonse Turrettini on Biblical Accommodation: Calvinist or Socinian?” CTJ 25 (1990): 13; Bengt Hägglund, History of Theology, trans. Lund (St. Louis: Concordia, 1968), 322. 49 E.g., Antal Pirnát, “Introduction” to De falsa et vera unius Dei patris, filii et spiritus sancti cognitione libri duo, Bibliotheca Unitariorum 2 (Utrecht: Foundation Bibliotheca Unitariorum, 1988), xli–xlii. 50 E.g., Johann Herzog, “Socinus (Faustus) and the Socinians,” in A Religious Encyclopedia or Dictionary of Biblical, Historical, Doctrinal, and Practical Theology, ed. Schaff and Herzog, 4 vols. (New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1891), 4:2210; Wilbur, 1 264. 51 Herbert J. McLachlan, Socinianism in Seventeenth-Century England (Oxford: OUP, 1951), 12; Herzog, “Socinus,” 4:2210.

JOHANNES COCCEIUS AS FEDERAL POLEMICIST: THE USEFULNESS OF THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE TESTAMENTS Brian J. Lee Introduction Great scholars are generative; they challenge orthodoxies not only for the purpose of establishing their own, but in order to liberate others to see the truth more accurately and with new eyes. The scores of essays in this volume manifest the generative power of Richard A. Muller’s work. In redefining the relationship between church and school in early-modern Protestantism, Muller has generated both a scholarly reappraisal and a churchly retrieval of an entire era of profound theological reflection. As a pastor and scholar, I can say with confidence that historian and layman alike owe him a debt of gratitude. In Johannes Cocceius (1603–1669), we find a generative scholar in his own right, and an ideal candidate for the “Muller Method,” whereby figures ripe for reappraisal are liberated from the simplistic categorization of prior generations of scholars, and allowed to once again speak for themselves and in their own context.1 Cocceius is a relatively obscure theologian neatly categorized by accepted historiography as “biblical” and “covenantal”—and therefore anti-scholastic—in his method.2 Yet this anti-scholastic wrote not one, but two Summae, and his career was overwhelmingly concerned, as we shall see, with polemics. Even here, however, Muller puts us on guard against our age’s anti-polemical bias. Cocceius’ deepest concern was that his ideological opponents—Jews, Papists, and Socinians—might come to know the full grace of God revealed in Jesus Christ. In other words, his labors in the schools were driven by a deep commitment to the church’s evangelistic calling. 1 Muller, PRRD, 4:387–391. Muller’s method involves inquiry into continuities and discontinuities within a range of similar theological questions, which usually transcend or overlap humanist-scholastic-biblical antinomies propounded by earlier scholars. 2 The scholarship of Charles S. McCoy is indicative of these older dichotomies, “The Covenant Theology of Johannes Cocceius” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1956); cf. Albertus van der Flier, Specimen historico-theologicum de Johanne Coccejo, anti-scholastico (Utrecht: Kemink et Filius, 1859).

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Much contemporary scholarship on Johannes Cocceius has puzzled over his teaching of a five-fold abrogation of the covenant of works, by the covenant of grace, a prominent structural feature of his best known work, the Summa doctrinae de foedere et testamento dei. However, the abrogations are not prominent in the rest of his work, and have been overemphasized as a result of over-reliance on this single work. Indeed, the most hotly contested aspects of the Cocceian system during his own lifetime were all related to the much more pedestrian question of the nature of the distinction between the Old and New Testaments. This question had been central since the early days of the Reformation, when the widespread abandonment of a unified Latin text and a resurgent Gnostic impulse had raised numerous issues of discontinuity to the fore. This, to use Cocceius’ terminology, was a question of the testamentary distinction between the ante- and post-Christum dispensations. The three major debates between Cocceius and the followers of Gisbert Voetius illustrate this. They concerned the nature of the Christian Sabbath, the distinction between πάρεσις and ἄφεσις as diverse modes of justification, and whether the nature of Christ’s sponsorship was closer to a fidejussio or expromissio.3 Each of these debates focused on the relation between the Old and New Testaments, but one in particular, that over πάρεσις / ἄφεσις, suggests to us Cocceius’ motivation for his particular salvation-historical approach—namely, its polemical utility.4 It is my aim in this essay to demonstrate that Cocceius developed a complex, even scholastic, federal system for the most practical of churchly purposes—the conversion of Jews and other errant faiths—by reexamining his distinction between πάρεσις / ἄφεσις with a particular eye to its usefulness for polemics. First, we will examine the evidence for Cocceius as a polemical theologian from the Dedication of his Hebrews commentary. Then we will look at his motivation for the distinction in Moreh 3 The best survey of Cocceius’ career is found in W.J. van Asselt, Johannes Coccejus: Portret van een zeventiende-eeuws theoloog op oude en nieuwe wegen (Heerenveen: J.J. Groen en Zoon, 1997), 35–70. Also consult van Asselt, “Voetius en Coccejus over de rechtvaardiging,” in De Onbekende Voetius, ed. Johannes van Oort (Kampen: Kok, 1989): 32–47; and van Asselt, “Christus Sponsor: een bijdrage tot de geschiedenis van het coccejanisme,” Kerk en Theologie 53.2 (2002): 108–124. 4 This is indicated most explicitly in the full title of Cocceius’ work defending the distinction: Moreh Nebochim. Utilitas Distinctionis duorum vocabulorum scripturae, ΠΑΡΕΣΕΩΣ et ἈΦΕΣΕΩΣ. Demonstratio utilitas distinguendae παρέσεως & ἀφέσεως. Ad illustrationem Doctrinae de Justificatione & reducendos ab errore Judaeos, socinianos, Pontificios [henceforth, MN] (1666), in Opera omnia, 3rd ed., 10 vols. (Amsterdam: JanssoniusWaesberge et al., 1701), 9:121–134.



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nebochim (1666). Further evidence for the polemical orientation of the entire Cocceian corpus, and how it relates to his view of the testaments, will be drawn from his commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews. Johannes Cocceius as Polemical Theologian We are accustomed to thinking of Cocceius as a “biblical” or “federal” theologian, descriptors which we presume to be somewhat inconsistent with polemical theology. Yet Cocceius’ early writings were exegetical writings oriented over and against the errors of Grotius, the Socinians, and Roman Catholics.5 Cocceius also shared, along with most other Christian Hebraists, a strong hope and concern for the conversion of the Jews. This was clearly stated in his inaugural lecture at Leiden in 1650, repeatedly indicated in his writings, and also reflected in a commission from the Leiden curators to write “against the Jews.”6 When we consider also that his πάρεσις / ἄφεσις distinction was defended on the grounds of its polemical usefulness very late in his career, we are given an impression that Cocceius was concerned in a consistent and enduring manner with the defense of the faith against contemporary opponents. In this connection we must mention Cocceius’ Hebrews commentary of 1659, as a defense and illustration of his exegetical method of doing polemics.7 A compilation of disputations on Hebrews held from 1655–1659, this work is Cocceius’ first published commentary on a complete New Testament book. In a letter to Johannes Buxtorf Jr., Cocceius indicates 5 These works often took the form of exegetical monographs or occasional pieces, and therefore their titles obscure their polemical function. Van Asselt provides context: Johannes Coccejus, 23–47. Polemical works include the following, against Grotius: Illustrium locorum de anti-christo agentium repetitio (Franeker, 1641); Paraphrasis nova principii epistolae ad Ephesios usque ad vers. XV. Cap. I (Leeuwarden, 1642). Against the Socinians: Consideratio principii evangelii S. Johannis: cap. I. ad vers. 19. Cum examine παρερμηνειῶν Fausti Socini, Georgii Enjedini, Valentini Smalcii, Jonae Schlichtingii (1654), Examen apologiae equitis polonis (1656). Against Roman Catholics: Sanctae Scripturae potentia (Leiden, 1655); Admonitio de principio Ecclesiae Reformatae (Leiden, 1657); Disquisitio de Ecclesia et Babylone (Leiden, 1658). 6 The lecture is entitled De causis incredulitatis Judaeorum, and is found among the orationes in the Opera, 8 12–21. The commission to write “against the Jews” is indicated in the disbursement of funds in the “Resoluties van Curatoren, 1650,” in Molhuysen, Bronnen, 3:43 (1 Dec. 1650); see also the approval of the request for a raise in salary in 1651, Bronnen 3:54 (9 Feb. 1651). 7 Johannes Cocceius, Epistolae ad Hebraeos explicatio et eius veritatis demonstratio (Leiden, 1659), in Opera, vol. 6. Henceforth cited AdHeb by chapter and section numbers, except in the “Dedication,” where these are lacking.

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that this commentary was in fulfillment of a curatorial commission, and would be most helpful in opposing “Jews, Socinians, and Papists”—the same opponents identified in Moreh nebochim.8 While he does not specify which commission he had in view, we know that at the time he began the Hebrews disputations the curators of Leiden had charged him with writing against both Jews and Socinians on various occasions.9 Upon cursory examination, one finds that over two-thirds of references in the work are to Socinian opponents, and the vast majority of these are extensive quotations and refutations of Jonas Schlichtingius.10 We may conclude that this first New Testament commentary pub­lished by Cocceius was conceived as a polemical work, albeit of a very different form than that which the genre typically took, and from those published in the same period by the great Leiden polemicist, Johannes Hoornbeek.11 The dedication of this Hebrews commentary, addressed to his good friend and Leiden colleague Abraham Heidanus, yields further methodological details regarding the apologetic and polemic orientation of the work. Here Cocceius notes the desire he shares with Heidanus for the conversion of the Jews. He stresses their agreement about the necessary method by which the Jews are to be converted and the importance of the Epistle to the Hebrews to that method, pointedly noting that he doesn’t consider anyone “fit for this struggle who is not instructed in these apostolic weapons.” Cocceius believes that the Jews will be aroused to jealousy by what Christians have attained and finally provoked to emulate them. He connects this theme explicitly with the present work on Hebrews, because it preeminently holds forth Christ alone as “perfection” and “consummation,” demonstrating the fulfillment of Old Testament shadows with New Testament realities.12 8 Cocceius to Buxtorf, 10 August 1656, Epist. 41 in Opera, 8:93a: “…Which work also the learned men charged to me, and I think it has great moment with regard to controversies with Jews, Socinians, and Papists.” 9 For the commission to write against the Jews, see footnote 5, above. Van Asselt notes that Cocceius wrote Examen apologiae equitis polonis, responding to the Socinian Apologia equitis poloni, at the request of the Leiden Curators, see Johannes Coccejus, 43. 10 References to both “Socinians” in general and individuals such as Socinus, Enjedinus, Smalcius, and Schlichtingius make up over half of all references. If one includes Hugo Grotius, whom Cocceius often mentions in the same breath with the Socinians as their “follower” or “disciple,” the number of occurrences to this group is two-thirds of the total. 11 See J.W. Hofmeyr, Johannes Hoornbeek as polemikus (Kampen: Kok, 1975). 12 AdHeb, *3v. The “Dedicatio” in the 1659 edition is paginated 2r-**v, with some pages lacking notation altogether; reference will be made to the notional page number whether it appears in print or not.



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The argument with Jewish opponents must therefore emphasize at the same time both discontinuity, i.e., the exceeding benefits of the consummation of God’s promises in Christ, and continuity, Christ is the fulfillment of nothing other than the promises made to the Jews in the Old Testament. The chief work of the Christian apologist is therefore to demonstrate how the prophets spoke about all the elements of the Christian faith, and how it agrees with Christian doctrine. Here Cocceius sets forth a lengthy laundry list of dogmatic topics which the prophets spoke about, beginning with “de Deo” and ending with “de resurrectione mortuorum.”13 Cocceius seems to be suggesting the superiority of his own, exegetical method of apologetics, which expounded loci contextually vis-à-vis salvation history. Though not made explicit, a contrast with the approach of Hoornbeek is implied, whose polemical works, though not lacking exegetical argumentation, were organized systematically via the dogmatic loci.14 Cocceius sees his own method clearly supported in Paul’s comment to the Corinthians, “For we do not write to you anything you cannot read” (2 Cor. 1:13), i.e., in the Old Testament. In other words, the relation between the testaments was crucial to an apologetic to the Jews, and the central apologetic task was the demonstration of discontinuity in the midst of continuity in order to show the surpassing excellence of the New Testament. The key question was how do the two testaments agree with one another? We must be wary of speaking too negatively about the Old Testament, and we must repudiate “our prejudices and ratiocinations, which the Apostle calls ‘carnal wisdom’”— apparently referring to Socinians—in order to successfully take up this task.15 In this connection Cocceius mentions Hoornbeek’s recent labors, his many anti-Socinian works which predated his own. The explicit mention of Hoornbeek in the Dedication places the Hebrews commentary squarely in the context of the Leiden Sabbath debates which had been raging for the previous four years. Hoornbeek had been the leading opponent of Cocceius and Heidanus, and Cocceius appears to be ridiculing the 13 AdHeb, *4r-*4v. 14 In the case of the polemic against Socinianism, it has been noted that one of the contributions of Cocceius and his followers was a particularly exegetical approach to the debate focusing on the Christology and typology of the Old Testament. See W.J. Kühler, Het Socinianisme in Nederland (Leeuwarden: De Tille BV, 1980), 224–227. Johannes Hoornbeek’s polemical writings include Disputationes theologicae anti-Socinianae de Christo (Leiden, 1656), and the magisterial Summa controversiarum religionis cum infidelibus, haereticis, schismaticis, 2nd ed. (Utrecht, 1658), cf. Hofmeyr. 15 AdHeb, *4v.

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inefficiency of his polemical labors—or at best faintly praising them— when he says he “sweated greatly,” if studiously and brilliantly, in their production.16 More importantly, this sideways glance at Hoornbeek is immediately followed by a thorough recitation of his own efforts in the same labor, which he describes as “showing the agreement of the Old and New Testaments.” Here he provides a bibliography of sorts, listing three major works along with their dates of publication, Ultima Moses of 1650, a commentary on the twelve minor prophets of 1652, and his forthcoming commentary on the Psalms (1660).17 The Hebrews commentary is added to this list of works which take up this central apologetic task. Cocceius concludes the dedication by saying that he didn’t take up this work on the Hebrews from any sort of deception or ill will, so as to attempt to “remove the labors of great men from the hands of the studious.”18 Clearly, the Hebrews disputations had been perceived as being in competition with the work of others, and the context leaves little doubt that Hoornbeek is the “great man” in view. While Cocceius denies that he had been motivated by any ill will in this regard, he goes to great lengths to demonstrate the distinctiveness, and superiority, of his own approach. To conclude, in the Dedication to his Hebrews commentary, Cocceius clearly identifies the conversion of the Jews as a central concern of his published works up to 1659. Furthermore, his only nod to the currently raging Sabbath debates appears to be the suggestion that his opponents have failed to grasp the divinely appointed method by which this conversion will take place—namely, the demonstration of a particular kind of agreement between the Old Testament and New. Theological loci had to be presented in a manner which illustrated the contrastive relation between redemption before and after Christ, or else Jews would not be compelled to faith. Socinians were not unrelated to this undertaking, as they overstated this contrast and undermined the Gospel altogether. It is not unimportant that during the Sabbath debate Cocceius was labeled a Socinian by opponents—a charge that would continue to haunt his peculiar understanding of the Old and New Testaments throughout his career.19 Given 16 AdHeb, **r. 17 AdHeb, **r. 18 AdHeb, **r-**v. 19 Van Asselt cites a letter in which Cocceius complained about the attack, Johannes Coccejus, 55, citing Epist. 63 (4 July 1659, Cocceius to Martinus), in Opera, 8:101b.



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this criticism, it is not surprising that the Hebrews commentary, purportedly an apologetic work to convert the Jews, is primarily a rearguard action, clarifying Cocceius’ orthodoxy for the sake of his Reformed brethren by distancing his understanding of the two testaments from that of the Socinians. The Guide to the Perplexed: The Polemical Usefulness of Cocceius’ View of the Testaments Cocceius’ dedication to his Hebrews commentary suggests polemical method as an underlying cause of the Leiden Sabbath debates. Hoornbeek and other opponents did not share the Cocceian view of the two testaments, which Cocceius believed held unique promise for Jewish conversion, and their portrayal of him as a Socinian demonstrated that they did not even fully understand it. Likewise, the next major debate with the Voetians over the Cocceian distinction between πάρεσις and ἄφεσις revolved around the salvation historical relation between the Old and New Testaments.20 Demonstrating once again a sharp wit, Cocceius titled his defense Moreh nebochim—“Guide to the Perplexed”—transliterating the famous title used by Maimonides in his address to the Torah’s philosophical despisers.21 In this work Cocceius explicitly seeks to demonstrate that the primary value of distinguishing between πάρεσις and ἄφεσις is polemical, that is, “the illustration of the doctrine of justification and the leading back from error Jews, Socinians, and Papists.”22 In this section we will take a closer look at Moreh nebochim and how Cocceius articulated his view of the testaments therein. Before turning to this plan, a brief word is in order regarding the Cocceian understanding of πάρεσις and ἄφεσις. Cocceius held that the Scriptures spoke “distinctly and intentionally” with these two New Testament words to illustrate a difference in the mode of justification before and after the coming of Christ. Πάρεσις, translated transmissio or praetermissio, or “passing over,” indicated the non-punishment of sins which remained outstanding; ἄφεσις, or “remission,” was forgiveness in the fullest sense, and indicated the complete removal of sins from one’s 20 Van Asselt, “Voetius en Coccejus over de rechtvaardiging,” 33. 21 A copy of the work is found in the catalogue from the sale of Cocceius’ library, Catalogus instructissimae bibliothecae D. Johannis Coccei (Leiden: Felicem Lopez de Haro, 1671), 24, item no. 21 under “Libri Orientales, in Folio.” 22 See fn.4.

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account. Ἀφεσις brought about a liberty and assurance which could only be experienced by justified saints when they beheld the object of their faith, the very righteousness of God made manifest in the atoning sacrifice of a fitting substitute. Cocceius’ distinction suggested to his contemporaries that he saw two different grounds upon which Old and New Testament saints experienced fellowship with God, or worse, implied that the fathers in the Old Testament were not saved by faith in Christ. Either way, he was thus suspected of having Socinian sympathies.23 After some introductory comments, Cocceius divides Moreh Nebochim into two main parts, the first showing the utility of the distinction, primarily by discussing the two loci of Romans 3:25 and Hebrews 10:18, and the second given over to correcting the “Hallucinations of the Brethren” that have led to disputes in the church. He begins this first part by proposing theses which summarize justification according to Jewish, Socinian, Roman Catholic, and the Reformed orthodox.24 The theses indicate that only the Reformed locate the cause of justification in the imputed perfect obedience and suffering of their Savior, and further that only in this way can God absolve sinners and pronounce them righteous without denying himself and his law. In each case, the opponents fail to attribute the cause of justification to the satisfaction of the law of God. Socinians and Jews believe that God has proposed conditions “pleasing” (placito) to him, which provide the sufficient condition for justification and eternal life when they are met by man.25 “Papists” base justification upon good works, either ex condigno or ex pacto, and make superfluous the sufferings of Christ by adding to it the merit of the saints. Further, by excepting the Virgin Mary from the imputation of Adam’s sin, Rome demonstrated that God does not judge man on the basis of strict justice and the vigor of the law, but rather upon his arbitrary good pleasure.26 Against his Jewish and Socinian opponents, Cocceius wishes to emphasize the necessity of Christ’s obedience and suffering for man’s justification. This necessity flows from God’s just nature, and is contrary to views which suggest that God established arbitrary criteria. Such views hold that God can remit sins by any condition he desires, and thus don’t understand the righteousness which is in Christ by faith, the righteousness which proclaims sinners to be just on the very basis of the law, “he who does these 23 MN §38. 24 MN §7–12. 25 MN §7.III, cf. 9.III. 26 MN §10.I, cf. §10.VII, XI.



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things will live in them [Lev. 18:5; Rom. 10:5; Gal. 3:12].”27 The change from Old Testament πάρεσις to New Testament ἄφεσις—wrought by the manifestation of God’s righteousness in Christ—is a fundamental biblical argument for the invariability of this law. While his orthodox brethren obviously confess the same necessity of Christ’s atoning sacrifice, Cocceius believes that Romans 3:25 bolsters this necessity by indicating that ἄφεσις—the full, legal justification for sins—is only possible after God has made manifest his righteousness in Christ. While God can delay punishment or tolerate sins for a time prior to the manifestation of Christ, he cannot grant full remission without denying himself and the full vigor of his law.28 The “making manifest” of the righteousness of God in the propitiation of sins is the key of his Romans text. While God decreed from eternity to provide such an ἱλαστήριον, it was promised and foreshadowed as a “propitiation not yet exposed.” Here Cocceius draws heavily upon the Epistle to the Hebrews for his interpretation of the Old Testament sacrifices, which are nothing but testimonies to the fact that under the Old Testament the true way into the sanctuary had not yet been disclosed (Heb. 9:8). Yes, Christ was foreshadowed, but he was foreshadowed behind curtains. The Aaronic priesthood is considered an imposition and the law establishing it is a “statute not good” (Ez. 20:25), which restricted Israel from God’s altar as impure. In this key sense, then, the Old Testament sacrifices are not direct parallels of the New Testament sacraments, but rather testify to the exact opposite reality. Whereas the old proclaims the lack of righteousness of the participant, the new announces righteousness in their midst, the consummate blessing of Christ now possessed by all the faithful.29 In what sense, if any, does Cocceius allow that the Old Testament saints were granted forgiveness by participation in the sacrificial system? What is the “purity of the flesh” found in Hebrews 9:13? The forgiveness granted by the old law was nothing other than a chirographum, a testimony to debts still outstanding and sins yet to be forgiven. By publicly declaring their sinfulness, and their hope in the true payment for that sin yet to come, the Old Testament worshipper gained a certain temporary purity which enabled him to stand in the holy places. But this chirographum was only immunity from another chirographum being raised against the sin which remained, and should not to be equated with the full removal of 27 MN §35. 28 MN §38. 29 MN §47–49, §82.

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sin. The debt itself remained outstanding, and only at the cross of Christ was the chirographum fully cancelled and annulled (Col. 2:14).30 It is worth quoting Cocceius at length from his Hebrews commentary, where he formulates this view most clearly: It is chiefly to be observed that before this day there was not the remission of sin, but its imputation. Indeed, Before the law there was sin in the world (that is, all the world was under sin, and thus was expecting this time when sin would be removed, Is. 53:7) but it was not imputed (Rom. 5:13). There was nothing in the world but sin… and the word of the Testamentum, by which God declared that the head of the Serpent would be crushed by the seed. Sin was not therefore imputed to those who believed the promise, even if there did not yet exist a sacrifice for sin—and thus sin could [hypothetically] still be imputed even to believers. The law working wrath came, requiring indeed from sinners the handwriting (chirographum), by which they admitted they were debtors and lacking expiation. Therefore, as long as that first covenant stood, the grace of justification differed. There was not remission (condonatio), ἄφεσις (Heb. 10:18, Eph. 1:7, Col. 1:14), but only πάρεσις, disregard (dissimulatio) (Rom. 3:25), with the commemoration of sin and the exacting of its satisfaction—which nevertheless was not a true satisfaction, but only a holding forth of future satisfaction.31

Other Reformed writers attempted to maintain the full justification (ἄφεσις) of Old Testament saints by claiming that the debt of these sins was transferred to Christ as the sponsio already in the Old Testament, and that thus only the sponsio, properly speaking, had to await his resurrection from the dead to experience the fullness of ἄφεσις. But Cocceius responds that this view is an implicit acknowledgment of his claim that πάρεσις must exist until the full manifestation of God’s righteousness, though it attempts to minimize the difficulty by shifting the πάρεσις to the sponsor alone. Furthermore, because “the members have nothing unless it is in the head,” it is impossible that the experience of Christ and the saints should differ. The importance and concrete reality of our union with Christ dominates his thought. Looking to Hebrews 2:10 and 11:39–40 for support, Cocceius insisted that just as Christ was only made perfect through his sufferings, so those who are members of him by faith only attained to their own perfection with the consummation of his sufferings.32

30 MN §82. 31 AdHeb 8§127. 32 MN §74, 78. This anticipates the debate over the nature of Christ’s sponsorship, whether he be a fidejussor or expromissio, which took place mostly after the death of Cocceius. See van Asselt, “Christus Sponsor.”



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Indeed, Cocceius saw the theme of consummation developed most clearly in the Epistle to the Hebrews, and he reads Hebrews as the clearest sustained biblical argument for reserving ἄφεσις for New Testament saints alone. Even Romans 3:25, which is often seen as Cocceius’ primary proof text for the distinction, is read in the light of Hebrews: Those who by the oblation of Christ are consummated (ἐτελειωθησαν), before he was truly exhibited had not been consummated (that is, they did not have the consciousness of their sins having been purged). Rather, they were under the law which continually reminded them of sin and exhibited the chirographum against them, which produced in them the consciousness of sin. In this respect, they had πάρεσις, or transmissio… “With one oblation they have been consummated forever, who were being sanctified,” or “are being sanctified.” Heb. 10:1, “The Law could in no way consummate those approaching.” … Heb. 10:2, “Otherwise would they not have ceased being offered, since there would have been no further consciousness of sin for the worshippers?” Heb. 10:3: “But in them was the annual reminder of sin.” Col. 2:14, “Having removed the handwriting (chirographum) which was written against us.”33

Finally, Cocceius sees this argument of the Apostle in Hebrews reaching its goal in 11:39–40: “Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised. Since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect.” Old Testament saints had faith, by which their sins were passed over, but they had to wait until the coming of Christ to be perfected. This perfection or consummation is nothing other than those blessings associated with ἄφεσις. Applied to polemics, then, the Old Testament shows what the forgiveness of sins looks like in the Socinian, Roman Catholic, and Jewish modes, i.e., without a full experience of justification sola fide. Bondage, the fear of death, and lack of liberty are hallmarks when sin is forgiven by πάρεσις, without a fully substitutionary atonement. Those who deny justification sola fide are thus stuck in the Old Testament, with the concomitant lack of assurance and confidence, because their understanding of forgiveness lacks the legal basis of the Reformed view. Two Testaments or One? A key difference between Cocceius and his orthodox brethren was the question of how many testaments ought to be enumerated. If we simply 33 MN §76.

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assert that the fathers under the Old Testament had an equal measure of remission, peace, joy, and liberty, without clearly identifying the difference between the testaments, we are at a loss to account for the genuine contrast between the experience of Old and New Testament saints, the real “already” and “not yet” character of salvation history.34 Should we minimize the difference between living in fear and being without fear, thirsting and being satisfied, being in bondage and being free? Cocceius writes, “I ask, what should we say to the Socinians when they urge the difference between the testaments? Should we persuade them that two equals one?”35 Therefore, while asserting that there is one covenant of grace, and one law of this covenant, namely the law of faith, it does not follow that “the two testaments are one.” Sebastian Rehnman has written on the problem federal theology faced in deciding whether to describe redemptive history as dichotomous or trichotomous, i.e., whether post-fall redemptive history was fundamentally unified, or divided in two.36 Rehnman notes that the trichotomous view was frequently adopted to “emphasize the supreme revelation of grace in Christ,” that is, by way of contrast with the Mosaic dispensation. Cocceius holds the trichotomous position, asserting that there are “two testaments of the Israelites,” in addition to the foedus operum. Cocceius would clearly agree with John Owen that the dichotomous way of expressing continuity and discontinuity within redemptive history is insufficient.37 In Moreh nebochim we see him enumerating one particular failing of the dichotomous view: it was an unsuitable response to the Socinian contention that the Old Testament was carnal and imperfect. The view that there was only one testament stretching from the beginning to the end of the Scriptures, simply failed to capture the magnitude of what was “new” in the New Testament. Rehnman notes that trichotomist views of Cameron or Owen tended to identify the old covenant as limited to Israel and primarily obliging to external and ceremonial obedience, preparatory to faith. The Mosaic covenant was in some sense thus identified as a re-publication of the covenant of works, or a revival “of the form of the covenant of works.” To this end, Wilhelm Momma is cited to the effect that “the Old Testament 34 MN §119. 35 MN §108. 36 Sebastian Rehnman, “Is the Narrative of Redemptive History Trichotomous or Dichotomous? A Problem for Federal Theology,” NAKG 80.3 (2000): 296–308. 37 Rehnman, “A Problem for Federal Theology,” 298, 305.



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properly so called and in itself does not distribute grace, but the inheritance of the land of Canaan. For it is made obsolete and is abolished, which cannot be said concerning grace.”38 Cocceius, however, must be distinguished from the trichotomists described by Rehnman, whose nomenclature doesn’t quite capture the complexity of his view. Relative to Cocceius, other trichotomists overstated the discontinuity between Old Testament and New. He launches into a lengthy excursus in his comment upon Hebrews 8:13 to identify precisely what has been abrogated by the ratification of the New Testament. This section of his commentary begins by denying that the foedus operum is in view at Hebrews 8:13, and goes even further in saying that the Mosaic administration at Sinai had no admixture of works, as though works and grace could thus be mixed.39 The heart of his view is rather that there are “Two Testaments of the Israelites” which have their “roots and rudiments” in the promise made to Abraham in Genesis 17. Christ alone is the substance of both of these testaments, and faith alone is the requirement for salvation. Furthermore, both of these testaments reflect a unified, eternal testamentum that is equated with God’s eternal decree to save, flowing from the pactum salutis. This places a stronger emphasis on continuity than either Owen or Momma indicate, with a particular eye toward apologetics with the Jews—Christ and the Apostles say nothing different than Moses and the Prophets. The testaments are not therefore distinguished by a difference in the demand for works or an interest in external rites. Rather, the contrast is entirely in anticipation and consummation. In terms of justification, this discontinuity can be summarized in terms of πάρεσις and ἄφεσις. The fullness of the benefits to be gained in Christ were revealed in this prior testament, yet they were held forth as future goods. Cocceius turns repeatedly to the prophetical promise of a New Testament (Jer. 31:31–34) to bolster this claim.40 Cocceius attempts to localize those elements in the prior testament which are “carnal,” “weak,” and “impotent,” in the words of Hebrews 7 and 8, drawing a distinction between federal weakness and testamentary continuity. He does so through a remarkably complex, even baroque, distinction between federal and testamentary divine legislation, relying upon a technical terminology of the covenants that would make any scholastic 38 Rehnman, “A Problem for Federal Theology,” 299–305; cf. Momma, De varia conditione II.viii.32. 39 AdHeb 8§36. 40 AdHeb 8§36, 42, 52–53, 74.

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proud.41 In drawing these precise distinctions, Cocceius is able to counter the claim of the Socinians that the Old Testament is per se carnal and external, for they have failed to precisely distinguish the carnal elements from the rest.42 In this way, Cocceius can account for the most negative New Testament language about the Old Testament, by restricting it to the ceremonial laws, and indeed he sees Hebrews 7–10 primarily as an argument for the abrogation of the ceremonies.43 Yet the ceremonial laws are not the only thing that is abrogated. The prior testament itself, as a testament of anticipation and dissimulation, is removed by the New Testament of Christ. Against Jewish opponents, Cocceius maintains that the Old Testament was fully aware of its temporary, anticipatory nature, and it is in this agreement that he sees a consensus between the Old Testament and the New. The Jews need not read the New Testament to learn that the first testament of God with the Israelite people will not be the last, there is another, and better, testament to come, which will deliver greater blessings.44 Conclusion Cocceius recognized that covenantal unity, deployed in defense of the unity of the Scriptures against neo-Gnostic Anabaptists and Socinians, could be taken too far, flattening redemptive history. His major contribution to covenant thought, in response to this potential flaw of Reformed theology, is to make eschatology central to his covenantal schema. The contrast between Old and New Testaments was localized quite specifically in their eschatological aspect, their orientation vis-à-vis the removal of sins accomplished in history by the manifestation of God’s righteousness in Christ.

41 See Brian J. Lee, “The Covenant Terminology of Johannes Cocceius: The Use of Foedus, Pactum, and Testamentum in a Mature Federal Theologian,” MAJT 14 (2003): 11–36; and Brian J. Lee, Johannes Cocceius and the Exegetical Roots of Federal Theology: Reformation Developments in the Interpretation of Hebrews 7–10 (Göttingen: V&R, 2009), 137–139. 42 AdHeb 7§96. 43 This is a considerable elaboration of the traditional Reformed view expressing continuity of “substance” and discontinuity of “accidents.” Cocceius’ formulation of “two testaments” offended his Reformed brethren because it sounded like a difference of substantia. 44 AdHeb 8§82–83.



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The Old Testament therefore testified to the importance of Christ’s coming in history. it was a testament of anticipation and lack, announcing as it were the absence of faith’s object. The New Testament celebrated faith’s consummation in the light of Christ’s completed work. Or put differently, the Old administered the justification of faith in the mode of πάρεσις, the New by ἄφεσις. By taking the radical step of locating the discontinuity between Old and New in the mode of justification itself, Cocceius was able to emphasize continuity elsewhere in his appeal to the Jews, insisting that both testaments belong to the Jews, that both are rooted in the same eternal testament, and that both reflect a single foedus gratiae. Jews in particular were urged to consider the eschatological, forward-looking orientation of their own Scriptures, and see in Christ the fulfillment of all their manifold promises. Papists and Socinians should see the inferior, “Old Testament” weakness of their faith. As a Christian Hebraist, it is not surprising that Cocceius labored for the conversion of the Jews, from whom he had learned so much. Furthermore, he saw in Reformed covenant thought the resources for a renewed Jewish apologetic, and committed a great deal of his scholarly labors to this polemical goal. While the doctrine of the covenant had been developed in part to defend hermeneutical continuity against the Anabaptists in the sixteenth century, he saw its usefulness in articulating discontinuity in the seventeenth century. This polemical value of Cocceius’ federal theology suggests a likely raison d’etre for what is arguably his most important contribution to Reformed thought, a thoroughly salvation-historical approach to the task of theology.

‘A SMATTERING OF THE NEW PHILOSOPHY’: ÉTIENNE GAUSSEN (ca. 1638–1675) AND THE CARTESIAN QUESTION AT SAUMUR Albert Gootjes For the Protestant academy at Saumur, the year 1664 began with the death of Moïse Amyraut, professor of theology, an event that was no doubt met with mixed emotions. On the one hand, Amyraut’s passing on 13 January brought a definitive end to the great era of Saumur’s triumvirate, with his renowned colleagues Josué de la Place and Louis Cappel having met their end before him in 1655 and 1658, respectively. On the other hand, this event must have been experienced as a relief as well, as a major internal conflict that pitted him and his followers against a faction led by the Saumur pastor Isaac d’Huisseau had effectively blocked the appointment of a successor to either one of Amyraut’s erstwhile colleagues, to the detriment of the academy’s well-being. Thus, while Amyraut’s death may have ended an era, it also opened the way to a period of much-needed renewal. Indeed, the Huguenot world held high expectations of a renaissance at Saumur, especially in Étienne Gaussen (ca. 1638–1675), who was appointed in April 1664 to succeed Amyraut.1 The choice for Gaussen had important ramifications for the history of philosophy at the Saumur academy. Gaussen in fact moved over to the theological faculty from the faculty of philosophy, where he had been teaching since 1661, and the vacancy he left would be filled by no one less than Jean-Robert Chouet (1642–1731). It hardly needs reminding that Chouet was a major figure in the reception of Cartesianism within the Reformed theological world, and especially the Academy of Geneva, which would be the next and definitive stop in his academic journey. Yet his five-year tenure (1664–1669) at Saumur, too, is universally recognized as a decisive moment in that institution’s history. For, as Michael Heyd stated in his magisterial study on Chouet, he “was apparently the first to introduce Cartesianism into a Huguenot Academy”—although Heyd did 1 For details on the impasse and efforts for renewal for Saumur, see my “Claude Pajon (1626–1685) and the Academy of Saumur” (Ph.D. diss., Calvin Theological Seminary, 2012), chapter 5; a revised version, retaining the chapter numbering of the original dissertation, is forthcoming in Brill’s Series in Church History. I wish to thank my friend David Sytsma for his invaluable suggestions.

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note against the assumptions of older scholarship that his Cartesianism did not as such play a role in his election to Saumur, and was at that time not even explicit yet.2 In light of historiography’s unwavering identification of Chouet as the first to introduce Cartesianism into the Saumur curriculum, it came as a great surprise during my dissertation research to come upon a manuscript in which Chouet himself seems to bestow that ‘honor’ upon his predecessor, Gaussen! Currently held in the (private) archives of the Fondation Turrettini in Geneva, this document was unearthed during one of my many ‘digs,’ in which I was encouraged by the genuine enthusiasm with which Richard Muller greeted the reports of my findings from his base in Grand Rapids. This manuscript of two loose leaves bears no title except for the date of composition (18 May 1721), and presents brief biographical sketches of Gaussen and of Claude Pajon (1626–1685), who likewise was appointed to the theological faculty in 1665. While this manuscript also bears no author name, that Chouet composed it is evident from the inside knowledge about Saumur it betrays and from the somewhat awkward, anonymous, third-person reference to Gaussen’s successor—i.e. Chouet himself—as a “certain young man of about 22 years of age,”3 and further supported by Chouet’s rather distinctive hand and by the manuscript’s location among the papers of the Turrettini family.4 The passage on Gaussen and Cartesianism comes near the beginning. Noting that Gaussen was chosen as professor of philosophy at the age of 22, Chouet remarks, “As his colleague in this faculty he had Mr. Druet, some fifty or sixty years of age, a Peripatetic in every way; but this did not prevent Mr. Gaussen from beginning to give to his students a smattering of the new philosophy.” He then adds that his predecessor did this “even though it was against the regulations of the academy, which required that the views of Aristotle alone be taught. But he always did so with such prudence that 2 See Michael Heyd, Between Orthodoxy and the Enlightenment: Jean-Robert Chouet and the Introduction of Cartesian Science in the Academy of Geneva (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1982), 4. 3 [Jean-Robert Chouet], Untitled account concerning Étienne Gaussen and Claude Pajon, Geneva, private archives of the Fondation Turrettini, 3rd ms under the shelfmark 1/Gb.1.32.XIII, [p. 2]: “…certain jeune homme aagé d’environ 22. ans….” 4 Chouet had been living in the Turrettini home since ca. 1710; see J.-A. Turrettini to Jean Le Clerc, Geneva, 22 June 1728, in Jean Le Clerc: Epistolario, ed. Sina and Sina, 4 vols., Le corrispondenze litterarie, scientifiche ed erudite dal rinascimento all’età moderna, no. 1–2, 5–6 (Firenze: Leo S. Olschki, 1987–1997), 4:391. He appears also to have died there, since his death notice records that he passed away “à la Grand’rue”; see E. de Budé, La vie de JeanRobert Chouet, professeur et magistrat genevois (Geneva: Reymond, 1899), 293.



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neither his colleague, nor the other professors ever made an issue of it against him.”5 This article will pursue Chouet’s claims regarding his predecessor’s alleged flirtation with Cartesianism in the classroom by examining other contemporary sources for further evidence. Such supporting evidence is in fact necessary for locating Gaussen’s place in the history of Cartesianism at the academy of Saumur on at least two accounts. First, Chouet recorded these biographical notices in 1721, when he was almost 80 years old and removed from the events by a distance of well over 50 years. Not surprisingly, there are points in the manuscript where Chouet’s memory clearly fails him—although, to be fair, the errors identified seem to concern simple errors of fact.6 A second reason is more important; for, while Chouet’s emphasis on the surreptitious nature of Gaussen’s teaching of the new philosophy does allow us to understand why it seems to have passed entirely under the radar of scholarship, it is still so cryptic that it leaves several crucial questions unanswered. After sketching out the background against which Gaussen’s professorate must be examined, I will therefore attempt to illustrate how and why Gaussen introduced Cartesianism in his classroom, and finish by drawing several conclusions regarding his place in the history of its reception at the academy of Saumur. Of the little that has been written on Gaussen, the three years he spent teaching philosophy have been all but ignored, no doubt because historical data from the period preceding his transfer to the faculty of theology are so hard to find. Accordingly, even Joseph Prost’s seminal study on philosophy at Saumur devotes no attention to Gaussen’s tenure there,7 while François Laplanche, in what remains the lengthiest examination of his thought, focused entirely on what could be called his ‘second career’ at Saumur.8 Gaussen, as we learn from the Chouet manuscript, was born at 5 [Chouet], Untitled account, [p. 1]: “Il avoit pour collègue dans cette faculté Monsieur Druet, aagé de 50. ou 60. ans, Péripatéticien à toute outrance; ce qui n’empêcha point Monsieur Gaussen de commencer à donner à ses écoliers quelque teinture de la nouvelle philosophie, quoyque cela fut contre les reiglemens de l’Académie, qui exigeoient qu’on n’enseignât que les sentimens d’Aristote. Mais, il le fit toujours avec tant de prudence, que ni son collègue ni les autres professeurs ne lui en firent jamais aucune affaire.” 6 For example, Chouet, Untitled account, [pp. 4–5], identifies Pajon as the pastor of Mer, instead of Marchenoir and Lorges; similarly, he writes that Pajon left Saumur for Orléans in 1668, instead of 1667, and that he passed away soon after arriving in Orléans. 7 Joseph Prost, La philosophie à l’académie protestante de Saumur (1606–1685) (Paris: Paulin, 1907). 8 François Laplanche, L’Écriture, le sacré et l’histoire: érudits et politiques protestants devant la Bible en France au XVIIe siècle (Amsterdam: APA—Holland University, 1986), 532–545. The same is true for Jean-Paul Pittion, “Intellectual Life in the Académie of

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Sainte-Foy in the Guyenne region of France.9 At a young age his father sent him to the Protestant collège and academy in Saumur, where he immediately showed great promise as a scholar and grew in particular due to the efforts of the collège’s regent Tanneguy le Fèvre.10 At the end of the 1658–1659 school year, he defended a disputation on the concord of nature and grace, presided over by Amyraut, who likewise appears to have taken a special liking to him.11 The length of this disputation, together with the fact that, as the title indicates, Gaussen rather than the presiding professor composed this set of theses, suggests that this disputation marked the end of his studies at Saumur. Since the normal course of study consisted of two propaedeutic years in the faculty of philosophy, upon which the title of master of arts was conferred, followed by another three years of theology, Gaussen would have entered the academy in or around 1654 at the age of fifteen or sixteen. Gaussen’s years as a student at the Saumur academy fell in a period when discontentment came to the fore regarding the instruction in philosophy there. At the time, the teaching responsibilities were shared between Jehan Druet (d. 1683) and Isaac Hugues (d. 1660), two long-­ standing members of the faculty since 1628 and 1634, respectively.12 As we saw, Chouet described Druet, whose colleague Gaussen would become in  1661 when he succeeded Hugues upon his death, as a convinced Saumur, 1633–1685. A Study of the Bouhéreau Collection in Marsh’s Library Dublin” (Ph.D. diss., Trinity College Dublin, 1969), 153–175. 9 [Chouet], Untitled account, [p. 1]: “[…] de Sainte-Foy, en Guiène, d’honeste famille et où il y avoit du bien. Nous avons veu en cette ville [= Geneva, AJG], il y a 50. ou 60. ans, un de ses parens, capitaine d’une compagnie de notre garnison.” The Guyenne origin is supported by John Quick, “The life of Monsieur Stephen Gaussens,” Paris, Société de l’histoire du Protestantisme français, BPF 294/3 (copy; the original is held in London, Dr. Williams’ Library), p. 2, which records that he was a native of (what was then) the Périgord province, and by the qualifier Aquitanus ascribed to Gaussen in the title to his 1659 theses (see below). The dispersion of members of the Gaussen family between Sainte-Foy and Geneva finds further support in Haag, France Protestante (Paris: Cherbuliez, 1846–1858), 5:236. Also Nîmes and Geneva have been named as place of birth or origin (Laplanche, L’Écriture, 532–533), but I have not found any evidence in support of these claims. 10 [Chouet], Untitled account, [p. 1]: “Étant fort jeune, il fut envoié par son père à Saumur, pour y faire ses études de philosophie et de théologie…. Son inclination étant particulièrement tournée du côté des belles lettres, il y fit d’abord des progrès très-considérables; étant aidé en cela par les soins du fameux Monsieur Lefèvre ....”; cf. similar statements in Quick, “The life of Monsieur Stephen Gaussens,” BPF 294/3, pp. 1–2. 11 Étienne Gaussen, Theses theologicae de consensu gratiae cum natura. Quas composuit et, favente Deo, sub praesidio D. Mosis Amyraldi … tueri conabitur Stephanus Gaussenus Aquitanus. In Templo, die [ ] julii ab hora prima pomeridiana in vesperam (Saumur: Desbordes, 1659). 12 Prost, La philosophie, appendix 1; and Bourchenin, 463.



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Aristotelian, and this testimony finds confirmation in Prost’s study which demonstrates that both he and Hugues gave their students a firmly peripatetic foundation.13 During their propaedeutic years, Gaussen and his fellow students would thus have been given an Aristotelian conceptual and terminological paradigm, a common language that was to prepare them for the study of theology in the three following years.14 After all, the common Reformed understanding of philosophy was that of ancilla theologiae, that is, “the maidservant of theology.” Whatever ‘novelties’ may have come from the faculty of theology in the mid-seventeenth ­century through the efforts of Amyraut, de la Place, and Cappel, the ­philosophical training that prepared the students for instruction in this progressive theology remained entirely Aristotelian. A challenge to the status quo was issued in the summer of 1656, however, only months before Gaussen presumably moved from the preparatory study of philosophy to theology itself. The acts of the 1656 assembly of Saumur’s provincial synod of Anjou, Touraine, and Maine, held at Baugé, record that the church of Preuilly made a petition to consider “whether it would be expedient to change the method (méthode) of teaching philosophy.”15 The acts contain no further information, as the synod decided to leave this matter to the academy’s council to judge, supported by a committee composed of several pastors from the region—a decision most comprehensible in light of the synod’s preoccupation with the much more serious threat posed by the fierce battle between the Amyraut and d’Huisseau parties. The records of that later meeting held on 25 September 1656 do fill in some of the gaps, however. As it turns out, René Colas sieur de la Treille and Pierre Fleury, the pastors of Preuilly, had been lobbying for two specific changes:16 First, that the professors of philosophy no longer be restricted to following or teaching Aristotle, or that at least in their dictation lectures they no longer be bound to commenting texts from Aristotle; and, second, that more attention be given to metaphysics and 13 Prost, La philosophie, 55–66. 14 See Jean-Paul Pittion, “Notre maître à tous: Aristote et la pensée réformée française au XVIIe siècle,” in De l’Humanisme aux Lumières, Bayle et le protestantisme, ed. Michelle Magdelaine, et al. (Paris: Universitas/Oxford: Voltaire Foundation, 1996), 429–443. 15 Didier Boisson, ed., Actes des synodes provinciaux: Anjou-Touraine-Maine (1594–1683) (Geneva: Droz, 2012), 370 (13 June 1656; art. 32). 16 At the end, instructions were given to inform them of the decision; see Saumur, Archives Municipales de Saumur I A 1, “Registre de délibérations du Conseil académique ordinaire et extraordinaire de l’Académie protestante de Saumur, 1613–1673,” fols. 165v°166r° (25 September 1656). The registers can be consulted at http://archives.ville-saumur .fr/am_saumur/app/03_archives_en_ligne/01_academie_protestante/.

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ethics, an end that could be achieved by devoting less hours to the dictated courses on logic and physics where, so it was charged, several superfluous and non-necessary questions were being treated at present.17 What the Saumur registers do not supply, however, are further details regarding the motivation for this challenge from de la Treille and Fleury. What is more, neither appears to have been an intellectual figure of note in France, as one can deduce also from their meager literary output, which is in fact so scant that it is impossible to discern a potential motive from it.18 The complaint regarding the time wasted on non-necessary issues does, however, suggest knowledge of the philosophical curriculum. It is possible that this relates to the fact that de la Treille, in contrast to Fleury who had attended the academy of Sedan,19 had studied at Saumur in the mid- to late-1640s.20 The council and pastors granted a small concession to Preuilly’s misgivings by appointing a committee that was to examine the professors’ courses for any superfluous material. For the rest, after a variety of proposals for change were considered, it was decreed that the relative weight of logic and physics compared to metaphysics and ethics was to remain the same.21 Metaphysics and ethics were, not insignificantly, relative newcomers to the philosophical curriculum, having been prescribed by the French national synods of 1631 and 1644, respectively.22 When we find the council remarking defensively that the current compendia of metaphysics and ethics are already much more extensive than those given by the academy’s professors in the past, it is difficult to read the denial of the request from Preuilly as anything but a reservation toward these disciplines.23 After all, logic and physics were the basis for the study of theology.24 17 “Registres,” fol. 165v° (25 September 1656). 18 From de la Treille I have found only his Dialogues ou les fables les plus curieuses de l’antiquité sont expliquées d’une maniere fort agreable (Paris: de Luyne, 1670); from Fleury, Discours ou il est traité de Dieu, consideré comme createur tout puissant… (London: Redmayne, 1697). 19 Haag1, 5:117, referring to the disputation defended by Petrus Floridus on 26 March 1635 in Louis le Blanc de Beaulieu, ed., Theses theologicae, variis temporibus in Academia Sedanensi editae et ad disputandum propositae, 2 vols. (London: Pitt, 1675–1683), 1:558. 20 Louis Desgraves, “Les thèses soutenues à l’Académie protestante de Saumur au XVIIe siècle,” Bulletin de la Société de l’histoire du Protestantisme français 125 (1979): 76–79, there 84 (#25), notes the existence of the disputation pamphlet De quinque falso dictis sacramentis (Saumur: Desbordes, 1647), defended by de la Treille under the presidency of Amyraut. 21 “Registres,” fols. 165v°-166r° (25 September 1656). 22 See Prost, La philosophie, 55n3. 23 “Registres,” fol. 165v° (25 September 1656). 24 Note the emphasis on logic and physics evident in Druet’s manuscript courses as remarked on by Prost, La philosophie, 55–56. The underlying thought has been captured



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Given the subject of this article, it may be tempting to read in the other request to open the door to philosophies other than that of Aristotle an  early and disguised attempt to introduce Cartesianism into Saumur. One does well to exercise some caution, however. It is true that by the mid-1650s Saumur and surroundings were beginning to show some inclination towards Cartesianism. The Oratorian collège and seminary at Notre-Dame-des-Ardilliers, which entertained surprisingly close connections with the Protestant academy,25 favored Plato over Aristotle, eventually using him as a shield to cover their predilection for Descartes.26 Moreover, it is known of Jacques Gousset (1635–1704) that, as a student at the academy, he discussed the philosophy of Descartes with the Saumur physician, Louis de la Forge (1632–1666), an important player in the diffusion of the new philosophy in the province of Anjou. In a 1716 work on causality, Gousset records that he first heard an occasionalism inspired by Cartesian principles from de la Forge in 1658.27 Of course, this particular conversation took place two years after the 1656 disturbance, but as Gousset entered the Saumur academy ca. 1653,28 the very year in which de la Forge moved to Saumur after having been introduced to Descartes’ philosophy in or around 1650,29 it is entirely possible that de la Forge was at an earlier time already holding discussions with him.30 In spite of these well by J.-P. Dray, “The Protestant Academy of Saumur and its Relations With the Oratorians of Les Ardilliers,” History of European Ideas 9.4 (1988): 465–478, there 472: “since logic was the method of theology and physics dealt with the basic conceptions of nature that are given in Scripture, philosophy could form a valid functional preparation for the study of God’s Word.” 25 See Prost, La philosophie, passim; and Jacques Maillard, “L’Oratoire de Saumur et les protestants au XVIIe siècle,” in Saumur, capitale européenne du Protestantisme au XVIIe siècle (Fontevraud: Centre culturel de l’ouest, 1991), 125–135. 26 See Prost, La philosophie, 75–76; Joseph Dumont, “L’Oratoire et le Cartésianisme en Anjou,” Mémoires de la Société académique de Maine et Loire 15 (Angers: Cosnier et Lachèse, 1864): 1–206, there 1–96; and Francisque Bouillier, Histoire de la philosophie cartésienne (Paris: C. de la Grave, 1868; reprint Geneva: Slatkine, 1970), 2:1–14. 27 Jacques Gousset, Causarum primae et secundarum realis operatio rationibus confirmatur, et ab obiectionibus defenditur. De his apologia fit pro Renato des Cartes, adversus ­discipulos eius pseudonymos (Leeuwarden: Franciscus Halma, 1716), 5; and discussion in Pierre Clair, introduction to Louis de la Forge: Oeuvres philosophiques, avec une étude bio-­ bibliographique (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1974). 28 For this date, note Jacques Gousset, Theses theologicæ de officio pastoris evangelici quas…composuit, & sub præsidio M. Amyraldi, tuebitur I. Gousset (Saumur: Desbordes, 1658); and see similarly F.R.J. Knetsch, “Gousset (Gussetius), Jacques (Jacobus),” in BLNP, 5:211–13, there 211. 29 See Clair, introduction to Louis de la Forge, 26–27, 32–33. 30 Gousset, Causarum, 4, does make it clear that there were multiple conversations, but there is no indication as to when they began: “Ille [= de la Forge] ita animatus frequenti me in aedibus suis ac libero interpellatore gaudebat. Ipseque meum quamvis puerile cubiculum saepe nec opinato subibat.”

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tempting leads, one does well not to insist on Cartesian impulses via de la Forge or the Oratorians as the background to the 1656 complaints, particularly since they had been raised by two pastors whose intellectual preference and networks remain entirely in the dark. The academy for its part did understand this request as an attempt to open the doors to Descartes, but then not to him exclusively. It refused to grant the freedom to teach philosophies other than that of Aristotle, noting that this would only lead to divisions between students and professors, or even between different professors, “which would bring much trouble to the academy, as is evi­ dent  from the example of the academies abroad in Germany and the Netherlands where some follow the philosophy and tradition of Epicurus and Gassendi, others that of Descartes, and yet others whatever seems best to them.”31 The request to explain texts other than Aristotle in the dictation lectures was denied as well, not only because “the text of Aristotle is the foundation of what is taught here,” but also for the practical reason that it would cause great confusion for the master-of-arts examinations which were then based on Aristotle, even if, so the council did add, “where [the students] find him to depart from the truth, they can and must abandon him.”32 The academy’s response to both requests shows that the training in philosophy was not to take on a life of its own, nor to be a place where competing philosophical systems were proposed. Philosophy had a preparatory and serving function to the study of theology, and to this end the conceptual apparatus supplied by the tried-and-true peripatetic philosophy was deemed to be most suitable.33 Gaussen thus sat in the student benches at a time when the professors of philosophy refused to make Descartes, or Gassendi’s brand of Epicu­ reanism, a part of the curriculum.34 In 1661, however, he refused the pulpit of Poitiers in favor of the philosophical chair at Saumur,35 and suddenly 31 “Registres,” fol. 165v° (25 September 1656). 32 “Registres,” fol. 165v° (25 September 1656). 33 Similar considerations had been given by Utrecht in its 1642 condemnation of the new philosophy; see Theo Verbeek, Descartes and the Dutch: Early Reactions to Cartesian Philosophy, 1637–1650 (Carbondale: Southern Illinois UP, 1992), 19. At Oxford, the Laudian Code requiring lectures on Aristotle’s philosophy was still in place at the Restoration, although in practice professors took great latitude in introducing alternative philosophy; see Hansruedi Isler, Thomas Willis, 1621–1675: Doctor and Scientist (New York: Hafner, 1968), 29–30; and also Mordechai Feingold, “The Mathematical Sciences and New Philosophies,” in The History of the University of Oxford, vol. 4, Seventeenth-Century Oxford, ed. Tyacke (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997), 359–448. 34 According to Prost, in the manuscript of Druet’s physics course from 1652 “aucune allusion n’est faite ni à Gassendi, ni à Descartes” (La philosophie, 58). 35 See “Registres,” fols. 180v°-181r° (26 July 1661).



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found himself on the other side of the lectern. By then both the Oratorians and Louis de la Forge were active in the diffusion of Cartesianism in and around Saumur, so that the 1656 council decision will have made the new philosophy nothing less than an elephant in the room. We are given a peek into the way Gaussen dealt with this invisible presence in his classroom through a letter he sent to Élie Bouhéreau (1643–1719), which is currently held at Marsh’s Library in Dublin and forms a fortuitous exception to the paucity of extant documentation pertaining to Gaussen’s tenure as professor of philosophy. Gaussen begins this letter by stating that he is accompanying it with his theses, although, so he warns somewhat selfdeprecatingly, he attaches very little importance to the writing of such theses.36 There are in fact only two reasons that might make the pamphlet of some interest to Bouhéreau: “There is only the novelty [in it], which will perhaps not displease you, and the way in which I undertook to harmonize Epicurus and Descartes with our Aristotle in a number of things.”37 Gaussen’s reference to “our Aristotle” is, of course, suggestive of a partiality towards the peripatetic system. At the same time, his letter does indicate that he—entirely in line with Chouet’s claims!—in his classroom introduced his students to non-Aristotelian philosophy, including that of Descartes; for, disputation theses were customarily based on the presiding professor’s lectures.38 The sole surviving copy of the Theses philosophicae ex Aristotele transcriptae, scheduled for defense by six students on 10 September 1663, is preserved, not surprisingly, in the same library that holds Gaussen’s letter.39 The points of convergence between the letter and the dedicatory epistle prefixed to the 1663 disputation confirm that this is indeed the pamphlet in question. After his intriguing comment about harmonizing Epicurus and Descartes with Aristotle, Gaussen goes on to complain:

36 É. Gaussen to É. Bouhéreau, [Saumur], September 1663, Dublin, Marsh’s Library, Z.2.2.17(13)/38, [fol. 1r°]. The date at the top of the manuscript is most likely the date of reception rather than writing, since it appears to be from the hand of Bouhéreau rather than that of Gaussen. Another—much clearer!—example of the same phenomenon can be found in É. Gaussen to É. Bouhéreau, [Saumur], [17?] February 1665, Z.2.2.17(13)/19. 37 É. Gaussen É. to Bouhéreau, [Saumur], September 1663, Z.2.2.17(13)/38, [fol. 1r°]: “il n’y a que la nouveauté qui peut-estre ne vous déplaira pas, et la manière dont je me suis advisé d’accorder en plusieurs choses Épicure et Descartes avec nostre Aristote.” 38 See Prost, La philosophie, 58. 39 Saumur: Isaac Desbordes, 1663.

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albert gootjes For the rest, you can hardly imagine … how rare a thing in the world this good philosophy [of Aristotle] is, but the good thing is that people are beginning to rid themselves of their foolishness throughout, and are no longer relying—except in a good way—on these ancient commentators with whom our fathers were infatuated. For, as regards Aristotle, he will always be our master and our heart’s dearest friend.40

The supremacy of Aristotle, the ambiguity caused by his commentators, and the reference to the alternative views of Epicurus and the Cartesians all reappear in the 1663 pamphlet, while absent from Gaussen’s earlier disputation theses.41 In the dedication to Isaac du Soul (d. 1676), once his professor and now his colleague, Gaussen explains that his goal with the theses is to present Aristotle’s teaching in the philosopher’s own terms, free from later sophistries.42 The reason for this modus operandi is the troubling confusion he observes within the Aristotelian camp. Themestius, Simplicius, Alexander, and current day Aristotle commentators “depart all over the place in such varied directions that you could not guess with even the smallest of suspicions that they who teach such discordant things have come from the same family, were it not for the fact that the title to their commentaries tells us so.”43 The confusion poses a great obstacle to genuine philosophy (Germanae Philosophiae impedimentum), namely: learned and elegant men…, disgusted with the controversies and quarrels of Our Men, some [of whom] held that they would rather join Epicurus than to have to do with us, and disputed contemptuously against Aristotle’s view; [while] others, whom it is not important to name at this point, in a more daring move came to a new method, from which hangs the threat of a most

40 É. Gaussen to É. Bouhéreau, [Saumur], September 1663, Z.2.2.17(13)/38, [fol. 1r°-2r°]: “Au reste vous ne sçauriés presque vous imaginer, mon cher Monsieur, combien ceste bonne philosophie est une chose rare dans le monde, mais le bon est que l’on commance à se déniaiser par tout, et que l’on ne se fie plus que de la bonne sorte à ces vieux commentateurs dont nos pères estoyent coiffés, car pour Aristote il sera toujours nostre maistre, et le cher amy du coeur.” 41 The placards of the Theses philosophicae… (Saumur: Desbordes, 1661) and Theses logicae (Saumur: Desbordes, 1662) are likewise held at Marsh’s Library in Dublin. 42 Gaussen, Theses philosophicae (1663), preface v°: “Ego itaque qui, si quis alius, doctrinam Aristotelis, quantum in me est, colo; recte atque ordine me facturum existimavi, si quae loca in eo clariora sunt, & Sophistarum technis & exceptionibus minus exposita & obnoxia videbantur, hic illic sparsa colligerem, & ita collecta in Solem & Pulverem darem: speravi enim fore ut totius Peripateticae Philosophiae ingenium Magistri nostri simplex & nuda oratio multo melius adumbraret, quam quod mea ad eam rem potuisset conferre industria.” 43 Gaussen, Theses philosophicae (1663), preface r°-v°: “ipsi ita passim in diversa abeunt, ut nisi id nos commentariorum titulus admoneret, qui tam discrepantia doceant, ex eadem Familia prodiisse, ne minima quidem possis suspicione divinare.”



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certain end to the school of Aristotle—unless we, with our powers united and each according to his capacity, finally give serious thought to the vindication of our Master’s excellence.44

In line with Gaussen’s stated objective, not only are the margins filled with references to Aristotle’s works, but some theses also end with a section in italic type highlighting the Stagirite’s supremacy, defending him against suspicion of error, or challenging the reader to find a better solution than his.45 What, then, of Epicurus and Descartes (or: the ‘new method’), whom Gaussen had identified in his dedication to du Soul as the alternatives to which those disgruntled with Aristotle had turned, while writing to Bouhéreau that he had “harmonized” them with him? To read these two passages as a prim and proper statement of Saumur’s party line in favor of Aristotle in a public dedicatory epistle, over against Gaussen’s true view on the usefulness of neo-Epicurean and Cartesian philosophy in a personal letter, is in my opinion not satisfactory. Aside from the fact that Gaussen explicitly calls Aristotle “our master and our heart’s dearest friend” also in his letter to Bouhéreau, he for the rest appears not yet to have felt comfortable divulging to him any suspect views he may have harbored.46 His publicly expressed concern regarding the abandonment of the peripatetic system in favor of an Epicurean or Cartesian alternative, and his private avowal that he has “harmonized” them on some points with Aristotle, when put together with his avowed preference for the latter, instead suggest that Gaussen attempted at certain points in his theses to present Aristotelian tenets in a way that might make them more attractive to those who were inclined to the alternatives. This means that one should not expect to find him defending an explicit atomism or empiricism, nor methodological doubt or a mind-body dualism. In light of the 1656 regulation, Gaussen will have had to be much more subtle, as is indeed the case in his theses on logic where he shows himself ready to 44 Gaussen, Theses philosophicae (1663), preface v°: “Viri docti & elegantes…pertaesi Nostrorum Hominum concertationes & lites, alii sese ad Epicurum adiungere potius habuerunt, quam nobiscum facere, & de Aristotelis Sententia ieiune rixari: alii quos appellare, hic quidem, nihil attinet, audaciori facinore, novam invenere rationem a qua Aristotelis sectae certissimum impendeat exitium, ni collatis viribus de vindicanda Magistri nostri maiestate, quisque pro suo captu, tandem tandem serio cogitemus.” 45 For the humanist reception of Aristotle in general, see Charles B. Schmitt, Aristotle and the Renaissance (Cambridge: HUP, 1983), 10–33. 46 See É. Gaussen to É. Bouhéreau, [Saumur], September 1663, Z.2.2.17(13)/38, [fol. 2r°]: “Je vous écriray dorénavant plus souvent et avec plus d’exactitude, mais obligés-moy de ne faire voir mes lettres à qui que ce soit, afin que je vous parle avec plus de liberté.”

