The Blackwell Companion
to Protestantism
Blackwell Companions to Religion
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The Blackwell Companion
to Protestantism
Edited by
Alister E. McGrath and Darren C. Marks
© 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
except for editorial material and organization © 2004 by Alister E. McGrath and
Darren C. Marks
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The Blackwell companion to Protestantism / edited by Alister E. McGrath and
Darren C. Marks.
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Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 0-631-23278-8 (alk. paper)
1. Protestantism. I. McGrath, Alister E., 1953– II. Marks, Darren C. III. Series.
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Contents
Contributors
Foreword
Alister E. McGrath and Darren C. Marks
Introduction: Protestantism – the Problem of Identity
Alister E. McGrath and Darren C. Marks
Part I The Formation of Protestant Identity:
History and Ideology
ix
xiv
1
21
European Protestantism
1
Protestantism in German-speaking Lands to the Present Day
Randall C. Zachman
23
2
Shapers of Protestantism: Martin Luther
Graham Tomlin
40
3
Shapers of Protestantism: John Calvin
Alister E. McGrath
53
4
Shapers of Protestantism: F. D. E. Schleiermacher
Nicholas Adams
66
5
Shapers of Protestantism: Karl Barth
John Webster
83
6
English Protestantism to the Present Day
Gerald Bray
96
7
Scottish Protestantism to the Present Day
Kenneth B. E. Roxburgh
109
vi
contents
8
Welsh Protestantism to the Present Day
D. Densil Morgan
120
9
Irish Protestantism to the Present Day
Alan Ford
123
10 Nordic Protestantism to the Present Day
Aasulv Lande
130
11 Protestantism in the Netherlands to the Present Day
Peter van Rooden
147
12 Protestantism in Eastern Europe to the Present Day
Parush Parushev and Toivo Pilli
155
13 French Protestantism to the Present Day
Alister E. McGrath
161
14 Italian Protestantism to the Present Day
Alister E. McGrath
163
North American Protestantism
15 Protestantism in the United States of America to the Present Day
John Corrigan
165
16 Shapers of Protestantism: Jonathan Edwards
Stephen R. Holmes
181
17 Canadian Protestantism to the Present Day
Darren C. Marks
189
Asia and Australasia
18 Indian Protestantism to the Present Day
Ivan Morris Satyavrata
201
19 South-East Asian Protestantism to the Present Day
Yung Hwa
206
20 Japanese Protestantism to the Present Day
Nozomo Miyahira
210
21 Korean Protestantism to the Present Day
Young-Gi Hong
216
22 Chinese Protestantism to the Present Day
Carver T. Yu
222
23 Protestantism in Australia, New Zealand and Oceania to the
Present Day
Ian Breward
232
contents
Africa
24 African Protestantism to the Present Day
John S. Pobee
Part II Protestantism and Present Identity:
Relations and Influence
vii
239
249
Protestantism and its Relations
25 Protestantism and the Bible
R. Kendall Soulen
251
26 Protestantism and the Arts
Trevor Hart
268
27 Protestantism and Politics, Economics, and Sociology
J. Philip Wogaman
287
28 Protestantism, Law and Legal Thought
John Witte Jr.
298
29 Protestantism and the Sciences
Ted Peters
306
Protestantism and its Influence
30 Protestantism and Liberalism
Mark D. Chapman
322
31 Protestantism and Feminism
Cynthia L. Rigby
332
32 Protestantism and Fundamentalism
William V. Trollinger Jr.
344
33 Protestantism and Racism
Paul R. Griffin
357
34 Protestantism and Judaism
Clark M. Williamson
372
35 Protestantism and Spirituality
Bradley P. Holt
382
36 Protestantism and Missions
Werner Ustorf
392
Part III
403
The Future of Protestantism
37 The Future of Protestantism: Ecumenism and the Mainline
Denominations
Alan D. Falconer
405
viii
contents
38 The Future of Protestantism: Evangelicalism
Mark A. Noll
421
39 The Future of Protestantism: The Rise of Pentecostalism
Allan Anderson
439
40 The Future of Protestantism: Postmodernity
Graham Ward
453
41 The Future of Protestantism: The Non-Western Protestant World
Allan Anderson
468
Index
483
Contributors
Alister E. McGrath is Professor of Historical Theology at Oxford University,
and Principal of Wycliffe Hall, Oxford. He studied at the Universities of Oxford
and Cambridge, and served in a parish in Nottingham before joining the staff at
Wycliffe, where he now teaches in the area of systematic theology, science and
religion, spirituality, and apologetics. His most recent publications are the
three-volume work, A Scientific Theology (2001–3), and The Intellectual Origins of
the European Reformation (2nd edn., 2003). He is also the author of numerous
best-selling books, including A Brief History of Heaven (2003), Christian Theology: An Introduction (3rd edn., 2001), The Christian Theology Reader (2nd edn.,
2001), Christian Spirituality (1999), Reformation Thought (3rd edn., 1999),
Science and Religion (1998), Historical Theology (1998), and An Introduction to
Christianity (1997), all available from Blackwell Publishing.
Darren C. Marks lectures in systematic theology and religious studies at Huron
University College at the University of Western Ontario in Canada. He holds
degrees in science and theology from the University of Toronto (Victoria and
Wycliffe College) and advanced degrees in theology from the University of Oxford
(St Hugh’s College) under the supervision of Professor J. Webster. He has also
studied at the Friedrich Wilhelms Universität (Bonn) under Professor Dr G.
Sauter. He is the author of numerous articles in systematic theology, Canadian
ecclesiastical history, and the editor of Shaping a Theological Mind (2003). His
primary research area is contemporary systematic theology although his doctoral work dealt with nineteenth-century German Protestant theology (Julius
Müller and the Mediating Theology). Dr Marks is currently working on several
publishing projects, including a text on seventeenth- and eighteenth-century
theologians, a work on the doctrine of sin, and articles including George Grant
and the Theologia Crucis, as well comparing the possibilities of a Christomorphic
metanoia in James H. Cone and Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
x contributors
Nicholas Adams is a lecturer in systematic theology and theological
ethics at the University of Edinburgh. He writes on German philosophical
issues in theology, and is currently writing a book on Jürgen Habermas and
theology.
Allan Anderson is Senior Lecturer in Pentecostal Studies at the Graduate
Institute for Theology and Religion, University of Birmingham, UK. He is the
author of five books on African Pentecostalism, including Zion and Pentecost
(2000) and African Reformation (2001).
Gerald Bray is Anglican Professor of Divinity at Beeson Divinity School,
Samford University, Birmingham, Alabama, USA. He was formerly tutor in
Christian doctrine at Oak Hill College, London. He is the author of several books,
including The Doctrine of God (1993) and Biblical Interpretation, Past and Present
(1996).
Ian Breward is Emeritus Professor of Theology at the United Faculty of
Divinity, University of Melbourne.
Dr Mark D. Chapman is Vice-Principal, Ripon College, Cuddesdon, UK.
John Corrigan is Edwin Scott Gaustad Professor of Religion and Professor
of History, and Director of the Institute for the Study of Emotion, Florida State
University.
Alan D. Falconer, a Church of Scotland minister, has been Director of the Faith
and Order Commission, World Council of Churches since 1995. He was formerly
Director of the Irish School of Ecumenics (1990–95) and served on a number
of international dialogues as a representative of the World Alliance of Reformed
Churches.
Alan Ford is Professor of Theology and Head of the School of Humanities at
the University of Nottingham, UK.
Dr Paul R. Griffin is Professor of Religion and Director of African and AfricanAmerican Studies at Wright State University, Dayton, Ohio, USA and founder
and Director of the Wright State University National Conference on the Future
Shape of Black Religion which ran from 1990 to 2001. His most recent book is
Seeds of Racism in the Soul of America (1999).
Trevor Hart is Professor of Divinity, Principal of St Mary’s College and
Director of the Institute for Theology, Imagination and the Arts in the University of St Andrews, UK. His publications include Faith Thinking: the Dynamics
of Christian Theology (1995), Regarding Karl Barth (1999) and (with Richard
Bauckham) Hope Against Hope: Christian Eschatology at the Turn of the Millennium
(1999). He is also General Editor of The Dictionary of Historical Theology (2000).
He is a priest in the Scottish Episcopal Church and Convener of its Doctrine
Committee.
contributors
xi
Revd Dr Stephen R. Holmes is a Baptist minister, Lecturer in Christian
Doctrine at King’s College London, and an Associate Lecturer at Spurgeon’s
College. His publications include God of Grace and God of Glory: An Account of
the Theology of Jonathan Edwards (2000), and Listening to the Past: The Place of
Tradition in Theology (2002).
Bradley P. Holt is Professor of Religion at Augsburg College, Minneapolis,
Minnesota, USA.
Dr Young-Gi Hong earned his Ph.D. at the Oxford Centre for Mission Studies
with Wales University. He is the president of the Institute for Church Growth in
Korea, and teaches missiology at Hansei University.
Aasulv Lande is Professor in Missiology with Ecumenical Theology at the
Centre for Theology and Religious Studies, University of Lund, Sweden.
Nozomo Miyahira is currently Associate Professor of Christian Theology at
Seinan Gakuin University, Fukuoka, Japan. He is author of Towards a Theology
of the Concord of God: A Japanese Perspective on the Trinity (2000) and God Who
Takes Responsibility and Gives Meaning: A Japanese Christianity in the 21st Century
(2000, in Japanese).
D. Densil Morgan is Reader in the Department of Theology and Religious
Studies, University of Wales, Bangor, UK.
Mark A. Noll is McManis Professor of Christian Thought at Wheaton College,
Illinois, USA. He is the author of America’s God, from Jonathan Edwards to
Abraham Lincoln (2002), The Old Religion in a New World: The History of North
American Christianity (2002), and American Evangelical Christianity (Blackwell,
2001).
Parush Parushev is the Academic Dean and the Director of Applied Theology
of the International Baptist Theological Seminary of the European Baptist Federation in Prague, Czech Republic. He is a faculty member of the Bulgarian Evangelical Theological Institute in Sofia and of the California Christian College, USA.
Ted Peters is Professor of Systematic Theology at Pacific Lutheran Theological
Seminary and the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California, USA. He
is editor in chief of Dialog, A Journal of Theology, and he co-edits Theology and
Science for the Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences.
Toivo Pilli is Director of Baptist and Anabaptist Studies at the International
Baptist Theological Seminary, Prague, Czech Republic.
Rev. Canon Professor Emeritus John S. Pobee, University of Ghana was
formerly Co-ordinator of Programmes on Theological Education and Ministerial Formation, World Council of Churches, Geneva. His publications include
Towards an African Theology (1979) and Persecution and Martyrdom in the
Theology of Paul (1985).
xii
contributors
Cynthia L. Rigby is W. C. Brown Associate Professor of Theology at Austin
Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Texas, USA.
Dr Kenneth B. E. Roxburgh is Chair of the Department of Religion at Samford
University, Birmingham, Alabama, USA.
Ivan Morris Satyavrata is President and Professor, Department of Theology,
Southern Asia Bible College, Bangalore, India.
R. Kendall Soulen is Professor of Systematic Theology, Wesley Theological
Seminary, Washington, DC. He is the author of The God of Israel and Christian
Theology (1996) and co-author with Richard N. Soulen of Handbook of Biblical
Criticism (3rd edn., 2001). He is an ordained elder in the United Methodist
Church.
The Revd Dr Graham Tomlin is Vice Principal and Tutor in Historical
Theology and Evangelism at Wycliffe Hall, Oxford. He is the author of The Power
of the Cross: Theology and the Death of Christ in Paul, Luther and Pascal (1999),
Walking in His Steps: A Guide to Exploring the Land of the Bible (2001), The Provocative Church (2002) and Luther and his World (2002).
William V. Trollinger Jr. is Associate Professor of History at the University of
Dayton, Ohio, USA.
Werner Ustorf is Professor of Mission at the University of Birmingham, United
Kingdom, and Director of the Centre for Missiology and World Christianity.
His publications include Sailing on the Next Tide. Missions, Missiology, and the
Third Reich (2000), and Bremen Missionaries in Togo and Ghana, 1847–1900
(2002).
Peter van Rooden is a Reader at the Research Center Religion and Society of
the Universiteit van Amsterdam.
Graham Ward is Professor of Contextual Theology and Ethics at the University
of Manchester. His books include Barth, Derrida and the Language of Theology
(1995) Cities of God (2000) and True Religion (2002). He has edited The
Postmodern God (1998), The Certeau Reader (1999) and the Blackwell Companion
to Postmodern Theology (2001). He is senior executive editor of the journal
Literature and Theology.
John Webster is Professor of Systematic Theology at the University of
Aberdeen, UK.
Clark M. Williamson is Indiana Professor of Christian Thought, Emeritus, at
Christian Theological Seminary in Indianapolis. His publications include Has
God Rejected His People? Anti-Judaism in the Christian Church (1982), A Guest in
the House of Israel: Post-Holocaust Church Theology (1993), and Way of Blessing,
Way of Life: A Christian Theology (1999).
contributors
xiii
John Witte, Jr. ( J. D. Harvard, 1985), is Director of the Law and Religion
Program, and Director of the Center for the Interdisciplinary Study of Religion,
Emory University, Atlanta, Georgia, USA.
J. Philip Wogaman is Professor Emeritus in Christian Ethics, Wesley Theological Seminary, Washington, DC.
Dr Carver T. Yu is Professor in Dogmatic Theology and Vice President, China
Graduate School of Theology, Hong Kong. He is also a member of the Center
of Theological Inquiry, Princeton, USA and is an ordained minister in the
Cumberland Presbyterian Church.
Dr Yung Hwa is Director of the Centre for the Study of Christianity in Asia,
Trinity Theological College, Singapore.
Randall C. Zachman is Associate Professor of Reformation Studies at the
University of Notre Dame, Indiana, USA. His areas of interest are in the history
of Christian thought from the Reformation period to the present, with particular attention to the theological trajectory traced by the theology of John Calvin,
Friedrich Schleiermacher, and Karl Barth. He is author of The Assurance of Faith:
Conscience in the Theology of Martin Luther and John Calvin (1993).
Foreword
Any work that attempts to define a multifaceted movement such as Protestantism faces several Herculean tasks. Aside from the sheer immensity of its
history across the entire globe and its unique manifestations and impact therein,
one also has to face the post-modern charge that Protestantism is nothing more
than religious modernity. Implicit in this charge is the denuding of what most
Protestants would claim central to their faith, the presence of God’s redeeming
activity in and through the church, in favour of a presentation of Protestantism
as an ideological movement – complex to be sure, but nothing more than a series
of ideas and repercussions in a steady ebb and flow that eventually threaten in
the west to run out of steam, and which elsewhere seems alien or imposed.
Protestantism, then, is both a church movement (or better yet an expression of
a faith-based church) but also a cultural phenomenon that has been shaped and
has shaped that which surrounds it. It is with this multiplicity in mind that this
Companion has been designed. The Companion tries to treat Protestantism as both
a church-based movement and a cultural phenomenon. It gives prominence
to the theology and churches of Protestants but also looks to how each has
intermingled, positively and negatively, within a wider cultural milieu that still
resonates today.
Adding another layer of difficulty to the project is that Protestantism, almost
from its inception and certainly from the seventeenth century onwards, is panglobal and in each locale, micro and macro, has encountered and assimilated
indigenous movements and fostered new expressions. Many of these continental, national and local histories, especially in what the African theologian John
Pobee calls the ‘North Atlantic Captivity’ of Europe and North America, are well
studied, while many histories are overlooked or largely ignored. We have tried to
address this imbalance and the very needful recognition that Protestantism is
pan-global in influence (and that most Protestants now are not European or
North American) by having native scholars author their own histories and by
foreword
xv
looking to the future of Protestantism as a non-western European movement
and phenomenon.
The shape of the text reflects this triad of concerns: Protestantism as panglobal, theological and ideologically loaded. The Introduction is an attempt to
provide a historical theological background, from Protestantism’s own confessions, of what Protestants believe and how they organize themselves as a consequence in their church polity. Complementing this introduction is the final
part, on ‘The Future of Protestantism’. In this part, the essays attempt to define
and analyse the offspring of Protestantism – post-modernism, Pentecostalism,
Evangelicalism; the emergence of Asian, African and South American Protestant forms; and the situation of historic western Protestant denominations. The
Introduction and final part begin and end (at least for the present) the conversation about what Protestantism is in terms of its origins and its future.
Sandwiched between the Introduction and ‘The Future of Protestantism’ are
two further major parts. The first, ‘The Formation of Protestant Identity: History
and Ideology’, is a magisterial survey of Protestantism in various regional
and national identities, as well as an opportunity for several major Protestant
thinkers to be explored. The brief given to each author was not only to give a
landmarked history but also to attempt a synthesis of the implications of that
history within the life of the region or nation. This is purposed on two fronts.
First is to avoid the catalogued rehearsal of facts covered in other works. Secondly, and more importantly to the ethos of the text, is the attempt to grapple
with two of our triad of concern – that we present each history as the result of
a church or faith movement that in turn impacts and is impacted by its surrounding culture. The importance of indigenous authors was paramount in this
regard. Of course, while every attempt has been made to present as much of the
rich diversity of Protestant identities, not all nations and histories are accounted
for. To this the editors can only plead ‘guilty’ and offer space considerations (as
well as target audiences) in defence, but meanwhile hoping that bibliographies
offset some of the selection. Likewise, the list of who could have been highlighted, apart from the ‘big five’ of Luther, Calvin, Edwards, Schleiermacher and
Barth, is disputable. It was felt, and is mitigated by the historical essays themselves in which other notable figures (and ideas) are introduced, that these five
thinkers are foundational to any discussion of Protestantism in any form or
context. A similar defence of space is proffered.
The next major part, ‘Protestantism and Present Identity’, is broken down
into two components. Once again, these reflect the triadic concern that drives
the text. ‘Protestantism and Its Relations’ frames the conversation that
Protestantism has had (and continues to have) with major segments of human
enterprise and culture (usually in the western context). The relationship of
Protestantism to science, art, politics and law as well as itself via its Bible-centred
commitments is explored, highlighting the interplay between the ‘religious’ or
‘theological’ and other presumably secular human enterprise and creations.
