Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics - Vol 1 - Richard A. Muller

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Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics The Rise and Development of Reformed Orthodoxy, ca. 1520 to ca. 1725 VOLUME 1 Prolegomena to Theology Second Edition RICHARD A. MULLER

© 1987, 2003 by Richard A. Muller Published by Baker Academic a division of Baker Publishing Group P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287 www.bakeracademic.com Second printing, June 2006 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Muller, Richard A. (Richard Alfred), 1948– Post-Reformation reformed dogmatics : the rise and development of reformed orthodoxy, ca. 1520 to ca. 1725 / Richard A. Muller– (2nd ed.). Includes bibliographical references and indexes. Contents: v. 1. Prolegomena to theology — v. 2. Holy Scripture — v. 3. The divine essence and attributes — v. 4. The triunity of God. ISBN 10: 0-8010-2617-2 (v. 1 : cloth)

ISBN 978-0-8010-2617-1 (v. : cloth) ISBN 10:0-8010-2616-4 (v. 2: cloth) ISBN 978-0-8010-2616-4 (v. 2 :cloth) ISBN 10: 0-8010-2294-0 (v. 3 : cloth) ISBN 978-0-8010-2294-4 (v.3 : cloth) ISBN 10: 0-8010-2295-9 (v.4 : cloth) ISBN 978-0-8010-2295-1 (v. 4 : cloth) 1. Reformed Church—Doctrines—History—16th century. 2. Reformed Church—Doctrines—History—17th century. 3. Reformed Church— Doctrines—History—18th century. 4. Protestant Scholasticism. I. Title. BX9422.3 .M85 2002 230′.42′.09—dc2l 2002026165 To Elizabeth and Karl

Contents Preface to the Second Edition Preface to the First Edition Synopsis of Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics, I–IV PART 1 INTRODUCTION Chapter 1. The Study of Protestant Scholasticism 1.1 Orthodoxy and Scholasticism in Protestant Thought A. Identifying the Phenomenon: The Eras and Assumptions of Protestant Orthodoxy 1. The orthodox contribution—historical assumptions 2. The eras and phases of Protestant orthodoxy B. Orthodoxy and Scholasticism: Toward Definition 1. Orthodoxy 2. Scholasticism C. The Design and Scope of the Present Study 1. From reformation to orthodoxy: assessing continuities and discontinuities 2. Reformation and the formation of an orthodoxy 3. Historiographical premisses in relation to the prolegomena and principia 4. A methodology for dealing with development and continuity 1.2 The Reformation and Its First Codification: Doctrine and Method to ca. 1565 A. The Reformation and Theological System: A Problem of Perception 1. From unsystematic Reformation to systematized orthodoxy? 2. An alternative view: from Reform to theological and confessional codification B. Reformers and Doctrinal Formulation 1. The first and second generations of Reform: the shape of early developments

2. Writers and issues in the first generation 3. The second generation: codification and confession 1.3 The Rise of Orthodoxy and the Structures of Protestant Scholastic Theology A. Doctrine and Method in the Era of Early Orthodoxy (ca. 1565– 1618–1640) 1. Continuity, discontinuity, and the alteration of theological style 2. Grounds or causes of the rise of scholastic orthodoxy 3. International dimensions and interrelationships in the rise of Reformed orthodoxy 4. Philosophical issues and developments 5. Trajectories in Aristotelianism and Rationalism B. Doctrine and Method in the Era of High Orthodoxy (ca. 1640– 1685–1725) 1. General characteristics 2. Debate and polemic, ad extra and ad intra 3. The breadth of the Reformed orthodox phenomenon C. The Problem of Deconfessionalization, “Transitional” Theologies, and the Beginnings of Late Orthodoxy 1. Latitudinarianism and deconfessionalization at the beginnings of late orthodoxy 2. Late orthodoxy, Wolffian dogmatics, and the remnants of confessionalism Chapter 2. The Development of Theological Prolegomena 2.1 Presuppositions, Principles, and Prolegomena A. Setting the Stage after the Production—on the Construction of Prolegomena B. Prolegomena and Theology: Some Basic Relationships 2.2 Medieval Prolegomena A. The Beginnings of Prolegomena: Early Scholastic Developments B. The High Scholastic Development: The Thirteenth-Century Flowering of Method

1. Issues faced by the thirteenth-century theologians 2. Alexander of Hales, Bonaventure, and Thomas Aquinas 3. Henry of Ghent C. Late Medieval Developments and Critique 1. Duns Scotus and the problem of theological scientia 2. Ockham and further alterations of the discipline of theology 2.3 The Reformation and Its Theological Presuppositions A. Roots of the Reformation and the Early Reformers 1. Reformation and issues of prolegomena: the case of Luther 2. Melanchthon and theological prolegomena 3. The contributions of Zwingli and Bucer B. Presuppositions and Principles in the Era of Calvin and His Contemporaries 1. Calvin and Viret 2. Vermigli and Musculus 3. Hyperius 2.4 Theological Prolegomena in Reformed Orthodoxy A. The Transition to Early Orthodoxy and the First Reformed Prolegomena 1. The nature of the transition 2. Elements of prolegomena: from Ursinus to Perkins and Lubbertus (ca. 1563 to 1591) 3. Junius, Polanus, and the development of early orthodox prolegomena B. Developments in High and Late Orthodoxy 1. High orthodox writers and issues 2. From Reformation to orthodoxy: continuity and development through the high orthodox era 3. Alterations in the prolegomena of the late orthodox era 2.5 Reformed Orthodoxy and the Idea of “Central Dogmas” A. The Problem of Presuppositions: Prolegomena and Principia vs.

Central Dogmas 1. Rationalism, predestinarianism, and determinism in the seventeenth century—a distinction of issues 2. Central dogmas and the methods of seventeenth-century theology B. The “Principles of Reformed Orthodoxy” 1. Predestination and the principia 2. Althaus, Heppe, and Schweizer on prolegomena: specific critiques 2.6 Reformed Orthodoxy and Rationalism A. Nineteenth-Century Approaches: The Rise of Rationalism from the Defects of the Reformation and Orthodoxy B. Reformation and Orthodoxy in Radical Disjunction: TwentiethCentury Approaches to the Problem 1. H. E. Weber on orthodoxy and rationalism 2. From Weber to later versions of the theory: Bizer, Kickel, and Armstrong 3. Reasoning versus rationalism: distinguishing ancillary and principial uses of reason in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century thought C. Between Reformation and Rationalism: Toward an Understanding of Reformed Orthodoxy PART 2 THE REFORMED ORTHODOX THEOLOGICAL PROLEGOMENA Chapter 3. The Meaning of the Terms Theology and Religion 3.1 Toward Definition: The Rise of Prolegomena in Reformed Theology A. Defining the Theological Task in the Era of the Reformation B. The Flowering of Formal Prolegomena and Definitions of Theology as a Discipline 3.2 The Etymology and Meaning of Theology A. The Term “Theology”—Etymology and Justification of its Use B. Beyond Etymology: Orthodox Reformed Definitions of “Theology”

3.3 True and False Theology A. Early Orthodox Divisions and Definitions 1. The paradigm of theology: basic division of the subject 2. The necessity of distinguishing true and false theology B. Can True Theology Exist? 1. The early orthodoxy answer: proofs of the existence of theology 2. Implications of the answer for reformed theology 3.4 Religion and Its Relation to Theology A. The Problem of the Term and Reformation Era Usage 1. The historiographical problem 2. Zwingli and Calvin on “religion” B. The Reformed Orthodox on “Religion” 1. Early orthodoxy 2. The high orthodox discussion of religion 3. “Religion” in the late orthodox era: rationalist and latitudinarian inroads Chapter 4. Theology as a Discipline 4.1 The Discipline and Method of Reformed Theology in the 16th and 17th Centuries A. Developing the Protestant Methodus: From Melanchthon to Hyperius 1. Melanchthon and the roots of Protestant theological method 2. Theological method in the mid-sixteenth century: Andreas Hyperius B. Ramus, Zabarella, and the Use of Analytic and Synthetic, Resolutive and Compositive Methods 1. The contribution and impact of Ramist logic 2. Zabarellan method 3. Theological application: the Reformed orthodox methodus 4.2 “Scholastic” Method in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries

A. From Reformation to Orthodoxy in the Classroom: Scholasticism and the Academic Study of Theology 1. Scholasticism and academic style in the Reformation and the era of orthodoxy 2. In praise of theology: the ethos of orthodox formulation B. Theological Method and Approach in the Era of Orthodoxy 1. “Scholastic theology” and Protestantism: historical sensibilities and methodological distinctions in the orthodoxy era 2. Definitions and distinctions concerning the varieties of theology C. The Organization and Structure of Theology in the Era of Orthodoxy 1. Constructing theology in the era of orthodoxy: Edward Leigh on the name and contents of doctrinal theology 2. The order and arrangement of Reformed orthodox theology 4.3 The Study of Theology A. Models for Study in the Era of the Reformation B. Theological Study in the Era of Orthodoxy 1. From catechesis to academics: matters of motivation 2. Preparation for study—spiritual and mental 3. The materials of theological study 4. The general model for study: exegetical, dogmatic, polemical, and practical Chapter 5. The Parts or Divisions of Theology 5.1 The Identification of the Discipline: Changes in Style and Definition between Reformation and Orthodoxy A. Reformation Era Backgrounds B. Early Orthodoxy Defines the Discipline 5.2 Archetypal and Ectypal Theology A. The Paradigm: Forms of the Knowledge of God from the Divine Self-Knowledge to the Accommodated Knowing of Fallen Creatures

B. Medieval Antecedents to the Reformed Discussion C. The Relationship of Archetypal and Ectypal Theology—A Precondition of Christian Doctrine 1. Reformation era background to the discussion of archetypal and ectypal theology 2. The Reformed orthodox definition and discussion of archetypal theology 3. Ectypal theology 5.3 The Causes and Ends of Theology A. Causes and Ends of Theology—Rationale for the Discussion and Basic Distinctions B. The Efficient Causality of Theology, Ultimate and Proximate C. Instrumental Causes of Theology D. The Final Cause or Goal of Theology 5.4 Theology of Union: Christ’s Knowledge of God A. The Positive Doctrine—Issues and Problems Addressed by the “Theology of Union” 1. Underlying christological issues 2. Theologia unionis in the orthodox Reformed definitions B. Debate Over the Theologia Unionis with Lutherans and Roman Catholics 5.5 Theology as Communicated to Human Beings A. Theologia communicata: Its Modes of Communication and Historical Economy B. Theology of the Blessed: The Goal of Our Theology C. Our Theology: Revealed for Sojourners in Via 1. Theology in via—terms and distinctions 2. From theologia in se to theologia in subiecto: the significance of a model Chapter 6. Natural and Supernatural Theology 6.1 The Problem of Theologia naturalis A. Natural Theology and the Reformers

1. Preliminary considerations: the problem of natural theology as an index to the movement from Reformation to Orthodoxy 2. Calvin’s conception of the natural knowledge of God 3. Vermigli on the natural knowledge of God B. The Reformed Orthodox on Natural Theology 1. Reformers and the orthodox: continuity and discontinuity 2. Natural theology as a limited “theology of revelation”: reformed orthodox perspectives 6.2 The Distinction Between Natural and Supernatural Theology A. Theology and the Forms of Knowing: Implanted and Acquired Knowledge B. Natural and Supernatural Theology: Distinctions of Subject, Object, and Causality 1. The subject and object of natural theology 2. Differences with respect to causes and “adjuncts” 6.3 Twofold and Threefold Knowledge of God: The Necessity of Supernatural Theology A. Views of the Reformers 1. Calvin and Viret 2. Musculus B. The Reformed Orthodox Approach to Natural and Supernatural Knowledge of God 1. Orthodox approaches—two paradigms 2. The use and place of natural theology in the Christian context: Du Moulin and Turretin 3. Toward the creation of a Reformed natural theology: Alsted and Cloppenburg 4. The problem of reason, natural theology, and the new rationalist philosophies in the era of late orthodoxy 5. Orthodoxy on the relationships and limits of natural theology— the question of continuity, discontinuity, and the older scholarship Chapter 7. The Object and Genus of Theology

7.1 The Object of Theology A. Preliminary Considerations 1. The issues and order of discussion 2. Some medieval background B. The Reformers on the Object of Theology 1. Early considerations: Zwingli and Melanchthon 2. Calvin on the obiectum fidei C. The Object of Theology in Reformed Orthodox Definition 1. The early orthodox development 2. High orthodoxy and the full definition of the obiectum theologiae 3. Conclusions: the obiectum theologiae and the character of the orthodox system 7.2 Theology: Scientia, Sapientia, Prudentia, or Ars? A. Roots and Varieties of the Reformed Orthodox Discussion 1. Early orthodox discussion of the genus of theology—the state and grounds of the question 2. Medieval antecedents of the Reformed discussion B. The Reformed Orthodox Debate over the Character of the Theological Discipline: Scientia, Sapientia, Prudentia, or Ars? 1. The negative case: why theology does not belong to the general paradigm of the forms of knowing 2. Theology as a mixed genus or a form of prudentia or ars 3. Theology as scientia 4. Theology as wisdom 5. Some conclusions 7.3 Theology: Theoretical or Practical? A. Background to the Orthodox Discussion 1. Medieval continuities 2. The teaching of the Reformers B. Theology, Theoria, and Praxis in Reformed Orthodox Theology

1. The early orthodox discussion of theory and praxis 2. Retrieval and debate: use of medieval models and the Arminian alternative 3. High orthodox approaches to the theoretical and practical identifications of theology 7.4 Wisdom and Knowledge as Habitus mentis A. The Reformers and Faculty Psychology B. The Reformed Orthodox Treatment of the Theological Habitus Chapter 8. The Use of Philosophy in Theology 8.1 From Reformation to Orthodoxy: The Development of a Reformed Perspective on Philosophy A. Philosophy, Aristotle, Reformation, and Orthodoxy: A Restatement of the Problem B. The Reformation and Aristotelianism 1. Defining the relationship 2. Luther, Melanchthon, and the university curriculum 3. Calvin, Vermigli, and the use of “sound” philosophy C. Reformed Orthodoxy, “Christian Aristotelianism,” and the Eclecticism of Early Modern Philosophy 1. The Reformed orthodox and the need for sound philosophy: the perpetuation of the tradition 2. “Christian Aristotelianism” and philosophical eclecticism in the era of orthodoxy: some definition 3. Philosophical eclecticism in the debates of the seventeenth century 8.2 Whether Philosophical Truth Opposes Theological Truth A. Historical Roots of the Discussion 1. Medieval debates 2. Revival of debate in late sixteenth and early seventeenthcentury Lutheranism B. Theology, Philosophy, and “Double Truth”: The Reformed Orthodox Solution

1. Keckermann’s resolution of the problem of double truth 2. Theology, philosophy, and double truth in the high orthodox systems 8.3 Philosophy and Reason: Their Competence in Matters of Faith A. The Unity of Truth and the Legitimacy of Philosophical Discourse 1. The positive use of reason: definitions and developments in the Reformed context 2. The philosophical projects of Taurellus and Gale 3. The Reformed understanding of reason and its limits in debate with Socinians 4. Reformed encounter with Cartesian rationalism B. The Instrumental Function of Reason 1. Biblical precedents, human rationality, and the relation of reason to norms and principia 2. The distinction between “pure” and “mixed articles” Chapter 9. Fundamental Articles and Basic Principles of Theology 9.1 Fundamental Articles in the Reformation and the Era of Orthodoxy A. The Identification of Fundamental Articles 1. Fundamental articles in the era of the Reformation 2. Fundamental articles in the era of orthodoxy B. Fundamental Articles and Necessary Doctrines: Basic Criteria 1. How doctrines are necessary: conditions and contexts 2. The adversarial context: retaining the fundamentals in the face of denial and polemic 9.2 Fundamental Articles and Errors A. Premisses of the Discussion: Foundational Truths and their Opposites 1. Genuine belief and real error—objectively and subjectively considered 2. In debate with Rome: the fundamentals, the fathers, and catholicity

3. The varieties of fundamental error B. Reformed Identification of Fundamentals: Enumeration with Restraint 1. Toward enumeration: defining the doctrinal categories of fundamentals 2. The limitation of fundamentals: a category without doctrinal rigidity 3. Fundamentals in debate: from seventeenth-century impasse toward deconfessionalization 9.3 The Principia theologiae according to the Reformed Orthodox A. The Identification of Principia 1. The concept of principia: roots, definitions, and Reformed appropriation 2. Principium and principia: the biblical foundation and the axioms of theology 3. Medieval background to the orthodox Reformed concept of principia B. Reformed Principia Theologiae: The Doctrinal Formulation 1. Principium and cause: refining the language of principia theologiae 2. Reception of the objective foundation: the principium internum 9.4 Conclusions Index

Preface to the Second Edition The appearance of this second edition of volume one of Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics brings the project to an end with an augmented and, hopefully, improved version both of the introductory essay and also of the discussion of theological prolegomena as a whole. The most obvious change in the work is the addition of a subtitle to the original title of the whole project: “The Rise and Development of Reformed Orthodoxy, ca. 1520 to ca. 1725.” The addition, hopefully, clarifies the nature and scope of the work—which was originally designed as a single-volume monograph on the subject of the rise of Reformed orthodoxy as seen through its prolegomena and principia. The original project had a vast and unwieldy —but quite descriptive—title, “Theological Principles of Reformed Orthodoxy: A Historical Study of the Development of the loci de Theologia, de Scriptura, and de Deo (Essence, Attributes, and Trinity) from the Time of Calvin to the end of the Seventeenth Century.” At the point of publishing the first part in 1987, “Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics, I. Prolegomena” seemed a clearer and neater option. With the addition of part II, “Holy Scripture” and now parts III and IV, the doctrine of God in Unity and Trinity, it seemed wise to overcome by means of a subtitle several potential misconceptions of the work. First, the phrase “Post-Reformation” in the title was never intended to indicate a study that began circa 1565, at the point of transition from Reformation to early orthodoxy, but rather the theology of Reformed Protestantism as it developed from the Reformation onward, with attention to the medieval roots of both Reformation and subsequent orthodoxy. Second, the use of the word “Dogmatics” was not at all a contrast with and certainly not a departure from the historical: the project was never intended as an elaborate manual of antique dogmatics, far less as a prospectus for modern dogmatics. The plan of the project was then and remains an examination of three interrelated and foundational elements of Reformed thought (the prolegomena and the two principia, Scripture and God), focusing on the time between the beginning of the Reformation and the decline of Reformed orthodoxy, with particular attention to issues of continuity and discontinuity —specifically for the purpose of offering a suitable alternative to the all-tooneat and consistently ahistorical “Calvin against the Calvinists” approach of much that passed for scholarship in the twentieth century. There has, perhaps, been a shift in the argument of the study: originally, at least in the planing stages for the “monograph,” the thesis of the work had elements of a dogmatic counter to the “central dogma” theory couched to a high degree in

negative terms—what Protestant scholasticism was not. In the course of what became not years, but decades, of research and writing, what developed is a less dogmatic, more methodological, contextual set of theses that attempt increasingly to come to terms with a broad description of what Reformed orthodoxy in fact was. The focus of discussion, albeit still on the dogmatic themes of the prolegomena and the loci of Scripture and God, has turned to issues of institutionalization and to contextual questions concerning changing patterns in philosophy and hermeneutics, the relation of doctrine to the exegetical tradition, and reactions to the rise of skepticism—all by way of arguing the complexity of the post-Reformation development and the problematic nature of simplistic descriptions, whether based on modern dogmatic perceptions or on the use of individual thinkers or documents (such as Beza’s Tabula) as somehow emblematic of a major shift in Protestant thought in general. It is my hope that the four volumes, taken together as an extended monograph, will serve to offer clearer definition of the meaning of the terms “Reformed,” “scholastic,” and “orthodox” in their sixteenth and seventeenth-century context and thereby give a full alternative to the older definitions, whether of the terms or of the phenomenon in general. Reference to the “context” of the terms and the phenomena to which they refer also points toward the historical framework of the study. I have consistently assumed both the feasibility and the usefulness of “intellectual history” as a discipline—on the other hand I have also recognized the validity of the critique of the decontextualized reading of documents often raised by social historians in their encounter with the admittedly flawed results of an older intellectual history. Given the highly traditionary nature of theology and the observance of confessional boundaries by the older orthodoxy, the immediate social or political context of a theological statement is typically unclear and, in many cases ultimately irretrievable. Nonetheless, a series of contexts are identifiable. Protestant orthodoxy arose in a contest of massive churchly debate, most of which is fairly explicit in the pages of the theology of the day. The older orthodoxy also exist within a broadly identifiable academic culture in which a series of nontheological issues—such as the institutionalization of theology, the impact of other disciplines on the academic forms of theology in the academy or university setting, and the impact of the politics of the era on church and university—do clearly come into play, as do the developments both academic and popular in the philosophy of the era, notably the rise of skepticism and of various forms of rationalism. In addition, the close church connection of the academic theology of the age also allows some examination of the interrelationship of nominally academic or scholastic theology with more popular forms. Thus, the theme of the institutionalization or, as sometimes called, confessionalization, of

Protestantism is evident at various points in the study, as are the relationships between the language and forms of Protestant theology and alterations in discussions of method, logic, rhetoric, and philosophy. I have also noted where possible connections between the more formal discourse of dogmatic or systematic theology and the more popular piety of sermon, tract, and catechesis. The luxury of being able to edit through the first two volumes toward a second edition while drawing all four volumes of the study toward completion has also raised for me the issue of the thesis of the whole work, an issue that may at times have become obscured in the minutiae of the research and in the years separating the volumes. Of almost equal impetus toward a thesis statement have been the several essays and reviews that have attributed a broad thesis to the study by, among other things, evaluating it before its completion. There is now a brief thesis statement at the end of the first chapter of volume one—and a longer thematic conclusion at the end of volume four in which the initial theses are drawn out in terms of the materials examined. Another significant alteration of text from the first edition is the replacement of the original biographical listing of Reformed theologians (chapter one, section four) with a new section on the “Sources of Reformed Orthodox Theology.” (The biographical listing has not, however, disappeared entirely—rather it has migrated to a work in progress, Reformation and Orthodoxy: A History of Reformed Thought from the Reformation to the End of the Seventeenth Century, and is being expanded to include the names of thinkers found not only in the subsequent volumes of the Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics but who contributed to the development of Reformed orthodoxy in general. This more historically and chronologically organized study will also, hopefully, serve to provide more detailed contextual analysis of the doctrine outlined here.) The present volume also contains two entirely new sections—one on the academic study of theology in the chapter on “Theology as a Discipline,” the other on “the development of a Reformed perspective on philosophy” in the chapter on “The Use of Philosophy in Theology.” The latter addition parallels the revisionist reading of “scholasticism” that was evident already in the first edition with a revision of approach to the question of “Christian Aristotelianism” and the diversity of Reformed philosophy in the seventeenth century. There are also a series of formal changes: I have added second and third level sub-section headings throughout in order to clarify the structure and argument—resulting in minor rewriting and in occasional rearrangement of paragraphs. Given both the expanded form of the tables of contents of each

volume and the expanded form of the project as a whole, I have also added, following this preface, a synopsis of the entire project in which only volume, part, and chapter divisions are shown, hopefully revealing the order and arrangement of the whole. I have rewritten and occasionally augmented sections in all of the chapters, and I have altered the placement of the chapter on “Theology as a Discipline,” offering it now immediately after the definitions of theology rather than, as before, toward the end of the book. In addition, given what can only be called the flowering of interest in seventeenth-century Reformed theology that has occurred since the time that I originally worked on the project, I have also added a fair amount of secondary bibliography, making changes in the text as necessary. This bibliography has developed not only from the perspective of theological studies but also from the perspective of the history of philosophy in the seventeenth century— which has moved definitively in the last two decades from the examination of the more famous figures like Descartes and Leibniz to the study of lesser figures and even to the examination of theologians, like Voetius, who argued strenuously against the new philosophy of the age. I have worked through the new bibliography and have incorporated references to the literature—most of which, I am pleased to say, confirms and enriches the lines of reappraisal undertaken in the first edition. The recent acquisition of the “Early English Books Online” project by the Heckman Library has enabled me to access British authors and printings not previously available in Grand Rapids— specifically, augmenting the already significant holdings of sixteenth and seventeenth-century continental works with works to which I had direct access at other times and in other places, allowing me to stabilize the primary source bibliography throughout the entire project. Readers may also note several slight changes in the spelling of names: most notably, “Burmann” has been replaced by “Burman” and “Riissen” by “Rijssen”—offering the (correct!) Dutch spelling of the names rather than the Germanized spelling found in several of the older resources, viz., Heppe’s Reformed Dogmatics and the Schaff-Herzog encyclopedia. These additions and changes, together with the additions and qualifications made throughout the text, represent the results of dialogue with numerous colleagues and, in addition, my own learning process as I worked through the four volumes. There is also, therefore, a slight change in tone and direction in the volume: many of the additions to the text have been for the sake of illustrating the exegetical roots and the popular breadth of Reformed orthodoxy—commentaries and sermons of the day have been consulted on matters of “prolegomena” as well the more formal theological systems and treatises. Theological prolegomena, thus, are not only postdogmatic, reflecting the course and conduct of theological system, they are also

fundamentally religious, having significant connection with the piety of the era as well. Bibliographical additions in the footnotes reflect significant monographs and articles written since the appearance of the first edition. Some comment may also be in order concerning the format of the footnotes with regard to pagination and citation of chapters and sections of books. I have elected to follow the somewhat antiquated model of identifying pages with “p.” and “pp.” in order to make clear that the reference is in fact to a “page” and not to a folio (fol.) or a column (col.). Also for the sake of clarity I have identified “volume” and/or “book” numbers with upper case Roman numerals, chapters with lowercase Roman numerals, and sections with Arabic numerals, without further qualification: e.g., Calvin, Institutes, I.v.2. Thus, an Arabic number standing alone in a footnote identifies a section of a treatise—any page, folio, or column number will be specified as such. The sole exception is the volume number of a periodical or encyclopedia, which will appear in Arabic. Colleagues whose writings and conversation have been particularly fruitful in this regard and to whom I need to offer special thanks are David C. Steinmetz (Duke University), Willem van Asselt and Eef Dekker (Utrecht University), Susan E. Schreiner (University of Chicago), John Thompson (Fuller Theological Seminary), Martin I. Klauber (College of the Woods and Trinity Evangelical Divinity School), and Carl Trueman (Westminster Theological Seminary). A special word of thanks is due, moreover, to Willem van Asselt, whose careful eye worked through a penultimate version of this revised edition and provided considerable assistance, both intellectual and editorial. There is also a host of graduate students who, over the course of decades, have listened to and dialogued with various forms of the project and whose interaction is deeply appreciated. My research has been done, for the most part, in six libraries, each of which played a significant role in the identification of sources both primary and secondary: in chronological order, the Divinity School and Perkins libraries of Duke University, the MacAlister Library of Fuller Theological Seminary, the Huntington Library in San Marino, the Heckman Library with the Meeter Center of Calvin Seminary and College, and the libraries of Utrecht University. The librarians and directors of all these institutions and centers deserve both thanks and praise, most notably John Dickason, Paul Fields, and Karin Maag. I also offer a word of thanks to those others who both in person and in reviews contributed to the process of revision and who helped me find some of the typographical errors that were missed in the first edition. The entire volume has also been reset in order to bring its text and format into conformity with volumes two, three, and four.

Richard A. Muller May, 2002

Preface to the First Edition The plan for this study of post-Reformation Reformed dogmatics arose a decade ago as I brought my doctoral studies to a close—with the distinct impression that my approach to Reformed orthodoxy would be incomplete if not supplemented by another study. What I had written about Christology and predestination and about the way in which these two doctrines relate in a Reformed orthodoxy that was both christocentric and predestinarian, but neither excessively metaphysical nor philosophically rationalistic, pointed directly toward a further study of the fundamental teaching on Reformed orthodox dogmatics. My primary research in this subject—an inquiry into the development of the contents of the orthodox doctrines of theology, Scripture and God—was done in 1978/79 under a post-doctoral research grant from the Mellon Foundation. The monograph waited and, in fact, was placed on a “back burner” while I revised the dissertation for publication as Christ and the Decree and wrote my Dictionary of Latin and Greek Theological Terms, Drawn Principally from Protestant Scholastic Theology. When I returned to the project, my bibliography had expanded and my thoughts on the subject had elaborated considerably. What appears here is the first volume of a projected threevolume work. Prolegomena to theology are discussed in the present book; studies of the doctrines of Scripture and God should follow shortly. In all three volumes, the intention is to provide both a statement of the doctrine taught by the Reformed orthodox and an analysis of Protestant orthodoxy in the context of contemporary scholarly and theological discussion. Several apparent deficits in the present volume will be remedied in the subsequent portions of the study: readers will note the absence of a concluding chapter, a bibliography and an index. All will appear at the end of volume 3. The absence of a concluding chapter is offset somewhat by the presence of introductory chapters, the first of which should serve as a general introduction to all three volumes. A word of thanks is due, finally, to several persons and institutions. John Patrick Donnelly of Marquette University and Douglas F. Kelly of Reformed Theological Seminary read the manuscript with great care and made many helpful suggestions. To John Farthing of Hendricks College and Brian Armstrong of Georgia State University, I offer thanks for hours of enlightening discussion and for several important references to Protestant orthodox authors and their writings. The libraries of Duke University and Fuller Theological Seminary and the Huntington Library have been my major resources. Donn Michael Farris of Duke Divinity School library, John

Dickason of Fuller and Peter de Klerk of Calvin College and Seminary deserve special thanks for their help in obtaining much-needed resources. Special thanks is also due to Sandy Underwood Bennett and Jan Gathright of the word processing office at Fuller for the production of the basic manuscript and camera-ready copy. I offer finally the thanks of a husband and father who knows that the writing of books depends in no small measure upon the love and support of his family. I dedicate this book to my children, Elizabeth and Karl, who may never read a page of it, but whose presence in my life gives me reason to live and work and, as part of that work, to write. And, after all, today is Karl’s birthday. Richard A. Muller Epiphany, 1987

Synopsis Volume I. Prolegomena PART 1 INTRODUCTION Chapter 1. The Study of Protestant Scholasticism Chapter 2. The Development of Theological Prolegomena PART 2 THE REFORMED ORTHODOX THEOLOGICAL PROLEGOMENA Chapter 3. The Meaning of the Terms Theology and Religion Chapter 4. Theology as a Discipline Chapter 5. The Parts or Divisions of Theology Chapter 6. Natural and Supernatural Theology Chapter 7. The Object and Genus of Theology Chapter 8. The Use of Philosophy in Theology Chapter 9. Fundamental Articles and Basic Principles of Theology Volume II. Holy Scripture PART 1 INTRODUCTION Chapter 1. The Doctrine of Scripture in Medieval Scholastic Theology: From the Rise of Scholasticism to the End of the Fifteenth Century Chapter 2. The Doctrine of Scripture in its Protestant Development: From the Reformation to the End of the Seventeenth Century PART 2 THE REFORMED ORTHODOX DOCTRINE OF SCRIPTURE Chapter 3. Scripture as Word of God and Principium Cognoscendi Theologiae Chapter 4. The Divinity of Scripture Chapter 5. Scripture according to its Properties Chapter 6. The Canon of Scripture and its Integrity Chapter 7. The Interpretation of Scripture Volume III. The Divine Essence and Attributes

PART 1 INTRODUCTION Chapter 1. The Doctrine of God from the Twelfth to the Fifteenth Century Chapter 2. The Doctrine of God from the Sixteenth to the Early Eighteenth Century PART 2 THE REFORMED ORTHODOX DOCTRINE OF GOD Chapter 3. The Unity of Existence, Essence and Attributes in God Chapter 4. The Divine Essence, Names, and “Essential” Attributes Chapter 5. The Attributes of Life, Intellect, and Will Chapter 6. Attributes Relating to the Manifestation and Exercise of the Divine Will Volume IV. The Triunity of God PART 1. INTRODUCTION Chapter 1. The Doctrine of the Trinity in the Christian Tradition: The Medieval Background Chapter 2. The Doctrine of the Trinity from the Sixteenth to the Early Eighteenth Century PART 2. THE REFORMED ORTHODOX DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY Chapter 3. The Doctrine of the Trinity in Reformed Orthodoxy: Basic Issues, Terms, and Definitions Chapter 4. The Trinity of Persons in Their Unity and Distinction: Theology and Exegesis in the Older Reformed Tradition Chapter 5. The Deity and Person of the Father Chapter 6. The Person and Deity of the Son Chapter 7. The Deity and Person of the Holy Spirit Chapter 8. Conclusion: The Character of Reformed Orthodoxy

Part 1 Introduction 1 The Study of Protestant Scholasticism 1.1 Orthodoxy and Scholasticism in Protestant Thought A. Identifying the Phenomenon: The Eras and Assumptions of Protestant Orthodoxy 1. The orthodox contribution—historical assumptions. The theology of orthodox or scholastic Protestantism has never been accorded the degree of interest bestowed upon the theology of the great Reformers and has seldom been given the attention it deserves both theologically and historically. Codifiers and perpetuators, like the theologians of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, simply do not receive the adulation given to the inaugurators of the movement. Nor do codifiers need to be defended as zealously as inaugurators—if only because the codifiers themselves have provided the first line of that defense. If, however, these codifiers and perpetuators have been neglected in favor of the Reformers themselves, the neglect is clearly unjustified: what the Reformation began in less than half a century, orthodox Protestantism defended, clarified and codified over the course of a century and a half. The Reformation is incomplete without its confessional and doctrinal codification. What is more, Protestantism could hardly have survived if it had not developed, in the era of orthodoxy, a normative and defensible body of doctrine consisting of a confessional foundation and systematic elaboration.1 The contribution of the orthodox or scholastic theologians to the history of Protestantism, then, was the creation of an 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. The Reformers had developed, on the basis of their exegesis of Scripture, a series of doctrinal issues that were embodied, as the distinctive concerns of Protestantism, in the early confessions of the Reformation. In developing these insights, however, the Reformers identified themselves and their theology with the cause of catholic or universal Christian truth. The Protestant orthodox held fast to these Reformation insights and to the confessional norms of Protestantism and, at the same time, moved toward the

establishment of an entire body of “right teaching” in continuity both with the Reformation and with the truths embodied in the whole tradition of Christian doctrine. They recognized that the claim of Protestantism to represent the church could be maintained only if the witness of the Reformation proved to be the key not only to the reform of a series of ecclesiastical abuses but also to the reformulation of the body of Christian doctrine. The selectivity of the Reformation in its polemic had to be transcended in the direction of a reformed catholicity. Two historical or contextual features of this orthodox theology emerge immediately on examination even of the few figures just noted: Reformed orthodoxy was a varied movement both intellectually and geographically or internationally. On the one hand, just as the Reformed confessions of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries represent not a monolithic Reformed doctrine but a limited spectrum of teaching characteristic of the various national and regional Reformed churches, so also is the doctrinal and exegetical theology of Reformed orthodoxy varied: within a confessional spectrum, the scholastic dogmatics of the era and the biblical exegesis evidence differing forms of definition and result. On the other hand, this Reformed orthodoxy is an international phenomenon—Dutch, Swiss, German, French, English, and Scottish Reformed theologians all contributed to the development of Reformed orthodoxy and consistently dialogued with each other across national and geographical boundaries. Thus, for example, the intellectual context for understanding the theology of a John Owen or a Richard Baxter is not merely England: their reading, their dialogue, and their debates were conducted on a broad, international scale—and, because of the agency of various proponents of the older Reformed piety and translators (both roles are seen in Alexander Comrie), the doctrine and piety of these writers remained a lively force in religion throughout late orthodoxy. When this orthodox or scholastic Protestantism is examined in some depth and viewed as a form of Protestant theology in its own right rather than as merely a duplication or reflection of the theology of the Reformation, it is clearly a theology both like and unlike that of the Reformation, standing in continuity with the great theological insights of the Reformers but developing in a systematic and scholastic fashion different from the patterns of the Reformation and frequently reliant on the forms and methods of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries. This double continuity ought not to be either surprising or disconcerting. Instead, it ought to be understood as one example among many of the way in which the church both moves forward in history, adapting to new situations and insights, and at the same time retains its original identity as the community of faith. It ought to be understood as one example of the way in which the Christian intellectual

tradition maintains useful forms, methods, and doctrinal ideas while at the same time incorporating the advances of exegetical and theological investigation. The contemporary relevance of Protestant orthodox theology arises from the fact that it remains the basis for normative Protestant theology in the present. With little formal and virtually no substantial dogmatic alteration, orthodox or scholastic Reformed theology appears in the works of Charles Hodge, Archibald Alexander Hodge, and Louis Berkhof. Even when major changes in perspective are evident—as in the theology of Emil Brunner, Karl Barth and Otto Weber—the impact of Protestant orthodoxy remains clear both in terms of the overarching structure of theological system and in terms of its basic definitions. Charles Hodge’s Systematic Theology draws heavily on Francis Turretin’s Institutio theologiae elencticae and represents, particularly in its prolegomena, an attempt to recast the systematic insights of orthodoxy in a nineteenth-century mold. Of the other writers, Karl Barth most clearly shows his indebtedness to the orthodox prolegomena—not always in terms of direct appropriation of doctrine, but rather in terms of sensitivity both to the importance of prolegomena and to the issues traditionally raised at this preliminary point in dogmatics. Similar statements can be made with reference to the two principia or foundations of theology, the doctrines of God and Scripture, and indeed, with reference to the whole of the Protestant orthodox system. Just as the orthodox prolegomena represent the Protestant appropriation of basic theological presuppositions and, as such, still affect our view of theology today, so also the orthodox doctrine of God and Scripture represents the fundamental statement of these underlying principia for Protestantism. We continue to be influenced by the orthodox language of an immutable, omnipotent, omniscient, but nonetheless historically active, God—and we continue to wrestle, particularly in conservative or evangelical circles, with the implications of the traditional doctrine of Scripture, given its place of final doctrinal authority by the Reformers, but codified and stated for us by the Protestant orthodox. The impact of scholastic Protestantism remains. This theology and its relationship to earlier ages—specifically, the Middle Ages and the Reformation—must be understood if contemporary Protestantism is to come to terms with its own relationship both to the Reformation and to the Christian tradition as a whole. A comment is also necessary here concerning the terms used throughout the study. The historiography of post-Reformation Protestantism has, in the past, suffered from a failure to develop and use a historically descriptive, dogmatically neutral vocabulary. This problem is particularly evident in the

use of such terms as “scholasticism,” “orthodoxy,” and “Calvinism,” all of which have been tinged with bias in much of the older scholarship.2 In my own usage, throughout the study, I have attempted to work with terms that have substantive use in the historical documents and I have tried to confine my meanings to the meanings of the era. Thus, “scholastic” indicates an academic style and method of discourse, not a particular theology or philosophy. The denominator “Reformed scholastic” refers to a writer or a document belonging, confessionally, to the Reformed as distinct from the Lutheran wing of the magisterial Reformation, and characterized by the use of an academic or scholastic method. That method, par excellence, is evident in the academic disputations of the era and belongs to the context of the early modern academy or university—a context that could just as easily be called Reformation, post-Reformation, or late Renaissance, depending on one’s vantage point. By extension, the term can be applied generally to the more technical theological or dogmatic writings of the era—and its application implies the early modern context of debate. In other words, the use of “scholastic” and related terms with reference to the writers of the Reformation and post-Reformation eras assumes an academic context influenced by both the Renaissance and the Reformation, a context not at all identical with that of medieval scholasticism. Similarly, “Reformed orthodox,” used with reference to the same writers or documents, indicates an individual or a theology that stands within the confessional framework of the Reformed churches and which is understood as conveying the “right teaching” of those churches, whether scholastic, catechetical, exegetical, or homiletical, as determined by the standards of the era. “Orthodoxy,” in other words, functions as a historical denominator—and reference to the era of orthodoxy indicates the time of the institutionalization of the Reformation according to its confessional norms, namely the era extending roughly from the latter part of the sixteenth through the early eighteenth centuries. As for the terms “Calvinist” and “Calvinism,” I tend to avoid them as less than useful to the historical task. If, by “Calvinist,” one means a follower of Calvin who had nothing to say that was different from what Calvin said, then one would be hard put to find any Calvinists in the later sixteenth or seventeenth centuries. If by Calvinist, one means a later exponent of a theology standing within the confessional boundaries described by such documents as the Gallican Confession, the Belgic Confession, the Second Helvetic Confession, and the Heidelberg Catechism, then one will have the problem of accounting for the many ways in which such thinkers—notably, Amandus Polanus von Polansdorf, Bartholomaus Keckermann, William Perkins, Franciscus Junius, and Gulielmus Bucanus, just to name a few— differ from Calvin both doctrinally and methodologically. One might even be

forced to pose Calvin against the Calvinists.3 Given the diversity of the movement and the fact that Calvin was not the primary author of any of the confessional norms just noted, the better part of historical valor (namely, discretion) requires rejection of the term “Calvinist” and “Calvinism” in favor of the more historically accurate term, “Reformed.” 2. The eras and phases of Protestant orthodoxy. The post-Reformation development of Protestantism can be divided, for the sake of convenience, into three periods: early, high, and late orthodoxy.4 Early orthodoxy, in two fairly distinct phases (ca. 1565–1618–1640) extends roughly from the time of the deaths of a large number of major second generation codifiers of the Reformation and the promulgation of the great national confessions of the Reformed churches (1559–1566) to a transition in generations and approach that occurred following the Synod of Dort and the outbreak of the Thirty Years War (1618–19), to the closing phases of the war and the deaths of the major figures who formulated the confessional solutions of the beginning of he seventeenth century. It was the era of the confessional solidification of Protestantism. Specifically, as of 1565, many of the important secondgeneration codifiers of the Reformed faith (John Calvin, Wolfgang Musculus, Peter Martyr Vermigli, and Andreas Hyperius) had passed away—the single eminent exception being Heinrich Bullinger, who lived until 1575. Reformed theology passed, in the first phase of early orthodoxy, into the hands of Zacharias Ursinus, Caspar Olevianus, Jerome Zanchi, Lambert Daneau, Theodore Beza, Francis Junius, William Perkins, and Amandus Polanus. The theologians who sat at Dort and perpetuated its carefully outlined confessionalism in the early seventeenth century—among them, Antonius Walaeus, Johann Polyander, Sibrandus Lubbertus, Franciscus Gomarus, Johannes Maccovius, John Davenant—together with writers like William Ames and J. H. Alsted belong to the second phase of the early orthodox period. Here also are found the seeds of developments and debates that would occupy the thinkers of the high orthodox era: covenant theology begins to elaborate in the works of Cameron, Ball, and Cloppenburg; worries concerning the universal promise of the gospel not addressed to the satisfaction of all at Dort reached initial formulation in the writings of Davenant and Amyraut; and the first salvos of the debate over the origin of the vowel-points were heard in the writings of Buxtorf and Cappel. High orthodoxy (ca. 1640–1685–1725) spans the greater part of the seventeenth and the first quarter of the eighteenth century. Like early orthodoxy, it needs to be divided into two phases. It represents a still broader theological synthesis than early orthodoxy: it rests upon a confessional summation of the faith, has a somewhat sharper and more codified polemic against its doctrinal adversaries, and possesses a broader and more explicit

grasp of the tradition, particularly of the contribution of the Middle Ages. Characteristic of the initial phase of this era are internal or intraconfessional controversies, such as the broader Amyraldian controversy and the debate over Cocceian federal theology as well as the vast expansion of debate with the Socinians over the doctrine of the Trinity. In this phase of the high orthodox period are found such authors as Johannes Cocceius, Samuel Maresius, Andreas Essenius, Gisbertus Voetius, Friedrich Spanheim the elder, Marcus Friedrich Wendelin, Franz Burman, Francis Turretin, Edward Leigh, Matthew Poole, John Owen, and Stephen Charnock. Following 1685, the tenor of orthodoxy changed, although the confessional boundaries continued to remain relatively in place.5 Given the difficulty of periodization and the presence, in the late seventeenth century, of various forces and pressures that would bring on the Enlightenment, some writers have further divided the chronology of orthodoxy by identifying a “transitional phase” and even a “transition theology” from ca. 1685 to ca. 1725. Certainly, after 1685, the theology represented by the more traditional writers ceased to be as dominant an intellectual pattern in the church and in the theological faculties of the great Protestant universities as it had been in the mid-seventeenth century, although the theology and the ethos of orthodoxy was carried forward by a significant number of theologians. The changes that took place included an increased pressure on the precritical textual, exegetical, and hermeneutical model of orthodoxy, an alteration of the philosophical model used by theologians from the older Christian Aristotelian approach to either a variant of the newer rationalism or a virtually aphilosophical version of dogmatics. This is also the era of the beginning of internal divisions in the Reformed confessions over the issues raised by the piety of the Second Reformation or Nadere Reformatie and by the dispossessed status of Reformed Protestants in England and France. By 1725, a fairly uniform and unified confessional subscription had faded both in England and in Switzerland. In this latter, transitional phase of high orthodoxy, reaching into the eighteenth century, the significant theologians included such writers as Benedict Pictet, Wilhelmus à Brakel, Louis Tronchin, Leonhardus Rijssenius, Petrus van Mastricht, Herman Witsius, Salomon van Til, Johannes Marckius, John Edwards, Thomas Ridgley, Thomas Boston, Campegius Vitringa, Johannes van der Kemp, and J. A. Turretin. Theology after 1725, in what can be called “late orthodoxy,” is less secure in its philosophical foundations, indeed, searching for different philosophical models, less certain of its grasp of the biblical standard, and often (though hardly always) less willing to draw out its polemic against other “orthodox” forms of Christianity, less bound by the confessional norms of the Reformation, and given to internecine polemics. One can even speak here of a

“deconfessionalization” in the late orthodox era that reverses the process of “confessionalization” that took place in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Nonetheless, even in this altered climate, a more or less traditional Reformed theology continued to be produced by such late orthodox writers as Daniel Wyttenbach, Johann Friedrich Stapfer, Herman Venema, John Gill, Alexander Comrie, John Brown of Haddington, and Bernhardus de Moor. B. Orthodoxy and Scholasticism: Toward Definition 1. Orthodoxy. The development of Protestant thought in the two centuries following the Reformation is a highly complex phenomenon that defies facile classification. The two terms, orthodoxy and scholasticism, however, do provide a convenient point of departure for classification and description. “Orthodoxy,” of course, simply means “right teaching.” In one sense, this right teaching was the goal of the Reformation from its moment of inception. Luther, Zwingli, Bucer, and the other early Reformers saw a host of abuses and nonscriptural doctrinal accretions in the practices and teachings of the church. Their goal in attacking these abuses and accretions was to reform both Christian life and teaching. The earliest confessions of the Protestant churches are quite specific in this goal. They do not present entire bodies of doctrine but only those particular points of doctrine—such as grace, faith, justification, and the sacraments—where a return to right teaching was needed. The division of Christendom and the establishment of Lutheran and Reformed churches independent from Rome led, in the fourth and fifth decades of the sixteenth century, to the rise of another form of Protestant confession and to a somewhat different pressure toward orthodoxy. Whereas the earliest confessions—like the Augsburg or Tetrapolitan—state only disputed points, the later documents—the First and Second Helvetic, the Gallican and Belgic Confessions—provide definitions of all doctrines belonging to the faith of the confessing church. Right statement of a whole body of doctrine, of all the basic articles of faith, is characteristic of institutionally established Protestantism. Orthodoxy and institutionalization are but two aspects of one development—indeed, they are corollaries of one another. Scholastic orthodoxy was a product both of the confessional solidification and of the institutionalized academic culture of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The intention of the theologians of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, as witnessed both by their detailed positive construction of theological system and by their frequently bitter polemic against doctrinal adversaries, was to produce, in the context and frequently on the model of the great Protestant confessions, an entire body of true doctrine. This task was

necessary to ensure the survival of Protestantism. The first and second generations of Reformers, the teachers of the first half of the sixteenth century, had been trained in Christian doctrine on the medieval model and had, in their work as Reformers, rendered that model inadequate for the teaching of the next several generations of Protestants. The Reformers, however, did not provide those generations with a fully developed theological system. Even Calvin’s Institutes was no more than a basic instruction in the doctrines of Scripture and not a full system of theology written with the precision and detail of the systems of Calvin’s own Roman Catholic opponents.6 The Protestant theologians of the second half of the sixteenth century—writers like Ursinus, Zanchi, and Polanus—took up the task of writing a complete and detailed system of theology both for the sake of positive teaching and for the sake of polemical defense. This development of Protestant orthodoxy, like the doctrinal movement of the Reformation itself, did not occur in isolation from theological system or from the Western philosophical tradition. Although the Reformers and their orthodox or scholastic successors agreed that Scripture ought to be the sole absolute norm of doctrine, they never intended that the whole body of Christian doctrine be reconstructed without reference to the doctrinal developments and systematic constructions of the past—and even if that had been their intention, it would have hardly been possible. The Reformers, after all, assumed the truth of the larger body of received doctrine and attacked only what they perceived to be errors. They did not intend to reconstruct the doctrine of the Trinity or of the Person of Christ or of the creation of the world and the providence of God. The development of Protestant doctrine, therefore, in the great confessions of the mid-sixteenth century and in the orthodox or scholastic systems of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was not a development from kerygma to dogma but rather a development consisting in the adjustment of a received body of doctrine and its systematic relations to the needs of Protestantism, in terms dictated by the teachings of the Reformers on Scripture, grace, justification, and the sacraments. 2. Scholasticism. The term scholasticism has a narrower reference than the term orthodoxy: it well describes the technical and academic side of this process of the institutionalization and professionalization of Protestant doctrine in the universities of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. If the doctrinal intention of this theology was confessional orthodoxy, its academic motivation was certainly intellectual adequacy. Indeed, rather than draw on such grandiose and speculative notions as the nineteenth-century central-dogma theory or the large scale working out of “tensions” between doctrines (argued by numerous twentieth-century writers), much of the reason for the development of Reformed scholastic orthodoxy must be found in the

intellectual culture of the successful Protestant academies and universities.7 The theology of the great systems written in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, like the theology of the thirteenth-century teachers, is preeminently a school theology. It is a theology designed to develop system on a highly technical level and in an extremely precise manner by means of the careful identification of topics, division of these topics into their basic parts, definition of the parts, and doctrinal or logical argumentation concerning the divisions and definitions. This, moreover is the sense of the term used by the writers of the sixteenth century to describe their own academic, technical, and disputative theology as distinct from other genre and approaches, namely, the catechetical, biblical-exegetical, and simply didactic or ecclesial. Thus, large numbers of the works of the late sixteenth and seventeenth-century Reformed orthodox—including works by the authors of scholastic theological systems —are not scholastic.8 The term “scholasticism,” when applied to these efforts indicates primarily, therefore, a method and not a particular content: the method could be (and was) applied to a wide variety of theological contents and it could be (and was) applied to other academic disciplines as well. As Masson has remarked, borrowing Chenu’s definition of medieval scholasticism, this relatively uniform method of exposition, with its clear structure, its patterns of reasoning and standard practices of making distinctions, neatly dividing and subdividing topics, its brief citations of texts, its monotonous use of formulae, and its impersonality of style, serves to hide the variety of its actual contents.9 And despite the persistence of a few writers who insist that “scholasticism” brings with it a set of particular theological and philosophical concerns,10 there is, certainly, a consensus in contemporary scholarship that “scholasticism,” properly understood, indicates a method, capable of presenting and arguing a variety of theological and philosophical conclusions, and not a particular theology or philosophy.11 In addition, the school method or scholasticism that belonged to the academic culture of Europe from the twelfth to the seventeenth and even eighteenth century underwent significant changes in the course of its own history. Thus, the scholasticism of the late Renaissance, as appropriated by the Protestant orthodox, is not at all identical to the scholasticism of Thomas Aquinas. Seventeenth-century scholasticism is characterized by a thorough use and technical mastery of the tools of linguistic, philosophical, logical, and traditional thought.12 The mastery of ancient languages typical of the Protestant scholastic writers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, like their use of the locus method and inclusion of elements of rhetorical as distinct from demonstrative argumentation, serves to distinguish this later scholasticism from its medieval ancestor: in each of these characteristics,

Protestant scholasticism evidences itself a child of the Renaissance as well as a child of the Middle Ages.13 In short, significant elements of the nominally “scholastic” method of the Protestant orthodox derive not from medieval scholasticism but from Renaissance humanism. This mixed heritage of Protestant orthodoxy is an indication of the kind of continuity that developing Protestantism maintained with the Reformation—which itself drew on both the scholastic and the humanist models.14 As the seventeenth-century documents themselves reveal, the Reformed orthodox were well aware of differences between their “scholasticism” and the several phases of medieval scholasticism: indeed, they typically identified an earlier twelfth and thirteenth-century scholastic model as distinct from and less problematic than the scholasticism of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries—and they identified differences in method and in the balance of authorities between their scholastic method and the methods of the Middle Ages in general. Thus, when Protestant scholasticism is approached by way of the documents and materials of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and an assessment of its style, methods, and contents is based directly on the definitions and the methods evidenced in the seventeenth-century systems, the result explicitly opposes the view of several recent scholars according to which “scholasticism” can be identified specifically with a use of Aristotelian philosophy, a pronounced metaphysical interest, and the use of predestination as an organizing principle in theological system.15 In this theologically and philosophically broad but methodologically closely defined sense, the term “scholasticism” can be applied to a theology that is not a duplication of medieval scholastic teaching and method, that is distinctly Protestant, and that is not nearly as concerned to draw philosophy into dialogue with theology as the great synthetic works of the thirteenth century. Scholasticism, then, indicates the technical and logical approach to theology as a discipline characteristic of theological system from the late twelfth through the seventeenth century. Since scholasticism is primarily a method or approach to academic disciplines, it is not necessarily allied to any particular philosophical perspective, nor does it represent a systematic attachment to or concentration upon any particular doctrine or concept as a key to theological system. This latter point has always been clear with respect to medieval scholasticism, but it needs to be made just as decisively with regard to Protestant scholasticism. The theology of Protestant orthodoxy, developed in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries as a final, dogmatic codification of the Reformation, occupies a position of considerable significance in the history of Protestant thought. Not only is this scholastic or orthodox theology the historical link

that binds us to the Reformation, it is also the form of theological system in and through which modern Protestantism has received most of its doctrinal principles and definitions. Without detracting at all from the achievement of the great Reformers and the earliest codifiers of the doctrines of the Reformation—writers like Melanchthon, Calvin, and Bullinger—we need to recognize that not they, but rather, subsequent generations of “orthodox” or “scholastic” Protestants are responsible for the final form of such doctrinal issues as the definition of theology and the enunciation of its fundamental principles, the fully developed Protestant forms of the doctrine of the Trinity, the crucial christological concept of the two states of Christ, penal substitutionary atonement, and the theme of the covenant of works and the covenant of grace. If the theology of the Reformation was not the source of the final formulation of these major doctrinal issues, neither was it the source of most of the precise definitions and careful distinctions necessary to the creation of a complete theological system. Where the Reformers painted with a broad brush, their orthodox and scholastic successors strove to fill in the details of the picture. Whereas the Reformers were intent upon distancing themselves and their theology from problematic elements in medieval thought and, at the same time, remaining catholic in the broadest sense of that term, the Protestant orthodox were intent upon establishing systematically the normative, catholic character of institutionalized Protestantism, at times through the explicit use of those elements in patristic and medieval theology not at odds with the teachings of the Reformation. C. The Design and Scope of the Present Study 1. From reformation to orthodoxy: assessing continuities and discontinuities. As should be clear from the foregoing discussion, the underlying theses of the present study concern the continuities and discontinuities in Reformed theology during the eras of the Reformation and Orthodoxy, running chronologically from approximately 1520 to approximately 1725. A summary of theses or perspectives is perhaps in order here, assuming a return to the basic theses in the concluding sections of volume four. An operating assumption of the work has consistently been that the theology of the Reformers is not utterly identical to the theology of their orthodox successors, and that continuity between the theologies of the two eras is not to be equated with identity nor discontinuity with development and variation. Accordingly, it is one of the negative elements of the thesis that those studies that have declared a major discontinuity between the Reformation and orthodoxy have, frequently, been guilty of the rather banal

expectation that theology in the mid-seventeenth century be identical with theology in the mid-sixteenth century and that the identity be established rather simplistically in the one-to-one comparison of representative thinkers: “Calvin against the Calvinists,” with the latter exemplified by one or two writers, such as Perkins or Turretin. Throughout our examination of the Reformed orthodox, we will find more overt, positive reference to medieval theology, more overt use of scholastic distinctions, and a broader reliance on reason for the development of theological concepts than we can find, in general, among the Reformers—but even these elements of discontinuity will need to be balanced against the implicit medieval background of much Reformation era theology, the scholastic distinctions imbedded in the writings of the Reformers, and the elements of the medieval philosophical tradition that formed the basic understanding of theology in the Reformation itself. The first aspect or ingredient of the thesis, then, is that continuity and discontinuity must be traced out across a broad spectrum of thinkers and documents in the Reformed tradition: not merely Calvin and certainly not only Calvin’s Institutes juxtaposed with Beza’s Tabula praedestinationis, but a representative grouping of the first and second generation Reformed must be consulted and their teachings compared not merely with a Beza, a Perkins, or a Turretin but with a broader and more representative group of later Reformed theologians.16 Attention, moreover must be given to the genres and the historical location of the documents in specific contexts. Thus, a short discussion of the causes of salvation and damnation written by Beza nearly a decade before the death of Calvin—the famous Tabula—hardly qualifies as a document emblematic of the entire movement from Reformation to orthodoxy. This view of the document ought to be clear to anyone who examines the document itself in its context. Yet it has been ignored by numerous writers. At the heart of any examination of the development leading from Reformation to orthodoxy must be a recognition of the diversity and variety or Reformed thought both in its beginnings and in its later forms: there is simply not a monolithic unity to be found in Reformed orthodoxy, nor can its varied but confessional theology be reduced to a single paradigm. A second element of the thesis concerns the theological methods of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Examination of the methods of the Reformers and of the Reformed orthodox reveals that the relationship between exegesis and the topical formulation of theology precluded the creation of either a purely rational or deductive theology or of a theology grounded on topically defined “central dogmas.” Neither the methods inculcated by the Reformers nor the more scholastic forms used by their successors led toward the establishment of dogmatic focal points from which entire bodies of doctrine could be developed—nor, specifically, did the

scholastic method of the Reformed orthodox either conduce to rationalism or to the development of a predestinarian or “decretal” theology. Claims such as these, often made concerning the orthodox Reformed dogmatics, are fundamentally anachronistic. Indeed, the evidence indicates that the scholastic method of the Reformed orthodox, with its highly developed sense of prolegomena and principia and its intentional balance between revealed doctrinal content and rational examination and defense of doctrine, militated against rationalism and against the dogmatic deductivism of such theological models as the central dogma hypothesis. The proponents of the “central dogma” model fall into the historiographical trap once noted as Harnack’s failing—they have looked down the well of history and seen their own faces reflected: those who have found central dogmas in the older theology have typically not been historians but theologians and, as such, advocates of central doctrinal pivots in their own dogmatic systems. The central dogma model is not only anachronistic as applied to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it is also simplistic, overlooking numerous contextual issues, such as the institutionalization of the Reformation, and overlooking as well the vast array of sources used in the formulation of theology by the writers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.17 Third, given the failure of various forms of the central dogma theory to explain the development of Reformed theology, the various “centrisms” of much modern discussion of these older materials must be set aside. It is rather useless to juxtapose the “christocentrism” of Reformation theology with various “theocentric” options when none of the theology of the sixteenth and seventeenth-century Reformed evidences an interest in such dogmatic centers. Neither the theology of the Reformers nor the theology of their successors was “christocentric” in the modern sense of identifying Christ as the fundamental cognitive principle for all doctrine—nor was their theology centered on the divine decree as a deductive principle—nor, indeed, did their doctrine of God provide a deductive basis for the other topics of theological system. The very method of their theology, the gathering of topics or loci drawn out of their exegetical work, stands in the way of such models for theological system. Fourth, the orthodoxy and scholasticism of the era must be understood in terms of trajectories of intellectual history that extend through the sixteenth into the seventeenth century. The “scholasticism” of the era must be understood primarily as a method of theological discourse, suited to the classroom and altered in the light of changes in logic and rhetoric that belonged to the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Thus, there is not a simple transfer of medieval scholastic method to the successors of the Reformation after a half-century of nonscholastic theology. Rather, the scholasticism of the

later sixteenth century is a product of the development and changes in method that took place during the Renaissance and Reformation. This perspective on scholasticism yields a view of the Reformation and orthodoxy that identifies scholastic as well as humanistic elements in the theology of the Reformers— notably in the theology of Calvin. So also are elements of scholastic and humanist method to be found in the works of the Reformed orthodox. Similarly, the “orthodoxy” of the era must be measured against the drive of the Reformers themselves and of the Reformed confessions toward “right teaching”: it is a distortion of the historical materials to claim that the Reformation sought a dynamic preaching while the later Protestant orthodox forged a rigid system. Rather, the later orthodox further systematized and developed a Reformation theology that was in its origins intent on Christian orthodoxy. Fifth, among the trajectories in intellectual history that are crucial to an understanding of the relationship of the Reformation to later orthodoxy are the history of exegesis and the history of philosophy. The history of exegesis marks one of the clearest indicators to the nature and character of the continuity in thought between the Reformation and orthodoxy, given that not only do both eras fall within the so-called “precritical” phase of the history of biblical interpretation but that also the theologians of both eras were frequently biblical exegetes whose results belong to an ongoing tradition of interpretation. The Reformation is frequently connected to the era of orthodoxy in its interpretation of particular biblical passages, even when the method and emphases of dogmatic theology appear to have shifted: this exegetical continuity is, for example, particularly relevant to the understanding of the doctrine of God in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. As for the philosophical development, here we identify a consistent classical note throughout the period, a continuity of Christian Aristotelianism, with the newer rationalism finding little support either from the theology of the Reformers in its inception or from the teachings of the orthodox in its development. 2. Reformation and the formation of an orthodoxy. A final element of the thesis or the approach to Reformed orthodoxy found both in this and in the subsequent volumes concerns the nature of a Protestant “orthodoxy” itself. The confessional character and the underlying confessional identification of Reformed orthodoxy has already been noted, with particular emphasis on the intraconfessional nature of the seventeenth-century controversies over the federal theology and the various elements of the theology of Saumur—and there had been some comment on the nature of the development of the Reformation itself as a movement not from kerygma to dogma but from reform to confessional codification.18 These elements of the description of the

movement from Reformation to orthodoxy raise the further point that a claim of discontinuity between Reformation and orthodoxy must overcome at least three fundamental problems standing in the way of validation: first, the underlying intention of the Reform itself included the reestablishment of catholic orthodoxy; second, the intra-confessional diversity of the Reformation carried over into the era of orthodoxy; and third, the seventeenth-century identification of confessional orthodoxy neither stood in the way of doctrinal development nor created a monolithic theology duplicated and reduplicated among a host of thinkers. The third of these points requires further comment. The picture of Reformed orthodoxy painted by much earlier scholarship, whether intentional or unintentional, has been, by and large, of a unified and static teaching set over against any and all adversaries. Whether from a theological, a methodological, or a philosophical perspective, orthodoxy has been viewed as an accomplished fact as of the Synod of Dort, capable of being described as scholastic, Bezan, Aristotelian, and rigid. In contrast to this picture, the view of Reformed orthodoxy that unfolds in this and subsequent volumes of the study is of a variegated movement in a process of development. The variety and development extend, moreover, to the scholastic method, the nominally Aristotelian philosophy, and the doctrinal content—all, of course, within certain confessional bounds. The scholastic method itself varied in the course of the two centuries of Reformation and orthodoxy, and at all periods in the development of Reformed orthodoxy different approaches to scholastic method can be identified. Nor did the Reformed orthodox follow a single teacher, whether Calvin or Beza—there were a fairly large number of significant early orthodox thinkers who together provided models for the theology of high and later orthodoxy. Similarly, the so-called Christian Aristotelianism of the age was a highly eclectic philosophical model that was transformed by ongoing philosophical debate and that was also variously appropriated by different Reformed thinkers. Beyond this, there remained variations in doctrinal formulation on such key topics as the model of theology as speculative or practical, the possibility and/or advisability of elaborating natural theology, the distinction of divine attributes, the level of speculative or metaphorical language advisable in the doctrine of the Trinity, the formulations of predestination (infra- or supralapsarian), the language and patterning of covenant definitions, the doctrine of the Lord’s Supper (whether Zwinglian or Calvinian), and the level and permissibility of millennial speculation—just to name a few. In short, there was no monolithic orthodoxy—there were, instead, various trajectories in confessional Reformed theology, all of which belonged to the orthodoxy of the era, within which there were varieties of doctrinal or systematic

formulation and within which there were controversies, deep, angry controversies concerning the proper formulation of the orthodoxy. When, moreover, one asks the historical question of the reasons for this development—namely, the development of a variegated confessional orthodoxy that, in its academic forms, used late Renaissance forms of scholastic method—the answers themselves are variegated. There was no single cause of this sometimes scholastic orthodoxy, although certain explanations can be ruled out: it was certainly not a movement toward “predestinarian system”; certainly not a simplistic shift from humanistic to scholastic forms or from a “biblical” to a “Greek” mode of thought. Both of these explanations smack of anachronistic approaches to the material, the one of the nineteenth, the other of the twentieth century. Nor are the explanations exclusively dogmatic or philosophical—to claim this would be to make a major category mistake. Rather there are a series of contextual explanations, some theological and some not. Thus, there are certainly, trajectories of theological explanation that can be traced from particular thinkers through various successors. Even here, however, it is not a matter of tracing out the course of “Calvinism”: the forms individual doctrines found in late sixteenth or seventeenth-century Refored thinkers are often composites that draw on any number of earlier formulators, whether of the generation of Zwingli and Bucer, or of the generation of Calvin and Vermigli, or indeed the generation of Beza, Zanchi, and Ursinus. In addition, there were different patterns of polemic that generated varied accents in the theologies of Reformed orthodoxy. These composite forms also have varied patristic and medieval roots, some of which can be traced through the Reformation itself, some of which developed later as the Reformed orthodox worked to reappropriate the larger Christian tradition for Protestantism. This process of reappropriation itself, in its considerable diversity, did not have entirely theological causes. Such issues as the institutionalization of the Reformation in its churchly, confessional, and educational patterns bear heavily on the development of orthodoxy. The educational patterns alone stand as a fundamental source of the orthodoxy, particularly in its nominally scholastic forms. Here we have to deal with changes in proximate disciplines —logic, philology, philosophy—all of which brought about changes in patterns of argument, issues addressed, and models of interpretation. Given, moreover, the wide international spread of Reformed Protestantism, the educational programs that influenced the development of the orthodoxy were also quite varied—sometimes on the basis of long-established intellectual cultures, sometimes because of rather different appropriations of elements of

the theological and philosophical tradition by individuals or faculties, sometimes because of other factors like the political situation of the church, academy, or university. In sum, by setting aside the purely dogmatic models of much of the older scholarship, a rather different picture of the phenomenon of orthodoxy emerges, one that rests more soundly on the broad cultural patterns of the age and that more surely reflects the international character of the Reformed churches. 3. Historiographical premisses in relation to the prolegomena and principia. In this introductory essay and in the study of prolegomena and principia that follows, I propose to develop part of the groundwork for the reassessment and further study of Protestant scholasticism. This is essentially a topical, doctrinal study resting on historical examination of sources, with attention to chronology and development, which presents only the most basic biographical material and which makes no pretense of providing a full history of the rise and development of Protestant orthodoxy. Of course, earlier works on the history of Protestant dogmatics also limit the scope of analysis and have done so with too much reliance on older dogmatic theories, like the central dogma thesis concerning Reformed orthodoxy. Ritschl’s Dogmengeschichte des Protestantismus deals, for the most part, only with doctrinal controversies or with the doctrines of predestination and justification and is framed by the central dogma problem.19 Weber’s Reformation, Orthodoxie und Rationalismus follows a similar pattern.20 Haentjens did sketch out the contents of the various loci of the Reformed and Remonstrant theologies of the century, with attention to their similarities and differences, but with a fairly consistent focus on the Remonstrant theology of Episcopius rather than on the Reformed development itself,21 and Sepp’s highly detailed study proceeds by school, faculty, and type of theological exercise rather than by the examination of the doctrines themselves—and it deals only with the Dutch development.22 In none of the older histories, moreover, do we find either a consistently presented biographical, institutional, and historical narrative for the larger phenomenon of Reformed orthodoxy or a thorough overview of theological systems.23 The scope of the present work also demands some explanation. Discussion is limited to the topics of prolegomena and principia, the former consisting in the definition of theology as a discipline and the latter consisting in the doctrines of Scripture and God. There are two reasons for this focus: first, the shape of Protestant scholastic system, and second, the need for closer, scholarly consideration of these particular loci in the Reformed orthodox systems. In the first place, then, the topics of theology, Scripture, and God stand together at the beginning of most of the Protestant scholastic systems and together provide the basis for understanding the subsequent treatment of

all other doctrines. The prolegomena on “theology” present a discussion of fundamental issues of method, its presuppositions and basic intentions, and provide a clear identification of the principia of theology, the cognitive and essential grounds of the discipline, namely, Scripture and God. An examination of these three loci in their proper sequence arguably provides the best point of entry into the theology of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. These topics, as distinct from the doctrines typically identified by nineteenth and twentieth-century writers as the principia or central dogmas of Protestantism (viz., Trinity, predestination, covenant, Christology), are the topics identified by the Reformed orthodox themselves as the basic and formative premisses of their theology. In the second place, there is a genuine need to review the theology of Protestant orthodoxy and to examine its presuppositions and principles in view of the frequently inaccurate presentation of scholastic Protestantism in histories of Christian thought and even in scholarly monographs dealing with the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. This inaccuracy reflects several levels of misunderstanding. Much of the literature assumes a discontinuity between the thought of the Reformers and their orthodox successors without recognizing that a change in form and method does not necessarily indicate an alteration of substance. Scholastic Protestant theology has been described as rationalistic, intellectually arid and theologically rigid—without due attention to its own statements concerning the use of reason and the import of dogmatic system for faith. Such descriptions ignore the process of development—itself quite original and creative—that brought about the orthodox or scholastic Protestantism of the seventeenth century. 4. A methodology for dealing with development and continuity. Stated methodologically, these problems in scholarship point toward the broader issue of historical continuity and discontinuity that must be addressed on a whole series of issues and sub-issues. First, there is the standard issue of continuity or discontinuity with the Reformation. Traditionally this issue has been stated either in terms of single doctrines (principally predestination and Scripture) or in terms of the relationship between the phenomenon of orthodoxy and the theology of individual writers in the Reformation era. Whereas the former pattern promises to provide a useful index to the development of orthodoxy, the latter is quite defective insofar as it limits the scope of investigation to the influence (or lack thereof) of a specific thinker, when the antecedents of orthodoxy in the Reformation are in fact quite complex and involve the transmission of doctrinal themes from a variety of first- and second-generation sources to a whole series of rather diverse successors in third- and fourth-generation Protestantism.

Second, there is the equally important issue of development—in continuity and discontinuity with the past—in the context of the larger tradition of Western Christianity. It is clear that Protestant orthodoxy drew on patristic and medieval sources for theological models as well as on the theology of the Reformers. Here we need to ask whether continuities with patristic or medieval models indicate discontinuities with the Reformation or not. This question, moreover, must be asked both theologically and methodologically, with attention to methodological changes that retain and even reinforce in new contexts the substance of a theological issue formerly treated according to a different method. Specifically, can the theology of the Reformation be retained in and through the use of scholastic forms and distinctions—and to what extent are the Protestant orthodox sensitive to the need to reinterpret distinctions and alter forms for the sake of preserving continuity of doctrine, albeit in an altered form? Third, the question of development must be asked in its own right, doctrinally and philosophically. Continuity must not be conceived simplistically as static reproduction, and discontinuity must not be explained, equally simplistically, as change. The changes and developments that took place within Protestantism in the two centuries after the Reformation need to be viewed as belonging to a living tradition which needed to adapt and reformulate its teachings as the historical context demanded. Quite simply, the fact that theological systems in 1659 did not look like Calvin’s Institutes of 1559, or even maintain all of the definitions provided by Calvin, does not in itself indicate discontinuity. The issue is to examine the course of development, to study the reasons for change, assess the context of each document, and then to make judgments concerning continuity and discontinuity in the light of something more than a facile contrast or juxtaposition. A fundamental misunderstanding of this set of historical relationships, particularly of the relationship between the theology of the Reformers and the theology of post-Reformation orthodoxy, lies at the root of most of the contemporary complaints against both Protestant orthodoxy and its nineteenth- and early twentieth-century descendants. To very little purpose, several recent studies have set “Calvin against the Calvinists”—as if Calvin were the only source of post-Reformation Reformed theology and as if the theology of the mid-seventeenth century ought for some reason to be measured against and judged by the theology of the mid-sixteenth century. Because the orthodox systems do not mirror Calvin’s 1559 Institutes, they are labeled “distortions” of the Reformation. The genuine historical and theological issue, of course, is one of development and change within a broad tradition, of continuity and discontinuity with the thought, not only of Calvin,

but also of Zwingli, Bucer, Bullinger, Musculus, and Vermigli. The latter point needs to be emphasized inasmuch as these studies tend to note the presence of varied perspectives in early Reformed theology and then, despite the historical evidence, insist on the use of Calvin’s theology as the norm for evaluating all that follows.24 In order for the Reformed scholastics to receive an adequate interpretation, therefore, we must not only allow for development and change within the tradition, but we also need to trace that development and change in terms of a movement of thought not simply from Calvin to the orthodox but from the theology of an entire generation of Reformers, including not only Calvin but also Bullinger, Musculus, Vermigli, and their contemporaries. The viewpoint of the twentieth century, which has selected Calvin as the chief early codifier, must be set aside, particularly in those instances when the formative influence toward the development of a specific doctrinal position came not from Calvin but from one of his contemporaries. Orthodoxy must be understood not as a result of or as a defection from the work of a single thinker but as a doctrinal development resting on a fairly diverse theological heritage. In addition, we must never forget that the Reformation itself stands within the broad tradition of Western theology and in continuity as well as discontinuity with the patristic and medieval heritage. The present study is an attempt to provide a detailed exposition of the presuppositions and principles of Reformed orthodox theology as stated in the prolegomena to the orthodox systems and in the loci on Scripture and God.25 Throughout the study, attention has been paid to the crucial issues of development and change, continuity and discontinuity—not only with the theology of the Reformers but also with that of the medieval scholastic theology drawn upon by the Protestant scholastics in their search for paradigms and definitions. In addition, attention will be given to the way in which the presuppositions, enunciated by the orthodox in their prolegomena, carry through into the initial loci of the system, the doctrines of Scripture and God, and through those initial, principial loci, determine the character of the system as a whole. In addition, the broader question of continuity and discontinuity will be checked against the diversity of the Reformed tradition: the issue, in tracing out the trajectories of Reformed thought from the Reformation through the era of orthodoxy, is to raise the question of continuity with the past in the context of varied approaches, methods, exegetical results, and doctrinal formulations among contemporaries as well as among successors. Quite specifically, continuity between the formulation of one Reformation thinker and several of the orthodox writers may be balanced by their relative difference from or discontinuity with another Reformer and/or others of the orthodox. Continuity must be measured in the

context both of change and development and of various trajectories of interpretation within the Reformed confessional tradition. 1.2 The Reformation and Its First Codification: Doctrine and Method to ca. 1565 A. The Reformation and Theological System: A Problem of Perception 1. From unsystematic Reformation to systematized orthodoxy? A problem of perception. No small part of the task of describing properly the work of Protestant orthodoxy belongs to the discussion of its relationship to the Reformation. In its simplest form, this relationship is one of broad doctrinal continuity together with methodological discontinuity. Of course, the relationship is considerably more complex than this basic statement: methodological changes bring about changes in doctrinal statement if only because careful systematization of an idea tends to remove elements of tension and paradox resident in the initial, unsystematic formulation. The difficulty of making this movement toward methodologically controlled and technically sophisticated system without engineering a basic change in the message can be seen most readily in the contrast between Luther’s theology and the teaching of later orthodoxy—the former occasional, paradoxical, primarily exegetical or homiletical, and the latter deliberately systematic and argumentative, resting on exegesis but only infrequently stating a theological point in the form of an exegetical exposition. The unsystematic theology of the Reformer belongs to an entirely different genre than the highly systematized theology of his successors. Gerhard Ebeling’s work, The Study of Theology, provides a convenient basis for a critique of scholarly perceptions of the problems of constructing systems of doctrine on either side of the Reformation. Ebeling begins by describing the problem of late medieval scholasticism as a “hypertrophy of doctrine, a multiplication of theological problems” and ultimately as a “selfdeception” leading to an absolutization of dogmatic categories as timeless truth.26 While there is an element of truth here, the criticism surely cannot be applied uniformly to late medieval theology. What is more, even a theology aware of its limitations intends to point toward timeless truth. The Reformation, for Ebeling, not only led to a biblical and exegetical norm for theology but also to an impulse toward a new kind of dogmatics; thus, the efforts of Melanchthon and Calvin were “fundamentally legitimate,”27 while the orthodox or scholastic development, to the extent that its ethos echoes medieval styles and assumptions would have to be understood as illegitimate. There is a theological judgment present in Ebeling’s argument even before his statements regarding Protestant orthodoxy. Much as Harnack saw Luther

as the end of the history of dogma and as a return to the gospel, Ebeling would see Luther as the point at which the historical development of system is broken and after which all further statement of doctrine must be made in terms of a discontinuity with the past. Luther occupies an Archimedean position outside of the world of dogmatics. Melanchthon and Calvin are legitimized by their relation to this Archimedean position: their theologies appear more as world-moving levers than as attempts at dogmatics in a traditional sense. This analysis is more accurate as a description of the first editions of Melanchthon’s Loci communes and Calvin’s Institutio christianae religionis than it is of the final editions. It is also more accurate as a description of the fundamental attitude of the first editions of these works—as proclamations of the truth of the gospel—than it is of the well-defined dogmatic context out of which these works, even at their earliest points of development, function. Ebeling and others who echo his approach to the Reformation ignore the underlying drive of the Reformation both in its polemic against sacramental abuses and in its proclamation of justification— namely, the drive toward true or correct doctrine. And of course, this fundamental intention of the Reformers is a point of powerful continuity between them and their successors: both the doctrinal framework out of which the early Reformers operated, even in the first editions of their theological compendia, and the explicit authorial intention of the later editions of such works as Melanchthon’s Loci communes or Calvin’s Institutes stand beyond Ebeling’s notions of the “legitimate” theological results of the Reformation. When Ebeling approaches the problem of a fully developed Protestant orthodoxy, his theological appreciation of the existential character of Luther’s theology comes to the fore. Although he recognizes the need for historians to understand the context that produced Protestant orthodoxy, he nonetheless refers to it as embodying “false developments” in theology such as the Reformation had attempted to combat.28 The Protestant scholastics incorrectly assumed that the Reformation called for “detailed dogmatic corrections” in traditional system and for a reappraisal of the relation between theology and both the tradition of the church and the categories of philosophy. The orthodox failed to see that the central issue of the Reformation was, instead, the inability of any system to do justice to “the event of word and faith”; the orthodox system ignored the character of the event, “cast [it] into a sequence,” and “domesticated it.”29 We must not forget that the Reformers were trained in the late medieval scholastic system, and that their reformist enterprise was intended to restore Catholic orthodoxy. Theirs was not a simple re-presentation of doctrine accomplished by a leap into the gospel; what they saw as gospel was seen through the glass of centuries. If their primary interest was the return to a

scriptural faith, their secondary impulse was toward a reconstruction of established doctrine on the basis of Scripture. The only real exception to this generalization is Luther, who expressed little or no interest in system of any kind—but even he, perhaps preeminently so, was trained in the system. Indeed, Ebeling’s point concerning the existential impact of the Word as event applies, in its strict implications, only to the theology of Luther: the necessary process of “domestication” was well under way already in 1521 with the publication of Melanchthon’s Loci communes. What is more, the entire thrust of Melanchthon’s teaching could easily be described as an effort to “cast into sequence”—valid and pedagogically suitable sequence—the entire exegetical and doctrinal effort of the Reformation.30 The historical issue, moreover, in spite of Ebeling’s desire to state the contrary, is the impact of the Reformation on the scholastic approach to theology that existed both before and after the Reformation—and, therefore, the impact of the Reformation on theology, not in the sense of the creation of an absolutely new beginning, but rather in the sense of the demand for an alteration of extant theological structures. At the heart of Ebeling’s criticism and, indeed, at the heart of much of the critique of Protestant orthodoxy, lies a theological preference for preaching that embodies “the event of word and faith” and that places upon its hearers an existential demand for commitment over a doctrinal or dogmatic teaching that presents the elements of the faith in a coherent sequence. Such a critique can only have the effect of driving a destructive wedge between the fides qua creditur and the fides quae creditur, the subjective faith by which we believe and the objective faith that is believed. Such a critique also ignores profound distinctions of literary genre—as if the preaching of the Word somehow excludes from the life of the church the work of codifying doctrine and constructing system. In addition, the critique ignores the fact that, at the heart of the Reformation there was not only a highly dynamic preaching but also, very prominently, a demand that doctrine be taught and taught rightly. Ideally, the fides qua and fides quae stand in an intimate relation, the former accepting the teaching of the latter. Ideally, the sermon will reflect at the level of piety and personal need the objective teaching of confession and system, while confession and system will not become insensitive to piety. If we find this balance of subjective need and objective statement indicated in the prolegomena and principia of orthodox system, we will have shown that the critique does not genuinely address the theological issues raised by Protestant orthodoxy—nor does it address the Reformers’ own insistence on Christian orthodoxy. 2. An alternative view: from Reform to theological and confessional codification. Not nearly so great a contrast appears between the theology of the Reformation and that of later Protestantism if we examine the writings of

a broader selection of Reformers, including contemporaries of Luther like Melanchthon, Bucer, and Zwingli. Similarly, the contrast lessens if, rather than juxtaposing a single sixteenth-century thinker (e.g., Calvin) with one seventeenth-century theologian (e.g., Turretin), we examine the Reformation in its historical development toward orthodoxy. When, moreover, distinctions are made between doctrinal content and method of presentation, when attention is paid to the particular literary genre and intention and to the historical context of documents, and when a suitably contextualized understanding of scholasticism, humanism, and various available philosophical perspectives is presented,31 a picture very different emerges from that offered by Ebeling and various other proponents of the movement from Reformation to orthodoxy. Melanchthon, for one, early on recognized that the relationship between exegetical examination of a text and theological formulation consisted in large part in the identification of the basic theological topics found in the text and the subsequent gathering of those topics into a coherent order for the sake of teaching. His Loci communes theologici of 1521 exemplify this pattern: they are a set of “basic” or “standard theological topics” elicited primarily from the Epistle to the Romans, which Melanchthon, like Luther and, ultimately, like Calvin, understood to be the key to the understanding of the theology of the New Testament.32 Thus, as of 1521, barely four years after the Ninety-Five Theses, we find a systematizing or doctrinal impulse at the heart of the Reformation. Similarly, Bucer’s style as a commentator on the text of Scripture was to move, in the commentary itself, from exegesis of a passage, to the delineation of a doctrinal topic or locus, and then to a detailed dogmatic exposition of the locus. This model of establishing dogmatic loci was subsequently used by Wolfgang Musculus as a means of moving from commentary to theological system, the latter consisting in a collection of such loci. Early in the Reformation, Zwingli attempted to develop doctrinal statement both in his extensive exposition of the Articuli sive conclusiones LXVII (1523) and in the De vera et falsa religione commentarius (1524). The Reformation, thus, is not only a proclamation over against medieval system but also a movement toward the systematization and codification of that proclamation. One may remark that the literary genre of “systematic theology” was unknown to the Reformation, but such statements miss the point that the various forms of Loci communes, Compendia, Institutiones, and Methodus or Corpus theologiae found among the Protestants of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are the ancestors of modern theological system and were, in fact, the more or less systematic statements of theology for that time.33

J. S. Whale, in contrasting the preaching of Luther with the “system” of Calvin, refers to “… the scholastic system, the beginnings of which we see in Melanchthon’s Loci, the Augsburg Confession in Germany, the Helvetic Confession in Switzerland, the Thirty-nine Articles in England, and the Formula of Concord .…”34 Although none of these documents are technically “scholastic” in their approach to theology, it is certainly the case that they represent codifications of Protestant thought, a development that was (albeit in far greater detail) the wellspring of scholastic orthodoxy. Melanchthon’s Loci communes, moreover, established the theological method of the initial codification of Protestant thought, evidenced among the Reformed by Musculus, Hyperius, the gathering of Vermigli’s doctrine, and Calvin, and provided major methodological insights and patterns that would carry over into both Lutheran and Reformed orthodoxy. Whale’s point, albeit slightly hyperbolically stated, marks out a significant line of continuity between Reformation and scholastic orthodoxy. In a sense, Luther was the only Reformer who truly challenged system with non-systematic and even antisystematic preaching. From the very beginning, the Reformation was an attempt to reformulate the system under the terms and in the aftermath of his preaching. The issue of literary genre is, moreover, quite important to the discussion of the movement toward systematic reformulation. A theological system like Polanus’ Syntagma theologiae christianae (1609) is quite different in form and method from a sermon of Luther or of Calvin—but the difference arises not only from the fact of Polanus’ scholastic method but also from the fact that the Syntagma is a system and not a sermon. Protestants did not cease to preach or to write catechisms; they simply added a new genre to their theological writings, the theological system. That system, in turn, was subject to a technical development quite distinct from the development of sermons, catechisms, and the like. This positive development of the theology of the Reformation into a dogmatic system—or what could be equally well described as the radical adaptation of the traditional topics of dogmatic system to conform to the exegetical, anthropological, and soteriological insights of the Reformers—is the natural and perhaps ecclesially and culturally necessary result of the Reformers’ need to train followers and successors in the faith. This motive toward the development of dogmatics—the recognition of the practical necessity of having a systematic point of view—appears not only in successive editions of the Loci communes (1521–1560) of Melanchthon and the Institutes (1536–1559) of Calvin but also in the Loci communes (1560) of Wolfgang Musculus, the Decades (1549–1552) and Compendium christianae religionis (1556) of Heinrich Bullinger, the Methodus theologiae (1568) of

Andreas Hyperius, the Examen theologicum (1557) of Benedict Aretius, and the Reformed confessions up to and including the Confessio Helvetica posterior (1562/66). It is highly significant, moreover, that these first codifiers of the Reformation, the second-generation followers of the initial Reformers, were also instrumental, together with a group of their associates, in the creation of the confessional (and catechetical) norms of the midsixteenth century—and that these Reformation era confessions set the boundaries for the development of post-Reformation orthodoxy. There is an integral relationship and continuity both in content and in intention between the work of the second-generation codifiers and the orthodoxy that developed in the late sixteenth century. The fact of this gradual historical development toward orthodox system does not, of course, absolve the historian from examining differences between the theology of the Reformers and the theology of the orthodox; it only makes the task of examination more difficult and the problems and issues encountered more subtle. We cannot, as noted above, make facile comparisons between the perspective of Calvin and that of Protestant orthodoxy in general. Instead, theological patterns and definitions presented in a variety of early and second-generation Reformation writings need to be compared with a number of orthodox systems, recognizing the variety and variance both among the Reformers and among the orthodox. Some doctrines emphasized by the Protestant orthodox—like covenant—are not at all prominent in the thought of Calvin but are presented in some detail in the works of authors like Bullinger and Musculus. The development is complex at every stage—whether with Calvin and his contemporaries; with the next generation following Calvin, in the thought of writers like Ursinus, Olevianus, Beza, and Zanchi; with the early orthodox codifiers, Junius, Polanus, Perkins, Scharpius, Keckermann, and others; or with the subsequent generations of Protestant scholastic teachers. At each stage, the patristic and medieval background is an important factor in the development of ideas. In addition, the mutual interaction of the thoughts of contemporaries is equally as important as the impact of specific earlier Protestant theologies on any particular thinker or system. The fact is that a simple kerygma to dogma model or existential event to domestication-of-the-event pattern of doctrinal development cannot be applied to the historical development of Protestant orthodoxy. The kerygma arose and the existential event of the proclamation occurred within the framework of an extant system and a richly elaborated intellectual tradition. The earliest Reformers were all trained in this extant theology—some, like Luther and Bucer, in considerable depth. The Thomist, Scotist, and Nominalist models carry over into the Reformation in the thought of

Vermigli, Zanchi, Calvin, and Musculus. When the tradition reappears in full force and the medieval theological models are again used explicitly by the early Protestant orthodox, it is not because the early orthodox have deviated widely from the theology of the Reformers. Rather, the systematic models within which the Reformers worked and against which they reacted, are examined again, now by the early orthodox, for the sake of setting forth a critically altered theological system in which the insights of the Reformers have been used as the basis for determining and developing not only individual doctrines but entire patterns of exposition and doctrinal interrelationship. The development of Protestant system, therefore, resulted in a theology that was neither the theology of the Reformers nor the theology of the medieval scholastics. Just as the continuity of Christian Aristotelianism is characteristic of the historical path of Western philosophy from the thirteenth through the seventeenth centuries,35 so the continuity of a dialectical and argumentative scholastic method is a feature of both Catholic and Protestant theological system during the same period. The impact of the Reformation on this development must not be minimized by a view of Protestant scholasticism as a departure from or distortion of the theology of the Reformation, as if continuity with the Reformation can be identified only in cases of simple duplication of its theology. Instead, the impact of the Reformation must be considered in terms of the massive reworking of system as undertaken gradually by post-Reformation Protestants. B. Reformers and Doctrinal Formulation 1. The first and second generations of Reform: the shape of early developments. In order to understand this reworking of theological system that became the primary task of Protestant theology from the mid-sixteenth to the end of the seventeenth century (a period, we note, some three times longer than the Reformation) we must examine the characteristics of the theology of the Reformation and of scholastic orthodoxy through the several phases of their development. A full history of the thought of the Reformers and their orthodox successors cannot be presented here, but the synthetic and doctrinal character of the present study does demand a historical prologue, if only for the sake of noting explicitly the broad stylistic changes that took place in Protestant theology and that must stand in the background of the discussion of each doctrinal point. The first era of the development Reformed theology runs roughly from Zwingli’s Articuli sive conclusiones (1523) and the Theses Bernenses in 1528 to the promulgation of the Heidelberg Catechism (1562– 63) and the death of Calvin in 1564, with some acknowledgment necessary between the earliest Reformers, like Zwingli, Bucer, and Oecolampadius, and

a second group or “generation” of codifiers, like Calvin, Musculus, Bullinger, and Vermigli.36 We therefore observe a distinction and a rather vague chronological division between a first generation of Reformers and a second generation of codifiers—although the vagueness of the division or periodization needs to be observed, it is certainly the case that the writings of Luther, Melanchthon, Zwingli, Bucer, and their contemporaries represent first efforts to state the theology of Reform, whereas the theological works of Calvin, Vermigli, Musculus, and their contemporaries take the formulations of the earlier generation of Reformers as a point of departure. The point is made in the recognition that, for example, Calvin’s 1536 Institutes bears a strong structural likeness to Luther’s small catechism and that the revisions of the Institutes relied heavily on the exegetical and theological methods of Melanchthon.37 2. Writers and issues in the first generation. If the Reformation thus brought about a great crisis in dogmatics and, in a sense, demanded a new perception of the theological task, it was not Luther himself who turned to the constructive work of producing a “reformed” theological structure: he remained, to the end of his life, a thinker whose theology must be elicited from exegetical works, from sermons, and from polemical treatises of a frequently occasional nature. It was left to others to develop explicit dogmatic loci out of the text of Scripture and/or out of commentaries and treatises themselves based on exegesis and to bring about the beginnings of Protestant theology as system.38 Melanchthon, by way of contrast, offered a clarity of formulation and a refined method for eliciting doctrinal topics and organizing them into teachable bodies of doctrine. The pedagogical, confessional, systematic, and philosophical impact of Melanchthon’s work on the shape of Protestant teaching was enormous. The pedagogical and systematizing impulses are evident in his Loci communes rerum theologicarum, first published in December 1521.39 During 1519 and 1520 Melanchthon had lectured on Romans with specific and pointed attention to the distinction between Pauline theology and the theology of medieval scholasticism. In 1520 a set of theological loci published by students but based directly on Melanchthon’s lectures appeared in print— stimulating Melanchthon toward the production of a more carefully conceived and more elaborate set of loci.40 Melanchthon’s Loci communes of 1521 is not only the first “dogmatics” of the Reformation but also, in the form of dogmatics, an initial attempt to bring the evangelical protest to precise definition and pedagogical application. Melanchthon manifests from the very beginning a concern for theological method and organization which bore fruit also in the Augsburg Confession (1530) and his lengthy Apology.41 In addition, Melanchthon early on in the course of the Reformation undertook to

bring Aristotelian ethics and physics and Aristotelian and Ciceronian dialectic and rhetoric into the Protestant classroom—having both a pedagogical and a philosophical impact.42 The development of Lutheran theology beyond Luther’s doctrinal and catechetical writings and Melanchthon’s systematizing efforts must also not be ignored. In addition to Melanchthon’s Loci communes, early Lutheranism saw a spate of topical theologies in the years prior to the death of Luther— namely Urbanus Rhegius’ Formulae … loquendi de praecipuis christianae doctrinae locis (1535), Erasmus Sarcerius’ Loci aliquot communes et theologici (1538), Johann Spangenberg’s Margarita theologica (1540). These works, although little examined in studies of the beginnings of Protestant theology,43 were widely used beyond Germany in their time and represent, with Melanchthon’s works, a clear sign of the drive toward theological formulation that was an aspect of the Reformation virtually from its beginnings.44 On the Reformed side we see a rapid development of distinctively Reformed theology, in the promulgation of a series of Reformed confessions by the writers of the first generation of the Reform.45 Already in the Theses Bernenses (1528), in contrast to the Lutheran confessional writings, we find an initial description of Scripture as the Word of God and therefore as the ground of theology and the church, indicating early on the Reformed theology, both in concessions and in more or less systematic works, to begin with a clear enunciation of its principia. Contemporaries of Luther like Zwingli and Bucer manifested immediately a more doctrinal, and at times philosophical, interest. Zwingli was trained both in humanism and in scholastic method, and he not averse to ancient philosophy, borrowing from Aristotle, Plato, and the Stoics, particularly in his treatise on providence and predestination.46 Among his writings are three confessional documents, the Short Christian Instruction (1523), the Account of the Faith (1530), and the Short and Clear Exposition of the Christian Faith (1531), which demonstrate an increasing sense of the broader architecture of the faith. Even in his treatment of Scripture, Zwingli leaned toward the formal treatise, as evidenced in his lengthy sermonic exposition, On the Clarity and Certainty of the Word (1522).47 Arguably also, Zwingli’s expansion of the Sixty-Seven Articles (1523) stands as a significant doctrinal elaboration of the early Reformed faith, largely on controverted topics in Reformation debate.48 His Commentary on True and False Religion, which followed shortly, belongs to the earliest systematic expositions of the Reformed faith (1525).49 In this latter treatise, Zwingli offered a compendium of the Reformation faith, beginning with doctrines of God and human nature, a discussion of true

religion, the Gospel, repentance, law, sin, Church and sacraments, a polemic against false sacraments and abuses, ending finally with a discussion of temporal authority.50 In Zwingli’s works, by 1531, the Reformed faith was already well on the way toward a more formal exposition. The work of Martin Bucer, like that of Zwingli and perhaps on a more profound and technical theological plane, also points toward the eventual systematization of the doctrines of the Reformation. More than either Luther or Zwingli, Bucer stood in positive relation to the medieval tradition: he was a Dominican monk, trained as a Thomist, who throughout his career as a reformer retained Thomistic elements both in his theology and his hermeneutic.51 In addition, Bucer’s exegetical works manifest a tendency to develop theological loci and to press toward doctrinal definition as the final element of interpretation of a text.52 Bucer also produced a brief, evangelical confession touching the main points of his faith, Ein Summarischer Vergriff der christlichen Lehre und Religion (1548).53 The flowering of this multifaceted tradition continued in the confessional, doctrinal, and exegetical writings of the next generation—an era of great variety in theological formulation despite general doctrinal consensus that defies harmonization of its various theologies into a single analysis of doctrine. This variety within a confessional tradition will remain characteristic of Reformed orthodoxy. 3. The second generation: codification and confession. In the writings of Calvin, Bullinger, Musculus, and Vermigli, we come to a second stage in the development of the Reformed system. Each of these thinkers came to the Reformation and its theology after its initial establishment and developed his own position on the basis of the work of men like Luther, Bucer, and Zwingli. As Melanchthon was to the Lutheran Reformation, so were Calvin, Bullinger, Musculus and Vermigli to the Swiss Reformation and, ultimately, to that branch of the Protestant revolt known as “Reformed”: they are the codifiers, the first important shapers of the systematic structure. These writers, then, are crucial both to the survival of the Reformation as a theological movement and as a form of the Christian Church and also to the gradual development of an “orthodoxy,” a fully defined body of Church-doctrine belonging to the Reformed churches. Indeed, it is in the works of this group of thinkers where the work, commonly associated with orthodoxy, of bringing traditional motifs —from the fathers and from the medieval scholastics—to bear, for the purpose of codification, upon the scriptural theology of the Reformation begins in earnest. Orthodoxy would receive the medieval tradition with more openness, but the impact of the middle ages, indeed, of scholasticism, as well as the more powerful impact of the fathers, is undeniable among Calvin and his contemporaries.

The gradual but methodical development of system is most clearly defined by the successive editions of Calvin’s Institutio christianae religionis. In its first edition (1536) Calvin’s Institutes was an extended catechetical meditation based upon Luther’s Small Catechism. Had Calvin written no more he would be remembered as an exceedingly able codifier of the early Reformation but not as a particularly original thinker.54 In the 1539, 1543, 1550, and 1559 editions of the Institutes, however, Calvin altered the design and scope of the work, producing one of the major systematic works of his generation.55 Wendel remarks, whatever its defects, this edition of 1559–60 remains monumental work; truly a theological summa of Reformed Protestantism. Even in Calvin’s lifetime its success was immense, and it was never discredited afterwards. It was indubitably one of the causes of the very rapid rise of a Calvinist orthodoxy, strictly adherent to the formulas of the Institutes, which even the later controversies have only with difficulty managed to modify.56 Calvin himself viewed the Institutes as containing his version of the “dogmatic disputations” and doctrinal loci inserted by other theologians into their commentaries on Scripture and, in fact, gathered by them into theological summations paralleling the Institutes in content and scope.57 This development of a more formal, doctrinal theology in the successive editions of Calvin’s Institutes is also evident in the efforts of Calvin’s contemporaries and in the various confessional works of the age. Heinrich Bullinger, Zwingli’s successor in Zürich, produced two important compilations of doctrinal loci, the Compendium Christianae religionis and the personal confession that became the Confessio helvetica posterior.58 Both of these works are brief in comparison to the Institutes but, in their concision, more like a set of formal doctrinal loci. The Compendium proceeds, in a manner analogous to that of the 1543 edition of the Institutes, from a discussion of Scripture as the source of our knowledge of God to a treatment of God and his works, man in his original state, sin and punishment, the law, grace and justification through Christ,59 a credal discussion following the topics of the Apostle’s Creed,60 followed by treatment of prayer, sacraments, good works, and the last things.61 Two other of Calvin’s contemporaries may be singled out as having made significant contributions to the systematic development of Reformed theology, particularly in terms of the continuity of the Reformed with the medieval tradition. If Calvin and Bullinger can be singled out as theologians guided powerfully by patristic thought, Musculus and Vermigli are crucial to the Reformed use, in the case of the former, of Scotist and nominalist

categories and, in the case of the latter, of Thomist principles. Toward the end of his career, Musculus gathered together a series of doctrinal expositions— some seventy-five in number—and published them as his Loci communes: the first forty-six loci form a fairly continuous series treating of God, his works, creation, free will, sin, the law, covenant, grace, redemption, incarnation, the Gospel of Christ, Scripture, ministry, faith, election, repentance, justification, good works, forgiveness, the Church, sacraments, and traditions; the latter twenty-nine sections deal, for the most part, with God, the divine attributes, the relation of God to man, and the relation of man in the Church to God, which is to say, Christian life.62 Vermigli’s posthumous Loci communes (1576; 1583) were arranged by Robert Masson, who chose the structure of Calvin’s 1559 Institutes as the model for his systematization of Vermigli.63 On one level, Masson’s ordering of loci frames Vermigli’s thought in terms of a pattern that was, in itself, influential and which became the glass through which the Reformed tradition would see and use Vermigli. On another level, Masson tended to cull fairly large blocks of material from Vermigli’s many works—so that the reader of the Loci communes is enabled to follow entire theological arguments. The impression given by the Loci as a whole is that of a thinker of a more scholastic bent than Calvin or Bullinger, who had a more positive attitude toward the use of philosophy in theology.64 These efforts of Reformed writers of the second generation were paralleled among the Lutherans by such works as David Chytraeus’ Catechesis (1555), a work modeled on Melanchthon’s Loci, and by Chytraeus De studio theologiae recte incohando (1562). Add to these works Nicholas Hemmingius’ Enchiridion theologicum (1557), and we have a portrait of a reform movement little averse to theological system. In addition to the theological systems produced by the thinkers of this first era of codification, mention need also be made of the major confessional documents produced toward the end of this period: in addition to Bullinger’s Confessio, there are also the Confessio Gallicana (1559), the Confessio Belgica (1561), the Scots Confession (1560), the Heidelberg Catechism (1563), and the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England (1563).65 In each of the confessions, the doctrine of Scripture is stated as the ground of doctrine, and in all but the Scots Confession, it appears as a first locus, adumbrating the pattern of the scholastic systems. Indeed, the Gallican and Belgic confessions point directly toward the systematic order adopted by many of the orthodox systems—so that, in a sense, the great confessions of the first codification provide the preliminary outline for the great systems of the ensuing confessional period of the Reformed Church. In this sense,

orthodoxy is more than a positive and polemical development of theology beyond that of the Reformers: it is a conscious attempt to reflect in detail the early confessional synthesis of Reformed doctrine. The Reformers also provided orthodoxy with fundamental insights into the character and arrangement of theology—namely, the locus method, the notion of a historical series of topics in theology and the sense of a Pauline “order” of movement from the problem of sin to the topics of law, grace, the two testaments, predestination, and the church, this latter model being generally compatible both with catechetical patterns and with the historical series running from creation to the eschaton.66 We already see in these methodological interests the accommodation of older scholastic patterns of order (movement from an sit? to quid sit? to qualis sit), of the format of disputations, and of the use of distinctions, to a more discursive, rhetoricallycouched pattern of discourse, generated in part by the locus method or “place logic” of the Renaissance—resulting not in a total loss or repudiation of scholastic models but in their adaptation to the linguistic and stylistic concerns of humanism.67 By the death of Calvin, all of these founders of the Reformed tradition had produced their major writings and had prepared their churches for the next generation—having argued the basic doctrinal positions of the Reformed faith, whether in their larger more systematic works or in the major confessional documents produced under their auspices. Orthodoxy would elaborate, refine, draw out conclusions and, in addition, make more explicit the rootage of Protestantism in the Christian tradition, but it would alter the basic doctrinal position of the Reformed churches but little: most of the presuppositions and premises of Protestant theology were enunciated during this period, but system as such was not fully developed nor had theology yet received a full Protestant treatment as an academic discipline. 1.3 The Rise of Orthodoxy and the Structures of Protestant Scholastic Theology A. Doctrine and Method in the Era of Early Orthodoxy (ca. 1565– 1618–1640) 1. Continuity, discontinuity, and the alteration of theological style. The next period, which represents the beginnings and the initial codification of Reformed orthodoxy, and which we shall label for convenience “early orthodoxy,” runs from the Heidelberg Catechism to the time when the theologians who sat at the Synod of Dort (1618/19) gradually passed from the scene—at various points between the synod of Dort and 1640. The Heidelberg Catechism had two major effects on Reformed theology. First, it set the tone of Dutch and German Reformed piety and doctrine for many

decades to come, and second, it provided the basis in Heidelberg for a scholastic approach to theology as taught by one of the authors of the catechism, Zacharias Ursinus. Ursinus revived the quaestio as a device for teaching theology, utilizing the catechism itself as the basic form for theological discourse. Ursinus’ successor to the chair of theology, Jerome Zanchi, was trained in Thomism and late medieval scholastic thought; the nascent Protestant scholasticism of Ursinus was developed and refined under his tutelage. As we move from the initial period of Reformed theology into the early orthodox period, a major change in style can be noted. Some of this change relates directly to the increasingly formal, institutionalized character of theology in general. Protestant theology is no longer, in the latter period, reforming a church—it is establishing and protecting the church. Theology itself is more and more a creature of the schools. In the early period theology has strong homiletical and catechetical motives; in the latter period these characteristics are no longer as obvious in the larger dogmatic systems. At this point we must be wary of making artificial contrasts, for the homiletical and catechetical instruction of the orthodox maintains much of the earlier warmth and dynamism. Preaching and teaching of piety have been separated from instruction in doctrine by the increasing need to deal with the language of technical school-theology. We must bear this in mind in our comparison, since a system like Bullinger’s Compendium or Calvin’s Institutio is not perfectly analogous in intention and use to a system like Polanus’ Syntagma or Scharpius’ Cursus theologicus. The justice of these remarks is apparent in the works of such thinkers as Zanchi and Walaeus who produced both introductory doctrinal instructions and systems of theology. The style has become “scholastic.” Yet, when compared either methodologically or stylistically with the scholasticism of the later Middle Ages, this new scholasticism appears profoundly humanistic in its approach to method, languages, and literary style.68 The issue of style conjoins, then, with the issue of literary genre. The earliest systematic efforts of the Reformation, whether Zwingli’s Commentarius, Bullinger’s Compendium, Calvin’s Institutes, or any of the various Loci communes written before 1565, are intended to be instructions in the basic teachings of Scripture, preparations for biblical study. In the case of Bullinger’s Compendium and Calvin’s Institutes, the parallel between this basic instruction and the forms of catechetical instruction is obvious. The style, moreover, is discursive—as one would expect at this level of preparatory and at times hortatory instruction. The passage of Reformed theology into the era of early orthodoxy can be charted in terms of the movement from basic, discursive instruction to a more sophisticated,

dialectical model. 2. Grounds or causes of the rise of scholastic orthodoxy. Part of the reason for this development lies in the polemic in which the Reformers and their successors were continuously engaged.69 The growth and development, for example, of Calvin’s Institutes represents not only the positive creation of a more inclusive doctrinal statement but also the polemical engagement with an ever-increasing series of adversaries. It is painfully apparent in the later editions of the Institutes that the discursive model was strained and its clarity of doctrinal exposition threatened by the addition of polemics that interrupt the flow of thought and frequently move in directions not dictated by the positive statements of doctrine. In order to offset some of these problems and in accord with the new intention for the Institutes outlined by Calvin in his great revision of 1539, the catechetical purpose of the first edition gave way to a larger instructional task consisting both in the presentation of positive doctrinal loci and polemical disputationes dogmaticae. Just as Calvin’s colleagues and successors attempted to clarify the structure of argument in the final edition of the Institutes with an apparatus that identified the doctrinal loci and outlined the structure of Calvin’s disputations,70 so also did they provide clearer outlines and argumenta for their theology and, in addition, indicate with greater precision the distinction between positive loci and polemical disputationes. The early orthodox development of larger, more detailed, dialectical or scholastic argumentation must be viewed, in large part, as an accommodation to the needs of debate. Thus Ursinus will argue in the form of the quaestio, with objections and replies, while writers like Scharpius and Trelcatius will add entire polemical sections to each doctrinal locus. In the later phases of orthodoxy, Wendelin and Turretin will write elenctical or disputative systems and Mastricht will include a polemical section alongside the exegetical, dogmatic and practical divisions of his loci. Early orthodoxy is also the period of Ramism. If the Heidelberg theology, particularly in the works of Zanchi, tended toward the treatment of loci on a massive expository scale, the theology and dialectic of Petrus Ramus (1515– 1572) had an opposite effect. In his attack on aspects of the Aristotelianism of his day, Ramus produced a method of logical discourse by means of partition or dichotomy which gave to Reformed theology an extreme clarity and conciseness of approach. This clarity and conciseness appears in the writings of Perkins, Polanus, Ames, Yates, Scharpius, and to a lesser extent, Walaeus and Maccovius. If not universally accepted—indeed, opposed bitterly by Beza and Olevianus—Ramism is characteristic of the striving of early orthodoxy toward a careful and viable enunciation of theological method. The early orthodox, whether Ramist or anti-Ramist, shared the desire to

create a theological system suited to the successful establishment of Protestantism as a church in its own right, catholic in its teaching, capable of being sustained intellectually against its adversaries, and sufficiently technical and methodologically consistent to stand among the other disciplines in the university.71 This concern for method and structure marks a point of genuine distinction between the theological approach of the Reformers and that of the early orthodox. Method, although a concern of Reformation writers like Melanchthon and Hyperius,72 was not a dominant theme. The gradual expansion of Calvin’s Institutes manifests virtually no concern for approach, method, or overarching unity until the final edition of 1559, when Calvin reorganized the whole of the Institutes on the pattern of the creed. Even in this final edition, the issue addressed by Calvin was the arrangement of all his chapters—including noncreedal topics—under the creedal form and not the development of a consistent approach, either synthetic or analytic, to the organization of doctrine. The early orthodox era, drawing on Hyperius and given direction by Ursinus, Zanchi, and the Ramists, strove toward cohesive method and arrangement of doctrine as well as toward precise definition. Typical of the era is a concern to distinguish between a theoretical, somewhat deductive and teleological approach to system, usually called “synthetic,” and a more practical, somewhat inductive approach usually called “analytic.” The synthetic model, which became the dominant pattern for system, begins with prolegomena and the doctrine of Scripture and moves from the doctrine of God, via the historical path of sin and redemption, to the last things. Analytic patterns can, for example, begin with the problem of sin and move, via the work of redemption, to faith and the articles of the faith. Intimately bound up with the early orthodox concern for method is the role of early orthodoxy in the positive development of Protestant theology in the form of system. Several of the earlier historians of Protestant orthodoxy, particularly those enmeshed in the theological problems of the nineteenth century, have spoken of this positive systematic development as the working out of an inner logic of Protestant doctrine. Most notable here are the writings of Alexander Schweizer, Wilhelm Gass, and Ernst Troeltsch.73 The two former writers argue for a metaphysical and predestinarian systematization, while Troeltsch, more on the Lutheran side of orthodoxy, tended to emphasize the inner logic of system. While we will take issue, below, with the notion of a predestinarian metaphysic in the Reformed systems,74 we need to recognize here the fact of the positive, synthesizing drive evident alongside of the polemics in the early orthodox systems. Rather than view this drive as arising from the inner logic of certain central dogmas, we ought to view it, more simply, as the result of a process of selfdefinition and institutionalization (or, as social historians have called it,

“confessionalization”) witnessed both in the Protestant confessions and in the larger theological context of the catholic or universal churchly tradition of which the Reformers and their successors strove to be a part.75 Thus the Protestant orthodox systems increasingly adopt a confessional structure and include all the doctrinal points noted in earlier theological system, specifically in the sentence commentaries and theological summas of the later Middle Ages. They also adopted a method suitable to the institutionalized educational context of the university and the theological faculty—namely, scholastic method. The methodological development, moreover, as illustrated by the work of Protestant Ramus and the Roman Catholic Zabarella, was not bound to a particular theological result or, indeed, to theology per se. Rather, the development and alteration of method in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries belongs to the educational progress of the Renaissance, an educational progress related to the application of new forms of logic and rhetoric to the entire arts curriculum of the university and to the advanced study of such fields as philosophy, theology, and law. The rise of a revised scholasticism, tuned by Renaissance logic and rhetoric and allied to the study of the classical and biblical languages occurred in the theological disciplines as a result, not of doctrinal change, but of the participation of theological faculties in the academic culture of the age.76 This positive development, moreover, provided a more suitable systematic vehicle in and through which to surmount objections leveled by Roman Catholic polemicists. This movement toward a lucid schema of doctrine was accompanied by a response to a still more sophisticated Roman polemic—principally in the writings of Robert Bellarmine.77 As a result we see a tendency to produce complete formulations of doctrine on points left vague or unfinished by theologians of the Reformation. In addition, the sophistication of the polemic led these early orthodox to adapt for their own use many of the distinctions used by the medieval scholastics. Now, more than in earlier times, Protestantism began to develop a self-conscious “church dogmatics” formulated in continuity with the tradition of Christian systematic theology and aware of the need for philosophical as well as theological consistency. This drive toward system may be regarded as one of the causes of the debate with Arminius and the confessional determination of that debate at Dort. There was no room left within the system for variance such as that of the Remonstrants which now stood out so clearly against the background of a more closely defined system identified as the particular theology of the Reformed churches. On the second point, it must be admitted that, despite the level of rancor and invective reached in the doctrinal debates of the seventeenth century, the Protestant scholastics seldom misunderstood or misrepresented the doctrinal

statements of their opponents. We may find excessive the claim made by the Lutherans and the Reformed against each other that their respective Christologies, if followed to their logical conclusions, would mean the destruction of the doctrine of the Person of Christ and the eventual loss of faith in the incarnation. Nonetheless, the actual statement of Reformed doctrine by Lutherans and of Lutheran doctrine by the Reformed for the sake of confutation were generally accurate, as were the Reformed and Lutheran representations of the views of their mutual adversaries, like the Roman Catholics and the Socinians. The primary purpose of polemics was the assault on and demolition of error. That purpose was best served by the accurate statement of an opponent’s position. In addition to these doctrinal and institutional pressures, both positive and polemical, early orthodoxy was faced by the intellectual and academic pressure of establishing a new dialogue, suitable to the Protestant context, between theology and philosophy. As Lewalter has argued, the nominally metaphysical issues necessarily addressed by fully developed theological system could only be dealt with adequately by the adoption (or adaptation) of a philosophical metaphysic congenial to that system. The Protestant orthodox looked both to the precedents provided for a synthesis of philosophy and theology, reason and revelation, by the scholastics of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries and, as emphasized by Lewalter, to the revived Aristotelianism of Zabarella and Suárez. The theology of the Reformation manifests a certain degree of continuity with the critical theology of the later Middle Ages, specifically with the Scotist and Nominalist emphasis on the diastasis of revelation and reason and on the need for reliance on authority in the construction of a body of Christian doctrine. Even so, the theology of Protestant orthodoxy, when it seeks medieval models, manifests an affinity with the more critical perspective of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries rather than the more optimistic approach of the thirteenth-century Dominicans and their views on the relationship of revelation and reason. Where the Thomistic line of thought continues into the Reformation—for example, in the writings of Vermigli, Zanchi, and, to a certain extent, Keckermann—it is modified by a more negative assessment of the powers of reason and by a sense of diastasis between the ways of God and the ways of man that virtually cancels a Thomistic use of the analogia entis in theology.78 The Protestant interest in the philosophy of Zabarella and Suárez, evidenced in the works of Keckermann and Alsted, arose out of the desire to find a suitable metaphysic for the Protestant academy.79 The theological impact of this new philosophical alliance can be described, on the one hand,

as a reinforcing of the modified Thomism already present in Reformed thought through the work of Vermigli and Zanchi and, on the other, as the creation of new systematic and linguistic possibilities for Protestant thought. Now Protestant theology could draw, with philosophical rigor, on the language of potency and act, of essence and existence, and of intellectual habits or dispositions: the language, and therefore the systematic conceptuality of being, both finite and infinite, and of human psychology was once again available in a cohesive and coherent form.80 The effect on theological system was twofold: first, the systematic broadening, that we have already noted as a positive development of the implications of the Reformation for theological system as a whole, was facilitated, and, second, theology was placed in dialogue with collateral disciplines far more than it had been during the era of the Reformation. The grounds for this dialogue now had to be described in theological prolegomena even as its effect became evident in other loci, specifically, the doctrines of God and providence. We can affirm four forces contributing to the rise and development of Protestant orthodoxy, (polemics, pedagogical needs, the working out of systematic issues, and the striving for philosophical breadth and coherence) and rule out a fifth (concentration on a metaphysical principle or central dogma). We concur with Scharlemann’s comment concerning Lutheran orthodoxy, that the development was not a “relapse” into “earlier conceptsplitting ‘school philosophy’ ” but rather a development manifesting a “theological continuity” between the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.81 However, it seems that response to polemic was more important for the development of individual loci than Scharlemann would allow and that continuity must be defined in terms of the broadening of the Protestant theological perspective to include more of the tradition of the church than had been utilized by the Reformers. In addition, it is also crucial to recognize, underlying all of these individual forces or pressures toward scholastic orthodoxy, the pressure of institutionalization. Inasmuch as the Reformation itself intended to correct doctrinal errors and abuses, its success as a movement virtually demanded that Protestant theologians create an orthodoxy, an institutionally viable, genuinely catholic body of right teaching resting upon, elaborating and defending the church’s confessions. 3. International dimensions and interrelationships in the rise of Reformed orthodoxy. It is also during the early orthodox period that Reformed theology assumed truly international dimensions. The systems of Calvin, Vermigli, Musculus, and Bullinger had extensive circulation not only in Switzerland but also in German Reformed territories, the Netherlands, and England. Writers of the third and fourth generations of the Reformed churches —Ursinus, Olevianus, Szegedinus, Zanchi, Polanus, Perkins, Ames—were

well known and widely read throughout Europe. Indeed, by the time of the Synod of Dort, the international character and broad, international consensus in Reformed doctrine was such that delegates were gathered from the Dutch states, the German Reformed cities, Switzerland, and England. The British writers—Perkins, Ball, Ames, Yates, Stoughton, Cameron, Downame, Ussher, Prideaux, Baxter, Rutherford, Charnock, and Leigh, not to mention commentators and theologians who did not produce dogmatic treatises systems—fall generally within the bounds of mainline Reformed theology and have only been neglected in studies of Protestant orthodoxy because of the insular approach not only of English but also of continental historians. The interrelationship of the English Reformed with the continental Reformed was such that neither development can be properly understood without the other: specifically, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, British theology was receptive to continental thought, as citations of European thinkers in English works testify. Ames’ Medulla theologiae was widely used both in England and on the continent as a synopsis of theology—Voetius recommended that students memorize it! In addition, although they are seldom ranked among the major writers of theological system in the seventeenth century, Yates, Downame, Ussher, Prideaux, Leigh, and Baxter did produce full-scale doctrinal compendia. If the English were not quite as prolific in producing fully scholastic systematic theologies as their Dutch, German and Swiss brethren, they were sensitive to this fact and made up for their hesitancy by an omnivorous reading of continental works. On the other hand, major English thinkers like Perkins, Ames, Whitaker, Gataker, Baxter, and Owen were much appreciated on the continent—as is manifest by the European editions and citations of their works. What is more, there is a clearly identifiable influence of Perkins and Ames on the Dutch Reformed theology that developed during and after Ames’ tenure at Franecker in the work of thinkers like Maccovius and Mastricht, just as there is an enormous influence of British thought on the so-called Nadere Reformatie of the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in the Netherlands. A few examples of these interrelationships are in order: Gataker’s philological debate over the character of biblical languages, specifically over the question of whether Greek could be called an “original language” was an international debate in which his chief opponent was a German linguist—and his respondent in debate over the Tetragrammaton was Cappel.82 English theologians like Leigh and Charnock consistently used the works of continental thinkers as constructive dialogue partners in the formulation of their theologies—Leigh, given his dependency, could even be called the English Wendelin.83 Conversely, Whitaker, Perkins, and Owen were read and respected on the continent: Whitaker was cited as late as Mastricht’s

Theoretico-practica theologia (1682–89), Perkins’ works were translated into Dutch, Turretin evidenced a profound respect for Owen. Further indices to this interrelationship can be found in the library catalogues of theologians like Gomarus, Owen, and Baxter. A full picture of Reformed orthodoxy cannot afford to omit the English contribution to Protestant scholasticism—nor is it acceptable to attempt to interpret British theology in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries without reference to continental developments. 4. Philosophical issues and developments. The Reformation, broadly understood, was not at all a philosophical movement—nor was the early orthodox extension of Protestant theology a fundamentally philosophical development marked by commitment to a particular philosophical perspective. The simplest and best description of the philosophical perspective (or perspectives) found among the Reformed thinkers of both the Reformation and the early orthodox eras is “eclectic.”84 Still, there remains a significant philosophical background to the Reformation, a background that is not exhausted by medieval patterns but that also follows out patterns in the Renaissance. The eclecticism of the Reformers and their successors, moreover, ought not to be understood as an incoherent philosophy, but rather as a philosophy drawn out of a multitude of sources both classical and medieval, modified by a Renaissance reading of texts, and guided by the desire to develop a pattern of rational argument that could serve theology in an ancillary position. This pattern or ethos of reception in turn determined the relationship of various Reformed thinkers to the varied philosophical options of the era—from one perspective, much of the philosophy of the age can be describe as a modified Aristotelianism, but, if the question of antecedents is raised in detail, there are Stoic and Platonic or Neoplatonic elements in the Reformed thought of the era and there is an interest in the ancient truths found in the Hermetic writings, viewed by the thinkers of the sixteenth century as dating from the time of Moses and, at the same time (ahistorically!) as fundamentally Platonic in implication.85 This use of philosophy, including the interest in the Hermetic literature, indicates, moreover, a continuity of discussion throughout the late Middle Ages, Renaissance, and Reformation eras.86 Given these sources of philosophical thought in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the references found in sixteenth and seventeenth century Reformed thought to Aristotle, Epicurus, various Stoic thinkers (not to mention Arius and other heretics of the patristic era) must not be taken merely as pro forma references to ancient philosophical and theological options. Rather, they are references to philosophical and theological options found in the historical context of Reformation and post-Reformation thought. The debates over Aristotelian, Epicurean, and Stoic options, therefore, are

debates over the assimilation, adaptation, or rejection of living philosophical and theological options, and over the identification and adaptation of a suitable ancilla for the theological enterprise. They are also debates that led to the severing of traditional Christianity from the dominant rationalist philosophies of the eighteenth century, given the rootage of much Enlightenment rationalism in the revived classical, indeed, pagan philosophical models of the Renaissance.87 There was also, accordingly, a highly negative interaction between developing Reformed theology and the philosophical models available in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Without question, both the Reformers and their early orthodox successors reacted against aspects of medieval Aristotelianism and, given the indebtedness of pre-Reformation scholastic theology to aspects of Aristotelian philosophy, the declamation against Aristotle was, probably, the loudest of the diatribes of the age against classical philosophy. Nonetheless, the more profound antagonisms were between the Reformed theology and other Renaissance reappropriations of classical thought, such as the Epicurean notion of a distant and uninvolved deity or the Stoic conceptions of a fatalistic determinism or the soul’s materiality.88 So too are deviant notions of God, variously labeled as “atheist” and “deist,” attacked vehemently, particularly insofar as they involved skeptical assumptions concerning the certainty of the authority of Scripture and its revelation of God. In 1564, Viret addressed the problem in a prefatory letter to the second part of his Instruction chrestienne, referring to a group calling itself “deists” and distinguishing themselves from “atheists”: they confess belief in God, recognizing a creator of the world, but deny Christ and “his teaching.” Some of them have views (presumably negative) on the immortality of the soul and others deny providence after the manner of the Epicureans. From Viret’s perspective, such persons are in fact “atheists” in the sense that the Apostle intends in Ephesians—pagans who know not the true God. The identity of these “deists” is unclear. One hypothesis is that they were antitrinitarians,89 more likely, however, they were advocates of a cultured paganism, admirers of the classical philosophical tradition as a form of theism in its own right and not merely as a preparation for or ancilla to Christian theology. This reading is supported by Viret’s somewhat earlier comments concerning “philosophical” minds, “learned in languages and in human philosophy” who diminish the value of Scripture in contrast with “heathenish volumes,” and by the parallels between Viret’s comments concerning the soul, providence, and the Epicureans with Calvin’s similar polemic in the Institutes. Nearly identical worries also appear within a decade in Ascham’s Scholemaster, directed specifically at Italian humanists.90

Such issues had a direct impact, of course, on Reformed apologetics—but they had, also, an indirect but nonetheless significant impact on a series of issues identified by the Reformed in their prolegomena and discussions of theological principia. Skepticism and the forms of philosophical belief identified as deism and atheism related as closely to the identification of fundamental articles of belief as did the claims of alternative Christian orthodoxies, namely, the Arminian, Lutheran, and Roman Catholic or the teachings of the various heresies of the day, notably, Socinianism. So too does the early problem of deists and skeptics relate directly to the identification of Scripture and God as principia—foundations that stand as authoritative, prior to demonstration and to debate over opinion. (It is noteworthy here that Descartes’ antidote to skepticism involved the radical doubting of “opinion” and the identification of self-evident and indubitable principia.)91 The pattern of argument in the Reformed orthodox presentation of proofs of God’s existence, moreover, is directed against atheists—often, specifically, against “practical atheists,” who do not disbelieve in God per se, but who do not support the fundamental beliefs and practices of Christianity, individuals similar in assumptions to Viret’s “deists.” Beyond this, the understanding of the relationship of philosophy to theology propounded in the Reformed prolegomena and in various apologetic works of the era of orthodoxy assumes a view of philosophy as ancilla and subordinate both in a purely hierarchical sense among the forms of knowing and in a historical sense, regarding it as a derivative form of knowing. The derivation of philosophy, argued at length by seventeenth century apologists like Du Moulin, Grotius, and Gale, echoing the arguments of the Christian apologists of the second century, placed the ancient Pentateuchal or Mosaic revelation prior to the rise of Greek philosophy and grounded ancient pagan wisdom in patterns of borrowing from the primordial truths known to the patriarchs and written down by Moses. This case of an ancient argument (namely, an argument found in the work of the second century Apologists) resurfacing in a new context points toward the alternative view, the ancient philosophy understood as the equal or even the substitute for a Christian theological and philosophical orthodoxy. In the sixteenth century this kind of argumentation was even used to interpret the Corpus Hermeticum as a source of ancient wisdom—on the ground that Hermes Trismegistus was the originator of writing and of theology, a pre-Mosaic Egyptian sage, identified by some with the biblical Enoch. For various Renaissance philosophers, the ancient Hermes served to ground an antithesis to scholastic theology and philosophy, assimilated to Neoplatonism, while in the works of various theologians of the era, the historical argument allowed the assimilation of a platonized Hermetic literature, often in the interest of identifying pre-

Christian adumbrations of the Trinity.92 In the seventeenth century, the Hermetica were addressed differently by those who accepted Casaubon’s post-New Testament dating of the Corpus.93 In addition, the seventeenth century saw both the attempt to draw the prisca theologia of Plato and the Hermetic literature into alliance with Christian orthodoxy and the argument that the ancient theology offered an alternative to the orthodoxy of the era— heretical in the views of some, quite legitimate in the views of others.94 5. Trajectories in Aristotelianism and Rationalism. Although the early orthodox era (from roughly 1565 to 1640) is also the era during which the new science was being set forth by Kepler, Galileo, and Bacon,95 and the new rationalism was being initially expounded by Descartes and Lord Herbert of Cherbury, the rise of modern science and modern rationalism did not profoundly affect Protestant orthodox theology until the latter half of the seventeenth century. For the most part, early orthodox Protestant theologians doubted the new cosmology and rejected rationalist philosophy, resting content with the late Renaissance revisions of Christian Aristotelianism at the hands of Roman Catholic philosophers like Zabarella and Suárez and of Protestant thinkers like Ramus and Burgersdijk. The new cosmology had to wait until the latter part of the seventeenth century for Isaac Newton’s physical and mathematical discoveries to make any sense at all and seventeenth-century rationalism, particularly in the deductive model presented by Descartes, has never proved entirely congenial to traditional theology and was never incorporated either universally or without intense debate into Reformed orthodox thought.96 Just as the Ptolemaic universe remained the basis of the Western worldview until the end of the seventeenth century and continued to affect literary and philosophical forms of expression well into the eighteenth,97 so did Christianized Aristotelianism remain the dominant philosophical perspective throughout the era of orthodoxy. Here too, as in the area of theological system, important developments took place in the context of the Protestant universities in the late sixteenth century. Where Melanchthon, Vermigli, and others of their generation had tended to content themselves with the teaching of rhetoric, logic, ethics, and physics without giving particular attention to the potential impact of these disciplines on theology, in the second half of the century, the philosophical disciplines began to have a marked effect on Protestant theology. Aristotelian physics served the doctrine of creation in the works of Hyperius, Daneau and Zanchi; Agricolan and Ramist logic began to clarify the structure of theological systems, and metaphysics re-entered the Protestant classroom in the writings of Schegk, Martinius, Keckermann, Alsted, and Timpler.98

This development of Christian Aristotelianism in the Protestant universities not only parallels the development of Protestant scholasticism but bears witness to a similar phenomenon. The gradual production of philosophical textbooks by Protestants does not indicate a period during which the philosophical tradition was set aside followed by a sudden return to philosophy. Instead, it indicates a transition from medieval textbooks, like the Summulae logicales of Peter of Spain and the De dialectia inventione of Rudolf Agricola, to textbooks written by Protestants for Protestants, like Melanchthon’s De rhetorica libri tres (1519), Institutiones rhetoricae (1521), his commentaries on Aristotles’ Politics and Ethics (1536) and the De Anima (1540), Seton’s Dialectica (1545), Ramus’ Dialectica (1543) and the spate of works based upon it,99 or somewhat eclectic but also more traditional manuals like Sanderson’s Logicae artis compendium (1615) and Burgersdijk’s Institutiones logicae (1626) or his Idea philosophiae naturalis (1622). The absence of Protestant works from the era of the early Reformation points toward a use of established textbooks prior to the development of new ones under the pressure not only of Protestant theology but also of humanism and of changes and developments in the philosophical disciplines themselves. The publication of Protestant works in these areas parallels the rise and flowering of Protestant academies, gymnasia, and universities. Schmitt summarizes the situation neatly: … Latin Aristotelianism stretching from the twelfth to the seventeenth century had a degree of unity and organic development that cannot be easily dismissed.… the differences distinguishing the Catholic, Lutheran, or Calvinist varieties, are far outweighed by a unifying concern for the same philosophical and scientific problems and an invocation of the same sources of inspiration by which to solve them.100 Furthermore, the continuity must be understood in terms of the subsequent trajectories and modifications of late medieval schools of thought—Thomism, Scotism, nominalism, the varieties of via antiqua and via moderna—and the ways in which these schools of thought were received and mediated by the various trajectories of theology and philosophy in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. For if the Catholic, Lutheran, and Calvinist theologians shared a common Christian Aristotelian foundation, they differed, even among themselves, over the nuances of the model and over which of the late medieval trajectories was most suitable a vehicle for their theological formulation. The continuity of Christian Aristotelianism and scholastic method from the medieval into the early modern period together with the relationship of these

two phenomena to Protestant orthodoxy pinpoint one further issue to be considered in the study of orthodox or scholastic Protestantism. It is not only an error to attempt to characterize Protestant orthodoxy by means of a comparison with one or another of the Reformers (as in the case of the “Calvin against the Calvinists” thesis). It is also an error to discuss Protestant orthodoxy without being continually aware of the broad movement of ideas from the late Middle Ages, through the Reformation, into post-Reformation Protestantism. Whereas the Reformation is surely the formative event for Protestantism, it is also true that the Reformation, which took place during the first half of the sixteenth century, is the briefer phenomenon, enclosed, as it were by the five-hundred-year history of scholasticism and Christian Aristotelianism. In accord, moreover, with the older scholastic models as well as with the assumptions of the Reformers concerning the biblical norm of theology, the Reformed scholastics uniformly maintained the priority of revelation over reason and insisted on the ancillary status of philosophy.101 In approaching the continuities and discontinuities of Protestant scholasticism with the Middle Ages and the Reformation, the chief task is to assess the Protestant adjustment of traditional scholastic categories in the light of the Reformation and the patterns according to which it mediated that tradition, both positively and negatively, to future generations of Protestants. This approach is not only more adequate to the understanding of Protestant orthodoxy, but is also the framework for a clearer understanding of the meaning of the Reformation itself. B. Doctrine and Method in the Era of High Orthodoxy (ca. 1640– 1685–1725) 1. General characteristics. The period following 1640 and extending, in two phases, into the beginning of the eighteenth century can be called the period of high orthodoxy, defined most clearly by further changes in the style of dogmatics. The architectonic clarity of early orthodoxy is replaced to a certain extent or at least put to the service of a more broadly developed and even discursive system. Much of the change relates to the incorporation of expanded polemical argumentation into the system and of elaboration of ideas already present in system as basic definitions into more extended loci. In addition, the creative phase of orthodoxy, during which the basic Protestant scholastic system was built by writers like Junius, Polanus, Alsted, Maccovius, and Gomarus out of materials drawn from the Reformers, the tradition and Scripture, was largely over by 1640. The creativity of the high orthodox era was more in the way of nuance and elaboration—well illustrated in the development of covenant theology in the hands of Cocceius and his followers and in the detailed exposition of other trajectories in orthodoxy by such writers as Voetius, Turretin, and Mastricht.

Among the major transitions that took place as Reformed theology passed from early orthodoxy into the high orthodox era was the transition from a philosophical development focused on the reception, assessment, and critical appropriation of the various trajectories of Christian Aristotelianism and of the late Renaissance developments that can be identified with the work of Zabarella, Suárez, and various of their contemporaries, to the encounter of these older, highly nuanced approaches with the new rationalisms of the seventeenth century. Specifically, whereas Suárez can be thought of as a representative metaphysician of the early orthodox era, the high orthodox, ca. 1640, were beginning to feel the impact of Cartesian thought. Just as the early orthodox era manifests not a monolithic appropriation of the older Aristotelian philosophies, but the reception of elements of various trajectories, so does the high orthodox era manifest varied receptions of the newer rationalism among the Reformed and, indeed, the continuance of themes and issues from the older trajectories, now modified and altered by the changed philosophical context. Specifically, elements of the older Thomism, Scotism, and nominalism can still be detected as mediated through and modified by philosophical currents in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries— and elements of Cartesian thought and its modifications can also be found both debated and appropriated by various individual Reformed thinkers. High orthodoxy, then, did not create the Reformed doctrinal system; it modified, developed, and elaborated extant system in relation to a changing intellectual environment. The early orthodox systems and compendia, with their lucid and neatly argued structures, provided, as it were, the skeleton of the high orthodox dogmatics. One can almost imagine the high orthodox system as an extended meditation on all tangential subjects and controversial topics adumbrated by the individual propositions and partitions of the early orthodox system. This appears quite clearly in Rijssen’s Summa theologiae, wherein doctrine is stated in neatly numbered propositions between which the related controversies are argued and resolved. Nevertheless, the early orthodox structure, however well conceived, did not resolve all the problems of form and order—not even in the prolegomena. Together with the elaboration of extant loci, the high orthodox further elaborate system as a whole by the addition of new loci and, in particular, new subdivisions of loci. For example, the doctrine of the pactum salutis appears in the discussion of covenant and the question of fundamental articles in theology is added to the prolegomena. 2. Debate and polemic, ad extra and ad intra. Whereas the major polemics of early orthodoxy were directed against Rome—in particular against Bellarmine—and, on a limited set of doctrinal issues, against Lutheranism and the traditional heterodoxies of Christianity, the polemic of

high orthodoxy encountered a wider variety of antagonists, some of them more closely related to the heart of Reformed theology (the Remonstrants, Conrad Vorstius, and the Socinians). During the early orthodox period, the loci de theologia and the portion of the locus de Deo concerned with the divine essence and attributes developed, for the most part, as positive doctrine drawing nonpolemically upon the resources of the church fathers and of medieval scholasticism, the latter with emphasis on modified Thomist, Augustinian, and Scotist formulations. The locus de scriptura sacra and the portion of the locus de Deo concerned with the Trinity, however, developed in controversy, already in the early orthodox era—the former against Rome and the latter against various antitrinitarian heresies, the most notable being the Socinian. In the high orthodox period, beginning in the 1640s with thinkers like Cloppenburg, Hoornbeeck, and Wendelin, the polemical or controversial element begins to pervade all the loci—particularly in view of the rise of Socinian theology and its attack not only on the Trinity, but on the traditional view of God, and in view of the Remonstrant systems (first Episcopius, then Curcellaeus, Grotius, and Limborch) and their nearly total alternative view of theology which touched not only the system proper but the entire prolegomena including the locus de theologia and the problem of religion in general. In the same era, the diversity of the Reformed development itself brought controversies—most notably those concerning the federal theology and the variant positions espoused by the theologians of Saumur. Understanding the development of Reformed doctrine in the high orthodox era, therefore, requires proper distinction between the ad extra and the ad intra controversies. The ad extra debates, confrontations between the confessional Reformed and alternative confessional positions—whether Roman Catholic, Lutheran, Remonstrant, or Socinian—occupied the larger portion of the polemic of orthodoxy. Debate with the Roman Catholics continued to focus on Scripture and tradition, as well as on questions of justification, sanctification, sacraments, and ecclesiology, although changes in patristic scholarship caused changes in the shape and content of the debates. Debate with the Lutherans stabilized and maintained the impasse of the early orthodoxy era, given the confessional differences over such issues as the communicatio idiomatum, predestination, and the presence of Christ in the Lord’s supper. In both cases, whether the polemic with Roman Catholics or with Lutherans, neither dogmatic attack nor formal colloquy brought resolution. On these two fronts, by and large, high orthodoxy saw a codification rather than a significant development of debate. By way of contrast, the Remonstrant theology posed a major threat to the Reformed and called forth new argumentation, since it was, in its beginning,

an offshoot of the Reformed system and, in its development, a highly rationalistic structure allied with Cartesian and eventually with Lockean thought. Polemic became particularly bitter over the apparent rapprochement of Remonstrant and Socinian theologians on issues related to the work of Christ and the divine justice. Similarly, there was intense debate over the relationship of Remonstrant thought to rationalism, inasmuch as Cartesian philosophy, the reigning new philosophical movement of the age, had also made inroads into Reformed theology among the federal theologians. Here, the near contact between the Reformed and their Remonstrant opponents was most obvious. The Remonstrant system had retained some strong resemblances to the Reformed system, and especially in the area of the federal doctrines had developed a dispensational structure close to that argued by Cocceius and his followers.102 The increasingly rationalistic biblicism of the Socinian movement in its seventeenth-century forms posed an even more intense problem for the Reformed orthodox. Whether in the form of the Racovian Catechism or of the numerous dogmatic treatises and commentaries produced by Socinus’ followers and made widely available in the Biblioteca fratrum Polonorum published in 1656,103 the Socinians opposed the balance of revelation and reason advocated by the Reformed and claimed a fundamental biblical basis for their doctrine and repudiated natural theology—at the same time that they argued against the simplicity and infinity of God, denied the Trinity and the two natures of Christ, and proposed an alternative view of the work of Christ. From the Reformed perspective, all of these doctrines appeared to be at the same time the result of a new rationalism and a radically deviant exegesis. On all of these points, the high orthodox developed detailed argumentation: elements of debate not found in the Reformation and early orthodox era theologies, but arguably presented in defense of the same basic body of doctrine. There were also bitter battles among the Reformed—over Cocceian theology, over the espousal of Cartesian principles, and over the various teachings of the Academy of Saumur, over the soteriology of Richard Baxter, and over various responses to the Socinian denial of an essential or ad intra divine attribute of punitive justice. On none of these issues, however, did the Reformed churches rupture into separate confessional bodies or identify a particular theologically defined group as beyond the bounds of the confessions, as had been the case at the Synod of Dort. Amyraut was, after all, exonerated by several national synods in France, and the debate over his “hypothetical universalism” did not lead to the charge of heterodoxy against others, like Davenant, Martinius, and Alsted, who had, both at Dort and afterward, maintained similar lines of argument concerning the extent of

Christ’s satisfaction.104 The Westminster Confession was in fact written with this diversity in view, encompassing confessionally the variant Reformed views on the nature of the limitation of Christ’s satisfaction to the elect, just as it was written to be inclusive of the infra- and the supralapsarian views on predestination.105 Amyraut, moreover, arguably stood in agreement with intraconfessional adversaries like Turretin on such issues as the fundamental articles of the faith.106 Even when it was censured in the Formula Consensus Helvetica, the Salmurian theology was not identified as a heresy but as a problematic teaching that troubled the confessional orthodoxy of the church: the preface to the Formula specifically identifies the faculty of Saumur as “respected foreign brethren,” who stand on the same “foundation of faith” but whose recent teachings have become a matter of grave dispute. The Formula consciously refrained from any reference to Cocceian theology, despite the desire of a few theologians to censure this variety of Reformed thought as well.107 Nor, indeed, did the adoption of a modified Cartesian philosophy by thinkers like Heidanus, Burman, or Tronchin take them beyond the pale of orthodoxy. This is not to diminish the controversies or to claim that Cocceian federalism, the Salmurian theology, and the rise of Cartesian tendencies among the Reformed did not place enormous strains on orthodoxy—nor does it ignore the fact that the critical techniques of Cappel and the adoption of Cartesian principles by various Reformed thinkers pointed toward the beginning of a new era in which confessional orthodoxy would fade. Indeed, the impact of Cartesian thought on Reformed federalism was varied. Cocceius himself did not take part in the controversy over Cartesianism—he did not advocate any particular philosophy as a basis for or intellectual partner with theology, but maintained a somewhat eclectic attitude, viewing all philosophy, whether Platonic or Aristotelian, Ramist or Cartesian, as at best a handmaid to theology.108 This independence from philosophical systems is seen in Cocceius’ approach to the controversy between the Reformed orthodox and adversaries, whether Vorstian, Socinian, or Cartesian, over the divine omnipresence: Cocceius maintained the traditional doctrine and argued that the vivifying power of God in and through all things necessarily presumed the divine omnipresence, thus overtly opposing the Vorstian and Socinian claims of a finite divine essence, yet not overtly advocating a Cartesian approach to the divine substance as thought.109 A somewhat different approach is seen in Cocceius’ associate, Heidanus, who overtly approved of Cartesian philosophy and at the same time argued the distinct provinces of philosophical and theological argumentation: Heidanus’ discussions of the law, grace, covenant, and Christology evidence his Cocceian leanings, while his discussions of God, creation, and human nature

evidence a mild Cartesianism. His definition of God as “an uncreated, independent, thinking substance” is clearly Cartesian, as is his discussion of the body and soul in man in terms of thought and extension.110 Still, the presence of some Cartesian ideas does not necessarily press Heidanus beyond the bounds of orthodoxy—his doctrine remained thoroughly confessional. From the perspective of its impact on Reformed federalism and despite the intense debate over some of its inceptor’s conclusions, the Cocceian theology also remained well within the bounds and the trajectories of orthodoxy. Indeed, both in Britain and on the continent, the development of covenant theology and the inclusion of large-scale covenantal structures in Reformed dogmatics, was largely the work of the high orthodox era. There was, of course, an early orthodox preparation in the works of such theologians as Fenner, Perkins, Piscator, Ball, Martinius, and Cameron, but the major development of a covenantal or federal focus and its incorporation into Reformed dogmatics in general, not to mention its inclusion in the Westminster Confession, belongs to high orthodoxy. The Cocceian theology, once the initial polemic had subsided somewhat and the various hermeneutical problems inherent in Cocceius’ rather idiosyncratic notion of a gradually abrogated covenant of works had been overcome by theologians like Burman and Witsius (the former a Cocceian and the latter a Voetian), provided the covenantal model which became a central architectonic feature of the orthodox Reformed system. Such unquestionably orthodox thinkers as Turretin, Heidegger, and Mastricht employ the covenant as a focal point of system between the loci on creation and fall and the locus of redemption in Christ. It may also be noted that none of these writers were drawn by federal teachings to espouse Cartesianism: Turretin and Heidegger opposed the new philosophy rather quietly, Mastricht quite pointedly.111 3. The breadth of the Reformed orthodox phenomenon. In the high orthodox era, orthodoxy continued to be defined in terms of the major confessional trajectories of the Reformation as a churchly theology in academic and popular forms, whether positive or polemical, exegetical, catechetical, or dogmatic, conceived in the context and within the doctrinal boundaries set by the Reformed confessions. This understanding of orthodoxy (which, arguably, belongs to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries) has not been consistently obliged by modern discussions of post-Reformation Reformed thought. Thus, if one anachronistically draws a rather strict and narrow line of development from Calvin to Turretin and denominates only what fits in this particular Genevan trajectory as “orthodoxy,” then various Reformed views, developed entirely within the confessional understanding of the sixteenth and seventeenth-century Reformed, can be cordoned off and identified as opponents of the Reformed orthodox.112 Bullinger’s covenantal

thought can be segmented off from “Calvinism,” and Cocceius’ form of covenant theology can then be set against the strictly “orthodox,” as if they (or, indeed, Calvin!) objected to an emphasis on covenant.113 Infralapsarian and supralapsarian forms of the doctrine of predestination can become identifiers of alternative orthodoxies—which, however bitter the debate, they clearly were not. Indeed, any variation of doctrine incapable of being accommodated to Calvin’s 1559 Institutes can come to be viewed by the older scholarship as a deviation from the norm of Reformed theology—without any recognition of the fact that doctrinal variations and even highly polemical debates over doctrinal formulae that took place within the confessional boundaries all belonged to the broad stream of Reformed orthodoxy. This approach, albeit characteristic of much twentieth-century historiography, does not accurately represent the seventeenth-century orthodox understanding (or, indeed, understandings) of “orthodoxy.” To define orthodoxy in terms of the more traditionalist line of Geneva, culminating in Turretin, or in terms of the Voetian theology at Utrecht prejudices the case from the start by creating subconfessional lines of demarcation for orthodoxy and by offering an anachronistic picture of a “rigid orthodoxy” operating within the narrow limits of a single school. The historical materials do not support the picture. Just as Calvin did not speak for the entire early Reformed tradition, so was Geneva less than the arbitrator of the Reformed tradition in the seventeenth century. Whereas, therefore, some distinction can be made between various lines of development within Reformed orthodoxy, such as between the Swiss orthodoxy of the line of Turretin and Heidegger and the Academy of Saumur, between the northern German Reformed of Bremen or the Herborn Academy and the rather different approach of Franecker theologians in the tradition of Ames, between the Cocceian or federalist line and the Voetian approach, between the British Reformed theology of Owen and that of Baxter, or between the British variety of Reformed theology in general and the several types of Reformed teaching found on the continent, there is no justification for identifying any one of these strains of Reformed thought as outside of the bounds of Reformed orthodoxy or as not evidencing the characteristics of Reformed scholasticism. Voetius and Cocceius obliged the same confessions —and Voetius could identify several lines of Reformed thought on, for example, the work of Christ, including that of Crocius and the Saumur theologians. He disagreed with these thinkers but did not set them outside of the Reformed confessions.114 Turretin, similarly, indicates his disagreement with the Saumur theologians on various issues, but consistently identifies them as Reformed and as “our ministers.”115 Owen and Baxter acknowledged each other’s theologies as belonging to the same confessional tradition.