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adopt the language of the Cartesians. Gaussen states that all teaching rests upon syllogism and induction, and briefly defines the two. In an italicized portion he emphasizes how important it is to remember that Aristotle’s entire treatment of the syllogism is based on the two principles of identity and difference, adding that “they are clearer than any mathematical ­demonstration; indeed, these [principles] are so.”47 Gaussen thus did not choose to speak of these principles as ‘immediate,’48 or as ‘innate,’ or to identify them as ‘common notions,’49 as he very well might have. In describing the principles underlying Aristotle’s syllogisms in terms of ‘clarity,’ and in measuring this clarity against the ideal of mathematical demonstrations, Gaussen instead uses language entirely amenable to Cartesian notions of certainty.50 A similar phenomenon can be observed with respect to the seventeenth-century Epicureans in thesis five on physics or natural philosophy, where he writes (with a reference to Aristotle, Physics 8.10): “Although there are three kinds of motion, we consider that which has to do with place to be the first of all of them.”51 Gaussen does not go so far as to discard the distinction between natural and violent motion, as many of his Epicurean contemporaries did, but his insistence on the priority of local motion can in this context indeed be understood as a tip of the hat to them.52 In fact, the italicized portion at the end of thesis five explicitly notes that Epicurus and Democritus were of “almost the same view,” although Gaussen also admits that there were differences.53 47 Gaussen, Theses philosophicae (1663), 3 (logic thesis 5): “Dixi alias saepe, iterumque iterumque dico, nec enim ea de re moneri nimium unquam potes: totam illam Magistri nostri de Syllogismo πραγματείαν duobus niti principiis, quae sint omni mathematicorum Demon­ stratione clariora: illa vero sic sunt. Quae sunt eadem uni terio, illa sunt eadem inter se, hoc primum, deinde, quorum unum est idem uni tertia, alterum non est idem, illa non sunt eadem inter se.” 48 See, for example, Franco Burgersdijck, Institutionum logicarum synopsis […], 2 vols. (Amsterdam: Valckenier, 1659), 2:66–67. 49 For an illuminating discussion of ‘innate’ or ‘common notions’ in Gaussen’s contemporary Voetius, see Andreas J. Beck, Gisbertus Voetius (1589–1676): Sein Theologieverständnis und seine Gotteslehre (Göttingen: V&R, 2007), 160–173. 50 On the role of clarity (and distinction) in Descartes’ philosophy, see Sarah Patterson, “Clear and Distinct Perception,” in A Companion to Descartes, ed. Broughton and Carriero (Malden: Blackwell, 2008), 216–234; and Alan Gewirth, “Clearness and Distinctness in Descartes,” in Descartes, ed. Cottingham (Oxford: OUP, 1998), 79–100. On the connec­ tion  between clear and distinction perception and levels of certainty, see E.M. Curley, “Certainty: Psychological, Moral, and Metaphysical,” in Essays on the Philosophy and Science of René Descartes, ed. Voss (New York: OUP, 1993), 11–30. 51 Gaussen, Theses philosophicae (1663), 6 (physics thesis 5): “Cum tres sint specie Motus, illam quae habet rationem ad Locum, putamus esse omnium primam.” 52 See Gaussen, Theses philosophicae (1663), 6 (physics thesis 6). 53 Gaussen, Theses philosophicae (1663), 6 (physics thesis 5): “In eandem fere sententiam Democritus & Epicurus, sed non is est Aristoteles, qui Democriti & Epicuri authoritate opus



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What Gaussen does in these two instances is hardly an earth shaking move; yet it is their very subtlety that brings the 1663 theses in line with Chouet’s remark that Gaussen’s colleagues failed to notice the way he introduced the ‘new philosophy’ to his students. From Gaussen’s 1663 theses, and what they imply about his classroom teaching, at least two conclusions follow. The first pertains to Gaussen’s place in the reception of Cartesianism in general. In Descartes and the Dutch, Theo Verbeek has noted that “Aristotelianism proved a very flexible philosophy that also suited Cartesians,” a circumstance they used to their advantage, as their “concern to prove that their concepts and categories were already used by Aristotle testifies to their need to confirm that they were not breaking with tradition.”54 Gaussen’s motive for introducing “smatterings” of Cartesianism into his classroom would appear to run in the other direction. Having observed how his contemporaries were abandoning Aristotle for the Epicurean or Cartesian traditions, he presented peripatetic philosophy in terms somewhat adapted to his neo-­ Epicurean contemporaries and to Descartes in the hope that his students might indeed recognize that Aristotle is “our heart’s dearest friend,” and that there is less reason to abandon him in favor of the recentiores than they might have thought on the basis of what they heard or read elsewhere. A second conclusion can be drawn about the history of Descartes’ reception at the academy of Saumur, which, against the assumptions of a long line of scholarship, must now be traced beyond Chouet to his predecessor Gaussen. Descartes underwent a wild ride at Saumur following the 1656 regulation against his and other non-Aristotelian philosophies, beginning with Gaussen, who, as we have seen, despite his own convictions regarding the superiority of Aristotle, surreptitiously introduced his students to Cartesian notions in the early 1660s; to Chouet, who openly taught the philosophy of Descartes in the late 1660s; to Chouet’s successor, Pierre de Villemandy (ca. 1636–1703), who in the 1670s proposed an Aristotelian-Epicurean-Cartesian eclecticism—and that, after having been thoroughly trounced as a convinced Aristotelian by Chouet in the concours for the philosophical chair in 1665!55 A third habere videatur.” For the importance of local motion in the philosophy of the recentiores, and the difference with respect to the peripatetic doctrine, see Alan Gabbey, “New Doctrines of Motion,” in The Cambridge History of Seventeenth-Century Philosophy, 2 vols., ed. Garber et al. (Cambridge: CUP, 1998), 1:649–679, there 649–650. 54 Verbeek, Descartes and the Dutch, 8. 55 On de Villemandy, see Prost, La philosophie, 102–129. On the larger theme, see Marjorie Grene, “Aristotelico-Cartesian Themes in Natural Philosophy: Some SeventeenthCentury Cases,” Perspectives on Science 1.1 (1993): 66–87.

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c­ onclusion regarding Gaussen’s view on Cartesianism above and beyond his preference for Aristotle must, however, be left for another time, because it needs to be placed within the broader framework of the use of philosophy for theology on which he wrote significantly.56 That Gaussen was one of the few to have taught both philosophy and theology at Saumur makes this topic all the more worthwhile, especially because his loci communes course, of which a manuscript was recently discovered, will allow us to see concretely how he put his theory into practice.

56 See Laplanche, L’Écriture, 532–545.

NONCONFORMIST SCHOOLS, THE SCHISM ACT, AND THE LIMITS OF TOLERATION IN ENGLAND’S CONFESSIONAL STATE James E. Bradley Following the Restoration and the Act of Uniformity (1662), the Anglican Church widely assumed that any form of religious dissent was schismatic and enforced religious uniformity with legal sanctions that oblige us to think of England at the time as a unitary, confessional state.1 “Noncon­ formists” or Protestant Dissenters (principally Presbyterians, Indepen­ dents, Baptists, and Quakers) began an extended if intermittent defense of their legitimate, non-schismatic status in the early 1680s that arguably witnessed some success in the religious compromise at the Revolution of 1689. Under the Toleration Act and throughout the reign of William and Mary, the Nonconformists enjoyed the limited freedom of legal toleration, though the Act merely suspended the legal penalties against Protestant Dissenters—Catholics and those who denied the Trinity were specifically excluded. During this period Nonconformist academies multiplied, even though their teachers endured numerous cases of prosecution. Under Queen Anne (1701–1714) this limited toleration was radically restricted, particularly through the Schism Act of 1714 that was designed to stop reli­ gious instruction in the Dissenting schools and academies and thereby contain, if not end, the growth of “schism.” This essay explores one aspect of the longer quest of Nonconformity for a legitimate, separate status of individual congregations and how that new status bore on a national, con­ fessing church and state. The repeal of the Occasional Conformity and Schism Acts in 1719 has been quite thoroughly studied, but surprisingly little attention has been given to the controversy leading up to the Schism Act and how it related to the Toleration Act. While the broader political and religious contexts of the Act itself have also been examined in detail, the pamphlet literature has not been sufficiently explored.2 Here we will examine the public 1 I am very grateful Dr. David L. Wykes, Director of Dr. Williams’ Library, London, for his generous advice regarding the Schism Act, the many resources he made available to me, and for his helpful suggestions on an earlier draft of the essay. 2 David L. Wykes, “Religious Dissent, the Church, and the Repeal of the Occasional Conformity and Schism Acts, 1714–19,” in Religion, Politics and Dissent, 1660–1832, ed. Cornwall and Gibson (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2010), 165–183; G.M. Townend, “Religious

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debate over Nonconformist schools and look in passing at the debates in Parliament and Convocation in an effort to estimate the perceived threat to the toleration of the Dissenters.3 The attack on the Dissenters’ schools was part of a much broader controversy over the legitimacy of Dissent and the meaning and durability of the Toleration Act. During Anne’s reign, at every conceivable point the Dissenters’ religious identity was threatened, including the validity of Dissenting ordinations, the validity of baptisms, and the right to hold public office and vote. But it was the debate over the right to educate their own children that revealed most clearly the limits of the Toleration Act and the lengths to which the confessional state might have been carried under the leadership of a Tory administration and highChurch divines. It would be no exaggeration to say that in 1714 toleration was nearly terminated, even if by 1719 the limits of the confessional state itself had been clearly drawn and placed on a new, legal foundation. With the accession of Anne and the newly acquired authority of the Tories, the Nonconformists encountered a significant reversal of fortunes, and one of the first hints of trouble emerged from the Lower House of Convocation in 1702. In an appeal to enforce the law against the formation of “seminaries” by “ignorant and disaffected persons,” the lower clergy rec­ ommended to the House of Lords that the bishops strictly enforce the Act of Uniformity. Since “the numbers of non-licenced schools and seminaries are multiplied, and the danger arising from their daily increase” offers “no  security to church or state,” but rather tends to “the subversion of both,” the bishops were admonished to use their “utmost authority” for “­suppressing such seminaries” in order to prevent the growth of schism and sedition. The academies, it was said, were not only prejudicial to the two ­universities, but they “tend to perpetuate the schism we now labor under, and to subvert the established constitution.”4 The last phrase omi­ nously implied the conviction that the Toleration Act was a temporary expedient. Radicalism and Conservatism in the Whig Party under George I: The Repeal of the Occasional Conformity and Schism Acts,” Parliamentary History 7 (1988): 24–44; Geoffrey Holmes, British Politics in the Age of Anne, rev. ed. (London: Hambledon, 1987), 103–104; G.V. Bennett, The Tory Crisis in Church and State, 1688–1730: The Career of Francis Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester (Oxford: OUP, 1975), 176–179. 3 The study of Nonconformist schools is the subject of a major research project under the direction of Isabel Rivers and David Wykes. Here space does not permit the heretofore neglected matter of prosecutions under the Act, which did occur, nor will it be possible to go into any depth concerning the legal side of the Act, the actual formed opposition to it, and the technical matters of the movement of the Bill and its amendments through Parliament. 4 Edward Cardwell, Synodalia: A Collection of Articles of Religion, Canons, and Pro­ ceedings of Convocation, 2 vols. (Oxford: OUP, 1842), 2:712–713, 718.



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Two periods of intense debate ensued following this initial outcry, with the first attack commencing almost immediately and the second flurry of activity emerging on the eve of the Schism Bill in the concluding months of Anne’s reign. Beginning in 1703, the sermons and pamphlets of highChurchmen Henry Sacheverell and Samuel Wesley (John Wesley’s father) attacked the academies because they believed that they were dangerous to the English church and monarchy and because they implied the perma­ nence of schism in the nation. These first, early stages of the debate thus set the tone for the entire reign of Anne, and importantly, the intent of high-Church Tories to curtail the indulgence granted Dissenters in the Toleration Act was signaled from the very outset of her reign. Setting aside the raillery, personal attacks, and all the expressions of fear and loathing on both sides, the arguments fall very roughly into three categories, relating to charges of the Dissenters’ politically disloyal and morally disor­ dered behavior, the understanding of the Toleration Act in relation to education, and the severe legal remedy proposed to address the threat of a perpetual schism. The first line of the high-Church offensive attack impugned the Dissenters’ loyalty to the English government and monarchy. In the thought of high-Churchmen, including Sacheverell and Wesley, epis­ copacy was the foundation of monarchy and the two were inextricably linked. True religion and sound government were necessarily connected; in the words of Sacheverell, “whatsoever strikes at the Church, must secretly undermine the State.”5 Because the Nonconformists rejected episcopacy, they of necessity must reject monarchy, and they were ­therefore not only schismatic in a religious sense, but factious, seditious, and highly dangerous politically. Wesley, who was educated among the Dissenters before he conformed, offered a first-hand account of their “unwarrantable practices.” Young men at the academies talked “disre­ spectfully or disloyally” of the government, and “king-killing doctrines” were “generally received and defended by the party.” Dissenters are, “in their avow’d principles for a Commonwealth.”6 The bishops in particular 5 Henry Sacheverell, The Nature and Mischief of Prejudice and Partiality Stated in a Sermon Preach’d at St. Mary’s in Oxford at the Assize held there, March 9th. 1703/04 (Oxford: Lichfield, 1704), Dedicatory epistle, 3, 26, 31, 42, 56; Samuel Wesley, A Defence of a Letter Concerning the Education of Dissenters in their Private Academies (London: Clavel and Knaplock, 1704), 5–6; 17–21. 6 Samuel Wesley, A Letter from a Country Divine to his Friend in London Concerning the Education of the Dissenters in their Private Academies in Several Parts of this Nation. Humbly offer’d to the Consideration of the Grand Committee of Parliament for Religion, now Sitting (London: Clavel and Knaplock, 1704), 3–6; 6–7. Wesley, Defence, 19–20.

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were subject to censure as the Dissenters were advocates of “root and branch-work with Episcopacy.”7 The argument for the Dissenters’ dangerous disloyalty was supported by an appeal to the actual writings of the Dissenters against episcopacy (with contempt for both the office and persons of bishops) and occasion­ ally against monarchy itself.8 Charges of disloyalty were also supported historically by rehearsing the religious causes of the civil war and the Nonconformists’ involvement in the execution of Charles I. Wesley expounded the same line of thought as Sacheverell with a long historical section that placed all the blame for the civil war and the king’s death on the Presbyterians. The Presbyterians and Independents were united in one common cause in the civil war, “as they are now again united,” and then they were intent on “the destruction of church and state,” with the implication that they still were. The “whole body of Dissenters,” according to Wesley, is disposed to the “infection” of king killing.9 High Anglicans traced the root of disloyalty to the disordered psychol­ ogy of the Dissenters and ultimately to the education of their youth in the Dissenting academies. Since young people are particularly suscep­ tible to influence, Dissenting education promoted the early adoption of prejudices that were “against the established church and government.”10 The leading cause of the disordered temper of the Dissenters thereby arose from a false education that contributed to habitual behavior making people impudent in defending the prejudices that they learned early in life. Out of these “schools and nurseries of rebellion” have sprung books and seditious libels which were against monarchy and “established hierar­ chy, and religion.”11 The deepest worries of high-Churchmen, however, centered around the public nature of the academies and the threat of their permanence; the education of Presbyterian and Independent ministers, the very people most to blame for these dangers, necessarily entailed the perpetration and propagation of the schism. The academies were a public offence again the universities, against royal authority, against the established church, and against good government. It was the Dissenters’ “public factious 7 Wesley, Letter, 7, 12; Wesley, Defence, 6. 8 Wesley, Defence, 7, 8–11, 17–21, 21–28. 9 Wesley, Defence, 21–40; Sacheverell, Mischief, 31–57. 10 Sacheverell, Mischief, 24, also 5; Wesley, Letter, 3; Wesley, Defence, 58–59; immoral behavior and political disloyalty are constantly linked in Wesley, Defence, 43–47; 51–52. 11 Sacheverell, Mischief, 20, 56; Wesley, Letter, 7, 14; Wesley, Defence, 5.



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opposition to the government” that “justly alarm’d it,” said Sacheverell.12 Judges and justices must take action, because if they did not, this “growing mischief” “will gradually gather strength, rise into corporations, and soci­ eties of schism…and perpetuate their dissension to posterity.”13 Wesley’s concerns were expressed in nearly identical terms to those of Sacheverell. The Dissenters are judged to be resolute “to perpetrate a schism” and Anglicans must in turn be resolute and earnest to “dissolve or heal it.”14 Such high-Church arguments clearly implied a narrow interpretation of the meaning of the Toleration Act and the need for rigorous legal action against Dissenters. Wesley denied the broader view adopted by the Dissenters that the Toleration Act had given them “permission” to form themselves into churches on the “same ground” as the national church.15 For Sacheverell and Wesley, the Act only removed certain penalties, and it was by no means intended to encourage the permanence and growth of the schism. The Act extended to Dissenters the merest of legal protection in their public worship. For these reasons, the law should be enforced against the Nonconformists and the tutors who led the academies. Sacheverell’s sermon appealed in impassioned tones to the grand jury and the justices and judges of the Oxford circuit for “a timely execution of the law upon such enormous and unheard-of offences,” exhorting them to “bear not the sword in vain” and “execute wrath upon those that do evil.” Because of the danger to both “church and state,” Wesley admonished the government to “have an eye upon ’em,” to take “speedy” measures, and he specifically recommended that the Lower House of Convocation take action.16 The gauntlet thrown down by Sacheverell and Wesley was picked up by the Presbyterian Samuel Palmer, who engaged both writers in detail on behalf of the Presbyterians and Independents. Perhaps the most impor­ tant aspect of Palmer’s treatise is the implied permanence of Dissent; reli­ gious separation from the national church is judged to be an acceptable and legitimate reality. Palmer began his defense with a plea that all restric­ tions should be taken off the universities and the academies alike, but naturally, given the charges that had been leveled against the Dissenters, he was duty-bound to devote the longest discussion of the book to the 12 Sacheverell, Mischief, 54; Wesley, Defence, 49. 13 Sacheverell, Mischief, 54–55. 14 Wesley, Letter, 4; Wesley, Defence, 14–16. 15 Wesley, Defence, 8–9, 11. 16 Sacheverell, Mischief, 57; also, 32–34, 55; Wesley, Defence, 2, 48.

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question of the Dissenters’ political loyalty.17 In the Nonconformists’ public confessions of faith, “which are the acts of Dissenters as a party,” they own the divine source of magistracy and contend that lawful author­ ity is not to be resisted. Palmer defended the balanced constitution and limited monarchy and denied the charge that the Dissenters espoused republicanism.18 As to the blame leveled by Sacheverell and Wesley for causing the civil war, Palmer declares the charges false since it was not a “war of religion,” and the Dissenters as a body are free, in Palmer’s estimate, from any taint of regicide.19 Two of Palmer’s more important arguments have to do with the theo­ retical grounds of the right of educating one’s own children and the inter­ pretation of the Toleration Act. The first relates to a defense based on natural rights, and here Palmer draws upon the recently articulated thought of John Locke. Dissenters ought to be able to educate their own youth according to the rational dictates of their own conscience, and this is “an original and inviolable right” founded on “the law of nature.” This right could only be forfeited when principles were taught and practices pursued that were “visibly and incontestably” destructive of moral virtue or just government. In brief, conscience and the right of private judgment are the basis for private education.20 Palmer’s understanding of con­ science also bears directly on his interpretation of the Toleration Act. In direct opposition to Sacheverell, he argues that the liberty of conscience granted by law includes within it whether one chooses public or private education.21 On the grounds of “reason and equity” private schools fall within the provisions found in the Toleration Act since education in one’s own principles is a part of “our conscientious dissent,” and the gen­ eral end of the Act seems to be the securing of their right to educate their own ministers. Since the Toleration Act intends to preserve Dissenters from persecution for their conscientious separation from the Church of 17 Samuel Palmer, A Vindication of the Learning, Loyalty, Morals, and most Christian Behaviour of the Dissenters toward the Church of England. In answer to Mr. Wesley’s defence of his Letter Concerning the Dissenters’ Education in their Private Academies. And to Mr. Sacheverel’s Injurious Reflections upon them (London: Lawrence, 1705), 4, 10; Chap. 5: “Loyalty of Principles: Behavior toward Authority,” 39–65. Palmer’s earlier pamphlet of 1703 covers the same topics, but in much briefer compass; for example on the Dissenters’ loyalty, see A Defence of the Dissenters’ Education in their Private Academies: in answer to Mr. W—y’s Disingenuous and Unchristian Reflections upon ’em (London: Baldwin, 1703), 10–12. 18 Palmer, Vindication, 40, 48, 50–51. 19 Palmer, Vindication, 9, 42–46; 55–57; 59–61. 20 Palmer, Vindication, 3–5, 7. 21 Palmer, Vindication, 7, citing Sacheverell’s Assize Sermon, 55.



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England, it must include the right to educate their own ministers. Besides, to deprive one the use of private education without admitting one to public education “interferes with the liberty of conscience, with which we are invested by law.”22 In the midst of this pamphlet warfare, in December 1705 (and possibly in response to the earlier concerns expressed in the lower house of Convocation), both houses of Parliament gave an entire day to debate the question of whether “the church was in danger,” and several of the speak­ ers voiced fears similar to those of Sacheverell and Wesley. Although both houses voted by large majorities that the church was not in danger (a view that was effectively reversed in 1714), the matter of the Nonconformist academies was introduced in both debates. The opinion of some was clearly in favor of suppression. For example, the Archbishop of York, John Sharp, said that “he apprehended danger from the increase of dissenters, and particularly from the many academies set up by them, and moved, that the judges might be consulted what laws were in force against such seminaries, and by what means they might be suppressed.”23 The threat such language posed to the Nonconformists was evident in the Bishop of Salisbury’s summary of the debate; low-Churchman Gilbert Burnet argued that the toleration had in fact “softened” the tempers of the Dissenters, who to him seemed quiet and content with their toleration “if they could be but secure of enjoying it.”24 In the years that ensued leading up to the trial of Henry Sacheverell in 1710, it would become increasingly clear that it was not the church but the Dissenters who were in danger. The Dissenters witnessed a quickening pace of opposition in the form of direct attacks in the last four years of Anne’s reign, beginning with the backlash to the pyrrhic Whig victory of the impeachment of Henry Sacheverell. The violence of the Sacheverell riots in March of 1710 signaled a fortuitous shift in political fortunes for the Tories, and within a month of the trial, the dismissal of Whig ministers commenced. The Dissenters, however, suffered the most. The verdict against Sacheverell provoked high-Church riots in London that Geoffrey Holmes ranked second in destructive power only to the Gordon riots of 1780.25 On the night of 22 Palmer, Vindication, 7–11. 23 William Cobbett, Cobbett’s Parliamentary History of England, vol. 6 (London: Hansard, 1810), 492–493; for the Lord’s debate, 6 Dec., 479–508; for the Common’s debate, 7 Dec., less fully reported, 508–509. 24 Cobbett, Parliamentary History, 506. 25 Geoffrey Holmes, “The Sacheverell Riots: The Crowd and the Church in Early Eighteenth-Century London,” PP 72 (1976): 56.

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March 1, 1710, a well-orchestrated mob involving many thousands of Londoners systematically dismantled six Dissenting chapels, two of which were large structures with three galleries each, collected the debris in the center of the streets to avoid burning adjacent houses, and burned them in huge bonfires. These six chapels provided seating for thousands of Dissenters, and the impact of the riots on the mentality of the victims was undoubtedly profound. If it is true, as Holmes argues, that at least four-fifths of the parish clergy in England and Wales were sympathetic to the cause of Sacheverell, the fears that Dissenters entertained were not without foundation.26 In the general election in late 1710 the Tories won a significant electoral advantage, and by 1711 the Tory majorities in Parliament were sufficiently great to enable them to pass the long discussed Occasional Conformity Act that closed the loophole that had allowed Dissenters to become sacramentally qualified to hold office. In the general election of September 1713, another Tory electoral victory set the stage for even more aggressive moves against the Dissenters, and in early 1714 plans were laid in Tory and high-Church circles for a bill that would prevent the further growth of “schism” and effectively limit the toleration to the gen­ eration living at the time. In June 1714 the Schism Act finally passed both houses of Parliament. The provisions of the “Act to Prevent the Growth of Schism” were sim­ ple and at the same time devastating to Dissent in that they re-established the Act of Uniformity of 1662 with respect to Dissenting schools and confined all religious instruction strictly to the Church of England.27 Any schoolmaster who wished to teach religious subjects must either be an Anglican, or conform by becoming sacramentally qualified (with a certifi­ cate), obtain a license from his bishop, and then, importantly, use only the Church catechism, thereby guaranteeing Anglican confessional unifor­ mity in England and Ireland. The penalty for teaching without a license was three months imprisonment, and if one attended a Nonconformist meeting after being licensed, teachers were disqualified from teaching again unless they conformed for a year. Dissenting schoolmasters were by this law permitted to instruct youth in reading, writing, and “mathemati­ cal learning,” but only insofar as these subjects bore on navigation and the mechanical arts. Numerous Nonconformist academies suspended their

26 Holmes, “Sacheverell,” 69. 27 13 Anne, c. 7, The Statutes of the Realm (London: Ayre and Strahan, 1810–1825).



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work as a result of the Act.28 However, both the Schism Act and the Occasional Conformity Act were repealed in 1719 under radically changed political circumstances and a Whig administration that was far more friendly to Dissent. In the period during which the Schism Bill was debated in Parliament, numerous pamphlets and sermons appeared on both sides of the issue. Earlier treatises on schism and separation were reissued, and many writ­ ers engaged the issues for the first time. The arguments fall into roughly the same categories as the earlier debate between Sacheverell and Wesley against Palmer. In support of the Bill, writers reiterated longstanding claims of the disloyalty of the Dissenters, who were judged to be in a state of schism and dangerously inclined to sedition.29 As in the earlier exchanges, Dissenters were blamed for the civil war and the death of Charles I, with the direct implication drawn that they were an abiding menace to church and state; “these very persons” not a century before (or, in another author’s phrase, “not long ago),” overthrew the constitu­ tion, both civil and ecclesiastical. The ministers as leaders of Dissent were particularly to blame, and if the academies which disturbed the “public peace” were legitimized, then the schism would be permanent and would possibly “fly out into an actual rebellion”30 Hence the Schism Bill was viewed by its supporters as a chief means of bringing the indulgence of the Dissenters under the Toleration Act to an end. The debate over the Toleration Act thus bulked much larger in this period than it had before. Statements that had earlier appeared as mere assertions were now defended at length. The high-Church understanding of the Toleration Act pointedly reveals the seriousness of the threat to the very existence of Dissent. While not all high-Churchmen were willing to admit that the Bill effectively revoked the Toleration Act, some writers forcefully asserted as much. High-Churchman George Sewell wrote, “The Government which was pleased to grant that indulgence thinks fit to retract it,” and the government had sufficient power to do so. The reason 28 David L. Wykes, “Quaker Schoolmasters, Toleration and the Law, 1689–1714,” JRH 21 (June 1997): 187. 29 George Sewell, Schism, Destructive of the Government, Both in Church and State. Being a Defence of the Bill, Intitled, An Act for Preventing the Growth of Schism, 2nd ed. (London: Curll, 1714), 4, 23–24; this pamphlet is mispaginated from p. 8 forward and again at p. 25 and following. 30 Sewell, Schism, 19, 24–25; see also Anon., Reasons for the Law, now Depending in Parliament, to Prevent the Further Growth of Schism. Shewing, that the Indulgence granted to Dissenters is Dangerous both to Church and State (London: Roberts, 1714), 11–12; 22–23; 29–30.

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for the change was that the legislature believed that “the Dissenters may injure, or subvert the constitution by a longer indulgence of this tolera­ tion.” An anonymous pamphleteer argued that the “Act of Indulgence” must not be extended to Dissenting seminaries and the public education of youth.31 No one, in Sewell’s view, had ever understood the Toleration Act to be “any more than a temporary indulgence” granted until the pas­ sage of time and better information might bring those who were indulged to conformity. It applied only to the generation of Dissenters that lived at the time and was intended only for those adults whose views were already well-formed. Since the Act itself included nothing about its permanence, its duration was left entirely in the power of the legislature. In brief, the posterity of those Dissenters who were once “indulged” never had a right to the benefits of the Toleration Act.32 In the high-Church view, the Dissenters and the “patrons of schism” had unduly enlarged and broadened the meaning of the Toleration Act.33 The permanence of the Toleration Act was never promised, but even if it had been promised, promises by governors were, according to Sewell, always conditional, and if the safety of the nation was in doubt, promises might be revoked. So the force of the Toleration Act was “in the extent they [the Dissenters] mean” by it, taken away by the Schism Act, and properly so, since the legislature had determined that the security of the church and the state required the Bill.34 A number of eminent Dissenters wrote against the Bill, including John Shute (later Viscount Barrington), who was one of the most effective lay-writers among the Dissenters, and Daniel Defoe, doubtless the most well-known Dissenting author. They were joined in opposition to the Bill by several well-known Anglicans, including Sir Richard Steele and John Oldmixon. Again, many of the earlier arguments appeared here, but they were put with even more urgency in 1714. Opponents of the Bill naturally denied the Dissenters’ complicity as a unified body in the civil war and the death of Charles I and defended their loyalty and good behavior.35 Defoe, 31 Sewell, Schism, 8, 17; Reasons, 13. 32 Sewell, Schism, 17, 20–21; also Reasons, 13–14, for the Toleration Act as a temporary, revocable indulgence; and Reasons, 2nd ed. (1718), 36–37, where, under pressure for repeal in 1718, the author implies that without the Bill, England might even arrive at a “general Toleration” that would result in “great disturbance.” 33 Sewell, Schism, 20; also Reasons, 14. 34 Sewell, Schism, 3, 29–30. 35 John Shute, A Letter from a Lay-man, in Communion with the Church of England, tho’ Dissenting from Her in Some Points (London: Clark, 1714), 14, 16–17, 26.



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who was a careful observer and in a position to know such things, depicted a happy, contented, and loyal Nonconformist “nation” under William and Mary and the early years of Anne’s reign, but warned of the dire conse­ quences, particularly the alienation of the Dissenters’ affection for the government, should the Bill become law.36 Once the Bill was amended at points and became law, Defoe was far more hopeful that the Act could be connived at, even though the risks of prosecution remained real.37 The theoretical grounds for opposition to the Bill were, unsurprisingly, the freedom of conscience based upon both the “light of nature” and Protestant thought. Shute argued in much the same terms as Samuel Palmer for a Lockean understanding of “rights” possessed by all persons in  a state of nature. Christian teaching as expressed in the Protestant Reformation was the basis for claiming the right of private judgment. In terms very similar to those of Shute, Steele and others argued that the Bill would abridge natural, religious, and civil rights.38 In short, our right “as men and Christians” is the right to judge for ourselves in matters of religion, and hence truth will be followed “where the fairest, freest inqui­ ries are most countenanc’d.”39 Dissenter and low-Churchman alike argued that nothing is more dear to a parent’s conscience than “the direc­tion of  their children’s education.” If people cannot educate their own chil­ dren in their own way, they are not tolerated but persecuted. Parents are given the use of reason and feelings of tenderness for their own children in order to govern and guide them, and therefore it follows that to hinder the education of children is “to pervert the order of nature.”40 Shute and Steele adopted a broad view of the Toleration Act and made it the centerpiece of their opposition to the Bill. The Dissenters and their low-Church Anglican allies were of one mind: the Schism Bill interpreted the Toleration Act as a temporary expedient and it would, over time,

36 Daniel Defoe, The Remedy Worse than the Disease; or, Reasons Against Passing the Bill for Preventing the Growth of Schism. To which is Added, a Brief Discourse of Toleration and Persecution (London: Baker, 1714), 4, 6, 5–7. 37 Daniel Defoe, The Schism Act Explain’d: Wherein Some Methods are laid down how the Dissenters may Teach their Schools and Academies as usual, without incurring the Penalties of the said Act (London: Bell, 1714), 15–21. 38 Shute, Letter, 6, 9–10; Richard Steele, A Letter to a Member of Parliament Concerning the Bill for Preventing the Growth of Schism (Edinburgh, 1714), 13–17; Defoe, Remedy, 12; John Oldmixon, The Sense of the Church of England with Respect to the Schism of the Protestant Dissenters. Wherein their Case is Fully Stated and the Bill now Depending Consider’d (London: Cliff, 1714), 20. 39 Shute, Letter, 8, 10, 12; Defoe, Remedy, 13–14. 40 Oldmixon, Sense, 10, 13; Shute, Letter, 19, 22, 24.

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reduce the Toleration to a dead letter. The Toleration Act, wrote Shute, enshrined toleration as “a fundamental principle and maxim of our government,” and even in the recent Occasional Conformity Act (1711), “the nation has received fresh assurances, that the Toleration shall be invi­ olably maintain’d”41 The Bill, according to Steele, “in a stealing and too artful a manner, takes away the toleration of Dissenters; for the force of it is directed to take place in confirmation of a law [the Act of Uniformity] which they are expressly defended against by the said Act of Toleration.”42 Steele argued as well that the Toleration Act exempted the Dissenters’ religion, giving them a right to worship publically as a benefit, but with that benefit, he continued, went the means of obtaining it, and “education is the necessary means which this law [the Schism Bill] intercepts.”43 The terms of the Bill led Defoe to conclude that the churches of Dissenters “will be shut up as well as their schools.”44 Finally, the inconsistency of the Bill with the recent Act of Union with Scotland was a significant point of the debate. Defoe, who had been heav­ ily invested in the negotiations and published a history of the Union in 1709, was particularly penetrating on this issue.45 As Shute (who was also engaged in winning Presbyterian support in Scotland) put the matter, with Presbyterian forms of worship on one side of the Tweed and Episcopal on the other, how could Dissent be declared a good thing there, and “intol­ erable and unfit” here?46 The Bill was, in Steele’s words, a “destructive” and “pernicious” Bill, “terrible to scrupulous consciences” in that it threatened adult Dissenters with the loss of toleration and certainly denied it to their Dissenting posterity.47 It confined education to a single party and promoted persecution, which in its nature obstructs the free acquisition of knowledge in all forms of learning and science.48 Defoe, always the pragmatist (and with the French Huguenots in mind), worried about the loss to trade and the national interest should the Dissenters become so disaffected that they would immigrate to other countries. 41 Shute, Letter, 16. A second edition of the “letter” includes a postscript that makes the legal case that the Bill is inconsistent with the Toleration Act and other laws of the realm. Shute, 2nd ed. (London: Baker, 1714), 31- 36; Steele, Letter, 5–12; Defoe, Remedy, 3–4, 6–7; Oldmixon, Sense, 28–29. 42 Steele, Letter, 12. 43 Steele, Letter, 16; Defoe, Remedy, 25; and Sewell’s response, Sewell, Schism, 20. 44 Defoe, Remedy, 12, 17. 45 Defoe, Remedy, 26. 46 Shute, Letter, 24; Steele, Letter, 11. 47 Steele, Letter, 25, 29, 30. 48 Defoe, Remedy, 35–38; Oldmixon, Sense, 14.



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The fragmentary evidence we have of the debate in Parliament (cast throughout by William Cobbett in favor of the Whigs) indicates that the same arguments broached in the public arena appeared in the House of Commons and in the House of Lords. We find the purported threat that the Dissenters posed to the nation and open Tory concessions that the bill did “strike” at the Toleration Act; its persecutory and divisive nature was noted (just at the moment that Protestant unity was needed), as was its inconsistency with the Act of Union. Overall, there was perhaps a greater emphasis in Parliament on the possible negative economic repercussions of the bill to English manufacturing than there was in the public debate.49 Importantly, during the debate in the House of Commons, the right of the Dissenters to vote in parliamentary elections was threatened on two separate occasions by the Tories, a tactic used to sidetrack the Whig oppo­ sition and maintain the momentum in support of the Bill.50 The failure to follow through on this threat would ultimately contribute to the Whig electoral victory of 1715 and indirectly to the repeal of the Act itself. At least two matters of note emerged from the controversy over Nonconformist schools, one having to do with political and ecclesiastical principles, and the other related to political interest and influence. First, as to principle, if the Dissenters adopted a broad understanding of the Act of Toleration, they strove to give a narrow interpretation to the term “schism” and thereby limit its meaning. Early in the debate Steele observed that the Bill itself offered no definition of schism and wondered whether it was intended in a religious or a political sense. He concluded that it must apply to those who do not conform to the established church “and not as they are persons who live in an erroneous way with regard to faith or piety.” In other words, it was “political” schism.51 Similarly, Oldmixon wrote that schism in “the church sense” does not apply to the Protestant Dissenters because there is no disagreement “in essentials of religion and points tending to salvation.”52 The matter was put in positive terms as well. “Diversity of religions” in a state is consistent with good government, wrote Defoe; indeed, “a variety of opinions is a certain sign of a free 49 Cobbett, Parliamentary History, on the danger, 1351; on toleration, 1352, 1353, 1356, 1357; on persecution 1349, 1356, 1357 and division, 1352, 1357; on the Union, 1352, 1358; and on trade, 1350, 1353, 1357. 50 Cobbett, Parliamentary History, 1350, 1356. Of course the Occasional Conformity Act aimed to control the Dissenting vote in corporation boroughs, but Dissenters were especially numerous in some of the larger open freeman boroughs. 51 Steel, Letter, 10. 52 Oldmixon, Sense, 4, 37.

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government.” In Defoe’s words, “diversity of religions is so far from being dangerous, that it ought rather be counted beneficial, as it creates a noble emulation in manners, learning, industry, and loyalty.”53 The debate over the Schism Bill was thus the occasion for the Dissenters to relaunch an old campaign (traceable in its origins to the 1680s and the writings of Richard Baxter and John Owen, among others) to deny the sin of schism and defend themselves in terms of the more neutral concept of separation. Dissenting churches were separate, legitimate Christian congregations worthy of recognition by the national church.54 The term “pluralism” was never used, but “separation,” “diverse” religious worship, and a “medley of churches” were used, and religious pluralism, approximating the modern sense, seems to have been implied. These arguments, at least to many of the Anglican Whig friends of Dissent, were convincing. But secondly, with respect to political interest, it may well have been less the logic of the case and more a matter of political interest that helped work such a dramatic change in the Dissenting fortunes of the first years of George I’s reign. It was neither the arguments of the Dissenters nor those of their Anglican friends alone that led to repeal and restored their limited toleration for the duration of the long-eighteenth century. The new alliance forged with low-Church Anglicans was based on expedi­ ence, and thus political interest seems to have been more influential than principles and arguments, whether stated inside or outside the doors of Parliament. Apart from the accession of George I, the resurgence of the Whigs in the general election of 1715, and the reaction to the abortive Jacobite rebellion in Scotland, a more positive appraisal of Nonconformity might never have occurred and toleration might have come to an end. These events, however, helped secure an alliance, already well along in the process of formation, between the Dissenters and low-Church Anglicans. The alliance was sealed, as it were, by the confirmation in 1718 of how critical the Dissenting vote was to Whig electoral victories in the borough constituencies. In preparation for the repeal campaign, John Shute, along with seventeen other Dissenting correspondents, collabo­ rated on the first national survey of the political strength of the Nonconformists in borough and county electorates by actually counting 53 Defoe, Remedy, 31, 42. 54 John Billingsley, A Brief Discourse of Schism. By a Protestant, 2nd ed. (London: Bell, 1714); Charles Owen, Plain-Dealing: or, Separation without Schism, and Schism without Separation. Exemplify’d in the Case of Protestant-Dissenters and Church-Men (London: Matthews, 1715).



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the number of Dissenting voters.55 The substance of the survey pointed in a single direction: Whig Members of Parliament needed the Nonconformist vote in numerous constituencies if they were to secure their political future against local Tory and high-Church parties. Once it is conceded that political influence was important to the out­ come of the debate over the Schism Act, it can also be argued that the principles and arguments in favor of religious diversity would ultimately gain widespread acceptance. Dissenters had begun, however tentatively, to sever the thousand-year-old links between episcopacy, monarchy, and political loyalty. We can conclude at a minimum that if the limits of toleration were illumined by the controversy over education, so were the limits of England as a unitary, confessional state. In the ensuing decades Nonconformist schools and academies survived, developed, and in a few cases became outstanding examples of educational excellence. The train­ ing they offered ensured the survival of an educated ministry and ulti­ mately contributed to a level of scholarship which could hold its own with the graduates of the two universities and the leading Anglican writers.

55 James E. Bradley, “Nonconformity and the Electorate in Eighteenth-Century England,” Parliamentary History 6 (1987): 238.

PIETY, THEOLOGY, EXEGESIS, AND TRADITION: ANNA MARIA VAN SCHURMAN’S ‘ELABORATION’ OF GENESIS 1–3 AND ITS RELATIONSHIP TO THE COMMENTARY TRADITION John L. Thompson Anyone of learning who lived in Europe in the mid-seventeenth century and who had not heard of Anna Maria van Schurman was, to put it bluntly, simply not paying attention. Accomplished in poetry, painting, languages, and letters, van Schurman’s literary reputation was established in many ways, including by the Latin ode she penned for the opening of the University of Utrecht in 1636 at the request of Gisbert Voetius, professor of theology.1 More notable still was the treatise that has come to us in English as “Whether a Christian Woman Should Be Educated,” which appeared in Paris in 1638 and then in Leiden in 1641 as part of her epistolary exchange with another professor of theology, André Rivet.2 She is also remembered for auditing the lectures of Voetius while hidden from the other (male) students by a screen. Her remembrance if not her reputation was later secured by her scandalous break with Voetius and the Reformed church in her sixties, in favor of her affiliation with the sectarian pietist Jean de Labadie. Nonetheless, not all her writings are equally well known today.3 One such writing is arguably a work both of poetry and of biblical exegesis—an 1 Van Schurman made Voetius’ acquaintance in 1634 and began studies with him shortly thereafter. Her poem was published with others delivered on the occasion in Academiae Ultrajectinae inauguratio (Utrecht, 1636). 2 The authoritative text is the 1641 Leiden edition, which contains added correspondence: Dissertatio de ingenii muliebris ad doctrinam et meliores literas aptitudine: Accedunt Quaedam epistolae eiusem argumenti. The first English edition of 1659 has at last been upstaged by Joyce L. Irwin, ed., Anna Maria van Schurman: Whether a Christian Woman Should Be Educated and Other Writings from Her Intellectual Circle (Chicago: UCP, 1998). 3 The reception of van Schurman’s person and works has been traced in considerable detail by Mirjam de Baar and Brita Rang, “Anna Maria van Schurman: A Historical Survey of Her Reception since the Seventeenth Century,” in Choosing the Better Part: Anna Maria van Schurman (1607–1678), ed. Mirjam de Baar et al. (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1996), 1–22. De Baar and Rang credit a 1977 article by Joyce Irwin as heralding the recent “wave of renewed international interest,” and the collection of diverse essays edited by de Baar et al. is itself a testimony to this surge of writing on van Schurman. Extensive if not exhaustive bibliographies are found in de Baar et al. (Choosing the Better Part, 155–171) as well as in Pieta van Beek’s recent biography, The First Female University Student: Anna Maria van Schurman (1636) (Utrecht: Igitur, 2010), 262–274.

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explanation or paraphrase of Genesis 1–3, written around 1660 but published only posthumously, in 1732.4 This 944-line poem presents a unique opportunity not only to consider van Schurman’s exegesis but also to look for signs of interaction with her contemporary Reformed teachers as well as her extensive reading in earlier Christian sources, ranging from the church fathers through classic Protestant writers and writings.5 This essay will therefore examine her Uitbreiding of Genesis 1–3 in order to sketch a partial account of the theological and exegetical heritage it displays. Poetry or Exegesis? Or Both? The Uitbreiding is a curious document. It was probably written by 1660, based on its association with some of van Schurman’s other Dutch poems for which private circulation can be dated with some approximation.6 By then, there can be no doubt that van Schurman was fluent in biblical languages as well as Latin, and her skills in biblical exegesis had occasionally been demonstrated in public.7 So can we properly regard this work as exegetical? Yes and no. The poem’s title identifies it as an uitbreiding—an elaboration or ­amplification—of the opening chapters of Genesis. As a work of exegesis, the poem might have taken inspiration from a host of precedents— besides the huge corpus of biblical commentaries. “Elaborating” the Bible had been made respectable a century earlier by the Paraphrases of Erasmus, which van Schurman easily could have known. Likewise, we know she read the church fathers, whose hexameral writings singled out 4 Uitbreiding over de drie eerste capittels van Genesis. Beneffens een vertoog van het geestelyk huwelyk van Christus met de gelovigen. Beide in Zinrijke Digtmaat t’ zamen gesteld, door wylen Juffer Anna Maria van Schuurman. Nu eerst na het Originele handschrift gedrukt. (Groningen: Sipkes, 1732). 5 Studies of van Schurman’s theology often focus more on her late work, Eukleria (1673), and on her conversion to Labadism. The definitive account of her Dutch poetry is by Pieta van Beek, Verbastert Christendom: Nederlandse Gedichten van Anna Maria van Schurman (1607–1678) (Houten: Den Hertog, 1992); see also idem, “‘O Utreght, Lieve Stad…’: Poems in Dutch by Anna Maria van Schurman,” in Choosing the Better Part, 68–85. Aside from a few passing comments about the Uitbreiding, the work has been studied in detail only by Elisabeth Gössmann in her edited volume, Das wohlgelahrte Frauenzimmer, 2nd ed. (Munich: Iudicium, 1998), 1 103–112. 6 See van Beek: Verbastert Christendom, 95, cf. 80–81; First Female, 89, 215; “O Utreght,” 77–81. 7 See van Beek, First Female (87–90, 119–120), for anecdotes about van Schurman’s skills in biblical exegesis.



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Genesis 1 for encyclopedic exposition. But there are also precedents for poetry based on the creation narratives—indeed, poetry of epic proportions, such as La premiere semaine ou la creation du monde (1578) by the Huguenot poet Guillaume Du Bartas, which was widely printed and translated.8 Though there is no reason to suppose that van Schurman could not have known this work too, its length dwarfs her poem by roughly sevenfold, and that alone suggests that her own work needs to be assessed more inductively. Accordingly, while there is no evidence that the Uitbreiding was intended as anything like an exercise in Hebrew exegesis, van Schurman’s impressive reading in classical theology and her tutelage with Voetius and others is very much on display. In a short summary of the poem, Joyce Irwin has said that Reformed “covenant theology” is “the framework for her biblical interpretation,” but that van Schurman’s “description of redemption as loss of self and union with God reflects the Pietist approach of her later phase of life.”9 Without wishing to discount the trajectory that would later lead van Schurman from what could be seen as the institutionalized idealism of the Nadere Reformatie to the more sectarian idealism of her later association with Labadie, one may argue that the theme of union with God and its obverse, a denial or loss of self, was itself already innate to the Nadere Reformatie (as well as the broader Reformed tradition).10 But Irwin is correct to find many marks of what van Schurman would have learned from Voetius and Rivet, as well as from her lengthy association with other scholars and pastors of the Nadere Reformatie. Still, it is reasonable to wonder if this didactic poem was influenced by specifically exegetical traditions. On the one hand, a poem might value eloquence over precision of theological expression. On the other hand, 8 The first French edition ran to just under 6500 lines (counting only the first “week”), but the work was revised multiple times; see The Works of Guillaume De Salluste Sieur Du Bartas: A Critical Edition with Introduction, Commentary, and Variants, ed. Holmes et al., 3 vols. (Chapel Hill: UNCP, 1935). 9 Joyce Irwin, “Anna Maria van Schurman,” in Handbook of Women Biblical Interpreters, ed. Taylor (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2012), 440–441. Elisabeth Gössmann’s essay offers many running observations on the poem’s content and is especially adept at highlighting correlations with the women writers who preceded her, but Gössmann does not consider whether the poem shows any indebtedness to traditional exegesis; see Das wohlgelahrte Frauenzimmer, 103, 105–107, 110. 10 See Richard A. Muller, “Union with Christ and the Ordo Salutis: Reflections on Developments in Early Modern Reformed Thought,” in Calvin and the Reformed Tradition: Studies on the Work of Christ and the Order of Salvation (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2012), 202–243; and Arie de Reuver, Sweet Communion: Trajectories of Spirituality from the Middle Ages through the Further Reformation (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007).

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would it be possible for a brilliant mind such as that of Anna Maria van Schurman not to retain the impress of whatever she may have known of the commentary tradition? The question can be addressed in two moves. First, bearing in mind the general outlines of Genesis commentaries from the late medieval and early modern period, we will survey some of the topics, questions, and interests that van Schurman’s poem shares with this extensive body of literature—as well note some elements that she omits. After that, we will ask if any specific exegetical sources might have exerted a demonstrable influence on her work.11 The Uitbreiding as a Commentary on Genesis 1–3 It was no less true in the seventeenth century than it is today that the commentary genre is often achingly predictable. Indeed, most commentators are keen to interact with their predecessors, even where earlier views and voices are not acknowledged, and there are long lists of traditional questions posed not so much by the Bible as by generations of commentators—and it is rare to come across an original answer. Despite the unusual genre of the Uitbreiding, there is no reason to think van Schurman was aiming at theological innovation—nor is there reason to suppose, given her extraordinary learning, that she would have been particularly ignorant of what contemporary commentators would have discussed. At its outset, the Uitbreiding demonstrates that van Schurman was not writing a hexameron, for the first five and a half days of creation are recounted in only 10 lines. But alongside the expected affirmation of creation ex nihilo, one cannot miss her real interest in Genesis 1: the human being as God’s own image. 41  We are thus, I say, rightly to be appraised 42   as an abstract of God’s wondrous works and ways: 43 our souls bear the image of heaven’s very crown, 44   our bodies are an image of earth’s own renown.12 11 Still the best overview is Arnold Williams, The Common Expositor: An Account of the Commentaries on Genesis, 1527–1633 (Chapel Hill: UNCP, 1948). My own consideration of van Schurman’s Uitbreiding in the larger context of commentary literature derives from extensive reading in Genesis commentaries as preparation for my volume on Genesis 1–11 for the Reformation Commentary on Scripture (Downers Grove: IVP, 2012). 12 Line numbers are sequential for the entire poem from 1 to 944, and the translation here is the one prepared by myself and Albert Gootjes for a forthcoming edition of this poem. We rendered van Schurman’s text as gender-inclusive wherever possible, based on



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Humans are thus a microcosm of heaven and earth—a lesson dear to Platonists but also significant for Christians, for whom the notion enabled them to speak of even the body as somehow involved in imaging God’s creative work. The poem then devotes nearly fifty lines to a litany in praise of all aspects of the human being—soul, spirit, body; intellect, will, affections; reason and senses—as reflections of the divine wisdom and glory (45–92). This long list enables van Schurman to impart a variety of lessons, including that the soul or reason ought to rule over the body and its  senses—another traditional observation, more often introduced in Genesis 3, when orderliness is disrupted by sin. It is this passage that bears the closest resemblance not only to the epic poetry of Du Bartas, who likewise describes humanity as a microcosm and extols the wonders of body and soul, but also to the hexaemeral literature, which took delight in inventories of the marvels of creation and human nature as expressions of divine wisdom and as incitements to worship and praise.13 Perhaps the most interesting turn this section takes is toward its end, when our poet allusively describes what can only be the marvel of the  human conscience. Though she does not name the conscience as such until later in the poem, it is assuredly intended here, as the “evangelistic” function of this member makes clear (in phrases suggestive of Romans 1 and 2): 87  As law and judge, it rules within to keep us on the path 88    and makes us know if we deserve God’s favor or His wrath. 89  In it the blind see something, in it the deaf can hear 90   the voice of nature sounding in every human ear, 91  calling out, “There is a God, all-powerful, good, and wise, 92    who made us that His highest praise might evermore arise.”

Before leaving Genesis 1, we should register that van Schurman interrupts her account of the image of God in order to ask just who it was who made this wondrous and glorious creature and image. The question is her ­pretext for twenty dense lines informing the reader that the Creator is also a variety of considerations, including selected instances where plural references in the text clearly indicate that both Adam and Eve are in view, even when van Schurman’s text subsequently switches back to the generic masculine singular “man.” I regret that considerations of space have necessitated omitting the Dutch text. 13 The related passage in Du Bartas occurs in the sixth day, where the creation of man and woman is described. For the original French, see lines 401–1054 of “Le Sixiesme Jour,” in Holmes et al., Works of Guillaume De Salluste Sieur Du Bartas, 2:391–414; cf. Snyder, ed., The Divine Weeks and Works, 1:274–293, lines 419–1120. For a similar litany, see Ambrose, Hexameron 6.9 (54–74).

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a  Trinity of Persons, whose works on our behalf are undivided, whose impassibility is utterly in contrast to the changeability of creatures, and whose will is identical with his act. These are reasonably sophisticated points of traditional Trinitarian orthodoxy, to which van Schurman adds one more: that while conscience testifies to God’s existence, these Trini­ tarian truths are not to be found within us (despite conscience’s witness) but are revealed only by God’s word—an axiom found equally in Aquinas and Calvin, and one that carefully draws a line between general and ­special revelation. Van Schurman reiterates the role of Scripture when she turns to Genesis 2. While we can learn much about God’s glory by looking at the wonders of body and soul, we see God’s image more clearly from what the Bible tells us about our first parents: 95  [H]ow good they were, and wise, how upright and holy; 96    heirs of life they were, and all else served them wholly… 105  The Almighty wanted only that they should know and extol 106    Him as their Maker, to obey Him fully, with heart and soul. 107  All that they were or saw was given to propel their minds 108    into their Father’s good kingdom, their resting-place to find. 109  Like the sun, their virtue was to rise ever higher, 110    never ceasing in praising God, never growing tired.

Only God’s word tells us of our forgotten past: that we were once unflawed and unblemished and that God’s provision for our welfare once surrounded us; only God’s word tells us of Adam’s great wisdom, such that he could see within the animals and “comprehend their essence and their nature” (126) and name each accordingly—a point often made by commentators. But van Schurman’s poem tacks in a distinctly Reformed direction when she says of Adam that 119  The head he was of this covenant, and trunk of the human race, 120  whose branches’ life depended on whether he stood or met disgrace.

That covenant was the “law” God gave to Adam: to abstain from but a single fruit. We know how that part of the story will end, of course, but van Schurman adds that life in Eden was intended not for leisure but for the pursuit of fidelity to God and growth in virtue—two recurring themes in the later parts of the poem. Two other items in Genesis 2 should be noted. First, what about the woman? In a particularly provocative line, van Schurman says 129  she neither was nor came until God willed a fitting wife to make him, 130    to adorn her with His image so that in marriage she could take him.



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It is unusual to reiterate in Genesis 2 that the woman was specially adorned with God’s image, given that the point is so explicit in Gen. 1:26–27. But reconciling the details of creation in Genesis 2 with the story of the sixth day in Genesis 1 was a traditional question, with no consensus as to whether woman was created with the man or if she is mentioned in Genesis 1 in anticipation only—a question that also determines whether woman was with the man in Gen. 2:16–17 when the tree was prohibited, or whether she heard this command only later and thus indirectly, from the man. Van Schurman mentions none of these details, yet she implicitly denies (whether wittingly or not) a line of exegesis derived from Ambrosiaster’s reading of 1 Cor. 11:7, to the effect that woman was not made in God’s image. But van Schurman says that woman had to be in God’s image, else no marriage or union with the man would have been possible—even though other pro-woman nuances identified in her poem derive more from what she does not say. Thus, she says next to nothing about woman as the man’s “helper” in Gen. 2:18, where commentators usually find detailed morals about a proper household. Of course, neither does she say much about the equality or companionship of men and women in light of Gen. 2:23–24; the poem is a close paraphrase of the Bible here, not really an elaboration, and the only ground for inferring even mutuality lies in her use of the plural “they” in describing the status quo at the end of Genesis 2. A second item to note in Genesis 2 pertains to the opening verses, which describe how God rested on the seventh day. According to van Schurman, God’s rest has crucial implications for our own “rest,” which signifies many things: the Sabbath-day observations in the Old Testament, the equivalent observation in the New, the nature of the spiritual life as delighting in God, and the heavenly rest to come. The Sabbath rest will be taken up again at the poem’s far end, in tandem with van Schurman’s eschatological reflections, even as Sabbath considerations emerge elsewhere in her writings, too, as one would expect in light of its importance for the Nadere Reformatie, which saw a pitched battle between Voetius and Cocceius over observance of the Sabbath—though, long before, it was entirely common for Protestant commentators to offer an excursus on the Sabbath here.14 14 The controversy between Voetius and Johannes Cocceius that arose from contrast­ ing  approaches to covenant theology raged from 1654 until well into the next century; see Willem J. van Asselt, The Federal Theology of Johannes Cocceius (1603–1669) (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 29–30. Not surprisingly, van Schurman’s views (and practices) mirrored those of Voetius, her mentor.

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Van Schurman’s account of Genesis 3 is presented in two segments in which she recounts first the temptation and interrogation, then the punishments and expulsion from Eden. These segments are separated by an interlude in which she briefly ponders the horror of what Adam and Eve have done to the human race and the need for divine justice, then presents an apology on behalf of divine justice for having allowed this temptation as well as on behalf of God’s role in the redemption to come. We will briefly recap these three sections. The account of the temptation is energetic and moving, but not necessarily unusual. Ever since Augustine, the first sin had been identified as pride—until Luther suggested (with Calvin as a close second) that unbelief was the greater, underlying sin.15 Van Schurman’s account of faith suggests that she is well-schooled in her Protestantism, though we will later see that she is also adept at recognizing pride as another ingredient in human sinning. 173  Look, now, are they faithful? Do they their Creator acclaim, 174    directing all honor to God? Is that their highest aim? 175  Is their light, their love, their highest good, in God alone? 176    Is He their life, their greatest joy, their heart’s rest and home?

The themes of fidelity, duty, virtue, and holiness twine together throughout this section, indicting our first parents but also making clear how van Schurman will later describe the Christian life. But the section is also of interest for the exegetical traditions that do not appear, particularly those serving a patriarchal agenda.16 There is no mention of any special womanly weakness, and the notorious moment in which the man blames the woman and she then blames the serpent is not mined for any great lessons (much less stereotypes) about gender. Instead, the interaction of Adam and Eve is given cursory treatment, more paraphrase than elaboration; it is difficult to conclude that gender issues were much on van Schurman’s mind here. The curses and punishments in the second half of Genesis 3 are treated evocatively yet efficiently, with eleven verses elaborated in 50 lines. Eve’s punishment appears in a single couplet describing the “curse to follow marriage” with but two words: “misfortune and pain” (407–408). A husband’s rule over his wife is not mentioned, nor her desire for him decreed 15 For these views of the first sin, see Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram 11.30.39; Luther, Enarrationes in Genesin 3:1 (WA 42:110–112; LW 1:146–148); and Calvin, Comm. Genesis 3:1 (CO 23:60–61; CTS 1:152–153). 16 See van Beek, First Female, 219; Irwin, “Anna Maria van Schurman,” 440–441; and Gössmann, Das wohlgelahrte Frauenzimmer, 104–106.



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in v. 16. Van Schurman takes a rather grim view of some aspects of Adam’s punishment (409–416), though other traditional readings were available. Adam’s bestowal of the name Eve on his wife is often seen as a sign of the hope that Adam and Eve recovered when they learned that God would still be their advocate, and the skins God gave them are often taken as proof of God’s continuing care. But for van Schurman, Adam receives only rebuke for what she sees as his misdirected hope, as if offspring from Eve would give him an ersatz immortality. 417  Yet these curses the foolish man tries to blunt, 418    to seek in his offspring what he lacks but wants. 419  He looks to the mother whom he names Eve, 420    because through her, his seed its life receives.

The skins likewise reprove the fallen couple: 421  God was pleased still more to check their prideful sin, 422    to cover their shame with dead animals’ skin 423 as a sign that those who do not fear their God’s name 424    are more filthy than beasts and persist in their shame.

Granted, these somber notes may be a deliberate antiphon for her exuberance at v. 15, traditionally the protoevangelion or “first proclamation of the gospel” that was prized by as heralding the advent of Christ—the “seed” of the woman destined to crush the head of the serpent, or Satan. Van Schurman cloaks her exposition in the distinctly Reformed garb of covenant theology: 389 God wants no peace between the woman and the Serpent or its seed, 390    but the seed of this woman will, at the last, crush its head indeed. 391  Behold, from the mouth of God now comes that promise, that great word 392    in which the new covenant between God and mortals is heard! … 397 Satan is condemned, God lifts up the human race 398    to live now without end in God’s almighty grace 399 through that wonderful covenant that the Lord did provide 400    by the Son of Man’s death—the Son of God at God’s own side! 401  No greater work of love could God’s grace anoint, 402    wherein God’s virtues meet in a single point.

The new covenant, ratified by the death of Christ, replaces the old one broken by sin (405–406, cf. 119). The contrast between the new covenant and the covenant of works is a recurring theme in the Uitbreiding, emphasizing Christ as the head of the new covenant and as the one human being not bound by the covenant of works but who fulfilled it on our behalf all

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the same.17Another emphasis emerges, too: virtue, which is van Schur­ man’s characteristic way of describing not only God’s goodness and holiness but also Christ’s identity (seen here as the one in whom all of “God’s virtues meet in a single point”) and, beyond that, the human goodness and holiness for which we were designed.18 All three ingredients—Christ, covenant, virtue—recur in the interlude (237–384) that interrupts the exposition of Genesis 3. A short opening lament frames the problem in terms not only of what has been lost through sin but also of how God has no choice but to avenge: 239 Here you see not just one lost human being, nor a pair, 240  but in them you see the whole human race by guilt ensnared. 241 For by God’s justice and the verdict he pronounced as well, 242  God’s dishonored honor must be avenged with death and hell:

The narrator then addresses her implied audience with an exhortation, to the effect that this isn’t just Adam’s problem—it is ours as well. 245 O people, consider well that we must all avoid this snare, 246  for the Devil again urges us to war with heaven here, 247 as if God’s justice could justly seem cruel or uncouth, 248  or as if God’s truth here could itself conflict with Truth.

The Devil’s new ploy, however, is not to tempt us to eat a forbidden fruit but to make us doubt God’s justice and truthfulness. What follows is a condensed theodicy in which van Schurman first argues for human responsibility for the first sin, then explains how God’s perfect justice is carried out by his punishment of sin and by his appearance in human form to redeem. Van Schurman draws deeply on the language of Romans 9–11, including God’s right as the potter to shape vessels as he wishes. Nonetheless, she declares, God “wants a better image of Himself to raise” (373) than was found in Adam, and at this point she essentially asks and answers Anselm’s question of Cur Deus Homo, “Why did God become a human being?” 377 Adam was too far from the divine life, it seems indeed, 378  God’s endless good within himself, alas, he could not read. 17 Covenant is mentioned over a dozen times, on lines 525–528, 535–536, 551–552, 557– 558, 591–592, 861–868. For further details on the covenant of works among the theologians of the Nadere Reformatie, see Muller, AC, 175–189. 18 Deugd- (“virtue”) occurs thirty times in the Uitbreiding, but a brief perusal of van Schurman’s works and correspondence discloses how prominently the possession or acquisition of virtue figures in her thought and writings.