‘Protestantism and its Influence’ furthers this conversation by addressing
Protestantism to various movements that dominate much of the present situa-
xvi alister e. mcgrath & darren c. marks
tion and constitute the grounds of future conversations elsewhere. The section
explores Protestant responsibility for (and resources to combat) anti-Semitism,
racial and sexual inequality, and presents two of the major Protestant variations
(or reactions) in liberalism and fundamentalism. In looking forward to the ‘new
Protestantism’ of the twenty-first century in new climes it seems imperative that
Protestantism learns of its own critique well, if only to avoid repeating the same
mistakes in new situations. This section also examines ‘how’ Protestantism has
exported itself in missions and its spirituality. Again, these essays indicate how
the interplay between idea theology and wider culture is transferred into real
concrete situations in both pleasantly surprising and woefully shattering ways.
Having nearly 40 different contributors, many writing in a second or even
third language, makes for some stylistic variance, and we have retained the contributors’ spelling and punctuation style, whether UK or US. References and upto-date further reading lists have been provided as springboards for further study.
The reader is also encouraged to use the index as a means of maximizing
the interpenetration of movements and individuals across the rich history of
Protestantism.
It is the hope of the editors that the chapters be understood not merely as dictionary accounts, but as arguments, although well-researched and documented
ones, which will induce fuller and more profound conversations as to the past,
present and future of Protestantism in all its forms.
Finally, it is impossible to acknowledge the contribution of all the scholars
who have had a hand in the shaping of this volume. A rigorous process of consultation and recommendation allowed the editors to cull the best authors in a
range of topics and expertises (far outside our own). Many have assisted in this
process but two are notable: Prof Ellen Charry (Princeton Theological Seminary)
and Dr Chris Sugden (Oxford Centre for Mission Studies) both nominated many
excellent choices who found their way into the volume. To them, and the many
unnamed others who nominated scholars during the project, our thanks are
given.
The Editors
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
Introduction: Protestantism –
the Problem of Identity
Alister E. McGrath and Darren C. Marks
Protestantism is traditionally understood to designate the churches and denominations that have received their inspiration from the Reformation, including the whole unfolding of that history from the sixteenth century down to the
present day. This understanding of the notion informs this Companion, which
aims to explore the many facets of this development, especially within Western
culture. Yet it must be conceded that ‘Protestantism’ remains obstinately
resistant to more precise definition. As by far the most diverse form of contemporary Christianity, it is more susceptible to description rather than definition.
Its intrinsic resistance to any concept of centralized authority corresponding
to the Roman Catholic magisterium has led to a remarkable degree of diversification at both the theological and sociological levels. Even though certain
important patterns of commonality may be discerned, contemporary Protestantism is perhaps at least as notable for its divergences as for its shared
historical roots and theological agendas.
The rapid growth of Protestant denominations in the twentieth century, given
further impetus through the remarkable development of charismatic and
Pentecostal groupings, has made it increasingly difficult to speak convincingly
of the ‘essence of Protestantism’. While there are important debates within
the movement over what its core identity and values might be, empirical observation of the movement suggests that the self-understandings of the movement
have become increasingly fluid since the Second World War. The rapid expansion of the movement in its Pentecostal and charismatic forms, particularly
when set against the backdrop of the decline of traditional Protestant denominations in the West, suggests that the profile of Protestantism is likely to undergo
highly significant changes in the twenty-first century.
In recent times, ‘Protestant’ has increasingly become a shorthand term for a
number of seemingly disparate Christian denominations and general cultural
attitudes, which need to be parsed carefully. Even its more notorious and
2 alister e. mcgrath & darren c. marks
disparaged nonreligious caricatures contain at least some truths about the
nature of the movement. Thus Friedrich Nietzsche, Max Weber and H. Richard
Niebuhr argued that ‘Protestantism’ designates an ethos that has certain specific political and economic overtones, namely those associated with Western
European capitalism and politics and present-day American-style democracy. All
argue with differing stresses that there are specific ideas, disguised and given
authority as specific doctrines, inherent in the mainline or ‘magisterial’ Reformation that were and are catalytic to forms of the modern Western world and
which have also contributed much of the woes of that culture. The commonality is the stress on the ideological penetration, usually thought of as negative,
embedded in its theology, of Protestantism in the nontheological (or seemingly
so) areas of politics, culture and economics.
In its strictest sense, the term ‘Protestant’ refers to the group of German
princes and cities who ‘protested’ in April 1529 against the re-entrenchment
by the Diet of Speyer of the Diet of Worms’s active policy of persecution of
Lutheranism and Zwinglism (1521). Prior to the Diet of Speyer, those church
groups which are now understood to be Protestant – namely, the Lutheran and
Reformed (later to be known as Calvinist) communities – were commonly
referred to as ‘evangelical’ (evangelisch or évangélique), thus stressing its centre of
biblical exegesis (sola scriptura) and its doctrinal core in a faith-based redemptive
Christology. At this early stage, issues of church identity were seen as subordinate to the greater question of the recovery of an authentic and biblical understanding of the gospel itself. Yet a debate over the nature of these ecclesial
groupings could not be postponed. Throughout the 1530s, the issue of evangelical self-definition became of increasing importance, both to the evangelical
movement itself and its increasingly concerned critics.
The question of Protestant self-definition was made more complex through
the rise of what is now generally referred to as the ‘Radical Reformation’. The
historical roots of this movement are complex, and interlock to no small extent
with the emerging Lutheran and Reformed churches. These radicals argued that
the mainline reformers – such as Luther and Zwingli – had been inconsistent or
negligent in their application of their reforming principles and agendas. For
example, it was argued that Luther had retained a number of traditional beliefs
and practices (such as infant baptism) which were not adequately grounded
in the Bible, and which ought therefore to be rejected. Furthermore, radical
reformers objected to the close and positive links that Luther, Zwingli and Calvin
encouraged between the church and the magistracy (hence the term ‘magisterial Reformation’), and argued that authentic Christian existence could only be
attained through a return to the pre-Constantinian situation, in which the
church was radically separated from the state and its values. Although small
in numbers, such radical communities are of considerable interest to both historians and theologians, not least on account of the challenge they pose to
the assumption that Protestantism is by definition world-affirming and prone
to social assimilation.
protestantism: the problem of identity
3
Important though the Radical Reformation is historically, particularly
in relation to the emergence of the significant and influential Baptist and
Mennonite communities in North America, its emphasis upon the separation
of church and state limited its impact upon the development of Western culture.
For much of its history, Anabaptism’s instinctive attitude was that of social
disengagement, in order to focus on spiritual and social issues within
their own communities, which were often conceived as profoundly countercultural creations. As this Companion is concerned with every aspect of
Protestant life and thought, it is perhaps inevitable that it should focus primarily upon the numerically larger and more socially engaging magisterial
Reformation.
We have tried to avoid any hint of the hagiographical historiography of
Protestantism, usually associated with the nineteenth century and its sociopolitical and even missionary agendas, which portrayed Protestantism as the
zenith of human culture. The magisterial Reformers, according to this view, are
not only founders of a theological movement but are agents of God’s providential hand in resisting a spiral of decay that continually threatens human culture.
This approach to Protestantism often leads to the simple equivocation of all
things good with Western European culture – an assumption that many regard
as fundamental to the colonialism of the period – as well as encouraging the
implicit demonization of both the non-Christian world and Catholic Europe. In
terms of its view of history, this approach saw the Reformation as representing
divine intervention in history, without precedent and independent of all other
factors except God’s will. Its heroes became noncontextualized figures, devoid of
any background in Catholic thought or history, and its opponents were often
treated as deliberate opponents of the divine will. An increasing awareness of
the complexity of the intellectual and social origins of the Reformation has
largely dispelled such misleading stereotypes, except in popular polemical
literature.
Protestantism is best regarded as a heterogeneous movement with shared
theological roots that largely began in central and northern Europe, and quickly
developed political, economic and social dimensions on account of its interaction with the specific societal structures and norms within which it first took
root. The roots of the movement are to be sought in medieval Europe, and
its theology in secular philosophical and philological movements such as
Renaissance humanism, as well as in wider shifts in contemporary European
culture from largely rural feudalism to urban-based economies and political
structures. Each of these can be rightly considered as both connected and important to an understanding of the emergence and identity of ‘Protestantism’.
For example, Protestantism was widely regarded as liberating by the increasingly
important middle classes of the imperial cities of Europe, who saw the new
understanding of the Christian faith as marking a break with the traditional
structures of the past and offering them theological legitimization for their social
and political agendas.
4 alister e. mcgrath & darren c. marks
It will be clear that the term ‘Protestantism’ now designates a wide range of
significantly different theological emphases and church structures. These are
often described under four general headings, as follows:
1 Classical Protestant denominations, which trace their historical origins and
theological pedigrees back to the Reformation of the sixteenth century.
Lutheran, Reformed and Anglican forms of Protestantism might all reasonably be located in this category. Such denominations are often characterized
by a concern with classical creedal formulations, as well as the distinctive
traditional characteristic emphases of the denomination, often embodied in
certain specific ‘confessions of faith’, such as the Formula of Concord, the
Westminster Confession of Faith or the Thirty-nine Articles. Within such
denominations, there is often tension between liberals and traditionalists,
with the former seeking to explore and develop approaches to theology and
church life which are more responsive to societal and cultural changes, often
seeing traditional formulations of faith and understandings of church structure as impeding such an engagement. Traditionalists, on the other hand,
argue that the identity and distinctive ethos of the denomination is defined
and safeguarded by traditional formulations of faith. To meddle with such
‘givens’ is potentially to forfeit the denomination’s reason for existence,
leading to a loss of theological vision and social identity.
2 Denominations and movements which trace their history and derive their
theological moorings, at least in part, from the Radical Reformation of the
sixteenth century. The Mennonite communities in North America are a particularly luminous example of such a denomination. However, it is also reasonable to suggest that the highly influential consortium of Baptist churches
trace their origins to this sixteenth-century movement, even if that historical connection is complex, based partly on English independent churches of
the early seventeenth century. Once more, tensions exist between liberals
and traditionalists within these churches.
3 Denominations and movements which have arisen from tensions within
mainline Protestantism, and see themselves as recapturing at least something of its original theological vision, above all a firm rooting in the Bible.
Perhaps the most obvious example of such a development is the phenomenon of evangelicalism, which emerged in both the United Kingdom and the
United States during the eighteenth century, and has gone on to become one
of the most significant forces in contemporary English-language Protestantism. While many evangelicals see their natural ecclesiological habitat
as being within mainline denominations, within which they can function as
an ecclesiola in ecclesia, others have sought to create avowedly evangelical
denominations in their own right.
4 Charismatic and Pentecostal groupings, whose origins lie in the twentieth
century. While some charismatic Protestants are content to operate within
mainline Protestant denominations, the majority operate within specifically
charismatic denominations or organizations, such as the Assemblies of God.
protestantism: the problem of identity
5
Although relatively recent arrivals on the scene, there are persuasive indications that this style of Protestantism is coming to be of major importance
in the emerging world.
Individual articles in this volume will consider these movements and their distinctive identities, regional variations and developments in agendas, and specific
issues with which Protestantism has been forced to engage throughout its
history. It is, however, also important to attempt to identify at least some of the
leading themes that have characterized Protestantism since its emergence in
the sixteenth century, not least because these are often intimately linked with
the distinctive identity and agenda of the movement.
The Contours of Classical Protestant Thought
The contours of classical Protestant theology were shaped during the sixteenth
century, and may be regarded as the outcome of the confluence of the ideas
and methods of leading reformers and the manner in which these were received
and expounded by Protestant communities. The two most significant theological epicentres of the first phase of the Reformation were at Wittenberg and
Zurich. Martin Luther’s vision of the Christian gospel, which was given
more systematic expression by his colleague Philip Melanchthon, focused on the
evangelical proclamation of justification sola fide (by faith alone), with an
emphasis upon the supreme authority of the Bible in matters of Christian
doctrine – a notion which subsequently came to be expressed in the slogan sola
scriptura (by Scripture alone). Although Luther was not the most systematic of
writers, his ideas were widely disseminated through his two Catechisms (1529),
and especially through Philip Melanchthon’s Loci Communes, which first
appeared in 1521.
The Swiss city of Zurich was the centre for a quite distinct understanding of
the Christian life, which initially made no reference to the notion of justification
sola fide. For Zurich’s reformer Ulrich Zwingli, the life and morality of the church
was to be reformed through a return to the vision of the Christian life. While
Luther and Zwingli shared a common commitment to the authority of the Bible
(and a corresponding rejection of the notion of absolute papal authority), they
initially diverged significantly over how Scripture was to be interpreted, and
whether the reforming agenda should focus on the doctrine or ethics of the
church. A degree of convergence was achieved through the mediating influence
of the second generation reformer John Calvin, and the rise of the city of Geneva
as a centre for reformed theological education and evangelism, especially in
Calvin’s native France. Under Calvin, a coherent vision of the Reformation as a
biblically grounded reformation of both the life and thought of the church
emerged, given systematic articulation in Calvin’s highly influential Institutes of
the Christian Religion, first published in 1536, which appeared in its definitive
form in 1559.
6 alister e. mcgrath & darren c. marks
Important though Luther and Calvin are for any evaluation of the distinctive
ideas of Protestantism, two important qualifications of their authority must be
noted. First, both Lutheran and Reformed communities chose to define themselves, not specifically with reference to the writings of either Luther or Calvin,
but with reference to certain ‘confessions of faith’. These confessions were
regarded as subordinate to both the Bible and the historic creeds of the Christian church, and were understood to clarify the distinctive vision of the Christian faith associated with the Lutheran and Reformed communities. Within
Lutheranism, the Augsburg Confession (1530) initially played a highly influential
role, although this was gradually supplanted following the publication of the
Formula of Concord (1578). Reformed communities throughout Europe drew up
confessions of faith which expressed their leading theological commitments,
above all to the supreme authority of the Bible in matters of faith and doctrine.
The Westminster Confession of Faith (1647) may be taken as representative of
this general trend:
The whole counsel of God, concerning all things necessary for his own glory, man’s
salvation, faith and life, is either expressly set down in Scripture, or by good and
necessary consequence may be deduced from Scripture; to which nothing at any
time is to be added, whether by new revelations of the Spirit, or traditions of men.
Among these Reformed confessions, the following are of particular interest: the
Ten Theses of Berne (1528), the Tetrapolitan Confession of 1530, the Lausanne
Articles and the Geneva Confession of 1536, the Second Helvetic Confession
(1566).
In what follows, we shall explore some of the basic ideas that emerge as characteristic of magisterial Protestantism in this formative period.
An exegetical Christological foundation
The two slogans that are usually thought to lie at the heart of the theological
vision of the magisterial Reformation are sola fide and sola scriptura – the doctrine of justification by faith and the claim that the life and thought of the
church must find their basis in the Bible alone. Both of these slogans can be
argued to be subsidiary to a more fundamental doctrine that is derived from an
exegetical Christology that many modern theologians regard as the true (but not
exclusive) purview of the Reformation in general, and of both Luther and Calvin
in particular.
Luther and Calvin were primarily exegetes of the Bible and saw in its message
the announcement of the gospel as revealed fully in Christ. This message was
nothing more than the promise of God to forgive sinners. The authority and the
guiding hermeneutical principle thus reside in the Bible, understood as the
witness to God’s objective declaration of salvation in Christ Jesus. Both theologians saw in the Bible the truth that the Christian shares a radical new rela-
protestantism: the problem of identity
7
tionship with God because of Christ, and that this saving work – our justification – therefore lies wholly beyond any human possibility and capacity. Salvation is an act of grace given in the economy of the Triune God, of which Jesus
Christ is the mediator between God and humanity.
Both Luther and Calvin can be argued to share a radical vision of Christocentrism – often summarized in the slogan soli Christo – derived from their
reading of the Bible. Both emphasize that God’s gift to humanity in Christ is
nothing less than Christ himself, wherein human beings are engrafted into that
which properly only belongs to the God-man in all his life, death, resurrection,
ascension and heavenly ministry. Both stress that humans can do nothing to
merit divine forgiveness or to assuage divine wrath. As a consequence, the bond
between Christ and his church is established solely on the merit of Christ alone
and subsequently in the work of the Triune God as justifier, sanctifier and regenerator. The remainders of their respective theologies can be regarded as footnotes
to this radical Christocentrism derived from their biblical exegesis, and its subsequent application to the life and witness of the church.
On the nature of justification
A comparison of Luther’s doctrine of justification with Calvin’s treatment of the
matter suggests that Luther held a more prescriptive view of the doctrine than
Calvin, who tends to adopt a largely descriptive approach. Both, nonetheless,
stress the basic insight that Christ meets us in and through his Word, and that
this transformative action is grounded in God’s freedom, which is totally independent of human merit or capacity. It is possible to misunderstand Luther by
placing an emphasis upon faith, rather than Christ; to stress the role which
human faith itself plays (pisteology) is to reduce Luther’s emphasis that salvation is wholly the work of God, which is received by faith. As Luther and
Melanchthon both stressed, justification takes place propter Christum per fidem
(on account of Christ, through faith), where a false reading of Luther holds it to
take place propter fidem. According to this misunderstanding, the Christian
repents and has faith in God’s promises, which then brings about new life. This
preoccupation with subjectivity – as one’s sense of status before God – has been
often argued as a central motif of modernity and as the theological parent of the
Enlightenment’s conception of the autonomous self.
Calvin roots justification more centrally into the notion of covenant and
the Lordship of Christ, making the question of justification rest not on one’s
faith but rather on the faithfulness of faith’s object. With the context of the
Christian’s incorporation into Christ, Calvin argues that the Christian is made
‘holy’ objectively in God, so that justification and sanctification are to be seen as
the double unfolding (la double grâce) of that objective promise. Faith is a response
or the working out of our radical new justified existence in the obedience of that
alteration by God, as the Holy Spirit works on the human will. For Calvin, the
consequence of faith is thus worship and repentance. In contrast to Luther,
8 alister e. mcgrath & darren c. marks
Calvin argues that faith is given in our union with Christ, not as a part or precondition of that union. To think otherwise would represent a challenge to
Christ’s Lordship, the simple Trinitarian understanding that in Christ God is fully
present, and to the covenant of God that in the work of the Son God redeems
and thereby shares with humanity the beneficia Christi. Calvin, as we shall see,
thus goes on to root his doctrine of justification in a robust notion of predestination or election. The prominence of election is thus ultimately derived from
his more foundational doctrine of justification. Sanctification and justification
are simultaneous in the gifting of grace, in that the presence of Christ is always
dependent on God’s prevenience.