Owen, moreover, thought highly of Cameron and Amyraut on such issues as the divine justice and the doctrine of the Trinity—at the same time that he abhorred elements of the teaching of Twisse and Rutherford, both of whom stood closer to him than to the Salmurians on the issues addressed in the Formula consensus Helvetica. All of these branches of the Reformed tradition stood within the boundaries established by the major national confessions and catechisms of the Reformed churches. High orthodoxy, then, is the era of the full and final development of Protestant system prior to the great changes in philosophical and scientific perspective that would, in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, utterly recast theological system into new forms. There is perhaps some justification in dividing seventeenth-century orthodoxy into two phases. The first is a phase of polemical codification during which theologians like Hoornbeeck, Cloppenburg, and Voetius developed primarily polemical systems in response to all known adversaries past and present, including the variant theologies that had developed within the bounds of the Reformed confessions. The second is time both of final fruition and decline, following 1685, when the tendency was toward the creation of a theological synthesis in which the results of Protestant exegesis, the dogmatic forms of Protestant doctrine, the polemical establishment of those doctrines, and an exposition of the practical implication of doctrine could be gathered into a systematic whole, as witnessed by Mastricht at the very end of the seventeenth century—and at the same time the exegetical and philosophical norms of the tradition were failing and the possibility for confessional homogeneity had begun to disappear, as witnessed both in England and Switzerland, by 1725. Nevertheless, the entire period from 1640 to the beginning of the eighteenth century bears witness to a confessional homogeneity and to a fairly consistent development of the language of scholastic Protestantism as set forth by the great formulators of system in and following the era of confessional synthesis. By 1640 the theologians of the era of Dort were being replaced by pupils and successors, and the final codification, both of polemics and of positive dogmatic theology, had begun in the Reformed Church. This work of the final codification of orthodoxy was complete by 1685 in the works of Cocceius, Voetius, Maresius, Hoornbeeck, Turretin, and Heidegger and preserved by writers like Mastricht, Witsius, Marckius, Pictet, Van Til, Vitringa, and Boston, until the second decade of the new century. C. The Problem of Deconfessionalization, “Transitional” Theologies, and the Beginnings of Late Orthodoxy 1. Latitudinarianism and deconfessionalization at the beginnings of late orthodoxy. Between 1685 and 1725 theologians became increasingly

wary of the traditional dogmatic results of exegesis belonging to the preceding period and also of the use of traditional philosophical assumptions in theology. At the same time, those thinkers who leaned toward elements of the new rationalism also recognized the need to modify systems of thought like the Cartesian in the light of concerns raised by theological orthodoxy. (A parallel development appears in the philosophy of the era, in the work of thinkers like Malebranche, Arnauld, and Leibniz, all of whom attempted to develop rationalism toward some rapprochement with Christian orthodoxy). Some of the theologians of the era tended toward pietism or, among the Dutch Reformed, toward the Nadere Reformatie, and many evidenced affinities for the newer rationalist philosophies. The Reformed theology of the era occupies an intellectual spectrum running the gamut from a fairly traditional orthodoxy to a theology actively searching for roots in newer philosophies and exegetical methods and intent on loosing itself from the moorings of a strict confessionalism. This interlude might be called the “pietistic-eclectic phase” of orthodoxy or the era of latitudinarianism—among the Lutheran historians, it is typically identified as the era of the “Transitional Theology.”116 Its theologians include such diverse figures as Benedict Pictet, J. A. Turretin, Samuel Werenfels, J. F. Osterwald, F. A. Lampe, Samuel Van Til, Campegius Vitringa, Thomas Ridgley, Thomas Stackhouse, and Gilbert Burnet.117 The British “latitudinarians” or “Latitude-men” as they called themselves, including such luminaries of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries as John Tillotson, Gilbert Burnet, Edward Stillingfleet, and Simon Patrick, were united in their broad definition of Christianity in terms of the fundamental creedal articles and their desire to extend religious toleration to Christians generally. It is certainly mistaken to view them as uninterested in traditional Christianity, as fundamentally rationalist in their philosophy, or as trusting in the fundamental goodness and benevolence of humankind.118 Rather, as their controversies as well as their positive theology demonstrate, the latitudinarian theologians presumed Christian orthodoxy and held against the ancient heresies, but refused to become embroiled in the niceties of postReformation confessional thought. By way of example, Stillingfleet wrote on the possibility of compromise between the Anglicans and Presbyterians and defended the orthodox doctrines of Christ’s satisfaction and the Trinity against the Socinians;119 Burnet specifically opposed Pelagian and Socinian views of the fall and sin with a general doctrine of original sin and the universal corruption of humanity, and he plotted a course on the doctrine of predestination that permitted both Calvinists and Arminians to subscribe to the Thirty-nine Articles while at the same time offering some criticism of both sides.120

Among the Genevans, Pictet represents confessional orthodoxy but in a more irenic form than found in the work of Francis Turretin in the preceding generation—and far more open to elements of Cartesian thought than the elder Turretin. J. A. Turretin, by way of contrast, consciously stepped past the strict confessionalism of the era of orthodoxy and worked toward a specifically latitudinarian approach to theology following out the earlier work of Calixt and Dury and in concert with the British latitudinarians.121 Through the hermeneutical work of J. A. Turretin and the Lutheran pietist, J. J. Rambach, the critical-textual methods of Cappel and the school of Saumur came more and more into use, disrupting the older hermeneutic of the analogia fidei and advocation, in the case of the younger Turretin, of a view of the accommodation of divine truth closer to the historical-critical models of the eighteenth century than to the precritical doctrine of accommodation held by the Reformers and the high orthodox.122 2. Late orthodoxy, Wolffian dogmatics, and the remnants of confessionalism. After 1725, it becomes possible to trace the flowering of various forms of “late orthodoxy”—theologies clinging to the definitions of orthodoxy and standing in the tradition of the confessional dogmatics of the high orthodox era, but no longer as closely bound by the confessions of the church. In some of its forms, late orthodoxy was increasingly influenced by various schools of rationalist philosophy—in others it moved away from overt recourse to philosophical categories. In all forms, it was beset by the tides of historical-critical exegesis. In 1740, Christian Wolff was returned to the chair of philosophy in Halle over the objections of his pietist detractors, inaugurating a new era in the development of continental Protestant theology. The philosophy of Wolff, although deprived of longer historical impact by the critiques of Kant and others at the close of the eighteenth century, was profoundly influential in the mid-eighteenth century. It served as the first (and to a large extent, the only) form of continental Rationalism that offered a view of God and world stable enough to become acceptable as a philosophical foundation to the nominally orthodox writers of the era. Although Wolff had a more massive following among the Lutherans, he did count among his Reformed followers Daniel Wyttenbach, Samuel Endemann, Johann Friedrich Stapfer, and Johann Christoph Beck. In the writings of these theologians we see a more positive use of natural theology and reason and the definitive marriage of theology to rational, supernaturalistic philosophy. Still, particularly in the cases of Wyttenbach and Stapfer, the orthodox Reformed tradition was continued with little overt alteration of the doctrinal loci and their basic definitions. At the same time, such thinkers as Aegidius Francken, Nicholaus Gürtler,

Bernhardus de Moor, Herman Venema, Jacob van Nuys Klinkenberg, John Gill, and John Brown of Haddington maintained the fundamental line of confessional orthodoxy without drawing heavily on any of the newer philosophies. In the cases of Francken and Gill, one can argue a narrowing of confessional perspective—the former a representative of the Voetian line of the later Nadere Reformatie, the latter a Particular Baptist, largely but not entirely Reformed in his doctrine.123 Gürtler’s theology follows out a covenantal or testamental model and presents a fully orthodoxy approach to reason, revelation, and Scripture as well as the basic loci.124 Venema, Vitringa, and De Moor maintained a fairly centrist Reformed position. Venema, Klinkenberg, and Brown evidence the inroads of a rationalistic model, while Vitringa and De Moor serve as a codifiers and bibliographers of the earlier tradition, the former from a federalist, the latter from a nonfederalist perspective.125 Indeed, De Moor’s efforts did for late Reformed orthodoxy what the massive system of Quenstedt did for Lutheranism in the concluding years of the seventeenth century: the work was so exhaustive and so complete in its detail and bibliography that it virtually ended the development of Reformed doctrine in the form of orthodox system. With the pietist or transitional phase of Protestant theology and the subsequent rise of a rationalistic dogmatics, the phenomenon of Protestant orthodoxy comes to an end. Whereas Wolffian dogmatics may still be considered “scholastic” in form, the content of traditional dogmatics has been consistently removed from theological system: neither the scriptural principle nor the subordination of reason to revelation govern theological statement in these systems. The few genuinely orthodox systems written in the eighteenth century, like those written in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, hardly represent a living theological movement: they tend to reproduce doctrine in the hope of maintaining the correct statement of earlier generations against the shifting patterns of philosophical opinion and linguistic expression. Here, finally, as never before in the history of orthodoxy, do we have epigoni who replicate the systems of their predecessors. The decline of Protestant orthodoxy, then, coincides with the decline of the interrelated intellectual phenomena of scholastic method and Christian Aristotelianism. Rationalist philosophy was ultimately incapable of becoming a suitable ancilla and, instead, demanded that it and not theology be considered queen of the sciences. Without a philosophical structure to complement its doctrines and to cohere with its scholastic method, Protestant orthodoxy came to an end. (A similar decline of scholastic theological system occurred in the Roman Catholic Church in the eighteenth century.)126

1

For recent discussion of the phenomenon of Protestant orthodoxy and scholasticism, see Willem J. van Asselt, P. L. Rouwendal, et. al. Inleiding in de Gereformeerde Scholastiek (Zoetermeer: Boekencentrum, 1998); Carl R. Trueman and R. Scott Clark, eds. Protestant Scholasticism: Essays in Reassessment (Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1999); and Willem J. van Asselt and Eef Dekker, eds., Reformation and Scholasticism: An Ecumenical Enterprise (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 2001). For an extended survey of earlier scholarship and relevant collateral literature see: Richard A. Muller, After Calvin: Studies in the Development of a Theological Tradition (New York: Oxford University Press, 3003), pp. 63–102 on the problem of “Calvin and the Calvinists.” 2 See the discussion in Muller, After Calvin, pp. 7–15, 25–36, 63–72, 74–78,

et passim. 3 I view this approach of the older scholarship to be particularly unproductive:

see Muller, After Calvin, pp. 100–102. 4 Cf. the division of orthodoxy into early, high, and late periods in Otto

Weber, Grundlagen der Dogmatik (Neukirchen: Neukirchner Verlag, 1955) I, pp. 140–148; note the translation, Foundations of Dogmatics (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1981–82) I, pp. 120–127. Also see Robert D. Preus, The Theology of Post Reformation Lutheranism, 2 vols. (St. Louis: Concordia, 1970–72), I, pp. 44–47; Isaac A. Dorner, History of Protestant Theology Particularly in Germany, trans. George Robson and Sophia Taylor, 2 vols. (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1871), I, pp. 338, 415–431; II, pp. 9–10, 66, 76; Alexander Schweizer, Die protestantischen Centraldogmen in ihrer Entwicklung innerhalb der reformierten Kirche, 2 vols. (Zurich: Orell, Füssli und Comp., 1854–56), I, pp. 380ff. (ca. 1560–1600); II, pp. 31ff. (ca. 1600–1649), pp. 225ff. (ca. 1649–1675), pp. 439ff. (ca. 1675–1700) offers a four part division of post-Reformation orthodoxy that perhaps too neatly follows the century markers and that periodizes the seventeenth century around the Amyraut controversy. 5 Cf. the similar sense of a shift on the deaths of Voetius and others of his

generation in J. Reitsma, Geschiedenis van de Hervorming en de Hervormde Kerk der Nederlanden, 4th edition (Utrecht: Kemink & Zoon, n.d.), p. 367. 6

See Francois Wendel, Calvin: The Origins and Development of His Religious Thought, trans. Philip Mairet (New York: Harper & Row, 1963), pp. 144–149. 7 See the argument in J. A. van Ruler, “Franco Petri Burgersdijk and the Case

of Calvinism Within the Neo-Scholastic Tradition,” in E. P. Bos and H. A. Krop (eds.), Franco Burgersdijk (1590–1635): Neo-Aristotelianism in Leiden

(Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1993), pp. 37–65 and cf. the methodological observations in Willem J. Van Asselt, “Protestantse scholastiek. Methodologische kwesties bij de bestudering van haar ontwikkeling,” in Tijdschrift voor Nederlandse Kerkgeschiedenis, 4/3 (Sept. 2001), pp. 64–69. 8 See below, 4.2 (B); and cf. the discussion and bibliography in Muller, After

Calvin, part 1 (chapters 2–5): the examination of Reformed orthodoxy implies the study of a host of theologically orthodox but also nonscholastic writings from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, notably, catechisms, confessions, and biblical commentaries. 9

Françoise Masson, “Scolastique,” in Encyclopédie philosophique universelle, II/2, p. 2329. 10 Thus, Brian Armstrong, Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy: Protestant

Scholasticism and Humanism in Seventeenth Century France (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1969), pp. 31–40; Jack B. Rogers and Donald K. McKim, The Authority and Interpretation of the Bible: An Historical Approach (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1979), pp. 36–7, 43–7, 150–65, 185–88; and Alister McGrath, Reformation Thought: An Introduction, second edition (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1993), pp. 129–130, which appropriates, without citation, Armstrong’s definitions; and Alister McGrath, A Life of John Calvin (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1990), pp. 211–218. 11 See Armand Maurer, Medieval Philosophy (New York: Random House,

1962), p. 90; David Knowles, The Evolution of Medieval Thought (New York: Vintage Books, 1962), p. 87; J. A. Weisheipl, “Scholastic Method,” in NCE, 12, p. 1145; G. Fritz and A. Michel, “Scholastique,” in DTC, 14/2, col. 1691; cf. the similar comments concerning Protestant scholasticism in David C. Steinmetz, “The Theology of Calvin and Calvinism,” in Reformation Europe: A Guide to Research, ed. Steven Ozment (St. Louis: Center for Reformation Research, 1982), p. 225. Also note Calvin G. Normore, s.v., “Scholasticism,” in R. Audi (ed.), The Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), pp. 716–717; and Ulrich G. Leinsle, Einführung in die scholastische Theologie (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1995), pp. 5–15; van Asselt, et al. Inleiding in de Gereformeerde Scholastiek, pp. 14–16. 12

See below, 4.2 (A.1; B.1), and The Lutheran Cyclopedia, s.v. “Scholasticism in the Lutheran Church,” for one of the clearest and most precise definitions of the phenomenon of Protestant scholasticism. Also see The New Catholic Encyclopedia, s.v. “Scholastic Method” and “Scholasticism,” and the excellent description of Protestant scholasticism in Robert Preus, The Inspiration of Scripture: A Study of the Seventeenth Century Lutheran Dogmaticians (London: Oliver and Boyd, 1955), pp. xv– xvi.

13 Cf. Paul Oskar Kristeller, Renaissance Thought: The Classic, Scholastic,

and Humanist Strains (New York: Harper & Row, 1961), pp. 92–119 with idem, “Humanism,” in The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, pp. 113–114 and with Charles B. Schmitt, Aristotle and the Renaissance (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983), pp. 24–25; also see Richard A. Muller, The Unaccommodated Calvin: Studies in the Foundation of a Theological Tradition (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 9, 15, 39–58; and Muller, After Calvin, pp. 25–46. 14 See the discussion in Stephen Ozment, The Age of Reform, 1250–1550: An

Intellectual and Religious History of Late Medieval and Reformation Europe (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980), pp. 304–309. 15 Cf. Brian Armstrong, Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy, p. 32; with John

S. Bray, Theodore Beza’s Doctrine of Predestination (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1975), pp. 12–14; and below, 4.2 (scholastic method), 8.1 (B–C) on “Aristotelianism.” 16

See the discussion in Richard A. Muller, “The Use and Abuse of a Document: Beza’s Tabula praedestinationis, the Bolsec Controversy, and the Origins of Reformed Orthodoxy,” in Carl Trueman and Scott Clark, eds. Protestant Scholasticism: Essays in Reappraisal (Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1999), pp. 33–61. 17 Cf. the comments in Carl R. Trueman, The Claims of Truth: John Owen’s

Trinitarian Theology (Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1998), pp. 227–231 with Muller, After Calvin, pp. 47–63. 18 See below, 1.2 (A–B). 19 Otto Ritschl, Dogmengeschichte des Protestantismus, 4 vols. (Göttingen:

Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1908–27). 20 Hans Emil Weber, Reformation, Orthodoxie und Rationalismus, 2 vols.

(Gütersloh, 1937–51; repr. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1966). 21 Antonie Hendrik Haentjens, Remonstrantsche en calvinistische dogmatiek:

in verband met elkaar en met de ontwikkeling van het dogma (Leiden: A. H. Adriani, 1913). 22 Christian Sepp, Het Godgeleerd onderwijs in Nederland gedurende de 16e

en 17e eeuw, 2 vols. (Leiden: De Breuk en Smits, 1873–74). 23 Thus also, e.g., Dorner, History of Protestant Theology; and Wilhelm Gass,

Geschichte der protestantischen Dogmatik, 4 vols. (Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1854).

24 E.g., Basil Hall, “Calvin Against the Calvinists,” in John Calvin, ed. G. E.

Duffield (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1966), pp. 18–37; R. T. Kendall, Calvin and English Calvinism to 1647 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979); Holmes Rolston, III, John Calvin versus the Westminster Confession (Richmond: John Knox, 1972); idem, “Responsible Man in Reformed Theology: Calvin Versus the Westminster Confession,” in Scottish Journal of Theology, 23 (1970), pp. 129–156. Alister McGrath’s essay, “Reformation to Enlightenment,” in Paul Avis, ed., The Science of Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986), pp. 158–160, was unknown to me at the time of the publication of the first edition of this volume: it covers many of the issues addressed in this study of the Reformed prolegomena and does so within the framework of the old “Calvin Against the Calvinists” perspective—indeed, it appears to rest entirely on secondary sources. 25 Scripture is discussed in PRRD, II; God in PRRD, III–IV. 26 Gerhard Ebeling, The Study of Theology, trans. Duane Priebe (Philadelphia:

Fortress, 1978), p. 134. 27 Ebeling, Study of Theology, p. 134. 28 Ebeling, Study of Theology, p. 134. 29 Ebeling, Study of Theology, pp. 134–135. 30 See Robert A. Kolb, “The Ordering of the Loci Communes Theologici: The

Structuring of the Melanchthonian Dogmatic Tradition,” in Condordia Journal, 23/4 (1997), pp. 317–337. 31 See, at greater length, the discussion in Muller, After Calvin, pp. 36–46,

49–62 and below, 8.1. 32

See Rolf Schäfer, “Melanchthon’s Hermeneutik im RömerbriefKommentar von 1532,” in Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche, 60 (1963), pp. 216–235; also Robert Kolb, “Teaching the Text: The Commonplace Method in Sixteenth Century Lutheran Biblical Commentary,” in Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 49 (1987), pp. 571–585; cf. Quirinus Breen, “The Terms ‘Loci communes’ and ‘Loci’ in Melanchthon,” in Christianity and Humanism: Studies in the History of Ideas (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1968), pp. 93–105. 33 See Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 101–117. 34 J. S. Whale, The Protestant Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University

Press, 1962), p. 121. 35

See Kristeller, Renaissance Thought, pp. 24–47; John Dillenberger, Protestant Thought and Natural Science: A Historical Interpretation

(Nashville: Abingdon, 1960), pp. 51–54; Schmitt, Aristotle and the Renaissance, pp. 10–33; William T. Costello, The Scholastic Curriculum at Early Seventeenth-Century Cambridge (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1958); François Masai, “L’enseignement d’Aristote dans les collèges du XVIe siècle,” in Platon et Aristote à la Renaissance, XVIe Colloque International de Tours (Paris: J. Vrin, 1976), pp. 147–154; Joseph S. Freedman, “Aristotle and the Content of Philosophy Instruction at Central European Schools and Universities during the Reformation Era (1500– 1650),” in Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 137/2 (1993), pp. 213–253; idem, “Philosophy Instruction within the Institutional Framework of Central European Schools and Universities during the Reformation Era,” in History of Universities, 5 (1985), pp. 117–166; and Dorothea Krook, John Sergeant and his Circle: A Study of Three SeventeenthCentury English Aristotelians, ed., with an intro. by Beverley C. Southgate (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1993). 36

Cf. the comments on this generational shift in Seeberg, History of Doctrines, II, p. 394. 37 As argued in Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 118–139. 38 Cf. Dorner, History of Protestant Theology, I, pp. 114–115; and note the

description of numerous Lutheran efforts to construct Loci communes theologici out of Luther’s own writings in Robert Kolb, Martin Luther as Prophet, Teacher, and Hero: Images of the Reformer, 1520–1620 (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1999), pp. 195–223. 39 The several editions of Melanchthon’s loci communes can

be found in Philippi Melanchthonis opera, quae supersunt omnia, ed. C. G. Bretschneider (Brunswick: Schwetschke, 1834–60), vols. 21–22; also, see the introduction and translation of the 1521 Loci in Melanchthon and Bucer, ed. Wilhelm Pauck (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969). 40 Clyde Manschreck, Melanchthon:

The Quiet Reformer (New York and Nashville: Abingdon, 1958), pp. 82–84. 41 Cf. Pauck, Melanchthon and Bucer, p. 11; Manschreck, Quiet Reformer,

pp. 16–17. 42 Pauck, Melanchthon and Bucer, p. 8. 43 On

Rhegius’ work, see the essays in Scott H. Hendrix, Tradition and Authority in the Reformation (Brookfield: Ashgate, 1996). 44 E.g., Urbanus Rhegius, An Instruccyon of Christen Fayth howe to be Bolde

upon the Promyse of God, trs. J. Foxe (London: Hugh Syngleton, n.d.); idem, A Necessary Instruction of Christian Faith and Hope, trs. J. Foxe (London:

Hugh Singleton, 1579); Johann Spangenberg, Margarita theologica continens praecipuos locos doctrinae christianae (London: G. Dawes, 1566 / H. Bynneman, 1569; 1573), translated as The Sum of Divinitie (London, 1548; 1560; 1561; 1570); Erasmus Sarcerius, Common Places of Scripture orderly & after a Compendious Forme of Teaching, trs. Richard Taverner (London: Thomas East, 1577). 45 E.g., the Confession of Basel (1534), the Tetrapolitan Confession (1530),

Bucer’s Catechisms (1534, 37, 43), the Conclusions of the Lausanne Disputation (1536), the First Helvetic Confession (1536). 46

Ulrich Zwingli, Ad illustrissimum Cattorum principem Phillippum sermonis de providentia Dei anamnema, in Opera completa editio prima, ed. Melchior Schuler and Johann Schulthess, 8 vols. in 6 (Zürich: Schulthess and Höhr, 1828–1842), vol. IV; cf. Paul Wernle, Der evangelische Glaube nach den Hauptschriften der Reformatoren, vol. II, Zwingli (Tübingen, 1919), pp. 3–5, 246–260; Dorner, History of Protestant Thought, I, pp. 287–288; on Zwingli’s use of philosophy see also the appraisal by Gottfried W. Locher, Die Theologie Huldrych Zwinglis im Lichte seiner Christologie, I, Die Gotteslehre (Zürich: EVZ Verlag, 1952), pp. 44–54; and W. P. Stephens,The Theology of Huldrych Zwingli (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), pp. 6–7, 81– 83. 47 In Zwingli, Opera, I, pp. 53–82. 48 Exposition and Basis of the Conclusions or Articles published by Huldrych

Zwingli, in Huldrych Zwingli: Writings, 2 vols., trans. and ed. H. Wayne Pipkin and E. J. Furcha (Allison Park, Pa.: Pickwick Publications, 1984), vol. I. 49 Ulrich Zwingli, De vera et falsa religione commentarius, in Opera, vol. III;

Commentary on True and False Religion, ed. Samuel Macauley Jackson and Clarence Nevin Heller (Philadelphia, 1929; repr. Durham, N.C.: Labyrinth Press, 1981). 50 Cf. the exposition in Jean Rilliet, Zwingli: Third Man of the Reformation,

trans. Knight (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1964), pp. 101–128 with Locher, Theologie, pp. 15–42; Jacques Courvoisier, Zwingli: A Reformed Theologian (Richmond: John Knox Press, 1963), pp. 38–47. 51

Johannes Müller, Martin Bucers Hermeneutik (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1965); cf. Pauck, Melanchthon and Bucer, p. 156. 52

This exegetical practice is most evident in Bucer’s Metaphrases et enarrationes perpetuae epistolarum D. Pauli Apostoli (Strasbourg, 1536); cf. T. H. L. Parker, Calvin’s New Testament Commentaries (Grand Rapids:

Eerdmans, 1971), p. 47. 53 See Resumé sommaire de la Doctrine Chrétienne, texte établi et traduit par

François Wendel, in Revue d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses, 31 (1951), pp. 1–101. 54 François Wendel, Calvin: the Origins and Development of his Religious

Thought (New York: Harper & Row, 1963), pp. 112, 132. On the issue of Calvin’s originality see the fine essay of Emile Doumergue, in his Jean Calvin: Les hommes et les choses de son temps (Lausanne: G. Bridel, 1899– 1917), vol. IV, pp. 423–427. 55 The several editions of Calvin’s Institutio are found in Ioannis

Calvini opera quae supersunt omnia, 59 vols. (vols. 29–87 of Corpus Reformatorum), ed. Guilielmus Baum, Eduardus Cunitz, and Eduardus Reuss (Brunswick: Schwetschke, 1863–1900), vols. 1–2. I have also consulted John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion [1536], trans. Ford Lewis Battles (revised edition, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986), John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion [1559], ed. John T. McNeill, trans. Ford Lewis Battles, 2 vols. (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1960), John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. John Allen, 2 vols., third edition, revised (Philadelphia: Presbyterian Board of Publication, 1841); and John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Henry Beveridge, 2 vols. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), with emendation as necessitated by the Latin original. 56 Wendel, Calvin, p. 122. 57 Calvin, Institutio, Ioannes Calvinus Lectori: “Itaque, hac veluti strata via,

siquas posthac Scripturae enarrationes edidero, quia non necesse habebo de dogmatibus longas disputationes instituere, et in locos communes evagari: eas compendio semper astringam” (CO, 2, col. 3–4). 58

Heinrich Bullinger, Compendium Christianae religionis decem libris comprehensum (Zürich, 1556) and the Confessio et expositio simplex orthodoxae fidei, et dogmaticum catholicorum syncerae religionis christianae (Zürich, 1566); text given in Philip Schaff, The Creeds of Christendom, with a History and Critical Notes, 6th ed., 3 vols. (New York, 1931; repr. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1983) III, pp. 233–306. 59 Bullinger, Compendium, Lib. I-V. 60 Bullinger, Compendium, Lib. VI. 61 Bullinger, Compendium, Lib. VI, VIII–X. 62

Wolfgang Musculus, Loci communes sacrae theologiae, iam recens

recogniti & emendati (Basel, 1564). 63 Loci communes D. Petri Martyris Vermilii, Florentini, sacrarum literarum

in Schola Tigurina Professoris; ex variis ipsius authoris scriptis, in unum librum collecti, & in quatuor classes distributi (London, 1583) and the English translation of Anthony Marten, The Common Places of … Doctor Peter Martyr (London, 1583). Cf. Marvin Anderson, Peter Martyr, A Reformer in Exile (1542–1562: A Chronology of Biblical Writings in England and Europe (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1975) who proposes a difficult task for Vermigli scholarship—first a collation of the thirteen Latin editions of the Loci communes (1576–1656) and a comparison with the 1583 translation and then a collation of the commentaries (and, we add, treatises) from which the selections come in order to “assess the context in each commentary to arrive at Martyr’s message” (pp. 536–537). 64 Loci communes, I.ii.13 (from the preface to Vermigli’s commentary on

Aristotle’s ethics). 65 All are found in Schaff, Creeds of Christendom, vol. III. 66 See Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 127–130. 67 See Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 45–58, 102–111. 68 Cf. the comments on Zanchi’s humanistic side in Harm Goris, “Thomism

and Zanchi’s Doctrine of God,” in Willem van Asselt and Eef Dekker (eds.), Reformation and Scholasticism: An Ecumenical Enterprise (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 2001), pp. 125–126. 69 This so-called “pragmatic” reason for the rise of orthodoxy was argued by

several seventeenth- and eighteenth-century writers and, more recently, in a modified form by Ernst Troeltsch who viewed pedagogical rather than polemical needs as the basis of the development of orthodoxy: see his discussion of the introduction of classical metaphysics into Lutheran theological and philosophical discussion in Vernunft und Offenbarung bei Johann Gerhard und Melanchthon: Untersuchung zur Geschichte der altprotestantischen Theologie (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1891), pp. 3–7, 100–112; cf. the summary form of Troetlsch’s argument in Vernunft und Offenbarung bei Johann Gerhard und Melanchthon: InauguralDissertation zur Erlangung der Licentiatenwürde (Göttingen: E. A. Huth, 1891). Also see the discussion in Robert P. Scharlemann, Thomas Aquinas and John Gerhard (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1964), pp. 14–16, and the somewhat more detailed presentation of the history of scholarship, on which Scharlemann is obviously dependent, in Ernst Lewalter, Spanishjesuitisch und deutsch-lutherische Metaphysik des 17. Jahrhunderts (Hamburg, 1935; repr. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1968),

pp. 8–19. 70 See Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, chapters 4 and 6. 71 See Muller, After Calvin, pp. 130–136, 144–145. 72 See below, 4.1 (A.1–2). 73 Schweizer, Centraldogmen, I, pp. 5–47, 356–373; idem, Die Glaubenslehre

der evangelisch-reformirten Kirche dargestellt und aus den Quellen belegt (Zurich, 1844–47), I, pp. 40–59, 65–79, 96–103; Gass, Geschichte der protestantischen Dogmatik, I, pp. 121–124; Troeltsch, Vernunft und Offenbarung, pp. 1–7; and cf. Scharlemann, Aquinas and Gerhard, pp. 15–16; Lewalter, Metaphysik, pp. 11–14. 74 See below, 2.5 (A–B). 75 See especially Heinz Schilling (ed.), Die reformierte Konfessionalisierung

in Deutschland: das Problem der “Zweiten Reformation”: Wissenschaftliches Symposion des Vereins fur Reformationsgeschichte 1985 (Gutersloh: Gutersloher Verlagshaus G. Mohn, 1986); and idem, Civic Calvinism in Northwestern Germany and the Netherlands: Sixteenth to Nineteenth Centuries. Sixteenth Century Essays & Studies, 17 (Kirksville, Mo.: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1991). 76 See below, 4.1–4.2 and note my discussion of these issues in After Calvin,

chapters 3 and 6. 77

Robert Bellarmine, Disputationes de controversis christianae fidei adversus sui temporis haereticos, 4 vols. (Rome, 1581–93). 78 Muller, After Calvin, pp. 133–136. 79

The only monographic study of Keckermann remains W. H. Zuylen, Bartholomaus Keckermann: Sein Leben und Wirken (Leipzig: Robert Noske, 1934); also note Joseph S. Freedman, “The Career and Writings of Bartholomew Keckermann,” in Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 141 (1997), pp. 305–364, and Muller, After Calvin, 122–136. On Alsted, see Howard Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, 1588–1638: Between Renaissance, Reformation, and Universal Reform (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000). 80

Cf. Peter Petersen, Geschichte der aristotelischen Philosophie im protestantischen Deutschland (Leipzig, 1921; repr. Stuttgart, 1964), p. 208, with Ernst Lewalter, Metaphysik, pp. 35–38; also see the discussion in Siegfried Wollgast, Philosophie in Deutschland zwischen Reformation und Aufklärung, 1550–1650 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1988), pp. 153–157 (metaphysics generally) and 190–196 (on Alsted).

81 Scharlemann, Aquinas and Gerhard, p. 18. 82 Thomas Gataker, De novi instrumenti stylo dissertatio. Qua viri doctissimi

Sebastiani Pfochenii, de linguae Gracae Novi Testamenti puritate; in qua Hebraismus, quae vulgo finguntur, quam plurimis larva detrahi dicitur (London: T. Harper, 1648); De nomine tetragrammato dissertatio (London: R. Cotes, 1645); Dissertatio de tetragrammato suae vindicatio adversus Capellum (London: Roger Daniel, 1652). 83 See Leigh,

A Treatise of Divinity (London, 1646), I.iii–iv (pp. 42–83) referencing the commentaries of Calvin and several other Reformation era writers, plus the continental commentators of his day; citations of Wendelin occur throughout. In his introduction to the works of Charnock, James McCosh noted Charnock’s use of “Aristotelian logic, as modified by the schoolmen” and his acquaintance with such thinkers as “Aquinas and the schoolmen,” Amyraut, Suárez, Daillé, Turretin, Ames, Zanchi, Cocceius, Crellius, Cameron, Grotius, Gassendi, and Voetius: see “Introduction to Charnock’s Works,” in The Complete Works of Stephen Charnock, B.D., (Edinburgh: James Nichol, 1864), I, p. xiii. 84 See the discussion below, 8.1 (C). 85 See Charles Schmitt, “Reappraisals of Renaissance Science,” in History of

Science, 16 (1978), pp. 200–214. 86

Cf. the discussion of the use of Hermetic literature in Holcot and Bradwardine in Heiko A Oberman, “Facientibus Quod in se est Deus non Denegat Gratiam: Robert Holcot O.P. and the Beginnings of Luther’s Theology,” in The Reformation in Medieval Perspective, edited by Stephen Ozment (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971), pp. 120–121. 87 See Peter Gay, The Enlightenment: An Interpretation, 2 vols. (New York:

Alfred A. Knopf, 1966–1969), I, pp. 31–71, 279–321, et passim. 88

Cf. Calvin, Institutes, I.ii.2; v.4, 12; xvi.4; III.xiii.8. On the rise of Renaissance Stoicism, in part as a reaction to Epicureanism, see Léonine Zanta, La Renaissance du Stöicisme au XVIe siècle (1914; repr. Geneva: Slatkine, 1975); on Calvin’s relation to Stoicism, see Edward F. Meylan, “The Stoic Doctrine of Indifferent Things and the Conception of Christian Liberty in Calvin’ s Institutio Religionis Christianae,” in Romanic Review 28 (1937), pp. 135–145; Peter J. Leithart, “Stoic Elements in Calvin’s Doctrine of the Christian Life,” in Westminster Theological Journal, 55/1 (1993), pp. 31–54; 55/ 2 (1993), pp. 191–208; 56/1 (1994), pp. 59–85; Pierre-Francois Moreau, “Le Stoicisme aux XVII et XVIII siecles: Calvin et le Stoicisme,” in Cahiers de Philosophie Politique et Juridique (Caen: Centre de publications de l’Universitae de Caen, 1994), pp. 11–23. On Renaissance Epicureanism, see

Howard Jones, The Epicurean Tradition (London: Routledge, 1980). 89 C. J. Betts, Early Deism in France: from the so-called ‘déistes’ of Lyon

(1564) to Voltaire’s ‘Lettres philosophiques’ (1734) (Den Haag: Martinus Nijhoff, 1984), pp. 6–17. 90

Pierre Viret, Le Monde à l’empire et le monde démoniacle, fait par dialogues (Geneva: J. Berthet, 1561), in translation as The Worlde Possessed with Devils (London: T. Dawson, 1583), fol. D5; cf. Calvin, Institutes, I.v.12; xv.6; and note Roger Ascham, The Scholemaster, or Plaine and Perfite Way of Teaching Children (London: Iohn Day, 1570). Also see George T. Buckley, Atheism in the English Renaissance (New York: Russell and Russell, 1965), pp. 69–70. 91 René Descartes, The Philosophical Works of Descartes, trans. Elizabeth S.

Haldane and G. R. T. Ross, 2 vols. (London: Cambridge University Press, 1931), pp. 144–145; and see, in particular, Marjoire Grene, Descartes Among the Scholastics (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1991), p. 6. 92 Cf. M. G. M. van der Poel, Cornelius Agrippa, the Humanist Theologian

and His Declamations (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1997), p. 64; cf. Oberman, “Facientibus Quod in se est,” pp. 120–101; and note the positive citation of Hermetica in Daneau, Christianae isagoges, I.ix (p. 22) and Chemnitz, Loci theologici: De Creatione, VI (p. 120, col. 2). Also see PRRD, IV, 3.1 (C.2) on the trinitarian issue. 93 Note the debate over the question in Hermes Mercurius Trismegistus, his

Divine Pymander, in Seventeen Books, trans. Everard (London: J. S. for Thomas Brewster, 1657), “To the Reader,” fol. A3 verso-A5 verso and, despite Casaubon, the conclusion for a pre-Mosaic dating. 94

See Daniel P. Walker, The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century (London: Duckworth, 1972). Note also Sarah Hutton, “The Neoplatonic Roots of Arianism: Ralph Cudworth and Theophilus Gale,” in Socinianism and its Role in the culture of the XVIth to XVIIth Centuries, edited by Lech Szczucki, Zbigniew Ogonowski, and Janusz Tazbir (Warsaw: PWN, Polish Scientific Publisher, 1983), pp. 139–145. 95 These developments and their intellectual impact on the British scene are

analyzed in Richard Foster Jones, Ancients and Moderns: A Study of the Rise of the Scientific Movement in Seventeenth-Century England (1961; repr. New York: Dover, 1982); and idem, “Science and Language in England in the MidSeventeenth Century,” in Journal of English and German Philology, 31 (1932), pp. 315–331.

96 See Charles Singer, A Short History of Scientific Ideas to 1900 (London:

Oxford University Press, 1959), pp. 218–297. Singer traces the loss of the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic world view and shows how the new scientific world view could not coalesce before Newton. On the problem of orthodoxy and rationalism, see below, 2.6 (A–B); 8.3 (A.4). 97 Cf. E. M. W. Tillyard, The Elizabethan World Picture (New York: Vintage,

1942), pp. 24–25, 66–67; and Arthur O. Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1936), pp. 183–207. 98 On Timpler, see Joseph S. Freedman, European Academic Philosophy in

the Late Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries: The Life, Significance, and Philosophy of Clemens Timpler (1563/4–1624), 2 vols. (Hildesheim and New York: Olms, 1988); more generally, note Dillenberger, Protestant Thought, pp. 39–41, 52–54; Petersen, Geschichte der aristotelischen Philosophie; and Charles Schmitt, John Case and Aristotelianism in Renaissance England (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1983); also note Schmitt, Aristotle and the Renaissance, pp. 28–33, 103–9. 99 E.g., Johannes Piscator, In P. Rami dialecticam animadversione (London,

1581); and see the discussion of the “diffusion of Ramism” in Walter J. Ong, Ramus, Method and the Decay of Dialogue (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1958), pp. 295–318. 100 Schmitt, John Case, pp. 9–10. 101 N.B., Robert Baron, Philosophia theologiae ancillans (Oxford: Leonard

Lichfield, 1641), and see below, 8.3 (B)—contra the claims of Jack B. Rogers, Scripture in the Westminster Confession: A Problem of Historical Interpretation for American Presbyterianism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1967), pp. 90–94, 237–238, 247–248, 283–285; and Rogers and McKim, Authority and Interpretation, pp. 47, 101–103, 186, 202–203, 458–459 where Aristotelianism, scholasticism, and the priority of reason are consistently contrasted with Augustinianism, Platonism, and the priority of faith and revelation—as if scholasticism were invariably Aristotelian and necessarily led to rationalism. Rogers draws uncritically on the historiography analyzed below, 2.6 (A–B). 102

See in particular Episcopius, Institutiones theologicae, in Opera (Amsterdam, 1650), vol. 1; and Richard A. Muller, “The Federal Motif in Remonstrant Theology from Arminius to Limborch,” in Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 62/1 (1982), pp. 102–122. 103

Bibliotheca fratrum polonorum quos Unitarios vocant, 6 vols. (Eleutheropolis [Amsterdam]: n.p., 1656), containing the works of Fausto Socinus, Johannes Crell, Samuel Przipcovius, Jonas Schlichting, and

Johannes Wolzogen. 104 Cf., e.g., John Davenant, A Dissertation on the Death of Christ, as to the

Extent of its Benefits, trans., Josiah Allport (London: Hamilton, Adams and Co., 1832); also note Davenant’s On the Controversy among the French Divines of the Reformed Church, concerning the Gracious and Saving Will of God toward Men, in ibid., pp. 561–569, where Davenant indicates his differences with Cameron. 105 See Benjamin B. Warfield, The Westminster Assembly and its Work (New

York: Oxford University Press, 1931; repr. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1981), p. 56. 106

Moyse Amyraut, De mysterio trinitatis, deque vocibus ac Phrasibus quibus tam Scriptura quam apud Patres explicatur, Dissertatio, septem partibus absoluta (Saumur: Isaac Desbordes, 1661), pars I (pp. 3–5); see below, 9.1 (A.2; B.2) and see the description of the treatise in PRRD IV, 2.2 (D.2). Also note Amyraut, A Treatise Concerning Religions, in Refutation of the Opinion which accounts all Indifferent. Wherein is also evinc’d the Necessity of a particular Revelation and the Verity and preeminence of the Christian Religion (London: M. Simons, 1660). 107

Formula Consensus Helvetica, praefatio, in Niemeyer, Collectio confessionum, II, p. 730. Also see Martin I. Klauber, “The Helvetic Consensus Formula (1675): An Introduction and Translation,” in Trinity Journal, 11 (Spring 1990), pp. 103–123 (a useful history which, unfortunately omits the preface of the Formula from its translation); and note the remarks of Schaff in Creeds of Christendom, I, p. 486. 108 Cocceius, Epistola 27 (24 Feb. 1651), to Tobias Andreae, cited in Willem

J. van Asselt, Johannes Cocceius: Portret van een zeventiende-eeuws theoloog op oude en neiuwe wegen (Heerenveen: Groen en Zoon, 1997), p. 143. 109

Cf. Gass, Geschichte, II, pp. 291–292. Also see the discussion of omnipresence in PRRD, III, 4.4 (C). 110

Heidanus, Corpus theologiae, I, p. 323. See the discussion in Aza Goudriaan, “Die Rezeption des cartesianischen Gottesdankens bei Abraham Heidanus,” in Neue Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie, 38/2 (1996), pp. 166–197; cf. Gass, Geschichte, II, p. 303–4. 111 See Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, pp. 89, 130–31. 112 Note Armstrong’s consistent reading of Amyraut in this way, in Calvinism

and the Amyraut Heresy, pp. xvii–xix, 158–226, 263–269, et passim.

113

As is typical of such studies as Charles S. McCoy, “The Covenant Theology of Johannes Cocceius” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Yale University, 1956); idem, “Johannes Cocceius: Federal Theologian,” in Scottish Journal of Theology, XVI (1963), pp. 352–370; and J. Wayne Baker, Heinrich Bullinger and the Covenant: The Other Reformed Tradition (Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Press, 1980); idem, “Heinrich Bullinger, the Covenant, and the Reformed Tradition in Retrospect,” in Sixteenth Century Journal, 29/2 (1998), pp. 359–376. 114 On Voetius’ and Cocceius’ confessionality, see in particular the approbatie

of both the Utrecht and Leiden faculties in Zacharias Ursinus Schat-Boeck der Verklarigen over den Nederlandtschen Catechismus, uyt de Latijnshe Lessen van Dr. Zacharias Ursinus, op-gemaecht van Dr. David Paraeus, vertaelt, ende met Tafelen, &c. Verlicht, door Dr. Festus Hommius, nu van nieuws oversien … door Johannes Spiljardus, 2 parts (Amsterdam: Johannes van Revensteyn, 1664), fol. A4, r.-v.; and on Voetius approach to Crocius and Saumur, see his Problematum de merito Christi, pars secunda, in Sel. Disp., II, p. 252. 115 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, IV.xvii.4; XII.vi.3; XIV.xiv.6. 116 See, e.g., J. H. Kurtz, Church History, trans. John Macpherson, 3 vols.

(New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1890), pp. 146–147; Bengt Hägglund, History of Theology, trans. Gene Lund (St. Louis: Concordia, 1968), pp. 343–344. 117 Cf. the discussion in van Asselt, et al., Inleiding in de gereformeerde

Scholastiek, pp. 142–162. 118 See the critical and corrective essay by Donald Greene, “Latitudinarianism

and Sensibility: the Genealogy of the ‘Man of Feeling’ Reconsidered,” in Modern Philology, 75/2 (Nov. 1977), pp. 159–183. 119 Edward Stillingfleet, Irenicum, a Weapon Salve for the Churches Wounds

(London: Henry Mortlock, 1662); idem, A discourse concerning the doctrine of Christ’s satisfaction … with an answer to the Socinian objections (London: Henry Mortlock, 1696); idem, A discourse in vindication of the doctrine of the Trinity with an answer to the late Socinian objections (London: Henry Mortlock, 1697). 120 Gilbert Burnet, An Exposition of the XXXIX Articles, revised and corrected

by James Page (New York: Appleton, 1852), IX, X, XVII (pp. 140, 150–159, 226–227). 121

See Martin I. Klauber, Between Reformed Scholasticism and PanProtestantism: Jean-Alphonse Turretin (1671–1737) and Enlightened Orthodoxy at the Academy of Geneva (Selinsgrove: Susquehanna University

Press, 1994), pp. 165–187. 122 See Martin I. Klauber and Glenn S. Sunshine, “Jean-Alphonse Turrettini

on Biblical Accommodation: Calvinist or Socinian?” in Calvin Theological Journal, 25 (1990), pp. 7–27; cf. Muller, After Calvin, pp. 154–155. 123 Cf. 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: E. J. Brill, 1997), pp. 51–68. 124

Nicholaus Gürtler, Institutiones theologicae ordine maxime naturali dispositae ac variis accessionibus auctae (Marburg: Müller, 1732) and Synopsis theologiae reformatae (Marburg: Müller, 1731). 125 Herman Venema, Institutes of Theology, part I, trans. Alexander Brown

(Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1850); Campegius Vitringa, Doctrina christianae religionis, per aphorismos summatim descripta, 8 vols. (Arnheim: Johannes Möeleman, 1761–1786); also note idem, Korte stellingen: in welke vervat worden de grondstukken van de christelyke leere (Amsterdam: Balthazar Lakeman, 1730); Bernhard de Moor, Commentarius perpetuus in Joh. Marckii compendium theologiae christianae didactico-elencticum, 7 vols. in 6 (Leiden, 1761–1771). 126 See John Gurr, The Principle of Sufficient Reason in Some Scholastic

Systems, 1750–1900 (Milwaukee, Wis.: Marquette, 1959), pp. 51–90.

2 The Development of Theological Prolegomena 2.1 Presuppositions, Principles, and Prolegomena A. Setting the Stage after the Production—on the Construction of Prolegomena All theology rests upon presuppositions and principles. The explicit enunciation of those presuppositions and principles, however, is one of the last tasks undertaken in the historical development of theological system. This generalization applies both to the experience of the medieval scholastics and to that of the Protestant orthodox. Medieval theology received from the church fathers a great body of highly detailed doctrine, but virtually nothing that could be called a system theology and, certainly, no theological prolegomena. The received body of patristic teaching was clarified and systematized by the controversies of the Carolingian era and of the eleventh and twelfth centuries—to the point that, toward the close of the twelfth century, the theological teachers of the cathedral schools and monasteries were able to draw doctrine together into collections of theological statements and definitions, the sententiae. A reading of the theology of Anselm after a close study of the fathers, particularly Augustine, well illustrates the way in which diverse issues and threads of argument were taken up by the medieval doctors and developed into cohesive theological arguments—whether one examines the so-called “ontological argument” of the Proslogion and its roots in Augustine’s meditations on Psalm 14 and the De trinitate, or the rootage of much of the Cur Deus homo in the issues broached in Augustine’s Enchiridion. The rise of books of sententiae in the century after Anselm carried the process further in relation to fundamental curricular issues concerning the relationship between theological topics, the efforts of biblical commentators to survey the entire redemptive history recounted in Scripture, the need to evaluate the various authorities that could be cited in favor of one or another construal of a theological point, and the resultant methodological questions concerning the best models for organizing and displaying the contents of theology for exposition and study.1 Only with this latter codification of theology as an academic discipline do prolegomena as such became possible or desirable. A similar situation obtains in the much more rapid development of a Protestant system of theology. Protestant system begins to develop within a few years of the posting of the Ninety-five Theses in 1517; genuine theological prolegomena appear after 1590.2 Despite their late appearance and academic origin, however, theological

prolegomena address issues that are always present and must always have their effect on doctrinal statement. The production of any theological formula brings with it fundamental questions of the relationship of language to divine truth, of the capability of any human statement to bear the weight of revelation, and of the relationship of statements concerning God to grammatically identical statements concerning the world of sense and experience. The inherent paradox of the use of finite forms to discuss an infinite truth, of the presentation of concepts relating to an incomprehensible Being and the unfathomable mystery of his relation to the world and its creatures, hovers in the background of all theological statement. Prolegomena merely make these issues explicit. What is theology? What is the relationship of theology to God’s own truth? Where does theology stand among the ways of human knowing? How can a knowledge or wisdom concerning divine things draw on the resources of human reason and human language? What are the necessary and irreducible foundations of theological statement? B. Prolegomena and Theology: Some Basic Relationships Otto Weber asks the crucial question concerning prolegomena in his Grundlagen der Dogmatik—namely, whether and under what circumstances the prolegomena are vordogmatisch, or predogmatic.3 When dogmatics rests on prior, nontheological, ontological, or anthropological presuppositions, and these presuppositions are set forth in the prolegomena, then indeed the prolegomena are vordogmatisch—but is this then a Christian dogmatics? Weber concludes that Christian dogmatics can have no true prolegomena, but only an introduction which shares in the presuppositions of the system of dogmatics as a whole. Although this specific point is not enunciated in the Protestant orthodox prolegomena, it is clearly reflected both in the explicit concerns of the prolegomena, in the dependence of the prolegomena upon the system itself for many of their basic arguments, and in the fundamental structural and principial relationship of the prolegomena to the whole of the Reformed orthodox theology—as, indeed, it is reflected in the late arrival of theological prolegomena in the development of Protestant theology. The prolegomena themselves demonstrate (both in the history of their formulation and in their contents) that Reformed orthodoxy was not a deductive system, speculative in the modern sense of the term, but a topical theology that arose out of extended meditation on and defense of its varied loci. The Reformed orthodox theological prolegomena also clearly evidence the grounding of Reformed orthodoxy in an exegetical process—so that, as much as any other locus of the theological system, the prolegomena evidence the relationship between doctrinal formulation and a series of biblical texts functioning as loci communes and sedes doctrinae. Thus, again, the

prolegomena are not predogmatic or pretheological: they presume the scriptural principium of dogmatics prior to its explicit enunciation. In addition, as will become evident at numerous points throughout the analysis of the prolegomena and the subsequent loci, Scripture and God, the themes of the prolegomena, offer in miniature the scope and argumentative structure of the entire theological system. Basic distinctions between archetypal and ectypal theology define the relationship between God’s knowing of the work of creation, redemption, and consummation and the human knowledge of these things, grounded in God’s revelation. Distinctions between human theology before and after the fall, human theology or revelation in this life and theology of vision in the next, point toward the course of redemption history, the basic outline of the theological topics, and the character of our understanding of God in relation to the problem of sin and redemption. The prolegomena, therefore, provide a crucial index to the character and intention of a theological system. Any attempt to present an accurate picture of Protestant orthodox theology must include and, preferably, begin with an analysis of the orthodox prolegomena. Moreover, only by investigating these presuppositional statements can the questions typically asked about the character and intention of Protestant orthodox theology be properly and correctly answered. For example, what is the relationship of orthodoxy to the Reformation? Is it a simple continuation and development of the thought of the Reformers or is it in some ways a distortion of or departure from the Reformation? Is orthodoxy a form of rationalism or a movement toward rationalism? Is Reformed orthodoxy a predestinarian system? We have already provided, in chapter 1, a tentative answer to the first question: orthodoxy stands in continuity both with the Reformation and with the church’s tradition but also evidences elements of discontinuity. This tentative answer provides us with an approach, a method, for answering the other two questions in and through an examination of the prolegomena and principia of the orthodox systems. 2.2 Medieval Prolegomena A. The Beginnings of Prolegomena: Early Scholastic Developments The development of Protestant theological system was a complex process in which elements of extant theological system, inherited from the later Middle Ages, were used, modified, and brought into intimate contact with the insights of the Reformers. This process is nowhere more prominent than in the development of theological prolegomena, for here, the Reformers provided a whole series of insights into presuppositional issues in theology, such as the relation of reason and philosophy to theological system and the relation of the soteriological content of the system proper to the enunciation

of basic principles and presuppositions. However, the work of the earliest Reformers provided virtually no structural models. The only extant theological prolegomena were the prolegomena to medieval systems. It was to these prolegomena, particularly to those written in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, that the Protestant orthodox looked for models. The theologians who taught and wrote in the mid-twelfth century—among them Hugh of St. Victor (d. 1141), Gilbert de la Porrée (d. 1154), Peter Lombard (d. 1160), and Alain of Lille (d. 1202)—agreed that theology needed to be organized and developed according to a consistent method if it was to be taught properly in the schools. Hugh of St. Victor wrote not only a brief book of Sentences but also an important essay on education, the Didascalion, as well as a lengthy theological system with a prolegomenon, the De sacramentis christianae fidei. Although not a formal prolegomenon to theological system, the Didascalion provides what might be called an attitudinal introduction to theological study and, in addition, a survey of the discipline of theology just prior to the great drive toward system characteristic of the thirteenth century. Hugh’s purpose was to survey all of the sciences— theoretical, practical, mechanical, and logical. He views theology as the highest scientia of the theoretical category, similar to philosophy but superior to it. The study of theology, according to Hugh, is an exercise in prayerful spirituality that finds its substance in Scripture and the writings of the fathers. Hugh concludes, in his seventh book, with a discussion of the outline of the body of doctrine that can be drawn from these sources.4 Whereas Hugh’s Sententia begins, not with a prologue on the discipline of theology but rather with a discussion of the three Christian virtues (faith, hope, and love),5 his De sacramentis christianae fidei (On the Mysteries of the Christian Faith) does have a formal prologue on Scripture as the foundation and the material of theology, on the study of Scripture, on the relation of all the “arts” to “divine wisdom,” and, finally, on the canon of Scripture.6 This prologue raises several issues that would become of paramount importance to the discipline of theology in the era of scholasticism. In the first place, Hugh makes it clear that Scripture and its correct interpretation are the foundation of theology inasmuch as all of the arts in the trivium (grammar, logic and dialectic) and the quadrivium (arithmetic, music, geometry, astronomy/physics) are subordinate to theology: “… all natural arts serve divine knowledge (scientia); and inferior wisdom (scientia) rightly arranged is of use to superior.”7 In the second place, Hugh speaks of the knowledge of God gained from Scripture as both scientia and sapientia, thus emphasizing the terms that the next several generations would use and debate as characterizations of the genus of theology. Finally, Hugh prepares the way for debate on the object or material of theology by defining

it as the work of founding or creating (opus conditionis) and the work of restoring or redeeming (opus restaurationis). The opus conditionis is the creation of the world and “all of its elements”; the opus restaurationis consists in “the incarnation of the Word together with all its mysteries, or, that which has occurred from the beginning of the age … to the end of the world.”8 The point is crucial inasmuch as it defines the object of the discipline as practical and redemptive rather than speculative and metaphysical. Gilbert and Alain are more important than Lombard and Hugh to the development of formal theological prolegomena. Whereas Lombard only briefly encountered the issue of knowledge (notitia) before engaging in his discussion of the Trinity, Gilbert and Alain presented, for the first time in the history of theology, a set of rules concerning theological method. Gilbert pressed the point, profoundly important for the development of theological prolegomena, that in theology as much as in the other classical disciplines, the rules of argument ought to be suitable to the object of discussion. Alain accepted this basic concept and, even more pointedly than Gilbert, placed theology in the category of academic disciplines by denominating it a scientia. Here, too, we see raised one of the crucial issues to be addressed by all subsequent prolegomena to theology.9 Lombard’s Sententiae is important primarily as the great theological textbook of the Middle Ages. The Sententiae provides a cogent arrangement of theological materials into problems. Lombard sets forth an issue, provides the patristic and biblical resources relevant to it, and then sets forth a response —the basic form of scholastic argument. When the Sententiae became the standard text in the early thirteenth century, these chapter-length discussions were gathered, probably at the University of Paris by Alexander of Hales, into “distinctions” or major topics. Lombard’s overarching pattern of four books— God (I); creation, sin, and free will (II); incarnation, Christ’s person and work, Christian graces and virtues (III); the sacraments and the last things (IV)— became the basic form for theological system. Nonetheless, Lombard was not as influential in the development of prolegomena as Hugh, Gilbert, and Alain. He identifies the subject matter of theology according to the Augustinian model of things and the signs that point toward them. He further identifies the things as res divinae and then divides these “divine things” into the Augustinian categories of enjoyment (frui) and use (uti), the former indicating God as Trinity and the latter the entire created order.10 This model implies the later definition of the object of theology as God and all of God’s works, and also the later identification of theology as a mixed science, both contemplative and practical.

B. The High Scholastic Development: The Thirteenth-Century Flowering of Method 1. Issues faced by the thirteenth-century theologians. The use of the term scientia with reference to theology took on a new meaning in the early thirteenth century with the rise of interest in the larger Aristotelian corpus. Whereas the Aristotle known to the early Middle Ages was the logical Aristotle of the Organon, the new Aristotle presented to the thirteenth century was the Aristotle of the Metaphysics and Ethics. The latter document is of particular importance since it is the place where Aristotle delivered his arguments for the classification of the forms of knowing: understanding (intelligentia), knowledge or science (scientia), wisdom (sapientia), prudence or discretion (prudentia), and art or technique (ars).11 William of Auxerre (d. 1231) argued, following Aristotle, that all sciences properly so-called rest upon their own principia or first principles. Theology, therefore, must have its own self-evident principles (principia per se nota) which, in turn, provided the basis of argument for the sake of clarifying or proving the faith.12 As the great age of scholasticism dawned in the second quarter of the thirteenth century, the various commentators on the Sentences of Lombard— Alexander of Hales, Bonaventure, Robert Kilwardby, Albert the Great, and Thomas Aquinas—recognized the need to place methodological discussions, constructed along the lines indicated by Gilbert de la Porrée, Alain of Lille, and William of Auxerre, at the beginning of their commentaries, as prolegomena set prior to the first set of distinctions made by Lombard. These early thirteenth-century prolegomena are not, as a rule, highly elaborate, but they do identify theology as a word concerning God resting on a revelation given in this life to the Christian pilgrim, the viator. They also pose, in the causal language of the scholastic era, questions concerning the sources, object, and purpose of theology. Kilwardby in particular viewed the questions of material and formal, efficient and final causality of theology as crucial to the definition of theological science.13 In addition, these prolegomena and all those that followed in the medieval period raise the question of the nature of theological knowledge in terms of the character of theology as theoretical, practical, or affective, and in terms of the nature of theological knowing as science (scientia) or wisdom (sapientia). This contrast of sapientia with scientia, moreover, carries with it, implicitly, a contrast between the older patristic and specifically Augustinian heritage of the Middle Ages and the new Aristotelianism of the thirteenth century. Augustine had preferred the term sapientia for theology not only because of its biblical and traditional usage but also because he viewed sapientia, wisdom, as an understanding of goals, specifically, of God as the highest

good, and scientia, knowledge, as an understanding of the temporal order. In the Aristotelian model, however, sapientia belonged to a general paradigm of temporal knowing and, strictly defined as an understanding of principia and ends, was less applicable to theology as an academic discipline than was the Aristotelian definition of scientia—a knowledge of principles and the conclusions drawn from them. Indeed, for Aristotle, sapientia properly understood was the highest kind of scientia, in view of its grasp of ultimates.14 All of these issues would reappear in the Protestant scholastic systems. 2. Alexander of Hales, Bonaventure, and Thomas Aquinas. The great Franciscans, Alexander of Hales and Bonaventure, insisted on the affective, experimental, and moral character of theology and argued that this character of the discipline prevented it from being considered as a scientia in the Aristotelian sense of a rational or demonstrative discipline. Thus Alexander could write that there is “one mode of certainty in scientia taught according to the human spirit and another in scientia taught according to the divine Spirit” and that this latter mode, a “certainty concerned with disposition” (affectus), is more certain than the “certainty of speculation” or the “certainty of experience” belonging to other sciences. For Alexander, theology could never be a rational or demonstrative science, because its certainty rests on the work of the Holy Spirit rather than on rational conclusions drawn from its principles. This is not to say that theology must not develop doctrinal formulations and defend them by rational argument or must not draw conclusions from principles, which is the very nature of a scientia, but only that its certitude lies elsewhere.15 Bonaventure, even more than Alexander, stresses inward illumination as the source of theological knowledge rather than a scientia resting upon the perception of externals.16 Bonaventure had already distinguished between the theology of the sacra pagina, that is, Scripture, and the theology of his commentary on the Sentences. The former follows a “revelatory, preceptive mode” whereas the latter adopts a “ratiocinative or inquisitive mode.” Nonetheless, as Chenu pointed out, Bonaventure’s adoption of a logical rather than an exegetical or expository model did not result in the formal definition of theology as a discipline, a science among the other sciences and standing in clear relation to them.17 Rather Bonaventure chose to argue that all of the arts served theology as in some sense their source and, when rightly understood, could all be “retraced” to their theological origins.18 That step of defining the character of theological scientia among the various sciences was taken by Thomas Aquinas, who joined the concept of theology as a ratiocinative discipline characterized by definition and division

of the subject for purposes of debate to the Aristotelian concepts of scientia and scientia subalterna, subalternate science.19 This “scientific” character of theology in relation to the problems of the knowledge of its principia, of the identification of its proper subject (or object), and of the construction of proper theological arguments and demonstrations become the central concern of Aquinas’ preliminary remarks in the Summa theologiae.20 Aquinas deals with the problem that revealed principia are not self-evident but are derived from a higher science, namely, from the divine self-knowledge. Theology is, thus, a subalternate science which, after the manner of all scientiae, utilizes its principia as the means by which less evident teachings are explicated and understood. The place of reason is clearly instrumental and ancillary, although Aquinas does permit reason to work with revealed truths in order to deduce truths not explicitly given in revelation: reason deduces and supports truths for sacred theology but does not provide them in and of itself. In this context, Scripture and the great creeds are easily understood as the sources of the principia of theological science and theological science itself can turn to the elaborate development of doctrine as a faithful but also eminently rational derivation of conclusions from its revealed principia. Although the development of doctrinal formulae had been going on for centuries, surely since the age of the second-century Apologists, we now have, for the first time in the history of doctrine, a formally defined model for the construction of a body of doctrine beyond the simple discursive presentation of the results of exegesis. 3. Henry of Ghent. The great codifier of thirteenth-century theorization on the presuppositions of theological system just prior to the intense critique launched by Scotus and the nominalists was Henry of Ghent (d. 1293). Henry’s Summae quaestionum ordinariarum theologi deals at length with the question of theology as scientia in relation to other sciences (art. VI–VII), the causality of theology (the author and the authority of Scripture; art. VIII, IX, XIX), the materia or substance of this divinely given knowledge, the theoretical and practical character of theology, and the problem of theological method and its exercise by human teachers (art. XI–XVIII). The latter discussion is particularly significant because it is not usually encountered in theological prolegomena, especially not at such length. Henry’s discussion of the role and attitude of the theological teacher, like Hugh of St. Victor’s marriage of theological study and spirituality, represents the scholastic continuation of the Augustinian model for biblical study and interpretation found in the great treatise On Christian Doctrine. In the Augustinian perspective, the interpretation of Scripture is directly related to the spiritual pilgrimage of the believer from a legal fear of God to the final earthly preparation of the human spirit for the beatific vision.21 For Henry, as for the

other scholastics of his time, the causality of theology mirrors and explains this pilgrimage.22 Leff refers to Henry as “undoubtedly” the greatest of those thirteenth- and fourteenth-century theologians not affiliated with either the Franciscan or Dominican orders. In a sense, Henry must be regarded as the bridge from the thirteenth-century attempts at synthesis to the more critical perspective of Scotus—just as Scotus can be viewed as the point of transition to nominalism. Henry’s importance lies in his sense of “the limitations of classical Augustinianism” and “the dangers of Aristotelianism.”23 The critical balance that he achieved provides an important model for later theology, including that of the Protestant scholastics. Henry’s prolegomena are closely mirrored in the preliminary questions of Gerard of Boulogne’s Summa. Here, too, the causality of theology is discussed as well as the disposition of theological students and teachers. In addition, as with Henry’s Summa, the question of causality arises directly out of the divine authorship of Scripture and the necessary rootage of theology therein.24 Like the argument of several Sentence commentators and of Henry of Ghent’s Summa, Gerard’s meditation on causality must be regarded as a heuristic device rather than as some sort of necessitarian language. The focusing of these prolegomena on Scripture, moreover, renders them as important for the later development of a Protestant doctrine of Scripture as they are important for the development of Protestant scholastic prolegomena. C. Late Medieval Developments and Critique 1. Duns Scotus and the problem of theological scientia. A new and critical phase, crucial for the development of theological prolegomena, begins with the lectures of Duns Scotus (d. 1308) at Oxford and Paris. In one sense, Scotus manifests a continuity of perspective with the great Franciscans of the thirteenth century, Alexander of Hales and Bonaventure. He echoes their hesitancy to accept the alliance between Christian theology and Aristotelian philosophy. Nonetheless, Scotus is responsible for the incorporation of much Aristotelian teaching into Franciscan theology. In another sense, however, Scotus presents a highly original model and, with it, a critique of virtually all previous scholastic theology. He differs from Alexander and Bonaventure in his assumption of two ways of knowing, faith and reason, and from Aquinas in his assumption of a radical diastasis between the two. Scotus radically limits both natural and supernatural knowledge, moreover, on the assumption of the incapacity of the finite for the infinite. Our theology, according to Scotus, takes as its object the love of God as the ultimate goal of humanity and is, therefore, a practical discipline.25 One of the other results of the line of argument on the causes and ends of

theology that begins in Kilwardby and moves through Henry of Ghent to Duns Scotus was an increasing interest in the question of whether theology was a speculative or a practical discipline.26 Whereas the Dominican theology, influenced by Aquinas, had emphasized the theoretical or speculative side of the scientia, inasmuch as theology can be known in and for itself, the Franciscan theology, with its mistrust of the language of scientia, tended to stress the practical aspect of theology and, in the work of Scotus, to argue that theology, considered as a discipline oriented toward the ultimate goal of mankind in God, is essentially a praxis. Scotus, as a result, preferred not even to identify theology as a subalternate science.27 The principles of theology, gained by revelation, cannot approach the principles of the scientia Dei or claim to identify God as he is in himself. As Congar aptly observes, Scotus’ theology is characterized by “the constant intervention of disjunctions between the order in se and the order of fact,”28 in this case between the infinite and perfect theologia in se and the finite theologia nostra, our theology, Scotus’ equivalent of theologia in via.29 Since there is no proportion between divine theology in itself and our theology, God alone is truly a theologian. (Significantly, this identification of God as the true theologian or as the only true doctor of the wisdom in Scripture, which rested on the language of Augustine’s On Christian Doctrine, had been used by earlier scholastics, like Henry of Ghent, to indicate the divine source of all true theology—but not to press so radically the disjunction between the divine self-knowledge and revealed knowledge of God.)30 Similar views are expressed by Scotus’ contemporary, Durandus de Saint Pourçain (d. 1334), who also refused to view theology as a science in the strict sense of the term. Rather, theology is merely a mental disposition (habitus) according to which the articles of Christian faith are drawn from the principia found in Scripture. Durandus addresses this problem, moreover, by dealing with theology in terms of its four causes and then comparing this causality with the causality of other “sciences.”31 Peter Aureole (d. 1322) follows a line of argument much like that of Durandus but concludes that theology is a scientia subalterna or, more precisely, a purely practical scientia consequentiarum, a knowledge of consequences, resting upon the articles of faith and upon Scripture as principia. Aureole does not assume that such principles are self-evident but rather that they have a certainty, in view of their divine origin, sufficient for the denomination of theology as scientia subalterna.32 It is also characteristic of later medieval prolegomena, written in the wake of Scotus’ critique, that the disjunction between divine self-knowledge and human knowledge of God appears in the language of theologia nostra, now

used by virtually all of the commentators, and in the frequently pointed debate over the proper subject or object of this theologia nostra. In view of the limitation of knowing in the human subject, the object of that knowing must also be limited or restricted—not, of course, in itself but insofar as it is known. We encounter this concern in the prolegomena of such thinkers as Peter Aureole, Durandus, Richard of Middleton, Gregory of Rimini, Marsilius of Inghen, and Gabriel Biel. Parallel to this development, we also see in these later medieval prolegomena little concern to conjoin theology with philosophy—indeed, a fundamental break has occurred between theology and philosophy such that the service of philosophy to theology has been virtually confined to logic and dialectic. 2. Ockham and further alterations of the discipline of theology. As taken up and critically refined by Ockham, the concept of scientia could have both a broad and a strict definition: broadly, a science is “the certain knowledge of any truth,” whereas in the most strict sense, it is an “evident knowledge of necessary truths,” in particular, those truths arrived at by syllogistic demonstration.33 Since theology rests on faith and not on evident knowledge known by demonstration, it cannot, strictly speaking, be a science —although in the broadest sense of the word it can be included among the sciences. Given Ockham’s assumption that there is not a single mental disposition that grasps all theological truths but rather a series of dispositions, and given his conclusion that theology is not a unified knowing with a single object, he can divide the discipline into theoretical knowing of such truths as the Trinity and practical knowing of such truths as lead specifically to the love of God.34 These arguments would have considerable influence on Protestant theology. Finally, we need to recognize that many of the pressures toward change leading to the development of new patterns of argument and presentation— such as the organization of dogmatics by locus—in Protestant theological system were pressures universally felt and also of importance to the development of Roman Catholic theology in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.35 On the one hand, the dominance of Lombard’s Sentences as the basic form of theological system came to an end as the Dominicans, following the model of Cajetan, began to comment on Thomas Aquinas’ Summa instead. More importantly, Catholic scholasticism also began to develop entirely new forms in the sixteenth century. Following the example of Melchior Cano, his followers at the University of Salamanca set aside the medieval form of the quaestio as well as the model of the Sentences and, much like their Protestant foes, developed a system of theological loci, resting at least in part on the new logic of Rudolf Agricola.36 The theologians who maintained the tradition of commenting on the Sentences, moreover, were

hardly immune to these developments. The new methodology, with its concentration on loci in Scripture and tradition as material sources of theology, had significant impact on the later Middle Ages and Renaissance and, in the hands of early Reformers like Melanchthon, would transform the method of the classroom and, therefore, the scholastic exercise. 2.3 The Reformation and Its Theological Presuppositions A. Roots of the Reformation and the Early Reformers 1. Reformation and issues of prolegomena: the case of Luther. The theology of the Reformation, in its doctrinal statements and in its presuppositions, stands as both the rejection of the late medieval theological world and as a direct outgrowth of that world, dependent in large measure upon the medieval science of theology for insight into the nature of the theological task. Although too much can be made of the continuity of medieval Augustinianism with the theology of the Reformation, it is clear that not only the theory of salvation by grace but also the view of divine transcendence and omnipotence associated with it carries over from the late medieval period into the sixteenth century.37 In addition, there was an important tradition in medieval theology which identified Scripture as the soteriologically sufficient source of Christian doctrine and, within that tradition, an antiecclesial argument that pitted the authority of Scripture against the authority of the church or, in its less polemical forms, argued the priority of the scriptural over the traditionary norm of doctrine.38 Beyond these basic doctrinal and principial continuities, the Reformation protest against the highly speculative arguments engendered by nominalism and its corresponding demand for a biblical theology responsive to the needs of piety and worship also had ample precedent in the late Middle Ages. What is more, the Scotist and nominalist critiques of earlier scholastic theology, considered apart from the excesses that brought about the Reformation, created an emphasis on revelation and a separation of theology from metaphysics that carried over into the theology of the Reformers. The Reformation, in spite of its substantial contribution to the history of doctrine and the shock it delivered to theology and the church in the sixteenth century, was not an attack upon the whole of medieval theology or upon Christian tradition. The Reformation assaulted a limited spectrum of doctrinal and practical abuses with the intention of reaffirming the values of the historical church catholic. Thus, the mainstream Reformers reconstructed the doctrines of justification and the sacraments and then modified their ideas of the ordo salutis and of the church accordingly; but they did not alter the doctrines of God, creation, providence, and Christ, and they maintained the Augustinian tradition concerning predestination, human nature and sin. The

reform of individual doctrines, like justification and the sacraments, occurred within the bounds of a traditional, orthodox, and catholic system which, on the grand scale, remained substantively unaltered. Characteristic of this first stage of the Reformation is the absence of a formal doctrine of Scripture and of discussion concerning its relation to the church and theology. The Protestants stated a scriptural principle but not a doctrine of Scripture. Nevertheless, from the outset, that principle both reflected the medieval background and contained the foundation of later formulations belonging both to the theological prolegomena and to the doctrine of Scripture. Although the orthodox doctrine would be shaped by polemical as well as positive considerations, its basic form can be traced directly to the well-springs of reform, even to that day in April of 1521 when Martin Luther stood before the Diet of Worms, refusing to recant: Unless I am convicted by Scripture and plain reason—I do not accept the authority of popes and councils, for they have contradicted each other—my conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and I will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. God help me. Amen.39 In an eloquent and concise form Luther stated all the elements of the later Protestant doctrine of Scripture: the Bible is the ground of doctrine, to be interpreted by reason in order that logical conclusions might provide a basis for doctrines not explicitly stated therein. In addition, Luther insisted on the fallibility of all human authority and the consequent demand that all interpreters be bound to the living word as it speaks directly to the believer.40 These presuppositions of Luther’s doctrinal revolt have direct relevance to the development of Protestant dogmatics, specifically, of theological prolegomena. As Paul Althaus argued, Luther stated his theology in a highly individual manner, but nonetheless strove to “explicate rightly the truth contained in the Holy Scriptures and the dogma of the orthodox church” rather than to state a unique or original position.41 Luther never intended to set aside tradition, but assumed, following late medieval writers like Wessel Gansfort, the secondary or derived authority of that tradition.42 This perspective, together with the assumption of the role of recta ratio (right reason), remained at the foundation of Protestant dogmatics. Some, though not all, of Luther’s doctrinal revolt can be associated with the reigning theologies of his day. When he read the more nominalistic thinkers, like Gabriel Biel or his teacher at Erfurt, Jodokus Trutfetter, he was confronted by an almost unprecedented emphasis on the authority of the church created by the failure of human reason to ascertain the truth of God.43 If, however, he turned to the Thomists, like von Gorichem or Capreolus, he

was faced with a seemingly excessive trust in the rational, scientific character of theology—particularly by way of contrast with nominalist theology. The Thomists’ systematic fault was more one of omission than commission: they tended to set aside preliminary epistemological considerations, to assume, against the nominalist objections, a continuity of reason and revelation, and to apply, with considerably more rigor than had Thomas Aquinas, the Aristotelian conception of a science to their theological investigations.44 Luther, in reaction against both extremes of thought, took from the Scotist and nominalist systems a sense of the rift between theology in itself and theology in fact—the epistemological restriction of the theologia viatorum—but radically altered it. Under the pressure of his Augustinian anthropology with its powerful sense of human sinfulness and guided by his sense of the soteriological necessity of the revealed Word, Luther produced the epochal contrast between theologia gloriae and theologia crucis.45 Prior to and at the root of Luther’s distinction between theologia gloriae and theologia crucis in the Heidelberg Disputation is the dissatisfaction over scholastic enunciation of theological principles that he had voiced some eight or nine years earlier in his lectures on the Sentences. Luther seems to have been deeply struck by the pre-philosophical or pre-Aristotelian character of Lombard’s thought in contrast to the thought of the commentators. Vignaux notes in particular Luther’s fairly extensive and antagonistic notes on the consideration of the divine essence as a philosophical and metaphysical problem apart from the doctrine of the Trinity.46 According to Luther, Lombard had begun with the Trinity and used it as the basis of his discussion of God, whereas after Aquinas, theologians had distorted doctrine and engaged in what Althaus calls “men’s autonomous search for God.”47 The distinction between theologia gloriae and theologia crucis, thus, not only partakes of a distinction between theologia in se and theologia in subiecto but also adds, together with its soteriological thrust, a reevaluation of the language of the object of theology. We cannot discuss God as such, but God according to the form of his revelation.48 This point had been made by the medieval doctors, but without the intensity and impact of Luther’s insistence on a theologia crucis. Luther’s theology, specifically his exegesis of Galatians, may also be the proximate source of the theme of twofold knowledge of God that became so prominent a feature of Calvin’s Institutes in 1559.49 2. Melanchthon and theological prolegomena. As noted above in the discussion of the relationship of the Reformation to theological system, Luther’s antisystematic or at least nonsystematic approach to theology sets him apart, not only from the orthodox or scholastic Protestantism of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but also from the efforts of many of his

contemporaries, both Lutheran and Reformed, to gather together the elements of a Protestant body of doctrine, most typically in the form of loci communes. Thus, even the first edition of Melanchthon’s Loci (1521) includes a preface on the nature of theology. As one would expect, given the date of the treatise, its preface is highly antagonistic toward philosophy and even toward the more speculative elements of traditional dogmatic system. As Melanchthon’s Loci developed through successive editions, traditional dogmas reappear and the highly polemical elements of its prologue are removed, giving way to more positive statements concerning the presuppositions and contents of theological system.50 Although Melanchthon did not develop a formal prolegomenon to theology, elements of a presuppositional structure for theology appear both in his various prefaces to the Loci communes and in the locus on God in later editions. Here Melanchthon notes the necessity of adopting the proper order or arrangement of topics: the author must identify the principal topics (praecipui loci) and, as well, the issues which are unnecessary or detrimental to the edifice as a whole. With this in mind, the beginning, middle, and end of the whole must be identified. The precedence of causes over effects must be noted. Theology begins by considering God and then creation, next, the fall, and then redemption. The scripturae series of the biblical events must be noted—the movement of revelation from sin to redemption, law to promise.51 Similarly, the ancient creeds provide architectonic models for theological system.52 These views on the methodus theologiae or “way through theology,” drawn primarily from the 1533 Loci communes, are among the earliest Protestant comments on the organization of theology and have profound impact on the rise of orthodoxy and its organization of dogmatics.53 Melanchthon also wrote a Brevis discendae theologiae ratio (ca. 1530) in which he discusses a plan for proper biblical study: the student begins with Romans, proceeds through the Epistles to the Gospels, (concluding with the Gospel of John), and then works through the Old Testament (from Genesis to Deuteronomy followed by the Psalter and the prophets).54 This brief essay is hardly a full theological prolegomenon but, as in the various prefaces to the Loci communes, Melanchthon manifests a strong interest in the elicitation of theological topics from the text of Scripture. The Epistle to the Romans provides a methodus or way through the whole Scripture by setting forth the “principal topics of Christian doctrine”: justification, the use of the Law, the distinction of Law and gospel. From the Gospel of John we learn about the Trinity, creation, the two natures of Christ, original sin, free will, the righteousness of faith, the church, and the office of the keys.55 Melanchthon followed this approach in his Loci communes, in which, from the first edition onward, he drew primarily on the topics elicited exegetically from the Epistle

to the Romans.56 McGrath’s claim that Melanchthon “appears to have done little more than take certain select topics from Lombard’s Sentences and rewrite them in the light of the presuppositions and teachings of the early Lutheran Reformation” and that “there is no underlying theological foundation for the arrangement of the material” utterly fails to encounter either the documents or their theology, and sets the stage for a fundamental misrepresentation of the development of Reformation thought.57 On the contrary, Melanchthon’s Loci communes prepared the way, from a methodological perspective, for the fundamentally biblical and exegetical model, centered on the message of Romans, that became one of the most significant for both Lutheran and Reformed dogmatics in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and that establishes a fundamental point of distinction between the method of Protestant theology and the method of the medieval commentators on the Sentences, despite the structural parallels that might be noted. In the locus de Deo, Melanchthon included a series of comments on natural revelation and the use of human reason. Whereas his earliest comments on reason and philosophy were negative to the point of being bitter, Melanchthon ultimately tempered his views and identified the function of reason with that of Law and the function of revelation with that of the gospel.58 True knowledge of God, argues Melanchthon, has been preserved since the fall in the revelation of the promise—while at the same time human sinfulness has created distortions of divine truth. At best, nature provides knowledge of the existence and attributes of God and a sense of the moral commands of God, but this knowledge is legal and not saving.59 Melanchthon poses, as a rhetorical question, the problem of rational knowledge of God: is it like our knowledge of mathematics? The answer, by implication, is that theological certainty rests on revelation; rational certainty in theology cannot be attained immediately but rather by the reason’s acceptance of revealed truth.60 This distinction between mathematical and theological certainty was crucial for orthodox dogmatics.61 The influence of Melanchthon on the development of Reformed thought, via his own works (the Loci communes, Erotemata dialectices, his several efforts at the interpretation of Romans, and his philosophical works)—and via the works of Ursinus, Hyperius, and Szegedinus—must be noted without being overestimated. The scripturae series and the demand for a methodus, together with the establishment of a set of theological loci, are all crucial for the creation of orthodox theology. Although the use of loci and the locusmethod were certainly not Melanchthon’s invention, Melanchthon must certainly be credited with the application of this element of the Agricolan dialectic to Protestant theology—as also he must be credited with the use of

Paul’s Epistle to the Romans as the chief source of the theological loci.62 In addition, in such works as his manual of rhetoric and logic, the Erotemata dialectices, and his lectures on ethics, physics, and the soul, Melanchthon provided a sense of the positive use of reason that can be seen as the beginnings of a Protestant natural theology: he argued that, even after the fall and the tarnishing of the imago Dei, there remain in all human beings certain fundamental ideas, implanted in the mind by God, that render logic and rhetoric, moral decisions, and the understanding of principia in the various sciences possible.63 It was also Melanchthon who, early on in the development of the theological and philosophical curriculum at Wittenberg reinaugurated the study of the Nichomachean Ethics. His use of Aristotle and of Aristotelian categories, together with his emphasis on reason are of considerable importance to Reformed theology but, again, he did not create these emphases but rather supplemented the similar emphases brought to Reformed theology by Thomists like Vermigli and Zanchi. 3. The contributions of Zwingli and Bucer. On the Reformed side, there is not only a movement toward system—as in Zwingli’s De vera et falsa religione commentarius (1524), the Confessio fidei Basileensis prior (ca. 1532) of Oecolampadius and Myconius, and the Confessio Helvetica prior (1536)—but also a growing interest in setting forth theological presuppositions at the beginning of the body of doctrine. Thus, beginning with the Confessio Helvetica prior, Reformed confessions virtually without exception present a doctrine of Scripture as the first point to be addressed. As early as Zwingli’s De vera et falsa religione, one of the basic issues of future prolegomena is presented at some length—that is, the issue of religion. Bound up with the problem of religion, moreover, is the problem of the effect of sin on knowledge of God and the blurring or distortion of the natural knowledge of God still possible because of the semen religionis or “seed of religion” in the mind.64 Similarly, we see in Bucer’s Summarischer Vergiff (1548), as in his earlier summary of Christian teaching (1523), a strong sense of the problem of knowledge of God caused by the fall. In the later document, Bucer spells out at some length both the problem and the solution: because of the fall, mankind has sunk into an idolatrous ignorance of God, divine truths, and the will of God. This sinful ignorance is such that man has neither a valid knowledge of God nor a valid knowledge of himself. True knowledge of God, then, arises not out of fallen human nature but only out of the biblical revelation, and it involves not merely knowing the truth concerning God and Christ as a datum, but also accepting that truth in repentance and faith.65 Nor should it be concluded that Bucer rebelled entirely against the older modes of thinking: he assumed a careful approach to theology as a discipline, including

elements of the traditional scholastic method, recourse to the fathers and to the classical tradition of philosophy, both Platonic and Aristotelian.66 Nor, indeed, did Bucer set aside entirely his Dominican roots and the influences of Thomas Aquinas.67 B. Presuppositions and Principles in the Era of Calvin and His Contemporaries 1. Calvin and Viret. This development toward enunciation of presuppositions and principles is also evident in the successive editions of Calvin’s Institutes.68 The first edition of 1536 was simply an extended introductory discourse on the basic subjects of catechesis—the Law, the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and the sacraments—to which Calvin appended a chapter on Christian freedom and the relation of church and state. In 1539, Calvin changed the Institutes from a catechetical manual to a summary of basic Christian doctrine, covering such subjects as predestination and providence, and repentance and justification in separate chapters; he also added an introductory discussion on the knowledge of God. Calvin also added two introductory chapters in which he juxtaposed the knowledge of God with the knowledge of man and thereby recast the whole system in the light of the problem of human knowing in its finitude and sinfulness after the fall. All these added topics are based, arguably, on the loci extracted from the Epistle to the Romans according to the Melanchthonian paradigm. This pattern was the basis for the editions of 1543 and 1550 and remained largely intact even in the final edition.69 The final edition of Calvin’s Institutes, published in 1559, not only expands the number of chapters and distributes the text, roughly, in terms of the outline of the Apostles’ Creed, it also adds the theme of a twofold knowledge of God, the duplex cognitio Dei—knowledge of God as Creator and as Redeemer—that provides not only a further presuppositional focusing of Calvin’s theology but also a structuring device identifying Scripture as the ground of all true knowledge of God and then setting forth the order of the first two books of the Institutes: “Knowledge of God the Creator” and “Knowledge of God the Redeemer.”70 As Calvin implies in his prefatory “letter to the reader,” the Institutes contains the topics or loci communes and the doctrinal disputations that, had he followed a different exegetical method, might well have been found in his commentaries. This decision about the contents of his doctrinal work, like the topics added in 1539, finds a large portion of its inspiration in Melanchthon’s Loci communes theologici. Somewhat more overtly than Calvin’s Institutes, the Vermigli-Massonius Loci communes71 and Musculus’ Loci communes72 provided models for the methodological and doctrinal development of Reformed orthodoxy. Unlike the Institutes, both of these systems follow the

strictly-defined locus method that would be adopted by the orthodox in preference to the more discursive model presented by Calvin. In addition, both Vermigli and Musculus, in their individual loci, manifest a closer relationship than does Calvin to the traditional contents of theological discussion. Calvin, as frequently noted by those who would drive a wedge between early Reformed theology and Reformed orthodoxy, does not provide a detailed discussion of the divine attributes, but such discussion was available as a model for orthodoxy in the Loci communes of Vermigli (I.xii) and Musculus (cap. 47–60). In Musculus’ Loci the discussion is of considerable length, equaling the extent of elaboration in virtually any seventeenth-century Reformed system. Pierre Viret, a thinker whose name is closely associated with the Reformation in Lausanne and whose doctrine stands in firm continuity with that of Calvin, wrote in a more popular style than that of Calvin and produced theological works primarily in the vernacular rather than in the more scholarly Latin. He must be regarded as a theologian of less importance than Calvin to the systematic development of the Reformed faith but of great importance to its popular diffusion both in the French-speaking cantons of Switzerland and in France itself. Viret frequently wrote his works in the form of dialogues. Viret produced several more or less systematic works, the largest in scope being his Instruction chrestienne. The first part of this work is a catechetical summary of the faith, a beginning instruction, while the second—although it retains the form of a dialogue—enters into considerably greater detail.73 According to Viret’s biographer, Barnaud, only the first two volumes appeared, while the third (which was to deal with providence and predestination) was left unpublished.74 Viret’s emphasis on a Christian philosophy as well as theology and upon natural and supernatural knowledge of God stands in greater continuity with traditional views on theology and its ancillae than does Calvin’s thought—as does his emphasis on knowledge of God drawn from creation as well as from the biblical history of salvation. We must note too, however, the important phrase, “l’histoire de la création, cheute et reparation de la genre humaine,” which points to the emphasis of Reformed theology, following Hyperius, Calvin, and Melanchthon, on the historic series of Christian doctrine. Although Viret stands considerably below the rank of Calvin, Hyperius, Musculus, or Vermigli, his work also indicates the strong early Reformed emphasis on preliminary questions of knowledge that would eventuate in the orthodox prolegomena. 2. Vermigli and Musculus. The tendency of Vermigli and Musculus— who were more carefully and thoroughly trained in the intricacies of late medieval theology than Calvin—to state traditional theological topics at

greater length and in greater detail than Calvin is matched by their interest in the presuppositions of theological discourse. Thus, the introductory chapters of Vermigli’s Loci contain discussions of the various forms of revelation (I.ii) and of natural knowledge of God (I.iii–v) prior to the locus on Scripture and its interpretation (I.vi). In addition, a discussion of the relationship of philosophy to theology (II.iii) indicates a more positive relationship between faith and reason, theology and philosophy than that argued by Calvin.75 Vermigli, trained at Padua as a Thomist, manifests a willingness to deal with the complex questions of the relationship of faith—which is a rational disposition of the soul—to rational argumentation, within the context of his thoroughly Augustinian anthropology.76 Vermigli maintains the sola gratia of the Reformation but also develops a more sophisticated view of the theological and philosophical functions of reason than Calvin ever attempted.77 What is more, given both his massive linguistic erudition, his use of a form of the locus method in his exegetical work, and his training in the distinctions of the older theological tradition, Vermigli exemplifies the confluence of humanist and scholastic models at the root of the development of a Protestant scholasticism.78 Since Musculus’ lengthy discussion of the knowledge of God occurs later in his system (cap. lxi), his theological prolegomenon is quite brief. Before the exposition of his first locus, de Deo, Musculus addresses the question “whether there is a God.” He offers no formal proofs but rather indicates that the existence of God either is or ought to be self-evident. This perspective, in turn, raises the question of the knowledge of God. The topic is treated only briefly, however, as Musculus reserves his broad exposition of the problem of knowledge for the later locus. Consequently, Musculus devotes several sections of his Loci communes to the discussion of the problem of knowledge of God, with no less insistence than Calvin and Vermigli on the problem of man’s sinfulness, but with more interest in the several elements of the knowledge of God and in their arrangement and relation to the progress of human salvation. Musculus here manifests reliance on the traditional view of faith as consisting in notitia, assensus, and fiducia. He also clearly indicates the central place of Christ in saving knowledge and its personal appropriation.79 Significantly, Musculus devotes a fairly lengthy discussion to the content of our natural knowledge of God and its function in the setting aside of impiety and coming to the truth of God—with the implication that philosophical knowledge of God contains important, albeit unsaving, truths potentially useful to theology. In any case, Musculus provides further insight into the early Reformed contribution to theological prolegomena. Like Calvin and Vermigli, he manifests an epistemological concern, and more like Vermigli than Calvin, he notes a

certain philosophical and theological complexity to the problem of natural knowledge of God. 3. Hyperius. A formal, methodological prolegomenon appears in Andreas Hyperius’ posthumous Methodi theologiae (1568). Here the Melanchthonian concern for method and order bore fruit in an extended discussion of the locus method of theology.80 Together with Vermigli and Musculus, Hyperius represents the technically trained theological mind of second-generation Reformed theology. Hyperius’ theology, far more than Calvin’s, reaches into the historical tradition of the church for its paradigms—and sees the usefulness of systematic essays like Augustine’s Enchiridion, John of Damascus’ On the Orthodox Faith, and Lombard’s Sentences. Indeed, Hyperius cites these works specifically as models for theological system.81 His method, like that of Vermigli and Musculus and more so than that of Calvin and Bullinger, points toward the development of Protestant orthodoxy.82 Hyperius also wrote an extended essay on the study of theology.83 As Preus comments, this essay is by far the most elaborate prolegomenon produced by a Protestant in the first half-century of the Reformation.84 Hyperius begins, echoing the medieval tradition and Augustine, with a counsel to piety: prayer and the guidance of the Spirit are requisite to theology while growth in Christian love is the proper result of theological study. Hyperius counsels the study of philosophy, logic, and language, but offers a caveat concerning the excesses of Aristotelian metaphysics. In book II, Hyperius outlines a method for the interpretation of Scripture, and in the final two books, he deals at length with the pattern of loci communes that he followed in his Methodus.85 The importance of Hyperius’ arguments is enormous. He is the only member of his generation of Reformed theologians to state clearly a rationale for systematic organization of doctrine and to begin writing with the idea of completed system fully in view. Calvin began with a catechetical model and modified it; Hyperius constructed system with a view to its traditional shape. His model is both synthetic or causally controlled and modeled on a movement from genus to species—that is, from first principles to their modification into particulars by means of differentia. Both the logic of movement from first cause to final goal with its language of synthetic or constitutive arrangement, and the structuring of system in relation to first principles have an enormous impact on orthodox system and its prolegomena.86 Several points must be made clear if we are to understand the relation of theology in the period of formulation to the theology encountered during the formation and development of orthodoxy. In the first place, the elements of

prolegomena found in these early attempts at a Reformed system do not always occur at the beginning of the doctrinal treatises: the order of theology is not yet fully established. Nevertheless, there are enough treatises and confessional documents adumbrating the later synthetic order of system to make this gathering of “elements of prolegomena” from the early Reformed systems and compends a legitimate undertaking. More importantly, the gathering of these presuppositional reflections from the early Reformed systems provides a useful gauge to the development of the orthodox or scholastic systems and to their continuity with the teaching of the Reformation. These early Reformed statements concerning theological presuppositions focus, virtually without exception, on the problem of the knowledge of God given the fact not only of human finitude but also of human sin. The critique leveled by the Reformation at medieval theological presuppositions added a soteriological dimension to the epistemological problem. Whereas the medieval doctors had assumed that the fall affected primarily the will and its affections and not the reason, the Reformers assumed also the fallenness of the rational faculty: a generalized or “pagan” natural theology, according to the Reformers, was not merely limited to nonsaving knowledge of God—it was also bound in idolatry.87 This view of the problem of knowledge is the single most important contribution of the early Reformed writers to the theological prolegomena of orthodox Protestantism. Indeed, it is the doctrinal issue that most forcibly presses the Protestant scholastics toward the modification of the medieval models for theological prolegomena. 2.4 Theological Prolegomena in Reformed Orthodoxy A. The Transition to Early Orthodoxy and the First Reformed Prolegomena 1. The nature of the transition. The Reformers and their immediate successors contributed several of the elements of Protestant theological prolegomena but produced no fully developed statement of the presuppositions and principles of theology. More importantly, they did not define either the theological enterprise itself or the task of theological system. The reason for this omission is simple: the first two generations of Protestant thinkers were fully occupied in establishing exegetically and discursively the basic theological positions of Protestantism. They did not engage in the task of adapting the theological propositions of Protestantism to the needs of university-level training in theology as system. In view of their polemical relationship to late medieval theology, they were bound not to teach the system as they themselves had learned it. In the next two generations, however, that is, in the works of the theologians of the latter third of the

sixteenth century, the movement toward institutionalization and toward the disciplined academic teaching of theology is evident. With this movement, moreover, came the need to define theology as a discipline with its own presuppositions, principles, and method. The theological prolegomena of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are, arguably, the most exhaustive and most finely tooled prolegomena in the history of theology. The intense polemics of the century following the Reformation forced all parties in the theological debate to examine, clarify, and defend their presuppositions more carefully than ever before. This generalization is as true of the Roman Catholic systems of the day as it is of the Protestant ones. In the case of the Protestant theologians, however, the construction of prolegomena was a twofold or even threefold endeavor involving the statement of views of the theological task grounded in the experiences of the Reformation, the appropriation and modification of the earlier tradition of prolegomena, and the polemical and apologetic defense of Protestant theological presuppositions over against Roman Catholic attack. The resulting prolegomena manifest a mastery of the issues and debates underlying the theological enterprise that has seldom been achieved in the history of theology either before or since. Without exaggeration, the theological prolegomena of the seventeenth-century Protestant scholastics provide a model for the development of a distinctively Protestant but nonetheless universally Christian or catholic theology—a model that Protestant theology today can ignore only at great risk. The development of theological prolegomena is, in a sense, the central issue of post-Reformation theology, grounded in the hermeneutical cast of Luther’s own thought and in the theological background of his protest. Here, in the developing prolegomena, the great themes of the Reformation theology and its theological antecedents converge and coalesce. On the one hand, we see the impact of the evangelical reform with its watchword of sola scriptura, while on the other, lingering first in the background of the Reformers’ thought and then becoming explicit in the age of early orthodoxy, we encounter the Scotist and nominalist realization of the inaccessibility and unknowability of God apart from revelation. The theological prolegomena of post-Reformation Protestantism rest upon the scriptural standard, accepting philosophical categories only insofar as they can be used after the collapse of the analogia entis. On the Reformed side of Protestantism, the ontological and epistemological premise of the prolegomena would be finitum non capax infiniti. The continuities of theological interest and discontinuities of method that we have already noted in the context of the development of Protestant thought

concerning theological presuppositions and principles, from Luther’s initial protest to the rise of Reformed system in the writings of Calvin, Musculus, Vermigli, and Viret, remain characteristic of Reformed theology as it developed past the age of Calvin into its third and fourth generations of thinkers. It is in the thought of these writers that the pressures of institutionalization and academic instruction begin to bear fruit in the form of more explicit considerations of presuppositions, methods, and principles in theology. As in the earlier period, change is not sudden, and the recourse to the tradition, particularly that of the Middle Ages, is somewhat hesitant and only occasionally explicit. Nonetheless, the development of actual theological prolegomena forced these early orthodox to look to the centuries before the Reformation for models. 2. Elements of prolegomena: from Ursinus to Perkins and Lubbertus (ca. 1563 to 1591). The prefatory remarks at the beginning of Ursinus’ posthumously published Doctrinae christianae compendium are of importance to the development of Reformed theological prolegomena and to the rise of a doctrine of Scripture in Reformed orthodoxy. The compendium consists of the catechetical lectures of Ursinus with some editorial additions from other works—in the case of the prolegomena, the preface to the catechetical lectures is conflated with the locus on Scripture found in Ursinus’ fragmentary Loci communes. There is no discussion of theology as such but rather a distinction between true religion, founded on Scripture, and false religion, founded on the mental exertions and idolatrous fears of unbelievers. Ursinus also briefly notes three methods characteristic of the study of theology: catechetical instruction (which briefly sets forth a summary of beliefs), the development of loci communes or commonplaces (according to which different points of doctrine are handled “together with their divisions, reasons and arguments”), and meditation on the Scriptures (from which catechesis and commonplaces arise and to which the study of the catechism and the loci returns the reader).88 This model is retained by the later Reformed orthodox—as is Ursinus’ definition of scholastic method in the handling of the loci. The locus method itself, drawn largely from Melanchthon and appropriated with modification in the theologies of Musculus, Calvin, and Vermigli, became the dominant model for theology in the era of orthodoxy, followed and varied by a majority of the Reformed theologians of the period. The locus method itself proved highly amenable, moreover, to development of various patterns of organization at the hands of the early orthodox. Melanchthon’s suggestions of a fundamentally “Pauline order” and of the series historiae of theological topics remained influential, particularly as modified by the analytic and synthetic approaches described by Zabarella or by the Ramist

approach to organization by neat, bracketed topical bifurcations.89 Zanchi’s Praefatiuncula in locos communos must be counted among the first of the early Reformed orthodox attempts at prolegomena. What is surprising about this work is Zanchi’s unwillingness to proceed in any great detail beyond a preliminary statement concerning the meaning and method of theology affixed to a statement of the doctrine of Scripture—this despite Zanchi’s training in late medieval theology and his certain acquaintance with the prolegomena to medieval systems. We hear no echo, in Zanchi’s Praefatiuncula, of the questions presented by Aquinas concerning the scientific character of theology or the relation of theology to praxis. “What indeed is Theology,” Zanchi declares, “unless it is the doctrine concerning God, drawn out of the Word of God.”90 Thus Scripture is the fundamentum totius Theologiae and ought to be the subject of the first locus in theology. There are, Zanchi argues, echoing Zabarella, two principal methods of teaching theology, the synthetic and the analytic.91 The synthetic or “compositive” method is properly employed in the binding together and teaching of theological loci, while the analytic or “resolutive” method is properly applied to the explication of Scripture. Theology, therefore, begins analytically with the text of Scripture, presenting first the scope of an author’s argument in a particular place, then presenting issues springing from the passage, and finally formulating questions or propositions that arise from discussion of the issues.92 This approach is followed closely by Zanchi in his commentary on Ephesians. The next step in theological method is the movement from commentary to system, the synthetic or compositive use of the questions and propositions in the construction of a set of theological loci. From this period we also have the brief Examen theologicum (1557) and more extensive S. S. theologiae problemata (1573) of Benedict Aretius, Musculus’ successor in Bern.93 Both of these works carry forward the methodological concentration on scripturally based loci communes, but neither makes any contribution to the development of formal theological prolegomena. The Theologia problemata is significant for its extended opening discussion of natural theology as the fruit of gentile philosophy and its juxtaposition of that theology with the revealed truths of the Christian faith.94 Contemporary with Aretius and of considerable significance for the development of a scholastic orthodoxy are the Christianae isagoges (1583) and Compendium (1595) of the Genevan-trained Lambert Daneau—neither, however offers a prolegomenon in which theology is defined. The Christianae isagoges begin, uncharacteristically for a Reformed system, with the doctrine of God. The shorter compendium does begin with a brief

“prolegomenon,” in which, as in the preface to the Christianae isagoges, Daneau discusses the importance of a proper method for discussing the loci communes theologici, but the discipline itself is not defined.95 Yet another significant work of the era, albeit without prolegomena, is the Theologiae sincerae loci communes de Deo et Homine (1585) of Stephanus Szegedinus.96 This is perhaps the first major thoroughly Ramist model found in a Reformed dogmatics of the era: despite the initial impression given by its title, it is a full system of theology organized on the basis of the divisions of the two basic topics, God and humanity. The locus de Deo, reaching to some two hundred and fifteen folio pages, divides into three subheads: 1) concerning God in general; 2) concerning that which is in God—the divine names, attributes, and works of God, including the final judgment; and 3) concerning God’s benefits, including the law, the covenant, the work of Christ, the church, the sacraments, and the last things. The second division, De homine, divides into four major portions, 1) the image of God in the first parents; 2) the destruction of the image; 3) the renovation of the corrupted image; and 4) the signs of genuine renovation and the work of the Son of God, followed by a separate locus, again divided into four, on eternal blessedness. All of the standard theological loci, thus, are presented under the larger rubrics and even the historical series of doctrine typical of the Reformed is presented as arising out of the process of the Ramistic division of the topics. The early orthodox interest in method, specifically in the issue of an obviously “scholastic” approach to theology, finds its clearest statement in the preface to Antoine Chandieu’s De verbo Dei scripto (1580). On the one hand, Chandieu distances himself from the “errors” of the medieval scholastics who, he notes, used logical rather than biblical principles and who obscured truth in sophistic argumentation—but, on the other hand, he recognizes the need to dispute with the Roman opponents of Protestantism in carefully constructed scholastic debate. He therefore proposes an approach “at once theological and scholastic” that holds biblical principia, refuses to subordinate them to human wisdom, and adopts a method sufficient to the task of refuting adversaries of the faith.97 Chandieu, in short, proposed explicitly a program for Protestant scholasticism. The need for definition of the discipline itself, absent from earlier Reformed theologies does appear in Ramus’ De religione christiana (1576), Fenner’s Sacra theologia (1585) and Perkins’ Armilla aurea (1591), translated as A Golden Chaine: Or, the Description of Theologie (1592). Ramus is remembered for his influential definition of theology as “the doctrine of living well” before God.98 The basic thrust of the definition, though not its precise language, carries over into the thought of Fenner, Perkins, and their followers both in England and on the continent. Fenner’s

work, primarily of importance to the development of covenant theology, does offer a very brief initial chapter, De theologia, in which theology is defined as “the knowledge of the truth concerning God, for the sake of living rightly and blessedly.”99 Perkins’ work, which is not a full system, but rather a discussion of “the order of the causes of salvation and damnation,” also offers a brief preliminary definition of “the bodie of Scripture, and Theologie,” in which, like Fenner, he provides a definition of theology oriented toward praxis and piety: “Theologie is, the science of living blessedly for ever.”100 If not full prolegomena, these short chapters in Fenner’s and Perkins’ works evidence the growing perception on the part of Reformed teachers of theology that the nature and character of the discipline could no longer go undefined. Although primarily an essay written in defense of the Protestant doctrine of Scripture, Sibrandus Lubbertus’ De principiis (1591) also deserves mention both as an example of the impact of polemic on the construction of Protestant dogmatics and as a contribution to one of the topics of theological prolegomena, the principles or principia of theology.101 Lubbertus wrote in response to Bellarmine’s treatises on the Word of God and the teaching authority of the church. The scholastic detail and mastery of sources typical of Bellarmine’s work press Lubbertus to deal with writings of the fathers, the scholastics, the church councils, and Aristotle (on the subject of principia) in detail atypical of the Reformers. In addition, out of the polemic arises a distinctly Protestant understanding of theological principia: the divine materials of theology necessitate divine or divinely guaranteed principia. Scripture alone is the principle or foundation of such a discipline. Lubbertus provided Reformed theology, at the beginning of the formulation of its prolegomena, with the identification of Scripture as the principium in the dogmatic sense of the term. 3. Junius, Polanus, and the development of early orthodox prolegomena. The most important contribution to the development of a Protestant theological prolegomenon during the era of early orthodoxy came from Franciscus Junius. Indeed, all of the Reformed and most of the Lutheran prolegomena in the following century bear some trace of the impact of Junius’ work. Several of the more important early orthodox Reformed prolegomena, like those of Polanus and Scharpius, were modeled directly upon Junius’ arguments, sometimes with a verbatim borrowing of definitions. Junius introduced into Reformed system not only a lengthy definition of theology as a discipline but also the view, typical of later orthodoxy, of our theology (theologia nostra) as a form of ectypal theology resting on the divine archetype. Junius also manifests, in the changing patterns of his own thought, the tendency of Protestant orthodoxy to move away from a Thomistic view of theology as scientia toward a definition of theology as sapientia or

wisdom.102 In the three decades following the appearance of Junius’ De vera theologia (1594), a massive development of theological prolegomena occurred within Reformed theology. With Polanus’ Partitiones theologiae and Syntagma theologiae christianae (1609) virtually all of the scholastic questions concerning theology as a discipline have reappeared, now interpreted through a distinctly Protestant glass.103 What is theology? What are its divisions or parts? Is it a science? What are its causes and ends? Is it theoretical or practical? What are its principia? The academic focus on these and other questions of a fundamental definitional nature belongs to the process of institutionalization characteristic of Protestantism toward the end of the sixteenth century—an institutionalization connected both with the development of academic institutions and with the affirmation of catholicity. Characteristic of the academic life of the age are public orations on the nature of theology as a discipline and discourses in praise of theological study.104 Later orthodoxy would add further questions and, under the impact of polemic, elaborate some others—such as the questions of the relation of theology to philosophy and the existence of fundamental articles in theology —but the basic form of the prolegomena is established in Junius’ De theologia vera while the form of the entire system is established in Polanus’ Partitiones and Syntagma. Junius’ Eirenicum was similarly influential in identifying for early orthodoxy the category of necessary or fundamental doctrines—a topic added to the prolegomena, particularly over against the views of the Remonstrants and Socinians.105 In the writings of both Junius and Polanus, though medieval scholastics are seldom cited directly, medieval models are evident in the language used and in the issues addressed. We note, at this stage of development of Protestant system, a conscious effort to take old forms and infuse them with the message of Protestantism. Polanus’ Syntagma, which is profoundly dependent upon Junius’ De vera theologia, marks a watershed in the development of Protestant orthodoxy. Apart from the vast pieces of Zanchi’s fragmentary Summa, the Syntagma is surely the most elaborate dogmatic system produced by a Reformed theologian up to that time. In it, Reformed theology attains its orthodox form, replete with references to patristic and medieval theology. A parallel development had, of course, occurred in Lutheranism: the year following the appearance of Polanus’ Syntagma saw the publication of the first portion of Johann Gerhard’s Loci theologici, the great formative work of Lutheran orthodoxy. Once the basic definitions of theology had been established by Junius and were brought to bear on the full system by Polanus, they passed into the

somewhat less elaborate prolegomena of systematizers like Johannes Scharpius,106 Antonius Walaeus,107 William Ames,108 Francis Gomarus,109 and Johannes Maccovius.110 In these writers’ works, the prolegomena are reduced to basic statements of definitions and principles, while at the same time new emphases are seen to take root—such as the description of theology as theoretical and practical and, in the cases of Ames and Maccovius, the definition of theology as the science of living blessedly forever, a definition of importance to Reformed piety in the seventeenth century. We ought also to mention here the contribution of Bartholomaus Keckermann to the problem of the relationship of philosophy and theology, an issue significant for the high orthodox development of prolegomena. In Keckermann’s view, theology follows out a resolutive method and assumes the usefulness of philosophy as an aid or support.111 Among the German Reformed, Johann Heinrich Alsted represents the embodiment of all of these concerns, particularly the desire to establish the interrelationship of the disciplines of philosophy and theology. Alsted’s Methodus sacrosanctae theologiae (1614) deserves special mention as the most important of the early orthodox systems after Polanus. Unlike most of the theological systems of the day, Alsted’s is organized primarily according to the form or kind of theology and only secondarily according to the internal logic of system: the concern for method governs the organization of the work. Thus Alsted begins with the two books of Praecognita—one a formal prolegomenon on the nature of theology, the other an instruction on the study of theology—and then proceeds to separate studies of natural theology, catechetical and scholastic theology, ethical casuistry, preaching, and arcane or mystical theology. Alsted’s Praecognita provide us with the most elaborate of the early orthodox prolegomena although they provide little new material on the nature of theology beyond the earlier contributions of Junius and Polanus. Indeed, they manifest the importance of Junius’ De vera theologia in yet another part of the Reformed world, mediated through the work of Polanus. Alsted’s greater contribution is to the development of method and to the delineation of patterns in the study of theology, although here again his ideas are not original—the emphasis on piety is part of the patristic and medieval heritage and, as given a distinctly Protestant emphasis, of the propaedeutic writings of Bullinger and Hyperius.112 A somewhat different approach to prolegomena is also found during the early orthodox period in the systematic works of Perkins, Ames, and Stoughton and, for somewhat different reasons, in the systems of Trelcatius,113 Wollebius,114 Walaeus, and Gomarus, and in the Synopsis purioris theologiae.115 In the work of these theologians, the lengthy discussion of archetypal and ectypal theology as presented by Junius, Polanus

and Alsted is omitted. Rather, their definitions of theology focus on “our theology,” the theologia nostra. In the cases of Perkins and Ames, this emphasis on the present day theology of believers in the church arises out of a definition of theology as a praxis that can lead believers toward eternal fellowship with God.116 This definition comes into Reformed theology via the work of Peter Ramus, though certainly not without powerful medieval precedent. In the cases of Trelcatius, Wollebius, Walaeus, Gomarus, and the Synopsis purioris theologiae, we are dealing with brief compends rather than systems conceived on the scale of Polanus’ Syntagma or Alsted’s Methodus. The concept of an archetypal ground for ectypal theology appears to be assumed without debate while the emphasis of exposition falls upon “our theology” as the primary material of system. (It is worth noting that Arminius’ several Orations on theology together with the initial chapter of his Private Disputations echo this rapid development of Protestant theological prolegomena, draw on the categories of the Reformed systems and manifest, together with the Reformed, a constructive and architectonic interest in scholastic categories of argument.)117 B. Developments in High and Late Orthodoxy 1. High orthodox writers and issues. As we trace the development of Reformed prolegomena into the mid- and late seventeenth century, we find the Ramist line of Perkins and Ames to be highly influential in the Netherlands, as evidenced by the technique of bifurcation and the typically Ramist definition of theology in the Loci communes of Johannes Maccovius and the Theoretico-practica theologia of Petrus van Mastricht.118 As noted in the preceding paragraph, Walaeus’ and Gomarus’ systems belong to a group of works that tend away from massive prolegomena. In terms of the chronology of orthodoxy, these systems carry the pattern of Trelcatius’ Loci into the middle of the century. The tradition of more extended or expansive prolegomena can be viewed as carrying over into the systems of Maresius,119 Cocceius,120 Burman,121 Heidanus,122 and Marckius123 as well as into the massive works of Turretin,124 Heidegger,125 and Mastricht. Here, too, as evidenced by Burman’s De studio theologico,126 Voetius’ Exercitia et bibliotheca studiosi theologiae,127 and Owen’s Theologoumena, the development and elaboration of prolegomena was paralleled by the production of separate treatises on propaedeutic themes—continuing the model pioneered by Hyperius into the late seventeenth century.128 Marckius’ influence, together with the tradition of extensive and exhaustive prolegomena, carries over into the eighteenth century in the vast dogmatics of Bernhard de Moor, whose six-volume commentary on Marckius’ Compendium was published in 1761–1771.129 De Moor’s work also provides evidence of the stubborn survival of theological orthodoxy, long after its era

of dominance, into an otherwise rationalist era, without the loss of its scholastic balance of the issues of faith and reason, philosophy and theology, and without the loss of its scriptural principle. Whereas it is characteristic of the early orthodox prolegomena to reflect intellectual ties to thinkers like Calvin, Musculus, and Vermigli through extended discussion of the problem of natural theology, the high orthodox prolegomena tend to accept the results of earlier discussion and to treat the issue in brief definitions.130 By way of further contrast, the high orthodox shift the focus of the discussion of the natural powers of mind to the extended treatment of the relation of philosophy to theology and the function of reason in theology.131 This latter change can be accounted for in no small measure by the successful institutionalization of Protestantism and the identification of theology as an academic discipline in dialogue with philosophy. This institutionalization had occurred by the beginning of the seventeenth century. On the negative and polemical side of the matter, the rise of rationalist philosophy forced the orthodox to enquire into the limits of reason while at the same time disputing with a philosophical adversary far more willing than a medieval or sixteenth-century philosopher to assume the normative status of rational proof in all areas of knowledge, including theology.132 The impact of rationalism on theological prolegomena is evidenced in Burman’s and Heidanus’ interest in language of “clear and distinct perception” and in the presence in the human mind of innate ideas of the existence of God.133 There was also a concerted effort on the part of various Reformed thinkers to develop philosophical argumentation in the service of theology, on such controverted topics as the divine essence and attributes, free choice, the nature of evil, and the divine decrees—with attention to the subordinate status of philosophy and the biblical norms of Reformed doctrine.134 Over against this approach, anti-Cocceian, anti-Cartesian theologians like Maresius and Voetius sought to maintain the traditional ancillary status of reason, albeit in Maresius’ case allowing its principial use in natural theology. Characteristic of the anti-Cartesian approach is the strict limitation set by Voetius on the use of reason “in matters concerning faith,”135 while nonetheless allowing for its argumentative, probative, and illustrative use.136 This understanding of the use of reason, moreover, was closely related to the advocacy of the older eclectic or modified Christian Aristotelianism against the new rationalist philosophies: from Voetius’ perspective, the Cartesian model necessarily undermined orthodoxy, not only because of its principle of doubt, but also because of what Voetius and his colleague Schoock believed to be a profoundly flawed proof of the existence of God that, in its failure would conduce to atheism.137 The traditional Christian Aristotelian view of the role of reason, in contrast to the Cartesian perspective, established both

the usefulness and the limitation of reason and stood in accord with the Protestant hermeneutic of Scriptura sui interpres, the use of the analogy of faith rather than the mere strength of reason to clarify obscure texts. On the other hand, the Cartesian approach replaced the usefulness of reason with its principial status and appeared to removed all limitation—while the skeptical or Pyrrohnistic alternative to Cartesianism rendered reason useless, so limited as to be nonfunctional, and in the absence of any other principium, denied the possibility of knowledge itself or, in its Roman Catholic polemical version, denied the possibility of knowledge apart from the acceptance of the magisterial authority of the church.138 It should also be clear that the shift in philosophical perspective that took place in the latter half of the seventeenth century, as the older Aristotelianism gave way before various forms of rationalism was a shift that was recognized at the time as having a massive impact on Christian theology. As Verbeek has noted, Voetius recognized that the Cartesian view of reason and its abilities “would imply a complete revision of theological method.”139 We also have the significant testimony of the English writer, Simon Patrick, that “philosophy and divinity are so interwoven by the schoolmen, that it cannot be safe to separate them; new philosophy will bring in new divinity.”140 Of course, as the Cartesian inclinations of a fair number of the Reformed thinkers of the era demonstrate, there is no immediate correlation between alteration of philosophical perspective and heterodoxy or, indeed, the loss of scholastic method. Nonetheless, the decline of Protestant orthodoxy and the decline of the traditional Christian Aristotelianism (one might also add, the decline of traditional, so-called, “precritical” exegesis) occurred in the same era and for many of the same reasons and that, with the alteration of philosophical perspective at the close of the seventeenth century, there was also a fundamental alteration of theology and of the exegesis that underlay its formulations.141 In addition to this interest in the relation of philosophy to theology, the high orthodox prolegomena, produced by writers like Francis Turretin, John Heinrich Heidegger, Franz Burman, Herman Witsius, and Leonhard Rijssen, develop discussions of the fundamental articles in theology, and more elaborate analyses of the object and genus of theology. The first of these topics arose in debate with the Lutherans, the latter two out of a closer study of the medieval scholastic systems. Similar developments are seen in the German Reformed theology of Marcus Friedrich Wendelin and in the fully scholastic system of the English theologian, Edward Leigh. Leigh’s system is particularly significant as firm evidence of the constant dialogue between English and continental theologians during the seventeenth century. In addition, most notably in Turretin’s Institutio, the Protestant scholastics of this

period begin to cite medieval systems directly and to dialogue, critically, with medieval models and paradigms for theology. 2. From Reformation to orthodoxy: continuity and development through the high orthodox era. From both a historical and a theological perspective, the prolegomena in succeeding generations of Protestant theological systems manifest a fairly continuous development from the presuppositions of the Reformers through the perceptions concerning systematization or organization of theology noted by the second-generation codifiers—Calvin, Vermigli, Musculus, Hyperius, and their contemporaries— to the several stages of construction of theological prolegomena we have associated with the early and high orthodox periods. We note, again, that theological prolegomena are never vordogmatisch: they are an integral part of dogmatic system that develops in dialogue with basic dogmatic conclusions after the system as a whole has been set forth. Thus, the Protestant scholastic prolegomena look back to medieval models—in the absence of clear statements of presuppositions and definitions by the Reformers—but do so in the context of an already established Protestant theological tradition as embodied in confessional norms. Despite the relative infrequency of direct citation of the medieval scholastics in the early orthodox systems, the first Reformed prolegomena tend to appropriate and adapt medieval definitions while those of the high orthodox period tend to add topics that reflect specifically Protestant concerns, such as the identification of principia, the relationship of nonsaving natural theology to the Christian theological enterprise, and the identification of fundamental doctrines. The same point may be made concerning the essays on the study of theology which, beginning with Alsted, are associated with or included within theological prolegomena. Such essays are not the first order of business in the construction of theological system but rather arise after the establishment of system and the self-conscious identification of Protestant theological system and its concerns over against the presuppositions of earlier theological systems. Concomitant with the development of these distinctively Protestant prolegomena is the inclusion in the prolegomena of brief histories of theology that serve to identify the contribution of the Reformers and to distinguish the new scholasticism of the Protestants from the scholasticism of the Middle Ages. Such histories occur in the systems of Alsted, Maccovius, and Burman, in each case associated with the development of distinctively Protestant elements in the prolegomena. This continuity of Reformed orthodoxy with the Reformation in and through the use of modified medieval models for system was possible because of Christian Aristotelianism, its dialectical method, and because of the

training of many of the Reformers in the old systems. Just as the Reformation cannot be seen as a total break with the Middle Ages, and just as the medieval forerunners of the Reformation bear witness to principles and presuppositions in theology akin to those of the Reformers, so is it an error to argue discontinuity between the Reformation and post-Reformation Protestantism. Instead, we must think in terms of the larger continuities of theological and philosophical method—the trajectory of scholasticism from the late twelfth to the late seventeenth century—and in terms of the doctrinal continuity, not without development and change, within Protestantism itself. What is more, genuine room must be allowed for development and change, particularly the development and change associated with the creation of orthodoxy, “right teaching” characteristic of an institutionalized church intent on teaching its theology in universities and manifesting its catholicity in terms of the greater tradition of Christian doctrine. 3. Alterations in the prolegomena of the late orthodox era. Changes in content and approach in Reformed theology generally and in the prolegomena in particular during the course of the eighteenth century help elucidate the reasons for the decline of Protestant orthodoxy and, moreover, for the interpretation of it as a form of rationalism at the hands of nineteenth- and twentieth-century writers. Whereas the high orthodox theologians maintained the ancillary status of reason and philosophy and did not perceive a need either to buttress or to preface their theologies with a rational or natural theology prologue, this approach did become a standard pattern among the nominally orthodox thinkers of the late orthodox era. The rise of this approach came in the wake of alterations both in biblical interpretation and in philosophical perspective: a biblicism, seeking support for traditional doctrines in rational argumentation, if only by way of defense against historical-critical readings of the text of Scripture forged allegiances both with the Wolffian philosophy and with a less-systematic rational supernaturalism. The theologies of Daniel Wyttenbach and Johann Friedrich Stapfer illustrate the Wolffian development,142 while the works of Herman Venema,143 John Brown of Haddington144 and, to a greater extent, Jacob Klinkenberg illustrate the latter.145 By way of clarification of these points and as final preparation for the discussion of theological prolegomena and principia, we raise two very specific issues concerning the development of post-Reformation Reformed theology: the idea of “central dogmas” and the problem of rationalism. 2.5 Reformed Orthodoxy and the Idea of “Central Dogmas” A. The Problem of Presuppositions: Prolegomena and Principia vs. Central Dogmas

1. Rationalism, predestinarianism, and determinism in the seventeenth century—a distinction of issues. In this and the following section we address the two basic questions raised by scholars and theologians about the character and intention of Reformed orthodoxy: is it a predestinarian system, and is it a form of rationalism? If Reformed orthodoxy is a predestinarian system and if it is a form of rationalism, it certainly stands in discontinuity with the Reformation—or at least in discontinuity with the Reformation as typically understood in the second half of the twentieth century.146 This would also mean that the hope of some theologians to leap over the orthodox and to reappropriate the genuine Protestantism of the Reformers, although probably incapable of fruition, would have some theological and historical justification. The identification of Reformed orthodoxy and a movement in continuity with the Reformation and, therefore, as the historical link between the Reformation and modern forms of confessionally identifiable Reformed thought depends, therefore, in no small measure, on our ability to answer both of these questions in the negative. Before we address either of these questions, it is of paramount importance to recognize that they are separate questions—separate from each other and from the underlying methodological question of historical continuity and discontinuity. Predestinarianism and rationalism are hardly identical. On the one hand, Reformed predestinarianism rests on an exegetical, not on a philosophical basis and has little in common either with the deterministic occasionalism generated by Cartesian metaphysics, the materialistic determinism of Hobbes,147 or with the development of a monistic or panentheistic rationalism such as can be found in the seventeenth-century rationalist system of Spinoza.148 On the other hand, rationalism itself, depending on its anthropological presuppositions, could and did, in the seventeenth century, emphasize freedom rather than determinism. Emphasis on freedom is particularly evident in the inductive rationalism of the seventeenth-century English philosophers standing in the line of Bacon and Lord Herbert of Cherbury. In addition, the underlying issue of continuity and discontinuity is considerably larger than either the issue of predestinarianism or rationalism and it remains an issue after these other two have been set aside. The analysis of prolegomena and principia in post-Reformation Reformed dogmatics provides a partial answer to the claim of earlier scholarship that the Reformed, following the death of Calvin, ignored the essentially Christologically, soteriologically and epistemologically controlled doctrinal perspective of the Institutes and, in its place, introduced a predestinarian metaphysic as the controlling element of Reformed system, in effect, the “central dogma” and fundamental principle of Christian doctrine, even to the

point of arguing that the a priori or “synthetic” structure of the theological system and the placement of the doctrine of predestination in relation to the doctrine of God was indicative, if not determinative, of the implications of the theology as a “predestinarian metaphysic.”149 With respect to Alexander Schweizer’s massive and often learned analyses of Reformed theology, it must be said that Schweizer’s theory was not as blatant and un-nuanced as those just noted—nor did it drive a wedge between Calvin and later Reformed theology.150 Schweizer argued a series of “central dogmas” in Protestantism, namely, the “material principle” of the Reformation, justification by grace alone, and the doctrines of grace, faith, the divine will, providence, and predestination were all to be considered “central dogmas”—which were developed and focused differently by the Lutherans and the Reformed, the Lutherans finding their central focus in justification, the Reformed finding theirs in predestination as a clearer and more profound “material principle.”151 Schweizer also, quite clearly, identified predestination as the focal point of the Reformed systems around which all other doctrines coalesced, thus providing basis for the later somewhat reductionistic versions of the central dogma theory in which predestination alone is called the central dogma of the Reformed. Like later advocates of the theory of a predestinarian central dogma, moreover, he also argued that the older Reformed dogmatics offered a”speculative” and “deductive” model resting on the doctrine of God—both in the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries, albeit far more clearly and sharply formulated in the seventeenth.152 Where Schweizer differed, is that he did not assume that the placement of the doctrine in the order of topics was of absolute importance to this conclusion. He is certainly the ancestor of the modern “central dogma” theory in which the Lutherans are said to have developed a “system of justification” and the Reformed a “system of predestination,”153 ultimately with predestination being identified as the principium of later Reformed theology.154 2. Central dogmas and the methods of seventeenth-century theology. This central dogma model, however, bears little resemblance to the methods and models enunciated in the theological prolegomena of the Reformed orthodox—or, indeed, to the methods employed by late sixteenth and seventeenth-century theologians in propounding their theology. The prolegomena of the scholastic Protestant systems were designed specifically for the purpose of presenting and defining the presuppositions and principles controlling the system of theology as a whole. Close analysis of the prolegomena, therefore, and their identification of the presuppositional structure of dogmatics and of the principia or foundations of theological

endeavor is one way of assessing both the older dogmatics and the scholarship on it. These prolegomena evidence two principia of theology, Scripture and God, and, moreover, a highly exegetical and traditionary theological method of identifying, ordering, and expositing those and the subsequent topics of theology. What is absent is the claim that the topics and arguments of a theological system can be logically deduced from any single principle—as is the practice of doing so.155 Whereas many of the theologies of the seventeenth century follow an a priori or “synthetic” model of exposition, this pattern of discourse does not represent a series of logical deductions of doctrinal topics or arguments one from the other: neither predestination nor any other doctrine serves as a central pivot of system or overarching motif controlling other doctrines.156 Both in the descriptions of method found in the Reformed orthodox prolegomena and in the subsequent presentation of the topics of theology, what is evident is not a model of deduction from controlling principles but a model in which the topics traditionally elicited in the course of exegesis are lined out in a suitable order or teaching and the doctrine developed by means of the application of a largescale hermeneutic involving, for the most part the collation and comparison of biblical texts in the light of theological concerns and the use of ancillary tools, including logic and philosophy.157 B. The “Principles of Reformed Orthodoxy” 1. Predestination and the principia. The attempt to describe Protestant scholasticism as the systematic development of central dogmas or controlling principles—predestination in the case of the Reformed, justification in the case of the Lutherans—was, at best, a theological reinterpretation of the Protestant scholastic systems based on the efforts of constructive theologians of the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to rebuild theological system in the wake of the Kantian critique of rational metaphysics.158 Hermann Bauke neatly distinguished between this post-Enlightenment “monistic” systematizing tendency and the earlier discursive and scholastic approaches of Protestant theology.159 Arguably, the monistic systematizers of the nineteenth century—such as Alexander Schweizer, Gottfried Thomasius, and Albrecht Ritschl—simply read their own method and their own dogmatic proclivities back into the Protestant tradition. At worst, the central dogma theories are an abuse of history that cannot stand in the light of a careful reading of the sources. Our discussion of the prolegomena (and in subsequent volumes, of the principia, Scripture and God) of the sixteenth and seventeenth-century Reformed will demonstrate another model for theological system, one lacking methodological proximity to the methods of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

The Reformed orthodox writers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries did not identify the divine decrees or the doctrine of predestination as a theological principium. How could several generations of seventeenth-century theologians, all of them quite pointed and persistent in their declaration of presuppositions, definitions, foundations, and principles, fail to recognize or to consider the systematic underpinning of their theology? Yet such would be the case if predestination or the eternal decree were in fact the central dogma of Reformed scholastic theology, for the doctrine of the decrees is not so much as mentioned in the locus de theologia of any of the orthodox systems examined in this essay, not even in the supposedly speculative and reputedly “decretal” systems of Gomarus and Maccovius. The decree is identified neither as a principium theologiae nor as an articulus fundamentalis. Indeed, the discussion of principia and of articuli fundamentales points toward a series of scripturally based doctrinal loci which together determine the character of theological system rather than to a single central dogma. This datum stands specifically against Kickel’s rather bizarre claim that in orthodoxy predestination replaced Christology as the Erkenntnissgrund of Reformed theology—as if Christology ever was or predestination ever became the principium cognoscendi of Reformed theology!160 The actual enunciation and discussion of principia by the Reformed orthodox, moreover, manifest both the reason for their treatment of the doctrine of predestination and the reason for its use as one focus, among others, of the theological system. Briefly, the Protestant scholastics declare two principia theologiae, a principle or foundation of knowing (principium cognoscendi) and a principle or foundation of being (principium essendi).161 The former is Scripture, the self-revelation of God, and the latter is God himself, the self-existent ground of all finite existence. The first and foremost reason for the inclusion of any doctrine in such a system is the fact of its presence as a place or topic—a locus or topos—in the biblical revelation.162 Predestination receives considerable attention in the Pauline letters and, consequently, receives considerable attention in the Reformed system. Its presence in the system, moreover, rests on the foundation of the Augustinian tradition antecedent to the Reformation. More to the point, however, is the fact of the relationship of the doctrine of predestination to the doctrine of God. Alexander of Hales and Thomas Aquinas, who have never been accused of creating a predestinarian system, noted the logically necessary relationship of the two doctrines by arguing whether predestination ought to be predicated of God.163 It is, after all, the eternal God who in eternity, promulgates his decree concerning the shape and destiny of creation. This question of proper predication, incidentally, accounts for the occasional practice of Reformed scholastics of including the decree

among the divine attributes.164 They were not attempting to create or to justify a deterministic system by the placement of a particular doctrine: they were simply reflecting a traditional question of predication. Nor, indeed, does the placement of a topic in a seventeenth-century theological system determine the definition of the doctrine found in the locus or the relationship of that particular doctrine to other doctrinal topics. By way of example, the doctrine of predestination found in Book III of Calvin’s 1559 Institutes arguably defines predestination as a double decree, consisting in election and reprobation, the precise object of which is difficult to determine: Calvin sometimes speaks as if the object of predestination is fallen humanity in need of redemption, sometimes as if the decree is radically prior, given God’s predestining of the fall itself. Calvin thus, has both infra and supralapsarian accents. The doctrine of predestination placed immediately after the doctrine of God in Turretin’s Institutio, quite emphatically defines predestination as a double decree, consisting in election and reprobation, the object of which is fallen humanity in need of redemption, the classic infralapsarian definition.165 The contrast is compelling—Calvin, despite his treatment of the doctrine long after he has discussed the fall and redemption in Christ is not clearly infralapsarian, whereas Turretin, who discusses the decree prior to the fall is unmistakably infralapsarian. These differing placements of the doctrine, moreover, do not alter in any way either the eternality of the decree or the relation of the doctrine of predestination to the doctrine of God—no more than the placement of Christology consistently after the fall and the problem of sin removes it from close topical relationship to the doctrine of God. And, of course, neither placement constitutes the decree as one of the principia of theology. In addition, the arguments of Bizer, Hall, and others that the little Tabula praedestinationis published by Beza in 1555 (nine years before the death of Calvin) was a substantive alteration of the systematic perspective of Genevan theology and the basis of a predestinarian restructuring of Reformed system simply does not bear historical scrutiny: the writers who argue the point simply state it as self-evident without duly considering the context and genre of the document, the documentable impact of it on later thought, or even Beza’s own stated qualifications in the discussion accompanying the famous chart.166 Beza’s Tabula is nothing more than a presentation of the doctrine of predestination in its relation to the ordo salutis, based on the standard scholastic distinction between the decree and its execution in time. It is hardly a prospectus for a system—instead of being read as emblematic for later development, it ought not be read in its historical context, as a defense of Calvin’s teaching against Bolsec and Castellio and, moreover, as an attempt to show the pastoral implications of the doctrine.167 Similarly, Perkins’ A

Golden Chaine, which appears to be based on Beza’s Tabula, is an exposition of the decree and its execution—and not at all a theological system.168 There is not only no evidence that Beza’s Tabula was a predestinarian systematization of theology, there is also no evidence that any of Beza’s contemporaries or successors viewed it as the basis for a predestinarian system. Neither in the Tabula nor in A Golden Chaine is there any identification of predestination as a principium of theology, nor is there any attempt to deduce doctrine from the idea of a decree. Both Beza and Perkins assume, moreover, a category of divine permission and the existence, as well, of contingent events and free will in the world. There is not even a tendency toward metaphysical determinism: when we enter the world of seventeenthcentury theological debate, it is the purportedly predestinarian Reformed who take up the defense of human free choice and secondary causality against the more deterministic tendencies of Cartesian metaphysics, specifically the occasionalist conclusion, resting on a conception of necessary divine concursus, that God is the sole cause of all motion in the universe.169 Since predestination can be predicated of God—in other words, since God can be said to decree or predestine, the decretive or predestining will of God becomes an important category of theology. It is not, however, an allembracing category. On the basis of the logic of predication and the prior enunciation of God as the principium essendi theologiae, the doctrine of predestination must be a category subordinate to the principium of which it is predicated, the triune God, and subordinate also to the will of God, of which it is the representation. Nor, given the orthodox understanding of the attributes, does the decree of God overrule or take logical precedence over the other attributes—it is not even central in a logical sense to the locus de Deo.170 Significantly, the early orthodox press home the point that the decree must be understood in terms of the doctrine of the Trinity as well as in terms of the doctrine of the divine essence, and that predestination, defined strictly as the decree to elect some and to reprobate others, is only one category of the divine willing.171 Particularly in the infralapsarian systems of Reformed theology, the doctrines of creation and providence stand apart from and, in some sense, prior to election and reprobation. In all Reformed systems, the divinity of Christ assures Christology a greater importance in the soteriological portion of system than the doctrine of predestination. In addition, there is no reason that a given system cannot be both predestinarian and soteriologically christocentric, contrary to the claims of some recent essays. Indeed, without the decree manifesting the solely gracious character of salvation, the system could easily cease to be soteriologically christocentric.172 Such systematic balance can occur, moreover, only when predestination is significant but not principial.