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379 The bond between God and Adam had to be in one person, 380  so that he might remain faithful to God and one with God’s Son.

The various Anselmian echoes in this section (including the injustice of God’s loss of honor and the necessity of God’s constancy) will be developed even more sharply in the second half of the Uitbreiding, where van  Schurman favors the language of debt and payment to depict the human plight that Christ alone can resolve. One might reasonably wonder about her preference for Anselm over the Reformed language of penal substitution—until, almost at the poem’s end, one finds Christ also described as having borne God’s wrath (toorn, 925).19 The Uitbreiding in the Context of Commentaries of Her Day Anna Maria van Schurman’s entire poem could be seen as a continuous biblical exposition punctuated by untitled loci—that is, by “common places” or doctrinal excurses. I do not intend to argue that this was her actual intention, but I do mean to insist that a didactic poem such as this one could hardly be dismissed as uninterested in teaching theological doctrine. Even the few excerpts presented here disclose how her theological interests shape what she emphasizes as well as, one may credit, what she has chosen to omit. We therefore ought to ask if her reading of Genesis drew on any particular source, however faint its traces. Given her immense learning and reading, a case for direct use or dependence could be very hard to marshal. But the question’s interest is not dispelled by the answer’s difficulty, and there is every reason to look for the influences of her exegetical forebears. Two proximate and probable candidates have already been mentioned: the Reformed professors Voetius and Rivet, her longstanding friends and mentors. However, only one—Rivet—also wrote a commentary on Genesis, and that leads us to conclude this investigation by comparing his work with hers. Rivet’s commentary appeared in 1633, purporting to offer “190 theological and scholastic exercises on Genesis from his public lectures in the famous academy of the Netherlands.”20 Each “exercise” is prefaced by the 19 The Anselmian notion of human indebtedness is especially prominent in lines 437–448, but van Schurman’s language about Christ’s work is eclectic: line 385, where “God wants to snatch from the Devil’s jaws that weak and hapless prey,” comes hard on the heels of line 383, where the transformative power of God’s love is highlighted. 20 André Rivet, Theologicae & scholasticae exercitationes CXC in Genesin (Leiden: Elzevir, 1633).

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specific questions to be treated, and the forty-one abstracts covering Genesis 1–3 thus recap many traditional issues in Genesis as well as more recent controversies with Arminians, Socinians, Roman Catholics, and others. Not surprisingly, many of van Schurman’s exegetical emphases find precedents in Rivet. This is not to claim that she read or even owned Rivet’s book, but such precedents do force a recognition of her continuity with her most immediate context. We know that both Augustine and Aristotle were favorites in her reading, and she could have read any number of fathers, medievals, or Reformers on her own.21 But she also could have found in Rivet (or Voetius) many reports of these earlier sources, either to guide her own reading or to shape or confirm her own theological inclinations. In any case, several of van Schurman’s allusions in Genesis 1 correspond to extended discussions in Rivet, including such topics as the creatio ex nihilo or the Trinitarian unity underlying the works that God manifests “externally” (that is, toward us).22 Rivet vigorously defends the possession of the image of God by women, but he also gives a nod to the idea that even the body indirectly images God; indeed, he makes the latter point by borrowing one of Calvin’s more eloquent lines.23 But unlike Calvin—yet very much like van Schurman—Rivet makes a further connection between God’s image and the role of virtue as a primary means by which that image is manifested.24 He also alludes to conscience as an aspect of the image that all humans bear, much as van Schurman did early in her poem, though where van Schurman’s allusion to Romans 2 was indirect, Rivet’s is explicit.25 Correlations between van Schurman and Rivet are fewer in Genesis 2, mostly because she herself has less to say. However, when she insists that Adam was able to name the animals because he knew their nature or essence (natuur, wizen), she is making a traditional point found in similar terms in Rivet’s comments on this passage;26 and when she understands 21 For van Schurman’s reading, see van Beek, First Female, 35–38, 43, 66–67, 117–118. 22 Rivet, Exercitationes §1, 9a. 23 For Rivet’s uncredited use of Calvin’s Comm. Genesis 1:26 (CO 23:26–27), see Exercitationes §5, 28; for his defense of women as the image of God, see §5,28. Voetius’ defense of women as God’s image has been translated by Irwin, Whether a Christian Woman Should Be Educated, 107–109. 24 Christ is thus the exemplar and prototype of the renewed image precisely as a human being adorned “with every kind of virtue” that pertains to the soul; see Rivet, Exercitationes §5, 26a; cf. Uitbreiding 75–92. 25 Rivet, Exercitationes §5, 27b-28a. 26 Rivet, Exercitationes §22, 117a; cf. Uitbreiding 121–126. The same point is made by Luther and Andrew Willet in their commentaries on Genesis.



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God resting on the seventh day as implicitly a command for the Old Testament church to sanctify that day as a Sabbath—a command that has to be inferred from other passages of Scripture—she echoes the very same position Rivet advocated here.27 Although van Schurman’s verses on Genesis 3 are often without distinct theological markings, four points of comparison may be noted, beginning with one already mentioned—Luther’s assertion that the first sin was unbelief, that is, not trusting God and God’s word, rather than the medieval consensus that the first sin was pride. By the time Rivet wrote, the question of pride versus unbelief was a line in the sand between Catholics and Protestants, a lingering sign of Catholic suspicions that what Protes­tants really meant by faith amounts to no more than mental assent, devoid of the transformative and sanctifying power of love.28 Rivet spends an entire chapter refuting Bellarmine and others on this point, insisting that “it can scarcely be imagined how prideful desire could have been born in a human being without some preceding act of unbelief.”29 Understand­ably, the debate is not explicitly represented in van Schurman’s poem, but she everywhere espouses what Rivet would have meant by faith as a h ­ eartfelt reliance on God’s sufficiency alone. Her opening and insistent question as she considered the temptation and fall of Adam and Eve was simply, “Look, now, are they faithful?” and she went on to elaborate in lines 173–176 (above) what such faithfulness would entail: honoring God above all, resting in God and finding in God alone one’s “light, love, and highest good.” Eve’s specific act of unfaithfulness was thus constituted by her failure to “depend on God in every part” (187). But van Schurman does not hesitate to mention pride, too, as a manifestation of the first sin: 209 [Adam] hoped, it seems, to attain an even greater renown 210  and with his own glory (yet without God) himself to crown,

To be sure, Rivet had conceded (above) that there was nothing controversial in seeing pride as an ingredient of sin, so long as unbelief is recognized as its root, and van Schurman’s treatment of sin seems to conform to this arrangement. 27 Rivet, Exercitationes §13, 67a; cf. Uitbreiding 141–144. It was also the position of Voetius. 28 This traditional controversy over whether and how love can be understood to “form” faith (i.e., give life to faith and thus justify the sinner) had set Catholics and Protestants at odds since the outset of Luther’s reform. 29 Rivet, Exercitationes §32, 156.

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A second point of comparison derives from van Schurman’s curious insinuation that Adam’s bestowal of the name Eve was a sign that he hoped to secure some sort of immortality through his offspring. Such a suspicious reading of Adam’s motive is unusual, but Rivet’s commentary attributes to Rupert of Deutz a plausible precedent, to the effect that Adam named his wife “mother of the living” in defiance of God, as if Adam disbelieved God’s sentence and did not fear death—as if he thought he would (somehow) triumph or survive despite God’s sobering pronouncement.30 Rivet’s report of Rupert’s pessimistic take on what is usually seen as a sign of Adam’s rekindled hope leads one to wonder if Rupert or his legacy influenced van Schurman’s own pejorative reading, and if Rivet was Rupert’s emissary. A third point arises from van Schurman’s somber reading of the skins that God gave Adam and Eve as exclusively a sign of rebuke, even though commentators commonly find God’s care in this act of providence. Rivet prefers to read this part of the narrative as evidence of God’s kind provision, but he goes on to report without prejudice the views of “older” commentators that the skins were also given as a perpetual reminder to Adam and Eve of their mortality and of their sin’s punishment rather than as a new occasion for sinful ambition or pride.31 The latter view, however, is precisely that of van Schurman. A fourth point of comparison again arises from van Schurman’s exegetical pessimism, at least with respect to our first parents’ sinful proclivities. Eviction from Eden was obviously tragic, but commentators regularly found ways to argue that it was really all for the best. Van Schurman, however, confines her account to the sole point that their banishment is meant to inculcate their unworthiness (niet weerdig) to stand before their Lord (427–428). Rivet writes at vastly greater length on this episode (as on all others), but it is striking that he uses an equivalent term to describe God’s intention to remind Adam that he has made himself unworthy (indignus) of remaining in the garden.32

30 What Rivet calls Rupert’s “hallucination” is tethered to its refutation by Benedict Pererius, so that Rivet may be reporting Rupert entirely at second hand (Exercitationes §39, 197b). In fact, by stressing Adam’s hope specifically for posterity as a mark of his defiance and unbelief, Rupert’s original argument bears an even closer resemblance to van Schurman’s; see De trinitate et operibus ejus 3.26 (PL 167:313). 31 Rivet, Exercitationes §39, 200b. 32 Rivet, Exercitationes §40, 206a.



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Some Assessment This exploratory study of the exegetical character and context of Anna Maria van Schurman’s Uitbreiding has necessarily focused on the first half of the poem, which is most closely tied to the text of Genesis 1–3. What is missed in this selection, however, is the bulk of her vibrant treatment of  Christ’s work on the cross, in intercession, and at the world’s final ­consummation, as well as her intense account of the life of the Christian under the new covenant as one now lives by the new law of the Spirit and draws near to Jesus as his bride. This last topic—the nuptial union of Christ with the Christian and the church—represents not only a trajectory that would lead us back to van Schurman’s possible medieval sources, particularly the writings of various mystics, but also one that viscerally connects with her contemporaries in the Nadere Reformatie, for whom nuptial imagery and the older exegesis of the Song of Songs played an important part in their prayer and devotion.33 Nonetheless, we have seen enough to recognize the Uitbreiding not only as an epic poem but also as a work that in its own way has received from and contributes to the traditions of biblical commentary literature. Not surprisingly, this semi-private work affords few clues about specific influences, and we are likely to have more success in identifying her audience than her sources. Yet if much of her exegesis of Genesis 1–3 represents commonplaces of the commentary tradition (as a comparison with Rivet confirms), it is also evident that she was neither passive nor undiscriminating in the selection of views she presented. The commentary tradition is a learnéd tradition, often scholastic, and van Schurman moved in this arena with ease and fluency, as demonstrated on occasion by her considered preferences for minority (but still traditional) exegetical views. Clearly, she had digested traditional exegesis well enough to be able to capitalize on the specific distinctions that suited her own purposes. It would be misleading to overstate the contrast between the poem’s two halves, though, because her intense piety and her schooled theol­ogy are comfortably interwoven throughout. Only a few years later, van Schurman would vehemently reject her scholastic training and her scholarly writings and renown in favor of the still more purified Christianity of 33 For van Schurman’s affinities with earlier women mystics, see Gössmann, Das wohlgelahrte Frauenzimmer, 104–6, 110; for nuptial imagery in the Nadere Reformatie, see de Reuver, Sweet Communion.

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Jean de Labadie, but in the Uitbreiding no cracks mark the rift to come. Tutored in Protestant scholasticism, keenly aware of Reformed commitments, deeply rooted in Scripture and the broad tradition of the church, Anna Maria van Schurman crafted truly a work of practical exegesis, a didactic poem that arose from and looked to cultivate prayer, repentance, faithfulness, obedience, and virtue—all in worship of the savior whom she knew alone as “my Love, my All” (944).34 

34 I would like to extend heartfelt thanks to Dr. Pieta van Beek for her generous assistance in preparing this essay.

JOHN HOWE (1630–1705) ON DIVINE SIMPLICITY: A DEBATE OVER SPINOZISM Reita Yazawa Introduction Some contemporary scholarly discussions on divine simplicity deviate from the originally intended meaning of simplicity in the seventeenth century Reformed orthodoxy. For example, Brian Davies states, “from first to last the doctrine of divine simplicity is a piece of negative or apophatic theology and not a purported description of God.”1 William Mann thinks that the concept of divine simplicity has difficulty in accommodating diversely distinct attributes.2 Nicholas Wolterstorff and Alvin Plantinga think that the doctrine of divine simplicity, specifically that of Thomas Aquinas, is untenable and incoherent.3 Contrary to these modern readings, Richard A. Muller argues that the debate over the divine simplicity in the Middle Ages was “not over the implications of a distinctionless notion of simplicity but over the precise nature of the distinctions that, arguably, belong to the Godhead.”4 One of the ramifications of the debate over the precise interpretation of divine simplicity can be found in a debate in the seventeenth century. Seventeenth-century Reformed theology faced a radical challenge from Cartesian notions of substance and simplicity.5 One consequence of this Cartesian inroad into Reformed theology is the debate over Spinozism. 1 Brian Davies, “Classical Theism and the Doctrine of Divine Simplicity,” in his Lan­ guage, Meaning and God (London: Chapman, 1987), 59. See also F. Gerrit Immink, “The One and Only,” in Understanding the Attributes of God, ed. van den Brink and Sarot (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1999), 115–117. 2 William Mann, “Divine Simplicity,” Religious Studies 18.4 (1982): 451–471; Mann, “Simplicity and Immutability in God,” in The Concept of God, ed. Morris (Oxford: OUP, 1987), 253–267. See also Christopher Hughes, On a Complex Theory of a Simple God: An Investigation in Aquinas’ Philosophical Theology, ed. Alston (Ithaca: Cornell, 1989). 3 Nicholas Wolterstorff, “Divine Simplicity,” in Our Knowledge of God, ed. Clark (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1992), 133–149; Alvin Plantinga, Does God Have a Nature? (Milwaukee: Marquette UP, 1980), 46–47. 4 See Muller, PRRD, 3:41, with review of modern scholarship on divine simplicity on 39–41. For the distinction of divine persons in the Godhead, PRRD, 4:189–195. 5 Muller, PRRD, 3 124.

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Spinoza appropriated Cartesian metaphysics and introduced an interpretation of divine simplicity different from the traditional reformed understanding: simplicity that does not allow distinctions of divine intellect, will, power, and persons.6 This novel concept of simplicity was perceived by many Reformed thinkers to nullify the God-world distinction, divine freedom, secondary causes, and the Trinity. Accordingly, late seventeenthcentury Reformed theologians developed serious diatribes against Spi­ noza’s pantheistic thought.7 One of the Reformed writers who vehemently opposed Spinoza’s philosophical theology was John Howe (1630–1705), a nonconformist Puritan and one-time private chaplain to Oliver Cromwell. Howe recognized Spinoza’s work as a threat to a traditional understanding of divine simplicity, attributes, and Trinitarian persons. Although the French philosopher Nöel Aubert de Versé published his own criticism of Spinoza, it did not satisfy Howe.8 Thus Howe developed his own lengthy discussion in The Living Temple9 against Spinoza’s posthumously published work, The Ethics.10 Despite his significant argument against Spinozism, scholarly treatment of Howe is unfairly limited. David Field characterizes Howe’s thought as “rigid Calvinism in a softer dress,” but Howe’s debate with Spinozism is not addressed.11 Citing Rosalie L. Colie,12 Jonathan I. Israel argues that only Henry More and Samuel Clarke critically engaged

6 Benedictus de Spinoza, Earlier Philosophical Writings: The Cartesian Principles and Thoughts on Metaphysics, trans. Hayes (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merill, 1963). Hereafter EPW. 7 Early-eighteenth century late-orthodox and transitional theologians also responded to Spinoza, but their thought is not discussed here. See Maria-Cristina Pitassi, “De la censure à la réfutation. L’Académie de Genève,” Revue de Métaphysique et de Morale 93.2 (1988): 147–164. I am grateful to the editors for calling my attention to this source. 8 Nöel Aubert de Versé, L’impietie convaincu, ou dissertation contre Spinosa (Amsterdam, 1685). Concerning Aubert’s engagement with philosophical controversies of the 1680s, see Paul J. Morman, Nöel Aubert de Versé: A Study in the Concept of Toleration (Lewiston: Mellen, 1987), 36–41, 95–154. 9 John Howe, The Living Temple…Part I. Concerning God’s Existence and His Connect­ edness with Man against Atheism, or the Epicurian Deism (1676). Part II. Concerning Animadversions on Spinoza, and a French Writer Pretending to refute Him (1702), in Works, 3 vols. (London: Tegg, 1848; reprinted: Ligonier: SDG, 1990), 1:1–344. 10 Benedict de Spinoza, The Ethics, in A Spinoza Reader: The Ethics and Other works, ed. and trans. Curley [= Reader] (Princeton: PUP, 1994). 11 David Field, ‘Rigide Calvinisme in a softer dresse’: the moderate Presbyterianism of John Howe (1630–1705) (Edinburgh: Rutherford House, 2004). 12 Rosalie L. Colie, “Spinoza in England, 1665–1730,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 107.3 (1963): 183–219, who discusses Howe on 188–189. I am grateful to the editors for calling my attention to this source.



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Spinoza’s philosophy while others including Howe failed to grasp Spino­ za’s thought.13 Muller points out that Howe’s diatribe on Spinozism indicates “the high orthodox conviction that the new philosophies could not serve Christian theology in a positive way that the waning Christian Aristotelian and Platonic models had done.”14 However, hardly any scholarly monograph on this debate can be found. Though several biograph­ ical  sketches on Howe are available, their treatment of his debate over Spinozism is quite limited or even overlooked.15 In contrast to some ­representative research on Spinoza, the intersection of Spinozism and seventeenth-century Reformed thought has not yet fully been examined.16 Howe’s masterpiece The Living Temple and other collateral writings deserve further scrutiny from the viewpoint of a Reformed response to Spinoza’s metaphysics.17 This essay will demonstrate that John Howe’s attack on Spinoza’s teaching of divine simplicity is indicative of Reformed efforts to restate the compatibility of divine simplicity with divine attributes, and, contrary to some modern readings, establishes the point that ‘simplicity’ as understood in the era of Protestant orthodoxy did not entail an absence of distinctions in the Godhead. In order to validate this thesis, I will first identify an emergence of Spinozism and its implication for the notion of simplicity in the late seventeenth century. Then, I will show how Howe responded to Spinoza’s monistic argument in order to vindicate the distinctions of 13 Jonathan I. Israel, Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity, 1650–1750 (New York: OUP, 2001), 599. I am grateful to the editors for calling my attention to this source. 14 Muller, PRRD, 3:127. 15 Horton does not go beyond simply lamenting the invective tone of Howe’s controversy with Spinozism. Robert F. Horton, John Howe (London: Methuen, 1895), 114–115. For Howe’s biography, see also Henry Rogers, The Life and Character of John Howe, M.A.: With an Analysis of His Writings, A new edition (London: Religious Tract Society, 1837– 1862?); Scott W. Major, The Life of John Howe (London: Congregational Union of England & Wales, [1895–1987?]); J.P. Hewlett, “Life of John Howe,” in Works, 1:ix-xxxix; Field, ‘Rigide Calvinisme,’ 8–17. 16 Harry Austryn Wolfson, The Philosophy of Spinoza, unfolding the latent processes of his reasoning (Cambridge: HUP, 1948); Julius Guttmann, Philosophies of Judaism: The History of Jewish Philosophy from Biblical Times to Franz Rosenzweig, trans. Silverman, intro. Werblowsky (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1964). For Spinoza’s own writings, see Benedictus de Spinoza, Chief Works, trans. Elwes, 2 vols. (New York: Dover, 1955); Spinoza’s Short Treatise on God, Man, and Human Welfare, trans. Robinson (Chicago: Open Court, 1909). 17 John Howe, A calm and sober inquiry concerning the possibility of a Trinity in the Godhead, in Works, 2:527–559; “Letters to Dr. Wallis,” in Works, 2:560–573; “Summary propositions,” in Works, 2:574–576; “A letter to a friend,” in Works, 2:577–595; “A view of that part of the late considerations addressed to H.H. about the Trinity,” in Works, 2:596–626.

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divine attributes. These examinations will clarify that a different appropriation of the notion of simplicity came into being in the late seventeenth century and Howe responded to the new interpretation by restating a traditional Reformed understanding of divine simplicity. An Emergence of Spinozism Spinoza’s thought on metaphysics started to disseminate around England and the European continent in the late seventeenth century.18 His Reni Descartes principiorum philosophiae and its appendix Cogitata meta­ physica was published in 1663. Though he died after the publication of another work Tractus theologico-politicus (1670), his other major works were published posthumously.19 Among them, The Ethics20 as the system of his thought proved to be highly provocative to traditional theism.21 Spinoza’s metaphysics gained the attention of many Reformed thinkers as his thought diverged from the traditional Reformed doctrine of God.22 The focal point of debate is how the notion of divine simplicity should be interpreted in relation to the divine attributes. To be sure, Spinoza inherits, in one aspect, a traditional notion of simplicity. Hence it is crucial to distinguish continuity and discontinuity between Spinoza’s thought on simplicity and that of Reformed orthodoxy. Spinoza shares in common with Reformed orthodoxy the notion of simplicity as non-compositions. For Spinoza, compositions in substance amount to aggregate of compartmentalized parts and hence divisions in substance. As divine substance is indivisible and should never be preceded by any distinct components, divine simplicity should exclude any composition: Now it must be shown that God is not a composite being; from this we will be able to conclude that he is an entirely simple being, and this we will do easily. For since it is self-evident that the parts which comprise a thing are prior, in nature at least, to the thing which they compose, necessarily those substances from whose coalition and union God would be composed will be prior in nature to God himself, and each will be able to be conceived through itself, without being attributed to God. Then, since these substances should

18 Wiep van Bunge and Wim Kleve, ed., Disguised and Overt Spinozaism around 1700 (Leiden: Brill, 1996). 19 Spinoza, Theologico-Political Treatise, in Chief Works, 1:1–266. 20 Spinoza, The Ethics, 85–265. 21 Muller, PRRD, 3 126. 22 Muller, PRRD, 3 127.



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necessarily be really distinct from one another, necessarily each could exist through itself and without the help of the others, so that, as we have just said, there could be as many gods as there are substances of which God is supposed to be composed.23

The exclusion of composition in divine simplicity is shared with Howe as will be seen later. Spinoza’s divergence from traditional theism can be found in his pantheistic thought which disallows any other substances except for God as the one and only substance. For Spinoza, substance is “what is in itself and is conceived through itself, that is, that whose concept does not require the concept of another thing, from which it must be formed.”24 In other words, substance must be a self-caused, independent thing. If this is the definition of substance, then it is applied only to God who is the selfcaused, independent subject. Hence, “[e]xcept God, no substance can be or be conceived.”25 While traditional theism also recognizes substances in created beings, Spinoza contends that God is the sole substance. The world is a part of God, this unique substance. Ultimately, the ontological distinction in traditional theism between the self-caused divine substance and other entities of the world, conceived as secondary to this primal substance, is lost. This radical monism came into being through Spinoza’s re-appropriation of several concepts. In light of discussion on simplicity, attributes, and the Trinity, two concepts are notable: divine attributes and modes. Spinoza defines an attribute as “what the intellect perceives of a substance, as constituting its essence.”26 To be precise, some Reformed thinkers regarded attributes as properties conceived by the human intellect. Though divine attributes and God’s essence are identical, attributes differ from each other and from the divine essence only “from the diversity of conceptions.”27 Divine attributes are “the essential properties by which he makes himself known to us who are weak and those by which he is distinguished from creatures; or they are those which are attributed to him according to the measure of our conception in order to explain his nature.”28 Spinoza also identifies the divine substance or essence with attributes and understands 23 Spinoza, Thoughts on Metaphysics, in EPW, 137. 24 Spinoza, Ethics, D3 (Reader, 85). “D” = definition. 25 Spinoza, Ethics, P14 (Reader, 93). “P” = proposition. 26 Spinoza, Ethics, D4 (Reader, 85). 27 Turretin, Institutes, III.v.7–8. 28 Turretin, Institutes, III.v.1. See also Edward Leigh, A Treatise of Divinity (London: Griffin, 1646), II.i (pp. 20–21); Muller, PRRD, 3:212–214.

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that the distinction of divine attributes is made according to the human intellect: By substance I understand that which is in itself and is conceived through itself; that is, that whose conception does not involve the conception of another thing. I understand the same by attribute, except that attribute is so called in respect to the intellect, which attributes to substance a certain specific kind of nature.29

Likewise, he writes, Thus we clearly and distinctly perceive that the intellect, power, and will by which God created, understood, and now conserves or loves created things are not distinct among themselves but only in our thought.30

Despite this similarity, however, Spinoza ultimately differs from Reformed orthodoxy in identifying many of the traditional attributes as modes. He recognizes that only two attributes are known so far: thought and extension and he designates others as modes.31 Thus, All things else that are usually ascribed to God are not attributes but only certain modes which might be attributed to him either in consideration of all of his attributes, or in consideration of one attribute.32

Spinoza initially rejected “mode” as a predicate of substance. He once contended “that there is in God no composition of diverse modes is sufficiently evident from the fact that there are no modes in God, since modes arise from an alteration of substance.”33 However, later in The Ethics, he refined the definition of mode as “the affections of a substance, or that which is in another through which it is conceived.”34 He continues, Whatever is, is either in itself or in another… that is… outside the intellect there is nothing except substances and their affections. Therefore, there is nothing outside the intellect through which a number of things can be distinguished from one another except substances, or what is the same (by D4), their attributes, and their affections, q.e.d.35 29 Benedict de Spinoza, The Letters, trans. Shirley (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1995), letter 9 (p. 93). See also Richard Mason, The God of Spinoza: A Philosophical Study (Cambridge: CUP, 1997), 46, 48. 30 Spinoza, Thoughts on Metaphysics, in EPW, 143. 31 Spinoza, Ethics, III.P2.Schol. (Reader, 155): “the mind and the body are one and the same thing, which is conceived now under the attribute of thought, now under the attribute of extension. See also Mason, God of Spinoza, 44. 32 Spinoza, Short Treatise, 45. 33 Spinoza, Thoughts on Metaphysics, V.3 (EPW, 137). 34 Spinoza, Ethics, D5 (Reader, 85). 35 Spinoza, Ethics, P4.Dem. (Reader, 87).



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As “[w]hatever is, is either in itself or in another,” there should be only God as being in himself and the world as his mode. Since Spinoza’s God is the one and only substance or attribute, every other entity of the world are recognized as its mode, the affections of the substance. “For there is nothing except substance and its modes…and modes…are nothing but affections of God’s attributes.”36 In other words, everything is either Natura naturans or Natura naturata: Natura naturans as “what is in itself and is conceived through itself, or such attributes of substance as express an eternal and infinite essence, that is… God, insofar as he is considered as a free cause,”37 and Natura naturata as “whatever follows the necessity of God’s nature, or from any of God’s attributes, that is, all the modes of God’s attributes insofar as they are considered as things which are in God, and can neither be nor be conceived without God.”38 Created nature does not have its own reality as a substance, but is merely a mode or instantiation of the one and only divine substance. As God is the only substance, “finite mental and physical entities must be modifications of that Substance, regarded from a finite point of view.”39 Although there is a distinction between creating nature and created nature, it is a distinction of aspects of the same thing. As Spinoza states, “Whatever is, is in God, and nothing can be or be conceived without God.”40 Traditionally, “mode” was the term used in Reformed orthodoxy to make a distinction of Trinitarian persons. For instance, Turretin explained that the divine persons can be distinguished from the essence by mode. “Here we do not have a thing and a thing, but a thing and the modes of the thing by which it is not compounded but distinguished.”41 However, in Spinoza, the meaning of “mode” shifted from the Trinitarian distinction of divine persons to individual distinctions in created nature. Replacement of traditional divine attributes with modes and relocation of the term “mode” from the Godhead into all created entities led to a radical notion of simplicity which disallows distinct attributes in God and modes of subsistence of Trinitarian persons. The notion of simplicity was radically reduced to monolithic identity. Howe found these aspects of Spinoza’s thought particularly problematic. 36 Spinoza, Ethics, P28.Dem. (Reader, 103). 37 Spinoza, Ethics, P29.Schol. (Reader, 104–105). 38 Spinoza, Ethics, P29.Schol. (Reader, 105). 39 John W. Cooper, Panentheism: The Other God of the Philosophers (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2006), 69. 40 Spinoza, Ethics, P15 (Reader, 94). 41 Turretin, Institutes, III.xxvii.4.

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Howe identified a danger of atheism in Spinoza’s new notion of simplicity and responded with a vehement attack.42 Howe was concerned that Spinoza’s notion of absolute simplicity does not allow any distinction in it and thereby is not compatible with distinct attributes in the divine essence. As Howe phrased the state of the question, “It is not the unity, or oneliness of the Godhead; but the simplicity of it, as the schoolmen have stated it, that hath created the matter of dispute.”43 As noted in the previous section, Spinoza presented a pantheistic view of substance in which efficient causational relation was denied and only one substance of the same nature was affirmed. To Howe this peculiar view of substance indicated the negation of the distinction between Creator and creature, and also of that between essence and attributes. Howe perceived Spinoza’s notion of a numerically identical substance as a threat to theism itself: Now this horrid scheme of his, though he and his followers would cheat the world with names, and with a specious show of piety, is as directly leveled against all religion, as any the most avowed atheism: for, as to religion, it is all one whether we make nothing to be God, or every thing; whether we allow of no God to be worshipped, or leave none to worship him. His portentous attempt to identify and deify all substance, attended with that strange pair of attributes, extension and thought, (and an infinite number of others besides,) hath a manifest design to throw religion out of the world that way.44

Hence chapter one of part two of The Living Temple is entirely devoted to the refutation of each of Spinoza’s propositions delineated in The Ethics. In contrast to Spinoza, Howe’s thesis in The Living Temple is that there is a God who is a self-existent perfect Being and the efficient cause of all other things (substances) distinct from him. Howe emphasizes, [I]nasmuch as that necessary Being which is the cause of all things else, is however evinced to be an absolutely perfect Being, and particularly a necessary self-existent Mind or Spirit, which is therefore a most apparently fit and most deserving object of religion, or of the honour of a temple; which is the sum of what we were concerned for.45

42 Howe, Living Temple, II.i (Works, 1:175). 43 Howe, Inquiry, postscript (Works, 2:555). 44 Howe, Living Temple, II.i.1 (Works, 1:175). 45 Living Temple, II.i.2 (Works, 1:176–177).



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Howe interpreted Spinoza’s claim to the effect that “it belongs to all sub­ stance, as such, to exist of itself, and be infinite” and consequently that “sub­ stance is but one, and that it is impossible for one substance to produce another.”46 Howe focuses on and reacts to this pantheistic claim. Two examples illustrate Howe’s point. First, Howe views Spinoza’s proposition seven (“It pertains to the nature of a substance to exist”) as a blurring of the  distinction between God and creation.47 As Spinoza thought that “one substance cannot be produced by another substance,”48 there should be only one substance which is a self-caused, self-existent, and independent being, which is God.49 Each existence which hitherto was perceived as substance may now be just an instantiation or modification of this absolute one substance. If the inseparable unity of essence and existence is the unique character of substance and there is only one substance which is God himself, then every other being including humans is now a part or an expression of this self-caused divine substance. This dissemination of divine nature to all beings sounded blasphemous to Howe. Thus he says, “[I]t is manifestly impious, communicating the most fundamental attribute of the Deity, to all substance.”50 Second, concerning proposition twelve (“No attribute of a substance can be truly conceived from which it follows that the substance can be divided”), Howe points out an inconsistency in Spinoza’s claim.51 As noted in the previous section, the early Spinoza recognized attributes distinct only in reason.52 However, according to Howe, the later Spinoza’s thought indicates that each different attribute becomes substantiated and thereby brings forth division of diverse substances into supposedly one substance. Howe perceived that this real distinction contradicts his basic claim about radical simplicity. Thus Howe, demonstrating an acute awareness of Spinoza’s philosophical development, comments, “[A]s he grew elder, his understanding either became less clear, or was perverted, by ill design.”53 Howe continues,

46 Living Temple, II.i.3 (Works, 1 178). 47 Spinoza, Ethics, I.P7 (Reader, 88). 48 Ethics, I.P6 (Reader, 87). 49 Ethics, I.P14 (Reader, 93). 50 Howe, Living Temple, II.i.8 (Works, 1:183). 51 Spinoza, Ethics, I.P12 (Reader, 93). 52 Spinoza, Thoughts on Metaphysics, in EPW, 137. 53 Howe, Living Temple, II.i.12 (Works, 1 190). Contra Israel, Radical Enlightenment, 599, who assumes that Howe among others did not demonstrate “much appetite for grappling with Spinoza’s philosophy as such.”

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reita yazawa As his asserting God to be a most simple being, and that his attributes do  only differ, ratione. Whereas now, he makes his attributes as divers, as extension, and thought, and says they ought to be conceived as really distinct. Schol. in Proposition 10th. There he asserts all things to be created by God, here, nothing. There he makes corporeal substance divisible; here, all substance indivisible, &c.54

If Spinoza maintains his proposition ten (“Each attribute of a substance must be conceived through itself”), given that it is the definition of substance to conceive itself, each attribute eventually turns into substance.55 As a result, diverse substances take place in one substance: There the definition of substance, is given to every attribute of substance; therefore, every attribute of substance is a substance, since the definition of substance to which he refers us in the demonstration of that proposition, agrees to it; therefore, so many attributes, so many substances.56

In short, “[w]e have then his one substance multiplied into an infinite num­ ber of substances.”57 Virtual identification of attributes and substance militates against Spinoza’s own thesis: [T]hat if there be diversity of attributes, they will constitute a diversity of sub­ stances, which it was before impossible to him to disallow, having defined an attribute (as was formerly noted) to be that which constitutes the essence of substance. Therefore, his whole cause is here fairly given away; for his one substance is now scattered into many, and the pretended impossibility of the creation of any substantial being quite vanished into thin and empty air.58

These examples show that Howe is concerned that Spinoza’s idea of ­radical simplicity leans toward the virtual cancellation of the distinc­ tion  between God and the creation and an inconsistent understanding of  divine attributes. For Howe, despite Spinoza’s repeated recognition of divine attributes, the notion of one and only substance and the impossibility of diverse substances in creation constituted sufficiently alleged atheism.59 It is true that both Howe and Spinoza deny compositions in the divine essence. For Howe, composition implies “a pre-existing component that brings such things together, and supposes such and such more simple 54 Howe, Living Temple, II.i.10 (Works, 1 187, margin). 55 Spinoza, Ethics, I.P10 (Reader, 90). 56 Howe, Living Temple, II.i.9 (Works, 1:184). 57 Living Temple, II.i.9 (Works, 1:184–185). 58 Living Temple, II.i.9 (Works, 1:186–187). 59 See also Morman, Nöel Aubert de Versé, 105.



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things to have pre-existed apart or separate, and to be brought afterwards together into a united state.”60 As composition signifies independent, preexisting substances gathered together and formed into a certain amalgamation, it can imply multiple substances in the divine essence. Since this is clear violation of divine simplicity, any composition in the divine essence must be denied.61 However, for Howe elimination of composition in God does not necessarily mean annulment of any and all distinctions. Howe notes, “It is true, while I affirm such a simplicity as excludes all composition, … I affirm not such as excludes all variety.”62 For many Reformed thinkers, the concept of divine simplicity did not eliminate, but rather accommodated distinctions and diversity. For instance, Heereboord points out that “simplicity does not mean, generally, the absence of all multitudes, nor does it exclude either all distinction or all plurality.”63 Turretin also claims that “[t]he relative attributes do not argue composition, but distinction.”64 When the Socinians argued for the contradiction between divine simplicity and the plurality of divine attributes, Rijssen responded that though everything is one and the same in God, human beings recognize it by diverse conceptions.65 Leigh concurs that divine simplicity and plurality of divine attributes are compatible. Even when he uses the term “absolute simplicity,” the practical meaning is the same as the simplicity that accommodates distinctive attributes.66 Thus, writes Leigh, God is absolutely Simple, he is but one thing, and doth not consist of any parts, he hath no accidents; but himself, his Essence and Attributes are all one thing, though by us diversely considered and understood. If he did consist of parts, must be something before him, to put those parts together; and then he were not Eternal.67

While Howe and Spinoza commonly share the denial of composition in God, they differ in the possibility of diverse divine attributes distinct from composition. Or to be more precise, although Spinoza still recognized 60 Howe, Inquiry, XIII (Works, 2:538). 61 Howe, Inquiry, XIII (Works, 2:538). 62 Inquiry, postscript (Works, 2:558). 63 Adrianus Heereboord, Meletemata philosophica (London: Swalle, 1680), Disputatio XXI, de simplicitae Dei, I (p. 115). Translation is from Muller, PRRD, 3 278. 64 Turretin, Institutes, III.vii.15. 65 Leonard Rijssen, Summa theologiae elencticae (Edinburgh: Mosman, 1692), III.x, controversia I, obj. 1 (p.45): “Ut sunt in Deo, omnia unum, & idem sunt. Quae nos cogimur diversis conceptibus nobis imaginari.” 66 Muller, PRRD, 3:279. 67 Edward Leigh, A Systeme or Body of Divinity (London: A.M., 1662), II.iii (pp. 166–167).

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divine attributes, his later amplification of the definition of attributes from distinction according to human rationality to constituents of the divine essence was perceived by Howe as confusion and contradiction given the fact that Spinoza recognized God as the one and only substance. Conclusion I have surveyed the thought of Spinoza and identified his radical notion of simplicity which eliminates the distinction of divine attributes. Then I have argued that, in opposition to Spinoza, Howe supported the notion of simplicity which accommodates the distinction of attributes without allowing any composition. Howe’s persistent attack on Spinoza is a restatement of the Reformed notion of divine simplicity in opposition to radical simplicity which excludes any distinction of attributes and persons. In the context of a debate with Spinozia’s pantheistic thought, Howe reiterated the traditional understanding of simplicity which accommodates the distinction of attributes. Therefore, Howe’s debate with Spinozian thought underscores that “simplicity,” as understood in the era of Protestant orthodoxy did not entail an absence of distinctions in the Godhead. The argument of modern writers that the notion of simplicity is untenable as it excludes any and all distinctions is, though perhaps pertinent to Spinoza’s notion, far from the understanding of Reformed thinkers in the seventeenth century.

ORTHODOXY, SCHOLASTICISM, AND PIETY IN THE SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY FURTHER REFORMATION: SIMON OOMIUS Gregory D. Schuringa Introduction The Further Reformation, a movement in the Netherlands spanning the seventeenth century through the early eighteenth century, is rich with potential to explore many of the themes prominent in Richard A. Muller’s scholarship. An overview of the life, career, and writings of Simon Oomius (1630–1706) helps fill a gap in scholarship on the period and can serve to correct certain misunderstandings of the period. Oomius’ primary career was that of a pastor (for fifty-four years) in the Reformed church of the Netherlands. This man, busy with the same day by day and week by week tasks as pastors in the centuries before and after him, also managed to publish over thirty-five, many substantial, books throughout his lifetime. In the past two decades scholars have begun to explore Pastor Oomius’ substantial body of theological literature.1 This essay seeks to add to this recent scholarship, especially in the context of this volume of essays which hopes, on the shoulders of Dr. Muller, to provide a more nuanced and historically accurate picture of church and school in early modern Protestantism.

1 Most notably see the following: K. Exalto, “Onderzoekvoorstel betreffende Simon Oomius,” Nieuwsbrief SSNR 7 (1997): 15–16; Exalto, “Simon Oomius (1630-ca 1706),” in De Nadere Reformatie en het Gereformeerd Piëtisme, ed. Brienen et al. (The Hague: Uitgeverij Boekencentrum, 1989); F. van der Pol, “Simon Oomius in Reactie op zijn Tijd,” Documentatieblad Nadere Reformatie 23 (1999): 44–62; van der Pol, “Religious Diversity and Everyday Ethics in the Seventeenth-Century Dutch City Kampen,” ChH 71:1 (2002): 16–62; van der Pol, “The Orthodox-Reformed Pietist: Simon Oomius—His Relationship to Philosophy, with Particular Attention to Dissertatie (1672) and Institutiones Theologiae Practicae (1672–1680),” Philosophie Der Reformierten, ed. Frank and Selderhuis (Stuttgart: Frommann-Holzboog, 2012): 323–336; J. van den Berg, “Het Geopende en Wederleyde Muhammedisdom of Turckdom. Beschrijving van een werk van Simon Oomius (1630– 1706)” (Doctoraalscriptie, THUK Kampen, 1998); “Simon Oomius,” in BLNP 6 211–212. See also my “Embracing Leer and Leven: The Theology of Simon Oomius in the Context of Nadere Reformatie Orthodoxy” (Ph.D. diss., Calvin Theological Seminary, 2003).

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We begin with some essential foundations for our study and contribution, especially related to the history and current state of scholarship on  the post-Reformation movement known in Dutch as the Nadere Reformatie, spanning, roughly, the years 1600–1750. Laying Foundations The first matter, quite basic, but necessary to establish, is that of terminology. The term Nadere Reformatie has been translated into English most often as either “Dutch Second Reformation,” or “Further Reformation.” Each presents its problems, as many translations of technical terms do, though “Further Reformation” appears to be the English and Puritan origin of Nadere Reformatie.2 From here on out our preference will be to use the Dutch term for the period. Church historical scholarship knows and acknowledges various terms, periods, and movements left untranslated. As the breadth and depth of the Nadere Reformatie continues to become more known, it will no doubt more and more become known by its proper name, which goes back to the period itself.3 Another foundational matter related to the study of this period is recognizing how little is known of it outside of church-historical and theologi­ cal scholarship in the Netherlands. While especially the last thirty years have produced numerous Dutch language articles and monographs on the period—especially instrumental has been the Documentatie Nadere Reformatie, a journal begun in 1977—still little scholarship has been attempted in English. Solid awareness is lacking of even the major representatives, such as Jean Taffin, Willem Teellinck, Gisbertus Voetius, Jodocus van Lodenstein, Jacobus Koelman, Herman Witsius, Wilhelmus à Brakel, Bernardus Smytegelt, Wilhelmus Schortinghuis, and Theodorus van der Groe, well-known among church historians in the Netherlands. Lesser-known figures, as yet to be studied in-depth by Dutch church historians, are almost entirely unknown. Dr. Joel Beeke, one of the few who have written on the subject in English, mentions in this context Theodorus G. à Brakel, Adrianus Hasius, Abraham Hellenbroek, Nicolaas Holtius, 2 For a good discussion of the terminological problem see Joel Beeke, “Appendix: The Dutch Second Reformation (De Nadere Reformatie),” in The Quest for Full Assurance (Grand Rapids: BTT, 1999), 287–293. Dutch scholars and others today seem to prefer the term “Further Reformation,” as seen, for example, in the English summaries of articles in the Documentatieblad Nadere Reformatie 28.1 (2004): 33, 62, and 79. 3 See on the origin of the term, “De oorsprong van de uitdrukking ‘Nadere Reformatie,’” Documentatieblad Nadere Reformatie 9:4 (1985): 128–134.



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David Knibbe, Johannes à Marck, Petrus van Mastricht, Gregorius Mees, Franciscus Ridderus, and Rippertus Sixtus.4 A further foundational point relates directly to the theme of this volume. There is a problem of perception related to this period and scholarship on it. In particular, the piety of the period poses a challenge. Originally, this aspect of the Nadere Reformatie caused some to avoid study of the period. We see this especially in the influential analyses of Heinrich Heppe and Albrecht Ritschl in the late 1800s. This exact same issue—piety—how­ ever, has also caused renewed interest in recent years.5 The Nadere Reformatie has been widely admired as a rich movement of piety which included a strong desire for a practical outworking of the faith in the believer’s personal life, home, church, and even in all of society. As such it resembles and is closely connected to Puritanism in England.6 But the movement is misrepresented and done an injustice when it is viewed as a movement of piety in isolation from its context. Specifically, a problem in the scholarship is that the seventeenth-century Dutch Reformed orthodox and scholastic context of these pastors and theologians is either inadequately acknowledged, or worse, seen as opposed to the piety of the Further Reformation. Sometimes this has happened because of a distaste for Reformed scholasticism and orthodoxy. For how could a movement of warm piety and a rich spirituality be connected at all to a movement that has been characterized negatively by some scholars as consisting of rigid, rationalistic systems, dogmatic precision, and dry (and cold!) theology? While recent studies in early modern Protestantism have done much to put theology and theologians of the period back in their proper context, thereby disproving some past negative theses concerning Reformed orthodoxy and scholasticism, these studies have not yet thoroughly been applied to the Nadere Reformatie.7 An overview of the life, career, writings, theology and 4 Beeke, “Appendix,” 305. 5 H. Heppe, Geschichte des Pietismus und der Mystik in der reformirten Kirche, namentlich der Niederlande (Leiden, 1879); A. Ritschl, Geschichte des Pietismus in der reformirten Kirche, vol. 1 (Bonn: Marcus, 1880), 101–363. 6 See on this, for example, W. van ‘t Spijker, R. Bisschop, and W.J. op ‘t Hof, Het Puritanisme (Zoetermeer: Uitgeverij Boekencentrum, 2001), 271–339. 7 See as examples of the reassessment: Muller, AC; Muller, S&O; Muller, Ad fontes argu­ mentorum: The Sources of Reformed Theology in the Seventeenth Century (Utrecht: Universiteit Utrecht, 1999); Arie de Reuver, Sweet Communion: Trajectories of Spirituality from the Middle Ages through the Further Reformation, trans. De Jong (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007); Willem J. van Asselt, P.L. Rouwendal, et. al. Inleiding in de Gereformeerde Scholastiek (Zoetermeer: Boekencentrum, 1998); R&S.

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theological program of Simon Oomius, an as-yet lesser-known, but ­representative figure of the Nadere Reformatie, suggests it is time for a reassessment of the relationship between the Dutch pietists and their Reformed orthodox contemporaries. These theologians were not only not in opposing camps as sometimes suggested by the literature, but these theologians—Nadere Reformatie representatives and Reformed scholastics—were often the same people! Nadere Reformatie Piety versus Reformed Orthodoxy and Scholasticism The following examples will show that past scholarship on seventeenthcentury Dutch Reformed theology and church history has sometimes created a bifurcation between the Nadere Reformatie and Reformed orthodoxy and scholasticism. Most damaging is that many of these remain the only significant words published on certain aspects or representatives of the period. Krull, in his introduction to what is still one of the only monographs dedicated to Koelman, a major representative of the Nadere Reformatie, writes that Koelman was reacting against the stagnation of “dogmatism” and “dead, fine-print theology” which had developed at the cost of the practice of Christianity and heartfelt piety and spirituality.8 This view is typical of early Nadere Reformatie studies from around the turn of the last century.9 More recently Graafland speaks of the “biblical consciousness” of the Nadere Reformatie as helping to correct the “damaging influence” of scholasticism.10 Brienen speaks of the Nadere Reformatie as a “reaction against dead orthodoxy.”11 Stoeffler, in his major work, referring to the Dutch Reformed proponents of the Nadere Reformatie, writes of an attempt by them “to correct the then current dry-as-dust orthodoxy in favor of the Christianity of the reformers, which was a living, vital, and hence 8 Jacobus Koelman: Eene Kerkehistorische Studie (Sneek: Campen, 1901), 2. 9 See also, e.g., P. Proost. Jodocus van Lodenstein (Amsterdam: Brandt en Zoon, 1880), 3–8; W.J.M. Engelberts, Willem Teellinck (Amsterdam: Ton Bolland, 1898), i-ii; L. Knappert, Geschiedenis der Nederlandsche Hervormde Kerk gedurende de 16e en 17e Eeuw (Amsterdam: Meulenhoff, 1911), 1:234, 273; J. Reitsma, Geschiedenis van de Hervorming en de Hervormde Kerk der Nederlanden,, 5th ed. (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1949), 338. 10 C. Graafland, “Gereformeerde Scholastiek VI: De Invloed van de Scholastiek op de Nadere Reformatie (2),” Theologia Reformata 30 (1987): 340. 11 Quoting J. van Genderen in De Prediking van de Nadere Reformatie (Amsterdam: Ton Bolland, 1974), 10.



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effectively satisfying faith.”12 He claims that in contrast to the orthodox of their day, the Reformed pietists wanted a living faith. Further, Stoeffler writes, they disliked the “rigid objectivity” of orthodox theology and they “blew the roof off of the tight little structure of orthodoxy.”13 In Stoeffler, polemical and devotional theology, the seventeenth-century orthodox and the seventeenth-century pietists, simply cannot fit together. This view is typical of numerous past studies of the Nadere Reformatie, and not enough newer studies have been done to correct these statements and conclusions. The Training, Writings, and Theology of Simon Oomius An overview of the life and theology of Dr. Simon Oomius suggests that the above grid must not be placed over all early modern Protestant theology in the Netherlands. In Oomius one finds piety and a practicaltheological drive in no way in tension with polemics, technical precision, and orthodoxy. Oomius displays elements typical of both of these supposed opposing camps: the orthodox Reformed and representatives of the Nadere Refor­ matie. As practical as his theological writings are, and as concerned for the spiritual life of the believer as he is, he works out of a Reformed scholastic training which he greatly valued and continued to draw from and use throughout his life. Particularly his magnum opus, the Dutch language Institutiones Theologiae Practicae, but also his other writings demonstrate that Oomius does not work out of a reaction to Reformed orthodoxy; on the contrary, a Reformed orthodox himself, he saw his “practical” theology as naturally flowing out of his orthodoxy and, indeed, as a legitimate and necessary element of it. The Piety and the Practical Drive of Oomius’ Theology That Oomius was a self-conscious pastor and theologian of the Further Reformation is readily evident. Like other Nadere Reformatie representatives, Oomius wrote many works on the Christian life including, typical of the program of the Nadere Reformatie, the Ecclesiola. There he, like other Nadere Reformatie theologians, argues that it is vital to view the home as

12 F. Ernest Stoeffler, The Rise of Evangelical Pietism (Leiden: Brill, 1965), 11. 13 Stoeffler, The Rise of Evangelical Pietism, 17, 19.

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“a little church,” with the father serving as a priest of sorts and with parents and children growing together in the Christian life, and giving ­devotion and worship to their heavenly Father. The home for him and his contemporaries was considered the foundation for a continuing Refor­ mation in the seventeenth-century Dutch church and broader society.14 Also in the massive Institutiones Theologiae Practicae, we see a classic  Nadere Reformatie concern. Oomius displays there a characteristic seventeenth-century understanding of “practical theology,” that is, that it refers to the application of all doctrinal loci to the life of believers and the church as a whole.15 Additionally, Oomius wrote a number of works which demonstrate that he, like typical representatives of the Nadere Reformatie, had concerns beyond the home and church. These writings indicate that he had interest in broader social and political developments and he wanted the whole of the Netherlands to experience continuing Refor­ mation in his day and context. This is apparent in his Institutiones as well when he applies each doctrine in various ways to the everyday life of the believer. Oomius’ publishers and his close associates, as indicated by his forwards, dedications, and the poetry written to him on the occasion of his various publications, suggest he was in the midst of Nadere Reformatie circles, as do the regular references in his writings to a “further” or “continuing” Reformation. The context of these references indicates a desire to apply and continue the original Reformation in his seventeenth-century context—especially in the busy town of Kampen where he pastored for the majority of his career.16 The Orthodox and Scholastic Foundation of Oomius’ Theology Oomius’ orthodox and scholastic context is also readily apparent. His own account of his academic training shows that he was trained under and had tremendous appreciation for a variety of Reformed orthodox, even scholastic, figures, but especially Gisbertus Voetius and Johannes Hoornbeeck.17 14 See on this subject L.F. Groenendijk, De Nadere Reformatie van het Gezin. De Visie van Petrus Wittewrongel op de Christelijke Huishouding (Dordrecht: van den Tol, 1984). 15 See on the definition of “practical theology” during the time, Voetius, “De Theologia Practica,” in SDT, 3 1–59; Voetius, De praktijk der godzaligheid (ΤΑ ΑΣΚΗΤΙΚΑ sive Exercitia pietatis–1664), 2 vols., ed. C.A. de Niet (Utrecht: de Banier, 1996), Ch. 1, Par. 1. 16 See especially Van der Pol, “Religious Diversity and Everyday Ethics in the Seventeenth-Century Dutch City Kampen,” 18 and 61. Van der Pol shows here how Oomius sought to promote the Nadere Reformatie ideals in Kampen. 17 See on Oomius’ academics and life in general especially his last published work: Cierlijke Kroon (Leiden: vanden Dalen, 1707), 296–366.



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Oomius, like other theological students of his time, defended disputations, the great medium of the scholastics of the time to vigorously defend and expound doctrine, under both Voetius and Hoornbeeck.18 Voetius was a leading Dutch Reformed scholastic of the seventeenth century and Hoornbeeck was one of the leading polemicists of the time. Oomius showed much appreciation and respect for both of them and they for him. In fact, Hoornbeeck wrote a glowing letter of recommendation for Oomius as he sought out pastorates after finishing his academic training, and both Hoornbeeck and Voetius signed the letter.19 Oomius tells us in his Disser­ tatie vande Onderwijsingen in de Practycke der Godgeleerdheid, where he describes and gives the background of his Institutiones Theologiae Practicae and shows his perceived need for them, that his professor Hoornbeeck, the great polemicist, is the one who gave him the idea to write a complete system of practical theology.20 In this little bit of Oomius’ biography, we find something that past literature pitting Reformed pietists against the scholastics would seem not to allow so easily: polemical and practical concerns valued by the same person. Along these lines, we find that later in his life Oomius wrote a significant polemical work on Islam, polemical works against “papists,” and, in his Dissertatie, he includes a lengthy defense of the practical nature of the Reformed faith against all the major opponents of the Reformed orthodox: Roman Catholics, Remonstrants, Socinians, Lutherans, and Enthusiasts and Libertines. Oomius shows in all of his more dogmatic works that he was concerned both to explain and expound doctrine as well as to defend it against adversaries of the Reformed faith. Piety, Scholasticism, and Orthodoxy Happily Together in Oomius’ Institutiones Theologiae Practicae An examination of the three completed parts of this pastor’s Institutiones further shows us that in Oomius, at least, we find Reformed scholasticism and orthodoxy and Nadere Reformatie piety existing together in har­ mony. In the first part of his Dissertatie, the introduction to this practical 18 For an introduction to disputations during that time see W.J. van Asselt, E. Dekker, ed., De scholastieke Voetius (Zoetermeer: Boekencentrum, 1995), 14–16. See also A. Goudriaan, Reformed Orthodoxy and Philosophy, 1625–1750. Gisbertus Voetius, Petrus van Mastricht, and Anthonius Driessen (Leiden: Brill, 2006). 19 See Cierlijke Kroon, 296–366. 20 Simon Oomius, Dissertatie van de Onderwijsingen in de Practycke der Godgeleerdheid (Bolsward: van Haringhouk, 1672), 390.

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theology, Oomius shows a concern for theological prolegomena which is in line with the Protestant scholastics. In that discussion of theological prolegomena he sometimes reflects early orthodox concerns and other times concerns typical of the orthodox of his own time. For example, he  discusses the term theologia practica in detail, reflecting the latter. Everything he writes on theological prolegomena, however, reflects Reformed orthodoxy and scholasticism of the seventeenth century. Fur­ thermore, the categorizing he engages in as well as the detail he often goes into, for example in the discussion of archetypal and ectypal theology, is typical of scholastic precision. As Oomius thoroughly handles theological prolegomena he arrives at some noteworthy points which help determine the rest of his theology. At one such point, he defines theology as a kind of sapientia—in other words, it embraces both the theoretical and the practical. For this reason, for him, theological formulation must be followed with application of the theology formulated. His definition and discussion of theologia practica also lead him along this route. One finds that it is exactly out of Oomius’ carefully formulated theology that his desire to apply theology to the life of believers flows. His concern for piety and application arises out his very desire, instilled by a scholastic training at the universities of Leiden and Utrecht, to precisely define theology and its various parts. His in-depth discussion on the nature of Reformed theology led him to find that theology is, in its very nature, not dry or dead or speculative or cold, but practical. Precise theological formulation led to this and thus led to the plethora of pages written throughout his life on the topics under theologia ascetica and to the painstaking details on what particular doctrines mean for the life of the believer. When Oomius handles the doctrines of Scripture and God, as he continues his Institutiones, we find what we might expect given the foundation built in his prolegomena. In the doctrine of Scripture he displays similarities with many other orthodox Reformed.21 For one, he offers a full locus on Scripture, like many Reformed of his time did, a natural outgrowth of the sola Scriptura principle of the Reformation. Also, his description, general discussion, and organization of the attributes of Scripture are typical of the Reformed orthodox of his time, and generally quite technical. 21 See his Institutiones Theologiae Practicae. Ofte Onderwijsingen in de Practycke der Godgeleerdheid. Eerste Deels Eerste Boeck, Vervattende de Verhandelinge der Theologia Didactica (Bolsward: van Haringhouk, 1672).



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While other Reformed had written on the application of the doctrine of Scripture, Oomius provides something new in the sheer massiveness of what he accomplished. While others sought to apply the doctrine to the life of believers in similar ways, Oomius appears somewhat unique in the tremendous amount of material he wrote. In addition to the length of  the writing, the practical section of the work is highly structured and organized, pointing to Oomius’ aim—and success—at applying the doctrine. In his doctrine of God we see something similar.22 While, as his definition of theology dictates, Oomius starts out by explaining the doctrine of God in all of its parts, he moves, in line with his aim, to what the doctrine means practically at every possible point (and subpoint!). His initial explanation of the doctrine shows a concern for technical precision and right doctrine displayed by all the Reformed scholastics. His application of the doctrine, as in the doctrine of Scripture, is lengthy, detailed, and highly structured. This fact in itself betrays a scholastically trained mind. The intertwining of doctrine with praxis in the thought of Oomius is further illustrated in his doctrine of God by the fact that he regularly includes polemics in his practical sections. For example, when he speaks of what each divine attribute means to the believer, he often includes a point on how it serves to refute those who do not believe the doctrine or who do not have a right conception of it. Despite those who suggest that the polemics of the orthodox among the seventeenth-century Reformed were a distraction from, or worse, an enemy of practical application, Oomius does polemics and application in the same breath, even subsuming the polemical section of parts of the doctrine of God at times as subsections under the broader heading of practical application. Adding to the idea that Nadere Reformatie in general was not a reaction to “damaging” orthodoxy and scholasticism, it should be highlighted that it is plain in Oomius’ writings that he considered his conclusions and his theology to be mainstream among his contemporaries both in church and school, not anything odd or different or new. He believed he was engaging in the same theology and program as the early church, the several generations of Reformed pastors before him, and his contemporaries, pastors and professors alike. 22 See his Institutiones theologiae practicae, ofte onderwijsingen in de practycke der god­ geleerdheid. Eerste tractaet des tweeden boecks van het eerste deel, vervattende de verhan­ delinge der theologia didactica (Bolsward: van Haringhouk, 1676) and Institutiones theologiae practicae, ofte onderwijsingen in de practycke der godgeleerdheid. Vervolgh van het eerste tractaet des tweeden boecks van het eerste deel, vervattende de verhandelinge der theologia didactica (Schiedam: vander Wiel, 1680).

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Furthermore, and also worth highlighting, especially his Dissertatie, but also more of his writings, indicate that he was engaged in an international program. He valued Puritan theology greatly as his references and trans­ lation endeavors show. He saw himself engaged in the same Reformed ­practical-theological project as contemporary theologians and pastors in England, Scotland, France, Switzerland, and elsewhere. Oomius did, however, think there was a significant way he was con­ tributing to this program. According to his analysis, though it was in the very nature of Reformed theology to apply doctrine, given the many groups the Reformed had to continually defend their faith against since the time of the Reformation, he saw a need for more instruction in practical theology—not just more instruction but also vernacular instruction, rather than the academic Latin. Despite their tremendous amount of polemics, Oomius finds that the Reformed still had more practical writings than other Christians, such as the Catholics and Remonstrants, while more practical theology was needed in the theological schools and churches by way of books and pamphlets. Thus, though not unique in what he was doing, Simon Oomius did see a need for two things which prompted him to write: a need to write a complete system of practical theology and to do so in the Dutch language. Though some theologians had begun or were planning a system of theology in which the doctrines were applied at every point, no one had as of yet come close to completing such a project. Certainly no one had done this in the Dutch language.23 Oomius felt there was a strong need to lay out Reformed theology and defend it, all with the view toward applying it in the Dutch language so that students training to be pastors, pastors themselves, and the layperson in the church could grow in the faith. He saw this need too because enemies of the Reformed faith often wrote in Dutch. He thus reasoned a response was necessary in the same language so that people would not be led astray. Conclusion This overview of the training, writings, and theology of Simon Oomius suggests that here, at least, there was no neat split between Nadere 23 For Oomius’ own analysis of the need for a complete system of “practical theology,” see his Dissertatie, 368–389.



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Reformatie piety and Reformed orthodoxy and scholasticism as much past scholarship on early modern Protestantism has claimed. At the very least these findings should give us pause in making a distinction between the two too rigid. Especially given the contents of Oomius’ Institutiones Theologiae Practicae, as well as an overview of the rest of Oomius’ works and his stated theological purposes and program, one can simply not say that the Nadere Reformatie concerns were a reaction against dead orthodoxy or sought to work against the damaging influence of scholasticism. In Oomius’ view, Leer (“doctrine”) and leven (“life”), the theoretical and the practical, are not separated, but embraced as two necessary elements of theology and of the life of the believer. And while Oomius was unique in attempting the most expansive practical-theological system of his time in the Dutch language, his overall view of theology and even his project was not unique, nor an exception or aberration. Petrus van Mastricht shortly after him completed a similar project, thought it was in Latin and not as expansive as that of Oomius. His beloved professor, Johannes Hoornbeeck, suggested the project. According to Oomius, had Gisbertus Voetius had the time, he would have been the best person to complete such a project. The more well-known Nadere Reformatie pastor, Wilhelmus à Brakel, whose major work is available in English, though less expan­ sive  and less technical than Oomius, actually completed a practical-­ theological system in the Dutch language during Oomius’ lifetime. Oomius shows awareness of others internationally who were engaged in similar projects and he particularly indicates appreciation for, and even at times dependence on English pastors and theologians who had been quite ­prolific in producing practical-theological works. Given all this, these findings suggest that studies filling the gaps in Nadere Reformatie scholarship would affirm the thesis that it is too simple and, in fact, outright untenable to make out the proponents of the Further Reformation to have been involved in a program that was in reaction to the Reformed orthodox and scholastics of the same time period. This does an injustice to the Nadere Reformatie, Reformed orthodoxy and scholasticism, and the intentions of these theologians themselves. As the discoveries and studies and writings of Muller inspired this study, may the Nadere Reformatie continue to be explored in its proper theological context for the benefit of many.