On the nature of predestination or election
Classically the two major differences between Calvin and Luther are held to
be located in their Eucharistic theology and in the doctrine of predestination.
According to this viewpoint, Christological differences are the source of contention in the Eucharist while the doctrine of election is due to Calvin’s working
from a doctrine of God that emphasizes the free objectivity of God over Luther’s
starting point of subjectivity and faith. There is much to be commended in this
view but the differences seem to be more rooted in Christology than in competing views of the doctrine of God or justification’s keynotes. Luther, for example,
in his de Servo Arbitrio argues for a doctrine of predestination, derived from
Augustine, that corresponds closely to Calvin’s later doctrine. Luther, here
opposing Erasmus and a perceived threat of Pelagianism, argues that not only
does God elect those who are to be saved but also that God actively hardens those
who reject the gospel. This is a form of double predestination, that God elects
both the saved and the condemned independent of human action. Regardless of
their respective starting points, both use the doctrine as a foundation of the
believer’s confidence that God has prepared a way of grace independent of
human merit.
The source of difference, however, lies primarily in the application of their
exegetically derived Christology. Luther is much more attuned to the biblical
position that the will of God revealed in Christ is primarily a will to save. In short,
Christology is a reflection on the grace of God as revealed in Christ. For Luther,
to seek the grounds for this decision by God, the so-called ‘secret will’ of God, is
to miss or misunderstand the basic comfort of the gospel that God has come
for sinners in Christ. Luther’s Christology is preoccupied with the reality that
Christ is God and demonstrates God’s will for humanity, which is the promise
of forgiveness and union with Christ as known to the believer. Predestination
is a secondary aspect of the guiding principle of Luther’s Christology as the
justifying Saviour known by faith. Calvin, on the other hand, is more rigorous
in the application of his Christology. The biblical identification of Christ with
God – not merely as God’s revelation but as the Lord – is understood by Calvin
as not only to relate to the application of salvation (here following Luther), but
protestantism: the problem of identity
9
to represent a fundamental statement concerning divine Trinitarian ontology.
For Calvin, Luther threatens the unity of divine ontology, God as Triune, by
raising the possibility of two wills in God, one hidden in the pre-Creation will of
God, and the other revealed in Christ. For Calvin, to think that somehow Christ
represents a different expression of God’s will is to challenge not only the coherence of a doctrine of God but also his Christology and its simple identification of
Christ as the Lord. Predestination can thus be seen as an integral aspect of
Calvin’s application of his Christology: in Christ the whole being and will of God
including God’s transcendental freedom above creation is made known, fully and
reliably.
Developments within later Lutheranism might seem to lend some weight
to Calvin’s concerns. Lutheran scholasticism, apparently borrowing from the
Jesuit doctrine of scientia media, came to distinguish a unity of purpose from
a nonabsolute and therefore contingent divine will in relation to the application
of salvation. According to this view, while God desires all to be saved, God knows
beforehand that some will reject salvation and therefore excludes them in
reality from the application of Christ’s work. This ‘middle-knowledge’, with
its distinction between passive foreknowledge (praescientia) and active foreordination (praedestinatio) effectively bifurcates the divine will, forcing a distinction
between a general and absolute will to save (voluntas universalis sive antecedens),
and a more restricted will by which God foresees (praevisio) the concrete and
contingent application of salvation won by Christ (voluntas specialis sive
consequens). This is more a doctrine of the human election of God than a doctrine of how in Christ God comes to humanity. Particularly in nineteenthcentury Lutheranism the manifestation of the two Christological stresses
becomes a foundation for an anthropologically based liberalism, and the increasing evaluation of theology as nothing more than anthropology. Religion, including Christianity, is thus to be construed as an expression of the human need
or experience of God. In reaction to this development, it is to Karl Barth’s credit
that his theology represents a return to both Luther and Calvin’s insistence
that whatever election is, it must be a reflection of Christology and not another
theological starting point.
On the nature of the gospel and law dialectic
A fundamental difference in Christological emphasis can also be argued to
underlie the different understandings of Luther and Calvin on the relationship
to law and gospel. Both Luther and Calvin root law in their respective Christologies, holding that in Christ the compulsion and curse of the law is removed
and, despite their moral imperfections, foolish and hopeful sinners can find
comfort and sustenance for their ethical lives. Luther’s law–gospel dialectic is
a reflection of his preoccupation with the application of his Christological
rule that Christ saves. Before the comfort of the gospel, humanity stands in a
negative relationship to God and knows only the law, and the law condemns.
10 alister e. mcgrath & darren c. marks
Humanity stands under the wrath of God. Law, understood as not only conscience but primarily as the revelation of the Old Testament, functions to demonstrate sin and is an expression of original sin. However, paralleling his incipient
double-will theology, Luther thinks that law is an ‘alien work’ (opus alienum),
when compared with the ‘true work’ (opus proprium) of Christ – that is, the
comfort of the gospel. Law, therefore, has an apparently different function before
and after conversion. Before conversion law has a pedagogical and a political use;
it prepares for grace and restrains sin, particularly in its manifestation as societal precepts as found in the Mosaic commandments and the Noachic orders of
creation such as the role of the family. After conversion, the law possesses a usus
normativus by which it directs and informs the Christian life, enabling believers,
with the assistance of the Holy Spirit, to fulfil God’s will for their lives. Once
again, it is Luther’s application of his Christology understood as connected to
the notion of justification that drives his understanding. Law is understood in
light of the Christological maxim ‘Christ justifies’.
Calvin, likewise, works from his Christological maxim that Christ is God, and
rejects Luther’s abstraction of law from Christology for the reasons given in his
doctrine of election. To posit that law – originating in God as God’s will for
humanity – is different from gospel, is to abstract God from Christ. There is no
abstract law as a means to or reflection of God but only God in Christ. Law, for
Calvin, must rest firmly in the covenant faithfulness of God found in Christ. Law
is explained in Christology. Calvin thus only accepts Luther’s ‘third’ use of the
law (usus normativus) where Luther argues that once joined to Christ our works,
as obedience, are able to fulfil God’s mandate and then only because of Christ’s
promise of Spirit.
On the Eucharist
There is little doubt that one of the most significant divergences between Luther
and Calvin related to the Eucharist. Numerous attempts to find an evangelical
compromise, urged upon them by the conciliatory Philip Melanchthon and
Martin Bucer, were rejected by Luther himself, and later by the Formula of
Concord. It is here that their respective Christological differences find clearest
expression. Despite their differences on this matter, however, both Luther and
Calvin rejected Zwingli’s earlier ‘memorialism’ as an inadequate account of the
Eucharistic event, arguing that his portrayal of the Eucharist as an act of
remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice reduces the Eucharist to a human act, and
therefore by implication our unio mystica is not a statement of God’s grace but
is tied to human effort. For both Luther and Calvin, whatever the Eucharist symbolizes, it is at the most profound level a reflection of their Christology and the
common magisterial Reformation principle that God alone, in Christ, justifies
independent of human merit. Both Eucharistic theologies stress the objectivity
of the sacrament – that its effectiveness and meaning stands outside human
merit or understanding and is based in God’s promises in Christ.
protestantism: the problem of identity
11
Luther’s Eucharistic theology is often referred to in terms of ‘consubstantiation’, thus emphasizing its contradistinction to the Roman Catholic doctrine
of transubstantiation. According to this doctrine of transubstantiation, the
consecrated bread and wine substantially become in property or substance the
body and blood of Christ. This had two unacceptable implications for Luther.
First is that the elements themselves became improper objects of worship;
second, that the mass is seen as another aspect of what Christ singularly did
in his vicarious action on the cross. Luther rejected the doctrine of transubstantiation, and in its place offered a doctrine of consubstantiation which takes
as its starting point the declaration that while the elements are not transmuted
materially, they are nevertheless more than just bread and wine. Luther develops this important notion in two ways. First, Luther argued that the elements
derive their meaning solely due to the Word itself. It is because Christ commanded the elements to be celebrated that they have any meaning at all. Second,
and more centrally, because of the Word they come to be more than bread
and wine (but not transformed into the body and blood) in that in and through
them we really receive the promise (and therefore substance) of Christ, meaning
forgiveness.
In his controversy with Zwingli, Luther was clear to argue (and possibly overstate) that the elements were not merely instruments through which faith was
strengthened on the basis of Christ’s work; in some way, they also conveyed
Christ. The Eucharist becomes a ‘means of grace’ as the elements become the
body and blood of Christ ‘in, with and under’ the bread and wine. Luther’s
Eucharistic theology is driven by his simple equivocation of the mode and form
of Christ with that of the elements, so that he needs to use another doctrine to
explain how Christ can be ‘in, with and under’ the elements and yet remain both
God and human. The material – the elements – can be understood as competing with the primary stress of promise as found in the Word. The key area
that comes under scrutiny is not whether Christ is God, and therefore can be
ubiquitous in presence, but what happens to his humanity in the supper. The
question is whether this ‘repletive’ mode of presence extends only to Christ’s
divine nature or whether his human nature is likewise able to be everywhere at
once. For Luther’s critics, the employment of the communicatio idiomatum (a
statement that in the incarnation both natures of Christ are mutually penetrating so that humanity shares divinity and vice versa) in his Eucharistic theology
threatens the human nature of Christ and therefore his role as saviour and mediator and his ongoing ministry to the church. Christ’s human nature, the basis
of our unio mystica, if having the property of ubiquity (being in all places at
all times), cannot be said to be like any other human nature. This raises the
question of what is human nature, both fallen and redeemed, and threatens
the entire unity of God to creation and Christ’s role as mediator and as saviour.
Later Lutheran theologians would pick up this theme in Luther with the two
state theologies of humiliation and exaltation and the doctrine of kenosis. The
incarnation, Christ’s humiliation, is either an emptying or a concealment of
divinity and threatens the equation of Christ to God and reduces his sufferings
12 alister e. mcgrath & darren c. marks
and work to that of an illusion. What is lost is the solidarity of Christ to humanity. As ever, the theological issue is one of Christology.
What Luther is at pains to avoid in his Eucharistic theology is the transformation of the Eucharist into either a human symbol (as in Zwingli’s account) or
into another Christ (as in the doctrine of transubstantiation). Luther is keen to
preserve the fact, derived from his exegetical Christology and founded on his
notion of unio mystica, that the gift in the elements is Christ himself. This spiritual presence, ‘in, with and under’ the elements, is due to God’s promise and
action in Christ. The Eucharist is boldly claimed by the Christian as nothing less
than Christ, and therefore the promise of forgiveness which in turn shapes the
Christian’s life in reality.
Calvin, likewise, roots his Eucharistic theology in the primacy of God’s action
and promise in Christ. The elements are signs, God’s sensual accommodation to
us, of the true spiritual reality which is becoming true in faith. The content of
that reality is Christ and the symbols are portents of that reality. The elements
are not the substance of Christ, but instruments pointing to that reality. They
are nonetheless spiritual food in that they are the gift of the union with the
Mediator, but this action is founded on the Trinitarian life of God, as it is the
Spirit of Christ that bonds us and not our faith. In the elements, God condescends
in the Spirit to fulfil the promise of Christ’s presence to his church. In
contradistinction to Luther, it is not ‘by mouth’, meaning the physical elements,
that we partake of Christ but the Spirit’s filling the vessel of faith.
Calvin’s distinctive teaching is that Christ’s human nature subsequent to the
ascension remains human. Central to Calvin’s Eucharistic theology is the recognition that it is not necessary to explain the mechanism of the mystery of
Christ’s corporalis praesentia. This distinguishes him from Luther. What distinguishes him from Anabaptism and Zwinglianism is his insistence with Luther
that the ground of the Eucharist (and baptism) is the objectivity of God so that
in the sacraments the content or substance, spiritually or instrumentally, is
nothing less than Christ. This removes the requirement of piety or its attestation
as a factor in salvation or faith. For both magisterial reformers, working from
their exegesis of the Bible, the focus of the sacraments is the reality of that
person whom they signify, and the gift of Christ therein to the church.
On the doctrine of the church and the priesthood of all believers
From what has been said thus far, the importance of the church to both Luther
and Calvin will be obvious. Both theologians understand the church as the
unique place in which God manifests the promise of Christ to the world. The
church is not merely a society of like-minded people but absolutely central in its
function as witness through sacrament and ministry of the Word (primarily
preaching as exegesis of the Bible) to the objectivity of God and redemption. The
defining marks of the church are thus identified as the preaching of the gospel,
and the proper administration of the sacraments. Both see the church as visible
protestantism: the problem of identity
13
and invisible, in that the invisible are those chosen in God (election) and that
within the ‘visible’ or earthly church there is both elected and nonelected.
The church’s task is the preaching of the gospel, meaning Christ, which in turn
calls Christians to the sacraments wherein faith is strengthened. Preaching is
the exegesis of the Bible and its Christologically controlled claims on all aspects
of human existence within the church. The church is the radiating centre
of God’s action within the whole world. For both theologians the church is not
necessary in the sense that God is confined to the church, but it is necessary in
the sense that God binds us to it in its function as the place in which Christ is
witnessed to as the Lord. Both therefore hold that there is no salvation outside
the church.
This vision of the church is a statement against the often misunderstood
doctrine of separation of church and state. In fact, the term magisterial refers
explicitly to the interpenetration of the church into the state by the reformers.
The question is: what is the nature of this interpenetration? Both reformers saw
the church and state as different means to a similar end, which was to bring the
entire creation into proper service and worship of God. The role of the state was
to restrain evil and to provide a nursery from which the message of the gospel
could thrive. The role of the church is its primary function of witness, but also
as it performs that role the church must anchor itself in the secular and thereby
transform it. For both, and developed in later manifestations of their traditions,
the separation of church and state was illusory as the church needed to be faithful in the real world and the state needed to be shown the true content of justice
as love. It must be underscored, however, that neither Luther nor Calvin thought
that the church was Christ, that Christianity was the same as Christ and that
the church should enjoy privilege on the basis of being the church. In fact, this
was a primary complaint against their Catholic opponents. Instead, both understood the role of the church as that place wherein Christ, through the ministry
of the Word and sacraments, was witnessed to as the Lord. The leitmotifs of the
church are service and worship, not prestige and privilege. Nonetheless, it is also
true that this fine line was crossed by both men in some of their dealings,
famously by Luther on the Jewish presence and by Calvin in his treatment of
Servetus and other Anabaptists, and by later generations of Christians in their
respective traditions.
The inevitable outcome of both Luther and Calvin’s exegetical and Christological theology is the doctrine of the priesthood of all believers. Every believer,
by virtue of his or her baptism, has the status of a priest in the church of God.
This doctrine held that each Christian, in praxis and faith, is brought through
the vicarious action of Christ into a new life and responsibility before God and
that access to this new life is unmediated in the sense that it falls solely on Christ
alone. While the church is absolutely central for this life, it is not absolutely critical as the bearer of salvation. The individual’s own status before God and direct
access to God through Christ means that all Christians are equally ‘priests’,
that is, called to minister and witness to the Word and live in sacramental grace
without ontological or theological distinction. The magisterial Reformers,
14 alister e. mcgrath & darren c. marks
however, as we shall see, despite the universality of access through Christ did
recast polity (order) in parallels to Catholic structures of priest and laity, especially in terms of administering ‘gifts’ (charisms) of offices and the sacraments.
The interpretation of the ‘priesthood of all believers’, originally a mark of
Christ’s uniqueness and claim on the Christian as Lord, is quickly shifted in its
gravity to a reflection on polity.
The ‘Protestant Problematic’
The problem in trying to ‘identify’ Protestantism is, in part, due to its origins as
a breakaway movement from a larger ecclesial grouping, which tended to define
and conceptualize itself theologically, rather than institutionally. Once this decisive transition had been made, the essence of Protestant identity shifted from
a specific institutional affiliation to adherence to a set of ideas, which in turn
legitimated further fissure and division within Protestantism. The ‘Protestant
problematic’ (Karl Rahner) is that it places priority on individual conscience
in response to revelation – in the Bible and the experience of salvation – as its
defining characteristics. As such it must create the possibility, but not the necessity, of interpretative difference in doctrine, practice and polity. Running alongside this ‘Protestant problematic’ is that it is a historical human movement
riddled, despite claims to the contrary, with human conditionality and fraility. A
brief survey of issues, currently in discussion but not unique in Lutheranism in
regard to its definitive Augsburg Confession, serves to illustrate the problems.
Although clear attempts to define the distinguishing beliefs of the Wittenberg
evangelical faction were under way by the late 1520s, it was not until 1530 that
a comprehensive statement of Lutheran theology was drafted in the Augsburg
Confession. This Confession can be understood in one of two, often competing,
ways. First, it can be seen as an essentially sociological document born out of the
political expediencies of its period, rather hastily and haphazardly patched
together from previous, usually theologically charged works by Luther and
Melanchthon, with the primary objective of securing peace. According to this
version of things, the summoning of Luther, Melanchthon, Justus Jonas and
John Bugenhagen to Augsburg by Emperor Charles V (21 January 1530) is to
be seen as the result of external forces. The failure of the Protestant princes to
guard against either Turkish or Catholic armies meant that the ‘priests’ squabbles’ between Lutheran and Zwinglian or Lutheran and Catholic camps had to
be resolved in order that the business of self-preservation might proceed. This
interpretation, however, minimizes earlier attempts of self-identification and
even nascent intra-Protestant ecumenism, such as the Schwabach Articles, the
Marburg Colloquy (October 1529) and the presence of an already formed
Lutheran theology such as that of Melanchthon’s Loci Communes (1521), let
alone Luther’s own work.
protestantism: the problem of identity
15
The second way of understanding the Augsburg Confession is to view it as the
culmination of earlier attempts by Luther and Melanchthon at self-identification, which may well have been occasioned by greater political needs but was not
defined by them. In regard to early Lutheranism, self-definition was less about
matters of institutional form or church polity, although these were important;
rather, it was mainly concerned with a statement about the fundamental
matters of faith. It is this latter understanding of the evolution of the Augsburg
Confession that seems the more viable. The Augsburg Confession is best understood
as the fruit of a maturing tree, with its origins in Luther and Melanchthon’s
earlier occasional and systematic writings and the attempts at self-identification
they proposed. It is not merely an occasioned or historical document, whether
through political or military threat or even in theological dispute, but rather is
a positive exposition of Lutheran theological construction and identity.