2. Althaus, Heppe, and Schweizer on prolegomena: specific critiques. There is, then, sufficient reason to accept the assumption of the Reformed systems that their declared principia are their actual principia and that no doctrines other than the doctrines of Scripture and God have an absolutely determinative effect upon the structure and contents of theological system. This conclusion highlights the methodological problem inherent in one of the more eminent earlier treatises on the basic principles of Reformed theology, Althaus’ Die Prinzipien der deutschen reformierten Dogmatik. Althaus tries to elicit from select doctrinal loci, typically the loci de praedestinatione, de Deo, de providentia, and de foedere what he believes to be underlying principles and tendencies, without paying particular attention to what the Protestant scholastics themselves say about principia.173 In addition, although Althaus analyzes the presence of philosophical and logical structures within the systems, his sense of the use of philosophy and logic for Reformed theology bears little resemblance to the arguments made by the seventeenthcentury dogmaticians themselves. Specifically, his lack of attention to presuppositions enunciated in their prolegomena, such as the object of theology, the relation of theology to reason and philosophy, and the legitimate grounds of theological knowing, leads to a failure to evaluate accurately the general character of Reformed dogmatics and the implications of arguments and structures within individual Reformed systems. In these arguments Althaus was largely following out the earlier lines of argument found in the works of Heppe and Schweizer.174 A similar problematic understanding of principia obtains in the studies by Hastie and Meeter.175 Heppe’s presentation of principia is also marred by a series of profound problems. He reduces the complex prolegomena of the orthodox systems to a discussion of natural and revealed theology and virtually excludes their extensive inquiry into the nature and forms of theology, the object and genus of theology, the use of philosophy in theological systems, and the problem of “fundamental doctrines.”176 Heppe also arranges his dogmatics in such a way as to place the doctrine of predestination prior to creation, in relation to the doctrine of God. This was a pattern followed by a large number of seventeenth-century systems, but not by all of the Protestant scholastics— certainly not by all of those cited by Heppe. In this and other discussions throughout his dogmatics, Heppe’s arrangement of doctrine does not reflect the arrangement of doctrine in the systems he is citing. Nor does he attempt to alleviate the problem by describing the order, arrangement and interrelationship of individual doctrines in these systems. What is more, Heppe obscures the breadth of Reformed orthodoxy in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in the interest of his hypothesis of a distinct Melanchthonian German Reformed dogmatics standing halfway between the

Lutherans and the Calvinists: his Reformed Dogmatics depicts his version of “Calvinism” and excludes materials from the Heidelberg theologians that Heppe himself cites in his other compend, Die Dogmatik des Protestantismus im sechzehnten Jahrhundert.177 The following essay attempts to set forth all the elements of the orthodox prolegomena and principia, with attention to the several historical forms of argument and to the development of orthodox system. A selection of citations from the Reformed orthodox prolegomena somewhat more representative of their contents than Heppe’s presentation is available in Schweizer’s Glaubenslehre. Here at least we have discussion of theology as a mixed discipline, both practical and speculative; of God, the highest good, as the end or goal of theology; and of the relationship of philosophy and theology.178 Nevertheless, the survey of topics is incomplete: there is no discussion of the object and genus of theology, fundamental articles, or the distinction between the divine archetype and the derived or ectypal forms of theology. Furthermore, Schweizer’s discussion is organized not according to the logic of the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century systems, but according to the requirements of his own Schleiermacherian theological system. In Schweizer’s hands, even the topics of the prolegomena must bear witness to “das Bewusstsein schlechthiniger Abhängigkeit”—the consciousness of absolute or utter dependence.179 It is also worth observing that the fact of the absolute dependence of the entire created, contingent order upon God does not necessarily provide a foundation either for a philosophical determinism or for a theological predestinarianism that understands the divine decree as the principle from which an entire system can be deduced. Without a doubt, the assumption of the absolute dependence of all things upon God will be bound, doctrinally, to a strong concept of the divine decree in providence and predestination. But it is equally clear that such an assumption, when bound to concepts of providential concurrence, the ordained freedom of secondary causes, and the moral freedom and responsibility of human beings, does not lead in the direction of a thoroughgoing determinism and does not lead to the discussion of divine determination as an underlying factor in all topics of theological discussion. Since, moreover, the actual topics of theological system are understood as arising from revelation and not from reason, the synthetic arrangement of those topics does not and cannot indicate their logical deduction from a single central doctrine. The contrary opinion, that dependence indicates both determinism and the deductive character of theological system, is the fundamental error in Schweizer’s conception of Reformed theology.180

None of these older essays, therefore, provide an adequate analysis of the actual principia of orthodox Reformed theology. Not only do all in some way or other assume that predestination is the real principium theologiae but they also fail to do justice to the actual contents and implications of the Reformed prolegomena. In the present essay, both the topics and their organization follow the Reformed prolegomena closely, with the intention of presenting all of the issues addressed by the orthodox and the implications of those issues for the orthodox theological system. 2.6 Reformed Orthodoxy and Rationalism A. Nineteenth-Century Approaches: The Rise of Rationalism from the Defects of the Reformation and Orthodoxy The rise of Protestant scholasticism and the beginnings of modern philosophical rationalism belong to the same period in history. This coincidence of inception and early development has led scholars to raise the question of the relationship of orthodoxy and rationalism. The question is of broad significance for the history of Western thought inasmuch as the breakdown of Christendom and of the objective churchly standard of authority did open the way for rationalism (or “freethinking” as it has sometimes been called).181 The narrower and more immediate significance of the question, however, arises from the fact that a series of twentieth-century studies of Reformed orthodoxy have gone so far as virtually to identify scholasticism with rationalism and to assume that the arrival of the one entailed the arrival of the other.182 Several historical considerations, however, point toward an alternative view: first, the dominance of rationalism in the eighteenth century was historically possible only because of the decline of late orthodox scholasticism, and at the same time, of the older modified Aristotelianism, both of which had been critiqued by and both of which had polemically opposed both the Cartesian, deductive rationalism and the Baconian inductive rationalism (or empiricism) at the heart of early modern science.183 Second, “scholasticism” identifies primarily a method whereas “rationalism” identifies a particular philosophical stance concerning the foundation of knowing: the one does not entail the other—from a purely historical perspective, few of the scholastics can be classed as rationalists and most of the rationalists have not been scholastics. Of course, the question of the relationship of developing Protestant thought to the rise of rationalism remains. A particularly subtle thesis concerning the relationship of the Reformation to rationalism was put forth in the middle of the nineteenth century by Armand Saintes. Against the arguments of a generation of German rationalists, who had found the roots of their insistence on reason as the

ultimate criterion for religious truth in the theology of the Reformation, Saintes argued the essentially antirationalistic and supernaturalistic stance of the earliest Reformers. Nonetheless, he felt that the historical development of Protestantism in Germany proved “that Rationalism is the inevitable consequence of the establishment of the Reformation” and that “the pursuit and development of the principles which [the Reformation] laid down” were in fact “the preparation, the birth and the progress of … Rationalism.”184 The Reformation, by setting aside the authority of church and tradition and by setting in their place the authority of Scripture and its own confessions, established an essentially arbitrary support of faith which “could not prevent the explanations and contradictions of the human mind” from running their skeptical course and demolishing the scriptural foundation itself.185 Scholastic Protestantism, according to Saintes, only furthered the cause of rationalism by developing to the point of absurdity a detailed theological system resting, not on sound exegesis, but on polemical assertions concerning the supposedly infallible words of the text of Scripture. Pietism saw the religiously arid character of Protestant scholasticism and endeavored, too late, to rescue the Reformation from the toils of theological system. Yet even pietism, in its assumption that confessions of the church were not absolutely necessary, exercised “the liberty inherent in Protestantism” to the detriment of the biblical standard. Some churchly confession is needed, after all, to identify the meaning of Scripture.186 The dogmatic rationalism of the succeeding era in Germany, with its positive acceptance of Christian doctrine as coherent with the rational truths of philosophy, only served to subvert further the doctrinal standards of Protestantism. The new power accorded to reason in matters of religion could all too easily be turned against Scripture itself by the comparison of the text with the findings of science. Indeed, in the absence of genuine institutional norms, the theologians of the eighteenth century could appear to follow the Reformers’ own directive to interpret Scripture literally while instead interpreting the text according to rationalistic criteria used in the interpretation of secular texts.187 The Reformation, therefore, though itself not a rationalistic movement, by its dissolution of churchly, corporate, and objective norms in theology opened the door to the rule of the individual rational subject in the determination of truth. A virtually identical explanation of the historical transition from the age of the Reformation to the era of rationalism, albeit connected with a highly favorable assessment of rationalism, is found in the works of Lecky and Robertson. Both writers view the Reformation as a movement away from antiquated churchly norms toward individualism and secularism that led in

some instances toward a “religious semi-rationalism” and in others toward the rise of a standard of rational doubt before it disintegrated into an irrational bibliolatry.188 Robertson adds to this basic thesis the argument that the development of post-Reformation Protestantism with its “chaos of dispute and dogmatic tinkering” only served to further the demise of the Reformation as a movement and to bring on the rise of rationalism or “freethought.”189 A related view of the relationship of Protestantism and rationalism was put forth by Hurst, who endeavored to free the Reformation from Saintes’ charge of subjectivism while nevertheless placing the blame for the rise of rationalism at the door of scholastic orthodoxy. It was the scholastics whose “dogmatism, with its endless distinctions” cast Protestantism into the intellectual and religious abyss. Rationalism appeared as a new kind of salvation from “idle display of learning … imaginary distinctions … [and] labored sermons.”190 Rationalism, then, according to Hurst, did not spring from the Reformation’s attack on church and tradition but rather from the problematic of Protestant orthodoxy—indeed, Hurst argues that increased polemicism, “labored sermons,” and scholasticism in theology together with a rigid doctrine of grace in which “no room” was left for “ethical system” isolated theology from all “practical interests.”191 The “undercurrent of Rationalism” in philosophy from the time of the Synod of Dort onward was able to rise and take control of thought as the religious zeal of the orthodox diminished in the early seventeenth century. Rationalism was victorious in reaction to failed dogmatism and failed piety.192 In sum, the earlier histories of rationalism agree in their placement of the origins of modern rationalism in the gap left by the decline of churchly and biblical authority after the Reformation and the era of orthodoxy. They also agree in their assessment of the Reformation and of orthodoxy as basically fideistic and antirationalistic. In this second assumption, they stand against the position of more recent scholarly investigators of the problem of the Reformation, orthodoxy and rationalism, namely, that scholastic orthodoxy was itself a form of rationalistic argumentation that offered the basis for transition from Reformation to Rationalism. Although our research into the development of Reformed orthodoxy will dispute most of the pejorative descriptions of the era found in these oldest histories of rationalism—notably the claims of “idle display of learning” and “imaginary distinctions” (allowing the existence of some “labored sermons” in all ages of the church!) —the line of argument represented by these works remains an important counter to the more recent claim of a close, even generic, relationship between orthodoxy and rationalism. B. Reformation and Orthodoxy in Radical Disjunction: Twentieth-

Century Approaches to the Problem As indicated in the preceding comments, an alternative explanation of the transition from Reformation to Rationalism appears in the work of a series of more recent writers on the subject, namely, Hans Emil Weber, Ernst Bizer, Walter Kickel, and Brian Armstrong. Weber, whose studies are foundational for Bizer’s, argues that theological rationalism had its beginnings in orthodoxy itself. He views the Hoffmann controversy of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries as a convenient point of departure for the examination of the problem. In that debate the “irrationalism” of the proponents of “existential subjectivism” held forth unsuccessfully against the “rationalists” who argued a unity of truth in philosophy and theology and offered, as an alternative to irrationalism and subjectivism, a “rational apologetics” and a “philosophical objectivism.”193 1. H. E. Weber on orthodoxy and rationalism. According to Weber, the expression of this unity of truth becomes most evident in the doctrine of creation: the theological discussions of the causality of the world and of human life are paralleled constructively by philosophical discussions of physics and ethics.194 Beginning with Melanchthon, who argued traces of divine creative power in creation, the orthodox gradually ceased to view natural knowledge of God as a threat to revealed knowledge and—especially among the Reformed—a relationship came to be argued between natural and revealed theology according to which natural theology occupied the place of Law over against the gospel of revelation. The subsequent history of orthodoxy, according to Weber, is a chronicle of the gradual intrusion of rational argumentation, by way of logical demonstration based on the scriptural principle itself, into the realm of revelation—and the consequent, gradual drawing of the topics of revealed theology into the bounds of natural reason.195 The major problem encountered by orthodoxy, therefore, was the establishment of boundaries for reason. Obviously reason was a necessary part of theological discourse and argument insofar as all discourse and argument, all critical examination of issues, is a rational endeavor. But, as the “irrationalists”—like Flacius and Hoffmann—had seen, the use of rational norms could only lead to the ultimate subjection of theological knowledge drawn from Scripture to the “ideal of rational knowledge.”196 This subjection of theological to rational knowing Weber identifies in the tendency of orthodox theologians to point to an inner necessity in their doctrinal arguments, as indicated by the continual use of oportet and necesse est in argument. The Reformed, in particular, fall into this rationalistic trap through their use of the doctrine of predestination as the underlying category of

logical necessity in all theology.197 This rationalizing tendency, argues Weber, is the problem of all Protestant orthodox dogmatics—to the end that, in the declaration of doctrine, human rationality ultimately becomes the principle according to which the will of God is explained.198 Weber has, of course, framed the problem too neatly—as if one could reduce the varied Protestant views of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries to “fideist” and “rationalist” camps—and as if the development of Protestant orthodoxy can be understood as a movement from a more or less fideistic position toward the eventual declaration that reason is in fact the principium of theological knowing or that the divine decrees could be used as a basis for deducing a theology. The problem with Weber’s analysis is, in short, that neither of these developments ever occurred in the theologies of the Reformed orthodox. 2. From Weber to later versions of the theory: Bizer, Kickel, and Armstrong. Weber’s thesis concerning Protestant orthodoxy and rationalism, and the related idea of Reformed orthodoxy as a predestinarian system, have been used more recently by Ernst Bizer in two essays describing problems in the development of orthodox and scholastic Protestantism. His short monograph, Frühorthodoxie und Rationalismus,199 endeavors to document a rationalizing process within early Protestant orthodoxy during the second half of the sixteenth century, and a substantial essay, “Die reformierte Orthodoxie und der Cartesianisimus,”200 presents the consequences for Reformed theology in the Netherlands of the extended and bitter debate between the orthodox and the Cartesians in the latter half of the seventeenth century. The first of these essays presents Beza’s Tabula praedestinationis as the basis for an entire system of theology formed in terms of the logical necessity of the divine decrees. Assuming the predestinarian underpinnings of Reformed theology, Bizer moves on to discuss—with obvious reliance on Weber’s thesis —the language of logical necessity in Ursinus’ treatment of Christ’s satisfaction for sin. The final section of Bizer’s essay argues the effects of the predestination-based perception of logical necessity in the use of a rationalistic perspective drawn from Aristotelian physics in Daneau’s treatise on the creation.201 Apart from the problematic nature of the central dogma thesis, there are major methodological flaws underlying the entire argument presented in Weber’s and Bizer’s studies of orthodoxy and rationalism. On the one hand, Weber fails entirely to examine the assumptions of the various seventeenthcentury rationalist philosophies as they impinged on theological questions, with the result that he was unaware of (or uninterested in) the specific polemics of the Reformed against rationalism or of the uneasy relationship that existed between Reformed dogmatics and various forms of Cartesian metaphysics, with the result that his descriptions of Reformed “rationalism”

are little connected with the actual problem of theology and rationalism in the seventeenth century. On the other hand, in Bizer’s case, there is a confusion between statements of causal relation and statements of logical progression. There is no essential relationship between the dogmatic declaration of necessity under the divine decree and the logical declaration of propriety (oportet) or necessity (necesse est). On the one hand, Reformed predestinarianism ought not to be confused with metaphysical determinism, inasmuch as the Reformed insist on contingent events and free exercise of the will under the decree—and inasmuch as logical argumentation belongs equally to predestinarian and nonpredestinarian topics. Furthermore, the use of logical argumentation within categories determined by revelation is quite different both procedurally and philosophically from the use of the categories of any particular philosophical worldview as the basis for understanding an issue in Christian theology.202 There is, therefore, no genuine connection between Ursinus’ use of logical argumentation and Daneau’s references to Aristotelian physics in his treatise on creation. Dillenberger’s work offers a different perspective: with specific reference to Daneau, Dillenberger argues that the antagonism between orthodox theology and the new science was the product of an increased reliance by the orthodox upon the Bible as a source of propositional knowledge and upon the seeming divergence between a biblical system of knowledge and the evergrowing mass of data produced by the new science.203 Although one can dispute the issue of whether orthodoxy relied more on the Bible for its worldview than did the Reformation or whether the identification of the orthodox view of Scripture as containing “propositional” knowledge is adequate,204 the underlying datum identified by Dillenberger is not that orthodoxy leaned toward rationalism but that its biblicism acted as a restraint, preventing easy alliance with either the new rationalism or with the new science of the day. Nor does the orthodox Protestant use of Aristotelian physics represent a change of worldview on their part. Indeed, Daneau’s treatise, used by Bizer to argue a tendency toward rationalism, appears in its true context as a theological rejection of the rationalistic perspectives of the new science in favor of the older viewpoint, shared by the Reformers and the orthodox, according to which revelation provided the norm for understanding a Christianized version of the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic description of the universe. What Bizer fails to consider in any depth, moreover, is Daneau’s actual program in the Physica christiana, which is the attempt to base physics on the Bible rather than on reason as the primary source of principles,

particularly for the sake of arguing against the Aristotelian notion of the eternity of the world.205 Similar approaches to the materials are found in the works of Kickel and Armstrong. Both of these writers associate “scholasticism” with “rationalism,” specifically with the intrusion of reason as the fundamental principle of theological argumentation, and argue that the development of a Reformed scholasticism entails the rise of rationalism. Both also assume the use of predestination as a fundamental principle of theology as opposed to a Christ principle and hold that this, too, offers evidence of a form of rationalism.206 Neither writer offers any historical justification for these understandings of “scholasticism” and “rationalism,” nor does either consider the actual character of scholastic method in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries or the actual statements of the theologians of the era concerning the relationship of revelation and reason prior to making these generalizations. As will be shown in subsequent chapters, the terms of the discussion themselves require considerable historical nuancing, and once the nuances have been added, no support remains for either the form or the content of the generalizations.207 3. Reasoning versus rationalism: distinguishing ancillary and principial uses of reason in sixteenth and seventeenth-century thought. Beyond these specific historical considerations, it is also the case that neither Weber, nor Bizer, nor those who follow their arguments, distinguish—as did virtually all of the theologians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries— between reason considered subjectively as a spiritual capacity of human beings and reason considered objectively as a form of natural or philosophical knowledge.208 Similarly, neither Weber nor Bizer distinguishes adequately between the rationalizing tendency that is an integral part of the creation of theological system and the rationalist philosophy of the seventeenth century that identified human reason as the prior and primary norm of all constructive intellectual endeavor. What the earlier historians—Saintes, Lecky, Robertson, and Hurst—saw, without considering in any depth the impact of a systematizing and rationalizing process on the contents of Protestant theology, was the fundamental opposition both of the Reformers and of their scholastic successors to the principial use of reason and the unmodified appropriation of philosophical system in dogmatic theology. Some distinction needs to be made, therefore, between a “rationalism” defined as the rationalizing tendency in theology brought about in the transition from earlier exegetical and discursive models to fully developed scholastic system and “rationalism” defined either as the incorporation of a rationalist philosophy into Protestant theological system or, indeed, as the use

of reason as the fundamental source and norm of truth. Scholasticism can be identified as a form of rationalism in the former sense, particularly given the assumption of most scholastic efforts that rational forms must be used in the exposition of doctrine and that reason can be employed as a tool or instrument in the formulation of theology.209 The former, rarely used definition, is characteristic of Protestant scholasticism, while the latter occurred only in the eighteenth century following the demise of Protestant orthodoxy and the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic world-view it presupposed.210 It is, moreover, an inadequate explanation of this transition from orthodoxy to rationalism to view it as a mere passage from the intellectualism of the seventeenth century to the rationalism of the eighteenth century. Orthodoxy and supernaturalism, after all, carried over into the eighteenth century as a conservative theology, somewhat out of step with the philosophical climate of the day, with some of the theologians increasingly aware of and interested in the results of critical scholarship, namely theologians like the Reformed, De Moor and Vitringa, and the Lutherans, Doederlein and Morus,211 and others increasingly aphilosophical and disaffected with the rationalism and criticism of the era, notably Ridgley, Boston, and Gill.212 Rationalism, moreover, had a history of its own in the seventeenth century prior to the theological appropriation of particular rationalist models or systems, whether by Reformed Cartesians in the late seventeenth century or by various Lutheran and Reformed followers of Wolff in the eighteenth century. Thus, the problem of Reformation, orthodoxy, and rationalism cannot be reduced either to the development of a rational tendency inherent in the Reformation itself or to the replacement of a Reformation-inspired theology based purely on revelation with a system of thought based primarily on reason—rather, the seventeenth century saw a succession of largely unsuccessful philosophical models seeking to replace the older Aristotelianism and, in theology, the gradual replacement of one philosophical foundation, namely the older Aristotelianism, either with another or, in many cases, with little in the way of philosophical foundation. Bizer attempts to advance somewhat beyond this impasse of varied definitions and applications by defining “rationalism” as a system assuming both the standard of scriptural revelation and the standard of rational proof to the end that faith rests upon demonstrable evidence and rational necessity— rather than following the philosophical definition of rationalism as a system accepting reason as the sole norm and source of truth.213 There are immediately a series of problems with this perspective. In the first place, it leaves us with two distinct phenomena, differently defined, bearing the same name, and existing at the same time—and not necessarily having any generic relationship. If not an outright denial of the principle of noncontradiction,

such a pattern of definition is nonetheless unproductive. In the second place, this redefinition of rationalism is hardly an advance on Tholuck’s notion of an “intellectualism” in theology historically prior but not at all conducive to the philosophical rationalism of the seventeenth-century Cartesian or eighteenthcentury Wolffian theologians. Indeed, the Cartesians among the Reformed, particularly those in the federalist tradition, were typically quite careful not to press philosophical demonstration into all the loci of their theologies. Third, and finally, the definition itself, much like Tholuck’s, does not do justice to the sophisticated approach to the problem of revelation and reason found in the systems of the late sixteenth- and seventeenth-century orthodox. It was not at all characteristic of Reformed orthodoxy to claim that faith had a double principium or foundation in revelation and in reason: Bizer’s definition simply does not fit the historical evidence.214 C. Between Reformation and Rationalism: Toward an Understanding of Reformed Orthodoxy There is, surely, more at stake here historically than the history of Protestant and, specifically, Reformed theology in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries—there is also the trajectory of the development of philosophy in the early modern era. Here, too, examination of the materials offers a different picture than that outlined in the various older attempts to relate Protestantism to rationalism. Recent research into the problem of certainty in the sixteenth century indicates that far from leading to rationalism, the immediate outcome of the juxtaposition of the Protestant assumption of a biblical certainty with the Roman Catholic assumption of a traditionary and magisterial certainty was a high degree of turmoil over certainty itself and a revival of skepticism in such philosophical writers as Charron toward the end of the sixteenth century, and on into the seventeenth.215 The roots of philosophical rationalism are to be found in the search for another ground of certainty beyond the philosophical skepticism of the era, and the various forms of philosophical rationalism that resulted, whether the a priori rationalism of Descartes or the a posteriori rationalism of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, stood in distinct opposition to both the Protestant and the Roman Catholic assumptions. Indeed, the great majority of Protestant and Roman Catholic dogmaticians of the era found the views of Descartes and Lord Herbert less than useful to theology and turned to the Christian Aristotelianism of the late Renaissance for assistance in philosophical matters. We arrive, significantly, at a sense of the historical trajectory of theology and philosophy in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that is closer to the old analyses of Saintes, Lecky, Robinson, and Hurst than to the more recent

views of Weber and Bizer. Neither the Reformation nor Protestant orthodoxy contributed positively to the rise of rationalism—and neither was the origin and inspiration or the unquestioning ally of rationalist philosophy. The historical relationship of orthodox theology and the new rational philosophies of the seventeenth century is in fact highly complex and fraught with polemic and adaptation rather than characterized by positive appropriation. But we have also added other dimensions to the analysis that are not found in Saintes, Lecky, Robinson, and Hurst. On the one hand, the problem of certainty was not generated purely and simply by the Protestant biblical standard, inasmuch as both the Protestant standard and its Roman Catholic opposite were rooted in medieval views of the grounds of authority. This medieval antecedent is perhaps most clearly noted in Oberman’s analysis of the debate between “Tradition I” and “Tradition II,” namely, the late medieval views that held (I) Scripture to be the prior and only necessary norm of theological truth or, alternatively, (II) Scripture and tradition to be coequal norms.216 The rationalization and intellectualization of theology into system characteristic of the orthodox or scholastic phase of Protestantism never set the standards of scriptural revelation and rational proof on an equal par and certainly never viewed either evidential demonstration or rational necessity as the grounds of faith.217 Quite the contrary, the Protestant orthodox disavow evidentialism and identify theological certainty as something quite distinct from mathematical and rational or philosophical certainty.218 They also argue quite pointedly that reason has an instrumental function within the bounds of faith and not a magisterial function. Reason never proves faith, but only elaborates faith toward understanding.219 There is, moreover, underlying this traditional view of the relationship of faith and reason, an anthropology in which sin and the problematic nature of human beings plays a major role—in significant contrast to the Enlightenment rationalist assumption of an untrammeled original constitution of humanity.220 In pressing a firm distinction between the methodological rationalizing process integral to the production of a scholastic theology and the acceptance of rationalist philosophical principles, we must also stress the genuine and positive relationship between Protestant scholasticism and the Christian Aristotelianism of earlier centuries.221 This relationship, as manifest in the Protestant scholastic use of medieval paradigms for the discussion of the genus and object of theology and, to a lesser or at least less explicit extent, for the establishment of a theological epistemology in which faith and reason both had a place, and in fact provided a barrier to the use of seventeenthcentury rationalist philosophy in Protestant orthodox system.222 Protestant scholasticism was no more conducive to a truly rationalistic philosophy than were the Augustinian, Thomist and Scotist theologies of the later Middle

Ages. In the words of one historian of philosophy, Scholasticism itself had been the result of a yearning for rational insight, of a desire to understand and to find reasons for what it believed.… the goal of its search was fixed by faith: philosophy served as its handmaiden.… They did not study the world as we study it, they did not pursue truth in the independent manner of the Greeks, but that was because they were so firmly convinced of the absolute truth of their premises, the doctrines of the faith. These were their facts, with these they whetted their intellects, these they sought to weld into a system.223 Although these sentences were written as a description of medieval scholasticism, they apply with little modification to the systematizing efforts of the Protestant scholastics, particularly in terms of the relation of faith and reason, world view and independent investigation. Even though the philosophical perspective of most of the Protestant orthodox was basically the modified Christian Aristotelianism that had dominated Western theology since the thirteenth century, the orthodox did not view their theology as bound to any particular philosophical system. Any use of philosophical concepts by Protestant scholastics involved the rejection of views noticeably at variance with Christian doctrine.224 Just as their medieval predecessors had disavowed the Aristotelian notions of the eternity of the world and the destructibility of the soul, so did the Protestant scholastics refuse these particular tenets and any other rational deductions at odds with revealed doctrine—such as the curious cosmology of Descartes or the occasionalism of Geulincx. This generalization extends even to the Cocceian theologians Heidanus, Burman, and Wittich who were most influenced by the Cartesian views of truth and substance.225 Bizer’s other essay, “Die reformierte Orthodoxie und der Cartesianismus,” registers the antagonism between high orthodoxy and the few Cartesian theologians who had risen within the Reformed ranks. This essay, written before Frühorthodoxie und Rationalismus, does not yet propose the new definition of rationalism found in the later essay and remains within the bounds of the earlier model provided by Tholuck in which rationalism is identified as the Cartesian perspective on reason as sole standard for truth and orthodoxy is viewed as an “intellectualism” manifesting a certain affinity with the rationalist view of truth.226 Here Bizer carefully documents the disputes between Reformed orthodox and Cartesians in the late seventeenth century, noting Melchior Leydekker’s distinctions between the truths of revelation and the ancillary truths of reason and between the self-evident principles of nature and the conclusions drawn from them by reason. In the latter distinction, the rational conclusions are subject to error and therefore stand below revelation

in the order of certainty.227 What Bizer does not acknowledge is that, despite some superficial similarities between a ratiocinating theology like Leydekker’s and rationalism, Leydekker’s view falls into the medieval pattern for the relation of faith and reason adopted by Reformed orthodoxy, whereas the rationalist assumption of the priority or at least the equivalency of reason with faith cannot be accommodated either to the Reformed or the medieval perspective. In short, the phenomenon of Protestant scholastic theology occupies a position somewhere between the extremes of the intellectual spectrum indicated by the opposing views of earlier scholarship: it is neither an irrational fideism nor an incipient rationalism. Rather, it represents a continuation, now in Protestant theological garb, of the traditional quest of scholastic theology and Christian Aristotelianism, to state in terms both theologically acceptable and philosophically adequate the relationship between revelation and reason as forms of divinely given truth. The Protestant attempt to argue the ancillary status of reason ought no more to be called rationalism than the medieval attempt, nor ought it to be dismissed as a form of fideism out of touch with the exigencies of philosophical argument. Once the opposition between the rationalist view of reason as the norm of truth and the Protestant orthodox view of reason as subordinate to revelation is highlighted as the basis of dispute between the Dutch Reformed and the Cartesians, the element of validity in the older view of the origins of rationalism found in the histories of Saintes, Lecky, Robertson, and Hurst becomes apparent. The highly intellectualized and rationalized structure of Protestant orthodoxy, sound and convincing in the context of an AristotelianPtolemaic world view, made little sense in the face of the alliance of rationalism with modern science and with the highly optimistic anthropology of the Enlightenment. Saintes, Lecky, Robertson, and Hurst do orthodoxy a historical injustice by assuming absolutely the irrelevance and uselessness of its arguments: Protestant scholasticism only became intellectually problematic with the passing of the world view to which it was bound as much by historical necessity as by choice. When that world view failed, the orthodox theological system also seemed to fail and rationalism, allied to the new science, appeared as a viable alternative, particularly in the writings of those rationalist philosophers who were not hostile toward theology. Indeed, to find the point of contact between Reformed orthodoxy and rationalism, we need to search behind the rationalizing of system within the boundaries of faith and behind the creation of rationalist philosophical system, for a common basis in the intellectual development of the West in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. There is in fact such a common basis of

formative significance for both orthodoxy and rationalism: the profound concern of the age for right method and the significant reliance of both orthodoxy and rationalism, albeit in rather different ways, on the Renaissance humanist retrieval of the classical past. Orthodoxy itself arose in the context of thinkers like Hyperius, Ramus, Trelcatius and Alsted pressing the issue of proper methodus or the proper “way through” the topics or loci of theology, a development resting on the Renaissance revolution in logic and rhetoric.228 Orthodoxy also carried forward the alliance between Reformation and what has been called “biblical humanism” in its intense interest in mastering the text of Scripture and of the ancient versions in the original languages—and the orthodox writers of the seventeenth century also drew on the Renaissance retrieval of ancient philosophy and literature. On the side of rational philosophy not only the deductive Descartes in the Discourse on Method but also the inductive Bacon in his Novum organon bears witness to the new emphasis on right approach to thought via mastery of method. What is more, the history of rationalism leading to the Enlightenment was characterized by a retrieval of ancient philosophical models, notably the Epicurean and the Stoic.229 It is therefore incorrect to separate orthodoxy and rationalism after the fashion of Saintes, Hurst, Lecky, and Robertson, since the interest in method and the classical emphases of the Renaissance provided impetus to both—but it is equally incorrect to view orthodoxy as a form of rationalism, as do Weber and Bizer, inasmuch as its view of method did not allow reason the status of principium cognoscendi. Nor did the Protestant orthodox share the optimistic anthropology of the rationalists. Beyond this, in the subtle eclecticism of the seventeenth-century reception of the past, the nominally orthodox theologians and philosophers among the Protestants tended to choose for their philosophical foundation some form of the perennial Christian philosophy— most typically in the form of a modified Christian Aristotelianism or, less frequently, a somewhat more Platonizing pattern of thought. At the same time, the orthodox writers of the era tended to argue against the Epicurean and the Stoic revival. In this the trajectory of rationalism also diverges, given both the association of Epicureanism with the early “deists,” and the strong relationship between much of later rationalist philosophy with the Stoic and Epicurean revivals of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. (The perspectives of Saintes, Hurst, Lecky, Robertson, Weber, and Bizer, thus, do as little justice to the history of rationalism as they do to the development and decline of Protestant orthodoxy.) The decline of orthodoxy as a large-scale intellectual movement also illustrates its relationship to rationalism. High orthodoxy, beginning in the mid-seventeenth century in the debates over the Cartesian tendencies of the

Cocceians and, particularly in the last two decades of the seventeenth century, had experienced the strain upon system caused by the demise of the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic worldview, and, in a few cases, had tolerated Cartesians when their philosophy seemed not to undercut theological orthodoxy. This is clearly the case with the philosopher Daniel Chouet and the Genevan theologians, Louis Tronchin and J.-A. Turretin, whose Cartesian philosophy was resisted in relative quiet by Francis Turretin and partially absorbed by Benedict Pictet.230 By 1685, the generational shift within Reformed orthodoxy had opened the way to greater development, within the Reformed churches and universities, of both Cocceian and Cartesian variants of the orthodox model.231 The transition from the era of orthodoxy to the era of rationalism, then, was not a sudden event, but rather appears as the gradual decline of orthodox system brought on not only by the loss of its underlying worldview but also by the realization of many orthodox writers that a new philosophical perspective was needed.232 As orthodoxy faded, rationalism gathered strength and, in the eighteenth century, provided a new philosophical perspective that, even in alliance with theology, proved inimical to the task of creating a large-scale biblical orthodoxy for Protestantism comparable to the broad theological, philosophical, and cultural synthesis offered by earlier generations of Protestant thinkers.233 During this decline, theology moved from high orthodoxy through a transitional phase characterized by philosophical eclecticism and indifference to polemical concerns, and ultimately took on, particularly in Germany, a rationalistic form balancing reason and Scripture as twin cognitive principia, in fact beginning theology with rational argumentation.234 This transition is particularly evident in the movement of Genevan theology from the strict orthodoxy of Francis Turretin, to the already somewhat rationalizing thought of his orthodox and pietistic nephew and successor Benedict Pictet, to the eclectic and indifferentist theology of the younger Turretin, Jean Alphonse, and his friend and associate Jean Osterwald. Pictet will admit the proofs of God’s existence as necessary to theological system,235 and within a few decades Wolffians like Wyttenbach would argue the necessity of a natural theology grounded in the proofs to any system of revealed theology.236 Genuinely orthodox theology in the Reformed and Protestant scholastic tradition, characterized by traditional resolutions of the problem of faith and reason, ceased to be the dominant theological model after 1725. Nonetheless, as with all such movements, the intellectual model represented by scholastic orthodoxy did not entirely pass away: just as Thomistic theology was written, defensively, after the rise of the Scotist and nominalist critiques and on into the era of the Counter-Reformation, so also was Protestant orthodox theology developed at length by a few remaining thinkers during the Age of Reason.

Some, like Johann Friedrich Stapfer and Johann Christoph Beck, attempted to retain the form and the content of orthodoxy by adopting the seemingly helpful and theologically positive philosophy of Christian Wolff while others, like the massively erudite Bernhardus de Moor,237 held to the older orthodoxy still more closely, modeling their theology on the seventeenth-century systems, refusing the advances of the new philosophy, and essentially reproducing the theology of the seventeenth century in great detail without positive recourse to contemporary opinion. The demise of orthodoxy was not so much an obliteration of the form but rather a passing of dominance and a failure to contribute to the ongoing movement and development of theological and philosophical thought. 1 See the discussions in Marcia L. Colish, Peter Lombard, 2 vols. (Leiden: E.

J. Brill, 1994), I, pp. 33–47; Beryl Smalley, “The Bible in the Medieval Schools,” in The Cambridge History of the Bible, 3 vols., ed. P. R. Ackroyd, C. F. Evans, et al. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963–70), II, pp. 197–198; and Congar, History of Theology, pp. 79–80; also cf. PRRD II, 1.2 (A.2). 2 On this development, see G. P. Hartvelt, “Over de methode der dogmatiek in

de eeuw der Reformatie. Bijdrage tot de geschiedenis van de gereformeerde dogmatiek,” in Gereformeerde Theologisch Tijdschrift, 62 (1962), pp. 97– 149. 3 Otto Weber, Grundlagen der Dogmatik, (Neukirchen: Neukirchner Verlag,

1955) I, p. 10; Foundations, I, pp. 4–5. 4 Hugh of St. Victor, Eruditionis didascalicae libri vii, in PL 176, cols. 739–

838; also, The Didascalion of Hugh St. Victor, trans. Jerome Taylor (New York: Columbia University Press, 1961). 5 Hugh of St. Victor, Summa sententiarum septem tractatibus distincta, in PL

176, cols. 43–45. 6 Hugh of St. Victor, De sacramentis christianae fidei, in PL 176, cols. 183–

86. 7 Hugh of St. Victor, De sacramentis christianae fidei, in PL 176, col. 185. 8 Hugh of St. Victor, De sacramentis christianae fidei, in PL 176, col. 183. 9 Cf. Congar, History of Theology, pp. 79–80; with Johannes Beumer, Die

theologische Methode: Handbuch der Dogmengeschichte, I/6, (Freiburg: Herder, 1972), pp. 72–73; and note the discussions of theology as scientia in Alexander of Hales, Summa theologica (Quaracchi: Collegium S.

Bonaventurae, 1924–1958), intro., q. i; Thomas Aquinas, I Sent., prol., art. 1, q.2, in Opera Omnia, ut sunt in indice thomistico, ed. R. Busa (Stuttgart-Bad Canstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 1980), vol. 1; Albertus Magnus, Summa, prol., q. 1 in Opera, ed. Borgnet (Paris, 1890–1899), vol. 1; and, on this development, see Ulrich Koepf, Die Anfänge der theologischen Wissenschaftstheorie im 13. Jahrhundert (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1974), pp. 125–154; and Karl Werner, Die Scholastik des späteren Mittelalters, 4 vols. in 5 (Vienna, 1881–1887; repr. New York: Burt Franklin, n.d.), II, pp. 21–48; also note the essay on “Theology as a Science in the History of Theology” that appears as chapter four of Wolfhart Pannenberg, Theology and the Philosophy of Science, trans. F. McDonagh (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976), pp. 229–296. 10 See Peter Lombard, Sententiae in IV libris distinctae, editio tertia, 2 vols.

(Quaracchi: Collegium S. Bonaventurae, 1971–81). On the sources, composition and subsequent editing of the Sententiae, see ibid., I, pp. 117*-29*, 143*-44*; Lombard’s contribution to theological prolegomena is in Sent., I, dist. 1, cap. 1–2; cf. Colish, Peter Lombard, I, pp. 77–80, 227–230, 238–245. 11 Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, VI.3–8:1139b-1142a, in The Basic Works

of Aristotle, ed. Richard McKeon (New York: Random House, 1941), pp. 1024–1130; see further below, 7.2 (B). 12

William of Auxerre, Summa aurea (Paris, 1500), fol. 131d, 254c; cf. Congar, History of Theology, pp. 89–90. 13

Robert Kilwardby, De natura theologiae, ed. Friedrich Stegmüller (Münster, Aschendorff, 1935), cap. 2, 3, 4, 5. 14 See Alexander of Hales, Summa theologica, intro., q. i, cap. 1–2; q. ii,

memb. 3, cap. 3; Bonaventure, I Sent., prol., q. 1, in Opera omnia (Quaracchi: Collegium S. Bonaventurae, 1882–1902), cf. Pannenberg, Theology and the Philosophy of Science, pp. 8–11. 15 Alexander of Hales, Summa theologica, I, intro., q. I, cap. 1, ad. 3 and 4; cf.

cap. 4, art. 2. 16 Cf. Congar, History of Theology, pp. 120–121. 17 M. D. Chenu, “La théologie comme science au XIIIe siècle,” in Archives

d’Histoire Doctrinale et Littéraire du Moyen Age 2 (1927), pp. 53–56; note also idem, La théologie comme science au XIIIe siècle, 3rd ed. (Paris: Vrin, 1957). 18

Bonaventure, On the Retracing of the Arts to Theology, in Works of Bonaventure, trans, J. de Vinck, 5 vols. (Paterson: St. Anthony Guild Press,

1960–70), III, pp. 21–32. 19 Chenu, “La théologie comme science,” pp. 62–65. 20

Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, 5 vols. (Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 1962–65), Ia, q.1, art. 2–8; and cf. Pannenberg, Theology and the Philosophy of Science, pp. 229–230. 21 Augustine, De doctrina christiana, I. ii–iii; II. vii. 9–11, in PL 34, col. 19–

20, 39–40. 22 See Henry of Ghent, Summae quaestionum (Paris, 1520), art. VIII, q. iii.,

on the goal of theology viewed as praxis. 23 Gordon

Leff, Medieval Thought: St. Augustine to Ockham (Baltimore: Penguin, 1958), p. 241. 24 Cf. Gerard of Boulogne, Summa, q. 3, a. 3; q. 4, a. 1.; with Paul de Vooght,

Les Sources de la doctrine Chrétienne d’aprés les theologiens du xive siecle et du début du xve siecle (Paris, 1954), pp. 33–52 [Gerard’s Summa is found in de Vooght, pp. 265–483]. 25 Scotus, Ordinatio, I, prol. 12. See the discussion in Richard Cross, Duns

Scotus (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 6–12. 26 See Werner, Scholastik des späteren Mittelalters, II, pp. 21–48. 27 See the discussion in Stephen D. Dumont, “Theology as Science and Duns

Scotus’s Distinction between Intuitive and Abstractive Cognition,” in Speculum 64 (1989), pp. 579–599. 28 Congar, History of Theology, p. 130. 29

Cf. Etienne Gilson, Jean Duns Scot: Introduction à ses positions fondamentales (Paris: Vrin, 1952), pp. 47, 50–53. 30 The dictum, Deus solus theologus est, nos vero sumus discipuli eius, is

cited by the medieval teachers as a maxim drawn from Augustine’s De doctrina christiana. I have not found the maxim verbatim in Augustine (cf. Walter Moore’s annotation in his edition of Johann Eck, In primum librum sententiarum annotatiunculae [Leiden, 1976], p. 16), but there are several passages in Book IV that point in this direction: true wisdom does not belong to us but descends from the Father of Lights (IV.v.7); God assists us in discourse about him and gives us an eloquence beyond our powers (IV.xviii.37; xxix.62). These passages coincide with the language of Henry of Ghent who cites De doctrina christiana, IV, as indicating that God alone is the teacher of sacred scripture and that no one can learn the truth of blessed living unless made teachable by God (Summae quaestionum, art. XI., q.1).

31

Durandus de Saint Pourçain, In Petri Lombardi sententias … libri IV (Venice, 1571), prol., q.1. 32 Peter Aureole, Scriptum super primum sententiarum, ed. Eligius Buytaert

(St. Bonaventure, New York, 1952), I, proem., 1, q.A, 2–3. 33 Armand Maurer, The Philosophy of William of Ockham in the Light of Its

Principles (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 1999), p. 135. 34 Maurer, Philosophy of William of Ockham, pp. 154–155. 35 Cf. Congar, History of Theology, pp. 154–165. 36 See below, chapter 4.1 (A.1), and August Lang, Die Loci theologici des

Melchior Cano und die Methode des dogmatischen Beweises. Ein Beitrag zur theologischen Methodologie und ihrer Geschichte (Munich: Pustet, 1925), pp. 55–73. 37 Cf. Heiko Oberman, Masters of the Reformation: The Emergence of a New

Intellectual Climate in Europe, trans. Dennis Martin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), pp. 64–110. 38

Cf. Yves M. J. Congar, Tradition and Traditions: An Historical and Theological Essay (New York: Macmillan, 1967), pp. 116–17, 138–39, with Heiko Oberman (ed.), Forerunners of the Reformation (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1966), pp. 53–65. 39 Cited in Roland Bainton, Here I Stand: A Life of Martin Luther (Nashville:

Abingdon, 1950), p. 185. 40 Cf. the interpretation of right reason in Martin Brecht, Martin Luther: His

Road to Reformation, 1483–1521, trans. James L. Schaaf (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), p. 460. 41 Paul Althaus, The Theology of Martin Luther, trans. Robert C. Schultz

(Philadelphia: Fortress, 1966), p. 3. 42 Cf. Oberman, Forerunners, pp. 53–65; with Althaus, Theology, p. 3.

43 Cf. Reinhold Seeberg, Textbook of the History of Doctrines, trans. Charles

Hay (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1977), II, pp. 191–194; Otto Scheel, Martin Luther: Vom Katholizismus zur Reformation, 2 vols. (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1921), II, p. 173. For a somewhat more moderate view of Biel, see Heiko Oberman, The Harvest of Medieval Theology: Gabriel Biel and Late Medieval Nominalism, revised edition (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1967), pp. 68–89. Oberman does concur in the strict separation of natural and revealed knowledge. On Trutvetter, see E. G. Schwiebert, Luther and His Times: The Reformation from a New Perspective (St. Louis: Concordia, 1950), pp. 168– 69, 173; and Oberman, Masters, p. 250. Also see Congar, History of Theology, pp. 135–136; and see the extended discussion of the background of Luther’s early theology in Alister E. McGrath, Luther’s Theology of the Cross: Martin Luther’s Theological Breakthrough (Oxford: Blackwell, 1985), pp. 27–92. 44

Cf. Congar, History of Theology, pp. 155–156; with T. M. Pégues, “Théologie Thomiste d’après Capréolus: De la voie rationelle que nous conduite à Dieu,” in Revue Thomiste 8 (1900), pp. 288–309. Also see L. Charlier, Essai sur le probleme théologique (Paris, 1938), pp. 15–25; and cf. the analysis of early twentieth-century debate over the nature and method of medieval scholastic theology in John Auricchio, The Future of Theology (Staten Island, New York: Alba House, 1970) pp. 121–190. 45 Cf. Walter von Loewenich, Luther’s Theology of the Cross, trans. Herbert

Bouman (Minneapolis: Augsburg Press, 1976), pp. 70–77; Regin Prenter, Luther’s Theology of the Cross (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1971), pp. 13–14. 46 Paul Vignaux, Luther, Commentateur des Sentences (Paris, 1935), pp. 24–

30. 47 Althaus, Theology of Martin Luther, p. 21. 48 See below, 7.1. 49 Cf. Martin Luther, Commentary on Galatians, 4:8–9 in loc. (LW 26, pp.

396, 399–401). There is enough evidence of a conception of a twofold knowledge of God in the works of Calvin’s contemporaries to view it as a commonplace of early sixteenth-century theology: see Richard A. Muller, “Duplex cognitio Dei in the Theology of Early Reformed Orthodoxy,” in Sixteenth Century Journal, 10/2 (1979), pp. 51–61. 50 On Melanchthon’s method, see Robert A. Kolb, “The Ordering of the Loci

Communes Theologici: The Structuring of the Melanchthonian Dogmatic Tradition,” in Condordia Journal, 23/4 (1997), pp. 317–337; idem, “Teaching

the Text: The Commonplace Method in Sixteenth Century Lutheran Biblical Commentary,” in Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 49 (1987), pp. 571–585; and cf. Hartveld, “Over de Methode,” pp. 102–111. 51

Philip Melanchthon, Loci communes (1533) in Opera quae supersunt omnia, vol. 21 (Brunswick: Schwetschke, 1854), col. 253–54. The definitive study of Melanchthon’s concept of historical or scriptural series is Peter Fraenkel, Testimonia Patrum: The Function of Patristic Argument in the Theology of Philip Melanchthon (Geneva: Droz, 1961), pp. 52–109. 52 Philip Melanchthon, Loci praecipui theologici (1559), in Opera, vol. 21,

col. 603. 53 See below, chapter 4.1 (A.1); 4.2 (B). 54 Philip Melanchthon, Brevis discendae theologiae ratio, in Opera, vol. 2,

cols. 455–462. 55 Melanchthon, Brevis discendae theologiae ratio, in Opera, vol. 2, cols.

456–457. 56

On this point, see Rolf Schäfer, “Melanchthon’s Hermeneutik im Römerbrief-Kommentar von 1532,” in Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche, 60 (1963), pp. 216–235 and Robert A. Kolb, “Teaching the Text: The Commonplace Method in Sixteenth Century Lutheran Biblical Commentary,” in Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 49 (1987), pp. 571–585. 57 Alister McGrath, “Reformation to Enlightenment,” in Gillian R. Evans,

Alister E. McGrath, and Allan D. Galloway, The Science of Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986), p. 143. For a scholarly examination of Melanchthon’s theological model, including a comparison with Lombard, see Kolb, “The Ordering of the Loci Communes Theologici, pp. 317–337. 58 Melanchthon, Loci praecipui theologici (1559) in Opera, vol. 21, col. 607–

608. 59

Melanchthon, Loci praecipui theologici (1559), col. 607–608; cf. Loci communes (1541), in ibid, col. 349. 60 Cf. the Loci theologici Germanice in Opera, vol. 22, col. 66; with Loci

communes (1541) in Opera, vol. 21, col. 349. 61 See below, 9.1 (B.1). 62 Melanchthon, Dispositio orationis in epistola Pauli as Romanos (1529), in

CR 15, col. 445; on Melanchthon’s understanding of loci see Manfred Hoffmann, “Rhetoric and Dialectic in Erasmus’ and Melanchthon’s Interpretation of John’s Gospel,” in Philip Melanchthon (1497–1560) and the Commentary, ed. Timothy J. Wengert and M. Patrick Graham (Sheffield:

Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), pp. 65–72. Also see Robert Kolb, “Teaching the Text: The Commonplace Method in Sixteenth Century Lutheran Biblical Commentary,” in Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 49 (1987), pp. 571–585. 63 See Sachiko Kusukawa, The Transformation of Natural Philosophy: The

Case of Philip Melanchthon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Dino Bellucci, Science de la Nature et Réformation: La physique au service de la Réforme dans l’enseignement de Philippe Mélanchthon (Rome: Edizioni Vivere, 1998). 64 See below, 6.1 (A–B). 65 Martin Bucer, Summarischer Vergriff der Christlichen Lehre und Religion

(Strasbourg, 1541), articles 1–4; cf. the critical text in Martin Butzer, Deutsche Schriften, vol. 17 (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1981), pp. 122–124. The earlier document, Das ym selbs niemant sonder andereen leben soll is found in Deutsche Schriften, vol. 1 (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1960), pp. 44–67. 66 See Willem van’t Spijker, “Reformation and Scholasticism,” in van Asselt

and Dekker (eds.), Protestant Scholasticism, pp. 84–85; cf. van’t Spijker’s “Reformatie tussen patristiek en scholastiek: Bucers theologische positie,” in J. van Oort (ed.), De kerkvaders in Reformatie en Nadere Reformatie (Zoetermeer: Boekencentrum, 1997), pp. 45–66. 67 See L. Leijssen, “Martin Bucer und Thomas von Aquin,” in Ephemerides

Theologiae Lovaniensis, 55 (1979), pp. 266–296. 68 See Benjamin B. Warfield, “On the Literary History of Calvin’s Institutes,”

in Calvin and Calvinism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1931), pp. 373–428; and Jean-Daniel Benoit, “The History and Development of the Institutio: How Calvin Worked,” in John Calvin, ed. G. E. Duffield (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1966), pp. 102–117. 69 See Richard A. Muller, “Ordo docendi: Melanchthon and the Organization

of Calvin’s Institutes, 1536–1543,” in Melanchthon in Europe: His Work and Influence beyond Wittenberg, ed. Karin Maag (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1999), pp. 123–140. 70 See below, 6.3. 71

Vermigli’s Loci communes (London, 1576; 1583) are a posthumous compilation, gathered from Vermigli’s exegetical, doctrinal, and philosophical works by Robert Masson and arranged by him after the pattern of Calvin’s Institutes. Although there must always be some question concerning the applicability of Calvin’s outline to Vermigli’s thought, there can be no doubt of the impact of the Loci on the rise of orthodoxy.

72

Wolfgang Musculus, Loci communes sacrae theologiae (Basel, 1560, 1573); trans. as Commonplaces of Christian Religion, (London, 1563; 1578). 73 Pierre Viret, Instruction chrestienne en la doctrine de la loy et l’Évangile,

et en la vraye philosophie et théologie tant naturelle que supernaturelle des chrestiens, et en la contemplation du temple et des images et oeuvres de la providence de Dieu en tout l’univers, et en l’histoire de la création et cheute et reparation du genre humain, 2 parts (Geneva, 1564). 74 Jean Barnaud, Pierre Viret, sa vie et son oeuvre (Saint-Amans, 1911; repr.

Niewkoop: De Graaf, 1973), p. 694. 75 Significant selections from Vermigli’s thought on these topics are found in

The Peter Martyr Reader, ed. John Patrick Donnelly, Frank A. James III, and Joseph C. McLelland (Kirksville, Mo.: Truman State University Press, 1999), pp. 5–79, 107–123; and see below, 6.1 (A.3) and 8.1 (B.3). 76 John Patrick Donnelly, “Calvinist Thomism,” in Viator, 7 (1976), pp. 441–

455. 77 Cf. Muller, After Calvin, p. 123, and below, 6.1 (A.3). 78 Cf. Marvin Anderson, “Peter Martyr Vermigli: Protestant Humanist,” in

Peter Martyr Vermigli and Italian Reform, ed. Joseph C. McLelland (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1980), pp. 65–83, who still attempts to argue a humanist, nonscholastic Vermigli, despite his recognition of the scholastic elements of Vermigli’s thought demonstrated by Donnelly with Frank A. James III, “Peter Martyr Vermigli: At the Crossroads of Late Medieval Scholasticism, Christian Humanism and Resurgent Augustinianism,” in Trueman and Clark (eds.), Protestant Scholasticism, pp. 62–78; similarly, note Joseph C. McLelland, “Peter Martyr Vermigli: Scholastic or Humanist?” in McLelland, ed., Peter Martyr Vermigli and Italian Reform, pp. 141–151. 79 Musculus, Loci communes sacrae theologiae (Basel, 1573), cap. l, lxi; and

see below, 6.3 (A); for a survey of Musculus’ theology, see Robert B. Ives “The Theology of Wolfgang Musculus (1497–1562)” (Ph.D. diss.: University of Manchester, 1965); Musculus’ exegetical method is examined in Craig S. Farmer, The Gospel of John in the Sixteenth Century: The Johannine Exegesis of Wolfgang Musculus (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997). 80 See below, chapter 4.1 (A.2); cf. Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp.

108–111. 81

Andreas Hyperius, Methodi theologiae, sive praecipuorum christianae religionis locorum communium, libri tres (Basel, 1568), pp. 2–6.

82 See Willem van ‘t Spijker, Principe, methode en functie van de theologie

bij Andreas Hyperius, Apeldoornse Studies, 26 (Kampen: J. H. Kok, 1990); and Muller, After Calvin, pp. 108–109. 83 Robert Preus, The Theology of Post-Reformation Lutheranism (St. Louis:

Concordia, 1970–72), I: 82–88. Preus surveys Hyperius’ work at length, viewing him as essentially Lutheran. Perhaps more correctly Hyperius should be viewed as a Melanchthonian mediating figure whose views on the Lord’s Supper would ultimately be received with more enthusiasm by the Reformed than the Lutherans: see Gass, Geschichte der protestantischen Dogmatik, I, p. 131. Also see Donald W. Sinnema, “The Distinction Between Scholastic and Popular: Andreas Hyperius and Reformed Scholasticism,” in Trueman and Clark (eds.), Protestant Scholasticism: Essays in Reassessment, pp. 125–143. 84 The first printing of this work bears the title, De recte formando theologiae

studio (Basel, 1556); the later editions, titled as above, appeared in 1559, 1572, and 1582. 85 Cf. Andreas Hyperius, De theologo, seu de ratione studii theologici, libri

iiii (Basel, 1559), pp. 455–507. 86 See below, 4.1 (A.2; B.2–3). 87 See below, 6.1. 88 Zacharias Ursinus, Explicationes catecheseos, in Opera theologica, edited

by Quirinius Reuter, 3 vols. (Heidelberg, 1612), I, col. 51. 89 On Zabarella and Ramus see below, 4.1 (B.1–2). 90 Jerome Zanchi, Praefatiuncula in locos communos, in Opera theologica, 8

vols. (Geneva, 1617), VIII, col. 319. Zanchi discusses, at length, the problem of the knowledge of God in his Compendium praecipuorum capitum doctrinae christianae: cf. Opera, VIII, cols. 621–639, and below, 5:3. 91 Cf. the discussion in Hartvelt, “Over de Methode,” pp. 128–130 and below,

4.1 (B.2–3). 92 Praefatiuncula in locos communos, col. 319. 93

Benedict Aretius, Examen theologicum, brevi et perspicua methodo conscriptum (1557; Lausanne, 1579); SS. theologiae problemata, seu loci communes, et miscellaneae quaestiones (1573; Geneva, 1589). 94 Benedict Aretius, Theologiae problemata, I–II. 95

Lambert Daneau, Christianae isagoges ad christianorum theologorum locos communes, libri II (Geneva, 1583); idem, Compendium sacrae theologiae seu erotemata theologica, in quibus totius verae theologiae

christianae summa breviter comprehense est (Montpellier, 1595). On Daneau’s theology, see Olivier Fatio, Méthode et théologie. Lambert Daneau et les débuts de la scholastique reformée (Geneva: Droz, 1976). 96

Stephanus Szegedinus, Theologiae sincerae loci communes de Deo et Homine perpetuis Tabulis explicati et scholasticorum dogmatis illustrati (Basel, 1585; editio secunda, 1588). 97 Antoine Chandieu, De verbo Dei scripto … Praefatio de vera methodo

theologice simul et scholastice disputandi, in Opera theologica (Geneva, 1593), pp. 7–9. See the discussion in Donald W. Sinnema, “Antoine De Chandieu’s Call for a Scholastic Reformed Theology (1580),” in Later Calvinism: International Perspectives, ed. W. Fred Graham (Kirksville: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1994), pp. 159–190 and cf. Ritschl, Dogmengeschichte, I, pp. 183–185. Note that a similar interest in a properly biblical use of scholastic method is evident in Reformed theology throughout the seventeenth century: cf. Benedict Pictet, Theologia christiana (Geneva, 1686), praef. and below, 4.2 (B.1). 98 Petrus Ramus, De religione christiana (Frankfurt: Andreas Wechel, 1576),

p. 6. On Ramus’ impact, see The Logike of the Moste Excellent Philosopher P. Ramus, Martyr, trans. Roland MacIlmaine (1574), ed., with an intro. by Catherine M. Dunn (Northridge, Calif., San Fernando Valley State College, 1969), introduction, pp. xi–xxii and Keith L. Sprunger, “Ames, Ramus, and the Method of Puritan Theology,” in Harvard Theological Review, 59 (1966), pp. 133–151; and idem, “Technometria: A Prologue to Puritan Theology,” in Journal of the History of Ideas, 29 (1968), pp. 115–122. 99 Dudley Fenner, Sacra theologia sive veritas qua est secundum pietatem ad

unicae et verae methodi leges descripta (London, 1585), I.i (p. 1). 100 William Perkins, A Golden Chaine, in

The Workes of … Mr. William Perkins, 3 vols. (Cambridge, 1612–1619), I, p. 11. On the character of this work, see Richard A. Muller, “Perkins’ A Golden Chaine: Predestinarian System or Schematized Ordo Salutis?” in Sixteenth Century Journal, 9/1 (1978), pp. 69–81. 101 Sibrandus Lubbertus, De

principiis Christianorum dogmatum libri VII (Franecker, 1591); also note his Commentarius in Catechesin PaltinoBelgicam (Franecker, 1618). 102 Cf. Francis Junius’ early (before 1590) Theses theologiae with his later

theses and with his De vera theologia, thesis 5 (1594), in Opuscula theologica selecta, ed. Abraham Kuyper (Amsterdam: F. Müller, 1882), pp. 289–290, 104–105, 41.

103

Amandus Polanus von Polansdorf, Partitiones theologiae christianae (Pars I–II. Basel, 1590–1596); also The Substance of the Christian Religion (London, 1595), a translation of part I of the Partitiones; and Syntagma theologiae christianae (Hanau, 1609; Geneva, 1617). 104 E.g., Jacob Arminius, Orationes tres: I. De obiecto theologiae. II. De

auctore & fine theologiae. III. De certitudine ss. theologiae, in Opera, pp. 26– 41; 41–55; 56–71; Pierre du Moulin, Oration in the Praise of Divinitie. Spoken at Sedanum in an Auditory of Divines, VIII of the Ides of December, 1628, trans. J. M. (London: Henry Shephard, 1649); John Stoughton, A Forme of Wholesome Words; or an Introduction to the Body of Divinity: in three sermons preached on 2 Timothy 1:13 (London: J. R. for J. Bellamy, 1640); idem, A Learned Treatise in Three Parts: 1. The Definition; 2. The Distribution of Divinity; 3. The Happinesse of Man: As it was Scholastically Handled (London: Richard Hodgkinson, 1640); also note John Downame, “To the Christian Reader,” in The Summe of Sacred Divinitie briefly and methodically propounded: and then more largely and cleerly handled and explaned (London: W. Stansby, 1630), pp. ¶2 recto–¶4 recto. 105 Franciscus Junius, Eirenicum de pace ecclesiae catholicae (Leiden, 1593);

also in Opuscula: see pp. 439–440. 106 Johannes Scharpius, Cursus theologicus in quo controversia omnes de fide

dogmatibus hoc seculo exagitate, 2 vols. (Geneva, 1620). 107 Antonius Walaeus, Enchiridion

religionis reformatae, in Opera omnia (Leiden, 1643) and idem, Loci communes s. theologiae (Leiden, 1640); also in Opera omnia. 108 William Ames, Medulla ss. theologiae (Amsterdam, 1623; London, 1630);

also, The Marrow of Theologie, in vol. 1 of The Workes of the Reverend and Faithfull Minister of Christ William Ames, Doctor and Professor in that Famous University of Franecker in Friesland, 3 vols. (London: Iohn Rothwell, 1643). 109 Franciscus Gomarus, Disputations theologicae, in volume 1 of Gomarus’

Opera theologica omnia, 3 vols. (Amsterdam, 1644). 110 Johannes Maccovius, Collegia theologica quae extant omnia (Franecker,

1641); Distinctiones et regulae theologicae et philosophicae (Amsterdam, 1656); Loci communes theologici (Amsterdam, 1658); Metaphysica, ad usum quaestionum in philosophia ac theologia adornata & applicata (Leiden, 1658); Opuscula philosophica omnia (Amsterdam, 1660). 111 Bartholomaus Keckermann, Systema sacrosanctae theologiae, tribus libris

adornatum (Heidelberg, 1602; Geneva, 1611) also in Opera omnia quae

extant, 2 vols. (Geneva, 1614), appended to vol. 2, separate pagination; cf. Muller, After Calvin, pp. 122–136, and Hartvelt, “Over de Methode,” pp. 130–131. Also note Joseph S. Freedman, “The Career and Writings of Bartholomew Keckermann,” in Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 141 (1997), pp. 305–364. 112 See Muller, After Calvin, pp. 106–109. 113

Lucas Trelcatius, Jr., Scholastica et methodica locorum communium institutio (London, 1604; Hanau, 1610); trans. as A Briefe Institution of the Commonplaces of Sacred Divinitie (London, 1610). 114 Johannes Wollebius, Compendium theologiae christianae (Basel, 1626;

Oxford, 1657); also Compendium theologiae christianae, ed. Ernst Bizer (Neukirchen: Neukirchner Verlag, 1935). 115

Synopsis purioris theologiae, disputationibus quinquaginta duabus comprehensa ac conscripta per Johannem Polyandrum, Andream Rivetum, Antonium Walaeum, Antonium Thysium (Leiden, 1625; editio sexta, curavit et praefatus est Dr. H. Bavinck. Leiden: Donner, 1881). See the analysis of thei work in C. A. Tukker, “Vier Leidse Hoogleraren in de Gouden Eeuw: De Synopsis Purioris Theologiae als Theologisch Document (I),” in Theologia Reformata, 17 (1974), pp. 236–250, and idem, “Theologie en Scholastiek: De Synopsis Purioris Theologiae als Theologisch Document (II),” in Theologia Reformata, 18 (1975), pp. 34–49. 116 See the discussion below, 7.3 (B.1). 117 Cf. Arminius, Opera theologica (Frankfurt, 1635), pp. 22–58 (the orations

De obiecto theologiae; De authore & fine theologiae; and De certitudine sacrosanctae theologiae) and pp. 269–272 (the disputations De ipsa theologia; De methodo qua theologia informanda est; De beatitudine, fine theologiae; De religione; and De norma religionis verbo Dei). 118

Petrus van Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, qua, per capita theologica, pars dogmatica, elenchtica et practica, perpetua successione conjugantur, praecedunt in usum operis, paraleipomena, seu sceleton de optima concionandi methodo, 2 vols. (Amsterdam, 1682–1687; Utrecht, 1714; 1724). 119 Samuel Maresius, Collegium theologicum sive systema breve universae

theologiae comprehensum octodecim disputationibus (Groningen, 1645; 1659). 120

Johannes Cocceius, Summa theologiae ex Scriptura repetita (Geneva, 1665; Amsterdam, 1669) also, in Coceius, Opera omnia theologica, exegetica, didactica, polemica, philologica, 12 vols. (Amsterdam, 1701–

1706), vol. 7, pp. 131–403; and note Cocceius, Aphorismi per universam theologiam breviores, in Opera, vol. 7, pp. 3–16; Aphorismi per universam theologiam prolixiores, in Opera, vol. 7, pp. 17–38. On Cocceius’ life and thought, see Willem J, van Asselt, Johannes Coccejus: Portret van een zeventiende-eeuws theoloog op oude en niewe wegen (Heerenveen: Groen en Zoon, 1997) and idem, The Federal Theology of Johannes Cocceius (1603– 1669), trans. Raymond A. Blacketer (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2001). 121 Franz Burman, Synopsis theologiae et speciatim oeconomiae foederum

Dei, 2 parts (Geneva, 1678; Den Haag, 1687). 122 Abraham Heidanus, Corpus

theologiae christianae in quindecim locos digestum, 2 vols. (Leiden, 1687); Disputationes theologicae ordinariae repetitiae, 2 parts (Leiden, 1654–1659). 123

Johannes Marckius, Compendium theologiae christianae didacticoelencticum (Groningen, 1686); Christianae theologiae medulla didactico elenctica (Amsterdam, 1690). 124 Francis Turretin, Institutio theologiae elencticae, 3 vols. (Geneva, 1679–

85; Edinburgh, 1847). 125 Johann Heinrich Heidegger, Corpus theologiae christianae … adeoque sit

plenissimum theologiae didacticae, elenchticae, moralis et historicae systema, 2 vols. (Zürich: David Gessner, 1700); Medulla theologiae christianae (Zürich, 1696); De ratione studiorum theologiae (Zürich, 1690). 126 Franz Burman, Consilium de studio theologico feliciter instituendo, in

Synopsis theologiae (Geneva, 1678), pt. II, pp. 653–690. 127 Gisbertus Voetius, Exercitia et bibliotheca studiosi theologiae (Utrecht,

1651); also note his Selectae disputationes theologicae, 5 vols. (Utrecht, 1648–1669) and Syllabus problematum theologicorum, quae pro re natâ proponi aut perstringi solent in privatis publicisque disputationum, examinum, collationum, consultationum exercitiis (Utrecht: Aegidius Romanus, 1643). See the discussion of Voetius’ Exercitia in Muller, After Calvin, pp. 110–116. 128 John Owen, Theologoumena pantodapa sive, De natura, ortu, progressu,

et studio, verae theologiae, libri sex (1661), in The Works of John Owen, ed. William H. Goold, 17 vols. (London and Edinburgh: Johnstone and Hunter, 1850–53), vol 17. On Owen’s contribution and its relation to the continental tradition, see: Sebastian Rehnman, Divine Discourse: The Theological Methodology of John Owen (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 2002), and idem, “John Owen: A Reformed Scholastic at Oxford,” in van Asselt and Dekker (eds.), Reformation and Scholasticism, pp. 181–203.

129

Bernhardus de Moor, Commentarius perpetuus in Joh. Marckii compendium theologiae christianae didactico-elencticum, 7 vols. in 6 (Leiden, 1761–1771). 130 See below, 6.1 and 6.2. 131 See below, 8.2 and 8.3. 132 See below, 2.6 and 8.3 (A.3–4). 133 Cf. Franz Burman, Synopsis theologiae et speciatim occonomia foederum

Dei (Geneva, 1678); with Abraham Heidanus, Corpus theologiae christianae (Leiden, 1686), I.8, 11. 134 E.g., Robert Baron, Philosophia theologiae ancillans (Oxford: Leonard

Lichfield, 1641); Theophilus. The Court of the Gentiles, 4 parts in five vols. (Oxford and London: W. Hall, et al., 1670–78). 135

Voetius, De ratione humana in rebus fidei, in Selectae disputationes theologicae, 5 vols. (Utrecht, 1648–69), I, pp. 1–12. 136 Maresius, Collegium theologicum sive systema breve universae theologiae

(Groningen, 1659), I.xv–xxiii. 137 See Theo Verbeek, “Descartes and the Problem of Atheism: The Utrecht

Crisis,” in Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis, 71/2 (1991), pp. 211– 223. I must dissent from Verbeek’s conclusion that Voetius was a “rationalist” and that his attraction to Aristotelianism rested on that fact that it “allowed him to settle theological problems without having to consider the relation between faith and reason or to define the role of reason in interpreting the Bible” (p. 223)—Voetius and the Reformed orthodox in general offered a highly refined understanding of the relationship of faith to reason which, moreover, differed substantively from Descartes’ views. On the controversy between Voetius, Schoock and the Utrecht Cartesians, see La Querelle d’Utrecht, texte établi et traduites avec une introduction et notes par Theodorus Verbeek (Paris: Impressions Nouvelles, 1988). 138 Cf. Richard H. Popkin, “Cartesianism and Biblical Criticism,” in Problems

of Cartesianism, ed. T. Lennon, et al. (Kingston and Montreal: McGillQueen’s University Press, 1982), p. 72. 139 Verbeek, “Descartes and the Problem of Atheism,” p. 222. 140 Simon Patrick, A Brief Account of the New Sect of Latitude Men (London,

1662), cited by B. C. Southgate, “Forgotten and Lost: Some Reactions to Autonomous Science in the Seventeenth Century,” in Journal of the History of Ideas, 50 (1989), p. 253.

141 For elaboration of this point, see PRRD, II, 2.3 (B–C); 7.1 (B.3). 142 Daniel Wyttenbach, Praelectio inauguralis de iis, quae observanda sunt

circa theologiam et dogmaticam et elenchticam docendam (Frankfurt, 1749); idem, Tentamen theologiae dogmaticae methodo scientifico pertractatae, 3 vols. (Frankfurt, 1747–49); idem, with Isaac Sigfrid, Theses theologicae praecipua christianae doctrinae capita ex primis principiis deducta continentes (Frankfurt, 1747); Johann Friedrich Stapfer, Auszug aus der Grundlegung zur Wahren Relgion, 2 vols. (Zürich, 1754); idem, Grundlegung zur wahren Religion, 12 vols. (Zürich, 1746–53); idem, Institutiones theologiae polemicae universae, ordine scientifico dispositae, fourth edition, 5 vols. (Zürich, 1756–57). 143 Herman Venema, Exercitationes de vera Christi Divinitate, ex locis Act.

XX: 28, I Tim. III:16, I Joh. V: 20 et Col. I:16, 17: quibus de vera lectione et genuio sensu eorum accuratius disseritur. (Leeuwarden: Gulielmus Coulon, 1755); idem, Institutes of Theology, part I, trans. Alexander Brown (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1850). 144 John Brown, A Compendious View of Natural and Revealed Religion. In

seven books (Glasgow, 1782; second ed. revised, Edinburgh, 1796; reissued, Philadelphia, 1819; repr. Grand Rapids, Reformation Heritage Books, 2002). 145

Jacob van Nuys Klinkenberg, Onderwys in den godsdienst, 11 vols. (Amsterdam: J. Allart, 1780–1794). 146 Note that lines of older scholarship that understand the Reformation as the

well-spring of modern individualism and rationalism and that view Calvin as the author of a theology focused on the doctrine of predestination would identify a rationalistic and predestinarian orthodoxy as quite in continuity with the Reformation. Some of the turnings and twistings of this historiography are noted in Richard A. Muller, Christ and the Decree: Christology and Predestination in Reformed Theology from Calvin to Perkins (Durham, N.C.: Labyrinth Press, 1986), pp. 1–9 and idem, After Calvin, pp. 63–70; for a more detailed survey of the older scholarship, see also the editors’ introduction in van Asselt and Dekker (eds.), Protestant Scholasticism, pp. 14–39. 147 But note the parallels indicated in Leopold Damrosch Jr., “Hobbes as

Reformation Theologian: Implications of the Free-Will Controversy,” in Journal of the History of Ideas, 40 (1979), pp. 339–352. 148

See the discussion of Reformed polemic against the loss of genuine secondary causality in the Cartesian philosophy in J. A. van Ruler, The Crisis of Causality: Voetius and Descartes on God, Nature, and Change (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995); and idem, “New Philosophy to Old Standards: Voetius’

Vindication of Divine Concurrence and Secondary Causality,” in Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis, 71 (1991), pp. 58–91. 149 For this most recent form of the “central dogma” theory see Armstrong,

Calvin and the Amyraut Heresy, pp. 33–42; Hall, “Calvin Against the Calvinists,” pp. 27–29; McCoy, “Johannes Cocceius: Federal Theologian,” pp. 364–369. 150 See the discussion of this shift in the secondary literature, framed by the

twentieth-century reappraisal of Calvin in Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 5–6, 8–9. 151 Schweizer, Centraldogmen, I, pp. 40, 46, cf. p. 445; and see Schweizer,

Glaubenslehre, I, pp. 40–52. 152 Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, pp. 96, 101. Schweizer consistently, here and

elsewhere, fails to distinguish between logical and causal necessity and, therefore, confuses a synthetic order of system from principia or causes to effects with a model of logical deduction. 153 Weber, Reformation, Orthodoxie, and Rationalismus, II, pp. 63–73, 98–

128. 154 Kickel, Vernunft und Offenbarung, pp. 167–169. 155 See especially below, the discussion of analytic and synthetic methods,

below, 4.1 (B.2–3). 156 Viz., as found in Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 17–22, 35–38, 67–73,

79–83, 95–96, 121–125, 129–132, 171–182. 157 See especially below, chapters 4 and 8 and PRRD, II, chapter 7. 158 Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 1–2, 176–180, 226 note l. Also note

idem, “The Myth of ‘Decretal Theology,’ ” in Calvin Theological Journal, 30/1 (April, 1995), pp. 159–167 and “Found (No Thanks to Theodore Beza): One ‘Decretal’ Theology,” in Calvin Theological Journal, 32/1 (April, 1997), pp. 145–151. I have discussed this historiographical issue at greater length in “Calvin and the Calvinists: Assessing Continuities and Discontinuities Between the Reformation and Orthodoxy,” now chapters 4 and 5 in Muller, After Calvin. 159 Hermann Bauke, Die Probleme der Theologie Calvins (Leipzig, 1922), pp.

22, 30–31. 160 Kickel, Vernunft und Offenbarumg, pp. 167–169. 161 See below, 9.3 (B.1). 162 See below, 4.1 (A.1); PRRD, II, 7.5.

163 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, Ia, q.23, art. 1; cf. introduction to

the quaestio where the subject of the first article is given alternatively as utrum Deo conveniat praedestinatio. Alexander of Hales placed predestination in the doctrine of God under the topic De scientia Dei relate ad salvanda, that is, under the scientia Dei (Summa theologica, V, Sec. ii, q.4). In neither case is a predestinarian metaphysic indicated. 164 Cf. Zanchi, De natura Dei, lib. V. cap. 2 in Opera theologicarum (Geneva,

1617), II; with Maccovius, Loci communes theologici (Amsterdam, 1658), xxv. 165 Cf. Calvin, Institutes, II.xii.5; III.xxi.5, 7; xxii.1; xxiii.3, 4; with Turretin,

Inst. theol. elencticae, IV.vii, ix. 166

Cf. the allegations in Ernst Bizer, Frühorthodoxie und Rationalismus (Zurich: EVZ Verlag, 1963), pp. 6–9; Basil Hall, “Calvin against the Calvinists,” pp. 18–37; Johannes Dantine, “Das christologische Problem in Rahmen der Prädestinationslehre von Theodor Beza,” in Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, LXXVII (1966), pp. 81–96; idem, “Les Tabelles sur la doctrine de la prédestination par Théodore de Bèze,” in Revue de théologie et de philosophie, XVI (1966), pp. 365–377; Walter Kickel, Vernunft und Offenbarung bei Theodor Beza (Neukirchen, 1967), pp. 128–129; and Cornelis van Sliedregt, Calvijns opvolger Theodorus Beza, zijn verkiezingsleer en zijn belijdenis van de drieënige God (Leiden: Groen, 1996), pp. 136, 148–9, 297, 309–312. 167 Cf. Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 79–84 with idem, “The Use and

Abuse of a Document: Beza’s Tabula praedestinationis, pp. 33–61. 168 Richard A. Muller, “Perkins A Golden Chaine: Predestinarian System or

Schematized Ordo Salutis?” in Sixteenth Century Journal, IX/1 (1978), pp. 69–81. 169

Note Voetius, Problematum de Creatione, cxlvi, “An habeat se ad utrumque oppositum libere?” in Sel. Disp., V, pp. 229–230; Venema, Institutes, xxx (pp. 511–514); cf. Theo Verbeek, Descartes and the Dutch, Descartes and the Dutch: Early Reactions to Cartesianism (1637–1650) (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press, 1992), pp. 18, 55; and Daniel Garber, “How God Causes Motion: Descartes, Divine Sustenance, and Occasionalism,” in The Journal of Philosophy, 84 (1987), pp. 567–580. Also note Richard A. Muller, “Grace, Election, and Contingent Choice: Arminius’ Gambit and the Reformed Response,” in The Grace of God and the Bondage of the Will, ed. Thomas Schreiner and Bruce Ware, 2 vols. (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1995), vol. 2, pp. 251–278 and cf. Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 86–87, 162, 168.

170 See PRRD, III, 5.4 (E.1–2, F.1–2). 171 Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 149–54, 156–159. 172 Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 178–181. 173

Cf. Althaus, Die Prinzipien, der deutschen reformierten Dogmatik in Zeitalter der aristotelischen Scholastik (Leipzig: Deichert, 1914), pp. 126– 178, where Althaus argues the issue of natural and revealed theology under the rubrics of covenant and Law/Gospel; also pp. 191–197, where he attempts to relate the doctrine of the decrees to the problem of knowledge of God. 174

See the surveys of scholarship in Van Asselt, et al., Inleiding in de Gereformeerde Scholastiek and in Van Asselt and Dekker, “Introduction,” in Van Asselt and Dekker, eds., Reformation and Scholasticism, pp. 14–39. 175 William Hastie, The Theology of the Reformed Church in its Fundamental

Principles (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1904) and H. Henry Meeter, The Fundamental Principle of Calvinism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1930). 176 Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, pp. 1–11. 177

Heinrich Heppe, Die Dogmatik des Protestantismus im sechzehnten Jahrhundert, 3 vols. (Gotha: Perthes, 1857), see, e.g., I, pp. 250–257 (on Scripture), 273–276 (on God). 178 Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, pp. 138–39, 144–45, 188–90. 179 Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, p. 45; Schweizer also uses the more famous

Schleiermacherian term, schlechthinige Abhängigkeitsgefuhl, feeling of utter dependence (p. 72); and cf. pp. 64, 79–80. 180 Cf. Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, p. 101 on the deduction of the system

from the doctrine of God; and ibid., pp. 40–52, 135–149, on the implications of absolute dependence. Still, it is worth noting that Schweizer himself did not claim that the Reformed orthodox uniformly placed their doctrine of predestination first and deduced systems from it: he assumed that, wherever they placed the doctrine in their systems, it was a fundamental pivot of the whole. The reductionistic claim that the doctrine was placed first as a deductive principle appears in more recent writers on the subject: e.g., Charles S. McCoy, “Johannes Cocceius: Federal Theologian,” in Scottish Journal of Theology, 16 (1963), p. 366; Basil Hall, “Calvin Against the Calvinists,” p. 27. 181 J. M. Robertson, A History of Freethought, Ancient and Modern to the

Period of the French Revolution, 4th rev. ed. 2 vols. (1936; repr. London: Dawsons, 1969); note idem, A Short History of Freethought, Ancient and Modern (New York: Russell & Russell, 1957); cf. W. E. H. Lecky, History of

the Rise and Influence of the Spirit of Rationalism in Europe, 2 vols. (New York: Appleton, 1884). 182 Thus, Armstrong, Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy, p. 32; McGrath,

“Reformation to Enlightenment,” p. 155. 183

See the discussion in The Cambridge History of Seventeenth-Century Philosophy, ed. Daniel Garber and Michael Ayres, 2 vols. (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 47–74, 1004–1008. 184 Armand Saintes, A Critical History of Rationalism in Germany from Its

Origin to the Present Time (London: Simpkin, Marshall and C., 1849), pp. 12, 17. 185 Saintes, Critical History of Rationalism, pp. 27–28. 186 Saintes, Critical History of Rationalism, pp. 43–45, 51–52, 54. 187 Saintes, Critical History of Rationalism, pp. 64–68, 92–96. 188 Robertson, History of Freethought, I, pp. 498, 503, 509; cf. Lecky, History

of Rationalism, I, p. 79, 371. 189 Robertson, History of Freethought, I. p. 507 190 John Fletcher Hurst, History of Rationalism (New York: Eaton & Mains,

1901), pp. 334–336. 191 Hurst, History of Rationalism, pp. 334–335. 192 Hurst, History of Rationalism, pp. 346, 349. 193

Hans Emil Weber, Reformation, Orthodoxie und Rationalismus (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1966), I/2, pp. 268–269. 194 Weber, Reformation, Orthodoxie und Rationalismus, pp. 270–271 195 Weber, Reformation, Orthodoxie und Rationalismus, pp. 274–277. 196 Weber, Reformation, Orthodoxie und Rationalismus, pp. 278–279. 197 Weber, Reformation, Orthodoxie und Rationalismus, p. 283. 198 Weber, Reformation, Orthodoxie und Rationalismus, pp. 287, 288. 199

Ernst Bizer, Frühorthodoxie und Rationalismus (Zurich: EVZ-Verlag, 1963), pp. 5–6, 9, 10, 12, et passim. 200 Ernst

Bizer, “Die reformierte Orthodoxie und der Cartesianismus,” in Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche, 55 (1958), pp. 306–372. 201 Bizer, Frühorthodoxie, pp. 6–15 (on Beza), pp. 16–32 (on Ursinus), pp.

32–50 (on Daneau). We note the improbability of arguing development

through such diverse topics; cf. Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 6–7. 202 Contra Bizer, Frühorthodoxie, p. 9. 203 Dillenberger, Protestant Thought, pp. 65–66. 204 The continuity between the Reformation and orthodoxy on the issue of

Scripture and its interpretation is taken up in PRRD II. 205 Lambert Daneau, Physics

christiana, sive rerum creatarum cognitione (1576), in Opuscula omnia theologica (Geneva, 1583), I, pp. 227–228. 206 Thus, Kickel, Vernunft und Offenbarung, pp. 128–129, 159, 167–169, and

Armstrong, Calvin and the Amyraut Heresy, pp. 32, 39–41, 179–180; cf. Bizer, Frühorthodoxie und Rationalismus, pp. 5–6, 9, 11–12; Rogers and McKim, Authority and Interpretation, pp. 155, 157–160, 185–187. 207 See below, chapters 4 and 8, on the character of the theological discipline

and the relationship of theology and philosophy. 208 See below, 8.2–8.3. 209

Note the definition of “rationalism” in this sense in John R. Voltz, “Scholasticism,” s.v. in Catholic Encyclopedia. Cf. the discussion in Copleston, History of Philosophy, IV, pp. 15–18, 33–35; VI, pp. 105–109. 210 See below, 8.3 (A.4), 9.4 and note the descriptions of the assumptions of

eighteenth-century rationalist dogmatics in Saintes, Critical History (pp. 64– 86) and Hurst, History (pp. 126–139, 199–207). 211

Bernhardus de Moor, Commentarius perpetuus in Joh. Marckii compendium, 6 vols. (Leiden, 1761–71); Campegius Vitringa, Doctrina christianae religionis, per aphorismos summatim descripta, 8 vols. (Arnhem, 1761–1786); Johann Alexander Doederlein, Institutio theologi christiani in capitibus religionis theoreticis, 2 pts. (Nuremberg, 1787); Samuel Friedrich Morus, Commentarius exegetico-historicus, in suam theologiae christianae epitomen, 2 vols. (Halle, 1797–98) 212

Thomas Ridgley, 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, 2 vols. (London, 1731– 33); Thomas Boston, An illustration of the doctrines of the Christian religion, with respect to faith and practice, upon the plan of the assembly’s shorter catechism. Comprehending a complete body of divinity. Now first published from the manuscripts of … Thomas Boston, 2 vols. (Edinburgh: John Reid, 1773; reissued, 1853); John Gill, Complete Body of Doctrinal and Practical Divinity: or A System of Evangelical Truths Deduced from the Sacred Scriptures, with A Dissertation Concerning the Baptism of Jewish Proselytes,

2 vols. (1769–70; reissued, London: Tegg & Company, 1839; repr. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1978); idem, A Treatise on the Doctrine of the Trinity (London, 1731). 213 Bizer, Frühorthodoxie, p. 6. 214 Cf. Friedrich August Tholuck, Vorgeschichte des Rationalismus, 4 vols.

(Halle: E. Anton, 1853–62). 215

See Henry G. Van Leeuwen, The Problem of Certainty in English Thought, 1630–1690 (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1963); Richard H. Popkin, The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Spinoza, second edition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979); and Richard H. Popkin and Arjo Vanderjagt, Scepticism and Irreligion in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1993). 216 Heiko A. Oberman, Forerunners of the Reformation, pp. 55–56; idem, The

Harvest of Medieval Theology, pp. 371–393; and note the discussion in PRRD II, 1.3 (B.1). 217

See below, 8.3 (A–B); such claims are among the fundamental historiographical mistakes in Rogers and McKim, Authority and Interpretation, pp. 147–261. 218 See below 7.2 (B.1), and Muller, After Calvin, pp. 139, 143–144. 219 See below, 8.3 (B). 220 Cf. the analysis in Gay, Enlightenment, II, pp. 171–174. 221

Cf. Ernst Lewalter, Spanisch-jesuitische und deutsch-lutherische Metaphysik des 17. Jahrhunderts (Hamburg, 1935) for a discussion of the influx of traditional Aristotelian metaphysics into the Protestant university. 222 See below, 7.2–3; 8.3. 223 Frank Thilly, A History of Philosophy (New York: Henry Holt, 1941), pp.

221–222. 224 Cf. below, 8.2 (B). 225 Cf. Gass, Geschichte, II, pp. 243–44, 303–4. 226 Bizer, “Cartesianismus,” pp. 371–372. 227 Bizer, “Cartesianismus,” p. 367. 228 See below, chapter 4.1 (A–B). 229 Cf. Gay, Enlightenment, I, pp. 59–71, 160–178 with Jones, Ancients and

Moderns, pp. 185, 223.

230 On the relationship between Cocceians and Cartesianism, see C. Louise

Thijssen-Schoute, “Le cartésianisme aux Pays-bas,” in E. J. Dijksterhius, et al., Descartes eet le cartésianisme hollandais (Paris and Amsterdam: Editions Françaises d’Amsterdam, 1950), pp. 239–259 and Ernestine G. E. van der Wall, “Cartesianism and Cocceianism: a natural alliance?” in M. Magdelaine, et al. (ed.), De l’humanisme aux lumières, Bayle et le protestantisme, pp. 445– 455. On the development of Cartesianism in Geneva, see Michael Heyd, “From a Rationalist Theology to a Cartesian Voluntarism: David Derodon and Jean-Robert Chouet,” in Journal of the History of Ideas, 40 (1979), pp. 527– 542; also see Martin I. Klauber, “Reason, Revelation, and Cartesianism: Louis Tronchin and Enlightened Orthodoxy in Late Seventeenth-Century Geneva,” in Church History, 59 (1990), pp. 326–339. 231 Cf. Reitsma, Geschiedenis van de Hervorming, pp. 367–371. 232 Cf. Dorner, History, II, pp. 252–263; with Bengt Hägglund, History of

Theology, trans. Gene Lund (St. Louis: Concordia, 1968), pp. 335–339; and Dillenberger, Protestant Thought, pp. 163–167, 173–178. 233 See Dillenberger, Protestant Thought, pp. 167–73, 178–90. 234

Cf. Hägglund, History, pp. 343–351; with Dillenberger, Protestant Thought, pp. 173–178, and Weber, Foundations, I, p. 129. 235 Pictet, Theol. chr., I.i.1. 236 Wyttenbach, Tentamen theologiae dogmaticae, 3 vols. (Frankfurt, 1748–

49), prol. 7–9; and see further, below, 6.3 (B.4–5). 237 Cf. the fuller listings of the theologians of this era, above, 1.3 (C) and 2.4

(B.1–2).

Part 2 The Reformed Orthodox Theological Prolegomena 3 The Meaning of the Terms Theology and Religion 3.1 Toward Definition: The Rise of Prolegomena in Reformed Theology A. Defining the Theological Task in the Era of the Reformation Early orthodox theological systems, written between 1585 and 1620, almost invariably begin with lengthy and detailed discussions of the meaning of the term “theology,” of the several kinds of theology, of the possibility of writing true theology, and of the basic presuppositions of that theology. This practice of writers like Junius, Polanus, Alsted, Du Moulin, and Maccovius stands in overt formal contrast with the systematic works of the Reformers, who typically offer no formal prolegomena and did not take time to provide either definitions of theology or justifications of the theological task, and in lesser contrast with the patterns of later Protestant scholastic systems—such as those of Heidanus, Turretin, Pictet, and Rijssen—where the more elaborate architecture of the early orthodox prolegomena is often assumed or summarized rather than stated in detail. In the era of the Reformation, Calvin, Bullinger, and Musculus began their systematic works by simply introducing the first doctrine to be treated—whether knowledge of God, Scripture, or the nature of God. This is not to say that the Reformers avoided the issues of method or of the character of theological study. Method was carefully considered in prefaces and discussions of the nature of loci communes, and the study of theology was broached in treatises that discussed the sources and tools of study.1 A similar point can be made concerning the first generation of early orthodox, the immediate successors of the Reformers, notably, Ursinus, Olevianus, Beza, Daneau, and Zanchi. None of these writers made a formal attempt to define the term and the discipline of theology itself in a prolegomena to their major theological treatises. As noted in the preceding chapter, Hyperius stands as a significant exception to the generalization. Heppe’s Reformed Dogmatics, by introducing theology with the topics of natural and revealed knowledge of God (discussed in some form by the Reformers and by the later orthodox), overlooks this development of genuine prolegomena and presents from the outset a somewhat distorted presentation of Reformed system.2

Still, some issues did appear in the introductory chapters of various Reformed theological treatises that carry over into this preliminary section of the orthodox prolegomena with its basic definitions. Thus, both the topics of “religion” and of the nature and character of human knowledge of God were set forth in detail in such works as Zwingli’s Commentary on True and False Religion, Calvin’s Institutes, and Bullinger’s Decades.3 Similarly, Zwingli and Calvin took the knowledge of God, specifically the revealed knowledge of God and the necessity of the Word as a fundamental point of departure,4 and both discussions of the natural knowledge of God including a series of rhetorical arguments that the later orthodox incorporated into their discussion of the “proofs” of God’s existence.5 Hyperius referenced the traditional proofs and rhetorical arguments.6 B. The Flowering of Formal Prolegomena and Definitions of Theology as a Discipline There are two works written before the massive development of Reformed system following 1585 that led toward the development of prolegomena— both by offering some sense of theology as a formal discipline: the first is Hyperius’ Methodus theologiae (1568) and the second, Ramus’ De religione christiana (1576). Whereas Hyperius’ work provides an introduction on the topics of theology and the proper path or methodus through them,7 Ramus’ work actually offer a definition of theology and a discussion of the character of the discipline. He defines theology as “the teaching (doctrina) of living well” inasmuch as it identifies God as the source of all things and conduces to the “good and blessed life.”8 The definition is not highly original—it has echoes, for example, in Aquinas’ short exposition of the Apostles’ Creed— and, accordingly, it had the effect of linking Reformed theology (notably, the theology of Fenner, Perkins, and Ames) to a tradition of definition that emphasized the practical aspect of the discipline. Ramus goes on to describe theology as the doctrine found in both the Old and the New Testament: “the rule of religion and of piety” offered in both testaments “is the remission of sins through Christ.” And Scripture itself consistently describes its content as knowledge and wisdom suitable for teaching, as inspired, as communicating the counsel of God.9 The basic truths of this doctrine, which are contained in theology, can also be described as “faith in God and the activities of faith (fidei actionibus),” as comprehended in the Apostles’ Creed.10 This new need to offer definition can best be explained as a function of the institutionalization of Protestantism, both in terms of the university or at least academic setting of theological training and in terms of the Protestant insistence on catholicity. Both academically and theologically, there was a need to identify the task and to define it in terms of the intellectual reception

and appropriation of the tradition—whether the tradition of doctrinal theology itself or the tradition of academic learning. On the one hand, scholastic method demanded careful definition of the subject; on the other, the older theological tradition held resources for definition that, when appropriated in their particulars, served as markers of the roots of Reformed theology in closely specified tracks within the medieval tradition, notably, the Augustinian, Thomist, and Scotist tracks, carried over and modified both in the Reformation and in the era of orthodoxy. The early orthodox flowering is well represented in the systems of Fenner, Perkins, Junius, Polanus, Scharpius, Walaeus, Alsted, and Gomarus, all of whom elaborate, some at considerable length, on the term theologia and its meaning. Scharpius, for example, sets forth in scholastic fashion the basic pattern of his analysis and the subdivisions of his locus de theologia. First, he notes, the term must be defined; then the question must be raised and answered as to whether or not such a thing exists—for if there is no theology or if the term does not describe a valid subject for discussion, then the system becomes impossible from the start. Thus the first question following the definition is An sit? (“Whether it exists?”); the next question is Quotuplex? (“What are its parts?”); and then finally, with a view toward establishing presuppositions and principles, Quid sit ipsa theologia?” (“What is this theology?” or “How should theology be considered?”).11 Polanus also raises the question of basic definition and then points toward the division of the subject and a closer definition of theologia nostra, our theology.12 After 1620 and continuing on to the end of the century, a simpler model was frequently employed. Thus Ames and Maccovius begin, not with the etymological discussion of theologia or with the typology of all the kinds of theology found in the systems of Polanus, Scharpius, and others, but with theology as known by Christians in this life, “our theology” or theologia nostra, and, rather briefly and simply outline a discussion of the topic: Theology is considered according to the mode of propounding it (modus proponendi), its causes or grounds (causae sive principia), its object, and its parts or divisions.13 The following discussion observes the more detailed arrangement of the early orthodox by outlining the etymological definition (3.2), the division of theology, generally defined, into true and false theology (3.3), archetypal and ectypal theology, together with the several categories of ectypal theology (ch. 4), before discussing the causes and implications of a theologia nostra, a theology of limited human beings, in transit, as it were, to the heavenly city (5.5), the object and genus of theology (ch. 6), its method (ch. 8), and finally, the principia of the discipline (ch. 9).

3.2 The Etymology and Meaning of Theology A. The Term “Theology”—Etymology and Justification of its Use For the sake of establishing from the outset an accurate method of exposition, it is necessary to present the meaning and implication of terms. So argues Turretin in the first sentences of his locus de theologia with a maxim drawn from “the Philosopher”: verba sunt rerum typoi (“words are the forms or patterns of things”). Examination of the word theologia must precede discussion of the thing.14 Polanus, similarly, begins his Syntagma with the comment that both Aristotle and Clement of Alexandria spoke of right definition as the beginning of knowledge: theological system therefore begins with a discussion of “the word or name theology” (voce seu nomine Theologia) before proceeding to the thing or subject matter dealt with. The word theologia is of Greek origin, taken over into Latin, and then borrowed or adopted by the fathers of the church from gentile writers. According to Aristotle and Cicero, the poets were to be called “theologians” because they spoke of the gods and of “divine things.”15 Thus, by adaptation and extension of the classical usage, Lactantius refers in his De ira Dei to those who know and worship God rightly as theologi and to their knowledge as theologia. Early on, moreover, Christians referred to the apostle John as Theologus, “the Theologian,” in titles added to the Apocalypse.16 Alsted adds to this the fact that church fathers, like Nazianzus, were called Theologus because they wrote about and defended the doctrine of the Trinity.17 The fact that the term theologia itself is not a biblical but an ancient pagan term caused the Protestant scholastics some brief anxiety. After all, the Reformation was, if nothing else, a profoundly biblical movement, zealous to avoid anything in religion that could not be justified from Scripture and careful, particularly in its first several decades, to formulate its theology upon the text of Scripture and to avoid the use of classical as well as medieval sources. The classic use of the term theologia by Aristotle and Cicero was not easily assimilated by Protestant system either on the basis of the ancient inscription to John as Theologus or on the basis of the usage of the fathers of the church, since pagan “theology” neither had access to supernatural or special revelation nor was capable of a proper use of reason in discerning the truths of natural revelation.18 What Christians call theology, by way of contrast with the ancient pagan usage, is a science of divine things … which treateth of God, not according to humane reason, but divine revelation, which showeth not only what God is in himselfe, but also what he is toward us; nor doth it only discusse of his nature, but also of his will, teaching what God expecteth of us, and what we should expect from God, what we should hope for,

and what we should feare.19 Some further, preferably biblical, justification of the term was desirable.20 Turretin resolves the problem by making a distinction between the term theologia and its significance: The simple terms from which it is composed do occur there, as for example, logos tou theou and logia tou theou, Rom. 3:2; I Pet. 4:10; Hebrews 5:12. Thus it is one thing to be in Scripture according to sound (quoad sonum) and syllables, or formally and in the abstract; and another to be in Scripture according to meaning (quoad sensum) and according to the thing signified (rem significatam), or materially and in the concrete; “theology” does not appear in Scripture in the former way, but in the latter.21 Theologia, then, indicates heavenly doctrine (doctrina coelestis) and has, in addition to the scriptural references to logia tou theou, words of God, a series of scriptural synonyms: “wisdom in a mystery” (1 Cor. 2:7), “the form of sound words” (2 Tim. 1:13), “knowledge of truth according to piety” (Titus 1:1), and “doctrine” (Titus 1:9). Again, the thing signified by the term is discussed throughout Scripture.22 Granting that the term theologia can have a legitimate Christian usage, the Reformed orthodox move on to a more careful etymological discussion: “Theology,” derived from the term theologos designates properly, on the basis of its etymon and its usage by the Greeks, not the Word of God (sermonem Dei) which is theou logos, but the word concerning God (sermonem de Deo), peri theou logon.23 The word theologia, therefore, has come to mean a word that deals with God (sermo qui de Deo agit) just as astrologia means a word concerning the stars (sermo de astris) and not a word of the stars.24 Scharpius echoes these arguments and adds that logos can be understood internally as ratio or reason subsisting in the mind, or externally as oratio, speech uttered forth. The latter sense is implied in the term theologia: theology is a word about God based upon the utterance or revelation of God.25 As is the case with much of the material of this locus, these etymological arguments parallel closely the language of the medieval scholastics.26 Turretin, echoing the remarks of Alsted some sixty years earlier, argues that this rather rigid separation of theou logos, sermo Dei from logos peri tou theou, sermo de Deo—word of God from word about God—results in an inadequate view of theology: The term theologia used adequately among Christians … indicates both

the word of God and the word about God, which two are conjoined, since we cannot speak of God apart from God. Thus it may be observed of doctrine that originally (originaliter) it is from God, objectively (objective) deals with God, terminatively (terminative) looks toward God and leads to God, as Thomas Aquinas not at all badly (!) explains, Theology is taught by God, teaches of God and leads to God (Theologia a Deo docetur, Deum docet, et ad Deum ducit). Thus the twofold ground of theology (duplex Theologiae principium) is embraced by this usage: the one, the ground of being (essendi), which is God; the other the ground of knowing (cognoscendi), which is his Word.27 Although because of the polemical context, Turretin is unwilling to admit the fact, he has clearly profited from a reading of Aquinas. This broader etymology, incorporating both the language of “Word of God” and the language of “word concerning God,” provides a firmer basis for the system and its first principles. Alsted notes, resting on the notion that theologia indicates the divine self-knowledge or Word of God himself, that it is entirely proper both theologically and etymologically to argue that all who rightly understand “divine things” can be called “theologians”: thus, God, Christ, angels, and Christians—whether the blessed in heaven or the pilgrims on earth—can justly be called theologians.28 Specifically, this definition allows the distinction between an archetypal divine and an ectypal, Christic, angelic, and human “theology,” while also indicating the connection between these theologies. In addition it points from the etymology of the term directly toward the statement of the principia or grounds of the system, God and his Word. In summary, therefore, “theology is the teaching (doctrina) concerning God and divine things (rebus divinis),” and as Spanheim adds in the case of the human theology in via, “revealed by God in his Word.”29 B. Beyond Etymology: Orthodox Reformed Definitions of “Theology” Once the etymological question had ben resolved, the orthodox writers also understood the need for further definition, with specific reference to the “scope” or focus and purpose of this discipline concerning God and his works, this “wisdom” or “science” concerning divine things” that embodies a goal or end beyond the natural order, specifically, the ultimate glorification of God.30 For Downame, the “whole bodie and frame” of divinity tends toward the glory of God, rightly beginning with God’s “Nature and Persons” in their glory, understanding all of the doctrinal topics as manifesting God’s glory in various ways until it is finally fully presented in the salvation and gathering of the saints to God.31 William Perkins’ exhaustive treatment of the ordo salutis, A Golden

Chaine, although technically not a system of theology, contains a concise definition of Christian theology in its first chapter: The Bodie of Scripture is a doctrine sufficient to live well. It comprehendeth many holy sciences, whereof one is principall, others are hand-maids or retainers. The principall science is Theologie. Theologie is the science of living blessedly forever. Blessed life ariseth from the knowledge of God. Ioh. 17:3. This is life eternal, that they know thee to bee the only very God, and a Sonne thou hast sent, Christ Jesus. Isa. 53:11. By his knowledge shall my righteous servant (viz. Christ) justifie many. And therefore it ariseth likewise from the knowledge of ourselves, because we know God by looking into ourselves.32 Perkins’ definition of true theology as “the science of living blessedly forever,” as noted, has antecedents in Peter Ramus’ De religione christiana (1576) and in Dudley Fenner’s Sacra theologia (1585)—and its balance of the knowledge of God and knowledge of self looks back to Zwingli and Calvin. Perkins’ choice of the “Ramist” definition is echoed, moreover, in William Ames’ highly influential Medulla ss. theologiae (The Marrow of Sacred Divinitie), where theology is defined as the “doctrine of living to God,”33 and in John Stoughton’s Learned Treatise of Divinity, where blessedness and living to God are consciously associated with eternal or ultimate happiness and the Ramistic trajectory of definition is noted.34 This practical emphasis carries over into the works of the continental scholastics, particularly the Dutch, on whom Perkins’ and Ames’ influence was the strongest. Thus Maccovius: “Theology is a discipline, in part theoretical, in part practical, teaching the way of living well and blessedly in eternity.”35 A different although not at all opposed approach is found in Burman, who defines theology in relation to the topics of religion or religious obedience and worship, as “the teaching (doctrina) of true religion, revealed to us by God, directing us toward his glory and our salvation”—or, given the differences among the various possible forms of theology, it is, in our case, an imperfect way of knowing, necessarily based on revelation.36 Interestingly, this connection between theology and religion does not appear either in Cocceius’ Summa theologiae or Heidanus’ Corpus theologiae, so that it cannot be seen as characteristic federalist approach. Indeed, it appears also in the work of Maresius, known for his highly anti-Cocceian and anti-Cartesian theology.37 The Perkinsian definition, mediated by Ames and Maccovius, conjoined in the thought of Mastricht with the emphasis, found in Burman, on a connection

between theology and religio. Mastricht’s basic definition is Perkinsian: This theoretical-practical Christian theology is nothing other than the teaching of living to God through Christ (doctrina vivendi Deo per Christum); or, the teaching that follows the way of piety (doctrina, quae est secundum pietatem).38 By “theology,” therefore, Mastricht does not mean theology generally or abstractly considered (theologia nude considerata), but specifically Christian theology: that theology which has been revealed of God principally by the Son who was in the bosom of the Father and which is conveyed in the Scriptures. This excludes a nonscriptural natural theology: Christian and revealed theology does not utterly exclude natural theology but rather includes it as a greater number includes a lesser. What is excluded is the false natural theology of the “Gentiles.” The same argument obtains concerning the use of philosophy and ethics in theology. Only Christian and revealed theology can truly be called theology. “What arises from nature and reason, that is corrupt, half-blind, obscure; it cannot occupy for us the place of a theology that is sufficient for salvation.”39 This type of preliminary definition and discussion also appears in English systems of the seventeenth century, although the English express a decided preference for the term “divinity” over the word “theology”—as is witnessed in the titles of systems and treatises by Ames, Yates, Stoughton, Downame, Ussher, Leigh, and Watson. This term indicates the knowledge or science concerning “divine” things, the scientia rerum divinarum. “Divinity,” writes Leigh, “is the true wisdom of divine things, divinely revealed to us to live well and blessedly, or, for our eternal Salvation. Logica est ars bene differendi, Rhetorica ars bene loquendi, Theologia ars bene vivendi.” Divinity is such an art as teacheth a man by knowledge of God’s will and assistance of his power to live to his glory. The best rules that the Ethicks, Politicks, Oeconomicks have, are fetched out of Divinity. There is no true knowledge of Christ, but that which is practical, since everything is then truly known, when it is known in the manner that it is propounded to be known. But Christ is not propounded to us to be known theoretically but practically.40 Even so, Leigh defines theology as sapientia rather than as scientia: Scripture speaks of knowledge of God as “wisdom” and wisdom (more than science) is a term for certain knowledge (which theology is). Divinity differs, however, from other wisdom and the arts because it is known by divine revelation and has as its end first the glory of God and second the eternal salvation of man.41 Yates, on the other hand, made a distinction between the

usages—“the rule of life,” he argued “is called Divinity, in regard to God the end of it, Theology in regard of the subject matter.”42 The distinction has some significance for the English Ramists who consistently defined the discipline in terms of its end or goal of salvation or blessedness and concluded that it was an essentially practical discipline. In Yates’ view, the term “divinity” pointed most clearly toward the nature of his teaching as a praxis. Although he, too, prefers the term “divinity,” Leigh worries through the ambiguity of the term, and presents “theology” as a proper synonym with a more precise etymology: theo-logia indicates a “speech about God.” A theologian, therefore, is one who possesses “knowledge of divine things.” Thus, the “whole doctrine of Religion is called Theology, that is, a Speech or doctrine concerning God: to signify that without true knowledge of God, there can be no true religion, or right understanding of any thing.”43 We note here a strong continuity with the concerns of Calvin in the first chapter of the Institutes: there is an intimate relation between true knowledge of God and true knowledge of self—and the relation is such that true knowledge of God is necessary to all other knowledge.44 Indeed, we see here in miniature the effects of the work undertaken by the Protestant scholastics throughout the entirety of their theological system. The arguments of the Reformers are not lost but placed in a larger systematic context, in this case, the fundamental soteriological problem of true knowledge of God being set into the context of the basic definition of the discipline. The definition itself, since it is purely etymological, and since it draws on ancient pagan as well as patristic sources, demands that further attention be directed to the question of the difference between pagan and Christian theology. Most of the orthodox systems proceed to distinguish between pagan and Christian theology and to develop a fairly detailed paradigm identifying the types and forms of both. These paradigms are retained by the high orthodox but, as is the case with many of the sets of basic definitions developed by Protestant scholastics before 1620, the discussion of the paradigm in high orthodox systems is more formalized and much briefer, with greater space and emphasis being given to more recently developed topics— like that of the fundamental loci in theology. It is worth observing that these definitions of theology, particularly what might be called the “Ramist” or, perhaps, more accurately, the “Amesian” trajectory of definition that identified theology as a knowledge directed toward the goal of “living blessedly” or “living to God,” evidences the profound connection between the scholastic forms of theology propounded by the Reformed orthodox and the development both of Puritan piety in the

British Isles and of the parallel Nadere Reformatie in the Netherlands. Both the Puritan piety and the piety of the Nadere Reformatie stand not as developments opposed to confessional orthodoxy and scholastic exposition of doctrine but rather as developments integral to confessional orthodoxy that addressed issues of spirituality in literary genres that were not specifically “scholastic.” In the writings of many of the representatives of these spiritual movements within orthodoxy, there was a clear and easily documentable attempt to transpose the orthodox theology taught in the academy and university in the scholastic method into the life of the church by means of a reformulated or reformed piety that emphasized the use of doctrine in life, in effect, working out the Amesian definition of theology as a “living to God.” 3.3 True and False Theology A. Early Orthodox Divisions and Definitions 1. The paradigm of theology: basic division of the subject. The Reformed orthodox, beginning with Francis Junius, offered a fairly detailed discussion of the meaning of the term “theology” that they used both as a basis for defining their task in general and as a ground for the identification of rightly understood Christian doctrine in particular. What follows is from Polanus—with an evident structural impact of Ramist logic: The term theology is used in two ways: it indicates either true or false theology. False theology (theologia falsa) is either of the ancient pagans or of others who err concerning divine things (de rebus divinis). The theology of the ancient pagans was twofold: in part concerning the gods (de diis); in part concerning the demons (de daemonibus). The highly refined pagan theology is threefold: mythical, physical and political. That which treated of the demons was twofold: concerning magic (magia) and concerning spiritual interventions (theurgia). Concerning the others who err in divine things, there is the blasphemy of the Jews, the Mohammedans, the pseudochristians and the heretics. True theology (theologia vera) is either archetypal (archetypa) or ectypal (ectypa).45 The paradigm itself is significant, since it represents the result of early Christian debate with and appropriation of pagan philosophy: the division of pagan religion into the categories of mythical, physical or philosophical, and political or civil comes from the treatise Divine and Human Antiquities by the

Roman philosopher Marcus Terentius Varro (ca. 47 BC). Varro’s paradigm influenced the structure of the first three books of Lactantius’ Divine Institutes and was ultimately incorporated into a Christian paradigm for all religion by Augustine.46 Augustine appropriated Varro’s schema as a description of false theology and juxtaposed it with the true, Christian theology. Polanus’ version of the model simply adds the Mohammedans and the heretics. Dogmatically the model is significant since it sets all nonChristian theology not only under the heading of theologia falsa, but also excludes it from participation in and reflection of the divine archetypal theology. 2. The necessity of distinguishing true and false theology. Since the term theologia can mean either sermo Dei ipsius (a word of God himself, i.e., an oracle or prophecy spoken by God through an instrument) or sermo de Deo (a word concerning God; de divinitate ratio seu sermo, a concept or word about divinity), the term itself does not indicate the truth or falsehood of what has been said. Polanus notes that, in the latter sense, theologia is a word about God just as cosmologia is a word about the world. This means that true and false theology must be carefully distinguished at the beginning of theological system. Theologia falsa, est opinio falsa de Deo, voluntate & operibus eius (“False theology is a false opinion concerning God, his will and his works”).47 The language is important here: Polanus will not designate false theology as knowledge (scientia) or as faith (fides)—it is merely opinion. Thus, unlike scientia, it does not rest on reason or evidence and unlike faith, it does not rest on authoritative testimony.48 Pagan theology is “opinionative,” writes Junius, “since opinion consists (if such a thing as this does ‘consist’) purely in our mind and imagination, mere dreams and mockeries in the place of truth.”49 Alsted virtually duplicates this point.50 Theologia falsa is a depraved judgment of the soul, falsehood posing as truth, vain and erratic opinion concerning divine powers (numen), ignorance of God, fables about divine things. Such is all gentile or pagan theology (theologia Ethnicorum). Polanus recognizes a distinction between theology concerned with demons and theology concerned with gods: the former deals with magic (magia), the appeasement of evil demons, or with theurgy (the invocation of good demons). More important, however, is the theology concerning the gods, particularly in its “carefully worked-out” (exquisita) form. This consists in the fabulosa or theatrica theologia of the poets and dramatists; the physica theologia of the philosophers (a form of natural or rational theology); and the political seu civilis theologia, which joined together sacred rites and reverence for government. Although Polanus recognizes that these three forms of theologia Ethnicorum exquisita resulted from the efforts of “wise men” and, indeed, rose above the common religion

or theology (theologia vulgaris) of the day, he will not allow them any perception of religious truth—this despite his occasional positive use of Aristotle—but rather roots all ancient pagan theology in “error of reasoning” and “presumption of wisdom” arising out of a “corrupt nature.” Such theology can only contain defective “conclusions and perceptions of God, his nature, works and worship.”51 Virtually the same view is expressed by Junius, while Alsted adds a brief comment on Romans 1:18–23 noting that there is a genuine revelation of the invisible things of God in the created order and therefore the possibility of natural theology—so that the blindness of man and the falsehood of pagan natural theology rest on human, not on divine fault.52 Accordingly, one may also make a basic division of theology into theologia naturalis and theologia supernaturalis—the former being “a part of philosophy” and resting on “the light of nature,” the latter being “theology absolutely and officially so-called (absolutely dicitur & antonomastice).”53 Of the writers examined in this study, only Aretius and Gale elaborate positively, at length, on the patristic argument that the truth in pagan philosophy or natural theology can be understood as an ancient pagan borrowing from the religion of Israel.54 In Gale’s view, distinction needed to be made between the ancient theology of Plato, in which numerous truths supportive of Christianity could be found and which could provide a suitable philosophy for Protestantism—a “reformed philosophy”—and the problematic developments of later antiquity, including Neoplatonism, which had proved to be a breeding ground of heresy.55 False theology also includes, of course, all contemporary non-Christian religions, which the orthodox typically identify as “the blasphemies of the Jews, Mohammedanism and “Pseudo-Christianity,” the latter indicating the heresies of “the Arians, Schwenckfelders, Anabaptists, and Papists.”56 This identification of false theology as including pagan philosophy and, therefore, a non-Christian form of natural, philosophical, or rational theology, will have an impact on the orthodox discussion of the distinction between theologia naturalis and theologia supernaturalis: given that both true natural and supernatural theology are ectypal theologies of revelation, they reside within the Christian paradigm of theologia hominibus communicata. A distinction can be made between true and false, regenerate and unregenerate, or Christian and pagan natural theology—the former communicated by revelation, the latter resting solely on corrupted reason unable to grasp revelation.57 What then is true theology (theologia vera) and, indeed, what attests to its possibility and its actual existence? The standard definition, introduced into Reformed orthodoxy by Junius, is sapientia rerum divinarum, the wisdom

concerning divine things58 or, at somewhat greater length, the knowledge (scientia) or wisdom (sapientia) concerning divine things, divinely revealed, for the glory of God and the salvation of rational creatures.59 The same basic definition is used by Polanus who follows Junius closely throughout this locus.60 Junius uses the term sapientia since “absolutely all the properties pertaining to intellect, knowledge and the needs of salvation are most excellently conjoined” in this term.61 The influence of Junius’ argument and definition was enormous—particularly in the Netherlands, but also in such theologies as Polanus’ Syntagma, Alsted’s several larger and smaller systems, and even among the Lutherans, as is evidenced by Gerhard’s Loci theologici. B. Can True Theology Exist? 1. The early orthodoxy answer: proofs of the existence of theology. Once the definition of the term has been established, the Protestant scholastics recognize that they must also provide a reason for moving from the definition to the thing itself. Definition alone is insufficient; the thing itself, theologia, must be shown to exist—in the scholastic model, the question Quid sit? naturally follows a positive answer to the question An sit? Just as Turretin accepted the Aristotelian dictum “words are the forms of things,” he and the other Protestant scholastics recognize as correct the Aristotelian assumption that the reality is not the idea or universal known to the mind but the universal in the thing. The establishment of theologia as an existent thing, moreover, represents the establishment both of true and of false theology—or more precisely, of the existence of the phenomenon claiming to be sapientia rerum divinarum and of the possibility of attaining to a true theology, that is, a genuine wisdom of divine things. The presence of this problematic within the argument leads the Protestant scholastics to state their case in a somewhat interactive manner, the prolegomena both laying ground for the system that follows and drawing upon the theological assumptions and conclusions present in that system. Theological prolegomena cannot be entirely vordogmatisch or predogmatic: they stand in dialogue with the system and, in fact, are a system in miniature, stated at the level of presupposition. The orthodox recognize, therefore, that they must provide some ground not only for discussing theology but also for arguing, in the context of their own theological systems, the temporal possibility and actuality of a true theology. Having defined the term, they proceed to discuss the existence of the thing: That theology and its object (Res ipsae) exist, is taught by the consensus of all mankind: the Object—since God exists and is the

principium of all that is good in the realm of Nature and since God speaks and acts as God; the Consensus—since all people thus acknowledge this to be so according to the light of nature.62 Scharpius similarly argues that all mankind consents to the existence of God outwardly in prayer and worship, taking the name theologia for its beliefs and superstitions. In addition, all men consent inwardly in their consciences that God exists and that there is some knowledge of him. Scharpius recognizes, however, that these arguments leave him with no grounds for positing theologia vera. He adds, therefore, two further arguments: the church has always testified to the existence of theology and, more importantly, the nature of God as the highest good (summum bonum) necessarily leads God to communicate himself to his creatures—the logos of God is necessarily oratio enunciativa, spoken or enunciated word.63 Even more pointedly than Scharpius, Polanus seeks out both testimonies and rational arguments for the existence of theologia vera. The arguments, although neatly syllogistic, are circular in the sense that they rest on belief in the existence of God and in the authority of Scripture—both of these being topics not yet considered, given the order of his system. In the first place, Scripture contains divine testimony to the existence of theology: Job 12:13 states that “with God is wisdom (sapientia) and strength, with him is counsel (consilium) and understanding (intelligentia),” and similar testimony is found in Romans 11:33 and Deuteronomy 4:6 (i.e., to sapientia and intelligentia in God and his commands). In the second place, there is human testimony, both general and special—general testimony in the universal consent of mankind in its philosophical, historical, poetic, and oracular writings; special testimony in the witness of the Ecclesia Dei, the church of God.64 Polanus’ rational arguments draw on points made in Junius’ definition and on arguments like those stated by Scharpius. They are, however, stated more formally and logically: 1. If God exists, it is necessary that theology exist: the antecedent is true, therefore also the consequence. A related proof: if God is wise (sapiens), it is necessary that there be theology: but if God is, he is wise. Therefore if God exists, it is necessary that theology exist. 2. If God is the source (principium) of all that is good in nature, it is necessary that there be theology. The former is so, therefore also the latter. 3. If God speaks not only of singular things (res singulares), but truly of universals pertaining to the right knowledge of himself; then it is necessary that there be theology. That which precedes is true: therefore

also that which follows. 4. If God is active, as God, toward all creatures, imprinting on some things obscure vestiges of his majesty, on others a clear image; then it is necessary that there be theology. The former is so, therefore the latter.65 At the very least these “proofs” provide a formal synopsis of the argument for the existence of theology and, as is frequently said of Anselm’s so-called ontological argument for the existence of God, they stand as exercises of faith going in search of understanding even if they fall short of being proofs. Considered as presuppositional statements, the proofs simply declare that God exists, that for God to be God he must be wise, that God is the source of all created good, that God speaks concerning himself in a revelatory manner, and that God in the acts of creation and providence leaves evidence of himself in his handiwork. Such truths are, and must be, the basis for the construction of a body of doctrine concerning God—and, granting these truths, a body of doctrine will be forthcoming. One of these presuppositions—“God speaks not only of singular things, but truly of universals pertaining to the right knowledge of himself”—demands further explanation. This point reflects the barriers to systematic knowing—to wisdom—set in the path of theology by nominalism. If knowledge is merely the perception of particulars, no relationships can exist and no overarching cohesion of ideas can be expressed. For there to be theology, revelation must be a revelation of true concepts, of universals, capable of providing a framework for knowledge. Here, as in the other “proofs,” Polanus does not so much prove a point as set aside an objection at a presuppositional level. 2. Implications of the answer for reformed theology. The midseventeenth-century theologian, Edward Leigh, neatly summarizes these preliminaries. He begins his system by stating that In the Preface or Introduction to Divinity, six things are to be considered, 1. That there is Divinity. 2. What Divinity is. 3. How it is to be taught. 4. How it may be learnt. 5. Its opposites. 6. The Excellency of Divine Knowledge.66 In the first place, it is clear that there is “divinity” which is simply “a Revelation of God’s will made to men” from the “natural light of Conscience, in which … many footsteps of heavenly Knowledge and the divine Will are imprinted.” The existence of divinity is also clear “from the supernatural light of Grace” and “from the nature of God himself, who being the chiefest good and most Diffusive of himself (sui diffusivum), must needs communicate the Knowledge of himself to reasonable creatures for their Salvation.” It is further manifest by “the end of Creation” which is the glorification of God by his

creatures both in this life and in the life to come. And finally the “common experience” of all nations testifying to a sense of God’s revelation and will also proves divinity to be possible.67 In the high orthodox period, Turretin even more overtly draws on the conclusions of subsequent system: he adds an argument based on the goal or end of creation (finis creationis) and another resting on the necessity of salvation (salutis necessitas). In the first place, God draws all creatures to himself that they might know and praise him—theology is necessary to this end. In the second place, since man is ordained to a supernatural end (ad finem supernaturalem), there must necessarily be a supernatural means (medium supernaturale) that will lead him toward this end. This means can be nothing other than faith, which in turn indicates knowledge of God, namely, theology.68 As in Polanus, these arguments or proofs are not so much logical demonstrations as statements based on theological presuppositions. We ought not to suppose that writers so well trained in the arts of logic and rhetoric failed to recognize this fact. Rather, than proofs in the strict sense, these arguments are intended to show an inner logic of system: they represent a rationalization and formalization of ideas, not philosophical rationalism. These definitions of true or Christian theology raise in turn a series of issues that the orthodox deal with as separate topics: the relation of Scripture to theology, the relation of theology to piety or religion, and the character of theology as both a theoretical and practical discipline—whether it is a scientia or not.69 Another way of making the same point in a manner that does more justice to the architectonic cohesiveness of the Protestant scholastic systems is to note that the basic definitions of true and false theology have been constructed in such a way as to set the presuppositional tone of the whole locus, indeed, of the whole system, and to show the interrelationship between basic presuppositions and the topics of Christian theology about to be set forth. This architectonic cohesion, moreover, particularly in view of the way it arises out of a collation and exegesis of a whole tradition (biblical, philosophical, patristic, medieval and Protestant), makes clear that the development of orthodoxy—of Protestant “right teaching”—is neither the rise of a theological rationalism nor the creation of monistic system built around central dogmas, but the realization of an institutionalizing and catholicizing tendency implicit in the quest for ecclesiastical establishment. 3.4 Religion and Its Relation to Theology A. The Problem of the Term and Reformation Era Usage 1. The historiographical problem. In one of his more pointed historical excurses into the theological development of post-Reformation Protestantism, Karl Barth notes the presence of a separate discussion of “religion” in the

theological prolegomena of several late seventeenth- and early eighteenthcentury orthodox systems. He rightly associates the development of these separate discussions with the rise of pietism, both Reformed and Lutheran, but incorrectly assumes that the discussion itself is something new to the orthodox of the late seventeenth century and that it represents the intrusion of a generalized conception of “religion” as a human phenomenon into a system which had previously spoken only of “theology” as a revelation of God.70 In the first place, the Reformers and the orthodox considered religion and theology both objectively as divine gift and subjectively as an inward, ingrafted or implanted capacity (in the language of the orthodox, a habitus mentis or mental disposition),71 so that the human, subjective aspect of theology was never excluded from consideration. In the second place, the discussion of religion and of Christianity as true religion, paralleling the orthodox discussion of theologia falsa and theologia vera, has a long history in Protestantism, reaching back to the Reformers themselves. The Barthian critique of Reformed orthodoxy rests on a mistaken reading of the historical record—what we encounter here is a pseudo-problem generated by Barth’s own antagonism to any notion of a broader revelational foundation for Christianity than the person of Jesus Christ and by his interest in finding precedent for his own thought in the Reformation.72 In fact, although Zwingli, Calvin, and Bullinger neither defined nor discussed the term theologia, the concept of religio was of primary importance to them. The issue at stake here is not the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century problem of religion as human phenomenon but rather the problem of the right worship of God as raised by the preaching of Reform or the problem of establishing the proper forms both inward and outward of the human expression of relation to God. Both the Reformers and the orthodox evidence an interest in the etymology and basic meaning of the word religio as piety or, in the typical orthodox definition, the right way of knowing and honoring God (recta Deum cognoscendi et colendi ratio). In practice, we find only a shade of difference between the idea of theology as a wisdom concerning divine things and the idea of religion as the right knowledge and worship of God set forth under the guidance of the sapientia rerum divinarum. Thus we see the titles of any number of “instructions” (institutiones) in Christian faith and of a large number of confessional documents utilizing the term religio rather than either fides or theologia. In fact, custom tended to dictate that theologia be paired with the term loci communes and, in the seventeenth century, with systema, while religio almost invariably was paired with institutio and, frequently, in the sixteenth century, with compendium and confessio. The implication is that the practice and the more basic instruction is in religio while the more detailed

and technical instruction, the larger-scale teaching or doctrina, is theologia.73 2. Zwingli and Calvin on “religion.” The systematic consideration of religio was an integral part of the early Reformed theologies, appearing as the natural result of inquiry into the doctrines concerning God and his Word. This is the way in which it appears in the writings of Zwingli, Bullinger, Calvin, and Viret. Religion is either true or false, scriptural or idolatrous, the product of revelation or the result of vain imaginings and, although religiosity is viewed as an aspect of all human life—because of the universal sensus or semen divinitatis—Christianity is viewed not as a human phenomenon but as a product of divine Word. This model is apparent as early as Zwingli’s De vera et falsa religione commentarius (1525) and it provides the pattern, not only for subsequent discussion of religion in the orthodox systems, but also for the discussion of theologia vera and theologia falsa. Zwingli begins by citing Cicero’s De Natura Deorum for its definition of “religion”—as a noun derived from the verb “relegere” to re-read or peruse again. Zwingli accepts this meaning as suitable, given that it leads to an understanding of religion as embracing “the whole piety of Christians: namely, faith, life, laws, worship, sacraments.” This understanding of the word also permits a distinction between true and false religion, the former being “drawn from the fountain of the word of God.”74 False religion is any religion not founded on the Word of God: Zwingli thus places together the pagan and the heretical as forms of false religion and views both as arising from the corruption of human nature. True religion is the product of grace and revelation and is identified with Christianity; false religion is identified primarily with the abuses inflicted on Christianity by the papacy.75 Zwingli also defined religion as necessarily having to do with God and human beings, specifically, with the knowledge of God and the knowledge of human nature. This assumption arises from the nature of religion itself as Christian piety involving the whole of faith and life: religion demands attention to object and subject, to the one toward whom “religion reaches out,” namely God, and the one who, by means of religion, “reaches out towards the other,” namely, the human subject.76 For Zwingli, it was, therefore, impossible to define true religion as a human phenomenon separable from revelation—just as it was impossible for him to separate true theology, as doctrinal expression, from true religion, understood as the broader phenomenon and practice. This systematic approach to religion as the pattern of knowledge and worship directly related to faith and foundational to the elaboration of theology is profoundly evident in the successive editions of Calvin’s Institutes. In 1536 Calvin identified his work as an “institute” or instruction

“of the Christian religion embracing almost the whole sum of piety and whatever it is necessary to know in the doctrine of salvation.”77 What is more, Calvin’s expansion of the Institutes, in which five chapters on the knowledge of God were added or developed as a kind of prologue, only serves to underscore in those introductory sections the primary emphasis on religion, piety and instruction in them. Calvin’s 1539 expansion of this portion of the Institutes has a series of significant antecedents, not the least of which is Zwingli’s linking of the discussion of religion to the problem of the “knowledge of God” and the “knowledge of man.”78 Like Zwingli, moreover, Calvin rests much of his discussion on Cicero’s De Natura Deorum.79 Given the universal recognition, implanted in all human beings, that there is a God, Calvin argues, it would be sheer folly to claim that religion is a human invention: it is certainly true that wicked and “clever” persons have invented many superstitions designed to keep human beings in subjection, but it is equally clear that they would never have been able to do so had there not been a fundamental conviction of the existence of God and the need to worship him already present in all human beings.80 Given, moreover, the depth of human sinfulness and the extent of idolatry and superstition wrought by sin, Scripture is needed for the establishment of a right knowledge of God—and, by extension, for the establishment of true religion.81 Although Calvin does not spell out the etymology and definition of “religion” in the detail one finds in Zwingli, the conception is quite similar: true religion must ultimately be grounded in the word of God and it is set apart from the false religions of idolatry and superstition. Nowhere is it assumed, moreover, that “religion” indicates a human phenomenon: even in its false forms, it presumes the fundamental sensus divinitatis and is grounded in the objective reality of the God who must be worshiped. This sensibility will carry over into Reformed orthodoxy. B. The Reformed Orthodox on “Religion” 1. Early orthodoxy. We have already noted that religio tended to be the term used with reference to basic instruction and theologia the term used with reference to fully developed theological system or, at least, to the doctrinal elaboration of the forms and contents of the religion. The larger treatments of religio found in the Reformed orthodox systems devote a fair amount of space to the etymology of the term, much as in the definition of theologia. Here, however, the etymology is far less clear—due to a plethora of similar Latin verbs. Most of the discussions limit the discussion to three verbs: relegere, to gather together, set aside, or re-read; relinquere, to relinquish or leave behind; and religare, to bind back or reattach.82 Others, like Marckius, add relegare, to send away or put aside; and reeligere, to choose again. The derivation from

relegere, indicating specifically a re-reading or reperusal of holy texts, had been put forth in antiquity by Cicero and was favored by Zwingli and Venema.83 The majority of writers, however, follow the Latin fathers, particularly Lactantius and Augustine,84 and Calvin85 in rejecting Cicero’s etymology.86 As Protestantism entered the era of orthodoxy and the emphasis of theological or religious study began to fall on the full development of system, discussion of religio ceased to be a preliminary concern in theological discussion and, rather than discuss religion, the systems begin to deal with the definition of theologia as the proper prologue to systems of theology. Nonetheless, religio, defined in terms of the knowledge and worship of God, remained a concern of theology, a topic in the prolegomena to theological system, intimately related to theology in the sense of the church’s praxis in relation to the church’s more theoretical statement. A pattern of argument similar to that of Calvin’s Institutes is found in Mathieu Virel’s Dialogue de la religion chrestienne (1582). Virel’s work is divided into three books, the first of which deals with the problem of knowledge of God, of man, and of Christ, followed by a chapter on the faith by which Christ’s benefits are apprehended. The contents of the volume— essentially the topics of a theological system or an extended catechetical exercise—demonstrate the profound relationship between true theology and right religion in the minds of sixteenth- and seventeenth- century Reformed writers. “Religion,” writes Virel, is derived from a word meaning “to bind”: And it is a spiritual bond, by which men in a certain holy reconciliation are made one with God, and are kept in love and fear, that at length they may be partakers of his heavenly glory, and of the blessed life. Which no religion can do, but that which is Christian, that is to say: that which hath its foundation in Christ.87 This can be seen since it is only through faith in Christ that we can be reconciled to God. The proof of this truth we have “out of the word of God, which is most certain, and upon the truth whereof resteth all Christian doctrine.”88 In the Ramist models developed by Polanus and Ames, according to which theology was divided first into doctrines concerning faith and obedience, the former division began with the definition of theologia and the latter division contained as a part of its preliminary discussions, a definition of religio.89 The discussion of religion by no means disappeared from Protestant theology, but merely shifted position under the influence of a different organizational model. Paralleling the distinction he made in the first division of his Syntagma between true and false theology, Polanus offers a distinction between true and false religion at the beginning of his second division. Vera religio is pietas

and consists in acts of worship that are either internal only or both internal and external. Thus, internally vera religio consists in “saving faith, true knowledge of God, faithfulness to God, hope in God, love toward God, faithful fear of God, humility before God and patience.” When religion is considered in terms of the effect of this inward life on the outward man —interni simul et externi, at once internal and external—vera religio consists also in “religious and zealous prayer to God for the glory of God” and in “confession of the truth [of the faith] and worship of God in the communion of the faithful.”90 On the basis of these definitions, we must differ with the view expressed by Barth that the orthodox locus de religione harbored the seeds of a “secret catastrophe” that would take place in the eighteenth century. There is not even a seed here of an attempt to place Christianity among the natural phenomena of the world’s religions.91 The import of these definitions is neatly encapsulated in Walaeus’ declaration that “only in the Christian religion are the true and divine marks (notae) of religion contained.”92 Walaeus, much to the discomfiture of Barth’s argumentation, argues first that these notae are rationally known and then that Christianity alone, in its biblical revelation, satisfies the criteria of true religion.93 Scripture, therefore, is necessary to true religion. Walaeus enumerates three notae: “true knowledge of the true God” (vera veri Dei notitia); “a true means of the reconciliation of man with God” (vera ratio reconciliationis hominis cum Deo); and “true worship of God” (verus Dei cultus). “Nature itself,” continues Walaeus, “teaches that these marks are required in true religion.” That Christianity alone contains these marks can be seen by comparison with Judaism and with Islam: the former represents a partial revelation, the latter consecrates barbarities and immoralities as religion. Thus the Christian revelation—both Testaments—is necessary to true religion.94 If theology was the “science of living blessedly forever,”95 religion was the practice of “right recognition (agnitio)” and “legitimate worship” of the “true God.” 96 Indeed, in the case of Hommius’ definition, this “Christian religion” was necessarily grounded in the revealed Word of God, and the revealed Word was its necessary foundation or principium—in other words, the understanding of religion at the outset of theology determined the focus of Christianity on the special revelation in Scripture.97 Although Walaeus quite clearly would use reason to prove the superiority of Christian revelation and probably fails either to satisfy the requirements of skeptical reason or to please the heart of piety, he does not at all broach the question of the partial validity of natural religion or of the use of natural reason in constructing or deducing a partially valid religion. We do not have here, then, as Barth argues, “an unambiguous hint at a general concept of

religion which is known by virtue of the voice of conscience or of nature,”98 nor do we have any attempt to place Christianity, as a religion, among the religions. Reason merely recognizes the criteria for discerning “true religion” and then, by means of these criteria, is forced to admit that only Christianity is “true religion.” The other religions do not belong equally to a category of “general religion”—they are set apart from Christianity as false. Walaeus’ argument, although somewhat rationalistic, remains within the bounds set by Zwingli and Calvin, and his claim that reason recognizes certain basic elements in true religion remains within the bounds of the standard etymology. There is no recourse, even by implication, to a general notion of natural religion on which an idea of Christian religion can be built. 2. The high orthodox discussion of religion. As the Ramist model declined in popularity and the more teleological, historical, and synthetic model in which the topics of Christian life and obedience were subsumed under discussions of covenant, Law and church took precedence, the discussion of religion was returned to the prolegomena. By 1660, as witnessed by the systems of Wendelin, Leigh, and Burman, the subject matter of religion is viewed, more or less, as the practically experienced content of theology and theology as the doctrinal exposition of the subject matter of the Christian religion. There could be no genuine theology apart from religion and religion, rightly conceived, leads to theological exposition.99 Thus, the systematic consideration of “religion” by the orthodox most probably arose from a combination of the traditionary importance of the subject to Reformed thought, given the early identification and exposition of this topic in the more systematic works of Zwingli and Calvin with the question of the relationship of religion to theology. The pairing, moreover, of revelation and religion in the Reformed prolegomena points to the continued emphasis by the Reformed orthodox on both the divine initiative and the reverent human response. It is also the case that, as in Calvin’s thought (albeit more explicitly), the pairing of revelation and religion leads to two separate models—thus, either natural revelation and non-Christian religion or supernatural revelation and the Christian religion. The line that orthodoxy drew between the models was sharp: this is not yet a discussion of “religion in general” as a positive human phenomenon, with Christianity as a sub-set. Rather, echoing the basic divisions of theology into “true theology” and “false theology” as well as the impossible situation of human beings left without excuse in sin by natural revelation, the orthodox argue a strict division between the idolatrous religion outside of grace and without the covenanted relationship to God and the saving true religion grounded in covenant.100 The high orthodox discussion, therefore, hardly marks the intrusion of a

new issue into Reformed theology and, in substance, the discussion stands in clear continuity with the positions of the Reformers and of the early orthodox. Religion, as Wendelin noted, is in a proximate sense the object of theology or the subiectum de quo (“the subject concerning which”), inasmuch as all of theology is directed toward the confession of right knowledge of God and the practice of the right worship of God.101 This point is developed somewhat more clearly by Rijssen: Theology treats of the knowledge and worship of the true God (veri Dei cognitionem et cultum) which is otherwise called Religion. Indeed, Religion is nothing other than the right pattern of knowing the true God (recta verum Deum cognoscendi ratio), of which the criteria are: [1] that it teaches about God only through himself, namely through his revelation; [2] that it transmits the true means, recognized as such in all good conscience, by which the sinner is reconciled to God; [3] and finally that it explains, by means of the same revelation, a reasonable worship (cultum rationalem), worthy of God.102 The statement that religion is the basic subject matter of theology does not, therefore, stand in any tension with the typical orthodox declaration that God and his works are the proper object of theology.103 Theologia is, as its etymology demonstrates, a word or a teaching; religio, also as defined by its etymology, is not a teaching about something but an observance or a practice devoted to something. Both have the same ultimate object, God, but religio, even though virtually all the definitions insist that it is knowledge (cognitio) as well as worship (cultus), does not express itself theoretically so much as practically. In fact, it is the praxis of which theology, through right delineation and definition of its object, guides and fosters. This relationship of theologia and religio is expressed by the orthodox under the discussions of theology as theoretical and practical104 and in the fundamental articles of theology.105 This relationship of religion to theology, together with the parallel distinctions made by the orthodox between theologia vera and theologia falsa, religio vera and religio falsa, provides a basis for understanding the relationship between religio naturalis and religio revelata. Heppe, whose discussion of religio naturalis and religio revelata was well known to Barth and may have been the initial point of departure for Barth’s discussion, mistakenly argues that these two forms of religion “are so related to one another, that the latter is the confirmation of the former (since it absorbs it into itself).”106 The Protestant scholastics, on the contrary, take such a negative view of natural religion that the only point of continuity between it and revealed religion is the simple, unelaborated confession of the existence of the divine: natural religion, like theologia falsa, only serves the argument

against atheism by manifesting the universal consent of mankind. Apart from that one point of confirmation by revelation, natural religion stands contradicted and negated by true or revealed religion.107 Burman’s slight modification of the definition in no way shifts emphasis or meaning: instead of defining “true religion” as “knowledge and worship of God,” he defines “religion” as “true knowledge and worship”—the effect of his slight change in language, if any, is to place what Polanus, Wendelin, and other scholastics defined as “false religion” entirely outside the category of genuine religion, thus restricting the phenomenon, properly so-called, to Christianity. Thus Burman can say, first, that religio so flows from the nature of man and the nature of God that it is the necessary result of “natural reason” and may rightly be termed, in this universal form, religio naturalis and second, that this religio naturalis is insufficient for salvation since it leads only to idolatry and superstition.108 Natural religion knows that God exists, but it does not know what it means for God to exist and to be the God of sinners.109 The derivation of religio from religare, to bind back or reattach, preferred by the Reformed orthodox and seconded by most lexica,110 focuses the theological discussion on true or supernatural religion and its task of moving human beings from their natural knowledge of the existence of God to the knowledge of God as savior—another point at which the Reformed orthodox continue to reflect Calvin’s theme of the duplex cognitio Dei. Thus, in the exercise of true religion, man is bound back or reattached to God. This etymology can be developed further in terms of the relationship first broken and then repaired between God and man. Marckius argues that the derivation from religare implies four elements in religion: (1) God’s gracious reconciliation of himself to man, (2) man’s response of true love for God, (3) a practice of moral self-control on man’s part resting on the curative application of salvation (salutis cura), and (4) an ever fuller submission on man’s part to a sincere love of others.111 In addition to these basic implications of religio, there is the relationship of religo, religare to eligo, eligare (“to choose or elect”), as Augustine had argued;112 religion, therefore, rests on the divine choice of man. Marckius presses the point home by introducing into his discussion the verb to re-elect (reeligere), indicating the reiteration of God’s love (repetitam Dei dilectionem) for his fallen creatures.113 In Hebrew, Marckius contends, the idea of “religion” is expressed by words for the knowledge, worship, love, fear, and invocation of God. Foremost of all is the usage via Dei (cf. Jer. 55:6–9; Ezek. 18:25) which indicates a form of life devised by God, prescribed by him, perfectly expressed in him, pleasing to him, and leading toward him. In the Greek of the New Testament these ideas are expressed by such terms as eusebeia

(godliness—1 Tim. 3:16; 2 Peter 1:3), theosebeia (piety—1 Tim. 2:10), eulabeia (reverence—Luke 11:25; Heb. 12:28), deisidaimonia (religion— Acts 17:12; 25:19), latria (worship or rites—Rom. 9:4), and threskeia (religion or worship—Acts 26:5; Jas. 1:26–27).114 Religion may therefore be defined as recta ratio Deum cognoscendi & colendi ad hominis peccatoris salutem, Deique gloriam, (“the right way of knowing and honoring God, for the purpose of the salvation of sinners and the glory of God”). This definition, writes Marckius, draws directly on the sequence implied in Titus 1:1–2, for true knowledge of God leads to right worship, worship to salvation, salvation to the glory of God, while the completion or fullness of God’s glory in salvation produces worship and worship yields knowledge.115 In Marckius’ analysis, the idea of “religion in general,” with the consequent view of Christianity as a species of religion, is excluded. Religious acts can be divided into the categories of those acts elicited by the very nature of religion and meditation on God and those commanded mediately by divine ordinance and which have the creature as their object. This is seen from the two tables of the Law and from various texts of Scripture (e.g., Titus 2:11, 12; James 1:27; I John 3:21). Or, according to an alternate classification—subjective as opposed to the foregoing objective description—religious acts can be viewed as internal, such as love and fear; external, such as building the temple, sacrifice, or giving of alms; or mixed, such as prayer or hearing the Word of God. The primary acts of religion, according to Marckius, are elicited and internal—for these are of the very nature of true religion.116 Religion, then, can be defined as the recta Deum cognoscendi et colendi ratio, “the right pattern of knowing and worshiping God”117 or vera religio, true religion, as ratio agnoscendi colendique Deum a Deo praescripta ad hominis salutem Deique gloriam (“the pattern of knowing and worshiping God, prescribed by God for the salvation of man and the glory of God”).118 3. “Religion” in the late orthodox era: rationalist and latitudinarian inroads. The alteration of theological perspective as Reformed theology entered the eighteenth century is evident in the younger Turretin’s willingness to allow for the existence of rudiments of truth outside of Christianity and in his withdrawal from an absolute use of the distinction between true and false religion as a distinction between Christianity and all other religion. His sense of the validity of the biblical revelation generally, together with the lessening of the distinction between Christianity and other religion, led him to argue in his massive apologetic work “the truth of the Jewish and Christian religion.”119 Turretin’s object was not at all a leveling of religion—and indeed he wrote at length against religious indifferentism in his own time, arguing the necessity of the light of nature, of the full revelation of the law in the Old

Testament, and of the new law and Christian freedom in Christ in the New Testament. Religion, he argued, is necessary to the right worship of God, and granting the pattern of revelation, those who either ignore religion or who proceed no further than the natural light will be judged.120 Nor, indeed, is it possible to accept the truth of the Jewish religion and not accede to the ultimate truth of Christianity in which God is “most fully and most perfectly” revealed “through his Son.”121 What the younger Turretin has done is to argue the finality of the Christian revelation more on the grounds of a historia revelationis than on the basis of a strict dichotomy between true and false religion—the change is significant, not only as a sign of the passing of the older orthodox model, but also as an indication of the beginnings of a historical consciousness in fundamental interpretive patterns in theology. It is worth noting just how much farther along this path the younger Turretin’s contemporaries had gone—Leibniz had written positively on the natural religion of the Chinese and Christian Wolff had been ejected from Halle in 1721 following his rectoral address on the same subject. The phenomenological approach to religion and its tendency to place Christianity and the other great world religions in the same category must be traced historically not to those Protestant orthodox who developed at length the locus de religione at the outset of their systems,122 but rather to rationalists like Leibniz and Wolff who not only evidenced a strong interest in the ethical religions of the Orient but who also—in direct antithesis to the views of the seventeenth-century Protestant scholastics—viewed natural theology and natural religion as the basis upon which valid systems should be built. Only when the ethical religions of the natural man are recognized as in some manner valid, indeed, only when the rationalist philosophy comes to view the legitimate basis for expounding Christian theology as rational religion, does the problem of religion in general arise for Protestant theology. This assumption appears earliest among Cartesians like Salomon van Til123 and becomes a basic assumption of Wolffian theology.124 The problem is intense in the rationalist theologies of the eighteenth century and even in some of the rational supernaturalist systems,125 but it clearly does not relate to the Protestant scholastic pattern of definition. Still, the orthodox view of religion was not entirely lost in the early seventeenth century. Venema could reiterate the somewhat paradoxical assumption of a corrupted religious sensibility serving only to disclose human sinfulness and then leave the race in its inability. This paradoxical character of religio naturalis sets it parallel to the natural revelation, leaving humanity “without excuse” in its corruption. Reason teaches the existence of a God who demands worship but, writes Venema,

in [man’s] fallen condition, he cannot deduce without error, even those truths which reason teaches. The fault does not lie in reason’s not embracing these truths, but in men’s inability, in consequence of the corruption induced by the fall, to use reason as they ought.… In the second place, he cannot use his reason aright, because he cannot deduce from it truths for the satisfaction and peace of his own mind.126 The disjunction of natural and revealed religion is intensified by the fact that even if man could use his reason aright, it would still be insufficient, because it cannot point out to him the way of salvation. It plainly declares, indeed, that he is a transgressor and that he has forfeited the divine favor,—that God, who is just and holy, cannot, without a full exhibition and vindication of these attributes, re-admit the sinner into his fellowship. But it breathes not a whisper as to the way in which this manifestation may be made, and how, in consistency with these attributes, a reconciliation can be effected between the parties at variance.127 Here, then, even in Reformed theologies of the eighteenth century, written after rationalism had made distinct inroads into Protestant theology, the orthodox or scholastic model continues to insist that natural reason and natural religion provide no beginning point for salvation and no foundation on which revealed religion can build. There is no confusion of nature and grace, nature and supernature. The model for discussion of the problem remains virtually where Calvin and Viret left it—in the concept of a twofold knowledge of God or duplex cognitio Dei.128 We do see, in the younger Turretin’s case an increased openness toward Judaism as a religion of the Bible, and in Klinkenberg’s theology a broad treatment of the importance of natural religion for morality in general, but these are hardly statements about the soteriological implications of the human phenomenon of “religion in general.” These developments are, in any case, signs of the end of the era of Protestant orthodoxy. 1

Thus, e.g., Melanchthon, Brevis discendae theologiae ratio, in Philippi Melanchthonis opera quae supersunt omnia, ed. C. G. Bretschneider and H. E. Bindseil, 28 vols. (Brunswick: Schwetschke, 1834–1860), vol. 2, cols. 455–62; Heinrich Bullinger, Ratio studiorum, sive de institutione eorum, qui studia literarum sequuntur, libellus aureus. Accessit eodem dispositio locorum communium, tam philosophicorum, quam theologicorum. Item, Christianae fidei perspicue & breviter proposita quaedam axiomata (Zürich, 1527). Also see Muller, After Calvin, pp. 105–121. 2 Cf. Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, pp. 1–11.

3 Cf. Zwingli, Commentary on True and False Religion, pp. 56–58, 87–98;

Calvin, Institutes, I.iii.1–3; iv.1–4; Bullinger, Decades, IV.v (III, pp. 230– 233). 4 Cf. Zwingli, Commentary on True and False Religion, pp. 58–62; Calvin,

Institutes, I.iii–vi. 5 Cf. Zwingli, Commentary on True and False Religion, pp. 58–62; Calvin,

Institutes, I.iii.1–3; cf. the discussion in PRRD III, 3.2 (C). 6 Hyperius, Methodus theologiae, I (pp. 75–80). 7 See below, 4.1 (A–B). 8 Petrus Ramus, De religione christiana, libri IV (Frankfurt: Andreas Wechel,

1576), p. 6. 9 Ramus, De religione, pp. 7–8. 10 Ramus, De religione, p. 10. 11 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus (Geneva, 1620), col. 1. 12 Cf. Polanus, Syntagma theologiae christianae (Geneva, 1617), I.i–ii. 13 Maccovius, Loci communes theologici (Amsterdam, 1658), I. 14

Turretin, Institutio theologiae elencticae (Edinburgh, 1847), I.i.1; cf. Alsted, Praecognita, in Methodus sacrosanctae theologiae (Hanover, 1614), I.i. Also see the summary in DLGT, s.v. “theologia” and the discussion in Robert Preus, The Theology of Post-Reformation Lutheranism, 2 vols. (St. Louis: Concordia, 1970–1972), I, pp. 110–114. 15 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinity, p. 8. 16 Polanus, Syntagma, I.i; cf. John Owen, Theologoumena, I.i.4, in Works

(Edinburgh, 1847), vol. 17; and Poliander et al., Synopsis purioris theologiae, ed. Herman Bavinck (Leiden, 1881), I.ii. 17 Alsted, Praecognita, I.i. 18 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 1; cf. Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of

Divinity, p. 9. 19 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinity, pp. 10–11. 20 Owen, Theologoumena, I.i.1–2; Alsted, Praecognita, I.i. 21 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.i.2. 22 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.i.5; cf. Heidanus, Corpus theologiae, I (p. 1). 23 Franciscus Gomarus, Disputationes, I.i, in Opera theologia (Amsterdam,

1644). 24

Walaeus, Loci communes, I, in Opera omnia (Leiden, 1643), p. 114; similarly, Heidanus, Corpus theologiae, I (p. 1). 25 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 1; cf. Downame, Summe, i (p. 6). 26

Cf. Johannes Altenstaig, Lexicon theologicum (Köln, 1619), s.v. “theologia.” 27 Turretin, Inst. theol. I.i.7. 28 Alsted, Praecognita, I.ii. 29 Spanheim, Disp. theol., pars prima, I.xi. 30 Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, ii with Downame, Summe, i (pp. 1–2). 31 Downame, Summe, i (pp. 2, 5–6). 32 William Perkins, Golden Chaine, p. 11, col. 1, in Works (Cambridge, 1612–

19), vol. I. 33

Cf. Peter Ramus, Commentariorum de religione christiana (Frankfurt, 1576), I.i; with William Ames, Medulla ss. theologiae (London, 1630), I.i.1. 34 Stoughton, Learned Treatise of Divinity, pp. 25–26. 35 Maccovius, Loci communes, I. 36 Burman, Synopsis theol., I.ii.30, 38. 37 Maresius, Collegium theologicum, I.v. 38 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.36. 39 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.16. 40 Leigh, Body of Divinity, prolegomenon (p. 2). 41 Leigh, Body of Divinity, prolegomenon (p. 3). 42 Yates, Modell of Divinitie, I (p. 10). 43 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i. 44 Calvin, Institutio christianae religionis, I.i.2–3. On the continuity between

Reformation and orthodoxy in the understanding of “religion,” see further, below, 3.4 (A–B). 45

Polanus, Syntagma, Synopsis Libri I; cf. Wollebius, Compendium theologiae, praecognita, I.i; Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinity, pp. 9– 10. 46 Augustine, De civitate Dei, VI.v–viii; VII.xxxiii; VIII.1, in PL, 41, cols.

180–187, 221–22, 223–25. 47 Polanus, Syntagma, I.i. 48 See below, chapter 7.3 on theology as scientia. 49 Junius, De vera theologia, i. 50 Alsted, Praecognita, I.iii. 51 Polanus, Syntagma, I.i. 52 Junius, De vera theologia, i; Alsted, Praecognita, I.iii. 53 Le Blanc, Theses theol., De theologia, i–ii. 54 Aretius, Theologiae problemata, I: 4, citing Justin Martyr, Second Apology;

Tertullian, Apology, c. 44; and Eusebius, Praeparatio evangelica, ix.3; and see Theophilus. The Court of the Gentiles, or, A discourse touching the original of human literature, both philologie and philosophie, from the Scriptures and Jewish church (Oxford: Printed by W. Hall for Tho. Gilbert, 1670; second edition, enlarged, 1672); idem, The Court of Gentiles. Part II. Of Barbaric and Grecianic Philosophy (Oxford: Printed by W. Hall for Tho. Gilbert, 1671); second edition, enlarged (London: Printed by J. Macock for Thomas Gilbert, 1676). 55 Gale, Court of the Gentiles, IV, fol. A4r; cf. Hutton, “Neoplatonic Roots of

Arianism,” p. 143. 56 Alsted, Praecognita, I.iii.; cf. Poliander et al., Synopsis purioris, I.xxvi. 57 See below, 5.2 (C); 5.5 (A–C); 6.2 (B); 6.3 (B). 58 Junius, De vera theologia, i. 59 Walaeus, Loci communes, I: 114; cf. Poliander et al., Synopsis purioris,

I.ix. 60 Polanus, Syntagma, I.ii. 61 Junius, De vera theologia, ii. 62 Junius, De vera theologia, i. 63 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, cols. 1–2. 64 Polanus, Syntagma, I.ii. 65 Polanus, Syntagma, I.ii. 66 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i. 67 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i.

68 Turretin, Inst. theol. I.ii.1. 69 See below, 7.2 (B); 7.3 (B). 70 Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, ed. G. W. Bromiley and T. F. Torrance, 4

vols. (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1936–1969), I/2, pp. 284–291. 71 See below, 7.4 (B). 72 Cf. the comments in PRRD, II, 2.2 (A.2) on Emil Brunner’s and J. K. S.

Reid’s arguments that Reformed orthodoxy had a truncated view of revelation. Here again we have a theologized historiography that measures the past against the forms of its own doctrinal claims. 73 See below, 4.2 (B.2), on the distinctions between catechetical, ecclesial,

and scholastic theology. 74 Ulrich Zwingli, De

vera et falsa religione commentarius, in Sämtliche Werke, ed. Emil Egli, Georg Finsler and Walther Köhler, vol. III (Leipzig, 1914), pp. 639–640, 643; and see the translation, Zwingli, Commentary on True and False Religion, pp. 56–57. 75 Zwingli, Commentary on True and False Religion, pp. 56–57; cf. Ursinus,

Explicationes catecheseos, cols. 47–48. 76 Zwingli, Commentary on True and False Religion, p. 58. 77 Cf. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion (1536), trans. Ford

Lewis Battles (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986). 78 For a discussion of these various antecedents and of the formal, textual

background of the Institutes, see Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 118– 130. 79 Egil Grislis, “Calvin’s Use of Cicero in the Institutes I:1–5—a Case Study

in Theological Method,” in Archiv fur Reformationsgeschichte, 62 (1971), pp. 5–37; and Peter J. Leithart, “The Eminent Pagan: Calvin’s Use of Cicero in Institutes I.1–5,” in Westminster Theological Journal, 52 (1990), pp. 1–12. 80 Calvin, Institutes, I.iii.1–2. 81 Calvin, Institutes, I.vi.2. 82

Cf. Polanus, Syntagma, IX.i; Herman Venema, Institutes of Theology (Edinburgh, 1850), ii. 83 Zwingli, Commentarius, pp. 639–640; Venema, Institutes, ii. 84 Lactantius, Divinae institutiones, IV. 28, in PL, 6, cols. 535–38; Augustine,

De civitate Dei, X.3, in PL, 41, cols. 280–81.

85 Calvin, Institutes, I.xii.1. 86 Cf. Johannes Marckius, Compendium theologiae christianae (Groningen,

1686), III.i. 87

Mathieu Virel, A Learned and Excellent Treatise Containing all the Principall Grounds of Christian Religion (London, 1594), I.i. 88 Virel, A Learned and Excellent Treatise, I.i. 89 Cf. Polanus, Syntagma, IX; Ames, Medulla, II.iv; on Ramus and Ramism,

see further discussion below in this chapter: 3.4 (B.1). 90 Polanus, Syntagma, Synopsis libri IX. 91 Barth, CD I/2, p. 287. 92 Walaeus, Loci communes, II (col. 125). 93 Cf. Barth, CD, I/2, p. 285. 94 Walaeus, Loci communes, II (col. 125); cf. Burman, Synopsis theol. I.ii.18–

19. 95 Perkins, Golden Chaine, i (p. 11, col. 1) 96 Hommius, LXX Disputationes, I.i. 97 Hommius, LXX Disputationes, I.i. 98 Barth, Church Dogmatics, I/2, p. 285. 99 Cf. Wendelin, with Leigh, Body of Divinity, prolegomena, fol. B1v, B4v,

C1v, C2v and Burman, Synopsis theol., I, prol., ii.3–4, 16, 30. 100 Note that this is the view even of the somewhat latitudinarian Burnet,

Exposition of the Thirty-Nine Articles, XVIII (pp. 228–233). 101 Wendelin, Christianae theol., I.i. 102 Leonhard Rijssen, Summa theologiae didactico-elencticae (Amsterdam,

1695; Edinburgh, 1698), I.iii; cf. Seth Ward, A Philosophicall Essay towards an Eviction of the Being and Attributes of God, the Immortality of the Souls of Men [and] the Truth and Authority of Scripture (Oxford: Leonard Lichfield, 1652), I.ii (pp. 4–6). 103 Further, below, 7.1. 104 Below, 7.3. 105 Below, 9.2. 106 Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, p. 7.