MYLIUS ON ELLEBOOGIUS: A FATAL MISINTERPRETATION Godfried Quaedtvlieg Introduction There are outstanding theologians whose influence is great during their lifetime and there are theologians whose influence is great only after their death. Cornelis Hendrikus Elleboogius (ca. 1603–1701) belongs to the sec­ ond category.1 Whereas during the first half of the seventeenth century Elleboogius was a man of low repute in international Calvinism, it was not until the first decade of the second millenium that he was “rediscovered” as an important source for describing and analyzing the intellectual and religious climate of the late seventeenth century in the Dutch Republic and abroad. The starting-point for the “rediscovery” of Elleboogius in his­ toriography is located in the Netherlands and the United States of America. Without exaggeration it can be claimed that it was the international research project of R.A. Mylius and W.J. van Asselt that put Elleboogius on the map again.2 In this context special mention should be made of the groundbreaking article of R.A. Mylius, that was based on a profound and impressive analysis of Elleboogius’ main systematic works (counting more than 10,000 pages), and some archival research in Aberdeen and Utrecht which was published in 2010.3 At the same time, van Asselt published a clear overview of Elleboogius’ theology, exegesis, ethics, and polemics, 1 Contra Mylius who mistakenly dates Elleboogius’ birth on ca. 1615 at Schiermonnikoog. See R.A. Mylius, “In the Steps of Voetius: Synchronic contingency and the significance of Cornelius Elleboogius’ Disputationes Selectae de Tretragrammato to the Analysis of his Life and Work,” in Scholasticism Reformed: Essays in Honur of Willem J. van Asselt, ed. Wisse et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 92. The archives of Schiermonnikoog report as his day of birth 30 April 1603. 2 Because of the huge amount of earlier publications, we only mention the fundamen­ tal article of Willem van Asselt, “Bouwkunde en Verbondstheologie: Het fantastisch Tempelbeeldwerk van C.H. Elleboogius en de inwerking van de eschatologie van Coocceius op Voetius en zijn opvolger” (unpublished paper, Utrecht University 1998), later adapted and translated by R. Blacketer as “Federal Architecture: The Visionary Temple Recon­ structions of Cornelius Elleboogius and the Impact of Cocceian Eschatology on the Voetian School,”CTJ 36.3 (2001): 623–666. 3 Mylius, “Steps of Voetius,” 92–102.

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Figure 4. Cornelis Hendrikus Elleboogius (1603-1701).



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also presenting a bibliography of Elleboogius including some “lost” manu­ scripts belonging to his correspondence,4 especially with his teacher, the Utrecht professor Gisbertus Voetius (1598–1676), and a very rare “love ­letter” written in late Rabbinic Hebrew from Anna Maria van Schurman (1607–1678) to Elleboogius (d. 1637), who in response called Anna Maria the “loveliest of all women” and the “most learned woman” in the Utrecht Republic of Letters in the seventeenth century.5 I agree with van Asselt’s conclusion that although Elleboogius is not known as a promoter of wom­ en’s rights, his theology and personal acquaintance with van Schurman combined to lead him to defend women against misogyny.6 Thus the publications of Mylius and van Asselt reveal Elleboogius’ importance as a prominent representative of Dutch Protestantism. As Mylius and van Asselt rightly observe, he was a man who united in his person the characteristics of a scholastic theologian and a great mystic. At the same time, he was a fervent protagonist of federal theology and a proto-pietist belonging to the movement of the “Further Reformation” (Nadere Reformatie) in the seventeenth-century Dutch Republic.7 Psychohistory? Discussing Elleboogius’ intellectual development, Mylius attempted to reconstruct the roots of his theology by focusing on the young man Elleboogius during his student years at Utrecht University (1638–1641). 4 See Willem J. van Asselt, Cornelis Hendrikus Elleboogius als invloedrijk Gereformeerd theoloog in Hollands bloeitijd’ (Utrecht: Wristers, 2011). This recent book is also based on material found in a collection of pamphlets in Knuttel (vol. IX, nrs. 216–236) overlooked in the older biographies of E. Neusbeen (1842) and Enno van Kniegewricht (1922). Unfortunately, Mylius, “Steps of Voetius,” also does not refer to these pamphlets in the Knuttel collection. See W.P.C. Knuttel, Catalogus van de pamflettenverzameling berustende in de Koniklijke Bibliotheek, bewerkt met aanteekeningen en van een register der schrijvers voorzien, 9 vols. (The Hague, 1889–1920), IX, nrs. 216–236. 5 See Van Asselt, Elleboogius als invloedrijk theoloog, 23. For more details on van Schurman’s intellectual powers and influence in Republic of Letters in Europe, see also Joyce L. Irwin, ed., Anna Maria van Schurman: Whether a Christian Woman should be educated and other writings from her intellectual circle (Chicago: CUP, 1998). See also Mirjam de Baar and Brita Rang, “Anna Maria van Schurman: A Historical Survey of Her Reception since the Seventeenth Century,” in Choosing the Better Part: Anna Maria van Schurman (1607–1678) (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1996), 9–10; and John L. Thompson, “Piety, Theology, Exegesis, and Tradition: Anna Maria van Schurman’s ‘Elaboration’ of Genesis 1–3 and Its Relationship to the Commentary Tradition” in the present volume. 6 See especially Cornelis Hendricus Elleboogius, Van de Uytnementheyt des vrouwlicken Geslachts (Amersfoort: Ex officina Huydekooperii apud Elleboogsteeg, 1666). 7 See Mylius, “Steps of Voetius,” 97; Van Asselt, Elleboogius als invloedrijk theoloog, 2–3.

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Like Erik Erikson did with Luther in his Young Man Luther (1958), Mylius argues that the key to understand Elleboogius’ entire theological enter­ prise is how he resolved a fundamental identity crisis (especially his love affair with Anna Maria van Schurman) with the help of Duns Scotus’ ­theory of synchronic contingency.8 Since lovers are crucially important (where would we be without them?), Mylius relates Elleboogius’ personal problems to his adoption of Scotist tenets in order to overcome this heart­ breaking crisis in his youth. Elleboogius’ life, and consequently his theol­ ogy, are thus understood as the consequence of a personal application of the main tenets of Scotist theology, especially the notions of haecceitas and synchronic contingency or power for opposites, which implies an account of the will’s indeterminism: at the very same time as a will is exer­ cising its causal power in bringing about an action A, it must retain its causal power to bring about not-A.9 Conversely, Elleboogius’ concept of divine agency is inferred by Mylius from Elleboogius’ will’s indeterminism during his early psychological identity crisis. The difficulty Mylius’ approach presents to the historian is that the his­ torical evidence for his thesis is both meager and contradictory. A more potentially fruitful psychohistorical approach to Elleboogius is (as we shall see) through the use of contextual family theory proposed by Scott Hendrix (1994).10 At the same time, Mylius’ reassessment of Elleboogius’ life and work is marred by a kind of “doctrinal mythology,” a term coined by Quentin Skinner. Thereby Skinner indicated a procedure of working with the presupposition that the thought of a certain person is organized according to a constellation of some “unit idea,” in Elleboogius’ case the doctrine of synchronic contingency. The special danger of Mylius’ proce­ dure is that of anachronism crediting authors—in this case Elleboogius— with a meaning they could not have intended to convey and finding too readily expected doctrines in their texts. The result is that there is no place left for a clear analysis of what Elleboogius himself may have intended or meant.11 Skinner’s method helps us to avoid simple decontextualized approaches and value judgments on Elleboogius which are historically and theologically unfounded. It avoids the tendency to reductionist and pathological explanations. 8 See Mylius, “Steps of Voetius,” 99–102. 9 See Duns Scotus, Lectura I 39.1–5, nn.51–52 (Vatican, 17:49596). 10 Scott Hendrix, “Loyalty, Piety, or Opportunism: German Princes and the Reformation,” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 25 (1994): 211–224. 11 See Quentin Skinner, Visions of Politics, vol. 1, Regarding Method (Cambridge: CUP, 2003), 57–59.



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The Concept of Contingency in De Tetragrammato Although Mylius’ work on Elleboogius can be characterized as “a work of excavation, of theological archaeology by someone who is knowledgeable, erudite, and an enthusiast, bringing to our view work of great interest and importance, bones that can live,” there are still some fundamental flaws in this article.12 Due to the huge amount of material Mylius is using in his research and because addressing all the issues lies beyond the bounds of the present investigation, I will focus on the main thesis of Mylius’ article. Jumping over the federal and pietistic (even mystic) motifs in Elleboogius’ theology, I will address the issue that Mylius thinks to be basic for under­ standing the whole of Elleboogius’ theology, namely that “the federal motif in his theology ultimately rests on his understanding of synchronic contingency.”13 His main arguments for this thesis, however, rest on a superficial and naive reading of Elleboogius’ main and mature work, his Disputationes de Tetragrammato (1689).14 The main purpose of this brief essay is therefore to show that careful analysis of the modal logic used by Elleboogius in this work reveals that in some crucial passages in this work, he changed his mind and said goodbye to Scotus’ theory of synchronic contingency and thus that it is not appropriate to presume that he main­ tained his commitment to Scotistic synchronic contingency during his whole life, as Mylius seems to suppose. The first traces of his recantation of the synchronic contingency theory can already be found in his Disputationes de Tetragrammato, especially in Disputatio xi, 11 bearing as its title, Utrum contingentia orginaliter sit sententia scotistica an thomistica? Pr. Neg[atur], Sec. Aff.[irmatur]. Careful and contextual reading of this disputation shows, quite surprisingly, that Elleboogius follows clearly the basic modal logic of the Thomist tradition rather than the diffuse and ambivalent Scotistic tradition by defending emphatically a diachronic contingency. The main shortcoming of Mylius’ analysis is that he overlooks this important disputation, focusing only on Elleboogius’ earlier work, in particular the profound meditation on possibilia in his Disputatio theologica vigesima secunda, in which synchronic

12 So Pieter Helmet, “Synchronic Contingency in Reformed Scholasticism,” Nederlands Tijdschrift voor Gereformeerde Scholastiek 6 (2009): 210. 13 Mylius, “Steps of Voetius,” 93. 14 See C.H. Elleboogius, Disputationes de Tetragrammato, sive de tribus Elohim, libri tres (Aberdeen: Impensis Huberti Blagravii Bibliopol., 1689). Contra Mylius who mentions Franeker as the place of publication in 1691. See Mylius, “Steps of Voetius,” 95n14.

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contingency indeed plays a rather dominant role.15 In De Tetragrammato, however, he seems to denounce this earlier commitment to the Scotist theory of contingency. But before embarking on this important issue, a few remarks on the genre of De Tetragrammato are in order, an issue totally missed by Mylius. The genre of De Tetragrammato is not—as Mylius seems to suggest—a reportatio but an ordinatio of his lectures held and later published in Aberdeen as professor extra ordinarius.16 It was written and edited by Elleboogius himself. It was not a reportatio, i.e. work written down by a secretary or friend, while Elleboogius was giving lectures, even though the work may have been corrected by Elleboogius afterwards as the case of most of his works, for example his De oeconomia architecturalis.17 With regard to contents it becomes clear that Elleboogius’ main tar­ get  in Disputatio xi.11 is Scotus himself who (according to Elleboogius) “founded determinate truth-value of future contingents in the divine will. Divine will, however, cannot establish determinate truth-value, since it would obstruct freedom.” Therefore, Elleboogius proposes to replace the Scotist model of natural knowledge (scientia naturalis or necessaria) of infinite possibila of which some are chosen, by his own theological version of the principle of plenitude. In this way he tries to relate the future con­ tingency of things to the certain foreknowledge of God with the result that time and modality are linked up by a clear concept of diachronic contin­ gency. Echoing Thoamas Aquinas’ Summa contra Gentiles (I.67.122)— sometimes even verbatim—he states: Contingens enim, cum futurum est, potest non esse … Ex quo autem prae­ sens est, pro illo tempore non potest non esse: potest autem in futurum non esse, sed hoc non iam pertinet ad contingens prout praesens est, sed prout futurum est…. Omnis igitur cognitio, quae supra contingens fertur prout praesens est, certa esse potest. Divini autem intellectus intuitus ab aeterno fertur in unumquodque eorum quae temporis cursu peraguntur prout prae­ sens est, ut supra ostensum est. Relinquitur igitur quod de contingentibus nihil prohibit Deum ab aeterno scientiam infallibllem habet.18 15 Cf. Elleboogius, Disputatio theologica vigesima secunda: De possibilia infinita (Leeuwarden: Theophilus Schenkel, 1678), cap. Iii.2. 16 Contra Mylius, “Steps of Voetius,” 95. 17 Full Title: De oeconomia architecturalis spiritualis ss. Templo: a tabernaculo Mosis ad visiones Ezechelitae de novissimis, libri quinque, 2 vols. (Leiden: Pieter Trommelvlies, 1683–1689). 18 ET: “For when the contingent is future, it can be not … but insofar as the contingent is present, in that time it cannot be not. It can be not in the future, but this affects the con­ tingent not so far as it is present but sofar it is future…. All knowledge, therefore, that bears



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Here, Elleboogius emphatically defines contingency as alternativity for a later moment. At the moment a contingent thing is, it cannot be other­ wise. Like Thomas, the core of Elleboogius’ view on eternity (in this pas­ sage) is the Boethian view of eternity comprehending all time, by which God’s present glance extends over all time.19 It should be clear that this view on eternity implies a diachronic con­ cept of contingency which makes everything that is present necessary. It seems that Elleboogius needs the necessity of the present in order to secure divine infallible foreknowledge. Furthermore, from what follows in this disputation, it appears that the background of Elleboogius’ terminol­ ogy is an Aristotelian concept of necessity and contingency. Necessity is taken by Elleboogius in its etymological sense of “unavoidable” (Latin: ­ne-cedo), whereas he interprets contingency as “fallibility.” With regard to God, his agency must therefore be necessary or effective and infallible. Still, Elleboogius assures his readers that necessary knowledge of God agrees with the contingencies of its known objects. Like Thomas, he com­ pares it with the necessary operation of sunshine, which nevertheless does not make the fruit bearing of plants necessary.20 Scotus Enervatus: Contingency and Biography Another clear trace of Elleboogius’ goodbye to Scotus can be found in his biography, especially his loyalty to family relations. It was not piety, nor opportunism that made Elleboogius aware of the inapplicability of syn­ chronic contingency, but loyalty to family values. Surprisingly, neither Mylius, nor Elleboogius’ earlier biographers such as Egbert Scheenbeen and Enno van Kniegewricht, are aware of the historical evidence that Elleboogius had a younger brother Frederik Willem Pieter (ca. 1620–1703) who played an important role in the educational development of his brother.21 After his ministry in the Dutch Reformed Church on the isle of on something contingent as it is present can be certain. But the vision of the divine intel­ lect from all eternity is directed to each of the things that take place in the course of time in sofar as it is present, as shown above. It remains, therefore, that nothing prevents God from having from all eternity an infallible knowledge of contingents.” 19 Cf. Aquinas, ST, Ia.14.13 with Elleboogius, De Tetragrammato, xi, 11.2: “aeternitas autem, tota simul existens, ambit totum empus.” 20 Cf. Elleboogius, Disputationes de Tetragrammato, xi, 11.3 with Aquinas, Summa contra Gentiles, I.67.221 and ST, Ia.14.13. 21 For an extensive biography of Frederik Willem Pieter Elleboogius, see Willem J. van Asselt, “F.W.P. Elleboogius: une esquisse biographique,” Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestentisme en Hollande (2000): 353–462.

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Schiermonnikoog (1643) and pastoral services in Wemeldinge (1645), Krabbendijke (1650), and Amersfoort (1680), Frederik decided to study philosophy and theology at the university of Leuven under the tutelage of some Dominican monks.22 It is in Leuven that he wrote a doctoral disser­ tation on Scotus’ philosophy, called Scotus Enervatus: Non habenti aufertur quod videbatur habere, which was published in 1693 in Leuven by the widow of Dido Latomus.23 He dedicated this work to his older brother and in the preface he wrote (translation mine): Most noble brother, if I have published your praises among others [here he refers to his brother’s works on federal theology and his theologia emblematica] I have done what I ought. For an honest and sincere heart does not close inside and admire within itself alone what, if it becomes known to others, is a case of honor to the one whose gifts are being praised; and it can also be useful for others both as an example that they may be incited toward honorable emulation; and that they may pay tribute gratefully to God that he has adorned also you with such splendor of letters and good arts…. These reasons moved me to bring in the open those things your modesty almost hides, insofar I was able, just as I will do again when occasion arises…. As far as I am concerned, I thought you had sinned more by lack (in defectu) than by excess (in excessu) except that I think that even that defect leads to perfection.24

The defect that leads to perfection refers to the via Scotii which Frederik labels as a non ita liquet and, therefore, a conatus non frugiferens (not fruit­ ful attempt) to explain human destiny. In what follows, he joins his older brother’s opinion on Scotus’ ambivalence on the issue of contingency by showing indeed why it is incorrect to assume that Scotus invented a totally new concept. What Scotus was actually doing when writing on contin­ gency was, according to Frederik, simply applying an old Aristotelian or Thomistic concept to a new subject matter. Referring to Scotus’ Lectura I 39.124, Frederik also argued that actually Scotus himself introduced dia­ chronic elements into his contingency theory by quoting Scotus’ rather opaque sentence that voluntas autem divina non potest habere nisi unicam volitionem, et ideo unica volitione potest velle opposita obiecta (that the 22 In Amersfoort he was a very beloved preacher. This is confirmed by the fact that one of Amersfoort’s streets is named after him. The modern visitor can still go for a nice walk in the Elleboogsteeg. 23 Unfortunately, the Scotus Enervatus is never mentioned in modern secondary litera­ ture on Elleboogius, until in 29 July 2012 it was “rediscovered” by van Asselt in the Library of the now defunct University of Franeker. Nowadays this rare document is in possession of the Library or Tresoar of the Fryske Akademie at Leeuwarden (call number E47.158). 24 Elleboogius, Scotus Enervatus (Leuven, 1683), praefatio, 4.



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divine will can only have one single volition and therefore it can will opposite objects by one single volition).25 According to Frederik, Scotus seems to argue here that God wills with one single volition (unica volitione) whatever he wills. God has one volition ad intra, but this one volition can be related to many opposite things ad extra. Ergo: God can simultane­ ously will one thing at time 1 and the opposite thing at time 2. He con­ cludes by saying that Scotus’ theory of contingency is so ambivalent since it has a diachronic aspect as well as a synchronic aspect: the freedom of the divine will can relate to opposite objects by one and the same volition and is infinitely freer than we are with diverse volitions.26 In the final sec­ tion of his Scotus Enervatus, Frederik, like his brother, points out that the idea in Scotus of contingency is not so different from that of Thomas in his Summa theologiae I.14.9.27 There Thomas argues that “it is not necessary that all that God knows should exist at some time, past, present, or future, but only such things as he wills to exist or permits to exist. And again, it is no part of God’s knowledge that such things should exist, but that they could exist.”28 A Recently Discovered Manuscript But there is more evidence that problematizes Mylius’ main thesis. Due the tireless Elleboogius research by van Asselt, mention should also be made of the discovery of an interesting manuscript which was found in the Tresoar Library at Leeuwarden. It is written in seventeenth-century Dutch, counting only two pages.29 After meticulous research by the Tresoar librarian Jacob van Kanaal in Leeuwarden it appeared to be an ego-document containing a very confidential note of Cornelis to his brother Frederik, dated 1 April 1699, two years before his death.30 Being struck down by a serious illness, he looked back upon his turbulent life and reported the troubles in his youth caused by the unsuccessful love affair with Anna Maria van Schurman and Duns Scotus. In moving words he confessed before his brother that he “nu van nieuws overthuight bij 25 Duns Scotus, Lectura I 39, 124. 26 See F.W.P. Elleboogius, Scotus Enervatus, xi.11, 25–27. 27 See also Pieter Helmet, “Synchronic Contingency in Reformed Scholasticism,” Nederlands Tijdschrift voor Gereformeerde Scholastiek 6 (2009): 210–211. 28 Aquinas, ST, trans. Thomas Gilby (London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1969), 34. 29 See Tresoar, Leeuwarden, call number: F85471. 30 I must express my gratitude to Dr. Jacob van Kanaal for his assistance in deciphering the manuscript and his comments on the first draft of this article.

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U.E. boexken, gheheeten Scotus enervatus om het zogenoemde Scotiaan­ sche waenbeeld, oock door den ghodsalighe professor Gisbertus Voetius onderweesen sijnde, inhoudende eene gelijcktijdighe of simultaane gebeurlijckheit [= synchronic contingency], op te geeven, hetgeen ik reeds ontrent de jaeren dat ick mijne Tetragrammaton schrijvende was ver­ moedde, en nu opnenlijck aen het ligt brengen mochte.”31 His main ­argument for rejecting the ratio Scoti was “dat de moghelijcke weerelt van den subtielen doctor in welcke het moogelijck gheweest soude sijn met A.M. ghehuwt ghweest te sijn, slechts eene loogisch moogelijcke, doch gheen realiter existeerende weerelt is. Deese zoo genoemde mogelijcke weerelden hebben mij in groote wanhoop en twijffel gebracht respecter­ ende de goddelicke providentie aangaende mijn lotsbestemming.“32 In short: Elleboogius could not cope with the infinite possibilia regarding his romance with Anna Maria. Agonies of doubt had befallen him and his plans to marry her had depended on too many conditionals or ‘ifs.’33 Therefore, he declared solemnly that the innumerable possible worlds in which he could have loved Anna Maria were only logical possible worlds, not real existing worlds—thus revealing that his commitment to Scotist synchronic contingency was just a youthful sin inspired by his for­ mer teacher in Utrecht, the great professor Voetius and his protégee Anna Maria. This, Elleboogius added, also explained why he had remained a confirmed bachelor. Indeed, the Almighty infallibly foreknew that he would never fall in love and why Anna Maria would—diachronically— turn her back on her previous lover and follow Jean de Labadie, who called her (though in sensu composito) “his dear sister in Christ.”34 In conclusion it can be said that in the 1690s Elleboogius openly denounced synchronic contingency from a complex of motives which interwove theological integrity with loyal affirmation of his family ties in  the confidential note to his younger brother. Therefore, Mylius’ 31 ET: “Your booklet called Scotus enervatus made me again aware that I was right in giving up the Scotistic delusion of synchronic contingency, also taught by the pious profes­ sor Gisbertus Voetius, which idea I already fostered during the years I was writing my Tetragrammaton, but which opinion I now openly declare.” 32 ET: “The possible worlds of the subtle doctor in which it could have been possible to be married to A[nna] M[aria] is only a logical possible world, not a really existing one. This brought me in great despair and raised doubt regarding my personal destiny.” 33 Thus Elleboogius gave priority to the necessity of the consequent: Np→Nq, not the necessity of the consequence: N(p→q). The necessity of the consequent would still obtain after all. In some sense he could be seen as a determinist. 34 Cf. Mylius’ narrative concerning the “turn of events” which “broke Elleboogius’ heart and was almost his undoing.” See Mylius, “Steps of Voetius,” 95.



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conclusion that the whole of Elleboogius’ theology, including his cove­ nantal and pietistic motifs, rested on a fundamental and continuous endorsement of synchronic contingency, does not hold any longer. Further research into the complexity of these issues is needed. In the meantime, plans are being made to transfer all the Elleboogiana to the library of the Henry Meeter Center, Grand Rapids, so that in the future this library will be the place to be for every historian interested in Elleboogius.

THE SHAPE OF REFORMED ORTHODOXY IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY: THE SOTERIOLOGICAL DEBATE BETWEEN GEORGE KENDALL AND RICHARD BAXTER Jordan J. Ballor There is perhaps no greater example of the learned pastor engaging in the highest levels of theological discourse, both polemical as well as constructive, than the seventeenth-century Puritan divine Richard Baxter. Baxter was largely self-taught, but this autodidact would proceed to produce a literary corpus often identified as consisting of the largest Englishlanguage output of the seventeenth century.1 Whether it was because of his lack of formal, technical training in scholastic theology, his dogged independence of thought, or his contrarian disposition (or some combination thereof), Baxter was involved in a wide variety of theological debates during his lifetime. One identification closely associated with Baxter in the intervening centuries is the identification of him by other controversialists as an Arminian with respect to his soteriological views. Arminianism takes its name from Jacobus Arminius, a Dutch theologian who taught at the University of Leiden in the first decade of the seventeenth century.2 As a historiographical label, however, it is often used with respect to trends in England that also predate Arminius’ rise to prominence at Leiden, and refers to a variety of theological positions viewed as diverging from Reformed orthodoxy.3 1 See generally N.H. Keeble, Richard Baxter: Puritan Man of Letters (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982). This essay has its origins as a course paper prepared for a doctoral seminar taught by Richard A. Muller at Calvin Theological Seminary in 2006 on “Arminius and Arminianism.” A draft of this paper subsequently appeared in the CTS graduate student journal Stromata, and this final published version represents and updated and more concise argument concerning the debate between Kendall and Baxter. 2 For the international influence of Arminius, see AAE. 3 For the discussion of Arminianism in England in and beyond the latter decades of the sixteenth century, see Peter White, “The Rise of Arminianism Reconsidered,” PP 101 (1983): 34–54, and White, “The Rise of Arminianism Reconsidered: A Rejoinder,” PP 115 (1987): 217–229; William M. Lamont, “The Rise of Arminianism Reconsidered: Comment,” PP 107 (1985): 227–231; P.G. Lake, “Calvinism and the English Church 1570–1635,” PP 114 (1987): 32–76; Nicholas Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists: The Rise of English Arminianism, c. 1590–1640 (New York: OUP, 1987), and Tyacke, “The Rise of Arminianism Reconsidered: Debate,” PP 115 (1987): 201–216; David G. Mullan, “Theology in the Church of Scotland 1618-c.1640: A Calvinist Consensus?” SCJ 26.3 (1995): 595–617; R.T. Kendall, Calvin and English Calvinism

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A number of conflicting positions have been taken concerning Baxter’s theological status as a Calvinist, an Arminian, or some tertium quid. J.I. Packer and William Lamont, albeit from rather different starting points, consider Baxter to hold an Arminian view of justification.4 Others, such as Hans Boersma and Alan Clifford, in one way or another consider Baxter to occupy a position differing from both Arminianism and so-called “high Calvinism.”5 Simply noting that Baxter’s stance differs from that of the “high” Calvinists does little to prove that he falls outside the bounds of Reformed orthodoxy, however. As Richard Muller notes, the controversy over Baxter’s doctrine of justification was one of the “bitter battles among the Reformed,” but it was not one of the controversies that caused Reformed churches to “rupture into separate confessional bodies or identify a particular theologically defined group as beyond the bounds of the confessions.”6 The lines of demarcation between “high” Calvinism and other theologies is thus not necessarily identical with the lines defining to 1649 (Carlisle: Paternoster, 1997); and Rosalie Colie, Light and Enlightenment: A Study of the Cambridge Platonists and the Dutch Arminians (Cambridge: CUP, 1957). 4 J.I. Packer, “Arminianisms,” in Through Christ’s Word, ed. Godfrey and Boyd (Phillipsburg: P&R, 1985), 121–148; and Packer, The Redemption & Restoration of Man in the Thought of Richard Baxter: A Study in Puritan Theology (Vancouver: Regent College, 2003); William M. Lamont, “Richard Baxter, the Apocalypse and the Mad Major,” PP 55 (1972): 68–90; Lamont, Richard Baxter and the Millennium: Protestant Imperialism and the English Revolution (Totowa: Rowman & Littlefield, 1979); and Lamont, Puritanism and Historical Controversy (Montreal: MQUP, 1996). See also J.L. Neve, “Arminianism in its Influence upon England,” Bibliotheca Sacra 88 (1931): 153, who writes that “in Baxter’s independency of theological inquiry there was the unconscious courting of the Arminian attitude of mind.” 5 Hans Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn: Richard Baxter’s Doctrine of Justification in its Seventeenth-century Context of Controversy (Zoetermeer: Uitgeverij Boekencentrum, 1993); Alan Clifford, “Geneva Revisited or Calvinism Revised: The Case for Theological Reassessment,” Churchman 100 (1986): 323–334, and Clifford, Atonement and Justification: English Evangelical Theology, 1640–1790: An Evaluation (New York: OUP, 1990), 20–31. For those who generally advocate for this understanding of Baxter, see also G.P. Fisher, “The Theology of Richard Baxter,” Bibliotheca Sacra and American Biblical Repository 9.33 (1852): 135–169, and Fisher, “The Writings of Richard Baxter,” Bibliotheca Sacra and American Biblical Repository 9.34 (1852): 300–329; J. Wayne Baker, “Sola Fide, Sola Gratia: The Battle for Luther in Seventeenth-Century England.” SCJ 16.1 (1985): 115–133; Carl R. Trueman, “Richard Baxter on Christian Unity: A Chapter in the Enlightening of English Reformed Orthodoxy,” WTJ 61.1 (1999): 53–71; and Tim Cooper, Fear and Polemic in Seventeenth-Century England: Richard Baxter and Antinomianism (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001). See also Cooper, John Owen, Richard Baxter and the Formation of Nonconformity (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011), 86. 6 Muller, PRRD, 1:76. See also Muller, “Covenant and Conscience in English Reformed Theology: Three Variations on a 17th Century Theme,” WTJ 42.2 (1980): 308–34.



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confessional orthodoxy.7 Even so, ongoing Reformed ambivalence about Richard Baxter is illustrated in a recent introductory guide to Puritan figures, which identifies Baxter as one who “frequently leaned towards Arminian thinking,” and describes his soteriology as “Amyraldian with the addition of Arminian ‘new law’ teaching.”8 This general suspicion of Baxter’s orthodoxy has recently been challenged explicitly by Tim Cooper.9 But in fact those who argue that Baxter is an Arminian, at least with respect to doctrines like justification and predestination, do have much support from Baxter’s contemporaries, many of whom questioned the orthodoxy of Baxter’s views. This is especially true with respect to his doctrine of justification as espoused in his first published work in 1649, Aphorismes of justification, which occasioned a great deal of dispute, most notably with John Owen.10 Baxter’s debates with Owen have been well-surveyed elsewhere, but these would not be the end of the controversies on these matters for Baxter, who was particularly concerned about the idea of justification from eternity that he saw present in Owen’s teaching.11 Indeed George Kendall, in the midst of attacking the views of John Goodwin and while explicitly affirming justification in an eternal sense, would later criticize Baxter’s stance on justification and related doctrines 7 See Richard Muller, “Diversity in the Reformed Tradition: A Historiographical Introduction,” in Drawn into Controversie, ed. Haykin and Jones (Göttingen: V&R, 2011), 23–25. 8 Joel R. Beeke and Randall J. Pederson, Meet the Puritans (Grand Rapids: RHB, 2006), 66. See also Jonathan D. Moore, “The Extent of the Atonement: English Hypothetical Universalism versus Particular Redemption,” in Drawn into Controversie, 153. 9 See Cooper, John Owen, 88. As Boersma observes, “In modern research, most statements that Baxter is an Arminian are carefully qualified.” See Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 21n144. 10 Richard Baxter, Aphorismes of justification with their explication annexed (London: Tyton, 1649). 11 In an appendix to his Aphorismes, Baxter engaged Owen’s position as it had appeared in a 1647 work, Salus Electorum, Sanguis Jesu; Or, The Death of Death in the Death of Christ, upon the request of an anonymous reader of Baxter’s Aphorismes, who desired “some satisfaction in that which Maccovius, and Mr Owen oppose in the places which I mentioned” (Appendix, 9). Baxter’s response included the charge that Owen had misunderstood Grotius (an Arminian) on universal redemption (Appendix 123–159). Owen responded in a short work, Of the Death of Christ…And The Doctrine Concerning these things formerly delivered in a Treatise against Universal Redemption Vindicated from the Exceptions, and Objections of Mr Baxter (London: Cole, 1650). For the particulars of the dispute, see Cooper, John Owen, Richard Baxter and the Formation of Nonconformity, 87–100; Carl Trueman, John Owen: Reformed Catholic, Renaissance Man (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 113–118; and Paul Chang-Ha Lim, In Pursuit of Purity, Unity, and Liberty: Richard Baxter’s Puritan Ecclesiology in Its Seventeenth-Century Context (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 182–187.

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on a number of points.12 Baxter replies to Kendall’s criticisms in a somewhat longer treatise the following year, The reduction of a digressor (1654).13 The survey here of the debate between Kendall and Baxter mirrors the threefold topical arrangement of their exchange, which is first set by Kendall and followed by Baxter: the eternality of immanent acts of God, the conditionality of the covenant of grace, and the instrumentality of faith.14 Baxter’s understanding of a distinction between the divine decree of election as an immanent act and the outworking of the covenant of grace as a transient act of justification is critical for his later positive claims regarding the conditionality of the covenant and faith as a condition (rather than an instrument) of salvation. We will find that Baxter’s insistence on an understanding of justification as a temporal act is at the heart of his dispute with Kendall. Kendall understands the conditionality of the covenant in Baxter to be a denial of the unconditionality of election as had been articulated in the Canons of Dordt and the Lambeth Articles, for example, and as being in agreement with Arminius’ own contention that election is conditional.15 As such Kendall accuses Baxter of teaching a doctrine of justification by works. But, indeed, when Baxter talks about faith being a condition of the New Covenant, he is in fact making a fine terminological and theological distinction between a condition and a cause. This is also underscored by Baxter’s denial of faith as an instrument of justification. Baxter is in fact attempting to guard against a synergistic 12 George Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, or, A vindication of the doctrine commonly received in the reformed churches (London: Ratcliffe and Mottershed, 1653); Kendall is responding to Goodwin’s Apolytrosis apolytroseos, or, Redemption redeemed (London: Macock, 1651). For the Aphorismes and their anti-antinomian background, as well as early criticisms, including those from John Owen and George Kendall, see Cooper, John Owen, Richard Baxter and the Formation of Nonconformity, 71–83. 13 Richard Baxter, The reduction of a digressor: or Rich. Baxter’s reply to Mr George Kendall’s digression in his book against Mr Goodwin (London: Underhill, 1654). Baxter’s response is roughly ten times longer than Kendall’s original “digression.” For more on Goodwin, see Herbert D. Foster, “Liberal Calvinism: The Remonstrants at the Synod of Dort in 1618,” HThR 16.1 (1923): 1–37; and Ellen More, “John Goodwin and the Origins of the New Arminianism,” Journal of British Studies 22.1 (1982): 50–70. 14 For Baxter’s dispute with Kendall as relating to Baxter’s doctrine of God, see Simon J.G. Burton, The Hallowing of Logic: The Trinitarian Method of Richard Baxter’s Methodus Theologiae (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 214–217. But on Burton’s treatment of Baxter’s analogy of being, see David S. Sytsma, “Mechanical Philosophy in the Hands of an Angry Puritan: Richard Baxter’s Philosophical Polemics” (Ph.D. diss., Princeton Theological Seminary, 2013), ch. 4. 15 See, for example, Article IV of “The Apology or Defence of James Arminius,” in Arminius, Works, 1:745–50, which states, “Faith is not an effect of election, but is a necessary requisite foreseen by God in those who are to be elected: And the decree concerning the bestowing of faith precedes the decree of election,” 745.



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doctrine of justification, which for seventeenth-century Calvinists is considered a hallmark of Arminian heterodoxy. The state of the dispute between Kendall and Baxter thus conflicts with any facile characterization of Baxter as holding an Arminian doctrine of justification.16 The shape of the conflict between Kendall and Baxter shows that even in the wake of an international Reformed consensus at the Synod of Dordt and the condemnation of the errors of the Remonstrants, a diversity of views continued to exist and spark theological controversy in Reformed theology. This analysis of this dispute, then, will lend credence to Baxter’s own remark to Peter Ince (d. 1683), following on the heels of Kendall’s attack: “I am more firmly established against Arminianisme than ever I was in my life.”17 Introduction to the Dispute The immediate context for George Kendall’s criticism of Richard Baxter is Kendall’s engagement of the views of John Goodwin. During this work against Goodwin, Kendall devotes a number of pages directly to Baxter, and within the theological context of mid-seventeenth century England, Kendall’s accusation is clear: Kendall is implicitly linking Baxter with Arminianism. Baxter himself understands this to be the case, when he writes of Kendall, “He thought to get an Advantage for his Reputation, by a triumph over John Goodwin and me; for those that set him on work would needs have him conjoin us both together, to intimate that I was an Arminian.”18 As Boersma writes, “It was, therefore, imperative for Baxter that he lay Kendall’s charges to rest, especially where they concerned the simplicity and immutability of God.”19 These latter issues are dealt with primarily in the first section of the dispute, concerning the understanding of the eternality of immanent acts of God. Kendall begins his digression against Baxter by enjoining the latter on the question of whether it is possible to conceive of there being any new 16 This conclusion given the particular context of the Kendall-Baxter debate supports the larger conclusions reached by Burton concerning Baxter’s relationship to Arminianism in Hallowing of Logic, 317–320. 17 Baxter to Peter Ince, 21 Nov. 1653: “I am more firmly established against Arminianisme than ever I was in my life; & much more since I left Twisses way, & went the way of the Synod of Dort, than I was before….” See N.H. Keeble and Geoffrey F. Nuttall, Calendar of the Correspondence of Richard Baxter, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1991), 1:118. This correspondence is discussed in ODNB, s.v. “Ince, Peter (1614/1615–1683).” 18 Baxter, Reliquiae Baxterianae, I.110. See also Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 47. 19 Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 47.

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immanent acts of God. Kendall defines an immanent act as “such as is terminated in the agent, and not in anything without it.”20 Kendall notes that Baxter does not absolutely assert that there are new immanent acts in God, but that Baxter confesses his ignorance on the matter in his Aphorismes.21 The problem as Kendall sees it is that to express doubt as to whether all immanent acts in God are eternal is to question God’s immutability.22 Wondering at what Baxter could possibly mean by questioning the eternality of immanent acts, Kendall writes, “if the meaning be that any transient be eternal, that is a mystery beyond all that hath been heard, then somewhat was made from eternity; if the meaning be, that no immanent act is eternal, that’s after the same rate. The first made the creature eternal, the second denies God to be eternal.”23 Either implication is one that will have serious and deleterious consequences for Baxter’s theology. Baxter’s defense begins along the lines of an apology for theological circumspection. He quotes lengthy passages from a variety of church fathers, which discuss the limitations of human knowledge of God. Baxter writes, “In generall, I am very strongly perswaded that it is one of the greatest sins that a great part of Pious Learned Divines are guilty of, that they audaciously adventure to dispute and determine unrevealed things; and above all others, about the Nature and Actions of the Incompre­ hensible God.”24 Baxter continues by engaging a variety of opinions to subvert Kendall’s objections, particularly relying on sources such as Suárez, Scheibler, Keckermann, and Burgersdijk.25 The difficulty for Kendall is that Baxter himself refuses to side with any of these many and various opinions, but simply offers them as alternatives to Kendall’s explanations. The burden of proof is on Kendall to show the certainty of his doctrine in the face of such opposition. As Baxter notes, “Remember that I say not that your Doctrine is Untrue, but Uncertain. It may be possibly as you say; but 20 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 134. 21 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 134: “Now that there can be any new immanent act in God, Master Baxter doth not venture to affirme; only he is pleased to say this, that all immanent acts in God are eternal, he thinks it quite beyond our understanding to know.” See also Baxter, Aphorismes, 173–174. 22 See Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 99. 23 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 135. 24 Baxter, Reduction, §3, p.7. Trueman characterizes Baxter’s theological approach as an indictment of the speculations of both the Calvinists and the Arminians. See Trueman, “Richard Baxter on Christian Unity,” 69. 25 See Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 101.



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whether you can tell that it is so, or prove it to be so, I doubt.”26 What Baxter is arguing against here is a kind of theological certainty about what can be attributed to God on the basis of what we know about human acts. Baxter consistently argues that justification is a transient act of God and is therefore temporal. But the relation between this transient act, properly called justification, and the immanent act (or will) in God is precisely the main point of dispute. We can see the distinction between the transient and the immanent act that Baxter makes in the analogous case of creation. He writes, The Existence is more than the meer Eße Volitum, or Will that they shall exist: And it is not all one to know the Thing it self in it self, and to know it in its Cause. Though God therefore did from Eternity intuitively know the Eße Volitum, and know the Creature in himself its Cause, and know its futurity, and so fore-know all things: yet it follows not that he intuitively knew the Creature in it self, as existing, (Unlesse we assert the co-existence of all things in Eternity with God).27

In this case, the immanent act is the “will that they shall exist,” while the transient act is the actual act of making the creatures to exist. Boersma observes a difficulty in Baxter’s theology here regarding acts of justification arising de novo.28 It is unclear, however, that Baxter is actually arguing that some immanent acts do originate de novo, or whether it is simply the transient acts that originate de novo when the eternally determined condition for their actualization has been met. Indeed, it seems plausible that rather than arguing that “God’s will to justify a believer arises in him de novo,” that instead Baxter means to claim that God’s actual justification, his transient act of justification, arises de novo in time.29 This claim is consistent with the findings of the latter two points of the KendallBaxter debate. The Conditionality of the Covenant Kendall’s next point of dispute with Baxter is over the covenant of grace, and whether it can be considered to be conditional. Kendall defines justification as “a remission of our sins, and accepting of us as righteous,” and identifies it as both an immanent and transient act, since “an immanent 26 Baxter, Reduction, §5, p. 16. 27 Baxter, Reduction, §27, p. 69. 28 Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 103. 29 Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 135.

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act there must be confest, if there be a transient one.”30 Indeed, since justification as an immanent and transient act are so closely related, argues Kendall, it is acceptable to call either act by the name justification.31 For Kendall, the eternality of immanent acts means that justification is most properly identified with the eternal decree. In Kendall’s understanding justification has two aspects, as both a transient and immanent act of God. This is no doubt why Kendall takes such offense to Baxter’s contention that the covenant of grace is conditional. For Kendall, whatever is predicated of the covenant of grace can also be predicated of the eternal decree, since the two are so closely identified. A doctrine of a conditional covenant would have terrible results, and gets at the heart of Kendall’s true concern regarding Baxter’s doctrine: it teaches a form of justification by works. Kendall writes, “Man shall properly be said to justifie himself, (a thing which Mr. Baxter looks on, as well as he may, as monstrum horrendum,) for where there is a promise of a reward made to all, upon a condition of performing such a service he that obtaines the reward, gets it by his own service; without which the Promise would have brought him never the nearer to the reward.”32 In this way, the heart of Kendall’s charge against Baxter’s understanding of the covenant of grace as conditional is that it is a synergistic doctrine.33 Kendall fears that in viewing the covenant as conditional, man can be said to be the primary actor in justification. Justification is accomplished “not so much by Gods promulgation of the Covenant, as the man Covenanter his performing the Condition, which is the immediate cause of it, and therefore he justifies himiself, and that more than God in the New Covenant.”34 Kendall goes so far as to say that there is a necessary relationship between holding a form of justification by works and viewing the covenant as conditional. He writes, “Truly whoever makes faith the Condition of the New Covenant, in such a sense as full obedience was the condition of the old, cannot avoid it, but that man is justified chiefly by himself.”35

30 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 138. 31 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 138: “I contend that immanent act there can be no other then the decree of God to passe his transient act; and that this decree of God to passe the transient act of justifying carries in it as much as concernes Gods remission of sinnes, and acceptance of us as righteous; and therefore hath much in it like to justification; and may be stiled so without blasphemy.” 32 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 140. 33 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 140. 34 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 140. 35 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 141.



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Baxter certainly cannot abide the charge of synergism, and engages Kendall’s criticisms directly. He denies the validity of Kendall’s identification of justification with both the immanent and the transient act of God. Baxter writes, “Immanent acts pass not into the extrinsick objects and make no change on them, and therefore are not causall: and therefore cannot well as causals be denominated from their effects: therefore no immanent act of God can be called Justification, or part of Justification, or a justifying act.”36 He contends instead that it is the transient act that is properly called justification, since “it is the transient act only that effecteth Justification (Passive:) therefore it is the transient act only that is to be called Justification.”37 We can see here how the previous point of debate over the nature of immanent and transient acts has bearing on the respective understandings of Kendall and Baxter on justification. For Baxter, the immanent act of God is something like the divine decree, or the eternal will to justify. But this is not absolutely identical with the actual transient act of justification. Thus Baxter writes to Kendall, “When you say ‘God decreed to Justifie’ do not you plainly make ‘Decreeing’ and ‘Justifying’ two things? and denominate only the transient act which is in time ‘Justification?’ So of other acts; as when we say ‘God decreed to create:’ you do not say, His Decreeing was Creating.”38 It is because of his distinction between the immanent decree and the transient act of justification that Baxter can hold to the conditionality of the covenant of grace without lapsing into a denial of the unconditionality of the decree. Since the two are not identical, what is predicated of one is not necessarily predicated of the other. In Baxter’s view, the difference is primarily that the decree has to do with creatures as future realities (yet to be created), while the covenant as an instrument of actualizing justification has to do with present created and fallen creatures. So Baxter writes, “And thus I conceive, Decree respecting the future, and ‘Accepting and Approving’ being acts that connote a present object, and so may not be said ‘to be such acts’ till the object exist, therefore God may well be said to Decree to Accept us, and Approve us, and Love us, and Delight in us &c. though all be Immanent acts.”39 In this way Baxter finds Kendall’s conflation of the separate immanent and transient acts highly problematic. 36 Baxter, Reduction, §29, p. 81. 37 Baxter, Reduction, §29, p. 81. 38 Baxter, Reduction, §29, p. 81. 39 Baxter, Reduction, §31, p. 94.

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With respect to Kendall’s charge that the teaching of the covenant of grace as conditional results in man’s self-justification, Baxter refuses to accede to the conclusion. He writes, “I deny that there is any other Cause doth intervene between the Covenant, and the Effect. A condition on mans part must be performed before the Law or Covenant of Grace will Actu Causare, i.e. Justificare. And this condition hath its Causes: But Remission and Justification have no intervening Causes.”40 The human being cannot be said to be a cause in her justification because faith is simply a condition and not a cause. This distinction is an important key to Baxter’s doctrine. He writes of Kendall, “It’s a pity that he cannot distinguish between a Cause and a meer Condition: Where he saith ‘he that obtains the reward gets it by his service’ I say, it is here By it, as a Condition sine qua non, but not By it, as by a Cause.”41 Faith is the occasion for the execution of the justifying action in time, but is not the basis or the foundation for God’s decree to save in eternity. In defense of his doctrine of the conditionality of the covenant, Baxter employs another distinction, between the covenant as conditional and as absolute or actual. This distinction is conceptually analogous to the common “sufficient for all, efficient for the elect” view of the atonement codified by the Synod of Dordt. Baxter writes, “Conditionally God Justifieth All by his Covenant, at least All to whom it is Revealed. Actually he Justifieth only them that have the Condition. I oppose Actually to Conditionally, because that while it is but Conditional, it is not Actual in Law sense, that is, Effectual, though it is in Actu, so farre done as it is.”42 If Baxter’s view of justification were to be put into a similar construction, he might say “conditional for all, actual (or absolute) for the elect.”43 And so while Kendall thinks that Baxter’s doctrine leads to a form of synergism or human self-justification, Baxter in fact levels a reciprocal charge against Kendall.44 And he does so in his refutation of Kendall’s view that faith is an instrument (rather than a condition) of receiving justification.

40 Baxter, Reduction, §35, p. 102. 41 Baxter, Reduction, §37, p. 104. 42 Baxter, Reduction, §36, p. 103. 43 It is for this reason that Clifford interprets Baxter’s view to be in accord with the teachings of the Synod of Dordt on the extent of the atonement, as indeed Baxter confessed himself to be. See Clifford, “Geneva Revisited or Calvinism Revised,” 325. See also Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 217. 44 See Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 187.



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The Instrumentality of Faith The final point of the dispute between Kendall and Baxter revolves around the issue of conceiving faith as an instrument in justification. Kendall writes, “Mr. Baxter objects against Faiths being an instrument of our Justification, and that it is neither mans nor Gods instrument. I shal make it appear to be both Gods [and] mans in some sense, though in different respects, notwithstanding all he hath said to the contrary.”45 With respect to viewing faith as God’s instrument, Kendall argues that it is only improperly called such: “I do not say it is properly, but it is his work, and by giving us faith he justifies us, as shall be shewed anon, he giving us that which is our instrument, whereby we receive the righteousnesse of Christ.”46 So the instrumentality of faith is most properly understood to refer to its human use. Even so, writes Kendall, “I alone receive, but these are Gods acts, and though God be not said to believe, he truly may be said to be the author of my belief, my belief; is an immanent act in me, and so denominates me the believer, a transient act as from God, and denominates him only the author of my beleeving.”47 Faith is God’s instrument insofar as he is the author and originator of faith. In the proper sense, then, faith can be said to be man’s instrument. Kendall emphasizes that this does not result in a form of self-justification, however. He writes, “Man may not be said of his believing, to justifie himself, but to beleeve to his Justification, and to receive Justification by beleeving; for that by faith, as it is Gods work, God doth justifie him.”48 Kendall himself finds that Baxter places too large an emphasis on faith by calling it a condition. By doing so Baxter has elevated it to the status of efficient cause. He writes of Baxter, “according to him it hath more then the influx of an instrumental, that of the principal efficient upon our Justification as being that which makes this a conditional grant, in the Covenant to become absolute; and all the benefit we receive by the Covenant is more to be ascribed to our faith then Gods grace in the Covenant.”49 As we have seen, Baxter rebukes Kendall for not properly accounting for the difference between a condition and a cause. Baxter’s intent is to 45 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 141. 46 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 141. 47 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 141–142. 48 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 142. 49 Kendall, ΘΕΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ, 142. Cf. Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 177.

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avoid a doctrine of synergism, which is why he describes faith as a condition rather than an instrument. Baxter writes, “the thing which I deny is, that faith is an Instrument in the strict Logical sense, that is, an Instru­ mental efficient cause of our Justification: and that I expressly disclaim contending de nomine, or contradicting any that only use the word Instrument in an improper larger sense, as Mechanicks and Rhetoricians do: so that the Question is de re, whether it efficiently cause our Justification as an Instrument? This I deny.”50 In this way, Baxter accuses Kendall, “if you make faith the proper Instrument of justifying, you make man his own pardoner, and rob God of his Soveraignty.”51 For Baxter, the term instrument in its proper sense denotes the instrumental form of efficient causality.52 In this way we can see a shared concern between Kendall and Baxter. Kendall thinks that identifying faith as a condition turns it into an efficient cause, while Baxter thinks the same for identifying faith as an instrument. Here the dispute between Kendall and Baxter has finally come into sharpest relief. Both want to maintain a doctrine of justification that eliminates faith as an efficient cause. Where Kendall tends to identify the eternal decree with the temporal act of justification, Baxter clearly distinguishes between the two. For Kendall, this means that if the decree is unconditional then the covenant of grace must be as well. For Baxter, this means that he can maintain that the decree is unconditional while at the same time asserting that its actualization in time through the covenant of grace is conditional. The divergences on these points come to a head over the question of the instrumentality of faith.53 Conclusion We have seen that Richard Baxter’s dispute with George Kendall is rooted in the former’s distinction between the immanent decree of God and justification as the temporal transient act of God. At each point in the dispute, Baxter criticizes Kendall for not appropriately understanding the terminological distinctions that are necessary to properly regard his theology. Kendall sees any argument for the conditionality of the covenant of

50 Baxter, Reduction, §47, p. 112–113. 51 Baxter, Reduction, §53, p. 117. 52 Baxter, Reduction, §64, p. 133. 53 See Boersma, A Hot Pepper Corn, 177.



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grace as a hallmark for Arminian synergism. In such a case, he says, man will be necessarily seen to justify himself. But from Baxter’s perspective, his emphasis on distinctions is intended to avoid any form of self-justifying synergism, and he finds that Kendall’s lack of precision runs the risk of committing the same error. In his view, Kendall comes dangerously close to asserting that justification is an eternal, immanent act of God. For Baxter, this is simply a conflation of necessarily distinct concepts and a fundamentally antinomian error. Kendall’s implicit linkage of Baxter with Arminianism is part and parcel of his explicit claim that Baxter teaches a synergistic doctrine of justification. Such is the nature of polemic in the seventeenth century. For Kendall and other so-called “high” Calvinists, to speak of the covenant of grace as conditional is tantamount to admitting Arminian, papist, and synergistic heterodoxy. For his part, Baxter too could respond in kind, accusing anyone who hinted at a doctrine of justification from eternity as complicit with antinomianism. While such labels and categorizations were often effective rhetorical devices in the polemics of the era, their value as historical labels must be critically examined. Packer tends to obscure rather than clarify the doctrinal situation of the seventeenth century when he describes Baxter’s doctrine of justification as Arminian.54 Under such an interpretation, what Cooper observes would still hold true: “In the context of mid-seventeenthcentury English polemic, the Aphorismes could only ever be seen to be an Arminian document, and its author an Arminian. The conceptual space of the middle way was fragile, vulnerable and ultimately untenable. The harsh reality of religious polemic dictated the terms.”55 Baxter’s theology is simply not identical with either the “high” Calvinism of a George Kendall or the Arminianism of a John Goodwin. Figures such as Kendall do not, however, have an absolute monopoly on Reformed confessional orthodoxy, which can accommodate some variety of theological perspectives. There remains a great deal of work to be done to understand both Baxter’s soteriological views in particular as well as the broader shape of Reformed orthodoxy in this period.56 If we are to understand Baxter as

54 See Packer, “Arminianisms,” 122, 133. 55 Cooper, Fear and Polemic, 98. On “Baxterianism,” see Clifford, “Geneva Revisited or Calvinism Revised,” 331. 56 For the influence of James Ussher, John Davenant, and others—particularly the “middle way” of the British and Bremen delegations to Dordt—on Baxter’s theological development, see Lim, In Pursuit of Purity, Unity, and Liberty, 173–180. The mirroring

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representing a mediating theology between high Calvinism and Armi­ nianism, as Keeble claims, then we need to simultaneously broaden our understanding of Reformed confessional orthodoxy.57 But an important place to begin a proper assessment of Baxter’s theology is to break through the obfuscation of historical labels, often inherited from the polemics of earlier eras, and engage these works on their own terms. A simple historiographical scheme absolutely identifying high Calvinism with Reformed orthodoxy and any dissenting theological positions with Arminian heterodoxy is simply inadequate to this task. 

dynamics concerning conditionality of the covenant and antinomianism in the KendallBaxter debate and the Marrow Controversy of the eighteenth-century are also worthy of further exploration. 57 Keeble, Richard Baxter, 148.

G.W. LEIBNIZ AND PROTESTANT SCHOLASTICISM IN THE YEARS 1698–1704 Irena Backus Introduction The main object of this article is to examine Leibniz’s attitude to what we call nowadays Protestant Scholasticism or Reformed orthodoxy. This is the name frequently but not accurately given to the theological orientation of Protestant churches after the death of Calvin and up until the early Enlightenment. The name “Protestant Scholasticism” is due to the fact that post-Reformation theology is characterised among other things by its exponents’ lack of interest in empirical reasoning and their correspondingly greater interest in applying reason to first principles or axioms such as God’s essence or double predestination which are supposedly drawn from the Bible and from certain normative texts such as the confessions of faith or the decrees of the Synod of Dordt. Now as regards the biblical foundation of doctrines such as the essence of God or double predestination, it goes without saying that the Bible does not contain either in so many words. However, some passages can be interpreted so as to bear out the “double decree” of God regarding predestination or the purely abstract question of God’s essence, which gives its distinctive shape to much of the Protestant Scholastic exegesis. If we turn to the article “Reformed orthodoxy” in the Oxford Encyclopaedia of the Reformation, we read that men such as Theodore Beza (1519–1605) and Lambert Daneau (ca. 1530–1595) were the first to: adapt the Calvinist doctrines to the requirements of academic transmission, utilizing the resources of dialectics and rhetoric to structure theology while making careful use of some elements of metaphysics to deal with the loci theologici that the reformers had merely touched upon, such as the essence of God.1 Imbued with classical and patristic culture, tinged with a veneer of medieval scholasticism, their still awkward attempts foreshadowed the deeper and more balanced syntheses of the Reformed theologians of the 1 I mention other aspects of Protestant Scholasticism or Reformed Orthodoxy in Irena Backus, “Reformed Orthodoxy and Tradition,” in Companion to Reformed Orthodoxy, ed. Herman Selderhuis (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 91–117.

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The article does not define the scholastic aspect of Reformed orthodoxy and seems at a loss to define the unifying factor among sixteenth- and seventeenth-century theologians of diverse colourings and orientations such as John Calvin; Theodore Beza, Calvin’s successor and first rector of the Geneva Academy reputed to be the pioneer of the Reformed doctrine of double predestination; Hieronymus Zanchi (d. 1590) professor of theology at Heidelberg;3 Johannes Piscator (1546–1625) rector of the Herborn Academy and a Ramist; Lambert Daneau, Beza’s contemporary and professor of theology at Leiden; Bartholomaeus Keckermann (d. 1608) Reformed professor at the Danzig Gymnasium known to Lutherans as the “father of modern systematic theology”;4 or Marcus Friedrich Wendelin (1584–1652), professor of theology and philosophy at the Anhalt Gym­ nasium and theologically a follower of Piscator and the latter’s view of Christ’s obedience as against Beza’s.5 Of course, they are all teachers of theology and compilers of or authors of systems which attempt to reconcile reason and scriptural belief by recourse to traditional Aristotelian categories while avoiding empiricism. The other common factor which could be cited is their reputed indebtedness to Calvin whom they supposedly consider as their model and a founding father. Now, as Richard Muller pointed out recently, Reformed theology of the period in fact varies enormously in its dependence on the Genevan reformer,6 the prime example here being François Turrettini who considers Calvin as the ultimate authority on the one hand7 while deviating from the Genevan reformer in his explanation of phenomena such as the Incarnation and in his methodology in general.8 Finally, as already mentioned, a common factor which unites the writers cited above and other representative of “Protestant Scholasticism” is their use of Aristotle’s logic and philosophy to explain 2 Olivier Fatio, “Orthodoxy,” in OER, III.182. 3 Johannes Bolte, “Zanchius, Hieronymus,” in ADB, 44:679. 4 Joachim Staedtke, “Keckermann, Bartholomäus,” in NDB, 11:388–389. 5 F.W. Cuno, “Wendelin, Marcus Friedrich,” in ADB, 41:714–716. 6 Richard Muller, “Reception and Response. Referencing and Understanding Calvin in Seventeenth Century Calvinism,” in Calvin and his Influence, 1509–2009, ed. Backus and Benedict (New York: OUP, 2011), 182–201. 7 See Muller, “Reception and Response,” 191–195. 8 See Backus, “Reformed Orthodoxy and Tradition,” 91–117.



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theology.9 All this makes sense only in an academic context and has little to do with piety, spirituality, and religious emotions in general. The seventeenth century was also the era of “Lutheran orthodoxy” which, although more diversified and less “scholastic” than “Protestant Scholasticism,” is nonetheless easier to define. It began with the Formula of Concord which united Philippists and gnesio-Lutherans and is normally considered to have lasted until the early Enlightenment. Lutheran theology became more stable in its theoretical definitions and a distinct Lutheran scholastic method developed gradually, especially for the purpose of arguing with the Jesuits, and was finally established by Johann Gerhard (1582–1637). Abraham Calovius (1612–1686) represents the climax of the scholastic paradigm in orthodox Lutheranism. The Lutheran scholastic method relied, like Protestant Scholasticism, on Aristotelian philosophy to establish the intellectual framework of doctrines. Among orthodox Lutheran theologians were e.g. Martin Chemnitz (1522–1586), Aegidius Hunnius (1550–1603), Leonhard Hutter (1563–1616), Johannes Andreas Quenstedt (1617–1688), Johann Friedrich König (1619–1664) and Johann Wilhelm Baier (1647–1695). The theological heritage of Philip Melanchthon eventually rose up again in the Helmstedt School and especially in theology of Georg Calixt (1586–1656), which caused the Syncretistic Controversy. Another theological issue was the crypto-Kenotic controversy. In the closing years of the movement Lutheran orthodoxy was torn by influences from Rationalism and Pietism. Orthodoxy also produced numerous postils, which were important devotional readings. Along with hymns, they conserved orthodox Lutheran spirituality during this period of heavy influence from Pietism and Neology. Johann Gerhard, Heinrich Müller (1631–1675), and Christian Scriver (1629–1693) wrote other kinds of devotional literature. The last prominent orthodox Lutheran theologian before the Enlightenment and Neology was David Hollatz (1648–1713). A later orthodox theologian Valentin Ernst Löscher (1673–1749) was violently opposed to Pietism and engaged in the well-known controversy against it with Joachim Lange (1670–1744) in the years 1707–1722. Mediaeval mystical tradition continued up until mid-seventeenth century in the works of Martin Moller (d. 1606), Johann Arndt (1555–1621) and Joachim Lütkemann (1608–1655). Pietism became a rival of orthodoxy but 9 See among other works on this Heppe, RD or, for a more contemporary and more reliable viewpoint, Muller, PRRD. The latest secondary literature is listed in Carl Trueman, “Calvin and Protestant Scholasticism,” in The Calvin Handbook, ed. Selderhuis (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 472–478.

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adopted some orthodox devotional literature, such as the works of Arndt and Scriver which were often later mixed with pietistic literature.10 Political and Ecclesiastical Background to the Union Negotiations with the Brandenburg Church Leibniz was a Lutheran by profession and was never actively involved in education. Although interested in theological matters, he never took himself for a theologian and was always careful to refer to and consult the Lutheran faculty at Helmstedt on questions to do with Protestantism in general, be it Reformed or Lutheran (or rather “Evangelical” as he preferred to call it). To examine his place within Lutheran orthodoxy would thus be a fruitless exercise. However, the object of this article is not to examine his theology, if he had one, or to worry about whether it was his theological preoccupations that gave rise to his metaphysical system or, on the contrary, whether it was his metaphysics and science that fed his theological views. I have shown elsewhere that these questions, which have occupied some modern Leibniz scholars recently, are in fact pointless as the two realms, philosophy and theology, are too closely connected in his thought to warrant the enquiry about which came first.11 As stated above, my object here is to examine Leibniz’s view of what we call today “Protestant Scholasticism” or “Reformed orthodoxy” as evidenced by what is probably the fullest theological document he ever produced. The document which remained in manuscript until the appearance of the most recent volume of Leibniz’s writings in the Akademie-Ausgabe, Series IV, volume 7 (Politische Schriften) which publishes both the preliminary and the definitive version of it,12 is entitled Unvorgreiffliches Bedencken über eine Schrift genandt Kurtze Vorstellung (hereafter UB1 and UB2) and can be dated ca. 1698–1704, the latter date marking the time when it was handed 10 On Lutheran orthodoxy see Robert Preus, The Inspiration of Scripture: A Study of the Theology of the 17th Century Lutheran Dogmaticians (London: Oliver and Boyd, 1957) or Bengt Hägglund, History of Theology, trans. Lund (St. Louis: Concordia, 1968). 11 On the view that Leibniz’s theology gave rise to his philosophical system, cf. Christia Mercer, Leibniz’s Metaphysics: Its Origins and Development (Cambridge: CUP, 2001). For a summary and opposing view see Philip Beeley’s review of Mercer in Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews, accessed 25 May 2012, http://ndpr.nd.edu/news/23188/. For my discussion of the respective place of theology and philosophy in his system cf. Irena Backus, “The Mature Leibniz on Predestination,” The Leibniz Review 22 (December 2012): 67–96. 12 Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Sämtliche Schriften und Briefe, ed. Berlin-Branderbugische Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Akademie die Wissenschaften zu Göttingen (Berlin: Akademie, 2011) (hereafter: AA IV, 7), esp. 423–648.