Alongside Luther’s Small Catechism, the Augsburg Confession is the most widely
recognized Lutheran confession. The Confession’s stature is not merely due to its
historical cogency; it is also affirmed because of its relationship to Scripture and
to the central tenet of Luther’s theology in justification by faith. Its normative
status is derived from its function as a witness to what Lutherans believe is the
crux of the Christian message of Scripture and of living Spirit – the forgiveness
of sins won by Jesus Christ. The Confession’s status is such that it is ‘not subject
to the regulations of the church’; it is thus to be understood as constitutive – not
solely foundational – in relation to Lutheran ecclesiology. This claim to normative status has been contested throughout history. The precise status of the Confession was so earnestly disputed by second-generation Lutherans that a second
central confessional self-understanding proved necessary; this was drafted
in 1578–80 and published as the Formula of Concord (1578) and the Book of
Concord (1580). The Book of Concord is the attempt of subsequent Lutheran
scholars such as James Andreae and Martin Chemnitz to unify Lutheranism,
and place it within a new stable context, theologically and politically removed
from the turbulence of the early years of the Reformation. Second-generation
Lutheranism also distances itself somewhat from the Augsburg Confession
through its conscious attempt to distinguish Lutheranism from the increasingly
significant Reformed tradition, particularly those forms of eucharistic ‘cryptoCalvinism’ thought to be associated with Melanchthon.
Most famously, Friedrich Schleiermacher (The Christian Faith § 26) argued
that historical confessions were to be classified as ‘occasional (and therefore contingent) writings’. Although a Reformed theologian, Schleiermacher, in contrast
to earlier Protestant scholastic theologians, shifts the authority of the Confession
from that of the document’s theological or doctrinal meaning to the act of confessing by its authors. Its normative status is found in its witnessing function, not its
content. This has become the favoured understanding of the Confession. By
recovering the notion of witness along with justification by faith as a leitmotif
in the Confession, contemporary Lutheranism believed that it could avoid the
polarizing dogmatism (corpus doctrinae) of the eighteenth and early nineteenth
16 alister e. mcgrath & darren c. marks
centuries in favour of a more ecumenically suitable tool by affirming that the
Confession is only meaningful as it is used to call the church into being, or dependent on the gathered community which in turn carries out the mission of the
Confession of faith, hope and love.
Yet the stability of any attempt to define ‘Protestantism’ on the basis of such
a confessional document is now increasingly problematic. A number of factors
create severe difficulties for such attempts at Protestant self-definition. Two are
of particular importance. Although notionally specific to the Augsburg Confession, these concerns possess a wider validity, allowing them to be transferred to
other confessional approaches.
In the first place, the Augsburg Confession’s claim to be universally valid is
undermined by its historical particularity in formation and intent. The Book of
Concord, which is intended to further exclude the Reformed tradition, is likewise
a text born out of historical circumstances. How then can they provide the foundation for a contemporary concord with both Catholic and Reformed faiths? The
increasing recognition of the Standordsgebundenheit (historically situated nature)
of Protestant Confessions of Faith raises serious difficulties for their contemporary application and usage, in that they are widely accepted to be the response
to a specific, but now past, historical context.
In the second place, the reconceptualization of the Confession primarily as a
‘witness’, rather than as a ‘doctrinal norm,’ leads to an emphasis being placed
upon the confessional activity of the community of faith, rather than upon what
that community actually confesses. This emphasis upon the community as a confessing entity has opened the door for the elevation of a doctrine of the church
(ecclesiology) over and against what seems to be the intent of the Confession’s
Christocentric core. What, in short, is the relationship to ‘historic Lutheranism’
(in terms of new issues such as homosexuality and the ordination of women, let
alone non-Western forms of Protestantism) when one assumes that it is the
church’s confession which is the leitmotif of its identity, rather than the doctrines
which it confesses? How is orthodoxy to be determined, when the emphasis is
placed firmly on the communal action of confessing, rather than what is actually confessed by the community?
Other concerns may also be noted. For example, each Protestant theological
community has inherited a series of debates and issues which were seminal at
various points in its history, but which are now increasingly regarded as
of largely historical interest. In the case of Lutheranism, an example may be
found in the ‘strict’ form of the Lutheran two-kingdom theology, which has
become increasingly problematic in recent Lutheran history, not least on
account of the German Church Crisis of the 1930s. Recent Lutheran scholars,
such as Helmut Thielicke and Jürgen Moltmann, have tried to revive or retrieve
the two-kingdom theology in terms of an eschatological framework, within
which Jesus’s ministry is seen as the breaking in of a kingdom of justice to which
Christians are bound in both act and critique. This, it is argued, avoids the insipient dualism inherent in Luther’s assumptions of the kingdom of God and
kingdom of Satan and allows Lutherans to dialogue with Catholics and others
protestantism: the problem of identity
17
on the basis of a doctrine of creation or natural law. Other traditions have
equally problematic ‘historical’ doctrinal fossils that seem to be connected
to ‘historical’ embarrassments, or causes of woe, that the current forms are
eager to rehabilitate or renounce. How does each tradition face its own practical
critical history?
This short survey of issues in regard to Lutheranism and its creedal identity
point to the problem and future challenge of Protestantism. The traditional insistence that Protestantism rests upon the double foundation of the doctrine of justification by faith alone and a complete reliance on the Bible is now seen as
neither constituting a sufficient definition for the movement, nor offering a foolproof prescription for its future health. A critical reading of church history
readily demonstrates that other marks crept in and competed for the centre of
familial definition – such as church–state relationships, freedom of conscience,
freedom in polity, sanctification and so on. As the reader will note in the following chapters, Protestantism, regardless of its historical or geographical location,
is best seen as a continuous attempt to reform the church in response to its
situation and the call of the gospel as found in the Bible, tradition and one’s
experience of grace. The ecclesia reformata, as the slogan has it, must be ecclesia
semper reformanda. That is to say, to be a reformed church is to be committed to
a continuous process of reformation, rather than to one specific moment in that
history, or to a conception of reformation which sees it as a once-for-all event,
rather than an ongoing process. Perhaps this is the best definition – and therefore not exclusive to Protestantism – that Protestantism is an attempt of faithful, but erring, Christians who strive to live as witnesses to Christ and who, like
Jacob, grapple with and against God in the hope of securing God’s blessing, not
only for themselves but for the entire world.
References
Rahner, Karl (1973). Authority in the Church. An Exchange Between Hans Küng and
Karl Rahner. The Tablet 227: S. 597–8.
Schleiermacher, Friedrich (1989). The Christian Faith, H. R. Mackintosh and J. S. Stewart
(eds.). Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Further Reading
General
Barth, Karl (1957). Die Protestantische Theologie im 19. Jahrhundert. Zurich: Evangelischer
Verlag.
Bebbington, David (1989). Evangelicalism in Modern Britain: A History from the 1730s to
the 1980s. London: Hyman.
Dillenberger, John and Welch, Claude (1988). Protestant Christianity: Interpreted Through
its Development. New York: Macmillan.
18 alister e. mcgrath & darren c. marks
Forni, Guglielmo (1995). The Essence of Christianity: The Hermeneutical Question in the
Protestant and Modernist Debate (1897–1904). Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press.
Kegley, Charles W. (1965). Protestantism in Transition. New York: Harper.
McClendon, Muriel C., Ward, Joseph, and MacDonald, Michael (1999). Protestant Identities: Religion, Society, and Self-fashioning in Post-Reformation England. Stanford, CA:
Stanford University Press.
Martin, David (1990). Tongues of Fire: The Explosion of Protestantism in Latin America.
Oxford: Blackwell.
Rupp, George (1977). Culture-Protestantism: German Liberal Theology at the Turn of the
Twentieth Century. Missoula, MT: American Academy of Religion.
Stoll, David (1990). Is Latin America Turning Protestant? The Politics of Evangelical Growth.
Berkeley: University of California Press.
Tavard, George H. (1959). Holy Writ or Holy Church: The Crisis of the Protestant Reformation. London: Burns & Oates.
Tillich, Paul (1957). The Protestant Era. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Ward, W. R. (1992). The Protestant Evangelical Awakening. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press.
Welch, Claude (1985). Protestant Thought in the Nineteenth Century. New Haven, CT: Yale
University Press.
Specific Protestant traditions
lutheran
Braaten, Carl F. (1983). Principles of Lutheran Theology. Philadelphia: Fortress.
Burgess, Joseph A. (ed.) (1980). The Role of the Augsburg Confession: Catholic and Lutheran
Views. Philadelphia: Fortress.
Gassman, G. and Hendrix, S. (1999). Fortress Introduction to the Lutheran Confessions.
Philadelphia: Fortress.
Grane, Leif (1987). The Augsburg Confession: A Commentary, trans. J. Rasmussen.
Minneapolis: Augsburg.
Gritsch, Eric and Jenson, Robert (1972). Lutheranism. Philadelphia: Fortress.
Maurer, Wilhelm (1986). Historical Commentary on the Augsburg Confession, trans. H.
George Anderson. Philadelphia: Fortress.
Mildenberger, Friedrich (1983). Theologie der Lutherischen Bekenntnisschriften. Stuttgart:
Kohlhammer.
Tappert, Theodore G. (ed.) (1959). The Book of Concord: Confessions of the Evangelical
Lutheran Church. Philadelphia: Muhlenberg.
reformed theology
Cochrane, Arthur C. (ed.) (1966). Reformed Confessions of the 16th Century. London:
SCM.
Kendall, R. T. (1979). Calvin and Calvinism to 1649. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Niesel, William (1960). Das Evangelium und die Kirchen: Ein Lehrbuch der Symbolik.
Neukirchen: Kries Moers.
Rohls, Jan (1998). Reformed Confessions: From Zurich to Barmen, trans. J. Hoffmeyer.
Louisville, KY: John Knox Press.
Torrance, T. F. (1959). The School of Faith: Catechisms of the Reformed Church. Edinburgh:
T & T Clark.
protestantism: the problem of identity
19
presbyterian
Henderson, G. D. (ed.) (1960). The Scots Confession 1560. Edinburgh: St Andrew’s Press.
Hendry, George (1960). The Westminster Confession for Today. London: SCM.
Rogers, J. B. (1992). Presbyterian Creeds: A Guide to the Book of Confession. Louisville, KY:
John Knox Press.
congregationalist
Matthews, A. G. (ed.) (1959). The Savoy Declaration of Faith and Order 1658. London:
Independent Press.
Walker, Williston (1960). The Creeds and Platforms of Congregationalism. London: Harper
Collins.
baptist
George, Timothy (2001). Theologians of the Baptist Tradition. Nashville, TN: Broadman.
Lumpkin, William L. (1959). Baptist Confessions of Faith. Chicago: Judson Press.
anglican
Bicknell, E. J. (1955). A Theological Introduction to the Thirty-Nine Articles of the Church of
England. London: Longmans.
Evans, G. R. and Wright, J. R. (eds.) (1991). The Anglican Tradition: A Handbook of Sources.
London: SPCK.
O’Donovan, Oliver (1986). On the Thirty-Nine Articles: A Conversation with Tudor Christianity. Oxford: Paternoster.
Tyacke, Nicholas (2001). Aspects of English Protestantism c 1530–1700. Manchester, UK:
Manchester University Press.
methodist
Davies, R. and Rupp, G. (eds.) (1965). A History of the Methodist Church in Great Britain,
4 vols. London: Epsworth Press.
Halévy, Elie (1970). The Birth of Methodism in England, trans. B Semmel. Chicago:
Univesity of Chicago Press.
Hempton, David (1996). The Religion of the People: Methodism and Popular Religion
c 1750–1900. New York: Routledge.
anabaptist
Dyck, Cornelius J. (ed.) (1993). An Introduction to Mennonite History. Scottsdale, AZ:
Herald Press.
Harder, Leland (1985). The Sources of Swiss Anabaptism. Scottsdale, AZ: Herald Press.
Snyder, Arnold C (1995). Anabaptist History and Theology. Kitchener, Ontario: Pandora
Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
PART I
The Formation of Protestant
Identity: History and Ideology
European Protestantism
1 Protestantism in German Speaking Lands to the Present Day
2 Shapers of Protestantism: Martin Luther
3 Shapers of Protestantism: John Calvin
4 Shapers of Protestantism: F. D. E. Schleiermacher
5 Shapers of Protestantism: Karl Barth
6 English Protestantism to the Present Day
7 Scottish Protestantism to the Present Day
8 Welsh Protestantism to the Present Day
9 Irish Protestantism to the Present Day
10 Nordic Protestantism to the Present Day
11 Protestantism in the Netherlands to the Present Day
12 Protestantism in Eastern Europe to the Present Day
13 French Protestantism to the Present Day
14 Italian Protestantism to the Present Day
23
40
53
66
83
96
109
120
123
130
147
155
161
163
North American Protestantism
15 Protestantism in the United States of America to the Present Day
16 Shapers of Protestantism: Jonathan Edwards
17 Canadian Protestantism to the Present Day
165
181
189
Asia and Australasia
18 Indian Protestantism to the Present Day
19 South-East Asian Protestantism to the Present Day
20 Japanese Protestantism to the Present Day
21 Korean Protestantism to the Present Day
201
206
210
216
22
22 Chinese Protestantism to the Present Day
23 Protestantism in Australia, New Zealand and Oceania to the
Present Day
222
232
Africa
24 African Protestantism to the Present Day
239
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 1
Protestantism in German-speaking
Lands to the Present Day
Randall C. Zachman
The rise of Protestant theology in German-speaking lands took place by means
of an unprecedented turn of events within the Latin theological tradition. From
the earliest days of the Christian community, the assumption had been that what
one received from the authoritative bearers of the Christian faith, namely the
bishops, was both catholic and apostolic in nature, and was therefore unquestionably true and in harmony with the teaching of the prophets and apostles in
Scripture. Beginning with Martin Luther, however, that assumption was deeply
shaken by the claim that the teaching authorities of the Church, including university professors of theology as well as bishops and the Pope, were no longer
teaching the truth of God, but rather were teaching the lies of Satan. More
specifically, Luther claimed that there was a clear contradiction between the
teaching of Scripture and the teaching of the Roman Church. In such a situation, one could no longer take the teaching of the Church as the given foundation on the basis of which theological reflection would proceed, but one would
first have to test all of received tradition by the clear teaching of Scripture, in
order to hold fast what withstands the test, and to reject all the rest as lies and
deception. The result of such testing and critique would be to restore catholic and
apostolic teaching to the Church, after the bishops and teachers of Rome had
lost it. None of the Reformers wanted to be “Protestant” instead of “Catholic,”
as we tend to think today; rather, they wanted to be “Catholic” instead of
“Roman.” They radically criticized the teaching of the Roman Church in order
to discover anew the teaching of the Catholic Church, and to hand that teaching on to posterity.
However, once one accepts the claim that the tradition one receives is distorted by lies and deceptions, it is almost inevitable that the teaching that one
reforming theologian hands on as catholic and apostolic will be evaluated by
another reforming theologian as still being infected with the error and falsehood
of the previous Roman tradition. The reason for this would lie in the differing
24 randall c. zachman
criteria or authorities advanced by different German theologians by which to distinguish truth from falsehood, giving rise to different visions of true Christian
faith and life. The history of German Protestant theology is the story of the
endless and relentless criticism of received tradition, on the basis of differing and
often mutually exclusive sources of authority, in order to restore the true apostolic teaching and faith in a church that had fallen into error.
As we will see below, the story of Protestant theology goes through several
distinct phases of development. The first phase is the attempt to recover the
genuinely catholic teaching of the church by means of the radical criticism
of all received tradition by means of the Word of God in Scripture. This period
culminates in the confessional divisions between the Lutheran, Reformed, and
Anabaptist traditions, and the development of confessional orthodoxy in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The second period, located in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries, is marked by the criticism of confessional orthodoxy,
either by means of genuine and living faith in the heart, versus false faith created
by assenting to true ideas; or by means of the criticism of all alleged revelation
by means of the universal and necessary truths of reason. The third period,
beginning at the end of the eighteenth century, responded to the rational and
historical criticism of Christian revelation by seeking to interpret Christian
symbols by means of their proper referent in the human person, be that practical reason, speculative reason, or immediate feeling. The fourth phase, at the
dawn of the twentieth century, finds these interpretations of Christian symbols
to be deficient, and seeks to reconnect contemporary theology with the theology
of the Reformers by means of a critically revised understanding of the Word and
work of God in Christ.
The Criticism of Tradition by the Word of God
According to Martin Luther (1483–1546), the Roman Church had taken the
Catholic Church captive by replacing the gospel of Christ with the law invented
by human reason. Luther claimed that reason could only see God as a righteous
Judge who gives the Law, so that we might be able to remove the sense of sin
from the conscience by doing works of the Law. By following reason, the Roman
Church urged those plagued by the sense of sin in their conscience to do works
commanded by the Church until the sense of sin disappeared. However, according to Luther’s interpretation of the apostolic teaching of Paul, the Law is powerless to remove sin, as God gave it with the sole purpose of revealing sin, in order
to humble us and remove all self-righteousness. Only Christ, true God and true
human, has the power to remove sin, by taking our sin into his body and giving
us his righteousness in its place. Christ is offered to us in the gospel to be received
by faith, not by our works. The true apostolic church should teach the gospel of
Christ alone, both in preaching and in the sacraments of baptism and the Lord’s
protestantism in german-speaking lands 25
Supper (as well as in private confession), so that terrified consciences might be
freed from the curse of the Law and set at peace.