107 Cf. Burman, Synopsis theol., I.ii,12–13; Venema, Institutes, ii, pp. 23, 27–

28; Heidegger, Corpus theologiae christianae (Zurich, 1700), I.33. 108 Burman, Synopsis theol., I.ii.7–8, 12. 109 Cf. Cocceius, Summa theologiae, I.xvii; and Heidegger, Corpus theol.,

I.xiii. 110 Cf. Johannes Marckius, Compendium theologiae christianae (Groningen,

1686), III.i. 111 Marckius, Compendium theologiae, III.i. 112 Augustine, De civ. Dei, x.3, PL, 41, cols. 280–81. 113 Marckius, Compendium, III.i. 114 Marckius, Compendium theologiae, III.iv. 115 Marckius, Compendium theologiaee, III.ii. 116 Marckius, Compendium theologiae, III.v. 117 Burman, Synopsis theol. I.ii.4; cf. Maresius, Collegium theol., I.vii. 118 Wendelin, Christianae theologiae systema maius (Cassel, 1656), I.i. 119

J.-A. Turretin, De veritate religionis judaicae et christianae, in Cogitationes et dissertationes theologicae, vol. II. 120 J.-A. Turretin, De veritate religionis judaicae et christianae, I.xxi, xxxii–

xxxiii. 121 J.-A. Turretin, De veritate religionis judaicae et christianae, V.i et seq. 122 Cf. Burman, Synopsis theol., I.ii; Marckius, Compendium, III. 123 Salomon van Til, Theologiae utriusque compendium (Leiden, 1719), II.ii. 124

Cf. Wyttenbach, Tentamen theol., prol., 7–8; Johann Reinbeck, Betrachtungen ueber die in der Augspurischen Confession, 4 parts (Berlin, 1731–41), I.vii–xxx. 125

Cf. Campegius Vitringa, Doctrinae christianae religionis (Arnheim, 1761–86), i.28; Doederlein, Inst. theol. chr., prol. I.i–iii; Knapp, Lectures on Christian Theology (New York, 1859), intro., §1, 3, 4. 126 Venema, Institutes, ii (p. 27). 127 Venema, Institutes, ii (p. 28). 128 See further, below, 6.3.



4 Theology as a Discipline 4.1 The Discipline and Method of Reformed Theology in the 16th and 17th Centuries A. Developing the Protestant Methodus: From Melanchthon to Hyperius 1. Melanchthon and the roots of Protestant theological method. The natural concomitant of the careful analysis of the meaning of the term theology and its relation to the forms of human knowledge of God is an increased awareness of theology proper as an academic discipline. Indeed, these are but two aspects of a single issue. The success of the Reformation led to the establishment and institutionalization of its reforms and of the theology on which those reforms were based. The very success of the theology of the Reformation must be regarded as one of the most important sources of its post-Reformation quest for clarity and self-definition. That definition, in turn, produced a clearer identification of the theological task in its university setting. From the very beginning of Luther’s protest, the university and university-trained theologians were at the center of the movement. The process of establishment and institutionalization of the Reformation viewed in terms of the need to train new generations of Protestants in theology led to a reexamination of theology as an academic discipline—and that, in turn, to a clarification of the definitions and presuppositions of that discipline.1 As Ong observes in his study of Ramus, the philosophers and theologians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries placed considerable stress on the question of method. The De dialectica inventione libri tres (1479) of Rudolf Agricola, together with the brief epitome of Agricola’s work by Bartholomaus Latomus, were perhaps the most influential works on the logic of organization and argumentation in the first half of the sixteenth century. From the point of view of theology and theological method, the importance of Agricola’s text lay in its methodological use of topics—topoi or loci—in the organization of knowledge rather than the typically Aristotelian use of categories of predication.2 This methodological model was brought to the service of Protestant theology as early as 1521 in Melanchthon’s Loci communes. It became, moreover, Calvin’s basic model in the second edition of his Institutes. These “commonplaces” or “universal topics,” as elicited from Scripture, became the model for Protestant dogmatics—and in the case of many Reformed theologians, beginning with Calvin and Musculus, the dogmatic or doctrinal task was assumed to coordinate with the exegetical

task.3 Melanchthon also recognized that topical organization demanded consideration of a “proper and expeditious way” (recta et compendaria via) of gathering and arranging a subject—in short, an identification of the topics followed by the discovery of a methodus or proper “way through” them. Melanchthon provides the following definition: “method is a disposition (habitus), namely a science or art making a way or path according to a definite pattern (certa ratione), that is, which invents and opens up a path as it were through impassible and densely planted places (loci), through the confusion of things (rerum confusionem).”4 The loci, in short, demand a method. Calvin echoes this Melanchthonian approach in his insistence on establishing the “right order of teaching” in his Institutes.5 The method may, as in the case of Melanchthon’s earliest Loci communes and Calvin’s restructured Institutes of 1539, draw its primary topics from the Epistle to the Romans.6 This method also, as we have seen, tends to follow out the historical order of Scripture while also recognizing the causal priority of God the Creator and acknowledging the authority of the creeds.7 As in the case of the final edition of Calvin’s Institutes, there can be a blending of these various approaches to order and arrangement—although the law-gospel model of catechisms that work through the commandments and then offer the Creed and the model of the Creed itself, running from God and creation, to Christ and his work, to the work of the Spirit, the church and the last things, were readily blended with the topical order of Romans and with a historical series of loci.8 So too, if the Reformers wrote little in the way of formal theological prolegomena, they also, in addition to these methodological discussions, provided a significant series of propaeduetic works, methods, or courses of study that offered insight into the way in which the discipline of theology ought to be approached. Both Melanchthon and Bullinger wrote treatises on the study of theology in which both the life and spirituality of the student and the course of study was presented. Bullinger’s Ratio studiorum of 1527 sketched out the theological and philosophical loci communes, offered advice on the daily routine of study and prayer, and developed a course of reading in Scripture, the fathers, and philosophy, with recommendations of particular works on Greek and Hebrew language and grammar written by his contemporaries.9 2. Theological method in the mid-sixteenth century: Andreas Hyperius. Among second-generation Reformed theologians, one in particular stands out as carrying the Melanchthonian demand for methodus theologiae toward systematic realization: Andreas Hyperius (1511–64), professor of

theology at Marburg from 1542 on. His posthumous system, the Methodus theologiae, sive praecipuorum Christianae religionis locorum communium (1568), not only adopts the locus method of exposition but provides some insight into the issues of order and organization faced by the early Protestant systematizers. First, comments Hyperius, the topics viewed as important by church writers of various ages ought to be weighed and considered; only the important and necessary articles are to be chosen as loci. Once a compend of these loci is made, each topic should be examined in terms of the ages or times of the church: before the fall, after the fall, prior to the Law, under the Law, under the gospel,10 thus adapting the scripturae series of Melanchthon to the shape of argument in each of the loci. Hyperius also argues a balance of Scripture and tradition in this work of theological construction: all loci must be explained, first, in the light of Scripture, second, in the light of the fathers.11 The argument mirrors the Reformers’ sense of the relative authority of Scripture and tradition, subordinating the latter to the former, in continuity with the understanding of the greater part of the earlier tradition and in distinct and conscious contrast to the canons of the Council of Trent.12 This locus method became the standard pattern of theological system with the publication of the works of Hyperius, Musculus and Vermigli.13 The locus method also, together with the Reformation concern for the original languages, provides the point of contact between what can be called the humanism of the Reformers and their successors and the scholasticism that developed in the Protestant academies and universities and that is evident in major works of theology after the middle of the sixteenth century. Alsted, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, views it as the sole and proper method for the gathering of theological topics. He views the “major parts” or actual species of theology—natural, catechetical, scholastic, and so on—as primary loci and the actual “topics, titles and subtitles” within these major parts as the secondary and constituent loci of each kind of theological system.14 These constituent loci, in turn, are to be the proper subjects of theological declaration and disputation, with the result that Hyperius could speak of a Protestant school-theology, a theology that follows, in other words, a “scholastic” method—language that would become a standard description of the academic theological exercise in Protestantism by the time of Alsted.15 Hyperius also notes that the collation of topics yields six major loci: God, creatures and man, the church, the doctrine of Law and gospel, signs or sacraments, and the consummation. He has no objection to the placement of a general locus on holy Scripture first, prior to the doctrine of God, inasmuch as Scripture is the source of all doctrine, but his preference is to state this ground of theology and to proceed immediately to the first locus, the doctrine of God.16 The doctrine of God—the divine attributes and the persons of the

Trinity—precedes all other doctrines since they are concerned with the works of God (creation, providence and administration).17 The remaining loci proceed in order from creation, by way of the church and its doctrines, to the final consummation. This method, concludes Hyperius, is synthetic (synthetike), which is to say, constitutiva seu compositiva, moving from general first principles by way of individual instances or differentia of the principles to the final goal.18 Hyperius thus establishes the organizational model and the language used to describe its patterns and methods that would come to characterize scholastic orthodoxy. Beginning in the second half of the sixteenth century with Hyperius’ Methodus, there is increasing interest in theology as a discipline—and in the relationship between the discipline of theology as taught in the academic context and in the life and work of the church. This language of method carries over into such early orthodox systems as Trelcatius’ Scholastica et methodica locorum communium institutio and Alsted’s Methodus sacrosanctae theologiae. In the former title in particular, a “scholastic instruction” includes both the loci or topics and the proper methodus or “way through” those topics. Alsted’s use of methodus similarly emphasizes the way through or ordering of theology, in this case, the division of “the whole of theology” into its “members,” of the genus into its species. Thus Alsted moves through his Praecognita or prolegomena to a separate methodus for natural, catechetical, scholastic, “soteriological” or moral, homiletical and mystical theology.19 B. Ramus, Zabarella, and the Use of Analytic and Synthetic, Resolutive and Compositive Methods In addition to this essentially Melanchthonian adaptation of the idea of method as a way through a body of knowledge, Protestant theology in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries also had access to the more strictly logical and philosophical discussion of method typical both of the somewhat revolutionary logic of Petrus Ramus (1515–72) and of the revived Aristotelianism of the age and developed in its most compelling form by Jacopo Zabarella (1532–89). 1. The contribution and impact of Ramist logic. Contrary to the contentions of several contemporary scholars, Ramist thought was not a wholesale rebellion against Aristotle, nor was it a radically new departure in logic, nor did it draw theology away from a synthetic and a priori model and direct it toward a covenantal, salvation-historical, and a posteriori model of system.20 As Jacob Schegk, an Aristotelian contemporary of Ramus, was able to argue, some of Ramus’ best ideas were taken directly from Aristotle without citation—and as for the novelties, they were, as far as Schegk was

concerned, highly confused and grossly incompetent, as in the case of the defective Ramist syllogisms that removed any proper use of the middle term!21 Antonius Goveanus, another of Ramus’ opponents in debate, could easily show that Ramus’ so-called return to Plato and Socrates was hardly more than an elaboration of ideas already found in the handbooks on dialectic by Rudolf Agricola and Philip Melanchthon.22 The latter contention is true even of Ramus’ famous method of bifurcation: this was one of the trademarks of Agricola’s logic.23 Thus, rather than accept Ramus’ polemic against Aristotle at face value, it is more useful to understand his alterations of logic in the context of the newer patterns for teaching logic in his own time, particularly in the context of the Agricolan model for dialectic as a more discursive, topical approach to teaching that combined demonstrative with persuasive argumentation. Specifically, Ramus had declared the ten Aristotelian categories or predicaments confusing or, perhaps more charitably, belonging rightly to disciplines other than logic: thus, physics, medicine, and theology should deal with “substance”; mathematics with “quantity”; ethics with “quality” and “disposition.” In logic, Ramus supplied his own alternative “seats of argument”—such as, cause, effect, subject, adjuncts, opposites, comparatives, similitude, dissimilitude, definition, and division.24 It was this alteration of logic that, in particular, enraged Ramus’ critics—and which was modified in many later sixteenth and early seventeenth-century works on logic. In addition, it must be noted that, whatever genuine objections Ramus did make against the complexities of Aristotelian logic, particularly against the categories of predication, he raised no objections against Aristotelian physics and metaphysics. The outcome of controversy over Ramus’ logic, moreover, was fundamentally mixed: Ramus’ assault on Aristotle was blunted not only by direct opposition from philosophers and theologians but also by modification. The next generations of philosophers and logicians produced manuals that extracted the most valuable methodological insights of Ramus and reincorporated the categories of predication from the traditional Aristotelian model. This conscious accommodation of Ramus to Aristotle (or of Aristotle to Ramus) was, moreover, a feature of the work of three of the most influential philosopher-logicians of the seventeenth century, namely, Keckermann’s Systema logicae and Praecognitorum logicorum tractatus, Burgersdijk’s Institutionum logicarum libri duo, and Spencer’s Art of Logik.25 The full title of Spencer’s work describes the nature of his compromise system: The Art of Logik, Delivered in the Precepts of Aristotle and Ramus. Wherein 1. The agreement of both Authors is declared. 2. The defects in Ramus, are supplyed, and his superfluities pared off, by the precepts of

Aristotle. 3. The preceptes of both, are expounded and applyed to use, by the assistance of the best Schoolemen.26 This accommodation—despite Ramus’ polemics against Aristotle—was also specifically registered among the theologians. The puritan, Thomas Granger, commented, with obvious hyperbole, that From ancient minerals did pagan Aristotle polish the golden organon. First to the uses of theology did Christian Ramus with rare judgment accommodate it.27 The seventeenth-century understanding of Ramism was, thus, not as model that set aside Aristotle and scholastic method, but as a model that modified and adapted both. Ramism emerges, therefore, not as an opposition to Protestant scholasticism but as a significant element in its framework and fashioning. Once these issues have been taken into consideration, it is still possible to identify a major impact of Ramism on the method of late sixteenth-century theology. Fittingly, that impact was twofold. First, we have already noted the impact of Ramus’ definition of theology as practical upon the Ramist theological systems of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Although any estimate of the importance of Ramus’ definition must be tempered by the fact that theology had long been defined as either entirely or partly practical, it remains true that the definition of theology as the doctrine of living blessedly or living to God was appropriated together with the Ramist method of bifurcation and that Ramus tended to influence theology toward an emphasis on praxis.28 This influence, like the spread of Ramism in general, was not limited to the Reformed—and not all of the Reformed theologians of the era adopted the definition, nor did all adopt the Ramist method of bifurcation: Ramism had, in fact, as many opponents among the Reformed as it had advocates.29 Second, the method of bifurcation was of considerable importance. Again, even if our estimate of Ramus’ influence on logic is tempered by a recognition of the practice of bifurcation already resident in the popular Agricolan logic of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, we must recognize that the practice became of architectonic significance to theology only after it had been put forth by Ramus as the “method of methods.”30 And, certainly, more than any other thinker of his age, Ramus had underscored and illustrated the applicability not merely of bifurcation (with an occasional trifurcation and quadrifurcation!) to the methodological organization of all academic disciplines and forms of discourse but, specifically, of large-scale bifurcatory charts in which the relationships of topics and subtopics could be shown in diagram form. (What Ramus identified as methodus, would, in the

Zabarellan model just noted, be both ordo and methodus, the basic diagrammatic bifurcations standing as an establishment of the ordo, the further examination of the topics and subtopics thus arranged standing as the rough equivalent of the methodus.) Finally, the importance of Ramus to the rise of scholastic Protestantism ought to be recognized as essentially methodological rather than theological or philosophical. Moltmann’s attempt to associate Ramism with a salvationhistorical and a posteriori rather than a synthetic, metaphysical, or a priori approach to theology is simply contrary to fact. A covenant theologian like Olevianus, whose theology avoids metaphysical and a priori patterning, argued strongly for Aristotelian philosophy against Ramism and, when it did use the Ramist model of bifurcation never assumed that it either brought its own content to theology or undermined the use of basic Aristotelian categories.31 Perkins, whose approach is decidedly Ramist, uses the Ramist bifurcations as the organizational pattern of A Golden Chaine, one of the most decidedly synthetic, a priori, and even metaphysical documents in the history of Reformed theology. Perkins’ definitions of predestination, moreover, albeit developed in the context offered by Ramist method and following a Ramist definition of theology, are quite congruous with the doctrine of the antiRamist, Beza.32 Keckermann, who drew on Zabarella to develop an analytical or resolutive model in his theology, avoided a radically Ramist model in his theological exposition but included bifurcatory charts in his Systema theologiae. Keckermann also developed an accommodation of Aristotle to aspects of Ramism in his logical treatises—at the same time that he critiqued Ramus’ argumentative models and his antagonism to metaphysics.33 What Ramus provided was an impetus toward extreme clarity in the organization of argument, as witnessed by the method of Polanus’ Partitiones, Alsted’s Methodus and Ames’ Medulla, at a time when Protestant theologians were engaged in the primary work of establishing the structure of orthodox dogmatics. In an era characterized by a search for method, for the way through a discipline, Ramism considerably facilitated the establishment of a basic, architecturally cohesive method and, as manifest by Mastricht’s lateseventeenth-century system, succeeded in imprinting that clarity on Reformed theology decades after the demise of Ramism as a viable form of logic or dialectic. What we do not see in the historical materials, however, is any identifiable difference between the Reformed orthodox theology of the Ramists and the Reformed orthodox theology of their non-Ramist or Aristotelian contemporaries. Even the so-called “Ramist” definition of theology as a fundamentally practical science can be found in other, nonRamist trajectories of the Reformed. In the case of Ramism, as in the case of “scholasticism,” the method had little impact on actual doctrinal or

theological content. 2. Zabarellan method. In Zabarella’s modified Aristotelianism, a distinction is made between the methodus or “way” of doctrine and the ordo or “order” of doctrine. Method, for Zabarella, does not order or arrange knowledge so much as make things known. Indeed, method proceeds logically from the known to the unknown, whereas order arranges the elements of a body of knowledge. The method must have deductive (or inductive) force whereas the order represents only a clarification of what is already known.34 Nonetheless, despite this distinction between the logical rigor of method and the less rigorous patterning of order, Zabarella argued the coherence and coincidence of approach in two cognitive exercises: the methodus and the ordo of a discipline will follow either the compositive (compositiva) or resolutive (resolutiva) path. We have already seen this language in the prolegomena of Zanchi and Hyperius—who had most probably learned the pattern from Renaissance discussions of the logic of Galen.35 Zabarella drew on this tradition and used its language to refine his description of method. The compositive approach moves from cause to effect, from universal to particular, by way of logical demonstration (the traditional Aristotelian demonstratio propter quid), and is to be used in theoretical disciplines. The resolutive approach, a demonstratio quia, moves from effect to cause, is less rigorous, and belongs to the practical disciplines. The compositive method, then, is a priori and, when applied syllogistically, locates the effect in the major term while the cause, located in the middle term, forces the conclusion. The resolutive method is a posteriori and proceeds in the opposite manner with the effect as the middle term.36 This basic distinction between synthetic and analytic approaches was to remain quite typical of seventeenth century conceptions of method, as is seen not only among the theologians but among the philosophers of the era, notably in Blundeville’s Logike (1599), Sanderson’s Logicae artis compendium (1615), Prideaux’s Hypomnemata logica, rhetorica, physica … (1650), Descartes’ Discourse on Method (1639) and Arnauld’s Logic, or the Art of Thinking (1662).37 When applied more broadly than in individual topical argumentation, the contrast between a compositive and resolutive or between a more synthetic and a more analytical model had an impact on the larger methodus or “way through” the topics of theology—at least insofar as theological systems could be ordered as moving synthetically from principia, understood as first causes, by way of means and instrumentalities, toward the goals implied by those principia or, alternatively, moving analytically from ultimate goals or ends to consideration of grounds and means. The synthetic methodus or “way

through” theology moves “progressively à principiis ad principata,” from the foundations to the things founded upon them, or from the simple to the composite. The analytical methodus moves “progressively à principatis ad principia, from the derived points to the first principles, from the goal to the means. Or, alternatively, a “mixed” methodus can move wither according to the order of the materials or the ease of the understanding, allowing a more or less synthetic disposition of some issues and a more or less analytic resolution of others.38 And, presumably, any of the three patterns is acceptable in theology. (Clearly, if Reformed theology were a purely deductive model, as is claimed by some versions of the central dogma theory, it could consistently advocate only the synthetic model—and would define it was generated by logic rather than as merely depicting a known causal pattern.)39 What is more, on this larger systematic scale, however strictly logical their explanations may initially seem, the two models, compositive and resolutive, were not simply matters of deductive or inductive logic. A firm distinction must be made concerning the theological systems of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries between logic and causality, specifically between a logically deductive structure and a causally ordered structure. The compositive or synthetic shape of the Reformed orthodox system was intended, clearly, to begin with principia and then to move by way of secondary causality, means, and effects, toward the ultimate goal or end, but the topics or loci arranged according to this pattern were traditionary topics elicited from Scripture and not logical results of rational meditation on principia.40 In addition, the adoption of a compositive or synthetic arrangement of one’s doctrinal theology did not indicate a commitment of the theologian to a particular form of reasoning: many of the Reformed advocated the use of a synthetic model in ordering the loci of theology but argued the use of an analytical approach to the text of Scripture in moving from exegesis to the identification and development of the loci themselves. The synthetic model was typically a form or methodus for presenting clearly the results obtained analytically through elicitation of the loci from the materials of theology.41 What is more, the path from causes to effects was also dictated by the flow of the biblical history—an issue already raised by Melanchthon in the early sixteenth century and more obviously identifiable in the federal theologies but also evidenced in the other orthodox models, which typically begin with God and creation and move by way of the fall and sin to redemption, to the church, and to the last things. The topics of the system were not logical deductions from the idea of God, but rather biblical and traditionary topics arranged under or after the doctrine of God and identified as God’s works. 3. Theological application: the Reformed orthodox methodus. The

Reformed language of theological methodus, then, reflected the main logical and philosophical concerns of the century that extended from the publication of Agricola’s logic and the early Renaissance interest in Galen’s logical procedures to the renewal of Aristotelianism by Zabarella and his contemporaries. The Reformed writers, following the Agricolan and Melanchthonian pattern, manifest a concern for the overarching logic of the way through the theological topics or loci but also, following out the Galenic pattern as found in Hyperius and Zanchi and later developed by Zabarella, demonstrate a profound interest in the actual patterns of argument. Ramus’ influence was most powerfully felt at the architectonic level of system. The syllogistic approach, as given impetus by Zabarella’s definitions of the compositive and resolutive methods, had more impact on polemical than on positive theology and, with the exception of Wendelin’s utterly syllogistic Systema (1654), none of the major Reformed systems adopted the syllogism as the sole means of exposition. The definition of theology as both theoretical and practical served also to balance the use of compositive and resolutive approaches in argument—even when the architecture of system tended toward a synthetic or compositive order. In its method theology accepts reason which, though in itself corrupt, can —illuminated by Word and Spirit—be of use to the theologian in his work. Similarly, theology can reject the excesses of scholasticism without rejecting method itself: artifice and tortuous logic is rejected but method is to be prudently adapted.42 Thus the Reformed reject a scholasticism which stands midway between revealed and natural theology and which treats revelation according to the method and arguments of nature, thus setting philosophical demonstration and the thought of Aristotle, Averroes and others equal to, if not above, the Scriptures. Theology must be purified of such error—yet scholastic theology in the sense of revealed theology quatenus traditur modo scholis familiari (“to the extent that it is taught in the manner of our schools”), and as Alsted defined it, is useful in polemic against the scholasticism of the Roman Church, in debate with Gentiles and atheists, and in convincing rational souls of the truth of the revelation.43 Thus the method of theology begins with Scripture and exegesis, propounds positive doctrine, then settles all controversies and disputed points, and, finally, demonstrates the practical application of doctrine and its usefulness to the individual.44 The historical trajectory of theological method from the loci communes of Melanchthon, Hyperius and the other early writers of Protestant system to the massive sets of loci propounded by the orthodox Protestant theologians of the seventeenth century is marked by a major change in approach: the architectonic methodus is maintained, the basic loci are set forth, but the approach is, beginning with the generation of Junius, Polanus and Bucanus, a

fully scholastic one. This change echoes the change in theological style forged and finalized in the thirteenth century by Aquinas and those who followed his lead. The early Protestant loci are primarily exegetical and expository; the later loci, beginning with Polanus and his contemporaries, assume the exegesis and then follow a ratiocinative pattern of definition, division and argumentation. Theology has moved definitively from the collation of meditations on sacra pagina to the enunciation of a scientia of sacra doctrina: we finally have a genuine systematic or dogmatic theology in Protestant form. Calvin’s Institutes were by intention an introductory instruction in the reading or study of Scripture; Polanus’ Syntagna and subsequent Protestant systems are formal scholastic summations of doctrine that weld scriptural and traditional materials into cohesive patterns of argument and, in turn, into an exhaustive and self-contained body of Christian doctrine. A methodus or way through theology, as Mastricht argued at the end of the era of orthodoxy, must consider first the nature of God, second, the nature of theology itself, and third, the benefits of the method (i.e., whether it furthers knowledge). Regarding the first of these issues, Mastricht notes that God is not a confused or disorderly God but a God who is declared by Scripture to be decent and orderly (1 Cor. 14:33, 40). This God created rational creatures according to a principle of order and, indeed, in his Scriptures—though arranged perhaps arbitrarily—he manifests a certain logic in the inspiration of his chosen amanuenses. Second, the nature of theology, as noted before, derives from the collation and interpretation of doctrines which are subordinate to and homogeneously dispersed throughout the vast body of Scripture. Third, the method clearly draws together and comprehends the things to be taught, enables them to be retained easily in the memory, and supports its arguments elegantly and well.45 Mastricht repudiates both the excessively philosophical method—whether analytic or synthetic—and the nonphilosophical methods of the antitheological Anabaptists and enthusiasts.46 The systematic effect of the locus method was to bar the way to the use of overarching motifs in the system and to emphasize the integrity of the topics. The loci, as drawn from Scripture and tradition, cannot be easily pressed into the service of a genuinely deductive model. Even when arranged in an a priori or synthetic pattern, the loci tend to stand independent of one another and to resist any monistic systematizing tendency. Schweizer recognized and noted this methodological issue as creating a problem for the crystallization of the Reformed system—and saw it as pressing the system back toward its confessional foundation for its basic organizational pattern.47 It was, after all, Schweizer’s intention, as distinct from the intention of the Protestant

orthodox, to create a monistic system of doctrine. The transition from the early loci communes to the fully scholastic loci communes implies a change in method (in the modern sense of the term) and in underlying intention. As noted before, the literary genre of scholastic system is significantly different from the literary genre of the early Reformation system. The intention of system is now the orderly and logical exposition of all loci—and although methodus or way through these loci draws on earlier paradigms, their exposition is substantially different. This transition, of course, was gradual: the discursive forms of Calvin and Bullinger yield to the quaestio of Ursinus and the vast topical treatises of Zanchi. These in turn are modified by an increasingly propositional and logical structure in the era of Ramism. Finally, this is recast into the form of a theoretical-practical, didactic-polemic system that treats each doctrine from all four of these perspectives. We are dealing, in short, with the development of a Protestant scholastic method. 4.2 “Scholastic” Method in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries A. From Reformation to Orthodoxy in the Classroom: Scholasticism and the Academic Study of Theology 1. Scholasticism and academic style in the Reformation and the era of orthodoxy. Although a contrast can be drawn between the theology of the Reformers and the more “scholastic” style of the theology of the later Protestant orthodox, the contrast is neither as great nor of the particular character alleged in much of the older scholarship. It is simply untenable to make the claim that the Reformers were humanists and their successors scholastics—just as it is untenable to associate scholasticism or humanism with particular theological or philosophical claims,48 when scholasticism and humanism are understood as methods and when it is recognized that these methods coexisted, sometimes in bitter controversy between faculties, in the universities of the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. The understanding of scholasticism as a method is, in fact, characteristic of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries generally, and the term “scholastic” was regularly applied in the era of the Reformation itself to academic practice: indeed the usage is so imbedded in the thought of the era that it would be to little purpose to attempt to find the “first” Reformed or Protestant reference to the ethos, style, and method of classroom training as a “scholastic.” Writers of an undeniably “humanist” stamp, like Mathurin Cordier, wrote discourses and dialogues on the mode or manner of study entitled Colloquia scholastica,49 while the humanistically trained Melanchthon, as early as 1536, addressed his colleagues at the University of Wittenberg with an oration in praise of the “scholastic life.”50 If this general

use of the term “scholastic” is not enough to drive home the point, there is the example of the Academy of Geneva, established to train scholars—scholastici or scolastiques—in the classification of propositions, forms of argument, logic, and in the methods of disputation.51 These methods were followed, moreover, in regular gatherings of the Genevan clergy in the time of Calvin: a biblical text was studied by means of thetical statement concerning its meaning, followed by a disputation and resolution of the question. A similar method was adopted in the classroom by Beza as a basic exegetical practice.52 Calvin’s contemporary, Andreas Hyperius also described the academic or “scholastic” approach as brief, clear, and logical, in contrast to the approach of oratory, which was complex, ornate, and intended to be rhetorically rather than logically persuasive, while also using the term pejoratively as the excessively subtle school-theology of the Middle Ages.53 A similar usage is evident in the work of Wolfgang Musculus.54 In sum, the adjective, scholasticus, refers to the schola and the academic life, apart from the consideration of doctrinal or philosophical content: when used in their most general sense the terms merely identify the academic setting; more strictly or specifically they identify the general methods of training, applicable to virtually any discipline. The usage also allows a negative as well as positive understanding of “academic” or “scholastic”—the method taken to extremes, as in the case of the late medieval speculation against which the Reformers protested.55 These assumptions concerning the character of academic discourse and debate in theology continue to be stated in the late sixteenth century, as for example, in Faius’ preface to the Theses theologicae offered for degrees in the Genevan academy toward the end of the sixteenth century and in the writings of Chandieu from the same era.56 Faius, quite explicitly, understood the practice of scholastic disputation in the Genevan academy as an academic approach or method, not as the imposition of a particular philosophy or theology. He argued, moreover, the difference between the Genevan practice and the problematic scholasticism of the late medieval era, with its “sophisticall propositions” and its “mingling” of “School Philosophy” with “divinity.”57 Both Faius and Chandieu understood their scholasticism and its disputations as an academic method, not a philosophy—and they distinguished their scholasticism from that of the later Middle Ages, critiquing the medieval forms of scholasticism in distinctly “humanistic” terms while at the same time developing their own form of post-Reformation and late Renaissance school theology. Similar statements occur in synodical pronouncements of the era in which the synod took on itself the duty of regulating academic practice: we find such a recommendation from the Synod of Wesel in 1568 and from the Synod of

Alais in 1620.58 Thus, what was singled out in the older scholarship as a radical change away from the earlier “humanistic,” more open style of Reformed theology to a new “scholastic” dogmatism is, in fact, a point of continuity in academic practice with the typical models of the Reformation era, indeed, of the Academy of Geneva. Nor, indeed, given the statutes of the Academy of Geneva and the statement of the Synod of Wesel, can the academic advice of the Synod of Alais be regarded as an attempt to “force scholasticism upon the French church” in the wake of the Canons of Dort—in fact, it offers evidence of the scholastic character of education at the French Reformed academies, including the Academy of Saumur,59 as do also the theses for disputation published by Amyraut, Cappel, and their colleagues,60 in accord with the practice of other Reformed universities and academies of the era.61 As is clear from the decisions of the Synod, moreover, the scholastic model that it advocated was a method, and this portion of synodical acts had to do not with the content of the theology taught but with the regulation and ordering of classroom practice and the granting of degrees. The two professors are called on to lecture, one on Scripture, the other on the “commonplaces” or loci communes of theology, four times per week, with a view to training students in theses and propositions for disputation. The Synod also recommended brevity in public disputation, to be achieved by avoidance of excessive numbers of objections and the structuring of each disputation to conform to a distinct topic or commonplace.62 2. In praise of theology: the ethos of orthodox formulation. The development of Protestant academies and universities and the rise of increasingly distinguished theological faculties in these institutions created a climate in which the humanistic ideal of excellence in discourse, including the method or “way through” the topics of a discipline conjoined with the academic or “scholastic” development of theology creating an ethos for the discipline, indeed, creating a sense of the aesthetics of formulation. This development, certainly stands in continuity with such humanistic-academic exercises of the Reformation era as Melanchthon’s oratio in praise of the “scholastic life.”63 The aesthetic of praise, moreover, linked to the humanist goal of eloquentia in discourse, also reflects the definitions of theology as a wisdom or science concerning divine things, having a contemplative and a practical dimension. In Du Moulin’s view, theology, communicated to human beings by revelation from God, must be constructed and formulated in an atmosphere of praise and thankfulness.64 That praise and thankfulness is, in turn, mirrored in the fact that theology is, from one perspective, contemplative, a wisdom to be enjoyed—and from another perspective, practical. A wisdom to be used in aiding humanity toward the goal of blessedness, of “living to God,” in this life

and the next. The scholastic method itself, therefore, takes on a humanistic and an aesthetic dimension. The occasion of Du Moulin’s Oration in Praise of Divinity was the inauguration of Alexander Colvinus as professor of theology in the academy of Sedan in December 1628. At the inauguration of a professor of theology, Du Moulin begins, something must be said of the nature of the discipline— given that even “slender and small matters” are difficult to present in an eloquent form, a discipline such as theology is clearly the most difficult to portray: there is danger, given the excellence of theology that its “splendor be overcast by the dulnesse of the speaker.”65 Du Moulin begs indulgence of his audience, noting that their “pardon” ought easily to be granted given that “especially in a divine subject, whose least knowledge it is better to obtaine, then the most accurate of humane things: no otherwise then the least ray of the Sunne is more excellent than a thousand candles.”66 The hearer ought not to expect elaborate eloquence, neither the “flourishes of Rhetoricians, nor the ornaments of Orators,” because the “simple majesty of Divine wisdom” stands in no “need of borrowed colours.”67 After presenting at length the nature of Christian theology, its foundation in revelation, its theoretical and practical character, and its priority over all ancient pagan wisdom, Du Moulin addresses Colvinus, arguing that the teacher must be worthy of the discipline, in character, in training, and in ability to present the subject worthily.68 Another such encomium to theology can be found as the letter “To the Christian Reader” in Downame’s Summe of Sacred Divinitie.69 Downame’s purpose is to introduce both the discipline and the book—and, specifically to commend the “Method and Matter” of the volume for the way in which it displays the subject, in the words of the subtitle, “briefly & methodically propounded: and then more largly and cleerely handled and explaned.” He begins with the simile of skilled “workmen … who can cunningly frame the singular parts and so beautifie & set them forth, that they may be pleasant to the eye and convenient for use.” The most praiseworthy of workmen, however, go beyond this basic skill to “well contrive the whole plot, lay a good and sure Foundation, and in due proportion can frame out and set up the principall and chiefe parts which sustayne and bear all the rest.” Similarly, Downame continues, those who build up the “spirituall Edifice” should be commended for their mastery of “particular points of Divinitie.” But here, too, the most praiseworthy are those who in “writings and sermons” evidence that they can skilfully contrive the whole building or body of Divnitie in a welframed plot, lay a sound and sure foundation, and thereupon erect the chiefe Principles and most substantial parts which are the strength and

stay of all the rest. For if the iudgement bee once thorowly informed in these mayne points; then is it able to deduce from [them] innumerable particular Conclusions, for speciall information and direction in the well-ordering of our lives in all singular actions.70 The model given here reflects the assumption, already noted in the basic definitions of theology found in the early orthodox writers, that the discipline has a fundamentally practical aim and, moreover, that the detailed and methodical handling of the subject supports that aim. Downame also assumes the rectitude and usefulness of the scholastic method of drawing good and necessary conclusions from first principles. Once this approach (which echoes the understanding of theology as scientia or sapientia) is mastered, then it is possible to read Scripture “without perill of falling into pernicious errours” and to listen to the word preached with proper understanding. So also, will the rightly prepared student of theology be able to examine and test the doctrines of various teachers and preachers by the “analogy of faith” to see “whether they bee pure metall, or but reprobate silver, and counterfait coyne.” This is a proper armor against “adversaries to the Truth, false Seducers and subtill Heretikes”—a suitable foundation for studying polemics.71 In short, the right understanding of the discipline, particularly the use of a proper method, lies at the heart of good teaching. In addition, Downame’s Summe, as a whole, reflects the sense of the orthodox era that the same theology can be presented in several forms—brief and methodical, more detailed and carefully explained, and polemically formulated. All the forms reflect the same foundation but address different needs. B. Theological Method and Approach in the Era of Orthodoxy 1. “Scholastic theology” and Protestantism: historical sensibilities and methodological distinctions in the orthodox era. The intense academic efforts of early orthodox Reformed writers in the three decades before the Synod of Dort yielded a large-scale Protestant curriculum that implied a more detailed and variegated reception of the theological and philosophical past than found in Protestant universities and academies in the greater part of the sixteenth century. The compilation of full bodies of Christian doctrine in such works as Polanus’ Syntagma and Scharpius’ Cursus theologicus, the development of a philosophical curriculum by Keckermann, Bisterfeld, and Alsted, the detailed expansion of polemic evidenced in a work like Ames’ Bellarminus enervatus, and the presentation of traditionary themes in theology from the fathers by writers like Scultetus, presumed a broader grasp of the tradition. At the same time, synods declared the necessity of a suitable “scholastic” method and theologians like Chandieu, Trelcatius Jr., and Alsted

used the term “scholastic” with reference to their own theological method. In this context of broadening traditionary perspectives and developing academic curricula, Protestant teachers were drawn to distinguish between their own scholasticism or school method and the scholasticism of the medieval doctors and to position medieval scholasticism within an era of decline in churchly doctrine and morals. The distinction was made primarily on the assumption of a stronger scriptural and exegetical basis and of a less speculative and more truly ancillary use of philosophy in the Protestant scholastic systems— together with the assumption that these standards were reflected more clearly in the earlier eras of church history.72 Tossanus’ Compendium of the Fathers offers a typical example of this receptivity to tradition coupled with a critical, historical sensibility. Tossanus makes an initial distinction between the “public” or official writings of the fathers, namely, the earliest “canons” or rules of faith and the councils of the early church, and their private writings.73 The latter he divides by period, first from the beginning of the second century to Nicaea,74 and then from the time of the Council of Nicaea to the death of Augustine. The later fathers receive considerable attention from Tossanus, with the orthodox writers receiving detailed discussion, including both praise and censure—and the heretics receiving reasonably nuanced presentation, including the discrimination of parties among the Arians.75 A final era of the early church followed the death of Augustine—in Tossanus’ view, a time of decline during which the insights of Augustine were often obscured “by reason of the accumulated superstitions of the Munks.”76 In Tossanus’ view, the early Middle Ages can be described as an era not entirely ignorant or corrupt during which the best theology continued to be done in the manner of Augustine.77 An era, beginning roughly with the debates of the twelfth century and continuing into the fourteenth, is denominated by Tossanus as a time of the rise of scholastic theology when the teaching of Christian doctrine “degenerated from its first simplicity and purity, and fell upon many unprofitable, and doubtfull questions, full of Phylosophycall subtilties, together with definitions and sentences accommodated to the corruptions of those times.” Still, there is some useful teaching to be found in the work of Lombard who, unlike later scholastics allowed Scripture to be authoritative rather than give all authority to Aristotle. Tossanus recommends Daneau’s commentary on Lombard as a Reformed survey of the positive and negative elements of this form of scholasticism.78 The “last Age of the Schoolmen from the Council of Constance to the time of Luther,” writes Tossanus, was “more audacious, & infinitely ignorant,” albeit not lacking a few enlightened souls.79

These perceptions, with some modifications, remained with the orthodox well into the eighteenth century, where Venema’s comments on scholastic theology, with their underlying sense of the continuity of Aristotelianism, provide a significant retrospective characterization of the history of theology and its methods: The scholastic writers … may be regarded as belonging to three different periods. The first begins with Peter Lombard—a Parisian bishop, who lived in the twelfth century, who regarded the Patristic divines and their writings as a source of theology, and who, after the example of John Damascenus, reduced theology into a new form—and extends to the days of Thomas Aquinas. The second period begins with Thomas Aquinas, or with Albert the Great, bishop of Ratisbon, in the thirteenth century, and extends to the time of Durandus of St. Portian in the fourteenth. It is characterized by the addition of Aristotle to the sources already mentioned. The third period dates from the days of Durandus to the seventeenth century. Its leading feature, like the preceding, is the rank and authority assigned to Aristotle as a source of theology. We cannot but speak with commendation of the order and ingenuity of the scholastic method, and of the moderation with which it treated all who differed in opinion.… And yet there were many things in it to be condemned;—especially idle and unprofitable speculations, an excessive eagerness for disputation, false principles, an ignorance of Scripture and, in particular, of the Oriental languages, and a diffuse and unpolished style. The systems of Lombard and Aquinas, however, deserve to be read. About the time of the Reformation, theology, as a system, was presented in a new light, and received many emendations, agreeable to reason and the Word of God.80 Not only do we encounter no pejorative connotation attached to the term “scholastic,” we also sense the continuity of scholasticism with its Aristotelian philosophical underpinnings, from the thirteenth through the seventeenth centuries. The Reformation effects a positive development in doctrine within the history of scholastic method. Venema seems to exclude his theology from the category of “scholasticism” only because of the demise of Aristotelian philosophy.81 For the most part the Reformed orthodox are anxious to distinguish between their own scholasticism and that of the medieval doctors. Tossanus and Burman, for example, speak of the last era of medieval scholasticism coming to a close with the theology of Pierre D’Ailly and Gabriel Biel at the

end of the fifteenth century, with the new era being inaugurated by Luther.82 Burman also provides a careful synopsis of the seventeenth-century Protestant view of medieval scholasticism, noting elements to be praised (and received) as well as elements to be rejected: To be praised in this theologica scholastica are 1. the simple and concise kind of language, 2. the accurate and dialectical method, 3. the use or support of philosophy and of subjects concerned with the natural order (disciplinarum naturalium). To be rejected, however, are … 1. the obnoxious doctrine of Papal tyranny, false in many points, 2. the multitude of philosophical issues, 3. the curiosity over vain questions, 4. confusion of issues arising out of an ignorance of ancillary languages, 5. obscurity and barbarism.83 The scholastic theology of the Reformed both sets aside the errors of papal teaching—its vain questionings and its failure to use the biblical languages— and avoids the excessive use of philosophy.84 Burman’s last three objections reflect the humanistic heritage of Reformed scholasticism. In short, the seventeenth-century Reformed recognized that their own “scholasticism” was not identical to medieval scholasticism, and the differences that they enumerated point toward the Renaissance and Reformation era reception, critique, and modification of the older models. Reformed scholastics thus recognized both that scholastic method had changed in the course of centuries and that their version of the method strove to remove what were, from a post-Reformation Protestant perspective, problematic elements and abuses from the method. Specifically, the Reformed scholastics often distinguished between the proper “use” of scholastic method and its “abuse” at the hands of the late medieval scholastics: as one scholar has argued, these Reformed writers belonged to a “tradition that by sharply distinguishing the usus of Scholastic method from its abusus, aimed at professionalizing theology in the Protestant world.”85 Discussion of the term “scholastic” itself is one of the clearest signs of this professionalization of theology and of the Reformed claim to represent the then-contemporary development of a normative teaching tradition. Beyond this, as will become apparent in the subsequent discussion of the genus of theology, the character of theology as theoretical or practical, and the appropriation both of scholastic method and of traditional philosophical categories, identification of the various scholastic options and the relationship of Protestant thought to various trajectories of the older thought (Thomist, Scotist, Augustinian, nominalist), was an issue recognized as significant by the Protestant orthodox themselves.86 2. Definitions and distinctions concerning the varieties of theology. The

understanding of “scholastic” found among the Reformers of the second generation, as primarily an indicator of the academic context but also as capable of both positive and negative connotations, carried over into the era of orthodoxy. As Voetius could point out, the term “scholastic” might be understood in several ways—most loosely, loosely, and strictly. Most loosely (latissimè), the term “scholastic” could be applied to the teaching of any school, whether public or private, orthodox or heretical. Loosely (latè), the term indicates “the form and method” of the theology taught in European schools after the beginnings of anti-Christian corruption in the Middle Ages, as distinguished from the “ecclesiastical” theology of the earlier centuries. Taken strictly (strictè), “scholastic theology” identifies the “form and method” of theology found in the four books of Lombard’s Sentences, in the summa theologiae of Aquinas, and afterward in the books of commentaries and disputations based on Lombard.87 Given the positive broader definition and the need to teach theology in the schools, some application of scholastic theology is acceptable, as long as it does not resemble the theology that continues to obtain “in Papist schools,” but stands as a higher method for “didactic and elenctical theology” as taught in the schools of the Reformed faith, a theology that respects the proper use of “reason, the light of nature, logic, and philosophy” as ancillary disciplines.88 Distinctions, used by the early and high orthodox writers of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, between catechetical, scholastic, and textual, together with the identification of loci communes and disputationes as the primary forms of academic discourse in theology, have their roots not only in medieval theology but also, as we have seen, in the methodological efforts of Calvin’s contemporaries—Melanchthon, Bullinger, Hyperius, and others. In particular, distinction between the dialectical or scholastic style in academic theological discourse, in systems of theology and in the more technical biblical commentaries, and the popular style found in more homiletical commentaries and suited to preaching belongs to the era of the Reformation and, indeed, has medieval roots.89 The point is not only important in terms of the Reformation era origins of many of the attitudes and perspectives of the Protestant orthodox—it is also important in view of the fact that the distinctions between various genera of theology led the Protestant orthodox to distinguish carefully, in their own works, which were catechetical, which positive, which scholastic, and so forth. Joseph Hall could comment in his sermon before the Synod of Dort, It is the case, as everyone knows, that theology is twofold, scholastic and the popular (scholastica et popularis). The former seems to regard the foundation of religion, the latter its form and external ornaments: the former the things which ought to be known, the latter the things

which may be known. The understanding of the former makes one a Christian, of the latter a disputer: or, if you please, the former makes a theologian, the latter adorns one.90 Similarly, Martinius, Alsted, and other theologians of the early orthodox era make a basic division between the “scholastic” approach to theology and the “popular” approach suited to the general education of the laity.91 Thus, not all of the works written by the theologians known to us as “Protestant scholastics” follow a scholastic method. This affects, of course, the question of whether a document like the Westminster Confession is “scholastic”: the method in the document itself is not scholastic, but the confession is certainly the product of English Reformed scholastic divines some of whose works do indeed follow a scholastic or “prolix” and “disputative” method.92 The full form of the paradigm is found in many of the seventeenth-century theological systems. Maccovius presents a description of the modus proponendi theologiae together with a somewhat more extensive discussion of the uses and the appropriate audiences of the two basic approaches, the “succinct” and the “prolix”: The model of propounding theology is twofold: one, less-cultivated (rudior) and less fully developed (minusque exquisitus), the other most refined and fully developed (magis exquisitus).93 A similar paradigm is offered by Leigh. Divinity, Leigh argues, is to be taught and handled methodically, orderly, and logically, according to three basic methods, the first two of which parallel Maccovius precisely, namely, a “succinct and brief” catechetical model and “prolix and large … scholasticall” rehearsal of the “commonplaces” or loci communes.94 Leigh then adds a third category, not so much in distinction from Maccovius’ model as for the sake of an elaboration of the larger theological task—“Textual, which consists in a diligent Meditation of the Scriptures, the right understanding of which is the end of other instructions.”95 Scripture remains fundamental, but its full exposition presumes a full theological instruction. Maccovius goes on to offer some explanation of the differences between the methods: The less fully developed mode is that which we use with reference to children, for the purpose of the knowledge of salvation (ratione salutaris cognitionis) and of instruction, provided that we propound in them, at very least, the principle heads (praecipua capita) [of doctrine]. The fully developed mode is that which we use with reference to those who, by reason of further progress in heavenly doctrine (in coelesti doctrina), the Holy Spirit commonly calls adults, developed

ones.96 The less fully developed mode of propounding theology, as Leigh’s definition and Maccovius’ explanation indicate, is catechesis. Catechetical instruction can be reduced to four basic divisions which together comprise the Elementa fidei Christiana: the Decalogue, which teaches (1) of the one, eternal, most good (optimus), righteous (iustus), omnipotent, awesome (metuendus), and honored (colendus) God; (2) of the Law, its integrity, and its use; (3) of the fall and original sin; and (4), of the temporal and eternal misery of sinners; second, the articles of the Apostles’ Creed; third, the Lord’s Prayer; and fourth, the sacraments. These articles, comments Maccovius, are the foundation of faith and salvation (fundamentum fidei & salutis). (We shall return to this foundational or fundamental status of catechesis below in the discussion of fundamental articles in theology and of the impact of the identification of such articles on scholastic system.)97 The more fully developed mode or method of propounding theology rests upon, indeed, contains the results of the credal or catechetical model but, comments Maccovius, citing Paraeus, is more devoted to particulars, indeed, with those further topics (annexa) and difficulties which commonly arise after the basic issues have been expounded or explained: this method is customarily followed in the schools (in Academiis) and observed by all in teaching the Commonplaces of Theology (Locorum Communium Theologicum). From this method of propounding theology arises directly the distinction made by theologians concerning the articles of faith (articulorum fidei)—that some are universally held (Catholici) while others are theological (Theologici).… Theological science (scientia theologica) is sacred doctrine, not entirely directed toward salvation, but which is necessary to theologians for the sake of their profession and for the sake of carrying on and protecting the universal faith (fidem Catholicam) in the Church and in the schools.98 This statement of method reflects the discussion of fundamental loci: the Protestant scholastics recognize that their detailed exposition goes beyond fundamentals—but they also recognize a purpose in their method that relates to the fundamental articles, that of explanation and defense. The language cited from Paraeus also reflects a crucial element of the orthodox theological enterprise: the desire for and emphasis upon catholicity. Protestantism had, from its very beginnings, assumed its identity as the true church—as witnessed by Luther’s stance as a doctor ecclesiae, a doctor of the church, bound to reform its doctrine, and by Calvin’s profoundly catholic claims in his response to Sadoleto.99 The Protestant orthodox systems,

searching out and defending “right teaching,” had as their goal the formulation of a universally valid statement of Christian truth. The relationship noted by Paraeus between the fundamental or catechetical articles to be learned by all and the theological articles of the academic theological science to be learned by the teachers of the church is a relationship grounded in this quest for catholicity. The teacher of doctrine is not given to unbridled speculation but rather engages in the most abstruse investigations for the sake of the universal faith of the church, its maintenance, and its defense. There is, clearly, more to be said concerning the division of the discipline, even in Alsted, than the simple distinction between “scholastic” and “popular.” Alsted provides a considerably more complex model, adumbrated to a certain extent in the definitions already cited from Leigh, Maccovius, and Paraeus, and, like their distinctions, clearly intended to allow for differences between that which must be taught to all and that which must be elaborated and debated by theologians. Thus, he argues for kinds of theological instruction differing according to the relative place of the human subject in the church: catechetical theology, theology of the confirmand, ecclesiastical theology, and, finally, scholastic theology. Catechetical theology is a preliminary exercise for the novice, while theology for the confirmand is a “more perfect” exercise for those further along the path of religious knowledge. Ecclesiastical theology is a more practical theology that relates to the things of faith, the holy life and the general or popular instruction of the church, while scholastic theology is a more theoretical discipline that differs from ecclesiastical theology not in substance but in mode: it is an essentially disputative form of theology that exists for the defense of the faith.100 The distinction between catechetical and more fully developed theology also provided the Reformed orthodox with a methodological tool for developing and coordinating their theology at several levels, an approach particularly evident among the British and the Dutch Reformed. Quite a few writers produced two-level systematic essays, consisting in a catechetical effort followed by a more detailed commentary on it. Among the Dutch, the model was most typically framed as commentaries on the Heidelberg Catechism, after the manner of Ursinus’ lectures, sometimes in the form of a more academic commentary, other times in the form of sermons on the catechetical topics. Voetius produced an independent triple catechism that moved from basic to more detailed doctrinal exposition of the same basic series of topics.101 The British—Watson, Vincent, Boston, Ridgley—also wrote commentaries on extant catechisms, notably the Westminster standards,102 and in addition cultivated an approach according to which a theologian would begin with a concise catechetical exercise, often of his own composition, and then develop it by way of a longer second essay following

the same outline but offering a fully developed body of doctrine.103 The Westminster standards themselves are consciously confessional and catechetical in genre and, as the debates of the assembly indicate, were written, for the most part, in an intentionally nondisputative and non scholastic form.104 The Reformed orthodox can also distinguish two basic types of theologia exquisita or fully developed system of doctrine: Theology in this sense is divided by some into didactic and polemical (didacticam & polemicam) or, better, into positive and scholastic (positivam & scholasticam) theology: of which the former meditates on the analysis and interpretation of Holy Scripture: the latter on the synthesis of commonplaces (synthesi locorum communium) so that those loci that are spread here and there throughout Holy Scripture can be presented in a definite order.105 This basic distinction between didactic, “positive” or ecclesiastical theology and the polemical, scholastic or elenctical defense of the didactic theology relates both to the locus method and to the identification of theology as a science that draws conclusions from its principia.106 The basic didactic theology of the compendia and medullae sets forth the basic loci and the fundamental or principial statements of doctrine. The scholastic theology of the more elaborate systems develops the principial statements toward their correct conclusions over against the erroneous conclusions of adversaries in debate. As witnessed early on by the practice of Melchior Cano, this is the basic direction of the locus method. In the hands of the Protestant writers, however, Scripture is the principium, not merely a source of principia—and the method as a whole is drawn into the context of the Reformation’s sola Scriptura. This distinction of methods appears, for example, in Turretin’s Institutio theologiae elencticae, which is entirely polemical or scholastic; in Pictet’s Theologia christiana, which is thoroughly didactic and positive, an intentional completion of the system present only as polemic in Turretin’s Institutio; and in Mastricht’s Theoretico-practica theologia, which attempts to combine the didactic and polemical elements with exegetical foundations and practical applications into one system. The same methodological distinctions are apparent among the Lutherans in Baier’s Compendium theologiae positivae and Quenstedt’s Theologia didactico-polemica.107 Not only do these distinctions all assume an intimate relationship between theology and Scripture, they also represent a significant distinction. Spanheim makes the distinction in the form of causal language, reflecting the earlier discussion of the causality of theology in general: the efficient cause of Scripture is God, whereas all forms of “systematic theology” arise from

human authors. So too, the material cause of Scripture is God’s knowledge alone and the “material” of Scripture is “utterly divine,” whereas theology includes material that is human and therefore has, imbedded in its material causality, “human errors and infirmities.” There is, accordingly, a necessary difference in order and relation between Scripture and theology: the former is the rule (regula), the latter is regulated (regulatum); the former is the principium, the latter has a principium and is grounded on it or “principiated”; the former is one and to be examined (exigendum), the latter discloses or manifests its foundation.108 These definitions of theological method serve to clear away several misconceptions concerning the intentions of seventeenth-century theologians. In the first place, the terms system and systematic, when applied to theology did not, in the seventeenth century, imply anything like the monistic syntheses designated “system” by theologians and philosophers of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Instead, system here simply indicates the basic body of doctrine in its proper organization, as found in a catechism: a seventeenthcentury systema, like a compendium or a medulla, was likely to be a basic survey as distinct from an elaborate system. Second, and more important, the term “scholastic”—contrary to the attempt of several modern authors to define it in terms of an allegiance to Aristotelian philosophy and a use of predestination as a central dogma—indicates neither a philosophical nor a doctrinal position, but rather the topical approach of the loci communes or “commonplaces” and the method of exposition by definition, division, argument, and answer utilized in the Protestant scholastic theological prolegomena. Burman, similarly, defined scholastic theology as “nothing other than definitions, arguments, objections, responses and distinctions systematically joined together.”109 Third, once the late sixteenth and seventeenth-century definition of “scholastic” is taken into consideration and it is seen to indicate one method of theological discourse among others— distinct from the catechetical, positive, textual and other methods—it also becomes clear that not all documents from the “scholastic” era of Protestantism are scholastic documents and that not all of the writings of the Protestant scholastics are representative of the method. The limitation of scholasticism to certain genres of documents and certain academic locations becomes apparent.110 It is also worth noting that, as evidenced by Leigh’s description of methods, the term “scholastic” could be used by Protestants in the mid-seventeenth century in a positive, non-polemical sense which reflected the etymological meaning of the word—a method or teaching “of the schools”—rather than reflecting Protestant distaste for the metaphysical speculations of the medievals. In the late orthodox era, there occurs a proliferation of the model beyond

the typical seventeenth century divisions into exegetical, doctrinal (popular and scholastic), polemical, and catechetical. Already, at the very end of the seventeenth century, probably as a continental development of the Perkinsian and Amesian definitions of theology as the doctrine or science of “living to God” or “living blessedly,” a distinct category of theologia practica arose— not as a discussion of ministerial praxis but as an extension of the whole of doctrine into the life of the Christian community.111 The model was further expanded in such late orthodox works as Vitringa’s Doctrinae christianae religionis, to include a classification of the subdisciplines of each major areas of theology. In Vitringa’s description, theology divides, “with respect to [its] materials,” into five classes: exegetical, dogmatic, elenctical, moral, and historical. Theologia exegetica in turn divides into basic exegetical method and its application in the books of the Bible, plus specific areas of prophetic, typical, emblematic, allegorical, parabolical, and homiletical theology. Dogmatic theology divides into catechetical, federal, and mathematical or demonstrative theology; elenctic or disputative theology into eclectic, problematic, pacific, and comparative theologies; moral or practical into ascetic, casuistic, ethical, pastoral, “paracletic” theologies, and “Christian prudence”; historical theology into symbolic, hymnodic, patristic, and scholastic.112 Of interest to the present discussion is the transition from the late seventeenth-century sense of practical theology to forms more like the modern practical or pastoral disciplines and, likewise, the transition from the use of “scholastic” as an indication of method to its use only as a descriptor for a historical period, with the nominally “scholastic”methodological issues now falling under the rubrics of “problematic” and “mathematical” or “demonstrative” theology. In his definitions of dogmatic or doctrinal theology, however, Vitringa retains the older orthodox model of an archetypal-ectypal distinction and the classification of human theology as theologia revelationis.113 C. The Organization and Structure of Theology in the Era of Orthodoxy 1. Constructing theology in the era of orthodoxy: Edward Leigh on the name and contents of doctrinal theology. In the letter “to the Christian and Candid Reader” of his large-scale Systeme or Body of Divinity published in 1662, Edward Leigh offered one of the rare glimpses afforded by theological writers of the seventeenth century into the rationale, the identification, and background of theological formulation.114 Leigh notes that his Treatise of Divinity (1646), in three books, had been so well received that he had ventured to produce an entire System or Body of Divinity, expanding his original examination of Scripture, God, and God’s works into ten books covering the whole set of theological topics, with the exception of “the

Covenant and Promises” and “Afflictions or Martyrdom,” topics considered in other works. The omission of covenant from the System or Body of Divinity was significant, given the increasing importance of the topic in the theology of Leigh’s time, offset by his treatment of the subject elsewhere. Leigh also indicated his awareness of different paradigms for the presentation of theology: “divines go different wayes in their handling of positive Divinity,” he noted, as evidenced in the different titles of their works. Some, he wrote, without identifying authors, call their work “a System of Divinity.”115 Others, he notes, now with examples, provide different titles: a “Synopsis,” as in the case of the Synopsis purioris theologiae by “the Dutch Divines”; or a “Syntagma,” like the work of Polanus; or “Common-places” as written by Vermigli and Gerhard; or a “Marrow,” like the famous work of Ames; a “Body of Divinity,” like Chamier’s Corpus theologiae; or a “Summe of Divinity,” like Aquinas and Alexander of Hales. In addition, Leigh notes, there are other major works that are of use in this field—such as “Calvins Institutions, Bullingers Decads, Zanchies Works, … Ursins Summe of Divinity.” Beyond these, there are various other titles, few of which have been written by “English Writers” unless one notes “Mr. Perkins of old, and B. Usher lately.”116 These are not all of Leigh’s sources or points of reference: in addition to numerous tracts cited marginally, Leigh evinced a particular liking for Wendelin’s Christianae theologiae libri duo (Amsterdam, 1657). What Leigh demonstrates, above all, is a sense of the international character of Reformed theology, of the history of the Protestant discipline, and of the various patterns of its presentation. Not surprisingly, he focused on continental writers some of whose works had been published in England: Calvin, Bullinger, Vermigli, Zanchi, Ursinus, Polanus, and the eminent Lutheran, Gerhard. Still, not all of the works of these theologians had been published in England—notably the Syntagma theologiae of Polanus and the Loci theologici of Gerhard. Also, significantly, Leigh was aware of the relative absence of major English systems and of the niche that his own work might fill. His System or Body of Divinity would cover the topics of prolegomena, Scripture, God, the works of God (including creation), the fall and sin, the salvation of the human race in Christ, the church and the Antichrist, union with Christ, ordinances and religious duties, the moral law, and the last things—in a folio volume of some twelve hundred pages. 2. The order and arrangement of Reformed orthodox theology. None of the preceding statements concerning scholastic, didactic, and polemical approaches contained concepts determinative of the overarching structure of theological system and the order and arrangement of its topics, and most of the theologians of the era, including Leigh, did little to explain the finer points of their topical arrangement. The issues of structure, order, and arrangement

of system were addressed by the Protestant scholastics according to three primary concerns: the historical implications of the biblical narrative, the methodological implications of the determination of genus, and the purely structural implications of the logic of topical division. None of these concerns, as they were worked out in system, can be viewed as opposing the scholastic, didactic, and polemical models. Rather, the structural and organizational concerns operated at the level of system while the strictly methodological models determined the pattern of argument in individual loci. In addition, each of the three basic structural concerns were not worked out in all systems: some attended primarily to the historical issue, others primarily to the implications of genus, and still others primarily to the logical division of loci. The historical implications of the biblical narrative for the structure of theological system were recognized by Melanchthon, who spoke of the arrangement of doctrines in historica series. This insight into the systematic use of biblical history was adopted not only by Lutheran theologians but also by the Reformed. We see its impact in a limited way on the systems of Calvin and Musculus in the historical movement of doctrine from creation, sin and fall, through the Old Testament to redemption in Christ. In Bullinger’s theology—the Compendium christianae religionis (1556)—the “historical succession” of doctrine takes on a specifically covenantal character.117 This covenant model, as developed by Ursinus and Olevianus and then transmitted by the Herborn school of Martinius, Crocius, and Alsted, to Cocceius and Burman, and finally to Witsius and Heidegger, became a central issue in the structuring of system. Although the debate over covenant theology in the seventeenth century cannot be discussed at length here, we note that the issue of the debate was not covenant doctrine as such or some basic opposition between “covenant theology” and “scholastic theology.” Both in their method and in their doctrinal content, Cocceius’ Summa theologiae and his sets of theological Aphorismi breathe the same air as other scholastic, orthodox theologies of the era.118 Rather, the issue was Cocceius’ notion of a gradual abrogation of the covenant of works and a gradual institution of the covenant of grace and the impact of this notion on the doctrinal value of the Old Testament.119 What is important to the question of systematic structure and the use of a covenantal historiae series in Reformed system is the post-Cocceian integration of an expanded covenant exposition into theological system. Whereas Cocceius had produced a pure covenant exposition in his Summa doctrina de foedere Dei, and introduced the model of abrogations into the covenantal portions of his full system, the summa theologiae, Burman argued the use of “the natural order, the economy of the covenants of God and the administration of human

salvation” as a model for the structure of orthodox Reformed system, without the loss of the loci of Scripture and God as the beginning point of system, and did so without major impact of the Cocceian notion of abrogations.120 Burman, in other words, turns the federalist model toward the doctrine of a single covenant of grace running through the Old and the New Testament. This model, according to which system is not reduced to covenant but covenant occupies a crucial, central, and historical position between creation and consummation, was adopted by high orthodox theologians like Turretin, Heidegger, and Mastricht. The methodological implications of genus seem to have been given their earliest statement by Keckermann, who identified the genus of theology as prudentia and classified it as a purely practical discipline.121 This definition led him to the conclusion that the method of theology must be entirely analytical: it cannot proceed speculatively from first cause to final goal but rather analytically—from the final goal assumed by the praxis, to underlying conditions that determine the patterns and shape of that praxis, to the intermediate or proximate activities and end of the praxis.122 Although Keckermann viewed the analytical systems of Melanchthon and Ursinus as his primary models, his concentration on the purely practical and purely analytical led him away from their historical perspective. The loss of the historical model together with the Arminian and Socinian emphases on theology as practical made Keckermann’s views on system virtually untenable in the seventeenth century. The clarity with which Keckermann perceived the relation of theory, practice, and genus to method is not evidenced in the words of his contemporary, Trelcatius: There is a two-fold method of teaching, the one from Principles, the other to Principles, the one a Priori proceeding from the Cause to the Effect, and from the first and highest to the lowest and last: the other a Posteriori, proceeding from the Effect to the Cause, or from the last and lowest to the highest and first: the use of the former is mainly in contemplative sciences, of the latter, in the practical (or active).123 Theology, as a science, holds first place in both the contemplative and the active areas of teaching, since it shows both knowledge and right action. Because of this balance, argues Trelcatius, some thinkers have taught theology in an a priori manner, others in an a posteriori manner. Calvin, Melanchthon, and Ursinus followed the a posteriori or analytic pattern while Hyperius, Musculus, Hemmingius, and Zanchi followed the a priori (or synthetic) method. Trelcatius comments that his system will draw on both methods, not only “composing the disposition” of the subject analytically, but

also “unfolding the invention” synthetically, in order that the full system of theology might be manifest. He will, thus, begin from “first principles” and proceed synthetically, but treat each locus analytically.124 The assumption on the part of most of the orthodox that theology, as a sapientia, combined the theoretical and the practical into a single unified discipline,125 tended to preclude the use of two distinct and separate methods but did lead, for the reasons indicated by Trelcatius, to a compromise between synthetic and analytic methods. Systems like those of Maccovius, Gomarus, Walaeus, Burman, Leigh, Turretin, and Heidegger manifest a movement of the system of doctrine as a whole from first principles to ultimate ends—from Scripture and God to the last things—that in a broad and nontechnical sense can be called synthetic and deductive. This very order, however, rests on a teleological perspective as well, so that the goal-oriented praxis also has an impact on overarching structure. Beyond this, there is no attempt within individual loci to argue in a deductive fashion, but rather the pattern of argument, if not strictly analytic, is generally inductive, moving from Scripture with the use of reason toward doctrinal conclusions. The final concern contributing to the order of the Reformed scholastic systems is the logic of topical division. This appears most clearly in the Ramist systems and treatises of the early orthodox period: Polanus’ Partitiones and Syntagma, Ames’ Medulla, Perkins’ A Golden Chaine, and (to a lesser extent) Maccovius’ loci communes. The model is maintained, moreover, in the high orthodox period by Mastricht. Polanus, Ames, and Mastricht all assume a basic division of theology into doctrines concerning faith and doctrines concerning obedience. Ramism itself, emphasizing the logical division of a topic into component parts, usually by a progression of bifurcations, did not determine the topics or the divisions chosen, but only the method. Indeed, it was Ramus’ contention that a single method, the method of logical bifurcation, served all disciplines.126 The initial categories of faith and obedience stand upon two precedents—the theological division of Ursinus’ catechetical lectures into doctrinal sections dealing with redemption and the discussion of Christian life and worship dealing with “thankfulness”; and the standard division of philosophy into metaphysics and ethics. This latter precedent is noted in one of the theses of Ames’ Medulla added by its posthumous editors.127 The doctrines of faith, in all of these systems, first consider God, then God’s works; next the eternal works of God, then the temporal works; the temporal works of creation, then those of redemption. The covenant motif and the historical structuring of system between creation and consummation were not preempted by any of the other organizational or methodological models: the causally ordered, theoretical-

practical model could easily adapt to a covenant theology. This is clearly the case in Heidegger’s Corpus theologiae and, somewhat less historically, in Turretin’s Institutio theologiae elencticae. Similarly the covenant schema could be easily fit into the doctrines of faith in a system like Mastricht’s Theoretico-practica theologia, where the Ramist model also functioned. What is also clear is that the scholastic method of argument by division and definition with reference to objections from adversaries could be integrated with any or all of these larger structural patterns—as is notably the case in the works of Leigh, Maccovius, Turretin, and Mastricht. Granting, then, the implications of the Reformed orthodox interest in method and their precise conception of the meaning of scholasticism in and for their own theological systems, we must set aside as utterly inapplicable to seventeenth-century Reformed orthodoxy the definition of scholasticism as a predestinarian and metaphysical direction in Protestant thought. The scholastic method itself exemplifies the problem of continuity and discontinuity between Protestant orthodoxy and both the Reformation and the Middle Ages. The strict logical argument and the use of division and definition, together with the raising of objections and the stating of responses, represents a point of contact and continuity between the Protestant and medieval scholastics. Nevertheless, this continuity is found only in the internal structuring of loci; the overarching methodus, consisting of the identification and organization of loci, stands over against the medieval scholastic model. The locus method was, of course, a development of late medieval logic, but it was also the method chosen early on in the Reformation by Melanchthon as suitable to the construction of a primarily biblical system. The Protestant scholastic method, therefore, stands as part of a development in logic and, particularly, as part of a new interest in method, in the proper patterning of a topic that began at the close of the fifteenth century and was characteristic of the Reformation. 4.3 The Study of Theology A. Models for Study in the Era of the Reformation As noted earlier, if the writers of the Reformation neglected to write formal prolegomena to theology, they were certainly quite intent on offering detailed discussions of the way in which the discipline ought to be studied.128 From the perspective of literary and academic genre, the Reformers tended toward propaedeutic rather than prolegomena. Thus, Melanchthon’s Brevis ratio discendi theologiae offers a brief curriculum for biblical study: the New Testament ought to be studied before the Old Testament, with the Epistle to the Romans and the Gospel of John providing the doctrinal basis for study.129 In close relation to this biblical curriculum, Melanchthon rested his Loci

communes on an understanding of Romans. In more detail, Bullinger’s Ratio studiorum (1527) provided Protestant students of theology with a basic statement of the nature of study and the spiritual character of the student, a summary list of philosophical and theological loci communes, and a discussion of the right method of interpretation.130 Andreas Hyperius’ massive De theologo, seu de ratione studii theologiae carries on this model for theological study in vast detail.131 Hyperius understood theological study as a carefully constructed discipline but also as a spiritual or pious exercise, not merely a form of knowing or scientia, but also a wisdom, sapientia. Study ought to be grounded in the recognition that “the fear of God is the beginning of knowledge (scientia)” (Prov. 1:7) and the student should “prepare [his] soul for the diligent reading of sacred letters” through prayer for personal humility and spiritual illumination.132 This piety is to be the foundation for a rigorous course of study. Hyperius’ catalogue of the kinds of study “necessary” to theological training is daunting: grammar, logic, and rhetoric (the trivium), arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy (the quadrivium), philosophy, physics, ethics, politics, oeconomics, metaphysics, history, architecture, and agriculture, and above all Latin, Greek, and Hebrew.133 In theology itself, he distinguishes a series of subdisciplines: Scripture and its interpretation, doctrine as gathered in the loci communes, and practice as identified in the history and governance of the church, its polity, worship, and preaching.134 B. Theological Study in the Era of Orthodoxy 1. From catechesis to academics: matters of motivation. The distinction between catechetical and scholastic methods in theology made by the Protestant orthodox points directly to their assumption that the study of theology at a fairly detailed level, such as was present in the catechisms and confessions of the Reformed churches and even in the many sermonic expositions of the confessional documents, was not an academic matter. The study of theology was an enterprise intended for all Christians—and the detailed academic study of the subject was to be the practical foundation for sound study on all levels.135 Mastricht notes that this theological “knowledge of the truth according to piety” (cognitio veritatis secundum pietatem) is studied by teachers (doctores) and ministers whose office is to understand, teach, interpret, propound, and apply theology. It is also to be studied by magistrates so that they might be acquainted with the Law, as demanded in Scripture (Deut. 17:18–20; Josh. 1:8; Ps. 19:7–14), that they might rightly order the lives of their subjects, guard the church from its adversaries, and govern wisely recognizing the Lordship of Christ. Even so, all Christians should study it so that they might have access to Christian truth, and might

advance more and more in it, support their lives by it, and make it known to others.136 The work of academic theology, then, as defined by Alsted, is the activity that occupies the student in his study of divine things for the sake of teaching them to others. This study can be further defined in terms of scope, limits, and means. Thus, in terms of its scope, theological study seeks the glory of God and the eternal blessedness of the believer and, in a less ultimate sense, the perfection of his intellect, will, and speech: it is an effort of the whole person that relates directly to the conforming of that person to the image of God.137 In a proximate sense, this scope also relates to the ecclesiastical and scholastic forms of theology: the study of theology aims, broadly, at the general teaching of the church but also, more specifically, at the higher, more systematic discussion of teaching in the schools.138 Alsted further argues that the study of theology must observe certain limits or bounds. A properly defined period of study, designed carefully in the light of the demands of the discipline and its scope and set apart from other times of study, is necessary to proper mastery of the subject.139 Similarly, the means of study must relate directly to the demands, scope, and limits of that study. These means, granting the scope of theology, must be both divine and human, consisting in spiritual illumination and regulation and in the natural development and care of mind and body alike.140 This entire discussion of theological study as spiritual formation draws directly on the concept of theology as a mental or spiritual habitus or disposition: the disposition is a God-given gift which, like the grace of redemption after regeneration, demands human cooperation. In a crucial sense, therefore, the counsels of the orthodox concerning spiritual discipline in the study of theology grow directly out of the basic scholastic definition of theology as sapientia or habitus sapientiae. The orthodox can also cite a series of motives or reasons (motivae; rationes) for the study of this particular discipline. The first of these, for Mastricht, is the excellence (praestantia) of theology, in view of: (1) its divine origin; (2) the majesty of its arguments insofar as they rest upon the wisdom of God in Christ and the rule for right living or the word of life; (3) the use and goal of its arguments in blessed immortality and the glory of God; (4) its utter certainty resting on the infallibility of the received testimony concerning Christ (John 3:33); and (5) its purity and sanctity which conduce to the purity and sanctity of those who possess it. To the excellence of theology can be added sweetness and delight to the soul arising from study, the necessity of learning the faith in order to be justified by faith and to receive the gift of eternal life, and the dangers that may befall those ignorant

of Christian truth—alienation from God and from the covenant of grace, subjection to the divine wrath and temporal punishments and, finally, eternal damnation! A further inducement to study arises from the example of the faithful students of God’s Word: the prophets, apostles, and, indeed, the angels in heaven.141 Leigh similarly describes the excellence of theology first, according to its subject matter and, second, according to a list of its attributes: “it is called ‘the wisdom of God,’ Prov. 2:10; 3:13; 1 Cor. 2:6, 7 and ‘that wisdom which is from above,’ James 3:17.” For Leigh, this divine wisdom of theology has seven characteristics that recommend its careful study: (1) its primary and secondary ends or goals, “the glory of God, that is, the celebration or setting forth of God’s infinite excellency” and the blessedness of man; (2) its certainty and truth, transcending all earthly wisdom including the highest philosophy; (3) its cause, the revelation of God; (4) its holiness and the fact that ignorance of it leads to sin and uncleanness; (5) its “delight and sweetness” above all other knowledge; (6) “the excellency of the students of it”—that is, of the saints of the Old and New Testaments, the angels and saints in heaven, and the true church on earth; (7) its enemies: “the Devil and Hereticks oppose it; the Papists would not have the Bible translated, nor the Divine service performed in the mother tongue.”142 2. Preparation for study—spiritual and mental. Granting the excellence of the discipline and the other rather pointed incentives to study, considerable attention must be given to preparation for study. Burman therefore presents his students and readers with a special prolegomenon or preparation (propaideia et apparatus) for study. The propaideia divides into two parts: first, the attitude of the student and, second, the nontheological intellectual preparation of the student—in other words, preparation of the inward habitus and of the outward, objective, background knowledge. Primary among the character traits of the theological student is personal piety or spirituality (pietas). This piety, essentially a fear of God (timor Dei), is, as Scripture teaches, the primary ground (principium) of both true knowledge and wisdom (scientia et sapientia). The student must apply himself ardently to attaining the goals of man’s salvation and God’s glory (i.e., the finis proximus and finis ultimus of theology), and must do so with profound love of the gospel and of Christ, without any desire for personal gain.143 To this piety must be added the qualities of teachableness (docilitas) and zeal (sedulitas) or diligence (diligentia), manifest, at least in part, through the absence of perverse love, hate, anger, pride, and despair.144 Alsted summarizes these issues in a discussion of “the natural gifts required in Theology.” Nature provides man with an unformed or inchoate

capacity; exercise brings about the highest fulfillment of that capacity. Thus, nature embraces all the good qualities and powers of the soul and of the body —the innate readiness of the soul to apprehend and adjudicate, the faithfulness of memory in recording and retaining information, and the quality of eagerness in study; the dignity and sound constitution of body, clarity of voice, and usefulness of members for study. All these gifts are to be maintained and augmented through prayer, temperance, and reverent exercise, in the service of theological study.145 Thus, the gifts of nature are to be developed and sanctified by consistent spiritual discipline—by the cultivation, with the aid of the Spirit, of a holy life of piety before God, justice toward one’s neighbors and temperance within one’s self. The rule of this life ought to be, therefore, the teaching of Scripture concerning the conduct of a holy life and the examples, in Scripture, of holy living as taught in the lives of the prophets and the apostles. Voetius could similarly and quite summarily argue that theological education could not afford to ignore personal piety—but neither was piety the sole requirement for ministry. Accordingly, Voetius argued even more strongly than Alsted for a coordinated course of study and spiritual discipline, beginning early on in the education of “adolescents.” In the course of theology itself, there must be a consistent praxis pietatis, a continuing “care and inspection” conducted by private or personal and ecclesiastical mentors, and an ongoing careful examination of students in doctrine, language skills, and philosophical tools.146 The student of theology, asserts Burman, must also attend to the sound cultivation of the mind (bona mentis cultura) through the study of the liberal arts and sciences and through these studies learn the proper exercise of memory and judgment. Memory is most useful in the study of languages— Latin, Greek, and Hebrew—which are also necessary to the study of theology. Burman notes specifically that barbarity and vulgarity of style are to be overcome. For the study of Latin style he recommends both Cicero and Calvin, commending the latter in particular. As aids to study he notes several contemporary texts on grammar and etymology. The study of Greek points first toward the New Testament, but here too, further exercise is necessary for the mastery of style. Burman recommends the Ethics, Politics and Rhetoric of Aristotle, the Enchiridion of Epictetus, and the writings of Aristophanes and Demosthenes; from the fathers he selects Chrysostom, Nazianzien, and Basil the Great; finally, he points the student to ancient and modern lexica— Hesychius and Suidas among the ancients and the “most praised” thesaurus of Stephanus among the moderns.147 Burman also provides advice to the student seeking aids to the study of Hebrew: the grammars of de Dieu, Buxtorf, and Alting together with the treatises of á Diest and de Raadt on the proper method of pointing in

composition ought to be consulted. Students who have the ability ought also to acquaint themselves with cognate languages: Chaldee, Syriac, Arabic, and the Ethiopic. Burman recommends further the lexica of Buxtorf, Schindler, and Cocceius and, for Arabic, that of Golius. In addition, Talmudic study is also useful, and the works of Scaliger, Drusius, Buxtorf, Hottinger, Goodwin, Cappel, and Martinius are to be recommended, among others.148 Nor can the student of theology afford to ignore related disciplines such as history, geography, philosophy, mathematics, and medicine. Burman is particularly concerned to recommend the study of ancient history, the history of the Old and New Testaments, the Reformation, and the Low Countries. In the category of philosophy Burman notes that Aristotle’s works, particularly the Logic, have been used with profit by many ages but are, nonetheless, somewhat less than satisfactory. A better philosophy has been provided by Rene Descartes. This Cartesian philosophy has received expert treatment in la Forge’s treatise on the mind, Clauberg’s logic, and Wittich’s Consensus veritatis revelatae cum Philosophia.149 Although Burman’s taste in philosophy was disputed by most of his Reformed contemporaries and Cartesians never gained more than a small following in their circles, the demise of Aristotelianism was recognized by most of the Reformed writers by the end of the seventeenth century. The question they faced was simply the identification of a congenial philosophical perspective; that question, of course, found no easy answer.150 Owen, with considerably more caution than Burman, recommends study of “the arts and sciences,” specifically, of grammar, oriental languages, logic, and rhetoric. To these he adds a knowledge of history and the skill, arising from these studies, of the clear communication, without ambiguities, of rational concepts.151 Owen warns pointedly against the “superficial and disordered knowledge” arising from scholastic vagaries and directs his readers toward the right use of “rational studies” for the construction of theological system (systema theologica) and the meditation, day and night, upon the topics of evangelical doctrine (capita doctrina evangelica). Even as the ancient fathers, the scholastics and more recent theologians have observed, Owen continues, the student of theology should, above all else, read, know, and retain in his memory both “the things of the faith and the religious life” (res fidei et negotium religionis). Although the use of rational concepts is necessary and some philosophy needs to be studied, there is also a great danger in philosophy. As Tertullian, warned, philosophy has spawned heresy—and we know all too well the subtle disputations wrongly brought into theology via Arabian philosophy! True evangelical theology abrogates all such useless philosophy.152

In these lists of authors and works to be studied there is an elaboration of the pedagogical heritage of Reformers like Melanchthon and Hyperius. The former had counseled the reading of the fathers, especially Augustine,153 and the latter had added to this emphasis on the patristic materials a set of cautious comments on the usefulness of the systematic efforts of John of Damascus and Peter Lombard.154 Calvin, of course, had cited the fathers with great regularity, while Musculus used the works of the late medieval doctors. In addition, a vast prospectus of materials for the study of theology, replete with citations of Aristotle, Lombard, the fathers and late medieval doctors— all cited under the topics of a theological system—was prepared fairly early in the development of Protestant theology by the Zurich encyclopedist, Conrad Gessner.155 The influence of his work is difficult to assess, but the tendency Gessner documents is clear: as the Reformation succeeded in establishing churches and the era of confessional orthodoxy dawned, Protestants were drawn more and more to root their theology in tradition. 3. The materials of theological study. The study of theology itself demands as detailed a paradigm as does discussion of the preparatory and ancillary disciplines. First and foremost in the study of theology is the reading and study of Scripture upon which all systems and loci communes are founded. Burman here recommends the use of annotated Bibles—Tremellius for the Old Testament, Beza for the New. The movement here from Scripture to system can be made only by close attention to the natural order of things, to the dispensation or economy of the divine covenants and the administration of human salvation. This historical and dogmatic method, argues Burman, is observed by God himself in Scripture. This is also the method observed in Burman’s own Synopsis theologiae. Perhaps out of modesty, Burman also recommends the use of Cloppenburg’s Syntagma et disputationes, Owen’s Theologoumena, and Cocceius’ two systems (the Summa doctrina de foedere Dei and the Summa theologiae).156 Following these recommendations, Burman also provides bibliographical suggestions for the study of the doctrine of Scripture, of each of the dispensations of the covenant, the doctrines of Christ and his work, the sacraments of the New Testament, and the church.157 Following his basic counsel Burman subjoins a series of discussions of theological systems, controversial literature, and older theology (both patristic and medieval).158 The list is lengthy and cannot be duplicated here. We do note, however, that in the area of systematic or dogmatic theology, Burman recommends Ames’ Medulla, Maresius’ Systema, the Synopsis purioris theologiae of the University of Leiden, the disputations of Gomarus and Alting, Ursinus’ Catechetical Lectures, and Calvin’s Institutes. Among the Reformers, he comments, after Calvin the most important are Vermigli and

Musculus. He also counsels the reading of Luther’s sermons, the writings of Chemnitz and Calixtus, the loci communes of Gerhard, and the theologies of Episcopius and Petavius.159 Nor does the study of theology stop with dogmatics and polemics: careful attention must be paid to the practical side of theology, to the use and delivery of the doctrines learned. Theology must issue forth in preaching or holy discourse (oratio sacra) and other aspects of ministry. To this end, rhetoric and logic must be studied—Quintillian, Cicero, Demosthenes and, adds Burman, among the more recent writers Ramus and his follower Talon. On the specific task of Christian oration there is Hyperius’s De formandis concionibus and Keckermann’s Rhetorica ecclesiastica. For his own readers, Burman notes briefly the parts of a sermon: introduction, division of the text, grammatical and historical explanation, formal exposition, application, and finally, refutation of error. A distinction needs to be made between incomplex and complex themes, and between dogmatic, moral and historical or exemplary topics.160 To this discussion Burman subjoins a lengthy set of suggestions concerning commentators and authors of topical studies of biblical, moral and doctrinal themes.161 A similar list of commentators appears in Leigh’s discussion of the interpretation of Scripture,162 while Alsted concludes his Praecognita with a lengthy discussion of the analysis, study, and interpretation of Scripture.163 Voetius also wrote a massive analysis of the materials of theological study founded on an imposing bibliography in all fields and subfields of study, as did Thomas Barlow, the teacher of Owen.164 It is worth noting, by way of conclusion, that the scholastic method of the Reformed orthodox, like their distinctions between theology in itself and theology in the subject, between theological knowledge and the inward intellectual disposition necessary to apprehend that knowledge, and between the faith that is believed and the faith by which we believe, is not only characterized by precision of definition but also by a profound and careful balancing of the objective and the subjective elements as well as the ontological and epistemological aspects of the subject. In the next chapter, the same interest in balance will be evident in the discussion of the principia or grounds of theology. Here, we can briefly describe how the balanced approach to study advocated by Burman was applied to the writing of theological system itself. The scholastic method was designed specifically for the sake of dealing with both large, architectonic issues and minute, subtopical divisions. The Protestant scholastics manifest, then, a concern for the overarching structure of system and the flow of topics as well as for the careful and orderly division

of topics into their component parts. Similarly, balance is also achieved between the exegetical, dogmatic, polemical, and practical emphases of theology, paralleling the Reformed orthodox balance of the speculative or theoretical with the practical concerns of theology.165 The Protestant orthodox also balanced the exegetical, the positive dogmatic, and the polemical elements of system—sometimes, as in the case of Scharpius’ or Trelcatius’ early orthodox systems,166 developing a polemical rebuttal of opposing views following each positive doctrinal statement, or sometimes, as in the case of Ursinus’ catechetical lectures or Rijssen’s Summa,167 following the form of the medieval quaestio by posing objections to a thesis and then responding to each of the objections. Turretin’s exclusively disputative or polemical system was consciously paralleled and complemented by his nephew, Benedict Pictet, who wrote an entirely positive system as an expression of Genevan high orthodoxy.168 Voetius rather nicely summarizes these concerns in his description of three levels of theological study. At the first level, students ought to study, as their primary academic effort, according to a threefold pattern of textual or biblical, systematic or dogmatic, and problematic or polemical theology. The first aspect of study, textual or biblical involves the examination of all the principal books of Scripture and the close exegetical scrutiny of “select loci and themes” in Scripture, specifically the seats (sedes) of doctrines like justification (Rom. 3–4), predestination (Rom. 5), the fall (Gen. 3 and Rom. 5), or the office of ministry (1 Tim. 3). The second aspect, systematic or dogmatic, ought not simply to sketch out the contents of a synopsis or epitome of doctrine but ought to deal with the whole range of theological topics in depth. The third, polemical and problematic, should examine all contemporary controversies—such as those between “the orthodox” and the Socinians, Remonstrants, Papists, Anabaptists, Enthusiasts, Libertines, Jews, Epicureans, and Atheists. At the next level, Voetius recommends study of ancillary disciplines like jurisprudence and an emphasis on practical theology; at the third level he recommends history and controversial or disputative theology. The greater part of Voetius Exercitia is a vast, six-hundred page isagoge on all theological disciplines that provides an analytical bibliography for theological study so vast that it charts a course far beyond the basic pattern of academic theological study.169 4. The general model for study: exegetical, dogmatic, polemical, and practical. The balance of exegetical with dogmatic, polemical, and practical elements of system calls for some further explanation in view of the accusation of “proof-texting” typically leveled against the Protestant orthodox by modern writers. It is quite true that the orthodox systems cite dicta probantia for every dogmatic statement—and it is also the case that some of

these biblical dicta, because of modern critical scholarship, can no longer be used as the seventeenth-century orthodox used them. Nonetheless, it was never the intention or the practice of the Protestant scholastics to wrench biblical texts out of their context in Scripture or to dispense with careful biblical exegesis in the original languages. Many seventeenth-century dogmatic theologians began their teaching careers as professors of Old or New Testament and virtually all of them, whether or not they taught exegesis, were well versed in the biblical languages. Thus Polanus taught Old Testament exegesis and was known as a commentator and translator before he was recognized as a systematic or dogmatic theologian: his system was his final work. In the era of high orthodoxy, a similar pattern is seen in the work of Johannes Marckius, whose Compendium theologiae was written at the end of a lifetime of exegetical work. As we have already noted, the locus method itself was designed to move from biblical and exegetical study of key passages to the collection of observations and dogmatic conclusions into a body of Christian doctrine. The dicta probantia appear in the orthodox systems, not as texts torn from their biblical context, but as references to either the exegetical labors of the theologian himself or, as was more broadly and generally the case, to a received tradition of biblical interpretation. It was the intention of the authors of the orthodox systems and compendia to direct their readers, by the citation of texts, to the exegetical labors that undergirded theological system. The twentieth century may not accept all of the results of seventeenth-century exegesis, but it ought to recognize that the older theology, whatever its faults, did not fail to appropriate the best exegetical conclusions of its day. What is more, the detailed form recommended by Burman for the preparation and delivery of sermons was followed throughout the orthodox era. We need to overcome the stereotype of the orthodox sermon, generated in large part by pietist polemics of the late seventeenth century—that of a dry, dogmatic declaration inattentive to the spiritual needs of a congregation. There are dry, dogmatic sermons preached in every age of the church, some of them by pietists, but the presence of a few ought not to color our judgment of the many. The basic definition of theology as both theoretical and practical led to a balance of doctrine and “use” or application in seventeenth-century sermons. Indeed, scholastic attention to form almost invariably assured the presence of exegetical study, exposition, doctrinal statement, and application in the Reformed orthodox sermon.170 At the close of the era of orthodoxy, this concern for finely balanced method can be seen in Mastricht’s Theoretico-practica theologia. The title itself manifests the concern of the Reformed orthodox that their theology be

valued in and of itself as a statement of doctrine concerning God and his will, but that it also be valued for its results in the ministry of the church and the education of believers. Mastricht’s system maintains this methodological balance in its use of the old Ramist division of theology into doctrines of faith and doctrines of obedience. Both the beliefs of the church and the lives of Christians belong to the concerns of the theologian, the one being incomplete without the other. Each locus of Mastricht’s system, moreover, begins with exegesis, using the biblical languages, of a text crucial to the doctrinal point at issue. The exegesis is then followed by dogmatic exposition, a polemical rebuttal of adversaries and errorists, and then by a practical application. Mastricht proposed a preliminary version this theoretical-practical synthesis of the various aspects of orthodox theology early in his career, arguing that the model ought to combine didactic, elenctical, and practical elements in all loci.171 He developed the model, adding an exegetical prologue to each doctrinal locus, and then adhered consistently to it as he developed his entire system over the course of decades of teaching. Mastricht also maintained the older division of theology into the broad categories of faith and obedience by moving past the traditional dogmatic loci into subsequent presentations of “moral theology” in three books, and “ascetic theology,” concerned with the exercise of piety, in four books.172 Throughout the orthodox discussions of the study of theology one senses a singleness of purpose, a sense of the unity of all of the various disciplines and subdisciplines. This unity is both objective and subjective. Objectively, all of the subdisciplines tend toward the single goal of the exposition of Scripture and the collation and organization of the materials of this revealed “deposit” of faith into a clearly stated and eminently defensible body of doctrine, specifically, a body of doctrine that edifies the church through catechesis and preaching.173 Subjectively, all of the subdisciplines conduce to the training of heart and mind for the life of faith guided by prayer and meditation and framed by the personal appropriation of the doctrines both of faith and of obedience. All of the parts of theological study draw together to attain these two ends, the objective and subjective, the doctrinal and the spiritual.174 Finally, the method here described is balanced in its approach to traditional and contemporary concerns. The Reformed orthodox adopted a scholastic method fully conscious of the need to draw that method into the service of seventeenth-century theology.175 In addition the works on philosophy and theology recommended by Burman and used by the Reformed orthodox generally in the formulation of their theology bear witness to a “catholicizing” tendency—a tendency toward theological breadth for the sake of appropriating for Protestantism great truths of the entire Christian tradition and the best theological insights of the present. Thus, the fathers, the great

medieval scholastics, and the Reformers are to be read, but the student of theology must also read contemporary works. If, however, the list of contemporary works is dominated by the Reformed, it also includes—without indication of polemic—the names of eminent Lutheran and even Roman Catholic thinkers like Gerhard and Petavius. The Protestant scholastic model was designed to present theology in close dialogue with the world of thought around it. 1 Cf. the more extended discussion and further bibliography in Muller, After

Calvin, chapter 6 (notes, pp 224–229). 2

Walter Ong, Ramus, Method, and the Decay of Dialogue (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1958), pp. 104–105. Also see Neal W. Gilbert, Renaissance Concepts of Method (New York: Columbia, 1960), pp. 119–128. On Ramus and the impact of Ramism on Reformed theology, see further, below, this chapter, section 4.1 (B.1). 3 Cf. Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 101–117 with the discussion of

the exegetical dimensions of the locus method in Robert A. Kolb, “The Ordering of the Loci Communes Theologici: The Structuring of the Melanchthonian Dogmatic Tradition,” in Condordia Journal, 23/4 (1997), pp. 317–337; and idem, “Teaching the Text: The Commonplace Method in Sixteenth Century Lutheran Biblical Commentary,” in Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 49 (1987), pp. 571–585; PRRD, II, 7.4 (A.2), 7.5 (B.2). On the locus method, see further, Joan Lechler, Renaissance Concepts of the Commonplaces (New York: Pageant Press, 1962) and A. Gardeil, “Lieux théologiques,” in Dictionnaire de théologie catholique, 9/1, cols. 712–747. 4 Philipp Melancthon, Erotemata dialectices, in Opera, 13, col. 573. 5

Calvin, Institutes, I.i.3; III.iii.1; cf. the discussion in Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 27–29, 91–95, 104–105. 6 Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 127–130. 7 Loci communes (1533), in Opera, vol. 21, col. 253, 254; and Loci communes

(1545) in ibid., col. 603; and cf. above, 2.3 (A.2). 8 Cf. Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 132–139; with Muller, Christ and

the Decree, pp. 38–44, 47–48, 68, 90. 9 See the discussion in Muller, After Calvin, pp. 106–107. 10 Andreas Hyperius, Methodus theologiae (Basel, 1568), pp. 8–9. 11 Hyperius, Methodus theologiae, p. 10. 12 On the issue of Scripture and tradition, see Heiko A. Oberman, The Harvest

of Medieval Theology: Gabriel Biel and Late Medieval Nominalism, revised edition (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1967), pp. 365–375 and A. N. S. Lane, “Scripture, Tradition and Church: An Historical Survey,” in Vox Evangelica, IX, p. 42; also see the discussion in PRRD, II, 1.3 (B.1); 5.5 (B–D). 13 On the relation of the locus method to Vermigli, see Cesare Vasoli, “Loci

communes and the Rhetorical and Dialectical Traditions,” in Joseph C. McLelland, ed., Peter Martyr Vermigli and Italian Reform (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1980), pp. 17–28. 14 Alsted, Praecognita, II.cxxx. 15 See the discussion in Sinnema, “The Distinction Between Scholastic and

Popular: Andreas Hyperius and Reformed Scholasticism,” pp. 125–143; cf. Alsted, Praecognita, II.cxxxii, cxxxiii; and see, below, 4.2 (B). 16 Hyperius, Methodus theologiae, p. 12. 17 Hyperius, Methodus theologiae, pp. 12–13. 18 Hyperius, Methodus theologiae, p. 15; cf. Hyperius, De theologo, pp. 455–

507 on the detailed division of the six basic loci. 19 Alsted, Praecognita, II.cxxix. 20 Cf. Ong, Ramus, pp. 142–148, 207–212; Pünjer, History, p. 119; Muller,

Christ and the Decree, pp. 140–147. 21 Jacob Schegk, Hyperaspistes responsi, ad quatuor epistolas Petri Rami

contr se editas (Tübingen: n.p., 1570), pp. 111–113. 22 Cf. Ong, Ramus, pp. 214–20, 258–259 with Hartvelt, “Over de Methode,”

pp. 105–106. 23 Ong, Ramus, pp. 146, 199–200. 24

The list varies from edition to edition: see Petrus Ramus, Dialectica institutiones (1543; 1547), and the summary, with diagrams, in Ong, Ramus, pp. 198, 200–202. 25 Cf. the discussion in Howell, Logic and Rhetoric in England, pp. 233–237,

282–285, 309–311 and the comments on Piscator’s accommodation of Ramus to Aristotle in Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, p. 21. 26 Thomas Spencer, The Art of Logik (London: John Dawson, 1628). 27 Thomas Granger, Syntagma logicum, or the Divine Logike (London, 1620),

cited in Howell, Logic and Rhetoric in England, p. 229; cf. Sprunger, “Ames, Ramus, and the Method of Puritan Theology,” p. 138. 28 See Sprunger, “Ames, Ramus, and the Method of Puritan Theology, pp.

135–137, and cf. above, 7.3 (B). 29 See

the excellent discussion of this issue in Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, pp. 16–17. 30 Ong, Ramus, pp. 225–269. Further, on the implications of Ramist method

for Puritan theology see Sprunger, “Technometria,” pp. 115–122; Lee W. Gibbs, “William Ames’s Technometry,” in Journal of the History of Ideas, 30 (1972), pp. 615–624; and idem, William Ames’s Technometry. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1979). 31

Cf. Lyle Bierma, German Calvinism in the Confessional Age: The Covenant Theology of Caspar Olevian (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1996), pp. 162–168; with Jürgen Moltmann, “Zur Bedeutung des Petrus Ramus für Philosophie und Theologie im Calvinismus,” in Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, 68 (1956–57); 295–318; and Muller, Christ and the Decree, ch. 6, n.1 (p. 217). 32 William Perkins, A Golden Chaine, pp. 11–16; and note Richard A Muller,

“Perkins’ A Golden Chaine: Predestinarian System or Schematized Ordo Salutis,” in The Sixteenth Century Journal, IX/1 (1978): pp. 69–81. 33 Keckermann, Systema theologiae, the Dispositio brevis ac generalis totius

systematis theologici, three leaves inserted between p. 16 and 17. Keckermann’s Praecognitorum logicorum are oriented toward Zabarella and Suárez and away from Ramus: see Gilbert, Renaissance Method, pp. 214– 220; cf. Peter Peterson, Geschichte der Aristotelischen Philosophie, pp. 127– 143, especially p. 138 on Keckermann’s critique of Ramism. 34 Gilbert, Renaissance Method, p. 171. 35

E.g., Jeremias Triverius, In texnhn [i.e., techne] Galeni clarissimi commentarii (Lyons, 1547); and cf. the discussion in Gilbert, Renaissance Method, pp. 105–107. 36 Gilbert, Renaissance Method, pp. 171–172. 37 Cf. Howell, Logic and Rhetoric in England, pp. 299, 307, 315; Thomas M.

Lennon, “Malebranche and Method,” in Cambridge Companion to Malebranche, ed. Steven Nadler, pp. 11–13. 38 Spanheim, Disp. theol., pars prima, I.xix. 39 Contra Armstrong, Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy, pp. 31–40; and

McGrath, Reformation Theology, pp. 129–130. 40 Failure to distinguish between logical deduction and causal arrangement is

seen in the analyses of Reformed orthodoxy and of the so-called “synthetic” approach by Schweizer and others: see Schewizer, Glaubenslehre, I, p. 96; cf.

Hartveld, “Over de Methode,” pp. 119–121, 126–130. 41 Note the similar point made in Martial Gueroult, Descartes’ Philosophy

Interpreted According to the Order of Reasons, trans. Roger Ariew 2 vols. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984), I, pp. 7–8. 42 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.6. 43 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.25. 44 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.5. 45 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I,i,4. 46 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.6. 47 Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, p. 192. 48

As, e.g., in Gründler, “Thomisn and Calvinism in the Theology of Girolamo Zanchi,” pp. 50–60, 126; Armstrong, Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy, pp. 120–140. 49 Mathurin Cordier, Colloquiorum scholasticorum libri IIII, ad pueros in

sermone Latino paulatim exercendos (Geneva: Stephanus, 1564); note also Aloys Bömer, Die lateinischen Schülergespräche der Humanisten, 2 vols. (Berlin, 1897–99; repr. Amsterdam: P. Schippers, 1966) with L. Massebieau, Les colloques scolaires de seizième siècle, et les auteurs, 1480–1570 (Paris: J. Bonhoure, 1878; repr. Geneva: Slatkine, 1968). 50 Philip Melanchthon, De laude vitae scholasticae oratio, in CR 11, col.

298–306. 51 Thus, Leges Academiae Genevensis (Geneva: Stephanus, 1559; facsimile

repr. Geneva: J. G. Fick, 1859), fol. c.i, verso; also L’Ordre du College de Geneve, in ibid., fol. c.i, 52 Cf. Pierre Fraenkel, De l’Ecriture à la dispute: le cas de l’Académie de

Genève sous Théodore de Bèze. Cahiers de la Revue de théologie et de philosophie, 1 (Lausanne: Revue de théologie et de philosophie, 1977) with Irena Backus, “L’enseignement de la logique à l’Académie de Genève entre 1559 et 1565,” in Revue de Théologie et de Philosophie, 111 (1979), pp. 153– 163. 53 Cf. Andreas Hyperius, De theologo, seu de ratione studii theologici, libri

III (Basel, 1556), pp. 398, 646. See the discussion of the meaning and use of the term scholasticus in Sinnema, “The Distinction Between Scholastic and Popular: Andreas Hyperius and Reformed Scholasticism,” pp. 125–143; idem, “Reformed Scholasticism and the Synod of Dort (1618–19),” pp. 469–472. 54

Musculus, Loci communes, xvi (p. 150), referring to the divisio

Scholasticorum concerning the topic; and cf. the discussion in Herman Selderhuis, “Die Loci communes des Wolfgang Musculus: Reformierte Dogmatik anno 1560,” in Rudolf Dillsperger, ed., Wolfgang Musculus (1497– 1563) und die oberdeutsche Reformation (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997), pp. 311–330. 55 Cf. the discussions of the terminology in Muller, “Problem of Protestant

Scholasticism,” in Van Asselt and Dekker, Reformation and Scholasticism, pp. 52–54; idem, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 42–44. 56 On Faius, see Robert Scott Clark, “The Authority of Reason in the Later

Reformation: Scholasticism in Caspar Olevian and Antoine de La Faye,” in Protestant Scholasticism, ed. Trueman and Clark, pp. 111–126; on Chandieu see Sinnema, “Antoine De Chandieu’s Call for a Scholastic Reformed Theology (1580),” pp. 159–190. 57 Antonius

Faius, Epistle Dedicatorie, in Propositions and Principles of Divinity, fol. 2r-5v. 58 See Acta ofte handelingen der Versamelingen der Nederlandsche Kerken,

die onder ‘t Cruis sitten … gehouden tot Wesel, den 3 Novembris … M.D.LXVIII, cap. I.4, in C. Hooijer, Oude Kerkordeningen der Nederlandsche Hervormde Gemeenten (1563–1638) … verzameld en met Inleidingen voorzien (Zalt-Bommel: Joh. Noman en Zoon, 1865), p. 31; Jean Aymon, Tous les synodes nationaux des églises de France, 2 vols. (Den Haag, 1710), II, p. 210; and John Quick, Synodicon in Gallia Reformata: or, the Acts, Decisions, Decrees, and Canons of those famous National Councils of the Reformed Churches in France, 2 vols. (London: T. Parkhurst and J. Robinson, 1692), II, p. 62. 59 Contra Armstrong, Calvin and the Amyraut Heresy, p. 135. 60

Syntagma thesium theologicarum in Academic Salmuriensi variis temporibus disputatarum, editio secunda, 4 vols. (Saumur: Joannes Lesner, 1664, 1665). 61 Thus, e.g., Theses theologicae in schola Genevensi ab aliquot sacrarum

literarum studiosus sub DD. Theod. Beza & Antonio Fayo ss. theologiae professoribus propositae & disputatae (Geneva, 1586), translated as: Propositions and Principles of Divinitie Propounded and Disputed in the University of Geneva. under M. Theod. Beza and M. Anthonie Faius (Edinburgh, 1595); Syntagma disputationum theologicarum, in Academia Lugduni-Batava quarto repetitarum … Francisco Gomaro, Jacobo Arminio, Luca Trelcatio juniore praesidibus (Rotterdam: Joannis Leonardi a Berewout, 1605; 1609; 1615); Synopsis purioris theologiae, disputationibus quinquaginta duabus comprehensa ac conscripta per Johannem Polyandrum,

Andream Rivetum, Antonium Walaeum, Antonium Thysium (Leiden, 1625); also Ludovicus Le Blanc, Theses theologicae, variis temporibus in Academia Sedanensi editae et ad disputandum propositae (London: Moses Pitt, 1675). 62 Quick, Synodicon in Gallia Reformata, Synod of Alez [Alais] (1620), cap.

xvii.8, 10–11, 13–14 (II, p. 62). 63 Philip Melanchthon, De laude vitae scholasticae oratio, CR 11, col. 298–

306; and cf. Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 42–44. 64 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinity, pp. 10–11, 22–25, 32–33. 65 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinity, p. 5. 66 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinity, p. 6. 67 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinity, pp. 7–8. See the discussion of the

difference between sacred and profane rhetoric in the seventeenth century in Debora K. Shuger, Sacred Rhetoric: The Christian Grand Style in the English Renaissance (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988). 68 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinity, pp. 113–120. 69 Downame, Summe of Sacred Divinitie, pp. ¶2 recto–¶4recto. 70 Downame, Summe of Sacred Divinitie, pp. ¶2 recto–¶2 verso. 71 Downame, Summe of Sacred Divinitie, pp. ¶2 verso–¶3 recto. 72

Cf. Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.25, citing Alsted specifically as the basis for the distinction; with Burman, Synopsis theol., I.ii.42, 46–47. 73 Tossanus, Compendium of the Fathers, pp. 17–25. 74 Tossanus, Compendium of the Fathers, pp. 25–39. 75 Tossanus, Compendium of the Fathers, pp. 39–61. 76 Tossanus, Compendium of the Fathers, p. 69. 77 Tossanus, Compendium of the Fathers, pp. 76–78. 78 Tossanus, Compendium of the Fathers, pp. 80–81. N.B., Lambert Daneau,

In Petri Lombardi Episcopi Parisiensis (qui Magister Sentiarum appellatur) librum primum Sententiarum, qui est de vero Deo, essentia quidem uno, personis autem trino, Lamberti Danaei commentarius triplex (Geneva, 1580). 79 Tossanus, Compendium of the Fathers, p. 82. 80 Venema, Institutes, prolegomenon (pp. 7–8); cf. the more elaborate and

heavily documented presentation of this model in Voetius, De theologia scholastica, 3, 6, in Sel. disp., I, pp. 14–16, 18–21. 81 Venema, Institutes, prolegomenon (pp. 7–8) 82 Tossanus, Compendium of the Fathers, pp. 82–83; cf. Burman, Synopsis

theol., I.ii.46. 83 Burman, Synopsis theologiae, I.ii.47; cf. the similar objections, at length, in

Voetius, De theologia scholastica, 5, in Sel. Disp., I, p. 18. 84 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.25; cf. Owen, Theologoumena,

VI.viii.11; Alsted, Praecognita, I.xviii; Pictet, Theol. chr., praef. 85 J. A. van Ruler, The Crisis of Causality: Voetius and Descartes on God,

Nature and Change (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995), p. 317; and cf. the same author’s “Franco Petri Burgersdijk and the Case of Calvinism Within the NeoScholastic Tradition,” in Franco Burgersdijk, ed. Bos and Krop, pp. 37–65. 86 Cf.

the argument in John Prideaux, Scholasticae theologicae syntagma mnemonicum (Oxford: Leonard Lichfield, 1651), p. 5. 87

Gisbertus Voetius, De theologia scholastica, 1, in Selectarum disputationum theologicarum (Utrecht, 1648–69), I, p. 13; cf. Tossanus, Compendium of the Fathers, pp. 79–81. 88 Voetius, De theologia scholastica, 11, in Sel. disp. I, p. 28. 89 Cf. Andreas Gerardus Hyperius, Methodus theologiae. sive praecipuorum

christianae religionis locorum communium, libri tres (Basel, 1568), pp. 2–17 on the locus method; and idem, De formandis concoinibus sacris seu de interpretatione scripturarum populari libri II (Marburg, 1553), fol. 3 recto; cf. Sinnema, “Distinction Between Scholastic and Popular,” pp. 141–143. 90 Joseph Hall, “Sermon Before the Synod of Dort,” in Works, vol. 11, p. 479. 91

Thus, Matthias Martinius, Methodus ss. theologiae (Herborn, 1603); Alsted, Theologia scholastica, preface. See the discussion and furtherr citations in Sinnema, “Reformed Scholasticism and the Synod of Dort,” pp. 472–474. 92 Contra Rogers and McKim, Authority and Interpretation, pp.

202–223, passim. On the issue of the nature and character of Reformed orthodoxy and scholasticism, see further, Muller, After Calvin, chapters 2 and 3 (pp. 25–62). 93 Maccovius, Loci communes, I. 94 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i. 95 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i.

96 Maccovius, Loci communes, I. 97 See below, chapter 9.1–2. 98 Maccovius, Loci communes, I (p. 2). 99

Cf. Calvin’s letter to Sadoleto in CO, vol. 5, cols. 385–416 with its reflection (col. 392) on the famous Vincentian Canon. 100 Alsted, Praecognita, I.xviii. 101 Gisbertus Voetius, Catechesatie over den Heidelbergschen Catechismus,

ed. Abraham Kuyper, from the 1662 edition of Poudroyen, 2 vols. (Rotterdam: Huge, 1891). 102 Thomas Vincent,

An explicatory catechism, or, An explanation of the Assemblies Shorter catechism (London: Printed for George Calvert et al., 1673); Thomas Watson, A Body of Practical Divinity (London, 1692); Thomas Ridgley, 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, 2 vols. (London, 1731–33); Thomas Boston, An illustration of the doctrines of the Christian religion, with respect to faith and practice, upon the plan of the assembly’s shorter catechism. Comprehending a complete body of divinity. Now first published from the manuscripts of … Thomas Boston (Edinburgh: John Reid, 1773). 103 Thus, e.g., John Yates, A Modell of Divinitie, Catechetically Composed.

Wherein is delivered the matter and methode of religion, 2nd. ed., enlarged (London: John Legatt, 1623); John Downame, The Summe of Sacred Divinitie briefly and methodically propounded: and then more largely and cleerly handled and explaned (London: W. Stansby, 1625; 1628). 104 Note the comments of Edward Reynolds in Minutes of the Sessions of the

Westminster Assembly of Divines, ed. Alexander Mitchell and John Struthers (Edinburgh: Blackwood, 1874), p. 151. 105 Burman, Synopsis theol., I.ii.42; cf., in the eighteenth century, the similar

view of method in van Til, Theol. comp., II.i. 106 Cf. Spanheim, Disp. theol., pars prima, I.xvi. 107 Cf. Preus, Theology of Post-Reformation Lutheranism, I, pp. 34–35; and

note Lang, Die Loci theologici des Melchior Cano, pp. 90, 209–210; also, on Cano and Protestant orthodoxy, see Pannenberg, Theology and the Philosophy of Science, pp. 244–245. 108 Spanheim, Disp. theol., pars prima, I.xvi. 109 Burman, Synopsis theol. I.ii.44.

110 Cf. Muller, After Calvin, pp. 25–46. 111 As e.g., in the “practical” sections of Petrus van Mastricht, Theoretico-

practica theologia, qua, per capita theologica, pars dogmatica, elenchtica et practica, perpetua successione conjugantur, praecedunt in usum operis, paraleipomena, seu sceleton de optima concionandi methodo, 2 vols. (Amsterdam: Henricus & Theodorus Boom, 1682–1687); and in Simon Oomius, Dissertatie van de Onderwijsingen in de Practycke der Godgeleerdheid (Bolsward: van Haringhouk, 1672; repr. Geldermalsen: De Schatkamer, 1997). 112 Vitringa, Doctrina christianae religionis, vol. I, prolegomena, pp. 7–41. 113 Vitringa, Doctrina christianae religionis, vol. I, i.9 (p. 5). 114 Leigh, Body of Divinity, fol. a2r-a4r. 115

Leigh, Body of Divinity, fol. a2r: by way of example, Bartholomaus Keckermann, Systema sacrosanctae theologiae, tribus libris adornatum (Heidelberg, 1602; Geneva, 1611). 116 Leigh, Body of Divinity, fol. a2r. 117 Cf. Heinrich Bullinger, Compendium christianae religionis (Zurich, 1556),

II.vii–viii. 118 See Willem J. van Asselt, “Johannes Cocceius Anti-Scholasticus?” in van

Asselt and Dekker (eds.), Protestant Scholasticism, pp. 227–251. 119 See Van Asselt, Federal Theology of Johannes Cocceius, pp. 271–287,

and idem, “The Doctrine of the Abrogations in the Federal Theology of Johannes Cocceius,” in Calvin Theological Journal, 29/1 (1994), pp. 101– 116. Note also Van Asselt, “Amicitia Dei as Ultimate Reality: An Outline of the Covenant Theology of Johannes Cocceius (1603–1669),” in Ultimate Reality and Meaning: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Philosophy of Understanding, 21/1 (1988), pp. 37–47. 120 Cf. Burman, De studio theologico, I.4; with Synopsis theol., I.i.7–16; and

with Schweizer’s discussion of method and architectonic issues in Glaubenslehre, I, pp. 89, 130–31. 121 Below, 7.2 (B.2). 122 Keckermann, Systema, I.i. 123 Trelcatius, Schol. meth., I (p. 6). 124 Trelcatius, Schol. meth., I (pp. 7–8). 125 See below, 7.2 (B.4).

126 Cf. Gilbert, Renaissance Method, pp. 128–144; Ong, Ramus, pp. 225–269;

and cf. Donald K. McKim, “The Function of Ramism in Perkins’ Theology,” in The Sixteenth Century Journal, 16/4 (1985), pp. 503–517. 127 Ames, Medulla [1648], I.ii.6. 128 Above, 2.3; and cf. Muller, After Calvin, pp. 105–109. 129

Melanchthon, Brevis discendae theologiae ratio, in Philippi Melanchthonis opera quae supersunt omnia, 28 vols., ed. C. G. Bretschneider and H. E. Bindseil (Halle/Braunschweig, 1844–), vol. 2, cols. 455–62. 130 Heinrich Bullinger, Ratio studiorum, sive de institutione eorum, qui studia

literarum sequuntur, libellus aureus. Accessit eodem dispositio locorum communium, tam philosophicorum, quam theologicorum. Item, Christianae fidei perspicue & breviter proposita quaedam axiomata (Zürich, 1594). 131 Andreas Hyperius, De Theologo, seu de ratione studii theologici, libri IIII

Basel, 1559); cf. W. van ‘t Spijker, Principe, methode en functie van de theologie bij Andreas Hyperius, Apeldoornse Studies, 26 (Kampen: J. H. Kok, 1990). 132 Hyperius, De theologo, p. 34. 133 Hyperius, De theologo, I.iv–ix (pp. 45–80). 134 Hyperius, De theologo, II, III, IV (pp. 80–756). 135 See the more detailed discussion of two particular writers (Voetius and

Witsius) in Muller, After Calvin, pp. 110–119. 136 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.28. 137 Alsted, Praecognita, II.i. 138 Alsted, Praecognita, II.i. 139 Alsted, Praecognita, II.ii. 140 Alsted, Praecognita, II.iii,v. 141 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.29. 142 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i. 143 Burman, De studio theologico, I.3, in Synopsis theol., ad fin. 144 Burman, De studio theologico, I.4–5; cf. Heidanus, Corpus theologiae, I

(pp. 4–6). 145 Alsted, Praecognita, II.v. 146 Alsted, Praecognita, II.iv; cf. Voetius, Exercitia, pp. 4–31.

147 Burman, De studio theologico, I.6–8. 148 Burman, De studio theologico, I.9–10, cf. Alsted, Praecognita, II.iii,iv. 149 Burman, De studio theologico, I.17. 150 Cf. below, 8.1 (A–C). 151 Owen, Theologoumena, VI.ix.11–12. 152 Owen, Theologoumena, VI.ix.13–15; cf. viii.2,9. 153 Cf. Melancthon, Brevis discendae theologiae ratio, Opera, 2, col. 459. 154 Hyperius, Methodi theol., pp. 5–6. 155 Conrad Gessner, Pandectarum universalium … liber ultimus de theologia

(Zurich, 1549). 156 Burman, De studio theologico, II.1–4; cf. Voetius, Exercitia, p. 37 for a

slightly different list: Voetius recommends Drusius’ Old Testament, the New Testaments of Beza and Piscator, the loci or medullae of Ames, Gomarus, and Maccovius, and the longer systems of Polanus, Alsted, and Wendelin. 157 Burman, De studio theologico, ii.5–12. 158 Burman, De studio theologico, ii.13–27. 159 Burman, De studio theologico, ii.13, 15. 160 Burman, De studio theologico, iii.1–14. 161 Burman, De studio theologico, iii.24–38. 162 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.iii–iv. 163 Alsted, Praecognita, II.xii–cxxviii; discussion of this material lies beyond

the scope of the present volume inasmuch as it belongs to the doctrine of Scripture. 164

Gisbert Voetius, Exercitia et bibliotheca studiosi theologiae (Utrecht, 1651); Thomas Barlow, De studio theologiae: or, Directions for the Choice of Books in the Study of Divinity (Oxford: Leonard Lichfield, 1699). 165 See below 7.3 (B). 166 Cf. Scharpius, Cursus theologicus; and Trelcatius, Schol. meth., noting the

polemical section at the end of each chapter. 167

Cf., e.g., Ursinus, Explicationes catecheseos, in Opera theologica (Heidelberg, 1612), I, cols. 163–65; with Rijssen, Summa, III.ix., controversia (against the Anthropomorphites). 168 Pictet, Theolgia christiana., praef.

169 Voetius, Exercitia, v–viii (esp. pp. 31–36, 45–47, 59–61). 170 Burman, De studio theologico, iii.4–9; and note the similar method, with

emphasis on piety and application, in Johannes Hoornbeeck, Tractatus de ratione concionandi (Leiden, 1645) and David Knibbe, Manuductio ad oratoriam sacram (Leiden, 1679). The early orthodox homiletical pattern is well illustrated in Andreas Hyperius, De formandis concionibus sacris (Basel, 1552), translated as The Practis of Preaching (London, 1577). See further, Edwin C. Dargan, A History of Preaching (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1954), II: 76–81, 137–49, 168–85; and for examples of a Puritan and Reformed style, strongly orthodox in its doctrinal content, cf. any of the sermons of Thomas Manton in The Complete Works of Thomas Manton, 22 vols. (London: J. Nisbet, 1870–75), but note particularly the sermon on Mark 10:27 in vol. 17, pp. 82–95, where Manton emphasizes the scholastic distinction between potentia ordinata and potentia absoluta but draws it out at length with reference to the text; also see Owen’s sermons in The Works of John Owen, ed. William Goold (London, 1850–53), vol. 8. 171

See Petrus van Mastricht, Theologiae didactico-elenctico-practicae Prodromus tribus speciminibus (Amsterdam: Johann van Sommern, 1666). I owe my knowledge of this rather rare document to Adriaan Neele. On the development and shape of Mastricht’s theology, see Adriaan Cornelis Neele, A Study of Divine Spirituality, Simplicity, and Immutability in Petrus van Mastricht’s Doctrine of God (Th.M. thesis: Calvin Theological Seminary, 2002). 172 Cf. Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, pp. 1–5, 51–65, 65–75, etc.;

with Richard A. Muller, “Giving Direction to Theology: The Scholastic Dimension,” in Journal of the Evangelical Theology Society, 28/2 (June, 1985), pp. 184–186. 173 Note that Mastricht also wrote a Methodus concionandi (Frankfurt-on-

Oder: M. Hübner, n.d.). 174

See Edward Farley, Theologia: The Fragmentation and Unity of Theological Education, (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983) pp. 51–53. 175

Thus also, Lewalter, Metaphysik, pp. 31–33, where a similar contemporizing effort is noted in the Protestant use of Aristotelian metaphysics.

5 The Parts or Divisions of Theology 5.1 The Identification of the Discipline: Changes in Style and Definition between Reformation and Orthodoxy A. Reformation Era Backgrounds The theology of the Reformers, even when it attained relatively full systematic expression, as in Melanchthon’s Loci communes, Calvin’s Institutes, Bullinger’s Decades, or Musculus’ Loci communes, did not include a self-conscious definition of the nature of theology as discipline in the traditional sense—whether as scientia or sapientia, and as a theologia in via —or to offer formal prolegomena apart from brief methodological statements. This is not to ignore the several treatises from the period on the manner or ratio of studying theology, which do offer considerations of the methodus and the loci for study.1 The theologies of the Reformers, particularly those that took the form of loci communes, did offer a finely conceived approach to the extraction of topical materials from Scripture and to the gathering of these materials into the topics or loci and did offer a refined sense of method and order for the organization of the loci, in accord with the humanist models of the era.2 Still, there remains a formal difference between the large scale theologies of the second generation Reformers and the major dogmatic compendia of their successors, a difference identifiable in part by an increasingly detailed theological definition of the task of theology. Whereas all of the writers just mentioned devoted some attention to the issue of the human knowledge of God and to the issue of scriptural revelation, none of them saw fit to discuss the character of theology as an intellectual discipline set in the context of a finite world and accommodated to the forms of human knowing: none, in short, define theologia. The same situation obtains in the systematic works of the generation immediately following: Beza, Ursinus, Zanchi, Daneau, and Olevianus all omit discussion of the discipline from their larger theological exercises. This approach to theology could only be maintained while the Reformation was still in a large sense a protest movement with theological roots and some academic training in medieval models. Once Protestantism had been established as an institutional church with its own confessional orthodoxy and had recognized the need to teach theology in academies and universities, the situation changed and the task of teaching demanded some approach to

definition of the discipline, not just in terms of etymologies but also in terms of the problem and the manner of knowing God. The one theologian who provides a significant exception to the generalizations of the above paragraphs is Andreas Hyperius, in whose Methodus theologiae there is such a detailed carefully drawn prospectus for the design of theology as a series of loci communes—ordered in series from God to the final consummation, resting on Scripture and the fathers for their content, and referencing the larger tradition including the medieval scholastics —that elements of the later definitions begin to appear. In particular, Hyperius stepped past Melanchthon’s appeal to the historical series of loci and was sensitive to the more intimate relationships of the historical economy of salvation to the ways in which theology is to be understood: he therefore recommended distinctions between the understanding of a locus like the Law of God prior to the fall, after the fall, and under grace. Indeed, most of his major topical divisions are themselves organized with respect to these distinctions, adumbrating the early orthodox use of distinctions between theology ante lapsum and post lapsum, theology in via and in patria.3 B. Early Orthodoxy Defines the Discipline In the decade following 1590, a distinction between theologia archetypa, God’s knowledge of himself and his works, and theologia ectypa, creaturely knowledge of God and works, entered the systematic conceptuality of early Reformed orthodoxy. Althaus correctly points to Franciscus Junius’ De theologia vera (1594) as the first work to employ this distinction and to make a threefold division in the theologia ectypa: the theologia unionis, visionis, and viatorum. Junius was certainly the first major thinker to pose these definitions in a Reformed context and it was his treatise that was used consistently by the theologians of his generation and the next several generations of Reformed theology as the model for theological prolegomena. In early orthodox theology, particularly in the works of Junius and Polanus, these categories are all discussed at some length—despite the fact that only the theologia viatorum is accessible to man. This terminology, although it appears somewhat curious to the twentiethcentury mind, is in fact the avenue chosen by early Reformed orthodoxy to clarify both the definition of the church’s theological task and the nature of the discipline of theology itself. The terminology echoes traditional distinctions between the pilgrim believer (viator) and the blessed (beati) in heaven, between the church militant and the church triumphant, and between the light of grace (lumen gratiae) given to believers in this life and the light of glory (lumen gloriae) given in the life hereafter. This terminology, in its distinction between a divine archetype and a variety of temporal ectypes, also

allows theology to identify both the relationship and the disjunction between God’s knowledge of himself and man’s knowledge of him. Althaus argues that these formulations mark the entrance of Thomistic epistemology into the Reformed system.4 Two considerations, however, weigh against this argument. In the first place, Thomist epistemology was present in Reformed thought from the time of Vermigli and Zanchi,5 not to mention the admiration of a Genevan like Daneau for Aquinas’ thought. Secondly, the distinction between God’s knowledge of himself and creaturely knowledge of him was such a commonplace in fourteenth- and fifteenthcentury scholasticism that its subsequent adaptation by the orthodox does not necessarily point to a Thomistic understanding of the nature of theological epistemology. The Reformed use of this distinction seems, in fact, to draw more heavily on the Scotist distinction between theologia in se and theologia nostra and, like its Scotist predecessor, to hark back to the even more fundamental distinction between potentia Dei absoluta and potentia Dei ordinata.6 Du Moulin’s variation on this theme points to a God who transcends the virtues and capacities of human beings by “an infinite distance,” to describe whose majesty is like staring into the sun: the “excellency” of the subject both “instigates the endeavour” and “cumbers the success.”7 This is no Thomistic conception of theological language as analogical. Indeed, the presence of what Congar has termed “the constant intervention of disjunctions between the order in se and the order of fact” is the hallmark of the Scotist critique of Thomism.8 Although Junius was probably the first Protestant theologian to state these distinctions explicitly and positively for use in Reformed dogmatics, the underlying problem addressed by the distinctions belonged to the theology of the Reformation from its very beginnings. One of the elements of late medieval Scotist and nominalist theology that had a profound impact on Luther was its denial of any analogy between God and man and its consequent recognition of the impossibility of formulating a rational metaphysic concerning God. All knowledge of God must rest on authoritative testimony, primarily on that of Scripture. Luther not only denied any recourse of theology to an analogia entis between God and man and insisted on the necessity of scriptural revelation, but also argued, in the light of his denial of human merit and his sense of the immediacy of Christ as revealer and savior, against any rational theologia gloriae that claimed to describe God as he is in himself and proposed that our earthly theology be a theologia crucis, conformed to the pattern of God’s revelation in Christ.9 Calvin, similarly, allows a glorious revelation of God in creation that ought to be understood by reason—but argues that human beings are so corrupted by sin that apart from salvation in Christ and the saving form of revelation given in Scripture,

knowledge of God remains inaccessible to them.10 Calvin also distinguishes between the eternal Word and Wisdom of God and the revealing Word given forth in the words of the prophets,11 the latter being accommodated to human ways of knowing. After Junius’ use of the distinction, it passes into the doctrinal system in the works of such theologians as Polanus, Scharpius, Walaeus, and Heidanus. In these systems a definite limit is set upon human inquiry into the Godhead and a principle of accommodation is utilized to explain the relationship between the true theology known to man and the divine self-knowledge. Thus, the distinction is adapted to an insight present from the very beginning in Reformed theology—that the finite (and sinful) mind of man is incapable of grasping the fullness of divine truth. A similar epistemology characterizes the other Reformed systems of the period, although many—Perkins, Ames, Hommius, Trelcatius, Downham—do not utilize these scholastic terms. The theology of Lutheran orthodoxy, similarly, developed massive and carefully enunciated prolegomena. Beginning with the great Loci theologici of Johann Gerhard (1610), the classification of theology provided by Junius carries over into the Lutheran scholastic systems, paralleling the development of the Reformed. We find here, moreover, a substantial agreement concerning the forms of theology and their relationships, the sole exception being the content and extent of the theology of Christ, the so-called theologia unionis, where christological concerns raised a major point of debate between the Reformed and the Lutherans. This means that although the early orthodox discussion of the nature of theology was not highly original either in its terminology or in its content it was, formally, a radical departure from the patterns of sixteenth-century theology and an equally radical return to the scholastic mold of earlier centuries. The change seems to have been accomplished suddenly, over the space of a decade or so. In the last quarter of the sixteenth century we see only the beginnings of the use of such distinctions in systematic theological works, while in the first quarter of the seventeenth century their use seems to be taken for granted. Protestant school-theology had come of age and the complex, technical vocabulary of scholasticism had become legitimate in Protestant circles. The work of adapting the old system to new insights had begun in earnest. Change is less apparent in the doctrines of the Trinity, the Person of Christ, and predestination, where the technical vocabulary of essence, nature, person, subsistence, and cause had been in use throughout the sixteenth century. In the doctrines of theology and of faith, however, the use of such terms as theologia archetypa, theologia ectypa, habitus, actus, and so forth marks a new point of departure—as does the technical analysis of system itself and of the phenomenon of faith that are represented by these

loci. There is one significant difference between the Scotist use of distinctions between theologia in se aut divina and theologia nostra and the Reformed orthodox use of the distinction between theologia archetypa and the types of theology classed under the term theologia ectypa. Scotus develops these distinctions because of new insight into the epistemological problems involved in writing theology. Although the soteriological necessity of revelation is not lost to him, his emphasis falls squarely on the problem of knowledge. The Reformed orthodox clearly shift ground. The basic epistemological problem remains and the sense of a drastic limitation of human knowledge concerning God is everywhere apparent in their prolegomena. But in the work of theologians like Polanus and Scharpius a new dimension receives emphasis. The epistemological problem develops both out of the relation of revelation and reason, theology and philosophy, and out of the soteriological issue: man post lapsum needs revelation not only because of his limited natural capabilities but because of spiritual blindness caused by sin. The Scotist epistemological distinctions are now conditioned by Reformed anthropology. 5.2 Archetypal and Ectypal Theology A. The Paradigm: Forms of the Knowledge of God from the Divine Self-Knowledge to the Accommodated Knowing of Fallen Creatures The Reformed orthodox generally agree concerning the importance of distinguishing between archetypal and ectypal theology. Their agreement is particularly strong in the identification of true human theology as an ectype or reflection resting on but not commensurate with the divine self-knowledge. Disagreements, however, are expressed by the same theologians over the use of the term archetypal theology. Perhaps the clearest and fullest summary of the entire paradigm is found in Polanus’ Syntagma: True theology is either archetypal or ectypal. Ectypal theology (theologia ectypa) is considered either in itself (in se) or as it is in rational creatures (in creaturis rationalibus). The ends or goals (fines) of the theology communicated to rational creatures are two: the primary and highest is the glorification of God as the highest good (glorificatio Dei tanquam summi boni); the secondary and subordinate is the blessedness of rational creatures (beatitudo creaturarum rationalium). The parts of blessedness are two: (1) freedom from all evils and

possession of all true goods that rational creatures can possess in God; (2) the vision of God (visio Dei), conformity to God, sufficiency in God and a certain knowledge of his eternal felicity. The vision of God is either obscure or clear. Ectypal theology considered as it is in rational creatures is either of Christ as he is head of the Church according to his humanity or of the members of Christ’s body (membrorum Christi). This latter theology is either of the blessed (beatorum) or of earthly pilgrims (viatorum). The theology of the blessed (theologia beatorum) is either of angels or of men. The theology of pilgrims (theologia viatorum) has a two-fold pattern: for it is considered either absolutely (absolute) or relatively (secundum quid). The theology of pilgrims absolutely so-called and considered according to its nature, is essentially one, eternal and immutable; considered according to its adjuncts it is either old (vetus) or new (nova). Theology of pilgrims or our theology (theologia viatorum seu nostra) considered relatively or as it exists in individual pilgrims through the activity of efficient causes is partly infused (infusa) and partly acquired (acquisita).12 Quite in contrast to this fairly typical early orthodox interest in developing at length a definition of theologia archetypa and of each of the forms of theologia ectypa, several of the early orthodox writers—for example, Trelcatius and Gomarus—and most of the high orthodox take the paradigm for granted and, with a sense of impatience, sift through the forms and meanings of theology to set aside quickly those not applicable in order to focus upon our theology, theologia nostra. Thus Turretin: The use of the term theology is either equivocal and inappropriate (abusivus) when it is applied to the false theology of pagans and heretics; or less than truly appropriate (minus proprius) when it is declared of the original and infinite Wisdom, which, apart from us, is known by God in himself according to an ineffable and most perfect mode of knowing; the term, indeed, cannot do justice to the dignity of the thing; or of the theology of Christ (theologia Christi) or of the theology of angels (theologia Angelorum); or proper (proprius), when it is applied to the theology of sojourning men (theologia hominum

viatorum), which is distinguished into natural and supernatural theology, as discussed below.13 Intellectually and theologically these distinctions and the debate over their use spring directly out of the preceding discussion of the meaning of the term theology and the problem of true and false theology. Etymologically the term theo-logia could indicate either the Word of God or words about God—and, if the latter are true, they must rest upon the former. Thus true theologia de Deo, theology concerning God, somehow reflects and is grounded upon the knowledge that God has of himself. As Alsted comments, true theology, both archetypal and ectypal, is “the indubitable knowledge of divine things.”14 The basic question to be answered in this segment of the prolegomena concerns the nature of the relationship between the divine archetype and the temporal ectype: is the relationship such that we can ascend by analogy from what is known here to a clear vision of God—the analogia entis—or is the relationship such that we cannot conceive for ourselves a perfect theology?15 The answer, of course, reflects a series of epistemological, anthropological and soteriological concerns to be developed at length in the subsequent system. B. Medieval Antecedents to the Reformed Discussion The Reformed orthodox debate echoes the debate over the Scotist distinction between the infinite and perfect theologia in se and the various forms of finite theology typical of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. On the one hand, this debate moved toward a clearer statement of the paradigm according to which the various categories of finite theology, classified according to their mode of communication, could be grouped together under the divine archetype, while on the other hand, epistemological concerns somewhat different from those of Scotus brought about modification of the terms and their use. At the heart of his own theological enterprise, Scotus recognized the vast and unbridgeable gulf between the divine self-knowledge and all human knowledge of God. Certainly the presence of this motif in Scotus’ thought echoes the shift in theological epistemology that had occurred between the time of Albert the Great’s, Thomas Aquinas’, and Bonaventure’s vast theological systems and the end of the thirteenth century. The attempt to draw faith and philosophy together, whether in the more Aristotelian model of Albert and Thomas or in the more Augustinian approach of Bonaventure, had not resulted in any easy alliance of faith and reason, but in fact had yielded various cautionary approaches that recognized the diastasis between revelation and the truths known to reason. This diastasis, moreover, reflected the sense that God so radically transcended the grasp of the human faculties

that no easy analogy could be made between the divine and the human. Scotus’ theology, accordingly, made a distinction between “theology” considered as God’s self-knowledge, theologia in se, and “theology” considered as our knowledge of God, theologia nostra. Theology in se, theology considered in itself, apart from any of the limitations of the human intellect, refers to the essential knowledge of God and therefore to the entirety of possible knowledge of God, such as can only be known to God himself and must remain in large part beyond any and all finite knowing. And, of course, there is the fact that no living human has the full vision of God—so that the knowledge of God accessible to redeemed souls in heaven also far exceeds our present grasp. Theologia nostra is the present theology of human beings, human beings in this life, who know God according to their limited capacity and only insofar as he has revealed himself to them.16 For Ockham, the language of Scotus raised more problems than Scotus himself had anticipated. Ockham agreed that God can be known in se only to God himself but then, against Scotus, argued the problematic character of the identification of God sub propria ratione Deitatis as the subject of theology.17 Ockham’s nominalism demanded that he view theological system as a gathered body of discrete subjects, each capable of being known by means of an individual habitus. As one small part of the argument leading to this conclusion, Ockham sought to define more clearly the limits of theologia nostra: he argues a distinction between theologia nostra nobis possibilis pro statu isto (“our theology possible for us proportionate to this present condition”) and theologia possibilis per divinam potentiam in intellectu viatoris (“theology possible by divine power in the mind of the pilgrim”).18 What Ockham has constructed here is a distinction between the ideal order and the order in fact set into the context of the human intellect itself: theologia in se can now be identified as an ideal category of theologia nostra, normally inaccessible to the human mind but possible under the absolute power of God. This concept appears to be behind the Reformed orthodox perception of theologia in se as the ideal finite instance of theologia nostra. The Annotatiunculae of John Eck implies another answer to this problem. Eck argues a threefold meaning for theologia: knowledge of God in the divine mind (in mente divina), in itself (in se), and in us (in nobis). According to the first of these categories, comments Eck, the maxim of Augustine holds, that “God alone is a theologian, and we are truly his disciples.” Much like Scotus’ basic definition of theologia in se, Eck’s definition identifies this category of the knowledge of God as a knowledge proportionate to its object—but now it is defined specifically as knowledge in intellectu humano. Theologia in se, the pattern to which our theology is subalternate is, according to Eck, the theology of the blessed who know by sight. The theology that human beings

have in their pilgrim condition (secundum statum viae), the theologia nostra, is not proportionate to its object. Rather, it is limited to the knowledge our intellect is capable of accepting through belief.19 Further redefinition of the term theologia in se or theology absolutely considered (absolute dicta) occurs among the early Reformed orthodox who use the term in a fashion similar to Eck’s usage as a proximate pattern for theologia nostra, but identify it not as the theology of the blessed but as the perfect truth of supernatural revelation.20 C. The Relationship of Archetypal and Ectypal Theology—A Precondition of Christian Doctrine 1. Reformation era background to the discussion of archetypal and ectypal theology. At first glance, the Reformed orthodox doctrine of archetypal and ectypal theology has little background in the era of the Reformation. The language of the distinction has, most obviously, medieval resonances. Still, although the language itself probably cannot be found among the Reformers, there are substantive parallels to the meaning and intentions of the distinction. Beginning with Luther, the Reformation had a strong sense of the transcendence of God, indeed, the hiddenness of God in and behind his revelation.21 Drawing on this assumption, Calvin argued the accommodated nature of God’s revelation: God reveals himself not as he is in his infinite majesty but in a form accessible to human beings.22 So too is a distinction made by Calvin and others between the eternal decree of God and its execution in time—accompanied by the proviso that human beings can never enter the ultimate mind and will of God to discern its contents but must trust in what has been revealed and must gain assurance from the revelation of Christ and from his work in the hearts and minds of God’s people.23 Thus, the theology of the Reformation recognized not only that God is distinct from his revelation and that the one who reveals cannot be fully comprehended in the revelation,24 but also that the revelation, given in a finite and understandable form, must truly rest on the eternal truth of God: this is the fundamental message and intention of the distinction between archetypal and ectypal theology. 2. The Reformed orthodox definition and discussion of archetypal theology. True theology, both archetypal and ectypal, can be identified as knowledge that stands beyond doubt (cognitio indubitata) over against the depraved opinion (opinio depravata) of false theology.25 The orthodox recognize, then, the necessity of arguing a set of criteria for and a paradigm of true theology, beginning with the divine archetype that must underlie all truth about God and continuing through the several orders of rational creatures capable of knowing God. Although true theology is diverse or “multiplex”

considered according to its modes of communication and the “subjects” or knowers in which it is found, true theology is one according to substance, whether it is found in God himself or in his creatures. The divisions into archetypal and ectypal, and of ectypal into theologies of the vision, of union, and of revelation, respects the fact that there is not one “species of theology” found in a series of “degrees” or gradus.26 This substantially singular theology, as known infinitely and absolutely by the divine subject, God, is archetypal; as known finitely and relatively by the creaturely subject, ectypal.27 There are, Alsted notes, three causes or grounds for the identification of this theologia vera: first, that it arises from the source that is truth itself (qui ipsissima est veritas); second, that those who study it receive or achieve truth in their statements; and third, that it is internally harmonious, inasmuch as the mutual agreement and consent of all parts of a given body of ideas with one another’s is an index of truth.28 Echoing Keckermann, Alsted concludes from his discussion of the nature of truth that the truth is one and that there cannot ultimately be more than one truth, that is, no truth can exist in ultimate contradiction with another truth.29 Indeed, the Reformed orthodox generally assumed the unity of truth given the necessary grounding of all finite truth in the one, all-encompassing truth of the divine mind: not only theology, but all human knowledge looks, ultimately, to the divine knowledge as its source and goal.30 This conclusion, in turn, points toward the unity of theology and analogically toward the division or distinction of its forms: the divine archetype is theology in the truest sense, while all ectypal forms are identifiable as theologia vera secondarily because of their “similitude to the archetype.” Thus, “theology is and is said to be in intelligent creatures as an image, the archetype of which is in God.”31 “Theology is in God formally and eminently” (formaliter et eminenter) as his “essential wisdom.” It is not a discursive knowing but a simple intelligence to which all others can be related only by analogy: and inasmuch as sapientia, in humans, implies both principia and conclusions, the term cannot be predicated univocally of God. Archtypal theology is, thus, a “nondiscursive” divine sapientia.32 The archetype, as Turretin noted, is not in any sense equivalent to our theology: the human mind cannot know the archetype, as such, and the term “theology” cannot be predicated univocally of our theology and of the divine archetype.33 Nonetheless, as the early orthodox dogmaticians point out, the fact of the divine archetype is crucial to the existence of true yet finite human theology: “Archetypal theology is the divine Wisdom concerning divine things: this we truly adore, but we do not inquire into it.”34 This, adds Junius, is not a definition but rather a description by analogy with things known to us, by the application of our terms to divine things. Wisdom (sapientia) is

predicated univocally only of God inasmuch as God alone is truly wise—and therefore is predicated equivocally of human beings. Therefore, when predicated of God, wisdom does not indicate a genus of wise things of which God is one. The divine sapientia is a proper attribute of God: it is divine wisdom in the sense of being identical with the divine essence in its utter simplicity and its freedom from all composition. The theologia archetypa, then, is God himself, the identity of self and self-knowledge in the absolutely and essentially wise God.35 Polanus thus remarks that the division of theology into the categories of archetypal and ectypal is by analogy. Primarily and principally, theologia is theologia archetypa and only secondarily and by similitude is it theologia ectypa. This must be the case since all wisdom, goodness, righteousness, power, and other creaturely qualities in rational creatures are from God in whom they find their archetype—their imago.36 That there is theology in God appears from the fact that God has wisdom concerning rerum divinarum and from the fact that all perfections “that are in us, are also in God,” but on an exalted level. Thus, “archetypal theology is the wisdom of divine things that is resident in God, essential to him and uncreated.”37 This might also be called theologia prototypa or, as the scholastics termed it, theologia Dei or “exemplary theology, to which as to an immutable, primary and primordial idea and exemplar, all created theology is conformed as a likeness, such divine theology we adore but do not search into.”38 This language draws directly upon that of Junius, with some amplification of definition. Since, moreover, this “divine knowledge concerning divine things” is uncreated (increata), identical with the form or essence of God (formalis), absolute, infinite, utterly simple or incomplex (simplicissima), and utterly simultaneous (tota simul), that is, without either temporal or logical sequence, it must also be incommunicable (incommunicabilis), as indeed are all the divine attributes when defined strictly or univocally. All that can be naturally communicated to created things of such an ultimate wisdom are but faint images or vestiges (imagines aut etiam vestigia). There is no analogical path from the divine imprint upon the created order to a full knowledge of God.39 It is therefore God himself who is the source, origin and efficient cause of what we know in this life as true theology.40 The nature of this archetype and its function as the source of all that finite creatures know about God poses a final paradox in the Protestant scholastic discussion of the “attributes” of archetypal theology: it is both incommunicable (incommunicabilis) and communicative (communicativa). The identity of theologia archetypa with the infinite essence of God renders it incapable of communication to creatures. Nonetheless, God’s infinite self-knowledge is transmitted to things in the created order. In creation, all things receive the imprint of the divine

and the ability of finite creatures to apprehend revelation, to have theology, rests upon the image of God according to which they have been created.41 A somewhat different approach to the problem of theologia is evident in a few of the early orthodox systems. Thus, Trelcatius begins his introductory remarks by dividing the subject into a discussion of theology and its nature and an analysis of the method he proposes to use throughout his institutio. “Theology” does not indicate the pattern or knowledge of “God himself” or “that which is in God.” God is a “simple Essence” who “by an indivisible and unchangeable act … knows both himself in himself and out of himself all and singular things by himself.” What we know of God is his own “revelation or communication” of divine knowledge either “according to the universal nature of all men, or according to special grace and the rule of Scripture in the Church.”42 According to Trelcatius, “theology” properly so-called is a word about God known to man. By stating the definition in this way he manifests an early point of disagreement among the framers of the Reformed prolegomena: he refuses to develop the concept of an archetypal theology and begins with knowledge of God as given in revelation, what Junius, Polanus, and Scharpius refer to as theologia ectypa. This position can perhaps be viewed as less speculative than that of Junius, Polanus and Scharpius insofar as it refuses to discuss or even to identify a theologia that stands beyond human grasp. Although Trelcatius’ position never became that of the majority of Reformed orthodox, it was carried forward among the Dutch Reformed by Gomarus and Walaeus, both of whom shy away from the identification of a theologia archetypa and discuss only revealed theology.43 By implication, at least, this focus on theologia revelata, coupled with an unwillingness to develop the larger paradigm may also be found in the thought of British writers like Perkins and Ames, who offer praxis-oriented definitions of theology: they do not discuss the distinction, and the thrust of their argumentation points away from an emphasis on the archetype. This possible implication of the so-called Ramist definition of theology is evident; moreover, it remains so a generation after Perkins in the work of Stoughton.44 Focus on ectypal theology is also echoed among the later orthodox, by Turretin’s and Owen’s reluctance to identify theologia archetypa as a “proper” usage of the term theology.45 This disagreement arises out of the fact that the term theologia cannot be applied properly or univocally to both archetype and ectype. Which then is truly theology and who, to reiterate Scotus’ Augustinian query, is truly the theologian? Trelcatius’ and Turretin’s definitions apply the term theologia univocally to human theology and view the use of the term as a description of the divine self-knowledge as somewhat less than appropriate (minus proprius). Following Junius’ argument from the divine attributes, however,

some of the early orthodox—like Polanus—argue that the term is used correctly and most properly (proprissime) of the divine self-knowledge and only derivatively of our knowledge of God. God, therefore, is properly called “theologian” and is recognized as the first (primus), highest (optimus) and most perfect (perfectissimus) Theologian: Theology therefore most properly is that knowledge of divine things which is in the divine mind, so that God alone is called Theologian: and accordingly, God is understood to be the first, highest and most perfect theologian. Moreover, this [theology] is a formal wisdom (sapientia formalis), absolute or perfect, infinite, utterly simultaneous, incommunicable, and such that only its image or reflection (imaginem) can be communicated to rational creatures. It is formal: since it is essential (essentialis) and the form of God or Deity, which is the purest form (purissima forma) .… It is most perfect: since it is not only of all things, but is indeed all the knowledge that it is possible for God to have concerning all things.46 Unlike Turretin’s, this position delineates clearly the path of theological knowing as revelational, from God to the creature, rather than as rational, from the creature to God. Turretin’s view, however, better reflects the logic of predication in view of the impossibility of a univocal use of the term theology in discussing the relationship between God’s self-knowledge and our knowledge of God—and, of course, neither Junius nor Turretin intended to imply the possibility of rational ascent to perfect knowledge of God. This divergence of opinion arises naturally out of the terminology itself and the problem of predication, a problem already seen in the medieval materials. On the one hand, Scotus’ terminology presses a distinction between the infinite, divine, and ideal order (theologia in se, or, in Protestant scholastic usage, theologia archetypa) and the finite order known to us (theologia nostra or theologia in subiecto). On the other hand, Scotus, the nominalists after him, and virtually all of the formulators of Protestant theology denied the Thomist analogia entis and declared that no proportion exists between the finite and the infinite (finiti et infiniti nulla proportio). Late medieval debate, therefore, adumbrated the quandary of the Reformed orthodox: Scotus had declared God to be the only true Theologian and theologia in se to be the only theology properly so-called. Identification of archetypal theology as the eternal or divine pattern for the perfect truth of supernatural revelation offered the Reformed, moreover, a

rather anti-speculative solution to the problem of the relationship of the ultimate divine self-knowledge to our theology: following the language of the divine attributes that will appear in the subsequent loci of the theological system, Reformed theologians could identify an ultimate divine knowledge that God, as God, must have—the scientia necessaria or necessary knowledge of the divine essence and of all possibility.47 It is clear, however, that neither the infinite divine self-knowledge nor the necessary divine knowledge of all possibility—including the possibilities not actualized by God—has little or no relevance to the special saving revelation of God and does not easily function as the eternal pattern for a fundamentally soteric theologia ectypa. This latter issue also created a minor disagreement among the Reformed: the earlier definitions found in Junius, Polanus, and others of their generation, tend to identify the theologia archetypa with the scientia necessaria. Cocceius, on the other hand, made clear that he viewed the theologia archetypa as only a portion of the scientia necessaria. Thus, according to Cocceius, the theologia archetypa, is not the entirety of “that perfect knowledge by which God knows himself,” but the eternal type of the truth that will conform human beings to the divine image: theologia archetypa is not the divine scientia necessaria, but the precise pattern in the mind of God for the earthly revelation of salvation—it is the eternal basis for the finite, but fully sufficient revelation at the foundation of the true theologia ectypa: the theologia ectypa is, thus, only a portion of the divine scientia necessaria.48 In Cocceius’ view, moreover, the theologia archetypa is an inward trinitarian knowing, the Father knowing the Son, the Son knowing the Father, and the Spirit searching out the deep things of God—a cognitive parallel with Cocceius’ doctrine of the pactum salutis.49 Cocceius’ definition of archetypal theology also coincides with his insistence that theology is a practical discipline oriented toward the goal of salvation. The more inclusive identification of archetypal theology with necessary knowledge conforms more to the understanding of theology as a mixed discipline, both speculative and practical.50 3. Ectypal theology. These considerations bring us, finally, to the Reformed orthodox definition of ectypal theology: Ectypal theology considered either simply, as they say, or in relation to its various kinds, is the wisdom of divine things given conceptual form by God, on the basis of the archetypal image of himself through the communication of Grace for his own glory. And so, indeed, theology simply so called, is the entire Wisdom concerning divine things capable of being communicated to created things by [any] manner of communication.51