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over to the authorities of the electorate of Brandenburg. Leibniz collaborated on it with the Lutheran irenicist abbot of Loccum, Gerhard Wolter Molanus, his partner in all church-union negotiations, with Catholics as well as Protestants.13 The organisation and structure as well as omissions from UB2 as against UB1 are due very largely to Leibniz and he did not reveal their nature to Molanus until as late as 1701.14 Be that as it may, the document, as the title indicates, was a reply to a short treatise by the Brandenburg chaplain and Calvinist spokesman in the ensuing negotiations, Daniel Ernst Jablonski, an irenically minded churchman rather like his Lutheran “opposite number” Molanus.15 Claire Rösler,16 Irena Backus,17 and others have already noted that the attempts for union with Brandenburg were motivated by Hannover’s fragility in the wake of the primogeniture quarrel and by the outcome of the treaty of Ryswick of late 1697 which was disastrous for Protestantism as it precluded its restoration in territories which had become Catholic under the French occupation. At the same time, also under the terms of the Treaty of Ryswick, Louis XIV recognised the Protestant William III of Orange-Nassau as the official monarch of England, and this meant (as neither William nor his successor Queen Anne had any children) that the House of Hannover/Braunschweig-Lüneburg could now hope for one of its members succeeding to the English throne. However, the Act of Settlement which forbade Catholic heirs access to the English Crown and which settled Sophie of Hannover as a legitimate heir to William of Orange (d. 1702) and Mary was only in its incipient stages at the end of the 1690s. It was eventually passed by the British Parliament in 1701 and became law 13 On Molanus see esp. H. Weidemann, Gerard Wolter Molanus, Abt zu Loccum. Eine Biographie (Göttingen: V&R, 1925, 1929); M. Ohst, “Einheit in Wahrhaftigkeit. Molans Konzept der kirchlichen Reunion,” in Die Reunionsgespräche im Niedersachsen des 17. Jahrhunderts, ed. Otte and Schenk (Göttingen: V&R, 1999, 133–155; J. Meyer, “L’abbé Molanus et les tentatives de rapprochement des églises,” in Union—Konversion—Toleranz, ed. Duchhardt and May (Mainz: Steiner, 2000), 199–217. 14 See AA IV, 7, 431. See also my review of this volume of the Akademie-Ausgabe forthcoming in Studia Leibnitiana (2013). 15 On Daniel Ernst Jablonski (1660–1741) see esp. Joachim Bahlcke and Werner Korthaase, ed., Daniel Ernst Jablonski. Religion, Wissenschaft und Politik um 1700 (Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz, 2008). See also Joachim Bahlcke et al., ed., Brückenschläge–Daniel Ernst Jablonski im Europa der Frühaufklärung (Potsdam: Deutsches Kulturforum östliches Europa, 2010). 16 Claire Rösler, Negotium irenicum. Les tentatives d’union des Eglises Protestantes de G.W. Leibniz et de D.E. Jablonski. (Ph.D. diss., l’Université Paris IV, 2009). (Forthcoming in due course in book form. Cited here in the unpublished version. Hereafter: Rösler, 2009). 17 See Irena Backus, “Leibniz’s concept of substance and his reception of John Calvin’s doctrine of the Eucharist,” British Journal of the History of Philosophy 19.5 (2011): 917–934.

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in 1707. Leibniz was aware of its preparation and said that he would welcome it with relief if it would put an end to appearance-saving conversion to Anglicanism of potential successors to the Crown who were Catholicborn and intend to restore the Catholic religion, as had been the case with Charles II. In the unsigned excerpt “Ex epistola amici ad amicum” of early 1698 Leibniz voices great fears about the future of German Protestantism and thanks heaven that William has succeeded to the English throne. However, if anything should happen to William, nothing stops England from regressing to the status of a Roman Catholic monarchy it had been under James II. If that were to come about, the German Protestants would have only the Dutch to defend them against Catholic encroachment, and their forces would not be sufficient. Leibniz also says (as it turned out, rightly, given the War of Spanish succession) that only an alliance of Protestant rulers can save the German Protestant states.18 These are the whys and wherefores of the religious union negotiations between Hannover and Brandenburg, the only Protestant (in the larger sense) electorates in the Empire of the time. They were accompanied by tentative attempts on the part of Leibniz (in his capacity as privy councillor of the Hannover Court) and Daniel Ernst Jablonski (the Reformed chaplain of the Brandenburg Court) to negotiate with the Church of England, as shown by Leibniz’s plan to publish the Latin version with some annotations of Jablonski’s Latin translation of Gilbert Burnet’s Commentary on the 17th Article of the Church of England dealing with predestination.19 Religious union of some kind with the English church would further strengthen the Protestant wing in Europe. Leibniz’s and Jablonski’s strategic error was to place too much hope in Gilbert Burnet. They apparently did not know that Burnet’s Exposition of the 39 Articles including article 17 was condemned by the Convocation of the Church of England in 1701 and that he was gradually losing power. Needless to say, nothing ever came of these attempts to befriend the Church of England but Leibniz’s and Hannover’s efforts did not stop there. Molanus and Leibniz on the one hand and Franz Anton von Buchhaim on the other, successor of Cristobal Rojas de Spinola who had been key Catholic figure in the Catholic-Lutheran negotiations of 1683, began negotiating again for union between the two churches, Lutheran and Catholic. Meetings with 18 See AA IV, 7, no. 32, 197–198. 19 See my forthcoming review in Studia Leibnitiana (2011/2) of the 2011 partial edition, G.W. Leibniz, Dissertation on Predestination and Grace, trans. and ed. Murray (New Haven: YUP, 2011).



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Buchhaim were held in Loccum in 1698 and ended with the drafting by Molanus of the “Declaratio Luccensis” in September 1698, which specifies the conditions under which the Protestants would be ready to unite with the Roman Catholic church. These are: 1) their right to maintain communion in both kinds in exchange for their toleration of the Catholic communion; 2) release of Protestants from the obligation of celebrating individual Masses or Masses in a foreign language; 3) liberty of belief and practice was to be left untouched with regard to Protestant clergy; 4) the procedure of ordination of clergy had to satisfy both parties so that Protestant clergy could be viewed on equal footing with the Catholics.20 This declaration was favourably received by the Hannover elector Georg Ludwig but nothing more came of that set of negotiations. This was partly due to the fact that Friedrich Ulrich Calixt (son of the syncretist Georg and already present at the talks of 1683), who was charged by Leibniz with approaching the Helmstedt theologians to get their assent, produced a document that was anything but irenical and so no representative of the Helmstedt Faculty attended the conference in Loccum.21 Now, the motives of Leibniz and the Hannover Court regarding their attempts at reconciliation with the Roman Catholic church in the Empire and the church of Rome as a whole are never made clear. However, it seems reasonable to suppose that, questions of convictions apart, Leibniz, Molanus, and most likely Georg Ludwig himself felt that some sort of reconciliation would protect Hannover against a Catholic takeover if the negotiations with Brandenburg failed. In fact both sets of negotiations came to nothing and the conciliatory moves towards the Church of England did not even properly begin as Leibniz never published his annotations on Jablonski’s Latin version of Burnet on predestination and grace. In a word, some care must be taken before identifying Leibniz as the great precursor to the modern ecumenical movement. While union of all Christian churches extending to other religions was indeed a part of Leibniz’s theologico-philosophical system, the way it could be put into operation was less clear.22 Leibniz acted not on his own behalf but in his 20 See AA IV, 7, nos. 50, 51, 274–317. 21 See AA IV, 7, no. 45, 259–261; no. 47, 263–270. Cf. also AA I, 14, 861. 22 The plan was fully formulated as early as 1668 in the Demonstrationes Catholicae which Leibniz drafted while consulting Baron Johann Christian von Boineburg, his Catholic patron in Mainz. See further Maria Rosa Antognazza, Leibniz: Intellectual Biography (Cambridge: CUP, 2009), 85–92 and literature cited therein. The negotiations of 1683 held by Leibniz and Molanus with the Catholic bishop Rojas de Spinola were initiated by the Emperor Leopold of Hapsburg. Cf. Antognazza, Leibniz, 202–205.

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capacity as librarian and (subsequently) councillor to the Hannover elector. While the 1683 negotiations with the Roman Catholics were initiated by the Emperor Leopold von Hapsburg, the round of 1698 was principally the doing of the electors Georg Ludwig of Hannover and Friedrich Wil­ helm I of Brandenburg. This meant inevitably that, while acting in accord with his basic convictions and drafting the documents as he wanted them to be in 1698–1704, Leibniz’s margin of manoeuvre in deciding their ultimate fate was very limited if not non-existent. Moreover, these negotiations never issued in any general ecumenical meeting and remained more or less private, between two of the three Confessions. The Meaning and Purpose of the “Unvorgreiffliches Bedencken” In order to fully understand the meaning and purpose of UB1 and UB2, we should bear in mind that these two documents are a reaction and response to Jablonski’s Kurtze Vorstellung der Einigkeit und des Unterscheides (1697) (hereafter: KV),23 given to the Hannover Court manuscript in 1697 by Ezekiel von Spannheim24 on Jablonski’s and the Brandenburg Court’s behalf. The KV begins by stressing the vital importance of the Augsburg Confession (Confessio Augustana; hereafter: CA) to the Lutherans and noting that the CA variata does not bring anything new to the first version except to express more clearly the seven main points of difference between Lutherans and Catholics, these being: justification, faith and the word of God, the merit of good works, the eucharist, penance, church ordinances, and confession of faith. Jablonski sees no obstacle to the Reformed of his own time subscribing to both the variata and the invariata version of the CA while expressing his preference for the invariata. However, in order to clarify any remaining points of difference, he proposes to examine all articles of the CA in turn examining any contentious questions that remain. The outstanding points of dissensus are article III on the person and office of Christ, where Jablonski acknowledges that the disagreement is not so 23 For the modern and indeed the only printed edition of it cf. Hartmut Rudolph, ed., “Zum Nutzen von Politik und Philosophie für die Kirchenunion. Die Aufnahme der innerprotestantischen Ausgleichsverhandlungen am Ende des 17. Jahrhunderts,” in Labora diligenter. Potsdamer Arbeitstagung zur Leibnizforschung vom 4. bis 6. Juli 1996, ed. Fontius et al. (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1999), 128–166. 24 Ezekiel von Spannheim (1629–1710), diplomat, lawyer and theologian was the son of the Swiss theologian Friedrich Spannheim. Cf. Hermann von Petersdorff, “Spanheim, Ezechiel,” in ADB, 35:50–59.



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great as to damage the foundations of faith. Article IX on baptism is also in that category as is article X on the eucharist, which nonetheless raises some problems notably due to the words “unter der Gestaldt des Brods und Weins” in the German version.25 Jablonski thinks that this problem can easily be resolved as the phrase is omitted from the Latin version of the CA, an omission which in his view would suggest that it is not essential and that it means no more than the community of the body and blood of Christ in contradistinction to transubstantiation. In a word, according to Jablonski, that article too could be agreed upon.26 Articles XI and XII on confession are the object of some dissent. But articles XIII to the end can be subscribed to by the Reformed with no problems. By far the longest section of the KV is devoted to the differences on the predestination decree which the Lutherans believed was single (predestination to election only).27 Jablonski does not propose a satisfactory solution but points out rightly that several Reformed churches have adopted Universalism, a name used by both parties for what we would call nowadays the doctrine of universal atonement, much to the pleasure of the Lutherans.28 He finally recommends that the Lutherans tolerate the doctrine of special grace and its double decree (predestination to salvation and damnation) as one not founded biblically but commendable on account of its traditional importance, the prestige of some of its proponents, and the service it has performed to the church over several hundreds of years. If the Lutherans are clear about the biblical foundations of their own teaching, they should find it easy to tolerate Particularism and double election. In short, the document is based on the CA and recommends toleration without really making any proposals for union. For the rest, it draws on the method of the Leipzig Colloquy of 1631 of establishing clearly points of consent and dissent. It was bound to elicit a mixed reaction from the Lutherans as not really moving beyond the stage reached in 1631 in the Leipzig Colloquy and not proposing any type of coherent union.29 It skirted around the problem of the Eucharist and around other difficulties and did not attempt to iron out ambiguities. 25 Rudolph, “Zum Nutzen,” 146. 26 Rudolph, “Zum Nutzen,” 147. 27 Rudolph, “Zum Nutzen,” 149–164. 28 Rudolph, “Zum Nutzen,” 163–164. 29 See Bodo Nischan, “Reformed Irenicism and the Leipzig colloquy of 1631,” Central European History 9 (1976): 3–26. Cf. also Irena Backus, “Leibniz’s Conceptions of the Eucharist in 1668–1697 and his Use of the 16th Century Sources in his Religious Negotiations between Hanover and Brandenburg,” in Leibniz und die Ökumene, ed. Li et al. (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2012), 171–214.

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For the purposes of the present study, it is important to note that it contains no allusions to representatives of Protestant Scholasticism such as Wendelin or Keckermann. However, its article XII (opposing the doctrine of the irresistibility of grace) refers to the quarrel on predestination between Hieronymus Zanchi and Johannes Marbach (1521–1581) and notes that initially there was no opposition between the two confessions in matters of double predestination. On the contrary, Jablonski insists that even some Lutherans, starting with Luther himself and going on to the Marburg Theology Faculty in the second half of the sixteenth century agreed with Calvin, Beza and Zanchi. The Marburg Theology faculty in fact supported Zanchi’s view against Marbach’s. Moreover, as Jablonski himself believes in universal atonement (that is, he believes that Christ died for all) and as his is the official position of the Brandenburg church following internal disagreements, he makes a point of stressing that some Reformed (including his own church) are in fact closer to the Lutheran than to the Calvinist position.30 Leibniz’s first reaction to the KV is expressed in a short confidential document “Beym Eingang” which ostensibly deals with the introductory part of the KV.31 Leibniz objects to the appellation “Lutheraner” which he finds more impolite than “Evangelicals.” While basically approving Jablonski’s reliance on the CA, he is not entirely happy about the Bran­ denburg chaplain raising the variata to a public status, which it never had at the time. As for the Leipzig Colloquy method of resolving quarrels by clarifying points of dissent and points of consent on the basis of the CA, he judges it only partly satisfactory and notes that it would have been equally helpful, if not more so, to focus on the wording of the CA and on the exact meaning of the phrases such as “sub specie panis et vini” in article X. Moreover, Leibniz notes that most of the Lutheran-Reformed quarrels focus not on the CA or its Apology, but on the question of predestination and grace. To resolve this and other serious matters dividing the two parties, Leibniz would rather have had Jablonski investigate the controversies between the Evangelicals and the Reformed by going back to their origin and sources. This would have shown the Brandenburg chaplain that the two groups did not see their work as reformers in the same way from the outset. Leibniz argues firstly that the Reformed view was grounded in 30 Rudolph, “Zum Nutzen,” 147–151. On the nature of the conflicts which led to Brandenburg adopting universal atonement see Backus, “The Mature Leibniz on Predes­ tination,” 67–96. 31 AA IV, 7, no. 53, 328–334.



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Zwingli’s, Carlstadt’s and their followers’ zeal to remove all signs of papacy and to lead their followers from the external to the internal and spiritual. This accounts for their violent removal of images and of other “abuses” as well as for their denial of the presence of Christ’s body and blood in the Eucharist and outside it. Secondly, Calvin’s system, which was widely diffused, brought about the doctrine of the double decree on predestination, which caused the Reformed to want to distinguish the elect from the “others” as sharply as possible and make God work only on behalf of the elect on the basis of predestination only and without considering any sins they might commit. In other words, Leibniz implies, they made God into the author of evil. However, as Leibniz himself never pretended to the status of a theologian, shortly after compiling “Beym Eingang” he sent the KV for an opinion  to the Helmstedt theologians, Johann Andreas Schmid and Johann Fabricius. Their reaction was rather more favourable and they did not question Jablonski’s basic method: their reply to Leibniz’s request (7 Feb­ ruary 1698) follows the order of the KV reducing the number of dissent­ing issues to three: person of Christ, the eucharist, and predestination. Like Jablonski they also refer back to the Leipzig Colloquy stressing its instrumental role in bringing Johannes Bergius (who was the Brandenburg ­representative in 1631) round to the universal atonement point of view. In all, Fabricius and Schmid basically do no more than put forward some points of detail for correction to the KV. Protestant Scholasticism as a Heresy On the issue of predestination, Fabricius and Schmid take a different view to Leibniz whose “Beym Eingang” they naturally did not know. They grant that the question concerns God’s prae-visio and the absolute decree as the Lutherans at the Leipzig Colloquy affirmed that God elected us by grace but knew in advance that those who would persevere and truly believe in Christ were predestined to be saved. Not only do they not raise objections similar to Leibniz’s but affirm the two doctrines, single and double predestination, to be one and the same doctrine. They rely on a letter from the Anglican bishop Joseph Hall to John Dury where the former says: There is nothing more certain … than that God foresaw who would believe and that he predestined them to salvation and from this it should follow that the same Saxon theologians (especially in the Leipzig Colloquy) are happy to affirm that faith is nothing other than the gift of God himself. God

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irena backus in person foresaw what he decreed from eternity that he would give the believers of the time. Therefore, everything is safeguarded and there is no point in postponing the end of this strife any longer.32

Joseph Hall, the Anglican bishop and member of the British delegation at the Synod of Dordt was hardly a representative Reformed hardliner as he was no supporter of more radical Calvinist positions. But the Helmstedt reply no doubt influenced Leibniz in two ways, as the section on predestination and the decree in UB1 and UB2 shows. First and foremost, he ceased to regard predestination as the most decisive point of conflict between the Lutherans (or Evangelicals) and the Reformed. Secondly, despite this, he still found it important to give a rundown of some of the more hard line representatives of Protestant Scholasticism, not so as to show the seriousness of the Lutheran-Calvinist dispute on the question but to point out wherein lay the different errors of the Reformed theologians. Significantly, as we are about to see, Leibniz confronts the advocates of double predestination not so much on grounds of doctrinal error as on grounds of philosophical incoherence. His choice of opponents, Wendelin, Keckermann, Voetius, Piscator, Beza and Calvin to mention only the principal ones, shows that he views the Reformed as a differentiated camp but one that is uniformly wrong. He stresses that the French theologians such as Jean Daillé or Moïse Amy­ raut subscribed to the doctrine of universal grace.33 However,  although naturally avoiding the term of “heresy” and acknowledging that it is wrong to punish human weakness and incapacity to understand, he still sees the doctrine of God’s double decree as conceptually confused and ecclesiologically wrong (in the sense of error in theology as applied to the nature and structure of the Christian church), which is how he defines heresy (while granting that to be truly heretical, a particular doctrine must also have been condemned by one or more ecumenical church c­ ouncils).34 32 Letter printed in J. Bergius’ Der Wille Gottes von aller Menschen Seligkeit…, (1653), 300: “Nihil certius est…quam Deum praevidisse credituros et salvandos praedistinasse: detur hoc modo quod iidem Saxonici (nemlich in colloquio Lipsiensi) non illibenter profitentur fidem esse [unice] Dei ipsius donum…. Praeviderit ab aeterno Deus quod ipse ab aeterno dare decreverit in tempore credituris ; tuta sunt isthic omnia, nec est quod iste contentionis finis ultra protrahatur.” 33 AA IV, 7, 535. 34 On heresy in Leibniz see Frédéric Nef, “Declarative vs. Procedural Rules for Religious Controversy, Leibniz’s Rational Approach to Heresy,” in Leibniz: What Kind of Rationalist? ed. Dascal (Dordrecht: Springer, 2009), 383–395; Irena Backus, “Leibniz et l’hérésie ancienne,” in L’argument hérésiologique, L’Église ancienne et les Réformes, XVIe–XVIIe siècles, ed. Backus et al. (Paris: Beauchesne, 2012), 69–94.



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What does the philosophical and ecclesiological error of advocates of God’s double decree consist in? Leibniz is quite clear about the answer here and expounds the view that he has defended throughout his career culminating with the Essais de théodicée (1710). For Leibniz double predestination makes God responsible for evil. Indeed, one of his major theodicean tenets is the view that God obliges himself to act in accord with his main attributes:35 wisdom, goodness, charity, etc., so that his decrees must accord with these, although their ultimate reasons, which are an issue of God’s intellect rather than his will, remain unknown to us. Therefore the decrees themselves are fully comprehensible to human reason, only the reasons for them remain hidden. Theologians who postulate a “hidden decree” whereby God decided (before or after the Fall) to save only a ­certain number of individuals (some of whom may turn out to be sinners) and to condemn others are on par with Descartes who espoused the ­voluntarist concept of God. Leibniz rejects Decartes’ view in his Discours de la métaphysique where he says, 31. However, as it is not enough to have recourse to absolute or conditional prescience of men’s future actions if we are to give reasons for the choice that God makes in dispensing grace, so we must not imagine absolute decrees either which do not have a rational and reasonable cause.36

When we transpose this view to UB and predestination, this means that Leibniz considers the hard line representatives of Protestant Scholasticism to be basically conceptually confused and theologically wrong, in other words as heretics minus only the name and the conciliar condemnation. For reasons of space, I shall examine only his view of Keckermann and Wendelin in detail, judging these to be sufficient evidence for Leibniz’s opinion of Protestant Scholasticism. Leibniz is of course aware that Keckermann and Wendelin among others were sensitive to the difficulties posed by the double predestination decree and tried to propose different solutions. However, their attempts to modify the doctrine of double predestination are no more conceptually coherent in Leibniz’s view than the original as put forward by Calvin and Beza. Leibniz indeed considers that the decision of the Synod of Dordt to reject the Supralapsarian view did not make much difference to Reformed 35 See Agustin Echavarria, “Leibniz’s Dilemma on Predestination,” accessed 27 November 2010, http://philreligion.nd.edu/conferences/leibniz2010/papers/Agustin _Echavarria-Leibnizs_Dilemma_on_Predestination.pdf. 36 G.W. Leibniz, Discours de métaphysique et Correspondance avec Arnaud, ed. Le Roy (Paris: Vrin, 1988), 68–69.

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theology. As he puts it in UB1 and UB2: “Given that the Reformed after the Synod of Dort allowed such expressions as ‘God wants sins, God wants evil’ (that is the evil of sin), they are accused up until now of teaching that God wants the evil of punishment without regard for the evil of sin.”37 However, he does note with relief that Supralapsarianism has ceased to be the dominant doctrine among the Reformed. For this reason he finds Keckermann’s position particularly incoherent as he explains at some length referring to the latter’s Systema sanctae theologiae tribus libris adornatum lib.3, cap. 1, using the edition published in Geneva in 1611 prior to the Synod of Dordt. He accuses Keckermann of denying Supralapsarianism while giving it free reign, in other words of putting forward a doctrine which purports to deny the declaration by God of the absolute double decree before the Fall (Supralapsarianism) whereas in fact all Keckermann does is change the terminology. Keckermann states, It does not follow that God has the absolute right to annihilate what he has created and therefore the absolute right to condemn because creation and annihilation are the effect of power, whereas damnation is the effect of justice. God’s power is absolute force whereas justice is relative force … taking into account necessarily the sin or the innocence of the creature. Given that damnation is the supreme and harshest penalty of the creature, the decree of damnation cannot be promulgated without any regard for or any allowance for sin, which is the sole immediate cause of damnation. Therefore no one perishes except by his own fault and it is right to say that we are saved by eternal election but it is not as apt to say that some are damned because of reprobation because election is the beginning of salvation but reprobation, properly speaking, is not a beginning but the removal of beginning and we cannot say that [some] men are eternally preordained to damnation from eternity unless I add ‘on account of sin.’38

To Leibniz this position does not make sense because it does not give any account of the reason or reasons why God should leave some out of the decree of election. That is indeed the main problem with Keckerman’s statement as he does not specify anything about the nature and timing of the sin that will exclude that particular individual from election. Leibniz also analyses the accusation against the Reformed of denying God’s other attributes, notably wisdom and truthfulness. It is under this latter heading that he discusses Wendelin. The Reformed attribute two wills to God, “voluntas signi” and “voluntas beneplaciti,” which Leibniz notes is simply 37 AA IV, 7 no. 79, 483 (Except for passages where there are substantial variants, I refer here to UB 2 as the official document which was largely the work of Leibniz himself). 38 AA IV, 7 no. 79, 485.



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a rethinking of the old rhetorical scholastic distinction between those two concepts, in other words the distinction between the metonymy in a phrase such as “thy will be done” (Mt. 6, 10), which is a figurative way of saying “may this happen what you want to happen,” and the proper use of  will in the sense of  “wanting/willing something to happen” in the sense of applying the faculty of the will to make something come about. Leibniz finds this scholastic distinction itself unclear, albeit not false. By contrast, the Reformed distinction between the “voluntas signi” and “voluntas beneplaciti” in God portrays the Almighty as saying one thing (e.g. “all will be saved”) while meaning precisely the opposite, having already condemned some to reprobation. Leibniz of course is not the first to notice this, but he finds Wendelin’s solution as put forward in his Christianae Thelogiae libri duo lib. 1, cap. 1, th. 18 to be fundamentally wrong. Wendelin in fact argues, like Leibniz, that God’s two wills appear to contradict one another, but unlike Leibniz he does not think that there is a real contradiction, asserting instead, We should reply that there is no contradiction here even though there is a difference. Indeed, the revealed will or the expression in words that God wants all men to be saved is not a “signum beneplaciti” or of God’s decree of non-sanctification of a large portion of humankind, for there is no agreement here as required between the sign and what is signified or the word and the concept that goes with it but it is an expression of another decree or good pleasure (“beneplaciti”), which is to compel all humans to muster their zeal for sanctification….39

Leibniz approves of this in so far as Wendelin does not present the two wills as contradictory. However, he still finds his solution to be incoherent. God’s statement “I want you all to be holy (heylig),” if explained by Wendelin as referring to God’s decree of enjoining men to muster their zeal for sanctification, can mean either “As you are all guilty, I want you all to be holy,” or “I want you all to be either holy (heylig) or liable to punishment (straffällig).” Wendelin, according to Leibniz, does not think that this formulation goes against God’s will as it leaves open the possibility for God to say, “I do not want you all to be saints otherwise I could make it come about that you are all holy, as otherwise you could not become holy, but I do not want to make you all holy.” Lutherans will find it impossible to agree with this statement, warns Leibniz, as God does not just want to bind or oblige men to adopt saint-making behaviour, he does not just 39 AA IV, 7, 491.

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want us to be either saints or liable to punishment, he really wants us all to be saints and saved. However—and this is where Leibniz radically parts company with Protestant Scholasticism—God does not want it with his absolute will or one which is valid once and for all with the word, but with the will which leaves room for sin to take place. This will too is real but is not always actualised. As early as his letter to Magnus Wedderkopf (1671) Leibniz argued that God has two wills, the antecedent (valid absolutely and necessarily) and consequent (valid only in so far as it is compatible with the bestness of this best of all possible worlds).40 Predestination to salvation is universal but some are damned either in the name of the bestness of this best of all possible worlds and/or because they fail to follow what is apparently best. If we then view the biblical statement in terms of this, we can conclude that God wants all to be saved by his antecedent will but by his consequent will he wants only the best, in other words that which brings about the greatest harmony and the greatest possible good in this best of all possible worlds. As Benson Mates noted, for Leibniz the antecedent will of God is detailed and considers every good qua good, whereas the consequent will is final, decisive, and arises from the conflict of all the antecedent wills.41 So Leibniz argues that when Wendelin denies that God wants all men to be saved, he considers God to have just one will, that which is actualised. And as only God’s consequent will is actualised in this world he is denying God’s antecedent will. So the controversy seems to hinge on a double meaning of the term “will,” concludes Leibniz. If we take “will” to mean a rational inclination to do this or that which is so strong that, if the power is there, the deed must follow infallibly, then Leibniz fully agrees that according to this sense of the word God wants nothing except that which really happens and indeed, if we understand “will” in that sense, we cannot really say that God wants all men to be saved. For if he absolutely wanted it to happen, it would happen infallibly and conversely if he really did not want it to happen, it would not happen. But the Scripture and men too in common parlance take the word “will” as a reasonable inclination which will be executed if there are no obstacles. Understood in this way “will” has different degrees according to the occasion of the inclination, the obstacles, and reason. Every authority, 40 See G.W. Leibniz, “Confessio philosophi.” Papers concerning the Problem of Evil, 1671– 1678, ed. Sleigh et al. (New Haven: YUP, 2005), 3–5. 41 Cf. Benson Mates, The Philosophy of Leibniz, Metaphysics and Language (New York: OUP, 1986), 45–46.



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including the highest, wants and favours what is good, and insists on it with its will but when it says “this be our will and pleasure,” this means it cannot force things to come about because it does not apply all of its power to the execution for a variety of important reasons as its wisdom advises. This could be because the (divine) authority sees that a greater good will come about if it lets things take their course and not enforce them or else it sees that a greater evil will be avoided. In other words, Leibniz considers the biblical statement as an expression of God’s consequent will: God wants all men to be saved. He wants all men to abstain from sin but he does not want it at any price or in such a way that he actually hinders man’s freedom of action or disturbs the order of things. Leibniz concludes that Wendelin and those Reformed who agree with him have no reason to reject this dual meaning of “will” and to hold that which really happens as the real will of God operational in this world. Leibniz ends by commending those who espouse universal atonement for their agreement to use “will” in this dual sense.42 Conclusion Leibniz views the orthodox Reformed doctrine of double predestination as heretical minus only the term. It obviously would not have been prudent to use the term in the irenical context in which he was writing. It could in fact be argued that he could not call the doctrine overtly “heretical” as it had never been condemned by any ecumenical church council, which, as pointed out above, was to him another indispensable ingredient of a heretical teaching.43 However, absence of conciliar condemnation notwithstanding, for Leibniz it is still a doctrine which is conceptually confused in any of its versions (including those of Keckermann and Wendelin, both of whom make an effort to soften it) and therefore ecclesiologically mistaken—the two other hallmarks of heresy. He never asks himself the question of what made some of the orthodox Reformed uphold it, especially as he knew that many of the more eminent Reformed theologians denied it altogether while some did their best to soften its impact. The doctrine in its basic hard line form had many functions, one of which was to point the faithful away from the visible church and towards the invisible God and show them that they were in his power rather than in 42 AA IV, 7, 491–495. 43 See Backus, “Leibniz et l’hérésie ancienne,” 69–94.

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the power of the visible church. Another function was to facilitate theology teaching and answer the same question as Leibniz’s, that is: if God is all-good, all-powerful and all-merciful, why is there evil in the world? To reply as Leibniz did, even had the Reformed considered it, would not have been satisfactory to them firstly because it amounted to making God a highly complex being endowed with two wills and secondly because it finally did not clear up the question of the respective roles of humans and God in the process of salvation. One of the staples of Reformed theology since Calvin was the conviction that predestination took place outside of humans. It therefore was no good to them to account for the existence of sin by saying that God had his son die for all but that some would sin by their own free will or due to God’s ultimate plan for the greatest good. Yet this was the view espoused by the “universalist” Reformed, or those who believed in universal atonement—a position which Leibniz assimilated to his own and to the Lutheran doctrine generally. His view was unclear about the exact role of humans and God in predestination but it was plain to him that predestination was not out of human reach. In the view of the Protestant Scholastics this was leaving too much up to humanity. They could, however, and did say, as the Particularists did, that God had designed things so from eternity. This kept the doctrine of predestination and damnation firmly out of the reach of humans, which was the message they wanted to pass in the classroom. Eventually the doctrine of predestination was pushed to the margins of Protestant Scholasticism and the quarrels ceased to preoccupy Reformed theologians.

PART FIVE

LATE ORTHODOXY (ca. 1725–1790)

THE UNIQUENESS OF CHRIST IN POST-REFORMATION REFORMED THEOLOGY: FROM FRANCIS TURRETIN TO JEAN-ALPHONSE TURRETIN Martin I. Klauber Evangelical treatments of the topic of the uniqueness of Christ reflect the changing nature of society and culture. It is an important doctrine today in the face of post-modernism and it was debated within the Reformed world in its historical center, Geneva, during the important period of transition from the age of orthodoxy to the age of enlightenment. At the core of this debate were two very important theologians at the Academy of Geneva, father and son, Francis and Jean-Alphonse Turretin, who held vastly different views on the subject. In this paper I will look at the transition from one to the other to show how their views developed and how they reflected the historical milieu in which they wrote and ministered. As one of the most famous of the Reformed scholastic theologians during what Richard A. Muller calls the era of high scholasticism, Francis Turretin (1623–1687)1 set the stage for the development of seventeenthcentury Reformed thought. The Turretin family came to Geneva from Lucca led by his grandfather Francesco in 1574. His father, Benedict Turretin (1588–1631) became professor of theology at the Academy of Geneva in 1618 and represented Geneva at the French Reformed National Assembly at Alais in 1620 where the French churches adopted the canons of Dordt. Francis followed in his father’s footsteps and himself became a professor of theology at Geneva where he famously opposed the hypothetical universalism of French theologian Moyse Amyraut and the innovative teachings of the French Saumur Academy. Francis Turretin was most well known for his advocacy of the Helvetic Formula Consensus (1675), which specifically combatted various aspects of Salmurian theology including the idea that the Masoretes had added the vowel points of the Hebrew Bible rather than being part of the original and inspired text. His influential systematic theology, Institutio Theologiae Elencticae (1679–1685), became required reading for theology students and served as 1 For secondary literature, see J. Mark Beach, Christ and the Covenant: Francis Turretin’s Federal Theology as a Defense of the Doctrine of Grace (Göttingen: V&R, 2007), 67–73.

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the standard text at Princeton Seminary until it was replaced by Charles Hodge’s Systematic Theology at the end of the nineteenth century. Turretin’s Institutio was translated into English by Charles Musgrave Giger and has recently been published and edited by James Dennison.2 Turretin adopted the most conservative of Reformed positions on a wide array of topics, including the concept of the uniqueness of Christ, and remained faithful to the Canons of Dordt throughout his life. He viewed Armin­ ianism as a major threat to Reformed orthodoxy and considered any compromise, such as the doctrines of Saumur, as the first step toward the dissolution of the heritage of Calvin. Turretin discussed the issue of the uniqueness of Christ in two different sections of his Institutio, in his section on prolegomena and then in his discussion of Christology. He directed his defense of the uniqueness of Christ in his introduction against the Pelagians, Socinians, and Remon­ strants. In his section on Christology, he attacked the Roman Catholic doctrine of the intercessory role of the saints. In his introduction to theology, Turretin labeled as “impious” the idea that one who is sincere in whatever religion they follow will ultimately be saved. Here he specifically cited Faustus Socinus in his Praelectiones theologica (1609) who in essence reduced the fundamental articles of faith to the lowest possible number in order to include virtually everyone. Turretin also mentioned on this score Remonstrant theologians Etienne de Courcelles and Adolphus Venator, who in 1612 denied the doctrine that “no one can be saved who is not placed in Christ by true faith.” Others such as Arminius himself and Simon Episcopius did not go as far, preferring to say that one can receive the light of grace by the correct use of natural theology. Turretin also cited some Roman Catholics such as Erasmus of holding to the same idea, which makes sense owing to the strong connection between Arminian and Erasmian thought.3 Turretin did not deny the value of other religions or that some truth can be gleaned from them. They were, however, not only deficient, but also “impious, idolatrous, false, and erroneous.”4 Furthermore the usefulness of such religions is to render their adherents inexcusable before God. He went on to ask the question of whether there are certain first principles of religion common to all. He did admit that some of these do exist such as 2 Institutes of Elenctic Theology, trans. Giger, ed. Dennison (Phillipsburg: P&R, 1992). 3 Institutio, I.iv.1. 4 Institutio, I.iv.2.



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the common belief in the existence of God and the need to worship him. However, such notions are generally inadequate.5 Natural theology was extremely useful for Turretin for several reasons. First, it functions as a witness of God’s goodness based on the notion of a common grace given to all men. Second, natural law is foundational for organizing society and to prevent the human race from total anarchy. Third, God grants to man the ability to reason, which allows for the possibility of receiving revelation. Fourth, God provides natural theology as an incitement for men to seek after him further. Lastly, it serves as a means to render man inexcusable before God, even if one had never heard the specific message of Christ. General revelation, therefore, is not enough in and of itself to lead of to salvation.6 The reason why it is insufficient is because Scripture clearly teaches that there is no other way to God than through Christ. He cited passages such as John 3:16, Acts 4:11, 1 Corinthians 3:11 and Hebrews 11:6. Saving faith comes from the word (Romans 10:17). Furthermore, it is inadequate to say that Christ is the ordinary way of salvation but that God could, in extraordinary circumstances, grant salvation to those who live a moral life according to natural law. Such a notion, he explained, has absolutely no support in Scripture. Paul, in his address to the Athenians in Acts 17:29–30 refers to a time of ignorance of the Gentiles: “Being then God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the divine being is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of man. The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.” If there were a way of salvation outside of Christ why would Paul have even had to preach the gospel to them?7 He contrasted natural theology, which allows some imperfect knowledge of God as the creator of the world, with the clear and perfect revelation, which leads one to saving faith. It would be insufficient to seek after and worship the unknown god through nature and providence. Further, Romans 1:19–20 does not support the notion of a common religion. The passage refers to a knowledge rather than belief and such knowledge is 5 Institutio, I.iv.4. 6 Institutio, I.iv.5. 7 Institutio, I.iv.5.

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insufficient because it does not include the will of God and the mercy of Christ, which can only be known through special revelation.8 In addition, Turretin noted that all sins are mortal which lead to condemnation (James 2:10) while the commission of one good act does not save. The Gentiles, who did not have a specific knowledge of Christ, became idolatrous, worshipping many gods. Even if they had been monotheistic, it would have not been enough for salvation. He made a distinction between being excusable and being saved. Even if a person lived a completely holy life they would still be guilty of original sin. Any good action that such a person would commit would merely be external and, since such works would not have come from the Holy Spirit, it could be helpful for the present and future but not for the past in that it would not remit past sin or former guilt.9 Moving to the interpretation of Matthew 13:12, “For to the one who has, more will be given, and he will have an abundance, but from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away,” he rejected the notion that if the Gentile responded to natural revelation, God would be obligated to provide special revelation. The very idea that additional revelation would have to be added shows the absurdity of presupposing that general revelation could in and of itself be sufficient. Furthermore, the verse does not say that God is obligated to provide grace for those who do all they can.10 Another important passage is Romans 2:4, “Or do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, forbearance and patience, not realizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance?” The context here does not refer to the Gentiles, but to the Jews. So the kindness referred to here refers to special revelation to the Jews rather than to general revelation to the Gentiles. The law was given to man prior to the fall, and had the power to grant life. However, after the fall it cannot give life, but serves as “a mirror of sin and misery to render the sinner inexcusable (Romans 3: 19–20).” In Romans 2:14 the Gentiles are said to do the things contained in natural law, but they cannot even follow this and are, therefore, condemned.11 Admitting that some non-believers do good works and live exemplary lives, he argued that when one likens such works to the nature of God’s holiness, they pale in comparison. He labeled such deeds as “splendid sins 8 Institutio, I.iv.8. 9 Institutio, I.iv.9. 10 Institutio, I.iv.12. 11 Institutio, I.iv.13.



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and in the sight of God worthy of no reward.” Scriptural examples of figures such as Melchizedek, Job, or Cornelius the Centurion do count as people who performed good deeds in a state of nature because all of them experienced the benefit of special grace and revelation. Cornelius was a proselyte and believed that salvation would come from the Jews and so he should properly be classified as one of the patriarchs.12 Another key passage was Hebrews 11:6, “And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he reward those who earnestly seek him.” This is a difficult verse that seems to indicate that all that is required is for one to be a genuine seeker. Turretin explained that, in context, this passage properly refers to those who seek God by faith through a proper mediator. This can be proved by the framework of the entire chapter, which refers to saving faith and by the examples of the people listed in the so-called hall of faith who did not seek knowledge of God in general, but of the true God in anticipation of the saving faith that would ultimately be revealed. Here Turretin countered the argument by the Remonstrant theologian Etienne de Courcelles who made what Turretin believed to be a false distinction between faith in God and faith in Christ. In such a scheme, the Arminian theologian would support the idea that faith in God was all that was required before Christ. Turretin concluded that no faith in God could be truly salvific unless it was a specific faith in Christ. 13 Turretin did not make any significant reference to patristic sources in his defense of the uniqueness of Christ, but he did recognize that many church fathers hoped that Gentile philosophers who were so helpful for understanding Christian doctrine could be saved. He cited in this regard, Clement of Alexandria, Justin Martyr, and John Chrysostom. It would be understandable for some who ministered prior to the Pelagian controversy to make this mistake, but for those who possessed the benefit of the Augustinian corpus, he countenanced no excuse. 14 Some Protestant humanists made the same mistake, such as Zwingli, who expressed hope that Hercules and Socrates among others who displayed excellence in philosophy or who displayed uncommon courage could be saved. The error here could be excused, at least in part, because these were men who lived prior to the time of Christ and who could possibly be classified in the same way as the OT saints.15 12 Institutio, I.iv.18–19. 13 Institutio, I.iv.20. 14 Institutio, I.iv.21. 15 Institutio, I.iv.22.

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Having dealt with the insufficiency of natural theology in leading one to saving faith, Turretin then moved to discuss the role of Christ as the sole mediator between God and man, a topic in which he refuted the Roman Catholic argument that the saints and the Virgin Mary also served as intermediaries with the Father. Here he defined the concept of mediator, not as merely praying for believers, but as “commending those offered to God and making them acceptable by one’s own merits.” Turretin noted the two aspects of the priestly office of Christ, satisfaction and intercession. The error of the Catholics, he argued, was to ascribe both of these offices to saints as well. Turretin did not mince words when he stated that he would “wage war” against such a concept. He pointed to 1 Timothy 2:5, “there is one God and one mediator between God and man, the man Christ.” The Roman response to this verse was to say that, when the Scripture states that there is one mediator, it does not say that there is only one. Turretin responded by affirming that the Greek word heis in biblical and secular Greek literature usually does refer to the “only one” citing passages from Virgil. Furthermore the context of the passage contrasts the fact that just as God is one in the same way the mediator is one.16 The response of Roman Catholic polemicists was to say that yes, Christ is the mediator of redemption, but that there may be others who serve along with him as mediators of intercession. Turretin dismissed this discrepancy as ridiculous because Scripture nowhere makes a distinction between the two. Furthermore, one cannot separate Christ’s role as mediator and intercessor because propitiation and intercession are two essential parts of mediation according to 1 John 2:1–2, Romans 8:34, and Hebrews 7:25.17 A second response was that Paul was speaking about a specific and primary form of mediatorship, which does not necessarily preclude lesser forms of such work. The problem with this concept, according to Turretin, is that it has absolutely no scriptural warrant. Furthermore, since the Bible specifically refers to Christ alone as mediator, the entire issue is moot.18 Moving to the exegesis of 2 Maccabees 15:14, the most prominent apocryphal verse in favor of praying for the dead which reads, “And Onias spoke, saying, ‘This is a man who loves the family of Israel and prays much for the people and the holy city—Jeremiah, the prophet of God.’” Here Turretin noted that even Roman Catholics agreed that the entire book of 16 Institutio, XIV.iv.6. 17 Institutio, XIV.iv.7. 18 Institutio, XIV.iv.9.



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2 Maccabees is filled with fables and inconsistencies. It would be, therefore, invalid to base an entire doctrine on this book also, let alone this verse alone. Furthermore, the passage does not really support an intercessory role for OT saints, as it merely states that the saints pray rather than serve as mediators. In addition, the Roman church taught that the OT saints lived in limbus patrum far from the presence of God and, therefore, they would be ill suited to serve as mediators.19 So Turretin displayed a classic defense of the doctrine of the uniqueness of Christ and took on all comers, Arminians, Socinians, Pelagians, and Roman Catholics. Ironically, it was his son, Jean-Alphonse Turretin (1671–1737),20 also a professor of theology at Geneva, who led the opposition to many aspects of his teachings, most notably the abrogation of the Helvetic Formula Consensus. As the historical milieu changed even further during the last quarter of the century and during the beginning of the eighteenth century, the old patterns of overly specific creeds such as the Formula Consensus were no longer useful in defending Reformed thought. The next generation of theologians at Geneva, led by Jacob Vernet (1698–1789), would develop a new system of enlightened orthodoxy that would emphasize a more practical faith, which was far removed from the old, tightly defined system.21 Although most theologians at the Academy continued to view Arminianism, Salmurianism, and Roman Catholicism as major threats to the Reformed faith, deism and even atheism were beginning to be seen as far more dangerous. The works of Spinoza and Hobbes took aim at the heart of the Christian faith by denying the validity of biblical miracles. This was also the era of the beginnings of biblical criticism with scholars such as the French Oratorian priest, Richard Simon, questioning the Mosaic authorship of parts of the Pentateuch.22 This early use of such 19 Institutio, XIV.iv.20. 20 On Jean-Alphonse Turretin, see Pitassi, et al., ed., Inventaire critique de la correspondance de Jean-Alphonse Turrettini, 6 vols. (Paris: Honoré Champion, 2009); and Klauber, Between Reformed Scholasticism and Pan Protestantism: Jean-Alphonse Turretin (1671–1737) and Enlightened Orthodoxy at the Academy of Geneva (Selinsgrove: Susquehanna University, 1994). 21 On Vernet, see Graham Gargett, “Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Jacob Vernet and the Enlightened Liberty of Eighteenth-Century Geneva,” in Liberté: Héritage du passé ou idée des Lumières, ed. Grzeskowiak-Krwawicz and Zatorska (Kraków: Collegium Columbinum, 2004): 136–148; Gargett, “Jacob Vernet, éditeur et admirateur de Montesquieu,” in Le Temps de Montesquieu, ed. Porret and Volpihac-Auger (Geneva: Droz, 2002): 107–125; and further literature in David J. Sorkin, The Religious Enlightenment: Protestants, Jews, and Catholics from London to Vienna (Princeton: PUP, 2008), 69–111. 22 Richard Simon, Histoire critique du Vieux Testament (Rotterdam: Renier Leers, 1678).

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biblical criticism was far more threatening to the integrity of the biblical text than had been Cappel’s position on the inspiration of the vowel points of the Masoretic text. Now biblical criticism was beginning to cast doubts about more basic assumptions. Educated at the Academy from 1685–1691, Jean-Alphonse Turretin developed a greatly expanded approach to natural theology. The main source for his ideas can be found in the second volume of his Opera (Basel edition of 1748) and is a series of essays included in the De Veritate Religionis Judicae and De Veritate Religionis Christianae. In addition, he commented on the issue of natural theology in his commentary on Romans.23 In these works, he noted a common criticism leveled against revealed religions such as Christianity was that the extent of its revelation has been limited to a chosen few with the vast bulk of humanity never having the opportunity to respond to it. In response, Turretin pointed out in his treatise on special revelation that a surprising number of heathen nations have had access to God’s specific actions through history. For example, he carefully noted that both in Creation and in the Flood, God did reveal Himself to all creation. The miracles of Moses were known by the Egyptians and by all the neighboring peoples. Jonah was sent to Nineveh, Daniel and Ezekiel to the Babylonians. The Greek version of the Old Testament, the Septuagint, facilitated the study of the Old Testament to non-Jews since Greek was the spoken language of most of the known world. When the message of Christianity was dispersed, it was able to be received by most of humanity.24 However, the big issue for Jean-Alphonse was one of fairness. Although most people throughout history had some access to special revelation, many did not. Furthermore, if one needs biblical revelation to come to a saving knowledge of Christ, such divine disclosures should be dispensed in an equitable way. The capacity of each person to understand general revelation would be proportional to the individual’s intelligence, education, age, social status, and many other factors. Some individuals are simply smarter than others and have an inherent advantage in receiving both general and special revelation. It made sense to him that in the final judgment, a just God would evaluate each person fairly, based on the amount of light received and understood. Therefore, if an individual received only a limited amount of general revelation, God would judge that person 23 Jean-Alphonse Turretin, Dilucidationes philosophico-theologico-dogmatico-morales. 3 vols. (Basel: J.R. ImHoff, 1748); Jean-Alphonse Turretin, In Pauli apostoli ad Romanos epistolae (Lausanne/Geneva: Marci-Michaelis Bousquet & socior., 1741). 24 Turretin, Dilucidationes, II.xi.18.



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according to the degree of divine disclosure, which leaves open the possibility of salvation without a specific knowledge of Christ. In his Romans commentary, he continued his emphasis on revelatory fairness, noting that the rejection of general revelation would be grounds for divine condemnation. The acts of the heathen nations were so heinous that they did not deserve a fuller measure of revelation. They should be condemned for their violation against their own consciences, which is the light that God has given to them.25 To support his position, he referred to Romans 2:12 that all who sin apart from the law will be judged by that law, that is the law of the conscience. So, one could be blamed only by that standard. The second passage he referred to was Luke 12:48, where the one who unknowingly sins, will be beaten with few blows. However, the one who knowingly does wrong will receive a far greater punishment.26 It should be noted that Turretin never came out specifically to advocate that the socalled heathen in Africa could be saved based on general revelation alone, but he never explicitly denied it. The younger Turretin’s doctrine of the uniqueness of Christ fit well with his desire to reduce the fundamental articles of the faith to the bare minimum with the ultimate goal of Protestant unification, outlined in his Nubes testium or Cloud of Witnesses published in 1719.27 Jean-Alphonse defined the fundamental articles as “those principles of religion, which so relate to the essence and foundation of it, and are of so great importance, that without them religion cannot stand, or at least will be destitute of a chief and necessary part.” In other words, fundamental articles are those doctrines that are necessary for salvation. The problem comes with determining the specific identity of these beliefs. In a manner consistent with the so-called “enlightened orthodoxy” of the age, he preferred to insist upon the absolute minimum number of articles in order to allow for the widest possible measure of agreement.28 It is not surprising that he dedicated the work to William Wake, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was one of the leading figures of the Latitudinarian movement. Turretin and Wake carried on a lengthy correspondence for the purpose of promoting a pan-Protestant accord. Wake also campaigned vigorously for a common Protestant confession of faith.29 25 Turretin, Romanos, 13. 26 Turretin, Dilucidationes, II.xi.20; Turretin, Romanos, 14–15. 27 Jean-Alphonse Turretin, Nubes testium pro moderato et pacifico de rebus theologicis judicio, et instituenda inter protestantes concordia (Geneva: Fabri & Burrillo, 1719). 28 Turretin, Nubes testium in Dilucidationes, 3:46. 29 The correspondence between Wake and Turretin is housed in the library of Christ Church, Oxford University and is catalogued under Archbishop Wake Epist. 31.

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Turretin noted that one could determine the difference between fundamental and non-fundamental articles from both nature and from Scripture. From nature, one can discover basic moral precepts based on the human conscience. Scripture provides more detailed information about which doctrines are fundamental and which are secondary. One could agree to disagree on the secondary issues, while the primary ones are those which all Protestants share. Turretin would not consider extending the commonality of these doctrines with the Roman Catholics. In his defense of the concept of biblical perspicuity, Turretin argued that these doctrines are clearly revealed and lead the believer to true Christian devotion saying: “Certainly the design of religion is not to exercise the wit and understandings of men, nor to burden and overwhelm their memories with so vast a number of all sorts of truths; but to implant in their minds the fear and love of God, and excite them to certain duties.”30 Having established the basis for determining the fundamental of the faith, Turretin proceeded to discuss the principles for defining them. The first was that Christians have an obligation to accept and obey such truths not just because they are clearly revealed, but because God is worthy of our devotion.31 God, as the supremely wise “instructor of men,” reveals these doctrines in such a way that people with different intellectual capacities can understand them. He wrote: “Fundamentals are plain, adapted to common capacities, and free from all subtle and intricate distinctions of the schools.”32 In addition, there are relatively few fundamentals articles, an argument that was common among the Remonstrants and even the Socinians. In fact, Turretin’s close confidant, Jean LeClerc, an Arminian professor at Amsterdam and a graduate of the Genevan Academy, made such an argument as well in his first published work in 1681. LeClerc had turned against Reformed theology in part because of the requirement in Geneva to subscribe to the Formula Consensus.33 30 Turretin, Nubes testium in Dilucidationes, 3:42. 31 Turretin, Nubes testium in Dilucidationes, 3:34. 32 Turretin, Nubes testium in Dilucidationes, 3:44. 33 Jean LeClerc, Liberii de Sancto Amore Epistolae Theologicae, in quibus varii scholasticorum errores castigantur (Saumur: Henri Desbordes, 1681). Both Maria-Christina Pitassi and Annie Barnes argue that LeClerc and Turretin shared similar views on a number of topics, including the fundamental articles, pointing to the correspondence between the two, which lasted from 1705–1728. Barnes writes: “One can see how much his [Turretin’s] spirit and his ideas came from LeClerc whom he had admired since his youth, when under the direction of his tutor he read the Bibliothèque universelle [edited by LeClerc]. The two men were made for a mutual understanding.” Barnes, Jean LeClerc (1657–1736) et le



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Turretin criticized what he believed to be the divisive nature of Reformed scholastic theology by stating that the fundamentals lead one to godly living. This is the major reason why he never emphasized the doctrine of predestination in his theological discourse. However, he was careful to distinguish his position from the Enthusiasts who tended to emphasize piety over doctrine.34 However, when it came to the doctrine of the Trinity, Turretin ran into trouble since it could be argued that it was not clearly revealed in Scripture. On this topic, he noted that it was, indeed, a fundamental article explaining, “If therefore, the mode and circumstances, the causes and adjuncts of a thing are to be accounted fundamental, it will follow that an abundance of things, of which we can have no clear perceptions, and which do far exceed our capacities, are nevertheless fundamental.”35 On this point, at least, he distinguished his position from that of the Socinians. Turretin did emphasize that reason plays a major role in determining the fundamental articles, but he was prepared to allow for some element of biblical mystery in the areas of the Trinity and the Incarnation. What is particularly interesting in his use of the essential articles of the faith is that he did not include many of the doctrines that made Reformed theology distinctive. He made no reference to the order of divine decrees or to election. He did not even mention the sacraments that had been so divisive between Catholic and Protestants and between Lutheran and Reformed. He was providing the basis for a pan-Protestant union that would include Arminian, Reformed, Lutheran, and Anglican Protestants. This approach made sense given the theological issues that he faced during his tenure at the Academy when Cartesianism and the ideas of Spinoza began to infiltrate the Protestant world. Maria-Christina Pitassi has noted this development, referring to the correspondence between Jean-Alphonse and Jean LeClerc, where both scholars observed the presence of atheistic thought in Paris and even in Geneva. Turretin made also République des Lettres (Paris: Droz, 1938), 199; Maria-Christina Pitassi, “De la censure à le réfutation. L’Académie de Genève,” Revue de Métaphysique et de Morale 93.2 (1988): 162–164. In addition, J.J.V.M. De Vet asserts that LeClerc, in turn, was quite influenced by Grotius. LeClerc edited and republished Grotius’ De Veritate Religionis Christianae (1629) in several editions starting in 1709. LeClerc included his own marginalia in which he updated Grotius’ arguments on a number of points relative to discoveries in science. Moreover, according to De Vet’s description, LeClerc’s position on fundamental articles is almost the mirror image of Turretin’s stance. See J.J.V.M. De Vet, “Jean Leclerc, an Enlightened Propagandist of Grotius’ De Veritate Religionis Christianae,” NAKG 64 (1984): 160–195. 34 Turretin, Nubes testium in Dilucidationes, 3:46. 35 Turretin, Nubes testium in Dilucidationes, 3:42.

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made great use of Pierre Bayle’s Dictionnaire Historique et Critique (1697) in his refutation of Spinoza. Turretin’s lecture notes have been preserved which include a direct denunciation of Spinoza in which he refers repeatedly to Bayle.36 His father Francis would never have used Bayle as a source because of the suspicion that Bayle held heterodox beliefs. The father had spent his career battling other Protestants such as the Salmurians or the Socinians, while the son was trying to protect the core of the Christian faith from what he considered to be more seditious threats.37 With Jean-Alphonse Turretin, the cycle became virtually complete. Gone were many of the distinctive doctrines of Reformed thought and his methodology more closely resembled that of the Remonstrants than of Calvin. He constructed an extensive system of natural theology intended to provide a more solid footing for the faith in the face of the threats of atheism and deism. As a result, he developed a view of divine revelation based on the concept of fairness whereby one could only be judged based on the amount of revelation that one had received. This idea left open the possibility of salvation apart from a specific knowledge of Christ. The questioning of the uniqueness of Christ reflected the changing times within the Reformed movement.

36 Jean-Alphonse Turretin, Abrégés de Leçons de Theol. De Mr. T[urrettini], Archives Tronchin, vol. 119. La Réfutation du système de Spinosa par M. Turrettini is an appendix to these notes. See Pitassi “De la censure,” 161. 37 Pitassi, “De la censure,” 159–164.

JONATHAN EDWARDS (1703–1758) AND THE NATURE OF THEOLOGY1 Adriaan C. Neele Edwards drew the common distinction between the two kinds of theological knowledge, the first speculative…and the second practical…The aim of [Edwards’] theology was to nurture a “sense” of divine things that took one deeper into their nature than the speculative understanding alone could penetrate and to “guide and influence” us in our practice.

Thus states E. Brooks Holifield in Theology in America.2 Although Holifield asserts that Edwards’ aim and distinction of theology may have been indebted to the Reformed scholastic Petrus van Mastricht (1630–1706), many in Edwards scholarship on the theology of Edwards, such as Ridderbos, Cherry, Gerstner, Holmes, and Lee,3 have overlooked such indebtedness, which may be an underlying or overarching theme in the interpretation of the nature of Edwards’ theology. One reason for such oversight is that many of Edwards’ sources remain in untranslated Latin, as Amy Plantinga Pauw points out, following Norman Fiering.4 Another reason may be, as Gerry McDermott recently remarked, “more scholarly work needs to compare him [Edwards] with European thinkers and issues, and thereby include him in the ongoing discussions of international philosophy and theology.”5 1 This essay was presented in various forms as an inaugural address, March 2010 at UFS (Studia Historiae Ecclesiasticae XXXVIII(2), a scholarly paper at the Jonathan Edwards Society Conference, October 2011, Northampton, MA, and will be published in part and translated in Portuguese in Fides Reformata (Saõ Paulo: Mackenzie University, Graduate School of Theology, forthcoming). 2 E. Brooks Holifield, Theology in America. Christian Thought from the Age of the Puritans to the Civil War (New Haven: YUP, 2003), 102. 3 J. Ridderbos, De Theologie van Jonathan Edwards, (‘s-Gravenhage: Johan A. Nederbragt, 1907); Conrad Cherry, The Theology of Jonathan Edwards. A Reappraisal (Bloomington: Indiana University, 1966); Anri Morimoto, Jonathan Edwards and the Catholic Vision of Salvation (University Park: Pennsylvania State University, 1995); John H. Gerstner, Jonathan Edwards: A Mini-Theology, (Morgan: SDG, 1996 reprint); Stephen R. Holmes, God of Grace & God of Glory. An Account of the Theology of Jonathan Edwards (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000); Sang H. Lee, The Philosophical Theology of Jonathan Edwards (Princeton: PUP, 2000). 4 Amy Plantinga Pauw, The Supreme Harmony of All. The Trinitarian Theology of Jonathan Edwards (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 27. 5 See http://www.jesociety.org/2010/02/08/whither-edwards-studies/.

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Therefore, this essay attempts to evaluate Edwards’ theological inquiry by a more in-depth view of Protestant scholasticism and its trajectories. I focus on a single document wherein Edwards most distinctively lays out his understanding of the nature of theology—a sermon of November 1739, published as The Importance and Advantage of a Thorough Knowledge of Divine Truth (1788). The period 1737–1742 was a challenging and transitional time for New  England’s history. War (French-Indian raids, War of Jenkins’ Ear) and awakenings shaped America’s early history and theology in unprecedented ways in particular following the Great Awakening, an event that is fixed to that towering figure in intellectual history: Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758), preacher, theologian, philosopher, missionary, pastor, and university president.6 Though steeped in seventeenth-century English Puritanism and continental post-Reformation reformed thought, New England’s theological orthodoxy and practice were put to the test during these years. The rise of  Arminianism, the dissemination of Deism, and the news about the “New Methodists”7 such as John Wesley (1703–1791) and George Whitefield (1714–1770), all contributed to division and realigned allegiances in the British colony. The concern over Arminianisn, was expressed in the let­ ter  exchanges in March 1739 between Capt. Benjamin Wright and the Rev. Benjamin Doolittle of Northfield, Mass. Doolittle accused his parishioner Wright of having “Signified nothing of a desire of peace and love,” while Wright charged that his pastor had “often advanced Arminian ­principles both in pulpit and private conversation.”8 The danger of Deism was not only generally known in New England but the congregation of Northampton in particular was, thanks to their pastor, well versed in it. In sermon twenty-four of the History of the Work of Redemption series of mid-1739, Edwards warned: Again, another thing that has of late exceedingly prevailed among Protestants, and especially in England, is deism. The deists wholly cast off the Christian religion, and are professed infidels. They ben’t like the heretics, Arians and Socinians, and others…They deny any revealed religion… 6 George Marsden, Jonathan Edwards. A Life (New Haven: YUP, 2003); William S. Morris, The Young Jonathan Edwards. A Reconstruction (Ph.D. thesis, University of Chicago, 1955) (Eugene: W&S, 2005). 7 Jonathan Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 1739–1742, in Harry S. Stout, ed., The Works of Jonathan Edwards Online [= WJE Online], 22:108. 8 Edwards, Correspondence by, to and about Edwards and His Family, in WJE Online 32:C56. See also, WJE Online 32:C55, C57.



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and say that God has given mankind no other light to walk by but his own reason.9

Edwards was not an insignificant participant in these transformative years of New England, though based at the rural town of Northampton. His Faithful Narrative of the Surprising Work of God, published at London (December, 1737) and Boston (December, 1738), had placed him in the emerging network of the transatlantic evangelical community,10 and his preaching of various discourses, such as on the parable of the wise and foolish virgins (Jan.–Apr., 1738), the series on 1 Corinthians 13 (Apr.–Oct., 1738) later published as Charity and Its Fruits, and the sermons that became known as A History of the Work of Redemption (Mar.–Aug., 1739), established him as an extraordinary preacher. However, it is precisely in these taxing years for New England’s theology that Edwards evolved as a theologian par excellence: ­historically informed and contemporarily relevant. It is important to note that the pastor of Northampton did not publish a systematic theology like the post-Reformation Reformed theologians François Turrettini (1623– 1687) and Mastricht (1630–1706),11 or like his eighteenth-century protégées Joseph Bellamy (1719–1790) and Samuel Hopkins (1721–1803).12 Edwards commented on his predecessors, whose works are leading examples of seventeenth-century Protestant scholasticism joined with piety: They are both excellent. Turretin is on polemical divinity; on the Five Points, and all other controversial points; and is much larger in these than Mastricht; and is better for one that desires only to be thoroughly versed in controversies. But take Mastricht for divinity in general, doctrine, practice, and controversy; or as an universal system of divinity and it is much better than 9 Edwards, A History of the Work of Redemption, in WJE Online 9:432. 10 Susan O’Brien, “Eighteenth-Century Publishing Networks in the First Years of Transatlantic Evangelicalism,” in Evangelicalism: Comparative Studies of Popular Protes­ tantism in North America, the British Isles, and Beyond 1700–1790, ed. Noll et al. (New York: OUP, 1994), 38–57; and Frank Lambert, “Pedlar in Divinity”: George Whitefield and the Transatlantic Revivals (Princeton: PUP, 1994); Norman Fiering’s description of the transatlantic republic of letters, Jonathan Edwards’ Moral Thought and Its British Context (Chapel Hill: UNCP, 1981), 13–28. 11 Turretin, Institutio theologiæ elencticæ in qua status controversiæ perspicue exponitur, præcipua orthodoxorum argumenta proponuntur & vindicantur, & fontes solutionum aperiuntur (Geneve: Samuelem de Tournes, 1680–1686); Petrus van Mastricht, Theoreticopractica theologia (Utrecht: Thomas Appels, 1699). 12 Joseph Bellamy, True religion delineated…With a preface by the Rev. Mr. Edwards (Boston: S. Kneeland, 1750); Samuel Hopkins, The system of doctrines… To which is added, A treatise on the millennium (Boston: Thomas and Andrews, 1793).