Luther’s colleague at the University of Wittenberg, Andreas Bodenstein von
Karlstadt (1480–1541), agreed with Luther that the Roman Church had taken
the Christian church captive, but he thought that Luther had not gone far
enough in his restoration of the apostolic faith, and intensified his criticism of
the direction of Luther’s reforms from 1522 onward. Karlstadt was deeply troubled by the worship of images in the Roman Church, and thought that they
should be removed from all places of worship. The veneration of the sacrament
as the body and blood of the eternal Son of God also dismayed Karlstadt.
Karlstadt claimed that Christ was pointing the faithful not to the bread and wine,
but to his death on the cross for their redemption, which they were to remember with fervent devotion and love. Karlstadt also thought that the presence
of theologians in the university made them proud of their learning and elitist
when compared to ordinary Christians; hence he left the university and sought
to learn from the members of his congregation in Orlamünde, in the trust that
all Christians are taught by God through the Holy Spirit.
Philip Melanchthon (1497–1560), Luther’s colleague at the University
of Wittenberg, defended university-based theology against Karlstadt’s criticisms
by insisting that the recovery of the gospel by Luther was essentially and necessarily linked to the recovery of letters by learned people in his day. According
to Melanchthon, the gospel could only flourish where the teaching of literature
and languages also flourished. Melanchthon thought that Christian teachers
had a great deal to learn from classical pagan teachers like Plato and especially
Aristotle about the right method and order of teaching, even if the content
of their teaching could come only from the Word of God. Melanchthon
developed his own method of teaching in his Loci Communes (Melancthon,
1988), which he edited several times during his life. Melanchthon was also very
interested in defending the catholicity of the teaching of Martin Luther, and
so in later editions of the Loci he took the topics to be covered in his book from
the consensus of the prophets, apostles, and Greek and Latin fathers of the
patristic period, so that he might be able to defend the doctrine of the Trinity
against those like Servetus who denied it could be found in Scripture. His attention to the Greek fathers in particular led him to teach after 1531 that there are
three causes of true faith in the believer: the Word, the Holy Spirit, and the assent
of free will.
Ulrich Zwingli (1484–1531) thought that Luther was right to place the Word
of God above all the teaching of the Roman Church, as the one true sign of apostolic teaching. However, for Zwingli, the Word of God was closely identified with
the freely given illumination of the Holy Spirit, as Christ had promised that all
believers would be taught by God, and not by human teachers. For Zwingli, the
problem with human teaching is not that it leads us to rely on works to free us
from sin, as Luther taught, but rather that it leads us to rely on creatures rather
than the Creator. According to Zwingli, only the Creator can freely reveal himself
26 randall c. zachman
to the pious by the Holy Spirit. The Creator is revealed to be the free, self-giving
source of all good things, who created us with the sole design of imparting
Godself to us. The spiritual nature of God makes impossible the representation
of God or Christ in images; hence Zwingli agreed with Karlstadt that images
should be removed. Once the Spirit reveals the self-giving goodness of the Creator
to us, the Spirit then dives deeply into our hearts and souls and reveals us to be
sinners in bondage to self-love, who contradict God by doing everything in reference to ourselves. Once we see the depth of our sin by the Spirit, we are terrified in our consciences, and flee for refuge to the goodness of the Creator we have
come to know. However, the justice of God now blocks our access to the Creator,
and will not allow sinners to have access to the mercy and goodness of God. At
this point, when the sinner is on the verge of despairing of all help, God sends
his Son to die for us, so that the justice of God might be satisfied (echoing
Anselm), and we might have access to God. The sending of the Son is the sole
pledge that God loves us, and the sole means by which God frees us from sin. The
sacraments of baptism and the Lord’s Supper signify the sending of the Son,
whom we have already come to know by the revelation of the Spirit, but they do
not pledge the love of God to us, nor do they bring the Holy Spirit.
Zwingli was first supported and then attacked by some of his closest followers,
especially Balthasar Hubmaier (1485–1528). Hubmaier agreed with Zwingli
that the sacraments do not convey grace or pledge God’s love to us; but from this
he drew the conclusion that the sacraments should not be administered to any
who had not first come to living faith by the Holy Spirit. Hence Hubmaier denied
that infant baptism was baptism at all, for according to the Word of God in
Scripture Jesus commanded that we should be taught and come to faith before
we are to be baptized. Moreover, the baptized devote themselves to following
Christ, and hence do not practice violence against each other any more, in contrast to the way Zwingli relied on the Zürich civil authorities to punish his opponents (including Hubmaier). Zwingli responded to Hubmaier by denying that
there was any necessary relationship between water baptism and the sending of
the Spirit. The Spirit may be given before, during, or after water baptism – the
two are utterly distinct events. Water baptism is given to infants because
baptism, like circumcision, is a sign of the covenant, and the children of believers are born into the new covenant just as Jews were born into the covenant
made with Abraham. This does not mean that water baptism removes original
sin, for Zwingli taught that only Christ removes the sin of Adam, as taught by
Paul in Romans 5 : 12 ff.
Though Zwingli appreciated Luther’s emphasis on the Word of God and faith
in Christ, he thought that Luther’s teaching on the Lord’s Supper was no better
than that of the papacy. Since Zwingli taught that sacraments are signs of the
sending of the Son to open access to God for sinners, he denied that the body
and blood of Christ are present under the appearance (Rome) or reality (Luther)
of the bread and wine of the Lord’s Supper. The body and blood of Christ cannot
be present in the Lord’s Supper, because Christ’s body is at the right hand of God
in heaven, and human bodies can only be in one place at one time. Moreover,
protestantism in german-speaking lands 27
Christ himself taught that the flesh profits nothing, including the flesh of Christ
were it to be eaten with the mouth. What profits our souls is our faith in the
sending of the Son to die for us, and not our eating of the body and blood of
Christ with our mouths. By insisting that the body and blood of Christ are truly
offered and eaten in the bread and wine of the Lord’s Supper, Luther according
to Zwingli was no better than Rome.
John Calvin (1509–64) was not himself a German-speaking theologian, but
his theology, available to German theologians through the Latin in which they
all wrote, had a decisive impact on the future direction of German Protestant
theology. Calvin sought to reunite the followers of Luther and Zwingli by means
of his teaching on the sacraments. Like Luther, Calvin taught that the sacraments are pledges of God’s grace to establish consciences in the promise of God,
and are used by God as instruments to convey God’s grace to us. The sacraments
are not naked signs, as Calvin thought Zwingli had taught, but truly offer what
they represent. However, like Zwingli, Calvin taught that the body of Christ is
in heaven, not in the sacrament, so that we are to feed on the body of Christ
by faith, not by eating with the mouth. Calvin sought to reunite Zürich and
Wittenberg by means of this teaching, especially by means of his friendship
with Bullinger and Melanchthon. Calvin succeeded in coming to an agreement
with Zürich, in the Zürich Consensus of 1551, but this agreement itself was
attacked by students of Melanchthon in Germany, and was never publicly
defended by Melanchthon himself, although Melanchthon and others were
suspected by some of being “crypto-Calvinists.” The attack by German theologians on the Zürich Consensus further widened the rift already created by Luther
and Zwingli, and set the stage for later developments within each theological trajectory.
Calvin is perhaps best known for his defense of the doctrine of election, especially once that doctrine had been attacked by the Genevan physician, Bolsec.
Calvin taught that every good thing offered to us by God in Christ through
preaching and the sacraments can only truly be received by the gift of the
Holy Spirit, which is freely given to the elect, and freely withheld from the reprobate, by the good pleasure of God. Bolsec attacked this teaching as making
God into a tyrant. Calvin once again sought support from his friends Bullinger
and Melanchthon, but in vain. Bullinger thought Calvin should only teach
election, and drop his insistence on reprobation. Melanchthon thought that
Calvin’s doctrine of election reintroduced Stoic necessity into Christian doctrine,
and undermined the confidence the faithful should have in the mercy of God
promised in the gospel. The Bolsec controversy convinced Calvin that the
doctrine of election should have confessional status, leading him to urge its
inclusion in the French Confession of 1559, which was later imitated by the
Belgic Confession.
The controversies over the person of Christ, the Lord’s Supper, and the doctrine of election set the Lutheran and Reformed traditions in a polemical relationship to one another, even as they were both polemically related to Rome and
the Anabaptists. The period following Luther, Melanchthon, and Calvin was
28 randall c. zachman
defined both by the theological method of Melanchthon and Calvin, as well as
by the confessions that were developed by each community in the latter half of
the sixteenth century. As noted above, Melanchthon had attempted to restore
catholic and apostolic teaching to the church by gathering together in an orderly
way the chief topics or loci of Christian doctrine, including by 1543 topics that
came from the Greek and Latin churches of the first five centuries, supported by
testimonies from the prophets, apostles, and Greek and Latin fathers. Calvin
adopted this method as his own in the Institutes from 1539 to the final edition
of 1559 (see Calvin, 1960), although he took his topics exclusively from the
prophets and apostles, and saw the conciliar decisions as interpretations of
Scripture, and not as topics in their own right. Calvin also engaged much more
directly in polemical disputation with his theological opponents, whereas
Melanchthon thought that the theologian should avoid such polemics and teach
the topics of theology in a clear and edifying way. Subsequent Lutheran and
Reformed theology developed along the lines laid down by both Melanchthon
and Calvin, with both sides combining both the orderly presentation of the chief
topics of Christian doctrine along with a polemical refutation of the teaching
of their opponents, supported by the testimony of Scripture and the fathers.
Melanchthon and Calvin had balanced this aspect of teaching with commentaries on complete books of Scripture; but the subsequent theological
tradition emphasized the doctrinal topics virtually to the exclusion of biblical
commentaries.
The summaries of topics were also guided by the confessional and catechetical literature that emerged by the end of the sixteenth century. The controversy
over the person of Christ and the Lord’s Supper made it necessary for the
Lutheran community to place the Augsburg Confession and its Apology in the
context of Luther’s theological refutation of the teaching of Zwingli, and not in
the context of Melanchthon’s own work, which his opponents thought verged
too closely on Calvin’s position. The Formula of Concord of 1577 was offered by
Lutheran theologians as being the definitive interpretation of the Augsburg Confession, along with the Large and Small Catechisms of Martin Luther. Luther’s
arguments against Zwingli – especially his insistence that the humanity of Christ
is everywhere that his divinity is by the unity of the person of Christ, and his
insistence that even unbelievers eat the body and blood of Christ with their
mouths in the Lord’s Supper – attained a confessional authority and status they
did not have in his lifetime. Calvin’s failure to unite Zürich and Wittenberg led
to the formation of an independent confessional tradition, aided in large part by
the decision of Frederick II to side with Calvin and Melanchthon in the ongoing
polemics over the Lord’s Supper at the University of Heidelberg. Both the Second
Helvetic Confession (1566) and the Heidelberg Catechism (1562) were adopted
by Frederick, and by subsequent Reformed theologians, as the major confessional texts guiding their summaries of theological topics, with both reflecting
the position of the Zürich Consensus regarding the presence of the humanity of
Christ in heaven and the spiritual, but not oral, eating of the body and blood of
Christ in the Lord’s Supper.
protestantism in german-speaking lands 29
The Criticism of Revealed Truths: Pietism and Rationalism
The increasing emphasis on the teaching and polemical defense of right doctrine
by the Lutheran and Reformed theological traditions led to two different kinds
of criticism in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, which attempted both
to free theology from unnecessary conflict and to free ordinary believers from
being dominated by prejudice and passion. The first of these movements, commonly called “Pietism,” took its impetus from the distinction made by Luther in
his Preface to Paul’s Epistle to the Romans between faith as an idea created by
the mind, and faith created in the heart by the work of God. Faith as a divine
work creates an entirely new person who lives a new life of love and service to
the neighbor, and who daily dies to the sins and passions that dominated their
former life. Faith as an idea created by the mind leads ordinary Christians to
believe that faith is essentially related to right doctrine, and to the polemical refutation of those who differ doctrinally. Faith as a divine work in the heart leads
us to love even those whom we know to differ from us doctrinally, in the hope
that we may be one in Christ and the Spirit even if we are not fully one in doctrine and confession.
Various strategies were created by which such living divine faith might be
both created and nurtured. Philipp Jakob Spener (1635–1705) echoed Luther
by turning to the Word of God as the source of all reform and renewal in the
church but, unlike Luther, Spener turned to the exhortative passages of Paul in
which Paul urges us to walk and live according to the Spirit and not the flesh,
and to be renewed in the inner person. Spener attempted to revive Luther’s
teaching of the priesthood of all believers, in the hope that if the whole community would both study and teach the Word of God, it would enkindle genuine
piety in their hearts. August Francke’s (1663–1727) experience taught him that
even the Word of God in Scripture was not enough to conquer the pride of
human reason in its own idea of faith. What is needed is genuine repentance
before God, including praying and weeping on our knees, so that God might
conquer our proud reason and enkindle faith in our hearts. Francke, like Spener,
was convinced that the preaching and testimony of one in whom God created
faith would act as a flame enkindling such faith in others, as one candle brings
light and heat to another.
Nicholas Ludwig, Count von Zinzendorf (1700–60), found all such methods
of creating or enkindling faith to border on the ridiculous, for they bind the
freedom of Christ to act when and where Christ wills. True faith is not created
by teaching or preaching the Word of God, nor by praying and weeping, nor by
the testimony or doctrine of others. True faith is only created when the Creator
and Savior of the world appears before the heart in his blood and wounds,
leading the heart to realize that it is in distress and has no Savior, while simultaneously giving the heart the certainty that the one who appears wounded and
bloody before it desires to save it, and will save it. Such a heart falls in love with
the one who appears before it, even without knowing his name; and this faith
30 randall c. zachman
in love is sufficient to save it, even if it never comes to know who the Savior is.
According to Zinzendorf, the whole language of the Christian community, from
the Lord’s Prayer to the doctrine of the Trinity, is nothing but the unfolding and
explication of this faith in the heart, and so it means nothing to the one who has
not first fallen in love with the suffering Creator and Savior.
The fracturing of evangelical Christianity into competing confessional camps,
all of whom appealed to the true meaning of Scripture and to true Christian faith
and piety, led others to abandon confidence in Scripture and emotionally
charged faith altogether, and to follow the lead of Descartes in seeking to discover all truth by the clear light of reason. Over against Luther and Francke, who
wanted Christians to humble their reason with the awareness of their sin to
make room for faith, John Locke (1632–1704) asked all Christians to use their
God-given reason to be able to distinguish between true and false claims of divine
revelation. Locke combined this rational test of revelation with a simplification
of the articles of faith. According to Locke, nothing could be made an article of
faith that was not found in the preaching of Jesus and the apostles in the Gospels
and Acts. Locke thereby introduced the distinction between the preaching of
Jesus and the preaching of Paul, which would remain with Protestant theology
to this day. According to Locke, there is only one article of saving faith, namely
faith in Jesus as the Messiah. Locke understood the Messiah to be a kind of
philosopher-king who teaches the law by authority, and who seeks to bring all
to obedience to God, even though their own incomplete obedience can only be
completed by faith in his perfect obedience. Such faith is rational, both because
the teaching of Jesus is the same as the natural law found in universal human
reason, and because the authority of Jesus is warranted by miracles that are
above, but not contrary to, reason, especially the miracle of his resurrection.
Locke sought in this way to free Christian teaching from the complexity of
dogma it had developed in the confessional and orthodox period, and to free it
from the emotional enthusiasm and subjectivism it was attaining under the
influence of the Pietists.
Hermann Samuel Reimarus (1694–1768) agreed with Locke that Scripture
should be read with the clear and critical eye of reason, but unlike Locke,
Reimarus did not think that such a reading of Scripture would lead one to conclude that faith in Jesus as the Messiah is rational. Reimarus understood
the Messiah not as the philosopher-king of Locke, but as the Davidic ruler of
the Hebrew Bible, who was to free the people of Israel from their earthly enemies
so that they could live at peace in the land promised to them by God. According
to Reimarus, both Jesus and his followers thought that he was such a Messiah,
and called on the Jews in Galilee and then in Judea and Jerusalem to have
faith in him as the Son of David who had come to rule his people, culminating
in his dramatic entrance into Jerusalem during Passover. However, Jesus did not
succeed in overthrowing the Jewish authorities in Jerusalem, and they quickly
had him put to death. Jesus lost all hope that he was the Messiah, crying out that
God had forsaken him. The disciples also initially lost their hope, but they
soon came up with a grand hoax to tell the people so as to save face and retain
protestantism in german-speaking lands 31
their support and authority. They invented the story that God had raised Jesus
from the dead, and that God had made him not the political ruler of the Jews,
but the spiritual Savior of both Jews and Gentiles. Reimarus was convinced that
reason could easily unmask the hoax of the resurrection, due to the presence
of innumerable contradictions between the alleged witnesses to the resurrection. Faith in Jesus as the Messianic King of the Jews is therefore falsified by
his death, and faith in Jesus as the Messianic Savior of Jews and Gentiles
is falsified by the self-contradictory nature of the historical accounts of the
resurrection.
Gotthold Lessing (1729–81) published the writings of Reimarus in order to
direct attention away from the historical verification of Christian revelation, so
that the proper task might be taken up, that of converting revealed truths into
rationally demonstrated truths. According to Lessing, there is a categorical difference between the necessary truths of reason, among which is the idea of God,
and the contingent truths of history. Because they are contingent, historical
events can never become the basis for changing the necessary truths of reason,
as in the familiar Christian claim that because God raised Christ from the dead
by the Spirit, we must now believe that God is three persons in one essence.
According to Lessing, God did not reveal truths so that we might seek to confirm
them historically – something that is impossible, as he thought Reimarus had
shown once and for all – but rather so that we might reflect on them in the
attempt to convert revealed truths into truths that can be demonstrated rationally. Such reflection has as its goal the moral transformation of the human race,
gradually ridding humanity of its selfishness so that it begins to practice virtue
first for the sake of temporal rewards (Moses), then for the sake of eternal
rewards (Jesus), until it finally reaches the eternal Gospel of practicing virtue for
the sake of virtue alone (Paul).