Ectypal theology, therefore, includes the theology of union (theologia unionis) known by the human mind of Jesus in and through the hypostatic union, the theology of angels (theologia angelorum), and the three basic forms of human theology—theology before the fall (ante lapsum); after the fall (post lapsum) but informed by grace, that is, the theology of pilgrims on earth (theologia viatorum); and theology of the blessed in heaven (theologia beatorum). The theology of pilgrims can be further divided into natural and supernatural theology. Theologia ectypa, in other words, is the category inclusive of all forms and subcategories of finite theology.52 At this point, too, we can define sapientia rerum divinarum in its finite, creaturely application: it is a wisdom consisting both in truths to be known and believed and in things to be done or avoided, belonging, in its perfect form, to the divine image present in rational creatures and conducing to righteousness and blessedness.53 All ectypal theology, then, is formed on the basis of the archetype by a communication of grace from Creator to creature.54 The distinction between theologia archetypa and theologia ectypa is further elucidated by the orthodox according to the attributes and modes of each. Archetypal theology, in view of what we have already seen, is uncreated (increata), essential, possessed of a definite form (formalis), without components or any kind of sequence (tota simul), absolute, infinite, and— considered in itself—incommunicable. By way of contrast, ectypal theology is created or produced in creatures by divine communication. Rather than being essential or belonging to the essence of the knower, ectypal theology is habitual (habitualis)—a disposition of the mind of the knower and neither the mind itself nor necessarily in the mind. Ectypal theology is also discrete (discreta)—that is, composed of distinct parts—finite, and subject to several forms and many variations and, thus, is not absolute, infinite, or formal in the proper sense. All of these attributes point to the fact that ectypal theology is communicable: it is the reflection or image of the incommunicable sapientia that is in God and is possible only as a communication from God.55 Ectypal theology in se is, thus, the ideal case of communicated theology, the accommodated form or mode of the archetype readied in the mind of God for communication to a particular kind of subject, namely, Christ, the blessed, or the redeemed on earth. With the exception of Christ, however, the ideal case will be less than fully realized in the finite order, given the varieties and infirmities of the rational subjects. Polanus further states that theologia ectypa or theologia communicata in se is not simply the knowledge of God that is presently communicated to rational creatures but is that knowledge which “is communicated to [rational creatures] and can be communicated to them by that means which God graciously chooses according to his will, of his inexhaustible fulness, both in

this and in the next age.”56 The various forms of ectypal theology, then, derive from the three modes of communication: union, vision, and revelation. Theologia communicata in subiecto, on the other hand, is that knowledge of divine things “communicated according to the mode or capacity for comprehension of those who rightly acknowledge God and who through a profound love in their souls, will live blessedly with him in eternity.”57 Thus the modus of theology relates to the ability of each individual to comprehend and perceive knowledge of God as the object of a created intellect. This theology has two ends—the principal and foremost of which is the glorification of God as the highest good (summum bonum); the second and subordinate, the beatitude of rational creatures.58 There are three possible modes—union, vision and revelation—corresponding with the condition of the finite intellect to which it is communicated. As Alsted comments, ectypal theology “in the subject” is adapted to or modified by the character of the “receiving subject.”59 Thus unio is the mode suitable to one in perfect union with God; visio to one in the full presence of God; revelatio to one not yet ready for the fullness of the vision of God.60 Polanus describes ectypal theology as sapientia rerum divinarum, a Deo ex archetypo ipsius expressa atque informata per communicationem gratiosam ad gloriam ipsius (“the wisdom of divine things, expressed and formulated by God from his own archetype by gracious communication, for the sake of his own glory”). Archetypal theology is the primary idea of theology (prima idea theologia), from which ectypal theology is excogitated (ideatur), if such a word may be used, and articulated (exprimitur): just as the essential truth and goodness in God is the archetype and primary idea of the true and the good, from which all creatures have the idea of the good and the true. Archetypal theology is the exemplar: ectypal theology is the exemplum, which ought to agree with, correspond with, and resemble the exemplar. Thus ectypal theology is, in rational creatures, a part of the image and likeness of God according to which they were created.61 Thus the idea of archetypal and ectypal theology reflects the anthropological doctrine of the imago Dei and, by extension, must also reflect the soteriological problem of the fall and the profound damage inflicted on the imago.62 In an attempt to clarify this model Cloppenburg accepts the typical distinctions between archetypal and ectypal theology and then identifies the principium essendi with the archetype or exemplar of theology and the principium cognoscendi with the ectype or finite expression of theology.63 Scripture thus becomes identified as the revealed form for all further ectypal

theology and ectypal theology itself is identified as fundamentally a theologia revelata, in distinction from other forms of theological knowing, namely theology of vision or theology of union. This form of the definition points toward a highly epistemological view of theology—linked obviously with Cloppenburg’s focusing of his basic definition on theologia docens. Quite the opposite of the hypothesis of Dowey, this theology is a theology of the ordo cognoscendi, defined both in terms of a theory of knowing and in terms of a model for teaching, in Calvin’s words, an ordo recte docendi.64 This pattern of definition became fairly standard: some fifty years later, the English scholastic, Edward Leigh, could declare virtually as a truism that theologia ectypa was truly the theologia de Deo, the theology concerning God, and was “expressed in us by Divine Revelation after the Pattern or Ideal which is in God,” that is, the theologia archetypa.65 The distinction appears as well in the federalist and semi-Cartesian systems of the mid-seventeenth century,66 and in virtually all of the high orthodox systems at the end of the century.67 As we will argue further in the following discussions of the several forms and modes of ectypal theology, this careful and elaborate patterning of definition, though highly dialectical and argumentative in a scholastic sense, cannot be viewed as an inroad of rationalism, nor as a substantive departure from the theology of the Reformation, and certainly not as the development of a form of theology that viewed the theological task as a simple matter or easy encapsulation of divine wisdom in theological system. It is not an inroad of rationalism: the human mind is here radically limited, separated from the infinite divine wisdom, and denied any power of ascent toward the divine apart from divine help. It is not a substantive departure from the theology of the Reformation: there is a formalization of theology but also an attempt to retain in new forms the substance of the Reformation’s view of the sovereignty and transcendence of God and of the utterly necessary, gracious character of revelation. It does not view theology as a simple matter: there is recognition of limitation—both of access to the infinitude and perfection of God and of ability of the human mind to grasp divine truths in and of themselves. Indeed, the Reformed orthodox often drew, from the concept of an ectypal theology limited both by human finitude and by sin, the conclusion that theology as we know it must be imperfect.68 5.3 The Causes and Ends of Theology A. Causes and Ends of Theology—Rationale for the Discussion and Basic Distinctions The question of the causes and ends of theology—the reasons for its existence and the goals toward which it tends—was raised by most of the Protestant orthodox but received a full treatment by both Reformed and

Lutheran thinkers. This point is itself important, given the tendency of some modern writers to associate questions of causality with philosophical determinism, an association clearly out of place here, given the theological differences between the Lutherans and the Reformed and their common interest in this particular question. The question is significant since it provides a basis for the discussions of the object of theology, of the genus of theology as scientia or sapientia, and of the character of theology as theoretical or practical. The delineation of first, formal, material, and final causes manifests an essentially Aristotelian perspective and represents one of the ways in which the rise of a scholastic method among Protestants had an effect on the patterns, divisions and definitions within theological system. Nevertheless, we cannot count this development as a sign of radical discontinuity in viewpoint between the orthodox and the Reformers. It represents a difference in degree rather than in kind, insofar as the Reformers themselves thought of problems of cause and effect in Aristotelian terms—as, for example, in Calvin’s discussion of predestination. The Reformers simply did not use the model of the fourfold causality as frequently, nor did they apply it to as many issues or problems. For the orthodox, both Reformed and Lutheran, the fourfold causality becomes a model for structuring discussion.69 Here, too, the Protestant orthodox were able to draw upon medieval models. Of particular importance to the medieval discussion and of significance to the rise of Reformed orthodoxy because of its availability in printed form in the sixteenth century is the discussion of the causality of theology in the Summa of Henry of Ghent. By arguing that theology has as its final cause the goal of human life in the visio Dei, Henry was able to provide a basis for answering questions concerning the utility and necessity of theology and concerning the character of theology as theoretical or practical.70 His identification of the efficient cause or author of theology as God in Christ similarly provides the initial ground for developing answers to a series of crucial questions: the authority of theological knowledge, the identity of valid teachers and hearers of theology, and the proper mode of teaching theology. The proper mode of teaching, in turn, identifies the issue of formal causality.71 The question of material causality enables Henry to move on to the issue of the proper subject matter of the discipline.72 This question of causes and ends entails the examination of issues and questions belonging both to other sections of the locus de theologia and to several of the other key loci of the theological system namely, the doctrines of Scripture, God, grace, and the last things. Attention is thereby given to the interrelationship of the loci and the way in which principles and presuppositions of theology provide a basis for the system as a whole. This discussion, moreover, provides the Protestant scholastics with an opportunity

for more diversity of viewpoint than in virtually any other of the topics belonging to the prolegomena. Although they agree in identifying God as the first efficient cause and the glory of God as the ultimate end or final cause of theology, a variety of views appear in the discussion of intermediate causality. The primary model for the discussion of causes of theology comes, as do the models for many of the topics in the prolegomena, from Junius’ De vera theologia and is repeated, with variation in many of the Reformed orthodox writers, notably, Polanus, Scharpius, and Maccovius. (We cite the entire set of partitions, from Junius and from Maccovius, but reserve discussion of those dealing solely with principia [the first and the last] for a subsequent section of the study.)73 First, Junius: The efficient cause of our theology we argue to be twofold: one principal, the other instrumental. The principal and absolute efficient cause of our theology is God the Father in the Son by his Spirit inspiring it: so that he is the sole author and effecter of this highest and most perfect wisdom in his servants. The instrumental cause is this wisdom, the logos prophorikos or enunciative word of God: both spiritually and corporeally [i.e., the Word itself, considered essentially, and the same Word, considered accidentally in its human instruments, the prophets and the apostles]. The material of theology is divine things: that is to say, God and whatever is ordained by God; namely the teachings of God that ought to be disseminated concerning his nature, his works and his law. The form of theology is divine truth, which is considered in two ways in theology: either as an entirety viewed as a whole, simply, in itself, or as parts considered and duly compared one with another. The end (finis) of theology is twofold: for the one is the highest or remote end and the other nearer (propinquus) and secondary or subordinate to it. The primary or highest end of theology is the glory of God .… The secondary or subordinate end of our theology is the present and future good of the elect.… 74 A second, somewhat different, model is provided by Maccovius: The principles of theology (principia theologiae) follow. It is either an external (externum) or an internal (internum) principle. The external principle is twofold, the efficient cause (causa efficiens)

and the goal or end (finis). The efficient cause is either concerned with constitution (constitutionis) or with acquisition (acquisitionis). The constitutive cause is God himself. The cause of acquisition is either principal (principalis) or less than principal (minus principalis). The principal cause of acquisition is either first (prima) or second (secunda). The first is God. The second is diligent meditation on the divine Word (meditatio verbi divini). The less than principal or instrumental causes (instrumentales causae) are, the study of languages, most importantly Hebrew and Greek; of the arts, for example, Grammar, Logic and Rhetoric; and also Philosophy. The end (finis) of theology is twofold: the ultimate end, which is the glory of God … the intermediate, which is the salvation of man. The internal principle (principium internum) is the Word of God (Verbum Dei).75 B. The Efficient Causality of Theology, Ultimate and Proximate Various theologians of the early orthodox era, notably Scharpius, Polanus, and Maccovius, discuss the causality of theology. Scharpius opens his discussion of the causes of theology by placing the issue of cause into the context of the basic definitions of theology as archetypal and ectypal. Archetypal theology, the infinite and essential truth of God stands in relation to the finite and communicated truth of revealed theology as exemplar to exemplum and, therefore, as cause to effect. In addition, the manner or mode of causality, inspiration, indicates that theology is not something innate in men but is rather an action of God, a communication of the divine will effected by the revelatory work of the Spirit in the servants of God. Thus, “the principal efficient cause [of theology] is God the Father, in the Son, by means of the Spirit.”76 Not only is God necessarily the efficient cause of theology, he is also the free cause whose communication rests solely on the divine love— as Spanheim reminds his readers, citing Matthew 11:25 and 16:17: this is a knowledge hidden from the wise and revealed to children, revealed not by flesh and blood but only by god the Father in heaven.77 The medieval parallel to this argument is worth noting: Robert Kilwardby,

for example, argued that man is only the author or efficient cause of teachings that are attainable by rational argumentation—whereas theology cannot be produced by man alone, just as Scripture itself, though written down by men, was produced through the action of the Spirit upon the human authors of the text. God, therefore, is the efficient cause of theology.78 Similar arguments are found in the theological prolegomena of Henry of Ghent.79 (Both writers, it should be noted, tend to follow Bonaventure in identifying sacra doctrina and theologia with sacra Scriptura—so that we are also dealing, in these prolegomena, with the beginnings of a formal doctrine of Scripture.)80 Once the identification of God and God alone as the efficient cause of theology has been made—stating, as it were, the obvious—several refinements can be made in the statement. For God “causes” revealed theology in several ways, corresponding to the human ways of discerning God’s existence and will. Polanus gravitates to the issue of the cause of “our theology” the theologia nostra or theologia viatorum that Christians accept as teaching the way to God: “The efficient, proximate and immediate cause of our theology is the Word of God, which, consequently, is its principium.”81 Maccovius similarly identifies God as the causa efficiens theologiae but then, in a more detailed argument than that of Scharpius, reinforces, via causality, both the epistemological conception of the necessity of revelation and the soteriological principle of sola gratia. God is the efficient cause of theology, not by a direct, unmediated intervention, but through the presentation of his Word to us, through the illumination of our minds and the direction of our wills toward the Word. Thus, argues Maccovius, God is the efficient cause of theology in a constitutive sense, since he is the author of the Word upon which theology effectively rests—the scriptural Word can therefore be called the internal principle of theology. “God is the efficient cause of theology, not in an unspecified way, but through the setting forth of his word .… Because he alone is the author of Scripture, which is the one and only internal principle of theology.”82 Gomarus simply identifies God as the source of all theology inasmuch as God is the first truth (prima veritas) and highest good (summum bonum) and inasmuch as theology has already been recognized, in the order of his theses, as the basis of salvation and human blessedness revealed to us by God.83 C. Instrumental Causes of Theology Granting what has already been said about the causes of theology, the issue of instrumental causality can be considered in two ways—either in terms of the means of revelation by which God makes available to us the knowledge of divine things or in terms of the means by which we interpret his scriptural self-revelation. Both of these patterns appear in the theology of Reformed

orthodoxy. Junius, Scharpius, the Synopsis purioris theologiae, and Spanheim follow the first pattern, arguing that the instrumental cause of theology, not by necessity, but by reason of God’s mercy upon us in our infirmity, is the ministry of men—that is to say, the ministry of the prophets, apostles, and evangelists who were inspired by God the Father, in Christ, by the agency of the Spirit. This ministry is preserved for us in the word (sermones) of the Old and New Testaments.84 The declaration that God is the efficient cause of theology, in a constitutive sense, as the author of Scripture, does not satisfy the subjective question of the desire of individuals to engage in the task of meditating upon theological themes or of writing theological treatises. On one level, Scripture itself might be called “theology”—since it fits the definition of theologia as sermone qui de Deo agit. This was, in fact, a characterization of Scripture and theology found among the medieval scholastics.85 On another level, however, the work of the orthodox theologian who uses Scripture to construct a theological system differs substantively from the work of the prophets and apostles as they wrote down the theologia of the Verbum Dei internum. This difference is clearly recognized by the Protestant scholastics in their distinction between theologia nostra in se—the perfect, though finite, revealed theology—and theologia viatorum considered both post lapsum and in subiecto. Scripture, then, as a revealed Word concerning God, is ectypal, indeed, theologia nostra in se, but it is not involved in sin as we are and the gap between its perfection and our fallenness must be bridged. For this to take place, there must be a cause of acquisition (causa acquisitionis or causa efficiens acquisitionis) that brings about our acceptance and use of this supernatural truth. The cause of acquisition, according to Maccovius, can be identified as either a principal or less than principal cause. Since the Reformed allow no synergism in theology but view the acquisition not only of salvation itself but also of saving doctrine as a divine gift, the discussion of the principal cause of acquisition both returns us to God and to Scripture as principia and demands that we recognize God himself as the primary cause of acquisition: causa acquisitionis principalis prima est Deus. Thus God, “as he wills, gives us to know the mysteries of his heavenly kingdom by means of his Holy Spirit.”86 Moreover, since God is the author of theology (autor theologiae) questions of curiosity and of doubt are to be rejected in theology and only those questions raised in a docile manner open to instruction (quaestiones docilitatis) are to be allowed. By implication both rationalistic questioning and Cartesian doubt are disavowed as causes of theology. The secondary cause of acquisition in theology, therefore, must be an attentive meditation on the divine Word (diligens meditatio verbi divini), by the grace of the Holy Spirit’s illumination, which recognizes that theology is a supernaturalis disciplina

held apart from private or leisurely speculation and done always with an attitude of reverence.87 It is quite clear that the scholastic orthodox never viewed their words as rationalistic, arid and dry, or divorced from piety, as modern scholarship frequently claims. The pattern of this instrumentality or the way in which the instrumental word is grounded in the eternal sapientia Dei is further described by Junius and Scharpius in terms of a series of distinctions concerning word. These distinctions preserve in yet another form the archetypal/ectypal model of theology. “The word of man,” argues Junius, “is multiplex”: there is the innate or indwelling word, called logos emphytos by the fathers, which is the intellect itself; then there is the implanted or ratiocinated word, the sermo inditus or logos endiathetos, which resides in the mind of creatures in accordance with their rational capacity; and, third, there is the sermo enunciativus or logos prophorikos, the word sent forth or enunciated, which is the outward communication of a word known inwardly to the intellect. Of these distinctions, two can be used analogically of God and all three aid in the discussion of the instrumentality of revealed theology.88 The logos emphytos or sermo innatus belongs to the very nature of its subject and is always actualized in its subject (semper est actu in subiecto suo): it cannot be instrumental because it is immanent and intransitive, incapable of being communicated or of passing over into another.89 Scharpius adds, by way of clarification, that, in the case of God, the logos emphytos is the eternal and immutable Word, the Son of God himself.90 Since the logos endiathetos is something that arises in the subject and is not actual in and of itself, it cannot be predicated of God—rather it is the word effected or brought into existence by the Spirit in the human subject. The logos prophorikos is a word effected or brought into existence externally or in another: this is, therefore, a suitable term for the word that flows forth from God and which “by its flowing-forth or procession from him produces his effect in those who hear.”91 This transitive word, the sermo prophorikos, differs from human words in several ways. First, it differs insofar as it is sent forth by the Spirit of God and is essentially spiritual, whereas the word of man proceeds through the instrumentality of the human body. Second, the mode of communication of the divine word is spiritual, while that of the human word is corporeal. The divine word is not uttered by a human mouth but comes in the form of dreams, visions, and inward inspiration, as well as audible sound.92 These differences between divine and human utterance bring about some differences in terminology among the Reformed scholastics. Whereas Junius and Scharpius speak of the sermo or logos prophorikos itself as an instrumental

cause and even speak of the Spirit as divine instrumentality, others, like Polanus and Maccovius, prefer to reserve the language of instrumental or secondary causality for finite human agents or acts. Polanus, therefore, refers to the Word as “the proximate and immediate efficient cause” of theology and views the prophets and apostles as instruments,93 while Maccovius contents himself with the identification of tools of study as the instrumental causes of theology.94 According to this second pattern, the instrumental or less than principal causes of theology are the means of access to and interpretation of the revelation, the traditional “handmaids” or ancillae of theology: the study of biblical languages; the arts of grammar, logic and rhetoric; and philosophy.95 Since the issues of the use of logic and philosophy and of the study of biblical languages are discussed below,96 we need only note here the emphasis laid upon the proper use of these instruments by the scholastics. The Protestant scholastics maintain the emphasis of the Reformers on the use of the original languages of Scripture as essential to the theological task—indeed, the seventeenth century was the golden age of Protestant linguistic scholarship. It was an era of great orientalists like the Buxtorfs, Lightfoot, Hottinger, and Walton, and of definitive textual efforts like the London Polyglot Bible. Nearly all of the dogmaticians had a mastery of the biblical languages and many had taught Old or New Testament before attempting to lecture on theological system. A similar emphasis, harking back to the medieval “trivium,” was laid on the mastery of grammar, logic and rhetoric prior to further theological (or philosophical) study. Part of the modern antipathy to scholastic method probably arises from a lack of education in and appreciation of these latter skills. These diverse approaches to the instrumental causality of theology are not mutually exclusive: the former, which identifies the logos prophorikos as instrumental cause, intends to present the instrumentality by which the scriptural principium of theology, itself a form of theologia ectypa, is generated; the latter, which identifies linguistic and other skills as instrumental cause, intends to outline the instrumentality by which the scriptural principium becomes the basis of theologia nostra. Both of these views of instrumental causality identify the materia or causa materialis of theology as the “things of God” or “divine things” revealed in Scripture, and both agree that the forma or causa formalis of theology is the truth of God and his revelation, the truth that is the form or pattern of the rerum divinarum.97 The causa materialis theologiae or material cause of theology is identical with the subject matter or object of theological discourse.98 In short, the

materia of theology is identical with the efficient cause of theology and all its effects insofar as it may be known, which is to say, the material cause of theology is God and all things ordained of God, according to the manner in which God has chosen to reveal them.99 This identification of the material cause is a fairly clear echo of Henry of Ghent—who not only identified the materia of theology as the “subject of this knowing” but added the crucial qualifier, inquantum credibile est (“inasmuch as it is capable of belief”), noting that there is a different approach to divine things according to natural acquired knowledge, glorious or visionary knowledge, and mediate knowledge per fidem—the latter being the mode of theological knowing of which we are capable in this life.100 The idea of a formal causality can be argued in two ways for theology. Gomarus, for example, argues that the forma of theology is its conformity to the theology of God himself (conformitas ad theologiam Dei), whether in the remote sense of adumbrations of divine things known through the natural order or in the proximate sense of the direct, ectypal reflection of the divine self-knowledge.101 Here, too, we note the implicit reference to the several modes of communication—natural and either revelatory or visionary—but the form or causa formalis theologiae is ultimately the truth of the divine selfknowledge.102 The other pattern, as implied in Maccovius’ language of a second cause of acquisition and of instrumental causes, identifies the form of theology in a more mediate sense as the pattern given to theology by the proper mode of teaching—and again we note the earlier statement of this perspective in Henry of Ghent’s Summa.103 D. The Final Cause or Goal of Theology The end or goal of theology, in most of the orthodox systems, is defined as twofold: theology has an ultimate or primary end (finis ultimus) in the glory of God (gloria Dei), and an intermediate or secondary end (finis intermedius) in the salvation of man. This secondary goal can also be defined as twofold, just as salvation itself has a twofold implication: either temporal salvation on the “way” to life eternal (salus viae) or eternal salvation, the blessed life in the heavenly homeland (salus Patriae). Thus, the “first fruit,” the proximate goal of theology, can also be described in terms reflecting the basic definition of religion: knowledge of the truth, according to piety.104 Owen describes this eternal, soteriological end of theology as a filling of the blessed with ineffable delight in the eternal praise of God and the Lamb, made possible by “that light of glory in which divine things [are seen] face to face.”105 These goals, of course, correspond with several forms of theology—the ultimate gloria Dei with the theologia archetypa, the finis intermedius or salus viae with theologia viatorum, and the finis intermedius or salus Patriae with the

theologia beatorum.106 Scharpius speaks of the intermediate or secondary goal of theology, not as the salvation of man but as salus ecclesiae, the salvation of the church.107 Having similarly described the finis or telos of theology as the glory of God, who is the summum bonum, Polanus deals specifically with the highest good. (This discussion is not found in all of the prolegomena but logically is a part of the presuppositional background of theology.) Polanus remarks that in the philosophy of Aristotle the summum bonum and beatitudo are one and the same, but that theology distinguishes between these things. For the summum bonum, according to theology, is God himself inasmuch as he is the primum principium & finis ultimus omnis boni (“the first principle and ultimate end of all good”). This, says Polanus, is confirmed by Scripture (Gen. 15:1; Ps. 16:5; 33:12; 40:5; 73:25; 142:6; 144:15) and can be set forth as the following argument: That which is our salvation, glory, strength, shield, and, indeed, all things whatsoever are necessary to our blessedness, that is our highest good. God alone is our salvation, glory, strength, shield and all things whatsoever are necessary to our blessedness: Therefore God alone is our highest good summum bonum nostrum.108 Citing Psalms 27:1; 28:7; 62:2, 7; 3:3; 18:2, 3; 1 Corinthians 15:28 and Colossians 3:11, which testify, in the language of the previous syllogism, that God is our salvation, strength, shield, deliverer, glory, refuge, and all in all, Polanus argues that God will “himself alone, without any mediation or means be in eternity the immediate cause and author of all good and all joy for us; and the immediate object in which our joy shall be contemplated.”109 Again, God is seen to be the summum bonum. Even the philosophers must recognize this truth, since “God alone is simply or utterly (simpliciter), perfect, absolutely sufficient, and wholly desirable (summe desiderabilis), having in himself “the eternal and exemplary forms” of all things.110 The blessedness of all rational creatures, then, is the contemplation of and communion with God the Father, Son, and Spirit in eternity, consisting in the vision of God (visio Dei), conformity to God (conformitas cum Deo), sufficiency in God (sufficientia in Deo), a freedom from all evils, and a possession of all true good.111 The highest good, then, is the ultimate end of theology. The concept is distinctly Augustinian, and has substantial precedent in the history of theology; in particular, it received detailed treatment at the hands of the

medieval scholastics.112 Beyond these historical relationships, there is also the crucial theological relationship of this final causality of theology to the structure of the prolegomena and to the system as a whole. The identification of the end of theology as the vision of God points toward the practical thrust of the Reformed orthodox system. Even in the synthetically organized and nominally speculative system of Polanus, we encounter a sense of theology as soteriological praxis much like that provided by the Ramist definitions of theology as the science of living blessedly forever. The discussion of the summum bonum points, therefore, toward the subsequent definition of theology as both theoretical and practical,113 and this definition, in turn, influences the tone and tendency of the entire system. At this point, we can note a measure of continuity not only between the Protestant scholastics and the medieval tradition but also between these later Protestant theologians and the theology of the Reformation. While it is true that, just as we find no genuine prolegomena in the theological systems of the Reformers, we do not find in their writings extended discussions of the causality of theology, it is also the case that the traditional Augustinian perspectives on the goal of Christian theology remained with the Reformers at a presuppositional level. Calvin could write, as a part of his discussion of the relationship of repentance and forgiveness, “the proper object of faith is God’s goodness, by which sins are forgiven.”114 Calvin also explicitly identifies God as the summum bonum.115 Thus, a presupposition of traditional theology, noted by the Reformers in the context of soteriological statement, returns to the prolegomena in Protestant orthodoxy. Finally, we also observe that the language of causality is used by the Reformed scholastics to identify the source, function, and purpose of theology without any implication of an overarching predestinarianism. The causal definitions of theology are not linked to any language of necessity nor do they imply any relation between the existence of theology as such and the doctrine of election. In addition, the discussion of the instrumental causality of theology drawn from Maccovius’ Loci—despite his supralapsarian view of predestination116—in no way indicates a necessity inherent in the instrumentalities by which the first efficient cause brings about the final end of theology. Thus, again, the theory of predestination as central dogma fails to explain the Reformed system at its presuppositional or principial level. Similarly, the discussion of the causality of theology in no way represents an incipient rationalism. In fact, the placement of reason low in the order of causes, at the level of instrumentality, provides the beginning of a solution to the problem of revelation and reason that includes a proper place for both without undermining either the primary function of revelation or the necessity for rational discourse.

5.4 Theology of Union: Christ’s Knowledge of God A. The Positive Doctrine—Issues and Problems Addressed by the “Theology of Union” 1. Underlying christological issues. The problem of the theology of Christ according to his human nature, which enters the theological prolegomena of the Protestant orthodox with Junius’ De vera theologia (1594), is an essentially christological issue with a long history of its own apart from the development of theological prolegomena. The church fathers prior to the Council of Chalcedon (AD 451) examined the texts in Scripture where Christ is said to know all things (Matt. 11:27; John 21:17) and those texts where his knowledge is described as limited in some way (Mark 13:32; Luke 2:52), and had either referred the former to Christ’s divinity and the latter to his humanity or, on the assumption of a communion of the divine with the human in the hypostatic union and a communication of proper qualities (communicatio idiomatum) from the divine to the human nature, endeavored to explain the limitation of knowledge as a hiding of omniscience rather than as an actual lack of knowledge.117 The tendency of Western Christology following Augustine was to deny a communication of divine attributes to Christ’s human nature and to assume the finitude of his human knowledge. This view raised the further question of the character of Christ’s human knowledge which, albeit finite, must nevertheless be higher and more extensive than the knowledge afforded to sinners. Aquinas could argue, on the basis of Jesus’ sinlessness, that Jesus possessed the beatific vision and, on the basis of the hypostatic union, that Jesus’ visio Dei was virtually infinite.118 The alternative perspective, resting upon the communication of divine attributes to Christ’s humanity, reappeared in the Lutheran Christology of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.119 These two perspectives—the Thomist and the Lutheran—appear as negated views in the Reformed discussion of the theologia unionis.120 The historical debate, however, only accounts for the forms and patterns of christological argument, not for the presence of the argument in the prolegomena to theological system. To this question we can only offer a tentative answer. The discussion of the theologia unionis arises at least in part out of the scholastic drive toward completeness of definition. Christ’s knowledge of God, in view of the uniqueness of his person, represents a separate category of theology to be contrasted with the theology of angels and of men either in via or in patria. As a separate and unique category, it demands discussion as a part of the definition of theologia and the isolation of theologia nostra. It would also seem, moreover, that the discussion of theologia unionis takes on systematic importance in view of the

Reformation’s tendency, witnessed for example in the epistemology of Calvin’s Institutes, to define knowledge of God in terms of Christ. 2. Theologia unionis in the orthodox Reformed definitions. The theologia unionis appears as a basic epistemological category in theology that identifies the difference on the one hand between the knowledge of God given to the human Jesus and the ultimate divine self-knowledge belonging to all the persons of the Trinity and, on the other, between Jesus’ knowledge of God and the knowledge of God available to believers. Thus, in brief, The theology that we call [theology] of union [is] the entire wisdom of divine things communicated to Christ the God-man, that is, as the Word made flesh, according to his humanity.121 The concept of theologia unionis was taken directly from the medieval scholastics, notably from Alexander of Hales.122 The idea of a theologia unionis does not, therefore, indicate the presence of archetypal theology, known to God alone but somehow delivered in the finite form of Jesus’ humanity. Rather, it refers to the knowledge of God available to Christ as our Mediator, according to his human nature. The Reformed orthodox affirm, of course, that the Word, the second person of the Trinity, retains the theologia archetypa in its union with the human nature. There is no kenotic emptying out of divine essence in the incarnation; the sapientia Dei remains an attribute of the Word. The issue is that the infinite sapientia Dei or theologia archetypa cannot be communicated to a finite mind, even to the sinless mind of Christ Jesus.123 Alsted refers to the theology of union as one suitable to the position and purpose of Christ’s person—a theologia mediatoris or theologia oeconomica, that is, a theology of the mediator or a theology suited to the economy or divine dispensation of salvation.124 Of course, the reason that Christ’s human knowledge of God is both finite and most exalted of all finite forms is that it rests on the union of the two natures: the divine nature, knowing the archetype, communicates the ectype directly in the union—neither by vision nor by revelation, both of which imply separation of object and subject. In defining the efficient cause of theology, Walaeus first notes that the appointed end of things, the creaturae rationalis extrema beatitudo & Dei gloria, cannot be attained in us unless God himself communicates with us. This communication of divine wisdom is accomplished in three forms: by the hypostatic union, by intuitive vision (per visionem ut vocant intuitivam), and by revelation strictly so-called.125 The first of these—the theology of union— is that sapientia most fully communicated to the human nature of Christ, the fullness of which both represents the greatest knowledge of God possible in a creature and that knowledge necessary to the work of the mediator between

God and man.126 This communication does not mean—as the ubiquitarians would have it—that infinite divine wisdom is transformed into a human intellect. Rather Christ’s mind was enlightened extraordinarily by the Holy Spirit because of the power of union (ex vi conjunctionis illius cum natura divina) with the divine nature.127 This limitation of theologia unionis as finite knowledge and, therefore, as a form, albeit exalted, of ectypal theology, rests upon two basic principles: no proportion can be given or made between the finite and the infinite (finiti ad infinitum dari proportio non potest) and there can be no confusion of natures or transfusion of properties in the hypostatic union. Both of these principles can be stated in terms of the frequently cited Reformed maxim finitum non capax infiniti (“the finite is not capable of the infinite”). We note that the argument is both philosophical and christological and that the philosophical side of the argument reflects both epistemological and ontological issues. On the philosophical side, Junius’ language concerning the absence of analogy or proportion between the finite and the infinite,128 like his basic distinction between theologia archetypa and theologia ectypa, reflects late medieval models, specifically the nominalist dictum finiti et infiniti nulla proportio according to which reason cannot move from the finitude of revelation to the infinite being of God.129 The christological problem follows as a result of the philosophical: if the human nature of Jesus, as finite, is incapable in itself of comprehending the infinite knowledge of the theologia archetypa, then any equation of the theologia unionis with archetypal theology must involve some alteration of the human nature of Jesus. For Jesus to be possessed of an infinite divine wisdom according to his humanity, there would have to be either a communication of divinity to humanity or a transference of divine attributes to Jesus’ humanity within the hypostatic union. But that union takes place without comixture or comingling, without a confusion of the natures, and thus without either a communication of divinity to humanity or a transference of the divine attributes to the human nature. Thus Jesus has two natures, two wills, two intellects—a divine and a human—and each has the knowledge that is proper to it. Christ has knowledge or wisdom, then, according to two modes, the divine and the human, the former being essential and incommunicable, the latter being habitual and communicable.130 These arguments do not, of course, mean that the Reformed in any way diminish the quality or extent of the knowledge given to Christ. They view it as the most exalted form of human knowledge of God, higher than either the theology of the blessed in heaven (theologia beatorum) or the theology of human beings before the fall (theologia viatorum ante lapsum).

Therefore this theology is the wisdom of divine things communicated from heaven in the Spirit of God to man, without measure, for the sake of the enlightenment of all those who are created according to the image of God.131 Such a communicatio sine mensura, however, cannot be found among all creatures. Indeed, Junius argues, when the definition passes from consideration of the theologia unionis in se to consideration of this theology as it actually exists in subiecto, the measureless wisdom of the Spirit appears as an inaccessible source (fons inaccessus) and a great abyss (abyssus magna) beyond the capacity of angelic and human subjects. Only Christ our Savior can approach such knowledge in his sinless humanity through the work of the Spirit, for “the Father loves the Son and has given him all things in his hand.”132 This concept of a theologia unionis draws upon the christological concepts of a communicatio apotelesmatum, the communication of mediatorial operations, which bring to completion the work of the two natures, and of the dona extraordinaria finita, the extraordinary finite gifts bestowed by the Spirit on Christ’s human nature for the sake of his mediatorial work. In the hypostatic union, Christ is both anointing and anointed (ungens et unctus), the divine nature consecrating the human both by uniting with it and by bestowing the gifts of the Spirit. The wisdom of divine things known to Christ, moreover, is a wisdom bestowed in accord with his mediatorial work so that it provides a basis for the ultimate enlightenment or illumination of rational creatures, just as Christ’s work of salvation provides the foundation of their redemption. The “enlightenment of all those who are created according to the image of God,” then, occurs in Christ—so that the theologia unionis provides the immediate foundation of our theology, even as the theologia archetypa provides the immediate foundation of the theology of union. The theology of union represents a soteriological or mediatorial principle in the basic epistemology of Reformed system.133 Thus, over against the archetypal theology, the theologia unionis is to be recognized as ectypal, finite, created, and habitual (habitualis), but nonetheless as “truly absolute according to the manner of created nature” (absolutissima secundum naturae creatae modus) because of the light of the divine nature united to the human as its principium or foundation. In relation to us, therefore, the theologia unionis is “as if infinite and close to the infinite” (quasi infinita & infinitae proxima). Compared to the measure and limited scope of our wisdom, it appears infinite and can only be called finite in the company of the essential and infinite wisdom of God.134 Thus Scripture can attribute both growth in wisdom and ignorance to Christ (Mark 13:32;

Luke 2:52); and can also say that Christ knows all things (Matt. 11:27; John 21:17)—the former being said in recognition of the finitude of his knowledge, the latter being said in relation to our ignorance.135 B. Debate Over the Theologia Unionis with Lutherans and Roman Catholics This view of the theologia unionis stands in conflict with the views of the Lutheran orthodox, identified as “ubiquitarians” in the polemical arguments of the Reformed. Indeed, this is a christological debate divorced from its more usual loci in Christology proper and in the doctrine of the Lord’s Supper. The Lutheran view equated the theology of union with the theologia archetypa on the ground that the communication of proper qualities (communicatio idiomatum) in the person of Christ implied a communication of the divine majesty, and therefore of the sapientia Dei, to the human nature of Christ.136 Apart from the purely christological polemic, in which both Lutherans and Reformed argued the issue of the theologia unionis for the purpose of buttressing their doctrines of the hypostatic union and of the sacramental presence, we can note that the Lutheran concept of theologia unionis, insofar as it merges with theologia archetypa, has little real function in the prolegomena or in the creation of a theological epistemology, whereas the Reformed view presents a key to the issue of mediation, to the role of Christ as mediator in theological epistemology, and therefore to the way in which Christian theology rests upon Christ as revealer. The Reformed concept of a theologia unionis bears witness to the perfect accommodation of God to us in Christ that is the basis of redemption and redemptive knowledge. The debate between the Reformed and Lutherans over the theologia unionis remained an issue of importance in theological prolegomena among the Lutherans long after it had ceased to be of interest among the Reformed. In the late seventeenth century, Calovius and Quenstedt still expended great effort to present christological arguments resting on the genus maiestaticum of the communicatio idiomatum in order to draw logical errors in the Reformed declaration of the finitude of Christ’s human knowledge.137 Indeed, the issue appears so settled and is so cursorily treated in the systems of late seventeenth-century Reformed writers like Burman, Turretin, Heidegger, and Marckius, that the Lutherans were forced to argue with Junius and others of the early orthodox if only for the sake of finding an argument lengthy enough to investigate for errors! The Reformed continue to note the issue as a point of christological dispute in the locus on the communicatio idiomatum.138 Similarly, the Reformed distance themselves from those medieval scholastics who identified the theology of Christ in his human nature with the beatific vision. Walaeus thus notes the error of the “Pontificii” who assume

that the theologia unionis is an immediate beatific apprehension of the divine by the human nature (intuitum beatificum humanae naturae in divinam) as if the human nature of Christ, from the moment of conception, had a direct apprehension or intuition of the wisdom of the divine nature with which it had been united.139 This doctrine, notes Walaeus, conflicts with the statement of Luke (2:52) that Jesus grew in wisdom and with the statement of Jesus himself (Mark 13:32) that he was ignorant of the time of the last judgment. The Roman Catholic attribution of the beatific vision to Christ seems to have remained a greater point of concern among the Reformed than the Lutheran polemic over the theologia unionis, though it too tends not to be treated in the prolegomena after the mid-seventeenth century, but to be relegated to the christological locus of the system.140 Turretin argues at some length about “the nature and extent” of Christ’s knowledge, noting that while Christ was performing his work on earth he did not have a glorified knowledge, nor did he have—as argued previously against the Lutherans— divine omniscience, nor can he be accused of “crass ignorance of many things” as other adversaries claim.141 We know from Scripture that Christ lacked knowledge of the time of the last judgment, that he was like us in all things excepting sin, and that he was blessed with profound knowledge of God by the anointing of the Spirit. Christ’s knowledge, moreover, was a knowledge suited to his life—and not to an existence beyond passion and death. Scientia beata, blessed or beatified knowledge, is therefore excluded, leaving two principal kinds (species) of knowledge, scientia infusa and scientia acquisita.142 Although Turretin’s argument, like the less elaborate comment of Mastricht, is directed against Roman Catholic doctrine in general, it does manifest a fairly intimate knowledge of the Thomist position in particular. Aquinas had argued that Christ possessed all three species of scientia— beatific, infused, and acquired—and had pressed the point of the scientia beata on the basis of Christ’s fullness of divine knowledge and, soteriologically, on the ground that all men potentially have the beatific vision insofar as they are ordained to that end and that all men are ordained to that end in Christ. The sinless soul of Christ must be viewed as having attained that end in this life. Consequently, Christ was at once viator and comprehensor—viator in his passible body, comprehensor in his perfection of soul.143 “Therefore,” argues Turretin, “we confess a twofold knowledge belonging to the human nature of Christ during his earthly life, infused knowledge and acquired or experimental knowledge.”144 The infused knowledge (scientia infusa) is a supernatural disposition that knows heavenly things by the light of

grace—in the case of Christ, it is given or infused by a special grace of the Spirit that utterly sanctifies his human nature and fills it with the gifts of grace. The acquired knowledge is natural knowledge, gained by the light of reason during earthly life both experientially and by the rational process of drawing conclusions—in the case of Christ, it is untarnished by sin. Finally, Turretin argues against the Roman Catholics that it is also impossible to claim that Christ was at once an earthly pilgrim and a recipient of the beatific vision (simul viator et comprehensor). These two conditions are opposed to one another—quite simply, even tautologically, “the viator is on the way (in via), the comprehensor at the goal (in meta); the viator labors and experiences suffering, the comprehensor enjoys the perfect blessedness of the end of his labors.”145 Christ, in his earthly life of suffering and in his death, experienced the existence of the viator, not of the comprehensor.146 This argument stands in theological agreement and continuity with the Reformed assumption that the passion of Christ was suffering of body and soul.147 The underlying problem of soteriological epistemology raised here, as in debate with the Lutherans, is concerned with the nature of the knowledge proper to one who is the Mediator for the sake of the execution of his proper work. Christ’s knowledge of God as infused by the Holy Spirit and acquired during his life and ministry by the exercise of his intellect must be a true and perfect knowledge of God, higher than that of any sinful man and perfected in and for the sake of the hypostatic union, but—if it is to be true to scriptural passages like Luke 2:52 and Mark 13:32—it must lack, at least during Christ’s earthly life, some of the wisdom of the blessed. In addition, it must conform to the condition or state of Christ so that it reflects first his humiliation and then his exaltation and thereby provides a basis first for the theologia viatorum and then for the theologia beatorum. The theologia unionis, therefore, can be conceived according to two stages, one in via and one in patria.148 If this were not so, Christ could not be like us in every way excepting sin and the work of salvation would be jeopardized. This distinction between the theologia unionis and both the theologia archetypa and theologia beatorum also illustrates the way in which the theological prolegomena both provide foundation for and draw substantively upon the theology set forth in the system proper—without recourse either to rationalistic philosophical principles or so-called central dogmas like predestination. In the first place, the christological emphasis implied in the theologia unionis is carried forth soteriologically and eschatologically in the insistence of the Reformed upon mediation in and by Christ as the sole ground of man’s union and fellowship with God. If Christ’s knowledge of God were the visio beatifica, his theology a theologia beatorum sive visionis, it would be identical with the theology of the redeemed in heaven and, in

effect, the terminus ad quem of human theology, nothing more. That being the case, the office of mediator could cease following the final judgment, and the humanity of Christ belongs, as it were, to the ranks of the redeemed, without, of course, surrendering the headship and royal power belonging to him through the incarnation. This view, however, the Reformed almost universally reject: they maintain the continuance of Christ’s mediation into the eschaton, arguing that our union with Christ as mediator provides the basis for our union with God eternally, insofar as our union with God must always be in Christ.149 Even so, our vision of God, the theologia visionis, must ultimately rest on Christ’s relation to God and his knowledge of God for us, the theologia unionis. The purpose or goal of this theology of union, then, corresponds with the purpose or goal of Christ, the anointed one. Just as the purpose of Christ is the redemption and reconstitution of man according to the image of God, so is the purpose of the theologia unionis “the illumination of all those theologians who are created according to the image of God.”150 The theology of union is the foundation of the theology of all who are in Christ, the basis for and substance of the vision of God ultimately bestowed upon believers in their final union with Christ.151 In the second place, we see a similar christological emphasis in the designation of the object of theology (obiectum theologiae)152 not as God in se but rather God as he is revealed and covenanted in Christ. This formulation, in turn, looks from the theologia unionis as a mediating theology between archetypal theology and all other forms of ectypal theology to the fourfold definition of verbum Dei, Word of God, found in the locus on Scripture. There the orthodox recognize that the “essential Word and wisdom of the Father” is also the Word incarnate and that this essential Word is the foundation for all forms of the revealed Word, written or unwritten, external or internal. Here, too, the underlying thrust is toward the establishment of a christological structure of mediation. A similar stress on Christ as foundation or mediate principle appears in the discussion of the fundamental articles of theology.153 5.5 Theology as Communicated to Human Beings A. Theologia communicata: Its Modes of Communication and Historical Economy Having defined the one form of ectypal theology present in a rational creature but not available to human beings generally—the theologia unionis —we can move into the realm of human cognition and “theology communicated to human beings” (theologia hominibus communicata). Since we remain in the category of theologia vera, pagan and heretical theologies do not enter the discussion. Strictly considered, such theologies are the result

of the efforts of the human mind, not of divine communication—their errors are not of divine but of human origin. By the term “theology communicated to human beings” the orthodox intend, then, a true, ectypal, and (for the most part) a revealed theology. It is finite and accommodated to human capacity but also, as already seen in Perkins’ definition, “a doctrine sufficient to live well.”154 As will be argued concerning Scripture, the concept of “sufficiency” is a significant element: finite revealed theology does not convey anything approaching the fulness of the divine knowledge even of matters concerning salvation. No human being can know all of the details of the divine plan, nor the identity or number of the elect and reprobate, nor the time and exact pattern of the end times. But however incomplete, revealed theology is sufficient to the end of our salvation.155 Nonetheless, theologia hominibus communicata is not a simple category. It must be divided into component parts that correspond with the several conditions of human beings under grace—before the fall, after the fall, and in the final state of blessedness. In addition, this theology can be considered either ideally in terms of what it might be granting its divine object and the divine origin of its cognitive ground, whether natural or supernatural, or actually in terms of what it is in the individual knowing subject. We thus can identify the theologia viatorum ante lapsum, the theology of earthly pilgrims before the fall; the theologia viatorum post lapsum or theologia nostra, the theology of pilgrims after the fall or “our theology”—with the latter considered either in itself (in se) or in the human subject (in subiecto); and the theologia beatorum of the blessed saints in heaven.156 Much after the fashion of the medieval doctors beginning with Thomas Aquinas, the Protestant scholastics also make an initial division of human theology into two basic categories, based on the words of Paul (1 Cor. 13:12), “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” The distinction is between the knowledge of God accessible to us during our earthly life and that accessible to us in heaven, in the presence of God—or, in the language used by Aquinas in his prologue to the Sentences, between our knowledge in via, on the way to our heavenly goal, and our knowledge in patria, in the heavenly “homeland.” The language of pilgrimage and homeland is, of course, rooted in the Augustinian model, drawn from Hebrews 11 (esp. vv. 8– 16) and 13:14, of the sojourning people seeking the heavenly commonwealth or “city” of God.157 This distinction, moreover, is not only important in the historical flow of the argument through the four states of human nature, from original purity, to the fallen condition, to grace, and to glory, but also for its identification of the difference in mode of knowing: theology in via is communicated by revelation, theology in patria is communicated by vision.

The beginnings of the Protestant use of these categories can easily be seen in Musculus’ Loci Communes: Just as in other things, there is no perfection in man, so is it also in the knowledge of God and godly matters, which is not perfected in any man as long as he lives in this world .… But the life to come is grounded upon perfect knowledge, which shall arise in us not by faith, hearing or signs, nor by revelations of the spirit, but by manifest sight, and most assured experience and proof. Then we shall so perfectly know both God and Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, and the promises of the heavenly life, that there can be nothing more required: which manner of knowledge cannot be conceived by our mind, however faithful it is, as long as we are absent from the Lord in this earthly Pilgrimage.158 Even so, there is no perfect felicity in this life which is intended instead by God as an exercise and a discipline for us. Paul, in his first epistle to the Corinthians, tells us of the imperfection of our knowledge that we might not become “haughty and arrogant.” We know only in part. Yet that partial and imperfect knowledge is sufficient to us in our present condition: perfection is not present but it is looked for, hoped for.159 This is none other than the old distinction between theologia beatorum and theologia viatorum. The theologia hominibus communicata can also be conceived in relation to Christ as the theologia membrorum Christi, the theology of the members of Christ. This Polanus defines as “sapientia rerum divinarum a Christo cum membris suis communicata ad gloriam Dei & membrorum Christi salutem sempiternam,” that is, the wisdom concerning divine things communicated by Christ to his members for the glory of God and the eternal salvation of the members of Christ.160 This theology is either the theologia beatorum or theologia viatorum. The former is also called theologia clara visionis or, by synecdoche, theologia visionis. This theology of vision, whether of angels or men, is the vision of God and the perfect knowledge of God communicated in Christ. The latter is that knowledge of God possible in this world, the knowledge given to earthly pilgrims, the viatores. Such knowledge of God is properly termed “supernatural” since it is above (supra) and not against (contra) nature: truth does not contradict truth.161 It is supernatural by reason of its mode of manifestation and by reason of its object.162 Several of the theses in Gomarus’ Disputationes theologicae reflect the logic of Polanus’ system on this point: since God himself is the proper object of revelation, the twofold character of human theology—the imperfect, partial knowledge of believers in via and the perfect knowledge given to those in patria—indicates a progress of knowledge toward the contemplation of God. Thus the theologia visionis or theologia beatorum can be described as

theologia teleios, complete or perfect theology, that is, a theology that has reached its appointed end, the visio Dei.163 Both forms of human theology relate to the theologia unionis in Christo in a manner analogous to the relationship of the theologia unionis to the theologia archetypa. Just as the foundation of Christ’s own knowledge of God is the “prototypical and essential wisdom of God,” so also is that theology of union in Christ our Saviour the common principle of the remaining theology, whether that of the blessed Spirits in heaven, or this possessed on earth by wretched men. The archetypal theology is the womb or origin (matrix) of all others: this ectypal theology in Christ, the mother (mater) of all the rest: that the source of all (fons omnium), this as it were the common shelter (castellum) or means of conception (conceptaculum) .… And so Christ sanctifies both of these forms of theology [theologia beatorum and theologia viatorum] in his person: for the practice (usus) of the lowly theology (humili theologia) is in the lowliness of the flesh, while that exalted theology is associated with (utitur) his exaltation, when he is exalted above all names.164 The passage is noteworthy both for its christological content and its metaphors. Not only is Christ’s knowledge of God the mediate prototype for all human knowledge of God, but in addition, the forms of human knowledge of God correspond with the conditions or states of Christ’s person: the Protestant orthodox definition of theology in terms of the theology of Christ, of the blessed, and of the earthly pilgrim, serves to emphasize the christocentric character of the saving knowledge of God, as argued in the concept of the duplex cognitio Dei. Human theology, moreover, on the model of the human pilgrimage toward God, reflects Christ’s own pilgrimage of humiliation and exaltation, cross and resurrection. The christological content of the theologia viatorum reminds us of Luther’s theologia crucis, just as the christological reference of the theologia beatorum points to the proper place of the theologia gloriae—in heaven and not on earth. The theology of the blessed, then, belongs to the church triumphant, the theology of pilgrims to the church militant.165 These terms—which identify pivotal themes in this locus and are of significant import for the system as a whole—are clearly neither rationalistic nor predestinarian as so frequently alleged of the orthodox principia. Junius’ metaphors describe the relation of God’s archetypal self-knowledge (which is identical with the divine essence) to finite or ectypal theology in terms of motherhood. This language of motherhood—like the language of theologia in via and theologia in patria—manifests the rootage of Protestant

scholasticism in the medieval and patristic tradition. This is particularly clear in his traditional use of Proverbs 8:22–32 as a trinitarian and christological passage in which the feminine chokmah, sophia, or sapientia is the essential wisdom of God and the second person of the Trinity. B. Theology of the Blessed: The Goal of Our Theology Although considered soteriologically or teleologically the theologia beatorum appears as the end result of progress in faith, the Protestant orthodox tend to discuss it first, before the discussion of the theologia viatorum.166 There are two largely formal reasons for this order of topics. First, the discussion of theologia is arranged in descending order, from the highest and most complete theology to the lowest or least complete theology; second, this descending order concludes the discussion with the theologia viatorum post lapsum in subiecto, the pilgrim theology, after the fall, in the individual subject—which is precisely the form of theology that appears in the subsequent loci of the system and is, therefore, the point of contact and transition between the definition of theology and the system or body of doctrine as such. The theologia beatorum, then, is a form of the heavenly theology of vision (theologia visionis in caelis) “that is communicated to the angels and to the perfect or consecrated spirits of the saints in heaven” and is a “wisdom of divine things” (divinarum rerum Sapientiam) suitable to their blessed condition.167 The basic definition, comments Junius, indicates that the subject must be presented according to a “threefold argument”: with respect to its modus, its subiecti, and its circumstantia. Thus the mode is “visionary,” the subjects are angels and the spirits of the righteous, and the circumstances are principally the place (locus) of this theology in heaven. The visionary mode of communication is a nonphysical or noncorporeal mode suitable to spirits. Junius defines it as “a permanent and perfect intellectual light (lumen intellectuale), communicated in the form of an infused habit or disposition, by which light these heavenly creatures see their creator.” This theology—since it is a permanent and perfect illumination— might seem identical with the theologia unionis on first consideration, but closer inspection shows it to be distinct and derivative. The theology of Christ is permanent and perfect of itself and in itself (a se & in se) while the visionary theology is perfect only because of the antecedent theology of Christ upon which it is grounded. The theology of union rests on the hypostatic union of God and man in Christ—specifically, on the union of the Logos and its theologia archetypa with the human nature of Christ and the theology known to it. Even the theology of angels does not arise out of hypostatic union, but out of a communication of knowledge from God. The

theology of the blessed, moreover, rests upon the relationship of the righteous to God made possible by and eternally grounded in Christ. As noted above, it is a human theology that corresponds with the glorious manifestation of Christ in his exaltation.168 Thus, “the theology of the blessed, this exalted (excelsa) theology, is a wisdom of divine things communicated by the Spirit of God through the provision of Christ for those who dwell in heaven, according to which they fully enjoy the eternal, gracious and glorious vision of God to His glory.”169 This formulation stands in continuity with the Reformed teaching of the eternal headship of the incarnate Christ. Although the doctrine of the theologia beatorum is stated primarily in terms of the “intermediate” state of souls separated from the body (status medius or status animarum a corpore separatarum), it also has an obvious eschatological reference. The definition of theologia beatorum points to the view that the relationship between God and the redeemed must always rest upon the work of Christ and his continuing mediation, even in eternity. This point is confirmed by the Reformed discussion of the eternity of the intercessio Christi and of Christ’s munus regium.170 Although, as we have just indicated, the concept of a theologia beatorum relates to a specific christological and soteriological issue developed later in the Reformed system, the concept also relates to and, indeed, arises out of a Reformed reading of the medieval discussion of theologia beatorum or theologia in patria and reflects, in particular, the question raised by the medieval doctors concerning the way in which spiritual or noncorporeal beings communicate. Few medieval doctors had hypothesized sonic communication—after all, no spirit, either angelic or human, has vocal chords! The “tongues of angels” noted by the apostle Paul (1 Cor. 13:1) must be the intuitive or immediate communication of minds. Even so, the model for a communication of divine knowledge to a spiritual being must be intellectual rather than sensual, that is, vocal and aural. The doctrine of illumination taught in the Augustinian tradition and emphasized as the ground of mystic contemplation provided the obvious answer in the medieval doctrine of the visio Dei or visio beatifica. What is significant here, is that this line of argument was not mediated to the Protestant orthodox by the Reformers, who did not discuss the topic. Rather, the orthodox derived it from their reading of the medieval scholastic systems.171 C. Our Theology: Revealed for Sojourners in Via 1. Theology in via—terms and distinctions. The subcategory of theologia hominibus communicata basic to theological system must, of course, be theology as we know it in this life. This basic category for

understanding the actual discipline of theology is comprehended by the Protestant scholastics under several distinct names: theologia revelationis, theology of revelation; theologia viatorum, theology of pilgrims or sojourners; and theologia nostra, our theology. All of the terms reflect a reading of the medieval prolegomena, the latter identifiably Scotist. The first of the terms, theologia revelationis, refers to the mode or manner (modus) of the theology; the latter two to the subjects (subiecti) and the circumstances (circumstantia) of the theology. The theologia revelationis in hac vita, therefore, can be juxtaposed, according to mode, with the theologia visionis in caelis. Whereas the latter rests upon direct illumination and is literally a theology of vision, the former rests, not upon vision, since the perfect visio Dei cannot be experienced in this life, but on revelation: Doubtless the intellectual light of this theology is not lasting, but transient: it is not perfect in an absolute sense (non perfectum simpliciter) but can only be called perfect or absolute in a derivative sense (secundum quid). Or, if we consider the mode of communication, it is revelatio, whereby God is not made manifest, as he is in himself, as the whole object of theology, but as man in his present condition and infirmity is capable of understanding him.172 Junius’ language here points directly back to the post-Thomist qualification of the concept of obiectum theologiae—to Henry of Ghent’s inquantum credibile est, “inasmuch as it is capable of belief,” and to Ockham’s theologia nostra nobis possibili pro statu isto, “our theology possible for us proportionate to this present condition.” In our present infirmity, drawn by the gracious revelation of God’s Spirit toward the condition of heavenly blessedness, our theology (theologia nostra) is also rightly called theologia viatorum, theology of pilgrims. (It is also worth pointing out at this juncture the irresponsibility of the claim, made by various modern writers, that the older orthodoxy neglected the “idea of revelation.”173 One might counter by stating, quite categorically, that the basic definitions— not to mention the extended discussion of the topic—found in the orthodox prolegomena indicate that the idea of revelation was in fact fundamental to their entire conception of theology.) Junius presents the following definition: “Our theology is the wisdom of divine things, communicated by revelation of nature or of grace through the Holy Spirit for the benefit of those who live on earth.”174 There are, then, two basic modes of communication of revealed theology: nature and grace. The former mode of revelation, nature, represents an internal or immanent ground of communication of divine knowledge (internum principium

communicationis) insofar as we are part of “nature” and our condition is natural. Such theology results from the rational examination of “the book of nature” or God’s creatures for the purpose of identifying God as the Creator. On the basis of this mode of communication we construct theologia naturalis, natural theology. The latter mode of revelation, grace by means of the Word, represents an external ground of communication of divine knowledge (externum principium communicationis) insofar as grace and supernatural revelation come not from our own nature or effort, but from God. On the basis of this gracious mode of communication we construct a theologia supernaturalis, a theology rooted beyond our nature in the special revelation of God’s Word, a supernatural theology. Nonetheless, true natural theology will no more disagree with supernatural theology than nature, as created good by God, will conflict with God’s grace.175 Revelation by means of the Word, however, was rendered necessary for salvation by the fall of Adam.176 The orthodox discussion of the mode of communication of theology raises a profound epistemological issue, a corollary of the identification of all finite theology as ectypal. Believers are not given the divine archetype by revelation: they are given an ectypal knowledge of God. This statement in itself, with its assumption of the absence of cognitive proportion between the finite and the infinite, indicates some sort of divine accommodation to human need. The nature of that accommodation, however, underlies and defines the nature of our theology. God does not accommodate his truth to human sin— rather he accommodates his truth to human ways of knowing. Thus, revelation itself, whether supernatural or natural, is suited to the present conditions of human knowing, just as vision is suited to the ultimate conditions of human knowing when we no longer see as “in a mirror darkly.” In addition, we recognize that the act of accommodation itself belongs to God: it is God who determines the form of the knowledge that we have of him. Although we reserve the problem of natural and supernatural theology for subsequent discussion, it is important to note here that natural theology belongs, in the Protestant scholastic schema, to the category not only of theologia vera but also of theologia revelationis and theologia nostra. Since, however, natural theology is not sufficient for salvation and therefore not adequate for the way (via) that leads to eternal life, it is not, strictly speaking, the theologia viatorum but only an adjunct of it which is necessarily a theologia supernaturalis.177 Polanus therefore defines the theologia viatorum in tandem with theologia beatorum and in a stricter sense as a form of theologia membrorum Christi, the theology of the members of Christ or of Christ’s body. Whereas Christ is not mentioned in the broader definition of theologia nostra, he necessarily appears in the strictly argued definition of

theologia viatorum: The theology of pilgrims is the wisdom of divine things communicated by Christ through the Holy Spirit to human beings living in this earth, by means of gracious inspiration, so that the light of the intellect might contemplate God and the things of God through its growth; that they might rightly worship God, until in heaven they see him clearly and perfectly, to his glory. Concerning this, it is written, 2 Cor. 13:9, 12; Eph. 4:11–13; 1 Peter 1:8.178 Polanus concludes, The origin [of theology] is divine and supernatural, that is, it arises through principles known of themselves by the light of a higher science, which is the same as an illumination and persuasion through divine revelation in a manner beyond the capacity of human reason. This inspired light of heavenly power has been poured into our minds.179 This view of theologia viatorum coincides with what Junius terms theologia nostra absolute dicta, our theology absolutely so-called: “a wisdom concerning divine things, inspired by God according to divine truth, and entrusted to his servants through the enunciative or express word (enunciativum sermonem) in Christ, and also in the Old and New Testaments …,”180 but it also draws on the Thomistic view of theology as a subalternate science181 and accepts a concept of illumination that probably should be viewed as an inward spiritual gift parallel to the external light of the Word— and again a Thomistic as opposed to Bonaventuran theory of illumination.182 In both of these definitions, the human theology indicated is the highest, truest form of human theology—or, as Junius argues, the essence of our theology as offered to us by God. Theologia nostra absolute dicta or in se, in itself, apart from the several failings, corporate and individual, of the human knower, is therefore not utterly inadequate to its subject, the infinite God, the universal ground of all things, their beginning and end. The mode of communication of this theologia in se, moreover, is and must be divine and an act of grace intended by God to make the knowledge of his infinite and transcendent being known to us. Since there is no analogy between the objects of our natural, rational knowing and God, a divine communication alone is adequate to the divine subject of theology absolutely so-called. This sense of the incapacity of the finite for the infinite or of the absence of proportion between the finite and the infinite is clearly present in the language of the Reformers even though they do not use the terms theologia archetypa and theologia ectypa or theologia in se and theologia nostra. Thus, Calvin can say, even of the inspired language of Scripture, “It must be

recognized that it is somewhat improper” (improprium quodammodo) that language used to describe “creatures is applied to the hidden majesty of God.”183 Calvin does not indicate, as one author has argued, that Scripture is “an imperfect and inappropriate instrument at its very best,” but rather that the finite vehicle of human language is, in a technical sense, applicable to divine things not proprie but improprie—as must be the case, given the infinite nature of the subject.184 A word of explanation must be inserted here concerning the theological use of the terms subject and object. On the simplest level, the philosophical or theological use of the terms reflects basic grammatical relationships: the subject of a sentence is the idea or thing performing the action, making the affirmation, or having the mode of being indicated by the verb; the object is that toward which the action is directed or that which has been predicated of the subject. Thus, in normal theological discourse, God is the obiectum theologiae, the object of theology, since he is the One toward whom theological discourse is directed; while the human theologian is the subiectum theologiae, since he is the one engaged in the performance of the theological task. Scholastic language, however, tends to use the term subiectum with qualifications relating to the direction of an activity or action under discussion. Thus subiectum quod or “subject which” tends to indicate passive or noncausal participation in an action, while subiectum quo, “subject by which” tends to indicate active or causal participation in an action. That active or causal participation can be further qualified as predicated of the subject (as subiectum de quo, the “subject from which,” or subiectum in quo, the “subject in which”). In this latter usage, God is the subiectum de quo of theology, whereas man is the subiectum in quo of theology.185 This distinction between the subject de quo and the subject in quo permits the Protestant scholastics to describe the theologia hominibus communicata, considered as supernatural or revealed theology, in two ways: in terms of the divine subject by whom the theology is communicated and in terms of the human subject to whom the theology is communicated and in whom the theology is known. As we have already seen, theologia communicata in se or theologia nostra absolute dicta is perfect and complete even as its author, God, the subiectum de quo, is perfect and complete.186 Theology as it belongs to rational creatures (ut est in creaturis rationalibus), or as it is in subiecto, is neither perfect nor complete but falls short of perfection and completion both in terms of the mental capacity of the individual subject and in terms of the relationship of the subject to God, grace and salvation. Theologia hominibus communicata considered in subiecto, therefore, is twofold, according to the two states of earthly mankind: there is a human theology before the fall (ante lapsum) and belonging to the state of primal integrity and a human theology

after the fall (post lapsum) and belonging to the fallen state by the grace of God.187 The theology, then, “that God has exhibited perfectly to us by a gracious communication” can only be imperfectly known by us: human theology in the subject is the wisdom of divine things “modified according to the reason that is in human beings” (modificata pro ratione eorum hominum quibus in est) and, thus, “mutiliated according to the imperfection of the subject.”188 “Since, in the [human] subject, the nature must always be imperfect, in truth nothing perfect can be comprehended by it.”189 Since, moreover, fallen human nature is not perfected by grace in this life, we cannot expect that Christian theology in the church will ever be perfect. Indeed, Junius concludes, the most that we can say of our theology in this life is that its purity appears in an inchoate form as a result of the work of grace in those who are members of Christ. From these premises, Scharpius argues that man before the fall moved by degrees toward perfect knowledge through better communication of knowledge, use and experience. After the fall, however, debilitated and corrupted by sin, man is incapable of knowing God truly or of living blessedly—human philosophy only serves to frustrate theology. And, in this condition the remaining knowledge of God only serves to leave man without excuse, as Paul testifies in Romans 1:20–21.190 Thus “this theology, which in the beginning was good in itself, the sinfulness of man renders demonic.”191 We have encountered the theme of the duplex cognitio dei applied to the definition of theology and related—as ever—to the anthropological problem of revelation and knowledge of God. Prior to the fall man had access to God, according to Scharpius, through “threats and promises, the continuation of sacraments, by grace gathered and perpetuated in the creation.”192 The reference is probably to a sacramental understanding of the two trees of the garden. In any case it represents a knowledge of God sufficient to right conduct—a kind of supernaturally given knowledge of God accessible to the mind and heart unaided by the grace of regeneration. This way is now barred, and man must resort to knowledge of God in Christ, revealed in and defined by the verbum scriptum. There alone is saving knowledge to be found. Scharpius can therefore conclude concerning supernatural theology communicated to men, considered as it is in the individual subject after the fall: In the state [of man] after the fall, supernatural theology is the wisdom concerning God known in Christ, which is revealed in the written word and is thus defined: theology is the wisdom of divine things, according to God’s truth, inspired by God, and entrusted to the servants of God by means of the declared word (per enunciativum sermonem) in Christ;

comprehended in the books of the Old and New Testament so as to conduce to the glory of God and to the salvation of the Church.193 The definition echoes the language of Junius194 and has parallels in most of the major early orthodox systems. The issue addressed by these definitions is virtually always the problem of true knowledge of God in the fallen state and the necessity of revelation as centered on and guaranteed in Christ. Thus, the distinction between natural and supernatural theology and its corollary, the necessity of supernatural or revealed theology, leads Polanus back to the theme of the theologia viatorum. The theologia viatorum can be considered either absolutely or quatensus est in ipsis viatoribus (“as it is in the pilgrims themselves”). Theologia viatorum absolutely so-called and considered according to its own nature, is the wisdom concerning divine things, according to divine truth, inspired by God and bestowed upon his servants in Christ by his enunciative word, and set forth in the Old and New Testaments by the prophets, apostles and evangelists, however much of that wisdom was necessary to be revealed for the glory of God and the good of elect men.195 The term sermo Dei enunciativus, Polanus adds, indicates the logos prophorikos by which God explains to us the things concerning himself and his work: “Est enim instrumentalis causa sapientiae rerum divinarum in nobis.” In its essence this theologia viatorum absolute dicta is one, eternal, and immutable—even as it must be true, holy, and perfect—for it comes from God. It is not the same as the two Testaments, but it is taught in them.196 After making the standard distinction between God’s archetypal knowledge of himself and the ectypal theology resting upon it, Owen draws out the relationship between “our theology” (nostra theologia) and this archetypal “truth” that God has “eternally in his mind”: … upon this [eternal truth] all of our theology depends; not, however, immediately, but according to that act of the divine will by which [God] is pleased to reveal his truth to us: “Indeed, no one has known God: the only begotten Son who is in the bosom of the Father has revealed him,” John 1:18. The revelation of the mind and will of God: this is the word of God, the doctrine with which we are concerned and to which all the thoughts of our minds concerning God, his works, and the obedience that is owed him ought to be conformed.197 After distinguishing between the immanent (endiathetos) Word and the Word sent forth (prophorikos) and, under the latter category, between the unwritten (agraphon) and the written (engraphon) Word, Owen concludes

that this eternal Word of God, sent forth and put in writing as the ectypal reflection of the eternal ideal is theology: “… the entire Word of God that is committed to written form, this Scripture is our theology (Scriptura ista ita est nostra theologia).198 A further distinction must be made between the truth of Scripture and the theology that rests upon Scripture: Theologia viatorum to the extent that it exists in [individual subjects], is the wisdom of divine things, communicated to men engaged in this life, by God through the Word, modified by the reason that is in man, just as wisdom is implanted more in some and less in others .… This [wisdom] is called, thus, our theology in the [human] subject (theologia nostra in subiecto): obscure theology (theologia obscura), with respect to the theology of the blessed.199 Theologia viatorum absoluta dicta and its synonym theologia nostra in se refer to the body of doctrine, resting upon Christ as Word and upon the work of Spirit, taught by the prophets and the apostles—namely, the meaning or substance of Scripture itself in its perfection—and, when used broadly, to natural theology. Theologia viatorum or theologia nostra in subiecto refer to the human attempt to construct theology resting upon Scripture and, to a more limited extent, upon natural reason. Scripture, then, is the principium of our theology as such, of the theologia nostra in subiecto.200 Whereas Scripture, as theologia absolute dicta, is finite but perfect, the human theology based upon Scripture reflects both the finitude and the imperfection of the human mind. In the high orthodox period, the sense of the theologiae imperfectio stemming from the orthodox understanding of the ectypal character of theology and of the viator status of the theologian was elaborated at length by Johann Heinrich Heidegger. Heidegger formally included in his prolegomena a final discussion of the problematic character of all finite theology as found in rational creatures. Since we are pilgrims or wayfarers on the earth, argues Heidegger, our theology must always be imperfect—imperfecta semper est —until it is perfected in the day of the Lord. Nonetheless, true finite theology, as given to faith by the Spirit of God through the revelation of the Word, is adequate to its purpose, the salvation of mankind.201 This imperfect, wayfaring character of theology leads Heidegger to argue, against the more typical Reformed pattern, that theology is a totally practical as opposed to a mixed, speculative, and practical discipline.202 It is also quite clear that the scholastic distinctions between theologia archetypa and theologia ectypa with strong emphasis laid on the limited and accommodated (though nevertheless true) character of the theologia viatorum draw far more heavily upon a Scotist paradigm of the relation of revelation to

theology and to human reason than upon a Thomistic model. This judgment is confirmed both in the locus de Scriptura, where the necessity of revelation is strongly asserted, and in the locus de Deo, where the will is invariably given priority over the justice and goodness of God—even by a reputed Thomist like Zanchi. 2. From theologia in se to theologia in subiecto: the significance of a model. Finally, we need to ask what the function of these concepts is in the Reformed system. Why define a theologia archetypa which no creature, man or angel, can possibly know? Why state the concept of a theologia unionis or a theologia angelorum—neither of which is attainable by a man in this world or the next? And why mention the theologia beatorum which is of no use to us now? What of the theologia revelata in se, a perfect if limited truth of God, which cannot correspond to the theologia in subiecto, on the one hand because of the natural weaknesses of our minds and on the other because of the loss of our full capacity to relate to God in the fall? What possibly is the use of all these distinctions—if not to humble the theologian and to manifest his system as nothing but dust from the very outset? Theology as it is known to man cannot, in the view of the early orthodox, become a pretentious science. Theologia revelata in subiecto post lapsum can hardly be called an overweeningly rationalistic metaphysical system! Looking at the inclusive character and precise definition of the orthodox system from a distance of several centuries, Brunner and others have spoken of the ease with which the orthodox thought they could formulate “correct doctrine”—but closer examination of the orthodox view of the theological task removes this criticism.203 The conclusion drawn by both Junius and Polanus, and carried through the era of orthodoxy into such late works as Heidegger’s Corpus theologiae and De Moor’s Commentarius, is that theologia nostra considered in itself is perfect, whereas considered in the human subject is (and must be) imperfect. Thus both Scripture and theological system are our theology, pilgrim theology —Scripture the ideal form, Christian doctrine the lesser, imperfect form, modified by reception and explanation in the human mind. We have in our midst the perfect human, ectypal theology, but it cannot be perfectly exposited by us—not because of our finitude, but rather because of our sin and the incompleteness of our sanctification. Our only hope for finding saving knowledge of God lies in the fact that Scripture as transmitted to us in the human form given it by the prophets and the apostles is in fact our theology, theologia nostra, and not another theology—and that its perfection is joined to our imperfection according to the christological principle of the theologia unionis that undergirds the entire theologia hominibus communicata.

The essentially soteriological pattern of the definitions is obvious, as is the way in which the definitions both draw upon and undergird the sola gratia and the sola Scriptura of the Protestant system of doctrine. Indeed, in the subsequent organization of the Reformed orthodox theology, one must continue to recognize that the entire body of doctrine has been identified as an ectypal, finite theology of revelation, constructed after the fall in the imperfect human subject: when, therefore, Polanus further divides his task, indicating that our theology consists basically in the discussion of faith and works, he is once again identifying the perspective of Reformed theology as looking fundamentally toward the needs of salvation—just as when he next indicates that the faith concerns either God or the church, he is including all doctrine in matters of faith, grounded in the interpretation of Scripture, for the sake of human salvation.204 What is more, the model, as it were, of the “pilgrim’s progress” in knowledge of God, reaching from a pure and direct communicated theology of revelation prior to the fall, to a theology after the fall under sin and under grace, to a final visionary theology of the blessed, is designed to mirror the states and therefore also the needs of human beings on their way to redemption and the kingdom of God. The resemblance between this model for understanding Christian doctrine and identifying the nature of theological teaching in our present human condition and the covenantal or federal model for understanding the history of salvation is hardly accidental—nor is the contemporaneous rise of both of these models in early orthodox Reformed theology. Even the concept of an ultimate archetypal theology points toward this covenantal model, given the identification of theologia archetypa not with the infinite divine knowledge of the Godhead and of all possibilities or even with the voluntary divine knowledge of all actuality,205 but with the perfect divine knowledge of the entire plan of salvation. Without pressing the point too far, there is a distinct resemblance between the theologia archetypa and the pactum salutis—indeed, historically, the former anticipates the latter. Once again, the prolegomena provide the presuppositions for the system and the proper guide to the interpretation of the system. Specifically, they point us toward a theology of grace in Christ and toward Scripture as the principium cognoscendi of that theology, and they point toward the historical or economical character of the revelation of God as it addresses the human need of salvation. 1 See above, 2.3; 4.2 (A). 2 Cf. Robert A. Kolb, “Teaching the Text: The Commonplace Method in

Sixteenth Century Lutheran Biblical Commentary,” in Bibliothèque

d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 49 (1987), pp. 571–585 with Richard A. Muller, “Ordo docendi: Melanchthon and the Organization of Calvin’s Institutes, 1536–1543,” in Melanchthon in Europe: His Work and Influence beyond Wittenberg, ed. Karin Maag (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1999), pp. 123–140. 3 Hyperius, Methodus theologiae, I.i. 4 Althaus, Die Prinzipien, pp. 230–231. 5 See John Patrick Donnelly,”Calvinist Thomism,” in Viator, 7 (1976), pp.

441–455 and “Italian Influences on the Development of Calvinist Scholasticism,” in The Sixteenth Century Journal, VII/1 (1976), pp. 81–101. 6 Cf. Heiko A. Oberman, “Some Notes on the Theology of Nominalism with

Attention to Its Relation to the Renaissance,” in Harvard Theological Review, 53 (1960), pp. 47–76; William Courtenay, “The Dialectic of Omnipotence in the High and Late Middle Ages,” in Rudavsky (ed.), Divine Omniscience and Omnipotence in Medieval Philosophy, pp. 243–269. 7 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinitie, pp. 5–6. 8 Congar, A History, p. 130. 9

Cf. Paul Althaus, Theology of Martin Luther, pp. 25–34; and von Loewenich, Luther’s Theology of the Cross, pp. 44–49, 75–77, 106–107. 10 Calvin, Institutes, I.ii.1; II.vi.1. 11 Calvin, Institutes, I.xiii.7. 12 Polanus, Syntagma, Synopsis Libri I. 13 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.i.9. 14 Alsted, Praecognita, I.iv. 15 The homiletical implications of this view of the imperfection and limitation

of human knowledge of God are clearly outlined in Stephen Charnock, A Discourse of the Knowledge of God in Christ, in The Complete Works of Stephen Charnock (Edinburgh: Nichol, 1864–66), vol. 4, pp. 127–128, and in his A Discourse of the Knowledge of God, in Works, vol. 4, pp. 38–41. 16 Scotus, Ordinatio, prol. 3.1–3, n. 141, 154. See the discussion in Cross,

Duns Scotus, pp. 6–8. 17 Ockham, I Sent., prol., q.ix, in Opera (St. Bonaventure, New York: The

Franciscan Institute, 1967), vol. I. 18 Ockham, Opera, I, p. 268.

19

John Eck, In primum librum sententiarum annotatiunculae, edited by Walter Moore (Leiden: Brill, 1976), prol., p. 16. 20 See 5.5 (B). 21 See Brian A. Gerrish“ ‘To the Unknown God’: Luther and Calvin on the

Hiddenness of God,” in The Journal of Religion, 53 (1973), pp. 263–292. 22 See the discussion of accommodation both in Calvin’s thought and in the

thought of the Reformed Orthodox in PRRD, II, 3.2 (B.3); 3.3 (B.1); 5.2 (A– B.1). 23 On Calvin’s use of the distinction, see Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp.

20–21. 24 This is certainly the point at which the Reformed tradition parts company

with the Barthian reading of Calvin, particularly as popularized by Torrance —which declares that the “Being” of God and the revelatory “Act” of God are identical or argues “the identity of God’s self-revelation with God himself”: see T. F. Torrance, “Karl Barth and the Latin Heresy,” in Scottish Journal of Theology, 39 (1986), pp. 462–463, 472, 478; idem, “The Legacy of Karl Barth (1886–1986),” in Scottish Journal of Theology, 39 (1986), pp. 294, 299, 301, 303–304; idem, “The Distinctive Character of the Reformed Tradition,” in Reformed Review, 54/1 (Autumn 2000), p. 6. Torrance’s approach, whatever its dogmatic merits, entirely lacks historical foundation: his reading of the materials is inimical to the thought-world of Calvin and of the Reformed tradition of the 16th and 17th centuries in general; cf. my comments in “The Barth Legacy: New Athanasius or Origen Redivivus? A Response to T. F. Torrance,” in The Thomist, 54/4 (October 1990), pp. 673– 704. 25 Alsted, Praecognita, I.iv. 26 Maresius, Collegium theol., I.iii; cf. Poliander et al., Synopsis purioris, I.iii;

Burman, Synopsis theol., I.ii.39. 27 Maresius, Collegium theol., I.iii; cf. Poliander et al., Synopsis

purioris,

I.iii. 28 Alsted, Methodus, praecognita, I.iv. 29 Cf. Muller, After Calvin, pp. 127–130. 30

See Keith L Sprunger, “Technometria, pp. 115–117; cf. Dillenberger, Protestant Thought and Natural Science, pp. 57–58. 31 Alsted, Methodus, praecognita, I.iv. 32 Alsted, Methodus, praecognita, I.iv.

33

Turretin, Inst. theol., I.i.9. Note the radical misreading of Turretin in Rogers and McKim, Authority and Interpretation, p. 187: “While scholastic theologians did not claim to know all that God knew extensively, they claimed a one-to-one correspondence between the theological knowledge they had and the way in which God himself knew it.” What is in fact lacking is anything like a one-to-one correspondence between Rogers’ statements and the seventeenth-century materials. 34 Junius, De vera theologia, iv; cited verbatim in Alsted, Praecognita, I.iv. 35 Junius, De vera theologia, iv; cf. Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 2. 36 Polanus, Syntagma, I.iii. 37 Polanus, Syntagma, I.iii. 38 Polanus, Syntagma, I.iii. 39 Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, iv; Alsted, Praecognita, I.iv. 40 Junius, De vera theologia, v; cf. Owen, Theologoumena, I.iii.2. 41 Alsted, Praecognita, I.iv. The discussion in this and the two preceding

paragraphs reflects the problems of the classification and predication of divine attributes and once again establishes the intimate relationship of the prolegomena to the theological system as a whole. Further discussion of these two problems appears in PRRD, III, 3.3. 42 Lucas Trelcatius, Scholastica et methodica locorum communium institutio

(London, 1604), Lib. I, pp. 1–2. 43 Gomarus, Disputationes, I.xv–xvii; Walaeus, Loci communes, I. 44 Stoughton, Learned Treatise of Divinity, pp. 22–25, citing Ramus as an

antecedent of his definition of theology as “a doctrine of mans happinesse,” argued in the context of discussion of the practical nature of the discipline. Cf. Ames, Medulla, I.i.1–13; ii.1–2. 45 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.ii.6; Owen, Theologoumena, I.iii.2. 46 Polanus, Syntagma, I.iii. 47 Trelcatius, Schol. meth., I.iii; Rijssen, Summa theol., III.xxiv; and PRRD,

III, 5.3 (E.1–2). 48 Cocceius, Aphorismi prolixiores, I.3; cf. Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae,

I.ii.6. 49 Cocceius, Summa theol., I.i.3–4; cf. Van Asselt, Federal Theology, pp. 66,

230–236.

50 For these definitions, see below, 7.3 (B). 51 Junius, De vera theologia, v. 52

E.g., Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 2; Polanus, Syntagma, I.iii; Turretin, Inst. theol., I.ii.6. 53 Junius, De vera theologia, v. 54 Junius, De vera theologia, v. 55 Junius, De vera theologia, v. 56 Polanus, Syntagma, I.iv. 57 Polanus, Syntagma, I.iv. 58 Polanus, Syntagma, I.iv. 59 Alsted, Praecognita, I.v. 60 Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, v; Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i; Henry of

Ghent, Summa, art. XIX, q.ii, arg. 1, resp. 61 Polanus, Syntagma,

I.iv; cf. the virtually identical argument in Alsted,

Praecognita, I.v. 62 See also below, 6.1 (A–B). 63 Cloppenburg, Exercitationes super locos communes, I.i.5. 64 Dowey, Knowledge of God in Calvin’s Theology, p. 218; cf. the discussion

in Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 95–98, 118–139. 65 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i. 66 Cf. Burman, Synopsis theol., I.36–37; Heidanus, Corpus theol., I: 1–2. 67 E.g., Turretin, Inst. theol., I.ii.6; Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.v; Rijssen,

Summa theologiae didactico-elencticae (Frankfurt, 1731), I.i; Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theol., I.15. 68

E.g., Gomarus, Disputationes, I.xlvi; Cocceius, Summa theol., i.5; Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.67–70; De Moor, Commentarius, I.x (p. 36). 69 For the Lutheran view, cf. Johann Wilhelm Baier, Compendium theologiae

positivae, 3 vols. ed. C. F. G. Walther, (St. Louis: Concordia, 1879), I, pp. 36– 44. 70 Henry of Ghent, Summa, art. VIII. 71 Henry of Ghent, Summa, art. X–XIV. 72 Henry of Ghent, Summa, art. XIX.

73 Below, 9.3. 74

Junius, De vera theologia, theses 28, 29, 30, 24, 25, 31, 32, 33, respectively. 75 Maccovius, Loci communes, I–II (pp. 3–5, 10). 76 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 6; cf. Junius, De vera theologia, thesis

29; and Alsted, Praecognita, I.v. 77 Spanheim, Disp. theol., pars prima, I.xiv. 78 Robert Kilwardby, De natura theologiae, 3. 79 Henry of Ghent, Summa, art. IX, q.1–2. 80 Cf. Bonaventure, Breviloquium, I.ii, in Opera, vol. 5. 81 Polanus, Syntagma theol., I.xiv. 82

Maccovius, Loci communes, I (p. 3); similarly, Synopsis purioris theologiae, I.xiii. 83 Gomarus, Disputationes, I.xviii–xix. 84

Junius, De vera theologia, xv; Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 6; Poliander et al., Synopsis purioris theologiae, I.xiv; Spanheim, Disp. theol., pars prima, I.xiv. 85 Cf. Bonaventure, Breviloquium, prol., 1. 86 Maccovius, Loci communes, I (p. 3). 87 Maccovius, Loci communes, I (p. 3). 88 Junius, De vera theologia, xv; Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, cols. 6–7. 89 Junius, De vera theologia, xv. 90 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 7. 91 Junius, De vera theologia, xv; so also Poliander et al., Synopsis purioris,

I.xv. 92 Cf. Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, 7. 93 Polanus, Syntagma, I.xiv. 94 Maccovius, Loci communes, I. 95 Cf. Maccovius, Loci communes, I (p. 4). 96 See below 6.2; 6.3; 8.2. 97 Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, xiii–xiv; Maccovius, Loci communes,

I;

Polanus, Syntagma, I.x. 98 See further, below, 7.1. 99 Gomarus, Disputationes, I.xx; cf. Alsted, Praecognita, I.v. 100 Henry of Ghent, Summa, art XIX, q.ii, arg. 1, resp. 101 Gomarus, Disputationes, I.xxi. 102 Alsted, Praecognita, I.v. 103 Henry of Ghent, Summa, art. XIV, q.1. 104 Poliander et al., Synopsis purioris, I.xviii, xxi. 105

Owen, Theologoumena, I.iii.6; cf. Charnock, A Discourse of the Knowledge of God, in Works, Vol. 4, pp. 82–84. 106 Cf. Maccovius, Loci communes, I (p. 5); Polanus, Syntagma, I.iv, xiv;

Alsted, Praecognita, I.v. 107 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 7. 108 Polanus, Syntagma, I.v. 109 Polanus, Syntagma, I.v. 110 Polanus, Syntagma, I.v. 111 Polanus, Syntagma, I.vi; cf. Alsted, Praecognita, I.x. 112 Cf. Henry of Ghent, Summa, art. VIII, q.1, resp. 113 See below, 7.3. 114 Calvin, Inst. III.iii.19; cf. III.ii.1 and below, 7.1, on the object of theology. 115 Calvin, Inst. III.xxv.10. 116 Cf. Maccovius, Loci communes, XXV (pp. 209–210). 117 E.g., Hilary of Poitiers, De trinitate, IX. 58–75 in PL, 10 cols. 327–43. 118 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, I, q. 113, a. 4, ad 1. 119 Cf. Heinrich Schmid, The Doctrinal Theology of the Evangelical Lutheran

Church, trans. Charles A. Hay and Henry E. Jacobs, 3rd ed. (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1961), pp. 16–17. 120 See the extended discussion in John Davenant, Expositio epistolae ad

Colossenses (Cambridge, 1627), 2:3, in loc.; alternatively, An Exposition of the Epistle of St. Paul to the Colossians … to which is added a translation of Dissertatio de morte Christi, 2 vols., trans. Josiah Allport (London: Hamilton, Adams and Co., 1831–1832), I, pp. 361–366.

121 Junius, De vera theologia, vi. 122 Alexander of Hales, Summa theologica, pars III, q. 13, memb. 1–2; cited

in Davenant, Exposition of Colossians, I, p. 362. 123 Cf. Ursinus, Tractationes theologicae (Neustadt, 1589), p. 314; Junius, De

vera theologia, vi; Polanus, Syntagma, I.vii; Walaeus, Loci communes, I; Alsted, Praecognita, I.vi. 124 Alsted, Praecognita, I. vi. 125 Walaeus, Loci communes, p. 114, col. 2; cf. Junius, De vera theologia, v. 126 Walaeus, Loci communes, p. 115, col. 1; cf. Polanus, Syntagma, I.vii. 127 Walaeus, Loci communes, p. 115, col. 1. 128 Junius, De vera theologia, vi. 129 See Heiko Oberman, “Some Notes on the Theology of Nominalism,” in

Harvard Theological Review (1960): 57–60. 130 Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, vi; Polanus, Syntagma, I.vii; Walaeus, Loci

communes, I; Alsted, Praecognita, I. vi. 131 Junius, De vera theologia, vi; cf. de Moor, Commentarius, I.viii, pp. 30–

31. 132 John 3:35, cited by Junius, in De vera theologia, vi. 133 Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, vi; Polanus, Syntagma, I.vii. 134 Junius, De vera theologia, vi; cf. Polanus, Syntagma, I.vii; and Poliander

et al., Synopsis purioris, I.v. 135 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., XIII.xiii.4, 7. 136 Cf. DLGT, s.v. “communicatio idiomatum.” 137 Cf. Baier-Walther, Compendium, I, p. 4, and Schmid, Doctrinal Theology,

pp. 16–17, with Preus, The Theology of Post-Reformation Lutheranism, I, pp. 167–173. 138

E.g., Turretin, Inst. theol., XIII.viii.19; Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, V.x.31. 139 Walaeus, Loci communes, I (p. 115a). 140

E.g., Turretin, Inst. theol., XIII.xiii; Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologica, V.x.31. 141 Turretin, Inst. theol., XIII.xiii.2. 142 Turretin, Inst. theol., XIII.xiii.1, 3.

143 Cf. Aquinas, Summa theologiae, I, q.113, a.4, ad 1; III, q.8, a.4, ad 2; III,

q.9, a.2–4. 144 Turretin, Inst. theol., XIII.xiii.1. 145 Turretin, Inst. theol., XIII.xiii.12. 146 Cf. Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, V.x.31. 147 Cf. Voetius, Wollebius, and Keckermann in Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics,

pp. 464–465. 148 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., XIII.xiii.12–14. 149 See Richard A. Muller, “Christ in the Eschaton: Calvin and Moltmann on

the Duration of the Munus Regium,” in The Harvard Theological Review, 74/1 (1981), pp. 51–59. 150 Alsted, Praecognita, I.vi. 151 Cf. Muller, “Christ in the Eschaton,” pp. 57–59. 152 See below, section 7.1. 153 See below, 9.1. 154 William Perkins, Golden Chaine,

p. 11, col. 1, in Works (Cambridge,

1612–19), vol. I. 155 See PRRD II, 5.3 (B.5). 156 Cf. Alsted, Praecognita, I.xvi, xviii. 157 Cf. DLGT, s.v. “viator.” 158 Musculus, Loci communes sacrae theologiae (Basel, 1573; trans. London,

1578), lxi; cf. Bullinger, Decades, IV.iii (pp. 129–130). 159 Musculus, Loci communes, lxi. 160 Polanus, Syntagma, I.viii. 161 Gomarus, Disputationes, I.xliii. 162 Gomarus, Disputationes, I.xliii. 163 Gomarus, Disputationes, I.xlv–xlix. 164 Junius, De vera theologia, vii. 165 Alsted, Praecognita, I.vii. 166 Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, vii–viii; Polanus, Syntagma, I.viii–ix. 167 Junius, De vera theologia, vii; Alsted, Praecognita, I.vii.

168 De Moor, Compendium, I.ix, p. 34; cf. Junius, De vera theologia, vii;

Alsted, Praecognita, I.vii. 169 Junius, De vera theologia, vii. 170 See Muller, “Christ in the Eschaton,” pp. 51–59. 171 Cf. Aquinas, Summa, Ia, q.58, art. 4; q.107; Scotus, Opus Oxoniense II,

dist. 9 in Opera omnia, edited by Luke Wadding (Paris: Vives, 1891–95), vol. 8; Gabriel Biel, Collectorium circa quattuor libros sententiarum (Tübingen, 1501), II, dist. 9, art. 2, dubia ii–iii; Alsted, Praecognita, I.vii. 172 Junius, De vera theologia, viii. 173 Thus, J. K. S. Reid, The Authority of Scripture: A Study of Reformation

and Post-Reformation Understanding of the Bible (London: Methuen, 1962), p. 86. 174 Junius, De vera theologia, viii. 175 Junius, De vera theologia, ix; cf. Alsted, Praecognita, I.viii; Spanheim,

Disp. theol., pars prima, II.i–iv; Amyraut et al., Syntagma thesium theologicarum, I.iv.5. 176 See PRRD, II, 3.2 (A–B). 177 Alsted, Praecognita, I.viii. 178 Polanus, Syntagma, I.ix. 179 Polanus, Syntagma,, I.xiv. 180 Junius, De vera theologia, xii; cf. Alsted, Praecognita, I.viii, xvi. 181 See below, 7.2 (A.2, B.3). 182

Cf. Gilson, The Philosophy of St. Bonaventure, trans. Dom Illtyd Trethowan and Frank J. Sheed (Paterson: St. Anthony Guild, 1965), pp. 349– 364; with Aquinas, Summa, II/2ae, q.172, art. 2, resp. 183 John Calvin, Commentary on Hebrews 1:3 in CO 55, col. 12. 184 See Ronald S. Wallace, Calvin’s Doctrine of the Word and Sacrament

(Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1957), p. 113. 185 See Junius, De vera theologia, xii. 186 Cf. Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 3; Polanus, Syntagma, I.iv. 187 Cf. Polanus, Syntagma, I.iv. 188 Junius, De vera theologia, xvii. 189 Junius, De vera theologia, xvii.

190 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 3. 191

Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 3, citing James 3:15. Cf. the discussion of Owen’s very similar approach in Trueman, Claims of Truth, pp. 56–58, 60–61. 192 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 3. 193

Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 4; cf. Amyraut et al., Syntagma thesium theologicarum, I.iv.8–11. 194 Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, xvii. 195 Polanus, Syntagma, I.xii. 196 Polanus, Syntagma, I.xii. 197 Owen, Theologoumena, I.iii.2. 198 Owen, Theologoumena, I.iii.3. 199 Polanus, Syntagma, I.xiii. 200 Cf. the discussion of Owen’s treatment of these issues in Trueman, Claims

of Truth, pp. 55–56. 201 Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.67–69; cf. de Moor, Commentarius, I.x (p.

36). 202 Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.70; see further, below, 7.3. 203 Emil Brunner, The Christian Doctrine of God; Dogmatics: vol. 1, trans.

Olive Wyon (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1950), p. 28; cf. the similar comments in Armstrong, Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy, p. 194; and Bray, Theodore Beza’s Doctrine of Predestination, p. 14. 204 Polanus, Syntagma, Synopsis libri II. 205 Viz., the scientia necessaria sive scientia simplicis intelligentiae and the

scientia voluntaria sive libera: see the discussion in PRRD, III, 5.3 (E.1–2).

6 Natural and Supernatural Theology 6.1 The Problem of Theologia naturalis A. Natural Theology and the Reformers 1. Preliminary considerations: the problem of natural theology as an index to the movement from Reformation to Orthodoxy. The question of continuity or discontinuity between the Reformers and the orthodox is raised quite pointedly by these definitions of natural and supernatural theology. According to one line of argument (represented by Althaus and Bizer), the gradual development of the discussion of natural theology and of the positive use of reason represents a turn toward rationalism and, in the view of Althaus in particular, toward a Thomistic model of the relation of reason and revelation.1 More recently, under the impact of neoorthodoxy and the BarthBrunner debate, there has been a tendency among other scholars to argue against any legitimate place for natural theology in Calvin’s version of Reformed theology and to view seventeenth-century discussions of the subject as a deviation from the perspective of the Reformers.2 Echoing Althaus and Bizer but from a fully neoorthodox perspective, Otto Weber goes so far as to claim that the mere introduction of “reason” into Reformed theology, even in the form of “reason illuminated by the Word of God,” was enough to produce in the century after the Reformation an increasingly rationalistic theology in which a purely rational natural theology belonged to “the interior structure” of theology itself. This occurred, Weber alleges, because the question of the extent of reason was ultimately “one of quantity,” not quality, given the “continuity” of the purely rational with “illuminated reason.”3 These approaches to the problem of Calvin’s views on natural theology has not gone unchallenged. Several studies have examined Calvin’s views on the natural knowledge of God and have found them more positive than indicated by Barth but more clearly within the bounds of Christian doctrine and biblical revelation than indicated by Brunner. This revised understanding of Calvin— viz., the understanding of his thought without reference to the neoorthodox paradigm grafted onto it by the Barth-Brunner debate—in turn indicates a greater affinity between Calvin’s teaching and that of the Reformed orthodox at the same time that it recognizes in Calvin (as will also be found in the later Reformed) a firm distinction between pagan natural reason or fallen reason and a Christian application of reason to the examination of the created order. The right application of reason to the natural order, moreover, would issue in

a cogent natural philosophy, in the outlines of which Calvin concurred with his contemporaries.4 The latter point stands directly counter to Hans Emil Weber’s theory of an ineluctable slide into rationalism the moment that reason is acknowledged in theology. As with virtually all of the developments belonging to the rise of orthodoxy, however, the elaboration of a Reformed doctrine of natural theology cannot be represented simply as a manifestation either of continuity or of discontinuity—nor can it be argued that the mere use of reason ineluctably moved Reformed theology toward rationalism. Indeed, contra Althaus, Bizer, and Weber, the Reformed tradition searched, as had many of the medieval scholastics, for a middle path between rationalism and fideism. Several formal observations are in order. First, Calvin, Bullinger, Vermigli, and Musculus all discuss the naturally available “knowledge of God,” but they nowhere construct a “natural theology” and nowhere discuss either the advisability or inadvisability of constructing one. Calvin and Viret proposed a twofold knowledge of God as Creator and Redeemer, while Musculus addressed the issue of natural and revealed knowledge with a threefold division of the subject, into the general revelation in nature, the special revelation in Scripture, and the gracious witness of the Spirit that renders Scripture authoritative.5 Bullinger, like Calvin, appears to have distinguished between the reception of natural revelation by pagans or unbelievers and the reception of natural revelation by way of the testimony of Scripture.6 Bullinger also, again like Calvin, had a well-developed view of the conscience as having a innate or implanted knowledge of the natural law— albeit one that could not motivate the unregenerate sinner to do the good.7 It was the Thomist-trained Vermigli, though, who of all the early Reformed codifiers of doctrine, produced the most extended treatment of the problem of the natural knowledge of God in relation to theology. Second, the Reformed orthodox do use the term “natural theology,” and several of the Reformed orthodox writers—notably Alsted at the beginning and Van Til at the end of the era—wrote works entitled Theologia naturalis. Alsted ultimately included his natural theology within the outline of his larger Methodus.8 The orthodox writers do not typically mingle natural theology with the theology based on biblical or “supernatural” revelation: their systems of catechetical, scholastic, or positive theology remain expositions of the supernaturally grounded body of Christian doctrine that rest on Scripture. Once, however, natural theology had been admitted to the “encyclopedia” of theological study, differences did arise among the Reformed orthodox concerning its purpose and its relationship to the other forms of theological discourse. In the eighteenth century, moreover, natural theology was used as a preliminary step toward supernatural theology, particularly by Wolffian

theologians like Wyttenbach and Stapfer, as well as by less philosophical writers like Klinkenberg—this development, however, proves the point by contrast: it was not at all the Reformed approach in the early or high orthodox eras to build supernatural theology on a rational, natural foundation. Recent studies have shown, moreover, that the natural theology and metaphysics of the early orthodox were not dogmatically framed by constant warnings concerning the radical limitation of fallen human reason, but rather argued that, given the problem of the fall, the proper study of philosophy was an exercise intrinsic to the reparation of the image of God in human beings.9 Arguably, it was one of the academic burdens of early orthodox writers like Keckermann, Alsted, Heereboord, and Burgersdijk to develop a philosophical curriculum, including metaphysics and natural theology, in the Reformed academies and universities—and that, in so doing, they broadened not only the curricular interest of the Reformed but also Reformed interest in the ability of the rational faculties to discern truth in their examination of the rational and logical orders. According to Alsted, natural theology could have both a propaeduetic and an apologetic function: on the one hand it might lead toward the higher truths of revealed theology; on the other it might be the basis for debate with pagans and atheists.10 This perspective may clash with the impression given by the introductory chapters of Calvin’s Institutes, albeit not with the broader view of Calvin’s thought that can be gleaned from the Institutes in conjunction with the commentaries and sermons—while in the broader context of the thought of the Reformers, notably writers like Vermigli and Hyperius, there are also a series of significant antecedents. In addition and more importantly, the context of the early orthodox writers was different from that of the Reformers: whereas Calvin arguably understood the debate over reason, natural revelation, and philosophy as a battle against the causes of excesses and mistakes in the theology of the later Middle Ages, Keckermann, Alsted, and their contemporaries surely saw the issue in the context of the establishment of a Protestant and Reformed theology in the institutional context of academies and universities, specifically the academies and universities in lands where the Reformation had been successful and the abuses for the most part set aside. And certainly, the institutionalization of Reformed thought implied the appropriation in a more thorough and overt manner of the best of the older Christian tradition both patristic and medieval.11 In brief, we shall be able here, as on the other topics investigated, to identify continuities and discontinuities in the development of Reformed teaching. 2. Calvin’s conception of the natural knowledge of God. Any discussion of Calvin’s views on natural knowledge of God and the possibility of natural

theology must begin by acknowledging that Calvin nowhere uses the term theologia naturalis and, consequently, neither explicitly affirms or denies its possibility. In addition, it must also be recognized that the Pauline underpinnings of the Institutes and the flow of argument found there do not offer much place for a positive elaboration of the ways in which Christians might profit from the use of the knowledge of God that they gain from nature —with the exception of the lengthy discourse on providence. On the other hand, Calvin’s initial discussion of the human predicament presumes a fundamental seed of religion (semen religionis) in all people, a universal sense of the divine (sensus divinitatis), and in innate function of conscience that can, at least, serve to condemn the most sinful pagan. All people have engrafted in them “a certain understanding of the divine majesty.”12 The knowledge of God is given, moreover, in the created order, displayed for all humanity to behold. The problem is that sin distorts perception and superstition undermines all right knowledge.13 On the basis of these declarations, Barthian readers of Calvin have gone to great lengths to deny the existence of natural theology, while all that Calvin does is declare such theology useless to salvation. Calvin, in fact, consistently assumes the existence of false, pagan natural theology that has warped the knowledge of God available in nature into gross idolatry. Calvin must argue in this way because he assumes the existence of natural revelation which in se is a true knowledge of God. If natural theology were impossible, idolatrous man would not be left without excuse. The problem is that sin takes the natural revelation of God and fashions, in fact, an idolatrous and sinful theology. The theology exists and man is to blame because it is sin and sin alone that stands in the way of a valid natural theology. Parker’s interpretation of Calvin’s exegesis of Psalm 19:1–9 manifests quite plainly the unwillingness of Barthians to accept the most basic implications of what Calvin says about natural revelation and natural theology —all of which appear to have been quite clear to the Protestant scholastics. Calvin, as Parker notes, identifies two parts of the psalm: “David celebrates the glory of God as manifested in His works; and in the other exalts and magnifies the knowledge of God which shines more clearly in His Word.”14 Commenting on the first half of the psalm, Calvin extols the revelation of God in nature. Looking at the second half of the psalm, he argues once again that sinful man is not led to God by natural revelation but is merely left without excuse in his sins. Only by means of the Word can man come to God, and apart from the Word natural revelation avails nothing, “although it should be to us as a loud and distinct proclamation sounding in our ears.”15 Brunner was, certainly, incorrect in arguing that Scripture somehow supplements natural revelation—but Barth and Parker are equally incorrect in assuming the

“total blindness” of man apart from the Word and in denying natural theology as such. It is clear from the psalm itself and from Calvin’s commentary on it that David is not using “the Word” as a key to unlock the otherwise closed doors of natural revelation, but is rather, as one of God’s children, looking directly at the book of nature, where the knowledge of God is manifest— albeit not as clearly as through the Word. These impressions are confirmed in numerous other places throughout Calvin’s commentaries: Calvin understood the preaching of Paul and Barnabas in Lystra as containing “natural arguments” for the existence of God —specifically, as the identification of “a certain and evident manifestation of God” in the providential “order of nature.”16 Similarly, in Paul’s address to the Greeks on the Areopagus, Calvin understands a four-part prologue to the preaching of the Gospel in which Paul, among other things, “shows by proofs (probationes) from nature who and what God is, and how he is rightly worshiped” just prior to condemning the blindness of sinful people who “wander in darkness” rather than confessing belief in “their Creator and Maker.”17 In neither of these passages is Calvin pointing toward a Scripturally-founded knowledge of God’s handiwork in nature—rather, he assumes that Paul used rudimentary arguments drawn from nature, elements of what later Reformed writers called “natural theology.” Against the antirational eucharistic arguments of Hesshus, Calvin had distinguished between three kinds of “reason”: “reason naturally implanted” in human beings by God, which “cannot be condemned without insult to God”; a vitiated reason, occurring in “corrupt nature” which sinfully warps God’s revelation; and “reason … derived from the Word of God”—reason that rests on, or to borrow a famous metaphor from the Institutes, that uses the “spectacles” of Scripture and is thus “sanctioned” by “both the Spirit of God and Scripture.”18 Calvin’s argument both confirms the possibility of a right understanding of natural revelation and, in its second and third points, adumbrates Beza’s distinction between a natural theology of the unregenerate and a natural theology of the regenerate. What is also absent from Calvin’s critiques of human rational ability to discern the divine is any attack on the value and trustworthiness of the tools of logic and rhetoric. Moreover, as Dowey pointed out, when Calvin addresses the issue of what reason ought to find in the created order, he uses arguments “that would do credit to Herbert of Cherbury”: Calvin’s heading indicates that the “knowledge of God” is “conspicuous in the formation and continual government of the world” and his argument in the chapter is fundamentally rational, using Scripture in confirmation of the truths learned by examination of nature.19 Dowey also notes that Calvin is not speaking merely of an immediate knowledge of God that activates the sensus divinitatis, he is speaking of a ratiocinative process

that examines the world order and draws conclusions.20 Calvin does not deny that there is or can be a genuine natural theology based on natural revelation. Rather his intention is to declare that no natural theology contributes to salvation. This is as true for the regenerate David as it is for the unregenerate Philistine—but David, as one of the redeemed, can recognize the true God in his natural revelation without fashioning an idol. The Barthian reading of Calvin, like the Barthian critique of the Gallican and the Belgic Confession, fails to distinguish suitably between natural revelation and natural theology or to note the effect of regeneration on the appropriation of the former and the formulation of the latter.21 Calvin, therefore, testifies not only to the existence of natural revelation and to the fact of pagan, idolatrous, natural theology, but to the real possibility of a natural theology of the regenerate. He also appears to have a sense that humanity in general, apart from the issue of sin and regeneration, does have enough logical and rational apparatus to develop some valid teachings concerning God, creation, and providence from examination of the natural order. Yet there is a double problem with natural theology. First, such theology is not saving: it exists as praise rather than as proclamation. Second, it is not dependable in its religious result and contains errors concerning God and his work that can only be corrected through the use of Scripture. Here again, the problem of natural theology reflects the problem of the imago Dei: it is not utterly lost, but it provides no basis for man’s movement toward God. 3. Vermigli on the natural knowledge of God. The highly influential locus on the natural knowledge of God found in Vermigli’s Loci communes is drawn from his commentaries on Romans, chapter 1 and 1 Samuel, chapter 6. Vermigli’s discussion begins with a reflection on Paul’s phrase to gnoston tou theou (Rom. 1:19), which Vermigli renders as “that which may be known of God.” The phrase is restrictive in implication and indicates two categories of the knowledge of God—things accessible to the natural man and things known only by special revelation, such as justification, forgiveness in Christ, and the resurrection of the body. The former category, Paul “reduces … to two principal points, namely, the everlasting power and divinity of God”: both the almighty power of God and also the fact that this power is both wise and good in its creative exercise and providential care—and thus is a truly divine power are manifest in “the workmanship of this world.”22 There are two opinions concerning the source of this natural knowledge of God. Some, notes Vermigli, would explain it as the result of creation: a certain indication of the Creator and his truth can be perceived in created things. Others believe that God placed in the human mind “certain … information, whereby we are driven to conceive excellent and worthy things

of the nature of God.” On the basis of this natural tendency we learn of God by observing creation. Some claim that pagan philosophers like Aristotle and Plato were in fact instruments or mediators of divine revelation. It is quite true that these thinkers correctly analyzed the order of causes and effects in this world and recognized that such an order cannot go on indefinitely but must come finally to a chief cause which is God. But these evidences of God as cause and protector of all things are equally given in Scripture—as David says, “The heavens set forth the glory of God.”23 Vermigli makes no attempt to restrict the source of natural knowledge of God to one or the other of these options—and it is clear from his exposition that, although he did not produce a set of the traditional a posteriori proofs of God’s existence in any of the loci used as sources for the Loci communes, he certainly assumed that the proofs were valid. He admits, broadly, to the fact of natural revelation and the ability of human beings to discern it. Indeed, he indicates a place for the natural knowledge of God in Scripture and, by implication, in Christian theology. All things, says Vermigli, show forth “the eternal power and divinity of God”— but especially human nature which manifests his very likeness and majesty. The soul especially—with its “justice, wisdom, and many other noble qualities,” with its sense of right and wrong—testifies to the existence of God, as does the conscience with its inward condemnation of wickedness, love of the good, and presentiment of God’s future judgment. There is nothing in the created world so vile that it in some way does not give testimony of God.24 This revelation of God in nature renders all inexcusable: no man can explain his wickedness or impiety on the ground of ignorance. All men know of God or can know of him. Vermigli notes that Paul also makes impossible another rationalization—that men lack the strength of will to do the good or to worship rightly. This lack rests on human sinfulness; man’s weakness comes by his own fault. Even admitting the universal existence of sin, it is clear that men might still aspire to some good and attempt to avoid evil. But they freely choose to sin—again leaving themselves inexcusable before the Law of God in their hearts and the knowledge of God given in nature.25 Vermigli concludes that no matter how clearly God may be inferred from nature to be the Creator, it is nevertheless necessary to know God as Creator by faith. The article of creation is the first article of the creed. Remove it from the articles of faith and the subsequent related doctrines, including the doctrines of original sin and Christ, will be unable to stand. Faith itself demands that we learn even of creation by revelation.26 Vermigli thus explicitly sets aside the analogia entis of his Thomist teachers: The effects by which the philosophers move toward knowledge of God are far inferior to his goodness, strength and power … these things are

not in him in the same way as we speak of them. For, as in simplicity of nature, so also in goodness, righteousness, and wisdom is [God] other than men.27 In addition to a natural knowledge of God, therefore, man must have faith revealed “by the Word of God.” For Christ said, “None can come to me unless the Father draws him.” Faith therefore gathers a plentiful knowledge of God out of the Scriptures, as far as salvation requires and as far as our present capacity allows … yet we do not reach an understanding of the essence of God.28 In sum, Vermigli stands in agreement with Calvin on the uselessness of natural knowledge of God in salvation, but he appears also to take more cognizance of the relative validity of philosophical argumentation based on natural revelation. On this point, Vermigli’s nuanced views may offer a clearer antecedent than Calvin for the later Reformed orthodox position. B. The Reformed Orthodox on Natural Theology 1. Reformers and the orthodox: continuity and discontinuity. Although the Reformed orthodox discuss and even elaborate natural theology in a manner quite different from the theological efforts of the Reformers, the basic Reformation era understanding of the limits of natural knowledge of God and, therefore, of any attempt to formulate a natural theology—clearly not Thomistic in its implications for the use of philosophy and reason in theology or in its denial of analogy between God and creation—carries over into the theology of the Reformed orthodox, including its ambivalence about the value of the purely philosophical doctrine of God as Creator.29 There are, moreover, clear Reformation era antecedents for the Reformed orthodox development: although Vermigli was as certain as Calvin that such truths as could be elicited from the natural order were ultimately useless to the unregenerate, he was not nearly as negative as Calvin about the ability of the unregenerate to learn truths of God from the created order—just as he was certain that a biblically grounded and regenerate knowledge concerning the revelation of God in the natural order was on a level higher than any knowledge attainable by unaided reason. The innate knowledge of the natural law associated with the conscience is a case in point: it serves only to leave human beings without excuse in their sins. The legitimate bounds of a natural theology were certainly discussed in more detail by the Reformed orthodox than by the Reformers. By way of example, Daneau and Aretius in the early orthodox period and Rijssen at the end of the high orthodox era note that natural theology teaches certain basic

truths: that God exists, that he should be worshiped, that man ought to live uprightly, that the soul is immortal, and that virtue is rewarded, and vice punished.30 The doctrine of creation is not included. Instead, theologia naturalis is, at its best, defined in terms of the moral or natural law—and these legal truths, the orthodox point out, are not used by natural man to construct a valid ethic. The natural law serves only to leave man without excuse, and its precepts become a valid ethic only through revelation. Heppe rightly notes that the orthodox elaboration of this doctrinal point must be regarded as a defense, in a new context, of the teaching of Calvin and Vermigli concerning the inner sense of the divine shared by all people.31 An admittedly different project is found in the large-scale curricular or encyclopedic efforts of Keckermann and Alsted: these two formative early orthodox teachers raised the question of the broad exposition of all human knowledge, with the understanding that good pedagogy served an ancillary purpose in the work of redemption and with a high confidence in right philosophical training as part of the restoration of human nature. Keckermann specifically argued that the original state of human beings was characterized by an undamaged logical faculty and that the right use of the art of logic served as a remedy in the context of our fallen state.32 Another issue that confronted Keckermann in his attempt to develop a full philosophical and theological curriculum was the contemporary debate over double truth, specifically the claim that something might be true in theology and false in philosophy, true in philosophy and false in theology—for example, the creation of the world ex nihilo as a truth of theology and the eternity of the world as a truth in philosophy. In response, Keckermann affirmed the unity of truth, and in so doing acknowledged that philosophical reflection apart from the constraints of theology could attain truth and that such truth would be true also in the context of Christian theology.33 On one hand, Keckermann’s and Alsted’s approach to natural theology effectively understood the fall as having less impact on the faculty of reason than claimed by Calvin and, arguably, stood more in the line of Vermigli’s formulation of the problem—on the other hand, in the altered academic context of their time they had to reckon with the institutionalization of Protestantism and argue that the Protestant academy, in which the confessional foundation of the Reformation was observed, also saw the possibility of reforming the entire curriculum in the light and on the model of the theological gains of the Reformation. The paradoxical character of natural theology was contested in the seventeenth century by the Arminians and the Socinians. The former argued that the light of nature was in fact a preparation for the light of grace and that the truths of natural theology could provide a basis on which a superstructure of revealed truth might be built; the latter argued that a “great tradition” of

rational or natural truth extended back to Adam, supplemented by truths of revelation given throughout history.34 Against the distinction between a nonsaving natural revelation and a saving supernatural revelation, the Socinians argued that God cannot require of human beings something that he does not provide: if all God has given to human beings are vague remnants (reliquiae) of the Law, he cannot require of them some higher standard; if, moreover, God has not sent Christ to all peoples, perhaps there is a “salvation of the pagans apart from the knowledge of Christ.”35 To the Arminian position, the Reformed reply that natural theology has a twofold use: to leave sinful human beings inexcusable and to serve as a preparation for the “school of grace.” Such natural theology is not saving nor is it the logical precondition for Christian theology.36 As for the Socinian claims, the sinfulness of man both impedes and pollutes natural revelation and places him in need of a gracious supernatural revelation—it is impossible that God could make unjust demands or be the cause of sin, but it is not at all impossible or improper for God to give his creature, man, the power to commit sin and become, as it were, a debtor.37 The issue for Reformed orthodox theology was not to develop a positive locus of natural theology within their systems of supernatural theology: instead, they defended a view of natural theology that taught the existence of such knowledge and its grounding in revelation at the same time that it insisted on the inefficacy of natural revelation and natural theology in salvation, on its distinction from the special or supernatural revelation of God, but also on its validity in the context of the paradigm of true theology communicated out of the eternal archetype.38 Given, moreover, that “nature and grace are not opposed,” there can be a Christian natural theology, one which, in Alsted’s view, is grounded in “reason, universal experience, and Holy Scripture.”39 Reason and experience in this foundational sense are not the reason or experience of particular persons, such as the reason of Plato, Aristotle, or Epicurus, but human reason in general, the power of reasoning belonging to the faculty, and the universal experience of humanity. As for Scripture, which might seem out of place as a principium of natural theology, it is not a “pure” but a “mixed” principle—there are things taught by Scripture alone and by nature alone, and things taught conjointly by both. Thus, both Scripture and nature teach that God is the creator, Scripture alone that he is the Redeemer, leaving Scripture as a foundation of natural theology in those places where it teaches what can also be learned in some sense from nature.40 Natural theology, even in the regenerate context, remains incapable of approaching saving truth—nevertheless, it also remains bound to find truths of natural revelation that conform ultimately to the truths concerning creation revealed in Scripture.41 Admittedly, there were different views on the use of

reason and natural revelation among the Reformed. (Of course, the presence of differences, debate, and no single trajectory from Reformation to rationalism in itself undermines the views of Althaus, Bizer, and Weber.) Thus, Du Moulin repeats the argument that natural theology is useless to salvation—but adds that theology is based both on revelation and reason. He strikes a balance rather than argue a stark fideism: “natural knowledge, is unprofitable unlesse the other part be added unto it, which is only gotten by Revelation.”42 For Du Moulin, natural theology is legitimate in the proper context—it is useless in its pagan forms and it does not ground but rather operates rightly within the context provided by the full use of revelation. Ames argued quite pointedly against a Christian natural theology productive of doctrines other than those derived from the biblical text: such, he argued with specific reference to Suárez, was the content of heathen philosophy, not of Christian natural theology or of a genuinely Christian metaphysics.43 Here again we see a point of contact between the prolegomena and the system: the relation between natural and supernatural theology is soteriologically controlled and reflects precisely the relation between the natural man in his fallen condition and the regenerate man empowered by grace. This issue was fully recognized by the Reformed, who viewed the Socinian and Arminian perspectives on natural theology as controlled by a Pelagian view of human nature.44 2. Natural theology as a limited “theology of revelation”: reformed orthodox perspectives. The Protestant scholastics recognized that the ancient philosophical understanding of God was largely a form of natural theology and that, as such, it represented a limited, nonsaving knowledge of God similar in form and content to the rational metaphysics developed by Christian philosophers. Whereas problematic elements in pagan “natural theology,” such as Aristotle’s teaching on the finitude of the first mover and the eternity of the world, left uncorrected by biblical revelation, could easily be dismissed as a category of theologia falsa, the correct conclusions both of the ancient pagan philosophers and of Christian, regenerate reason had to be dealt with in the context of theological system—particularly given that the content of natural theology was seen as determined by the substance of natural revelation and, if nothing else, natural revelation could be rightly appreciated and appropriated in the Christian context. Similar comments can be made concerning religion. Religio arises naturally out of the activity of human reason but, as with natural theology, is immediately subject to the corruption of human nature. Because of this problematic character of natural theology and natural religion, the Reformed orthodox seldom develop a locus of natural theology in either of these topics —never under theologia falsa and only infrequently under religio. Indeed,

despite reservations concerning and consistent efforts at correcting the errors of the pagan philosophers, natural theology as such, considered as a discipline, distinct from the foibles and the variability of human knowers, is not properly classified as theologia falsa. Theologia naturalis, despite all the problems inherent in its formulation and elaboration, is properly discussed as a form of theologia vera, under the category of theologia viatorum. This placement of the topic arises from the fact that theologia naturalis is neither a theology of union nor a theology of vision, but a theology of revelation. Since the mode of communication of natural theology is revelation, natural theology must be discussed together with supernatural theology. What is more, as indicated by the Reformed orthodox paradigm of true and false, archetypal and ectypal theology, the true, ectypal theologia naturalis is founded not on the interaction of reason in general with the natural order (so that it is not to be equated with natural sciences like astronomy or physics) but on the examination of natural revelation by faithful reason.45 Indeed, as we have already noted, natural and supernatural theology are viewed as belonging to the same genus of discipline or study, given that both are grounded in revelation. Still, the orthodox recognize a vast difference between these two kinds of revealed theology, in view both of the “mode of communication” and of the limitations necessarily placed on natural theology: The mode of communication of theology is, thus, twofold, by nature and by grace: that by way of an internal principle; this by way of an external principle, on the basis of which one is called natural theology, the other supernatural.46 The limitation of “nature” as a mode of communication results directly from consideration of the basic division of theology into archetypal and ectypal—given that the division relates to the Reformed teaching of the creation of man according to the imago Dei.47 Just as the human being, as fashioned according to the imago, possesses spiritual attributes reflecting the Creator, so will the theology of this creature mirror the divine knowledge. And as the imago fades, so does the form and content of the theology communicated to human beings. Natural theology, therefore, as an ectypal form of the knowledge of God, must be defined in terms of the imago Dei and its almost total loss in the fall. Just as the imago remains, albeit vitiated, and in itself is incapable of being the basis for fellowship with God, so natural theology remains as a semen religionis planted in the soul of man, incapable of being the basis of salvation and serving only to leave sinful man without excuse. Even so, natural and supernatural theology belong to the same

knowing subject, the viator. The viator, writes Alsted, is “the elect man trying to reach the heavenly homeland”—and since we do not deal with the reprobate man and his theology, we do not deal with a false or reprobate natural theology opposed to supernatural theology, but with a true natural theology of the viator, the electus homo, subordinated to supernatural theology.48 Throughout the previous discussions we have used the terms natural and supernatural to describe two types of theology and two kinds of causality. Some further definition of terms is necessary as we discuss natural and revealed or natural and supernatural theology—particularly in view of the frequent contemporary misinterpretations of and attacks upon this distinction. Although a contrast is frequently made, sometimes even in the scholastic systems themselves, between theologia naturalis and theologia revelata (or theologia revelata sive supernaturalis), it should already be clear that the contrast is imprecise insofar as natural theology is a form of revealed theology. The precise distinction is between revelatio naturalis and revelatio supernaturalis and the forms of theology resting upon these revelations, theologia naturalis and theologia supernaturalis, the former being conceived according to the natural powers of acquisition belonging to the mind, the latter according to a graciously infused power bestowed on the mind by God.49 Natural theology arises out of the order of nature, whereas supernatural theology, transcending the powers of nature, belongs to the order of grace—but both arise as revealed knowledge, not as a matter of mere human discovery. In addition, even though the terms natural and supernatural are used to indicate different orders of causality, those orders are necessarily interrelated. Natural and supernatural theology are not utterly distinct in a causal sense. Alsted points out that the remote causes of both forms of theology are identical, while only the proximate causes are different. Thus in the remote sense, God is the efficient cause and the glory of God the final cause of both natural and supernatural theology.50 In a proximate sense, however, the efficient cause of natural theology is nature itself and the light of nature, and the final cause is that man be rendered inexcusable in his sin—as contrasted with Scripture and salvation, the proximate efficient and final causes of supernatural theology.51 Similar comparisons and contrasts, proximate and remote, can be made concerning material and formal causality.52 This discussion of natural and supernatural theology occupies a far more prominent position in the Protestant orthodox prolegomena than in their medieval counterparts. What is more, the Protestant discussion draws as much on soteriological as upon epistemological concerns. Whereas Scotus, Aureole,

Durandus, and other late medieval theologians saw the critical issue as encapsulated in the denial of a proportion between finite human reason and the truth of God in se, the Protestant systems intensify the issue and, indeed, alter its terms by emphasizing the sinfulness as well as the finitude of reason. Pictet, for example, argues that the existence of God can in fact be known from nature and that this knowledge seems to be partly innate, partly acquired. Man seems to come, through his own mental capacities, to an idea of God and also seems to be naturally able to analyze this concept of God in terms of “the careful observation of created things.” Pictet argues that Paul’s statement concerning the law in the heart implies an innate knowledge of God while the psalmist’s praise of God’s handiwork demonstrates a scriptural foundation for the concept of an acquired knowledge of God. “Both these kinds of knowledge” argues Pictet, “are a great proof of God’s goodness to man,” a benefit to society in general, and provide “an incentive to seek after a clearer revelation” that is “sufficient to leave anyone, who abuses his natural light, without excuse.”53 Special divine revelation is not only to be sought after but is also necessary for salvation for two reasons: First, the imperfection of natural knowledge, which was insufficient either for true knowledge or for true worship of God, and which could not, in any way, comfort the human soul against the fear of death, and under the consciousness of sin, because it could not point out the mode of satisfying the divine justice.… The second argument is drawn from the great corruption of mankind after the sin of the first parents, their speedy forgetfulness of God and blindness in divine things, their propensity for all kinds of error, and especially to the invention of new and false religions.… A revelation beyond the natural was therefore necessary in which God might not only cause to be known, in a clearer manner, his own perfections, which he had revealed in the first, but also discover new perfections, and reveal “the mystery of godliness.” This supernatural revelation was made through the Word; for, after God had used mute teachers to instruct mankind, he opened his own sacred lips: and after he had, “at sundry times, and in divers manners, spoken unto the fathers by the prophets, in these last days” he has condescended to “speak to us by His Son” (Heb. 1:1).54 Pictet then concludes by noting that, in view of this distinction, the system he is about to frame is a system of supernatural or revealed knowledge of God.55 6.2 The Distinction Between Natural and Supernatural Theology A. Theology and the Forms of Knowing: Implanted and Acquired

Knowledge As was strongly implied in the thought of Calvin and other Reformers,56 and afterward argued explicitly by the Reformed orthodox, the basic knowledge of God, the seed of religion (semen religionis) or sense of the divine (sensus divinitatis; sensus numinis), is not innate knowledge (cognitio innata) in a Platonic sense, nor is it infused knowledge (cognitio infusa) so foreign to the mind that without it the mind is blank, a tabula rasa, nor is it like the subject matter of the discipline of theology, an acquired knowledge (cognitio acquisita). The orthodox indeed consistently teach that natural theology is partly implanted (insitam), as derived from the book of conscience by common or basic insights; partly acquired (acquisitam), as arises discursively from the book of Creatures.57 Turretin here cites the two basic sources or patterns of natural knowledge noted by Vermigli without any technical elaboration. The mind has both a knowledge that is basic to it (cognitio insita) and a knowledge that is acquired through the powers of reason (cognitio acquisita). The former term demands some explanation. The Platonic theory, like the Augustinian theory of illumination favored by the more platonizing of the medieval doctors, established a link between the natural man and the realm of divine truth that was not compatible with the Reformed theory of grace and revelation, bound as it was to the epistemological finitum non capax infiniti.58 The theory of the mind as an absolute tabula rasa caused the opposite problem: it so severed the human mind from externals that it raised the possibility of an absolute ignorance of the divine and, therefore, of an excuse for sin. Needless to say, this position, too, was repugnant to the Reformed—who affirm, on the contrary, that human beings have enough natural knowledge of God to be left without excuse in their sin.59 The Reformed scholastics, therefore, look for a view midway between a theory of cognitio innata and a theory of a tabula rasa. Such a possibility existed in the concept of cognitio insita, defined as an intuitive knowledge or immediate, non-ratiocinative apprehension of the divine.60 Thus Turretin can say that the human mind is not a tabula rasa absolutely but only relatively: it does not naturally contain discursive or dianoetic knowledge (cognitio dianoetica), that is, acquired knowledge, but it does contain noesis or pure intellectual apprehension (cognitio apprehensiva et noetica).61 Using this concept of cognitio insita or cognitio intuitiva sive apprehensiva, the Reformed orthodox can argue three basic forms of natural theology, two of them arising immediately and universally in the human mind

and one arising as a result of rational examination of the others. First, the universal experience of mankind and the institution of religion in every nation of the world indicate a sense of the divine or of divine power (sensus numinis). There is no nation so barbaric, Cicero declared, that it is not persuaded of the existence of God.62 Second, the human conscience bears witness to a natural law which, Turretin concludes, “necessarily includes a knowledge of God the Lawgiver (cognitio Dei Legislatoris).”63 Knowledge of God, in other words, arises naturally from the contemplation of created things and by inference from the order and government of things.64 Third, out of these basic apprehensions of the divine, by means of purely rational investigation, pagan philosophers have developed a philosophical natural theology, an acquired natural theology.65 In terms of its object and ultimate source (God—his power, wisdom, and goodness), this knowledge is supernatural, but in terms of the means of approach to this knowledge, it is entirely natural. Scripture expressly testifies, Walaeus notes, that there is nothing spiritual or supernatural in those who are ignorant of Christ: after the fall, man is by nature corrupt and devoid of the supernatural.66 Against the Socinians and Arminians, who would press this knowledge into the service of salvation, the Reformed note that natural knowledge of God serves only to order society, establish general rules of morality, restrain gross sin, and leave man without excuse in his fallenness. Any further use of natural theology among pagans would imply salvation by works, apart from grace.67 What is more, the natural theology developed by Christians serves not to save souls but to confirm the truths of revelation: in no instance is natural theology salvific.68 By way of contrast, a saving knowledge of God is supernatural not only in its object and ultimate source but also in its instrumentality and its acquisition by the mind. Supernatural theology is mediated by the revealing activity of the logos prophorikos and the Spirit, and it is received by a supernaturally given disposition of knowing (habitus sciendi) or, more precisely, disposition of believing (habitus credendi) distinct from the disposition that receives the natural knowledge of God through perception of the creation. Although the term was not favored by the orthodox because of its medieval usage in the doctrines of grace and justification, theological knowledge is clearly an “infused” knowledge (cognitio infusa) resting, in the receiving mind, on an infused disposition (habitus infusa). It is not an innate, ingrafted or acquired knowledge, all of which are natural to the human mind.69 Heidanus notes, however, in a statement reminiscent of pietist attacks on Lutheran orthodoxy, that theological knowledge acquired by study is separable from saving faith: the habit of saving faith must be infused, but the acquisition of theological knowledge is possible even when faith is utterly lost!70

B. Natural and Supernatural Theology: Distinctions of Subject, Object, and Causality 1. The subject and object of natural theology. This disjunction between natural and supernatural theology can be further explained in terms of distinctions in genus, subject/object, efficient cause, material, form, end, and adjuncts. Polanus argues that only theologia supernaturalis is theologia properly so-called, since it alone rests upon God’s self-revelation in Scripture. Theologia naturalis, when it makes a valid claim to truth and is not, therefore, to be classified as theologia falsa, is properly a form of philosophy. It is what the Philosopher calls “theology,” which is to say, metaphysics, prima philosophia. Natural theology is that [knowledge of God] which proceeds from selfevident principles (principium secundum se notis) by the natural light of the human intellect according to a human mode of reasoning; and therefore it deals with divine things only as far as the natural light is capable of knowing.71 Natural theology belongs, as philosophy, to the genus scientia, whereas theology is more properly a form of wisdom (sapientia).72 By way of contrast, Alsted labored, perhaps excessively, to place natural and supernatural theology into the same genus. His position is not, however, too far removed from that of Polanus inasmuch as Alsted’s definition recognizes the genuine conformity of natural theology to the strict Thomistic view of scientia and notes the failure of the definition to fit the case of supernatural theology. Polanus does not address the question of a Christian natural theology; Alsted poses the question and is pressed to define the discipline as a theology rightly so-called.73 In addition, he cannot equate rational theology with philosophy or metaphysics inasmuch as it is a true knowledge of “divine things” such as is found in the Book of Job and the Psalms: theology, not philosophy of any sort, is presented in the holy books!74 Natural and supernatural theology differ also with respect to the subject with which they deal, that is, with respect to object. The proper subject or object of theology is divine things (res divinae) properly and simply so-called, whereas the subject of natural theology is divine things in part properly but in part improperly so-called, according to human opinion. Natural theology, then, can fall into the difficulty of having its subject dealt with falsely. This problem relates directly to the distinction between the efficient causes of natural and supernatural theology: the efficient cause of the former is nature and the light of nature upon the human intellect, with the light of the intellect itself being the instrument of understanding; the efficient cause of the latter is grace and the light of the Spirit.75 Thus, natural theology is acquired naturally

whereas supernatural theology is acquired in a supernatural way, resting upon the revelation of God.76 2. Differences with respect to causes and “adjuncts.” Furthermore the form and material of natural and supernatural theology differ. The form of supernatural theology is divine truth (divina veritas) whereas the form of natural theology, in view of its natural causality, cannot be divine truth. The materials of supernatural theology, moreover, are principles or precepts unknown to nature and graciously revealed (natura ignota et gratiose revelata)—such as the triunity of God and the generation of the Son by the Father. The materials of natural theology are principles or precepts ingrafted into the nature of men (principia seu praecepta natura hominibus insita)— such as the existence of God, the oneness of God, and the need to worship God. Supernatural theology, in addition, contains both Law and gospel, while natural theology is ignorant of the gospel.77 The ends or goals of these two theologies diverge also, since theologia naturalis can not draw man toward beliefs that do not arise from rational investigation, excite the emotions to a desire for and love of God, or set aside the dangerous errors of the world over which Christ has victory.78 Supernatural and natural theology differ, finally, as to adjuncts (adiuncta) or attributes. The former is clear and perfect in itself, since clarity and perfection are also the attributes of its source and cause, the Word of God. The latter, however, is imperfect. Indeed, the obscurity and imperfection of theologia naturalis obtained in the original integrity of humanity even prior to the fall—non finiti ad infinitum dari proportio potest! Thus, even antelapsarian natural theology would have been in need of grace drawing it toward perfection. After the fall, however, in the corrupt and depraved nature of man, the principia of natural theology are far more obscure—indeed they are utterly corrupt and totally disordered (vitiosissima et conturbatissima). Natural theology, therefore, is never, even in itself, capable of perfection.79 6.3 Twofold and Threefold Knowledge of God: The Necessity of Supernatural Theology A. Views of the Reformers 1. Calvin and Viret. Two basic models for understanding the relationship between natural and supernatural, nonsaving and saving knowledge of God were developed by second-generation Reformers. From Calvin, Viret, and the editor of Vermigli’s Loci communes, Robert Masson, comes a discussion of the twofold knowledge of God; from Musculus comes a similar model, substantially in agreement with Calvin and Viret, of a threefold knowledge of God. Both of these models were retained by the Reformed orthodox and used as ways of interpreting the problem of natural reason and its theological

perceptions. Here again we can argue a major point of continuity with the Reformation in the development of orthodoxy, albeit not a simple continuity with Calvin’s thought or a simple reproduction of sixteenth-century arguments in the seventeenth century.80 Perhaps the clearest and most celebrated statement of the soteriologically reinterpreted discussion of reason and revelation, natural and revealed theology, is Calvin’s distinction concerning the duplex cognitio Dei or twofold knowledge of God.81 Calvin identifies the theme of the entire first book of the Institutes as the knowledge of God the Creator,82 as distinct from the knowledge of God the Redeemer that he traces beginning in book two.83 This knowledge of God the Creator belongs both to the order of nature and to the general teaching of Scripture. Pagan philosophy knows something of God as Creator from the order of nature but, ultimately, because of sin, fails to move from that knowledge to true religion and idolatrously confuses creature and Creator.84 Scriptural revelation, therefore, is necessary for us to have a true knowledge of God the Creator—and the special revelation of the gospel promise is necessary for any knowledge of God as Redeemer. This basic model is reflected in many of the Reformed orthodox theologies. The idea of a twofold knowledge of God appears in a somewhat different form in the writings of Calvin’s contemporary, Pierre Viret. Viret argues that men by nature seek their “highest good” (summum bonum) but in and through themselves are unable to attain it. Man must in fact look to God as the source of ultimate goodness since no creature is able to attain that height and since man cannot reach this goodness by his own devices: “the highest good of man and his true felicity and blessedness, as well as the means … is to know God in Jesus Christ his Son.”85 It is insufficient, however, to know merely the fact or truth of Christ since there are two kinds of knowledge of God, the one faithful, the other unfaithful. Even the devils believe and tremble! One who believes unfaithfully fears God not as a good child fears his father but as an evildoer fears his judge. Only one who believes faithfully in God through trust in the mercy of Christ can know God as Father.86 The contrast between Calvin and Viret is significant, particularly for the discussion of natural theology. Viret makes a simple bifurcation between unsaving and saving, unfaithful and faithful, natural and revealed theology. Those who attempt to reach God through creatures or through themselves encounter not the highest good but rather a judge of sin and, indeed, a “cruel tyrant.”87 Only in Christ is God known as Father. Calvin had, in fact, made a similar distinction concerning the seeming paradox of the demand for utter righteousness under the law and the fact of human inability. In his sermons on Deuteronomy, he noted that “in the holy scripture God uses a double

speech”—not that God contradicts himself or delivers one saying that is “repugnant to” another. Rather, writes Calvin, in the absolute demands of the Law, God speaks “as a judge and not as a father.” Once we have “received this word” and are “confounded” in our sinfulness by the righteousness of God’s demand, then “God cometh speaking as a father,” offering to release from their debt to him all who believe in Jesus Christ.88 Calvin makes no attempt here, however, to draw together this language of God as judge and father with a concept of revelation or a distinction between knowledge of the creator and knowledge of the redeemer. Viret’s parallel language of the knowledge of God as judge and tyrant had its impact on orthodoxy—but his simple bifurcation was less influential than Calvin’s distinction between knowledge of God as Creator and knowledge of God as Redeemer, with its implication, spelled out at length in the argument of book one of the Institutes, that knowledge of God as Creator, albeit a natural knowledge, was available both as a false, pagan theology and as a true, Christian theology clarified by the “spectacles” of Scripture.89 God is manifest as Creator both in the workmanship of the universe and in “the general teaching of Scripture” but as Redeemer only in Christ.90 Although Calvin speaks of a twofold knowledge of God, he points to three forms taken by that knowledge—a corrupt, partial, and extrabiblical knowledge of God as Creator, a biblical knowledge of God as Creator, and a knowledge of God in Christ as Redeemer. This threefold reading of the issue is reflected both in Musculus’ Loci communes and in the teachings of many of the Reformed orthodox 2. Musculus. At the very beginning of his Loci communes Musculus deals with the issue of our knowledge of God. He begins by arguing that the “natural and fleshly man” lacks knowledge of “the things of God” and even less “understands or knows God himself.” But even the “spiritual man” can lack a “plain and perfect” knowledge of those things which concern the Majesty of God, which is so clothed and covered with inaccessible brightness, that the finest part of our mind or understanding can by no means comprehend it. And yet such is our estate as men, that there is nothing which with greater danger we may be ignorant of, than of our God, by whom we were made, and by whose heavenly grace were called to this intent and purpose, that we should know him, obey him, and serve him, unless we will willingly fall into everlasting damnation. So stand we in a profound predicament—with the most mighty and unsearchable Majesty of God on the one side, and the necessity of our salvation on the other side.91 Nevertheless, the true knowledge of God is gained only by degrees. The

first step, so designated by the initial question of Musculus’ system, is the setting aside of impiety and confessing the existence of God. This confession is far from the end of the knowledge of God, but is the necessary beginning, without which “man cannot climb to higher things.” The second degree appears as a negative counterbalance to the confession of God’s existence: not any God, but the true God must be confessed. “We must know also who is the true God, lest that through the error of Pagans, we happen on any that is not God.” As the third, fourth, and fifth degrees, Musculus enunciates the basic articles of biblical faith: we must know God as Creator of heaven and earth, as one in essence and three in person, and as having the particular nature described by the attributes of sufficiency, omnipotence, truth, goodness, lovingkindness, mercy, and justice.92 Sixthly, it belongs also to the true knowledge of God, to know that he is the father of our Lord Jesus Christ, and that he sent him into the world, because of the salvation of man, to be a mediator, redeemer, and saviour, to save all who believe in him, and that he has adopted them to be his sons and heirs of his kingdom. By this knowledge of God we are separated from all nations that are strangers to Christ.93 Next, says Musculus, this sixth degree of knowledge must become a matter of personal faith, to the end that we recognize God as Father “particularly unto each of us, loving, merciful, and the most assured saviour.” Finally, the seventh degree of knowledge is the result of faith manifested in love, service, and obedience. We must acknowledge God to be the one true God, depending upon him only in clear hope and trust, regarding him above all things in heaven and on earth. If a man lack this, the saying of the Apostle can be applied to him: they confess that they know God, and deny him in their doings.94 Knowledge, writes Musculus, depends on two things: One is, that the thing which is sought, may be known in deed: the other is, that he who would know, be enabled by capacity of understanding to know that which he seeks to know.95 We can know neither those things that are not nor those things which are beyond our senses and understanding. Recognizing these restrictions on all knowledge we can proceed to explain the nature of our knowledge of God. To the end that he may be known, “God opens himself to the knowledge of man” in three ways: The first and most general is that which arises from his works. The second is more special, declared by his own speech. The third is most

special of all, which is by his secret inspiration.96 The first is most general because it is given equally to all people of all nations. The majesty of God is shown forth in all the world, in earth and in heaven, so much so “that no man can excuse himself for not knowing God.” Our first knowledge of God and the philosopher’s knowledge of him are founded on “the light and brightness” of his works. Among other things, the “most constant order,” the “endless continuance” of created things demonstrates the wisdom of the Creator and his “power and might” in preservation of the world. These good things together with the “marvellous terror of lightnings and earthquakes, pestilences, gapings of the ground, strange sights from heaven” and the truth of prophesies which “plainly pass the limits of man’s foreknowledge” the “power of the godhead to govern all things in the world” is clearly established to the mind of man.97 “The second way that God is known consists in the Word, for God hath opened himself to our fathers by word and speaking, even from the beginning of the world, until the days of the New Testament.”98 This mode of revelation is to be considered “special” since it was not given to every nation but to Israel first and then to the Gentiles by Christ “with the general gift of salvation to all men.”99 The third way by inspiration, is by secret revelation of the holy spirit. And this way I call most special, indicating a distinction from the other two, which are indifferent to good and evil, and restricting this way to the elect, who beside the light of works, and the declaration of words, obtain a most certain knowledge of God, yet rather a feeling and a taste of him, by the lively and effectual inspiration and revelation of the holy spirit of God.100 The first two ways of knowing God serve to leave “man’s reason … utterly void of excuse.” The third alone turns “the hearts of men … effectually … toward the true service of God.” Even so, it is the elect of God who by “the inward revelation of the spirit” study the knowledge of God most diligently as it is given in his works and in his Word.101 Significantly, both of Musculus’ paradigms of the knowledge of God—the eight levels of human knowing and the three modes of divine revelation— retain the distinction between knowledge of God as Creator and Lord and knowledge of God as Redeemer and Father in Christ. In the eightfold model Musculus emphasizes (his sixth degree or level) the necessity of knowing God savingly in Christ—indeed, the whole model hinges on the distinction between true knowledge in the first five degrees and saving knowledge savingly applied in the last three. The three modes of divine revelation, in nature, in Scripture, and redemptively in the Spirit, reflect the implied

threefold model in Calvin’s duplex cognitio Dei. B. The Reformed Orthodox Approach to Natural and Supernatural Knowledge of God 1. Orthodox approaches—two paradigms. On the basis of the preceding discussion, a series of distinctions can be made that make sense out of the problem of natural theology and that point to a high degree of continuity between the theology of the Reformers and the thought of their scholastic successors. Characteristically, these distinctions receive less than adequate treatment at the hands of Barth and scholars like Parker, who tend to follow Barth’s presentation of Calvin’s views on natural theology.102 First, we note a distinction between natural revelation, as placed in the creation by its Creator, and natural theology, as built upon that revelation. Second, there is the distinction resident in Calvin’s thought and the thought of early orthodox writers like Junius and Polanus, between theology in se and theology in subiecto, between the ideal order and the order in fact. To this we must also add the distinction between an unregenerate and a regenerate use of natural revelation and the underlying distinction between the imago Dei before the fall and its shattered remains in fallen man. These models for understanding the knowledge of God carried over into Reformed orthodoxy and, indeed, the specific language of the duplex cognitio Dei remained normative: it was identified by DeLaune, in the era of early orthodoxy, as a structural principle of Calvin’s theology, and stated as the fundamental pattern of revelation by Polanus on the continent and Downame in England.103 When we speak of a continuity between the Reformers and the orthodox on this point, we define it broadly, as a continuity not with a particular writer like Calvin or Musculus, even though a large portion of their specific language carried over into orthodox theology, but as a continuity of interest in a particular construction of the problem of natural and supernatural theology. In addition, whereas Calvin and his contemporaries were content with the categorical statement of the necessity of saving knowledge in Christ coupled with a recognition of various levels of theological knowledge extra Christum, the orthodox saw a need to develop at some length, with attention to their relationships and differences, a whole series of technical distinctions concerning human knowledge of God. Thus Polanus: In the first place, knowledge of God (cognitio Dei) is twofold (duplex): namely of God the creator (Dei creatoris) and of God the redeemer (Dei redemptoris). Knowledge of God the redeemer is knowledge of Christ, which is either bodily or spiritual.