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adriaan c. neele Turretin or any other book in the world, excepting the Bible, in my opinion.13

Edwards’ generous praise was an echo of earlier praise, commencing with Cotton Mather’s handbook for students studying for the ministry, the Manuductio ad Ministerium: But after all there is nothing that I can with so much Plerophorie Recommend unto you, as a Mastricht, his Theologia Theoretico-practica. That a Minister of the Gospel may be Thoroughly furnished unto every Good Work, and in one or two Quarto Volumns enjoy a well furnished Library, I know not that the Sun has ever shone upon an Humane Composure that is equal to it.14

In fact, Mastricht’s work was highly valued by such well-known New England theologians as Benjamin Colman,15 Joseph Seccombe,16 Mas­ tricht’s editor and translator of “On Regeneration,”17 Samuel Hopkins,18 and Joseph Bellamy.19 And Edwards Amasa Park reported that Jonathan Edwards Jr. read Mastricht’s Theoretico-practica theologia seven times. In spite of or thanks to Mastricht’s work, however, the absence of a published form of systematic theology or, following the early modern term, “body of divinity,” in the Edwards corpus does not imply that no consideration was given to such a project. On the contrary, as early as 1724 Edwards drafted an outline of a treatise, entitled A Rational Account of the Principles and Main Doctrines of the Christian Religion. Though it seems that he abandoned this project after 1740, the thought of composing a body of divinity never left him, as he attested in a letter of 1757 to the Trustees of the College of New Jersey (Princeton University): I have had on my mind and heart (which I long ago began, not with any view to publication) a great work, which I call A History of the Work of Redemption, 13 Edwards, Letters and Personal Writings, in WJE Online 16:217. 14 Cotton Mather, Manuductio ad Ministerium. Directions for a candidate of the ministry (Boston, 1726). 15 Benjamin Colman, A Dissertation on the Image of God wherein Man was created (Boston: Kneeland and Green, 1736), 27–28. 16 Joseph Seccombe, Some Occasional Thoughts on the Influence of the Spirit with Seasonable Cautions against Mistakes and Abuses (Boston: Kneeland and Green 1742), title page. 17 Petrus van Mastricht, A Treatise on Regeneration (New Haven, [1770?]). 18 Hopkins, The system of doctrines, 769. 19 Joseph Bellamy, The Works (Boston: Doctrinal Tract and Book Society, 1850–1853), xiv. Jonathan Edwards lent a copy of Mastricht’s work to Bellamy. Cf. Edwards, Catalogue of Books, in WJE Online 26:227, as was known also to Tyron Edwards (1809–1894). See Michael A.G. Haykin, ed., A Sweet Flame. Piety in the Letters of Jonathan Edwards (Grand Rapids: RHB, 2007), 85.



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a body of divinity in an entire new method, being thrown into the form of an history, considering the affair of Christian theology.20

Mastricht, the favorite theologian of New England, and Edwards in ­particular, prefaced his Theoretica-practica theologia (1699) with similar words, I had planned for long…a great work about the adventures of the church… [and] provide a particular sketch about the history of the church…dealing about the dispensatione foederis gratia though all the ages of the Church.21

Moreover, in the tumultuous years 1737–1742, Edwards drafted at the close of 1739 a “Preface to the Rational Account,” where he mentions, “some things that may justly make us suspect that the present fashionable divinity is wrong.”22 Finally, and precisely at that time, Edwards not only included in one of his Sermon Notebooks a sketch of a homily on Hebrews 5:12, but also preached an extensive treatment of the text in November 1739 at Northampton, posthumously published as The Importance and Advantage of a Thorough Knowledge of Divine Truth.23 What is suggested here is that in these times of New England’s contested theology and its practice, Edwards emerged as a prime example of effectively communicating the fundamentals of Christian theology—catholic in its trajectory and contemporary in its setting. Therefore, a brief analysis with historical-theological commentary of this homily, both in structure and content, is required to discern Edwards’ position in a transitional moment of theology. In regard to the structure, Edwards’ sermon on Hebrews 5:12 is a literary unit, most likely divided over two preaching occasions, comprising three main divisions, Text, Doctrine and Application,24 of which the latter is presented as Uses and Directions. Wilson H. Kimnach convincingly argues that Edwards relied “upon the basic structure and general rationale of the  seventeenth-century Puritan sermon.”25 However, the form of the ­discourse may further have been strengthened by Edwards’ profound 20 Edwards, Letters and Personal Writings, in WJE Online 16:727. 21 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica, praefatio, 1–2. 22 Edwards, The Miscellanies (entry Nos. 501–832), in WJE Online 18:546–547. 23 No manuscript has been located. The text was first published in Jonathan Edwards, Practical Sermons never before published (Edinburgh: M. Gray, 1788), 1–11 (sermon I), 12–25 (sermon II). See on the publication of the text, Edwards, in WJE Online 22:82. 24 An indispensable introduction to the sermons of Edwards can be found in Edwards, Sermons and Discourses 1720–1723, in WJE Online 10: 3–258. 25 Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 10:27.

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acquaintance with Mastricht’s Theoretico-practica theologia that presented each loci of Reformed theology in a fourfold and integral manner: exegesis, doctrine, elenctic and praxis—the latter also containing uses and directions.26 In particular, Mastricht’s work was written not only for the study of theology but also intended for the preparation of a homily.27 In addition to the threefold division of the discourse, Edwards offers in the doctrinal section, in sketch and published form, four propositions or questions: What divinity is, What kind of knowledge in divinity is intended in  the doctrine, Why knowledge in divinity is necessary, and Why all Christians should make a business of endeavoring to grow in this knowledge. The informed reader notices immediately Edwards’ sophisticated approach to the theological discourse by raising the (medieval) scholastic quaestiones: Quid sit (what is), Qualis sit (what sort) and Quantus sit (how great). These particular rhetorical distinctions, acknowledged by Edwards as an examination “according to the rules of art,”28 unite Edwards’ ser­ mon structure not only with the method of theological inquiry of post-­ Reformation Reformed thinkers such as Mastricht and other Protestant scholastics,29 but also with medieval intellectuals such as Lombard, Aquinas, and Scotus.30 In summary, the structure of Edwards’ exposition on the knowledge of divinity or theology proper, then, can be characterized as the methodus theologiae and is thereby placed in a long-standing trajectory of the development of the systema of theology. This observation is further underscored by examining the content of the first question, the Quid sit, stated in Edwards’ Sermon Notes31 as “What we mean by divinity,” and in the published text, “What divinity is.”32 Concerning the question “What divinity is,” Edwards provides, first, a general statement. “Divinity,” he asserted, is”that science or doctrine 26 See on the discussion on the nature of theology, Mastricht, Theoretico-practica, 4: “Usus primus reprehensionis…Usus secundus adhortationis.” 27 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica, preafatio **2: “Tandem, ut & usum nostrorum, in homileticis pro concione habeas, id unum moneo, ut cautè observes, praedominans argumentum textus tui.” 28 Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 1739–1742, in WJE Online 22:85. NB: Edwards’ four propositions are found also on page 85. 29 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica, 3. Cf. Muller, PRRD, I,121–122. 30 Peter Lombard, Magistri Sententiarum libri IV (Paris: Iohannis Roigny, 1537), Quaestiones in librum primum; Thomas Aquinas, ST (Rome: editiones Paulinae, 1962), Ia.1.7: quid sit subiectum eius; Johannis Duns Scotus, In Quartum Librum Sententiarum (Venetia: Colonia, [ca. 1477]), vol. 1, prologus, v, “trû theologia sit practica.” 31 Edwards, Sermon Notebook 14, in WJE Online 36, entry [164]. 32 Edwards, Practical Sermons never before published, 3. A concise presentation of the development of the discourse content is offered in Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 1739– 1742, in WJE Online 22:80–82.



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which comprehends all those truths and rules which concern the great business of religion.”33 From a historical-theological perspective, one would recognize Edwards’ ambivalence at this point of the discourse: does he mean that divinity or theologia is scientia or doctrina? Does Edwards take a Thomistic position on the formulation of theology as primary over other sciences? Such seems the initial direction that the Northampton preacher takes, when he writes: There are various kinds of arts and sciences taught and learned in the schools, which are conversant about various objects; about the works of nature in general, as philosophy; or the visible heavens, as astronomy; or the sea, as navigation; or the earth, as geography; or the body of man, as physic and anatomy; or the soul of man, with regard to its natural powers and qualities, as logic and pneumatology; or about human government, as politics and jurisprudence. But there is one science, or one certain kind of knowledge and doctrine, which is above all the rest, as it is concerning God and the great business of religion: this is divinity.34

Leaving for the moment the question of Edwards’ Thomistic inclination, the homilitician of Northampton worked towards a definition “What divinity is,” concluding with a two-fold notion: “Divinity is commonly defined, the doctrine of living to God; and by some who seem to be more accurate, the doctrine of living to God by Christ.”35 The first given definition (for Edwards “commonly defined”) stands in a trajectory reaching back to Petrus Ramus (1515–1572). Ramus defined “what” divinity or theology “is,” as “Theologia est doctrina bene vivendi”36 in De Religione Christiana, which was echoed by William Perkins (1558– 1602) in A Golden Chain, as “The bodie of Scripture, is a doctrine sufficient to liue well” (est doctrina bene vivendi).37 In turn, Perkins’ student William Ames (1576–1633) followed in the footsteps of his teacher and provided a concise definition of theology in the Medulla S.S. Theologiae: “Theologia est doctrina Deo Vivendi,” rendered in the English edition, as “Divinity is the doctrine of living to God.”38 Ames’ work was not only extraordinarily 33 Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 22:85. 34 Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 86. 35 Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 86. The words in italic are in the printed text. 36 Petrus Ramus, Commentariorum De Religione Christiana (Frankfurt: A. Welchem, 1576), Cap. I (Quid Theologia sit), 6. 37 William Perkins, A Golden Chain (1592), Chap. 1 (Of the bodie of Scripture and Theology), A3. 38 William Ames, Medulla S.S. Theologiae (1627), Cap. 1 (De Theologiae definitione vel natura), 1; Ames, Marrow of Sacred Divinity (1642), Chap. 1 (Of the Definition, or Nature of Divinity), 1.

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influential in early New England theology, but also belonged to Edwards’ core works of study at Yale College and thereafter.39 For the second part concerning the definition, “and by some who seem to be more accurate, the doctrine of living to God by Christ,” Edwards most probably relied on Mastricht. Mastricht was unique among seventeenth-century Reformed scholastics in that he expanded Ames’ definition of divinity to Theologia est doctrina Deo vivendi per Christum.40 Thus, New England’s theologian and philosopher provided, and the hearers of Northampton were the recipients of, a long-understood definition of the quid sit of theology but mediated by the continental protestant scholastics of the seventeenth century reaching back another hundred years to another philosopher and theologian, Ramus. The questions can be raised, why Edwards felt that this definition was of such importance. He wrote, and preached, It comprehends all Christian doctrines as they are in Jesus, and all Christian rules directing us in living to God by Christ. There is nothing in divinity, no one doctrine, no promise, no rule, but what some way or other relates to the Christian and divine life, or our living to God by Christ. They all relate to this, in two respects, viz. as they tend to promote our living to God here in this world, in a life of faith and holiness, and also as they tend to bring us to a life of perfect holiness and happiness, in the full enjoyment of God hereafter.41

Returning to Edwards’ Thomistic thought, such seemed to be enforced by his third question, about the necessity of the knowledge of divinity—­ corresponding with Aquinas’ opening inquiry in the Summa theologicae on the necessity of the nature and extent of sacred doctrine.42 The perceptible Thomistic quality in Edwards’ view of theology, however, ought to be modified when we consider his observation that “there are two kinds of knowledge of the things of divinity, viz. speculative and practical, or in other terms, natural and spiritual.”43 This observation is not only of great importance to the preacher at Northampton—given the attention in the doctrine and application section of the sermon to this inquiry—but also places Edwards both in a long-standing trajectory of scholastic inquiry as to whether theology is a science (scientia), or wisdom (sapientia), as well 39 See for example, Keith L. Sprunger, The Learned Doctor William Ames (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1972); The Marrow of Theology. William Ames (1576–1633), ed. Eusden (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1997). 40 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica, I.i.36 (p. 12): “Theologia ista Christiana, theoreticopractica, non est, nisi doctrina vivendi Deo per Christum.” 41 Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 1739–1742, in WJE Online 22:86. 42 Aquinas, ST, Ia.1. 43 Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 1739–1742, in WJE Online 22:87.



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as a discussion of scholastic distinctions—both present in medieval and Protestant scholastic systems of theology. With the rise of interest in the thirteenth century in Aristotle’s writings, the discussion of nature and the extent of theology was formed in part by the Philosopher’s classification of the forms of knowledge, science (scientia) and wisdom (sapientia).44 Franciscans, such as Alexander of Hales (ca. 1183–1245) and Bonaventure (1221–1274) insisted on the affective, practical, and experimental character of theology—excluding it from consideration as scientia in the Aristotelian sense of a rational or speculative discipline.45 Aquinas, on the other hand not only argues in the Summa theologicae—known to Edwards during his studies at Yale College46— that “sacred doctrine is a science,”47 but also raises the question, whether sacred doctrine is a practical science—to which Thomas, reflecting Dominican theology, replied, “it is not a practical but a speculative science.”48 These fairly broad lines of the character of theology find their culmination in Duns Scotus’ (d. 1308) formulation of theology. Scotus not only resonated with Franciscan theology, though integrated with more Aristotelian philosophy than previously was accepted, but considered theology as a discipline oriented toward the ultimate goal of humanity in God: in essence praxis—that is to say, a knowledge not known for itself but directed to God.49 This medieval scholastic discussion on the character of theology— expository to matters of faith, whether theology is theoretical or ­practical—would resurface in the works of Protestant scholastic theologians, including but not limited to the Reformed theologians, and known in early eighteenth century New England, such as Johannes Cloppenburg (1592–1652), Johannes Coccejus (1603–1669), Johannes Hoornbeek (1617– 1666), and Johannes à Marck (1656–1731).50 Such theologians recognized 44 In this paragraph I follow Muller’s discussion in part on the development of theological prolegomena. See PRRD, 1:88–96. 45 Alexander of Hales, Summa universae theologiae (Cologne: Agri., 1622), q.1, cap.1–2; q.2, memb.3, cap.3; St. Bonaventure, Commentaria in quator libros Sententiariam (Quaracchi, 1882), prologus, q.1. 46 A Catalogue of the Library of Yale-College in New Haven (London: T. Green, 1743), 39, xiii (“The Schoolmen, Aquinatis Summa”). 47 Aquinas, ST, Ia.1.2. 48 Aquinas, ST, Ia.1.4. 49 Johannis Duns Scotus, Ordinatio (Rome: Polygottis Vaticanis, n.d.), 1, Prologus, pars prima. 50 Johannes Cloppenburg, Theologica opera omnia Tomus prior (Amsterdam: Gerardus Borstius, 1684), 600; Johannes Coccejus, Summa theologiae, 2nd ed. (Geneva: Samuel Chouët, 1665), 65; Johannes Hoornbeek, Theologiae practicae (Utrecht: Iohannem

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theology as a mixed discipline, both theoretico and practica, though leaning towards the practica—but rejecting its anthropological character, as proposed by the Remonstrants. However, Edwards’ inquiry, whether theology is speculative or practica, was raised, in particular, in the prolegomena of the theology of Mastricht and Turretin—theologians with whom Edwards was deeply acquainted. Turretin raised the question explicitly, “Is theology theoretical or practical,” inquiring not only about the understanding the essence of theology but also on account of controversies “of  this time,” such as the Remonstrants and Socinians”51—a concern Mastricht shared.52 Turretin asserted, furthermore, that a theoretical or speculative system is occupied in contemplation alone with knowledge as its object; contrary to a practical theology, which has operation for its object.53 Therefore, the Genevan theologian concludes: theology is neither theoretical nor practical but a mixed discipline, and yet more practical than speculative, which appears, Turretin explained, “from its ultimate goal, which is praxis…indeed nothing in theology is theoretical to such as degree and so remote from praxis that it does not bring about the admiration and worship of God; nor is a theory salvific unless it is referred to praxis.”54 In addition to Turretin’s question, whether theology is speculative or practical, Edwards’ most favorite theologian, Mastricht, also discusses whether the discipline is theoretico-practica.55 Although he does not reject the Thomistic position altogether, Mastricht is inclined to follow a modified Scotist position on the issue, proposing that the praxis is defined as doctrina, known for the sake of the end toward which it directs the knower. In other words, Mastricht aims to maintain a balance between the speculative and practica, expressed in the conjunction theoreticopractica,56 yet oriented to the practical. The appropriation of theological inquiry, following older scholastic models, then, is specific for post-Reformation theologians such as Mastricht and Turretin, while the alternative model of theology, offered by the Remonstrants or Arminians, is fundamentally different: a rejection of the recognition of theology as a mixed discipline. Simon Episcopius & Guilielmum van de Water, 1689), 9; Johannes à Marck, Compendium theologiae Christianae didactico-elencticum (Amsterdam: Douci & Paddenburg, 1749), 13. 51 Turretin, Institutio, I.vii and I.vii.2 (pp. 22–23). 52 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica, I.i.20 (p. 6). 53 Turrettini, Institutio, I.vii.3 (p. 23). 54 Turrettini, Institutio, I.xv.15 (p. 26). Cf. Muller, PRRD, 1:353–354. 55 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica, I.i.48 (p. 15a): “Tertio sitne habitus theoreticus? an practicus? an theoretico-practicus?” 56 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica, I.i.48 (p. 15b).



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(1583–1643), following Jacobus Arminius (1560–1609),57 had argued “there is nothing in the whole of theology that is not directed toward action.”58 In other words, theology is not speculative but a fundamental anthropocentric drive to praxis, which was a departure from the theocentric character of Reformed theology—a prevailing concern for Edwards as well. Although Edwards’ inquiry into the nature of theology, then, stands in continuity with the Protestant and medieval scholastic inquiry, along with attention to scholastic distinctions such as speculative and practical, the question remains, as Edwards phrased it, for “what kind of knowledge in divinity is intended.”59 In the sermon on Christian knowledge he begins to point out to the hearers at Northampton that the difference between “having a right speculative notion of the doctrines contained in the Word of God, and having a due sense of them in the heart,” does not imply that neither of these is intended to be exclusive of the other. But, he declares, “it is intended that we should seek the former [speculative] in order to the latter [practical].” This is for Edwards of greatest importance for, as he reminds his hearers, “a speculative knowledge of [the Word of God], without a spiritual knowledge, is in vain and to no purpose…Yet a speculative knowledge is also of infinite importance in this respect, that without it we can have no spiritual or practical knowledge.”60 We may infer from this that Edwards does not reject the speculative entirely, as he assigns significant importance to it (“seek,” he counsels, “a good rational knowledge of things of divinity”). Yet seeking the speculative comes not at the expense but in support of spiritual knowledge or practice. In summary, we note the reception of older Protestant scholastic models by Edwards. Not only is a similar inquiry on the nature of theology employed by the preacher at Northampton and post-Reformation Reformed theologians, but also a discerning on Edwards part, of the character of theology, following Mastricht more than Turretin, as theoreticopractica theology. With that, Edwards positioned himself, on the one hand, in continuity with classical theology—rooted in post-Reformation reformed and Franciscan-Scotist traditions, and, on the other hand, over against its challengers, the Arminians and Deists. His familiarity with Episcopius, identified by Edwards as one of “the greatest Arminians,”61 and Deists such as Thomas Chubb (1679–1747), whose writings Edwards 57 Arminius, Opera, 339. 58 Simon Episcopius, Institutiones Theologicae, I.ii, in Opera (Amsterdam: Ioannis Blaeu, 1650), 4a: “De theologia: eam non esse speculativam scientiam, sed practicam.” 59 Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 1739–1742, in WJE Online 22:86. 60 Edwards, Sermons and Discourses, 1739–1742, in WJE Online 22:87. 61 Edwards, Freedom of the Will, in WJE Online 1:289.

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refutes later in particular,62 strengthens Edwards’ point in defining the essence of theology in these transformative years of New England’s history and theology. However, the appropriation of former models of catholic and classic theology by Edwards provides a rather contemporized problem and prospect. In regard to the latter, Edwards assessed and equated the Deism of his time with the tendencies of Socinianism of previous centuries. Thus, he not only provided his vast knowledge of the post-Reformation systema as an approach for assessing contemporary challenges and proposed changes, but these systema also presented him with precise and nuanced definitions of the discipline—indispensable for the interpretation of events and formulation of his own views. Although Edwards carefully argued “the importance and advantage of a thorough knowledge of divinity” to his congregation in 1739, his argument continues to pose a challenge to the modern reader as well. The discourse is in a language other than Latin—the language of post-Reformation and medieval sources. The continuity of intellectual trajectory of theological language, definitions and distinctions, from the medieval period to Edwards’ study at Northamp­ ton, became instantly absent in translation to the great majority of his listeners. Not that his hearers in the pew would be aware of such, most probably, or that Edwards’ message was deficient by it. However, the significance of Edwards as theologian in these transformative years of New England may be lost as well—at least to most Edwards scholars.63 Therefore, the proposed understanding of this homily must be placed as fundamental to our understanding of Edwards’ theology and his much later published and major works against Arminianism and Deism, such as Freedom of the Will and Original Sin—as his “Controversies” notebook dating from the 1730s attests.64 In conclusion, in the midst of the challenging and changing years of 1737–1742 in New England’s religious history Edwards revisited fundamental questions of theological prolegomena. The formulation of his answers demonstrated not only continuity and discontinuity but also a demanding appropriation of intellectual thought, that of the catholicity and classicality of theology. The discourse was drafted and heard in Northampton, published in 1788, and soon afterwards forgotten, yet its message was timeless: “Practice according to what knowledge you have. This will be the way to know more.” 62 Edwards, Freedom of the Will, 343. 63 See fn.3 above. 64 Edwards, “Controversies” Notebook, in WJE Online 27.

CALVINISM AS REFORMED PROTESTANTISM: CLARIFICATION OF A TERM Herman Selderhuis The Problem of Terms “Nowadays they do not want to hear these terms any more…”—so reads a line from the well-known lexicon of Zedler, dating from 1754.1 Zedler was explaining what people understand by the term “Calvinists” and claimed that its origin is to be found with Zwingli as well as with Calvin, since after Zwingli’s death, Calvin held to his view of the Eucharist that deviated from Luther. In addition, Zedler writes that Calvinists in France were called Huguenots and in England were called Puritans, but in the German region they preferred to be called Reformed. In a few short sentences, this explanation of Zedler contains all the elements of the complexity, the apparent uselessness, and the untenability of the term Calvinism to accurately reflect what Reformed Protestantism should actually be called. The terms in this lexicon indicate at the same time that in the middle of the eighteenth century the so-called Calvinists had not yet succeeded in shedding this name and its associated image. It was no less evident that reference works—exercising their own enormous influence via lexica in shaping images and judgments—were still permitting themselves to be guided by stereotypes supplied two hundred years earlier, in which Luther was the norm and his doctrine of the Eucharist was a shibboleth. Under this norm of Luther, a standard whereby people other than Luther himself initially determined what was and was not from Luther, and whereby it was determined that Luther and the Reformation were actually synonymous terms, Melanchthon was the first of many victims.2 1 Johann Heinrich Zedler, Grosses vollständiges Universal-Lexicon Aller Wissenschafften und Künste, Supplement (1754), 1290. 2 “…nec stare posse Lutherum, nisi prostrato Melanchthone, putarent.” (“Luther can only stand, if Melanchthon lies prostrated”), in Georg Sohn, Theses de plerisque locis theologicis, in Academiis Marpurgensi et Heidelbergensi ad disputandum propositae (Herborn, 1609).

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Just as the term “Lutheran” originated as an insult from the side of the Roman Catholics—used particularly by Eck and Erasmus—and was applied to Luther’s followers, so too the term Calvinism originated as an insult from the side of Lutherans and was applied to Reformed Protestants, in order to make clear that they wished to distinguish themselves emphatically from the Reformed view of the Eucharist as not being Lutheran and thus non-Reformational.3 On the basis of this viewpoint Calvinists were depicted in the sixteenth century in brochures and illustrations as dangerous heretics, unbiblical rationalists, and unreliable in their church polity,4 so that henceforth from this context Calvinism could be identified only negatively, especially in the gnesio-Lutheran tradition. The opinion was widely held that Calvinism was more dangerous than Islam, so it is understandable that the Calvinists preferred not to be called by that name. Just like Luther objected to the name “Lutheran,”5 Calvin did so with regard to the name “Calvinism,”6 and those who were called “Calvinists” followed him on that score. Already in 1555 the ministers of Lausanne protested against the term “Calvinists.”7 The so-called Calvinists, especially those in the Palatinate, always emphatically called themselves “Reformed.”8 This is how Daniel Tossanus speaks about “orthodox churches who are called Calvinistic by malicious people.”9 Tossanus speaks about his own churches as “evangelical churches.” Others, however, he says, call us Calvinist churches.10 In his writings Tossanus speaks continually about

3 See among others, Heinrich Heppe, Ursprung und Geschichte der Bezeichnungen ‘reformirte’ und ‘lutherische’ Kirche (Gotha, 1859); Uwe Plath, “Zur Entstehungsgeschichte des Wortes ‘Calvinist’,” AR 66 (1976): 213–223. 4 Hellmut Zschoch, “Das Bild des Calvinisten, Zur polemischen Publizistik im konfessionellen Zeitalter,” in Reformierter Protestantismus vor den Herausforderungen der Neuzeit, ed. Kuhnand and Ulrichs (Wuppertal: Foedus, 2008), 19–46. 5 “Man wolle meines Namens geschweigen und sich nicht lutherisch, sondern Christen heißen. Was ist Luther? Ist doch die Lehre nicht mein. So bin ich auch für niemand gekreuzigt….Wie käme denn ich armer, stinkender Madensack dazu, dass man die Kinder Christi sollte mit meinem heillosen Namen nennen? Nicht also, liebe Freunde, lasst uns tilgen die parteiischen Namen” (WA 8:685). 6 See Calvin’s Secunda Defensio in CO 9:41. 7 CO 15:588 (br.2195), 15:837 (br.2331). 8 So, e.g., the delegates of the church of Antwerp, who in 1566 signed a letter to the count of Saxony with: “Antwerpiae Ecclesiae iuxta Evangelium Christi reformatae…” cited in Guido Marnef, “Calvinism in Antwerp 1558–1585,” in Calvinism in Europe 1540–1620, ed. Pettegree et al. (Cambridge: CUP, 1994), 151n42. 9 De ea parte praedestinationis divinae, quam reprobationem vocant. Theses Apologeticae (Heidelberg, 1586). 10 “…Ecclesias Evangelicas, quas Calvinianas vocant,…” Tossanus, Oratio De Ascensv Domini Nostri Iesv Christi in Cælum, quem Ascensum D. Augustinus non immerito Catholicæ



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the “so-called Calvinists.”11 Others call us Calvinists, but we are the catholic evangelical church, said Tossanus.12 Moreover, we were not baptized in the name of Luther, nor in the name of Calvin, but in the name of Christ.13 David Pareus complains about the “Erwegung deren Theologen meynung, die sich nicht schewen, Evangelische Herrschaften zu bereden, dass sie lieber mit den Papisten, und dem Römischen Antichrist, als mit den Reformirten Evangelischen, die sie aus hass Calvinisch nenen, Gemein­ schaft haben sollen.”14 The fact that this resistance against the term came especially from the Palatinate was related to the political need to make clear that people there did not belong to one of the groups deviating from Luther, who would thereby have fallen outside the religious pacification of Augsburg and thus have been in fact illegal. Perhaps these Reformed people themselves contributed to fortifying the impression that they were deviating from the “original” Reformation, in that they accused the Lutherans of appealing to Luther so heavily that the impression arose that just as much authority could be ascribed to Luther’s word as to God’s Word. From the Reformed side, by republishing “De Servo Arbitrio,”15 and thereby pitting Luther against the Lutherans, and in this way claiming him for the position of the Reformed, it became more difficult for the Lutherans to trust the so-called Calvinists. That people chose for Luther’s writing against Erasmus yielded the result that the polemic unleashed about the differing view of the Eucharist expanded to discussions concerning predestination, that other doctrine so characteristic of the Reformed, and contributed strongly to the image that Calvinists, also known as Reformed, belonged not to a second Reformation, but to an altogether different Reformation.16 Fidei Confirmationem vocat. Habita Heidelbergae Pridie Ascensionis, An. 1586 (Neustadt: Harnisch, [ca. 1586]), 37. 11 “…der genannten Calvinisten.” Tossanus, Drey christliche Predigten… (Heidelberg 1591), 15. 12 “…wider die genante Calvinianer/ das ist/ wider unsere Catholische Evangelische Kirche…,” Tossanus, Warhaffter Bericht (Heidelberg, 1584), 16. “…Prediger der Catholischen Evangelischen (so sie odiose Calvinisch nennen)…,” Warhaffter Bericht, 101. 13 Tossanus, Warhaffter Bericht 98. 14 Title of a chapter in his Irenicum (Heidelberg, 1620). 15 De servo arbitrio Martini Lutheri, ad D. Erasmum Roterodamum, Liber illustris: Desideratis iampridem exemplaribus, contra veteres & novos Pelagianos, in usum studiose iuventutis, & propagandae veritatis ergo; Nunc denuo, cum praefatione ad Lectorem, editus (Neustadt 1591). 16 On Reformed reception of Luther’s De Servo Arbitrio, see Robert Kolb, Bound Choice, Election, and Wittenberg Theological Method (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 173–179; Herman J. Selderhuis, “Luther Totus Noster Est: the reception of Luther’s Thought at the

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In 1556 Elector Frederick III testified to the emperor at the Diet of Augsburg that he did not know what was meant by the term Calvinism: “And because I never read Calvin’s books, as I may bear witness to God and my Christian conscience, thus I can know so very little about what is meant by Calvinism.”17 Because not only he, but many after him as well, did not know precisely what was meant by the term, people have tried for a long time to avoid the term Calvinism and to speak instead of Reformed Protestantism. These attempts arose principally in Switzerland, where more than anywhere else the fear existed that the tradition of Zwingli, particularly that of Heinrich Bullinger, would disappear behind the name of the Frenchman who had been famous in Geneva. Attempts made at a later date can also be explained on the basis of the thought of yet another Swiss theologian. Despite the influences of Calvin on Karl Barth, it is awkward to label Barth as a Calvinist if that term is understood to mean the above-mentioned imbalance and reduction of Calvinism, and he would fit better under the term Reformed Protestantism despite the fact that precisely among Reformed theologians the complaint was expressed that Barth’s theology was unreformed on fundamental points. Not only Switzerland, but also Germany had an interest in the term Reformed Protestantism, as will become evident below with the discussion of the term “Deutschreformiertentum.” And in the Netherlands, Calvinism seemed to have had a lot less to do with Calvin than generally was accepted.18 Consequently, the term “Calvinism” provided much confusion for centuries, and there is great need to clarify what it actually means. For several decades now, however, the insight has emerged that it is of interest to investigate whether this term is being used theologically, politically, culturally, or sociologically, for with each of these categories “Calvinism” obtains a different overtone, and within each of these categories there are unique discussions about the value and meaning of this term. In line with talking about “reformations,” some are inclined to speak not of “Calvinism,”

Heidelberg Theological Faculty 1583–1622,” MAJT 17 (2006): 101–119, at 116–117; and Raymond Blacketer’s “The Man in the Black Hat” in this volume. 17 Cited in Burkhard Gotthelf Struve, Ausführlicher Bericht von der Pfältzischen KirchenHistorie… (Frankfurt am Main: Hartung, 1721), 189. 18 See William den Boer, Calvijn en het Nederlandse calvinisme (Apeldoorn: Theologische Universiteit, 2010).



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but of “Calvinisms,” whose connecting thread amid this diversity would consist of rejecting the theology of Trent. F.W. Graf supplies this definition, for example: Calvinism is that social form of modern Christianity in which the counter proposal to tridentine Catholicism was developed with momentous consequences, in terms of theological doctrine, church polity, practical ethics, and the ideal political order, and was lived in continually new pious activity.19

As interesting as this attempted definition may be, its problem is that what is stated here applies not simply to Calvinism, but to Anabaptism as well, to non-tridentine Catholicism, and even to Lutheranism. Moreover, this definition says so little of substance that the obscurity of the term is not removed. A third objection against this definition is that here Calvinism is viewed as being exclusively reactionary, namely, freighted as a “counter proposal” (Gegenentwurf). Defining Calvinism requires more than one lengthy sentence. If this obscurity generates the question—which must arise—whether the term is useful at all, Graf claims that “Calvinism” is “indispensable as a confessional-typological term,” arguing that it is very useful as an “ideal type” alongside two other early modern confessional cultures, namely, Lutheranism and tridentine Catholicism.20 As understandable as this argument is, the question remains whether in view of recent detailed studies we can continue to speak with such conviction about three “confessional cultures” as though these were so distinct at that time, let alone easily recognizable. Even if that had been the case, some would argue that the term Calvinism is not indispensable and could—potentially must—be replaced with the term “Reformed Protestantism.” This solution of the problem is understandable, in view already of the many very valuable studies, completed during the last twenty years under the rubric of confessionalizing paradigms, which have resulted in a rather undifferentiated and occasionally confusing use of the term Calvinistic. The problem with the term “Calvinism,” finally, originated through its more recent use, namely, as an explicit “self-identifier” (Selbstbezeichnung). I am referring primarily to the manner in which Abraham Kuyper articulated—and to an important degree realized—his vision as being 19 Friedrich Wilhelm Graf, “Vorherbestimmt zu Freiheitsaktivismus. Transformationen des globalen Calvinismus,” in Calvinismus: Die Reformierten in Deutschland und Europa (Berlin: Sandstein, 2009), 391. 20 Graf, “Vorherbestimmt,” 384.

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Calvinism. According to him, Calvinism—which is dubbed neo-Calvinism in the literature—is a universal life- and world-view with especially cultural and political outworking. From this Kuyper developed a program of action in which he combined Calvinian principles and nineteenthcentury idealism. More recently, especially in the English-speaking world, Calvinism has been reduced to a summary of the Canons of Dordt in terms of “the five points.” This identifies Calvinism almost exclusively in terms of election and sanctification, resulting not only in a restriction of Calvin­ ism to theology, but within theology, a restriction to the God-humanity relationship. In response to these claims of Kuyperian and five-point Calvinists, repeated attention needs to be drawn to the fact that Calvinism is not identical with “Calvinian,” and that within Calvinism a wide variety exists, implying that it is dubious whether the term is suitable.21 Never­ theless, the term “Calvinism” can no longer be avoided, and is even from a grammatical point of view employed more easily than the term “Reformed Protestantism,” for which reason the danger recurs of talking about “Calvinistic” when from a historical viewpoint the term “Reformed” would be more suitable.22 Heidelberg, Emden, and Dordrecht The names of these cities represent the complexity and unity of Reformed Protestantism, and at the same time they are all related to Calvinism and can be viewed as stations along the route Calvinism has traveled, even though Calvin was never in any of these cities and his books were read in those cities less widely than might have been expected. 21 Van Schelven, who himself makes a plea for the use of the term ‘Calvinism’ although he is aware of the objections to be made against this use, refers to a work published in 1598 in which a differentiation is made between German, Dutch and Swiss Calvinism, and to a Roman-catholic author who lists in 1611 also various sorts of Calvinists. A.A. van Schelven, Het Calvinisme gedurende zijn bloeitijd (Amsterdam: Ten Have, 1943), 11n1–2. On problems with ‘five-point Calvinism’, see Richard A. Muller, “How Many Points?” CTJ 28.2 (1993): 425–433; and Muller, Calvin and the Reformed Tradition: On the Work of Christ and the Order of Salvation (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2012), 51–69. 22 The title (Christ’s Churches Purely Reformed) and subtitle (A Social History of Calvinism) of Benedict’s overview is remarkable. Whereas these give the impression that “Reformed” and “Calvinism” are the same, in the book itself he claims that it is necessary to distinguish carefully, because “Reformed is thus for several reasons a more historically accurate and less potentially misleading label than Calvinist to apply to these churches and to the larger tradition to which they attached themselves,” Philip Benedict, Christ’s Churches Purely Reformed: A Social History of Calvinism (New Haven: Yale, 2004), xxii–xxiii.



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Heidelberg is both the place where the most widely used catechism of Reformed Protestantism originated in 1563, and the home of the university that from 1583–1622 developed into one of the most important centers of Reformed theology. Emden is known for the synod of 1571, which laid the basis, in its decisions regarding the confessions and the church order, for the Reformed church in the Netherlands and far beyond. Dordrecht is known both for the Canons of Dordt and the church order, a polity that, similar to Emden’s, clearly shows the hand of Calvin. On account of the special significance of Melanchthon’s students for the content of the Heidelberg Catechism and for staffing the theological faculty there, as well as on account of the urgency and political necessity for German Reformed people, and in light of the stipulations of Augsburg, which made the German Reformed insist on identifying themselves not as Calvinists but rather as Reformed who were based upon Luther, it is claimed that one can speak of an entirely unique “German Reformed identity” (Deutschreformiertentum) and a “German Reformed” theology distinct from that of Zürich and Geneva.23 This labeling is not entirely incorrect, but if it is intended to distance the German Reformed from Calvin, it is difficult to maintain. As far as the Catechism is concerned, it is remarkable that within Calvinism this has become the most widespread catechism and confession, and by means of weekly preaching and catechesis, this catechism determines the doctrine and life in orthodox Reformed churches that have remained close to Calvin in terms of doctrine. Within Calvinism people have never viewed this document as something un-Calvinian or un-Calvinistic. People serving on the theological faculty refused to be called “Calvinists” and at a certain point preferred Melanchthon’s Loci to Calvin’s Institutes, but there was never an attempt to construct a unique identity in order to distinguish themselves from Calvin or even to dismiss him. So it is no surprise that the delegates from Heidelberg took with them to the Synod of Dordt the mandate to keep together the Remonstrants and the contra-Remonstrants, but that if this did not succeed they were supposed to side clearly with the party holding to the Calvinian doctrine of predestination, which they

23 Ernst Koch, Das konfessionelle Zeitalter- Katholizismus, Luthertum, Calvinismus (1563– 1675) (Leipzig 2000), 273–276. For an overview of the current state of the discussion, see Harm Klueting, “Die Reformierten im Deutschland des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts und die Konfessionalisierungsdebatte der deutschen Geschichtswissenschaft seite ca. 1980,” in Profile des reformierten Protestantismus aus vier Jahrhunderten, ed. Freudenberg (Wuppertal: Foedus, 1999), 17–47.

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ultimately did.24 In this way, the so-called “Deutschreformiertentum” and the majority of the Melanchthon students identified with Calvinism. An element that served to tie together Heidelberg, Emden, and Dordt was discipline, an element Melanchthon early on wanted to have included in the Reformation, one that Calvin was able to realize partially in Stras­ burg and Geneva, and one that would become an essential characteristic of Calvinism, in both its ecclesiastical and its political-societal forms. Ecclesiastically when Reformed church orders are taken into consideration, it is obvious that discipline would constitute an essential part of congregational life. The question whether Calvin wanted to identify discipline as one of the marks of the church is irrelevant at this point, since his inclusion of the pure administration of the sacraments as one of the marks implied that discipline would be exercised. The emphasis on discipline goes back to the assessment of the law, within the New Testament as well, as the norm for personal and public life, the so-called tertius usus. It also arises from giving attention to the person and the work of the Holy Spirit in the process of sanctification, concerning which the Calvinian or Reformed tradition talked more than the Lutheran tradition, though it talked about it less often and quite differently than did the Anabaptist tradition. Viewed politically, people also employ discipline, although the discipline of nation and society was pursued by both Catholic and Lutheran princes. Nevertheless, there are many examples of both Catholic and Lutheran princes who chose self-consciously for the Reformed religion.25 One can speak of a “confessional change” occurring in thirty-three regions,26 although the various German territories often did not correspond to the profile of either Lutheranism or Calvinism. Frequently this alteration is identified as a choice for Calvinism, and people even speak of a Calvinizing that occurred. During recent decades interesting studies have appeared that deal with this connection between confession and politics, nearly all of which show that the princes and governments in view were led by their confessional change as well as by religious and socio-political arguments. They were led by religious arguments, because the majority of princes 24 See Herman J. Selderhuis, “Melanchthon und die Niederlande im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert,” in Melanchthon und Europa, vol. 6/2 (Stuttgart: Thorbecke, 2002), 303–324. 25 On this, see among others, Andrew Pettegree, et al, ed, Calvinism in Europe. 26 See the overview in J.F. Gerhard Goeters, “Genesis, Formen und Hauptthemen des reformierten Bekenntnisses in Deutschland. Eine Übersicht,” in Die reformierte Konfessionalisierung in Deutschland-Das Problem der “Zweiten Reformation,” ed. Schilling (Gütersloh: G. Mohn, 1986), 46–47.



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who made this choice wanted to base it on Scripture and therefore thought that the Reformed view of the Eucharist, particularly Calvin’s, together with the accompanying liturgy, remained the closest to the Bible as the Word of God.27 Added to this was the attractiveness of Calvinism as a modern and progressive movement, one that interested princes who wanted to work for renewal, because of the place that its theology ascribed to the government and its two-kingdoms doctrine that saw these realms more as partners than as independent entities, let alone competitors. The choice for Calvinism occurred not because it was such a useful tool for bringing discipline to the nation. Moreover, copious investigation shows that there was hardly any so-called Calvinizing, because people inside and outside the church hardly ever did what the pastors wanted. Never­ theless the programmatic and idealistic character of Calvinism was most prominent, precisely because the theology of Calvin formed the most suitable basis.28 We find a consideration of the matter of discipline, and teaching about the need for discipline, in the Heidelberg Catechism as well, which appeared in Calvinistic Emden in Dutch translation in the same year (1563) as the German and Latin versions appeared.29 A mere eight years later, the synod that was held there, which would form the basis of the Reformed church in the Calvinist Netherlands, would prescribe that catechism as mandatory and binding. Calvinism in Emden was manifested in connection with this synod in its original and continuing diversity, as we see from the theological biographies of different delegates.30 It is especially the theology of Dordt that is tied to Calvinism, whereby Dordt refers to the doctrine of predestination as taught in the Canons of Dordt. In the unnuanced and unfounded discussion of “double predestination” it is suggested that here the theology of Calvin has reached its central point and its epitome, or as others think, its lowest point. Most people overlook the fact that between the final edition of Calvin’s Institutes and 27 For an overview of German princes, see Koch, Das konfessionele Zeitalter, 261–273. 28 Compare as well the judgment of Schilling, who claims that it was Calvin who “der institutionell und theologisch die tragfähigste Basis für eine umfassende Beeinflussung der Gesellschaft im Geiste des neuzeitlichen Konfessionalismus und seiner Denk-, und Verhaltensnormen gelegt hat.” Schilling, “Luther, Loyola, Calvin und die europäische Neuzeit,” AR 85 (1994): 24. 29 For the spread of the Heidelberg Catechism see: Karla Apperloo-Boersma and Herman J. Selderhuis, ed, Power and Faith: 450 Years of the Heidelberg Catechism (Göttingen: V&R, 2013). 30 W. van’t Spijker, “Stromingen onder de reformatorisch gezinden in Emden,” in De synode van Emden-oktober 1571, ed. Nauta et al. (Kampen: Kok, 1971), 50–74.

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the formulation of the Canons, sixty years passed, years of theological, philosophical, and ecclesiastical discussion. They also generally overlook the fact that Calvin’s discussion of election in a refugee context differs from that of Dordt, where people faced an agenda determined by the Remonstrants and a synod that was politically highly charged. Calvin, in fact, exercised only an indirect and moderate influence on the Canons.31 Some have argued for a German Reformational identity on the basis of the fact that the Heidelberg Catechism is Melanchthonian, and is supposedly silent regarding what according to the long outdated thesis was the central doctrine of Calvin, namely, predestination, but this is an argument without basis. For in fact the Heidelberger does present a solid discussion of election, but it does not do so polemically, because this catechism is polemically oriented primarily against Rome, and in addition, in 1563 predestination was not a central point of discussion in Protestantism.32 Moreover, Calvin was also virtually silent about election in his sermons and catechisms.33 Apart from that, it could be added that the Belgic Confession, written on the basis of the French Confession de Foy that went back to Calvin, is also quite limited in its discussion of election in Article 16. It is very interesting to correlate this historical context and these developments with the answer to our question. In the period before Dordt, there was such variation within Reformed theology that Calvinism was one form thereof, perhaps a very prominent form, but nonetheless certainly not the only form. Arminius, who had studied in Geneva with Beza, understood himself as belonging to the Reformed tradition and even to Calvinism. So it is incorrect to begin making distinctions during this stage between “liberal Protestants” and “orthodox Calvinists.”34 Arminius did not view himself as “liberal,” but as belonging to the “orthodox Calvinists.” Only when Dordt had defined what orthodox Calvinism held regarding election did the view of Arminius come to fall officially outside orthodoxy, but by that time he had been dead for almost ten years 31 Donald W. Sinnema, “Calvin and the Canons of Dordt (1619),” CHRC 91.1–2 (2011): 87–103. 32 Cf. Lyle D. Bierma, “The Sources and Theological Orientation of the Heidelberg Catechism,” in An Introduction to the Heidelberg Catechism: Sources, History, and Theology, ed. Bierma, et al. (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2005), 75–102, at 94–96. 33 See: Wilhelm H. Neuser, “Predestination,” in Calvin Handbook, ed. Selderhuis (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 312–323. 34 Willem Frijhoff, “Strategies for Religious Survival Outside the Public Church in the United Provinces: Towards a Research Agenda,” in Wege der Neuzeit–Festschrift für Heinz Schilling zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Ehrenpreis et al. (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2007), 188.



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already.35 After Dordt, matters came to be understood differently, surely because the Synod of Dordt was not merely a national event and came to exert significant confessional influence internationally. This was strengthened by the fact that the decision of Dordt became normative for the church of that country which in the seventeenth century would exercise its influence in many parts of the world, and would establish churches with this foundation in many regions overseas. The cities of Heidelberg, Emden, and Dordrecht represent a process leading to a situation in which Calvinism and Reformed Protestantism are virtually synonymous. Calvinism as Reformed Protestantism Calvinism cannot be equated with Reformed Protestantism if Calvinism is understood to refer to only the theology of Calvin, and even less if people ascribe to Calvinism those characteristics that already for centuries have come along with the term and for a long time have been shown to be unfounded caricatures. If Calvinism is not tied too closely to Calvin, however, and is seen more as “issue de Calvin,” in many cases the term can be used synonymously for Reformed Protestantism, as long as that is referring to the entire movement that proceeded from Calvin. That identification must include Reformed confessions and Reformed churches, if only because of the fact that no Calvinistic confessions exist and there is no church in the world that calls itself a Calvinistic church. It must include Reformed confessions because not all of these go back to Calvin or his influence either directly or indirectly, like the Heidelberg Catechism and the Second Helvetic Confession. For example, although with Calvin the idea of the covenant did not appear very emphatically in the foreground, that idea is present to such an extent that the so-called covenant theology that is identified as characteristic of Reformed Protestantism can appeal to Calvin for its basis. At the same time, it is clear by now that the heart of Bullinger’s theology does not lie in the covenant but in the communio cum Christo, which again is a principle that binds together all of Reformational theology. Calvinism is the most pregnant form of Reformed Protestantism, and after a variety of theological developments and ecclesiastical decisions, it 35 Although, as Richard Muller argues, by “documentable theological conviction,” Arminius “placed himself outside the Reformed understanding of the confessions of the Dutch Reformed churches” that were already well established. See his “Arminius and the Reformed Tradition,” WTJ 70 (2008): 19–48, at 47.

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has obtained a position that has made it synonymous with Reformed Protestantism, as can be seen in the development that the doctrine of election has undergone, a doctrine going back to Luther and later to Calvin, but one that has obtained more precision as a result of the discussions occurring first between Lutherans and Reformed, and then between Remonstrants and contra-Remonstrants. The transition of many from the school of Melanchthon to Calvinism implies a simultaneous expansion of Calvinism as well as a confirmation that Reformed Protestantism and Calvinism are terms that can be used virtually synonymously. Anyone surveying the developments of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries can observe that the breadth of Reformed Protestantism, as that came into existence especially from Zürich and Geneva, gradually grew into that Calvinism that did not want to be called by that term, a Calvinism that was and wished to be Reformed, and yet has come to wear this name that has gradually changed from a name of mockery to a title of honor. All of this fits with the central role that came to be ascribed to Calvin. Although Bullinger and A Lasco were very important ecclesiastically, it was especially Calvin whose advice was sought throughout all of Europe, and his opinion was considered in most cases to be decisive. Although Bullinger’s Decades and Vermigli’s Loci were used intensively and saw more reprints than Calvin’s Institutes,36 Calvin’s magnum opus, initially a book for catechesis, has become and remained down through the centuries until today the standard work for Reformed theology. It is sometimes claimed that in the period of Reformed orthodoxy the presence of Calvin declined,37 but it is clear that where his works were used less, his influence became stronger through the work of others. The question can be asked where Martin Bucer, Wolfgang Musculus, Heinrich Bullinger, and Petrus Martyr Vermigli must be classified when the non-Lutheran group is called Calvinistic. Would they not be more suitably described by the term Reformed Protestantism? The question comes down to whether Bucer, Musculus, Bullinger, and Vermigli should be classified at all. That our classifications do not always fit the people of that era is due to our classifications, but these individuals do fit under the term Reformed, and it would be anachronistic to call them Calvinistic, just as caution must be exercised in labeling theologians before the 1586 Book of 36 For Bullinger see A. Pettegree, “Printing and the Reformation: the English Exception,” in Beginnings of English Protestantism, ed. Marshall and Ryrie (Cambridge: CUP, 2002), 172. 37 O. Fatio, “Présence de Calvin à l’époque de l’Orthodoxie réformée,” in Calvinus Ecclesiae Doctor, ed. Neuser (Kampen: Kok, 1980), 171–207.



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Concord as Lutheran. The distinction lies in the period of time. Calvin is a second-generation reformer and therefore had the opportunity to adopt and independently process elements from Lutheran Protestantism, Zwinglian Protestantism, and Reformed Protestantism. Conclusion If Calvinism is viewed as a vision for church, theology, politics, art, and culture that flows from it, then in this term one possesses the full scope of the original Reformed Protestantism, in fact, of all Protestantism. But, once again, all of this must avoid sixteenth-century caricatures, along with recent modern imbalances. This is possible because the term “Calvinism” has virtually lost its polemical connotation and in most studies38 is used particularly as a synonym for Reformed, with which Calvinism is a coordinate term, though people continue to speak of a Reformed church and Reformed or reformational theology.39 Those in other countries within and outside of Europe who study Calvinism will encounter wide variety, and at the same time they will find unity in diversity,40 both of which belong to Calvin’s theology that picked up valuable elements from church fathers, medieval theologians, and direct predecessors and contemporaries. In short, if Calvinism is not identified with Calvin, then the term can be used extremely well as a synonym, or better still, as a replacement, for the term “Reformed Protestantism.”

38 E.W. Zeeden, “Calvinismus,” in Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche (Freiburg, 1958), 2:891. Cf. “Reformierte Kirchen,” TRE 7:592. 39 So also Alasdair I.C. Heron, “Calvinismus” in Evangelisches Kirchenlexikon (Göttingen: V&R, 1986), 1:616–621. 40 For a survey, see W. Stanford Reid, ed., John Calvin: His Influence in the Western World (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1982).

RECONSIDERING THE PLATONISM OF SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS (1723–1792) AND ITS ROLE IN HIS THOUGHT ON THE EDUCATION OF ARTISTS Nathan A. Jacobs I first met Richard Muller when I was a doctoral student in his research methodology course. He distributed for our consideration discourse II of Sir Joshua Reynolds’ Discourses on Art.1 Though the piece was meant to illustrate an important point of research methodology—highlighting Reynolds’ seemingly odd use of the word “pencil”—the discourse served a more significant purpose in my relationship with Richard, bringing to light our mutual love for painting. This led to a long trail of conversations about various aspects of the discipline that continues to this day. For the sake of this Festschrift, it seems only appropriate to focus on the most unique feature of my relationship with Richard (viz., art), and to do so by looking again at the discourses that initiated it. In this essay, I reconsider the claim, now out of fashion, that Sir Joshua Reynolds held to a form of Platonism. I argue that the challenges to this view are thin, being based on (i) an ambiguity concerning what constitutes Platonism, (ii) a false dichotomy of either Platonic idealism or Lockean empiricism, and (iii) a historically untenable take on what Platonism entails and excludes. My claim is that Reynolds shows clear signs of affirming Platonic idealism, but holds to the later Neo- and Christian Platonist syntheses of Plato with Aristotelian epistemology and substance metaphysics. I then flesh out how this metaphysic informs Reynolds’ view of art education. The Platonic reading of Sir Joshua Reynolds has, in times past, enjoyed favor from such individuals as Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Louis Bredvold.2 Yet this reading has steadily declined in prominence, now representing a minority report in literature on Reynolds.3 It has become 1 All references to the Discourses are embedded in the body of the essay and identify the discourse number, followed by the pagination in Sir Joshua Reynolds, The Discourses of Sir Joshua Reynolds (London: J. Carpenter, 1842). All quotations are taken from this volume. 2 Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Philosophical Lectures, ed. Kathleen Coburn (New York: Pilot, 1949), 194; Louis I. Bredvold, “The Tendency Toward Platonism in Neo-Classical Esthetics,” A Journal of English Literary History 1.2 (1934): 91–119. 3 Rare exceptions to the contemporary anti-Platonist thrust include Christine Mitchell Havelock, The Aphrodite of Knidos and Her Successors: A Historical Review of the Review of

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common fare to acknowledge that Reynolds sounds like a Platonist at times, and to likewise acknowledge the mistaken opinion of those in times past who misread Reynolds in just this way. However, such errors are quickly remedied by a quotation from Reynolds’ discourse III, which demonstrates, to the minds of such interpreters, that Reynolds was an empiricist. The passage reads as follows: Experience is all in all; but it is not every one who profits by experience; and most people err, not so much from want of capacity to find their object, as from not knowing what object to pursue. This great ideal perfection and beauty are not [to] be sought in the heavens, but upon the earth. They are about us, and upon every side of us. (III.40)

From this passage, many argue that Reynolds denied the two central tenets of Platonism: (i) that there are archetypal Ideas “in the heavens”; and (ii) that the soul’s knowledge of Ideas is innate and thus drawn from recollection, not experience.4 In a number of writers, the assessment, and subsequent dismissal, of Reynolds’ alleged Platonism is as straightforward as what I have just described. Hoyt Towbridge, Elder Olson, and Meyer Adams take the whole of Reynolds’ apparent Platonism to vanish in the face of this single prooftext, and in the case of Towbridge, the passage suffices to establish in its stead Reynolds’ Lockean empiricism.5 Richard Woodfield attempts a more robust version of the argument by looking at a trichotomy of aesthetic schools in Reynolds’ day—anticlassicist empiricism, classicist idealism, and classicist empiricism.6 The first of these schools is easily dismissed, since Reynolds was a classicist. As for idealist classicism, Woodfield, like Towbridge, Olson, and Adams, simply quotes discourse III. Thus classicist empiricism is all that remains.7

the Female Nude in Greek Art (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2008), 52; and (perhaps) Hazard Adams, “Revisiting Reynolds’ Discourses and Blake’s Annotations,” in Blake in His Time, ed. Essick and Pearch (Bloomington: Indiana University, 1978), 131, though Adams’ final assessment is unclear. 4 Plato’s theory of the Forms is most famously espoused in The Republic, 506d-521b. The doctrine of recollection can be found in Plato, Meno, 80d-86c. 5 Hoyt Trowbridge, “Platonism and Sir Joshua Reynolds,” English Studies 21 (1939): 3; Elder Olson, “Introduction,” in “Longinus” On the Sublime and Reynolds Discourses on Art, trans. [of Longinus] Einarson (Chicago: Packard, 1945), xvi–xvii; Meyer H. Adams, The Mirror and the Lamp: Romantic Theory and the Critical Tradition (Oxford: OUP, 1971), 45. 6 Richard Woodfield, “Introduction” in Sir Joshua Reynolds, Seven Discourses (Menston: Solar, 1971), vi. 7 Woodfield, “Introduction,” v–vi.



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Where Woodfield’s case expands beyond what others offer is in his effort to provide an intellectual genealogy for Reynolds’ empiricist classicism. He notes two influences, Jonathan Richardson and Franciscus Junius (the younger), both of whom he takes to be empiricist classicists. Regard­ ing  the  former, Reynolds admits to being influenced in his youth by Richardson’s writings. As for the latter, Reynolds’ Discourses employ rhetorical principles that are discussed in Junius’ De pictura veterum, which, to Woodfield’s mind, demonstrates that Reynolds read and embraced De pictura.8 Such influences thus confirm what is self-evident from discourse III, namely, that Reynolds is an empiricist. More recently, Carolyn Korsmeyer has written in favor of Woodfield’s analysis.9 Her own work focuses on Richardson and then by extension on Reynolds. She notes Richardson’s anxiety over our lack of access to things as they are in themselves, an anxiety based on Locke’s primary-secondary qualities distinction, which relegates color to the mind only and thus leaves the painter to wonder what precisely he is producing.10 In the face of these epistemic limitations, Richardson sought to establish a normative standard of aesthetics, which sounds Platonic at times, but the case is not what it appears. Korsmeyer writes, “[Richardson’s] reasons for arguing that the proper subject of painting is the ideal are as easily construed as stemming from eighteenth-century unease about the problem of relativity of perception and taste as from any residue of Platonism of earlier times.”11 With this assessment in hand, she dismisses the Platonism of Reynolds in like-manner.12 Despite the efforts of Woodfield and Korsmeyer, not all authors are inclined to reinterpret Reynolds’ apparent Platonism as something other than sympathy for idealism. Yet even these authors identify such sympathy as antithetical to Reynolds’ empiricist commitments. Leo Damrosch, for example, speaks of a tension, if not outright contradiction, in Reynolds between idealism and empiricism. He writes, “The Discourses (1769–90) of Joshua Reynolds give sustained expression to these contradictions   8 Woodfield, “Introduction,” vii.   9 Carolyn Korsmeyer, “The Eclipse of Truth in the Rise of Aesthetics,” British Journal of Aesthetics 29.4 (1989), n26; and Carolyn Korsmeyer’s Making Sense of Taste: Food and Philosophy (Ithaca: Cornell, 1999), 157n21. 10 Korsmeyer, “Eclipse,” 298–299. Cf. John Locke, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, ed. Nidditch (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), II.viii.8–15. 11 Korsmeyer, “Eclipse,” 299. 12 Korsmeyer, “Eclipse,” 299; n26. Cf. Olson, “Introduction,” xvii; and M.H. Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp: Romantic Theory and the Critical Tradition (Oxford: OUP, 1971), 45.

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[between idealism and empiricism], which are so vexed and entangled as to deserve the name of antinomies, since incommensurable positions are felt to be somehow equally true.”13 Damrosch resolves the tension in favor of Lockean empiricism, suggesting that Reynolds uses “ideas” in an empiricist sense and “abstraction” in a Lockean sense—though he offers no evidence for this suggestion. The divergence from Locke comes only in Reynolds’ claim that the artist should idealize nature, removing blemishes and flaws. “Locke,” Damrosch notes, “would [not] equate particularity with deformity and abstraction with perfection.”14 But aside from this caveat, we may rightly label Reynolds a Lockean. In sum, the trajectory of current literature on Reynolds is decidedly negative in its assessment of his supposed Platonism. The case, in essence, is that Reynolds plainly points the artist toward experience, not toward memory, and advises the artist to find the ideal there, not in the heavens. Though there are idealist/empiricist tensions in Reynolds’ writings, we can be confident that these resolve in favor of the latter. All apparent echoes of Platonism can be dismissed as either an empiricist search for normativity, following Richardson, or as classicist empiricism, following Junius. In either case, the results are the same: the Platonic reading of Reynolds is best abandoned. The current discussion of Reynolds’ Platonism suffers from several intertwined deficiencies. Three stand out that are in need of correction if we are to arrive at a cogent assessment of Reynolds. The first deficiency is one of definition. What precisely is meant by “Platonism” is rarely stated in literature on Reynolds. We are thus left to grope inductively after how any given author is using the word. Speaking inductively, we can say that the current literature on Reynolds tends to define “Platonism” as (a) the view that there are archetypal Ideas in the heavens, or the world of the Forms, and (b) a view that entails the doctrine of recollection, which means the ideal should be sought within the memory of the soul, not in the material approximations of Ideas in the empirical world. For this reason, Reynolds’ claim in discourse III that the form is to be sought on earth and not in heaven (contra [a]) and that we gain an increasingly refined understanding of form by experience (contra [b]) strike a definitive blow against the Platonic reading of Reynolds. 13 Leo Damrosch, “Generality and Particularity,” in The Cambridge History of Literary Criticisms, ed. Nisbet and Rawson (Cambridge: CUP, 2005), 4:387. 14 Damrosch, “Generality and Particularity,” 388. This assessment of Reynolds echoes in Barrell, Political Theory of Painting, 86–94.



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The second deficiency is that the discussion employs a rigid dichotomy between extreme realism (à la Plato) and nominalist empiricism (à la Locke). Thus if Reynolds rejects Plato’s Forms and doctrine of recollection, then he must be a Lockean empiricist. The discussion proceeds as if there is no middle ground between these two extremes. The third deficiency in the discussion is an extension of the first two. By presuming a narrow definition of Platonism and an either-Plato-or-Locke dichotomy, the discussion fails to consider the historical dynamism of realism generally and of Platonic realism specifically. Aristotle’s moderate realism, for example, is presently absent from the conversation about Reynolds,15 but it is a form of realism (contra Locke) that understands form to be immanently present in particulars16 (contra Plato’s Forms)17 and to be discerned by experience of particulars (contra recollection).18 This is noteworthy since the revisions of the Neo-Platonists after Plato include appropriations of Aristotelian insights. Albinus and Proclus both show affinities for Aristotle’s categories,19 and the Alexandrian Neo-Platonists employ an explicitly Aristotelian understanding of individuals.20 This synthesis of philosophical systems is arguably more prominent in “Chris­ tian Platonism.” For though we may speak of Christian “Aristotelians,”21

15 Three possible exceptions are James Douglas, On the Philosophy of Mind (Edinburgh: Black, 1839); John Barrell, The Political Theory of Painting from Reynolds to Hazlitt: “The body of the Politic” (New Haven: YUP, 1995); and James A.W. Heffernan, “Byron and Sculpture,” in The Romantic Imagination, ed. Burwick and Klein (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1996). However, the final assessment of Reynolds by these respective authors is unclear. All three speak of Reynolds’ notion of “central form.” In some instances, the results sound Aristotelian (e.g., Douglas, 142; and Heffernan, 290); in other instances, the results sound Lockean (e.g., Barell, 86–89). 16 Aristotle, On the Soul, 412a1–414a28; Physics 192b8–193b21; 194b26–29; Metaphysics, 1013a26–1013a28; 1017b14–1017b16; 1017b21–1017b23; 1028b33–1029a33. 17 Aristotle, Metaphysics, 987a29–988a17; 990a34–993a27. 18 Aristotle, Metaphysics, 980a21–983a3; On the Soul, 429a10–429a29; 429b22–430a25; 431a16–431a17; On Memory and Reminiscence, 449b24–450a14; 451a15–451a25; 453a5–453a14. 19 Dillon, Middle Platonists, 279; John Dillon, The Great Tradition: Further Studies in the Development of Platonism and Early Christianity (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1997), XVII, 35. See also C.F. Hermann’s edition of Plato (Leipzig, 1921–1936), 6:159, 35. 20 A.C. Lloyd, The Anatomy of Neoplatonism (Oxford: Clarendon, 1990), 94. 21 E.g., Leo Elders, “The Aristotelian Commentaries of St. Thomas Aquinas,” Review of Metaphysics 63 (2009): 29–53; Pierre Conway, Metaphysics of Aquinas: A Summary of Aquinas’ Exposition of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, ed. Spangler (Lanham: University Press of America, 1996); Edward Mahoney, “Aristotle and Some Late Medieval and Renaissance Philosophers,” in The Impact of Aristotelianism on Modern Philosophy, ed. Pozzo (Washington: CUAP, 2004), 1–34; Juan Belda-Plans, “Cayetano y la Controversia sobre la Immortalidad del Alma Humana,” Scripta Theologica 16.1–2 (1984): 417–422; Joshua Hochschild, “Words, Concepts, and Things: Cajetan on the Subject of ‘Categories’,” Dionysius 19 (2001): 159–166.