The Proper Interpretation of Christian Symbols
If Martin Luther created an unprecedented crisis in the Christian tradition by
pitting the Word of God in Scripture against the received tradition of the church,
Reimarus and Lessing created another unprecedented crisis by using a rational
reading of Scripture to undermine any attempt to verify Christian revelation historically. If Christian faith was to be verified, it could no longer be done by appealing to the truth of inspired Scripture, for Reimarus had shown that Scripture
itself was historically unreliable and self-contradictory; nor could it be done by
means of historical events like miracles, for Lessing had shown that the contingent truths of history can never become the proof of the necessary truths of
reason. The generation after Reimarus and Lessing basically offered three distinct ways by which the symbolic language of revelation could be both interpreted and verified; by appealing to practical reason and morality (Kant), by
appealing to speculative reason and knowledge (Hegel), or by appealing to the
32 randall c. zachman
immediate self-consciousness of God and the inwardly certain fact of redemption by Jesus (Schleiermacher).
Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) attempted to free both philosophy and theology from the error of thinking that God could be known, and that the idea of
God was the source of all true ideas, including the natural law. According to
Kant, all knowledge is oriented to what we can intuit with our senses, and is
rooted in the way our understanding orders our sense experience. Whatever
cannot be sensibly intuited cannot be known, and this includes God. However,
the elimination of God from the realm of pure reason was meant to point us to
the right locus for speaking about God, namely in practical reason. According
to Kant (1960), reason both gives itself the law, and represents to itself the
archetype of the person who completely follows the law, no matter how much
opposition that person faces. The law should be obeyed out of reverence for it,
which arises within practical reason when reason gives the law and the archetype to itself. However, reason cannot but wonder what the consequences of
such obedience will be, even if it cannot adopt such consequences as an incentive for obedience (for that would be self-serving). The term “God,” properly
understood, has to do with the one who alone can bring our obedience into correspondence with the causal order of nature, which would result in happiness.
All language about God, both in Scripture and in tradition, has its true meaning
in practical reason, and is rightly understood only when it is referred to practical reason. Thus the Pauline and Augustinian doctrine that “all have fallen in
Adam” is properly understood to describe the way each and every one of us experiences the perversion of freedom by freedom itself, giving rise to radical evil
within the ground of freedom that cannot be expunged by our own efforts. The
“sending of the Son to redeem us” properly refers to the mysterious way that
reason, even in the midst of radical evil, nonetheless represents to itself the
archetype of the person well pleasing to God, who obeys the law for the sake of
the law over against all other incentives, leading us to “practical faith” in the
Son of God, by means of which we attain the confidence that we can free ourselves from radical evil because we ought to do so.
G. W. F. Hegel (1770–1831) agreed with Kant that the symbols of Scripture
and tradition needed to be interpreted and verified in light of reason, but he disagreed with Kant’s claim that God could not be known. Hegel thought that such
a claim revealed the deficiency of an old way of construing the truth by means
of identity predication, that is, A is A and not non-A. Thus, for Kant, God is infinite, supersensible, and numinous, and hence cannot be known. For Hegel, this
is not the living God, but rather a dead god. According to Hegel, the truth is not
the static isolation of self-identity, so that one is what one is and cannot be anything else. Rather, truth is the dynamic movement wherein A posits itself as notA in order to overcome the antithesis and return to itself as A. This truth is first
revealed in history in the symbolic language of Scripture and the church, especially in the doctrine of the Trinity. The doctrine of the Trinity claims that God
created all things through the Word in the unity of the Spirit, and that God
reconciled the world to Godself by sending the Son to die on the Cross, and by
protestantism in german-speaking lands 33
raising the Son from death by the Spirit, in order to unite the world to God by
the bestowal of the Spirit. Faith recognizes the truth of these claims without
being able to conceptualize this truth; but after Reimarus only philosophy can
verify the truth of these symbols, by means of the concept of “spirit.” Spirit is
that which posits itself as its opposite in order to return to itself as itself. Infinite
spirit posits itself as finite spirit, living spirit posits itself in death, in order to
return to itself through finitude and death as infinite spirit. Spirit does not avoid
death, but rather posits itself in death, in order to pass through death to return
to itself as spirit. Spirit does not avoid all opposition and estrangement in static
self-identity, but rather posits itself as its opposite in estrangement from itself
(symbolized in the Church’s teaching of the fall of Adam into sin and death), in
order to reconcile itself with itself by overcoming the opposition in itself (symbolized in the Church’s teaching of reconciliation by means of the death and
resurrection of Christ).
Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768–1834) agreed with Kant and Hegel that the
symbolic language of Scripture and the church needed to be interpreted in light
of its proper referent, but he rejected the way both of them made such interpretation the task of philosophy, and not of ecclesial theology. According to
Schleiermacher (1989), the presence of religious communities does not express
an irrational deception from which reason can now free us, nor does it represent
a more primitive level of the truth now attained by philosophy. Rather, religious
communities are essential to the development of the human race, precisely as
religious communities. Hence there must be something essential to all human
persons that can only come to expression and fruition by means of such religious communities. According to Schleiermacher, the form of consciousness
that leads us to join religious communities cannot be a form of knowing, for that
would lead to Hegel; nor can it be a form of doing, for that would lead to Kant.
Hence, it must be a form of feeling, understood in terms of an immediate selfconsciousness of being absolutely dependent. Moreover, people are drawn to the
Christian community by their experience within that community of themselves
as sinners in need of redemption, and of Christ as the one who will bring this
need to an end. Such faith could never tolerate the idea that the historical person
of Jesus the Redeemer could be replaced by practical faith in the archetype
of reason or by the concept of spirit. Hence one must ask what must be true
about Christ in order for him to be the one irreducible cause of this experience
in all who join the Christian community, from the earliest disciples to today.
Schleiermacher concluded that Jesus must have been the one person in history
who did not need redemption, and who therefore had an absolutely potent
God-consciousness that combined sinlessly with all moments of his conscious
life. Christ is the sinless archetype, but within history, not within reason, according to Schleiermacher, and his influence within history, by the mediation of the
Christian community, brings about our experience of needing redemption and
of Christ as the one who will bring such a need to an end.
The solutions proposed by Hegel and Schleiermacher were themselves
radically critiqued by their students. David Friedrich Strauss (1808–74) was a
34 randall c. zachman
student of both Hegel and Schleiermacher. Strauss appreciated Schleiermacher’s
desire to describe Christian faith both scientifically and ecclesially, but he
thought that his attempt to combine both radical criticism and genuine piety did
not go far enough to meet the challenges posed to Christian faith by historical
criticism. According to Strauss, the claim that Jesus alone is the sinless archetype of the God-consciousness is no less supernatural or miraculous than is the
traditional claim that Christ is divine and human in one person. The ascription
of divinity or unsurpassable perfection to Jesus comes from the mythologizing
tendencies of oral traditions, according to Strauss. If a higher level of consciousness does emerge in history, it must emerge socially, and not in one unsurpassable individual.
Ludwig Feuerbach (1804–72) was a student of Hegel’s, but he was equally
critical of Hegel and Schleiermacher. According to Feuerbach (1989), Hegel was
correct in seeing the doctrine of the Trinity as the central religious symbol
embodying the truth of all religiousness. However, for Feuerbach, all religious
symbols are really projections of particular human needs into the sphere of the
“divine,” to which we then turn to bestow these needs upon us. The basic human
need for all people is the need to love and be loved by other people in a genuine
I–Thou relationship. The Christian tradition succeeds in projecting the essential
human need into “God” in the symbol of the Trinity, which itself is seen as the
I–Thou relation between the Father and the Son in the Spirit. Feuerbach thought
that the social world of his day was now ready to begin exercising that love in
the human community, thereby eliminating the need to keep projecting it into
divinity. When we are speaking about “God,” we are really speaking about our
need to love and be loved by others in society.
Karl Marx (1818–83) agreed with Feuerbach that language about God is
really language about human social relations, but he thought that Feuerbach’s
emphasis on the I–Thou relation focused thinking too much on bourgeois ideas
of romantic love, for which the workers of the world had no time. Marx thought
that the essential estrangement of his time lay not in the lack of I–Thou relations, but in the way the workers did not own the means of production in which
they labored. To be human is not to love, as Feuerbach thought, but to produce,
and the goal of history will not be attained until workers themselves own and
control the means of production, which are currently owned and controlled by
the capitalists.
Strauss, Feuerbach, and Marx seriously challenged the interpretations of
Christian faith proposed by Hegel and Schleiermacher. One now had to show
that symbols of God really did refer to something other than a projection of
human need, and that symbols of the unsurpassability of Christ were not projections of the attainments of social groups to a higher level of consciousness in
history, or the ideology of the bourgeoisie. Albrecht Ritschl (1822–89) returned
to the religious philosophy of Immanuel Kant, and to the biblical picture of
Christ, in order to answer the criticisms of Strauss and Feuerbach, and to set
Christian faith on its proper biblical and confessional foundation. Ritschl agreed
with Kant that God is the Moral Creator and Ruler of the world, who alone can
protestantism in german-speaking lands 35
unite the moral and natural goals of the world in Blessedness. Ritschl went
beyond Kant by seeing this view of God as being both theoretical as well as practical, giving rise to spiritual as well as moral values, to which all religious language refers. The revelation of God in Christ is of a Loving Will whose personal
end is also the end of the human race, that is, Blessedness in the Kingdom of
God. Christ is the unique revelation of God, as his personal end completely coincides with God’s personal end. Faith in Christ satisfies the need of humanity to
see the individual as of more worth than the whole of nature, while also summoning the faithful to the task of creating the Kingdom of God in a community
of universal love. Faith in God avoids Feuerbach’s criticism because it is always
linked with the moral duty to love others, therefore avoiding the selfishness of
meeting our own needs. Faith in Christ avoids the criticisms of Strauss because
such faith is not verified historically, but rather ethically and religiously, by
Christ’s dedication to the Kingdom and his freedom from the world even in the
midst of suffering.
The portrayal of the Kingdom of God proposed by Ritschl, which was pivotal
to his understanding of God and Christ, faced its most serious challenge from a
member of his own school. Johannes Weiss (1863–1914) returned to the
problem first posed so effectively by Reimarus: namely, what would Jews of the
Second Temple period have understood Jesus to mean when he proclaimed
the coming of the Kingdom of God? According to Weiss, Jesus did not speak of
the Kingdom as a political reality, as Reimarus had argued, but rather drew on
contemporary Jewish eschatological and apocalyptic thinking in his preaching.
Weiss argued that the Kingdom of God was not the moral task of a universal
community of love described by Ritschl, but was rather the supernatural work
of God alone, bringing to end the old world and creating a new heaven and a
new earth. Such a Kingdom could not be harmonized with any human project,
either political or moral; it could only be the work of God, beyond any human
control, coming from the future into the present.
At the same time that Weiss was having an impact on the school of
Schleiermacher and Ritschl, German theology was at last coming to grips with
the criticism of Hegel and Schleiermacher found in the relentlessly dialectical
theology of Søren Kierkegaard (1813–55). Kierkegaard agreed with
Schleiermacher over against Hegel that Christ was a singular individual who
could not be sublated into a concept of reason. However, he disagreed
with Schleiermacher’s description of the person of Christ. Christ was not the
archetype of perfect human piety whose influence magnetically draws human
beings into the Christian community. Rather, Christ is an individual human
being who claims to be God. Over against Hegel, Kierkegaard insisted that
mature human reason recognize that there is an infinite qualitative distinction
between God and the world, a distinction that can never be sublated by the
dialectics of reason. For an individual to claim to be God brings human reason
to the possibility that it may be offended by the unresolvable paradox of the
claim. The possibility of offense is intensified by the kind of individual Jesus is
portrayed to be in the sacred history of the Gospels (especially Matthew and
36 randall c. zachman
John), which Kierkegaard, like Locke and Reimarus, distinguished from the
teaching of Paul. Jesus comes with the offer to give us rest in his own person,
yet those who accept his offer of help are made to suffer simply because they let
themselves be helped by him. He claims to be divine compassion itself, yet both
he and those who follow him are made to be a sacrifice in this life, with no discernable benefit in return. Jesus’ claim to be the saving God, combined with his
call to suffer voluntarily for the sake of his Name and to be made a sacrifice by
the love of God, brings human reason and understanding to a standstill, making
it necessary for us to decide: will we be offended, or will we believe? Kierkegaard
thought that the Lutheran Church of his day had removed the possibility of faith
by removing the possibility of offense, by replacing the paradox of Jesus with a
human portrayal of sympathy, compassion, and success.
The influence of Kierkegaard was intensified by the revival of interest in the
theology of Martin Luther at the dawn of the twentieth century, provoked in
particular by the discovery and publication of Luther’s Lectures on Romans
(1515–16), which had never been published before. In this period of his career,
Luther argued that human beings are so perverted by self-love, so turned in on
themselves, that they pervert every good thing that God gives them by their selfishness. The gravity of self-love is so great that it would even pervert the grace
of God, if reason could detect the presence of such grace in the person. In order
to free us from the bondage of self-love, God hides the infusion of saving grace
under an appearance that completely contradicts it, namely the awareness of
sin, death, and wrath. When we are the objects of God’s love, we feel that we are
objects of God’s wrath; when we are justified by the gift of God’s grace, we feel
that we are being condemned as sinners. True love for God in this life manifests
itself in the candid confession that we are sinners deserving nothing but wrath
and hell, so that we consign and resign ourselves to hell, with Christ crucified,
out of love for God.
The Word and Work of God in the Modern World
Rudolph Bultmann (1884–1976) used the insights of Weiss, Kierkegaard, and
early Luther to return to a project first attempted by Schleiermacher, namely to
describe true Christian faith in a way that avoids unnecessary conflict with
science. Bultmann agreed with Weiss that Jesus expected the coming of a supernatural work of God that would radically end the old world in a cataclysmic judgment, and would create a new world in harmony with God. From Kierkegaard,
Bultmann adopted the insight that Jesus summons every individual of every
time and place to decision: will we be offended, or will we believe? In order for
such a decision to be made possible, the message of Jesus and his apostles must
be interpreted in such a way that it can address every individual here and now
with the summons to decision. From early Luther, as well as from his teacher
Wilhelm Herrmann (1846–1922), Bultmann arrived at a description of faith
protestantism in german-speaking lands
37
that opposed faith to all worldly security. Faith believes in the love of God despite
what we see and feel, and this “in spite of ” is never resolved in this life. Bultmann
clarified his thinking of the “in spite of ” by means of his reading of early
Heidegger, for whom authentic existence is to be open to the future in every free
decision between the past and the future, in spite of the inevitable approach of
death and nothingness. For Bultmann, the message of the gospel does not inform
us in a mythological way of what God has done in the past to secure our existence in this world and the next; rather, the gospel summons us to the decision
to be crucified with Christ, to let go of all worldly security, to find our hope
only in the future coming of God in love, in spite of the appearance of death and
nothingness.
Karl Barth (1886–1968) was a fellow student of Wilhelm Herrmann, but
unlike Bultmann he saw both Schleiermacher and Bultmann as leading Protestant theology into a dead end. Barth became convinced that all attempts to
describe Christian faith as the fulfillment of universal human nature fall subject
to Feuerbach’s criticism of all human religiousness. The truth of Christian faith
could not be found in the nature of humanity, but rather in the nature of God,
echoing Anselm’s method of doing theology. However, unlike Anselm, Barth
(1957–75) denied that human reason has any idea of the true nature of God.
All rational ideas of God – especially of God’s power and freedom – which are
seen to be absolute and arbitrary are really projections of human pride, which
seeks such power and freedom for itself. With Kierkegaard, Barth insisted that
the self-revelation of God in Christ contradicts all human ideas of God; but with
Hegel, Barth thought that it was possible, indeed necessary, to come to know the
true nature of God by beginning with the death of Jesus Christ. Barth thought
that he could escape imposing rational necessity on the work of God, as Hegel
had done, by placing the death of Christ in the context of God’s free election, and
of God’s gracious covenant with Israel. According to Barth, the only way that
the identification of Jesus both with God and with sinful Israel can avoid being
a contradiction in the being of God is if we understand God to be the One who
loves in freedom. God elects to take upon himself, in the person of the Son, the
future that humanity had elected for itself in Israel – a future of suffering, death,
and annihilation by the wrathful love of God – in order to give to humanity the
future God elects to give to us, eternal life with God. Our reconciliation with God
is not due to our own free decision to believe or be offended, as with Kierkegaard
and Bultmann, but with God’s free decision to make our own lost plight God’s
own. A God who is the Whence of the feeling of absolute dependence could not
act in this way, according to Barth, but only the God who loves in freedom and
is free in his love.
The history of Protestant theology is the story of the relentless criticism of
tradition in the hope of restoring genuinely catholic and apostolic teaching, in
order to restore and renew the church. Its greatest promise, as we have repeatedly seen, is also its greatest peril, as each theologian’s proposal for the restoration of true apostolic and catholic teaching is itself radically criticized by those
who follow him.
38 randall c. zachman
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Schleiermacher, Friedrich (1989). The Christian Faith, ed. H. R. Mackintosh and J. S.
Stewart. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Further Reading
Book of Confessions (1999). Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press.
Bultmann, Rudolph (1958). Jesus Christ and Mythology. New York: Charles Scribner’s
Sons.
Erb, Peter C. (ed.) (1983). Pietists: Selected Writings (1983). New York: Paulist Press.
Hegel, G. W. F. (1988). Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion, 1827, ed. Peter C. Hodgson.
Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.
Hubmaier, Balthasar (1989). Balthasar Hubmaier, Theologian of Anabaptism, trans. and ed.
H. Wayne Pipkin and John H. Yoder. Scottsdale, PA: Herald Press.
Karlstadt, Andreas Bodenstein von (1978). Karlstadt’s Battle with Luther, ed. Ronald
J. Sider. Philadelphia: Fortress Press.
Karlstadt, Andreas Bodenstein von (1995). The Essential Karlstadt: Fifteen Tracts, trans.
and ed. E. J. Furcha. Scottsdale, PA: Herald Press.