In the second place, knowledge of God is either perfect or imperfect. In the third place it is either natural or revealed. Revealed knowledge of God is either spiritual or literal and both of these are either mediate (mediata) or immediate (immediata). Further, knowledge of God is either innate (innata) or acquired (acquisita) or infused (infusa). Moreover, it is either general or special. Its opposites are a privative ignorance of God and a presumptive knowledge of God (praesumta notitia Dei).104 The division between natural and revealed or supernatural theology argued under this rubric of duplex cognitio Dei places both theologia naturalis and theologia revelata squarely within the categories of theologia vera and, subordinate to that, theologia ectypa and theologia viatorum. Natural theology as considered by Polanus and the other Protestant scholastics is not necessarily or always a pagan or false theology: it can be a Christian, true theology. What is more, it cannot be severed absolutely from revealed or supernatural theology: it is clearly a form of revelation, and its origin and object are supernatural—namely, God. Theologia naturalis, in this limited, Christian sense of a cognitio Dei creatoris, resting on the natural order but clarified by Scripture itself, is distinct from theologia supernaturalis primarily in terms of the mode of revelation and the goal or purpose (finis) of theology.105 The former corresponds with the category of general revelation in Scripture, the latter with special revelation concerning Christ—although, of course, Scripture itself, as the Word of God, is supernaturally given and never in itself natural theology. This problem of a twofold general revelation or natural theology, together with the typical Reformed emphasis on the necessity of a revelation of God the Redeemer, appears in the model borrowed by Edward Leigh from Zanchi: There are three Glasses, in which God manifests himself to us: 1. The Glasse of the Creature 2. The Glasse of the Holy Scriptures 3. The Glasse of Jesus Christ: in that Glasse alone God is rightly known and perfectly shines.106 Zanchi had made these comments in his Compendium praecipuorum capitum doctrinae christianae, a short system written early in his career and based, significantly, on the 1545 edition of Calvin’s Institutes.107 In 1545, Calvin had already formulated much of his teaching on the knowledge of

God, but he had not yet added the famous language of the duplex cognitio Dei. Thus, Zanchi could read the Institutes as discussing knowledge of God in creation, Scripture, and in Christ—a threefold knowledge. The speculum creaturarum is clear by itself (per se clarum), the speculum sacrarum Scripturarum still clearer (clarius), while the third “glass” or mirror, Christ himself, the true image of God, is by far the clearest of all (omnium longe clarissimum).108 The model is also a nearly perfect reproduction of Musculus’ teaching. Zanchi elaborates at considerable length on the content and the limitations of the speculum creaturarum. Inasmuch as God’s nature is incomprehensible and hidden from the human mind, only faint marks or signs (notae) of the divine majesty can be seen in the creation, but they are clear enough to leave mankind without excuse for its ignorance. As Scripture itself testifies, the created order manifests the majesty of God and, in addition, individual divine virtues, such as the wisdom, power, eternity, goodness, providence, righteousness, mercy, and power of God. From God’s righteousness, moreover, the future judgment of sin can be inferred.109 Such knowledge ought to lead to true religion and to the hope of eternal life. It is not a defect of the mirror, but the defect of our vision that yields up false religion and corrupt knowledge of God and that makes necessary a second mirror for the knowledge of God, the mirror of Scripture.110 For the sake of his elect, Zanchi writes, God has provided a remedy to the problem of the sinful distortion of the truths given in the speculum creaturarum. Thus the Word of God came to Adam, Noah, and the patriarchs in the form of inward illumination, oracles, and visions and then, beginning with Moses, was committed to writing in order to preserve the truth of God from the errors and lies of a sinful world.111 Scripture, thus, stands as the Word of God, having its own authority prior to the authority of man, prior even to the authority of the church.112 Following out the implication of Calvin’s Institutes, which would eventually, in 1559, make a clear division between knowledge of God as Creator and knowledge of God as Redeemer, Zanchi closes his first locus with the comment that he will discuss the third “mirror,” Christ, at a subsequent point. Since, moreover, Zanchi’s subsequent christological discussions do not assume an inward knowledge, given apart from Scripture, the third mirror is to be understood as the scriptural revelation of Christ conjoined with the cleansing effect of redemption in Christ.113 If, therefore, the Protestant scholastics regularly make the distinction between natural and revealed theology, the issue is not quite as simple as the bifurcation would indicate. In the “glass of Holy Scripture,” both the “glass of the Creature” and the “glass of Jesus Christ” can be identified. We thus arrive

at a model which recognizes two kinds of natural theology (the one pagan and false, the other redeemed and belonging to the category of theologia vera) and a supernatural or revealed theology which teaches both of God the Creator— corresponding at least in part with the theologia naturalis regenitorum—and of God the Redeemer. Only the latter category, the theology of God the Redeemer, contributes to man’s salvation. The complexity of the model arises from the teaching of the Reformers who were not content to follow the form of the medieval discussion of the knowledge of God and added to the discussion of revelation and reason the problem of the epistemological consequences of sin. Indeed, we find here, despite changes in language, a precise continuity with Calvin’s formulation of the duplex cognitio Dei and its logical and theological consequences. Yet another paradigm of some importance, standing in continuity both with the threefold knowledge described by Musculus and Leigh and with the contrast between God as Judge and Redeemer argued by Viret, is found in Charnock’s essay on the knowledge of God in Christ. Charnock clearly draws insights from covenant theology into his discussion by distinguishing between the natural, legal, and evangelical knowledge of God. The creation provides “a true, though not a full, discovery of God” in which divine attributes like power, wisdom, goodness, immutability, eternity, omniscience, sovereignty, spirituality, sufficiency, and majesty can be known. Nonetheless, even before the fall, human nature was incapable of knowing “the perfections of God in such a manner as they are discovered in Christ.”114 Since the fall, even this limited natural knowledge has become confused: our reason is utterly insufficient to provide adequate, much less saving knowledge of God. The legal knowledge of God provides by revelation a knowledge of the moral sovereignty, holiness, and justice (or righteousness) of God. God’s holiness appears in his “precepts,” his righteousness in his “threatenings”—“nothing of adoption and justifying grace” is represented in the Law. Nevertheless, together with the precepts and threatenings, there was given “a sufficient revelation of God to direct them to Christ, who could only render God visible and intelligible to man.”115 “The evangelical discovery of God by Christ is clearer” than the revelation in creation and in the Law inasmuch as in Christ God appears in the sweetness and beauty of his nature, as a refreshing light. The creatures tell us that there is a God, and Christ tells us who and what that God is.116 This evangelical, saving knowledge, however, although clear in itself “as is possible in its own nature” attains for us only “such a clearness as the present state in this world is capable of”: it will be “superseded by the light of glory,”

and even this final knowledge falls short of the fullness of divine knowledge inasmuch as a “created understanding” cannot know an infinite mind as it knows itself.117 Although, moreover, not explicitly connected with the development of Reformed covenant theology, these threefold models draw on the Reformed interest in the problem of the two testaments and on interest, present in covenant theology, in the prelapsarian condition of human beings. The threefold model also reflects the Reformed orthodox discussion of theology as communicated to human beings—ectypal theology of largely natural revelation prior to the fall, followed by ectypal theology of supernatural revelation after the fall, with the stages of human life, sin, and grace, modifying the nature of the theological result. Thus, the historical or salvation-historical approach of the Reformed, most evident in the late sixteenth-century rise of federal theology, is also found in both the definitions of theology and in the discussion of the forms of the knowledge of God, natural and supernatural. 2. The use and place of natural theology in the Christian context: Du Moulin and Turretin. The somewhat varied approach of the Reformed orthodox to the question of natural knowledge of God, particularly the use of a threefold paradigm of natural, scriptural, and evangelical or natural, legal, and evangelical, like Calvin’s distinction between the natural knowledge of God in creation, apart from the aid of Scripture, and the natural knowledge of God available to Christians with the aid of Scripture, sets a series of boundaries on the usefulness of natural theology—boundaries that are observed and developed by the Reformed orthodox. Du Moulin’s foundational treatment of this problem manifests considerable respect for the mind, speaking of it as the greatest faculty of the soul and of knowledge of the truth as the “principal ornament and perfection of the understanding.” The greatest height of understanding, moreover, is the knowledge of God. We note here the traditional bipartite view of man as body and soul, the latter being the inclusive term comprising the various spiritual faculties as its organs. Du Moulin’s respect for the powers of the mind is tempered, however, from the very outset of his argument by his view of the necessity of revelation: because God is not an object to be perceived but is the fountain of light by which man perceives all things, “God cannot be known … unless he infuse our souls with true knowledge of himself.”118 (This language of divine illumination, it should be noted, hardly fits the explanation of Protestant scholasticism as utterly Aristotelian: the language belongs definitively to the Augustinian tradition and its philosophically realist, somewhat platonizing approach to the problem of knowledge. What is more,

among the medieval scholastics this approach is found not in Aquinas but in Bonaventure and various Augustinian theologians.)119 This necessity of revelation leads Du Moulin to make a distinction between reason and revelation, philosophical concepts and theological doctrines. That man has an inherent knowledge of God is demonstrated both by pagan religion and by his general acceptance of the laws deduced from nature. Philosophers, furthermore, have deduced conceptions of God as Unmoved Mover, as first efficient cause, as Creator and Orderer of the world. Because of this knowledge of God apart from scriptural revelation, Du Moulin sees the need to elaborate upon man’s natural ability and define its limits. In the first place, natural knowledge of God is not entirely idolatrous— even though it has been put to wrongful use. Nature conveys some true knowledge of God to man, even if it is insufficient.120 Even so, natural theology contains the idea of God as “the most perfect Being, from whom flows and on whom depends all entity and perfection.” From this definition follow the attributes of eternity, simplicity, and wisdom. If pagan religions show the sinfulness and idolatry of the wrongful use of this natural knowledge of the divine, philosophy can manifest the more positive ability of the natural man to conceive of God rightly. Philosophy can state the perfections of God, albeit in an imperfect manner. What the natural man lacks is the pure knowledge of God as revealed in his Word.121 A supernatural revelation is necessary if there is to be any true religion. It alone provides true, saving knowledge. It alone teaches true worship of God.122 The two components of true religion, knowledge and observance, must rest upon supernatural revelation. The entire discussion of the positive elements of natural theology stands, therefore, within the bounds of the Reformed paradox of the fractured remains of the imago Dei and the gift of virtues by common grace. Man’s conscience still provides a basic knowledge of the Law, nature still mediates some sense of the divine existence and command, and God still nurtures civic virtues—but none of these gifts is of any soteriological significance.123 Du Moulin elaborates further upon this problem: reason and the law in nature provide knowledge of God as Creator, as master of life, and as giver of the requirements for right regulation of life. They also give a vague notion of what God is in himself, apart from his relation to external objects. Here Du Moulin clearly allows, albeit in a limited degree, for a metaphysical theory drawn out of nature. Reason and law also give man a sense of terror, an awareness of sinfulness, and a consciousness of just punishment. Yet a definite limit is set upon man’s knowledge of God—the corruption of his nature. Indeed, Du Moulin can go so far as to state that without the gospel, all

knowledge of God and his works is useless speculation (no matter how correct) and a burden upon the conscience. Only the gospel reveals God as he wills to be toward man—as Father and Redeemer.124 The problem is not so much the utter unavailability of natural knowledge of God, then, as its inefficacy. These statements lead Du Moulin to set forth the basic tenets for Christian theological anthropology, including especially the problem of the relation of the fall to the image of God in man. As first created, in God’s image, man was characterized by holiness and righteousness. Such was the imago Dei in its purity—a spiritual rectitude and a basis for communion with God. Then man “revolted from God of his own accord and by the suggestion of the Devil, whereupon sin came into the world and by sin death and malediction.” The imago Dei was not totally lost, but disfigured by sin so that there remains in every man some sense of the divine and a small seed of honesty and justice. There can now be no complete and saving knowledge of God through reason or nature, but because of the remnant of knowledge and because of our perception of the Law, we are all left without excuse in our sins. Thus, the entire anthropological and soteriological structure of Reformed theology must be brought to bear on the prolegomena, to the end that the initial epistemological statement of the system recognizes the impossibility of saving knowledge apart from the divine initiative. Despite the great respect he manifests for reason and philosophy throughout his treatise, Du Moulin, like Aretius—and, for that matter, like Calvin—concludes that revelation supplies man’s only hope: the epistemological problem is surmounted only in Christ, only in the One who reveals God as Father.125 Du Moulin and his orthodox brethren, therefore, were unable to develop a theological epistemology without adumbrating their subsequent soteriological arguments, the primary point at issue being the theme of the duplex cognitio Dei. Du Moulin points out that, for the sake of man’s salvation, God sent his only begotten Son into the world to be united with human flesh. The Son, who is one God with the Father and the Holy Spirit, assumed human nature “without diminution of the divinity or mixture of the natures.” We note here the trinitarian ground motif of Reformed thought as well as the distinctive christological pattern with its emphasis on the divine transcendence. Christ, as the God-man, is the Mediator who joins and therefore reconciles these otherwise disparate extremes. In his human nature, writes Du Moulin, the Son of God performed the work of redemption, fulfilling the laws and making satisfaction for sin. He is the Author of eternal life to all who believe in him, for in him we are made sons of God through faith and by the “Spirit of Adoption.”126

Du Moulin can therefore write, “… though God inhabits inaccessible light, he has made himself visible in some manner in his Son, who is the image of invisible God and God with us. Whosoever endeavours to come to God by any other way shall find him a Judge and not a Father.”127 The duplex cognitio Dei thus creates a paradox of the union and disunion of philosophy and theology in the great orthodox systems: on the one hand, God is the fountain of light by which we perceive all things, while on the other we cannot truly receive this divine light apart from Christ. Thus—if as Calvin said—knowledge of God and knowledge of self are intimately related, there can be no truly useful unregenerate knowledge. Philosophy, although it is a crucial adjunct to theology, stands under judgment, and even the nominally nonsoteriological loci of the system cannot be understood without faith. Again we see that the prolegomena are not an isolated point of departure but in fact depend upon the system they propose to ground. The impact of the duplex cognitio Dei is stronger in some systems than others. In the era of the Reformation, Calvin and Viret mark the high point of its influence whereas Musculus and Vermigli develop somewhat different perspectives on the problem and are more open to natural theology. In the era of early orthodoxy the situation is similar: the duplex cognitio Dei is powerfully enunciated by Du Moulin and Polanus, while its influence is less apparent in the works of Scharpius, Gomarus, Alsted, and Walaeus—although each of the latter sets up barriers to the use of natural theology. Even so, in the high orthodox era, Heidegger and van Mastricht stand out as holding to a clear separation between natural and supernatural theology, while Turretin and Pictet see a vague promise in Christian philosophy. Turretin, moreover, can echo strongly the language of the duplex cognitio Dei. Turretin can argue that salvation, after the fall, depends upon “the revealed Word of the Law and the Gospel.” The issue, argues Turretin, is not the existence of natural theology or natural religion: “we may admit, indeed, some sort of natural theology arising from the light of nature, upon which supernatural theology may be built—for example, that God exists, that God is to be worshipped.”128 The issue against the Arminians, is that such natural religion or natural theology cannot provide adequate or proper foundations (principia adaequata et propria) for true religion: Wherefore Curcellaeus wrongly distinguishes faith in God from faith in Christ, as if the former is absolutely necessary to salvation, the latter only the result of divine revelation; for there can be no true and saving faith in God, that is not conjoined with faith in Christ, John 14:1. For we are unable to believe in God unless it is through Christ.129 Ultimately, then, natural theology is not a foundation for true knowledge of

God, even though it contains some truth. Turretin does not elaborate how this natural theology can be “built” upon—since it is clear that no one can move from natural to supernatural theology apart from the gracious revelation of God in Christ. He may have in mind a pedagogical or legal use of natural theology as described by Charnock and corresponding with the Reformed doctrine of the threefold use of the Law, or he may be pointing, much as Pictet would, toward an initial use of the proofs of God’s existence in Christian theology, and therefore toward the beginnings of a more rationalistic theology.130 In either case, however, a sharp line remains between the nonsaving character of natural theology and the salvific character of supernatural theology. At no point is there a clear movement of Reformed theology toward rationalism—rather, we find, in the spectrum of opinion on natural revelation and natural theology, a consistent concern to identify the distinctively soteriological character of Christian doctrine, so that the usefulness of natural theology, even as written by the regenerate, is questioned. This conclusion carries even in those few places where the seventeenthcentury orthodox do in fact speak of a natural basis of some sort for supernatural theology. We have already cited one such passage from Turretin: in his discussion of the role of reason in matters of faith, Turretin can also acknowledge a few “rays of natural light and certain first principles, the truth of which is unquestionable” that remain in the sin-darkened human understanding. These truths, Turretin continues, are not only true in the context of nature, but also in the context of grace and the “mysteries of the faith.”131 In very much the same vein, Owen can indicate that “the inbred principles of natural light, or first necessary dictates of our intellectual, rational nature” provide a “rule unto our apprehension” of all things, even of divine revelation.132 Witsius can even declare that the faint glimmerings of the natural light provide a “foundation” on which the gospel can build: “for as grace supposes nature, which it perfects; so the truths revealed in the gospel, have for their foundation those made known by the light of nature.”133 Although Witsius here addresses calling and, specifically, the character of the natural knowledge that seems to call human beings to God, only to leave them without excuse in their sins, he also, like Turretin and Owen, raises the issue of the positive relationship of natural reason and the truths it knows to revelation and supernatural theology. Despite Turretin’s intimation that one can “build” on natural revelation and Witsius’ use of the term “foundation” it is clear that they do not intend to undermine their prior assumption that “supernatural theology” is “strictly called revealed, because its first principle is divine revelation strictly understood, and [because] it is grounded on the word, not on creatures.”134

Rather Turretin’s intention is to elaborate his other claim that theology drawn on other forms of knowing “as a superior from inferiors” in the very specific sense that it “presupposes certain previously known things upon which it builds revelation.” Thus, despite the fact that reason and faith “are of different classes, the former natural, the latter supernatural,” they are not “opposed”: rather “reason is perfected by faith and faith supposes reason.”135 Not corrupted reason, but reason “as sound and in the abstract” concurs with and supports theology.136 Indeed, as Owen indicates, reason can discern when theological claims are illegitimate—as in the case of the utterly irrational Roman Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation. This is not a mystery from beyond reason, like the Trinity, but a teaching that is contrary to reason—as Turretin would say, a doctrine that proposes not incomprehensible but incompossible things.137 3. Toward the creation of a Reformed natural theology: Alsted and Cloppenburg. Sixteenth and seventeenth-century Reformed discussion of the use and place of natural theology in the Christian context, like the discussion of the knowledge of God, did not yield a single neatly defined paradigm for the construction of natural theology. In the case of Alsted, who developed a full-scale natural theology, there is a rather positive view of the ability of reason, aided by the Holy Spirit and by Scripture to produce a significant discussion of the meaning of God’s natural revelation. In the case of Cloppenburg, there is far less optimistic assessment of the contents and use of natural theology, albeit he recognizes that, properly conducted, this theology can understand much about the one God and his creation. There is also a difference between Alsted’s early orthodox view, which includes Scripture among the fundamenta of natural theology and VanTil’s late orthodox approach that identifies reason as the sole principium. Still, none of the writers examined proposes the development of a series of basic doctrinal topics drawn from natural theology as a formal basis for a system of revealed theology—nor would any one of them allow that, for example, the placement of a discussion of divine essence and attributes prior to a doctrine of the Trinity, is an attempt to move from natural to supernatural theology in Christian doctrine.138 The natural or rational foundation that they propose for supernatural theology is the most basic rational grasp of principles, specifically principles of other valid forms of knowing, including a minimal set of theological truths known to reason, that are not contradicted by revelation. There was no intention here of recommending a system of natural theology as the basis for a system of supernatural theology: this did, of course, become part of the highly rationalistic Wolffian project in the eighteenth century. Larger works of “natural theology” in the seventeenth century either belonged to a rationalistic philosophical program, such as that

of Herbert of Cherbury,139 or assumed a context of “sound” and regenerate reason functioning at an abstract level. It is the case, moreover, that the winds of rationalism in the late seventeenth century, notably the increased interest on the part of Reformed theologians, like Wittich and Tronchin, did yield a convergence of these two tendencies on the assumption of a greater ability of reason. Thus, even before the rise of Wolffian dogmatics, Reformed theologians like VanTil and Venema accorded a greater role to reason and, in the case of VanTil, proposed a fairly large-scale natural theology as a form of praeparatio evangelica. Seventeenth-century Reformed works on natural theology, however, tended to fit into the latter category and were, incidentally, relatively few in number in contrast to the many systems of theology based on Scripture and written in dialogue with the churchly tradition. Alsted’s extended Theologia naturalis is conceived as belonging within the bounds of the Christian academic community and as obliging the soteriological limits set by the confessions and by the system of revealed theology. Natural theology serves as an adjunct and not a precondition of that system. Alsted assumes, with Aquinas, that “grace does not destroy nature, but perfects it” and that “grace is not contrary to nature.” Nor does he develop an isolated, purely philosophical natural theology: “the foundation (fundamentum) of natural theology is threefold, reason, universal experience, and Holy Scripture.”140 The model is significantly in continuity with the Reformation-era perception that the knowledge of God is not merely twofold, as Creator and Redeemer, but threefold: God the Creator known from nature, God the Creator known through the glass of the scriptural examination of the natural order, and God the Redeemer known only through Scripture. Indeed, despite Alsted’s seemingly more optimistic view of the task of philosophy and logic, his assumption that natural theology rests on both rational examination of nature and the biblical presentation of the created order stands in a certain degree of continuity with Calvin’s sense that the natural knowledge of God is corrected and completed in the biblical Word. In such a system, Alsted can develop proofs of the existence of God, a doctrine of God as Being, a view of the essential attributes of God (but not of the divine affections, like love and mercy), a doctrine of God as Creator and Governor of the world (but not a fully developed locus of creation and providence), plus a discussion of angels as spiritual beings, man as microcosm, and physical being in its various properties.141 Although the discussion is enlightened throughout by biblical references, it remains nonsoteriological in character and observes the strict distinction between natural and supernatural revelation. In addition, the doctrines of natural theology are not proposed as a basis for building a system of supernatural theology. Alsted’s work, as the full title shows, is an essay in apologetics

designed to refute the “Atheists, Epicureans, and Sophists of the present day.” By way of contrast, Cloppenburg appears initially to allow far less possibility for natural theology than other Reformed writers of his era: against Socinus he allows a “natural knowledge of God, part inborn (congenita) and part acquired,” but he noted that this is not to be understood as a “distinct and explicit” knowledge of God such as is given in Scripture, but rather, a rough or unformed knowledge, “that tells of the existence of Deity in a confused and indistinct way” on the basis of the “light” resident in nature.142 Albeit indistinct and confused, this “inborn … universal apprehension” does lead to a “demonstration of the necessary existence of God from his effects.” Indeed, comments Cloppenburg, the existence of God is known in five ways: (1) from the interconnectedness of all things (compages); (2) from their motion; (3) from the order of causes in the world; (4) from the governance of all things, which points toward the necessary existence of a prime Mover and first efficient cause; and, equally so, (5) from the sole rule (monarchia) of the entire universe understood as “the procession of all causality, of secondary causes from the first efficient cause to the final and ultimate cause,” inasmuch as it indicates the existence of infinite being (ens infinitum).143 All of these conclusions, as Cloppenburg’s subsequent statements indicate, conform to the teachings of Scripture: the necessary existence of God, apart from a prior principle or cause is witnessed by Isaiah who identifies God as “the first and the last,” “before whom there is no God” (Is. 44:6, 7; 43:10). Indeed, Cloppenburg appears to understand the testimonies of Scripture to the existence and attributes of God as consistently mirroring the logic of the attributes that can be developed from the proofs, pointing positively to the existence and attributes where the proofs had indicated a more negative way, by the removal of imperfection.144 All of these considerations, the noetic results of sin that press Reformed models from a simple twofold knowledge of God to a threefold knowledge, the distinction between natural knowledge before the fall and the idolatrous use of this knowledge after the fall, the distinction between an original form of natural revelation and a subsequent revelation either in nature with the aid of Scripture or in and through the law, and even the development of a distinct natural theology for apologetic purposes, point finally toward the difference between an unregenerate and a regenerate, a pagan and a Christian understanding of natural revelation. Heidegger underscores this contrast between a theologia naturalis irregenitorum and a theologia naturalis regenitorum in his discussion of the uses of natural theology. Even though it is not salvific, comments Heidegger, the natural knowledge of God (notitia Dei naturalis) ought not to be dismissed as useless: it leaves the contentious

and obstreperous among the unregenerate without excuse before God (Rom. 1:20) and provides those not yet regenerate but searching in nature for God and salvation with the capability of sensing and discovering the presence of God (Acts 17:27). What is more, the regenerate, having been taught the true God and his way of salvation by means of the word of God, may revere all the more the wisdom, power and goodness of God manifest in his works and wonders, and may establish all faith in the one and only God of Israel who alone does such wonders by a return of sorts to the instruction of nature. This use of the works of God is commended magnificently in Psalms 8, 19, 104 and 136.145 Mastricht similarly notes a distinction between pagan natural theology, which is a kind of theologia falsa, and the natural theology of Christians used as a confirmation of revealed truth.146 4. The problem of reason, natural theology, and the new rationalist philosophies in the era of late orthodoxy. As noted earlier in the discussion of religion,147 the beginning of a change in perception of the role of reason is evidenced in the positive reception of Cartesian thought, first by Cocceians like Burman and Heidanus and later by several of the Genevan thinkers of the late sevententh and early eighteenth century, while a major change in perspective occurred in the mid-eighteenth century under the impact of Wolffian rationalism. Burman and Heidanus regularly had recourse to the definition of truth as “clear and distinct perception,” and Burman evidenced a distinct appreciation of Descartes’ ontological argument for the existence of God.148 Among the Genevans, the increasing rationalism of the age is certainly evidenced in J.-A. Turretin’s increased emphasis on reason and nature. The contrast between his thought and that of his father, Francis, is marked. A contrast is even evident between his thought and that of his elder cousin, Pictet, whose Theologia christiana already shows signs of the style of the so-called “transitional theology.” The younger Turretin introduces his outline of theology with the definition, “All theology is contained in two books, the Book of Nature and the Book of Scripture, toward the development and explication which the entire effort of theology ought to be concerned.”149 To reinforce the point, Turretin argues in the following section of his Cogitationes that “since God, who is the author of revelation, is also the author of reason, it is impossible that revelation can teach anything that conflicts with reason.” As for those who condemn the use of reason in theology, he continues, inasmuch as they argue the point rationally, they subvert their own case and legitimize the use of reason!150 “Theology is the discipline that deals with God and with the things of

God,” and the prior form of theology, available to all mortals, rests on the light of nature. Indeed, revealed theology presupposes natural theology in the sense that it is analyzed and explained using principles drawn from natural theology—and inasmuch as revealed theology “restores, perfects, and illuminates” natural theology.151 Nor ought the truths of natural theology concerning the existence and the attributes of God be doubted by Christians, since it is taught in Scripture that “the heavens declare the glory of God, (Ps. 19)” and that the gentiles who lack the revealed law have the law inscribed on their hearts (Romans 1–2).152 Thus, Fausto Socinus’ claims that nature offers no knowledge of God must be denied—and his use of Heb. 11:3 and 6 to argue the point is easily refuted, inasmuch as the chapter teaches that faith is the assurance of things unseen, not that faith is opposed to reason!153 The irony of the younger Turretin’s argument lies in its attempt to oppose the virtually fideistic stance of early Socinianism with a rationalistic argument agreeable to Arminian, Socinian, and latitudinarian churchmen alike in the later eighteenth century. Where J.-A. Turretin drew the line between his latitudinarian version of orthodoxy and rationalism was in his encounter with the more speculative rational systems of the day: his Cogitationes indicate, albeit very briefly, a profound distaste for Spinoza’s form of rationalism: “Demonstratio Spinozae pro una tantum substantia, miseris aequivocationibus nititur.”154 The younger Turretin had not become an utter rationalist.155 Among the Wolffian theologians and philosophers of the eighteenth century, however, reason was viewed as principium cognoscendi theologiae and, as a result, natural theology could be viewed as the basic theology upon which a system could be built and to which certain revealed but rationally explicable data could be added.156 This identification of reason as a foundation of theology becomes the normative view of eighteenth-century Reformed writers like Venema, Vitringa, and Wyttenbach.157 Wyttenbach went so far as to argue that not only does revealed theology correct the defect of natural theology and complete its truth but also that natural theology was a necessary prolegomenon to revealed theology. Inasmuch as revealed theology presupposes but cannot prove the existence of God, natural theology with its theistic arguments is the foundation on which revealed theology rests: the denial of natural theology must lead to the denial of revealed theology.158 A similar movement from natural to revealed theology appears in the system of Salomon van Til.159 At one level, this development may appear to be a direct descendant of Turretin’s brief comment on natural theology as a foundation and Pictet’s assertion of the value of the proofs—but at a more profound level, it marks the rise of a new philosophical perspective and of a full system of natural

theology such as would never have been countenanced by Turretin or Pictet. What is even more significant is that its immediate precursors in the seventeenth century were not approaches to the problem of the natural knowledge of God such as were found among the confessional orthodox. One of these precursors appears to be the assumption of philosophical skeptics, such as La Mothe Le Vayer and Pierre Bayle, that the existence of God could not be an article of faith based on revelation but was necessarily a presuppositional truth based on the light of nature or reason. Indeed, in seventeenth-century Roman Catholic circles, this had even become a standard reading of Thomas Aquinas’ proofs. As the English Catholic, Henry Holden, argued, the existence of God must be a presupposition of faith or a preamble to faith given that all articles of faith are accepted as true on divine authority —and one cannot, without falling into a circular argument, accept on divine authority that there is a divine authority!160 Another precursor was the broadening knowledge among European philosophers of content and depth of various eastern philosophies or religions. Leibniz, for one, was profoundly acquainted with the writings of Roman Catholic missionaries to China that had appeared during the seventeenth century, in particular with the work of Matteo Ricci, who had argued the compatibility of much of Confucian philosophy with Christian doctrine.161 After Leibniz, Wolff became famous— or notorious—for his oration on the same subject, offered as a rectoral address at Halle, in 1720. He was forced out of the university by the Pietists, but his views on natural theology were profoundly influential.162 There is, therefore, a certain irony in the rise of this rationalistic perspective among the Reformed and the Lutherans in the eighteenth century, given its pedigree: on the one hand, the form of the argument belongs to the philosophical skeptics, and on the other hand, the implied principial status of reason is precisely the structure of theology argued by the Socinians and the Arminians in the seventeenth century (albeit on semi-Pelagian rather than purely rationalistic grounds). The presence of this rationalistic perspective in eighteenth-century theology, therefore, marks the end of genuine Reformed orthodoxy or, at very least, the disruption of the model of orthodoxy and its identification of Scripture alone as principium cognoscendi theologiae with reason as an instrument or ancilla. One might also conclude that this shift in perspective also marks the end of the influence of the medieval scholastic model as well. The final paradox of the Reformed treatment of natural theology is that the theologia naturalis regenitorum, because it is not saving, can never become a locus of theological system. Although they argue pointedly that the regenerate can look to natural revelation and discern the true God, the Reformed orthodox recognize that this discernment so rests upon the grace of God and

the clearer vision of the opera Dei made possible by the general revelation in Scripture that it can never become the basis even of the doctrine of creation. At very best, the theologia naturalis regenitorum belongs to the church’s exercise of praise and to the ancillary tools utilized by theology in its arguments. It can never serve as the basis of an argument or the reason for a conclusion. Therefore, natural theology stands at the edge of Christian thought or, to put the case positively, it exists as a result rather than as a basis for Christian doctrine. The truths of natural theology are not excluded from supernatural theology—they are included in the body of revealed doctrine— not because natural theology is the rational foundation of the system but because its truths belong to the higher truth—in Maresius’ words, “as a greater number includes a lesser.”163 Natural theology can, in its discussion of divine essence and attributes, gain some knowledge of what God may be (quid sit Deus). It cannot, however, learn who God may be (quis sit Deus), that is, the triune, personal God.164 The system itself rests entirely upon scriptural revelation for its primary content.165 5. Orthodoxy on the relationships and limits of natural theology—the question of continuity, discontinuity, and the older scholarship. We are now in a position to comment on several of the approaches to the problem of rationalism and natural theology in the older literature—particularly on those in which some aspect of the Reformed orthodox view is identified as an incipient or even a full-blown rationalism. First, there is H. E. Weber’s assumption of a parallel between the relationship of reason to revelation, natural to revealed theology, and law to gospel. Weber argued close parallels here, to the extent that he could claim that reason and natural theology came to be viewed by the more rationalistic of the Reformed orthodox as preparatory or propaeduetic, much in the way that the revelation of the law functioned pedagogically as a prelude to the gospel.166 There is, surely, a parallel between the pagan or false natural theology and the preevangelical, elenctical, and pedagogical use of the law—just as there is a less accurate parallel between the natural theology of the regenerate and the postevangelical, normative use of the law (the so-called tertius usus legis).167 Just as the law condemns, so does natural revelation leave human beings without excuse. We find no evidence, however, that the Reformed orthodox recognition of the parallel between natural law and the Decalogue led to a view of pagan natural theology (theologia falsa) as a kind of praeparatio evangelica: from Musculus to Polanus and Alsted, to Du Moulin, Charnock, Turretin, and Heidegger, this form of natural theology carries with it only the elenctical or condemnatory function of the Law, not the full usus paedagogicus. It serves only to leave men without excuse and it offer no positive content that can become of use to the regenerate. This conclusion

appears as well from Calvin’s distinction concerning the revelation of God as judge in the law and as father in grace through Christ: not only did Calvin refrain from establishing a full relationship between this use of the law and a distinction between natural and supernatural knowledge of God; in addition, his sermons strongly imply that he viewed this approach to the problem of the law as lying within the work of grace and, therefore, within the bounds of a supernatural or scriptural revelation. This distinction between a natural revelation in the created order and the full revelation of the law as a distinct mode of revelation, as found in Charnock, directly opposes Weber’s conclusions. Even Heidegger who, at the very close of the era of orthodoxy, indicates a pedagogical use of natural law, does so only in the case of the notas-yet regenerate elect, on the assumption of the operation of grace. We see here an adumbration of the Puritan and pietist soteriological preparationism, not of any kind of philosophical rationalism. Similarly, we find no evidence that the concept of a natural theology of the regenerate was used by the orthodox as a new basis for Christian morality. There is, then, no discussion of Christian natural theology in terms of the usus normativus legis. All of the writers we have examined in this chapter consider the Decalogue as given by supernatural revelation, and necessarily so in view of the depth of human sinfulness.168 It is typical of the Reformed orthodox to raise the issue of the relationship of the Decalogue as part of the covenant of grace—with many insisting that the commandments belong to the gracious work of God, from the point of their revelation on Sinai, when defined according to their third use.169 The limited function of natural theology, therefore, never serves, in the orthodox systems, as a means of drawing supernatural revelation within the bounds of natural reason. The opposite is true of the Arminian systems: here we see a distinct effort to bring grace and Christian morality totally within the realm of nature and to create a bridge between Christian theology and philosophical rationalism.170 In addition, the high orthodox Lutheran systems, together with the systems of early seventeenth-century pietists like Freylinghausen, do make a cautious equation between natural theology and the pedagogical use of the Law.171 Nonetheless, the Lutherans and the pietists, like the Reformed and unlike the Arminians, continue to drive a wedge between the nonsaving and the saving knowledge of God, with the result that the system remains closed to rationalism. The development, in rationalist systems of the eighteenth century, of a truly foundational natural theology represents a basic alteration of perspective and a loss, not an outgrowth or further refinement, of the orthodox system. We must object strenuously, therefore, to the all-too-frequent and utterly erroneous claim that orthodox or scholastic Protestant theology generally viewed natural revelation and the natural theology drawn from it as a

foundation on which supernatural revelation and a supernatural theology can build. Otto Weber makes this mistake when he declares that orthodoxy fashioned its doctrine of special revelation into “an understanding of the knowledge of God as rational insight into supernatural truths” and thereby came to view special revelation as no more than a completion of our natural knowledge of God and to assume that “Christian knowledge” fits into “the model of rational knowledge.”172 Rather, supernatural revelation, identified not so much as an unnatural or preternatural way of knowing but as a graciously given way of knowing, provides the context within which all other knowledge must ultimately be understood. The problem is not one of the hegemony of reason over revelation but rather one of the proper use of revelation over against the purely rational or natural. 1 Cf. Althaus, Die Prinzipien, pp. 73–95; and Bizer, Frühorthodoxie, pp. 32–

50; cf. Barend Johannes van der Walt, “Natural Theology with Special Reference to the Viewpoints of Thomas Aquinas, John Calvin and the ‘Synopsis Purioris Theologiae,’ ” in Heartbeat: Taking the Pulse of our Christian Theological and Philsophical Heritage (Potchefstroom: Potchefstroom University, 1978), pp. 253–258. Also note idem, “Was Calvin a Calvinist or Was-Is Calvinism Calvinistic,” in In Our Reformational Tradition, ed. T. van der Walt, L. Floor, et al. 1984), pp. 369–377. 2 Karl Barth and Emil Brunner, Natural Theology, comprising Nature and

Grace, by Emil Brunner, and the reply, No, by Karl Barth, trans. Peter Fraenkel (London: G. Bles, 1946); Karl Barth, The Knowledge of God and the Service of God According to the Teaching of the Reformation [The Gifford Lectures, 1937–38], trans. J. L. M. Haire and Ian Henderson [London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1938]; Edward A. Dowey, The Knowledge of God in Calvin’s Theology (New York: Columbia University Press, 1952); T. H. L. Parker, The Doctrine of the Knowledge of God: A Study in Calvin’s Theology, rev. ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1959). 3 Weber, Foundations of Dogmatics, I, pp. 117–118. 4 E.g., John Newton Thomas, “The Place of Natural Theology in the Thought

of John Calvin,” in Journal of Religious Thought, 15 (1958), pp. 107–136; Gerald J. Postema, “Calvin’s Alleged Rejection of Natural Theology,” in Scottish Journal of Theology, 24/4 (1970), pp. 423–434; Susan E. Schreiner, The Theater of His Glory: Nature and the Natural Order in the Thought of John Calvin (Durham, N.C.: Labyrinth Press, 1991); Christopher B. Kaiser, “Calvin’s Understanding of Natural Philosophy: Its Extent and Possible Origins,” in Calviniana: Ideas and Influence of Jean Calvin, ed. Robert V. Schnucker (Kirksville, Mo.: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1988), pp.

77–92. 5

Calvin, Institutes, I.ii.1; vi.1, 2; xiii.9, 11, 23–24; II.vi.1; Pierre Viret, Exposition familière sur le Symbole des Apostres (Geneva, 1560), pp. 13–15; Musculus, Loci communes, I.i. 6 Bullinger, Decades, IV.iii (II, pp. 124–125). 7 Bullinger, Decades, II.i (II, p. 194); cf. Calvin, Institutes, II.viii.1; III.xix.15

and Calvin, Commentary on John, 1:5 (CTS John, I, p. 34). 8

Johann Heinrich Alsted, Methodus sacrosanctae theologiae octo libri tradita (Frankfurt, 1614), with the Theologia naturalis as book III; Salomon Van Til, Theologia naturalis compendium, in his Theologiae utriusque compendium cum naturalis tum revelatae (Leiden, 1704; second edition, 1719). 9

Cf. Howard Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, 1588–1638: Between Renaissance, Reformation, and Universal Reform (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000), pp. 66–77. 10 Alsted, Theologia naturalis, praefatio, pp. 2–3. 11 See the materials cited in explanation of the use of philosophy and reason

in Davanant, Exposition of Colossians, 2:8, in loc (I, pp. 387–407) and cf. the conclusions in Muller, After Calvin, pp. 133–136. 12 Calvin, Institutes, I.iii.1–3. 13 Calvin, Institutes, I.v–vi. 14 Calvin, Commentary on Psalms, Ps. 19:1 in loc. (CTS Psalms, I, p. 308;

CO, 31, col. 194), my italics; cf. Parker, Knowledge of God, pp. 34–36. 15 Calvin, Commentary on Psalms, Ps. 19:7 in loc. (CTS Psalms, I, p. 317;

CO, 31, col. 199). 16 Calvin, Commentary on Acts, 14:17 (CTS Acts, II, p. 19). 17 Calvin, Commentary on Acts, 17:22 (CTS Acts, II, p. 154); and see the

discussion in PRRD, III, 3.2 (B.3). 18 John Calvin, Clear Explanation of Sound Doctrine concerning the True

Partaking of the Flesh and Blood of Christ in the Holy Supper, in Selected Works, II, p. 512 (CO, 9, 471–472); and cf. the discussion in Steinmetz, Calvin in Context, chapter 12 (pp. 172–186). 19 Dowey, Knowledge

of God in Calvin’s Theology, p. 73, citing Calvin,

Institutes, I.v. 20 Dowey, Knowledge of God in Calvin’s Theology, pp. 74–75; also see Susan

E. Schreiner, The Theater of His Glory: Nature and the Natural Order in the Thought of John Calvin (Durham, N.C.: Labyrinth Press, 1991; repr. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1995), pp. 22–23, 70–72, 87–95. 21 This is certainly also the view of the Gallican Confession, i.2 and Belgic

Confession, ii, which Barth (Church Dogmatics, II/1, p. 127) claimed to be antithetical to Calvin’s own position. See the pointed rebuttal of Barth in Pierre Courthal, “Karl Barth et quelques points des confessions de foi Reformées,” in La Revue Reformée, 9 (1958), pp. 1–29 and see the discussion, with similar result, in John Platt, Reformed Thought and Scholasticism: The Arguments for the Existence of God in Dutch Theology, 1575–1650 (Leiden: Brill, 1982), pp. 104–110. 22 Peter Martyr Vermigli, Loci communes (London, 1583), I.ii.1. 23 Vermigli, Loci communes, I.ii.3. 24 Vermigli, Loci communes, I.ii.5. 25 Vermigli, Loci communes, I.ii.8. 26 Vermigli, Loci communes, I.ii.12. 27 Vermigli, Loci communes, I.ii.14. 28 Vermigli, Loci communes, I.ii.15. 29 The nature or character of the philosophy of the Reformed in the era of

orthodoxy is also an issue to be defined: it is certainly incorrect to label the philosophy of the Reformed scholastics as uniformly “Aristotelian” or “Thomistic.” The late Renaissance context indicates a diverse and eclectic philosophy drawing on Aristotelian, Platonic, Augustinian, and even Hermetic themes. See Stephen Menn, “The Intellectual Setting,” in Garber and Ayres (eds.), Cambridge History of Seventeenth-Century Philosophy, pp. 33–86, and further below, 8.1 (C). 30

Lambert Daneau, Christianae isagoges ad Christianorum theologorum locos communes libri II (Geneva, 1588), in Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, p. 3; Aretius, Theologiae problemata, I: 1–2; and Rijssen, Summa, I.vii. 31 Cf. Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.10–11; Turretin, Inst. theol., I.iii.5; iv.8–9;

Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i; Junius, De vera theologia, x. 32 Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, pp. 66–68. 33 Muller, After Calvin, pp. 127–130. 34

Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., I.iii.4; iv.1; citing Socinus, Praelectiones theolgicae, ii.

35 Cf. Rijssen, Summa theol., I.ix, controversia. 36 Alsted, Theologia naturalis, I, theoremata i–ii. 37 Maccovius, Loci communes, i, p. 5. 38 See above, 5.2 (C), 5.5 (A). The pattern of argument, as already noted, does

shift in the eighteenth century in the writings of such thinkers as Wyttenbach, Stapfer, and Klinkenberg. 39 Alsted, Theologia naturalis, I, theoremata iv–vi. 40 Alsted, Theologia naturalis, I, theoremata vii–ix; and see the discussion in

PRRD, III, 3.2 (A.3). 41 Argued still in Klinkenberg, Onderwys, II.10 (vol. III, pp. 147–170). 42 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinity, p. 18 (my italics). 43 William Ames, Adversus metaphysicam (Franecker,

1625), pp. 4–9; cf. Platt, Reformed Thought and Scholasticism, pp. 174–175; and see PRRD, III, 3.2 (A.3). 44 Cf. Walaeus, Loci communes, I (p. 116). 45 Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, viii–x; with Barlow, De studio theologiae,

pp. 1–2. 46 Junius, De vera theologia, thesis xiv; cf. Maresius, Collegium theol., I.iv–v,

on theologia viatorum as both natural and revealed or supernatural; also Poliander et al., Synopsis purioris, I.vi–vii. 47 Alsted, Praecognita, I.xiii. 48 Alsted, Praecognita, I.xiii; and see above, 5.1 (A, C). 49 Cf. Rijssen, Summa, I.iv–vii; Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.vii, ix, xii–xiv;

Turretin, Inst. theol., I.ii,7; Junius, De vera theologia, ix–xi; with DLGT, s.v. “revelatio generalis/revelatio specialis.” 50 Alsted, Praecognita, I.x. 51 Alsted, Praecognita, I.xiv. 52 Alsted, Praecognita, I.xiv. 53 Pictet, Theol. chr., I.ii.2,4. 54 Pictet, Theol. chr., I.iii.2–3. 55 Pictet, Theol. chr., I.iii.2–3. 56 Calvin, Institutes, I.iii.1–3; v.1–2. Calvin does not use the term cognitio

intuitiva—although the concept may in fact be implied in his use of cognitio

in relation to the semen religionis. This conclusion is drawn in Thomas F. Torrance, Hermeneutics of John Calvin (Edinburgh: Scottish Academic Press, 1988), pp. 129–130—where, unfortunately, no effort is made to identify the clearer connection between these late medieval themes and the theology of Calvin’s successors: cf. Polanus, Syntagma theol., I.viii, on the distinction between cognitio intuitiva and cognitio abstractiva. 57 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.iii.4 [virtually identically given in Rijssen, Summa,

I.iv]; cf. Pictet, Theol. chr., I.ii.2. 58 This point relates to a fundamental flaw in the theories of Jack Rogers, who

claims that the Reformers and Westminster Divines held a Platonist view of the relationship of faith and reason: on this issue, Platonism yields a rationalist perspective, quite foreign to Reformed thought, whether in the era of the Reformation or of orthodoxy. See Rogers, Scripture in the Westminster Confession, pp. 82–83, 247–254; and Rogers and McKim, Authority and Interpretation, pp. 100–102, 203; and note the difference between seventeenth-century English Platonism and Puritan thought, as well as the comments on the highly rationalistic cast of the Cambridge Platonists in Tulloch, Rational Theology in England, II, pp. 8–26, 483–487. 59

Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.iii.11; iv.8, citing Rom. 1:20; cf. Cocceius, Summa theol., I.xvii; Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.xii–xiii. 60 Cf. DLGT, s.v. “cognitio” and “cognitio intuitiva.” 61 Turretin, Inst. theol, I.iii.11; cf. de Moor, Commentarius, I.xii (p. 41). 62 Cited by Rijssen, Summa, I.iv; and used by Calvin, Institutes, I.iii.1. 63 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.iii.5; cf. Pictet, Theol. chr., I.ii.3. 64 Walaeus, Loci communes, I (pp. 115–16). 65 Cf. Walaeus, Loci communes, I (pp. 115–116) with Owen, Theologoumena,

I.vii.13; and de Moor, Commentarius, X.xii (p. 42). De Moor (p. 47) cites Calvin, Inst. I.v, in support of his point. 66 Walaeus, Loci communes, I (p. 116). 67 Cf. Walaeus, Loci communes, I (p. 116) with Turretin, Inst. theol., I.iv.; and

with Owen, Theologoumena, I.iv. 8–10. 68

Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.18–19; note that even Heidanus, whose theology was open to Cartesian influences, agrees on this point (Corpus theologiae, I. 2, 13–14). 69 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vi.4; and see further, below, 7.4, on theology as

habitus.

70 Heidanus, Corpus theologiae, I: 3. 71 Polanus, Syntagma, I.x. 72 Polanus, Syntagma, I.x. 73 Alsted, Praecognita,

I.xiii; and see below, 7.2 (B), on the problem of

genus. 74 Alsted, Praecognita, I.xiv. 75 Alsted, Praecognita, I.xiv. 76 Polanus, Syntagma, I.x; cf. Owen, Theologoumena, I.vii.28. 77 Polanus, Syntagma, I.x; cf. Junius, De vera theologia, x; Walaeus, Loci

communes, I (pp. 118–119). 78 Polanus, Syntagma, I.x. 79

Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, x; Polanus, Syntagma, I.x; Alsted, Praecognita, I.xvii. 80 See Richard A. Muller, “Duplex cognitio Dei in the Theology of Early

Reformed Orthodoxy,” in The Sixteenth Century Journal, X/2 (1979): 51–61. 81 Calvin, Institutes, I.ii.1; vi.1, 2; xiii.9, 11, 23–24; II.vi.1. 82 Calvin, Institutes, I.ii.1. 83 Cf. Calvin, Institutes, II.vi.1. 84 Cf. Calvin, Institutes, I.iii–v. 85 Pierre Viret, Exposition familiere sur le Symbole des Apostres (Geneva,

1560), p. 13. 86 Viret, Exposition familiere, p. 15. 87 Viret, Exposition familiere, p. 15. 88 Calvin, Sermon on Deuteronomy 28:1–2 (p. 946, col. 2). 89 Calvin, Institutes, I.vi.2. 90 Calvin, Institutes, I.ii.1. 91 Musculus, Loci communes, i. 92 Musculus, Loci communes, lxi. 93 Musculus, Loci communes, lxi. 94 Musculus, Loci communes, lxi. 95 Musculus, Loci communes, lxi.

96 Musculus, Loci communes, i. 97 Musculus, Loci communes, i. 98 Musculus, Loci communes, i. 99 Musculus, Loci communes, i. 100 Musculus, Loci communes, i. 101 Musculus, Loci communes, i. 102 Cf. Parker, Knowledge of God, pp. 34–36. 103 Cf. William DeLaune, Institutionis christianae religionis a Ioanne Calvino

conscriptae, Epitome in qua adversariorum obiectionibus breves ac solidae responsiones annotantur per Gulielmum Launeum (London: Thomas Vautrollerius, 1583); also, idem, Editio secunda emendatior: Tabulis etiam & indice multo facilioribus & locupletioribus (London: Thomas Vautrollerius, 1584); translated as An Abridgement of the Institution of Christian Religion, written by M. Iohn Caluin, trans. Christopher Fetherstone (Edinburgh: n.p., 1585; 86; 87); Polanus, Syntagma, Synopsis Libri IX; Downame, Summe, i (p. 6). Note the discussion of DeLaune and the “duplex cognitio” in Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 66–67, 73–74. 104 Polanus, Syntagma, Synopsis Libri IX. 105 See above, 5.5 (A). 106 Edward Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.ii, citing Zanchi; and note the identical

paradigm in Aretius, Theologiae problemata, I (p. 3). 107 Zanchi, Compendium, in Opera, VIII, col. 617–18. 108 Zanchi, Compendium, col. 627. The chronology of Calvin’s and Zanchi’s

work may indicate that Zanchi influenced Calvin toward the formulation of the concept of duplex cognitio Dei. 109 Zanchi, Compendium, cols. 628–29. 110 Zanchi, Compendium, cols. 630–31. 111 Zanchi, Compendium, cols. 631–32. 112 Zanchi, Compendium, col. 633. 113 Zanchi, Compendium, col. 638; cf. col. 710ff., and col. 724–725, i.e., locus

7, De fide and locus 8, De Symbolo Apostolico, where Zanchi speaks at length of faith and of knowledge of God in Christ. See especially col. 712 where Zanchi quotes Calvin’s definition of faith (from Institutes, III.ii.7). 114 Charnock, Discourse of the Knowledge of God in Christ, in Works, vol. 4,

pp. 115–118; cf. Cocceius, Summa theologiae, I.xvii (cited in Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, pp. 4–5). 115 Charnock, Discourse of the Knowledge of God in Christ, pp. 123–124. 116 Charnock, Discourse of the Knowledge of God in Christ, p. 125. 117 Charnock, Discourse of the Knowledge of God in Christ, pp. 127–128. 118 Pierre Du Moulin, A Treatise of the Knowledge of God (London, 1634), p.

2. 119 Cf. Copleston, History of Philosophy, II, pp. 62–67, 286–289 et passim. 120 Du Moulin, Treatise of the Knowledge of God, pp. 3–9. 121 Du Moulin, Treatise of the Knowledge of God, pp. 25–26; cf. pp. 4–9. 122 Polanus, Syntagma, I.xi. 123 Cf. the citations from Heidegger, Witsius, Keckermann, and the Leiden

Synopsis in Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, pp. 291–92, 364–65. 124 Du Moulin, Treatise of the Knowledge of God, pp. 24–25, 36. 125 Du Moulin, Treatise of the Knowledge of God, pp. 55–58; cf. the similar

christological argument in Aretius, Theologiae problematae, I: 4; and Calvin, Institutes, I.ii.1; vi.1. 126 Du Moulin, Treatise of the Knowledge of God, pp. 56–57. 127 Du Moulin, Treatise of the Knowledge of God, p. 57. 128 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.iv.3. 129 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.iv.20. 130 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.iv.20 with DLGT, s.v. “usus legis”;

and Charnock, Discourse of the Knowledge of God in Christ, pp. 123–124; cf. Pictet, Theol. chr., I.i.1. 131 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.ix.5. 132 Owen, The Reason of Faith, in Works, IV, p. 85. 133 Witsius, De oeconomia foederum, III.v.15. 134 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.ii.7. 135 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.vi.8; ix.5. 136 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.ix.10. 137 Cf. Owen, The Reason of Faith, in Works, IV, p. 86 with Turretin, Inst.

theol. elencticae, I.ix.9.

138 Cf. Andreas Beck, “Gijsbertus Voetius (1589–1676): Basic Features of His

Doctrine of God,” in van Asselt and Dekker (eds.), Reformation and Scholasticism, p. 213; and see further, PRRD III, 3.1 (A–B); 4.1 (A). 139

Edward Herbert, Baron of Cherbury, Lord Herbert of Cherbury’s De religione laici, edited and translated with a critical discussion of his life and philosophy and a comprehensive bibliography of his works, by Harold R. Hutcheson (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1944). 140 Alsted, Theologia naturalis, I.i. 141 Alsted, Theologia naturalis, II, ad fin; cf. de Moor, Commentarius, I.xviii

(p. 60), on the contents and limits of natural theology; also Pictet, Theol. chr., I.ii.6. 142 Cloppenburg, Exercitationes super locos communes, II.i.4. 143 Cloppenburg, Exercitationes super locos communes, II.i.5. 144 Cloppenburg, Exercitationes super locos communes, II.i.6–8. 145 Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.12. 146 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.18. 147 Above, 3.4 (B.2–3). 148 Burman, Synopsis theol., I.xiv.7–8; cf. Heidanus, Corpus theol., I (pp. 8,

10). 149 J.-A. Turretin, Cogitationes de variis theologiae capitibus, §1. 150 J.-A. Turretin, Cogitationes de variis theologiae capitibus, §6, 8. 151 J.-A. Turretin, De theologia naturali, I.i–iii. 152

J.-A. Turretin, De theologia naturali, I.vi–viii; cf. idem, De veritate religionis judaicae et christianae, II.iii. 153 J.-A. Turretin, De theologia naturali, I.xvi. 154 J.-A. Turretin, Cogitationes de variis theologiae capitibus, §17. 155

An unpublished manuscript indicating in more detail the younger Turretin’s thoughts on Spinozism has recently been brought to light by MariaCristina Pitassi, “Un manuscrit genevois du XVIIIe siécle: la ‘Refutation du système de Spinosa par Mr. Turrettini,’ ” in Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis, 68 (1988), pp. 180–212. 156 Cf. Sigmund Jacob Baumgarten, Theses dogmaticae (Halle, 1767), prol.;

and Samuel Endemann, Institutiones theologiae dogmaticae (Hanover, 1777– 78), prol.; with the pointed statement from Johann Christoph Beck’s

Fundamenta theologiae naturalis et revelata cited in Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, p 187. 157 Cf. Venema, Institutes, prol. and ch. 1 (pp. 8, 10–11); Vitringa, Doct. chr.

I.16–17; Wyttenbach, Tentamen theol., prol., 4–5. 158 Wyttenbach, Tentamen theol., prol., 7–9; a similar point is implied by

Pictet, Theol. chr., I.i.1. 159 Van Til, Theol. comp. cf. I.i.4 with II.i; on the validity of rational theology

see I.iv.1, 3, 6. 160 See Alan Charles Kors, “Scepticism and the problem of atheism in early-

modern France,” in Scepticism and Irreligion in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, ed. Richard H. Popkin and Arjo Vanderjagt (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1993), pp. 191–193. 161 See Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Writings on China, trans., with an intro.,

notes and commentaries by Daniel J. Cook and Henry Rosemont (Chicago: Open Court, 1994). 162 See Julia Ching and Willard G. Oxtoby, Moral Enlightenment: Leibniz

and Wolff on China, (Nettetal: Steyler, 1992). 163 Cited in Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, p. 187. 164 De Moor, Commentarius, I.xviii (pp. 60–61). 165 See below, 8.2 and 8.3, on the use of philosophy and reason in theological

system; and cf. Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.12. 166 Weber, Reformation, Orthodoxie und Rationalismus, I/2, pp. 274–277. 167 Cf. DLGT, s.v. “usus legis.” 168 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, XI.i.22–23; with the opposition of the

Decalogue in the Westminster Shorter (ad fin., following q. 107) and Larger catechisms (qq. 91–97); and note, e.g., Junius, Theses theologicae, XXIII.3; Wollebius, Compendium, XIII.i., propositions 7 and 8. 169 E.g.,

Turretin, Inst. theol., XII.v.23; Hermann Witsius, De oeconomia foederum Dei cum hominibus libri quattuor (Utrecht, 1694), IV.iv. The identification of the covenant of works with the law together with the historical inclusion of the Sinai revelation in the history after Abraham generated much debate over the relationship of the law to the covenant of grace in the seventeenth century: on this issue see Michael McGiffert, “From Moses to Adam: the Making of the Covenant of Works,” in Sixteenth Century Journal, 19/2 (1988), pp. 131–155; Van Asselt, Covenant Theology of Johannes Cocceius, pp. 252–270, 279.

170 Muller, “The Federal Motif,” pp. 115, 118–119, 121–122. 171 Cf. Calovius and Reusch in Baier-Walther, Compendium, I, p. 9; with

Johannes Freylinghausen, Fundamenta theologiae christianae (Magdeburg, 1734), I.i.1; and note the still more positive view of natural theology and natural religion in the late eighteenth-century pietist, Knapp, Christian Theology, Intro., I.ii.4–5. 172 Weber, Foundations, I, p. 217.



7 The Object and Genus of Theology 7.1 The Object of Theology A. Preliminary Considerations 1. The issues and order of discussion. The discussion of the object and genus of theology found in the Protestant orthodox systems manifests little alteration in substance over the course of the seventeenth century but considerable development in detail. The early orthodox were content to state the object, subject, or material cause of theology and to reflect briefly on the traditional language of theology as knowledge (scientia) or wisdom (sapientia). The later systems, especially those written in the second half of the seventeenth century, tend to discuss these issues at greater length and with broader, freer reference to the medieval materials, as typified by Turretin’s citation of medieval systems for the purpose of providing a paradigm for debate. The fact of development in detail rather than in substance may be traced directly to the prior fact that the medieval materials treat these two issues, object and genus, at such length and with such exhaustive discussion that the entire Protestant development from the Reformers to the close of the seventeenth century occurs within the bounds of this earlier discussion and represents more a positioning of Protestantism within the paradigm than the creation of a distinctively Protestant viewpoint. Once the Protestant scholastics defined with precision the kind of theology found in their systems—an ectypal theology of earthly pilgrims considered in the human subject and grounded primarily on revelation—they found themselves confronted by a series of subordinate questions that, when answered, would further determine the nature of the discipline. What is the object of theology? What is the genus of theology? What is the relationship of theology to philosophy? The order of these questions is important. The relation of theology to another discipline such as philosophy cannot be determined until one understands what kind of discipline theology is—that is, to which genus of discipline it belongs. The genus, in turn, is determined by the primary object considered by theology. The scholastics often, therefore, raise first the question of the obiectum theologiae, the object of theology. 2. Some medieval background. When Aquinas had argued that “all things in sacred doctrine are treated sub ratione Dei,” he did not intend to present theology as an exceedingly metaphysical enterprise, but rather to indicate simply that theology deals either with God himself (ipse Deus) or with things

that are ordered or ordained toward God as to their source or goal (habent ordinem ad Deum, ut ad principium et finem).1 It was clearly Aquinas’ intention to provide a more inclusive definition of the subject of theology than either the traditional Augustinian definition (adopted by Lombard) of theology as the teaching concerning signs and things (doctrina de rebus vel de signis) or the soteriological definition of Hugh of St. Victor, the knowledge of the work of reparation or salvation (opera reparationis).2 Aquinas also rejects the definition of Grosseteste and Kilwardby of the subject of theology as “the whole Christ, head and members” (totum Christum or Christus integer, caput et corpus or caput et membra).3 Aquinas’ definition is also more inclusive, though certainly not as soteriologically oriented as those presented by his contemporaries. Alexander of Hales defined theology as “the science or knowledge of the divine substance known through Christ in the work of reparation” (scientia de substantia divina cognoscenda per Christum in opere reparationis)—a distinct improvement on the Victorine definition but certainly not capable of accounting for all of the topics in Alexander’s own Summa!4 Bonaventure distinguishes between God, the principle of theology; the totus Christus, the subject of theology to which all theology refers; and the broader or more inclusive subject, the universal total of signs and things—attempting to draw together Alexander’s improvement on Hugh with the Augustinian definition from Lombard.5 Aquinas’ far more incisive definition was adopted by such thinkers as Henry of Ghent and Duns Scotus.6 Turretin, apparently, regrets the absence of a strong soteriological thrust in Aquinas and suspects the definition of having a philosophical tendency. Scotus, in his effort to mark the difference between theology and metaphysics, had noted that the obiectum theologiae is God inasmuch as he is God (Deus inquantum est Deus) while the object of metaphysics is God inasmuch as he is Being (Deus inquantum est Ens).7 The issue, as Gregory of Rimini states it, is “that God, considered according to deity as such is the subject of theology” (quod Deus sub ratione deitatis est subiectum theologiae). But this consideration of God as deity does not lead to a speculative attempt to comprehend the incomprehensible essence of God. Gregory maintains, following the logic of Giles of Rome, that the object of theology cannot be God as such in an absolute sense, but rather God considered in a restricted sense (non inquantum Deus absolute, sed contracte est subiectum). This restriction or contraction concerns the capacity of a finite mind to comprehend God: even the theologia beatorum does not have as its subject the infinite God absolutely as he is known to himself. The subiectum or obiectum of theologia nostra, concludes Gregory, following Giles, is God inasmuch as the glorifier (inquantam glorificator). Giles himself identified

the object of theology as Deus inquantum glorificator et salvator—a view not at all distant from the perspectives and definitions offered by Calvin, Turretin, and others in the Reformed tradition, whether during the Reformation or the era of orthodoxy.8 In addition, the late medieval scholastic discussion of God as the object of theology sub ratione deitatis does not typically fall under the objections raised by the Reformers and the Protestant orthodox, but can in fact follow much the same logic as that presented by various Protestant authors in which the object of theology is broadly considered in terms of the contents of theological system. Peter Aureole, by way of example, argues that the consideration of God ratio deitatis includes whatever is divine by essence or by participation so that theology takes as its object both God and his creation, governance, and salvation of the world, even as it considers Christ according to his divinity and humanity.9 Richard of Middleton similarly defined the subject of theological science as discussion of God’s attributes and works, the latter consisting of creation, governance, redemption, justification, and glorification.10 B. The Reformers on the Object of Theology 1. Early considerations: Zwingli and Melanchthon. Formal identification of the object or subject matter of theology by the Protestant scholastics, like their discussion of archetypal and ectypal theology, looks back to medieval models through the glass of the Reformation. The Reformers themselves, both first and second generation, tend not to discuss this issue, although it is clear that they know and approve of the identification of God as the obiectum theologiae or obiectum fidei.11 (There is, moreover, little or no distinction to be made between obiectum theologiae and obiectum fidei when both terms are understood objectively rather than subjectively, namely, when the fides in question is not fides qua creditur but fides quae creditur, the faith that is believed or the content of the faith.) What is evident in the Reformers’ discussions of this issue, however, is the intention to redefine the field of inquiry so as to preclude what they considered to be scholastic abuses. Zwingli, for example, states the scope of his theological discussion in the Commentary on True and False Religion in terms of the identification and defense of true religion against the false forms of religion invented by “the deceitfulness of human wisdom.”12 Given the nature of true religion as consisting in the reaching out of God toward human beings and the reaching out of human beings toward God, the discussion of the subject matter of true religion will emphasize “discerning God and knowing man”—the former necessarily preceding the latter, inasmuch as sinful man cannot know himself,

but must find the source of all his knowledge in God.13 Thus, God and humanity are the objects of study, with the priority given to God and to the knowledge of God. The focus of that knowledge, moreover, is specifically redemptive. Bullinger, similarly and unequivocally, identifies God as “the object and foundation of our faith” because God is the “chief goodness … always ready at our need.”14 Melanchthon even more pointedly identifies this redemptive focus not only of Christianity but also specifically of the object of theological study in the first edition of his Loci communes: after listing a set of some twenty-three standard topics in theology and rejecting out of hand what he believed to be the more speculative ones, Melanchthon pointed toward the topics of Paul’s Epistle to the Romans and identified the study of theology as focused on the fundamental topics “on which the knowledge of Christ exclusively rests.”15 In subsequent editions of the Loci communes, however, Melanchthon deepened and broadened his focus so as to move from the discussion of God and creation to the fall and redemption, arranged to flow from the ultimate cause of the whole, God, through the historical work of salvation. Nor does the study of theology take as its content the reasonings of the human mind about God, but the “God who has revealed himself.”16 2. Calvin on the obiectum fidei. A similar focus of theology on God as he has revealed himself, on the subjects of God and human nature in view of the work of redemption, pervades Calvin’s initial discussions of the subject of focus of his Institutes. In the final form of the work Calvin, like Zwingli, emphasizes the basic topics of knowledge of God and the knowledge of man, and he stresses the twofold character of the knowledge of God—God known as creator and as redeemer.17 Calvin, of course, does not make the connection and modern studies of Calvin have, for the most part, ignored it, but this conception of the knowledge of God as consisting in knowledge of God the creator and knowledge of God the redeemer reflects the language of late medieval Augustinian theologians like Giles of Rome and Gregory of Rimini who insisted that the object of theology is not God in se, but God as creator and redeemer or as creator, redeemer, and glorifier—what is more, the early Reformers and their successors had these definitions at their easy disposal in Altenstaig’s Vocabularius theologiae or, as it was called in later editions, the Lexicon theologicum.18 Although it is often said that Calvin spoke of Christ as the object of faith, to the point that this interpretation has been ensconced in the modern subtitle to a section of his Institutes, Calvin, in fact, comes very close to various scholastic definitions: When faith is discussed in the schools, they call God simply the object

of faith, and by fleeting speculations, as we have elsewhere stated, lead miserable souls astray rather than direct them to a definite goal. For, since “God dwells in inaccessible light” (1 Tim. 6:16), Christ must become our intermediary.… Indeed, it is true that faith looks to one God. But this must also be added, “to know Jesus Christ whom he has sent (John 17:3).”19 Or, again, more clearly, … I subscribe to the common saying that God is the object of faith, yet it requires qualification. For Christ is not without reason called “the image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15). This title warns us that, unless God confronts us in Christ, we cannot come to know that we are saved.20 Like the definition later offered by Turretin, Calvin’s ignores the genuine continuity between his “qualification” of the definition and the theology of “the schools.” There is, as noted above, a certain continuity also between the Protestant perspective and the Scotist and nominalist theology of the later Middle Ages with its denial of reason’s capacity for the knowledge of God and its insistence on the necessity of revelation. This late medieval theology stands in the background of the Reformation—but the orthodox and the Reformers add to it not only the stress on Christ as the center of revelation but also the sense that not merely human finitude but also human sin stands in the way of a rational or natural knowledge of God. Although the discussion itself and its structure rely on medieval models, the content has been altered along lines dictated by the Reformers and, indeed, the medieval model closest to the Reformed orthodox definition—the Augustinian model of Giles and Gregory —is itself a precursor of the Reformation. C. The Object of Theology in Reformed Orthodox Definition 1. The early orthodox development. In the next generation of writers, both Reformed and Lutheran, we find clearer identification of God as the object of theology and, more importantly, recognition that this identification belongs to the preliminary definition of theology as a discipline: The content of all Scripture is the knowledge of God and of ourselves: which is to say, the subject of all theology is God and man, since theology is the knowledge of God: and that consists in two questions, [first] concerning the essence of God and [second] concerning the will of God.21 A similar definition occurs in the schema or diagram of the loci provided by Chemnitz at the end of his prolegomenon.22 The bifurcation of topics is typical of Agricolan and Ramist logic and, moreover, parallels the standard

scholastic division of the obiectum theologiae into primary and secondary objects—God and the “things of God” or objects of the divine willing. Beginning with Junius, the Reformed also take up the topic of the object (or subject) of theology as an issue for consideration in the theological prolegomena. Perhaps because of medieval precedent,23 the early Reformed orthodox take up this issue as part of the discussion of the causality of theology. The importance of the topic led, in high orthodox discussion, to a separate chapter on the obiectum theologiae, distinct from the consideration of causality. Junius provides the most extended early orthodox treatment. The material, subject, or object of theology, he writes, is divine things, which is to say, both God himself and whatever God has ordained.24 Most simply stated, God alone is the subject or material of theology, inasmuch as all theological discourse must be conducted sub ratione Dei, with reference to God as its governing principle. This means that theology will consider topics that belong to other sciences—angels, also treated by metaphysics; or animals and the elements of things, also treated by physics—but will consider these things not after the manner of metaphysics and physics but with respect to God and in relation to his will. As Alsted comments, explicitly following the fathers and Scholastics, “God is the object of theology in the nominative and the genitive case, that is, God and whatever is of God.”25 Gomarus, more simply and precisely, notes that the object of theology is defined in terms of revelation: The material (materia) with respect to which, or the object (obiectum) of theology is God openly revealed according to his own goodness, under whom all the things that belong to theology are considered, not indeed as parts, species or incidental properties, but as they are either God himself or ordained in some way by God.26 To this basic definition, Walaeus adds a soteriological element: The object concerning which theology deals is divine things, namely God insofar as he can and ought to be known by us, and all things that are from God, insofar as they depend on God and refer both to God and to the salvation of man.27 These definitions also correlate with the clear distinction between theology and metaphysics made by Reformed writers of the early seventeenth century. Keckermann, and Maccovius defined the object of metaphysics as “being in general” or “being understood as being” (Ens in genere or Ens, quatenus Ens) and therefore refused categorically to allow metaphysics to take God as its proper object.28 God is the proper object of theology alone—specifically, God understood as the Deus revelatus. The authors of the frequently cited

definitions of Protestant scholasticism as a theology primarily “concerned with metaphysical and speculative questions” seem to have overlooked these basic definitions of the task provided by the Protestant orthodox themselves and to have lapsed into a somewhat polemical and carping twentieth-century theologism.29 2. High orthodoxy and the full definition of the obiectum theologiae. In the wake of the early orthodox development of this section of the prolegomena, later orthodox theologians both focused on the definition, making it central to the conduct of the theological task and revealing, sometimes explicitly and sometimes only implicitly and by reflection, their traditionary roots. Even when the medieval and Reformation roots are not explicitly cited, however, the highly traditionary cast of the discussion and its tendency not merely to reiterate the larger tradition of definition, but to place Reformed thought in relation to a particular trajectory or trajectories, offers further evidence of the Reformed orthodox intention to affirm their catholicity. Turretin notes, first, what is meant by “object” when discussion the object of a discipline in general: The object of any science is all that is principally treated in it, and to which it refers [as to an authority] all of its conclusions; it can be understood, moreover, either materially (materialiter) according to the things considered, or formally (formaliter) according to the way in which they are considered (modus considerandi).30 Given this basic definition, there are several different patterns used by theologians to identify that which is “principally treated” in theology. Turretin follows a long standing pattern that has both medieval and early orthodox Reformed roots: Although theologians speak in differing ways of the obiectum theologiae, they more commonly and correctly identify it as God and the things of God (Deum et Res Divinas), in such a way that God might be the primary and the things of God the secondary object of theology; as either what is made by God or what is believed and done by men, that is, God considered directly and indirectly (in recto et obliquo); or, truly, as God, and things that are of God as his works, and things that are from God as creatures, and things that are directed toward God, as the services of men (hominis officia). Thus all things are treated in theology, either because they are of God himself or because they point toward God as first principle and final end (ut primum principium et ultimum finem).31 The broad definition can also be narrowed to offer an identification of the “principal object” of theology.

It appears that God is the obiectum theologiae both from the word or term itself, theologia or theosebeia; and from Scripture which recognizes no other principal object; and from the character or conditions of the object that are observed in Scripture: 1. that it is something uncompounded (incomplexum); 2. that things are predicated of it denominatively [i.e., not univocally, equivocally or analogically], for example, affections or properties; 3. that whatever is discussed in the subject depends and reflects upon it: God indeed is uncompounded and most simple Being (ens incomplexum et maxime simplex); things are predicated of him denominatively, as his attributes; all things depend upon and refer to him and stand in a relation of origination, conservation and dependence to him.32 Several points are of interest here. In Turretin’s view, returning to the assumptions behind his general definition of the object of any discipline, the object of a unified discipline must be an uncompounded object, of which attributes are predicated in such a way as to belong to it because of what it is —namely, denominatively. In addition, the object of the discipline must be reflected or referenced in all aspects of the discussion belonging to the discipline. The traditional understanding of God as simple or incomplex fulfills the demands of the definition.33 The character of theologia nostra as defined in the preceding sections of the locus presses the Protestant scholastics toward a further qualification of the object of theology and, indeed, toward a clarification of their pattern and method over against certain patterns found among the medieval scholastics: But when God is set forth as the obiectum theologiae, he is not understood simply or absolutely (simpliciter) as God in himself (ut Deus in se)—indeed, as such he is unfathomable (akataleptos) to us; but as he is revealed and as he has deigned to manifest himself to us in the Word.… Nor, surely, is he to be considered according to deity as such (sub ratione Deitatis), as would Thomas Aquinas and many scholastics after him; indeed, this way of knowing him cannot be useful (salutaris), but is deadly to sinners: but he is to be considered as he is our God, that is, covenanted in Christ (ut est Deus noster id est foederatus in Christo), in which manner he has revealed himself to us in the Word, not [merely] as something to be be known, but indeed as something to be worshipped, which two (knowledge and worship) are comprehended in true Religion, as theology teaches.34 Turretin’s language, although he cited no medieval models and contrary to the impression he gives by his attack on Aquinas, directly reflects the medieval debate over the object (or subject) of theology. Rather than assume

ignorance on Turretin’s part—since, after all, he and his Reformed contemporaries were reading and using late medieval systems—we may suppose an unwillingness to cite these sources while making a rhetorical point against Aquinas and in favor of Protestantism. Turretin presents a modified Thomist definition: God and things directed toward God as their source and goal are the object of theology—yet this object must be understood redemptively, in Christ. In addition, the basic division of theology into the things concerning God himself and those things that are directed or ordained toward God as to their source or first principle as well as goal or final end is virtually identical to Aquinas’ definition of the subject of theology.35 Turretin’s definition is not precisely the same as Aquinas’ view, however, but appears to be modified in the direction of Alexander and Bonaventure or of Giles of Rome and Gregory of Rimini—a distinctly Augustinian direction. It is also true that the Reformed prolegomena, as distinct from those of Scotus, Durandus, and Aureole, add to the critique of epistemology a distinctly soteriological dimension by considering the impact of sin and the fall on human reason.36 The soteriological note, particularly in terms of its language of the “covenanted” God, not only links Turretin to the Reformers but also to the Cocceians, Burman, and Heidanus. The latter specifically identifies “the covenanted God” as the object of theology.37 A similar set of concerns, drawn out of the medieval debate and, equally, out of the Reformers’ concern for the establishment of Christ as the center and focus of all language concerning salvation is reflected in Voetius’ discussion of fundamental articles and their relation to the object of theology. Voetius distinguishes between the special, specific object of faith (objectum fidei specialis specifico) which is “Christ or the special application of the promise in Christ” and the general, generic object of faith (objectum fidei generalis generico) which is God or Christ or the Word of God understood simply as the foundation or principium of eternal blessedness. Citing Cajetan, he remarks that the mind understands things in complex or compounded ways— not in incomplex or simple ways—so that it is one thing to ask what must be believed for salvation and another to ask generally the question of the object of theology: the former is a question concerning specific propositions focused on Christ, while the latter is a question concerning simple or incomplex terms.38 Turretin’s third article confirms what we have already learned from the etymology of the term theologia and adds that God must be the primary or proper object of theology insofar as the God revealed by Scripture is prior to all other things. There can be no object of theology prior to God. God is at once the principal and the ultimate object of faith: “Ye believe

in God” (John 14:1), said our Lord to his disciples; and says the Apostle Peter, “who by Him,” that is, Christ, “do believe in God” (1 Pet. 1:21). Believers consider God as the self-existent, uncreated truth, on whom they may rely with the greatest safety; and as the supreme felicity, united to whom by faith, they may become inexpressibly happy. The Creed, accordingly, begins with the words, “I believe in God.”39 The obiectum theologiae and the obiectum fidei must, of course, be one and the same. The basic division of theology into faith and obedience identifies the doctrinal section of system as faith, specifically, as the faith which is believed (fides quae creditur). Moreover, fides is the form of mental assent belonging to theology and believing is the kind of mental disposition (habitus mentis) requisite to theology.40 In his exposition of the obiectum and principium of theology, Burman similarly notes the central epistemological problems of the necessity and form of mediated knowledge of God: … hence, the remote object of Theology, or the object to which it tends, is God.… Truly, the object from which or formal principle, under which Theology considers this object, and by which we distinguish it from other disciplines, is revelation, or the supernatural light, since that object [i.e. God, the obiectum ad quod] is revealed. On which account this doctrine is called a mystery, 1 Cor. 2:7. Indeed, the ground [principium] of theology, the connection [complexum] or basis of knowing, is the Word of God or revelation; on which ultimately, all of our conclusions must be founded. Hearing is by means of the Word of God: Rom 10:17. With thee is the fountain of life. In thy light we see light: Psal. 36:9.41 Like Rijssen, Burman recognizes the necessity of a relationship between the Word of God and all mediated knowledge of God and, therefore, points toward the relationship between Christ as Word and Scripture. The English scholastic, Leigh, comments that Christ “is called the Word, because he is so often spoken of and prominent in Scripture, and is in a manner the whole subject of the Scripture.”42 Cloppenburg similarly limits his identification of the object of theology as homo constitutus in curriculo vitae huius terrenae [I.i.viii]. Even so, the goal or finis of theologia docens is religio, which Cloppenburg defines as “Sapientia spiritualis, secundum Dei in Foedere revelati notitiam, stimulans conscientiam ad Deum sancte colendum.”43 The object of religion, moreover, is “Deus in Foedere revelatus” who, in his one essence is revealed to us as “Creator, Gubernator, Iudex.”44 We note here a major element of continuity between Protestant orthodoxy and the theology of the Reformers: despite the considerable difference in form between the

orthodox and the Reformers, the orthodox system retains the emphasis on revelation in Christ given to Protestant theology by Luther and Calvin, together with the negative assessment of the more speculative and metaphysical side of medieval scholasticism. The definition of the obiectum theologiae, like the definition of theologia nostra, turns away from rationalism and philosophy toward the view of Christ as the measure or scope (scopus) of our knowledge of God. The problem of the obiectum theologiae can be further clarified by a discussion of the way in which theology and its perception of God and the res divinae as its object compare and contrast with other disciplines and their stated objects. Here again the lines of continuity can most easily be drawn between the Protestant and the medieval scholastics—both in terms of actual medieval models for the Protestant discussion and in terms of the reasons for the discussion itself. The scholastics, medieval and Protestant alike, wrote in the context of the university, where the comparison and contrasting of related disciplines was a fact of daily existence.45 This contextual issue is made clear in the exhaustive encyclopedic efforts of Protestant scholastics like Keckermann,46 Alsted,47 in the bibliographical efforts of Voetius,48 and, at the very end of the era of orthodoxy, in the massive guide-book of Buddeus.49 Turretin, for example, recognizes that there is some common ground between theology and the disciplines of metaphysics, physics and ethics—as evidenced by the material objects of these disciplines. Metaphysics deals with God; physics, and ethics deal with man, the former with man in a bodily or natural sense, the latter with man in a moral sense. The difference between those disciplines and theology appears not when the object is considered materially (materialiter) but when it is considered formally (formaliter). Thus theology “treats of God not after the manner of metaphysics inasmuch as he is Being (Ens), or as he is capable of being known by means of the natural light (lumine naturali), but he becomes known through revelation as Creator and Redeemer; theology deals with creatures not as they are things of nature (res naturae) but as they are things of God (res Dei).”50 The system of theology, then, must take care in dealing with nominally metaphysical, physical, or ethical topics so that they are given theological form by being viewed under the duplex cognitio Dei—God known as Creator and Redeemer—and in terms of a theological or “divine” as opposed to a natural perspective. We note that the duplex cognitio Dei, introduced as a formal consideration in theology by Calvin, continues to have an impact on Reformed doctrine in the era of orthodoxy.51 Since, moreover, theology takes as its primary object not God considered as Being but God considered in his revelation as Creator and Redeemer, and

as its secondary object creatures not as “things of nature but as things of God” and insofar as “they have a disposition and ordination toward God” (quatenus habitudinem et ordinem habent ad Deum), the proofs of God’s existence are incidental to theology. The declaration that God is the proper object of theology does not need the proofs for its justification, but can rely on revelation. Turretin writes: If theology has its hands full to prove that God exists (si Theologia probare satagit Deum esse), this does not arise out of its primary and proper intention, but incidentally, through an external necessity (ex adventitia necessitate), truly, for the confutation of profane individuals and Atheists.… The axiom “Science does not prove but supposes its subject” is true in human sciences of an inferior status, but theology which is of a higher order follows another method: it reaches out to prove all things that can be proved by its proper means, which is to say, by divine revelation.52 Theology does not prove the existence of its primary object but rather justifies what it says concerning both primary and secondary objects on the basis of revelation. Here too, the Reformed orthodox approach to theology diverges sharply from rationalism. There is no attempt made on the part of the sixteenth- or seventeenth-century orthodox to use the proofs of God’s existence to demonstrate the validity of system or as a basis for moving from a rationally established natural theology to a supernatural or revealed theology based on the achievements of reason. This model would appear in the eighteenth century under the impact of Wolffian rationalism but it is quite foreign to the mind of Protestant orthodoxy. Indeed, the orthodox studiously avoid even the Thomist model in which the order of reason parallels the order of revelation. Nor is this point concerning the object of theology and the proofs of God’s existence merely a point made tangentially in the prolegomena: it carries through into the locus de Deo where the proofs do not belong to the exposition of doctrine properly so-called but rather supply a preliminary denial of atheism as much rhetorical as logical.53 3. Conclusions: the obiectum theologiae and the character of the orthodox system. These basic definitions of the object of theology exerted a profound influence on the structure of Reformed orthodox theological system. The basic division between doctrines concerning faith and doctrines concerning obedience, observed by Polanus, Ames, and Mastricht, is in fact a division between doctrines concerning God and the things of God and doctrines concerning “the things that are directed toward God, as the services of men.” The initial division of the doctrines of faith into doctrines

concerning God and doctrines concerning the “things of God” appears in virtually all of the Protestant scholastic systems. The structure of system depends in large part upon the identification of the primary and secondary objects of theology and their treatment in proper order. No central dogmas, such as predestination, control or organize system. Instead, the structure of system arises out of the careful consideration of the obiectum theologiae. What is more, the issue of the formal character of the obiectum theologiae, the way in which it is to be considered, governs the way in which theological system can be developed following the prolegomena. Here, again, the Reformed orthodox model presses biblical norms, a Christ-centered view of Scripture, and an essentially soteriological view of the body of Christian doctrine. In addition, it draws system away from purely metaphysical interests.54 The Reformed scholastic discussion of the obiectum theologiae grows out of medieval scholastic debate and out of the theology of the Reformers, with the result that the Protestant orthodox system, as long as it held to this particular presupposition, would necessarily oppose the incorporation of any of the assumptions of rationalist metaphysics into Christian theology. In addition, this discussion of God as obiectum theologiae functioned to deter the formulation of theological system along the rationalizing lines of the “central dogma” theory as argued by Weber and Bizer. Since God is both cause and object of theology, he must also be identified as the essential foundation (principium essendi) of theology.55 The way in which God is identified as object, however, in and through Christ the Redeemer as revealed in Scripture, provides the entire system with an epistemological focus and doctrinal pivot quite distinct from the eternal decree, and in accord with the consistent claim of the Reformed that the decree must always be recognized as resting on Christ and known in Christ or through the inward grace of the Spirit.56 Furthermore, this view of God as object of theology, inasmuch as it points not only to God as principium essendi but to the Christ-centered (or, perhaps, more accurately, Christ-focused) Scripture as principium cognoscendi, points toward a system or body of doctrine that must consider all revealed truths and not merely those which can be gathered around or rationalized in the context of a monistic principle. The doctrine of the triune God and his attributes, together with all of his revealed works ad intra and ad extra, becomes the controlling factor of theological system—as opposed to any single divine attribute or work whether performed ad intra or ad extra. We will find, when we investigate the doctrine of the divine attributes and their relation to the divine essence, that this presuppositional corollary of the doctrine of the obiectum theologiae carries through into the orthodox system: the locus de

Deo does not serve as a logical or deductive foundation, but as the basis for the fact and the conduct of theology and, as already seen in the case of the prolegomena, the doctrine of God will be formulated neither deductively nor, indeed, inductively. Formulation assumes an instrumental use of reason, but is not primarily a matter of an overarching systematic logic. Rather, the doctrine will appear as a fundamental topic or locus, based on biblical and traditionary sources and reflecting many of the issues of theology as a whole, in particular the soteriological concerns of Reformed theology against Arminian and Socinian alternatives.57 7.2 Theology: Scientia, Sapientia, Prudentia, or Ars? A. Roots and Varieties of the Reformed Orthodox Discussion 1. Early orthodox discussion of the genus of theology—the state and grounds of the question. The discussion of the genus of theology appears in the Protestant scholastic systems both as a continuation of the basic process of definition taking place in the prolegomena and as an evidence and aspect of the self-conscious development of Protestant orthodoxy. In the first place, generally, as noted in the introduction, the establishment of an orthodoxy was but one aspect of the institutional solidification of the Reformation. With institutionalization came the need to teach this orthodox Protestantism in the universities in the context of other intellectual disciplines. In this context, the question was pressed on the Protestant scholastics, just as it had been pressed on the medievals, as to the kind of discipline theology could claim to be and how it might relate, positively or negatively, to other disciplines that claimed the same object. It is worth noting that this question did not arise for the Reformers and that, in their quest for an answer, the Protestant scholastics returned, albeit selectively and critically, to medieval models. In the second place, quite specifically, the problem of genus arises once the basic definition of theology has been stated. In the discussion of the obiectum theologiae, theology is distinguished even from those other disciplines that are defined, at least in part, as having the same object as theology. Metaphysics and physics are viewed as bodies of certain and evident knowledge acquired by demonstration; ethics is viewed as a body of practical knowledge based upon conclusions drawn from universal principles. Thus, metaphysics and physics are called scientiae or sciences, while ethics is a form of prudentia or prudence. The question naturally arose for Protestant scholastics as to the relation of theology not only to the specific disciplines of metaphysics, physics, and ethics, but also to the kinds (genera) of discipline represented by scientia, sapientia, prudentia, and ars. Such early orthodox writers as Fenner, Junius, Perkins, Polanus, Ames, Scharpius, Wollebius, Keckermann, Maccovius,

Alsted, and Walaeus addressed the issue and answered it differently—some identifying theology as a scientia, at least in a broad sense of the term, and others denying that theology fit the criteria of a scientia, strictly so-called and proposing either one or another of the remaining terms or arguing for a mixed genus, having elements of scientia and sapientia, or of prudentia and sapientia. Those, moreover, who identified theology as a scientia, tended to separate it from the science of metaphysics, as having a different object— theology taking God as its object, metaphysics taking being in general.58 As indicated in the definitions cited previously, Fenner and Perkins identified theology as a form of scientia; and although neither offered a definition of scientia, their choice of the term was significant, particularly inasmuch as Ramus’ antecedent definition had not used the term, but had defined theology as a doctrina or “teaching.”59 This shift, moreover, in what has been called the “Ramist” definition of theology, does not carry over into Perkins’ disciple, Ames (who reverts to doctrina) or in Maccovius (who replaces Ramus’ and Ames’ usage with disciplina), nor does it carry over into the later, similar definition of Mastricht, who also uses doctrina. And, whereas Maccovius could speak of theology as a science, Ames, Yates, Stoughton, and later, Leigh preferred the term ars or art as the specific denominator of the discipline.60 Junius, Scharpius, Polanus, Alsted, and Walaeus all preferred sapientia, while Keckermann opted for the identification of theology as prudentia.61 In the early orthodox formulation, we encounter, therefore, the entire roster of disciplinary identifications except intelligentia, the pure or immediate intuition of first principles—with a majority of thinkers tending, as had the medieval doctors, toward the identification of theology either as scientia or as sapientia. 2. Medieval antecedents of the Reformed discussion. The arguments for classifying theology as scientia or sapientia are not, of course, original to the Protestant scholastics, but derive from the theological prolegomena of the medieval scholastic systems. The roots of this discussion, moreover, strike deep into the classical and medieval traditions. In the standard paradigm, inherited from Aristotle via the medieval scholastics, there were five distinct genera of knowing or intellectual dispositions: understanding or intelligence (intelligentia), knowledge or science (scientia), wisdom or discernment (sapientia), prudence or discretion (prudentia), and art or technique (ars). Opinion and suspicion (opinio, suspicio) are not genuine knowledge and are not classed among the intellectual dispositions. The above terms have, in the scholastic vocabulary, precise meaning. Intelligentia indicates a knowledge of principles (principia) by spontaneous assent, without demonstration—an intuitive knowing. Scientia indicates a knowledge of conclusions derived by demonstration from self-evident first principles. Sapientia is an explanation

both of principles and conclusions, frequently construed by the scholastics as a knowledge of ultimate purposes. Prudentia is a knowledge of practical judgment suited to contingent circumstances. Ars is a knowledge of techniques and skills for bringing about a desired effect or result.62 We can bring full circle yet another element of the logic of scholastic system if we remember that false or pagan theology, whether mythical, civil, or philosophical, was defined as mere opinion which failed to reflect the divine archetype; consequently, this definition formally set false or non-Christian theology outside of the realm of genuine intellectual study. Alexander of Hales inherited from the teachers of the twelfth century a definition of theology as scientia but frequently had recourse also to the term sapientia. He also took considerable pains to show that theology is not like the other, specifically human, sciences.63 According to Aquinas, a distinction needs to be made between primary and subalternate sciences: the former is a science the first principles of which are self-evident; the latter is a science which receives its principles from a higher science. The fact that theology receives its principles by revelation does not prevent it from being a science but rather identifies it as a subalternate science which receives from God by revelation principles that are self-evident in the scientia Dei, the science or knowledge of God himself.64 This Thomistic perspective is evident in several of the early orthodox Reformed systems. The principia theologiae, God and his self-revelation, become the basis for legitimate conclusions drawn within theological system and, because of the presence both of principles and of legitimate conclusions, the system can be identified as a subalternate science.65 Indeed, Alsted can argue that, in this modified Thomistic sense, true or Christian natural theology is genuinely a scientia, inasmuch as it has self-evident principles and argues demonstratively while supernatural theology is a subalternate science, inasmuch as its principles are known not by the natural light of the intellect but by revelation and inasmuch as it rests on faith rather than on demonstration. (The qualification of the term scientia, however, leads Alsted to prefer “wisdom” or sapientia as the genus of theology.)66 Aquinas, it should be noted, did not think that his identification of theology as scientia precluded its identification as sapientia. Indeed, he seems unwilling to leave theology in the position of being a secondary or subalternate science without pointing out that theology is in fact the highest form of wisdom. Aquinas answers objections that wisdom, correctly understood, does not borrow its first principles from other sciences but rather uses its principles to prove the truth of the grounds of other sciences. He argues that, first, the derivation of the principles of theology from divine knowledge is not a human borrowing but a derivation, by revelation, from the

highest wisdom. Second, Aquinas holds that theological wisdom, as revealed, is distinct from the natural reason used to prove principles, but is nonetheless a criterion by which the truth or falsehood of all other sciences is to be judged. In both cases, theology qualifies as sapientia.67 If the Thomistic view had been the only antecedent of the Protestant scholastic discussion of the genus of theology, there would have been little resistance to the denomination of theology as scientia and, in addition, no reason to juxtapose the definition of theology as scientia with the alternative view of theology as sapientia, or, indeed, prudentia or ars. The key to the difference between the Reformed orthodox and the Thomistic views (at least insofar as it is traceable to the medieval background) is the critical perspective of Scotus and later medieval theology. Scotus—followed by Ockham and others—had argued that theology, despite its principles drawn from a higher science and its use of reason to draw conclusions from those principles, lacked one crucial characteristic of a scientia: demonstration made on the basis of evidence or evident reasons. In order for such demonstration to occur, theology must contain “necessary reasons” (rationes necessariae) that are evident in themselves (per se notis) either immediately or mediately. However, revealed knowledge accepted by faith does not belong to the category of self-evident necessary reason. Theology does not rest on natural light and therefore has no evidence of its object comparable to the evidence that scientia has concerning the contingent order of things. Therefore theology cannot strictly be called a science.68 B. The Reformed Orthodox Debate over the Character of the Theological Discipline: Scientia, Sapientia, Prudentia, or Ars? 1. The negative case: why theology does not belong to the general paradigm of the forms of knowing. In Turretin’s fairly elaborate reflections on the object and genus of theology, there is a lengthy discussion of whether theology is a science, whether it is a form of wisdom (sapientia), and whether God is its subject matter—which parallels the issues addressed in the articles in the first question of Aquinas’ Summa.69 In this discussion Turretin assumes that theology is nobler or higher than the other disciplines, echoing question 1, article 5 of the Summa, and he addresses, as a result of the discussion of genus, whether theology is theoretical or practical—the fourth article of Aquinas’ first question. The parallel development of topics does not mean that Turretin and his Reformed scholastic brethren were Thomists in disguise. Turretin distanced himself specifically from Aquinas in the discussion of the obiectum theologiae and the definitions given to theology by Junius were indebted more to Scotus than to Aquinas.70 In the discussion of the genus theologiae

there is also explicit divergence from a Thomist perspective. The point is, simply, that the paradigm for discussion of the topic arises out of a close reading of medieval models, and in this particular case, the structure of the argument relies, despite frequent disagreement and modification, on the pattern of debate found in the Summa. Where and how does Reformed theology relate to this paradigm? Turretin observes that there are three kinds of assent to knowledge: a general, nontechnical sense (scientia), faith (fides), and opinion (opinio). There are also three corresponding dispositions of mind (habitus mentis): the disposition of knowing (habitus sciendi), the disposition of believing (habitus credendi), and the disposition of opining (habitus opiniandi).71 Thus, scientia rests upon reason (ratio), fides upon testimony (testimonium), and opinio on probability (probabilitas). Theology, resting as it does on the assent of faith and consisting in a mental disposition to believe, cannot therefore be precisely equated with any of the other forms of knowing, since all belong to the category of rational habitus sciendi. If theology is to be called intelligentia, scientia, sapientia, prudentia, or ars, it must be by analogy only.72 The Protestant scholastics, following the medieval doctors, tend to rule out immediately the possibility that intelligentia, prudentia, and ars are analogous to theology. Intelligentia knows only principles by virtue of their own light; theology knows both principles and conclusions by revelation. Prudentia is knowledge concerned only with practice or actions in the civil order; theology is concerned not only with actions or “things to be done” (agenda) but also with things to be believed (credenda). Moreover, the agenda prescribed by theology are spiritual, not civil. Ars is a knowledge directed toward effects or results but, unlike theology, not toward virtuous action.73 Therefore scientia and sapientia are the categories of knowing most readily applicable to theology. It is, moreover, precisely the Scotist or Ockhamist critique of the identification of theology as scientia that we find in many of the Reformed scholastic systems. Among the early orthodox, Scharpius and Alsted had similarly argued that scientia rests on demonstrative certainty whereas theology rests upon revelation, and that sapientia deals with an understanding of things in themselves, whereas theology deals with an understanding of things in Christo (“in Christ”).74 Polanus follows the Thomist logic that theology derived its principles from a higher science rather than proceeding on the basis of self-evident principles, but concludes more sharply than Thomas that theology, therefore, cannot be a science. He avoids the term “subalternate science” and prefers to speak of theology as sapientia.75 The twofold end of theology also distinguishes it from sapientia and

scientia: the first and highest end is the glory of God, and the subordinate end is the salvation of the church. Theology is, thus, the most eminent wisdom, having a higher end and, certainly, higher principia than other sciences. The first principles of other sciences are not first simpliciter but only in their kind. Neither in theology proper nor outside of it are there any higher principles than the first principles of theology, the foremost of which is God himself; the second, his Word. Scharpius distinguishes the rule of order, the manner of working, and the production of effects relating to the Word as principium theologiae: God speaks to us mediate per verbum and the verbum leads us, likewise mediately, to God through Christ. We cannot know God otherwise than through the Word, a foundation unlike any other principium.76 Owen, whose presentation of the basic questions of the genus and object of theology manifests a certain degree of impatience with scholastic debate, notes a basic difficulty with all discussion of theology as a discipline among other disciplines: “The object of theology, since in some sense it must be God himself, is infinitely more distant from the objects of all other sciences as those [are] from nothingness itself.”77 The basis of Christian theology, adds Owen, is shown by the apostle Paul to be alien to human science and wisdom. His speech and preaching did not demonstrate human wisdom, but the Spirit and power. Thus, “whether one considers the origin of theology, or the subject, or the goal, or the manner of stating and teaching, or indeed the entire nature or practice, it appears that [theology] can in no way be counted among the human sciences, either speculative or practical, nor should [theology] be bound to their rules or methods.”78 Turretin rather nicely sums up the Reformed objections in what can only be called a sharply via moderna or even Ockhamistic statement: [Theology] is not scientia, since it does not rest upon evidence, but only on testimony; nor does it rest in cognition, but directs and ordains it to activity. Nor is it sapientia, since on account of theology are all aspects of wisdom negated, whether the understanding of self-evident principles or the knowledge of conclusions.79 We note the antirationalistic tendency of these arguments and, particularly in Turretin’s fairly obvious reference to 1 Corinthians 1:18ff., the desire to distinguish between theological wisdom and worldly wisdom. Virtually identical arguments appear in Walaeus’ Loci communes.80 The fact that theological wisdom is not worldly wisdom or that theology does not rest on demonstrative certainty in no way implies that theological knowing is uncertain—only that theology rests upon a certainty specific to theological knowing. Indeed, each order or form of knowing must have its own kind of certainty. Thus, prudentia, a knowledge of practical and ethical

actions, can have only a moral or a probable certainty (certitudo moralis or certitudo probabilis), while rational knowledge, scientia, will be characterized by a demonstrative certainty, what Turretin, reflecting the Cartesian definitions of philosophy prevalent in his time, calls certitudo mathematica.81 Owen similarly writes that the identity of Scripture as the Word of God is received by our understanding for its assent: “it is not said,” he continues, “that this is a first principle of reason, though it be of faith, nor that it is capable of a mathematical demonstration.” This truth, he concludes, is of “a higher and nobler kind than that of the strictest demonstration in things natural or the most forcible argument in things moral.”82 Theological certainty or the certainty of faith (certitudo fidei) is a matter neither of moral probability nor of demonstration, whether mathematical or logical. Rather theological certainty is an absolute and infallible certainty that rests upon the truth of God’s revelation as accepted by faith. Thus, Turretin can say that theology rests on testimony, which is to say, upon the certain, authoritative, and infallible testimony of the biblical revelation.83 Here again, Reformed orthodoxy distances itself from rationalism, which holds forth the promise of mathematical or demonstrative certainty. Turretin’s definition provides a gently stated but nonetheless firm separation of theological certainty from the Cartesian model, in which rational deduction provides a mathematical or scientific certitude—Turretin clearly distances himself from contemporaries like Poiret and Louis Tronchin, who had Cartesian sympathies.84 It is, of course, worth noting here that the implication (and the problem) of identifying theology as scientia has shifted considerably since the time of Perkins and Ames! 2. Theology as a mixed genus or a form of prudentia or ars. A significant number of the Reformed orthodox recognized the difficulty of using the terms scientia and sapientia and argued that no single intellectual faculty or habit of knowing corresponds precisely with theology. Thus, Wollebius noted that theology combines the contemplative and active aspects of knowing and is similar, therefore not only to scientia and sapientia but also to prudentia and Owen’s teacher, Barlow, simply indicates that theology is both a scientia and a prudentia.85 Keckermann emphasized the operative or practical character of theology, defining its genus as prudentia.86 Burman, perhaps acknowledging the work of Keckermann, noted that theology unites the highest forms of sapientia and prudentia.87 Ames, Yates, and Stoughton acknowledged the relative applicability to theology of the various names for knowledge, but differed from their continental contemporaries in their selection of “art,” ars or techne as the more inclusive and applicable category, with Ames distinguishing theology from the other arts in view of its “sound” or “solid principles.”88 Leigh, echoing these predecessors, spoke of

theology primarily as wisdom but voiced a strong preference for identifying it as art or technique.89 Of these varied approaches, Keckermann’s is unique in its choice of “prudence”—indicating practical judgment or discretionary knowledge—as the better term. He does not define theology as science, wisdom, or art, nor does he take the option of refusing the traditional categories of knowing and identify theology as doctrina or disciplina: in his definition, theologia is defined as prudentia religiosa ad salutem per vivendi—a religious prudence leading through life toward salvation.90 Theology has a speculative side which is followed by, indeed, which leads to the praxis theologiae, argues Keckermann, but this does not mean that theology can be divided into parts: it must be a unified discipline. And surely faith itself, which is the principal element of theology, is not bare knowledge, but a faithful apprehension of that knowledge that resides primarily in the affections. It must therefore be recognized that theology is an utterly operative discipline (operatrix disciplina): for what Thomas and other scholastics would claim, a mixed theoretical and practical discipline, militates against the unity of the discipline of theology.91 The more widely argued approach, avoiding both the language of prudentia and the notion of a “mixed discipline,” is the definition found among the English Ramists, most notably Ames, Yates, and Stoughton, in which theology or divinity is identified as ars or techne. Ames identified theology primarily as doctrine or teaching but noted that this designation was not intended to “separate” theology from the other designations of disciplines, namely, intelligentia, scientia, sapientia, ars, or prudentia.92 He then goes on to speak of the difference between the principia of theology and the “principles of other arts” and to indicate that “every art has its rules to which the work of the person practicing it corresponds.”93 Theology is clearly to be counted among the arts. This designation is still more clearly stated, with its rationale, by Yates and Stoughton. In Yates’ view, the designations of divinity vary according to one’s perception of the subject: “Our rule [of life] may be called Scripture as it is written, doctrine as it is taught, discipline as it is learned, Art, as it is framed in us againe, science as it is known of us.”94 This argument reflects Ames’ comment that the designations are not mutually exclusive—and it provides an explanation for the preference for “Art.” Stoughton even argues that the basic definition of divinity ought to proceed “according to the rules” or “method of Art.”95 Thus, in Yates’ form of the argument, religion and theology are properly identified as “Art,” the “Art to live well,” because art or techne is imbedded

in the “fabricke, facture, or fashioning” of the creature—it is “in the frame of the creature, and may be learned by observation,” at least when the creature is whole. Since sin has “blurred, blemished, and blotted out” the “Art and excellencie” of humanity, it is “now left to the teaching of God’s Spirit, to learne by that divine instruction” what can no longer be learned by “humane observation.” Drawing on the etymology of religare or relegere, to bind back or to read again, Yates indicates that the name “religion,” as divided into faith and obedience “comes nearest to the forme of our Art, which signifies either our tying againe to God, or reading againe the things of God.”96 “Art,” then, is the favored term because theology, the project of living blessedly or living to God, is a matter of “framing” again in fallen human beings the basic technique or practice of “living to God” that once belonged to the imago Dei: the term corresponds most closely to the identification of theology as practical. 3. Theology as scientia. Despite the objections and the potential power of the alternatives, however, scientia and sapientia remain the forms of knowing closest to theology. The orthodox could argue that the contrast between theologia and sapientia arises when theology, considered as an ultimate explanation of both principles and conclusions, stands over against a worldly explanation of the same principles and conclusions—and such a contrast can be maintained only on the basis of a theory of double truth.97 The contrast between theologia and scientia, similarly, rests upon a distinction between the demonstrative certainty of scientific conclusions as derived from self-evident principles and the certainty of theological conclusions as derived (logically) from revealed principles. Both of these contrasts are capable of some resolution—and we find the Reformed orthodox using both terms, sapientia and scientia, with reference to theology as a discipline. Similar, carefully qualified usage prevailed among the Lutheran orthodox.98 Among the early orthodox, Daneau, Trelcatius, Perkins, Stoughton, and Walaeus identified theology as scientia, and, with the exception of Stoughton, without further comment on the meaning of the term. All five, however, included in their definitions a posteriori or practical elements not entirely in accord with the basically deductive view of scientia as a discipline in which first principles are used as the basis for evident conclusions. Daneau, quite simply, speaks of theology as a “science” leading to the glory of God and the salvation of believing human beings.99 Trelcatius speaks of the analytical model in theology and of the function of theology as an active or practical discipline.100 Perkins almost paradoxically defines theology as “the science of living blessedly forever.”101 The tendency of those who patterned their definitions after Perkins, moreover, was to avoid the issue of theology as scientia and to substitute a term not subject to debate, like doctrina or

disciplina: thus Ames, Maccovius, and Mastricht—in effect, reverting to the original Ramist form of the definition.102 Walaeus, without further comment, states that theology is a scientia or a sapientia concerning divine things.103 Perkins not only denominated theology a science, he also provided a list of seven secondary sciences which, like the primary science of theology, found their source in “the bodie of Scripture.” These are the “attendants” or “handmaids” of theology: 1. Ethiques, a doctrine of living honestly and civilly. 2. Oeconomickes, a doctrine of governing a family. 3. Politikes, a doctrine of the right administration of a Common-weale. 4. Ecclesiasticall discipline, a doctrine of well-ordering the Church. 5. The Iewes-Common-weale, inasmuch as it differeth from Church government. 6. Prophesie, the doctrine of preaching well. 7. Academie, the doctrine of governing Schooles well: especially those of the Prophets.104 Scripture thus becomes the norm for the humane sciences. It is worth noting that all of the ancillary biblical subjects were developed at length by the orthodox both as separate treatises and as subsidiary themes. Thus we find Keckermann developing treatises on ethics, economics, and politics; Voetius producing a massive treatise on church discipline—including discussions of the commonwealth of Israel as a prototype for church discipline; Heidegger including three loci on the Old Testament commonwealth and its laws in his Corpus theologiae; and numerous Puritans, including Perkins himself, writing treatises on “prophesy,” that is, preaching.105 Perkins, clearly, was using a very broad definition of “science” as “intellectual discipline” and attempting to place theology among the other intellectual disciplines, particularly those related to Christian faith. But it was precisely this broadening of the definition that troubled many of the Reformed. As noted above, Stoughton elaborated the point, stating his objections to the unqualified use of scientia. Echoing Aquinas’ notion of a subalternate science, he allows our theology to be called scientia by extension, given that “without question the knowledge that God hath of Divinity is Scientia.” In a broader sense, given that theology consists in “certaine knowledge” of axioms or “divine truths” to which we assent on the basis of “divine testimony,” it can be called scientia. Stoughton does not find the traditional usage of a knowledge of axioms or principles plus the conclusions that can be drawn

from them to be a suitable definition of scientia or, by extension, of theology as a science. This, he notes, is the usual argument taken from Aristotle and the schoolmen—but it assumes a universal axiom, a necessary conclusion drawn from it, and a convincing ground for assent to the conclusion. The added “qualifications,” namely that the object of knowing must be a conclusion, that “assent must be evident,” and that the motive for assent must be a convincing demonstration, bar, in Stoughton’s view, a “strict acceptation” of the term scientia as a designation for theology. “Few precepts of any Art are such conclusions”—whether in the “definitions” or “distributions” of the material, the precepts of theology are seldom so fundamental or primary as required by the definition or so evident.106 Human beings, in their original integrity, might have been able to understand the principles or axioms of theology as selfevident, but in their fallen condition, this kind of scientia is impossible— which returns the discussion to the question of theology as a practical knowledge and an art or technique.107 Thus, even with careful qualification, the term scientia troubled a large number of the Reformed orthodox, who could not easily set aside the traditional philosophical usage in which scientia was not merely a knowledge of first principles and the conclusions that could be drawn from them, but was also defined as a body of knowledge resting on rational evidence. For Owen, Turretin, and Le Blanc, this last part of the definition posed an insurmountable problem, given that theology—at least in the sense of the churchly theology resting on supernatural revelation—cannot rest on reason but must accept on faith the authority of God’s revelation. What is more, all of the habits or dispositions of mind belonging to the classical categories— intelligence, science, wisdom, prudence, and art—were considered as habits of knowing, whereas theology is a habit of believing (habitus credendi). Thus theology, for both Turretin and Owen stands outside of the standard categories of knowing, albeit having some analogy to several of them. Turretin would reject the usage scientia, Le Blanc would retain it, with strict qualification and a strong nod toward sapientia.108 4. Theology as wisdom. A number of early orthodox writers, particularly those who adopted the more Scotist model with its dialectic between theologia archetypa and theologia ectypa, theologia in se, and theologia in subiecto, use sapientia exclusively: thus, Junius, Scharpius, Polanus, and Walaeus.109 This view or critical variations on it became, if not an utterly dominant paradigm, certainly the view held by the majority of the Reformed. In their definitions, however, Scharpius and Alsted raise explicit objections to placing theology among the secular sciences or worldly forms of wisdom. Scharpius defines theology as the sapientia rerum Divinarum, the “wisdom concerning divine things,” given “according to the truth of God.”110

Paralleling his understanding of the divine archetypal theology as a nondiscursive sapientia, Alsted similarly concludes that our theology is “a wisdom (sapientia) concerning the things of God, communicated by God to rational creatures.”111 Similar definitions appear in the work of the English theologian, Prideaux.112 Walaeus argues, echoing Henry of Ghent and other late medieval thinkers, that the object of theology is res divinae, nempe Deus ipse quatenus a nobis cognosci potest—divine things, namely God himself insofar as he can be known by us—which is to say, things that pertain to God, that depend upon God and that refer to the salvation of man. Theology, therefore, is rightly called sapientia because of its most noble object.113 Alsted, as noted above, allows a modified use of scientia but prefers sapientia.114 Yet another dimension of the discussion of the genus of a Christian theology in via is noted by Alsted. Because of the encyclopedic nature of his academic efforts, Alsted produced a separate methodus for each species of theology—natural, catechetical, scholastic, and so forth. His discussion of true theology as including both natural and supernatural theology together with his methodological division of theology into its several species demanded that he show how both natural and supernatural theology belong to the genus sapientia. In the first place, natural and supernatural theology, despite their different principia, the liber naturae and the liber scripturae, have the same subject, God and whatsoever is of God. The book of nature is simply the self-revelation of God: “God is the subject of theology, but creatures are made for the manifestation of this subject.”115 Furthermore, identification of God as the subject of theology implies that all the actions and works of God belong to this subject. The identity of subject indicates the identity of the genus, while the distinction of principia indicates the presence of mixed articles or questions within that genus.116 The argument is not conclusive and Alsted will ultimately confess that natural theology is called sapientia only by analogy.117 Sapientia, loosely defined, refers to the highest forms of knowledge, to somewhat arcane and difficult concepts, to knowledge resting demonstratively on independent and evident principles, and to the knowledge of those principles. All of these usages of sapientia, comments Alsted, can be applied to theology—although its demonstrations have a certainty of faith and rest on supernatural rather than natural principles. Furthermore, the term sapientia is typically applied to those disciplines that are more excellent than all others—and theology, in view of its divine subject and of the certainty of its divinely given principia, is surely the most excellent of all disciplines.118 Du Moulin comments that there is no need for extensive debate on this matter,

given that the Apostle Paul spoke of the Gospel as “wisdom among them that are perfect” (1 Cor. 2:6) and declared that “to one is given the word of Wisdom, to another the word of Knowledge, by the same Spirit” (1 Cor. 12:8). Knowledge of “the greatest and divine things” is therefore rightly called “wisdom,” inasmuch as the “principles of a science,” he concludes, “must be known by nature,” whereas “the Principles of Divinity are not known by nature,” but only “by Revelation.”119 Du Moulin’s argument echoes the Augustinian solution to the question of genus, argued in Augustine’s De Trinitate and echoed by the more epistemologically Augustinian of the medieval doctors, notably, Bonaventure and Scotus. In Augustine’s view, a science, strictly so-called, must be a human form of knowing, a knowledge of human things including aspects of faith, whereas wisdom is a knowledge of divine things that transcend the temporal and the accustomed modes of human knowing. This, he believed, was the implication of Paul’s distinction between a “word of wisdom” given to some and a “word of knowledge” given to others.120 Echoes of this Augustinian definition are heard in Calvin’s exposition of 1 Corinthians 12:8 and in the orthodox era in the Statenvertaling in the commentaries of Diodati, Poole, Henry. Calvin understood the Pauline text as distinguishing two gifts, one lesser, the other greater. For Calvin, “knowledge” or scientia when applied to the religious sphere was an “acquaintance with sacred things” whereas wisdom indicates the “perfection” of such knowledge. We ought, therefore, to understand “knowledge (scientia) as meaning ordinary information, and wisdom as including revelations that are of a more secret and sublime order.”121 One is tempted to say that Calvin would have preferred to identify theology as sapientia. Various of the orthodox exegetes extend the argument to a distinction, in matters of religious knowing, between the basic apprehension of the knowledge of God gained in the correct reading of Scripture, necessary to the work of teaching and preaching, and a fuller wisdom of the divine mysteries, including the ability to teach and apply doctrine given its ends or goals.122 Diodati, similarly, sees a distinction between wisdom, as “the gift of treating Christian doctrine, with the application to all the uses of beleevers” and knowledge as “the pure and plain exposition of the said doctrine, without any application.” The former, he comments, belongs to pastors, the latter to teachers.123 The Statenvertaling annotation is quite explicit: “the word of wisdom” indicates “the gift of understanding excellently well divine things and to be able prudently to apply and make use of the same for the salvation and service of men” as distinct from the “word of knowledge” which is “the gift of being very expert in the holy scripture, and of thoroughly understanding the right sense of the same.”124 In each instance, the exegesis

retains the Augustinian sensibility of wisdom as oriented toward the goal and as a higher, divinely given, form of knowing and “science” as a product of human effort or study.125 Among the high orthodox, Turretin in particular felt the need to resolve this issue of genus and to select definitively one category of knowing as most analogous to theology. He names no opponent in this quaestio, either in the preliminary posing of the question or in the body of his answer—perhaps because the question had been subject to so wide a variety of solutions among the Reformed and perhaps also because he did not want openly to attack close colleagues who had Cartesian sympathies. Following what can be called the main line of development or, at least, the most logical conclusion to be drawn from the Scotist model present in the initial divisions of theology, Turretin argues that sapientia, wisdom, is most analogous to theology. He solves the problem, tentatively, by setting aside the Aristotelian paradigm in which sapientia was related to intelligentia and scientia and by using, in its place, what he perceives to have been the ancient Stoic usage: wisdom is “the gathering together (collectio) of all habits or dispositions, both speculative and moral.”126 What is more, Scripture seems to prefer “wisdom” as the designation of the doctrina fidei, both in Proverbs and in 1 Corinthians.127 In addition, following out the Augustinian understanding of 1 Corinthians 12:8 and, as seen above, much of the Reformed exegetical tradition as well, Turretin adds that sapientia is a proper designation for a knowledge of the most eminent things (scientia rerum praestantissimarum)—among which, certainly, are knowledge of God, his works, and eternal blessedness. Echoing Aquinas, Turretin indicates that sapientia, is an architectonic discipline that directs and judges other forms of knowing. Even so, theology is a rule for judging all other truths: all not consonant with it must be rejected.128 5. Some conclusions. From the outset of the discussion, the orthodox recognized that theology, because it rests on testimony rather than on pure reason, is a disposition of believing (habitus credendi) rather than a disposition of knowing (habitus intellectualis). At best, therefore, theology could be called scientia, sapientia, intelligentia, prudentia, or ars only by analogy—since all these are habitus intellectuales. The decision of the majority of the Reformed to regard theology as sapientia, however, comprising both the self-evident principles known to pure intelligence and the conclusions drawn by science, but defined by its orientation toward the goal of God’s glory and the salvation of human beings, does identify it as an architectonic discipline with a right of judgment over other disciplines. Theology thus retains its status as “queen of the sciences” and all other disciplines function as ancillae, “handmaids,” that support and serve but never undermine theological conclusions. The fact that this is said

analogically and not univocally not only protects theology as a unique mode of knowing based on revelation but also allows theology to use rational tools in dealing with its principia and in drawing its conclusions. In addition, having ruled out intelligentia, it opens theology as a discipline to patterns of knowing belonging to scientia, prudentia, and ars. Furthermore, the orthodox hesitancy to equate theology precisely with any human discipline permitted their systems to remain open to forms and patterns of knowing other than those belonging to the five disciplinary categories enumerated by Aristotle. It is quite correct, as Althaus observed, that a strictly Aristotelian view of scientia as a body of demonstrable conclusions would eliminate any kind of historical knowing from the “scientific” disciplines—and it is also correct that medieval scholastic theological “science” was quite ahistorical in its systematic and doctrinal orientation.129 (Even those medieval systems in which theology is distinguished from scientia tend to be ahistorical in conception.) The Reformed orthodox, as we have seen, varied in their usage. When they used the term scientia, they typically moved away from the Aristotelian paradigm and elaborated the term in a Ramistic manner. Their use of sapientia, as in the case of Turretin, was overtly non-Aristotelian. Their systems, moreover, recognize the importance of a historical dimension and often observe what Melanchthon identified as the historiae series of doctrinal topics: revelation, covenant, and Christology are all rooted in biblical history and the system itself, in its movement from creation and fall, by way of covenant, Christology, and church, to the end of the age and the final judgment bears witness to a salvation-historical view of the body of Christian doctrine.130 Althaus’ critique of Reformed orthodoxy is, therefore, entirely misinformed: the strictly Aristotelian view of scientia is hardly a controlling factor in the organization of Reformed orthodox theology. Indeed, a majority of the theologians of the orthodox era preferred other terms, while those writers who did speak of theology as scientia tended away from a strict Aristotelian use of the term. Some comment is also necessary at this point concerning the importance of this discussion of genus to the orthodox system, particularly in view of the tendency of much modern theology to ignore this question, the two notable exceptions being Karl Barth and Wolfhart Pannenberg. It is inadequate to say that the Protestant scholastics inherited the question from their medieval models and dealt with it pro forma simply because of its presence in earlier system. There were many issues and arguments set forth by the medievals that the Protestants chose either to reject or to ignore. It is also only a partial explanation to note that the scholastic mind strove toward the completion of accurate paradigms and definitions and that theology, like any other

discipline, needed to find its place in the academic curriculum. Both of these explanations are correct to a certain extent, but what is far more important is the way in which the use of the inherited paradigm of intelligentia, scientia, sapientia, prudentia and ars was capable of raising and in part resolving questions concerning the relationship of principles to conclusions, the relation of theoretical deduction or synthesis to practical induction or analysis, and the relation of theology as a discipline to other disciplines that claim to guide and direct human life. The discussion clarifies the way in which theology has and uses its principles, draws its conclusions, and relates to the conduct of human life. As a subalternate science or derived wisdom, it is theologia nostra resting on the theologia archetypa, from which it draws its principles or has them bestowed by revelation. It draws conclusions rationally, recognizing that it rests on revelation and not on necessary reasons. And, finally, those conclusions are not merely theoretical as they would be if theology were a science in the strictest sense, but rather, like wisdom, they are eminently practical conclusions which pass judgment on the truth or value of all other ways of knowing and doing and, like prudence, direct human action. This perspective leads directly to the next several topics of the prolegomena: whether theology is theoretical or practical, how philosophy should be used in theology, how theology functions as a discipline, and what the fundamental articles and principles of theology are from which conclusions concerning faith and obedience are to be drawn. From these comments, it should also be clear that this identification of genus governs, as it were, the conduct of the entire system. 7.3 Theology: Theoretical or Practical? A. Background to the Orthodox Discussion 1. Medieval continuities. One of the debates inherited by the Reformers and the Protestant scholastics from medieval theology concerns the character and purpose of the discipline as theoretical or practical. On this question, moreover, the Reformed teach no single definitive solution but reflect select elements of the medieval paradigm. We have already encountered part of the reason for varied opinion on this point in the basic definitions of theology. Christian theology was frequently explained by the orthodox in terms of its proximate and ultimate purposes—living to God through Christ both now and in eternity—and, in several of the basic definitions, was characterized as “theoretico-practical.” In the tradition of the medieval discussion and reflecting the varied medieval roots of the Reformation, Protestants raised the question of whether theology was theoretical or practical or, if a “mixed” discipline, whether more theoretical or more practical. Although explicit

discussion of this point has disappeared from modern theological systems, the issue remains as an undercurrent in all discussions of the purpose and, indeed, the reason for theology as a discipline. The answer, of course, like all of the other answers to presuppositional questions raised in the scholastic prolegomena, influences profoundly the subsequent course of theological system—and, of course, here, as in the case of other topics in the prolegomena, like the question of the precise identification of the object of theology and of the genus of the discipline, there was a diversity of answers among the Reformed orthodoxy, a diversity, moreover, that reflected particular concerns of the Reformed and their reflection on and appropriation of particular aspects of the late medieval paradigm. Like the question itself, the meaning of the terms arose out of the medieval theological tradition—not merely the tradition of scholastic system but also the tradition of piety and mysticism. The adjectives theoretical and practical, like the nouns from which they derive, theoria and praxis, do not indicate a tendency toward metaphysical rationalization on the one hand and pragmatic enterprise on the other, or a statement of abstract principle on the one hand and of application on the other. To the extent that the scholastic enterprise is interpreted in terms of such a view of theoria and praxis, it is misinterpreted. The scholastics, both of the Middle Ages and the seventeenth century, understood both words in their basic etymological sense: theoria (from the Greek verb theorein, “to look at”) indicates something seen or beheld; praxis (from the Greek verb, prassein, “to do”) indicates something done or engaged in with an end in view. Theoria, then, is synonymous with contemplatio or speculatio and indicates the pure beholding of something. To the scholastic mind, this concept of a pure beholding, with no end in view other than the vision of the thing beheld, must be understood in terms of the visio Dei and the ultimate enjoyment of God (fruitio Dei) by man. Praxis, by contrast refers to an activity that leads toward an end: theology is understood as practical when it is seen primarily as leading to a goal beyond itself, namely salvation, and is designed therefore to conduce to a righteous life and the love of God.131 2. The teaching of the Reformers. Unlike some of the issues and paradigms used by the Protestant orthodox, the discussion of theology as theoretical and/or practical has definite roots in earlier Reformed theology, specifically, in the writings of Peter Martyr Vermigli. Vermigli’s Thomist training is evident in his argument concerning the balance of theoretical or contemplative elements with the practical side of theology. Significantly, Vermigli does not mention Aquinas—the polemic against Rome was perhaps too intense for him to cite sources—but rather moves toward the problem through a brief discussion of philosophy. The division of philosophy into

speculative and practical knowledge relates to our understanding of Scripture, for “there also we have philosophy, active and contemplative.” The things we believe which “are comprehended in the articles of the faith, belong to contemplation.” These things are seen to be contemplative or speculative since they are present to knowledge but apart from work. The active aspects of scriptural philosophy are described by the “laws, counsels, and exhortations” of God.132 From this we recognize, says Vermigli, that the Scriptures contain a knowledge of God that is both contemplative and active, while the philosophers have simply taken the contemplative path. In the holy scriptures the contemplative has the first place: inasmuch as we must first believe, and be justified by faith; afterward follow good works, and that so much the more and more abundantly as we be renewed daily by the Holy Ghost. So does Paul show in his epistles: for first he handles doctrine, afterward he descends to the instruction in manners, and to the order of life.133 The Ten Commandments similarly begin with things belonging to “faith or speculative knowledge” and then move on to precepts. The usual human order would be the reverse: men act in order to be justified. Even so the end of philosophy “is to obtain that blessedness or felicity, which may here by human strength be attained.” Theological truth, however, comes not by effort but by inspiration of God. Even so these things, which a Christian does, he does by the impulsion of the spirit of God. Those things which the philosophers do, according to moral precepts, they do by the guide of human reason. The philosophers are stirred to do those things, because they judge them to be honest and right: but the Christians, because God has so decreed. Those think to profit and make perfect themselves: these, because the majesty of God must be obeyed. Those give credit to themselves: but these give credit to God, and to the works of the law which he has made. Those seek the love of themselves. These are driven by the love of God alone.134 From this we may conclude that “speculative knowledge is preferred above the active; since doing is ordained for contemplation, and not contrawise.” One may object that contemplation in fact does serve action, since we know God in order to worship him: according to this reasoning “divinity … is called actual.” Yet divinity contains knowledge which is not actualized, not brought to pass or presently beheld. Indeed the purpose of theology is “that we may know God more and more, until we shall behold him face to face in the kingdom of heaven.” The contemplative or speculative aspect of theology is,

therefore, foremost in place and importance and the active is derived. This is true both in our present justification and our final glorification.135 Vermigli’s characterization of theology as both contemplative and active with the active life of obedience springing from the contemplative or speculative ground of faith would prove of central significance for the later Reformed description of theology. Maccovius, Turretin, and Mastricht would speak of theology as a theoretico-practical science and emphasize the grounding of obedience on faith—although they would uniformly reject the intellectualist viewpoint that makes theory of more import than praxis. In addition, this characterization would bear fruit during the early orthodox period, in relation to the Ramist method of organization by division or dichotomy. For Ames, Polanus, and Wollebius the proper division of theology was into the coordinate halves of “faith” and “obedience.” Du Moulin’s definition, leaning toward the contemplative, more perfectly echoes Vermigli —but it is clearly not the great exception argued by Armstrong, nor, indeed, is it in discontinuity with trajectories of the earlier Reformed tradition.136 Despite an underlying agreement on the direction of and priorities in theology, Vermigli differs with Calvin in his use of the term speculation. Whereas Calvin usually attaches a negative connotation to the term, Vermigli expresses a positive meaning. He calls theology speculative for precisely the same reason that Calvin considers it antispeculative: because it treats of divine revelation, not of human works. The difference arises, most probably, from the Scotist background of Calvin’s thought and the Thomistic background of Vermigli’s: Scotus says that theology is for us a practical science, mainly because revelation is given as a norm for salutary conduct, that we may attain our last end, whereas for St. Thomas theology is primarily a speculative science, though not exclusively, because it deals more with divine things than with human acts. In other words, the main difference between them on this matter is one of emphasis, it is a difference which one would expect in view of St. Thomas’s general emphasis on intellect and theoretical contemplation and Scotus’s general emphasis on will and love.137 Neither Calvin nor Vermigli will tolerate a posteriori speculation into the nature of God and his will—a point particularly clear in their insistence that human beings cannot infer the mind of God or the contents of his eternal decree from its revelation and/or execution in time.138 However, Vermigli differs from Calvin in that he views a priori revealed knowledge of God as “speculative,” following the language of Aquinas. Apart from this difference in definition their attitudes share much common ground. Vermigli’s language,

like Hyperius’ distinction between “the metaphysics of Aristotle” and “the metaphysics of Sacred Scripture” makes us pause before we condemn categorically the entrance of “speculation” or “metaphysics” into Reformed theology. Vermigli’s Thomism has been filtered through a strong mistrust of unaided reason and a powerful drive to rest the doctrines of salvation on revelation alone. Here, as in Vermigli’s earlier statements on the necessity of viewing the doctrine of creation as revealed to faith, we see the other side of his thought which refers to the Scotist and nominalist background—perhaps to his early study of Gregory of Rimini.139 Vermigli’s understanding of theological speculation or contemplation is not related to an emphasis on metaphysics per se. For Vermigli, contemplative theology treats of all those topics given by revelation to faith and, therefore, includes not only those nominally metaphysical topics such as the nature and attributes of God and the Trinity but also the topics belonging to the temporal portion of the ordo salutis, such as justification and the atoning death of Christ. The term “contemplative” in Vermigli’s system is the exact correlate of the term “faith” in the early orthodox dichotomy, both indicating the exposition of revealed doctrine. B. Theology, Theoria, and Praxis in Reformed Orthodox Theology 1. The early orthodox discussion of theory and praxis. One of the earliest of Reformed thinkers to address the issue of theoria and praxis in a formal prolegomenon to theological system was Bartholomaus Keckermann. His discussion is of historical and theological importance not only because of its early date (ca. 1592–1601) but also because it does not reflect the eventual Reformed orthodox consensus. Like his contemporaries, Perkins and Ames, Keckermann defined Christian theology teleologically in terms of its ultimate goal, the glory of God and the enjoyment of God (fruitio Dei). As noted earlier, Keckermann felt justified in arguing, against the tendency of Protestant orthodoxy, that theology was not sapientia or scientia but religious prudence (prudentia religiosa). In accord with this definition, Keckermann denied that theology could be in any way theoretical or contemplative and argued that it was entirely practical—a praxis or an “operative discipline” (operatrix disciplina). Among the later orthodox, this perspective was held by a significant series of writers, most notably by Cocceius, Burman, Heidanus, Baxter, and Heidegger.140 Thus, Heidegger can argue in his Medulla that theology is totally practical inasmuch as it is directed toward the love and glorification of God and contains nothing other than knowledge of the praxis of salvation.141 Keckermann’s language at this point has potentially Scotist overtones. His use of prudentia implies a fairly blunt denial of the Thomist view of theology

as science or even as wisdom—despite his clear preference for a more Thomistic approach to other issues. Here, as elsewhere, the Reformed are highly eclectic and their thought cannot be simply identified as fitting into one or another late medieval paradigm on the basis of a single point of resemblance, no matter how important. For Keckermann, as for Scotus, this definition does not at all imply that God is unknowable but rather that God, to use Scotus’ terms, is operable (operabilis)—that is, that God is attainable or reachable by a particular kind of action or operation (operatio) known to theology. Thus God is known not in a scientific or theoretical sense but in a practical sense as the end or goal of human loving.142 “Theology,” argues Keckermann, “is not a naked knowing (nuda notitia) but a faithful apprehension (fiducia) such as is rooted in the affections.”143 Thus it is essentially an operatio and a praxis. Against the Thomist and the often cited Augustinian view that theology is both speculative and practical, Keckermann notes that the attempt to make theology a mixed discipline undercuts its unity and, where successful, prevents theology from using a cohesive method. Speculative disciplines argue in a synthetic manner whereas practical disciplines move analytically. Theology must be unified in its subject matter and in its method: it is therefore practical and operative (operatrix), a form of prudentia.144 A similar identification of theology as practical because there is nothing in all of theology “which does not refer to the end or to the means to that end,” is also characteristic of the English Ramists—notably, Perkins, Ames, Yates, and Stoughton. In these writers the sense of theology as praxis was intimately bound up with the definition of theology, indeed, of religion, as an “Art (or rather a doctrine) to live well” or, following out the texts of 1 Timothy 6:3 and Titus 1:2, a “doctrine” or “truth” that is “according to godliness.”145 It was, arguably, this identification of theology as a practical discipline that carried over, via Ames, into the thought of Maccovius, and later into the theology of Voetius, Hoornbeeck, Oomius, and other proponents of the Nadere Reformatie, and produced significant efforts to bring versions the orthodox theology taught in the academy into direct relationship with the life of the church.146 Among the contemporaries of Keckermann and the English Ramists, Du Moulin would press the paradigm in the opposite direction: in the disputations that he superintended at Sedan, he raised the question of whether theology is speculative/contemplative or practical and concluded that the portion of theology that is “referred to action”—specifically to the ordering of human life—is practical, whereas the portion that related to God and his essence, simplicity, eternity, and infinity is contemplative, inasmuch as these topics are “not within the compasse of action.”147 This definition yields the further

conclusion that “theology is more contemplative than practical, inasmuch as contemplation is the reason for action, for by good works we aspire to the vision of God.”148 The form and content of Du Moulin’s thesis certainly indicates that he had examined the medieval paradigm for defining the nature of theology—yet is quite easy to draw the wrong conclusions from his statement. What we have here is not the claim that theology is simply speculative or contemplative, but rather an echo of the Thomistic view (espoused before Du Moulin by Vermigli) that theology is a mixed discipline, more contemplative than practical. The point does not easily flow out of Calvin, but it does reflect the Reformed theology of one of Calvin’s contemporaries.149 What is more, this does not in any way reflect a shift from Du Moulin’s earlier denunciation of excessively metaphysical formulations or from his characterization of the Arminian division of the eternal decree into four decrees as an unwarranted speculation,150 given that his denunciations address problems of undue rational elaboration (viz., speculation), whereas his characterization of theology as speculative or contemplative does not indicate the need for rational elaboration but rather partakes of the identification of the discipline as knowable for its own sake or as a worthy goal. Nor, indeed, should the identification of theology as more contemplative than practical be viewed as more “scholastic” than the identification of the discipline as practical, given the scholastic origins of the entire paradigm. 2. Retrieval and debate: use of medieval models and the Arminian alternative. Beginning in the second decade of the seventeenth century, Protestant scholastics begin to cite in some detail the various opinions of medieval doctors concerning the theoretical or practical character of theology. Whereas earlier use of medieval models, like Junius’ appropriation of the Scotist categories of theologia in se and theologia nostra, had not included citation of medieval theologians by name, the orthodox Protestants of the early seventeenth century both cited theologians by name and frequently identified loci—in this case, the prolegomena to commentaries on Lombard’s Sentences. One of the earliest, if not the first, of the Protestant scholastics to move to this explicit use of the medievals was Johann Gerhard, the great Lutheran scholastic, whose Loci theologici appeared in nine volumes between 1610 and 1627.151 He was followed rather quickly on the Reformed side by Johann Heinrich Alsted, whose Methodus sacrosanctae theologiae was published in 1614.152 The typology of medieval views on theoria and praxis rapidly became standardized and is found in virtually identical versions in many of the high orthodox systems. Maccovius regarded the issue of the theoretical or practical nature of theology as so important to the construction of system that he let the debate over the issue occupy the opening paragraph of his system:

A theoretical discipline is something that knows in order that we might know its end (finem) only; we know a practical discipline in order that we might act. Obj. But God, Christ, &c. cannot be made or acted upon by us. Therefore theology is a purely theoretical discipline. Resp. We know God and Christ in order that through this knowledge that we might do something. Thus as I know that God is all-knowing, by this knowledge I also offer him the praise that he knows all my faults, the humble state of my soul and body: from this I am turned to prayers of entreaty and I ask that he overlook the former and graciously support the latter. Thus when I know his omnipotence, I am turned toward him even as my heart is directed toward his statutes: even so this knowledge of omnipotence, wisdom and other attributes of God is theoretical in such a way as to bring about a praxis in us. And thus theology consists partly in contemplation (in contemplatione) and partly in action (in actione).153 This tone-setting paragraph counters both the typical contemporary misunderstanding of Maccovius as an excessively speculative theologian and the equally typical misconception of Reformed orthodoxy as a metaphysically controlled predestinarian system. Indeed, Maccovius can conclude that, inasmuch as theology, like Christian religion itself, contains nothing that fails to conduce to piety, the primary goal of this speculative-practical discipline is in fact practical.154 He thus echoes the Augustinian definition of theology as a mixed discipline with emphasis on the practical. Maccovius, who taught at Franecker with the less overtly scholastic Ames, was in fact censured for the perceived excesses of his theological method by the Synod of Dort.155 It is an error, however, to conclude from the censure that Maccovius was a purely speculative thinker or, more generally, that the supralapsarian theologians among the Dutch Reformed either forgot the strongly practical dimension of theology taught by Ames or produced systems in which the doctrine of predestination provided an underlying principle governing all other statements. Far more important to Maccovius, as to Perkins, Ames, Walaeus, the authors of the Leiden Synopsis, and to later writers like Mastricht, was the operative or practical implication of all doctrine—including predestination—as it became effective in the mind of the knower. Walaeus makes the same point, arguing that theology “is, however, theoretical in such a way that it consists not in vain speculations as engineered by many [medieval!] Scholastics, but in the true illumination of the mind, which is always conjoined with pious affection (cum pio affectu), as the Apostle says, Titus 1:1, “the teaching (doctrina) that is according to piety

(secundum pietatem).”156 Similarly, his colleague Poliander could note that theory and praxis are not “opposed differentia” in theology but are closely related conditions of one discipline that together lead to eternal life.157 Although we have not yet seen an explicit statement concerning a unified method for theology, there is no logical or theological reason why the definition of theology as theoretico-practical should preclude unity of method. Seventeenth century Arminian or Remonstrant theology posed itself against what was becoming the typical Reformed model—the identification of theology as a mixed discipline. Following Arminius, Episcopius argues strongly that theology is practical and not speculative. Indeed, on these grounds he attacks the orthodox Reformed use of distinctions between theologia archetypa and theologia ectypa as vain subtleties without solidity or utility. Theology, he argues, is not based on the example of nature but upon what God in the freedom of his will has conceived as the duties of man. Theology, in general, is nothing other than that teaching which contains a true understanding of God and which, on the basis of this understanding, composes right worship.158 Theology is a purely practical knowledge which intends only to teach men how to live well and with piety. To say that theology is both speculative and practical is to ignore the fact that “there is nothing in the whole of theology that is not directed toward action.”159 It is also, therefore, an error to claim that theology is speculative from the point of view of man, but practical from the point of view of God. This claim, argues Episcopius, turns theology into a disquisition on God, his actions, and nonactions (or permissions) utterly devoid of human considerations—such as is implied by those who follow the absurdity of a doctrine of absolute predestination.160 This makes all humanity passive and renders sin nothing but a defective act of God.161 Episcopius’ obvious adversary is Reformed theology. What is significant is that his attack is not simply on the doctrine of predestination but on a wrong perception of theology that turns the discipline away from emphasis on human action toward consideration of doctrines concerning ultimate truths of a transcendent God. If this view of theology were accepted, the Reformed insistence on doctrinal norms would collapse— indeed, the theocentric character of Reformed theology would have to give way to an essentially anthropocentric drive toward praxis. In the context of this debate, it is not at all surprising that Keckermann’s definition of theology as operatrix disciplina and as pure praxis became unpopular—even though in and of itself it implied no departures from the basic doctrines of confessional orthodoxy. The two elements in Keckermann’s argument that continued to have an impact on Reformed theology, however,

were his perceptions concerning the dominance of the practical and his assumption that the model chosen for theology, theoretical or practical, would have its impact on the method employed in the construction of theological system. Although virtually none of the orthodox attempted to follow Trelcatius by mixing methods within each locus, their assumption that theology is both theoretical and practical, contemplative and active, did make impossible the use of either a purely synthetic and a priori or a purely analytic and a posteriori model in dogmatic system.162 Contrary to Turretin’s polemical statement, the issue of theoria and praxis is of importance to an understanding of the nature of true theology. As Polanus had indicated in his basic divisions of the topic of ectypal theology, the ends of theology are the glorificatio Dei tanquam summi boni and the beatitudo creaturarum rationalium. Insofar as theology embodies this goal in its teachings it is to be defined as theoria, contemplatio or speculatio. Insofar, however, as theology does not embody this end but rather points toward it as a goal, it is praxis. Thus, theoria may be defined as a teaching (doctrina) known in and for itself and praxis as a teaching known for the sake of the end toward which it directs the knower.163 Thus, early orthodox thinkers like Polanus and Ames manifest a balance of theoria and praxis in their basic division of theology into doctrines concerning faith and doctrines concerning obedience—although, for Ames, the redemptive goal of theology determined it as a fundamentally practical rather than a speculative discipline.164 Among the major Dutch theologians of the period, Maccovius’ balanced definition was echoed in the theology of Walaeus and Gomarus,165 while the language of Polanus carries over into the German Reformed theology of Alsted.166 3. High orthodox approaches to the theoretical and practical identifications of theology. The variety of formulation that we have already noted in the early orthodox approach to this question continued on in the high orthodox era of Reformed theology. The federalists, Cocceius, Burman, and Heidanus, are notable for their tendency to define theology as essentially praxis, following out, most probably, the line of argument leading from Perkins to Ames and popularized at Franecker in the mid-seventeenth century.167 In this definition, they were seconded by Baxter, who identified theology as a scientia affectiva-practica.168 In the older historical paradigm known to the Reformed orthodox, this approach was found among the Scotists and may be yet another indication of the use of Scotist themes during the era of Protestant orthodoxy. Heidanus, whose arguments are considerably more nuanced on this point than Burman’s, noted the Scotist parallel and argued that theological knowledge, viewed

formally and in terms of its method (ex modo suo), is speculative—whereas viewed substantively (materialiter) and in terms of its object, is practical. God is not contemplated in Scripture as a “purely metaphysical object” but rather as the object of faith, hope, and love—not as God simpliciter but “as our God” (ut Deum nostrum) and “as the covenanted God” (ut Deum foederatum).169 Heidanus’ point concerning the object of theology was, as noted above, drawn into the high orthodox system by Turretin and there linked to the more typical definition of theology as both speculative and practical. These concerns could carry over into the basic definitions of the theological task, as is evident in the work of Cloppenburg. Cloppenburg follows the standard definition of theology, but then distinguishes between theologia utens and theologia docens: “theology using” and “theology teaching,” which is to say a distinction between two kinds of theologia viatorum, the one representing and serving the life of the church as it “uses” the means given to it to attain the goal of salvation, the other representing and serving the needs of instruction and delineating somewhat more fully the entire scope of theological knowledge. In the former case, religio would be included in the definition—in the latter case, which he proposes as the model for his system, he can move on to a discussion of the object, end and marks of theology. There is a reflection here of the arrangement of Lombard’s Sentences in terms of the Augustinian concepts of signs and things signified, use and enjoyment.170 Indeed, the reception of and reflection on earlier Christian tradition remains characteristic of this discussion throughout the era of orthodoxy. Turretin, for example, begins his quaestio, “An theologia sit theoretica, an practica?,” with a section devoted to the “origin of the question.” The question, comments Turretin, was debated at length and over a long period by the scholastics: Some maintained that theology is purely speculative (simpliciter esse speculativam), as Henry [of Ghent] in his Summa, art. 8, q.3; Durandus in the prolegomena to the Sentences, q.6; and Johannes Rada, controversy 3. Others maintained that it is purely practical (simpliciter practicam), as Scotus and his followers. Still others argued it to be neither theoretical nor practical, but rather affective or dilective (affectivam vel dilectivam), surely more profoundly seated [in the soul] than theoretical or practical disciplines, inasmuch as its goal is love (finis sit charitas) and love is not contained within praxis: thus Bonaventure, Albert the Great, and Giles of Rome. Finally, others consider theology to be a mixed discipline, that is, at once speculative

and practical (speculativam … et practicam simul)—whether mostly speculative, as the Thomists argue; or mostly practical, as Thomas of Strasbourg.171 The enunciation of this paradigm bears, certainly, a double significance. In the first place it underlines the nature and character of the Protestant scholastic reception and use of the older scholastic models. In addition to their appropriation of materials from the revived Aristotelianism of the late Renaissance, they also turned to the older scholastic tradition (much of which had been kept alive in sixteenth-century printed editions of medieval works) and, in so doing, the Reformed orthodox proved that their reading of the medieval scholastic materials was both critical and selective. Theirs was not a wholesale appropriation of medieval scholasticism—rather it was a selective use of certain materials that could be brought into dialogue with the problems and issues then current in theology.172 In this particular case, moreover, the Reformed orthodox preference for a mixed speculative-practical or practicalspeculative discipline points toward a modified Thomism on the one hand and a medieval Augustinian model on the other. Indeed, the positive gesture toward the thought of Thomas of Strasbourg points to a continuing Reformed interest in the theology of the Augustinian order: one of the medieval backgrounds of the Reformation, thus, continued to be of interest to Reformed theologians long into the seventeenth century. In the second place, as Turretin next indicates, the question set forth in this paradigm is not only necessary to an understanding of the true nature of theology (ad intelligendam veram theologiae naturam) but to the defense of the church against the Socinians and Remonstrants, who argue that theology is strictly practical, consisting in nothing but obedience to precepts and faith in promises. (The question itself, therefore, illustrates the mixed nature of the discipline—true or right understanding is a more theoretical issue, whereas defense of the faith stands as more practical.) The Socinian and Remonstrant perspective removes from religion all fundamental articles—including the Trinity and the incarnation—and, Turretin concludes, ultimately issues in atheism.173 Whereas the Socinians and Remonstrants would certainly deny that their views led to atheism, they clearly did hope to deny fundamental or necessary articles any role in the determination of normative Christianity. The antidote to such reductionism was, for Turretin, maintenance of the balance between the theoretical and the practical dimensions of theology. A similar model appears in the theology of Turretin’s English counterpart, John Owen. Like Turretin, Owen emphasized the ectypal character of theology and identified it as defined by a balance of theory and practice, with emphasis on the practical aspect.174 Their younger contemporary, Mastricht,

used his theoretical-practical view of theology as a basis for designing the structure of each locus in his system—manifesting the practical implication of each article of faith as well as observing the basic division between faith and obedience. There was, moreover, some difference of opinion over the answer to the question both between the Reformed and the Lutherans and among the Reformed themselves.175 The truth in Turretin’s analysis of the situation is simply that the controversy with the Socinians and the Remonstrants most probably helped to determine the final answer—his own, Wendelin’s, Mastricht’s, Rijssen’s and Maccovius’—to the question. That answer, however, is crucial to the structure and content of theological system, and it is clearly an alternative to the view presented by the federal school and various others, that theology is purely practical. The character of theology as both theoretical and practical, contemplative and active is determined, therefore, not simply on polemical grounds but primarily on the basis of its subject matter. A purely theoretical discipline is devoted solely to contemplation and has no other goal than cognition; a purely practical discipline is devoted solely to action and has no other goal than the direction of operation (operatio) or of praxis. It is clear that neither definition applies perfectly to theology: theology contains both dogmata seu decreta fidei and praecepta Christianarum virtutum—both the required doctrines of faith and the rules of Christian virtue.176 Over against the federal approach, the conjunction of the theoretical and the practical can be developed in terms of the object, subject, ground (principium), form, and goal of theology. The object of theology, we have already seen, is God—God as he is known and worshiped, God as the first Truth and highest Good (ut primum Verum et summum Bonum). Knowing the highest truth demands contemplation; worshiping and striving toward the highest good demands action. The subiectum theologiae or subject in quo of theology is man to be perfected (homo perficiendus)—both in a knowledge of truth that illumines the intellect and in a love of the good that adorns the will, which is to say, perfected both in faith and in love.177 In the principium theologiae, theoria and praxis are similarly conjoined: the external principle, the Word, in the Law and the gospel, teaches of things to be done (facienda) and things to be believed (credenda); the internal principle, the Spirit, is the Spirit both of truth and of sanctification, both of the knowledge and the reverence of the Lord. Even so the forma of true religion consists in both the knowledge (cognitio) and the worship (cultus) of God, and the finis of theology and religion is the blessedness of man (hominis beatitudo), consisting in both the vision (visio) and the enjoyment (fruitio) of God.178 This conjunction of theory and praxis in all aspects of theology points to

the way in which the orthodox overcome the seeming problem of a mixed discipline with no single proper method, as posed by Keckermann and Trelcatius. Whereas the speculative and the practical are the differentia or distinguishing features of inferior disciplines, argues Turretin, in theology, which is a higher and more eminent discipline, it is possible for these characteristics to be conjoined—just as the internal “common sense” (sensus communis) that gathers the fruits of experience contains in itself, as in a unity, the differentia of the several external senses; or just as rational life (vita rationalis) in man contains both “vegetative” and “sensitive” life, that is, the kinds of life found in lower living beings.179 Turretin’s point is simple: the logic of predication recognizes that several species, distinguished from each other by particular characteristics (differentia), can belong to a single genus. So is it with theology: the speculative and the practical are differentia only at a lower level in the genus “discipline,” not at the level occupied by theology. This argument for a disciplinary unity encompassing the speculative and practical characteristics of theology reflects the point made previously, in the discussion of archetypal and ectypal theology, that a multiplicity of ways of knowing the substance or object of theology does not indicate a multiplicity of theologies: since there is but one object or substance, true theology is a unity. Mastricht defines this theologia Christiana theoretico-practica as that doctrine which inculcates vivendi Deo per Christum. As his text for this first locus he cites 1 Timothy 6:2–3: “These things teach and exhort. If someone teaches different doctrine, and consents not to the wholesome words of our Lord Jesus Christ, and to that doctrine which is according to piety, he is proud, knowing nothing &c.” Mastricht notes that in the colophon to the Epistle (6:20–21) Paul again urges theologia vera upon Timothy and bids him flee theologia falsa. The latter is a doctrine which does not endure, which does not convey sanos sermones Christi, seu de Christo, and which brings about hatred and strife.180 Thus theology is not only doctrina vivendi Deo per Christum but also doctrina, quae est secundum pietatem.181 True theology must, therefore, be expounded according to a method that inculcates doctrine with piety, theoria cum praxi. This resolution of two elements of definition— the mixture of theory and practice and the identification of theology as doctrina determinative of life and piety—also represents Mastricht’s fusion of elements in the Reformed development: the more dominant line that defined theology as a mixed discipline and the significant trajectory from Ramus, Perkins, Ames, and Maccovius to Cocceius that identified theology as a doctrine according to piety or the science of living blessedly. Whereas Cocceius following the model of Ames, went on to speak of the discipline as purely practical, Mastricht took up the model of Maccovius.