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“Platonists,”22 or “Stoics,”23 such labels are never fully accurate, since the various appropriations of these philosophies are never pure. These labels identify an influence, and perhaps a dominant one, but the Christian plundering of Athens always involves selective modification. The fact that these philosophies are merged with Christian theology throughout the first millennium and a half should suffice to prove the point! Thus, if the question of a given writer’s Platonism, be it Reynolds or Gregory of Nyssa, is taken in the strict sense of following Plato to the letter, then we can safely conclude that the history of ideas is void of Platonists, save one perhaps—Plato himself. Now, to be fair, the current discussion regarding Reynolds does not insist that he follow Plato on all matters, but only on the doctrines of the Forms and recollection. However, it is not clear that either doctrine is sacred to “Platonic” authors. The view that the Forms have independent existence as substances is arguably abandoned by the Neo-Platonists who, in answer to the thirdman problem and other Aristotelian objections,24 locate the Ideas in the intellectual realm of the Nous, which emanates from God, not in a second world of ideal substances.25 This revised doctrine of Ideas was not only less controversial, but would also become less distinctively Platonic, as

22 E.g., Enrico Peroli, “Gregory of Nyssa and the Neoplatonic Doctrine of the Soul,” Vigilae Christianae 51.2 (1997): 117–139; Kevin Corrigan, “‘Solitary’ Mysticism in Plotinus, Proclus, Gregory of Nyssa,” Journal of Religion 76.1 (1996): 28–42; Stephen Gersh, “The First Principles of Latin Neoplatonism: Augustine, Macrobius, Boethius,” Vivarium 50.2 (2012): 113–138; Thomas A. Wassmer, “The Trinitarian Theology of Augustine and His Debt to Plotinus,” HThR 53.4 (1960): 261–268; Adriana Neacsu, “Un Neoplatonisme Chretien dans le XIIIe Siecle: Bonaventure et ses Disciples,” Filosofie 26.2 (2011): 26–36; Tenzan, “Place as Exemplarism: The Phenomenology of Place and Bonventure’s ‘The Soul’s Journey into God,’” International Journal of Religion and Spirituality in Society 1.2 (2011): 103–114. 23 E.g., David G. Robertson, “Stoic and Aristotelian Notions of Substance in Basil of Caesarea,” Vigilae Christianae 52.4 (1998): 393–417; Reinhard M. Hübner, “Gregor von Nyssa als Verfasser der sog. ep. 38 des Basilius. Zum unterschiedlichen Verständnis der οὐσία bei den kappadokischen Brüdern,” in Epektasis. Mélanges patristiques offerts à Jean Daniélou, ed. Fontaine and Kannengiesser (Paris: Beauchesne, 1972), 463–490; Stephen M. Hildebrand, The Trinitarian Theology of Basil of Caesarea: A Synthesis of Greek Thought and Biblical Truth (Washington: CUAP, 2007), 47ff. 24 Aristotle, Metaphysics, 990b15–990b17, 1039a2–1039a3, 1079a13–1079a15; Sophistical Refutations 178b36–179a4. 25 See, e.g., Plotinus, Enneads 3.5; 3.8; 3.12; 6.7.7–6.7.14; Jerome Schiller, “Plotinus and Greek Rationalism,” Apeiron 12 (1978): 37–50; Proclus, Elements of Theology 20–21, 34, 57, 65; Christos Terezis and Elias Tempelis, “Proclus’ Ontological Arguments Concerning the Objective Existence of the Forms,” Philosophy Study 1.3 (2011): 180–188.



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both “Christian Platonists”26 and “Christian Aristotelians” affirm Ideas in this sense.27 As for the doctrine of recollection, this too seems a strange litmus test for Platonism, given that the doctrine presumes the pre-existence of the soul, a doctrine anathematized by the Christian Church at Constantinople II (anathema I). For orthodox Christian Platonists (as opposed to the Origenists, for example), the doctrine was therefore dispensable. Hence, Christian Platonists, such as Bonaventure, employ an Aristotelian epistemology (viz., understanding form by experience of particulars) amid a Platonic metaphysic.28 In light of the foregoing, the case against Reynolds’ Platonism fails on a number of fronts. First, its implicit definition of Platonism employs criteria that are historically problematic, as they fail to recognize the dynamism of Platonism, both Neo- and Christian. Second, even granting this unduly acute definition of Platonism, the subsequent either-Plato-orLocke dichotomy ignores the spectrum of philosophies between these two extremes. One may well reject Plato’s Forms and doctrine of recollection without rejecting realism or even all versions of Neo- or Christian Platonism. Thus Reynolds’ claim in discourse III does not establish what Towbridge, Olson, Adams, et al. claim. It suffices to show that Reynolds believes that the ideal is to be discerned through experience. However, this neither establishes that Reynolds is a nominalist, since Aristotle asserts the same, nor does it establish that Reynolds denies archetypal Ideas in the mind of God, since Christian Platonists saw no conflict between Aristotelian epistemology and such archetypes. Outside of discourse III, the only remaining evidence of Reynolds’ empiricism is the respective influences of Richardson and Junius. Regard­ ing the former, the case is problematic. It is unclear precisely how significant this influence is on Reynolds’ thought or what the results of this influence would be. For Korsmeyer admits that Richardson, too, shows 26 E.g., Origen, On First Principles 1.2.2–1.2.3; Augustine, The Literal Meaning of Genesis 5.15.33, 8.26.48; Maximus the Confessor, Ambiguum 7; Bonaventure, Commentaria in Quatuor Libros Sententiarum I, dist. 35.1, q.1, q.4. 27 E.g., Aquinas, ST, Ia.15; De Veritate, q. 3. Given that certain Neo-Platonic works, such as De Mundo, were attributed to Aristotle (W.L. Lorimer, The Text-Tradition of PseudoAristotle “De Mundo”, Together with an Appendix Containing the Text of the Medieval Latin Version (London: Milford, 1942)), the synthesis of Neo-Platonic and Aristotelian doctrines was inevitable, even if not always intentional. 28 See Andreas Speer, “Illumination and Certitude: The Foundation of Knowledge in Bonaventure,” American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 85.1 (2011): 127–141.

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idealist sympathies.29 Simply because Richardson’s idealism can be read as subjective, rather than Platonic, does not demonstrate (i) that the subjective reading is correct, (ii) that Reynolds read Richardson in this way, or (iii) that, granting (i) and (ii), Reynolds embraced subjective idealism. As for the influence of Junius, Woodfield’s case is suspect on two fronts. First, the case that De pictura influenced Reynolds is thin, since the only evidence offered by Woodfield is (a) its general prominence in Reynolds’ day and (b) Reynolds’ use of certain rhetorical principles discussed by Junius.30 Neither establishes a strong tie with Reynolds. Second, granting Junius’ influence, the empiricist reading of Junius is questionable. For his father, Franciscus Junius (1545–1602), like other Reformed orthodox theologians, employs Aristotelian categories and distinctions, including form, matter, essence, accident, efficient causality, and the like—all of which presumes realism.31 And Junius (the younger), also Reformed clergy, can be read in this same way in his talk of the nature of things, of perfections, and of the properties of beauty.32 Finally, it is noteworthy that the empiricist reading of Reynolds is the one that results in tensions, antinomies, and even contradictions, as Damrosch admits.33 Yet no such tensions are present if we read Reynolds as one who couples Platonic idealism with Aristotelian epistemology and substance metaphysics. The empiricist reading can account for much of what falls to the latter, but not for the former. In this light, the lesson to be learned from the status quaestionis is that neither the pure Platonist reading nor the pure empiricist reading of Reynolds accounts for the whole of his claims. Thus the truth is likely between these two extremes. Platonic sentiment resonates in several features of Reynolds’ Discourses, as even anti-Platonic readers are compelled to admit. This fact was also recognized by those who knew Reynolds. Edmund Burke, who had a deep love for Reynolds, speaks of his Platonizing tendency, and traces its source to the influence of Zachariah Mudge: “I believe his [i.e., Reynolds’] acquain­ tance with Mr. Mudge of Exeter, a very learned and thinking man, and much inclined to philosophize in the spirit of the Platonists disposed

29 Korsmeyer, “Eclipse,” 299. 30 Woodfield, “Introduction,” vii. 31 E.g., Franciscus Junius, “Praelectiones in Geneseos,” in Opera Theologica (Geneva, 1613), 1:5 and 1:18. 32 E.g., Franciscus Junius (the younger), The Painting of the Ancients, trans. Junius (the younger) (London: Hodgkinsonne, 1638), 4, 5, 7, 9–10. 33 Damrosch, “Generality and Particularity,” 387.



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him to this habit.”34 I will note three examples of Reynolds’ Platonic disposition. First, Reynolds regularly speaks of “perfect beauty” (III.44), “the idea of beauty” (III.50), and even “Ideal beauty” (III.41). This Ideal beauty is something that, according to Reynolds, is before the mind of the artist, and is something after which the artist strives, but is also something the artist can never reach (I.8; I.9; III.36). Moreover, Reynolds is clear that the inability of the artist to reach this Ideal is not due to an inadequacy on the part of the artist, but due to the fact that no member of a given species can encompass this Ideal (III.37). Reynolds even employs a shadow/substance analogy, identifying the Ideal as the substance and particulars and their accidents as shadows (I.12–13). Second, Reynolds has a realist understanding of beauty generally. He speaks of beauty as having properties, such as symmetry and proportion (III.44). He juxtaposes “the genuine habits of Nature” from “those of fashion,” the latter being a human invention (III.44). Moreover, his understanding of beauty often has a tacit divine component to it, for he speaks of the beauty of nature as “the eternal invariable idea of Nature” (III.47). One could infer that this idea can be invariable and eternal only if it is an Idea in the divine mind, and such an inference finds support in Reynolds’ claim that Ideal beauty reveals “the will and intention of the Creator” (III.42). Third, Reynolds seems to presume some form of innate ideas. He speaks of the oddity that art students universally, without being instructed to do so, replace the model before them with their idea of what the model ought to be (I.15). Now, Reynolds believes this tendency needs to be corrected. But Reynolds believes this because until the student has learned exactitude—that is, to accurately represent what is before him—he cannot accurately represent his idea of beauty (III.15). We will return to this point momentarily, but for now suffice it to say that Reynolds does not turn his students toward the empirical because Ideal beauty is empirical—it is not (III.37). Rather, he turns them to experience so that they may learn exactitude and in turn successfully idealize nature (I.15–16; III.40). The case for Reynolds’ Platonism is not as straightforward as it might appear on first blush, however. As anti-Platonist readers note, Reynolds places an emphasis on experience in discourse III.40. How are we to

34 Edmund Burke, Letter written to Mr. Malone in 1797, in The Literary Works of Sir Joshua Reynolds, 3 vols., 5th ed. (London: Cadell and Davies, 1819), 1:xcviii, n.*.

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account for this? The foregoing creates serious difficulties for a Lockean interpretation. More likely is that Reynolds’ “Platonism” is closer to the Neo- or Christian Platonism that merged Plato with Aristotle. We see these Aristotelian elements in Reynolds’ discussion of “central form” (e.g., III.41–42). By the term he means the “perfect beauty in any species” which “combine[s] all the characters which are beautiful in that species” (III.44). Reynolds can give the impression that central form is a human construct—hence the readings of Damrosch and Woodfield.35 The problem with this reading, however, is that it ignores Reynolds’ distinction between constructive concepts of beauty, such as fashion, and the normative beauty of Nature (III.43–44). Reynolds insists that the former is invented, while the latter is “eternal [and] invariable” (III.47); it has properties and rules (III.43–44); and these properties determine both beauty (conformity) and “deformity” (deviation) (III.42). Moreover, Reynolds is clear that, despite variations between beautiful persons, “there is one general form, which…belongs to the human kind” (III.43), and thus distinguishes the real form of the species from its accidents (III.45). Such an account is plainly realist in the Aristotelian sense. These Platonic and Aristotelian elements are easily reconciled, as such pairings can be found in Neo- and Christian Platonists before Reynolds (see above). Reynolds rejects the view of Plato that we should seek Ideal beauty in recollection, for the artist “examines his own mind, and perceives there nothing of that divine inspiration” (III.39). The young artist must look outward (III.40). Reynolds insists that it is from observing a great many models that one discerns the central form of a species (I.15–16; II.20; II. 31–35; III.43–45). Yet Reynolds is no empiricist. Quite the contrary, the goal of such observation is to discern the difference between essential and accidental properties. The danger Reynolds sees in using only a few models is that a select group of models may share certain accidents, which may cause one to idealize an imperfection, or “mistake deformity for beauty” (I.16). Thus it is only after an artist has completed his thorough investigation of the central form that he is equipped to remove blemishes and deformities and idealize his subjects (I.15–16; III.43–44). In short, the mingling of Plato and Aristotle we find in Reynolds is this: He affirms a broadly Platonic view of beauty that is ideal, eternal, invariable, and within the mind of God. Yet, his view of substance and epistemology is broadly Aristotelian. Every species bears a central form that is 35 Damrosch, “Generality and Particularity,” 388; and Woodfield, “Introduction,” vii.



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the measure of its beauty and deformity. Each member of a species bears both essential and accidental properties, and it is only by experience that we come to understand what belongs to the central form and what is accidental. This metaphysic informs Reynolds’ understanding of the education of artists—both its stages and aims. He identifies three stages through which the artist moves. The first stage involves learning the basic rudiments of the discipline—color, composition, and so on (II.17–18). This is the stage at which the student learns exactitude (II.18), copying what is before him (I.15). Once the student has learned to “express himself with some degree of correctness” (II.18), he moves to the second stage in which “he must then endeavor to collect subjects for expression” (II.18). This is the stage in which the student learns to discern the central form by studying a great many models (II.20; II.23; II.31–35). Notice that Reynolds believes that the task of the artist’s investigation is the same as the philosopher: “He will permit the lower painter … to exhibit the minute discriminations, which distinguish one object of the same species from another; while he, like the philosopher, will consider Nature in the abstract, and represent in every one of his figures the character of its species” (II.48). The third and final stage “emancipates the Student from subjection to any authority, but what he shall himself judge to be supported by reason” (II.18–19). The emphasis on reason is significant. For the task of the artist has been to focus not on shadows but on substance. Unlike the novice who must be pointed toward experience to learn exactitude, the artist now understands Ideal beauty and the properties to which “modes of beauty” owe their origin (II.19). He has discerned the difference between the essential and accidental. And by applying reason to his craft, he is able to both reproduce and idealize that which is before him. We have seen that the case against Reynolds’ Platonism is thin, employing a historically untenable definition of Platonism and a false dichotomy of either Plato or Locke. By reexamining Reynolds in light of a more dynamic and historically defensible understanding of Platonism, and by keeping before us the spectrum of realist philosophies between Plato and Locke, we see that Reynolds’ views are not only realist in orientation, but echo the types of claims found among Neo- and Christian Platonists who wed Platonic idealism with Aristotelian substance metaphysics and epistemology. Moreover, we have seen that this metaphysic plays a crucial role in Reynolds’ talk of beauty, his notion of central form, his understanding of the aim of artistic observation, and ultimately of the transition of the artist from student to master.

THE BRISTOL ACADEMY AND THE EDUCATION OF MINISTERS IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY ENGLAND (1758–1791) Jeongmo Yoo Introduction The Bristol Academy was the first theological institution for the education of Particular Baptist ministers. Since its establishment in the late seventeenth century, the Bristol Academy played an important role in the growth of the Particular Baptists by producing a number of great ministers, and it was soon widely recognized as a preeminent place of  theo­logical study by the leaders of the denomination throughout England.1 In fact, the education of ministers at the Bristol Academy later became “a key factor in the tremendous growth the Baptists experienced in the nineteenth century.”2 Certainly, the foundation of the Bristol Academy is a highly significant event in the history of the Baptist churches. In spite of this central role in the growth of the Particular Baptist churches, however, modern scholarship has not paid proper attention to the Baptist Academy at Bristol. That is, Baptists’ theological education in the Bristol Academy has gained less attention by modern scholars than other issues or events in Baptist history. Consequently, this lack of interest has created a gap in the understanding of how the education of Baptist ministers developed in the post-Reformation era.3 In particular, the neglect 1 Olin C. Robison, “The Particular Baptists in England, 1760–1820” (DPhil diss., Oxford University, 1963), 184; Stephen Albert Swaine, Faithful Men; or, Memorials of Bristol Baptist College, and Some of Its Most Distinguished Alumni (London: Alexander & Shepheard, 1884), 70; An Account of the Bristol Education Society: Begun Anno 1770 (Bristol, 1776), 11 [hereafter Account]; Norman S. Moon, Education for Ministry. Bristol Baptist College, 1679– 1979 (Bristol: Bristol Baptist College, 1979), 9. 2 Michael A.G. Haykin, “John Ryland, Jr. (1753–1825) and Theological Education,” NAKG 70 (1990): 191. See also, Robison, “Particular Baptists,” 184. 3 Some works on the history of the Dissenting Academies deal with Bristol Academy. For instance, H. McLachlan, English Education under the Test Acts (Manchester: University of Manchester, 1931), 91–101; Alan P.F. Sell, Philosophy, Dissent and Nonconformity (Cambridge: James Clarke, 2004), passim. However, they tend just to provide a brief sketch of the history of the institution without any substantial analysis of the idea of Particular Baptist’ theological education. In the present day, however, we encounter increasing discussions on the topic: Henry Foreman, “The Early Separatists, the Baptists, and Education, 1580–1780: with special reference of the clergy,” (Ph.D. diss., University of Leeds,

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of the Baptist academy at Bristol led not only to the ignorance of the Baptists’ theological education in the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries but also to the common misunderstanding that “Eighteenth century Particular Baptist are obscurantist, ill-educated hyper-Calvinists.”4 This study will deal with the theological education of Particular Baptists in the eighteenth century, with a particular focus on the Bristol Academy under the leadership of Hugh Evans (1712–1781) and Caleb Evans (1731– 1791) in order to illustrate the way Particular Baptists approached theological education during that era.5 The Bristol Academy during the presidencies of Hugh and Caleb Evans (1758–1781 and 1781–1791, respectively) is one of the ideal places to study the development of Baptists’ ideas of theological education because significant writings concerning theological education were produced6 and the Bristol Academy experienced a huge growth while these two men served as both tutors and presidents for several decades in the eighteenth century.7 The main purpose of this study is first to contribute to an understanding of Baptists’ view and practice of theological education and, second, to offer an evaluation regarding the validity of previous scholarship pertaining to the issue.8 In pursuing these goals, this study will particularly show 1976); Roger Hayden, “Evangelical Calvinism among Eighteenth-Century British Baptists: with particular reference to Bernard Foskett, Hugh and Caleb Evans and the Bristol Baptist Academy, 1690–1791” (PhD diss., University of Keele, 1991), published as Continuity and Change: Evangelical Calvinism among eighteenth-century Baptist ministers trained at Bristol Academy, 1690–1791 (Milton under Wychwood: Nigel Lynn, 2006); Haykin, “John Ryland”; Moon, Education. Even though we find such positive recent scholarly works that try to fill this gap, they are still not great enough contributions considering the broader scope and spectrum of the development of the Bristol Academy in seventeenth- and eighteenthcentury Baptist history. 4 Hayden, “Evangelical Calvinism,” iv. For example, Peter Toon states that “as the eighteenth century passed by, High Calvinism became in the main the faith of the poorly educated Independents and Baptists.” Toon, The Emergence of Hyper-Calvinism in English Nonconformity (London: The Olive Tree, 1967), 146. This general assessment is shared by Henry W. Clark, History of English Nonconformity (London: Chapman and Hall, 1913), 2 250–251, and also by Duncan Coomer, English dissent under the early Hanoverians (London: Epworth, 1946), 23–25. 5 For the detailed information of Hugh and Caleb Evans’ life and ministry at the Bristol Academy, see Swaine, Faithful Men, 70–177, passim; Moon, Education, 10–26; Moon, “Caleb Evans, Founder of The Bristol Education Society”, The Baptist Quarterly, 24 (1971–1972): 175–190; John Rippon, A Brief Essay towards an History of the Baptist Academy at Bristol (London: Dilly and Button, 1796), 29–31, 41–47. 6 For example, each year, from 1773 onwards, a sermon was preached at the annual meeting of the Bristol Education Society by a minister elected by the Society. The sermons were later published, and they often discussed highly provocative and important issues of theological education. 7 Concerning this, see Moon, Education, 10–26; Foreman, “Early Separatists,” 265–288. 8 This study focuses only on theological education. Thus, secular education is beyond the scope of this study. Also, this study will not attempt to do any comparison between



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three things in detail. First, in spite of the persisting suspicion of ministerial education among many Baptists in the eighteenth century, the Bristol Academy was convinced of the necessity of formal theological education for the preparation of ministers. Second, even though it stressed the academic learning for the ministerial candidates, the Baptist Academy at Bristol regarded the cultivation of Christian piety as the student’s first and leading priority. Third, the Bristol Academy’s evangelistic practice and fervor indicates that the criticism of the eighteenth century Particular Baptists as poorly educated Hyper-Calvinists cannot be warranted at all. The Bristol Academy and the View of the Education of Ministers In seventeenth-century England, Particular Baptists were by and large opposed to the theological education of ministers. Advocating for the sufficiency of the Holy Spirit’s teaching and ministerial gifts, they regarded human learning in the ministry as fundamentally dishonoring to the Holy Spirit. Nevertheless, the following years after the Restoration witnessed a gradually increasing interest in the need for well-educated ministers among Particular Baptists.9 As a result, the first Baptist academy had been founded at Bristol by the late seventeenth century and its fame as a theological institute rapidly spread among the Particular Baptists in England. Notwithstanding the foundation and development of the Bristol Academy, however, the eighteenth-century British Particular Baptists were still divided as to the question of the place of human learning in the preparation for pastoral ministry.10 A number of Baptists still insisted on the complete sufficiency of the Holy Spirit to the exclusion of intellectual effort in ministerial education.11 Against this hostile attitude toward human learning, the Bristol Academy strongly advocated for the necessity of an educated ministry. This is most evidently found in Hugh Evans’ sermon, The Able Minister, which was preached before the Bristol Education Society in 1773.12 In this sermon, Evans presents five arguments for the defense of human learning the Bristol Academy and other academies, which cannot be dealt with in such a limited space.   9 Foreman, “Early Separatists,” 252. 10 Foreman, “Early Separatists,” 335.   11 Foreman, “Early Separatists,” 354. 12 Hugh Evans, The Able Minister (Bristol: W. Pine, 1773). Hereafter AM.

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in ministerial education. First, he claims that in the present age, the Holy Spirit equips men for ministry through the ordinary educational means of acquiring knowledge. The supernatural gifts of the Holy Spirit were temporarily given in the Apostolic Age, and “the days of inspiration” have now ceased.13 Thus, Evans claims, “If a man therefore would be wise and knowing, he must read and study.”14 Second, he argues that the nature and extent of the work of the minister requires human learning in ministerial preparation. That is, since the Bible embraces all kinds of knowledge including not only theological or religious but also natural, historical, moral, civil knowledge and the like, the minister cannot understand the truths of Scripture and deliver them to others without a considerable extent of knowledge and learning.15 Third, Evans insists that the works of wise and good men to establish the educational institutions throughout human history clearly indicates the need for the education of ministerial candidates. In particular, he uses biblical examples such as the schools of the prophets and the story of Jesus in the temple as a boy, meeting teachers, in defense of his argument. Fourth, Evans asserts the importance of human learning based on the beneficial outcomes of academic study when sanctified in God’s service. For example, he states that had it not been for human learning, the existence of the English Bible and other valuable works such as learned commentaries and apologies for Christianity would never have come into being.16 Fifth, Evans claims that while some men had been good ministers without the advantages of human learning, those men confessed that had they possessed more knowledge, they would have been much better ministers. Thus, the acknowledgements of those men who had not had such learning show the significance of human learning for the preparation of ministers.17 These arguments are also commonly found in the works of Caleb Evans and the alumni of the Bristol Academy such as John Ash (1724–1779).18 As with Hugh Evans, who advocates that God uses human learning as a means of ministerial training, they all firmly argue for the significance of formal theological education for ministerial preparation. Caleb Evans 13 AM, 10. Cf. Caleb Evans, The Kingdom of God (Bristol: W. Pine, 1775), 22. 14 AM, 10. 15 AM, 13–15. Cf. Robert Robinson, The Kingdom of Christ Not of This World (Bristol: W. Pine, 1781), 9; 14; Evans, Kingdom, 22–23. 16 AM, 15–18. 17 AM, 21–23. 18 For example, see John Ash, The Perfecting of the Saints for the Work of the Ministry (Bristol: W. Pine, 1778).



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underscores the necessity of continuing study even after leaving the academy and starting the ministry.19 Nevertheless, in spite of its conviction regarding the Holy Spirit’s use of academic learning, the Bristol Academy did not consider formal academic education as an absolutely necessary prerequisite for pastoral ministry. For instance, admitting that there were those who had been destitute of the advantages of learning, but had been “very able, laborious and successful ministers of the gospel,” Hugh and Caleb Evans assert that academic training could not be made an absolute requirement for ministry.20 Instead, they argue that in preparing men for the Christian ministry, the starting point must be the regeneration of the candidates,21 and the endowment of divine and supernatural gifts is “absolutely necessary” to being a good minister.22 Thus, they state, “If a man be not truly religious, and furnished with talents or spiritual gifts adapted to the work of the ministry, let him have as much learning as he will, he will never be an acceptable and truly spiritual, evangelical minister.”23 Moreover, the Bristol Academy acknowledged that the provision of ministers for churches is primarily and ultimately God’s work, not human work. Namely, formal education alone would not make ministers after the New Testament pattern,24 but “It is God, and he alone, who makes men able ministers of the new testament [sic].”25 In this regard, Evans clearly states that human learning at the Bristol Academy is only an instrument that God uses for the purpose of training ministers: Nor is it, I would further observe, the design of this institution, to be a supplement to the spirit of God’s teachings, as though he was not sufficient to qualify me for the ministry, without the assistance of his creatures. We know he is. But we also know he usually works by means, and such means as are suited to the end, and that we may hope therefore to be made use of, as instruments in his hand, to promote and carry on his great and important designs.26

In sum, the Bristol Academy highly appreciated the value of formal theological education and viewed it as an avenue by which the Holy Spirit 19 Caleb Evans, A Charge and Sermon; delivered at the ordination of Rev. Thomas Dunscombe (Bristol: W. Pine, 1773), 5. 20 Account, vii. 21 Evans, AM, 26, 41–42; Account, iv. Cf. John Ryland, The Wise Student and Christian Preacher (Bristol: W. Pine, 1780), 7–8. 22 Evans, AM, 25; Account, iv. 23 Account, iv. 24 Account, iv. 25 Evans, AM, 36. 26 AM, 42.

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could prepare ministerial candidates. However, it willingly conceded that formal theological training might not be the route for every potential minister. Also, the academy was forthright in its belief that mere academic learning without the reliance on the Holy Spirit was of no use in producing an able minister of the New Testament. Consequently, the Bristol Academy opted for neither the complete ignorance of the formal theological education nor the blind idolization of it in ministerial preparation. Instead, the Bristol Academy highly appreciated the role of academic learning; on the other hand, however, it did not elevate human learning to the extent that it would be considered as the absolutely necessary and sufficient condition to produce an able minister. The Curriculum and the Direction of Study at the Bristol Academy In order to understand the nature of ministerial education at the Bristol Academy, we now need to turn to examine closely the curriculum of the academy at the time of Hugh and Caleb Evans. The eighteenth century was “a time of great intellectual ferment,” and significant development had been made in the study of subjects such as science, astronomy, medicine, and geography.27 A great advance in knowledge, consequently, led to the significant expansion of the horizons of the human mind in this era.28 The Baptist Academy at Bristol also saw these intellectual changes and could not afford to ignore the benefit of studying those subjects.29 Thus, for example, in a statement issued by Hugh and Caleb Evans at the time of the founding of the Bristol Education Society in 1770, they noted, “The importance of a liberal education, more especially to candidates for the Christian ministry, is so exceedingly obvious, that one might almost think it impossible that any considerate, intelligent person should not be convinced of it.”30 Regarding this, Caleb Evans more specifically comments as follows: There is scarcely any branch of knowledge but may be useful to a minister: whatever hath a tendency to enlarge our ideas of the divine perfections, to give use a clearer view of the meaning of Scripture and the evidence of its authenticity, or to enable us to speak and write our thoughts with propriety, 27 Haykin, “John Ryland,” 173. 28 Moon, “Caleb Evans,” 83. 29 Moon, Education, 14. 30 Account, iii.



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perspicuity, and energy, is certainly well worth the attention of every candidate for the ministry.31

Here, Evans does not limit the scope of ministerial education to branches of Divinity. Instead, he clearly argues that the whole scope of knowledge could be profitable for the servant of the Lord.32 Hence, it is not surprising to see that the curriculum of the Bristol Academy in the eighteenth century embraced the various fields of the academic disciplines of the day. For example, the courses commended by The Account of the Bristol Education Society include, along with Systematic Divinity, English, Greek and Hebrew, Logic, Geography, Astronomy and Natural Philosophy in general; Moral Philosophy, the Evidence of Christianity, Jewish Antiquities, Chronology, and Ecclesiastical History.33 The Account particularly elaborates the reasons for studying these areas. First, linguistic study such as English grammar and other learned languages enables the students to examine Scriptural passages in the original languages. Second, logic helps them express their ideas and thoughts clearly. Third, Oratory makes it possible for the students to express their ideas “in the most suitable language,” and to deliver them “in the most striking and acceptable manner.” Fourth, divinity students should study Geography, Astronomy, and Natural Philosophy in general in order to “enlarge and elevate their conceptions of the works of God, and His great and glorious perfections.” Finally, the rest of subjects such as Moral Philosophy and Chronology enable the students to improve their faith and morals, and to teach others by “doctrine and example.”34 How this plan of the Bristol Education Society worked out in practice can be seen in detail from the letters of John Sutcliff of Olney (1752–1814) and Joseph Kinghorn of Norwich (1766– 1832), who studied at the Bristol Academy under the guidance of Hugh and Caleb Evans.35 Clearly, The Account of the Bristol Education Society and the letters of the students show that the education which was provided at the Bristol Academy was not just narrowly theological. Rather, as long as they were considered to be helpful to equip candidates for the 31 Caleb Evans, Advice to Students Having in view Christian Ministry addressed to them at the Academy in Bristol (Bristol, 1770), 4. 32 Cf. Sell, Philosophy, Dissent and Nonconformity, 10–12. 33 The original version of The Account that was available to me does not include a section on the curriculum. However, the version which is included in Faithful Men contains the part. Swaine, Faithful Men, 78–79. 34 Swaine, Faithful Men, 78–79. 35 Michael Haykin, One Heart and One Soul: John Sutcliff of Oliney, his friends and his times (Durham: Evangelical Press, 1994), 53–55; Martin H. Wilkin, Joseph Kinghorn, of Norwich (London: Arthur Hall, 1855), 71–72.

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service of the gospel, any branch of human knowledge was taken as the sources of education.36 Nevertheless, there is no doubt that the Scriptures and theology still formed the core of the student’s studies at the Bristol Academy.37 Especially, for the study of the Scriptures, the academy put a considerable emphasis on language study. For instance, placing the ability to read the Scriptures in the original Hebrew and Greek at the head of this list of the academy’s training goals, the Evanses reason as follows: …if he is taught to read the Scriptures in the languages in which they were written, that he may be able the better to enter into the genuine spirit and meaning of the sacred writers, and judge for himself of the propriety and force of any Scripture criticisms.38

Moreover, Evans maintains that this ability enables the students to avoid the problem of reading the Scriptures through the “medium of fallible and varying translations.”39 As shown in the Evanses’ statements, the Baptist academy at Bristol clearly recognized the benefits of the knowledge of the languages in which the Scriptures were originally written and, not surprisingly, linguistic work comprised a significant part of students’ studies.40 Two clear examples of this are found in Joseph Kinghorn’s letter to his parents (1784) and the list of books which John Sutcliff studied and translated as a student at Bristol. A close look at these sources reveals that the student at Bristol spent a significant extent of time studying classical and ecclesiastical Latin and classical and New Testament Greek as well as Hebrew. When all is considered, the Bristol Academy appears to expect high academic standards and achievements from its students, and thus the daily life of the student at Bristol in this period seems to have been full. Specifically how the students lived their daily lives at the academy is seen from the diaries and letters of the students. The information gained from such resources indicates that the students undertook an enormous 36 The curriculum at the period of Hugh and Caleb Evans is basically similar to the curriculum of Bernard Foskett (1685–1758) in the early eighteenth century. John Collett Ryland’s (1723–1792) diary provides detailed information on the curriculum studied at Bristol and the daily life of a student during the 1740s under Foskett. John Collett Ryland, “A Student’s Programme in 1774,” The Baptist Quarterly 2 (1924–1925): 249–252; H. Wheeler Robinson, “A Baptist Student-John Collett Ryland,” The Baptist Quarterly 3 (1926–1927): 25–33. 37 Cf. Haykin, “John Ryland,” 187–188. 38 Account, vi. Cf. Evans, AM, 12. 39 AM, 12. 40 Haykin, One Heart, 53–54; Wilkin, Joseph Kinghorn, of Norwich, 71–72.



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amount of studying, reading, and writing.41 In particular, Caleb Evans’ following advice to the student would imply the busy schedule of the student at Bristol: “Think of the worth of time-take [sic] note of the things most apt to rob you of your time… Never allow yourselves more than six hours’ sleep.”42 Finally, concerning the nature of education at the Bristol Academy, it needs to be mentioned that even though the curriculum of the Academy had been broadened to include a wide range of subjects, their theology faithfully continued to be Calvinistic. This is easily observed in the writings of individual students and faculty involved in the Bristol Academy and the Bristol Education Society. Furthermore, what the students were expected to study and read at the academy particularly indicates the Calvinistic features of the education at Bristol. For instance, around the time when Sutcliff studied at Bristol, the academy used John Gill’s A Body of Doctrinal Divinity (1769) as the main textbook in dogmatic theology.43 As another example, according to Kinghorn’s letter, students were supposed to read a part of Matthew Henry’s Exposition of the Old and New Testaments (1708–1710) for the daily prayer meeting in the library.44 From these cases, the residing influence of Reformed orthodox theology on the Bristol Academy is clearly displayed. Interestingly enough, however, since the late eighteenth century, the Bristol Academy came across the writings of the American theologian, Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758), and some of these writings, especially The Freedom of the Will (1754), began to influence the associates of the Bristol Academy such as Caleb Evans.45 Thus, for example, in A Catalogue of a few useful Books (1773), Caleb Evans highly recommends Edwards’ The Freedom of the Will, Original Sin (1758), Religious Affections (1746), and The Nature of True Virtue (1765).46 This may 41 Wilkin, Joseph Kinghorn, of Norwich, 71–72. Cf. John Corrett Ryland’s diary in “A Student’s Programme in 1774.” 42 Evans, Advice, 6. 43 Haykin, One Heart, 55. Regarding the evaluation of Gill as a Reformed orthodox theologian, see Richard A. Muller, “John Gill and the Reformed Tradition: A Study in the Reception of Protestant Orthodoxy in the Eighteenth Century,” in The Life and Thought of John Gill (1697–1771): A Tercentennial Appreciation, ed. Michael A.G. Haykin (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 51–68. 44 Wilkin, Joseph Kinghorn, of Norwich, 71. 45 Concerning this, see E.A. Payne, “The Evangelical Revival and the Beginning of the Modem Missionary Movement,” Congregational Quarterly 21 (1943): 223–236; Robison, “Particular Baptists,” 162–170; Michael Watts, The Dissenters (Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), 456–461; Hayden, “Evangelical Calvinism,” 218–221. 46 The Baptist Annual Register (London, 1791–1793), 1:253–256. Concerning the deviation of Edwards’ theology from Reformed orthodoxy, see Richard A. Muller, “Jonathan

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imply the Edwardsean influence on the theological education of the students at Bristol. Nevertheless, there is no specific evidence that Edwards’ theology itself was taught in class at the time of Caleb Evans’ principalship. Moreover, despite this recommendation of Edwards’ writings, in A Catalogue Evans still strongly recommends many Reformed orthodox theologians’ works such as those of John Gill, and used them as textbooks in theology.47 Consequently, to what extent Jonathan Edwards influenced Bristol education in the late eighteenth century may be open to further debate. Integration of Academic Learning and Piety at the Bristol Academy The Bristol Academy, as examined in the previous sections of this study, emphasized the academic preparation for ministry, and reflecting this aim, the curriculum of the Bristol Academy was highly academic. However, it was always suspicious of theological training for its own sake. Recognizing the possibility that such studies could have a merely academic quality, the Bristol Academy always aimed the goal of education at meeting the need of the local church by providing a well-informed and well-trained minister for the service of the gospel. Evans outlined this basic goal of studying at Bristol in a sermon which he preached before the Bristol Education Society: The intention of this society is to improve the minds of those pious persons who are recommended by the churches to its patronage, by proper cultivation, reading, study and conversation. To instruct them into the knowledge of the language in which the scriptures were written, to give them a just view of language in general, and of their own in particular, to teach them to express themselves with propriety upon whatever subject they discourse of, and to lead them into an acquaintance with those several branches of literature in general, which may be serviceable to them, with the blessing of God, in the exercise of their ministry. In a word, the design of this institution is to contribute what we can, towards the church and world’s having able ministers of the new testament.48 Edwards and the Absence of Free Choice: A Parting of Ways in the Reformed Tradition,” Jonathan Edwards Studies 1.1 (2011): 1–22. 47 For example, highly recommending John Gill’s The Cause of God and Truth (1735– 1738) and his nine-volume Expositions of the Old and New Testaments (1746–1766), he states that Gill is “touchstone of orthodoxy, with many.” The Baptist Annual Register, 1:254. 48 AM, 43.



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The Evanses elsewhere also state as follows: To accomplish this design, it is proposed to assist pious young men of promising abilities for the ministry, in such a course of preparatory study as may enable them with the blessing of God, to exercise their ministerial talents with general acceptance and usefulness…. The principal design of this society is to supply destitute congregations, if it pleases God to succeed the institution, with a succession of able and evangelical ministers.49

As these statements show, the primary goal of the academy was not to produce an academic scholar but to supply the Particular Baptist churches with “able and evangelical ministers.”50 In particular, faculty and alumni involved in the Bristol Academy and the Bristol Education Society were commonly aware that the cultivation of Christian piety is essential and fundamental to achieve this purpose. Namely, they were convinced that mere academic study alone never produces such an able and evangelical minister. For example, in his Advice to Students, Caleb Evans candidly asserts at the very beginning of the address that in order to become “a good and useful Preacher,” the student most of all should “learn to be a zealous lover of Christ.”51 As a means of pursuing this goal, Evans advises the student to exercise “reading the word of God with other practical and experimental writings, meditation, self-examination and prayer.” He further specifically recommends that “One hour at least will be devoted every morning and evening to these exercises.” Indeed, Evans believed that while academic learning is essential, it alone will not make an able evangelical minister unless it is coupled with a spiritual vitality which is the outcome of one’s own walk with God. Thus, in his thought, the cultivation of vital piety should be the student’s first and leading priority.52 A similar idea is found in John Ash’s sermon delivered at the Bristol Education Society in 1778. Here, he urges the students of the academy to make a diligent and fervent effort to develop their ministerial talents and abilities, and Ash claims that they are improved “in general, by devotion and study.”53 Thus, he advises the students to engage not only in study but also in extended times of “private devotion, self-examination, meditation and reading.”54 However, Ash firmly argues that “the exercises of devotion 49 Account, 9. Cf. John Tommas, Serious Advice to Students and Young Ministers (Bristol: W. Pine, 1774), 4–5. 50 Account, 9. 51 Evans, Advice, 1. 52 Evans, Advice, 2. 53 Ash, Perfecting, 16. 54 Ash, Perfecting, 14. Cf. Samuel Stennett, The Utility of Learning to A Christian Minister (Bristol: W. Pine, 1783), 16.

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should always take the lead….”55 That is, if there were a conflict between spending time in the spiritual exercises and studying academic disciplines, the latter should take second place. In a similar vein to Evans and Ash, in a sermon which he preached to the students in 1770, John Ryland Jr. (1753–1825) also forthrightly declared the indispensability of prayer in theological study: My dear young students, nothing can be done without prayer; no vital religion in the soul can prosper without prayer, no studies in divinity can flourish without prayer. Not even the study and attainment of human sciences can be happily prosecuted without prayer. Dr. Doddridge used frequently to observe, that he never advanced well in human learning without prayer, and that he always made the most proficiency in his studies when he prayed with the greatest frequency and fervour. Depend upon it, my friends, there never was, there never will be, a useful and honourable minister of the gospel without constant fervent prayer.56

In this way, faculty, students, and alumni involved in the Bristol Academy and the Bristol Education Society shared a common belief that piety is ultimately of more fundamental and essential import in ministerial preparation than academic learning. Alongside the formal study, consequently, there was a considerable emphasis placed on the inculcation of Christian spirituality at Bristol. For example, the “family prayer” meetings which took place regularly in the morning in advance of daily academic study indicate that the Bristol Academy was more than a place where intellectual knowledge and ministerial skills were imparted.57 Rather, it shows that the Bristol Academy was also a place of piety where personal piety was cultivated and where the students experienced spiritual growth. Surely, despite its strong belief in the need for academic preparation for ministry, the Bristol Academy did not lapse into the cold intellectualism of the eighteenth century. Evangelistic Fervor at the Bristol Academy Along with making personal devotion a priority for ministerial candidates, there was also a significant emphasis at Bristol on practice in preaching and itinerant evangelism.58 In fact, the curriculum of the Bristol Academy 55 Ash, Perfecting, 14. 56 John Ryland Jr., The Wise Student and Christian Preacher (Bristol: W. Pine, 1780), 12. 57 Wilkin, Joseph Kinghorn, of Norwich, 71–72. 58 Deryck W. Lovegrove, Established Church, Sectarian People: Itinerancy and the Trans­ formation of English Dissent, 1780–1830 (Cambridge: CUP, 1988), 68–69, 78–79.



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makes no mention of courses such as homiletics and evangelism. Thus, at first glance, one might misunderstand that there was little interest in training men for pastoral ministry. However, it would be a gross mistake to consider this as a proof that those practical subjects were not a prime concern of the academy. Indirect sources such as biographies and contemporary periodicals convincingly demonstrate that students at Baptist academies during the Evanses’ time actively engaged in practical work and training, especially in preaching and itinerant evangelism.59 Regarding this, the Bristol Academy’s involvement in evangelism deserves a particular attention. In general, following the classic Reformed tradition, the academy taught the sovereignty of divine grace in human salvation. However, unlike the Hyper-Calvinists of the day, the outlook of the academy’s ministerial education was genuinely evangelistic. Notably, the Evanses had successfully maintained their Calvinistic theology with an evangelistic zeal. Thus, for example, concerning the aim of the Bristol Academy, Caleb Evans states that “The education of pious candidates for the ministry is the first object of the Institution, the encouragement of missionaries to preach the Gospel wherever providence open a door…is the next.”60 As this statement makes clear, a significant part of the declared objective of the academy was to “encourage evangelistic work in the churches, especially in areas where there was no means of supporting a full-time ministry.”61 Thus, it is not difficult to assume that even if no separate course such as evangelism was offered at Bristol during that time, the Evanses and other faculty presumably advised and challenged each incoming class of students with the task of evangelism and this would have provided a powerful incentive to evangelism for the students. Consequently, armed with such evangelistic motivation, the students of divinity at Bristol “actively promoted itinerant evangelism.”62 One such clear example is an itinerant mission to Cornwall undertaken in 1773. A number of students such as John Geard (1749-l838), supported financially by the Bristol Education Society, spent a good deal of the summer of 1773 preaching the gospel throughout Cornwall.63 Similarly, the Bristol 59 Lovegrove, Established Church, 66–87; idem, “Particular Baptist Itinerant Preachers during the late 18th and early 19th centuries,” The Baptist Quarterly 28 (1979–1980): 130–132. 60 Evans, Kingdom, 21, 24. 61 Moon, Education, 20. 62 Lovegrove, Established Church, 79. 63 Haykin, One Heart, 57. Cf. As long as its finances permitted, the Bristol Education Society maintained a budget for mission and evangelism since 1773. Account, 10. For the specific cases, see Hayden, “Evangelical Calvinism,” 223.

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students’ itinerant evangelism to North Wales under the guidance of Thomas Llewelyn in 1776 also exemplifies the evangelistic effort of the Bristol Academy.64 Certainly, as evidenced in several Bristol alumni like Benjamin Francis, John Ash, and John Sutcliff, such training and experience helped the students maintain evangelistic zeal and effort in their lives and ministries even after leaving the academy.65 Later, the Bristol Academy’s evangelistic fervor was in full bloom when the Baptist Missionary Society was founded in 1792. Among the thirteen who met at Kettering in 1792 to found the society, four men were ministers who were educated at the Bristol Academy: John Sutcliff, Samuel Pearce, Thomas Blundel, and William Staughton.66 This implies that the Baptist Academy at Bristol played a significant role in the development of the overseas mission efforts of the Particular Baptists in the following years. When everything is considered, finally, the previous assessment of the eighteenth-century Particular Baptists as poorly educated HyperCalvinists cannot be warranted at all. As already fully examined, the Bristol Academy provided a high quality of theological education. Moreover, standing firmly in continuity with the classic Reformed tradition, especially in the matter of human salvation, it continued to encourage the evangelistic zeal and efforts of the students. Thus, the Bristol Academy should be distinguished from the Hyper-Calvinist view which blunted the cutting edge of evangelism.67 Concluding Remarks The examination of ministerial education at the Bristol Academy at the time of Hugh and Caleb Evans and the analysis of the writings of faculty and students of the academy during the era permit some conclusions concerning the Particular Baptists’ view of theological education in eighteenth-century England. First, even though the Particular Baptists were still divided on the matter of ministerial education, the Baptist Academy at Bristol firmly maintained its belief in the need for academic 64 Thomas M. Bassett, The Welsh Baptists (Swansea: Ilston House, 1977), 100–106. 65 Moon, Education, 20. 66 Moon, Education, 21. 67 Since it is beyond the scope of this project, this study does not attempt to do any doctrinal comparison between Hyper-Calvinism and the Bristol Academy. Nevertheless, in general, the doctrinal analysis of the writings of the Bristol Academy’s faculty and students also show that the academy during the time of Hugh and Caleb Evans had nothing to do with Hyper-Calvinistic ideas of the era.



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preparation for pastoral ministry. Second, in spite of its strong emphasis on academic study, it viewed the inculcation of a vital spirituality as the more significant and fundamental element for the preparation for ministry. Third, the ministerial education at Bristol was intimately allied with evangelistic efforts such as itinerant evangelism. Finally, given the chief conclusions of this study, the Bristol Academy’s significance in the history of Baptists is twofold. First, the Bristol Acad­ emy  maintained a balance of three elements in ministerial education: academic excellence, cultivation of piety, and evangelistic practice. Consequently, the combination of all these characteristics in theological education made it possible for the academy to produce excellent ministers and preachers who played a significant role in the remarkable growth of the denomination in later years. In this regard, the Bristol Academy certainly made a significant contribution to the stabilization and development of the Particular Baptists’ denomination in the following centuries.68 Second, even in an era when Christianity tended to move towards theological extremes, the Bristol Academy by and large retained a commitment to classic Reformed theology without losing a passion for evangelism. Thus, previous scholarship’s overgeneralization of the eighteenth-century Particular Baptists as uneducated Hyper-Calvinists cannot be validated at all.

68 Cf. James Hinton, a former student of the Bristol Academy who became minister at New Road, Oxford, wrote to a friend: “Our denomination is clearly indebted more to that Academy than to anyone source of benefit besides. If I had 10,000£ to found a public good, one fourth should certainly go thither at once.”

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE WORKS OF RICHARD A. MULLER Compiled by Paul W. Fields and Andrew M. McGinnis I. Thesis and Dissertation 1972 “A Vindication of the Position Taken, the Sentiments Expressed, and Course Adopted by the Most Reverend Father in God, the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, and Six of the Lord Bishops, His Suffragans, in Their Celebrated Tryal, and During the Late Revolution in Government: From the Infamous Charge of Inconsistency in Politicks.” M.Div. thesis, Union Theological Seminary (New York), 1972. 1976 “Predestination and Christology in Sixteenth Century Reformed Theology.” Ph.D. diss., Duke University, 1976. II. Books 1985 Dictionary of Latin and Greek Theological Terms: Drawn Principally from Protestant Scholastic Theology. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1985. Published as paperback in 1995. 1986 Christ and the Decree: Christology and Predestination in Reformed Theology from Calvin to Perkins. Durham: Labyrinth, 1986; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1988. Reprinted with a new preface, Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008. 1987 Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics. 2 vols. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1987–1993. 1991 God, Creation, and Providence in the Thought of Jacob Arminius: Sources and Directions of Scholastic Protestantism in the Era of Early Orthodoxy. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1991.

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The Study of Theology: From Biblical Interpretation to Contemporary Formulation. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1991. Reprinted in Moisés Silva, ed., Foundations of Contemporary Interpretation (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996). 1995 Bradley, James E., and Richard A. Muller. Church History: An Introduction to Research, Reference Works, and Methods. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995. 2000 The Unaccommodated Calvin: Studies in the Foundation of a Theological Tradition. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. 2002 Chonggyo Kaehyok Hu Kaehyokchuui Kyouihak: Sinhak Soron [Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics. Vol. 1, Prolegomena to Theology] [title transliterated from Korean]. Translated by Un-son Yi. Seoul: Jireh, 2002. 2003 16 Saegi Meklakesso Bon Jinjunghan Calvang Shinhak [The Unaccommodated Calvin] [title transliterated from Korean]. Translated by Eun-Sun Lee. Seoul: Sharing & Serving, 2003. After Calvin: Studies in the Development of a Theological Tradition. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003. Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics: The Rise and Development of Reformed Orthodoxy, ca. 1520 to ca. 1725. 2nd ed. 4 vols. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2003. 2007 Muller, Richard A., and Rowland S. Ward. Scripture and Worship: Biblical Interpretation and the Directory for Public Worship. Phillipsburg: Presbyterian & Reformed, 2007. 2011 Calvin Ihu Gaehyŏk Shinhak [After Calvin] [title transliterated from Korean]. Translated by Byung-Soo Han. Seoul: Revival and Reformation, 2011. 2012 Calvin and the Reformed Tradition: On the Work of Christ and the Order of Salvation. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012.



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III. Edited Books 1987 Bradley, James E., and Richard A. Muller, ed. Church, Word, and Spirit: Historical and Theological Essays in Honor of Geoffrey W. Bromiley. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987. 1991 Shuster, Marguerite, and Richard A. Muller, ed. Perspectives on Christology: Essays in Honor of Paul K. Jewett. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1991. 1996 Muller, Richard A., and John L. Thompson, ed. Biblical Interpretation in the Era of the Reformation: Essays Presented to David C. Steinmetz in Honor of His Sixtieth Birthday. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996. IV. Articles in Periodicals 1976 “Examining Book of Confessions.” [author’s corrected title: “Presbyterians, Confessional and Confessing”]. Presbyterian Survey 66.7 (1976): 43–44. 1977 “One Faith in Three Basic Forms: Heidelberg, Westminster, and the New Declaration.” Presbyterian Survey 67.1 (1977): 7–9. 1978 “Perkins’ A Golden Chaine: Predestinarian System or Schematized Ordo Salutis?” Sixteenth Century Journal 9.1 (1978): 69–81. 1979 “‘Duplex cognitio dei’ in the Theology of Early Reformed Orthodoxy.” Sixteenth Century Journal 10.2 (1979): 51–61. “The Foundation of Calvin’s Theology: Scripture as Revealing God’s Word” [author’s corrected title: “Scripture as Revealing Word: The Foundation of Calvin’s Theology”]. Duke Divinity School Review 44.1 (1979): 14–23.

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“Covenant and Conscience in English Reformed Theology: Three Variations on a 17th Century Theme.” Westminster Theological Journal 42.2 (1980): 308–334. “The Debate Over the Vowel Points and the Crisis in Orthodox Hermeneutics.” Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies 10.1 (1980): 53–72. 1981 “Christ in the Eschaton: Calvin and Moltmann on the Duration of the Munus Regium.” Harvard Theological Review 74.1 (1981): 31–59. “The Spirit and the Covenant: John Gill’s Critique of the Pactum Salutis.” Foundations 24.1 (1981): 4–14. 1982 “The Federal Motif in Seventeenth Century Arminian Theology.” Nederlands archief voor kerkgeschiedenis 62.1 (1982): 102–122. “Henry Boynton Smith: Christocentric Theologian.” Journal of Presbyterian History 61.4 (1982): 429–444. 1983 “Christ—the Revelation or the Revealer? Brunner and Reformed Orthodoxy on the Doctrine of the Word of God.” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 26.3 (1983): 307–319. “Incarnation, Immutability, and the Case for Classical Theism.” Westminster Theological Journal 45.1 (1983): 22–40. 1984 “The Administrator.” Theology News & Notes 31.3 (1984): 12–13. “Vera philosophia cum sacra theologia nusquam pugnat: Keckermann on Philosophy, Theology, and the Problem of Double Truth.” Sixteenth Century Journal 15.3 (1984): 341–365. 1985 “Giving Direction to Theology: The Scholastic Dimension.” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 28.2 (1985): 183–193. Muller, Richard A., and Hendrika Vande Kemp. “On Psychologists’ Uses of ‘Calvinism’.” American Psychologist 40.4 (1985): 466–468.



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1986 “Emanuel V. Gerhart on the ‘Christ-Idea’ as Fundamental Principle.” Westminster Theological Journal 48.1 (1986): 97–117. “Scholasticism Protestant and Catholic: Francis Turretin on the Object and Principles of Theology.” Church History 55.2 (1986): 193–205. 1987 “What I Haven’t Learned from Barth.” Reformed Journal 37.3 (1987): 16–18. 1988 “The Christological Problem in the Thought of Jacobus Arminius.” Nederlands archief voor kerkgeschiedenis 68.2 (1988): 145–163. 1989 “Arminius and the Scholastic Tradition.” Calvin Theological Journal 24.2 (1989): 263–277. “The Importance of History.” Theology News & Notes 36.1 (1989): 14–17, 26. “Karl Barth and the Path of Theology into the Twentieth Century: Historical Observations.” Westminster Theological Journal 51.1 (1989): 25–50. 1990 “The Barth Legacy: New Athanasius or Origen Redivivus? A Response to T.F. Torrance.” Thomist 54.4 (1990): 673–704. “Fides and Cognitio in Relation to the Problem of Intellect and Will in the Theology of John Calvin.” Calvin Theological Journal 25.2 (1990): 207–224. “J.J. Rambach and the Dogmatics of Scholastic Pietism.” Consensus 16.2 (1990): 7–27. 1992 “Always Reforming: Unending Change or Unchanging Ends?” Banner 127.37 (26 October 1992): 8–9. “The Dogmatic Function of St. Thomas’ ‘Proofs’: A Protestant Appreciation.” Fides et historia 24.2 (1992): 15–29. 1993 “How Many Points?” Calvin Theological Journal 28.2 (1993): 425–433.

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“The Priority of the Intellect in the Soteriology of Jacob Arminius.” Westminster Theological Journal 55.1 (1993): 55–72. 1994 “Confessing the Reformed Faith: Our Identity in Unity and Diversity.” Pts. 1 and 2. New Horizons in the Orthodox Presbyterian Church 15.3 (1994): 8–10; no. 4 (1994): 20–21. Also published in Outlook 44.9 (1994): 7–11. Reprinted in John R. Muether and Danny E. Olinger, ed., Confident of Better Things: Essays Commemorating Seventy-five Years of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church (Willow Grove, PA: The Committee for the Historian of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, 2011), 85–97. “The Covenant of Works and the Stability of Divine Law in Seventeenth-Century Reformed Orthodoxy: A Study in the Theology of Herman Witsius and Wilhelmus à Brakel.” Calvin Theological Journal 29.1 (1994): 75–100. “The Study of Theology Revisited: A Response to John Frame.” Westminster Theological Journal 56.2 (1994): 409–417. “Tertullian & Church Growth.” Calvin Seminary Forum 1.3 (1994): 8. 1995 “Calvin and the ‘Calvinists’: Assessing Continuities and Discontinuities between the Reformation and Orthodoxy [Part One].” Calvin Theological Journal 30.2 (1995): 345–375. “The Myth of ‘Decretal Theology’.” Calvin Theological Journal 30.1 (1995): 159–167. “On Being Reformed in America.” Calvin Seminary Forum 2.3 (1995): 1–2. “Would We Still Need a Reformation Today?” Banner 130.37 (30 October 1995): 16–18. 1996 “Calvin and the ‘Calvinists’: Assessing Continuities and Discontinuities between the Reformation and Orthodoxy [Part Two].” Calvin Theological Journal 31.1 (1996): 125–160. Bolt, John, and Richard A. Muller. “Does the Church Today Need a New ‘Mission Paradigm’?” Calvin Theological Journal 31.1 (1996): 196–208. ——. “For the Sake of the Church: A Response to Van Gelder and Hart.” Calvin Theological Journal 31.2 (1996): 520–526. 1997 “Found (No Thanks to Theodore Beza): One ‘Decretal’ Theology.” Calvin Theological Journal 32.1 (1997): 145–151.



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“Historiography in the Service of Theology and Worship: Toward Dialogue with John Frame.” Westminster Theological Journal 59.2 (1997): 301–310. “The Holy Spirit in the Augsburg Confession: A Reformed Definition.” Concordia Theological Quarterly 61.1–2 (1997): 53–78. “In the Light of Orthodoxy: The ‘Method and Disposition’ of Calvin’s Institutio from the Perspective of Calvin’s Late-Sixteenth-Century Editors.” Sixteenth Century Journal 28.4 (1997): 1203–1229. 1998 “Calvin’s ‘Argument du livre’ (1541): An Erratum to the McNeill and Battles Institutes.” Sixteenth Century Journal 29.1 (1998): 35–38. “Scholasticism, Reformation, Orthodoxy, and the Persistence of Christian Aristotelianism.” Trinity Journal, n.s., 19.1 (1998): 81–96. 1999 “Protestant Scholasticism: Methodological Issues and Problems in the Study of Its Development.” Areopagus [Universiteit Utrecht], n.s., 3.3 (1999): 14–19. 2000 “Eunhae, Suntak, Geurigo Ooyeunjeokin Suntak—Arminius eui Sunsoo Gonggyeukgwa Gaehyukpa eui Baneung” [“Grace, Election, and Contingent Choice: Arminius’s Gambit and the Reformed Response”] [title transliterated from Korean]. Translated by Eun Sun Lee. Shin Hak Ji Pyung [Seoul, Korea] 12 (2000): 213–254. 2001 “Directions in Current Calvin Research.” Religious Studies Review 27.2 (2001): 131–138. “Reformation, Orthodoxy, ‘Christian Aristotelianism,’ and the Eclecticism of Early Modern Philosophy.” Nederlands archief voor kerkgeschiedenis 81.3 (2001): 306–325. 2005 “The Placement of Predestination in Reformed Theology: Issue or Non-Issue?” Calvin Theological Journal 40.2 (2005): 184–210. 2006 “Divine Covenants, Absolute and Conditional: John Cameron and the Early Ortho­ dox Development of Reformed Covenant Theology.” Mid-America Journal of Theology 17 (2006): 11–56.

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“A Note on ‘Christocentrism’ and the Imprudent Use of Such Terminology.” Westminster Theological Journal 68.2 (2006): 253–260. 2007 “Toward the Pactum Salutis: Locating the Origins of a Concept.” Mid-America Journal of Theology 18 (2007): 11–65. 2008 “Arminius and the Reformed Tradition.” Westminster Theological Journal 70.1 (2008): 19–48. “Unity and Distinction: The Nature of God in the Theology of Lucas Trelcatius, Jr.” Reformation and Renaissance Review 10.3 (2008): 315–341. 2009 “Calvin on Sacramental Presence, in the Shadow of Marburg and Zurich.” Lutheran Quarterly n.s., 23.2 (2009): 147–167. “De Zurich ou Bâle à Strasbourg? Étude sur les prémices de la pensée eucharistique de Calvin.” Translated by Liliane Crété. In “Calvin et la France,” edited by Bernard Cottrett and Olivier Millet, special issue, Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français 155.1 (2009): 41–53. “A Tale of Two Wills? Calvin and Amyraut on Ezekiel 18:23.” Calvin Theological Journal 44.2 (2009): 211–225. 2010 “Combien de Points?” La Revue Farel 5 (2010): 123–132. “From Zürich or from Wittenberg? An Examination of Calvin’s Early Eucharistic Thought.” Calvin Theological Journal 45.2 (2010): 243–255. 2011 “Jonathan Edwards and the Absence of Free Choice: A Parting of the Ways in the Reformed Tradition.” Jonathan Edwards Studies 1.1 (2011): 3–22. “Reassessing the Relation of Reformation and Orthodoxy: A Methodological Rejoinder.” American Theological Inquiry 4.1 (2011): 3–12. “The ‘Reception of Calvin’ in Later Reformed Theology: Concluding Thoughts.” Church History and Religious Culture 91.1–2 (2011): 255–274.