Kierkegaard, Søren (1991). Practice in Christianity, ed. Howard and Edna Hong.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Robert Kolb and Timothy Wengert (eds.) (2000). The Book of Concord: The Confessions of
the Evangelical Lutheran Church, trans. James Schaffer. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.
Lessing, Gotthold (1956). Lessing’s Theological Writings, ed. and trans. Henry Chadwick.
Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
Locke, John (1958). The Reasonableness of Christianity, ed. I. T. Ramsey. Stanford, CA:
Stanford University Press.
Luther, Martin (1955–86). Luther’s Works [LW], American edn., Jaroslov Pelikan and
Helmut T. Lehmann (eds.), 55 volumes. St. Louis and Minneapolis: Concordia and
Fortress.
Luther, Martin (1957). The Freedom of the Christian, LW 31.
Luther, Martin (1959). The Babylonian Captivity of the Christian Church, LW 36.
Luther, Martin (1963). Lectures on Galatians, 1535, LW 26–27.
Luther, Martin (1972). Lectures on Romans, 1515–1516, LW 25.
Marx, Karl (1998). The German Ideology, Including Thesis on Feuerbach. Amherst, NY:
Prometheus Books.
Reimarus, Hermann Samuel (1985). Fragments, ed. Charles H. Talbert, trans. Ralph S.
Fraser. Chico, CA: Scholars Press.
protestantism in german-speaking lands 39
Ritschl, Albrecht (1902). The Christian Doctrine of Justification and Reconciliation, ed. and
trans. H. R. MacIntosh and A. B. MacAulay. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Strauss, David Friedrich (1977). The Christ of Faith and the Jesus of History: A Critique of
Schleiermacher’s The Life of Jesus, trans Leander Keck. Philadelphia: Fortress Press.
Zwingli, Ulrich (1981). Commentary on True and False Religion. Durham, NC: Labyrinth
Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 2
Shapers of Protestantism:
Martin Luther
Graham Tomlin
As the instigator of the Protestant Reformation through the events following his
famous protest about the abuse of indulgences in 1517, Martin Luther occupies
a pivotal role within Protestantism and has exercised a continuing, though not
unquestioned, authority within it. Born in 1483, in Eisleben, Germany, he
matriculated at the university of Erfurt in 1501. A dramatic experience in a
thunderstorm in 1505 led to entry into the monastery of the Augustinian Order
in Erfurt to begin life as a friar, an event which did not indicate a termination of
his study, merely a redirection into the pursuit of theology. Erfurt was increasingly becoming known as a stronghold of northern European humanism;
however, within the faculty of theology, the predominant type of theology and
philosophy which Luther learnt was the Ockhamist style associated with the via
moderna. He was ordained priest in 1507, and transferred formally to the new
university of Wittenberg in 1511 to become Professor in Biblical Studies, a post
he held until he died.
Luther’s Break from Late Medieval Theology
The nature and timing of Luther’s rejection of late medieval patterns of thought,
and his adoption of a new Reformation theology, are both contested and
complex. On one level, his shift can be seen as a new approach to a central
medieval theological question, concerning the correct preparation for receiving
God’s grace. His early theological writings reflect fairly faithfully the concerns
and perspectives of the via moderna, associated with William of Ockham and
Gabriel Biel, with its soteriological emphases on the pactum or covenant, whereby
God promises to reward those who do what is in them (quod in se est) with the
gift of infused grace. This grace will then enable works to be performed which
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are worthy of full (condign) merit and the gift of salvation. Over the years of
Luther’s early work on the Bible, as he worked through lectures in Wittenberg
on the Psalms and the book of Romans from 1513–16, he can be seen gradually to take leave of this position. In these writings an increasing focus is discernible, drawn both from popular piety and from monastic theologians such as
Bernard of Clairvaux, on the cross of Christ as the pattern of God’s work in
saving sinners. This led Luther to a perception that preparation for grace consists not in producing works which are rewarded by infused grace, but that God
himself works preparation for grace by leading the sinner to an awareness of his
or her own emptiness before God. Sinners can only prepare for grace by becoming passive, not active, in salvation, giving up the attempt to perform works
which merit salvation. As he pointed out in the famous ‘95 Theses on Indulgences’, it is suffering, and not works, that constitutes the proper preparation for
grace.
Another related aspect of the ‘Reformation breakthrough’ was a new understanding of the ‘righteousness of God’ (iustitia dei). Luther referred to this in a
later recollection, the famous ‘autobiographical fragment’ of 1545. As he pondered the scriptural use and meaning of the phrase, particularly its occurrence
in Romans 1.17, Luther turned from a view, common within systematic works
of theology at the time, of this as ‘active righteousness’, or God’s own righteousness by which he actively condemns sinners. Instead he began to understand it as ‘passive righteousness’, a righteousness which God works in sinners,
and which is received by faith. Hence God’s iustitia became for Luther not
demand but gift. Acceptance of sinners by God as truly righteous came at the
start of, and as the essential precondition for, the grateful living of Christian life,
rather than a goal to be achieved at the end of it. Christians were not partly righteous and partly sinful, with the Christian life as the slow process, to be completed
in purgatory, whereby such sin as remained could be removed, until final acceptance by God was achieved. Instead, Christians were, in Luther’s well-known
phrase, ‘at the same time righteous and sinful’: fully righteous by virtue of the
righteousness of Christ received by faith, despite and yet simultaneous with the
real presence of sin.
A third aspect of the formation of Luther’s distinctive theology was an
increased focus upon the Word of God, both as the object of faith, and the means
by which it is evoked. This comes into focus in Luther’s thought over the years
1517–20, beginning especially in his lectures on the book of Hebrews in 1517.
Here, the emphasis falls upon faith as ‘hearing the Word of God’. Faith is the
capacity to hear the promise of God and simply believe it. Faith therefore
includes both a positive and negative aspect. Positively, it lays hold of and clings
tightly to the Word of promise which offers forgiveness and grace; negatively, it
refuses to try to earn any kind of personal merit before God on the basis of which
a claim might be made for his favour. Faith resolves to take God at his word that
he justifies not the godly, but the ungodly (Romans 5.6). Faith therefore eschews
the attempt to impress God with works: it is by definition the opposite of ‘works’
– passive receptiveness of grace, not active co-operation with it. Alongside
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Luther’s developing understanding of the sacraments during this period, the
Word of God, which takes form in both preaching and sacraments, became for
him the actual presentation of grace, the means through which it was conveyed
to the sinner, a factor which became increasingly important and distinctive in
Luther’s theology.
A fourth aspect concerned the ‘external’ nature of the righteousness by
which Christians are justified. All previous versions of scholastic soteriology suggested to varying degrees that the granting of salvation required the actual and
gradual transformation of penitents from within, with the help of God’s grace,
so that they became meritoriously righteous within themselves, and it was on
the basis of this internal righteousness, once it was complete, that the gift of justification was bestowed. Luther, however, insisted that the righteousness which
justifies a Christian is not his or her own internal righteousness, but is instead
an external or strange righteousness (iustitia externa or aliena), the righteousness
of another, namely Christ. To be sure, the believer is subsequently transformed
by the power of grace and in the practice of good works, but this has nothing
to do with justification, which is achieved solely by the alien righteousness of
Christ. While all scholastics from Aquinas to Scotus to Biel held that salvation
was granted as a result of the performance of various kinds of meritorious works
(though all agreed that such works could only be performed with the help of
God’s grace), Luther broke from this system of merit altogether. Salvation did
not depend on the performance of meritorious works, even those performed with
the assistance of grace. In this he was followed by all subsequent Protestant
Reformers, including Melanchthon and Calvin, in holding that justification was
granted solely on the basis of the merits of Christ, imputed to the believer
through faith alone.
The ‘Reformation Breakthrough’ and the Split from Rome
Precisely when the Reformation ‘breakthrough’ took place (if indeed it can be
seen as a single event at all) is still hotly disputed, and it is hard to see any clear
agreement forthcoming on the question. The best that can be said is that over
the period between 1514 and 1520, Luther’s theology was transformed in a way
which includes a number of different but interlocking factors, and which led to
a decisive break from the theology and piety of his contemporaries, and eventually from the papal church itself.
However, more recent scholarship has tended to emphasize the continuities
between Luther’s theology and late-medieval belief and practice. Quite clearly
he was not conscious of rediscovering a gospel lost since New Testament times,
but instead reclaiming insights from patristic writers such as Augustine and
medievals such as Bernard of Clairvaux, which had been obscured by more
recent developments in scholastic theology. At the same time as marking a clean
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break from some aspects of late medieval theology, Luther must also be seen as
restoring some truly ‘catholic’ insights from the past, such as the priority of
grace, the rejection of semi-Pelagian notions of salvation, the sacramental
nature of God’s offering of himself to believers and the centrality of the cross to
Christian piety and theology.
This developing theology became controversial in rather accidental fashion
in 1517. In the summer of that year, Luther wrote 97 theses as a strong attack
on Gabriel Biel’s soteriology in particular, and scholastic theology in general.
Whether via antiqua, or via moderna, he felt it had become infected by the
same semi-Pelagian disease. These were followed by his more famous (but actually less radical) ‘95 Theses on Indulgences’. Indulgences were certificates issued
by the church which remitted punishments imposed as part of the penitential
system. More recently, indulgences had begun to be applied not only to the
church’s ‘temporal’ punishments, but to the punishments to be endured in
purgatory as well. They could even be applied to deceased relations who were
already believed to be suffering the torments of purgatory. An indulgence backed
by Archbishop Albrecht of Mainz, and being preached near Wittenberg by
the renowned indulgence-seller Johann Tetzel drew Luther’s fire – his basic
complaint was that these certificates offered a form of cheap grace, ‘false assurance’, and encouraged people to trust in letters of indulgence rather than God’s
mercy, worked in the life of a penitent through suffering. They encouraged
Christians to avoid the true and painful contrition which alone rendered the
sinner receptive to God’s grace.
Luther’s protest was eventually taken up by a series of papal representatives,
and interpreted as an attack both on clear conciliar teaching and papal authority, attacks which Luther seems not to have intended when the indulgence controversy began. Over this period from late 1517 to 1520, in dispute with able
papal theologians such as Cajetan, Prierias and Eck, the implications of Luther’s
theology of faith and the Word were slowly drawn out. The similarities between
his ideas and those of the executed Bohemian heretic Jan Hus were brought to
his attention, as was the clear water between his own teaching and that of recent
councils (especially the Council of Constance in 1415) and papal decretals. The
result was excommunication in January 1521, followed by an appearance before
the emperor Charles V at the Diet at Worms later the same year, after which
Luther was placed under the imperial ban, an edict which however was never
fully implemented in Luther’s lifetime.
The Reforming Programme
In a series of writings in 1520, Luther echoed humanist concerns by appealing
over the heads of the clergy to the German nobility to reform the church in their
territories, on the basis of the idea of universal priesthood. It was not ordina-
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tion, but baptism, which made priests in the church of God, a doctrine which
in Luther’s hands spoke not so much of the individual’s right to stand alone
before God without other human mediators, but rather of the communal nature
of the church, and the responsibility each baptized person had to act for the
benefit of other Christian brothers and sisters. On this basis, the nobility had
the full right and responsibility to introduce reform when the clergy were
unwilling to do so. Alongside this, he proposed radical changes to the sacramental system of the church, including the administration of the mass in
both kinds (both bread and wine given to the laity, not just bread as was the
custom), clerical marriage, the abolition of masses for the dead, and a virtual
removal of the role of the papacy in the administration of the church in
Germany. Universities were also to be reformed, eliminating both the study
of Aristotle, the foundational framework of all scholastic theology, as well as
the use of the ‘Sentences’ of Peter Lombard (a heavily annotated edited selection of earlier Christian writing), and their replacement with the study of the
Bible, biblical languages and Augustine. All these reforms were advanced on the
principle that everything in the church should be conducive to the hearing of
the Word and the proper response of faith. The Word, in both spoken and sacramental forms, needed to be placed at centre stage, and everything which
obscured or confused it had to be eradicated. At the same time, anything that
encouraged a trust in any form of works (such as pilgrimages, relics or indulgences) rather than the simple response of faith in that word of promise should
be discouraged.
For the next few years, Luther’s own position within the Reformation
movement was unrivalled, even during his post-Worms 11-month ‘exile’ in the
Wartburg castle near Eisenach. The Reformation made significant advances in
towns all over Germany and the reforms Luther proposed seemed destined to
spread rapidly across Germany. However, Luther’s own personal reputation took
a number of severe blows from the middle of the decade onwards, through three
separate, but related controversies.
Reformation Divisions
While Luther had been in the Wartburg in 1521–2, his erstwhile colleague
Andreas Karlstadt began to introduce reforms to the church in Wittenberg
similar to those Luther had envisaged, but involving a measure of anticlericalism and iconoclasm. On his return in March 1522, Luther insisted successfully that these reforms be turned back, until the reasons for the changes
had been fully understood by the people. Reluctant to replace catholic legalism
with a new evangelical form of the same thing, he insisted that such changes
must be freely chosen and not forced upon an unwilling and confused people.
Rightly or wrongly, this action won for Luther the reputation in some reforming
circles that he was unwilling to pay the inevitable price of reform, and was after
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all an unreconstructed conservative. In 1524–5, a grassroots movement of the
disenfranchised and disconnected ‘common man’ began to demand changes
both to the structure of society and the church, all in the name of Luther’s newly
rediscovered gospel. Fuelled by the radical teaching of figures such as Karlstadt
and the fiery Thomas Müntzer, the ‘peasants’ as they were known, not only
demanded such change, they began to organize, march and prepare for battle to
achieve it. While Luther was clearly sympathetic to their demands, he disagreed
intensely with their methods and came out strongly against this ‘insurrection’,
on the basis that the private Christian’s true weapons were prayer, confession
and suffering, not swords and clubs. Luther’s infamous advice to the nobles to
put down the rebellion with as much force as necessary, making no distinction
between those innocent or guilty of actual violence, distanced him from many
associated with this mass movement and strengthened the suspicion of many
that he did not have the courage of his own convictions. Just as the peasants
were being struck down in their thousands at the battle of Frankenhausen in
1525, Luther appeared to be siding with the aggressive and unjust nobility – his
decision to get married to an ex-nun during these same months did little to
enhance his standing either.
Around the same time, another major controversy erupted, which concerned
the question of the freedom of the will, and involved a falling-out with the Dutch
humanist, Erasmus. Early relations between the two had been respectful, even
supportive at times, but distant. Urged on by others, Erasmus wrote a thinly
veiled attack in 1524 on Luther’s doctrine of the will, entitled A Discourse Concerning Free Choice. Erasmus advocated a certain simple freedom for the human
will to choose to turn towards God or not, and stated his belief that further precision on such questions was impossible due to the lack of clarity of Scripture
on these points. For Luther, this position was untenable on two main counts.
First it reopened the door to uncertainty in the doctrine of salvation. If any part
of the transaction of salvation was dependent on human action or choice, it
introduced a subjectivity and hence an uncertainty, which robbed the sinner of
the joyful certainty of God’s grace and promise. Second, it undermined the
clarity of Scripture. Only if the promise of Scripture was clear and unequivocal
could it be trusted and hence bring security and peace. For Luther, Erasmus’s
casual assertion of Scripture’s opaqueness on such questions removed the
Christian’s hope and freedom.
The Reformation in Switzerland under Zwingli and Calvin always retained
a humanist character, partly due to the humanist training of these reformers.
Luther’s dispute with Erasmus, however, revealed deep ideological differences
between them which meant that, despite Melanchthon’s influence, the Lutheran
reformation was alienated from the main channels of humanist thought.
Luther seemed to have made an enemy of someone who might have been a
natural ally, isolating him even more from other reforming programmes within
the church.
From 1526 onwards, he found himself embroiled in further disputes, this
time with other reformers within the evangelical movement itself. These debates
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were to divide the Reformation movement even more profoundly, and centred on
the sacraments. Earlier, Luther had clashed with Karlstadt over the interpretation of the mass or Lord’s Supper, but now he faced stronger opposition from
Swiss theologians, particularly Ulrich Zwingli from Zürich, over the same issue.
While Luther had long abandoned the medieval doctrine of transubstantiation
as an unnecessary piece of speculative Aristotelian theory, he consistently held
to the idea of Real Presence, the notion that ‘in the Supper we eat and take to
ourselves Christ’s body truly and physically’. Zwingli however denied the real
bodily presence of Christ in the elements of bread and wine, insisting that the
Lord’s Supper was primarily a communal meal whereby Christians pledge their
allegiance both to Christ and one another.
A series of lengthy treatises and counter-treatises culminated in the ‘Marburg
Colloquy’ called by one of the most influential Protestant laymen, Philip
of Hesse, anxious to establish a common front against the growing menace of
imperial force which was threatening to implement more fully the Edict
of Worms. The colloquy brought together the main figures in the evangelical
movement at the time including Luther, his close Wittenberg colleague
Philip Melanchthon, Zwingli, Bucer, Oecolampadius and Osiander. The
debate was inconclusive. While agreement was acknowledged on a remarkably
wide range of theological issues, over the contentious issue of sacramental
presence, the parties agreed, reasonably amicably, to differ. Even so, it
became clear in time that both still felt the gospel was at stake. Luther
thought Zwingli’s refusal to recognize the embodied way in which God presents
himself to us in sacraments was an implicit denial of the incarnation,
and so jeopardized the reality of the gift of Christ to us. Zwingli thought
Luther’s insistence on the real bodily presence of Christ in the sacrament
encouraged a false trust in the elements themselves rather than in Christ,
and compromised God’s spiritual freedom to act as he chooses, independent of
physical forms.
The result was a split between two forms of Protestant theology and church
life which remains to this day. Lutheran and Reformed churches differ over a
number of issues, yet this understanding of the sacraments is the place where
their divisions come to the surface most acutely and visibly.