The final issue that belongs to this aspect of the Reformed definition of theology is the balance of theory and practice—which was, as in the case of the other issues noted here, resolved by the Reformed in several different ways, each offering a significant indication of the relation of various Reformed writers to trajectories of definition extending from the medieval into the early modern period. The paradigm employed by the larger number of the Protestant scholastics resolved the question into three possibilities: a discipline entirely practical, after the manner of the Franciscans, particularly Duns Scotus; a theoretico-practical discipline that is more theoretical than practical, after the manner of Aquinas’ Summa; or a theoretico-practical discipline that is more practical than theoretical, following the argument of Thomas of Strasbourg’s commentary on the Sentences. The option of a purely speculative or contemplative model did not appeal greatly to the Reformed. Apart from the exceptions already noted—Keckermann, Cocceius, Burman, Baxter, and Heidegger arguing for a purely practical discipline—and apart from Vermigli’s Thomistic emphasis on the theoretical or contemplative side of the discipline, a large number of Reformed orthodox tended to follow Thomas of Strasbourg, acknowledging the speculative dimension of theology but emphasizing the practical: That theology is more practical than speculative appears from its ultimate goal, which is praxis; granted that not all mysteries are regulative of operations or activities, they are however impulsive toward operation: indeed nothing [in theology] is theoretical to such a 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, John 18;17; 1 Cor. 13:2; Titus 1:1; 1 John 2:3, 4; Titus 2:12.182 That Thomas of Strasbourg provides the Reformed with a model is significant insofar as Thomas, like the models in our discussion of the object of theology, Giles of Rome and Gregory of Rimini, was a member of the Augustinian order. Specifically, he was known as a representative of the via antiqua in the order, as a follower of Giles of Rome, and as an opponent of the newer theologies of his time, whether that of Henry of Ghent or that of Duns Scotus.183 Reformed reference to Thomas of Strasbourg, therefore, indicates a distinctly Augustinian preference when modifying or refusing the patterns both of Thomist or Scotist theology. It is worth noting that this principial decision to describe the system of theology as theoretical and practical, with emphasis on the practical, coheres with the implications of Reformed soteriology. Just as the various options in the medieval paradigm correlate with theological and philosophical

considerations concerning the relationship of intellect and will, so does the Reformed choice of the Augustinian perspective indicate a correlation between the definition of theology itself and a form of soteriological voluntarism. Thomist theology, characterized by a doctrine of the primacy of the intellect was virtually bound to argue the priority of the theoretical or the contemplative. Scotist thought, by way of contrast, with its radical sense of the priority of the will, defined theology as essentially praxis. The Reformed, following the more traditional Augustinian line, balanced intellect and will with an emphasis on the activity of the regenerate will in “living to God” or “living blessedly forever.” Calvin, for example, had argued the faithful apprehension of Christ by the “heart” or will to be the chief part of faith.184 Thus, theology for the Reformed was both theoretical and practical, both intellectual and voluntary, with the emphasis on the practical or voluntary element. Wendelin rather neatly sums up the early orthodox discussion: “True theology is more practical than theoretical, since its goal is the glorification of God and our salvation.”185 Theology and religion are, therefore, the means of obtaining (obtinendi medium) the goal, the glory of God and the salvation of man. This instrumental function of religion and theology underlines their primarily practical character.186 7.4 Wisdom and Knowledge as Habitus mentis A. The Reformers and Faculty Psychology A strong case can be made for the continuity of the faculty psychology of Christian Aristotelianism during the period of the Reformation and in the theology of the Reformers themselves. Calvin, for example, viewed intellect and will as the faculties or parts of the soul (partes animae) and, following the traditional faculty-psychological model, placed the affections below the will as those qualities of soul that desire the things of sense perception and, in turn, influence the will in its choices.187 The concept of dispositions of intellect and will toward certain objects or kinds of object is an integral part of faculty psychology. In Melanchthon’s Erotemata dialectices, one of the few texts from the era of the Reformation in which the faculty psychology is presented, not tangentially as supplying some of the terms for discussion, but in a full positive exposition, the concept of habitus receives full definition. “Habitus, in Greek hexis, is a quality brought about through repeated actions in human beings, according to which people are able rightly and easily to perform those actions which are governed and assisted by a particular disposition or habit.”188 There was, perhaps, a deemphasis on habitus language in the theology of the Reformers because of their debates over the character of saving grace. Specifically, the Reformers disparage the language of habitus gratiae or

disposition of grace because of the semi-Pelagian connotations given it by the teachers of the late Middle Ages. On the other hand, they make no attempt to counter the assumption that the subjective reception of a particular form of knowledge (in this case, theology) should be understood in terms of an inward habitus sciendi theologiae, and the notion of inward faculties and their dispositions is a basic assumption of their discussions of the human psyche. Still, it can be easily demonstrated that Calvin held to the basic faculty psychology that divided the soul into faculties of intellect and will and placed the affections “below” the will as descriptors and motivators of human beings’ volitional relationship to external objects, whether religious or worldly.189 The same can be said of Bullinger, who speaks of the soul as consisting in the faculties of intellect or understanding and will.190 Bullinger also, somewhat more clearly than Calvin, refers to regeneration as the endowment, by grace, of a “new nature or disposition,” reflecting the assumption that a habit or disposition is needed inwardly to reeive or know anything.191 Among the earlier Reformed theologians, the Thomist-trained Vermigli is an exception to the generalization made in the preceding paragraph: although even he did not develop a full-scale psychology in his theology, he did draw out the concept of habitus specifically in relation to theological knowing. Man’s knowledge, he writes, is “either revealed or acquired: theology belongs to the former part, philosophy to the latter.” In both cases, wisdom, sapientia, is a habit (habitus) given to the mind of man by God, increased by diligence and exercise, whereby all things may be comprehended in order that a man may reach blessedness.… God has implanted a light in our minds and has sown in us the seeds which are the originals of all the sciences.192 The presence of knowledge in the mind is contingent upon the existence in the mind of a disposition for or habit of knowing. A person does not simply know a fact—he must first be disposed to know it. B. The Reformed Orthodox Treatment of the Theological Habitus Even among the Protestant scholastics, who adopt without question the entire language of faculty psychology as one of the presuppositions of their discussions of human knowing, we do not find a vast amount of space devoted to the analysis of theology as a habitus mentis. It is rather difficult therefore, to argue either an explicit continuity or a definite discontinuity with the Reformers on this point—the Reformers themselves seldom use or dispute the language of dispositio or habitus in theology nor do they propose an

alternative view of how faith resides in the mind, although it is clear that they held to the same basic faculty psychology as their orthodox successors. On the other hand, the orthodox discussion is brief and uncontroversial. The reasons for the relative lack of emphasis are probably quite simple and may, in fact, account for the virtual absence of the theological use of the term in early sixteenth-century Protestant literature as well as the lack of emphasis in the later discussions. In the first place, the language of inward habits or dispositions was taken for granted and was not a matter for debate. Here again, the underlying materials come from the psychological and epistemological theory of the medieval doctors and represent a modified Aristotelian view of the human being.193 There was also, certainly, a lingering worry concerning the semi-Pelagian use of the concept of a habitus as a resident disposition capable of receiving grace, leading to a cautious use of the term in theology. And, finally, the theological systems of the orthodox were designed as presentations of the discipline, not as descriptions of an inward reception of knowledge. In any case, with the rise of Protestant scholasticism and the need to present a full-scale psychology and epistemology, the language of habitus is returned to regular, albeit limited use in theology. Theology viewed as habitus is theology individualized and understood as belonging to the mind of a single human subject, whereas theology viewed as doctrinal system is theology universalized and understood as objective statement made available to all who can read or hear. Thus, Wollebius comments: “Christian theology is the teaching concerning God (doctrina de Deo) … in this place it is considered not as a disposition residing in the intellect (non ut habitus in intellectu residens) but as a system of precepts (sed ut systema praeceptorum).”194 Theology, in other words, cannot be easily discussed from the purely subjective perspective of the inward disposition that is required in order to know it—rather the discussion and exposition presents more objectively the set of precepts that the student of theology ought to learn. In the scholastic vocabulary, habitus indicates any spiritual capacity or disposition of the soul, whether of mind or of will, to be informed by things or beings external to it. These capacities or dispositions, moreover, can be classified both according to origin or cause and according to function or kind. Thus a disposition can be innate or inborn (habitus insita), belonging to the nature of the mind or will; acquired (habitus acquisita) by an activity of mind or will in relation to something external; or infused (habitus infusa) by the activity of some thing or power external to the mind or will. In terms of function or kind, a habitus can be a disposition of knowing, strictly so-called

(habitus sciendi), consisting in the rational activity of mind; a disposition of believing (habitus credendi) or a disposition of faith (habitus fidei), consisting in the acceptance of received testimony; or a disposition of opining (habitus opiniandi), consisting in an opinion concerning something resting neither on rational evidence nor authoritative testimony.195 In addition, it must be made clear—over against the mistake of confusing one disposition with another or of assuming that there is but one disposition in the mind—that the habitus theologiae or habitus sciendi theologiae is not identical either with the habitus fidei or habitus gratiae.196 The kind of habitus, moreover, is determined by the kind of theology. Natural or philosophical theology is either a habitus insita or a habitus acquisita; revealed or supernatural theology is a habitus infusa in the first instance and, when learned from a system in technical detail, a notitia acquisita resting on the infused habitus supernaturalis.197 The implication of these definitions is that natural or rational theology rests upon an innate or inborn capacity of man or, if found in an elaborate, philosophized form that must be learned, on an acquired intellectual capacity. In either case, we are speaking of a rational knowledge, a habitus sciendi in the strictest sense. In view of what we have already seen about the limitation of natural theology, we can note here that the disposition of the mind to learn of God through the natural or rational order is, corresponding to the order, a natural or rational disposition subject to the same limitation as the knowledge it receives. Since it belongs to the fallen nature of man, it cannot receive saving knowledge apart from grace. Indeed, the scholastics argue that a separate disposition is needed for a knowledge of revelation.198 Revealed or supernatural, which is to say, truly salvific or Christian theology is not a result of fallen nature perceiving truths of God in the world around it—or even of fallen nature per se perceiving truths of God contained in revelation. As the Reformers insisted in their doctrine of justification by grace through faith alone, faith itself is a gift of God’s grace and neither an innate capacity of man nor a capacity acquired through human effort. The scholastic Protestant classification of theology as a dispositio supernaturalis, habitus supernaturalis, or habitus fidei represents an attempt to reckon with this teaching concerning justification in the doctrine of theology itself.199 As implied in Calvin’s theme of the duplex cognitio Dei or twofold knowledge of God, there can be no movement from knowledge of God as Creator to knowledge of God as Redeemer apart from Christ and salvation in him. Here too, the theological enterprise, considered as an acquisition of saving knowledge, is impossible unless the disposition of believing (habitus credendi) is infused into man by God. Thus, again, the disposition of mind required for a particular order of knowing corresponds with the order of

things to be known—a supernaturally given habitus fidei or habitus credendi, a habitus theosdotos, is necessary for the reception of supernatural theology.200 The actual language of the Protestant scholastics concerning the habitus fidei is clearly influenced in a negative direction by the medieval scholastic view of grace as habitus infusa or infused disposition. The Protestant response, consistently present in both the Reformers and the orthodox, had been to deny that grace is a habit infused into the sinner. Grace is a power of God which never becomes a property or predicate of human nature.201 The psychology of the Middle Ages and of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, however, depended on the language of habitus as a way of reckoning with the ability of the mind to know or do certain things—and such dispositions are either inborn (innata), ingrafted (insita), acquired (acquisita), or infused (infusa). Habitus innata and habitus acquisita are ruled out immediately by the fall: faith is not something that we have by nature or can gain by effort. Remaining are the terms habitus insita and habitus infusa: insita tended to be used with reference to the result of immediate apprehension while infusa carried with it the taint of the medieval doctrine of grace. Since the former adjective does not apply to the doctrine of faith— insofar as it implies synergism—the latter alone remains applicable. Rather, however, than speak directly of a habitus infusa, the Protestant scholastics tend rather to speak of the divine act of infusing the habit in regeneration or in calling.202 Distinction ought also to be made between the principial habitus fidei that rests directly on revelation and accepts the truth of God’s Word and the further, developed, habitus theologiae that receives the truths known to faith, explains them, defends them, and deduces consequences from them. There is, thus, a second habitus or inward disposition that is properly called “theology” and that is distinct from “faith” in the human subject. Faith is necessary to theology but not identical with it. Whereas faith is necessary to salvation, theology is not—although, in a subordinate sense, theology is necessary to the conservation and defense of the church.203 The psychology and epistemology of the Protestant scholastics, then, indicates that there can be no saving knowledge in the unsaved—no genuine theology of the unregenerate (theologia irregenetorum). Of course, one could conceivably learn an entire theological system as a set of meaningless distinctions according to the habitus sciendi, but none of the materials learned would be effective, none would be capable of use according to the saving intention of theological system. For Christian theology to be learned as it is intended to be learned, the student or the theologian must be a believer in

whose mind there is a disposition of believing, a habitus credendi.204 Here, it should be noted that the Protestant scholastics reflect the views of the thirteenth-century scholastics—whether Aquinas, Bonaventure or Scotus— and not the views of the nominalists. The former assumed one habitus or disposition for each mode or manner of knowing (i.e., scientia, prudentia, ars, etc.), whereas the latter, based on their views of universals as mere mental abstractions, assumed a distinct habitus for each datum of knowledge, which is to say a distinct disposition to know corresponding with each doctrine or even doctrinal point believed. We note, finally, that this view of theological knowledge as resting upon a divinely infused habitus fidei or habitus credendi points toward a view of the theologian himself and of theological study as essentially religious.205 Theology, understood as a discipline, is a God-given disposition, acquired through study but firmly grounded on an infused disposition of faith.206 1 Aquinas, Summa theologiae, Ia, q.1, art. 7, corpus. Note that Aquinas does

not use the phrase sub ratione Deitatis but rather sub ratione Dei. 2 Cf. ibid.; with Peter Lombard, I Sent., dist.1, cap.1; and Hugh of St. Victor,

De sacramentis christianae fidei, c.2, in PL 176, p. 183; also see Congar, A History, pp. 124–125. 3 Robert Grosseteste, Hexaemeron,

ed. Richard Dales and Servus Gieben (London: Oxford University Press, 1982), I.i–ii.1; Robert Kilwardby, De natura theologiae, ed. Stegmüller (Aschendorff, 1935), pp. 16–17; and also see E. Mersch, “L’objet de la théologie et le ‘Christus totus’ ” in Recherches de science réligieuse, 26 (1936), pp. 126–157; and Per Erik Persson, Sacra Doctrina: Reason and Revelation in Aquinas, trans. Ross Mackenzie (Philadelphia, 1970), pp. 242–244. Mersch (pp. 139–140) cites a fragment of Grosseteste including the same view of the object of theology as expressed in the Hexaemeron and notes (p. 145) that this definition reappears in the theology of Ulrich of Strasbourg (d. 1277), a pupil of Albert the Great. 4 Alexander of Hales, Summa theologica, I, intro., q.1, cap. 3, art 1, resp. 5 Bonaventure, I Sent., proem., q.1; cf. Breviloquium, prol., cap. 4; cf. also

Mersch, Sacra Doctrina, 142–43. 6 Henry of Ghent, Summa, art xix, q.2; Scotus, Op. Oxon., prol. 3, q.2. 7 Scotus, Op. Oxon., prol. 3,q.2. 8 Gregory of Rimini, Lectura super primum et secundum sententiarum, ed.

Damasus Trapp and Venicio Marcolino (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1979–81), prol., q.4, art. 2; cf. Giles of Rome, Primum sententiarum (Venice, 1521), prol.

1,q.3; similarly, John of Paris, Commentarium in libros sententiarum, ed. J.-P. Muller (Rome, 1961), prol. 1, “[theologia] de Deo principalius agat ut est reparator …”; and Marsilius of Inghein, Quaestiones Marsilii super quattuor libros sententiarum (Strasbourg, 1501), prom., q.3, art. 4: “eius subiectum esse deum: inquantum est finis vitam viatoris …”; also cf. the spectrum of medieval definition summarized in Congar, History, pp. 124–125 with the discussion in Ulrich Koepf, Die Anfänge der theologischen Wissenschaftslehre, pp. 82–87. 9 Peter Aureole, Scriptum I, proem., sec. 5, art. 4b. 10 Richard of Middleton, In IV libros sententiarum (Venice, 1507), prol., q.1. 11 Calvin, Institutes, II.vi.4; III.ii.1. 12 Zwingli, Commentary on True and False Religion, p. 56. 13 Zwingli, Commentary on True and False Religion, pp. 58, 76. 14 Bullinger, Decades, I.vii (p. 124). 15 Melanchthon, Loci communes (1521), in CR, 21, col. 83–84 (Pauck, p. 22). 16 Cf. Melanchthon, Loci communes (1543), praef. and locus 1, in CR, 21,

cols. 605–637 (Preus, pp. 16–32) with Loci communes (1555), praef. (Manschreck, p. xlvi). 17 Calvin, Institutes, I.i.1. For a more detailed discussion of these issues and

their relation to the editorial strata of the Institutes, see Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 118–139. 18 Altenstaig, Lexicon theologicum, s.v. theologia.

19 Calvin, Institutes, III.ii.1. 20 Calvin, Institutes, II.vi.4. 21 Martin Chemnitz, Loci theologici (Wittenberg, 1653), p. 12, col. 2. 22 Chemnitz, Loci theologici, p. 13. 23 E.g., Henry of Ghent, Summa, art. XIX, q.2; and Bonaventure, I Sent.,

prol., q.1–4, deal with the materia, the causa formalis, causa finalis and causa efficiens, respectively. 24 Cf. Junius, De vera theologia, thesis xxiv. 25 Junius, De vera theologia, xiii; cf. Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix. 26 Gomarus, Disputationes, I.xx. 27 Walaeus, Loci communes, p. 114; cf. Poliander et al., Synopsis purioris,

I.xii. 28 Bartholomaus Keckermann, Scientiae metaphysicae brevissima synopsis, in

Opera, I, col. 2015; Johannes Maccovius, Metaphysica, ad usum quaestionum in philosophia ac theologia (Leyden, 1658), pp. 2–3, 6; but note Alsted, Methodus metaphysica, pp. 24, 32–33, where discussion of God does occur in metaphysics on the ground that God is ens per essentiam; nonetheless, Alsted too distinguished clearly between theology and metaphysics. 29 Thus, Armstrong, Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy, p. 32 and Alister

McGrath, Reformation Thought: An Introduction, second edition (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1993), pp. 129–130. 30 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.v.1. 31 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.v.2. 32 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.v.3. 33 See further the discussion of the traditional definition of God in PRRD, III,

chapter 4. 34 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.v.4; cf. Aquinas, I Sent., prol, art. 4 and Summa

theologiae, Ia, art. 7. 35 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, Ia, q.1, art. 7; and see further, below,

this chapter. 36 Cf. Pannenberg, Theology and the Philosophy of Science, p. 235; but also

note Lawrence F. Murphy, “Gabriel Biel and Ignorance as an Effect of Original Sin in the Prologue to the Canonis missae expositio,” in Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte, 74 (1983): 5–23 and 75 (1984): 32–57.

37 Heidanus, Corpus theologiae, I: 7. 38 Voetius, De articulis et erroribus fundamentalibus, in Sel. Disp, II, p. 515. 39 Hermann Witsius, Exercitationes sacrae in symbolum (Amsterdam, 1697);

Sacred Dissertations on … the Apostles’ Creed, trans. D. Fraser, 2 vols. (Edinburgh, 1823), IV.i. 40 See below, 7.4. 41 Burman, Synopsis theol., I.ii.52–54. 42 Leigh, A Treatise, II.16. 43 Cloppenburg, Exercitationes super locos communes, I.i.10–11. 44 Cloppenburg, Exercitationes super locos communes, I.i.15. 45 Cf. W. van Zuylen, Bartholomaus Keckermann: Sein Leben und Wirken

(Leipzig: Noske, 1934) pp. 20–21. 46 Bartholomaus Keckermann, Opera omnia quae extant, 2 vols. (Geneva,

1614): in vol. I, works on philosophical foundations, logic, physics, astronomy, geography, and metaphysics; in vol. II, ethics, oeconomics, politics, rhetoric (both secular and Christian), and theology. 47

Johann Heinrich Alsted, Panacea philosophica, id est facilis, nova, et accurata methodus docendi et discendi universam encyclopediam (Herborn: C. Corvinus, 1610); and cf. the discussion in Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, pp. 66–94 with Loemker, “Leibniz and the Herborn Encyclopedists,” pp. 323– 338. 48 Gisbertus Voetius, Exercitia et bibliotheca studiosi theologiae

(Utrecht,

1651); cf. the discussion in Muller, After Calvin, pp. 110–116. 49 Johannes Franciscus Buddeus, Isagoge historico-theologica ad theologiam

universam (Jena, 1727). 50 Turretin, Inst. theol.,

I.v.5; cf. the similar presentation by Scotus in P. Parthenius Minges, Ioannis Duns Scoti Doctrina Philosophica et Theologica (Quaracchi, 1930), I, pp. 510–511, 520–521. 51 Cf. Muller, “Duplex cognitio Dei,” pp. 59–61. 52 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.v.6. 53 Polanus, Syntagma, II.iv. 54 Cf. Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 169–171; and below, this chapter. 55 See below, 9.3.

56 Cf. Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 78, 110, 157, 221 n.168. 57 Cf. DLGT, s.v. “attributa Dei”; “opera Dei essentialia”; and “simplicitas.”

This point is developed at length in the continuation of the present study in Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics, III–IV. 58 On this latter point, see PRRD, III, 3.2 (A.3). 59 See above, 3.2 (B). 60 Cf. Ames, Medulla theologiae, I.i.1, 3, 13; Yates, Modell of Divinitie, I,

(pp. 8–10); Stoughton, Learned Treatise of Divinity, pp. 6–7; Leigh, Body of Divinity, p. 2; cf. Maccovius, Loci communes, I (pp. 1–2); Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.36. 61 See below, 7.2 (B.2, 4). 62 Cf. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, VI.3–8:1139b-1142a; with Altenstaig,

Lexicon theologicum, s.v. Ars; Intelligentia; Prudentia; Sapientia; Scientia; and note also Durandus, Sent., prol., q.1, par.2. 63 Cf. Alexander of Hales, Summa theologica, intro., q. i, cap. 1–2. 64 Cf. Aquinas, Summa theologiae, I, q. 1, a.2. 65 E.g., Trelcatius, Scholastica et methodica locorum communium institutio

(London, 1604), I: 6. On the originality and significance of Aquinas’ position for medieval scholastic theology, see M.-D. Chenu, “La théologie comme science au XIIIe siècle,” p. 33. 66 Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix. 67 Aquinas, Summa theologiae, I,q.1,a.6. 68 Scotus, Op. Oxon., prol., q.3, art. 2 and 4. 69 Aquinas, Summa theologiae, Ia, q.1, art. 2, 6 and 7. 70 Contra Althaus, Die Prinzipien, p. 232. 71 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol. I.vi.2; Alexander of Hales, Summa Theologica,

intro., q.i, cap. 1, obj. 3; also note Gregory of Rimini, I Sent., prol. q.1, art. 2: the habitus requisite to theology is described here as a habitus creditivus, the conclusion being drawn that it is not possible for an infidel to be a theologian. (The character of theology as habitus will be discussed further below, 7.4). 72 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vi.4, 6, 7. 73

Cf. Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 4; Wollebius, Compendium, praecognita, I.ii; Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vi.5; Maresius, Collegium theol., I.x. 74 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 5; Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix.

75 Polanus, Syntagma theol., I.xiii. 76 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 7–8. 77 Owen, Theologoumena, I.ii.1. 78 Owen, Theologoumena, I.ii.2. 79

Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vi.5; similarly, Le Blanc, Theses theol., De theologia, xiv. 80 Walaeus, Loci communes I (p. 114). 81 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, II.iv.22. 82 Owen, The Reason of Faith, in Works, 4, p. 105. 83 Turretin, Inst. theol., II.iv.22; cf. I.vi.5; and Le Blanc, Theses theol., De

theologia, xxxi; and also see Muller, After Calvin, pp. 139, 142; and note the similar view of certainty expressed by Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix. 84 On Tronchin’s rationalism see: Jacques Solé, “Rationalisme chrétien et foi

réformée à Genève autour de 1700: les derniers sermons de Louis Tronchin,” in Bulletin de la Societé d’historie du protestantisme français, 128 (1982), pp. 29–43; and also note Michael Heyd, Between Orthodoxy and the Enlightenment: Jean-Robert Chouet and the Introduction of Cartesian Science in the Academy of Geneva (The Hague: De Graff, 1982) 85 Wollebius, Compendium, proleg. i.2; Barlow, De Studio Theologiae, p. 1. 86 Keckermann, Systema sacrosanctae theologiae, in Opera omnia, vol. II, ad

fin, separate pagination, I.i. 87 Burman, Synopsis theol., I.ii.50. 88 Ames, Medulla theologiae, I.i.3. 89 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i, p. 2. 90 Keckermann, Systema ss. theologiae, p. 67, col. 1. 91 Keckermann, Systema ss. theologiae, p. 67, cols. 1–2. 92 Ames, Medulla, I.i.2; cf. Stoughton, Learned Treatise, p. 7. On Ames’

interest in ars or techne, see Sprunger, “Ames, Ramus, and the Method of Puritan Theology,” pp. 133–151 and idem, “Technometria: A Prologue to Puritan Theology,” pp. 115–122. 93 Ames, Medulla, I.i.3–4. 94 Yates, Modell of Divnintie, I (p. 9). 95 Stoughton, Learned Treatise, p. 6.

96 Yates, Modell of Divnintie, I (pp. 8–10). 97 See below, 8.2 (B). 98 Cf. Baier-Walther, Compendium, I, pp. 32–35. 99 Daneau, Compendium, prooemium, fol. 1r. 100 Trelcatius, Schol. meth., I: 6. 101 Perkins, Works, I, p. 11. 102

Ames, Medulla, I; Maccovius, Loci communes, I.i.1; Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.xxxvi. 103 Walaeus, Loci communes, I (p. 114); similarly, Poliander in the Synopsis

purioris, I.x–xi. 104 Perkins, Golden Chaine, p. 1. 105 Cf. Keckermann, Operum omnium quae extant (Geneva, 1614), vol. II;

Voetius, Tractati selecti de politica ecclesiastica, 2 vols. (Amsterdam, 1885– 86); Heidegger, Corpus theol., XII–XIV; and Perkins, A treatise concerning the only true manner and method of preaching, in Works, vol. II. 106 Stoughton, Learned Treatise, pp. 15–16. 107 Stoughton, Learned Treatise, pp. 18–19. 108 Owen, Theologoumena, I.ii.1–5; Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.vi.5; Le

Blanc, Theses theol., De theologia, xii–xiv, xxxvi, xxxvii, xliii. Cf. the discussion of Owen’s views on the genus of theology in Rehnman, Divine Discourse, pp. 96–104. 109

Junius, De vera theologia, ii; Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 5; Polanus, Syntagma, I.iv.vi; Walaeus, Loci communes, I (p. 114). 110 Scharpius, Cursus theologicus, col. 4. 111 Alsted, Methodus, praecognita, I.v. 112 John Prideaux, Fasciculus controversiarum, third edition (Oxford, 1664),

p. 6; idem, Manductio ad theologiam polemicam (Oxford, 1657), p. 1. 113 Walaeus, Loci communes, I (p. 114). 114 Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix. 115 Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix. 116 Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix, and see below, 8.3 (B.2), for a discussion of

mixed articles. 117 Alsted, Praecognita, I.xv.

118 Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix. 119 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divnitie, pp. 19–22. 120

Augustine, De Trinitate, XIV.i.3; cf. Etienne Gilson, The Christian Philosophy of Saint Augustine, trans. L. E. M. Lynch (New York: Vintage, 1960), pp. 118–124. 121 Calvin, Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians, 12:8, in loc.

(CTS I Corinthians, I, p. 401). 122

Poole, Commentary, 1 Cor. 12:8, in loc. (III, p. 583); cf. Henry, Commentary, in loc., offering a variety of readings with no conclusive determination. 123 Diodati, Pious and Learned Annotations, 1 Cor. 12:8, in loc. 124 Haak, Dutch Annotations, 1 Cor. 12:8, in loc. 125 Cf., explicitly, Trapp, Commentary, 1 Cor. 12:8, in loc. (V, p.543). 126 Turretin, Inst. Theol., I.vi.7, citing Stobaeus. 127 Turretin, Inst. Theol., I.vi.7. 128 Turretin, Inst. Theol., I.vi.7; cf. Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix. Also note Owen,

Theologoumena, I.ii.3–6; Prideaux, Fasciculus controversiarum, I (p. 6): “Theologia est sapientia religiosa … ad salutem perveniendi”; and cf. the discussion in Rehnman, Divine Discourse, pp. 102–103. 129 Althaus, Die Prinzipien, pp. 241–243. 130 As noted above, 2.3 (A.2), the theme of scriptural and historical series

derives from Melanchthon. 131 Cf. the discussion in Cross, Duns Scotus, p. 9 with Stephen Dumont,

“Theology as a Practical Science and Duns Scotus’s Distinction between Intuitive and Abstractive Cognition,” in Speculum, 64 (1989), pp. 579–599. 132 Vermigli, Loci communes, II.iii.9. 133 Vermigli, Loci communes, I.ii.13. 134 Vermigli, Loci communes, I.ii.13. 135 Vermigli, Loci communes, I.ii.13. 136 Brian G. Armstrong, “The Changing Face of French Protestantism: The

Influence of Pierre Du Moulin,” in Schnucker, Calviniana, pp. 147–149. 137 Copleston, History of Philosophy, II, p. 496. 138 Cf. Calvin, Institutes, III.xxiv.3; with Vermigli, Loci communes, II.iii.9

and idem, Most Learned and Fruitfull Commentaries upon … Judges (London, 1564), the scholion on 6:22, in loc.; also, cf. Vermigli on predestination in Donnelly, et al eds., Peter Martyr Reader, p. 179 (from the commentary on Genesis 25:23. Note that precisely the same point is made by Beza in his Tabula praedestinationis, viii.2 139 Vermigli, Loci communes, II.iii.9. 140 Cf. Heidegger, Corpus theologiae, I.70; cf. Cocceius, Summa theologiae,

prol., i.8; idem, Aphorismi prolixiores, i.1–2; with Burman, Synopsis theol. I.ii.51; Heidanus, Corpus theol., i (p. 7); Baxter, Methodus theologiae, I (p. 1). Puritan theology also tended toward emphasis on theology as practical or “directive” knowledge. See, e.g. Charnock, A Discourse of the Knowledge of God, pp. 50–51. In view of this Protestant orthodox tendency to balance theory and praxis in definitions of theology, we must reject as a major misinterpretation Barth’s argument that the orthodox chose a Scotist definition of theology as a scientia practica and tended to emphasize religiosity rather than objectivity in their view of theology: see CD, I/1, pp. 85, 191–192. 141 Cited in Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, p. 145. 142 Cf. Scotus, Op. Oxon., prol. q.iv, n.42. 143 Keckermann, Systema, I.i. 144 Keckermann, Systema, I.i. 145

Thus, Ames, Medulla, I.i.1; Stoughton, Learned Treatise, pp. 22–25; Yates, Modell of Divinitie, I (pp. 8, 18); cf. Perkins, Golden Chaine, i (p. 11, col. 1) and Henry Ainsworth, The Orthodox Foundation of Religion, long since collected by that judicious and elegant man Mr. Henry Ainsworth, ed. Samuel White (London: R. C. for M. Sparke, 1641), p. 7. 146 See, e.g., Gisbertus Voetius, Ta asketika sive Exercitia pietatis in usum

juventutis academicae nunc edita. Addita est, ob materiam affinitatem, Oratio de pietate cum scientia conjungenda habita anno 1634 (Gorinchem, 1664); Johannes Hoornbeeck, Theologia practica, 2 vols. (Utrecht, 1663–1666); Simon Oomius, Dissertatie van de Onderwijsingen in de Practycke der Godgeleerdheid (Bolsward: van Haringhouk, 1672; repr. Geldermalsen: De Schatkamer, 1997). 147 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinitie, pp. 22–23. 148 Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinitie, pp. 24–25; cf. the original

Latin in, Thesaurus disputationum theoologicarum in alma Sedanensi academis variis temporibus habitarum (Geneva, 1661), I, p. 5; also note Du

Moulin, Treatise of the Knowledge of God, p. 60. 149 Contra in Armstrong, “The Changing Face of French Protestantism,” pp.

147–149, who misinterprets the implications of “contemplative” or “speculative” and misses the practical aspect of Du Moulin’s definition. 150 Cf. Pierre Du Moulin, Elements de logique (Geneva, 1625), aii verso; as

cited in Armstrong, “Changing Face of French Protestantism,” p. 147 with Pierre Du Moulin, The Anatomy of Arminianisme (London, 1620), p. 5. 151 Cf. Johann Gerhard, Loci theologici, edited by E. Preuss (Berlin, 1863–

75), I, proem. 11–12. 152 Alsted, Praecognita, I.v, ix. 153 Maccovius, Loci communes, I (p. 1). 154 Maccovius, Loci communes, I (p. 3). 155 Cf. S. D. van Veen, s.v. “Maccovius, Johannes’ in RE, vol. 12, pp. 36–38. 156 Walaeus, Loci communes, I: 114. 157 Poliander, Synopsis purioris, I.xxiii. 158

Episcopius, Institutiones theologicae I.ii. Cf. Arminius’ oration, De obiecto theologiae, in Opera, p. 26, col. 1. Arminius argues that theologia in via is purely practical whereas the heavenly theology of the blessed, theologia visionis, is theoretical or contemplative; also note Disputationes privatae, I.v– vi, in Opera, p. 269. 159 Episcopius, Institutiones theologicae I.ii 160 Episcopius, Institutiones theologicae I.ii 161 Episcopius, Institutiones theologicae I.ii. 162 See further in this work ch. 4, on theology as a discipline; and 9.3, on

theological principia. 163

Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vii.3–4; Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.20; Maccovius, Loci communes, I; and note Pannenberg, Theology and the Philosophy of Science, pp. 234–235. 164 Ames, Medulla, I.i.10–12. 165 Walaeus, Loci communes, I.i; cf. Maccovius, Loci communes, I; Gomarus,

Disputationes, I.x. 166 Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix (esp. p. 63). 167 Cf. Cocceius, Summa theologiae, prol., i.8; idem, Aphorismi prolixiores,

i.1–2; with Burman, Synopsis theol. I.ii.51; Heidanus, Corpus theol., i (p. 7). 168 Baxter, Methodus theologiae, I (p. 1). 169 Heidanus, Corpus theologiae, i (pp, 6–7). 170

Cloppenburg, Exercitationes super locos communes, I.i.1–2; cf. the discussion in his Protheoria theologiae christianae; quo agitur de theologiae & religionis definitione, partitione & distributione, in Opera, I, pp. 446–447. On this aspect of Lombard’s thought, see Colish, Peter Lombard, I, pp. 78– 79. 171 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vii.1. 172 Cf. Muller, After Calvin, pp. 137–145. 173 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vii.2. 174 Owen, Theologoumena, I.ii.1; and cf. Rehnman, “Theologia tradita,” pp.

148–150. 175 Cf. Baier-Walther, Compendium, I, pp. 6–7, where theology is defined as

scientia practica. 176 Turretin, Inst. theol. I.vii.3–4; cf. Walaeus, Loci communes, I, p. 114; Le

Blanc, Theses theol., De theologia, xviii–xix. 177 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vii.6. 178 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vii.6. 179 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vii.8. 180 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.2. 181 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.i.2. 182 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vii.25. 183 William Turner, “Thomas of Strasburg,” s.v. in Catholic Encyclopedia,

XIV. 184 Cf. the definitions of theology from Perkins, Ames and Maccovius, cited

above, 3.2 (B), with Calvin, Institutes, III.iii.33. 185 Cited in Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, p. 145. 186 Cited in Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, p. 145. 187 See Calvin, Institutes, II.i.9; ii.2, 12. 188 Melanchthon, Opera, 13, col. 535; and cf. the discussion of habitus in

Johannes Wallmann, Der Theologiebegriff bei Johann Gerhard und Georg Calixt (Tübingen: Mohr, 1961), pp. 65–71.

189 Cf. Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 159–173. 190 Bullinger, Decades, IV.ii, x (III, pp. 98, 376–379). 191 Bullinger, Decades, IV.ii (III, p. 101). 192 Vermigli, Loci communes, II.iii.5. 193 Cf., e.g., Durandus, Sent., prol. q.1, par. 6–8. 194

Wollebius, Compendium, praecognita, I.ii; cf. Owen, Theologoumena, I.iii.1. 194

Wollebius, Compendium, praecognita, I.ii; cf. Owen, Theologoumena, I.iii.1. 195 Cf. Bucanus, Institutiones theologicae (Geneva, 1602), XXIX.2; Turretin,

Inst. theol., I.vi.2; also, Altenstaig, Lexicon theologicum, s.v. “habitus”. 196 This is the fundamental error in Timothy R. Phillips, “The Dissolution of

Francis Turretin’s Vision of Theologia: Geneva at the End of the Seventeenth Century,” in Klauber and Roney (eds.), The Identity of Geneva, pp. 77–92, where the author misunderstands the meaning of the term, conflates various habitus indiscriminately, argues that Turretin’s theology presumes “a qualitatively new cognizance and volition for reality,” and concludes that the objective content of theology arises from “the activity of the habitus” (pp. 80– 81). Quite to the contrary, the habitus sciendi is a mental disposition to receive a knowledge that exists, objectively, prior to the disposition to know it. 197 Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix. 198

Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., I.vi.2–3; with Charnock, Discourse of the Knowledge of God, pp. 26, 60. 199 Cf. Maccovius, Loci communes, lxx (pp. 629–630). 200 Maresius, Collegium theol., I.xi. Cf. Biel, Sent., prol., q.Vii, nota 2; and

the Lutheran view in Baier-Walther, Compendium, I, pp. 70–71; and Wallmann, Der Theologiebegriff, pp. 71–75; with Turretin, Inst. theol; I.vi.4; and Junius, De vera theologia, v. 201 Cf. Maccovius, Loci communes, xxii, pp. 166–167; with Turretin, Inst.

theol., III.xx.7–9. 202

Cf. Maccovius, Loci communes, lxxi, p. 690; Turretin, Inst. theol., XV.viii.1. 203 Le Blanc, Theses theol., De theologia, vi–vii. 204

Cf. DLGT, s.v. “theologia irregenitorum” and “fides … (1) fides

historica;” with Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix. 205 See above, 4.3 (B.1–2). 206 Maresius, Collegium theol., I.xi.



8 The Use of Philosophy in Theology 8.1 From Reformation to Orthodoxy: The Development of a Reformed Perspective on Philosophy A. Philosophy, Aristotle, Reformation, and Orthodoxy: A Restatement of the Problem Whereas there is considerable explicit agreement between the Reformed orthodox perspectives on religion and natural theology and the views of the Reformers on those subjects, when it comes to the use of philosophy in theology there is a certain degree of discontinuity. Some distinction, of course, must be made between declarations made in polemic and the actual use of philosophical concepts. The Reformers, typically, had little good to say about philosophy, particularly about the pagan philosophy of antiquity and the philosophical speculations of the later medieval scholastics. Aristotle in particular was the target of polemic, inasmuch as the philosophical development of the later Middle Ages could be traced to the varied appropriations of Aristotelian philosophy by the medieval doctors. Still, the Reformers themselves did not remove all philosophical issues from their theology or fail to use traditional understandings of such basic categories as substance and attributes, cause and effect, relation, or disposition. The Protestant orthodox, by way of contrast, faced issues similar to those confronted by the medieval scholastics in their work of system building. Luther and Calvin had argued pointedly against the use of philosophical concepts—particularly Aristotelian concepts—in the construction of theology and had consistently ruled out, if not the implicit acceptance of a largely Christian Aristotelian worldview, at least the explicit use of philosophical models. Both Luther and Calvin were reluctant to develop metaphysical discussions of the divine essence and attributes—though neither disputed the truth of the traditional attribution to God of omnipresence, omniscience, eternity, infinity, simplicity, and so forth.1 This perspective on metaphysical discussion and the related avoidance of the language of essence marks a major difference between the theology of these two Reformers and that of the Protestant orthodox. Much of that difference relates to the problem of the use of philosophy in theology. B. The Reformation and Aristotelianism 1. Defining the relationship. A large number of studies of the Reformation have emphasized the antagonism of the Reformers toward

philosophy, specifically toward Aristotelian philosophy. One recent and wildly hyperbolic essay has even suggested that the fundamental message of the Reformation was the rejection of Aristotle and that any return to Aristotelian thinking after a brief nearly non-Aristotelian moment in the early thought of Luther amounts to a loss of the meaning of the Reformation itself.2 Such claims are the natural, albeit unfortunate, outgrowth of an older Protestant scholarship that marked out a neat break between the Middle Ages and the Reformation and another neat break between the Reformation and Protestant orthodoxy; that strictly identified scholasticism as an Aristotelian form of philosophy and theology rather than as primarily a method; that offered a vague and generalized identification of “Aristotelianism” without either a precise statement of the philosophical concepts that make one Aristotelian or a distinction (quite necessary to the understanding of the thought of the Middle Ages, Renaissance, and Reformation) between logic and rhetoric on the one hand and metaphysics and physics on the other; and that assumed that both scholasticism and Aristotelianism were brought to an end or should have been brought to an end (at least for Protestants) by the Reformation. It is also quite easy to trace a continuous flow of fundamentally Aristotelian or Christian Aristotelian philosophical training from the fifteenth to the seventeenth century.3 From a purely historiographical perspective, the problem of much of the theological scholarship on Protestant scholasticism lies in its neglect of the history of philosophy in the seventeenth century—not the history of philosophy writ large in the thought of Descartes, Spinoza, and Leibniz, but the history of philosophy writ small, in the thought of the many significant teachers in the academies and universities, whose work has all too often been ignored in the broader surveys.4 In most of the universities and academies of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, a basic course in philosophy, consisting in such subjects as ethics, physics, metaphysics, logic, and rhetoric followed a basically Aristotelian model throughout the era, including the practice of commenting on Aristotelian texts, such as the Nicomachean Ethics, as a basic pattern of lecture. The Renaissance brought, not a removal of Aristotle, but a demand that better texts be used, including critical Greek texts, as the centerpiece of the course. In other words, humanism led not to the abandonment of Aristotelian philosophy but to its alteration in the light of refined philological scholarship and new editions and translations.5 Where contemporary manuals replaced either texts of Aristotle or the older medieval manuals, particularly the case in the study of logic, the contents were, typically, explicitly developed with reference to key texts and definitions taken from Aristotle. Equally important, moreover, to this understanding of a continuity of

Aristotelianism is the fact that the Western philosophical tradition, as it emerged into the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries offered highly eclectic philosophies that, in their various theological relationships, had been modified by the realist tendencies of the Augustinian and Platonic traditions and had been developed in such a way as to conform to the Christian worldview. What is more, the humanist studies of the Renaissance had brought a revival of interest not only in the text of Aristotle but also in the texts and thought of other ancient philosophies—notably, Platonism, Stoicism, and the Skeptical and Hermetic traditions.6 So too, did the great schools of medieval scholastic thought, Thomist, Scotist, Augustinian, and nominalist, in their various permutations and combinations, track through the Renaissance and the era of the Reformation: medieval antecedents of the several scholastic tendencies that can be identified in the thought of Reformers were also the roots of major schools of thought within Roman Catholicism.7 In short, the later Middle Ages and Renaissance modified and enriched the trajectories of the late medieval schools of thought by way of better texts and by way of new and increasingly nuanced debates between schools of thought: writers like Capreolus and Cajetan, for example, developed Thomism to answer Scotist and nominalist critiques and addressed topics that Aquinas himself had not (just as, we might add, Aquinas consistently addressed issues and questions that Aristotle did not). If, on the one hand, the Renaissance provided sixteenth and seventeenth-century philosophers and theologians with a clearer and surer sense of precisely what the ancient philosophers had said, it also provided, on the other hand, the opportunity for individual philosophers and theologians to develop highly eclectic patterns of appropriation of concepts and arguments from the Western scholastic tradition.8 2. Luther, Melanchthon, and the university curriculum. The discontinuity between medieval Christian Aristotelianism and the educational models of the Reformation, moreover, is not nearly as pronounced as the more polemical statements of Luther and Calvin would make it seem.9 The academic and curricular aspects of Luther’s reform certainly did involve attacks on scholastic theology and on the place of Aristotle in the curriculum, but these attacks must be understood in their particulars and not merely in terms of broad generalizations about the “isms”: the new curriculum developed between 1516 and 1520 emphasized biblical studies in theology and humanistic pedagogy and method whether in theology or in other fields of study. At the same time Luther attacked the use of Aristotelian metaphysics, physics, and ethics in the theological fields, the faculty was in the process of revising its approach to Aristotle. In an initial reformist step of 1518, the courses on Aristotle’s Physics, Metaphysics, and Logic were revised according to humanist standards and the best available Greek texts of

Aristotle were employed. Concurrent with this change, the faculty continued to demand that a linguist be called to teach Greek and Hebrew according to the highest standards. In a further reform, between 1520 and 1523, much after the program enunciated in Luther’s address To the Christian nobility of the German Nation (1520), courses on Aristotle’s Physics, Metaphysics, and Ethics were discontinued but those on his Logic, Rhetoric, and Poetics were retained.10 The implications of these decisions are the restriction, not the removal of Aristotle from the curriculum. The assumption that reliance on Aristotelian physics, metaphysics, and ethics led to false conclusions in theology did not lead to the entire exclusion of Aristotelian philosophy, given that use of the basic tools of logic and rhetoric as defined by Aristotle remained, even in Luther’s anti-Aristotelian schema, necessary to the work of teaching theology and, indeed, of preaching. This means that a broad conclusion to the effect that, “for Luther, Aristotelian philosophy had some validity in the natural realm, but in theology it had no place whatever,”11 rather misses the point—for Luther excluded Aristotelian metaphysics, physics, and ethics from theology but assumed the necessity of logic and rhetoric not merely in secular discourse, but in theological discourse as well. Philip Melanchthon, the Praeceptor Germaniae as he was called, taught courses in Aristotelian logic and rhetoric at Wittenberg throughout the era of the Reformation. Melanchthon was less willing than Luther to deny the usefulness of Aristotle and philosophy in general, principally because this was the source of considerations on the order and method of topics. If the problem of the scholasticism of the later Middle Ages was “sophistry,” then logic was a necessary part of the solution.12 Melanchthon also signaled the return of Aristotle’s Ethics to the theological curriculum with the publication of his commentary on the text in 1529—just as he introduced, shortly thereafter, the study of physics and elements of natural theology.13 (What did not return to the curriculum for more than half a century, however, was the study of metaphysics—but this curricular deletion does not appear to have occurred solely on the theological grounds of the Reformation, given the removal of metaphysics from the curricula of Roman Catholic universities as well.)14 Melanchthon should not be viewed as something of an exception within Lutheranism: the philosophical faculty of Tübingen numbered among its members Jacob Schegk (1511–1587), a scholarly Aristotelian who wrote commentaries on the Organon, the Physics, and the Ethics of Aristotle. On the Reformed side, the philosophical career of the Marburg professor, Andreas Hyperius, was as noteworthy as his theological efforts. He not only wrote the influential Methodus theologiae but also the highly respected Compendium librorum physicorum Aristotelis. Vermigli lectured and commented on the Nichomachean Ethics. If, moreover, one recognizes a

distinction between the use of Aristotelian metaphysics, physics, and ethics on the one hand, and Aristotelian logic and rhetoric on the other, and then examines curricula in the schools and universities that served the Reformed faith, it becomes quite apparent that the polemic against the use of Aristotle in theology did not at all extend to logic and rhetoric. There is, for example, no evidence that Calvin’s polemics against Aristotle extended to his logic—and the Academy of Geneva never sought beyond the basic Aristotelian model as mediated through Renaissance manuals like Sturm’s Partitiones dialecticae or Melanchthon’s Erotemata dialectices for its basic training in logic.15 Further examples like this can be easily adduced to demonstrate the continuity of Christian Aristotelianism into and through the sixteenth century.16 3. Calvin, Vermigli, and the use of “sound” philosophy. The Reformers’ exegesis of such key texts as Colossians 2:8, “Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the traditions of men,” hardly points to a rejection of philosophy per se, but rather toward a careful use of philosophy that, to borrow on an old proverb, distinguishes use from abuse. Calvin, for example, makes it quite clear that the text is not a diatribe against philosophy in general and, in fact, warns his readers against the conclusion that Paul has condemned philosophy: rather the Apostle warns against the acceptance of “false conceit” and “persuasive speech” that passes for wisdom because of its “elegant and plausible arguments.” Calvin indicates that any philosophical discourse that claims to “add anything to the pure word of God” can fall into this category, but he understands the following phrase of the text, “according to the traditions of men” as a parallel, not meaning that the “philosophy” criticized by Paul is a matter of human tradition or intellectual inclination foreign or opposed to the truth of the gospel, but that, together with deceitful philosophy, human traditions are also problematic as norms.17 In the case of Calvin, moreover, it is one thing to examine the various statements that Calvin makes, particularly in the Institutes, concerning the relative merits of Plato and Aristotle or to note his denials of Stoic “fatalism,” and quite another to examine the roots of Calvin’s concepts in the tradition. Clearly, on the face of Calvin’s declarations, one might conclude that he leaned toward Platonism: Plato is said to be the most religious of the ancients and identified as alone correct in his understanding of the immortality of the soul,18 whereas Aristotle is consistently scorned because of his association with the older scholasticism, and the Stoics (including the eclectic Cicero) are seldom cited substantively. Yet, in Calvin’s own perceptions of the world order and causality the Aristotelianism is clear, and there are probably Stoic associations in his views on human existence and ethics.19 Beyond these elements of classical philosophy indicating Calvin’s inheritance of the results of Renaissance humanism, there are also hints of medieval discussions: by

way of example, Calvin expressed significant doubts concerning the ability of human reason to penetrate and grasp the divine essence, and he quite consistently denied that biblical language of divine attributes yielded an understanding of the divine essence, but only revealed God in relation, ad extra. The former accent may be Scotist, the latter may indicate nominalist leanings.20 The medieval dialogue of theology with philosophy continued on into the sixteenth century, if not so obviously in the writings of Calvin, then quite explicitly in the theology of Vermigli. Vermigli quite pointedly notes that true philosophy is a “gift of God” according to which rational creatures discern justice, goodness, and other truths implanted in the mind by God. Philosophy is only to be reproached when it becomes corrupt “through the inventions of men and the ambitious contentions of philosophers”—such as Stoic fatalism and Epicurean theorization about an “idle and unoccupied deity.” True philosophy, however, “nourishes and instructs the soul itself.”21 What is more, philosophy follows a pattern similar in many ways to theology: it is both an active and practical discipline and a contemplative or speculative scientia, discussing both natural and supernatural causality.22 As for Vermigli’s own philosophical inclinations (traceable to his training both in Thomist and in late medieval Augustinian models), his commentary on the Nichomachean Ethics offers a significant insight into the ways in which the Aristotelian philosophical perspectives were adapted to Christian assumptions: thus, the ethical goal of happiness, drawn from Aristotle and debated through the variant theories of the ancient philosophers—Cicero, Epicurus, and Plato—is finally clarified in Christian terms, as being justified through Christ in this life and being united with him in the next.23 And, of course, the ways in which various other Reformers modified their use of classical philosophy related to their own rootage in the older Christian theological and philosophical traditions, whether nominalist, Scotist, Thomist, or Augustinian, whether via antiqua or via moderna—traditions which themselves had already vastly modified and adapted Aristotelian thought to Christian purposes. C. Reformed Orthodoxy, “Christian Aristotelianism,” and the Eclecticism of Early Modern Philosophy 1. The Reformed orthodox and the need for sound philosophy: the perpetuation of the tradition. A conclusion similar to that of the Reformers’ reading of Colossians 2:8 is found in the Reformed orthodox exegesis of the text: Daillé indicates that the text warns against the “vain deceit of philosophy” and “the traditions of men.” Philosophy, he notes, is given “first place” in the criticism because it has been subject to such great abuse: the

Greeks “disgraced” the name of philosophy by making it “a tool of error and imposture.” Still, Daillé comments, it is not the “substance” of philosophy that Paul attacks but its abuse: Paul’s addition of the words “vain deceit” indicates that the Apostle limited his criticism, “giving us to understand that he rejected the use of philosophy only when it was made to serve error and imposture.”24 Diodati explicitly identifies vain philosophy as “Pharisaical superstition” in which believers may become ensnared.25 In short, neither the Reformers not the Reformed orthodox opposed philosophy per se—both opposed excessive speculation and abuse of reason in theological matters. The issue addressed by Protestant orthodoxy, then, was not only intellectually but also historically complex. The Reformation can hardly be said to have ended the intellectual hegemony of modified Christian Aristotelianism. None of the Reformers, not even Luther and Calvin, ceased to view the world as ordered according to the fourfold causality or as fitting into a universe of concentric spheres, each of which was moved by an angelic mover.26 Nor did the Reformers’ attacks on Aristotelian philosophy— particularly on the ethics and metaphysics—imply any diminution of interest in the norms of classical logic and rhetoric. Nevertheless there had been, beginning with Luther and continuing through the next generation of writers, a tendency to reduce the actual use of philosophical categories in theology and, more importantly, to refrain from lengthy or positive consideration of the great scholastic question of the relationship of revelation to reason. The question returned, rather pointedly, with the success of the Reformation as a churchly movement and with the institutionalization of the Reformation in schools and universities in the late sixteenth century.27 Logic and rhetoric remained in their traditional places, Aristotelian ethics had already returned in the era of the Reformation, in the work of Melanchthon, and the interest both in the metaphysics and physics revived in the latter part of the sixteenth century. Recourse to the tradition of Aristotelian philosophy undertaken both from a humanistic perspective, with its desire to recover the genuine Aristotle, and from a theologically and philosophically constructive perspective, characterized by a desire to reform and develop the tradition of Christian Aristotelianism, can and ought to be viewed as an exercise in “theological self-understanding” growing out of the natural intellectual development of the Reformation.28 There was, certainly, a clear continuity between the Reformers and the later orthodox in the assumption that logic and rhetoric ought to follow traditional, largely Aristotelian models, modified by Renaissance conventions concerning the relationship of logic and rhetoric and by Renaissance stress on the reading of original texts. On these grounds, the maintenance of Aristotelian logic and dialectic and the rejection of Ramism

by such writers as Ursinus and Beza ought to be viewed as a point of continuity with the curricula instituted by the Reformers—and not, as some writers have indicated, as a sign of resurgent Aristotelianism. The Aristotelian logic, in fact, supplied the older norm, followed in virtually all Protestant academies and universities since the beginning of the Reformation—while Ramus’s logic marks the discontinuity.29 Nor, indeed, ought Ramus’ own impact be understood as entirely antiAristotelian: by his own admission, Ramus’ logic sought to offer a simpler model of the discipline for students, but it did not undermine the logical rules established in the older Aristotelian model—and it is clear that many of the “Ramists,” so-called did not give up basic assumptions taken from Aristotelian physics and metaphysics.30 Indeed, the impact of Ramus on Reformed orthodoxy, like the orthodox appropriation of more traditional scholastic models, was largely a matter of method rather than of content.31 Here, certainly, we detect differences in the impact of Ramus’ polemics among the theologians and varied degrees of reception of or resistance to the large-scale appropriation of traditional Aristotelianism in theological or even philosophical discourse. That thoroughly Ramist teacher of the Puritans, William Perkins, never deviated from a fully Aristotelian causal model of explanation. On the other hand, Perkins’ follower, Ames, not only criticized “scholastic” thinking in the name of Ramus, he also rejected the use of Aristotelian metaphysics and ethics in theology and was particularly hostile toward the Renaissance Aristotelianism of Suárez.32 Still, Ames retained such basic Aristotelian assumptions as the fourfold causality. As for the more eclectic thinkers like Keckermann, Burgersdijk, and Alsted, who were influenced by Ramus and who saw fundamental difficulties in the Suárezian understanding of Being, their thought includes an attempt to develop a more consistently Reformed metaphysics, drawing on the older tradition of Christian Aristotelianism but also modifying it sometimes in sharp contrast to the thought of Suárez.33 There was also discussion and debate among Reformed theologians of the era over the relative merits of the various ancient philosophical options and, quite specifically, over the question of which trajectory of philosophical thought could be adapted to an orthodox theological model. Debate was complicated, moreover, by the presence of various nominally Aristotelian and Platonic approaches found in the seventeenth century itself and their perceived effects on theology. Thus, several of the Westminster divines— most notably Twisse—indicated that an Aristotelian philosophy could be adapted and modified for Christian use, whereas the alternative Platonic models offered little assistance.34 Indeed, in its seventeenth-century forms Platonic thought (which was as much a copy of Plato as the Aristotelianism of

the era was modeled neatly on Aristotle) proved quite antithetical to the Reformed faith. Gale, despite his historical preference for Plato over Aristotle, argued in his massive analysis of the “vanity” of philosophy that later Platonism, together with Pythagoreanism, was the source of patristic heresies, while Aristotelianism was the source of the abuses of scholasticism and the heresies of the Roman Church.35 A matter quite distinct from the traditional affirmation of Aristotelian models in logic and dialectic throughout the eras of the Reformation and orthodoxy was the use of Aristotelian ethics and physics and the return of Aristotelian metaphysics to the curriculum of Protestant (and Roman Catholic) universities in the late sixteenth century. There was a Protestant effort to develop a Christian or biblical approach both in the field of ethics and of physics, as evidenced in the work of Daneau, just as there was a continuance of the Aristotelian models in the work of Zanchi. What ought not to be concluded, however, is that Daneau’s work represented a nonAristotelian biblicism: Daneau’s very definition of his task, in which he identifies the “causes” of the existence of the world and the “effects that follow” as his subject-matter, reflect the categories of traditional Aristotelianism. A better description of the work would identify it, as Daneau himself does, as an attempt to correct “the philosophers” on the basis of the Word of God, specifically on such issues as the creation of the world out of nothing.36 Nor is Zanchi’s overtly Aristotelian approach all that different in its result: he offers a preface commending the use of Aristotle in his own edition of the Greek text of the Physics—and he also wrote a treatise on creation in which there are strong Aristotelian overtones, but he consistently modifies Aristotle when the Philosopher’s teachings do not fit the Christian model.37 Given the primarily biblical arguments of his treatise on creation and his clear critique of fundamental Aristotelian assumptions like the eternity of the world, moreover, his prefatory commendation of Aristotle’s Physics should not be taken as an indication of a vastly different sensibility than that evidenced in Daneau’s Physica christiana. In short, Daneau’s and Zanchi’s approaches to the “physics” of creation stand in the long line of Christian modifications of Aristotle and ought to be read out in terms of questions concerning the longer trajectories of the via moderna and via antiqua rather than as mere reappropriations of Aristotle. It should also be noted that Zanchi’s desire that the full text of Aristotle be used rather than various available compendia in the study of physics represents as much a Renaissance return to the original texts as it does an adherence to scholastic method—as if the two could be easily separated in the later sixteenth century. In attempting to explain the reasons for this development, Lewalter argued that the clarification of issues in the theological debate between Lutherans and

Calvinists could not ultimately be resolved purely exegetically but necessarily hinged on the understanding of things (res) or of beings (entia), their nature and their conceptualization. Since, moreover, the debate hinged not merely on the status of ideas but, more profoundly, on the nature of real things, logic or dialectic by itself was insufficient: metaphysics was necessary.38 The purely dialectical approach of Ramus was, thus, also limited in its impact, while philosophical perspectives more attuned to the questions of metaphysics, physics, and ethics became increasingly the currency of Protestant thought— whether a more traditional Christian Aristotelianism or a semi-Ramist approach to organization linked to an eclectic Aristotelianism. This late Renaissance Christian Aristotelianism was developed, moreover, often with Suárezian accents, often influenced by Platonic or even Hermetic interests of the Renaissance (as witnessed in the metaphysic of J. H. Alsted),39 and typically alert to varieties of epistemological concerns arising from the late medieval debates among Thomists, Scotists, nominalists, and Augustinians. Lines of debate between representatives of the via antiqua and via moderna are also apparent in the era, particularly in the treatment of such issues as the knowledge of God, the relationship of theology and philosophy, faith and reason, the issue of divine simplicity, and the definition and limitation of the divine omnipotence. Given these features of the development of Christian philosophy in the Reformation and post-Reformation eras, the question naturally arises as to the meaning of the term “Christian Aristotelianism”— we are already in a position to recognize that the rise of Reformed orthodoxy and scholasticism cannot simply be viewed as return to Aristotelian philosophy after the rejection of that philosophy by the Reformers; and we are also in a position, given the nature of the philosophy used by the Protestant orthodoxy to require a series of more careful qualifications of the term “Aristotelianism” itself. 2. “Christian Aristotelianism” and philosophical eclecticism in the era of orthodoxy: some definition. The simple recognition that the term “Aristotelianism” is a modern usage and that the terms “Peripatetic” and “Aristotelian,” as used in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, were applied to widely different works on philosophy, different both in form and in content,40 provides a note of caution at the outset of the discussion. Even if the generalized “ism” is allowed, moreover, the long tradition of the use and, more important, the modification of Aristotle in Latin, Christian circles must be respected and the phenomenon of “Aristotelianism” in the seventeenth century understood more in terms of the modifications than of the original thought of “the Philosopher.” If, for example, Aristotelian philosophy is identified as a metaphysical model in which a finite unmoved mover acts primarily as the final cause of the actualization of all things out of an infinite

and eternally existing material substratum, it would be a very difficult task to find any Aristotelian theologians at any point in the development of Western or Latin Christianity, whether in the medieval, the Reformation, or the postReformation eras—although, certainly, there were Aristotelian philosophers, like Siger of Brabant. And yet, this is the teaching of Aristotle. If, on the other hand, Aristotelianism is defined as a view of the universe that affirms both a primary and a secondary causality, that assumes the working of first and final causality through the means of instrumental, formal, and material causes, and that, using this paradigm, can explain various levels of necessary and contingent existence, then a large number of Aristotelians appear on the horizon. Thus, applied strictly, the term “Aristotelian” can be used to exclude from the category many of the thinkers typically classified as Aristotelians, notably, Thomas Aquinas, Cardinal Cajetan, Francis Suárez, and all of the Reformed scholastics. On the other hand, applied loosely, the term will define the thought of numerous thinkers, all of whom denied or radically modified tenets central to Aristotle’s own thought. These modifications, moreover, stand among the primary characteristics of the scholastic tradition that extends from the twelfth through the seventeenth century: the object of the scholastic theologian or philosopher was, typically, not so much to be “Aristotelian” as to be the formulator and mediator of a Christian philosophical model that both used and refused various elements of the classical tradition.41 Such caveats, a commonplace among medievalists, have only infrequently been observed by scholars who classify the Reformed scholastics as “Aristotelian.”42 This refusal of the modified definition has created a fundamental problem in the scholarship concerning Protestant orthodoxy, given the need to place the Reformed scholastics into the latter category of thinkers who denied or modified many of the central tenets of Aristotle’s philosophy, in particular, tenets of his metaphysics. If we allow the term “Christian Aristotelianism,” with the broad or loose application of the notion of Aristotelianism noted above and then modified variously in terms of the tradition of debate among Thomists, Scotists, and nominalists—a tradition of debate that did not end with the Middle Ages, but continued through the Reformation and late Renaissance—the term can be used with reference to a generalized philosophical perspective that, as Voetius argued, akin to basic common sense,43 offered a stable epistemological and ontological backdrop to the theology of the seventeenth century. This is a perspective that draws significantly on a set of terms and concepts that belong to Aristotle and the Aristotelian tradition, but it is also a model drawn into dialogue with Christian doctrine in such a way as to render it distinct both from the rationalism of ancient Aristotelianism and from the new forms of rationalism that emerged

in the seventeenth century. We can note, by way of example, two basic elements of this tradition as it entered the era of Protestant orthodoxy. First, the content of such Aristotelianism can be defined in part by a series of fundamental terms common to the Aristotelian tradition: “substance” as the combination of “matter” and “form,” and as the indicator in a “primary” sense of the “individual” and in a “secondary” sense of its “genus” or kind. In the finite order a distinction must be made between “potential” existence or “potency” and fully “actualized” existence or “act.” The characterization of any individual, corresponding to the structure of grammar and logic, involves making the distinction between the “subject” and its “predicates.” These predicates, moreover, can be distinguished into two fundamental categories, namely, the substance or essence of a thing and the “accidents” or incidental properties of the substance. The accidents, also referred to as predicaments or “supreme genera” are nine in number: “quantity,” “quality,” “relation,” “habit,” “when,” “where,” “disposition,” “action,” and “passion.” Several of these terms demand a bit of explanation. “Habit” (habitus) is the incidental property that results from the addition of adjuncts to a body. “Disposition” or “posture” is the property resulting from the way in which a body occupies a place—i.e., standing, lying down. “Action” (actio) is the property of the operation or activity of a body; “passion” (passio) is the incidental property of receiving the action of an agency external to oneself. Things are also described according to the reasons for or causes of their existence, namely “first,” “formal,” “material,” and “final” causes. This fairly standard model can be found in logical and metaphysical textbooks of the seventeenth century by such authors as Keckermann, Spencer, Burgersdijk, and Maccovius. In all of these terms, whether taken from the perspective of being or of knowledge there is a priority of the individual. In the understanding of being, the individual has a priority or primacy, given that the universal is not an independent existent—forms exist as substantial forms, and our knowledge of substances rests on the mind’s understanding of the forms of things. In the theory of knowledge, this generalized Aristotelianism assumes that our knowledge arises either by natural perception or by the use of reason and that individuals or particulars are known first, as the ground for our abstractive knowledge of the universal or general. According to this view, forms or ideas have no independent, extramental existence, but exist in things or in the mind as it apprehends things. Christian Aristotelianism was also bound, typically, to a more realist nuance that placed the ideas or forms of things eternally in the mind of God, in itself a departure from Aristotle. Moreover, and more to the issue here, the medieval debate over the location of universals or forms— whether and how they exist before things in the mind of God, in things, or

after things as mental abstractions—was a debate that continued to have impact on the thought of the seventeenth century, whether on the theory of knowledge found among the Protestant scholastics or on their doctrine of the divine attributes. More than Aristotle, what remained at play here were the approaches of the medieval teachers and their Renaissance successors.44 Second, the historical relation between the use of logic and rhetoric in sixteenth and seventeenth-century theology and philosophy and Aristotelianism must be taken up with great care. From one perspective, there was hardly any substantial change in the logic of demonstrative argument, interpretation of propositions, use of hypothetical and disjunctive arguments, and the identification of fallacies between the time of Aristotle and the twentieth century.45 The change occurred in the focus and practice of logic, particularly in its relation to rhetoric. Whereas Aristotle had recognized, in his Topics, the difference between the deductive approach of demonstrative logic and the discursive, more inductive, topical approach suitable to rhetoric, he had not developed a full-scale method for the latter comparable to the deductive approach of his Organon. The most significant initiator of the change was the fifteenth-century humanist logician and rhetor, Rudolf Agricola, whose De dialectica inventione pioneered the “place logic” that was to dominate the instructional models of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries.46 Agricola understood the goal of dialectic to be doctrina or teaching, the initial task of which, as outlined in book I of the De dialectica inventione, is the identification of the topics or loci. Next, in book II, Agricola looks to the nature and pattern of the discourse or oration in which the topics are to be treated and the character of the argumentation, whether deductive or inductive —and finally, in book III, he discusses the development or amplification of the discourse and its order or dispositio. Characteristic of the work, moreover, is the fusion of the deductive and the inductive, the demonstrative and the probable, into a single model for teaching, with the result that the strict distinction made by Aristotle between scientific demonstration and probable argumentation or persuasion is relativised and both forms can occur in the same nominally scholastic discourse.47 Much of this revised rhetoric and logic, in particular its emphasis on the primary identification and mastery of standard topics or loci communes as the basis of discourse and its tendency to use logical bifurcations (and, when necessary trifurcations and quadrifurcations) as structural tools in the development of discourse, carried over directly into the Ramist logic of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. The result of this intellectual transformation is that late sixteenth and

seventeenth-century Aristotelianism contains, even in its logic and rhetoric, elements that differ from the thought of Aristotle himself, albeit not in the realm of deductive logic or proof. The identification of a sixteenth or seventeenth-century thinker as unqualifiedly “Aristotelian” or, indeed, “scholastic,” merely because he used a syllogism or argued causally is highly questionable.48 The “Aristotelian” content of logic in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had been filtered through the teaching of generations of humanists, beginning with Agricola and moving on through the Ramists— with the result being a more discursive, even rhetorical, approach to argumentation, combining logic of demonstration with probable argumentation, the whole still recognizably Aristotelian in many of its characteristics, but highly altered in form and in pedagogical impact.49 The angry response to various elements of Ramism followed by the identification of a middle path, accommodating the significant virtues of the Ramist dialectic to a more traditional philosophy—as in the work of Spencer and Burgersdijk—grew not only out of a conviction that Ramus’ approach to the syllogism left much to be desired, but also and more profoundly because the Ramist movement away from use of the categories of substance and accident as a primary underpinning of logic tended to disconnect the logical order from the real order—whereas the traditional Aristotelian model assumed that the logical order and its rules of predication arose directly from the mind’s encounter with the real order, the order of things. One could even argue that the Ramist alteration of patterns of logic, particularly as it moved away from a general use of the Aristotelian categories involved an implicit denial of the traditional understanding of substance or at least of its usefulness, a prelude, perhaps, to the vast seventeenth-century debate over the issue. A similar issue arose in the later conflict between theological orthodoxy (whether Reformed or Roman) with Cartesian philosophy, given the Cartesian denial of substantial forms. Descartes himself recognized the problem and, unlike his Dutch follower Regius, tended to state less pointedly, that he did not need the concept of a substantial form in order to develop his philosophy, although at at least one point, Descartes did deny the concept. Reformed writers like Voetius, in their defense of a more traditional Aristotelian view, argued that the denial of substantial forms rendered impossible any proper conception of individuals as substantial entities and therefore undermined both one’s understanding of the physical world and secondary causality and one’s ability to understand. And, of course, the Cartesian approach made it impossible to maintain the Christian doctrine of the substantial unity of body and soul.50 As Verbeek notes, Voetius correctly recognized the implications of Descartes philosophy on these points—on the ground of the denial of

substantial forms, Spinoza removed the notion of distinct individual substances form his philosophy and proclaimed one only substance, Malebranche and Geulincx denied secondary causality and pressed a metaphysical determinism, and Locke broached the issue of our inability to know essences.51 3. Philosophical eclecticism in the debates of the seventeenth century. The debates of these seventeenth-century philosophers and theologians ought not to be viewed reductionistically as encounters between traditional Aristotelianism and a new, radically different philosophical rationalism. As already noted, Christian Aristotelianism had been developed and modified, particularly with reference to theological issues that have little relation to the questions discussed in classical Aristotelian thought. In addition, the various traditions of theology and philosophy that were mediated through the Renaissance and Reformation all had incorporated Platonic or neo-Platonic accents, whether from the ongoing Augustinian tradition or by way of the medieval reading of Pseudo-Dionysius or, indeed, of various neo-Platonic documents sometimes thought to be Aristotelian. The Renaissance, moreover, had refocused attention on other streams of ancient thought—namely, Stoicism, Skepticism, Epicureanism, and the Hermetic tradition—making it quite possible, indeed, likely, that the theologians of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries would import elements of these traditions into their thought, whether by way of positive appropriation or by way of the modification of arguments in the course of debate.52 Reformed theology was not, after all, definitively attached to a particular version of the Aristotelian tradition, nor was it (as was much Roman Catholic theology) attached to the thought and the major teaching traditions of the monastic and mendicant orders. Citation of older theological and philosophical materials by the Reformed thinkers of the early orthodox era manifests both broad interest in such thinkers as Aquinas, Durandus, Scotus, Gregory of Rimini, Thomas of Strasbourg, and William of Ockham and highly eclectic appropriation of materials. The same can be said the use of contemporary Roman Catholic thinkers like Suárez or Bañez.53 There is, certainly, a development and a discontinuity in the philosophical movement from the Reformation to orthodoxy. The Reformers of both the first and second generations were wary of recourse to philosophy and resisted, in varying degrees—Luther on one side of the spectrum, Melanchthon and Vermigli on the other—the unwarranted introduction of philosophical categories into theology. The orthodox writers of the seventeenth century readily drew on philosophical categories and recognized the presence of fully developed philosophical models in academic dialogue with their theologies. Nonetheless, there is a continuity in the development as well: orthodox of the

seventeenth century, writers like Keckermann and Alsted, Maccovius and Voetius, worked to maintain a sense of the boundaries of legitimate Christian philosophy, boundaries that had largely been set in the debates of the Reformation era. This continuity is particularly evident in the “adversaries” chosen by the orthodox: Epicureanism, Skepticism, Stoic fatalism, emanationistic and pantheistic dimensions of Platonism, and what might be called the pagan as distinct from the Christianized Aristotle. The eclectic character of the philosophical model identifies both positively and negatively a set of theological and philosophical assumptions that determined the contents and norms of what might be called “Reformed philosophy” and conditioned its relation to theology.54 These observations concerning an eclectic rootedness in the past are applicable also to the other theological and philosophical movements of the seventeenth century.55 It must not be forgotten that the Cartesian philosophy itself was profoundly rooted in the scholastic past on the one hand and subject, on the other, to major variation in the course of the seventeenth century. On the first point, it has been shown that Descartes himself often followed out a Scotistic pattern of argument, assuming such views as the univocity of being with reference to God and creatures, the identification of the soul (rather than our materiality) as the principle of individuation of human beings, and of course there is the modified ontological argument for the existence of God.56 On another point, namely, his insistence that truth and goodness were results of the divine willing, to the extent that God could have willed triangles the sum of whose angles was other than two right angles, Descartes pressed the nominalist notion of the absolute power of God far beyond where Ockham had left it. This is not to say that Descartes necessarily received these ideas from a direct study of Scotus—the univocity of being could have been learned from Suárez and Scotist opinions were cited in the context of argument in the manuals that Descartes used as a student at La Flèche. Nor is this to diminish in any way the fundamentally anti-Aristotelian (in the root sense) implications of Descartes’ definition of substance and its rejection of the notion of substantial form.57 The point is simply that many of the elements of his thought belong to the modifications of late medieval philosophy and theology that were channeled through the sixteenth century but that, in certain fundamental ways, stepped beyond even the expanded boundaries of an Aristotelianism that had accepted the modifier “Christian.” On the second point, we need only note the philosophy of Malebranche as a modified form of Cartesian philosophy, altered by the incorporation of Augustinian themes, and frequently drawn to formulations concerning divine attributes such as infinity, eternity, and omnipresence quite in accord with the

scholastic theological orthodoxy of the day.58 A similar point can be made of the philosophy of Leibniz which not only had roots in the Protestant scholastic thought of the era but which, quite specifically, in the Theodicy, echoed both the language of the Protestant orthodoxy and the orthodox critique of the Molinist conception of middle knowledge.59 These details raise also the issue of the eclecticism of philosophy in the scholastic tradition. The relative philosophical cohesion of any one of the many theological systems of the later Middle Ages, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries was not achieved by an exclusive allegiance to a particular thinker in the classical tradition. Aquinas’ “Aristotelianism” was modified in many ways by Aquinas’ use of Augustine and PseudoDionysius.60 The various Franciscan thinkers—Alexander of Hales, Bonaventure, Duns Scotus, William of Ockham—each stood in a less receptive relationship to Aristotle than Aquinas, merging their use of Aristotelian categories of predication and causality with more realist epistemologies in the case of the first three and a far more critical nominalist epistemology in the case of the latter.61 In a similar fashion, the philosophical content of the post-Reformation Protestant theologies was modified both by the Ramist modification of the use of Aristotelian categories and by the ebullient Renaissance revival of interest in the classical tradition—whether Platonic, Stoic, or even Hermetic—with the result that “scholastic” theology and philosophy in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century cannot easily be pressed into a single mold.62 Often, as in the cases of the Reformed debates over Ramism and Cartesianism, it was not so much Aristotle that was at stake but a broader Christian perspective in which various nominally Aristotelian themes had been wedded to the explanation of major doctrinal points as well as to a coherent Christian approach to being and knowing in general. This eclectic approach is certainly evident in the thought of the Herborn encyclopedists, Alsted and Bisterfeld, concerning whose thought it must be added that eclecticism does not at all imply a lack of cogency.63 Alsted’s work, both in theology and philosophy, drew heavily on earlier Reformed thinkers like Zanchi and Junius as well as on a diverse background of late scholastic and Renaissance philosophy with a view to establishing a largescale theological and philosophical model for his age. Much the same must be said of his predecessor, Keckermann. The philosophy (or philosophies) of the late sixteenth and seventeenth-century Reformed ought to be understood as a concerted effort to draw on the tradition of classical and Western thought for the sake of constructing a philosophical perspective suitable both to the altered theological and churchly context and to the academic needs of the

rising Protestant colleges, academies, and universities of the postReformation era. What is more, in the course of these debates, the Reformed orthodox did not merely look backward into the Christian philosophy of the scholastic past, they stood in dialogue with the philosophy of their own time and often can be seen to parallel (perhaps even sometimes anticipate!) the work of thinkers like Malebranche and Leibniz.64 To call such theology and philosophy “Aristotelian” rather misses both its content and its context. Thus, the “Aristotelianism” of the Christian tradition in its movement through the Renaissance and Reformation into the era of orthodoxy appears, not as a philosophical program rooted in the historical Aristotle but rather as a highly variegated tradition grounded in long-standing discussions of the hylomorphic understanding of substance and its corollary, a conceptualist theory of knowledge that grounds knowledge of a thing in the thing and/or in the ability of the knower to abstract forms from things. This approach to being and knowing assumed a correlation between the real order and the logical order. On one side of the tradition lay a more pronounced philosophical realism emphasizing the fundamental reality of universals, on the other side a critical approach that could reduce universals to mental abstractions. These variations can be seen, moreover, within the Reformed tradition itself, played out in divergent views of predication, of the divine attributes, of divine simplicity, and in the extended debate in which many of the Reformed were involved over the problem of substance.65 This result, from a historiographical perspective, leads ineluctably to the conclusion that identification of the modification and use of various Thomist, Scotist, and nominalist approaches on specific issues, that tracing out the later trajectories of the via antiqua and via moderna through the thought of the Reformers, and that the recognition of highly eclectic tendencies generated by the impact of the Renaissance on philosophy, logic, and method (whether the Ramist variant or, later, elements of the Cartesian model), will be far more fruitful for the understanding of Protestant orthodoxy and its scholasticism than the easy attachment of labels like “Aristotelianism” to the materials of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Whether in the questions concerning the nature of theology as a scientia or sapientia, the norm or principium or theological knowledge, and the interrelationship of reason and revelation in theological formulation—or in the questions concerning the nature of God, the character and meaning of his revelation in relation to his identity or being, or his relationship to the world order, the Reformed theology of the orthodox era reflects primarily the later medieval and Renaissance modifications of Christian philosophy (again, Thomist, Scotist, and nominalist) and only secondarily a classic Aristotelianism. It is certainly more useful to characterize many of the Reformed orthodox as holding a form

of modified (sometimes highly modified) Thomism often with Scotistic or nominalistic accents, sometimes with strong affinities for the philosophies of the day, whether that of Suárez or of Descartes, than to speak of them as simply Aristotelian.66 Limitation and redefinition of the term “Christian Aristotelianism” and refinement of the question concerning the trajectories of thought leading through the seventeenth century also points to a need to revise substantially the usual generalizations made concerning the other end of the historical process. The demise of the model can certainly be chronicled in the loss of the hylomorphic understanding of substance and in its corollary concerning the relationship between the logical realm and the realm of real being. From a theological perspective, this demise can be identified in the new and fundamentally problematic relationship between current philosophical understandings of substance and the language of substance necessary to basic theological definitions of God as a single, infinite, spiritual substance, of the Trinity as one substance in three persons, and of Christ as one person of two substances. Certainly the beginnings of this demise, as well documented in the controversies of the second half of the seventeenth century, can be identified in the encounter of the older Christian Aristotelianism of theological orthodoxy with further modifications of the scholastic tradition, such as Cartesianism, in which the traditional language of substance was no longer operative—but it is also documentable from these controversies that there remained considerable common ground, even in God-language, between the philosophically traditional orthodox and those of their contemporaries (and sometimes colleagues) who accepted Cartesian premises.67 A similar point can be made for Cartesian thought, which did not, after all, prove to be an easy avenue into the philosophical future: on the one hand, it never intended to be freed entirely from the older tradition—as evidenced by the strongly Scotist tendencies in Descartes’ own thought and in the highly traditional and even theologically orthodox modifications of the Cartesian system in a thinker like Malebranche. On the other hand, this highly modified form of traditional philosophy was also rapidly losing its cogency toward the end of the seventeenth century.68 Or, to make the point for the Reformed scholastic context, even those Reformed thinkers of the late seventeenth century who departed enough from the more traditional philosophical assumptions to adopt various elements of the Cartesian philosophy, or of other forms of rationalism, did not see their theologies spared by the alteration of philosophical climate in the so-called era of “transitional” theology and philosophy in the early eighteenth century. Nor did these variants go unnoticed no unopposed: both the limited acceptance of Cartesian arguments by various federalists and the more thoroughly Cartesian sentiments of other

confessionally Reformed writers, like Balthasar Bekker and Christoph Wittich were debated intensely.69 In sum, if we cannot speak of a mere recrudescence of Aristotelianism in the late sixteenth century but must instead examine a series of traditions and modifications that identify the course of a living, changing philosophical tradition, so also must we be prepared to modify greatly the thesis of the loss of Aristotelianism at the close of the era of orthodoxy. What was lost was a finely tuned philosophy focused around central themes of the Christian Aristotelian tradition as developed over centuries with respect for fundamental Christian assumptions about God and creation, but highly modified in its issues and arguments by the intellectual currents that surrounded it. Studies of the phenomenon of Protestant scholasticism or “scholastic orthodoxy” must take these historical nuances into account. The alternative is to theorize about the recrudescence and the eventual loss of something that was never really there in the first place. 8.2 Whether Philosophical Truth Opposes Theological Truth A. Historical Roots of the Discussion 1. Medieval debates. Debate over the question of “double truth” began in earnest in the thirteenth century following the introduction of the Aristotelian philosophical corpus to the West, as it became apparent that the finely tuned and potentially non-falsifiable logic of the Philosopher had yielded philosophical truths utterly at odds with the revealed truths known to Christianity from the Bible.70 Aristotle clearly taught concepts that, although logically acceptable, did not conform to Christian revelation (for example, the uninvolved immutability of the first mover, the eternal existence of matter, and the passing away of the soul with the death of the body). Whereas Aquinas advocated the use of an Aristotelian system corrected by the higher truths of revelation and assumed that even those suprarational truths were never unreasonable, members of the philosophical faculty of Paris, the socalled Latin Averroists, attempted to balance Aristotelian philosophy in its own right over against the Christian revelation by arguing a distinction between correctly enunciated philosophical teaching and theological truth—in short, a theory of “double truth” according to which something might be true in philosophy and false in theology, and vice versa.71 As has often been pointed out, the Latin Averroists, notably Siger of Brabant, did not themselves claim “double truth”; rather, they reserved the term “truth” in an ultimate sense for revealed doctrine and never claimed the possibility of two equally true but nonetheless contradictory “truths.” Still, they did recognize that reason, rightly used, could reach correct conclusions that did not agree with revealed doctrine.72

Yet another element was added to the debate by the Scotist and nominalist contention that rationally deducible concepts and theological system do not necessarily stand in any relation to each other.73 The issue here is not one of double truth so much as one of a radical diastasis between philosophical, specifically metaphysical, argument and theological argument. It is this perspective that most probably underlies the early Reformation rejection of the use of philosophy in theological formulation.74 The epistemological problem registered by the Scotists and nominalists is further complicated by the Reformers’ strictly Augustinian view of sin and their assumption that sin affects the reasoning process as well as the exercise of the will.75 The problem of double truth also appears in early sixteenth-century philosophy in the writings of Pietro Pomponazzi, who turned the medieval solution on its head and argued the superiority of philosophical to theological truth.76 As an Aristotelian philosopher whose chief work was the exposition and analysis of texts of Aristotle for the sake of developing a contemporary Peripatetic philosophy, Pomponazzi addressed such issues as the mortality/immortality of the soul and sought a purely rational or philosophical answer. His conclusion was that the soul was indeed capable of finding out a knowledge of higher things, indeed, of eternal truths of the universe, but he also indicated that such knowledge was restricted temporally to the life of the individual. The mind cannot survive the life of the body, cannot exist in a disembodied state. All this, Pomponazzi argued in his philosophy—while at the same time acknowledging that Scripture is without error and the doctrine of the immortality of the soul can be proved from it.77 As Pine concludes, the resolution of this antinomy was, for Pomponazzi, different from the medieval solutions: he appears to have identified religions as expressing temporally useful moral conclusions and to have viewed philosophy as addressing issues of ultimate truth—reason is therefore, in his view, superior to revelation.78 2. Revival of debate in late sixteenth and early seventeenth-century Lutheranism. The concept of double truth, which had never entirely disappeared from philosophical discussion, returned to haunt the development of Protestant scholasticism in the debate between the vitriolic Daniel Hoffmann and his colleagues on the philosophical faculty of the University of Helmstedt. This late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century debate had major repercussions for the creation of a Protestant theological system, whether Lutheran or Reformed. Hoffmann combined the distaste for philosophy and sinful reason inherited by Protestantism from Luther’s early polemics with the theory of double truth and produced a theory of “false” philosophical truth set over against “true” theological truth.79 If such a theory were allowed to stand, the use of reason must be ultimately banned from theology.

The normative Lutheran opinion, as argued against Hoffmann by his colleagues at Helmstedt, was drawn into formal theological prolegomena and stated as a guide to the development of theological system by Johann Gerhard. Thus, in elaboration of the proposition, “What is true theologically cannot be false philosophically, for truth is one,” Gerhard could argue, In themselves considered, there is no contrariety, no contradiction between Philosophy and Theology, because whatever things concerning the deepest mystery of faith Theology propounds from Revelation, these a wiser and sincere Philosophy knows are not to be discussed and estimated according to the principles of Reason lest there be a confusion of what pertains entirely to distinct departments.80 Echoing first Luther and then Aquinas, Gerhard can conclude, Just as there remains in the regenerate a struggle between the flesh and the spirit, by which they are tempted to sin, so there remains in them a struggle between faith and Reason, in so far as it is not yet fully renewed .… The articles of faith are not in and of themselves contrary to Reason, but only above Reason.81 B. Theology, Philosophy, and “Double Truth”: The Reformed Orthodox Solution 1. Keckermann’s resolution of the problem of double truth. Among the Reformed who responded to the problems posed by the Hoffmann debate and to the new challenge of double truth was Bartholomaus Keckermann. Keckermann’s arguments had a significant impact on the theology and philosophy taught in the Reformed academies and universities of the day, as evidenced by their duplication and expansion by other Reformed writers of the era, notably Alsted.82 In order to state the issue in its simplest and clearest form, Keckermann proposed two syllogisms—first, The gifts of God do not conflict with one another. But philosophy is a gift of God; Exodus 31:3; Psalms 94:10; Sirach 1:1; II Chronicles 1:12; Daniel 2:21, “he gives wisdom to the wise”; Romans 1:19; James 1:17. Therefore it does not conflict with a gift of God, which is to say, with theology.83 And second, That which is one and simple cannot be contrary to itself. Truth is one and simple, whether conveyed by theology or by philosophy, and is true consistently wherever it is presented (for indeed the

distinction of discipline does not multiply truth). Therefore truth is not contrary to itself whether presented in theology or in philosophy.84 In sum, neither reason as originally created in human beings nor as cleansed by grace is antagonistic to “true theology”—whereas corrupted reason or the corrupt use of reason will be consistently repugnant to the truth.85 Keckermann’s conclusion, significant for the understanding of trajectories in Reformed orthodoxy, does not take a Thomistic path. There, as illustrated by the medieval debate over the eternity of the world, Aquinas had held that some rational argumentation, although ultimately proved false by revelation (notably by the revelation of creation as having taken place ex nihilo), could not be shown to be false logically: the Aristotelian theory of the eternity of the world did not involve a philosophical error, albeit it was not a correct understanding of the origin of the universe. The truth of creation ex nihlio is, according to Thomas, beyond reason and, in the strictest sense “not unreasonable.” Keckermann—followed by many of the Reformed orthodox— takes a different view of the problem, more like the solution proposed by Bonaventure, Pecham, and others, according to which a theologian who knows the truth of creation ex nihilo is in a position to show a philosopher that his theory of the eternity of the world was not merely theologically, but also logically mistaken—mistaken, thus, not merely on grounds of a higher truth, but mistaken on its own rational or philosophical terms.86 2. Theology, philosophy, and double truth in the high orthodox systems. In a more elaborate form, but based on virtually the same premisses, Pictet could offer a statement of the relationship between reason and revelation together with several limiting principles: We therefore observe that reason and faith, though they are of different status (diversi ordinis), are not opposed. As a result, we recognize that even in matters of religion we must not allow anything that is repugnant to right reason. For although there is much darkness in the human mind, no one can deny that there remain some sparks of natural light, and that in them reside the principles of undoubted truth, which are no less certain under grace than in nature, and which faith frequently uses of for the confirmation of its own doctrines. But we maintain, 1) that reason cannot and ought not to propose any mysteries on its own account, for this prerogative belongs to Scripture alone. 2) That reason should not be heard when it complains of its incapacity to comprehend the mysteries of faith: for, since it is finite, there is no surprise that many things concerning the infinite cannot be grasped by reason—so that to reject a mystery because it is incomprehensible to reason, is to

offend against reason itself. It is in this sense that reason is to be made captive (2 Cor. 10:5). 3) Neither should reason be heard when, under the pretext of mysteries of the faith, it presents its own errors.87 A crucial corollary to the Reformed limitation of natural theology and definition of scriptural revelation as the sole principium cognoscendi theologiae is the issue of the relationship of philosophy to theology. For if, as the orthodox Reformed theologians insisted, theology is to be methodically, logically, and therefore rationally argued, it must stand in some positive relation to philosophy or at least be able to utilize the tools of philosophy. The problem of contradiction between philosophy and theology, moreover, was raised with considerable intensity by the reaction of the Reformers against the medieval tradition and by the Protestant doctrine of original sin and near loss of the imago Dei. If natural religion and natural theology could produce no true foundation for supernatural theology, but only idolatry and error, how could philosophy, particularly the pagan philosophy of Aristotle, contribute anything to Christian theology? Once a basic answer to the problem of double truth had been formulated— the necessary unity of truth—the debate could be incorporated substantively into theological system. Thus Rijssen, at the very end of the scholastic era of Protestantism, poses the question, “Whether Philosophy opposes Theology, i.e., whether the same statement … can be true in Philosophy, false in Theology.”88 The question, argues Rijssen, is to be argued in the negative: such opposition arises not out of a double truth but out of an abuse of philosophy, according to which false doctrines based on philosophical or rational excess and error are set over against theological truths. The impression of an opposition between philosophy and theology is given by those medieval scholastics who set philosophical reason over the testimony of Scripture, by the Socinians who declare that philosophy can be the interpreter of Scripture, and by the “Fanatics, Enthusiasts, Anabaptists, and Weiglians” who by deficient thinking first distort and then reject philosophy.89 It is one thing for philosophy to deny a truth, argues Turretin, and quite another for philosophy simply not to teach it: “we do not deny the various theological mysteries not taught in philosophy … after all, geometry does not deal with medicine nor physics with jurisprudence … granted that philosophy teaches nothing concerning the Trinity and the Incarnation, it therefore cannot express a negative opinion of these mysteries.”90 The apostle Paul does not condemn philosophy per se but rather the vain and false philosophy of his time that endangers the teachings of the gospel. It is thus not vera philosophia that Paul attacks but the abuse of philosophy at the hand of certain philosophers with inane ideas and pridefully swollen opinions: “he does not,

therefore, reject philosophia in se, but only the declarations (dogmata), of those philosophers who opposed faith in the one true God and in Jesus Christ and the resurrection of the dead.”91 On such issues as the creation of he world ex nihilo rather than out of eternally existent matter, the orthodox follow out the line argued by Keckermann, overtly siding with those medieval thinkers who opposed Aquinas on the question.92 The proper use of reason and philosophy in theological discourse rests upon recognition of their place and the limits of their competence. Truth, comments Turretin, cannot be set against truth—rather, one truth may transcend another. Thus truths of sense stand below truths of reason (infra rationem), truths of the intellect in immediate relation to truths of reason (juxta rationem), and truths of faith above those of reason (supra rationem). Once this pattern is recognized and the hierarchy of truth acknowledged, then rational truth can be used in theological discourse: “grace does not destroy nature but perfects it, nor does supernatural revelation abrogate the natural, but cleanses it.”93 Thus, on the assumption that faith can belong only to rational creatures, Maresius could comment that “grace is added to reason”— and Wendelin that religion and theology are “necessarily conjoined to reason.”94 If this balance of faith and reason, grace and nature reflects a Thomistic perspective, it remains true that the separation of philosophical and theological categories noted in the preceding paragraph represents a modification in the direction of Scotism or nominalism. Here, as in the definition of the obiectum theologiae as God revealed in Christ,95 the diastasis between theology and rational metaphysics and the general Reformed distrust of pure reason stand in the way of an easy alliance between theology and philosophy. 8.3 Philosophy and Reason: Their Competence in Matters of Faith A. The Unity of Truth and the Legitimacy of Philosophical Discourse 1. The positive use of reason: definitions and developments in the Reformed context. Although several of the Reformers, most notably Melanchthon and Vermigli, had raised the issue of the use of reason and philosophy, extended discussion of the issue in relation to theological system arose only at the beginning of the seventeenth century with the full flowering of Protestant scholastic system in an academic context. The debate over double truth and its settlement on the side of the unity of truth can be viewed historically as the point at which discussion became necessary and slight differences in approach to the use of philosophy became a matter of polemical dispute between the Reformed orthodox and their adversaries, both Lutheran and Roman Catholic. Here, as in the definition and paradigm of theology, the

Reformers had provided no models for discussion and the Protestant scholastics were obliged to examine and reinterpret medieval models in the light of their sola scriptura principle. Just as the preliminary divisions or dichotomies of the prolegomena to theological system rule out theologia falsa in order to discuss the theologia vera of Christianity, so did the debate over the problem of double truth make a distinction between philosophia falsa and philosophia vera to the exclusion of the former. Once discussion is limited to true—rightly founded and rightly argued—theology and philosophy, not only does the impossibility of ultimate contradiction become obvious but further definitions, distinctions and relationships must also be discussed. Typically, the Reformed orthodox set up the question in terms of a contrast between the proper use of philosophy and its various abuses, either by excess or deficiency. Some of the church fathers, born pagan and trained in pagan philosophies, evidence excessive use of philosophical categories; likewise, some of the medieval scholastics set the reasonings of philosophers above the testimony of Scripture; and most recently, the Socinians make philosophy the rule for interpreting Scripture— all cases of excess. On the other side, the “Fanatics, Enthusiasts, Anabaptists, and Weigelians” of recent times err by defect in their total rejection of philosophy.96 The subject must, therefore, be treated carefully with due attention to basic definitions and the establishment of sound rules for the use of reason and philosophy. In the first place, the orthodox note a distinction between philosophical reason and the rational exercise of the mind. Philosophical reason is a form of discourse consisting in analysis of and argumentation from naturally known principles: it is an intellectual discipline distinct from theology: philosophy, properly so called, is objective reason, principles and conclusions resting on the exercise of reason but gathered together as a body of knowledge or a discipline.97 The simple exercise of mind or reason, however, is not a discipline—rather, it is the basic work of the understanding that belongs to all intellectual disciplines, including theology. In addition, there is the most fundamental sense of the term “reason” or ratio as the subjective function or “natural faculty of understanding” that belongs to all human beings. Whether or not philosophical conclusions can be used in theology, the exercise of the rational faculty of the soul has its necessary place in theological discourse.98 According to Keckermann, metaphysics and logic were to be counted gifts of God made possible by the illumination of the mind by the Holy Spirit.99 Such gifts could therefore be used in the service of theological truth. Keckermann’s contemporary, Rudolph Goclenius, argued—on the basis of a similar assertion—that the “ideas and terms” provided by logic and

philosophy could be used both “properly and analogically” to explicate articles of faith.100 After all, philosophia, the love of wisdom, ought not to be confused with the errores philosophorum. As Clement of Alexandria wisely noted in his Stromata, philosophy properly so-called is not Stoic, Platonic, Epicurean, or Aristotelian—rather, it is whatever these schools of thought have stated correctly.101 Even so, philosophy, rightly understood, is simply the result of a properly conducted rational exercise, aiding in the clear perception of an object. Historically it served to prepare the gentile world for the Christian faith by confirming and clarifying truths known by the light of nature; individually, it provides a useful preparation of the mind for the reception of theological truth. Philosophy is a lower discipline that prepares the way for a higher.102 When abused, however, philosophy offers as truth a variety of conclusions known by revelation to be false: when, for example it begins with premisses like “nothing can be made from nothing” (ex nihilo nihil fieri), or that one may not regress from a privation to a disposition (a privatione ad habitum non dari regressum), then such truths as the creation of the world from nothing, the virgin birth, the incarnation, and the resurrection of the dead will be set aside—whereas Scripture teaches that such things have occurred “not by reason of natural causes, but through the omnipotence of God.”103 Specifically, false conclusions of the philosophers, like Aristotle’s notion of the eternity of the world and, in Rijssen’s view, Plato’s idea of purgatory have crept into theological discourse. Indeed, Rijssen continues, when philosophy has become the teacher in theological matters, as it did beginning in the eleventh century, in the time of Lanfranc, there was a decline from the doctrines of Augustine—and the Augustinian eucharistic teachings of Berengar were set aside in favor of useless philosophical niceties of Lanfranc, namely the beginnings of the doctrine of transubstantiation.104 This potential use of philosophical concepts and categories by theology is facilitated by the similarity of the topics treated by both disciplines and, consequently, by the similarities between philosophical and theological method. In the realm of philosophy, God, nature, and human conduct appear as legitimate topics: metaphysics considers God as Being (Ens) and, in addition, treats of the human soul; physics deals with the natural order; and ethics presents rules of human conduct. Even so, theology discusses doctrines concerning God, creation, human nature, and human conduct. There are, of course, differences between philosophical and theological treatment of these subjects. For example, theology considers God as Creator and Redeemer, not as Ens. Nonetheless, differences in terms and materials do not necessarily point toward disagreement. In addition, philosophical enquiry, as witnessed by the methods of metaphysics and ethics, is both speculative and practical,

both synthetic and analytic, with the result that philosophy and theology are methodologically compatible.105 Such considerations led to the rise of metaphysics as a subject in the Reformed universities and academies of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, albeit not without debate. Ames, for one, registered a strong protest against traditional Aristotelian metaphysics, particularly the metaphysics of Francis Suárez. By way of contrast, Keckermann and Maccovius developed their own courses and manuals on metaphysics (as well as on logic and ethics), expressing, however, a wariness of the Suárezian inclusion of a rational doctrine of God in the basic outline of metaphysics on the ground that God is Being: both Keckermann and Maccovius, followed to a certain extent by Alsted, excluded the doctrine of God from the metaphysical discussion of “being in general.”106 Others, like Ursinus and Turretin, echoing the concerns of late medieval nominalism, could radically limit the function of reason by appealing to the freedom and absolute power of God in creating or not creating a world—rendering philosophy incapable of answering questions concerning the relation of time to eternity or concerning the duration of the created order, not to mention questions concerning the nature of God.107 2. The philosophical projects of Taurellus and Gale. Perhaps the most ambitious attempt during the era of early orthodoxy to manifest the compatibility of philosophy and theology is the system of Nicolas Taurellus. It serves both as an example of the new striving toward system and intellectual synthesis typical of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries and as a witness to the general unwillingness of Protestant scholasticism to develop in a thoroughly philosophical or metaphysical direction despite its scholastic method and its renewed interest in the relationship of theology to philosophy. Taurellus argued that an adequate metaphysics could arise only in a Christian context and in explicit opposition to secular and pagan authorities, setting forth his position at length in his Philosophiae triumphus, hoc est, metaphysica philosophandi methodus (1573). He then proceeded, in his Synopsis Aristotelis Metaphysicae ad normam christianae religionis (1596), to rewrite Aristotelian metaphysics by excising or modifying those concepts found to be at odds with revelation.108 In order to create a synthesis of theology and philosophy within a Protestant context and without returning to the Thomistic synthesis of the Middle Ages, Taurellus argued that reason itself—not merely the will and the affections—was corrupted by sin. This argument might have fallen within the bounds of Protestant theological anthropology by allowing philosophy and reason to function for believers—a theologia naturalis regenitorum—but

Taurellus made the mistake of arguing a distinction between the substance of our rational faculties, given by God in creation, and the accident or incidental property of corruption, inhering in our faculties after the fall. Reason needs only to be redeemed by grace and philosophy needs only to be purged of its errors by redeemed reason. After all, Taurellus argued, the faculty of reason is the faculty of the soul through which both theological and philosophical discourse take place: the capability of redeemed reason to develop valid theology ought to be matched by the capability of redeemed reason to develop true and theologically compatible philosophy. Such philosophy would be utterly subordinate to theological truth.109 Much of what Taurellus conceived as a synthesis of philosophy and theology depended on the concept of mixed articles of teaching—that is, teachings drawing on two disciplines, such as those concerning the essence and attributes of God, which belong to both theology and metaphysics. One article, however, that Taurellus limited to theology was the teaching concerning the gracious will of God. Theology alone knows of grace, and theology alone brings the message of salvation to fallen man. These views might also have been expressed within the context of Protestant theology— but Taurellus added as a corollary to his views on grace and theology that, before the fall, when the work of grace was unnecessary, so too was theology unnecessary. Adam, in his unfallen state, needed only philosophy! We now live under both nature and grace and consequently need both philosophy and theology. Ultimately, in the realms of the blessed, illuminated totally by grace, we will need no philosophy, only the theologia beatorum.110 Taurellus’ reduction of sin to an incidental property, together with his argument that Adam, before the fall and before the need for grace, required only philosophy and not theology for fellowship with God, brought down on his head charges of Pelagianism and, later, Arminianism. The description of sin as an accident had been the view of the Lutheran synergists excluded from orthodox Lutheranism by the Formula of Concord; it was a position equally detested by the Reformed. The assumption that man before the fall was not in need of special grace but could approach God through his rational faculties struck at the heart of Augustinian anthropology, both Lutheran and Reformed.111 A rather different but perhaps even more impressive and erudite attempt to develop a synthesis of philosophy and theology was offered to the high orthodox era by the English Puritan writer, Theophilus Gale. Gale’s project, developed on a large scale in his five-volume Court of the Gentiles (1669– 78), and elaborated in detail on specific subjects in his Idea theologiae (1673) and Philosophia generalis (1676), argued the ultimacy of the Judaeo-

Christian revelation on the grounds first, of a highly detailed aetiology of ancient language, philosophy, science, ethics, and politics, deriving all from the Hebrew tradition; and second, of a survey of the various schools of ancient philosophy and their rootage in biblical religion.112 In the third division of his work, Gale presented in detail the errors and difficulties inherent in all of the ancient philosophical schools and in scholastic and “popish” divinity, arguing them to be a mounting series of apostasies from their own true foundations in the biblical revelation. The fourth and by far the largest division of Gale’s work is devoted to the positive exposition of a biblical and theoretical “Reformed philosophy,” covering metaphysics, ethics, and the ultimate question of divine and human causality as illustrated in the Reformed doctrine of predestination. This tracing of the source of all ancient knowledge to Hebraic origins was not uncommon in the seventeenth century. Some held, as had the secondcentury Apologists, that Plato’s thought was rooted in Mosaic wisdom learned in Egypt, and others sought the origins of the prisca theologia in Hermes Trismegistus’ connection with pre-Mosaic wisdom. Such teaching occupies a large portion of the argument of Du Moulin’s Oration in Praise of Divinity and it is found also as a fundamental point of argument in Grotius’ De Vertiate,113 in addition, many of the other Christian apologists of the era— Heinsius, Bochart, Cudworth, and Stillingfleet—argued the point. It was from such works that Gale received his inspiration for the Court of the Gentiles.114 Gale’s own philosophy, identified by him as a reformed version of Platonism, was in fact an amalgam of Platonic and Aristotelian conceptions, including the identification of God as first mover and the use of the fourfold causality, called “Platonic” largely because of Gale’s assumption that the original philosophy of Plato was closer to its Mosaic source and less subject to pagan speculative adulterations than Aristotle’s thought. His reformation, moreover, was consciously undertaken in the light of various late medieval protests against elements of scholastic philosophy, of the Protestant Reformers’ rejection of elements of the scholastic tradition, and his own efforts to glean insight into the foundations of a valid Christian philosophy from the church fathers. Among the Reformers, Gale singles out Melanchthon as penetrating and critiquing “the deepest Mysteries of Scholastic Sophistrie, as wel as Philosophie,” excelling all other reformers of philosophy in his time. In logic, ethics, physics, and mathematics, Melanchthon “pared off from Philosophie a great quanititie of sterile, inutile, and spinose Questions, and clothed her with a more native evident habit or forme, whereby she became Beautiful and Amiable.”115 Gale also praises Faber Stapulensis and then goes on to argue that Ramus followed in Faber’s steps, seeking to reform logic and philosophy, and “other ingenuous Arts; which lay buried under the

Barbarisme of Scholastic Theologie.” These and other Reformers sought the “Reformation of Philosophie, in order to a more pure Theologie.”116 The result of Gale’s labors was a critically expurgated, classically based philosophy positively in dialogue with large portions of the Christian tradition, from the fathers, to Aquinas and other medieval doctors, to Suárez and various seventeenth-century metaphysicians, highly biblical in its foundations and largely conformable to the Protestant orthodox theology of its time. His choice of Platonism as a foundation was made critically, recognizing on the one hand that elements of Plato’s thought had contributed to the thought of the most significant philosophers in the past as well as in his own time and, on the other, that Platonism had been the source of the worst heresies of the ancient church: his model is Augustine, who rendered philosophy “subservient” to theology—philosophy must be “loged in a serious, humble, meek, and believing mind,” endued with both “Wisdome and Grace.”117 As much as he proposes to avoid unreformed philosophy, Gale also proposes to set aside unorthodox theology, particularly theology filled with the neologisms of unsuitable philosophies. He accordingly proposed a “Reformed Philosophie” in three books, dealing with moral philosophy both personal and political, prime philosophy or metaphysics, and predestination. Notably, his moral philosophy, in which he reviewed much of the thought of Plato and Aristotle, focused on a doctrine of original sin and the consequent inability of human beings to will “what is Good Universal and Total.”118 In his doctrine of God, he offered a model not unlike that of the scholastic Reformed theologies of his time, albeit from a more strictly philosophical perspective—a form of traditionary Christian philosophy, drawing on a modified Platonism and Aristotelianism, with consistent reference to Scripture for a grounding of the divine attributes, including an extended discussion of the biblical names of God—while in his doctrine of predestination, he focuses on the nature and character of primary causality, arguing that God must in some sense cause all things but without destroying contingency or human liberty. The resulting arguments, heavily referenced to the controversies of his time as well as to the history of the doctrine from Augustine to the seventeenth century, stands overtly within the bounds of the Reformed teaching, but consistently grounded on rational as well as biblical foundations.119 In all, Gale proposed to observe three rules for the use of philosophy: (1) That al Philosophie be reduced to, and measured by its original and perfect Exemplar, the Divine Word and Light .… (2) That so much only of Pagan Philosophie be admitted as may subserve Christian Theologie,

and not oppose same .… (3) That not the end of Ethnic Philosophie, or the Philosophers, may be assumed by us, but only such Philosophemes as may serve to explicate Dogmes in Theologie. The End both of Pagan Philosophie and Philosophers being to exalt the Lights and Heats, or Forces of corrupt nature, and to reduce men to the old and antiquated Covenant of Workes, this may be in no regard admitted by Christians, who are under a New Covenant.120 3. The Reformed understanding of reason and its limits in debate with Socinians. If Taurellus and Gale raised the possibility of a Christian philosophico-theological system, the underlying question of the competence of reason in theological matters was raised not by a philosopher within the pale of orthodoxy but by a group of exegetes and theologians already beyond the pale—the Socinians. The earlier Socinians, Lelio and Fausto Socinus, held to the necessity of revelation and argued that Christianity, although its teachings might be higher than those attained by reason, was never unreasonable. As Socinianism developed, however, theologians like Andreas Wissowatius and Johannes Crellius tended to press the rationality of Christian doctrine to the point that revelation was little more than a divinely sanctioned reiteration of natural theology.121 The tendency, moreover, of Socinian exegesis and theology was to reject the dogmas of orthodoxy on the ground of their rational unacceptability. Against the Socinians, the orthodox argue that reason cannot be the principle according to which declarations of the faith are proved (principium ex quo fidei dogmata probantur), nor can it be the foundation (fundamentum) upon which faith rests since neither the light of nature nor human reason are capable of discovering the things of faith. Turretin provides six reasons for this position: unregenerate reason lies in sinful disregard of the Law and in darkness concerning the gospel; the mysteries of the faith are “above the sphere of reason”; faith is not ultimately grounded on reason but on “the Word that God has spoken in Scripture”; if reason were the principium fidei, then all religion would be natural religion, capable of demonstration by the light of reason and numerous statements of Scripture concerning the bondage of reason would be false; reason does not function as a norm of faith since it is either an unregenerate or corrupt reason not only below but also against the faith or it is whole or regenerate reason such as is unavailable to corrupt mankind and such as makes no claim to determine supernatural truths. Reason, illuminated by the Spirit, recognizes that Scripture is the principium of faith. The orthodox can, therefore, identify a two-fold principium fidei: externally and objectively considered, the principium is the Word of God; internally and formally the principium is the “illumination of the Holy Spirit” or “the supernatural light infused into our minds.” The argument here reflects

the distinction of theology itself into objective scientia and subjective habitus sciendi.122 Similar arguments against the principial use of reason undergird Maccovius’ extensive exposition of the biblical ground for the claim of the subordinate and ancillary status of reason and the suprarational nature of revelation. Maccovius begins with the prophecies of the Messiah in Isaiah, where the prophet declares, “And who has believed what we have been told; and upon whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?” (53:1). The truth of the Messiah is a stupendous prodigy, argues Maccovius, a miracle. In such matters reason is blind and cannot provide certainty. Even so, Christ himself declares that “flesh and blood have not revealed these things but his heavenly Father” (Matt. 16:17, adapted) and, similarly the apostle Paul declares the gospel to be a scandal to the Jews and folly to the Greeks (1 Cor. 1:23). How can these Socinians, these “acute, rational teachers,” fail to recognize the negation of reason by revelation?123 Furthermore, argues Maccovius, Scripture indicates that God under no circumstances gives reason the power of judgment in matters of faith (judicium in rebus fidei). Instead, we are told to rest our belief upon a hearing of the prophets and a searching of the Scriptures (Luke 16:29; John 5:39). Nowhere does Scripture declare a human standard, whether of the reason or of the will. Indeed, it follows as a necessary conclusion that no extrascriptural norm has been given to us according to which heavenly mysteries can be judged. After all, Maccovius continues, a tailor is not a judge of architecture nor an architect a judge of horses nor a charioteer a judge of metaphysics! Theology, like art, is not to be judged according to general principia—such as the critical norm of reason—but according to the special principia that belong to it. Thus Christ and the apostles taught the truths of the gospel and advised its careful study without ever having recourse to reason as the basis of judgment or decision concerning the truth of their preaching.124 Scripture itself, moreover, provides numerous examples of reason erring in matters of faith. Naaman the Syrian first rejected the counsel of Elijah on the grounds of reason, and Nicodemus considered the truth of regeneration to be rationally unacceptable. Thomas doubted the resurrection—again, quite rationally. Indeed, both Christ and the apostle Paul declare that the things of God are hidden from the wise and from those with understanding but are revealed to children, to the foolish, and to the weak (Matt. 11:25; 1 Cor. 1:26– 27).125 These arguments all point toward the Protestant hermeneutical principle, scriptura sui interpres (“Scripture interprets itself”), and toward a restricted, instrumental function of reason within the bounds of faith. 4. Reformed encounter with Cartesian rationalism. It was not only

Socinian exegesis that caused the orthodox theologians to address the problem of the use of reason as a basic principle. They also faced the philosophical challenge of Descartes and his heirs in the rationalist tradition. Needless to say, the issue of Cartesianism was of a fundamentally different character than that of Socinianism, inasmuch as Cartesian thought did not either spring from or relate directly to an overt heresy. Descartes was not at all hostile toward Christian theological orthodoxy. What is more, despite the elements of the Cartesian system that had the scent of novelty—notably the principle of doubt, the cogito, and the claim of a geometrical or mathematical model for the enunciation of metaphysical principia and the drawing of conclusions—there was much in the Cartesian philosophy, whether in its background or in the ways in which Descartes developed it in dialogue with various critics, that stood in the direct line of the scholastic tradition.126 Specifically, Descartes drew on such scholastic notions as the divine potentia absoluta and the relationship of our knowledge of God to the identification of the proper objects of human knowing, and did so in ways that reflect Scotist models and, particularly, the appropriation of Scotist models by early seventeenth century Jesuit philosophy.127 Cartesian thought offered a significant alternative to the more traditional Christian Aristotelianism not because it was an utterly new philosophical perspective but because it drew so clearly on the older scholastic tradition. The Cartesian challenge and its implications are nowhere more clear than in the attempt of Heidanus, the semi-Cartesian federalist, to state his acceptance of a rationalistic view of the powers of reason while at the same time distancing himself from the still more rationalistic approach of the Socinians, in particular the notorious Conrad Vorstius and Episcopius. In addition, Heidanus strives to uphold, in continuity with his orthodox brethren, the necessity of revelation for a saving knowledge of God and, therefore, the priority of revelation over reason in theology. Reason does know, innately, the existence of God as the necessary Being. (The most noticeable effect of this assumption on the part of Heidanus and Burman is their use of Cartesian language in their proofs of God’s existence.)128 Nonetheless, reason is incapable of serving as a norm of religion after the fall. Reason and experience themselves confirm that true religion “presupposes a foundation other than reason.”129 Heidanus’ alliance with Cartesianism is uneasy: Scripture, not reason, must ultimately be the principium cognoscendi in theology, while reason has a clearly instrumental role.130 It is also the case that, whereas Heidanus and Burman both allowed the use of doubt as a tool for reaching clearer understanding and insisted that assent to the truthfulness of a datum or proposition needed to be grounded on clear and distinct perceptions, both also indicated limitations to the method of doubt: the

existence of God could not be doubted and the utter skepticism of the “Academicians and Pyrhhonists” should be repudiated as one of the “causes of atheism.”131 A still stronger, nearly coequal function of reason has been detected in the theology of Heidanus’ contemporary, the Genevan Cartesian, Louis Tronchin, who argued that only clear and distinct perceptions, whether from nature or from revelation, ought to be affirmed as true.132 Still, as attested by Wolzogen’s rebuttal of extreme rationalist hermeneutics, even the more Cartesian among the Reformed attempted to limit the function of reason by ruling out as illegitimate the acceptance of a purely rational criterion for analyzing and assessing the teachings of Scripture.133 Beyond the problem of the principial use of reason, the strictly orthodox Reformed also found Cartesianism to be philosophically inadequate and theologically dangerous in its advocacy of the principle of doubt: Descartes began his philosophical pilgrimage toward certainty by doubting everything except his own thinking. To this claim that everything can be doubted, Voetius answers in the negative: some things, like the existence of God and the soul, the providence of God, the immortality and rationality of the soul and the distinction between rational man and the brute beasts cannot be doubted. Nor is it possible to doubt that moral beings such as man ought to do the good and shun evil. These truths, known by both natural and supernatural means, testified to by philosophy and theology alike are beyond doubt.134 This is not to say that there can be no momentary suspension of judgment for the sake of argument, no academic dispute, or no use of discursive reason for the sake of overcoming doubts: rather doubt may be part of one’s method as long as it does not abolish what one genuinely knows, particularly the simple truths implanted in the soul, or as long as it does not lead to the affirmation of falsehood and the denial of truth. Nor, of course, can doubt extend to those things known to theology on the basis of Scripture—inasmuch as Scripture has divine authority and is the “necessary rule of faith and life.”135 In the mid-eighteenth century, De Moor could sum up the orthodox concern about rationalism with much the same sentiment as encountered in earlier Reformed opponents of Cartesianism. De Moor rejects both the Spinozistic contention that theology deals with piety alone—not with rational truth—and therefore has no dealing with philosophy, and the Cartesian assumptions that faith is not capable of exercising its prerogative over philosophy and that philosophy bears its own independent certainty. Human reason, writes De Moor, has been to a large degree overthrown by the fall—so that any attempt to claim that its certainty stands equal to that of faith is profoundly dangerous.136 By way of contrast, Vitringa, Venema, Klinkenberg, and Wyttenbach, all contemporaries of De Moor, manifest variant forms of the new alliance between a genuinely rationalist orthodoxy and the rational

supernaturalism of the age.137 B. The Instrumental Function of Reason 1. Biblical precedents, human rationality, and the relation of reason to norms and principia. Once it has been recognized that philosophy, like natural theology, has a legitimate though not doctrinally formative or fundamental use in the context of Christian faith, the actual function of reason and philosophy within the system of revealed theology can be outlined. Theological criteria must be understood as functioning as the criteria by which philosophical conclusions are assessed while, at the same time, the rational argumentation of philosophy must serve to prevent errors of logic or pure irrationality from entering the Christian theological system. Reason, therefore is understood as a critical instrument, limited in its use and always subordinate to the divinely given truths of Scripture—a tool that does assist in the drawing of conclusions and in the formulation and defense of Christian doctrine but that does not supply the ultimate content or the final criterion of truth in Christian doctrine. The proper use of philosophy in the service of theology is to remove confusion and present valid arguments against heresies.138 Philosophy, with language, logic, and rhetoric, is one of the tools necessary in the formulation of theology, all in the context of the locus method: Arts are handmaids unto Divinity, & he will scarce ever prove a good Theologue that is deprived of these attendants: I. The knowledge of the originall tongues are needfull, that so we may draw the water of truth from the very fountaines. II. Philosophy expounds. III. Logicke confirmes. IV. Rhetorick persuades: and therefore the best divines doe teach Rhetoricall places, as Hyperius, Erasmus, Melanchthon, Perkins, and divers others.139 The Reformed orthodox go to some length to emphasize the biblical foundations of their claims concerning the instrumental use of human reason —and in so doing again manifest some of the contact between their dogmatics and the Reformed exegetical tradition.140 In the first place, reason can be used to make clear points in divine revelation, as was the case when Christ demanded of his disciples, “Have you understood all that has been said to you? They responded, ‘Yea’ ” (Matt. 13:51). The text provides a model for “the teachers of the Church.”141 So also is it necessary for preachers to understand logic and be “apt to teach,” in the language of the Apostle, διδακτικός.142 Second, critical judgment must be used in discussion and argument with others, as when the Bereans compared the words of Paul with Scripture (Acts 17:11).143 Next, rational interpretation or exposition is necessary in the work of explication, even as Ezra and Nehemiah taught the

people distinctly, for the sake of their understanding (Neh. 8:8).144 Fourth, in order to discern falsehood it is necessary “to explore the things that differ” or “approve the things that are excellent” (Phil. 1:10): Calvin has specifically identified this text as a basic “definition of Christian wisdom” suitable to overturn the “subtleties and speculations” of the “Sorbonnic theology.”145 Finally, reason is useful to vindicate the truth from objections, as Paul himself does in the ninth chapter of Romans.146 If the attempt to justify the use of reason biblically appears, at first sight, to be somewhat gratuitous, it nonetheless stands as yet another sign of the genuine opposition between orthodox Protestantism and philosophical rationalism. Whereas philosophical rationalism held reason to be the fundamental principle of valid systematic thinking concerning God and the world, even the last of the high orthodox writers, like Rijssen and Mastricht, had reservations concerning the function of reason in theological system. It was indeed important to their essentially biblical system of theology that even the use of reason should have biblical precedent. They press the point, moreover, by making a distinction between reason subjectively and objectively considered: the former is “the rational faculty of soul” according to which man understands and defines intelligible things, whether natural or supernatural, divine or human; the latter is “natural light” (both externally given and internally impressed upon the mind) that is used by the rational faculty in forming concepts and deriving conclusions concerning divine things.147 Although fallen reason cannot be the principium fidei it is also clear that faith can occur only in rational creatures and that even in Scripture, rational process—both the subjective capacity and the objective light according to which concepts are formed—is integral to the life of faith: There is a single norm (regula), there can be no other, and reason is no such rule: for 1) it is blind, and understands nothing concerning the things of God (1 Cor. 2:14–15)—it is liable to error, and is often deceived; 2) the mysteries of faith lie above the sphere of reason (supra sphaeram rationis) and cannot be approached by the natural man.148 But there is a proper, namely an instrumental, place for reason in relation to the biblical norm. Reason is as it were the eye of the mind, while Scripture is the standard, by which this eye measures the objects (res) under examination. Reason is the instrument used by the faithful in examining the objects of belief (credenda) presented by Scripture, as the infallible norm of truth … but [reason itself] is not the norm of these objects of belief.149

Reason, therefore, can have several legitimate uses in the service of God’s truth: (1) in vindicating the truth of revelation to those who would deny or corrupt it; (2) in illustrating the “mysteries” of religion with examples drawn from history, nature, literature, and philosophy; (3) “in drawing conclusions, and discerning their truth; (4) in comparing the consequences with their antecedents, versions with the original sources (fontes), the decisions of teachers of the church (doctorum Ecclesiae) with Scripture; and in distinguishing the false from the true, the genuine from the spurious.”150 The role of reason in theological discourse cannot, therefore, be “primary and despotic” but rather should be “ministerial and instrumental”: like Hagar, reason is a handmaid. Reason does not conclude what can be believed but rather explains and furthers the faith as an instrument employed by the faithful. Thus Paul speaks of religion as rational worship (cultus rationalis)— not originaliter (as if reason were the source and foundation of religion) but subjective et organice insofar as religion is practiced by rational subjects. Similarly Peter speaks of rational and spiritual sacrifice superseding the Levitical code: right religion is cultus rationalis because it is spiritual and internal, not carnal and external.151 Even so, the rational has an internal, instrumental place in the faith of rational creatures. The function of reason in theology is not a public and absolute determination of truth in controversy, a iudicium decisionis. Such ultimate authority belongs primarily to God speaking in his Word and secondarily to the pastors of his church. Rather, the proper function of reason is the discernment of truth and falsehood, a judgment of private discretion (iudicium privatae discretionis). This private discretion belongs to the rational subject as a knowing power (potentia cognoscens) that relies upon and operates according to external, objective norms concerning the truth of statements and the truth of connections or relationships between ideas and statements.152 Human reason has no authority over the incomprehensible—such as the mystery of the Trinity or of the incarnation—but it makes declarations against the patently incompossible—such as transubstantiation and the Lutheran doctrine of ubiquity, which deny objective norms concerning concepts of substance, bodily existence, and location.153 A further distinction can be made between the truth of statements (veritas sententiarum) corresponding with axiomatic rules and the truth of connections or relationships (veritas connexionum) corresponding with dianoetic or discursive judgment. The axioms or statements of the faith are provided by divine revelation in Scripture, argues Turretin, while the truth of connections or relationships between these axioms is apprehended by right reason (recta ratio). Reason, then, does not introduce into the text of Scripture a meaning

that is not present there, but rather serves faith by drawing out legitimate conclusions from the text, by making explicit those truths which are presented implicitly.154 The ancillary and confirmatory use of reason follows quite naturally from what we have seen in the discussion of natural theology,155 particularly of the theologia naturalis regenitorum, and it is borne out subsequently in the system by the use of reason in the discussion of the divine attributes. Turretin views all of the essential attributes as rationally arguable, but he never introduces the rational argumentation principially: he always introduces his scriptural argumentation first and then, only by way of confirmation, does he use rational argumentation. A similar model is followed by Mastricht.156 The system, therefore, never moves from reason to revelation or from natural to supernatural theology. The Reformed orthodox recognize, however, that the use of philosophy must be carefully defined so that the potential compatibility of the disciplines does not become the basis for a principial use of human reason in theological matters. Turretin distinguishes between two basic errors concerning the use of reason: the Socinians err in excessu, the Lutherans in defectu—the former assume that nothing can be believed that is not founded upon reason, while the latter refuse to permit rational judgment between contradictory statements in theology.157 Reformed orthodoxy attempts to stand between these extremes by affording the proper place to rational judgment in theology. When Turretin attacks the Roman Catholic dogma of transubstantiation as erring, together with Lutheranism, in defectu, his uncited medieval models are quite evident.158 2. The distinction between “pure” and “mixed articles.” The instrumental use of reason and, specifically, of rational truths in theological argumentation leads to a distinction between pure articles (articuli puri) and mixed articles (articuli mixti) in theology. Since theology is a rational discourse and since the truths of theology and of philosophy do not oppose one another, it becomes possible to make statements that include the language and concepts of both disciplines: when theology inquires into the meaning of trinitarian relationships, for example, it asks, in the language of philosophy, whether the persons are really or only rationally distinct from the essence of God.159 This mixture of language and concepts, in turn, raises the issue of rules for the use of philosophy in theological argument. Thus Alsted argues: Since theological questions are of two kinds, simple and mixed, of which the former consist of purely theological terms, the latter of a theological and a philosophical term, no one of sound mind could fail to see that philosophy can be applied to proof only in the latter category, in

the former merely to assertion and explanation.160 This distinction of articuli puri from articuli mixti has immediate application in the Reformed orthodox discussion of the doctrine of God. Keckermann, for example, argues that the doctrine of the Trinity can be known only through the revealed Word of God. Philosophy can perhaps illustrate the doctrine of the Trinity by drawing parallels between the threefold unity of the Godhead and the functions of the human intellect or between the divine Trinity and our knowledge of the sun, its light and its heat, but such illustrations neither present nor prove the doctrine. The doctrine of the divine attributes, however, arises both from direct revelation in the Word and from the philosophical use of the via negationis, the via eminentiae, and the via causationis—the methods of negation, eminence, and causation—by the negation or denial of imperfections in rational creatures, by the exaltation of perfections in rational creatures, and by the delineation of traces of the divine handiwork in the created order.161 These general declarations concerning the instrumental or organic use of reason in articuli mixti are further qualified in the Reformed scholastic view of the proper construction of syllogistic arguments in which both faith and reason provide elements of the proof. In such syllogisms, reason cannot be the foundation and norm upon which the conclusion rests but only the instrument or means by which a truth latent in the foundation or norm of theology is elicited. In a syllogism, the foundation for all argument is the “middle term,” the common ground shared by the major and minor propositions. In theology, “the middle term of the syllogism is not taken from reason, but from scripture.”162 Thus, against the Lutheran doctrine of ubiquity, the Reformed note that reason permits us to say that no genuine body is ubiquitous, while Scripture definitively provides the middle term, that Christ had a “true body.” When care is taken that the middle term, namely the term that renders a conclusion possible, is taken from Scripture, then in this particular form of argument, “reason is not the foundation and norm on which the conclusion rests, but only the means and instrument, the work of which is to elicit the truth latent in the premisses.”163 The syllogism is mixed, the foundation of the logic is scriptural—and reason has merely drawn the conclusion intended by Scripture. Even so, the conclusion of such an argument belongs to faith since the subject of the basic proposition is theological: indeed, a rational deduction from a theological proposition must represent a higher truth than a rational deduction from a purely philosophical proposition.164 A mixed article can be argued toward a genuinely theological conclusion.165 Thus, even when philosophy contributes to a proof in the argumentation of a mixed article, the philosophical element of the argument is not fundamental

or constitutive of the truth itself but only serves to elucidate the truth or the relationship between truths. Theology remains the higher truth, but it respects the truths of the rational order. Without noting the similarity between this perspective of Reformed orthodoxy and the revived scholasticism of the Salamanticenes, Keckermann cites the “calumnies” of Melchior Cano against “all evangelical theology.” The Spaniard declares that Protestants ignore the rational connections of cause and effect, antecedent and consequent in their views of God and man; such accusations, retorts Keckermann, apply only to the Lutherans!166 The presupposition of this argumentation, despite the pronounced diastasis between divine wisdom in itself and all forms of human knowing including revealed theology,167 is the essentially Thomistic presupposition that the truths of revelation, though above and beyond reason (supra et praeter rationem), are not unreasonable or contrary to reason (contra rationem). The mysteries of the faith, argues Turretin, are contrary only to corrupt reason— they are simply beyond the natural reach of right reason (ratio recta). No declaration of the faith, however, opposes a reason that is upright and illuminated (ratio recta et illuminata). The reason for this correspondence of revelation with the rational order is that light does not oppose light nor revealed truth natural truth.168 The consent of reason to the articles of faith in no way implies the dependence of faith on reason, since the relation does not correspond with the relation of cause to effect or of logical foundation to conclusion: faith is prior to reason as a higher to a lower truth, in the context of the essential oneness and self-consistency of truth.169 What is more, the denial of double truth leads irrevocably to the conclusion that the higher, not unreasonable, truth of faith and revelation illuminates the fallen mind and draws the wreckage of fallen reason toward perfection.170 This entire line of argument concerning the proper relation of philosophy to theology, particularly the detailed consideration of the role of reason in the construction of doctrinal conclusions from scriptural materials serves to complete and to illustrate the previous point made by the orthodox in their identification of theology as a science and a wisdom. If reason were not permitted its instrumental role in theology, the discipline could get no further than the exegesis and exposition of Scripture: there could be no systematization and drawing out of ideas. In this case, theology might be viewed as intelligentia, a knowledge of principles—but only in a derivative sense, inasmuch as its principles are not self-evident, but revealed. Just as the initial distinction between archetypal and ectypal theology emphasized the derivative character of our theology, so does the further definition of theology as scientia and sapientia point toward the use of the principles known by ectypal theology from its archetypal source. The scholastic clarification of the

use of reason only serves to underscore the fact that the revealed principles known to the subalternate science or derived wisdom called theology are to be used as a foundation for carefully presented doctrinal conclusions and as indicators of the ultimate divine purpose. The subsequent identification by the Protestant orthodox of Scripture as the principium cognoscendi of theology also follows quite naturally from this line of thought. In summary, Reformed orthodox theology is certainly more open to the use of reason than the theology of either Luther or Calvin. Nevertheless, this openness not only had roots in the Reformation itself, but it also carefully retained the Reformers’ sense of the independence of theology from purely philosophical or metaphysical speculation. The Protestant scholastic use of reason derives not from a desire to create a synthesis of theology and philosophy but rather from a clearly perceived and enunciated need to use the tools of reason in the construction of theological system—indeed, to distinguish between Christian and non-Christian philosophy just as it had distinguished between regenerate and nonregenerate natural theology. Not only is rational argument necessary to the elaboration of theological argument, it is also the tool by which conclusions can be drawn in the movement from the text of Scripture to theological formulation. If the Protestant scholastics set aside the antagonism to reason voiced by some of the Reformers, they did so only for the sake of elaborating systematically the theology of their predecessors, in the face of the highly sophisticated Roman Catholic polemic and in view of the need to modify system as they knew it, and to draw the tradition of the church into the service of an institutionalized Protestantism. 1 See the extended discussion of these points in PRRD, III; portions of this

chapter have appeared as “Reformation, Orthodoxy, ‘Christian Aristotelianism,’ and the Eclecticism of Early Modern Philosophy,” in Nederkands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis, 81/3 (2001), pp. 306–325. 2

Ronald N. Frost, “Aristotle’s Ethics: The Real Reason for Luther’s Reformation,” in Trinity Journal, NS 18 (1997), pp. 223–241; and see my response, and idem, “Scholasticism, Reformation, Orthodoxy and the Persistence of Christian Aristotelianism,” in Trinity Journal, NS 19/1 (Spring 1998), pp. 91–96. 3 See Jill Kraye, “The Philosophy of the Italian Renaissance,” and Stuart

Brown, “Renaissance Philosophy Outside Italy,” in G. H. R. Parkinson (ed.), The Renaissance and Seventeenth-century Rationalism: Routledge History of Philosophy, vol. IV (London and New York: Routledge, 1993), pp. 19–26, 79– 83. The point was also recognized in the older scholarship, e.g., in Bernhard

Pünjer, History of the Christian Philosophy of Religion from the Reformation to Kant, trans. W. Hastie (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1887). 4

A problem remedied in such works as Peter Petersen, Geschichte der aristotelischen Philosophie im protestantischen Deutschland (Leipzig, 1921; repr. Stuttgart, 1964); Ernst Lewalter, Spanisch-jesuitische und deutschlutherische Metaphysik des 17. Jahrhunderts (Hamburg, 1935); Caroline Louise Thijssen-Schoute, “Le cartésianisme aux Pays-bas,” in E. J. Dijksterhius, et al., Descartes et le cartésianisme hollandais (Paris and Amsterdam: Editions Françaises d’Amsterdam, 1950), pp. 239–259; idem, Nederlands cartesianisme Amsterdam: Noord-Hollandsche Uit. Mij., 1954); Paul Dibon, La philosophie Néerlandaise au siècle d’or. Tome I: L’Enseignement philosophique dans les Universités néerlandaises à l’époque précartesienne (1575–1650) (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 1954); idem, “L’influence de Ramus aux universités néerlandaises du 17e siècle,” in Actes du XIème congrès Internationale de Philosophie, 14 (1953), pp. 307–311; Ferdinand Sassen, Geschiedenis van de wijsbegeerte in Nederland tot het einde der negentiende eeuw (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 1959); and Siegfried Wollgast, Philosophie in Deutschland zwischen Reformation und Aufklärung, 1550– 1650 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1988); Joseph S. Freedman, European Academic Philosophy in the Late Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries: the Life, Significance, and Philosophy of Clemens Timpler (1563/4–1624) (Hildesheim: Olms, 1988). 5 Charles B. Schmitt and Brian Copenhaver, A History of Western Philosophy,

vol. 3: Renaissance Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), pp. 64–66. Some of the work of drawing out the impact of the contemporary philosophy on scholastic Lutheranism has been done by Hans Emil Weber, Der Einfluss der protestantischen Schulphilosphie auf die orthodoxlutherische Dogmatik (Leipzig: Deichert, 1908), idem, Die philosophische Scholastik des deutschen Protestantismus in Zeitalter der Orthodoxie (Leipzig: Quelle und Meyer, 1907); Max Wundt, Die Deutsche Schulmetaphysik des 17. Jahrhunderts (Tübingen, 1939). 6 See the discussion in Schmitt and Copenhaver, Renaissance Philosophy, pp.

64, 127–143, 154–158, 172–173, 196–209, et passim. 7 Cf. Edward P. Mahoney,“Albert the Great and the Studio patavino in the late

Fifteenth and Early Sixteenth Centuries,” in Albertus Magnus and the Sciences: Commemorative Essays, 1980, ed. J. A. Weisheipl (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 1979), pp. 537–563; and idem, “St. Thomas and the School of Padua at the End of the Fifteenth Century,” in Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical Association, 48 (1974), pp. 277–285.

8 See, e.g., the description of the backgrounds of J. H. Alsted’s philosophy in

Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, pp. 15–65. 9 See David Bagchi, “Sic et Non: Luther and Scholasticism” and David C.

Steinmetz, “The Scholastic Calvin” in Carl R. Trueman and Scott Clark, Protestant Scholasticism: Essays in Reappraisal (Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1999), pp. 3–15; also see Wollgast, Philosophie in Deutschland, pp. 129–136, and note Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 39–61. 10 Martin Luther, To the Christian Nobility of the German Nation concerning

the Reform of the Christian Estate, in LW, 44, pp. 200–201; and see Ernest Schwiebert, Luther and His Times: The Reformation from a New Perspective (Saint Louis: Concordia, 1950), pp. 298–299. 11

Sinnema, “Aristotle and Early Reformed Orthodoxy,” p. 121, citing Gerrish, Grace and Reason, pp. 32–42. 12 Cf the discussion in Manschreck, Melanchthon, pp. 96–97. 13 See Sachiko Kusukawa, The Transformation of Natural Philosophy: the

Case of Philip Melanchthon (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995) and Dino Bellucci, Science de la Nature et Réformation: La physique au service de la Réforme dans l’enseignement de Philippe Mélanchthon (Rome: Edizioni Vivere, 1998) 14 Freedman, “Philosophy Instruction,” pp. 124–125. 15 See the Leges Academiae Genevensis (Geneva: Stephanus, 1559; facsimile

repr. Geneva: J. G. Fick, 1859), fol. Ci, recto, Cii, recto; also see the discussion in Irena Backus, “L’enseignement de la logigue à l’Académie de Genève entre 1559 and 1565,” in Revue de Théologie et de Philosophie, 111 (1979), pp. 153–163. 16 Cf. Schmitt, Aristotle and the Renaissance, pp. 34–64 with Charles B.

Schmitt and Brian P. Copenhaver, A History of Western Philosophy: 3. Renaissance Philosophy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 60–126; also see Hans Emil Weber, Die philosophische Scholastik des deutschen Protestantismus in Zeitalter der Orthodoxie (Leipzig: Quelle & Meyer, 1907), Ernst Lewalter, Spanisch-jesuitisch und deutsch-lutherische Metaphysik des 17. Jahrhunderts (Hamburg, 1935; repr. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1968); and Reulos, Michel, “L’Enseignement d’Aristote dans les collèges du XVIe siècle,” in Platon et Aristote à la Renaissance (Paris: Vrin, 1976), pp. 147–154. 17 Calvin, Commentary on the Epistle to the Colossians, 2:8 (CTS Colossians,

pp. 180–181); cf. Hutchinson, Image of God, p. 29.

18 Calvin, Institutes, I.v.11; xv.6 19 See Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 156–157, 165–166, 176; Peter J.