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2013 “The Canons of Dort.” Calvin Seminary Forum 20.1 (2013): 11–12. V. Articles in Books 1990 “The Hermeneutic of Promise and Fulfillment in Calvin’s Exegesis of the Old Testament Prophecies of the Kingdom.” In The Bible in the Sixteenth Century, edited by David C. Steinmetz, 68–82. Durham: Duke, 1990. 1991 “The Christological Problem as Addressed by Friedrich Schleiermacher: A Dog­ matic Query.” In Perspectives on Christology, edited by Marguerite Shuster and Richard A. Muller, 141–162. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1991. “Joseph Hall as Rhetor, Theologian, and Exegete: His Contribution to the History of Interpretation.” In Solomon’s Divine Arts, by Joseph Hall, edited by Gerald T. Sheppard, 11–37. Cleveland: Pilgrim, 1991. “The Role of Church History in the Study of Systematic Theology.” In Doing Theology in Today’s World: Essays in Honor of Kenneth S. Kantzer, edited by John D. Woodbridge and Thomas Edward McComiskey, 77–97. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1991. “William Perkins and the Protestant Exegetical Tradition: Interpretation, Style and Method.” In A Commentary on Hebrews 11 (1609 Edition), by William Perkins, edited by John H. Augustine, 71–94. New York: Pilgrim, 1991. 1993 “Calvin, Beza, and the Exegetical History of Romans 13:1–7.” In Calvin and the State, edited by Peter De Klerk, 139–170. Papers of the 1989 and 1991 Calvin Studies Colloquia. Grand Rapids: Calvin Studies Society, 1993. Response to “Discourse and Doctrine: The Covenant Concept in the Middle Ages,” by Derk Visser. In Calvin and the State, edited by Peter De Klerk, 15–19. Papers of the 1989 and 1991 Calvin Studies Society Colloquia. Grand Rapids: Calvin Studies Society, 1993. 1994 “God, Predestination, and the Integrity of the Created Order: A Note on Patterns in Arminius’ Theology.” In Later Calvinism: International Perspectives, edited

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by W. Fred Graham, 431–446. Kirksville: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1994. 1995 “Grace, Election, and Contingent Choice: Arminius’s Gambit and the Reformed Response.” In The Grace of God, the Bondage of the Will, vol. 2, Historical and Theological Perspectives on Calvinism, edited by Thomas R. Schreiner and Bruce A. Ware, 251–278. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1995. 1996 “Biblical Interpretation in the Era of the Reformation: The View from the Middle Ages.” In Biblical Interpretation in the Era of the Reformation, edited by Richard A. Muller and John L. Thompson, 3–22. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996. “The Era of Protestant Orthodoxy.” In Theological Education in the Evangelical Tradition, edited by D.G. Hart and R. Albert Mohler Jr., 103–128. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1996. “‘The Only Way of Man’s Salvation’: Scripture in the Westminster Confession.” In Calvin Studies VIII: The Westminster Confession in Current Thought, edited by John H. Leith, 14–33. Colloquium on Calvin Studies. [Davidson: Davidson College, 1996]. Muller, Richard A., and John L. Thompson. “The Significance of Precritical Exegesis: Retrospect and Prospect.” In Biblical Interpretation in the Era of the Reformation, edited by Richard A. Muller and John L. Thompson, 335–345. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996. 1997 “John Gill and the Reformed Tradition: A Study in the Reception of Protestant Orthodoxy in the Eighteenth Century.” In The Life and Thought of John Gill (1697–1771): A Tercentennial Appreciation, edited by Michael A.G. Haykin, 51–68. Leiden: Brill, 1997. “Scholasticism in Calvin: A Question of Relation and Disjunction.” In Calvinus sincerioris religionis vindex = Calvin as Protector of the Purer Religion, edited by Wilhelm H. Neuser and Brian G. Armstrong, 247–265. Kirksville: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1997. “‘Scimus enim quod lex spiritualis est’: Melanchthon and Calvin on the Interpretation of Romans 7.14–23.” In Philip Melanchthon (1497–1560) and the



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Commentary, edited by Timothy J. Wengert and M. Patrick Graham, 216–237. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1997. 1998 “Calvin, Beza, and the Exegetical History of Romans 13:1–7.” In The Identity of Geneva: The Christian Commonwealth, 1564–1864, edited by John B. Roney and Martin I. Klauber, 39–56. Westport: Greenwood, 1998. “Directions in Current Calvin Research.” In Calvin Studies IX, edited by John H. Leith and Robert A. Johnson, 70–87. Colloquium on Calvin Studies. [Davidson: Davidson College, 1998]. 1999 “Ordo docendi: Melanchthon and the Organization of Calvin’s Institutes, 1536– 1543.” In Melanchthon in Europe: His Work and Influence beyond Wittenberg, edited by Karin Maag, 123–140. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1999. “The Use and Abuse of a Document: Beza’s Tabula Praedestinationis, the Bolsec Controversy, and the Origins of Reformed Orthodoxy.” In Protestant Scholasticism: Essays in Reassessment, edited by Carl R. Trueman and R. Scott Clark, 33–61. Carlisle: Paternoster, 1999. 2000 “Sources of Reformed Orthodoxy: The Symmetrical Unity of Exegesis and Synthesis.” In A Confessing Theology for Postmodern Times, edited by Michael S. Horton, 43–62. Wheaton: Crossway, 2000. 2001 “The Problem of Protestant Scholasticism—A Review and Definition.” In Reformation and Scholasticism: An Ecumenical Enterprise, edited by Willem J. van Asselt and Eef Dekker, 45–64. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2001. 2002 “Theodore Beza (1519–1605).” In The Reformation Theologians: An Introduction to Theology in the Early Modern Period, edited by Carter Lindberg, 213–224. Oxford: Blackwell, 2002.

2006 “‘To Grant this Grace to All People and Nations’: Calvin on Apostolicity and Mission.” In For God so Loved the World: Missiological Reflections in Honour of Roger S. Greenway, edited by Arie C. Leder, 211–232. Belleville: Essence, 2006.

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“Reflections on Persistent Whiggism and Its Antidotes in the Study of Sixteenthand Seventeenth-Century Intellectual History.” In Seeing Things Their Way: Intellectual History and the Return of Religion, edited by Alister Chapman, John Coffey, and Brad S. Gregory, 134–153. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2009. 2010 “God as Absolute and Relative, Necessary, Free, and Contingent: The Ad Intra-Ad Extra Movement of Seventeenth-Century Reformed Language about God.” In Always Reformed: Essays in Honor of W. Robert Godfrey, edited by R. Scott Clark and Joel E. Kim, 56–73. Escondido: Westminster Seminary California, 2010. Mylius, R.A. [Richard A. Muller]. “In the Steps of Voetius: Synchronic Contingency and the Significance of Cornelis Elleboogius’ Disputationes de Tetragrammato to the Analysis of His Life and Work.” In Scholasticism Reformed: Essays in Honour of Willem J. van Asselt, edited by Maarten Wisse, Marcel Sarot, and Willemien Otten, 92–102. Leiden: Brill, 2010. “Philip Doddridge and the Formulation of Calvinistic Theology in an Era of Rationalism and Deconfessionalization.” In Religion, Politics and Dissent, 1660– 1832: Essays in Honour of James E. Bradley, edited by Robert D. Cornwall and William Gibson, 65–84. Farnham: Ashgate, 2010. “Thomas Barlow on the Liabilities of ‘New Philosophy’: Perceptions of a Rebellious Ancilla in the Era of Protestant Orthodoxy.” In Scholasticism Reformed, edited by Maarten Wisse, Marcel Sarot, and Willemien Otten, 179–195. Leiden: Brill, 2010. 2011 “Demoting Calvin: The Issue of Calvin and the Reformed Tradition.” In John Calvin, Myth and Reality: Images and Impact of Geneva’s Reformer, edited by Amy Nelson Burnett, 3–17. Papers of the 2009 Calvin Studies Society Colloquium. Eugene: Cascade, 2011. “Diversity in the Reformed Tradition: A Historiographical Introduction.” In Drawn into Controversie: Reformed Theological Diversity and Debates Within Seventeenth-Century British Puritanism, edited by Michael A.G. Haykin and Mark Jones, 11–30. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011. “Reception and Response: Referencing and Understanding Calvin in SeventeenthCentury Calvinism.” In Calvin and His Influence, 1509–2009, edited by Irena Backus and Philip Benedict, 182–201. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011.



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2012 “God and Design in the Thought of Robert Boyle.” In The Persistence of the Sacred in Modern Thought, edited by Chris L. Firestone and Nathan A. Jacobs, 87–111. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012. VI. Dictionary and Encyclopedia Entries 1988 “Resurrection.” In The International Standard Bible Encyclopedia, vol. 4, edited by Geoffrey W. Bromiley, et al., 145–150. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988. “Sanctification.” In The International Standard Bible Encyclopedia, vol. 4, edited by Geoffrey W. Bromiley, et al., 321–331. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988. “World.” In The International Standard Bible Encyclopedia, vol. 4, edited by Geoffrey W. Bromiley, et al., 1112–1116. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988. 1990 “Soul.” In Dictionary of Pastoral Care and Counseling, edited by Rodney J. Hunter, et al., 1201–1203. Nashville: Abingdon, 1990. Reprinted in Hunter, et al., ed., Dictionary of Pastoral Care and Counseling, expanded ed. (2005): 1201–1203; and in Glenn H. Asquith Jr., ed., The Concise Dictionary of Pastoral Care and Counseling (Nashville: Abingdon, 2010), 30–34. 1992 “Aristotle.” In Great Thinkers of the Western World, edited by Ian P. McGreal, 30–35. New York: HarperCollins, 1992. “Benedict Spinoza.” In Great Thinkers of the Western World, edited by Ian P. McGreal, 217–221. New York: HarperCollins, 1992. “Freedom.” In Encyclopedia of the Reformed Faith, edited by Donald K. McKim, 144–146. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992. “Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz.” In Great Thinkers of the Western World, edited by Ian P. McGreal, 237–242. New York: HarperCollins, 1992. “Justification.” In Encyclopedia of the Reformed Faith, edited by Donald K. McKim, 201–203. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992. “Musculus, Wolfgang (1497–1563).” In Encyclopedia of the Reformed Faith, edited by Donald K. McKim, 248. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992.

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“Myconius, Oswald (1488–1552).” In Encyclopedia of the Reformed Faith, edited by Donald K. McKim, 248. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992. “Orthodoxy, Reformed.” In Encyclopedia of the Reformed Faith, edited by Donald K. McKim, 266–269. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992. “Parmenides.” In Great Thinkers of the Western World, edited by Ian P. McGreal, 3–6. New York: HarperCollins, 1992. “Saint Thomas Aquinas.” In Great Thinkers of the Western World, edited by Ian P. McGreal, 107–113. New York: HarperCollins, 1992. 1996 “Predestination.” In The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation, vol. 3, edited by Hans J. Hillerbrand, 332–338. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996. “Scripture.” In The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation, vol. 4, edited by Hans J. Hillerbrand, 36–39. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996. 1998 “Biblical Interpretation in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries.” In Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters, edited by Donald K. McKim, 123–152. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1998. Reprinted in McKim, ed., Dictionary of Major Biblical Interpreters (2007): 22–44. “John Lightfoot (1602–1675).” In Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters, edited by Donald K. McKim, 208–212. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1998. Reprinted in McKim, ed., Dictionary of Major Biblical Interpreters (2007): 657–661. 1999 “Beza, Theodore.” In The Encyclopedia of Christianity, vol. 1, edited by Erwin Fahlbusch, et al., English edition translated and edited by Geoffrey W. Bromiley, 231–232. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Leiden: Brill, 1999. “Reformation, Augustinianism in the.” In Augustine through the Ages: An Encyclo­ pedia, edited by Allan D. Fitzgerald, 705–707. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999. 2000 “Arminius and Arminianism.” In The Dictionary of Historical Theology, edited by Trevor A. Hart, 33–35. Carlisle: Paternoster; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000.



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“Reformed Confessions and Catechisms.” In The Dictionary of Historical Theology, edited by Trevor A. Hart, 466–485. Carlisle: Paternoster; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000. 2003 “Orthodoxy: 2. Reformed Orthodoxy.” In The Encyclopedia of Christianity, vol. 3, edited by Erwin Fahlbusch, et al., English edition translated and edited by Geoffrey W. Bromiley, 878–882. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Leiden: Brill, 2003. 2004 “John Calvin and Later Calvinism: The Identity of the Reformed Tradition.” In The Cambridge Companion to Reformation Theology, edited by David Bagchi and David C. Steinmetz, 130–149. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. VII. Published Lectures 1995 Scholasticism and Orthodoxy in the Reformed Tradition: An Attempt at Definition. Inaugural Address, Calvin Seminary Chapel, 7 September 1995. Grand Rapids: Calvin Theological Seminary, 1995. 1999 Ad fontes argumentorum: The Sources of Reformed Theology in the 17th Century. Inaugural lecture, Faculty of Theology of Utrecht University, 11 May 1999. Utrecht: Faculteit der Godgeleerdheid van de Universiteit Utrecht, 1999. 2011 “Was Calvin a Calvinist?” In Back to the Bible: Life, Gospel, and Church, edited by the Society for Reformed Life Theology [sic] and Korea Evangelical Society, 2–37. International Joint Conference Commemorating the 35th Anniversary of Baekseok Schools. Cheonan, Korea: Society for Reformed Life Theology and Korea Evangelical Theological Society, 2011. VIII. Forewords and Prefaces 1995 Foreword to The Theater of His Glory: Nature and the Natural Order in the Thought of John Calvin, by Susan E. Schreiner, ix-x. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1995.

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Preface to Systematic Theology, new ed., by Louis Berkhof, v-viii. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996. 1997 Foreword to John Calvin and the Will: A Critique and Corrective, by Dewey J. Hoitenga Jr., 5–11. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1997. 2000 Foreword to Sermons on Melchizedek & Abraham: Justification, Faith & Obedience, by John Calvin, translated by Thomas Stocker. Willow Street: Old Paths, 2000. 2011 Foreword to Introduction to Reformed Scholasticism, by Willem J. van Asselt, et al., ix–x. Grand Rapids: Reformation Heritage Books, 2011.

2012 Foreword to Unity and Continuity in Covenantal Thought: A Study in the Reformed Tradition to the Westminster Assembly, by Andrew A. Woolsey, vii–xi. Grand Rapids: RHB, 2012. IX. Translations 1987 Ellul, Jacques. “Theological Pluralism and the Unity of the Spirit.” Translated by Richard A. Muller. In Church, Word, and Spirit, edited by James E. Bradley and Richard A. Muller, 215–227. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987. X. Book Reviews 1977 Review of The Church, by G.C. Berkouwer, translated by James E. Davison. Westminster Theological Journal 39.2 (1977): 397–399. 1978 Review of Calvin and Classical Philosophy, by Charles Partee. Sixteenth Century Journal 9.2 (1978): 125–126. Review of Méthode et théologie: Lambert Daneau et les débuts de la scolastique réformée, by Olivier Fatio. Westminster Theological Journal 41.1 (1978): 215–217.



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Review of The Prism of Scripture: Studies on History and Historicity in the Work of Jonathan Edwards, by Karl Dietrich Pfisterer. Westminster Theological Journal 40.2 (1978): 364–366. 1979 Review of Reformed Dogmatics Set Out and Illustrated from the Sources, by Heinrich Heppe, revised and edited by Ernst Bizer, translated by G.T. Thomson. Church History 48.3 (1979): 355–356. 1980 Review of The History of Interpretation, by Frederic W. Farrar. Reformed Journal 30.9 (1980): 31. Review of Rhétorique et théologique: Calvin, Le Commentaire de l’Épître aux Romains, by Benoit Girardin. Church History 49.3 (1980): 354. 1981 Review of Calvin and the Reformation: Four Studies by Emile Doumergue, August Lang, Herman Bavinck, and Benjamin B. Warfield, edited by William Park Armstrong. Church History 50.4 (1981): 477. “Understanding Covenant Theology Today.” Review of The Christ of the Covenants, by O. Palmer Robertson, and Gospel & Law: Contrast or Continuum? The Hermeneutics of Dispensationalism and Covenant Theology, by Daniel P. Fuller. Reformed Journal 31.11 (1981): 23–24. 1982 “How Scripture Works.” Review of The Scope and Authority of the Bible, by James Barr. Reformed Journal 32.1 (1982): 26–27. “Reformed and Contemporary.” Review of An Introduction to Reformed Dogmatics, by Auguste Lecerf, translated by André Schlemmer. Reformed Journal 32.8 (1982): 27–28. Review of Calvin and the Anabaptist Radicals, by Willem Balke, translated by William J. Heynen. Westminster Theological Journal 44.2 (1982): 376–378. Review of The Divine Community: Trinity, Church, and Ethics in Reformation Theologies, by John R. Loeschen. Renaissance Quarterly 35.4 (1982): 618–620. Review of Introduction to Systematic Theology, by Louis Berkhof. Reformed Journal 32.3 (1982): 27.

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Review of Theology and Revolution in the Scottish Reformation: Studies in the Thought of John Knox, by Richard L. Greaves. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 50.3 (1982): 481. “Systematic Theologies: First and Last.” Review of The Evangelical Faith, vol. 3, Theology of the Spirit, by Helmut Thielicke, translated by Geoffrey W. Bromiley, and Foundations of Dogmatics, vol. 1, by Otto Weber, translated by Darrell L. Guder. Reformed Journal 32.10 (1982): 28, 30. 1983 “The Limits of General Revelation.” Review of General Revelation and Contemporary Issues, by Bruce A. Demarest. Reformed Journal 33.7 (1983): 30–31. Review of Calvin and the Anabaptist Radicals, by Willem Balke, translated by William J. Heynen. Church History 52.4 (1983): 533–534. Review of Reformed Thought and Scholasticism: The Arguments for the Existence of God in Dutch Theology, 1575–1650, by John Platt. Renaissance Quarterly 36.3 (1983): 438–439. 1984 “Defending Theology.” Review of In Defense of Theology, by Gordon H. Clark. Reformed Journal 34.10 (1984): 28–30. Review of Calvin’s Doctrine of the Atonement, by Robert A. Peterson. Church History 53.4 (1984): 553–554. Review of Eerdmans’ Handbook to Christian Belief, edited by Robin Keeley. TSF Bulletin 7.5 (1984): 22. Review of Here Am I! A Christian Reflection on God, by Adrio König. Westminster Theological Journal 46.1 (1984): 211–213. Review of Martini Buceri Opera Latina, vol. 1, by Martin Bucer, edited by Cornelis Augustijn, Pierre Fraenkel, and Marc Lienhard. Church History 53.1 (1984): 136–137. Review of The Puritan Moment: The Coming of Revolution in an English County, by William Hunt. Historical Magazine of the Protestant Episcopal Church 53.2 (1984): 131–132. Review of Schriften, vol. 1, by Philipp Jakob Spener, edited by Erich Beyreuther and Dietrich Blaufuss. The Eighteenth Century: A Current Bibliography, n.s., 6— for 1980 (1984): 578–579.



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1985 Review of Creeds, Councils, and Christ, by Gerald Bray. TSF Bulletin 8.4 (1985): 25. Review of Jonathan Edwards’s Moral Thought and Its British Context, by Norman Fiering. The Eighteenth Century: A Current Bibliography, n.s., 7—for 1981 (1985): 449–450. Review of Justification and Sanctification, by Peter Toon. TSF Bulletin 8.3 (1985): 28. Review of Transformation and Convergence in the Frame of Knowledge: Explorations in the Interrelations of Scientific and Theological Enterprise, by Thomas F. Torrance. Westminster Theological Journal 47.1 (1985): 136–140. 1986 “Directions in the Study of Barth’s Christology.” Review of Christ in Perspective: Christological Perspectives in the Theology of Karl Barth, by John Thompson, and Karl Barth’s Christology: Its Basic Alexandrian Character, by Charles T. Waldrop. Westminster Theological Journal 48.1 (1986): 119–134. Review of Christian Dogmatics, edited by Carl E. Braaten and Robert W. Jenson. TSF Bulletin, 10.1 (1986): 35–36. Review of John Toland and the Deist Controversy: A Study in Adaptations, by Robert E. Sullivan. The Eighteenth Century: A Current Bibliography, n.s., 8—for 1982 (1986): 224–225. Review of Pascal: Adversary and Advocate, by Robert J. Nelson. Historical Magazine of the Protestant Episcopal Church 55.4 (1986): 343–344. 1987 “Heaven and Hell.” Review of Heaven and Hell: A Biblical and Theological Overview, by Peter Toon. Reformed Journal 37.4 (1987): 28–29. “God Only Wise.” Review of Predestination & Free Will: Four Views of Divine Sovereignty & Human Freedom, by John Feinberg, et al., edited by David Basinger and Randall Basinger. Reformed Journal 37.5 (1987): 31–34. Review of Arminius: A Study in the Dutch Reformation, 2nd ed., by Carl Bangs. Pneuma 9.1–2 (1987): 198–199. Review of The History of Christian Theology, vol. 1, The Science of Theology, by G.R.  Evans, Alister E. McGrath, and Allan D. Galloway. Consensus 13.1 (1987): 114–115.

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Review of John Calvin on the Diaconate and Liturgical Almsgiving, by Elsie Anne McKee. Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 98.1 (1987): 125–126. Review of The Living God, Systematic Theology, vol. 1, by Thomas C. Oden. Consensus 13.2 (1987): 99–100. Review of Reformed Theology in America: A History of Its Modern Development, edited by David F. Wells. Anglican and Episcopal History 56.2 (1987): 213–216. Review of The Spiritual Espousals and Other Works, by Jan van Ruusbroec, translated and introduced by James A. Wiseman. Pneuma 9.1–2 (1987): 197. Review of The Use of the Bible in Theology: Evangelical Options, edited by Robert K. Johnston. Theology Today 44.2 (1987): 284–285. “Sins of Omission.” Review of Karl Barth, a Theological Legacy, by Eberhard Jüngel,  translated by Garrett E. Paul. Reformed Journal 37.10 (1987): 28, 30–31. 1988 “Competent but Flawed.” Review of Born Again: A Biblical and Theological Study of Regeneration, by Peter Toon. Reformed Journal 38.4 (1988): 28–29. “The Place and Importance of Karl Barth in the Twentieth Century: A Review Essay.” Review of How Karl Barth Changed My Mind, edited by Donald K.  McKim; Karl Barth, a Theological Legacy, by Eberhard Jüngel, translated by Garrett E. Paul; Theology Beyond Christendom: Essays on the Centenary of the Birth of Karl Barth, May 10, 1886, edited by John Thompson; and The Way of Theology in Karl Barth: Essays and Comments, edited by H. Martin Rumscheidt. Westminster Theological Journal 50.1 (1988): 127–156. Review of The Calov Bible of J. S. Bach, by Johann Sebastian Bach, edited by Howard H. Cox. Consensus 14.1 (1988): 116–118. Review of The Covenant of Grace in Puritan Thought, by John von Rohr. Sixteenth Century Journal 19.3 (1988): 508–509. Review of The Historical Argument for the Resurrection of Jesus During the Deist Controversy, by William Lane Craig. Church History 57.3 (1988): 379–380. “Soteriological Christology.” Review of The Anonymous Christ: Jesus as Savior in Modern Theology, by Lee E. Snook. Reformed Journal 38.11 (1988): 30–31.



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1989 “Once More Into the Breach.” Review of Chosen for Life: An Introductory Guide to the Doctrine of Divine Election, by C. Samuel Storms. Reformed Journal 39.1 (1989): 30–31. Review of The Authority of the Bible and the Rise of the Modern World, by Henning Graf Reventlow, translated by John Bowden. The Eighteenth Century: A Current Bibliography, n.s., 10—for 1984 (1989): 284–286. Review of De falsa et vera Unius Dei Patris, Filii et Spiritus Sancti cognitione libri duo (Albae Iuliae, 1568), introduced by Antal Pirnát. Sixteenth Century Journal 20.4 (1989): 710–711. Review of John Toland: His Methods, Manners, and Mind, by Stephen H. Daniel. The Eighteenth Century: A Current Bibliography, n.s., 10—for 1984 (1989): 241–243. Review of Ramism in William Perkins’ Theology, by Donald K. McKim. Sixteenth Century Journal 20.1 (1989): 125–126. Review of Renaissance Dialectic and Renaissance Piety: Benet of Canfield’s Rule of Perfection: A Translation and Study, by Benôit de Canfield, translated by Kent Emery Jr. Sixteenth Century Journal 20.1 (1989): 131. Review of Sacred Rhetoric: The Christian Grand Style in the English Renaissance, by Debora K. Shuger. Sixteenth Century Journal 20.4 (1989): 687–688. 1990 Review of Body, Soul, and Life Everlasting: Biblical Anthropology and the MonismDualism Debate, by John W. Cooper. Theology Today 47.2 (1990): 228. Review of Meletius, sive, De iis quae inter Christianos conveniunt epistola, by Hugo Grotius, translated by G.H.M. Posthumus Meyjes. Consensus 16.1 (1990): 121–122. Review of The Reformed Imperative: What the Church Has to Say that No One Else Can Say, by John H. Leith. Journal of Religion 70.4 (1990): 647. 1992 Review of The Emanuel Hirsch and Paul Tillich Debate: A Study in the Political Ramifications of Theology, by A. James Reimer. Consensus 18.1 (1992): 144–145. Review of Loci Theologici, by Martin Chemnitz, translated by J.A.O. Preus. Consensus 18.1 (1992): 136–139.

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Review of The Origins of the Federal Theology in Sixteenth-Century Reformation Thought, by David A. Weir. Journal of Religion 72.4 (1992): 597–598. Review of Theology of the Reformers, by Timothy George. Calvin Theological Journal 27.1 (1992): 109–111. Review of The Word of Life, Systematic Theology, vol. 2, by Thomas C. Oden. Consensus 18.1 (1992): 140–141. 1993 Review of Assurance of Faith: Calvin, English Puritanism, and the Dutch Second Reformation, by Joel R. Beeke. Sixteenth Century Journal 24.3 (1993): 745–747. Review of Calvin et la dynamique de la parole: Etude de rhétorique réformée, by Olivier Millet. Sixteenth Century Journal 24.3 (1993): 747–749. Review of Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church, by Stuart G. Hall. Calvin Theological Journal 28.2 (1993): 537–538. Review of Dogma and Mysticism in Early Christianity: Epiphanius of Cyprus and the Legacy of Origen, by Jon F. Dechow. Consensus 19.2 (1993): 150. Review of The History of the Covenant Concept from the Bible to Johannes Cloppenburg: De Foedere Dei, by David N.J. Poole. Calvin Theological Journal 28.1 (1993): 217–218. Review of Institutes of Elenctic Theology, vol. 1, First Through Tenth Topics, by Francis Turretin, translated by George Musgrave Giger, edited by James T. Dennison Jr. Calvin Theological Journal 28.2 (1993): 520–522. Review of Paganism and Christianity, 100–425 c.e.: A Sourcebook, edited by Ramsay MacMullen and Eugene N. Lane. Calvin Theological Journal 28.2 (1993): 544–545. Review of Regnum Caelorum: Patterns of Future Hope in Early Christianity, by Charles E. Hill. Westminster Theological Journal 55.2 (1993): 359–360. Review of The Religion of the Heart: A Study of European Religious Life in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, by Ted A. Campbell. Journal of Religion 73.2 (1993): 261–262. Review of The Theater of His Glory: Nature and the Natural Order in the Thought of John Calvin, by Susan E. Schreiner. Calvin Theological Journal 28.1 (1993): 190–191. Review of The Westminster Confession of Faith: An Authentic Modern Version, by Douglas F. Kelly, Hugh McClure, and Philip Rollinson, and A Guide: The



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Westminster Confession of Faith: Commentary, by John H. Gerstner, Douglas F. Kelly, and Philip Rollinson. Calvin Theological Journal 28.1 (1993): 222–223. Review of The Word Became Flesh: A Contemporary Incarnational Christology, by Millard J. Erickson. Calvin Theological Journal 28.1 (1993): 182–184.

1994 “Barth’s Göttingen Dogmatics (1924–26): A Review and Assessment of Volume One.” Review of The Göttingen Dogmatics: Instruction in the Christian Religion, vol. 1, by Karl Barth, edited by Hannelotte Reiffen, translated by Geoffrey W. Bromiley. Westminster Theological Journal 56.1 (1994): 115–132. Review of The Apostolic Fathers, 2nd ed., translated by J.B. Lightfoot and J.R. Harmer, edited by Michael W. Holmes. Calvin Theological Journal 29.1 (1994): 311–312. Review of At the Origins of Modern Atheism, by Michael J. Buckley. The Eighteenth Century: A Current Bibliography, n.s., 13—for 1987 (1994): 149–151. Review of Biblical Interpretation Then and Now: Contemporary Hermeneutics in the Light of the Early Church, by David S. Dockery. Calvin Theological Journal 29.1 (1994): 260–261. Review of The Bolsec Controversy on Predestination, From 1551 to 1555, vol. 1, pts. 1–2, by Philip C. Holtrop. Calvin Theological Journal 29.2 (1994): 581–589. Review of Calvin’s Preaching, by T.H.L. Parker. Journal of Religion 74.3 (1994): 395–396. Review of Christianity 101: Your Guide to Eight Basic Christian Beliefs, by Gilbert Bilezikian. Calvin Theological Journal 29.2 (1994): 571–573. Review of Commentary on the Larger Catechism; Previously Titled A Body of Divinity: Wherein the Doctrines of the Christian Religion Are Explained and Defended, Being the Substance of Several Lectures on the Assembly’s Larger Catechism, by Thomas Ridgley, revised with notes by John M. Wilson. Calvin Theological Journal 29.2 (1994): 607–609. Review of Fountainhead of Federalism: Heinrich Bullinger and the Covenantal Tradition, by Charles S. McCoy and J. Wayne Baker, with a translation of De testamento seu foedere Dei unico et aeterno, by Heinrich Bullinger. Anglican and Episcopal History 63.1 (1994): 89–91. Review of Heresy and Criticism: The Search for Authenticity in Early Christian Literature, by Robert M. Grant. Calvin Theological Journal 29.1 (1994): 317–318.

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Review of Hermetica: The Greek Corpus Hermeticum and the Latin Asclepius in a New English Translation, with Notes and Introduction, translated and edited by Brian P. Copenhaver. Calvin Theological Journal 29.2 (1994): 624–625. Review of Institutes of Elenctic Theology, vol. 2, Eleventh Through Seventeenth Topics, by Francis Turretin, translated by George Musgrave Giger, edited by James T. Dennison Jr. Calvin Theological Journal 29.2 (1994): 614–615. Review of Ioannis Calvini opera exegetica, vol. 16, Commentarii in Pauli epistolas ad Galatas, ad Ephesios, ad Philippenses, ad Colossenses, by John Calvin, edited by Helmut Feld. Sixteenth Century Journal 25.2 (1994): 476–478. Review of Life in the Spirit, Systematic Theology, vol. 3, by Thomas C. Oden. Consensus 20.1 (1994): 133–134. Review of A Theology of Word and Spirit: Authority and Method in Theology, by Donald G. Bloesch. Calvin Theological Journal 29.1 (1994): 307. Review of What Christians Believe: A Biblical and Historical Summary, by Alan F. Johnson and Robert Webber. Calvin Theological Journal 29.2 (1994): 523–525. Review of Who’s Who in Theology: From the First Century to the Present, by John Bowden. Calvin Theological Journal 29.1 (1994): 308. 1995 Review of Calvinus Sacrae Scripturae Professor = Calvin as Confessor of Holy Scripture, edited by Wilhelm H. Neuser. Sixteenth Century Journal 26.2 (1995): 478–480. Review of An Exposition of Ezekiel, Geneva Series Commentary, by William Greenhill. Calvin Theological Journal 30.2 (1995): 563–565. Review of Ezekiel I: Chapters 1–12, Calvin’s Old Testament Commentaries, vol. 18, by John Calvin, translated by D. Foxgrover and D. Martin, and Daniel I: Chapters 1–6, Calvin’s Old Testament Commentaries, vol. 20, by John Calvin, translated by T.H.L. Parker. Sixteenth Century Journal 26.4 (1995): 1032–1033. Review of Grace and Gratitude: The Eucharistic Theology of John Calvin, by B.A. Gerrish. Journal of Religion 75.1 (1995): 119–121. Review of Mozart: Traces of Transcendence, by Hans Küng, translated by John Bowden. Consensus 21.2 (1995): 129–130. Review of Peter Martyr Vermigli, 1499–1562: Renaissance Man, Reformation Master, by Mariano Di Gangi. Calvin Theological Journal 30.1 (1995): 308–309. Review of Prophecy in Carthage: Perpetua, Tertullian, and Cyprian, by Cecil M. Robeck Jr. Calvin Theological Journal 30.2 (1995): 499–501.



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1996 Review of Biblical Interpretation in the Early Church: An Historical Introduction to Patristic Exegesis, by Manlio Simonetti. Calvin Theological Journal 31.1 (1996): 310–311. Review of Calvin and the Rhetoric of Piety, by Serene Jones. Calvin Theological Journal 31.2 (1996): 582–583. Review of Calvin: An Introduction to His Thought, by T.H.L. Parker. Calvin Theological Journal 31.2 (1996): 590–591. Review of The Early Church: An Annotated Bibliography of Literature in English, by Thomas A. Robinson. Calvin Theological Journal 31.2 (1996): 623. Review of The Emergence of Christian Theology, by Eric Osborn. Calvin Theological Journal 31.2 (1996): 622–623. Review of Jesus Christ and Creation in the Theology of John Calvin, by Peter Wyatt. Calvin Theological Journal 31.2 (1996): 618–620. Review of Jesus Christ in the Preaching of Calvin and Schleiermacher, by Dawn DeVries. Calvin Theological Journal 31.2 (1996): 603–607. Review of The Knowledge of God in Calvin’s Theology, expanded ed., by Edward A. Dowey Jr. Lutheran Quarterly, n.s., 10.2 (1996): 201–202. Review of Peter Lombard, by Marcia L. Colish. Calvin Theological Journal 31.2 (1996): 547–548. Review of The Presence of God: A History of Western Christian Mysticism, vol. 1, The Foundations of Mysticism, by Bernard McGinn. Calvin Theological Journal 31.1 (1996): 212–213. Review of A Scripture Index to the Works of St. Augustine in English Translation, by James W. Wiles. Calvin Theological Journal 31.1 (1996): 301–302. 1997 Review of Anticlericalism in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, by Peter A. Dykema and Heiko A. Oberman. Zwingliana 24 (1997): 153–155. Review of Christian Doctrine, revised ed., by Shirley C. Guthrie. Consensus 23.1 (1997): 83–84. Review of Correspondance de Théodore de Bèze, vol. 17, 1576, and vol. 18, 1577, ­collected by Hippolyte Aubert, edited by Alain Dufour, Béatrice Nicollier, and Reinhard Bodenmann. Church History 66.1 (1997): 116–117.

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Review of De doctrina christiana: A Classic of Western Culture, edited by Duane W.H. Arnold, and Reading and Wisdom: The De doctrina christiana of Augustine in the Middle Ages, edited by Edward D. English. Calvin Theological Journal 32.1 (1997): 214. Review of A Hot Pepper Corn: Richard Baxter’s Doctrine of Justification in Its 17thCentury Context of Controversy, by Hans Boersma. Calvin Theological Journal 32.1 (1997): 175–176. Review of Sermons on Galatians, by John Calvin, foreword by W. Robert Godfrey; Sermons on Election & Reprobation, by John Calvin, foreword by David C.  Engelsma; and Sermons on Psalm 119, by John Calvin, foreword by James M. Boice. Calvin Theological Journal 32.1 (1997): 153–157. Review of Systematic Theology: Biblical, Historical, and Evangelical, vol. 2, by James Leo Garrett Jr. Consensus 23.1 (1997): 84–85. 1998 Review of The Claims of Truth: John Owen’s Trinitarian Theology, by Carl R. Trueman. Calvin Theological Journal 33.2 (1998): 522–524. Review of A Commentary on the Old and New Testaments, by John Trapp. Calvin Theological Journal 33.2 (1998): 484–485. Review of History of Theology, vol. 1, The Patristic Period, edited by Angelo Di Berardino and Basil Studer. Calvin Theological Journal 33.2 (1998): 565–566. Review of Humanists and Reformers: A History of the Renaissance and Reformation, by Bard Thompson. Journal of Religion 78.1 (1998): 118–119. Review of Institutes of Elenctic Theology, vol. 3, Eighteenth Through Twentieth Topics, by Francis Turretin, translated by George Musgrave Giger, edited by James T. Dennison Jr. Calvin Theological Journal 33.2 (1998): 525–526. Review of Luther’s Heirs Define His Legacy: Studies in Lutheran Confessionalization, by Robert Kolb. Calvin Theological Journal 33.2 (1998): 567–568. Review of The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West: From the Carolingians to the Maurists, edited by Irena Backus. Calvin Theological Journal 33.2 (1998): 487–488. Review of Registres du Consistoire de Genève au temps de Calvin, vol. 1, 1542–1544, edited by Robert M. Kingdon, Thomas A. Lambert, Isabella M. Watt, and Jeffrey R. Watt. Calvin Theological Journal 33.2 (1998): 512–513. Review of Sermons on Galatians, by John Calvin, translated by Kathy Childress, and The Deity of Christ and Other Sermons, by John Calvin, translated by Leroy Nixon. Calvin Theological Journal 33.2 (1998): 483–484.



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Review of The Theology of John Calvin, by Karl Barth, translated by Geoffrey W. Bromiley. Lutheran Quarterly, n.s., 12.2 (1998): 226–228. Review of The Westminster Standards: An Original Facsimile, foreword by William S. Barker. Calvin Theological Journal 33.2 (1998): 489–490. 2000 Review of The Federal Theology of Thomas Boston, by A.T.B. McGowan. Calvin Theological Journal 35.1 (2000): 175. Review of A History of the Synoptic Problem: The Canon, the Text, the Composition, and the Interpretation of the Gospels, by David Laird Dungan. Calvin Theological Journal 35.1 (2000): 163. Review of Jean Gerson: Early Works, translated by Brian Patrick McGuire. Calvin Theological Journal 35.1 (2000): 176. Review of Luther and German Humanism, by Lewis W. Spitz, and The Reformation: Education and History, by Lewis W. Spitz. Calvin Theological Journal 35.2 (2000): 363–364. Review of Renaissance Transformations of Late Medieval Thought, by Charles Trinkaus. Calvin Theological Journal 35.2 (2000): 364–365. Review of Richard Sibbes: Puritanism and Calvinism in Late Elizabethan and Early Stuart England, by Mark E. Dever. Calvin Theological Journal 35.2 (2000): 344–345. Review of Rijker dan Midas: Vrijheid, genade en predestinatie in de theologie van Jacobus Arminius (1559–1609), by Eef Dekker. Calvin Theological Journal 35.2 (2000): 343–344. Review of Thomas Aquinas, Theologian, by Thomas F. O’Meara. Calvin Theological Journal 35.1 (2000): 176. 2001 Review of Alsted and Leibniz: On God, the Magistrate, and the Millennium, edited by Maria Rosa Antognazza and Howard Hotson. Calvin Theological Journal 36.2 (2001): 389–390. Review of A Commentary on Revelation, by James Durham, introduction by David C. Lachman. Calvin Theological Journal 36.2 (2001): 383–384. Review of Ioannis Calvini scripta ecclesiastica, vol. 1, De aeterna Dei praedestinatione / De la predestination eternelle, by John Calvin, edited by Wilhelm H. Neuser and Olivier Fatio. Calvin Theological Journal 36.2 (2001): 390–391.

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Review of Johann Heinrich Alsted, 1588–1638: Between Renaissance, Reformation, and Universal Reform, by Howard Hotson. Calvin Theological Journal 36.2 (2001): 399–400. Review of The Legacy of John Calvin: Papers Presented at the Twelfth Colloquium of the Calvin Studies Society, edited by David Foxgrover. Calvin Theological Journal 36.2 (2001): 395. “The Starting Point of Calvin’s Theology: An Essay-Review.” Review of The Starting Point of Calvin’s Theology, by George H. Tavard. Calvin Theological Journal 36.2 (2001): 314–341. 2003 Review of The Collected Writings of John Gill [CD-ROM], by John Gill. Calvin Theological Journal 38.2 (2003): 380–381. Review of The Federal Theology of Johannes Cocceius (1603–1669), by Willem J. van Asselt, translated by Raymond A. Blacketer. Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 57.2 (2003): 164–165. Review of “God Calls Us to His Service”: The Relation Between God and His Audience in Calvin’s Sermons on Acts, by Wilhelmus H.Th. Moehn. Calvin Theological Journal 38.2 (2003): 396–397. Review of The Systematic Theology of John Brown of Haddington, by John Brown, introduction by Joel R. Beeke and Randall J. Pederson. Calvin Theological Journal 38.2 (2003): 362–364. 2008 Review of Commonplace Learning: Ramism and Its German Ramifications 1­ 543–1630, by Howard Hotson. Renaissance Quarterly 61.1 (2008): 241–242. Review of English Hypothetical Universalism: John Preston and the Softening of Reformed Theology, by Jonathan D. Moore. Calvin Theological Journal 43.1 (2008): 149–150. 2009 Review of From Judaism to Calvinism: The Life and Writings of Immanuel Tremellius (c. 1510–1580), by Kenneth Austin. Religious Studies Review 35.4 (2009): 292. Review of The Restoration of Christianity: An English Translation of the Christianismi restitutio, 1553, by Michael Servetus, translated by Christopher A. Hoffman and Marian Hillar, notes by Marian Hillar. Catholic Historical Review 95.2 (2009): 387–388. Review of Trinitarian Spirituality: John Owen and the Doctrine of God in Western Devotion, by Brian Kay. Journal of Ecclesiastical History 60.2 (2009): 395–396.



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2010 Review of Lutheran Ecclesiastical Culture, 1550–1675, edited by Robert Kolb. Lutheran Quarterly, n.s., 24.3 (2010): 343–346. XI. Bibliographies 2009 Stanglin, Keith D., and Richard A. Muller. “Bibliographia Arminiana: A Compre­ hensive, Annotated Bibliography of the Works of Arminius.” In Arminius, Arminianism, and Europe: Jacob Arminius (1559/60–1609), edited by Th. Marius van Leeuwen, Keith D. Stanglin, and Marijke Tolsma, 263–290. Leiden: Brill, 2009. XII. Other Works 1990 Editor. Religion: Serials, Periodicals, and Multi-Volume Sets. Leiden: IDC, 1990. Microfiche. 1999 Series general editor. Texts and Studies in Reformation and Post-Reformation Thought. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1999-. 2000 Collaborator. “Report of the Committee to Study the Materials from the Reformed Churches of Australia re: Christ’s Descent into Hell.” In Agenda for Synod, June 10–17, 2000, by the Christian Reformed Church in North America, 212–228. Grand Rapids: Board of Publications of the Christian Reformed Church, 2000. 2003 Advisor. The Reformation in Heidelberg, edited by Charles Gunnoe. Leiden: IDC, 2003. Microfiche. 2010 Advisor. The Reformation in Heidelberg II, edited by Charles Gunnoe. Leiden: IDC, 2010. Microfiche. Series collaborative editor. Reformed Historical Theology, vols. 8, 9, 13–20, edited by Herman J. Selderhuis. Göttingen: V&R, 2010-.

INDEX Abelard, Pierre 14 à Brackel, Wilhelmus 651 Abbot, George 430 Aepinus, Johannes 27, 30, 32 Affections 471–488 Alsted, Johann Heinrich 283–293, 418, 446, 482 Alting, Heinrich 295 Amerbach, Boniface 48 Ames, William 327, 387–400, 416, 425, 428–433 Amsdorff, Nicholas von 19 Amyraut, Moïse 229, 231, 583, 667, 699 Anabaptist 221, 317, 386, 580 Andreae, Jakob 271 Anglican, see England, Church of Anselm 622 Anthropology 202–215, 289 Apostles’ Creed 75, 126–128, 133, 280, 297–298, 489, 491 Aquinas, Thomas see Thomas Aquinas Aristotle, Aristotelian 17, 35, 70, 86, 123, 166, 183, 200–202, 286, 466, 472–474, 480, 487, 587, 590–595, 680, 737, 741, 746 Arminianism, see Arminius, Jacob Arminius, Jacob 319, 347–359, 361–372, 374–375, 420–421, 665, 677, 705, 720 Armstrong, Brian 166, 234 Arnoldi, Bartholomaeus 53 Ash, John 759–760 Asselt, Willem van xxvii Assertio Septem Sacramentum 3 Augsburg Confession 4, 19–21, 29, 33, 70, 316 Augustine, Augustinian 13, 23, 36, 56, 58, 69, 108, 111, 121, 182, 189–190, 233, 238, 356, 367, 387, 391–392, 463, 467, 476, 480, 484–488, 522 Augustinians (Canons Regular) 217

Barret, William 324 Bartas, Guillaume du 615 Barth, Karl 227–228 Basel, University of 257, 260, 283 Bastingius, Jeremias 352 Baxter, Richard 319, 476, 665–677 Bayle, Pierre 710 Bedell, William 330 Beeke, Joel 642 Bellarmine, Robert 398 Berkhof, Louis 308 Bernard of Clairvaux 367 Bersuire, Pierre 368 Bertius, Petrus 362 Beza, Theodore 159, 166, 227–241, 243–244, 247, 259, 354, 395–396, 679 Biel, Gabriel 53–54, 58, 62, 350, 357–359 Bilney, Thomas 3 Bomberg, Daniel 325 Book of Concord 22, 315–316 Boquin, Pierre 258–259 Borrius, Adrian 374–375 Bradford, William 162 Brandt, Caspar 363 Braun, Johannes 51 Bray, John S. 232–240 Brenz, Johannes 256 Brethren of the Common Life 50, 53 Briçonnet, Guillaume 83 Bristol Academy 749–764 Brunner, Johannes 260 Bucer, Martin 4–5, 119–120, 146, 217, 312 Bugenhagen, Johannes 19–20, 27, 30, 71 Bullinger, Heinrich 99–102, 108, 157, 228, 258, 409, 726, 733–734 Bunny, Edmund 273, 281 Burgersdijck, Franco 477, 481, 67– Burnet, Gilbert 603 Burnett, Amy Nelson 84, 283–284

Backus, Irena 683 Balbani, Niccolò 155, 157 Bale, John 4 Bancroft, Richard 322 Bandstra, Andrew 309 Bañez, Domingo 185, 298 Bangs, Carl 363 Banking 505–520 Baptists 749–764 Barlow, William 334 Baro, Peter 323

Cabeljau, Petrus 515 Cajetan, Thomas 47, 185 Calov, Abraham 343, 551, 555 Calvin, John xxviii, xxix, 5, 84, 97–98, 109, 111–122, 123–134, 136–151, 156, 224, 227–230, 237, 243, 247, 259, 271–282, 310, 312, 357, 382, 395–396, 403, 473, 484, 486–487, 489–501, 516, 534, 700, 723, 733 Calvinism 227–242, 343, 348, 534, 688, 723–736 Cambridge 322–324

796 index Campanus, Johannes 21 Caracciolo, Galeazzo 153–164 Cartesianism, see Descartes, René Cartwright, Thomas 322 Casaubon, Isaac 243 Casimir, Johann 261–262, 316 Castellan of Belz 236 Castellio, Sebastien 238, 382 Causality 111–112, 114, 121, 175, 177, 195, 230, 234, 238, 589, 676, 744 Chaderton, Laurence 321–337 Charles V 20 Chauve, Jean 246, 249 Chemnitz, Martin 27 Chenu, M.-D. 182 Chouet, Jean-Robert 583–585, 591 Christ and the Decree xxviii, 165, 228 Chubb, Thomas 721 Chytraeus, David 72–78 Cloppenburg, Johannes 515 Cocceius, Johannes 567–582 Coletus, Michael 343 Colli Hippolyt von 263 Collinson, Patrick 323 Cologne, Faculty of 42–43 Company of Pastors, Geneva 245–253 Conscience 361–372 Constance, Council of 39 Corinthians, First Letter to the 215–224 Cossee, Eric 364 Covenant 103–104, 109, 145, 177, 238, 275, 287, 296, 302–305, 307–310, 312, 348, 373–387, 568, 576, 578–580, 615, 618, Covenant 668–678, 733 Coverdale, Miles 4 Cranmer, George 331 Cranmer, Thomas 3, 11, 13–14, 15, 216–217 Crashaw, William 158–161 Cruciger, Caspar, Sr. 19, 30, 71 Cunningham, William 231 Dampmartin, Katherine 217 Daneau, Lambert 243, 526, 679 Danzig 339–346 Delaune, Guillaume 273 Dent, Arthur 327 Dering, Edward 322, 327, 331 Descartes, Rene 479, 482, 538, 583, 589–596, 630, 691 Diodati, Jean 243–254 Discipline, Church 260–261 Disputations 37, 52, 75, 87–92, 256, 262 Dissenters 597–612 Donnelly, John Patrick 166, 185

Dordtrecht, Synod of 229, 235, 252, 353–354, 357, 373–386, 402, 405–406, 416, 420–430, 446, 679, 699, 730 Dorp, Martin 45–46 Duker, A.C. 506 East Indies 489–503 Education 17–34, 51, 67–80 Edward VI 12, 217–217, 222, 224 Edwards, John 556 Edwards, Jonathan 471, 479, 711–722 Egard, Paul 446 Egli, Raphael 235 Ehem, Christoph 258–259 Eisenach 49 Election, see Predestination Elizabeth, Queen 224, 322, 335 Emerson, Everett 326 Emmanuel College 327–328, 335, 337 Engammare, Max 90 England 3–16, 160, 217, 597–612, 749–764 England, Church of 3–16, 217, 224, 334, 336, 430, 604 Episcopus, Simon 384–385, 424, 720 Erasmus 35, 45, 54, 91, 114, 118, 468, 725 Erastus, Thomas 255, 258–260, 262, 268 Erfurt, University of 51 Eternal decrees, see Predestination Ethics 10, 203, 213 Eucharist 4, 25, 73, 220, 258, 260, 298, 325, 508, 514 Evans, Caleb 751–761 Fabricius, Jakub 339, 342–344 Fabricius, Johann 689 Faith xxix, 3–15, 60, 99, 199, 205, 213, 239 Farel, Guillaume 84, 92 Fatio, Olivier 272–273 Fenner, Dudley 331 Fenner, William 478–479 Finnish Perspective 9 Flaminio, Marco Antonio 158 Forbes, John 278 Formula of Concord 7, 316 Fraenkel, Peter 29 Francis of Assisi 8 Franciscans 167 Franckenberger, Andreas 341–342 Frecht, Martin 256 Frederick II 257 Frederick III 258–259, 261, 316, 726 Frederick IV 261, 263 Frederick V 263–264

index 797 Free choice/will see Will, human Froschauer, Chrisopher 218 Garcia, Mark A. 309 Gardiner, Stephen 4, 12, 15 Gaussen, Étienne 583–596 Geldennupf, Wiegand 51 Geneva 156, 245 Geneva, Academy of 234–237, 243–254 Gerhard, Johann 457–470 Glorious Revolution 162 Goad, Thomas 431 Gomarus, Franciscus 380 Goodwin, John 278 Goodwin, Thomas 353 Gospel 9, 10, 19, 20, 29, 61, 69–70, 73, 127–128, 199, 210, 239, 281, 298, 307–320, 394, 404–414, 537, 572, 621, 701, 753 Grace of God 97–109, 139, 238, 288, 293 Graf, F.W. 727 Greenham, Richard 322 Gregory of Rimini 182 Grynaeus, Johann Jakob 255, 262, 268 Grynaeus, Simon the Elder 257 Grynaeus, Simon the younger 260–262 Gutenberg, Johann 71 Gwalther, Rudolph 235 Hall, Joseph 689–690 Hampton Court Conference 324–325 Happiness 207–214, 521–532 Hardenberg, Albert 216 Harvey, Gabriel 323 Hasler, Johann 261 Heckel, Matthew C. 117 Heereboord, Adriaan 481 Heidanus, Abraham 570 Heidelberg Catechism 259, 295–306, 329, 402, 404, 411, 450, 516–519, 526 Heidelberg disputation 256 Heidelberg, University of 255–269, 295, 729 Henry VIII 3, 216 Heppe, Heinrich 643 Herborn 271, 284, 417 Heresy 36–38, 42–43 Hermeneutics 136–151 Hesselink, I. John 309–310 Hesshusius, Tileman 27, 72, 258 Hicks, John Mark 348, 350 Hildersam, Arthur 327 Hobbs, Gerald 90 Hoenderdaal, G.J. 365 Holy Roman Empire 255

Holy Spirit 5, 36, 49, 54, 62–63, 70, 92–93, 115, 124, 216, 219, 222, 239, 287, 298, 300–303, 311, 327, 329, 333, 354, 356, 372, 377, 393, 401–414, 449, 460, 702, 730 Hommius, Festus 381, 430, 487 Hoogstraeten, Jakob 41, 44 Hooker, Richard 331 Hooper, John 326 Hoornbeek, Johannes 448–450, 452, 510, 571, 651 Hoppe, Johann 341 Horton, Michael 309 Hotman, François 243 Hotson, Howard 285 Hottinger, Johann Heinrich 256, 264 Howe, John 629–632, 635–639 Humanism 35–47, 55–56, 86, 257, 543–44 Hunnius, Aegidius 464 Hus, Jan 39 Hyperius, Andreas 417 Hyperius, Andreas 443 Image of God 286–288, 299, 411, 617 Isidore of Seville 391, 394 Islam 186–187, 238 Italy 153–155 Jablonski, Daniel Ernst 684–689 James, Frank A. III 186 Jesuits 485–488 Jews, Jewish exegesis 41–43, 389–390, 543, 569 John of Damascus 75 John the Steadfast 18, 20 Jonas, Justus 19, 31, 71 Judex, Matthaeus 72 Junius, Franciscus 263, 271, 354, 357, 387–400 Just war 185–198 Justification 3–16, 32, 60, 127–134, 273, 276–282, 307, 568, 573–575, 666–669, 671–677 Karlstadt, Andreas 19 Keckermann, Bartholomaeus 291–292, 339, 343, 345–346, 670, 688, 691–693 Kendall, George 667–677 Kim, Myung Yong 401 Kimedoncius, Jacobus 263 Koelman, Jacobus 644 Kraft, Adam 85 Kraye, Jill 199 Kuyper, Abraham 727

798 index Labadie, Jean de 613 Lake, Peter 332 Lambert, François 19, 81–93 Lambeth Articles 324 Laplanche, François 585 Latimer, Hugh 3, 217, 222–224 Laurent, Gaspard 245, 247 Lausanne Academy 266 Law 8, 275, 281, 290 Le Faucheur, Michel 249–250 Leibniz, G.W. 679–695 Leiden University 415–442 Leigh, Edward 639 Leith, John 309 Leo X, Pope 45 Leydekker, Melchior 450–451 Lillback, Peter 309 Locke, John 602 Lollards 38 Lombard, Peter 19, 26–27, 58–59, 75, 186, 357–358, 467, 485, 716 Lord’s Supper, see Eucharist Lubbertus, Sibrandus 380 Ludwig V 256 Ludwig VI 261, 317 Luther, Hans 50, 65 Luther, Martin xxix, 3–33, 36, 40–41, 45–48, 49–66, 67–79, 84, 91, 111, 113–121, 146, 186–188, 237, 256, 264, 307–308, 309, 312–313, 316, 393–394, 458, 620 Lutheran 17–34, 262–263, 308, 309, 457–470, 724

Methodology xxviii–xxx, 35, 191, 230, 459, 533 Mildmay, Walter 323 Miller, Perry 471 Mission 403–414, 489–501 Mohammed, see Islam Molanus, Johannes 417, 444 Moller, Henrich 341 Monastic life 56 Montbéliard 263 More, Thomas 46 Moulin, Pierre du 379, 425, 482 Muller, Richard A. xxvii–xxx, 18, 35, 81, 123, 126, 153, 165, 172, 183, 186, 227–230, 269, 284, 294, 305, 345, 347–349, 360–361, 374, 402, 488, 505, 521, 540, 551, 567, 629, 631, 641, 651, 699, 737 Münster, Sebastian 257 Musculus, Wolfgang 102–104, 108, 146, 228, 259

Maassen, H.A.J. 508 Maccovius, Johannes 515 MacGavran, Donald 401 Mader, Timotheus 261 Magdeburg 50 Mainz, Archbishop of 52 Mainz, Theology Faculty 44, 46 Marburg, University of 29, 81–93 Maresius, Samuel 515–516 Mary, Queen 322 Mass, see Eucharist Mastricht, Petrus van 272, 711, 713–715, 720 Mather, Cotton 162 Maximilian 42 Mayer, John 535 McLelland, Joseph 166, 201–203 McNair, Philip 217 Melanchthon, Philip xxviii, 7, 11, 17–33, 68–71, 74, 84, 86, 124, 126–127, 257, 296, 312, 315–316, 341, 458, 461, 484, 730 Merit 174–175

Oberman, Heiko 21, 359, 488 Ochino, Bernardino 154, 217 Ockham, William 67, 186, 357, 476 Olevianus, Caspar 271–273, 281, 307–320 Oomius, Simon 641, 645–652 Origen 389 Osiander, Andreas 11, 14, 24, 32 Ostrorog, Nicholas 236 Ottoman Empire 186–187 Owen, John 536, 539, 541, 578, 667 Oxford, University of 168, 217–218, 224

Nadere Reformatie 372, 419–420, 440, 505, 519, 521, 532, 615, 619, 622, 627, 642–646 Naples 154, 156 Neo-Orthodoxy 227–228 Nethanus, Matthew 441 New England 162 New Testament 23 Nichols, James 363 Nicodemism 157, 160 Nominalism 116–117

Packer, J.I. 677 Padua, University of 167, 185, 192 Palmer, Samuel 601 Pareus, David 263, 271 Paris 37–38, 40, 45, 48 Parker, Mathew 4 Parker, Matthew 322 Parker, T.H.L. 15 Parker, T.M. 14

index 799 Pelagius, Pelagianism 54, 64, 100, 102, 104–106, 176, 182, 233, 238, 286, 294, 307, 317, 349, 351, 356, 361, 700–701 Pellikan, Conrad 258 Perkins, William 327, 355, 368–369, 400, 417–418, 425, 535, 536, 717 Peter, Rudolph 493 Pfefferkorn, Johann 41 Philip of Hesse 82, 89 Philosophy 52, 54, 205–214, 292–293, 344, 597 Pictet, Benedict 482 Piety 215–224, 241, 302 Pighius, Albert 112 Pinault, Jean 245 Pinckaers, Servais 199 Pirckheimer, Willibald 46 Piscator, Johannes 271–282, 680 Plato, Platonism 292, 466, 480, 737–747 Poland 236–237, 339–346 Polanus, Amandus 355 Polyander, Johannes 380 Poole, Matthew 535 Poppi, Antonio 167 Possevino, Antionio 445 Practical Theology 415–442, 443–456 Praetorius, Peter 343 Predestination 106, 111–121, 123–134, 140–142, 149, 165–184, 232–239, 287, 303, 329, 332, 361, 378 Presbyterian 330 Prost, Joseph 585 Providence 112, 168–170, 274 Psalms 136–151, 387–400 Puckett, David 395 Ramus, Peter, Ramism 400, 416 Real Presence, see Eucharist Reason, Rationalism 199, 208, 293, 542–543, 557 Reformed Orthdoxy xxviii Rehnman, Sebastian 578–579 Reid, Jonathan 83 Remonstrant 362, 375–378, 420, 424, 700, 720 Reprobation, see Predestination Reuchlin, Johannes 40–48, 55 Reuter, Quirinus 263, 295 Reynolds, Edward 475–477, 483 Reynolds, Joshua 737–748 Ridley, Nicholas 5 Ritschl, Albrecht 643 Rivet, André 613, 615, 623 Rogers, Richard 322

Roman Catholicism 5, 14, 49–66, 70, 156, 186, 216, 220, 278, 314, 318, 349, 398–399, 465, 507, 574, 704 Roman Inquisition 156 Roman Law 43 Romans, Letter to the 10, 19, 58, 60, 119, 126, 177, 218, 237, 279, 307–320, 333, 575 Rummel, Erika 35 Rupert of Deutz 626 Rupp, Gordon 4 Sacheverell 601–603 Salvation 100, 106 Sancroft, William 331 Sanctification 8, 127, 133, 276 Saumur Academy 583–596, 699 Schalbe, Heinrich 51 Scheible, Heinz 17, 24 Schmid, Johann Andreas 689 Scholasticism, Scholastic methodology 48, 53, 62–63, 83, 86–92, 111, 123, 166, 191, 197, 224, 229–230, 233, 284, 521, 536–542, 580, 679 Schurman, Anna Maria van 613–628 Schweitzer, Alexander 234 Scots Confession 403–405 Scotus, Duns 53, 116, 186, 415, 476, 527, 716 Scultetus, Abraham 475, 478, 481 Selderhuis, Herman 125 Selnecker, Nikolaus 72 Senensis, Bernardinus 368 Sentences 19 Seymour, Edward 217 Sheffield, Edmund 159 Sibbes, Richard 369 Simler, Josiah 166, 183 Simon, Richard 705 Smetius, Henricus 263 Smith, Richard 217 Socinus, Faustus, Socinianism 551–566, 567, 571, 573, 578, 580 Spinoza, Baruch, Spinozism 629–640 spirituali 154, 156 Stanglin, Keith 349–350 Staupitz, Johann von 19, 57 Steinmetz, David 117, 227 Strasbourg 126 Strauss, Gerald 283 Sturm, Erdmann 296 Suárez, Francisco 347, 481, 670 Swanenburg, Willem van 362 Sylvester of Ferrara 185 Synod of Homberg 84, 89

800 index Teelink, Willem 419–420 Theodoret 142 theologia crucis 59–64 Theophil Mader of Thurgau 263 Thirty Years War 265 Thirty-Nine Articles 12–13, 15 Thomas Aquinas, Thomism 165–184, 185–197, 233, 347, 357, 387, 394–395, 397, 398, 415, 471–472, 479–480, 482–484, 521–532, 716 Thysius, Antonius 380 Til, Salomon van 455 Timpler, Clemens 292 Toledo, Francisco de 292 Tongern, Arnold von 41–42 Tossanus, Daniel 262–264, 724 Travers, Walter 322 Trebonius, John 51 Tremellius, Immanuel 263 Trent, Council of 5–6, 13, 274, 320 Trinity, Trinitarian 618 Trithemius, Johannes 368 Tronchin, Théodore 243–254 Trutfetter, Jodocus 53–54 Turretin, Francis 552, 555, 699–710, 713, 720 Turretin, Jean-Alphonse 699, 705–710 Udall, John 331 Union with Christ 7–9, 60, 63, 129, 133 University 18 Ursinus, Zacharias 261, 263, 269, 271, 295–305, 352, 487 Ussher, James 353 Utrecht, University of 505 Uytenbogaert, Joannes 362 Valla, Lorenzo 119–121 Velzen, Cornelius van 444, 453–454 Vermigli, Peter Martyr 4–5, 105–108, 154–155, 157, 165–184, 185–197, 199–214, 215–223, 259, 416, 474, 487, 734 Vernet, Jacob 705 Via antiqua 53 Via moderna 53–55, 59

Virtue 202, 207 Vitringa, Campegius 451–452 Vittoria, Francesco 185 Voetius, Gisbertus 440–441, 447–448, 452, 454–455, 505–520, 521–532, 542, 547, 568, 613, 615, 623 Wake, William 707 Walaeus, Antonius 380, 425, 429 Wallis, John 556 Warneck, Gustav 401 Weber, Max 234 Weemes, John 475, 477–488, 535, 546–548 Wendelin, Marcus Friedrich 693–695 Wengert, Timothy 70 Wesel, Johann Rucherat von 39 Wesley, Charles 9 Wesley, John 712 Westminster Assembly xxvix, 355 Westminster Confession of Faith 274, 324, 406 White Horse Inn 3, 11 Whitefield, George 712 Wigand, Johannes 72 Will, human 54, 111–122, 288 Willet, Andrew 486 William of St.-Thierry 367 Wilson, John 535 Witgift, John 323–324 Witsius, Herman 452–453 Witsius, Herman 555 Wittenberg 17–33, 67 Wittenberg, University of 17–33, 46, 55, 59, 67–79, 89, 342 Wollebius, Johannes 355 Wright, William J. 82, 85 Wyclif, John 39 Yale College 718–719 Zanchi, Girolamo 166, 185, 259, 271, 474, 481, 680 Zepper, Wilhelm 417 Zwingli, Ulrich 88, 112–113, 260, 703