Leithart, “The Eminent Pagan: Calvin’s Use of Cicero in Institutes 1.1–5,” in The Westminster Theological Journal, 52 (1990), pp. 1–12; idem, “Stoic Elements in Calvin’s Doctrine of the Christian Life,” in Westminster Theological Journal, 55/1 (1993), pp. 31–54; 55/ 2 (1993), pp. 191–208; 56/1 (1994), pp. 59–85; also see Edward F. Meylan, “The Stoic Doctrine of Indifferent Things and the Conception of Christian Liberty in Calvin’s Institutio Religionis Christianae,” Romanic Review 28 (1937), pp. 135–145; Pierre-Francois Moreau, “Le Stoicisme aux XVII et XVIII siecles: Calvin et le Stoicisme,” in Cahiers de Philosophie Politique et Juridique (Caen: Centre de publications de l’Universitae de Caen, 1994), pp. 11–23. 20

Cf. Wendel, Calvin, pp. 126–130; Williston Walker, John Calvin; the Organizer of Reformed Protestantism, 1509–1564 (1906; repr. New York: Schocken, 1969), pp. 149, 418. 21 Vermigli, Loci communes, II.iii.7–8. Cf. the more extended discussion in

Muller, After Calvin, pp. 122–136. 22 Vermigli, Loci communes, II.iii.6. 23 Vermigli, Libri Ethicorum Aristotelis, excerpted in Donnelly, et al. Peter

Martyr Reader, pp. 96–99. 24 Jean Daillé, An Exposition of the Epistle to the Colossians, trans. F. S.,

revised by James Sherman (Edinburgh: James Nichol, 1863), p. 105; cf. Poole, Commentary, in loc. (III, pp. 715–716). 25 Diodati, Pious and Learned Annotations, Colossians 2:8, in loc.; similarly,

and at some length, Davenant, Exposition of Colossians, 2:8, in loc. (I, pp. 387–407). 26 See Calvin’s comment on Ephesians 1:5–8 and Ezekiel 1:1–24; 10:8–16 in

CO, vol. 51, col. 148–150; vol. 40, col. 21–54, 213–220; touching on causality and angelic movers, respectively. 27

William T. Costello, The Scholastic Curriculum at Early SeventeenthCentury Cambridge (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1958), pp. 71–102, 108–128; and see Joseph S. Freedman, “Aristotle and the Content of Philosophy Instruction at Central European Schools and Universities during the Reformation Era (1500–1650),” in Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 137/2 (1993), pp. 213–253, and idem, “Philosophy Instruction within the Institutional Framework of Central European Schools and Universities during the Reformation Era,” in History of Universities, 5 (1985), pp. 117–166; also see Hilde de Ridder-Symoens (ed.) Universities in

Early Modern Europe, 1500–1800 [A History of the University in Europe, vol. 2] Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Also note Victor Lyle Dowdell, Aristotle and Anglican Religious Thought (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1942). 28 Lewalter, Metaphysik, pp. 31–33, 41. 29 Contra Sinnema, “Aristotle and Early Reformed Orthodoxy,” pp. 128–131;

and note also the discussion in Bizer, Frühorthodoxie und Rationalismus, pp. 32–50 and Dillenberger, Protestant Thought and Natural Science, pp. 60–66. 30 On Ramus, see Walter J. Ong, Ramus: Method and the Decay of Dialogue:

From the Art of Discourse to the Art of Reason (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1958); Ramus’ impact and varied reception is discussed in Wilbur Samuel Howell, Logic and Rhetoric in England, 1500–1700 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1956), pp. 233–237, 282–285, 309– 311. 31 McKim, Ramism in William Perkins’ Theology, p. 132. 32 Sprunger, “Ames, Ramus, and the Method of Puritan Theology,” pp. 143–

144. 33 See the discussion in PRRD, III, 3.2 (A.3). 34 William Twisse, A Discoverie of Dr. Jacksons Vanitie (n.p., 1631), fol. *2r–

*3r; note Owen, Theologoumena, in Works, 17, pp. 18, 20; and cf. Tulloch, Rational Theology, II, pp. 57–71, 478–481; contra Rogers, Scripture in the Westminster Confession, pp. 82–89; Rogers and McKim, Authority and Interpretation, pp. 202–203, 205, where Rogers consistently confuses a priority of faith and revelation over reason with Platonism, yielding the claim that the Westminster divines were Platonists. As Trueman has pointed out, Puritan and Reformed writers of the seventeenth century associated the contemporary Platonism with Arminian tendencies in theology: see Claims of Truth, pp. 34–44. Also note Samuel Parker, A Free and Impartial Censure of the Platonick Philosophie (Oxford: W. Hall, 1666), against the Platonic view of God and of “trinity” as not conformable to Christian orthodoxy. 35 Gale, Court of the Gentiles, III (2 ed.), fol. A4 recto-a2 verso. 36 Daneau, Physica christiana, in Opuscula omnia theologica, I, pp. 227–

228. 37 Jerome Zanchi, Aristotelis de naturali auscultatione, seu de principiis, cum

praefatione Doctoris Zanchi (Strasbourg: Wendelin Rihel, 1554) and idem, De Operibus Dei intra sex dies creatis, in Opera, III, col. 21–29 (against the Aristotelian notion of the eternity of the world) 34–36 (on the creation of the

world in time). Again, contra Sinnema, “Aristotle and Early Reformed Orthodoxy,” pp. 132–137. Nor, indeed, ought Zanchi to be classified as purely or strictly “Thomist”: see Muller, Christ and the Decree, pp. 111–112, 214 n. 96 38 Lewalter, Metaphysik, pp. 35–37. 39 See J. H. Alsted, Methodus metaphysicae (Herborn, 1620). On Alsted’s

interest in Hermeticism, see Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, pp. 144–163. Note that the precise impact of the Hermetica is difficult to determine: on the one hand, the Renaissance reception of the Hermetica assumed that they were ancient documents from the time of Moses and tended to relate them to the theory of the appropriation of Mosaic truths by Egyptian philosophers and, eventually, by Plato and the Platonists. As Schmitt pointed out, Hermeticism was not viewed “even by its Renaissance proponents, as an independent system of ideas” but was, instead, “assimilated into Neoplatonism”: see Schmitt, “Reappraisals of Renaissance Science,” p. 206. Brian P. Copenhaver, Hermetica (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), pp. xlvii–li, surveys the history of reception of Hermetic literature. 40 Freedman, “Aristotle and the Content of Philosophical Instruction,” pp.

234–236; cf. the survey of developments in Peter Petersen, Geschichte der aristotelischen Philosophie im protestantischen Deutschland (Leipzig, 1921; repr. Stuttgart, 1964) and Max Wundt, Die deutsche Schulmetaphysik des 17. Jahrhunderts (Tübingen, 1939). 41 See the survey of such “Aristotelian” elements in British writers of the

sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in Victor Dowdell, Aristotle and Anglican Religious Thought (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1942), pp. 27–67. 42 Thus, e.g., Gründler, Die Gotteslehre Girolami Zanchis, p. 126; Armstrong,

Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy, pp. 32, 38–41, 83, 130–131; Rogers and McKim, Authority and Interpretation, pp. 44–45, 54–55, 151–155, 173–175, 185–188. 43 Cf. Verbeek, “Descartes and the Problem of Atheism: the Utrecht Crisis,”

pp. 222–223. 44

Cf. John Patrick Donnelly, “Italian Influences on the Development of Calvinist Scholasticism,” in The Sixteenth Century Journal, 7/1 (1976), p. 84. 45 James Edwin Creighton, An Introductory Logic, 5th rev. ed. (New York:

Macmillan, 1933), p. 28. 46

On Agricola, see: Walter J. Ong, Ramus: Method and the Decay of Dialogue: From the Art of Discourse to the Art of Reason (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1958), pp. 92–130; Peter Mack, Renaissance

Argument: Valla and Agricola in the Traditions of Rhetoric and Dialectic (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1993); Lisa Jardine, “Inventing Rudolf Agricola: Cultural Transmission, Renaissance Dialectic, and the Emerging Humanities,” in The Transmission of Culture in Early Modern Europe, ed. A. Grafton and A. Blair (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990), pp. 39–86; and idem, “Ghosting the Reform of Rhetoric: Erasmus and Agricola Again,” in Renaissance Rhetoric, ed. Peter Mack (London: St. Martin’s Press, 1994), pp. 27–45. 47 Rudolf Agricola, De inventione dialectica libri omnes et integri et recogniti

(Cologne, 1539); and cf. A. Faust, “Die Dialektik R. Agricolas: Ein Beitrag zur Charakteristik des deutschen Humanismus,” in Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 34 (1922), pp. 118–135. 48 N.B., the first point in Armstrong’s definition of “Protestant scholasticism,”

in Calvinism and the Amyraut Heresy, p. 32. 49 See the discussion of “The Locus and the Methods of Theology in the

Sixteenth Century” in Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 108–111, and, with specific reference to Calvin, pp. 140–158. 50 Cf. Verbeek, Descartes and the Dutch, p. 18 with Ariew, Descartes and the

Last Scholastics, pp. 88–96, 139. 51 Verbeek, Descartes and the Dutch, p. 18. 52 Note the somewhat reductionistic but still useful discussion in William J.

Bouwsma, “The Two Faces of Humanism: Stoicism and Augustinianism in Renaissance Thought,” in Itinerarium Italicum: The Profile of the Italian Renaissance in the Mirror of its European Transformations, ed. Thomas A. Brady and Heiko A. Oberman (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975), pp. 3–60. 53

Cf. Léon Mahieu, “L’eclectisme Suarézien,” in Revue Thomiste, VIII (1925), pp. 250–285. 54 Explicitly stated in Theophilus Gale, The Court of the Gentiles. Part IV. Of

Reformed Philosophie. Wherein Plato’s Moral and Metaphysic or Prime Philosophie is reduced to an useful Forme and Method (London: Printed by J. Macock for Thomas Cockeril, 1677) and idem, The Court of the Gentiles. Part IV. Of Reformed Philosophie. Book III. Of Divine Predetermination. Wherein the Nature of Divine Predetermination is fully Explicated and Demonstrated, both in the General and also more Particularly, as to the Substrate Matter or Entitative Act of Sin: with a Vindication of Calvinists and others from that Blasphemous Imputation of Making God the Author of Sin (London: Printed for John Hill and Samuel Tidmarsh, 1678). 55

Paul Dibon, La philosophie Néerlandaise au siècle d’or. Tome I:

L’Enseignement philosophique dans les Universités néerlandaises à l’époque précartesienne (1575–1650) (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 1954) remains the significant study of the various currents in the Dutch universities; also see the survey in Ferdinand Sassen, Geschiedenis van de wijsbegeerte in Nederland tot het einde der negentiende eeuw. (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 1959), pp. 120– 189. 56 Cf. Ariew, Descartes and the Last Scholastics, pp. 55–56. Nearly identical

conclusions can be drawn concerning the rootage of Hobbes’ thought in the scholastic tradition of the early seventeenth century: see Cees Leijenhorst, “Hobbes’s Theory of Causality and its Aristotelian Background,” in The Monist, 79 (July, 1996), pp. 426–447. 57

See R. S. Woolhouse, Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz: The Concept of Substance in Seventeenth Century Metaphysics (London and New York: Routledge, 1993); and note the discussion in Farrer’s introduction to G. W. Leibniz, Theodicy: Essays on the Goodness of God, the Freedom of Man, and the Origin of Evil, intro. by Austin Farrer, trans. E. M. Huggard (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1951; repr. Chicago: Open Court, 1985), pp. 13– 21. 58 Thus, Nicholas Malebranche, Dialogues on Metaphysics and Religion, ed.

Nicholas Jolley, trans. David Scott (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 131–134. 59 G. W. Leibniz, Theodicy: Essays on the Goodness of God, the Freedom of

Man, and the Origin of Evil, intro. by Austin Farrer, trans. E. M. Huggard (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1951; repr. Chicago: Open Court, 1985), pp. 144–150. 60 As amply demonstrated with reference to Aquinas’ doctrine of God in W. J.

Hankey, God in Himself: Aquinas’ Doctrine of God as Expounded in the Summa theologiae (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987). 61 Cf. Edward P. Mahoney, “Aristotle as ‘The Worst Philosopher’ (pessimus

naturalis) and ‘The Worst Metaphysician’ (pessimus metaphysicus): His Reputation among Some Franciscan Philosophers (Bonaventure, Francis of Meyronnes, Antonius Andreas, and Joannes Canonicus) and Later Reactions,” in Die Philosophie im 14. Und 15. Jahrhundert: In Memoriam Konstanty Michalski (1879–1947), ed. Olaf Pluta (Amsterdam: Grüner, 1988), pp. 261– 273. 62 Cf. Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, pp. 27–65. 63 Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted, pp. 144–181; Leroy E. Loemker, “Leibniz

and the Herborn Encyclopedists,” in Journal of the History of Ideas, 22

(1961), pp. 323–338. 64

On Leibniz’ training at Herborn see Leroy E. Loemker, Struggle for Synthesis: The Seventeenth Century Background of Leibniz’s Synthesis of Order and Freedom (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972). 65 See the discussion in PRRD, III, 3.3; 4.3 (A–D); PRRD, IV, 2.2 (C–D); 3.2

(A.3–5). 66 Cf.

the conclusions of Ulrich Leinsle, Einführung in die scholastische Theologie (Paderborn, 1995), pp. 197–200 with the discussion in Aza Goudriaan, Philosophische Gotteserkenntnis dei Suárez und Descartes in Zusammenhang mit die niederländischen reformierten Theologie und Philosophie des 17. Jahrhunderts (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1999), pp. 124–132, 165–167. 67

This is notably the case with Malebranche, whose Cartesian view of substance was conjoined with views on divine infinity, eternity, and omnipresence that paralleled the orthodox tradition: see Nicholas Malebranche, The Search after Truth, trans. and ed. Thomas M. Lennon and Paul J. Olscamp (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), e.g., pp. 229–232, 237, 241–242, 250–251 on the infinite being of God; and cf. PRRD, III, 4.4. 68 See Richard A. Watson, The

Downfall of Cartesianism, 1673–1712: A Study of Epistemological Issues in Late 17th Century Cartesianism (Den Haag: Nijhoff, 1966) and idem, The Breakdown of Cartesian Metaphysics (Atlantic Highlands, N. J.: Humanities Press, 1987). 69 E.g., Leonardus Rijssen, De Oude Rechtsinnige Waerheyt verdonkert, en

bedeckt door DesCartes, Cocceijus, Wittich, Burman, Wolzogen, Perizon, Groenewegen, Allinga, &c. En nu weder Op-geheldert, en ondeckt (Middelburgh: Benedictus Smidt, 1674) idem, Dootstuypen der Cartesianen en Coccejanen, Vertoont in twee Boecken (Utrecht: W. Clerck, 1676); Melchior Leydekker, De Goddelykheid en Waarheid der H. Schriften … verdeedigt tegen de Betooverde Wereld van Balth. Bekker (Utrecht: O. de Vries, 1692); and Jacobus Leydekker, Dr. Bekkers Philosophische Duyvel (Dordrecht: D. Goris, 1692). The debates over Bekker and Wittich are discussed in Ernst Bizer, “Die reformierte Orthodoxie und der Cartesianismus,” in Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche (1958), pp. 306–372; also note Andrew Fix, “Angels, devils, and evil spirits in seventeenth-century thought: Balthasar Bekker and the collegiants,” in Journal of the History of Ideas, 50 (1989), pp. 527–547. 70 See Etienne Gilson, Reason and Revelation in the Middle Ages (New York:

Scribners, 1938), pp. 53–63; idem, “La doctrine de la double vérité,” in

Etudes de philosophie médiévale (Strasbourg: Commission des publications de la Faculté des lettres, 1921), pp. 50–69; and idem, “Boéce de Dacie et la double vérité,” in Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen age, 30 (1955), pp. 81–99; also, Armand Maurer, “Boetius of Dacia and the Double Truth,” in Medieval Studies, 17 (1955), pp. 233–239; also note Stuart MacClintock, Perversity and Error, Studies on the “Averroist” John of Jandun (Bloomington, Indiana: University of Indiana Press, 1956); and Karl Heim, “Zur Geschichte des Satzes von der doppelten Wahrheit,” in Studien zur systematischen Theologie: Theodor von Haering zum 70. Geburtstag (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1918), pp. 1–16. 71 See F. van Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism

(Washington, D.C.; CUA Press, 1980), pp. 75–110; idem, Aristotle in the West, trans. Leonard Johnson (Louvain, 1955); and Etienne Gilson, Reason and Revelation in the Middle Ages (New York: Scribner, 1938), pp. 37–85. 72 Steenberghen, Aristotle in the West, pp. 227–228; Copleston, History of

Philosophy, II, pp. 436–437. 73 Leff, Medieval Thought, pp. 264, 280–81. 74 Oberman, Harvest, pp. 32–42. 75 Cf. Calvin, Institutes, I.iv.1–2; II.ii.12. 76 Martin Pine, “Pomponazzi and the Problem of ‘Double Truth,’ ” in Journal

of the History of Ideas, 29 (1968), pp. 163–176. 77 Pine, “Pomponazzi and the Problem of ‘Double Truth,’ ” pp. 169–170. 78 Pine, “Pomponazzi and the Problem of ‘Double Truth,’ ” p. 174. 79 See surveys of the Hoffmann controversy in Dorner, History of Protestant

Theology, II, pp. 110–113; and Pünjer, History of the Christian Philosophy of Religion, pp. 178–190. 80 Gerhard, Loci theologici, in Schmid, Doctrinal Theology, p. 33. 81 Gerhard, Loci theologici, in Schmid, Doctrinal Theology, pp. 34–35. 82 Alsted, Praecognita, II.x. On Keckermann’s thought, see W. H. Zuylen,

Bartholomaus Keckermann: Sein Leben und Wirken (Borna-Leipzig: R. Noske, 1934); and on Keckermann’s understanding of philosophy and the issue of double truth, see Muller, After Calvin, pp. 127–130. 83 Keckermann, Brevis et simplex consideratio controversiae hoc tempore …

de pugna Philosophiae & Theologiae, in Opera, I, cols. 69–70; cf. Alsted, Praecognita, II.x. 84

Keckermann, Brevis et simplex consideratio, cols. 69–70; cf. Alsted,

Praecognita, II.x; Spanheim, Disp. theol., pars prima, I.xvii. 85 Spanheim, Disp. theol., pars prima, I.xviii. 86 On this medieval background, see St. Thomas Aquinas, Siger of Brabant,

St. Bonaventure: On the Eternity of the World, trans., with an intro. by Cyril Vollert, Lottie Kendierski, and Paul Byrne (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1964); also John Pecham, Questions concerning the Eternity of the World, trans. Vincent G. Potter (New York: Fordham University Press, 1993). 87 Pictet, Theol. chr, I.xiv.8. 88 Rijssen, Summa, I.vii. 89 Rijssen, Summa, I.vii. 90 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiii.7. 91 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.xiii.9; cf. Maccovius, Loci communes, i,

pp. 9–10; and de Moor, Commentarius, I.xxi (pp. 71–72). 92

Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, V.iii.1–2, against Aquinas, Cajetan, Durandus, Ockham, Biel, Capraeolus, and Pererius, favorably citing Bonaventure, Albertus Magnus, Toletus, and Henry of Ghent; cf. e.g., Philip du Plessis Mornay, A Worke concerning the Trunesse of Christian Religion, trans. Philip Sidney and Arthur Golding (London: George Potter, 1604), vii (pp. 88–91); Le Blanc, Theses theol., De theologia, xlii; Ward, Philosophicall Essay, I.iii (pp. 14–17). 93 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiii.3; cf. Maresius, Collegium theol., I.xv; and note

the parallel with medieval theology, e.g., Thomas Aquinas, Summa, I, art.1, q.8, ad 2; and Henry of Ghent, Summa, art.X, q.3. 94 Both cited in Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, pp. 188–189. 95 See also above, 7.1 (B–C). 96 Rijssen, Summa theol., I.vii, controversia. 97 Rijssen, Summa theol., I.xi, controversia II. 98 Cf. Keckermann, Praecognita philosophica, in Opera, col. 35; Voetius, De

ratione humana, 2; Turretin, Inst. theol., I.viii.8–9; and note, e.g., Henry of Ghent, Summa, art.XVI, q.7, ad 1 et ad 2, on the relation of faith to understanding as a rational faculty of mind. 99 Keckermann, Praecognita philosophica, col. 69. 100 Rudolph Goclenius, Dialectica Rami, as cited by Pünjer, History of the

Christian Philosophy of Religion, pp. 171–172.

101 Cited by Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiii.6. 102 Rijssen, Summa theol., I.vii; cf. Alsted, Praecognita, II.xi. 103 Rijssen, Summa theol., I.xi, controversia II. 104 Rijssen, Summa theol., I.xi, controversia II. 105 Cf. Keckermann, Praecognita philosophica, col. 68; Turretin, Inst. theol.,

I.v.5; xiii.7; with de Moor, Commentarius, I.xxi: 71–72. 106 Keckermann, Scientiae metaphysicae brevissima synopsis, in Opera,

I, col. 2015; Maccovius, Metaphysica, pp. 2–3, 6; Alsted, Methodus metaphysica, pp. 24, 32–33. 107

Ursinus, Commentary on the Heidelberg Catechism, q. 26 (p. 143); Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, III.xiv.3, 5–6, 11; and see PRRD, III, 4.4 (D); 5.4 (C); 6.2 (B). 108 See the discussion in Wollgast, Philosophie in Deutschland, pp. 148–153;

cf. Gass, Geschichte der protestantischen Dogmatik, I, pp. 183–184. 109 Cf. Pünjer, History of the Christian Philosophy of Religion, p. 116. 110 Pünjer, History of the Christian Philosophy of Religion, p. 116. 111 Cf. F. A. Bente, Historical Introductions to the Book of Concord (St.

Louis: Concordia, 1921, repr. 1965), pp. 144–152. 112

On Gale’s approach to one aspect of classical philosophy, see Sarah Hutton, “The Neoplatonic Roots of Arianism: Ralph Cudworth and Theophilus Gale,” in Socinianism and its Role, ed. L. Szczucki, Z. Ogonowski, J. Tazbir (1983), pp. 139–145. 113 Cf. Du Moulin, Oration in Praise of Divinity, pp. 60–106; Grotius, De

Veritate Christianae Religionis, I.xvi. 114 Gale, Court of the Gentiles, pt. I, preface. 115 Gale, Court of the Gentiles, pt. III (2nd. ed.), IV.i.2–3; pt. IV, fol. A2 recto

- A3 recto. 116 Gale, Court of the Gentiles, pt. IV, fol. A3 verso. 117

Gale, Court of the Gentiles, pt. IV, fol. A4 recto- verso; cf. Hutton, “Neoplatonic Roots of Arianism,” pp. 143–145. 118 Gale, Court of the Gentiles, pt. IV, I.iv (pp. 152–153). 119 Gale, Court of the Gentiles, pt. IV, II.iii, on the divine names; cf. PRRD,

III, 4.2 on this issue in Reformed theology. On the “rational demonstrations” of predestination, see Court of the Gentiles, pt. IV, III.v.

120 Gale, Court of the Gentiles, pt. III, preface, fol. b1 verso. 121 Cf. Pünjer, History of the Christian Philosophy of Religion, pp. 199–200;

Earl Morse Wilbur, A History of Unitarianism (Boston: Beacon, 1945), I, pp. 571–572. 122 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.viii.5; cf. Voetius, De ratione humana, 2–3, in Sel.

disp., I, pp. 1–5. For the similar argumentation in Owen, see Rehnman, Theologia Tradita, pp. 155–157. 123 Maccovius, Loci communes, i, p. 6. 124 Maccovius, Loci communes, i, pp. 6–7. 125 Maccovius, Loci communes, i, p. 7. 126 On this issue, see in particular, Roger Ariew, Descartes

and the Last Scholastics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1999) and Marjorie Glicksman Grene, Descartes Among the Scholastics (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1991). 127 Ariew, Descartes and the Last Scholastics, pp. 45–48, 55–57. 128 Heidanus, Corpus theologiae, I (p. 8); Burman, Synopsis theol., I.xiv.7–8;

and see PRRD III, 3.2 (C). 129 Heidanus, Corpus theologiae, I (pp. 8, 11, 14). 130 Heidanus, Corpus theologiae, I (p. 18); II (p. 53); cf. Aza Goudriaan, “Die

Rezeption des cartesianischen Gottesdankens bei AbrahamHeidanus,” in Neue Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie, 38/2 (1996), pp. 166–197. 131 Abraham Heidanus, De origine erroris libri octo (Amsterdam, 1678), pp.

224–240; Burman, Synopsis theol., I.xiv.4 (on the innate knowledge of God) and I.xv.27 (that the existence of God cannot be doubted); cf. Ernestine van der Wall, “Orthodoxy and Scepticism in the Early Dutch Enlightenment,” in Scepticism and Irreligion, ed. R. Popkin and A. Vanderjagdt, p. 132. 132

See Martin I. Klauber, “Reason, Revelation, and Cartesianism: Louis Tronchin and Enlightened Orthodoxy in Late Seventeenth-Century Geneva,” in Church History, 59 (1990), p. 329. 133 Ludwig Wolzogen, De Scripturarum interprete (Utrecht, 1668); and see

the discussion in Jonathan I. Israel, Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity, 1650–1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 205–208; cf. also PRRD, II, 2.2 (C.2). 134 Voetius, Appendix de dubitatione philosophica, in Sel. Disp., III, pp. 847–

848. Note that the Cartesianism of Burman was muted by his similar

declaration that the existence of God could not be doubted, albeit with the Cartesian twist that we can no more doubt the existence of God than the existence of ourselves and our self-knowledge: Synopsis theol., I.xiv.27. 135 Voetius, Appendix de dubitatione philosophica, in Sel.Disp., III, pp. 849,

853–855. 136 De Moor, Commentarius, I.xxi; and cf. Voetius, De ratione humana, 3. 137 Cf. below, 9.3 (B) and PRRD, III, 2.4 (A). 138 Thus, Baron, Philosophia theologiae ancillans, pp. A2r-v. 139

Richard Ward, Theological questions, dogmatical observations, and euangelical essays, upon the gospel of Iesus Christ according to St. Matthew (London: Peter Cole, 1646), p. 48, col. B. 140 Rijssen, Summa, I.xi, for all of the citations following in this paragraph. 141 Calvin, Harmony of the Gospels, in loc. (CTS Harmony, II, p. 134); cf.

Poole, Commentary, in loc. (III, p. 65). 142 Hutchinson, Image of God, p. 29. 143 Cf. Calvin, Commentary on Acts, in loc. (CTS Acts, II, p. 143). 144 Cf. Trapp, Commentary, in loc. (II, p. 61), where the text is taken as a

basis for the interpretive comparison of Scripture with Scripture, particularly using “parallel texts” for mutual elucidation. 145

Calvin, Commentary on the Epistle to the Philippians, in loc. (CTS Philippians, p. 32); cf. Poole, Commentary, in loc. (III, pp. 682–683) with Trapp, Commentary, in loc. (V, p. 603). 146 Rijssen, Summa, I.xi; note the similarity between this argument and the

basically Augustinian view of the relation of faith and understanding found in Alexander of Hales, Summa theologica, intro., q.ii, cap. 4. 147 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.viii.1. 148 Pictet, Theol. chr., I.xiv.5 149 Pictet, Theol. chr., I.xiv.6; cf. Chandieu, De vera methodo, p. 10. Also

note Rehnman’s discussion of Owen in Theologia Tradita, pp. 157–161. 150 Pictet, Theol. chr., I.xiv.7; cf. Chandieu, De vera methodo, p. 10. 151 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.viii.8, citing Romans 12:1 and 1 Peter 2:5. 152 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., I.ix.2; Rijssen, Summa, I.xi. 153 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., I.ix.9.

154 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.viii.11–12; cf. Maresius, Collegium theol., I.xvii. 155 See above, 6.1–6.2. 156

Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., III.iii.5–6; ix.9–12; x.3–6; with Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, II.vi.1–4; vii.1–4, etc. 157 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.viii.2–3; x.1–16. 158 E.g., Henry of Ghent, Summa, art. X, q.2, ad obj., argues that reason

cannot prove the authority of Scripture but can properly accept Scripture as the norm for reason and for all human wisdom. 159 Keckermann, Praecognita philosophica, col. 37. 160 Alsted, Theologia scholastica, p. 7 (cited in Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics,

p. 11); Praecognita, I.ix. 161 Keckermann, Praecognita philosophica, col. 32. 162 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.viii.14; cf. Keckermann, Praecognita philosophica,

col. 38. 163 Rijssen, Summa theol., I.xi, controversia, obj. 2. 164 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.viii.15–16; Rijssen, Summa, I.xi, controversia 1;

Maresius, Collegium theol., I.xviii. 165 Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix. 166

Keckermann, Praecognita philosophica, col. 38; citing Cano, Loci theologici, IX.3. 167 See above, 5.2; 5.4. 168 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.viii.18–19. 169 Cf. Rijssen, Summa, I.xi, controversia 1. 170 Heidegger, Medulla theologiae; cited in Schweizer, Glaubenslehre, I, p.

188.

9 Fundamental Articles and Basic Principles of Theology 9.1 Fundamental Articles in the Reformation and the Era of Orthodoxy A. The Identification of Fundamental Articles 1. Fundamental articles in the era of the Reformation. Discussion of the issue of fundamental articles (articuli fundamentales) or fundamental theological loci (loci theologici fundamentales) did not appear as a major issue in the prolegomena of Reformed dogmatics until the era of high orthodoxy in the latter half of the seventeenth century. Nonetheless, the concept was present in the thought of the Reformers.1 The notion of a set of foundational biblical teachings necessary to salvation certainly underlay the identification of theological loci in Melanchthon’s initial loci communes of 1521: he begins his discussion of the basic description of this task by noting that “in each individual science it is customary to seek out certain fundamentals in which lie the main substance … and which are considered to be the scope toward which we direct all good judgment.” Here he will indicate the “basic topics” belonging to the substance of theology—by which he means the topics of immediate significance for the preaching of the Gospel and the manifestation of Christ’s benefits, topics so important that one who is ignorant of them cannot be a Christian. In his eventual list of topics to be treated, Melanchthon went so far as to leave out of the discussion any topics not directly available from his rhetorical analysis of Romans or directly necessary to the reform of the church in his time, presenting only those “fundamentals which commend Christ.”2 Nor was Melanchthon alone in pointing toward a set of basic articles of the faith, required for the life of the church. Farel entitled his summary of the faith “A brief declaration of several topics utterly necessary to each Christian, for placing his confidence in God and supporting his neighbor.”3 Bullinger’s Decades first presented a series of the ancient creeds and then, after discussing the biblical Word as the source of all saving teaching and faith as the necessary means of reception, moved on to a doctrinal statement based on the Apostles’ Creed. Bullinger there identifies the “twelve articles” of the creed as “the substance and matter of true faith.” The creed itself he identifies as a “symbol” or “badge” of the faith containing in a pure form “the very doctrine of the apostles” that “true Christians” must profess openly in order to

be “discerned from false” believers.4 On a related point, the Reformers also assumed that all doctrines necessary for salvation were revealed in Scripture.5 Calvin could identify Christ as the “sole foundation” of the Church and also point toward fundamental teachings of the Bible and Christianity that were necessary for the maintenance of this focus on Christ and his work of salvation. This focus on Christ, according to Calvin, must be the central duty of ministry: those who would follow the apostolic example, he writes, “can in no other way serve the Lord with a good conscience, or be listened to as ministers of Christ, than by studying to make their doctrine correspond with his [i.e., Paul’s] and retain the foundation which he has laid.” This foundation or “fundamental doctrine, which it were unlawful to undermine, is that we learn Christ, for Christ is the only foundation of the Church.”6 Beyond this most basic statement, Calvin could also identify a series of necessary Christian doctrines without confession of which the christological foundation would be lost—and, equally so, he was willing to allow that there were less than fundamental doctrine concerning which Christian could disagree and not break communion: not all the topics of true doctrine are of the same kind. Some are so necessary to be known, that all must hold them to be fixed and undoubted as the proper essentials of religion: for instance, that God is one, that Christ is God, and the Son of God, that our salvation depends on the mercy of God, and the like. Others, again, which are the subject of controversy among the churches, do not destroy the unity of the faith; for why should it be regarded as a ground of dissension between churches, if one, without any spirit of contention or perverseness in dogmatising, hold that the soul on quitting the body flies to heaven, and another, without venturing to speak positively as to the abode, holds it for certain that it lives with the Lord?7 Calvin also indicates that God identifies himself by “special marks” that provide a “more intimate knowledge of his nature”—namely, his unity of essence and trinity of persons.8 Equally so, Calvin insisted that on fundamental or necessary articles of the faith there could be no compromise: as soon as the sum of necessary doctrine is inverted, and the use of the sacraments is destroyed, the death of the Church undoubtedly ensues, just as the life of man is destroyed when his throat is pierced, or his vitals mortally wounded. This is clearly evinced by the words of Paul when he says, that the Church is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner-

stone” (Eph. 2: 20). If the Church is founded on the doctrine of the apostles and prophets, by which believers are enjoined to place their salvation in Christ alone, then if that doctrine is destroyed, how can the Church continue to stand? The Church must necessarily fall whenever that sum of religion which alone can sustain it has given way.9 To claim that the Reformers, in contrast to the Reformed orthodox, were not intent on orthodoxy or on the clear affirmation of a series of fundamental doctrines and that emphasis on “purity of doctrine” is a distinguishing feature of Protestant orthodoxy, is utterly anachronistic: the intention of the seventeenth-century theologians, namely orthodoxy, as identified by the insistence on certain fundamental truths of the faith, was an issue at the very heart of the Reformation.10 The formal difference on this issue between the Reformers and the high orthodox is merely that the high orthodox writers inserted the topic of fundamental articles into their theological prolegomena. 2. Fundamental articles in the era of orthodoxy. When the issue of fundamental articles finally appeared in the Reformed prolegomena, it had both a positive doctrinal source and, more importantly, a polemical point of origin. The positive source was the catechetical basis of many of the Reformed systems of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. We see, for example, a sense of the fundamental or necessary character of the doctrines taught in catechesis in the prolegomenon affixed by Ursinus to his lectures on the Heidelberg Catechism. This prolegomenon is of some importance in the development of formal prolegomena to Reformed systems, but in terms of its own intention, it stands primarily as a testimony to the importance of catechesis. This discussion of fundamentals continues to appear, as a result of the catechetical foundation, in later systems built on the model of catechesis —as, for example, Watson’s A Body of Divinity and Witsius’ Exercitiones sacrae in Symbolum, or Ridgley’s Body of Divinity. So too, it is the issue found in more popular works and, indeed, in sermons, demonstrating the connection between the more academic expressions of theology and the piety of the era.11 Similarly, when Maccovius discusses theological method, he notes the principal heads of doctrine treated in catechesis (the Decalogue, the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and the sacraments), notes the subtopics of each, and then refers to the whole series as those topics comprising the fundamentum fidei & salutis. There is a series of doctrines the knowledge of which is necessary to salvation. Notably, Maccovius includes the unity and trinity of God, the goodness, justice, and omnipotence of God, the Law, original sin, the two natures and the mediatorial work of Christ, justification, the basic creedal articles, prayer, and Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. There is

no mention of either predestination or election among these fundamenta.12 The polemical sources were the views expressed on doctrinal fundamentals by Roman Catholic, Socinian, and Lutheran opponents of the Reformed orthodox. The Roman Catholics—in the canons and the catechism of the Council of Trent and in subsequent polemics by Bellarmine, Cano, Canisius and others—had argued the power of the Roman Church to define the fundamental truths of Christianity. The problem was not only the question of doctrinal norms but also the particular fundamentals defined by Rome over against the Protestant position—such as the doctrines of merit, temporal satisfaction through penance, the sacrifice of the mass, and purgatory. The Socinians raised virtually the opposite issue. Insofar as they defined theology as purely practical and of essentially moral significance, the Socinians could effectively deny the existence of theoretically necessary fundamental doctrines. Socinian polemic, therefore, called into question the theological enterprise of the Protestant orthodox.13 Without diminishing the impact of any of these issues on Reformed theology, the ongoing debate with Lutheranism was, certainly, the decisive reason for the development of a major dogmatic discussion of fundamentals in the Reformed system. After the Book of Concord (1580) had provided German Lutheranism with a unified confessional statement quite unparalleled in Reformed circles, Lutheran dogmatics rapidly developed into a profoundly confessional theology in which the confessions of the church were viewed as norma normata, standardized norms, against which the body of doctrine was to be judged and within which the bounds of right doctrine could be stated with authority. This sense of a set of scripturally defined and standardized confessional norms was translated into a concept of fundamental articles of faith by Nicolaus Hunnius.14 When Georg Calixt attempted to use the idea of a limited set of fundamental or constituent articles of faith as a basis for union with the Reformed and, ultimately, the Roman Catholics, his Lutheran brethren successfully argued against his proposals by virtually refusing to acknowledge that any articles of doctrine had less than fundamental status.15 On the Reformed side, the concept of fundamental articles appears as early as 1593 in the irenic or ecumenical theology of Francis Junius—as a response to the question of agreement between the Reformed and the Lutherans despite significant theological differences: Junius argued that “fundamentals” or “fundamental articles” are those teachings without which the Christian faith cannot be present—among which is the doctrine of God, the immutable object of faith.16 This argument carries forward historically into the era of the Thirty Years War, when various German Reformed and Lutheran theologians attempted to achieve some measure of concord on fundamentals, as evidenced confessionally in the Leipzig Colloquy of 1631.17

In addition to these issues, there was the problem of Cartesian rationalism. In striking a balance between the Socinian denial and the Lutheran proliferation of fundamentals, the Reformed were also forced to deal with the Cartesian notion of certain fundamental principles—universal doubt, the identification of truth as clear and distinct perception, and the cogito, ergo sum of Decartes’ system—which, to the orthodox mind, were antithetical to faith. In the polemic with the Cartesians, the Reformed orthodox demonstrate that neither their articuli fundamentales nor the principia theologiae function as a priori principles upon which a whole system of theology can be built deductively.18 Nor was this merely a debate point made against Cartesian philosophy in general: the once-Reformed Cartesian theologian, Pierre Poiret did attempt to deduce an entire theology from the Cartesian Cogito, by way of the ontological proof of God’s existence and the eternal decree.19 Finally, the question of fundamental articles, together with the related issue of the grounds or principia of theological argument, provide a point of entry into the logic and architecture of Protestant scholastic system. In these two discussions—i.e, fundamenta and principia—the Protestant orthodox come closest to discussing the underlying questions of content and structure that must ultimately define the phenomenon of Protestant scholasticism. It is, therefore, in consideration of these issues of fundamentals and principia that we become capable of addressing the historical questions concerning central dogmas and doctrinal principle put to the Protestant scholastics by nineteenthand twentieth-century historical scholarship. We have tentatively addressed these questions already in relation to the basic definitions of theology, but here we can see, in terms of specific doctrines and enunciated principia, what the Protestant scholastics themselves viewed as the underlying rationale for theological system. B. Fundamental Articles and Necessary Doctrines: Basic Criteria 1. How doctrines are necessary: conditions and contexts. In their discussion of fundamentals, the Reformed orthodox recognize that there are several distinct kinds of necessity that can be predicated of Christian doctrines and practices and that the identification of valid “fundamental articles” rests upon the prior clarification of the problem of which doctrines and practices are to be defined as necessary and in which way. Witsius begins his discussion of fundamentals, therefore, with a series of distinctions concerning necessary doctrine: First we observe that doctrines may be said to be necessary either to Salvation, or to Religion, or to the Church. Thus, a doctrine, without knowledge and faith of which, God does not save adults, is necessary to Salvation; that, without the practice and profession of which no one can

be considered conscientious in religious observance, is necessary to Religion; and that, without which none is admitted to the communion of the visible church, is necessary to the Church. There may be articles without which persons ought not to be admitted to the fellowship of the Church, that should not, for that reason, be regarded as absolutely necessary to Religion, or to Salvation.20 Similarly, some articles may be necessary to the right practice of religion, but we cannot therefore conclude the damnation of those who refuse to accept such articles.21 The category of articuli fundamentales, therefore, may be restricted to those articles necessary for salvation, namely, those articles necessary to the identification of a person as “Christian” in the most rudimentary sense and which constitute the elements of the faith according to which Christians are justified in the sight of God.22 A second distinction relates to the question of theological learning or ability to state explicitly and in detail the meaning of those articles necessary to salvation: It is in different measures of clarity, completeness and efficacy that divine revelation, the means of grace, and the communications of the Spirit are enjoyed; and a corresponding diversity takes place in the degrees of knowledge attained by the saints. In some, it is clear, distinct, steady, and accompanied by a very firm and decided assent; in others, it is more confused, more implicit, subject to occasional wavering, and attended with an assent that is yielded with difficulty. The command of God, indeed, lays an indispensable obligation upon all men, to make every possible effort to attain a most clear, distinct and assured knowledge of divine truth. It cannot, however, be questioned that the Deity, in his unbounded goodness, receives many into blessedness, whose knowledge even of the principal articles is very indistinct, and such as they are hardly capable of expressing in their own words. The smallest measure of the requisite knowledge appears to be this, that when an article of faith is explained, the mind so far at least apprehends it, as to recognize and embrace it as true.23 There is already the recognition that the Cartesian standard of truth—clear and distinct perception—although certainly desirable in any attempt at exposition of doctrine, is inapplicable to theological knowing at the most fundamental level. Not only is it impossible for every person to attain the same level of clarity and distinctness of perception, it is also not of the nature of theological truth that it require uniformity and perfection of knowledge either to be perceived as true or to be efficacious. Precisely to this point, Turretin notes three distinct species of certainty:

Certainty can be defined as threefold: 1. Mathematical; 2. moral; 3. theological. 1. Mathematical or metaphysical certainty is that which is suitable for the first principles of nature both as known in themselves (per se notis) and in terms of the conclusions demonstrated on the basis of these principles. 2. Moral certainty, which is perceived with regard to things incapable of being demonstrated … but concerning which a prudent person is unable to have doubt. 3. Theological certainty, which is held concerning things that can neither be demonstrated, nor known by nature or through themselves, nor accepted as probabilities on the ground of evidence (incidiis) or moral arguments, but that are truly divine and theological things, for example, divine revelation, which therefore support a certainty not merely moral or conjectural but a truly divine faith.24 Since God is neither a natural principle nor a thing that can be known immediately through itself, but rather is known through his self-revelation, theology has its own species of certainty, related to the way of knowing that is specific to theology: faith. The definition, although not at all polemically stated, does have a gently anti-Cartesian edge in its denial of mathematical certainty. Related to the issue of clarity and fullness of knowledge expressed in the second distinction, is the issue of requirements placed upon faith by historical conditions. Witsius notes a third distinction: Times must also be distinguished. It admits of no doubt, that under the bright dispensation of the Gospel, a more extensive and more explicit knowledge is necessary to salvation, than was required under the Old Testament economy; for it is reasonable that both knowledge, and the necessity of knowledge, should increase in proportion to the measure of revelation afforded.25 By way of example, a person living under the Old Testament, or even during the life and ministry of Jesus, could be ignorant of doctrine concerning the suffering, death and resurrection of Christ and still be “a true believer and in a state of grace”—but such ignorance is no longer compatible with the conditions of salvation. For confirmation, Witsius looks to Thomas Aquinas: “The articles of faith have increased with the lapse of time, not indeed with respect to the faith itself, but with respect to explicit and express profession.”26 Whereas the second distinction may be regarded as relaxing possible strictures concerning fullness of definition, this third distinction tends to increase strictures, if not concerning the fullness of the individual knowledge of definitions and details of doctrine, then at least concerning the number of

doctrines required for salvation. Taken together, these two distinctions represent the position of Reformed orthodoxy: a definite body of belief with virtually no scholastic definition was required of the laity by the orthodox teachers. Indeed, we have already seen this view expressed in the distinction between the “succinct and brief” catechetical method and the “prolix and large” scholastic method in theology.27 This perspective is also apparent in the proliferation of catechisms and catechetical lectures in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The Reformed scholastics make it clear, therefore, that the designation of certain articles, like the Trinity or the two natures of Christ, as fundamental and necessary for salvation does not constitute a demand that laity become masters of arcane distinctions and difficult concepts—only a confessional level of belief is required. No Christian is required to believe all of the results of scholastic division of a topic and disputation on minutiae. Thus Maccovius distinguishes between those articuli fidei that are catholica or universal and those that are theologica or theological. The catholic or universal are those necessary for faith and salvation—that is, the articles taught in catechesis. The theological articles are those known to and taught by theologians in the course of their work: they are necessary to the work but not to faith. A theologian must know, for example, that the ark was made of cypress or cedar boards and was so many cubits long, for theology explains such things—but this is not necessary to faith. Scripture itself, adds Maccovius, teaches things that are not theological and do not pertain to salvation. A similar point concerning the contents of theological system is made by Voetius.28 What is more, the spiritual estate of salvation is not defined in the era of orthodoxy as consisting merely in the assent to a list of fundamental truths— nor more than the doctrine of faith was expressed as a purely intellectualist matter. The state of salvation is evidenced not only by the presence of “certain principles of faith in the understanding” but also by “certain gracious impressions upon the heart and will” and by “a certain regular obedience in the whole course of a man’s life and conversation.”29 2. The adversarial context: retaining the fundamentals in the face of denial and polemic. More precise definition of the category of fundamental articles and its limits occurred in the context of polemical debate with the Socinians, Arminians, Roman Catholics, and Lutherans. The Socinian and Arminian view of articuli fundamentales, argues Turretin, errs through defect (in defectu) by reducing the category of fundamentals to the point of losing primary doctrines of the faith. The Socinians, on the basis of their definition of theology as entirely practical, set aside the doctrines of the Holy Spirit, the Trinity, the person of Christ, and Christ’s satisfaction for sin—claiming that

these doctrines were theoretical conclusions reached in schools rather than constituent elements of the Christian religion. The Arminians do not demolish central doctrines but instead, Turretin argues, they reduce the fundamental articles to “faith in the divine promises, obedience to the divine precepts, and the payment of reverence to Scripture.”30 Turretin here refers not to Arminius himself but to the Arminian or Remonstrant theology of the late seventeenth century, the irenic theology of Curcellaeus and Limborch. On this identification of orthodoxy, certainly, Turretin was in accord with Amyraut who, against the Arminian approach to the doctrine of the Trinity, understood the doctrine of the Trinity as one of the absolute or primary fundamentals: were this doctrine either removed or corrupted, the Gospel itself would be annulled or corrupted.31 By way of contrast, the “Papists” and Lutherans err on the side of excess (in excessu). The Roman Catholics press forward shamelessly as fundamental doctrines worthless “hay and stubble” (foenum suum et stipulas)—like the doctrines of the mass and purgatory—while the Lutherans, in reaction to the calls for latitude in fundamentals on the part of syncretists among them, rigidly define as fundamentals both refutations of error and indifferent articles (adiaphora).32 The “orthodox”—Reformed, of course—hold to a middle position between the errors of excess and defect, by neither restricting nor extending the category of fundamentals beyond its proper bounds. Faith, since it includes knowledge as one of its elements, “requires and necessarily includes explicit truths or articles of knowledge and of full assent, and not only of the first principles but of generally essential or eminent articles.”33 In order to maintain this middle position, Turretin proposes a paradigm for the definition of the fundamentum upon which the Christian religion rests. The fundamentum can be considered either as simple and personal (incomplexe et personaliter) or as complex and natural (complexe et naturaliter). The latter division can be defined either loosely (late) or strictly (stricte). Simply and personally, the term fundamentum indicates Christ, the foundation of salvation, the unshakable rock upon which the church is founded.34 This assumption of a christological underpinning of the whole of doctrine is both the necessary result of the Reformed view of the theologia unionis as the mediate principle of all human theology and its corollary, the identification of the obiectum theologiae as God revealed in Christ, and the proper prologue to the Reformed scholastic conception of Scripture as the Word of God. Heppe rightly recognized the importance of this distinction between a fundamentum Scripturae and the individual doctrines of it, and the conviction that the latter are essentially present in the former, although his truncated presentation of the prolegomena prevented him from manifesting its full significance.35 In addition, Heppe’s treatment also fails to show the

precise relation of this conception of Christ as fundamentum either to the issue of articuli fundamentales or, via this issue, to the structure of the prolegomena or of the system as a whole—at least in part because he severs the topic from the prolegomena.36 Ursinus argues “that Christ is taught in the whole Scripture, and that he alone is to be sought there.” This, continues Ursinus, is the express teaching of the apostle Paul: that the foundation (fundamentum) of the doctrine of the church is Christ alone (I Cor. 3:11) and that this foundation (fundamentum) is common to the Prophets and the Apostles (Eph. 2:10). The doctrine concerning Christ, therefore, is the sum and scope (summa et scopus) of Scripture, and the foundation (fundamentum) laid by the Prophets and Apostles, such that those who do not rely upon it are not stones of the temple of God, which is to say, members of the Church.37 The point is echoed in the mid-seventeenth century by Leigh who refers to Scripture as “the Revelation of Christ” and distinguishes between Scripture as the “doctrinal foundation” of theology and Christ as “the foundation of foundations” on which Scripture and salvation itself ultimately must rest.38 Thus, Christ is the principal subject of the whole Bible, being the end of the Law and the substance of the Gospel.… In this Mystery of Christ, God is revealed in the highest and most glorious way, 2 Cor. 4:6. There is more wisdome, holiness, power, justice discovered in the Mystery of the Gospel than was known before to men and angels … Christ is the summe of all divine revealed truths.39 The connection between Christ as fundamentum Scripturae and obiectum theologiae (God revealed in Christ) now becomes clear. Christ is the fundamentum upon which all fundamental articles rest since he is the preeminent focus of the divine revelation, the sole focus according to which we are able to recognize God as the proper object of theology and on the basis of which theology in all its diverse topics is unified. This view is essentially christocentric in its implications—and it clearly shows that the Protestant orthodox of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are not the purveyors of a rationalistic approach to theological system.40 As important as this model was for Reformed system, it is all the more necessary to distinguish it from the neoorthodox christocentrism of the twentieth century. The Reformed orthodox make no attempt to use Jesus Christ as the sole index to all points of doctrine. Instead they recognize Christ as the center of God’s revelation and as the focus of saving doctrine insofar as the covenant is grounded in Christ and salvation is in him alone. The orthodox point is made clearly by Witsius:

The doctrine respecting the Lord Jesus, his person and offices, is denominated by Paul a foundation. “Other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ” (I Cor. 3:11). The meaning is, that no man can teach another fundamental doctrine, separate from the doctrine concerning Christ.41 The fundamentals, like the system itself, cluster around and point to Christ while directly supporting faith in Christ, who is the foundation in the simple and personal sense of the term. In the complex sense, the fundamentum refers to the truths that must be believed by all; in short, to the cluster of doctrinal truths that identify the foundation of faith (fundamentum fidei). “Complex” here refers to the series of discrete truths belonging to the foundation of faith, in contrast to the simple or uncompounded truth that is understood, without differentiation, as the scope or foundation of God’s special revelation, namely, Christ, salvation in Christ, or God’s covenant.42 The sense of fundamentum as a complex or cluster of truths concerning Christ and salvation, moreover, is taken either loosely (late) or strictly (stricte). Loosely, the fundamentum fidei or articuli fundamentales refers to the “primary rudiments of Christian Religion” taught to catechumens: to the Decalogue, the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, the sacraments, and the power of the keys. These texts and topics contain all the doctrines necessary to salvation. Strictly speaking, however, the fundamental articles are precisely those teachings necessary to salvation, the underlying beliefs which cannot be ignored or denied.43 Thus a distinction can be made, even in the catechetical articles, between truths necessary to salvation and the amplification and elaboration of those truths. For example, it is necessary to know that Christ suffered and died, but a person can be ignorant of the circumstances of his death—namely, that his suffering took place “under Pontius Pilate” and that he died by crucifixion between two thieves—and still receive the blessing of salvation.44 Scripture, Turretin continues, points to this view of fundamentals. The apostle Paul (1 Cor. 3:11–13) distinguishes between the true fundamentum and those foundations incapable of bringing edification: For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble … the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is.45 Turretin reflects both the view of Christ as fundamentum Scripturae and as “foundation of foundations” and the polemic against the “hay and stubble” presented as fundamentals by the Roman Catholics. Similarly, Turretin continues, Paul writes that the mature Christian ought to attend to his calling

in Christ and walk according to the divinely given regula (cf. Phil. 3:15–16). Weakness in faith can be permitted (Rom. 14:1) but teaching that perverts the gospel is anathema (Gal. 1:8). Of course, nothing can be fundamental that is not given plainly by Scripture since it is the perfect and sufficient revelation of all things necessary to salvation.46 This basic position excludes the aberrations of the “Papists and Enthusiasts” who decree fundamentals extra scripturam, but it does not solve the problem of the identification of which scriptural doctrines are fundamental. Within these scriptural bounds, further distinctions can be made with respect to doctrines. The Law itself distinguishes between necessary moral precepts and ceremonial observation, between what is absolutely necessary and what is hypothetical and mutable. Thus, some doctrines are necessary, in a simple or absolute sense, to the essence of faith (simpliciter ad ipsum esse fidei) while others are supportive of the life of faith and contribute to its bene esse. Some doctrines pertain to the inception of faith (ad generationem fidei), others to its perfection; some are absolutely necessary in and of themselves to all people, whether immature or mature in faith, others are incidentally or accidentally important to those mature in faith whose task in life is preaching or instruction.47 Only those doctrines absolutely necessary to faith and capable of being known by all—even “the simple and illiterate”—either directly by reading or by an obvious logical consequence of the text can be defined as fundamentals in the strictest sense.48 There is an obvious tension in this argument: fundamental articles are absolutely necessary to the essence of faith and are given plainly in Scripture which is the sufficient rule of faith—yet some of the fundamentals are given in such a way that they do not appear on the surface of the text but must be deduced from it. It would be an error, argues Witsius, to assume that nothing is to be deemed fundamental, which is exhibited in any passage in a manner calculated to exercise the industry even of the learned. It has pleased God to reveal the same truth in the Scriptures “at sundry times and in divers manners” (Heb. 1:1).… The knowledge of a fundamental article consists not in understanding this or the other passage of the Bible; but in an acquaintance with the truth, which in one passage, perhaps, is more obscurely traced, but is exhibited in other places in a clear, nay, in the clearest possible light. In fine, we do not concur with the Remonstrants, in requiring so high a degree of clearness, as to consider those articles alone fundamental, which are acknowledged and maintained amongst all Christians as of the most unquestionable authority, and which neither are, nor can be controverted. According to this rule, hardly anything will remain to

distinguish the Christian Religion, from the Pagan morality, and the Mahometan theology. There is much truth in the remark of Clement of Alexandria, “No Scripture, I apprehend, is so favorably treated, as to be contradicted by no one.”49 In the right practice of religion, namely, in the life of obeying the commandments and hoping in the promises of God, that special knowledge denominated as faith is a necessary element. Against the Socinians, Remonstrants, and other “Pelagians,” the Reformed maintain that the right observance of religion and true knowledge of its content presupposes faith in God as the one who works redemption in Christ.50 This presupposition of faith makes the use of the philosophical principle of “universal doubt” impossible for Christians. Such a principle would place Christianity on a level with Islam. Similarly, the criterion of clara & distincta perceptio fails to recognize that many of the mysteries of faith are given by divine revelation and lie forever beyond human understanding—although both in faith and in morals believers ought to seek clarity and distinctness of statement.51 9.2 Fundamental Articles and Errors A. Premisses of the Discussion: Foundational Truths and their Opposites 1. Genuine belief and real error—objectively and subjectively considered. In view of these biblical distinctions, some conclusions can be drawn concerning various kinds of foundations or fundamentals in theology. First, there is the underlying foundation, identical with the obiectum fidei, the object of faith or, in a formal sense, with the obiectum theologiae, the object of theology.52 The obiectum fidei, viewed in a general or equivalent (aedequatum) sense is the Verbum Dei, the written Word of God; viewed in a special and proper sense (speciale et proprium), it is the doctrine concerning Christ (doctrina Christi) together with the principal truths and promises of God (capitibus et promissionibus Dei). We distinguish between the written Word in its entirety and its saving contents—just as in the doctrine of Scripture a distinction is made between the text of Scripture quoad verba, according to its words, and quoad res, according to the things or materials represented by the words.53 Generally and in terms of the equivalence between the ordained means of revelation and its substance, Scripture is the fundamentum and obiectum fidei, but it is foundational in such a way that it directs us to Christ and to the promises of God as the special and proper foundation and object of faith. Fundamental articles of faith, therefore, are drawn directly from Scripture and teach of salvation in Christ. As Voetius points out, these fundamental articles and corresponding errors can be understood from several points of view. It is one thing to discern an

article or error at an objective level, a truth or error as such (in se), quite another to identify and define faith and error subjectively as they arise out of the disposition (habitus) or condition (status) of believing or disbelieving, and yet another to grasp the patterns, manner, and degrees of judgment or tolerance, moderation, reception, or reconciliation possible in cases of belief and error.54 In the first category, some distinction must be made between issues objectively necessary to the being of the church and those necessary to the well-being or salvation of believers, those concerning ritual or polity and those concerning rules or dogmas in the strict sense of the terms, those concerning doctrinal explanations and those concerning beliefs simply necessary in and of themselves, those related to Scripture generally and those concerning the stability of the basic biblical faith. In the second category, the subjective, errors of ignorance must be distinguished from errors arising from opposition to truth, the internal or mental error from the external error in formal assent and profession. Here too the condition or state of believers and church must be considered: the human condition before the fall is different from the condition after it, the human condition under Old Testament different from that under the New and, as the example of doubting Thomas indicates, the human condition can also be different before the resurrection and after. Different requirements arise from different states and conditions.55 In the third category, distinction is made concerning patterns, manner, and degrees of judgment and tolerance—so that a difference must be recognized between the rules and judgment of particular churches and the general assent of the church universal, visible, and invisible. Moderation and some degree of tolerance is required in the first case, while firm judgment is necessary in the latter inasmuch as those who deny universal truths of the church are excluded from heavenly blessedness. Thus it is one thing to tolerate minor corruptions and infirmities with a longsuffering love and quite another to attempt reconciliation with pernicious heresies!56 Three further distinctions can be made concerning the articles or dogmas of the faith (dogmata fidei): they can be defined either as primary and immediate, or as secondary and mediate; as explicit and formal, or implict and virtual; and as positive or negative.57 The first of these distinctions refers to the difference between those doctrines which arise immediately from the reading of Scripture (e.g., the doctrines of the Trinity, of Christ as mediator, or of justification) and are primary to the Christian faith and those doctrines which arise by logical derivation as hypotheses or conclusions and which are mediate or secondary to the faith (e.g., the relationship of the two natures in Christ, the communicatio idiomatum). This distinction follows the pattern of the Lutheran scholastic differentiation of constituent articles (articuli constituentes) from consequent articles (articuli consequentes) or, in the

language of the “Lutherani rigidiores,” as Turretin calls them, the “stricter Lutherans” like Calovius and Quenstedt, primary fundamental articles (articuli fundamentales primarii) and secondary fundamental articles (articuli fundamentales secundarii). The question, of course, is the extent to which secondary or logically derived articles can be considered fundamental.58 This question is answered in part by a second distinction, the distinction between the explicit or formal and the implicit or virtual articles. When a doctrine of faith is present in Scripture as an explicit and formal statement it is, of course, necessary. This necessary, foundational character extends, in addition, to those doctrines implied directly by the text and, therefore, virtually present. The implicit or virtually present doctrine, moreover, attains a fundamental or normative status when its formulation becomes an issue of debate between orthodox and heterodox Christians, and, in addition, the heterodox formulation leads to an erroneous and soteriologically dangerous understanding of the explicit and formal or primary and immediate doctrines. This argument can be extended to cover doctrines developed as logical conclusions from primary dogmas. Of course, a question arises here concerning the way in which logic, particularly syllogistic logic, can be applied to revealed doctrine and which logical conclusions are in fact essentially biblical and therefore fundamental in a secondary or derived sense.59 The third distinction concerning the nature of fundamentals distinguishes between positive and negative articles and may be regarded as an extension of the previous two categories of doctrine. Positive articles include the doctrines previously noted as primary, consisting principally of affirmative statements of saving truth, such as “Christ is the Son of God” or “the death of Christ was the ransom paid for our sins.” Negative articles describe errors both of primary statement and of logical conclusion. Moreover, they specifically consist of falsehoods rejected by orthodox Christians—such as the doctrines of the mass and purgatory. These negative articles identify errors of two sorts, direct or immediate errors and indirect or secondary errors resulting from the application of incorrect logic in doctrinal matters. Blatant heresies fall into the category of direct or immediate error: they subvert primary, immediate fundamentals by overt, explicit contrary statement. Indirect or secondary error, however, is an indirect subversion of truth. For example, the popish doctrines of the merit of works and of temporal satisfaction through penance do not immediately subvert the doctrine of Christ’s satisfaction, but rather do so indirectly, by way of extension. So-called negative articles of faith controvert both sorts of error.60 This identification of fundamental articles and their distinction both from

the principia and nonfundamental or consequent articles serves also to identify and distinguish the various kinds of errorist against whom polemic is to be directed. Those who deny the principia theologiae are either classed as infidels or unbelievers. Those who accept the principia but who err in fundamental articles are heretics. Those who accept both principia and articuli fundamentales but who separate themselves from the faithful over minor doctrinal issues are schismatics.61 2. In debate with Rome: the fundamentals, the fathers, and catholicity. The Reformed identification and limitation of fundamental articles was also defined in conflict with the Roman Church over the question of the use of the church fathers as a norm of doctrine. From the Roman side, it could be argued that Protestants improperly distinguished between fundamental articles necessary to salvation and nonfundamental articles that were unnecessary— the correct distinction was between the fundamental articles that need to be known and believed by any and all for salvation and the nonfundamental articles that, in themselves, are not necessary to salvation and need to be known and believed only when proposed or debated, with the result that “sinfull denial” of any doctrinal point “sufficiently proved” by the church is destructive of saving faith and results in damnation.62 From the Roman perspective, one such “nonfundamental” article is the belief that there must always be a visible church on earth, identified in the succession of its bishops and in the administration of its sacraments, outside of which there can be no salvation. But this doctrine concerns the “essence and unity of true faith and Church.” When one denies this belief, which was understood by the tradition, one destroys saving faith.63 In his preface to is treatise on “the use of the fathers in the decision of controversies,” Daillé argued the point that the debate between “the Church of Rome and the Protestants” was, at heart, a debate over “necessary articles” and “fundamentals of religion.” The Protestant churches, he argued, accepted as fundamental articles of belief those teachings that are “both clearly delivered in the Scriptures, and expressly admitted by the ancient councils and the Fathers; and … indeed unanimously received by the greatest part of Christians in all ages, and in different parts of the world.”64 Daillé’s argument in large part parallels that of Calvin in his response to Sadleto—perhaps because both writers assumed that the Protestant churches fully respect the standard of catholicity enunciated by the fifth century teacher, Vincent of Lerins, namely, what has been believed “everywhere, always, and by all.”65 Daillé notes the basic articles: that there is one supreme God who is the creator of all things; that he created human beings according to his image; that human beings revolted against the divine demand of righteous obedience and fell into sin; that redemption from sin is accomplished in Jesus Christ who is

the eternal Son of God the Father, incarnate of the virgin Mary; that Christ made satisfaction for sin on the cross; that Christ ascended in to heaven and will ultimately return as the judge of all mankind; that Christ sent the Spirit, who proceeds from both the Father and the Son, for the sake of salvation; and that these three persons, Father, Son, and Spirit, are one God; that the Apostles preached this doctrine throughout the world, planted churches, and conveyed to the churches two sacraments—baptism, “the sacrament of our regeneration,” and the Lord’s Supper, “the sacrament of our communion with Christ; that Christians are obliged to love God and neighbor and to accept as true the teachings of the Old and New Testaments. Daillé concludes that these are the articles that Protestants accept as true and fundamental and that “if all other Christians would but content themselves with these, there would never be any schism in the Church.”66 Not content with these fundamental truths, the “adversaries,” namely, the Pope and the teachers of the Roman Church, adds a series of doctrinal claims as necessary doctrines, without the acceptance of which “there is no possible hope of salvation.” Daillé enumerates: “that the Pope of Rome is the head and supreme monarch of the whole Christian Church throughout the world,” “that he, or at least the church which he acknowledges a true one, cannot possibly err in matters of faith,” “that the sacrament of the Eucharist is to be adored, as being really Jesus Christ, not a piece of bread,” “that the mass is a sacrifice, that really expiates the sins of the faithful,” “that our souls after death, before they enter into heaven, are to pass through a certain fire, and there endure grievous torments; thus making atonement for their sins,” “that none but the priest himself that consecrated the Eucharist is bound by right to receive it in both kinds.”67 Such doctrines are identified as fundamental by the Roman Church, despite the inability to draw them from Scripture, as necessary for salvation and as believed throughout the whole course of Christianity; but even here, Daillé notes, the Roman Church errs, inasmuch as these are hardly the universal teachings of the fathers, inasmuch as the fathers themselves often failed to agree on such questions, and inasmuch as the fathers, in any case, are not the final authority in doctrinal matters.68 3. The varieties of fundamental error. The Reformed orthodox generally also note, in connection with the idea of fundamental articles, three kinds of doctrinal error: (1) errors directly against a fundamental article (contra fundamentum); (2) errors around a fundamental or in indirect contradiction to it (circa fundamentum); (3) errors beyond a fundamental article (praeter fundamentum). The first kind of error is a direct attack—such as those launched by the Socinians—against the divinity of Christ or the Trinity. The second is not a direct negation or an antithesis but rather an indirect or secondary error ultimately subversive of a fundamental—such as a belief in

God that refuses to acknowledge his providence. The third category of error does not address fundamental articles directly or indirectly but rather involves faith in problematic and curious questions (quaestiones problematicas et curiosas) that do not arise out of the revealed Word—hay and stubble!—and that, because of their curiosity and vanity, constitute diversions from and impediments to salvation.69 This sense of several kinds or levels of error manifests itself in Stapfer’s massive Institutiones theologiae polemicae. Stapfer’s system, as its subtitle indicates, adopts a scientific arrangement by moving from those adversaries who deny the principia of Christianity (the infidels and unbelievers called Atheists, Deists, Epicureans, Pagans, and Naturalists), to those who accept either of the principia (Jews, Moslems, Socinians, and Latitudinarians or Indifferentists), to those who accept both principia but attack fundamental articles (Papists, Fanatics, Pelagians, Remonstrants, and Anabaptists), to those, finally, who agree on fundamentals but who differ on nonfundamental articles (the Greek Orthodox and the Lutherans). Stapfer feels close enough to the Lutherans to devote a separate chapter to “the consent and dissent of Protestants.”70 The latter two groups, the Greek Orthodox and the Lutherans, are not viewed as heretics but as schismatics from the Reformed faith. Stapfer devotes the first two sections of each polemical chapter to the identification of the basic ideas of the heresy and, specifically, to the delineation of its proton pseudos or false fundamental, the “primary hypothesis” of the heresy against which he must direct the force of his argument. Thus, the false fundamental of the atheist is that there exists “no self-existent substance beyond the world that contains in itself the reason for the existence of this universe.”71 Similarly the false fundamental of the naturalists—Stapfer singles out Matthew Tindal and Anthony Collins—is their assumption that reason alone is sufficient for salvation or ultimate blessedness.72 Both of these fundamental errors operate to exclude the biblical foundation or principium of Christianity: those who hold them are infidels! When he turns to heretics, Stapfer recognizes, again, fundamental errors that mirror, like a “bad eminence,” the fundamental articles of the true faith. Thus, papists accept revelation and reason but hold as proton pseudos the supremacy of the pope which leads to the founding of doctrine on an infallible church rather than on the Lordship of Christ.73 The Pelagian proton pseudos, that fallen man can adequately obey the Law, stands over against the church’s insistence on the necessity of grace.74 For Stapfer, the Greeks and the Lutherans represent the problem of errors around and beyond fundamentals; neither is to be classed as a heresy. The Greeks deny the doctrine of the procession of the Spirit from the Son as well

as the Father, but they do not deny the doctrine of the Trinity. Stapfer here recognizes the historical problem of the insertion of the filioque into the creed, but relies on biblical warrants to justify the doctrine.75 The Lutherans deny the language of double predestination but nonetheless affirm that salvation occurs by grace alone. Stapfer sees, in the first case, a danger of weakening the doctrine of the Trinity; in the second, a danger of falling into the Arminian error of losing the doctrine of salvation by grace alone.76 B. Reformed Identification of Fundamentals: Enumeration with Restraint 1. Toward enumeration: defining the doctrinal categories of fundamentals. This paradigm for the identification of fundamental articles and the kinds of error that relate to fundamentals exercised a significant formal influence on the structure of Reformed orthodox system. The way in which issues developed in the prolegomena carry through into the theological system: each doctrinal locus of the system was conceived by the orthodox in terms of its relation to fundamental articles. Loci are recognized as primary or secondary in their relation to the doctrines of Scripture and each locus recognizes and attempts to refute the errors of opponents in terms of their relation to the locus itself and to the essentials of the faith. The scholastic method of “definitions, divisions, arguments, and answers” was well suited to the positive and polemical task implied by this paradigm. As a summation of his argument, and immediately prior to the discussion of the actual fundamental articles, Turretin supplies five criteria for the enumeration of fundamentals. First, they must be catholic or universal (catholici) insofar as they are required by the universal or catholic faith as necessary to salvation. Here Turretin explicitly notes the Athanasian Creed, which begins with the words, “Whosoever would be saved must, before all other things, hold to the catholic faith which, except he keep it whole and undefiled, he will perish eternally.” Second, a fundamental doctrine must be necessary to salvation in such a way that ignorance of it brings damnation, doubt concerning it brings great danger, and negation of it is impiety and heresy. Third—against the Lutherans in particular—a fundamental article must be such that all the faithful can consent to it without dissent over interpretation, under pain of the anathema of Galatians 1:8 concerning preaching that is contrary to the gospel. “Whence, where there is dissent on fundamentals, no one is able to permit conciliation”—Unde ubi est dissensus in fundamentalibus, nullus potest dari Syncretismus. Fourth, articuli fundamentales must be such that all theological dogmas (omnia dogmata theologica) return to or hark back on them as basic rules of truth—the fundamentals are the basis for the Pauline analogian pisteos, the analogy of

faith. It is by comparison with or measurement against a fundamental that doctrines are known to be true and adequately formulated. Therefore, fifth, fundamental doctrines or articles, properly so-called, must be primary fundamentals or principal truths (principales veritates) on which all other fundamentals rest and without which salvation would be subverted.77 Having developed a paradigm for the definition of fundamental articles, the orthodox can proceed to the delineation of the actual articles deemed fundamental or necessary to salvation. Here too there is a series of basic categories and criteria. First, from the nature and condition of the dogmas themselves; those evidently [are fundamental] that comprehend either the necessary causes or necessary conditions of salvation, whether final or necessary as means, since the negation of causes removes the effect, and negated means cannot lead to a result: thus the grace of God by which we are elected, the merit of Christ by which we are redeemed, and the Spirit by whom we are sanctified are principal causes of salvation, and instrumental faith, John 3:16, 17; true repentance and conversion to God [are] necessary conditions, Heb. 6:2; Matt. 3:2—all these we call fundamental dogmas (dogmata fundamentalia).78 Witsius similarly argues that “another mark of a fundamental article is, that it be of such a nature, that neither faith in Christ, nor true repentance can exist without it; for as without faith it is impossible to please God, so without holiness, no man shall see the Lord” (Heb. 11:6; 12:14).79 From these premises, Witsius can add to the doctrines of grace, faith, repentance and conversion the “articles which respect the existence and veracity of God, and also the gracious rewards which he confers upon his people”—“since it is impossible for anyone to believe in God, unless he knows that he is, and that he is faithful in all his sayings; and since it is impossible also for any one to love and serve him, unless he believe that he is the rewarder of those that seek him.”80 Similarly, since faith is not implicit, but presupposes knowledge, “the knowledge of Christ is necessary to salvation (John 17:3; 20:31)”—and this knowledge, in turn, rests (together with the honor that must be paid to Christ according to John 5:23) on the doctrine of Christ’s equality of dignity and identity of substance with the Father. Against the Socinians, therefore, the orthodox maintain as a fundamental, necessary to faith, the doctrine of the divinity of Christ.81 Second, a whole series of articles are known to be fundamental by the express declaration of Scripture (ex ipsius Scripturae declaratione). Among these doctrines are the doctrine of God as One and Three (de Deo Uno et Trino), as positively attested by John 17:3 and negatively by 1 John 2:23; the

doctrine of sin (Eph. 2:1; 1 John 1:10); the doctrine of Christ’s person, natures, and work; the doctrines of the gospel of Christ, faith, and justification apart from works; the doctrines of sanctification and true worship of God; and finally, the doctrines of the resurrection and of life eternal.82 Virtually all of the orthodox systems cite a wide variety of texts—dicta probantia—which are intended for use, not crassly as proof texts for citation without exegesis, but as points of reference to the long-established results of the church’s exegetical tradition. The dicta probantia or proving texts serve not to circumvent study of the text but to indicate received interpretation leading from exegesis to doctrine. Third, “the character of fundamental articles can be sought from the Apostles’ Creed, in which the Fathers drew together from the writings of the Apostles a summary of fundamental doctrines.”83 The Creed provides an index to fundamental doctrine but does not survey the fundamental doctrines exhaustively—particularly since it deals only with theoretical articles of the faith and not with the equally fundamental practical articles concerning worship. Moreover, not even all theoretical fundamentals are explicitly stated in the Creed. We read nothing of the grace of God, the satisfaction of Christ, and the providence and conservation of God, though these doctrines may be viewed as present implicitly in the Creed by way of logical consequence and analogy (per consequentiam et analogiam). Finally, the Creed witnesses to the truth of Scripture, not so much according to the actual language of the text (quoad verba), but rather according to the meaning (quoad sensum). Thus it may be said, with Hilary, that fundamentalia non sunt in verbis, sed in sententia (“the fundamentals are not in the words but in the meaning”) and that heretics are identified not by rejection of the Creed per se but by rejection of its doctrinal implications, as is witnessed in the cases of the antitrinitarians, both Sabellian and Arian, and by the papists who distort the doctrines of Christ’s death, the church, and the remission of sins.84 A fourth criterion can be added from Witsius: “if any article is stated as necessary to be known, which cannot be understood, unless some other article shall have been previously understood and believed; that other article must also rank among those which are necessary.”85 We know, for example, by the express declaration of Scripture that salvation by grace alone in Christ is a necessary or fundamental doctrine. But the doctrine of salvation by grace alone cannot be understood “unless we know that sin has plunged us into so deep an abyss of misery, that our deliverance surpassed our own power, and even the united exertions of all creatures.”86 Therefore, the doctrine of universal sinfulness is also a fundamental article of faith. 2. The limitation of fundamentals: a category without doctrinal

rigidity. The Reformed scholastics refuse to move beyond the basic enunciation of categories and criteria to an explicit list of fundamental or necessary articles. To attempt such a list, says Turretin, would be “rash and useless”:87 rash, because Scripture itself nowhere precisely defines such a category of doctrines; useless, since there appears to be no limit to the ways in which heretics—whether papist, Socinian, or Anabaptist—manage to err in fundamental issues. This absence of an explicit and restrictive list, moreover, impugns neither the perfection of Scripture nor the value of the church’s confessions as norms of doctrine, since Scripture remains sufficient in its revelation of doctrines necessary to salvation and the ancient creeds provide satisfactory criteria for the determination of fundamentals.88 The unwillingness of even the most scholastic of the later Reformed orthodox—for example, Turretin and Heidegger—to counter the Lutheran expansion of the category of fundamentals to points of contemporary doctrinal dispute with a list of counterfundamentals defined from the Reformed point of view explains in large measure the absence of a pietistic critique of system among the Reformed. Whereas the attempt by Calovius and Quensted to include virtually the whole of theological system in the category of fundamental doctrines brought down upon Lutheran orthodoxy the pietist charge of substituting dogmatic accuracy for Christian faith and of losing sight of piety amid a tangle of rigid doctrinal requirements; the Reformed avoided the charge almost entirely by limiting the category of fundamental doctrines, and, specifically, by attempting to argue a median position between the Socinian and Arminian reduction or removal of fundamentals (error in defect) and the Lutheran and Roman multiplication of fundamentals (error in excess).89 In a positive sense, it is clear that the Reformed discussion of articuli fundamentales also maintained a precise and careful distinction between the status and function of Scripture, catechism, or confession, and theological system in the church, while demonstrating the theoretical and practical interrelation of these three forms of doctrina. What is more, this series of distinctions and relationships points toward the issue of doctrinal or theological principia, toward the doctrine of Scripture as principium cognoscendi, and toward the development of theological system both on the basis of that principium and in both formal and material relation to catechetical and confessional models. 3. Fundamentals in debate: from seventeenth-century impasse toward decon-fessionalization. As implied in the preceding paragraphs, the identification and use of “fundamental articles” of the faith was often, in the era of orthodoxy, both the starting point and the bitter ending of colloquies

between the various major confessions. Nearly all of the colloquies between the Reformed and either the Lutherans or the Roman Church began with statements of their common ground, specifically, of their acceptance of the Niceno-Constantinopolitan and Chalcedonian formulae, of the Athanasian Creed, and (in the case of Lutheran and Reformed colloquies) of such doctrines as the sole authority of Scripture, original sin, and salvation by grace alone through faith. A notable example of this kind of rapprochement was the Leipzig Colloquy of 1631,90 while a notable failure, despite initial agreement on the ancient creeds, is evidenced in the Colloquy of Thorn (1645).91 Whereas the seventeenth-century debate over fundamental articles proved useful in defining the biblical foundations of Protestantism over against the Roman claims of necessary truths found in tradition, the Socinian denials of such doctrines as Trinity, incarnation, and the satisfaction of Christ, and the claims of other religions, the debate also proved divisive within Protestantism. As the writings of various seventeenth-century Reformed irenicists like Dury, Hartlib, Burroughs, and Stillingfleet demonstrate, the issue of fundamentals was ultimately unresolvable. Dury’s attempt to draw on a broad and indefinite understanding of fundamental articles and arrive at basic credal form of agreement failed both in discussion with the Lutherans and in proposals brought before the Westminster Assembly pertaining to the various splits in the English church. In the former instance, the Lutherans would not yield their extended list of fundamentals—while in the latter, Dury’s own search for a very broad consensus set him against the Reformed sense that various groups, most notably the Socinians, had so minimized fundamentals as to undermine the most basic Christianity.92 Similarly, the Calixtine proposal of agreement on the “consensus of the first five centuries” could hardly function given both the refusal of Lutheran theologians to limit the fundamental articles to credal and catechetical matters and the increasing historical sensibility of the era that the Fathers offered no genuine consensus.93 As the relatively strict confessionalism of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries gave way to various patterns of deconfessionalization, it became increasingly difficult to justify and sustain a strict understanding of the fundamental articles. Among the Reformed themselves, the half century from 1675 to 1725 saw a shift from the attempt to define confessional orthodoxy in the strictest terms in the Formula Consensus Helvetica to the passing of strict confessional subscription throughout nearly all of Protestant Switzerland.94 At the same time, in England, the Dissenting clergy were unable to maintain any sort of standardized confessional subscription and the Anglican Church had reached the conclusion that both Reformed and Arminian constructions of

the doctrine of salvation could be legitimate under subscription to the ThirtyNine Articles—and some even argued the legitimacy of non-Nicene understandings of the Trinity.95 Following both the polemic against Rome over the simplicity of truth and the polemic against Cartesians over the principle of doubt and the criteria of truth, the Reformed felt justified in attempting to set forth a series of simple and, in recognition of the mystery of revelation and the hiddenness of divine things (theologia archetypa), relatively clear and distinct articles fundamental to the faith. The polemic has rejected the false criteria of intellectual sophistication and philosophical doubt—but criteria are necessary. These criteria themselves will reflect the basic stance of Protestantism: neither the general consent of Christians, nor the letter of Scripture, nor the needs of religious practice, nor the ancient articles of the church which deal neither with worship nor with doctrine, nor the determinations of the present church —but only those things necessary to salvation or stated as necessary by Scripture.96 Such definition, in mid-seventeenth century England had brought accusations of Socinianism or at least openness to Socinianism on the Anglican irenicist, William Chillingworth—whereas in the early eighteenth century, when argued by J. A. Turretin, they represented a far broader segment of the Reformed churches. The younger Turretin was even willing, on grounds of such broad definition of fundamentals, set aside debate with the Arminians over questions concerning the definition and the order of the divine decrees and with Lutherans over the manner of Christ’s presence in the Lord’s supper.97 Writing some eighty years after Francis Turretin and Herman Witsius, Johann Friedrich Stapfer could look back over a tradition of argumentation on the issue of fundamental articles and draw together a set of concise definitions. Fundamental articles are “such Truths as are recognized absolutely necessary to the right knowledge and worship of God and as a consequence to the attainment of Salvation.”98 This definition, comments Stapfer, serves as the best criterion for identifying fundamental articles— indeed, it completes yet another circle of thought in the prolegomena by returning us doctrinally to the primary definition of religion as the right way of knowing and worshiping God, recta ratio Deum cognoscendi et colendi. The connection between true theology and right religion can now be identified at the level of churchly teaching: fundamental articles are “those Truths the profession of which is required for the encouragement of the church’s communion as a society or association [of the faithful in worship].”99 These fundamentals can be distinguished into categories of primary and secondary fundamentals—the former being absolutely necessary to salvation as means toward an end, the latter being necessary only in a

regulative or “preceptive” sense, given that their denial constitutes a denial of the primary fundamentals. No one can be ignorant of the primary fundamentals and be saved—ignorance of the secondary fundamentals does not jeopardize salvation. Primary fundamentals must be “clearly and evidently” expressed in Scripture or be available as “necessary and evident consequences.”100 Nonfundamental articles are teachings that “do not pertain to the essence and constitution of religion”—differences of these articles result not in heresy, but in schism.101 This structure of definition, coupled as it was in nearly all Reformed circles, with a refusal to identify a set number of dogmatically defined fundamental articles, could and did lead to a decline in confessionality—and, even in polemics, to the articulation of a more pacific approach to other Protestants, notably the Lutherans, who did not differ on primary fundamentals.102 Although a stricter orthodoxy continued to be represented by writers like Stapfer and De Moor, the younger Turretin’s views were more characteristic of the age and its increasingly rationalistic approach to theological issues together with its tendency to remove or to lessen the strictness of standards of subscription to the confessions. The increasing willingness of theologians to agree on a minimal set of truly basic fundamental articles coincided with the close of the era of orthodoxy and the process of deconfessionalization that took place in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.103 9.3 The Principia Theologiae according to the Reformed Orthodox A. The Identification of Principia 1. The concept of principia: roots, definitions, and Reformed appropriation. The identification of theological principia is the final and most truly foundational discussion presented within the prolegomena of theological system. Here the orthodox theologians penetrate still deeper into the substance of theology, deeper even than the identification of fundamental articles of the faith. Here they address the sine qua non, the necessary and irreducible ground of theology, apart from which not even the fundamental articles of the faith could be set forth and no articles of theology, fundamental or derivative, could be correctly stated. Long before the development of theological prolegomena in the Middle Ages, the Greek word arche, indicating a beginning, source, or first principle, had been definitively identified with the Latin word, principium. It was the term selected by Rufinus in his translation of Origen’s On First Principles, the Peri Archon or De Principiis. It was also the term used by Jerome to translate arche in John 1:1. Once this fact of the history of the term and its translation has been recognized, the roots of the search for a principium can be extended back into the intellectual history of the Western world to

Aristotle’s declaration that all archai or first principles are the ground or “first point from which a thing either is or comes to be or is known … of these some are immanent in the thing and others are outside.”104 The historical and philosophical roots of the Reformed language of principia were made clear from the very outset of the discussion in the early orthodox period. Sibrandus Lubbertus argues at the beginning of his treatise on the principles of Christian dogmatics that “all arts and all disciplines and sciences have identifiable principia from which solid arguments and precepts are deduced.” Just as arithmetic, geometry and physics have first principles, so does theology: there must be a “true, immediate, utterly necessary prior and knowable” principle that is the “cause of all doctrines in the Christian religion.”105 From Aristotle and more recent commentators, Iauellus and Zabarella, Lubbertus draws the argument that principia are necessarily and immutably true and must be known per se as both immediate and indemonstrable. This language can be appropriate in large part: since Christian doctrine, drawn as proper conclusions from its principia must be true and immutably so, the principia are properly defined as immutably true as well. Given that true principia are not derived, the principia of Christian doctrine will also be immediate. So too, must the principia of Christian doctrine be necessary when some of the doctrinal conclusions drawn from them are deemed necessary—as it is clear that the necessity of a principium, which stands as the cause of the doctrine, must be of a higher degree than that of the conclusions drawn from it. Furthermore, the principia of any given discipline must be identified as a principium essendi, literally a “principle of being” or essential foundation—and a principium cognoscendi, a “principle of knowing” or cognitive foundation: the former is necessary for the existence of the discipline, the latter for knowledge of it.106 If the doctrines of Christianity are to be true, certain, necessary, and divine, so must be the principia on which they rest: human authority is, therefore, ruled out at the level of principia.107 As noted earlier in another context, the orthodox Protestant prolegomena are dogmatic, not predogmatic declarations. Neither here, in the identification of principia, nor anywhere in the prolegomena have we stood outside the bounds of theology and, on nontheological grounds, identified the basis of right argumentation. Of course, the determination of what, precisely, is Christian theology reflects the decisions noted previously on the use of reason, tradition, and elements of philosophy or natural theology. The classical philosophical language of principia was appropriated by the Reformed orthodox at a time and in a contest where, on several fronts, this conceptual structure, not identifiable in the thought of the earlier Reformers, served the needs both of the Reformation sense of the priority of Scripture

and the Reformation assumptions concerning the ancillary status of philosophy and the weakness of human reason. By defining both Scripture and God as principial in the strictest sense—namely as true, immediate, necessary, and knowable or, alternatively, as both self-evident and indemonstrable—the early orthodox asserted the priority of Scripture over tradition and reason and gave conceptual status to the notion of its selfauthenticating character in response to both Roman polemicists and philosophical skeptics of the era. So also with God: if God is principial, his existence and foundational status in Christian theology is affirmed as more basic even than demonstration—against the skeptics of the time, whether Roman (like Charron) or classicist (like Bodin).108 (It is significant that such language with reference to God, as found in Mornay’s apologetics, precedes and parallels Descartes’ interest in establishing principia over against skeptical philosophy.)109 From the perspective of the argumentation in the prolegomena themselves, the first principles, the sources and foundations of theological argument, have been assumed and implied from the outset in the definition of theology and in the contrast between archetypal and ectypal theology. The archetype and the arche must be identical. In addition, the identification of God and his selfrevelation as the principia or grounds of theology merely serves as a preliminary statement of the doctrines of God and of Scripture that stand at the beginning of the system and, in fact, like the entirety of the prolegomena, as a reflection upon the contents of the theological system as a whole in terms of the underlying rationale for its existence. The form of this primary statement, moreover, is clearly determined not only by the original contrast between archetypal and ectypal theology but also by the systematic commitment to the connection between divine archetype and human ectype that must characterize any legitimate system of theology. This desire to make clear the connection between the divine and human knowledge of the divine was resident in the consistent effort of the orthodox to argue the relationship between all forms of ectypal theology and the divine archetype in terms of the logos prophorikos or Word sent forth.110 Here the discussion focuses on the divine archetype as the ultimate and essential foundation of theology and on Scripture as the divinely and therefore authoritatively and infallibly given cognitive foundation of theology. Acknowledgment of these two foundations or principia in turn legitimizes the movement toward system. In addition, by way of closing yet another circle of argument in the orthodox prolegomena, this final discussion of principia must be viewed as the culmination of a process of reasoning begun in the distinction between

archetypal and ectypal theology and crystallized around the identification of the genus of theology. Just as the identification of theology as a subalternate science that derives its principles from a higher science places the imprint of the archetypal/ectypal model upon the discipline of “our theology,” so does the identification of principia arise from the claim that theology is a kind of scientia and return to the language of archetype and ectype. In other words, the archetype is the higher science that supplies the principles used as the basis of conclusions in the ectypal, subalternate science. Granting the relation between archetype and ectype, the archetypal divine self-knowledge is one of the principles of ectypal theological knowing, that is, the principium essendi. The means by which the archetype definitively reveals itself, Scripture, must be the principium cognoscendi required by the subalternate science for its existence as a discipline. These definitions, in turn, demand a hermeneutic that will draw conclusions from the scriptural principle. This point is clearly made by Chandieu in his proposal for a legitimate scholastic method for Protestant use. For Chandieu, the use of scholastic form is legitimized by the identification of the correct principia: Scripture, not reason, must supply all of the principia or axiomata used in theology. In addition, since these axioms arise out of revelation they cannot be demonstrated nor do they rest on human knowing (scientia humana). Theological principia rest upon the wisdom of God.111 The affirmation of Scripture as principium cognoscendi thus follows from the basic definitions and divisions of theology presented by the orthodox at the beginning of their prolegomena. All true theology reflects the divine archetype and that archetype cannot be known in and of itself but only through a gracious self-revelation. Reason, therefore, cannot be the cognitive foundation of theology inasmuch as it cannot know God in and of himself and inasmuch as it is not a divine self-revelation but only an instrument for understanding revelation. Since, moreover, the archetype infinitely transcends nature and since the ultimate end of theology is of grace and not of nature, the natural order and its revelation cannot be the cognitive foundation of Christian theology. What remains is the divine self-revelation in and through the Word as recorded in the biblical witness. Thus, the Word of God written is the principium cognoscendi theologiae. 2. Principium and principia: the biblical foundation and the axioms of theology. There remains, of course, a double usage of the term principia. Whereas Lubbertus’ De principiis looked directly toward the language of the orthodox theological prolegomena in its identification of Scripture as the single ultimate principium of theology, his contemporary, Chandieu, held to the older usage, inherited from the medieval scholastics, that understood Scripture as the source of principia or axiomata used in theological

argumentation. This older understanding of the principia of theology was echoed in the demand made by Bolsec in his polemic against Calvin that the articles of faith “be proved by … authoritative passages from the whole of Scripture which are plain and evident and cannot be turned to a different meaning”; and it was clearly present in Beza’s response to Bolsec, as in his subsequent response to Castellio, in which biblical verses were cited as productive of brief theological axiomata or propositiones.112 Whereas the identification of the whole of Scripture as principium cognoscendi appears typically in the Reformed orthodox prolegomena, the discussion of the elicitation of doctrinal principia from Scripture and of the task of drawing conclusions from those principia more frequently occurs in the locus de Scriptura or in treatises on biblical interpretation.113 When, therefore, the Protestant orthodox introduce a separate discussion of principia theologiae or foundations of theology into their prolegomena, they tend to place it at the end of the prolegomena as an introduction to or preparation for the next two loci: Scripture, the principium cognoscendi theologiae; and God, the principium essendi theologiae. Although the early orthodox Reformed offer little by way of explanation of their movement beyond the language of principia as a series of axiomata to a conception of two ultimate and, each in their own province, sole, principia, the contextual reason is quite clear: in the debates of the era, both with the Roman Church over authority and with skeptical philosophy over certainty in general, the identification of Scripture and God as ultimate, sole principia placed each into the cognitive category of self-evident, indemonstrable, and undeniable truth, implying victory on the polemical point before the question had been posed. For all of the rancor between a large number of the Reformed and the Cartesians, the motivation to identify principia was virtually the same.114 These principia or foundations of theology are argued by the Protestant scholastics according to two basic patterns. The majority simply point to the logic of the situation: theology has been shown to exist and anything that exists and is also capable of analysis must have two foundations or grounds— an essential foundation that guarantees its existence and a cognitive foundation that makes knowledge of it possible. Thus theology which both is and is known must have an essential foundation (principium essendi) and a cognitive foundation (principium cognoscendi). The other pattern of derivation is causal and arrives, by somewhat different logic, at the same result. The first of these patterns, descriptive of the logic of knowing something, is neatly and closely argued by Hoornbeeck: In theology, the foundation (principium) is twofold: of being and of

knowing (Essendi et Cognoscendi), namely, that by which it is and that by which it is known; the former establishes or presents the knowable object (lit., the knowable thing and the object: scibile et obiectum); the latter brings forth knowledge and gives form to the subject: the former is God, the latter is the word of God himself, as is manifestly expressed and indicated in holy Scripture.115 Virtually identical is the statement of Edward Leigh: Two things are to be considered in Divinity: First, the Rule of it, the Scripture or Word of God. Secondly, the Matter or parts of it concerning God and man. Principium essendi in Divinity is God the first Essence; Principium cognoscendi, the Scripture, by which we know God, and all things concerning him.116 Leigh notes that, like many divines of his day, he will begin with the Scriptures. That there may be a revelation of God is apparent not only to Christians but also to pagans—and it is eminently reasonable. Moreover, Christians should be well satisfied that they have such a revelation in view of the supernatural character of the truths of the gospel. These truths are a matter of God’s “grace and favour,” they exceed the powers of natural reason and “illumination and elevation of the faculties of the soul was necessary for the right reception of them.”117 There are three general Characters whereby we may know any Word to be the Word of God, and a Religion to be the true Religion; 1. That which doth most set forth the glory of God. 2. That which doth direct us to a rule which is a perfect rule of holinesse toward God, and righteousnesse to men. 3. That which shews us a way suitable to God’s glory and men’s necessity, to reconcile us to God. The word of God sets forth God’s glory in all the perfections, and is a compleat rule.118 A somewhat more developed statement of this logical pattern is found in Trelcatius’ Scholastica methodus ss. theologiae. After his statement of definitions, Trelcatius moves on to his system proper and in an initial chapter deals with the “first principles” of theology. All sciences, he argues, have proper principles above which the mind cannot ascend—since these principles are indemonstrable.119 Divinity alone begins with the absolute, first principles of things which depend on no other matters; whereas the basic principles of the other sciences are only first relative to the science for which they provide the foundation, the basic principles of theology are prior to any other “principle of Being” or “principle of knowing.”120 For there are two Principles, the one of the thing (rei), the other of knowledge (cognitionis), the former out of which other things are

produced, the latter on which the knowledge of other things depends.121 In theology this division may be explained as God and the Word: God is the Principle of being, the first cause of Divinity, from which springs both the end of Divinity and the means to this end: the Word is the Principle of knowing, by which the end of Divinity and the means unto it may be known.122 Both these principles are first in their spheres, since nothing exists prior to God and nothing was known or spoken prior to his Word. (Of course, in the case of true or Christian natural theology, Scripture cannot be the principium cognoscendi. Alsted, who developed one of the more massive treatises on natural theology in the era of early orthodoxy, counts nature as the principium of natural theology, Scripture as the principium of supernatural theology.)123 This identification of Scripture as principium cognoscendi also indicates the Protestant orthodox assumption of a dynamic, efficacious view of the biblical Word much like that of the Reformers: whereas God is the remote or first efficient cause and therefore principium essendi theologiae, the living Word of God is “proximate and immediate efficient cause” and therefore the principium cognoscendi of theology.124 Since, moreover, it is of the very nature of a first principle that it is most certain, indemonstrable or immediately evident, and never a postulate or hypothesis,125 the Reformed orthodox identification of Scripture as the principium cognoscendi unicum of theology involves the assumption that the biblical norm cannot be rationally or empirically verified and, indeed, need not be—and that its authority is known in and through its self-authenticating character. Thus, as noted earlier, Turretin can state that theology does not rest on evidence of reason.126 3. Medieval background to the orthodox Reformed concept of principia. This language of principium cognoscendi and principium essendi, like most of the structures we have already examined, has clear medieval precedent, though here, as before, the Protestant scholastics clearly make modifications in the language and implication of scholasticism in view of the teachings of the Reformers. In the fourteenth century, in the face of the critique of the definition of theology as scientia subalterna, it became quite common to define theology as a habitus or disposition of knowing conclusions drawn from the principia theologiae, the articles of faith and the Holy Scriptures.127 The Protestant scholastics, of course, identify Scripture alone as principium and subordinate all churchly articles of faith to it—but their reason for identifying a principium cognoscendi is identical. In the absence of principia per se nota, theology must identify the principles upon which it is founded and attest their certainty. Even so, among the late

medieval scholastics, Marsilius of Inghen identifies God as principium theologiae, the self-revealed ground of the existence of theology.128 This language can be viewed, moreover, as a simple extension of the fairly standard medieval identification of the Trinity as the principium essentialis of all created things.129 The Protestant scholastic use of the terms principium essendi theologiae and principium cognoscendi theologiae represents, nonetheless, a significant development in theological system. The medieval doctors had used similar language but had never stated the two principia as a basic division of topics at the beginning of system leading to a fully developed locus de Scriptura sacra prior to the locus de Deo. The doctrine of Scripture stated so pointedly as principium theologiae is, thus, both a descendant of the medieval system and a specifically Protestant development resting upon the sola Scriptura of the Reformers. The medieval scholastic identification of theology, objectively considered, with the divine revelation in Scripture, coupled with the notion of theology as a subalternate science—a science consisting in first principles known from a higher science and in the conclusions drawn from those principles—led several of the teachers of the fourteenth century, notably Gregory of Rimini and Pierre d’Ailly, to develop a language of principia similar to that of the Protestant scholastics. Gregory had argued that all theological disputes were to be adjudged by dicta resting on Scripture, inasmuch as the principia of theology are the truths resident in the canon of Scripture and all other theological truths fall into the category of conclusions “following by necessity” from the biblical principia.130 D’Ailly assumes the same relationship between principia theologiae and the conclusions properly belonging to theology (conclusiones proprie theologicae) and argues that the principia of theology are “the verities of the holy canon” of Scripture.131 There are crucial elements of continuity and discontinuity to be noted in this developing language of principia theologiae. On the one hand, neither Gregory of Rimini nor Pierre d’Ailly give us precisely the formulation of the Protestant scholastics: Scripture for them, provides the divine truths that are the principia theologiae. There are many principia from which conclusions may be drawn. We may associate this sense of multiple principia with the nominalist denial of universals and genera. The Protestant development of the idea, however, finds in Scripture itself, as the source of divine truths, a single principium of theology. We may associate this sense of a single principium both with the Reformation emphasis on sola Scriptura and with the Protestant tendency, noted in Vermigli, Zanchi, Polanus, Keckermann, Alsted, and others, away from a nominalist philosophical stance. On the other hand, on the side of continuity, we must recognize that both the Reformation and orthodox Protestantism stand in a direct line of doctrinal development from

the great scholastic systems of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries insofar as medieval doctors presented a clear doctrine of Scripture as the ultimate cognitive ground of theology.132 We must also recognize that the Protestant orthodox appropriation and modification of scholastic language of principia points toward the doctrinal continuity, despite formal discontinuity, of the orthodox with the Reformers. As Congar has pointed out, the typically medieval language of the sufficiency of scriptural revelation for salvation, even when coupled with comments like those of Scotus concerning the necessity of revelation, ought not to be understood over against the comments of the same theologians concerning the necessity of the magisterium, the teaching office of the church.133 In a limited sense, the protests of Wyclif and Hus, which did pose the sufficiency of Scripture against the authority of the church, provide adumbrations of the Protestant view of Scripture as principium cognoscendi. Of greater importance to the development of the idea of Scripture as principium cognoscendi, however, is the early Reformation declaration and subsequent confession of sola Scriptura. The majority of sixteenth-century Reformed confessions, like the First and Second Helvetic, the Gallican and the Belgic, juxtapose the doctrines of Scripture and God as the contents of the first several chapters or articles. The Protestant scholastic declaration of principia, therefore, is distinctly Protestant and, if structurally and methodologically different from the theology of the Reformers, is based directly on the theology of the Reformation. It is also probable that the Protestant scholastic view of Scripture as the principium cognoscendi rather than as a body of principia functioned as an unstated but important factor in the decision, noted in a previous chapter, to identify the genus of theology as sapientia or wisdom rather than as scientia or knowledge in a strict sense. Since Scripture is not to be viewed precisely as a body of principia drawn from a higher science, theology does not fit perfectly into the definition of a subalternate science. Of course, the hermeneutic of drawing legitimate conclusions in theology from the explicit statements of Scripture remained as part of the legacy of theological method mediated from the medieval scholastics by the more systematically oriented Reformers and their adoption of the locus method to the Protestant orthodox: Scripture was understood by the orthodox as containing or providing the secondary principia or axiomata to be used as the basis of specific points of doctrine or doctrinal argumentation. Nonetheless, the definition of Scripture as a unified principium, together with the definition of theology as a kind of wisdom not based on evidence of reason, prevented the Protestant orthodox from adopting the very view of Scripture they are frequently accused of holding—Scripture as a set of conveniently numbered divine propositions.

The divine archetype is simple, nondiscursive, and nonpropositional: the propositional nature of language belongs to the accommodation of truth to our ectypal patterns of knowing. Exegetical study of the entire principium rather than a collation of propositions would necessarily undergird the formulation of Christian doctrine. In terms of the larger question of continuities and discontinuities in the history of doctrine, the medieval language of principia theologiae and of the sufficiency—indeed, the authority and infallibility—of the biblical revelation stands as an important terminological precedent for the Protestant scholastic discussion of principia and of the doctrine of Scripture.134 Mediation of this precedent to the Reformed orthodoxy, moreover, can be seen in the work of a scholastically trained Reformer like Bucer, who echoed Aquinas’ identification of tradition as a source of probable conclusions and Scripture as a source of necessary truths and the conclusions that could be drawn from them: Bucer specifically argued that theology, whether it be a necessary of a probable conclusion, be grounded in the Word of God, the “Deus dixit,” understood as its principium.135 We can identify, then, a continuity of scholastic language—but a discontinuity of implication inasmuch as the sola Scriptura has set aside the authority of the church over the meaning of the text. Even so, we note a discontinuity of language between the Reformers and the Protestant scholastics—but a clear continuity of theological implication despite the formalization of statement. B. Reformed Principia Theologiae: The Doctrinal Formulation 1. Principium and cause: refining the language of principia theologiae. When the question of principia is considered causally, we again raise the question of an essential or external foundation since theology obviously is not self-caused. In addition to this external ground, all disciplines also have their own inward or internal basis, a principium belonging to the discipline itself. Maccovius, accordingly, speaks not of a principium essendi and principium cognoscendi, but of a principium externum that operates as an efficient cause and a principium internum that stands as the material substratum of the discipline as provided by the operation of the efficient cause.136 In this approach to the principia we encounter yet another reflection of the medieval prolegomena and, in addition, the probable dogmatic source of the language of principles or foundations of theology. Whereas the medieval scholastics devoted little space to the explicit discussion of principia, they were profoundly concerned to delineate the causal grounds of theology—God being the efficient cause and scriptural revelation the material cause of theology.137 The designation of Scripture as principium internum demands some

explanation, particularly since it stands in contrast with the frequent Reformed designation of Scripture as principium cognoscendi and, even more pointedly, with Mastricht’s view of Scripture as principium cognoscendi received inwardly by faith at the inception of spiritual life.138 The difference arises not only because of Maccovius’ causal consideration of principia, which places God external to the theological enterprise and the Word internal to it, but also and perhaps primarily because of his careful definition of Scripture as one form of Word and his equally careful recognition of the way in which that Word must be known inwardly if it is to be the principium of our theology. According to its essence, the Word is “that celestial doctrine which the holy books contain” and, as such, precedes both logically and chronologically all written forms. Since the Word is Verbum internum, an inward Word spoken in the mind and heart by God, when it comes to the prophets and apostles, the written form of the Word is an incidental property or accident.139 (There is, thus, only a soteriological or hypothetical, not an absolute necessity that the Word be written.)140 The Word, of course, is principium theologiae according to its essence, not its incidental properties— with the result that the Word is the principium of theology not only in its external written form but also in its internal unwritten form in the mind and heart of the believer. Maccovius’ definition observes the trajectory of Word as initially spoken to the prophet or apostle, as subsequently written, and then as believed, regarding the written Word as the objective, external principium that, for its proper use, must also be received inwardly by faith. Moreover, faith receives inwardly, not the accidents, but the essence of the doctrina caelestis. Polanus, rather more directly, argues that Scripture is principium cognoscendi insofar as it is the place where the immediate cause of our theology is given: The immediate and proximate efficient cause of our theology is the Word of God, which, consequently is its foundation (principium). The first principle, indeed, into which all theological doctrines are resolved is, “Thus said the Lord” or “God said” (Dominus Dixit, seu Deus Dixit). This foundation is one or whole and necessarily so, both because all the Prophets and Apostles call us back to this alone, as is witnessed by all of Scripture; and because God cannot be understood except through himself (non potest Deus nisi per Deum intelligi).141 Scripture must be the principium theologiae in a causal sense since the infinite and transcendent God and his self-knowledge must remain inaccessible to us apart from the Word of revelation—again, an echo of the archetypal/ectypal model of theology and of the epistemological dictum

finitum non capax infiniti. Theology, considered as finite but true, cannot have a human cause or a humanly constructed foundation. This conclusion, of course, rules out the elevation of reason to principial status—as Spanheim notes, “the Socinians and the Papists err,” both “concerning the substance” (ad rem) and concerning the “manner of speaking” (modus loquendi). The Socinians hold that reason in a second principium alongside of Scripture, confusing the object known with the ability or instrument that knows or discerns it. But reason, as fallen and corrupt, cannot be a principium either materially, producing doctrine, or formally, conveying or teaching doctrine. The Papists, on the other hand, confound Scripture with rules of faith and human arguments, missing what is truly the foundation (fundamentum). But such opinions, whether public (in councils), or private (of popes, church fathers, or doctors of the church), have no authority in and of themselves. As for the modus loquendi, both groups fail to recognize what are principles and what are conclusions—the latter being always formally distinct from the former, even when materially in agreement.142 The art of living to God, therefore, does not belong to the natural potential of man but is truly a facultas acquisita, the rule of which is prescribed by God and set forth in his Word, the sacred Scriptures.143 Thus, Scripture is the norm for Christian living and theology: it is called the theologiae principium. Mastricht’s text for his second locus is 2 Timothy 3: 16, 17—“All Scripture is inspired by God, and is useful for doctrine, for refutation, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that a man of God might be perfect, to all good works perfectly instructed.”144 From all this it follows that sacram Scripturam, perfectam esse Deo vivendi regulam, a conclusion that is corroborated internally by a multitude of texts in Scripture.145 This causality of the Word, moreover, points us directly back to God as the principium essendi, underlining the relationship between the two principia. Probably borrowing the language of the second century Apologists, Mastricht argues that Scripture, the cognitive foundation of theology, rests on the “Word sent forth” (logos prophorikos) as on an instrumental cause. The logos prophorikos points back to its source, the inward or immanent Word (logos emphytos) which is the mind of God himself, the divine Logos. This is not merely an ultimate cognitive foundation but also, of course, the essential foundation, in Maccovius’ language, the principium externum and causa efficiens of theology or, in the usual language of orthodoxy, the principium essendi. The point finds parallels in Owen and Turretin.146 2. Reception of the objective foundation: the principium internum. As a final point in the discussion of principia, we raise the issue of the internal

reception of the Word, the principium cognoscendi. Following the instrumental language of Junius, according to which the Word sent forth to the minds of the prophets and apostles (logos prophorikos) could also be viewed as the basis for a word concerning God implanted both in the minds of the authors of Scripture and in the minds of their hearers (logos endiathetos), Maccovius and Alsted had spoken of the inwardly known Word of God as the principium internum of theology.147 This approach to the problem found confirmation in the already established doctrine of the testimonium internum Spiritus Sancti: an inward Word of the Spirit, opening the minds of fallen creatures to the truth of God, must accompany the externally preached Word of God. Rijssen, therefore, can speak of verbum internum as one of the necessary forms of Word in the communication of the promises of the gospel.148 These definitions, however, provide only a limited identification of the internal principle of theology. They do show how the Word, considered as principium cognoscendi externum, is brought into the human mind and established as the cognitive ground of our theology, theologia nostra. But the definitions fail to come full circle. The human mind, before the internal testimony of the Spirit, could not receive the Word. Something, indeed, has been changed within the soul that now makes it receptive to the gospel. The full development of this discussion belongs, of course, to soteriology, but the identification of the subjective ground of reception does belong to the principial and preliminary sections of theological system. The orthodox, indeed, had always asserted that theology, as a form of knowing, whether scientia or sapientia, could belong only to rational creatures: salvation itself is offered to rational creatures and to them alone, and they were in agreement that reason was necessary to theological discourse.149 The use of reason was defined, however, as instrumental and ancillary, and the Cartesian notion of a principial function of reason was rejected by all but a few of the Reformed orthodox.150 Even in the late orthodox era, a thinker like Gürtler could argue that reason was an insufficient principium for human knowing, insofar as revelation was necessary for the intellectual and volitional perfection of human beings and, specifically, for the removal of the “veil” that separates sinful humanity from truly knowing God: revelation is the necessary apocalypsis at the basis of true theology.151 In the seventeenth century, under the impact of rationalism and particularly in the wake of the seemingly constructive and theologically congenial rationalism of Leibniz and Wolff, a considerable number of the late scholastic systems elevate reason from an ancillary to a principial status. Thus, Venema: There are included in the preliminary points (prolegomena) the sources

and principles from which our doctrines are drawn. For, if the science of theology be certain, so must its principles, which are, as it were, the springs from which it proceeds. Now these principles are two, the one innate, the other revealed,—reason and revelation.152 This affirmation of reason as principium cognoscendi internum constitutes a major departure from the perspective of the Reformers and the Protestant scholastics of the seventeenth century and, when conjoined with the rationalist definition of truth as clara et distincta perceptio, clear and distinct perception, it had the tendency to obscure not only the role of faith in theology but the underlying epistemological vision of Reformed theology that the human mind, unless aided by grace and presented with supernatural revelation, is incapable of knowing the deepest truths of God. The extreme result of this line of thought can be seen in the theological systems written in the eighteenth century under the direct tutelage of Wolffian rationalism. Baumgarten’s Theses dogmaticae, Vitringa’s Doctrinae christianae religionis, and Endemann’s Institutiones theologicae dogmaticae present the standard theological prolegomena, with Vitringa and Baumgarten even noting the distinction between archetypal and ectypal theology and arguing that theology, in the strictest sense, is revealed theology drawn from Scripture. Yet, neither Baumgarten nor Endemann see fit to present a doctrine of Scripture at the formal beginning of system. Baumgarten presents his doctrine of Scripture in the second part of his system, following the ordo salutis and preceding discussion of Law and gospel and of the sacraments. He also acknowledges throughout his system the status of Scripture as principium cognoscendi—but he omits preliminary presentation of the problem of revelation and reason, supernatural and natural theology. Baumgarten strongly implies that reason and natural theology provide a solid point of departure, albeit nonsaving, for revelation and supernatural theology.153 Vitringa identifies both reason and revelation as principia theologiae and proceeds to deal first with reason, viewing it as the cognitive foundation on which revelation must build.154 A similar model appears in Klinkenberg’s Onderwys in den Godsdienst, in which a full-scale natural theology precedes the theology of revelation—with the basic doctrine of God and moral conduct appearing in the former portion and the soteriology, together with a full discussion of the Bible in the latter.155 Endemann relegates Scripture to the final locus where it merely serves to confirm the results of reason. Reason, in Endemann’s theology, has finally become the sole principium cognoscendi. A similar and perhaps still more pointed principial use of reason can be seen in the Institutiones theologiae polemicae of Johann Stapfer. Although we must allow a more crucial role of reason in polemical theology, inasmuch as

the orthodox defined the instrumental and organic role of reason in polemics in terms of the use of reason to refute rational errors in the views of one’s opponents, it is also clear that Stapfer has moved farther into the realm of the purely rational than the principles of a high orthodox system like Turretin’s Institutio theologiae elencticae would allow. The contrast is instructive: whereas Turretin’s Institutio looks structurally like a positive system, Stapfer’s does not. Turretin begins with a standard theological prolegomenon and doctrine of Scripture, defensively stated; Stapfer begins with a chapter on the method of polemics, a second chapter discusses cautions to be observed in polemical argument, and then moves to his “demonstration of theological truths,” beginning with the proof of God’s existence.156 Whereas the proofs are not essential to Turretin’s polemic, Stapfer’s argument is clearly founded upon the rational demonstrability of God. In addition, Stapfer not only identifies “Reason and Revelation” as the “twofold principium” of his system, he also assumes, in his arguments for the existence of God, the validity of the Wolffian “principle of sufficient reason.”157 Stapfer argues at length that revelation is necessary in view of the fall. For all that reason and the “religion of nature” provide a basis for moral actions in the doctrines of the essence and attributes of God, of God as Creator and preserver,158 they do not provide a truth sufficient to the salvation of sinners.159 Stapfer can only argue this point rationally after he has, by reason alone, defended the doctrine of the divine essence and attributes, of creation, providence, and the immortality of the soul, of the dependence of man upon God, of the potential of man in the natural state, and even of the plight of man in his sinful condition.160 Rational argument dominates the system. The first hints at this principial use of reason, found in the writings of several Reformed theologians of Cartesian inclination at the end of the seventeenth century—notably Wittich and Braun—elicited an angry response from the last generation of high orthodox theologians. These writers, particularly the Dutch Reformed, raised the question of a resident principle, in human beings, upon which theology might rest, or, in the language of scholasticism, of a habitus of the soul upon which theology might be internally grounded. The earlier development of the prolegomena, particularly the discussions of the object and genus of theology and of the role of reason and philosophy in theological system, had already provided the orthodox with grounds for an answer. All that remained was for an antirationalist or antiCartesian, like Mastricht, to formulate it in relation to the issue of principia. In brief, Protestant scholastic theology had defined the divine object of theology as given truly and fully in revelation alone, and had recognized that the genus of theology was not precisely scientia, sapientia, intelligentia,

prudentia, or ars, because theology rests not on rational evidence but on testimony, that is, on the witness of revelation. As part of this discussion of genus, then, came the recognition that the mental disposition or habitus by which theological knowledge is received cannot be a habitus sciendi, a disposition of knowing, but a habitus credendi, a disposition of believing or a habitus fidei, a disposition of faith. Once theological truths are received by the habitus credendi, then reason can use those truths as a basis for drawing conclusions—but reason itself is never an ultimate ground of theological argument. With this theological basis fully in view, Mastricht answers the principal question by placing a locus de fide salvifica—a doctrine of saving faith—immediately between his doctrine of Scripture and his doctrine of God as a statement concerning the way in which revelation, external to the mind as objectively given Word, becomes effective inwardly. It is fides, not ratio, that provides the point of entry into the doctrine of God.161 9.4 Conclusions With the conclusion of the discussion of the principia theologiae, we come not only to the end of the orthodox prolegomena but to the point at which we can survey the principles and presuppositions of Reformed orthodox system and make some judgments concerning the character of Protestant scholasticism. Of course, we are not in a position to make claims concerning the entire structure and organization of all orthodox systems, although some general remarks are surely in order on the basis of the intentions and methods argued in the prolegomena. Nor are we in a position to assess the contents of individual loci in the system beyond the prolegomena. Such issues await the concluding sections of subsequent parts of this study. Instead, we can assess the way in which the prolegomena point toward the system and define its method, its contents, and the relationships between its loci. We are entitled to assume that the prolegomena are genuine and that what they indicate to be the chief concerns of system are indeed the basic issues, principles, and structures of the system in all of its loci. As argued in the introduction and illustrated by the discussions of natural theology, of the use of reason and philosophy, and of the principium cognoscendi theologiae, the Reformed orthodox system was hardly rationalistic, nor was it metaphysically inclined in any strict sense of the term. There are, of course, nominally meta-physical issues that belong to theology, given its proper object, God. And there are also significant relationships between the doctrine of God and the philosophical models used by theologians. Nonetheless, the rules of theological discourse set forth in the Reformed orthodox prolegomena carefully define and restrict the place of reason and philosophy to the end that the rational metaphysics of the day did

not dictate the content of the doctrine. The large majority of the Reformed orthodox held to a version of the highly modified Christian Aristotelianism inherited from the medieval doctors and subjected to further modification and critique during the Renaissance and Reformation. We have noted the modifications brought about by medieval adjustment of Aristotelianism to various Platonic themes found in the fathers and to Augustinian models, by developments in Renaissance logic and rhetoric, notably through the work of Agricola and Ramus, and by the resurgence of interest in a variety of other ancient philosophies during the Renaissance. What is more, the critical but highly positive relationship to a Christian Aristotelianism provided by Aquinas and other exponents of the medieval via antiqua was also modified by Scotist and nominalist critiques that played over into the Reformation in several of its most significant teachers and which were mediated to their successors, the Protestant orthodox. The result was a highly eclectic appropriation of philosophy accompanied by a restriction of its positive use in theology. By way of example, the standard characterizations of the genus of theology as scientia or sapientia by the Reformed orthodox do not fit into a strictly Aristotelian pattern of definition. In addition, the scholastic view of the object of theology—God as revealed, the primary object; and all the works of God, the secondary object —together with the locus method of exposition by topic, the scholastic approach to the division and definition of topics, and the discussion of Scripture as principium cognoscendi, points toward a concern for elaborating each and every topic of Christian theology on its own terms. Apart from the doctrines of Scripture and God, the orthodox system allows no principia or monistic organizing principles. Combined with the locus method, according to which the topics of theology were drawn out of an exegetical and traditionary exercise and then arranged in a suitable pattern or methodus, this understanding of principia stood in the way of any single philosophical principle or any individual theological doctrine becoming the unifying principle of the Reformed orthodox theology. Beyond these largely negative conclusions that define the phenomenon of Protestant scholasticism over against several erroneous but, unfortunately, frequently reiterated characterizations, we can also provide a positive description of the Protestant scholastic system, both in terms of its development and in terms of its final form. In its method, the Protestant scholastic system depended upon the traditional scholastic pattern of the establishment of topics by careful division of the subject, the definition of topics through disputation with adversaries—the quaestio—and, finally, the elaboration of conclusions through the use of logical and rhetorical tools. This concentration on the parts of the whole, together with the organization of

system by loci militated against the establishment of synthetic unity and aided the development of a system characterized by exhaustive, comprehensive treatment of all topics and by analytic rigor. For overarching organization of system, the Reformed orthodox relied on teleological and historical issues. Typically, they move from the statement of principia, through creation, fall, and redemption, to the last things with an emphasis on the covenant as the historical or economical form of the divine work of salvation. Apart from this patterning, however, we find virtually no interest in deducing one doctrine from another but, instead, a desire to place exegetically established doctrinal loci at their proper points along the historical-teleological line of the system. In each locus, moreover, we can expect the methodological and epistemological definitions of theologia nostra, its limits, its genus, its object, the extent of its use of philosophy and reason, to establish the boundaries of argument, just as the principia, Scripture and God, limit and define what can be known and said about each aspect of the divine work. These stylistic, methodological and architectonic interests of the Protestant orthodox did, of course, mark a major alteration of attitude and approach from the systematic essays of the first and second generation Reformers. In its fully scholastic and disputative forms, theology is now seldom discursive, and the catechetical models of the sixteenth century have been superceded by the more synthetic or a priori model of scholastic system. The style of the scholastic systems is propositional and the argumentation is rigorous. Where Calvin and his contemporaries had been content with more discursive forms and, as often noted, with the more rhetorical enthymeme, the orthodox tend to state their premises precisely and, when argument and conclusions are called for, in full syllogistic form. If the systems are not rationalist in their presuppositions, they are rational in form and in argument. It is important, however, to note two qualifications of this stylistic point. First, the neat distinction that is sometimes posed between a Reformation-era humanistic model that argues in the form of enthymemes and a seventeenthcentury scholastic approach that uses syllogisms cannot be sustained.162 In the first place, the enthymeme, albeit more suitable for high rhetoric than a full syllogism, is in fact a form of the syllogism, must be constructed properly, and—if stated poorly—can be just as fatal to a rhetorical argument as a defective syllogism would be to a demonstrative argument. It is also the case that humanist rhetorical manuals consistently discuss the enthymeme as a subcategory of the syllogism—the humanists did not ignore syllogisms! And, in addition, since the choice of an enthymeme over a syllogism, or vice versa, is quite genre specific, the one belonging to rhetorical persuasion, the

other to logical demonstration, sixteenth and seventeenth-century authors would not gravitate definitively toward the one or the other but rather choose the syllogism for strictly “scholastic,” i.e., academic and demonstrative use and the enthymeme for use in oratory.163 Second, given the relationship between these logical forms and the genres of theological exposition, the contrast between the rhetorical discourse of the Reformers and the scholastic disputations of the Reformed orthodox is limited to the contrast between the doctrinal works of the Reformers taken in general and the full scholastic systems of the orthodox as a particular form of exposition. As noted previously, not all the writings of the Reformed orthodox take the scholastic approach. Beyond this, it is also fairly clear from the prolegomena that the Reformed orthodox system is primarily a soteriological system, rather than a speculative, philosophical or metaphysical one. We recognize this: (1) from the definition of our theology as a theology in via, searching out its salvation between fall and eschaton; (2) from the limits placed on natural theology; (3) from the redefinition of a natural theology of the regenerate as belonging to Christian praise rather than to “fundamental theology,” as it were; (4) from the emphasis on the object of theology as God revealed and covenanted in Christ; and (5) from the stress upon the character of theology as theoreticalpractical with the emphasis upon praxis. A system with presuppositions such as these would only with great difficulty enter the realm of speculative rationalism and, then, only to its ultimate destruction. The tendency of these presuppositions, spelled out in the system as a whole, was toward the establishment of a system scholastic in form and method but essentially in continuity with the teachings of the Reformers. In his study of “Dogma in Protestant Scholasticism,” R. S. Franks argued cogently that “in systematizing and working out the practical doctrines of the Reformation, the seventeenth-century Scholasticism … preserved faithfully the central affirmations of the reformers.”164 Franks argues continuity with the theology of the Reformation on the issues of grace, faith, justification, and church and legitimate development from the Reformers’ pronouncement of sola Scriptura to the orthodox theologians’ doctrine of Scripture. His perspective on the Protestant scholastic use of philosophy is also worthy of note: The philosophical element in the new Scholasticism, viz. the doctrines of God and the world, was practically taken over bodily from mediaevalism, and in reality presents no new growth when compared with its predecessor. The bold speculative outlook of the Middle Ages is lost. There is no longer the same independent interest in the

philosophical problems of epistemology and metaphysics in their religious application. We have instead merely a statement of what may be called in modern phrase “the approved results” of the earlier scholastic investigations.165 Our examination of the Reformed orthodox prolegomena has substantiated the main points of Franks’ perspective and, in addition, permits some refinement of his generalization concerning the Protestant use of medieval scholastic philosophy. While it is quite correct that the Protestant orthodox borrow from the medieval scholastics and manifest little or no “independent interest in the philosophical problems of epistemology and metaphysics” in their relation to theology, it is also quite clear that the borrowing was hardly uncritical and, in addition, that the borrowing belonged to a larger framework of late Renaissance use and reappraisal of traditional philosophy, logic, and rhetoric. The Protestant scholastics were not “boldly speculative” in these areas because they had learned well at the hands of the Reformers—their borrowings reflect a wariness of excessive rationalism and excessive speculation. Indeed, the several places where we have noted a strong kinship between the Protestant scholastic and medieval scholastic systems, the Protestants seem to be treading a carefully marked path of Augustinianism and modified forms of Thomism and Scotism. In brief, we found some genuine kinship with Henry of Ghent on the issue of causes of theology, with Giles of Rome and Gregory of Rimini together with Henry of Ghent on the object of theology, with Thomas of Strasbourg on the speculative-practical balance of theology, and with Duns Scotus on the overarching issue of the relationship of God’s self-knowledge (archetypal theology) to our theology. Henry of Ghent and Giles of Rome represent a cautiously modified Thomism inasmuch as they attempt to synthesize the tradition of Augustinian theology with Aristotelian philosophy but attend closely to the dangers of such a synthesis. Giles, together with Gregory of Rimini and Thomas of Strasbourg, represents the Augustinianism of the Order of Saint Augustine, a branch of which would produce Staupitz and Luther and, later on, Peter Martyr Vermigli and Jerome Zanchi. Scotus’ perspective on theology, moreover, represents an Augustinian vision of divine transcendence in union with a critical perspective on the limits of human reason over against the more optimistic synthesis proposed by Thomas Aquinas. In each case, the Reformed scholastics seek out a position more critical of the powers of human reason and more traditionally Augustinian than that of Aquinas, without, however, moving over into a fully nominalistic perspective. The scholasticism they chose, as the “approved results” of earlier investigations was the scholasticism most attuned to the theology of the Reformers.

Beyond this critical appropriation, moreover, there are two other issues that modify Franks’ conclusion. On the one hand, there was an increasing encounter of the Protestant orthodox with the new philosophical movements of the seventeenth century. The critical reappropriation, via late the Renaissance recovery and reassessment of classical and medieval models, also involved reaction to, limited appropriation of, and adaptation of arguments from contemporary philosophy, including the thought of Zabarella, Suarez, and, in the course of the seventeenth century Descartes and various Cartesians. On the other hand, underlying the issues of the late Renaissance recovery and reappraisal of past philosophies, of Protestant orthodox reception of these late Renaissance efforts, and of the significant changes in style, method, and use of languages on the part of the renewed “scholasticism” of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, were the fundamental ties between the developing Protestant theology and humanism. Seventeenth-century scholasticism itself was in part a product of Renaissance humanism, just as, more broadly, the academic ethos and setting of the seventeenth-century academy and university was a product of Renaissance and Reformation-era models. In effect, the process of development that we have just traced in the prolegomena represents the attempt of succeeding generations of Protestants to come to terms with the establishment of the great sixteenth-century protest as a church in its own right and with the need of that new ecclesiastical establishment to be orthodox and, indeed, “catholic” in the broadest sense of the term. The establishment of orthodoxy or “right teaching” through scholastic method and the establishment of ties to the tradition through recourse to patristic and medieval sources manifest a successful process of institutionalization and catholicization. To fault the Protestant scholastics for producing an all-encompassing dogmatic system of right teaching and thereby “domesticating” the dynamic theology of the Reformation is, in fact, to fault Protestantism for its success in surviving as a church. Protestant orthodox theology is different from the theology of the Reformation—more so in form than in substance—but it is this very difference that marks its historical and doctrinal importance in the life of the Protestant churches. 1 See Martin I. Klauber, “Calvin on Fundamental Articles and Ecclesiastical

Union,” in Westminster Theological Journal, 54 (1992), pp. 341–348 and Richard Stauffer, The Quest for Church Unity from John Calvin to Isaac D’Huisseau (Allison Park, Pa: Pickwick Press, 1986). 2 Melanchthon, Loci communes (1521), in CR, 21, col. 81; cf. Loci communes

(1536), in CR, 21, col. 347–350. 3 Guillaume Farel, Sommaire: c’est une brieve declaration d’aucuns lieux for

necessaires à un chacun Chrestien, pour mettre sa confiance en Dieu, & à ayder son prochain, in Du Vraye Usage de la Croix de Iesus-Christ par Guillaume Farel suivi de divers écrits du même auteur (Geneva: Fick, 1865), p. 207ff. 4 Bullinger, Decades, I.vii (pp. 122–123). 5 Melanchthon, Loci communes (1521), in CR, 21, col. 83; cf. Loci communes

(1536), in CR, 21, col. 352, 353–354; Bullinger, Decades, I.ii (pp. 60–62). 6 Calvin, Commentary on 1 Corinthians, 3:11 in loc. (CTS Corinthians, I, pp.

134–135). 7 Calvin, Institutes, IV.i.12. 8 Calvin, Institutes, I.xiii.2. 9 Calvin, Institutes, IV.ii.1. 10 Contra McGrath, “Reformation to Enlightenment,” p. 150. 11 See e.g., Hopkins, On the State and Way of Salvation, in Works, 3, pp. 452–

457. 12 Maccovius, Loci communes, I (pp. 1–2); cf. Polanus, Syntagma, I.ii. 13 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.1; cf. John Edwards, Socinianism unmask’d: a

discourse shewing the unreasonableness of a late writer’s opinion concerning the necessity of only one article of Christian faith. (London: J. Robinson and J. Wyat, 1696), pp. 4–20 14

Nicolaus Hunnius, Diaskepsis theologica, de fundamentali dissensu doctrinae evangelicae Lutheranae et Calvinianae (Wittenberg, 1626). 15 Cf. Dorner, History, II, pp. 185–203. 16 Junius, Eirenicum, I (Opuscula, p. 440). 17 See Johannes Bergius, Apostolische Regell: Wie man in Religionssachen

recht righten solle (Elbing, 1641) and the Coloquium Lipsiense, in Niemeyer, Collection confessionum, II, p. 653. 18 Turretin, Inst. theol., II.iv.22; cf. Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia,

I.ii.34. 19

See Richard A. Muller, “Found (No Thanks to Theodore Beza): One ‘Decretal’ Theology,” in Calvin Theological Journal, 32/1 (April, 1997), pp. 145–151. 20 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.ii; cf. the identical point in Voetius, De articulis

et erroribus fundamentalibus, in Sel. Disp., II, p. 513.

21 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.ii. 22

Cf. Witsius, Exercitationes, II.ii with Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.xiv.4–5; Ridgley, Body of Divinity (1855), I, p. 136. 23 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.iii. 24

Turretin, Inst. theol., II.iv.22; note that the distinction between a mathematical/metaphysical certainty and a theological certainty indicates an antirationalist, anti- or non-Cartesian approach: a more rationalistic model, distinguishing only metaphysical and moral certainty and including theological and mathematical certainty under the metaphysical category is found in Chillingworth: see Robert R. Orr, Reason and Authority in the Thought of William Chillingworth (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), pp. 51– 53. 25 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.iv. 26 Cf. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, IIae, q.1, a.7. 27 See above, 4.2 (B). 28 Maccovius, Loci communes, I (p. 2); cf. Voetius, De articulis et erroribus

fundamentalibus, in Sel. Disp. II, pp. 513–514. 29 Hopkins, On the State and Way of Salvation, in Works, 3, p. 452. 30 Turretin, Inst. theol. I.xiv.1. 31 Moyses Amyraut, De mysterio trinitatis, pars I (pp. 3–5). 32 Turretin, Inst. theol. I.xiv.2; cf. Daillé, Treatise of the Right Use of the

Fathers, II.vi (pp. 296–299); Ridgley, Body of Divinity, I, p. 136. 33 Voetius, De articulis et erroribus fundamentalibus, in Sel. Disp., II, p. 516;

Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.1, 2, 8; cf. Rijssen, Summa, I.xii; Marckius, Compendium, III.xii. 34 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.4; cf. Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.49. 35 Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, p. 42. 36 Cf. Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, pp. 42–46. 37 Ursinus, Loci theologici, in Opera, I, col. 427–428. 38 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.ix. 39 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.i. 40 Cf. Heidegger, Corpus theol., I.56. This perspective carries over into the

Protestant orthodox discussion of Christ and of Scripture as “Word of God.”

See Richard A. Muller, “Christ the Revelation or the Revealer? Brunner and Reformed Orthodoxy on the Doctrine of the Word of God,” in Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society, 26/3 (Sept. 1983): 309–19. 41 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.x. 42 See further, PRRD, II, 3.5. 43 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.xiv.4. 44 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.xiv.5. 45 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.xiv.6. 46 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.v. 47 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.xiv.7. 48 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.vi. 49 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.vi. 50 Marckius, Compendium, III.vi. 51 Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, I.xiv.20. 52 See above, 7.1. 53 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.8; with ibid., II.xiii.14; Voetius, De articulis

et erroribus fundamentalibus, in Sel. Disp., II, pp. 514–515. 54 Voetius, De articulis et erroribus fundamentalibus, in Sel. Disp., II, p. 517. 55 Voetius, De articulis et erroribus fundamentalibus, in Sel. Disp., II, pp.

517–524. 56 Voetius, De articulis et erroribus fundamentalibus, in Sel. Disp., II, pp.

525–526. 57 Marckius, Compendium, III.ix. 58 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.8 with Baier-Walter, Compendium, I, pp. 49–

68. 59 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.vi,xi. 60 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.8, 10; with Rijssen, Summa, I.xii–xiii. 61 Stapfer, Inst. theol., I.36–38. 62

C. R. [Richard Smith?], Of the Distinction of Fundamental and Not Fundamental Points of Faith (N.p.: s.n., 1645), pp. 37–38, 175–181, 190– 191. 63 C. R., Distinction of Fundamental and Not Fundamental Points, pp. 201–

209, 216–221; cf. William Chillingworth, The Religion of Protestants a safe way to salvation (Oxford: Leonard Lichfield, 1638), III.1–4, chapter and answer. 64 Jean Daillé, De usu patrum (1636); in translation as A Treatise of the Right

Use of the Fathers in the Decision of Controversies Existing at this Day in Religion, 2nd. ed., trans. T. Smith, ed., with a preface by G. Jekyll (London: Henry Bohn, 1843), p. xvi. 65 Calvin, Reply to Sadolet, in Selected Works, I, pp. 35, 37. 66 Daillé, A Treatise of the Right Use of the Fathers, p. xvii. 67 Daillé, A Treatise of the Right Use of the Fathers, p. xviii. 68 Daillé, A Treatise of the Right Use of the Fathers, pp. xix–xx; cf. the

discussion of Daillé’s views on the authority of patristic tradition in PRRD, II, 5.5 (A.2). 69 Rijssen, Summa, I.xiii; cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.9. 70 Stapfer, Inst. theol. elencticae, V.xx. 71 Stapfer, Inst. theol. elencticae, II.vi, §8. 72 Stapfer, Inst. theol. elencticae, II.x, §6. 73 Stapfer, Inst. theol. elencticae, IV.xiv, §6. 74 Stapfer, Inst. theol. elencticae, IV.xvi, §6. 75 Stapfer, Inst. theol. elencticae, V.xix, §38–45; and cf. the discussion of the

filioque in PRRD, IV, 7.4 (A.2). 76 Stapfer, Inst. theol. elencticae, V.xx, §80–82. 77

Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.19; cf. Voetius, De articulis et erroribus fundamentalibus, in Sel. Disp., II, pp. 531–532. 78 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.20. 79 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.vii. 80 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.vii. 81 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.vii. 82 Cf. Rijssen, Summa, I.xiv; Marckius, Compendium, III.xiii; Turretin, Inst.

theol., I.xiv.21; Voetius, De articulis et erroribus fundamentalibus, in Sel. Disp., II, pp. 533–534. 83 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.22. 84 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.22.

85 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.xi. 86 Witsius, Exercitationes, II.xi. 87 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.25. 88 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.26; cf. Witsius, Exercitationes, II.xv–xvii. 89 Turretin, Inst. theol., I.xiv.1–3. 90 See

Bodo Nischan, “Reformed Irenicism and the Leipzig Colloquy of 1631,” in Lutherans and Calvinists in the Age of Confessionalism (Brookfield: Ashgate/Variorum, 1999). See the text of the Colloquium Lipsiense, in Niemeyer, Collection confessionum, II, p. 653–668. 91 Cf. the discussion in Schaff, Creeds, I, pp. 560–563. 92 See J. Minton Batten, John Dury: Advocate of Christian Reunion (Chicago:

University of Chicago Press, 1944), pp. 73–75, 130–131. On the debate in England, which focused on Dury’s advocacy of Acontius’ Satan’s Strategems, see Francis Cheynell, The Divine Triunity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit: or, the blessed Doctrine of three Coessential Subsistents in the Eternall Godhead (London: T. R. & E. M., 1650), pp. 444–453. 93 See Jean Daillé, A Treatise of the Right Use of the Fathers, in the Decision

of the Controversies Existing at this Day in Religion, trans. T. Smith (London: John Martin, 1651). Also note Jean Dailllé, Apologia pro ecclesiis reformatis: in qua demonstratur eas falso & inique schismatis idcirco accusari, quod a PapaeRomani communione secesserint, cum appendice. Item De fidei ex scripturis demonstratione, adversus novam methodum, 2 vols. (Geneva: Samuel de Tournes, 1677); in translation from an earlier edition, An Apologie for the Reformed Churches, wherein is shew’d the necessitie of their separation from the Church of Rome: against those who accuse them of making a schisme in Christendome (Cambridge: Thomas Buck, 1653). On Daillé’s views, see further, PRRD, II, 5.5 (A.2). 94 See Klauber, Between Reformed Scholasticism and Pan-Protestantism, pp.

143–164. 95 Cf. Burnet, Exposition of the XXXIX Articles, XVII (pp. 226–227) on the

Reformed and Remonstrant views; cf. Stackhouse, Complete Body of Divinity, II.i (pp. 270–271). 96 Marckius, Compendium, III.xii 97

Klauber, Between Reformed Scholasticism and Pan-Protestantism, pp. 178–181; on Chillingworth, see Orr, Reason and Authority, pp. 81, 97–99, 196–197.

98

Johann Friedrich Stapfer, Institutiones theologicae polemicae (Zurich, 1756–57), I.iv, §1802. 99 Stapfer, Institutiones theologicae, I.iv, §1803; note also, J. A. Turretin,

Dilucidationes, III, pp. 30–31, 42, and Klauber, Between Reformed Scholasticism and Pan-Protestantism, pp. 174–175. 100 Stapfer, Institutiones theologicae, I.iv, §1830, 1833. 101 Stapfer, Institutiones theologicae, I.iv, §1805; v, §1922. 102 Stapfer, Institutiones theologicae, I.iv, §1841. 103

Cf. J. A. Turretin, Brevis & pacifica de articulis fundamentalibus disquisitio (Geneva, 1719) with Martin I. Klauber, “The Drive Toward Protestant Union in Early Eighteenth-Century Geneva: Jean-Alphonse Turretini on the ‘Fundamental Articles’ of Faith,” in Church History, 61 (1992), pp. 334–349. 104

Aristotle, Metaphysics, V.1. (1013a, 18–20), in The Basic Works of Aristotle, ed. R. McKeon (New York: Random House, 1941), p. 752. 105 Sibrandus Lubbertus, De principiis christianorum dogmatum libri VIII

(Franecker, 1591), I.i (pp. 1–2). 106

Lubbertus, De principiis, pp. 2–4, citing Aristotle, Metaphysics, V.1; Iauellus, Epitome in libri 5 Metaphysicae, tract. 1, cap. 1; and Zabarella on the Posterior Analytics, 2.2. On Chrysostomus Iauellus or Javelli (ca. 1470– 1545) see Copleston, History of Philosophy, III, pp. 336–337. 107 Lubbertus, De principiis, pp. 5–6. 108

See Richard H. Popkin, The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes (New York: Harper & Row, 1968), pp. 57–66, 84; Harald Höffding, A History of Modern Philosophy: A Sketch of the History of Philosophy from the Close of the Renaissance to our own Day, trans. B. E. Meyer, 2 vols. (London: Macmillan, 1935), I, pp. 33–34, 59–64; and note the discussion and bibliography in PRRD, III. 2.2 (B.3). 109 Philip du Plessis Mornay, A Worke concerning the Trunesse of Christian

Religion, trans. Philip Sidney and Arthur Golding (London: George Potter, 1604), i (pp. 1–2) cf. PRRD, III, 3.2 (C.1). 110 Cf. John Owen, Exercitationes adversos Fanaticos, in Works, 16, pp. 429–

433 with the discussion in Trueman, Claims of Truth, pp. 68–69. 111 Chandieu, De vera methodo, pp. 9–10. 112 “Articles Proposed by Jerome Bolsec,” in The Register of the Company of

Pastors of Geneva in the Time of Calvin, trans. Philip E. Hughes (Grand

Rapids: Eerdmans, 1966), p. 163; cf. Theodore Beza, Tabula praedestinationis (Geneva, 1555); and idem, Ad sycophantarum quorumdam calumnias, quibus unicum salutis nostrae fundamentum, id est aeternam Dei praedestinationem evertere nititur, responsio Theodori Bezae Vezelii (Geneva, 1558), in Beza, Tractationes theologicae, I, pp. 371–375. 113 Cf. PRRD, II, 2.1 (B.5), 7.5 (A.2, B.3); and see the discussion in Donald

Sinnema, “Antoine De Chandieu’s Call for a Scholastic Reformed Theology,” in Later Calvinism, ed. Graham, pp. 176–179. 114 Cf. Popkin, History of Scepticism, pp. 157–165, 185–109. 115

Hoornbeeck, Antisocinianismus, I.i.1, in Summa controversiarum (Utrecht, 1653). 116

Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.ii, (p. 6); cf. Wollebius, Compendium, praecognita, I.iii. 117 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.ii, (p. 6 margin). 118 Leigh, Body of Divinity, I.ii, (p. 6). 119 There was a major shift concerning this traditional assumption at the end

of the seventeenth century—with the result that the assumption of the existence and/or truth of the principium essendi of theology was modified by the claim that the indemonstrability of God in the supernatural theology required a prior establishment of the existence of God as first principle by natural theology or rational philosophy, lading to a major shift in the relationship between natural and supernatural theology in the Wolffian system of a theologian like Wyttenbach. On this problem, also see Kors, “Scepticism and the problem of atheism,” pp. 194–195. 120 Trelcatius, Schol. meth., I.i. 121 Trelcatius, Schol. meth., I.i; cf. Stoughton, Learned Treatise, p.77. 122 Trelcatius, Schol. meth., I.i. 123 Alsted, Praecognita, I.ix; cf. idem., Theologia Naturalis, I.i, where Alsted

notes that natura here indicates “reason, universal experience, and the Book of Nature (Liber Naturae).” Similarly, Maresius, Collegium theol., I.xxiii, identifies reason as the principium of natural theology, Scripture as the principium of revealed theology. 124 Cf. Alsted, Praecognita, I.xvi. 125 Aristotle, Metaphysics, IV.3 (1005B). 126 Misunderstanding of the character of principia and of the identification of

Scripture as principium cognoscendi, lies at the heart of Rogers’ mistaken

construal of the Reformed orthodox doctrine of Scripture—specifically in his claim that the Protestant Scholastics tried to ground the authority of Scripture on rational or empirical argumentation and that such argumentation represents an Aristotelian approach: contra Rogers and McKim, Authority and Interpretation, pp. 172–176, 205, et passim. And see PRRD, II, 3.1; 4.3–4.4 at greater length. 127 Cf. Peter Aureole, Scriptum I, proem. sect. 1, q.A.3; and Pierre D’Ailly,

Quaestiones super libros sententiarum (Strasbourg, 1490) prol., q.1, art. 2. 128

Marsilius of Inghen, Quaestiones Marsilii super quattuor libros sententiarum (Strasbourg, 1501), I, proem., q. 2, art. 3. 129 Cf. Altenstaig, Lexicon theologicum, s.v. “Principium theologicae”. 130 Gregory of Rimini, Sent., I, prol., g.1, art.2; cf. the citations and argument

in De Vooght, Les Sources, pp. 105–106; also note Henry of Ghent, Summa, art. X; John Hus, Super IV Sententiarum, edited by Wenzel Flajshans and Marie Kominkova (Osnabrück, 1966), I, dist. 1, q. 4; II, inceptio, q. 1, art. 6– 9; Scotus, Op. Oxon., prol., q. 2. 131 D’Ailly, In Sent., I,q.1, art 3; see also the discussion in De Vooght, Les

Sources, pp. 235–236. 132 Cf. De Vooght, Les Sources, pp. 254–256; this issue of the continuities and

discontinuities in the doctrine of Scripture are developed in volume 2. 133 Congar, Tradition and Traditions, pp. 116–118, 138–139; cf., on Scotus,

Minges, I, pp. 534–541. 134 E.g., Henry of Ghent, Summa, art VIII; and Scotus, Op. Oxon., prol, q.2,

n.14; IV, dist. 3, q.4, n.14; dist. 14, q.3, n.5. 135 Martin Bucer, Praelectiones doctiss. in Epistolam D. Pauli ad Ephesios

(Basel, 1561), p. 14; cf. Willem van ’t Spijker, “Reformation and Scholasticism,” in Van Asselt and Dekker, Reformation and Scholasticism, pp. 84–85, 90–91. 136 Cf. Maccovius, Loci communes, I. 137 Cf. Kilwardby, De natura theologiae, 2, 4; and Henry of Ghent, Summa,

art. XIX. 138 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.ii.1 and II.i.1. 139 Maccovius, Loci communes, II (pp. 10–11). 140 See further, PRRD, II, 3.2. 141 Polanus, Syntagma, I.xiv; cf. Le Blanc, Theses theol., De theologia, xxx.

142 Spanheim, Disp. theol., pars prima, I.xv. 143 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.ii.1. 144 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.ii.1. 145 Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, I.ii.3. 146 See Owen, Exercitationes contra Fanaticos, in Works, 16, pp. 429–433;

Turretin, Inst. theol. elencticae, II.ii.4; cf. the discussion in Trueman, Claims of Truth, pp. 68–71. 147 Maccovius, Loci communes, I; Alsted, Praecognita, I.xvi. 148 Rijssen, Summa, I.ii.1. 149 Cf. Burman, Synopsis theol., I.ii.6; and above, 8.3. 150 Cf. Ernst Bizer, “Die reformierte Orthodoxie und der Cartesianismus,” pp.

371–372. 151 Gürtler, Synopsis theol, i.23, 25–26, 152 Venema, Institutes, prolegomena, p. 8. 153 Baumgarten, Theses dogmaticae, I.i.1–10 (prolegomena); II.x. (scripture).

Baumgarten, who presented his theses first in 1736 as a development and supplement to Freylinghausen’s Fundamenta theologiae christianae, argues the preliminary, nonsaving character of natural theology but does not argue the revealed source of system as pointedly as Freylinghausen (cf. Fundamenta, I.i.). In addition, Baumgarten’s exposition is a formal prolegomenon, where one would expect a more cautious approach to natural theology, mixed articles, etc., while Freylinghausen’s comments occur in a brief introductory description of the knowledge of God that echoes the language of the duplex cognitio Dei. The tendency of Lutheran orthodoxy to postpone discussion of the scriptural principium until the locus of Word and Sacrament, i.e., until ecclesiology conjoins in Baumgarten’s Theses with the tendency of rationalism to ignore Scripture as principium. The more orthodox alternative is seen in Baumgarten’s contemporaries Rambach and Weismann: cf. Johann Jakob Rambach, Dogmatische theologie oder Christliche Glaubenslehre (Frankfurt and Leipzig, 1744), I.iii; and Christian Eberhard Weismann, Institutiones theologiae exegetico-dogmaticae (Tübingen, 1739), locus III, where Scripture appears as principium even though it will be treated again, later, in a different manner, under the topic of Word and Sacrament as means of grace. 154 Vitringa, Doct. chr., I.16. 155

Jacob van Nuys Klinkenberg, Onderwys in den godsdienst, 11 vols.

(Amsterdam: J. Allart, 1780–1794). 156 Cf. Turretin, Inst. theol., I and II; with Stapfer, Inst. theol., I, II, III.i.,

§270–96. 157 Stapfer, Inst. theol., I, §6, 30; III.i., §274, 283, 289, 291, 293, 294, 296. 158 Stapfer, Inst. theol., III.xii., §956. 159 Stapfer, Inst. theol., III.xii., §960–63. 160 Stapfer, Inst. theol., III.i.-xi. 161 Cf. Mastricht, Theoretico-practica theologia, II.i. 162 Contra the point made in Quirinus Breen, “John Calvin and the Rhetorical

Tradition,” in Christianity and Humanism, pp. 111, 122–24 and duplicated in McGrath, “Reformation to Enlightenment,” pp. 126–127. 163

See the more extended discussion of this issue in Muller, Unaccommodated Calvin, pp. 110–111. 164 R. S. Franks, “Dogma in Protestant Scholasticism,” in Dogma in History

and Thought (London: Nisbet, 1929), p. 117. 165 Franks, “Dogma in Protestant Scholasticism,” p. 115.