For the remainder of Luther’s career, he was based in Wittenberg. From a
distance in Coburg, he influenced the Diet of Augsburg in 1530 (he was still
under the imperial ban, hence not allowed to be present). Here, the Augsburg
Confession, largely drafted by Melanchthon, was presented as a declaration of
Lutheran theology before the imperial estates, yet without any success in finding
reconciliation with Catholic theology or polity. Luther spent many hours and
words working on the reformation of the church in Saxony, his home region,
and in a project which was always among the closest to his own concerns, the
translation of the Bible from the original languages into a colloquial and accessible German. This translation was to be a vital step in the creation of modern
High German, and remains Luther’s most enduring legacy to the German
church in the coming centuries.
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Themes in Luther’s Theology
Revelation
While Luther always said that it was the doctrine of justification, as discussed
above, by which the church stood or fell, a number of other structural themes
in his theology determine the distinctive nature of his thought. One key area is
his understanding of revelation. For Luther both salvation and revelation are in
‘Christ alone’ (the essence of this insight is expressed most fully in the Heidelberg
Disputation of 1518). As we have seen above, it is through the merits of Christ
alone, and not any merit of our own that justification comes. Christ is at the
same time the central point of God’s revelation to the world, and it is a grave
mistake to begin seeking for God anywhere else, whether in mystical experience,
speculation, good works or human reason. The way in which God dealt with
Christ (first crucifying and then raising him) is the same way he deals with Christians (first humbling them through the law, then justifying them through the
gospel). Salvation and revelation are therefore joined at the point of the crucified Christ – it is in Christ that God’s salvation occurs and the pattern of his dealings with humanity is revealed. However, Luther points out that this runs
counter to everything that human reason expects. Whereas reason expects the
justification of the godly through works, the gospel speaks of the justification of
sinners through faith alone. Reason expects God to be revealed in glory, strength
and power. The gospel says that he is revealed in the weakness of the cross. As
a result, while acknowledging the role of reason in the ordinary matters of life,
when it comes to our knowledge of God, Luther is deeply suspicious of the competence of human reason. This insistence that Christian theology must begin
with God’s revelation in Christ, and in particular in the crucified Christ, lies at
the foundation of many Protestant doctrines of revelation. Characteristically,
Protestant theology has favoured revealed as opposed to natural theology,
retaining a strong sense of the radical effects of the fall upon natural human
reason, and much of this suspicion can be traced back to Luther’s own understanding of revelation.
Scripture
Related to this, and another key area where Luther’s theological emphases have
left a lasting mark on Protestantism, is his doctrine of Scripture. Luther’s focus
on ‘Scripture alone’ as the final authority for Christian life and thought emerged
from two distinct but related aspects of his early development. We have already
noted his role as Professor of Holy Scripture at Wittenberg, and the vital role
played by his early lectures on the Psalms, Romans, Galatians and Hebrews in
the emerging shape of his theology. During the course of his controversy with
papal representatives such as Cajetan, Prierias and Eck, Luther appears to have
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been surprised by their failure to tackle him on the grounds he wanted to argue
– the teaching of the Bible. Instead, all he encountered was the repeated charge
that his ideas were opposed to both papal and conciliar teaching, and therefore
to be condemned. While he began the indulgence controversy with a somewhat
naïve expectation that Scripture, pope, councils and canon law would be seen to
be in agreement, these controversies soon drove a firm wedge between Luther’s
reading of Scripture and these other authorities. The failure of his opponents to
answer him with Scripture compelled him towards asserting the authority of
Scripture over against these other authorities, rather than complementary with
them.
The other force which shaped his emerging doctrine of Scripture was experiential. Luther’s experience of Christian life from early times, and subsequently
in the monastery, was marked by what he later called Anfechtung, the experience
of doubt and despair, especially focused on the question of whether God looked
on him with favour or condemnation. His theological development did not
banish these experiences, they simply gave him means of dealing with them.
Such experiences were particularly acute during the controversy with the
papacy, and the consequent need for reassurance which could be trusted. In
extremis, Luther found that a human word such as papal teaching, the pronouncement of a council or the word of eminent theological authorities could
not give him the solid ground he needed. Only a word from God in Scripture presented itself as an unyielding foundation on which he could stand firm while the
storms of conflict or conscience raged around him.
Eventually, Luther took his famous declaration at Worms before the emperor
Charles V, that he was ‘. . . bound by the Scriptures I have quoted and my
conscience is captive to the Word of God’. Luther’s stand on the authority of
Scripture as supreme and final when it comes into contradiction with other
church authority has bequeathed a seminal and determining legacy to later
Protestantism. One of the central and uncontested principles of Protestant
theology has been an adherence to the final authority of Scripture, and Luther’s
own history played a formative role in the establishment of that as one of the
abiding marks of later Protestantism. The question of the interpretation of Scripture is, of course, another matter. The debate with Zwingli over the Eucharist
showed the inability of Evangelicals who held in common the final authority of
Scripture always to agree on what it meant, or the central principles by which
it should be interpreted. However, this does not gainsay the vital role played by
Luther in establishing the central role of Scripture within Protestantism, and
the principle of the role of theology as exegesis – that theology is essentially a
response to the prior Word of God revealed in Christ and in the Scriptures, a
human word in response to God’s word.
Christology
Although Luther clearly played a pivotal role in the beginnings of the Reformation, and continued all his life to enjoy the reputation of the one who had insti-
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49
gated the break from Rome, from the mid-1520s onwards, there is a distinct
sense that the Reformation went its own way, and chose paths different from
Luther. This was true not only of such reformers as Zwingli, but also the more
radical groupings which sprang up on the fringes of the Reformation across
northern Europe. If Luther’s doctrines of Revelation and Scripture had a profound effect on subsequent Protestant theology, other areas of his thought
remain distinct from others in the evangelical movement, and served to identify
an emerging ‘Lutheran’ style of theology and church life (although of course
Luther himself always hated the use of such a term). One such area was Christology. Luther always held to a strongly ‘Alexandrian’ Christology; in other
words, holding that Christ’s divine and human natures were not separate entities co-existing within the same body, but a unified substance – a divine–human
nature. This preserved for Luther the notion that Jesus’s human life and nature
expressed perfectly the nature and heart of God. The incarnation, as God’s gift
of Christ to us, to be received by faith, is a true expression of the heart of God
as turned towards humanity in love and favour. It reveals once and for all the
innermost heart and will of God, not as the demanding judge, but as the generous giver. It is how we know what God is like. In addition this Christology profoundly affected his understanding of the way God communicates himself to
humankind. As we have seen, justification consists in the promise and gift of the
righteousness of Christ to sinners, received only by faith. Because Luther could
not conceive of any separation between Christ’s divine and human nature, this
gift could not be thought of as just a spiritual thing, but it had to take embodied
form, just as in the incarnation. Hence, Luther thought of God’s approach and
availability in very physical forms.
It is this Christological perspective that lies at the root of Luther’s insistence
on the real presence of Christ in the elements of bread and wine in the mass.
God’s word of promise, which comes in the form of both preaching and sacrament, does not just refer to the gift of Christ, it actually conveys what it promises.
It is no mere legal fiction, but effects a real union between the believer and Christ
at the most intimate level, in which the believer’s sin is exchanged with Christ’s
righteousness. If, as Luther insists, Christ is one human/divine nature, then it
cannot be that Christ is offered to us spiritually, while his physical presence or
flesh is elsewhere. Both belong together, and Christ and his benefits are offered
to us bodily in the sacrament, to be received in faith. In fact, Luther goes as far
as to say that ‘the Spirit cannot be with us except in material and physical things,
such as the Word, water and Christ’s body and in his saints on earth’.
This insistence on the embodied nature of the Spirit’s presence with us is a
mark of Luther’s and subsequent Lutheran theology that distinguishes it from
Reformed theology. The Christology of Zwingli, and to a lesser extent Calvin,
tended to take on a more ‘Antiochene’ form, making more of the distinction
between Christ’s divine and human natures, along with a more Platonic ontology, seeing the spiritual and physical as opposing qualities. Hence they tend to
view Christ’s presence in the Eucharist as either in some sense ‘spiritual’
(Calvin), or merely in the hearts of the believers (Zwingli). For Luther, this was
to compromise the heart of the gospel – it effectively denied that God actually
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gives us Christ as a gift. As Luther saw it, this position presented the Eucharist
as pointing to the grace and righteousness of Christ, but not actually giving it
to us. It indicated grace as something to be striven towards through an act of
remembrance (works again!) rather than something graciously presented and
received as gift.
Political theology
Another aspect of Luther’s theology that distinguished him from other contemporary and subsequent reformers, was in the area of political theology. The
Reformation, emerging as it did in a society in which church and secular authorities were inextricably entwined, had to engage with political reality and position itself over against various forms of secular authority. In particular, the
staunchly Catholic Duke George, sovereign of neighbouring Albertine Saxony,
banned the use of Luther’s German Bible in his territories. In his advice to his
own followers in those areas, Luther devised the theory of what became known
as the ‘Two Kingdoms’, to set limits to the authority of secular princes such as
Duke George. In an adaptation of Augustine’s theory of the two cities, Luther
depicted the world as divided into two kingdoms: the kingdom of God and the
kingdom of the world. In the former stand the ‘true believers who are in Christ
and under Christ’. These need no external law or compulsion to obey the will of
God, because they do so willingly from the heart, as a natural outworking of
grace. In the kingdom of the world, however, stand all the ‘unrighteous’ and
‘lawless’. These do need the coercive force of control, restraint and punishment
to make them obey the law. To rule over these two different kingdoms, God has
instituted two different forms of government. Those in the kingdom of God are
ruled solely by the Word of God, which both teaches and evokes obedience. Those
in the kingdom of the world cannot be ruled solely by the Word, but require the
force of the sword of secular government to enforce obedience and order, otherwise social chaos would ensue. It is secular government’s role to enforce the
law and punish the disobedient, not to meddle in the kingdom of God. Rulers
such as Duke George overstepped the legitimate range of their authority, trying
to interfere in matters pertaining to the ‘kingdom of God’ such as the Bible in
the vernacular.
Similarly, the argument was used to delineate the proper role of the clergy –
their role focused around the Word of God, in preaching and celebrating
the sacraments. Interference in secular political affairs, such as was common
among the prince-bishops, ecclesiastical estates and a politicized papacy,
was simply not their job – they too had overstepped the proper areas of their
activity. This was an argument primarily about religious toleration, insisting
that there were limits to both secular and ecclesiastical authority (hence the
title of Luther’s work of 1523 – On Secular Authority – To What Extent Should It
Be Obeyed?). As such it was reasonably successful. However, as a total political
theology it was less so. The theory led to some confusion, partly due to Luther’s
martin luther
51
own ambiguous use of terminology, and partly due to the impression it gave that
life was divided into two spheres, one secular and political, the other spiritual
and ecclesiastical, and that neither could really address the other. In fact, Luther
saw both governments equally as God’s means of ruling the world. He also saw
a valid and proper role for Christians in both, making a decisive break from the
implicit assumption of the superiority of the spiritual over the temporal in much
medieval Christianity. However, Luther’s tendency to confuse ‘secular’ with
‘worldly’ (the German word weltlich can mean both), and his interchangeable
use of ‘authority’ (Oberkeit) and ‘power’ (Gewalt) tended to imply that secular
government was inevitably oppressive and had little to do with God. The rest
of the Reformation, especially as it developed outside Germany, left Luther’s
two kingdoms theory on one side, with very different configurations of the
relationship between state and church emerging in Geneva, Zürich, Strasbourg
and England.
Luther’s Legacy
Since his death in 1546, Luther has continued to exert a powerful influence on
Protestant thought. While his sacramental and political ideas had less impact
on the wider Reformation, his articulation of the doctrine of justification by faith
as central to the gospel, the denial of human merit in justification, the move to
a vernacular liturgy and Scripture, and the placing of Scripture as the supreme
authority for the church were all stamped indelibly upon Protestant consciousness from his time onwards. Some aspects of his thought were not picked up in
the immediate history of the Reformation, but waited like seeds planted deep
underground, to emerge into the light much later. For example, Luther’s ‘theology of the cross’, the idea that the cross is the very heart of the revelation of
God, hidden in the suffering Christ, was virtually ignored by Luther’s own contemporaries, but was picked up in the twentieth century by theologians such as
Jürgen Moltmann, Eberhard Jüngel and Kazoh Kitamori, as a vital resource in
constructing a theology of God in a world of suffering after the Second World
War, or when facing the apparent absence of God in the post-Enlightenment
world.
Luther stands as a reminder of the distinctive and polemical nature of theology. His revolt against what he saw as the semi-Pelagianism of scholastic doctrines of salvation, his protest at the lack of accountability of the papal church
as well as its distance from the suffering Christ, all show the power of theology
to act not as a legitimization of ecclesiastical power, but a critique of it. Luther’s
theology was an attempt to recall the church to its true identity and its title
deeds. Hence it draws attention to the subversive and polemical nature of theology in enabling the church to be ecclesia semper reformanda, always in the
process of Reformation.
52 graham tomlin
Further Reading
Brecht, M. (1985). Martin Luther: His Road to Reformation 1483–1521. Philadelphia:
Fortress Press.
Brecht, M. (1990). Martin Luther: Shaping and Defining the Reformation 1521–1532.
Minneapolis: Fortress Press.
Brecht, M. (1999). Martin Luther: The Preservation of the Church 1532–1546.
Minneapolis: Fortress Press.
Ebeling, G. (1972). Luther: An Introduction to his Thought. London: Collins.
Lohse, B. (1999). Martin Luther’s Theology: Its Historical and Systematic Development.
Minneapolis: Fortress Press.
Oberman, H. A. (1989). Luther: Man Between God and the Devil. New Haven, CT: Yale
University Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 3
Shapers of Protestantism:
John Calvin
Alister E. McGrath
Although John Calvin (1509–64) was a French theologian working in the independent city of Geneva for much of his career, his impact on German-speaking
Protestantism – and far beyond – has been immense. Calvin was born on 10 July
1509 in the cathedral city of Noyon, north-east of Paris. He was the son of
Gérard Cauvin, who was in charge of the legal and financial business of the
chapter of the local cathedral. (‘Calvin’ is the Latinized form of the French name
‘Cauvin’.) At some point, possibly as early as 1521, Calvin left home to study
arts at the Collège de Montaigu, University of Paris. It appears that his father
intended him for an ecclesiastical career. This was rendered problematic when
Cauvin became caught up in a series of financial controversies with the cathedral chapter. Charges of misappropriation of funds, arising from missing
accounts, led to Cauvin’s excommunication in 1528, and the end of any hopes
his son might have had for an accelerated rise through the ecclesiastical ranks
due to powerful local patronage.
Calvin now found himself having to consider alternative careers, and was
directed by his father to study civil law, presumably with the aim of establishing
himself in a potentially lucrative practice. The University of Paris only offered
courses in canon law; Calvin accordingly moved to Orléans and Bourges, where
he studied civil law, encountering the ideas of French legal humanism, particularly those of Guillaume Budé, in doing so. Calvin would have come to know at
least something of Lutheran ideas during his time at Paris, when the university
was actively engaged in their suppression. However, during his time at Orléans
he encountered these ideas in a more sympathetic environment. It is thought
that his cousin, Robert Olivétan, and his Greek tutor, Melchior Wolmar, may
have helped him gain a deepened appreciation of Luther’s leading ideas.
The death of Calvin’s father in 1531 led to his return to Paris, and a growing
interest in classical studies. In 1532, Calvin published a commentary on
Seneca’s De clementia, which some scholars suggest contains at least the germs
54 alister e. mcgrath
of his reforming ideas, while nevertheless showing no obvious explicit commitment to an evangelical agenda. By the autumn of 1533, however, Calvin was
publicly declared to be an evangelical by the city authorities, who took exception to a sermon preached by the new rector of the University of Paris, Nicholas
Cop. A copy of this sermon exists in Calvin’s handwriting, and it is thought that
he may have authored the work himself. Calvin was obliged to flee Paris in some
haste, leaving his personal papers behind him. After a period of unsettled life,
involving sojourns in cities in France and Italy, he settled in the Swiss city of
Basle in 1535. By then, Basle had gained a reputation as a refuge for evangelicals, and Calvin clearly regarded it as a secure base from which he might consider his options for the future.
During his time in Basle, Calvin composed the Institutes of the Christian Religion. This work was occasioned by increasing hostility on the part of the French
government to evangelicals within France, on account of the affaire des placards
(October, 1534). The placing of evangelical posters in public places, including
royal palaces, led to the evangelical community being regarded with increasing
suspicion, and eventually discrimination. Calvin’s work (which included a
dedicatory epistle to the French king) was intended partly to demonstrate that
French evangelicals were orthodox Christians, and owed nothing to the more
radical ideas associated with the Anabaptists who had taken over the city of
Münster in 1534, causing consternation throughout the region. This work,
which was first published in Latin in March 1536, would go through many editions, culminating in the definitive edition of 1559.
In the summer of 1536, Calvin set off for Strasbourg, where he intended to
settle down to a life of scholarship. However, the somewhat circuitous route he
was obliged to take as a result of the Habsburg-Valois wars led him to spend a
night in the independent city of Geneva. Here he was recognized, and pressed
into the service of the Reformation in the city. Geneva had gained its independence from the neighbouring Duchy of Savoy in 1535, and had adopted the
general principles of the Protestant Reformation. However, it needed someone
to assist Pierre Viret and Guillaume Farel in consolidating its hold on the city,
not least in matters of theology and Christian education. Calvin was persuaded
to remain in the city, until the unpopularity of some of his reforms – such as the
imposition of a confession of faith on each individual resident of the city – led
to his being expelled from Geneva in April 1538.
Calvin now moved to Strasbourg, the original goal of his travelling in 1536.
Under the benevolent mentoring of Martin Bucer, Calvin was appointed pastor
to the French-speaking Protestant congregation of the city, allowing him to
enhance his previously somewhat limited experience of church leadership. He
also found time to work on the Institutes, producing both a French translation
of the Latin original, as well as an expanded second edition of the work. He also
composed a work of theological diplomacy – a Little Treatise of the Lord’s Supper,
designed to mediate between the somewhat entrenched positions associated
with Luther and Zwingli, which had become the subject of considerable debate
and acrimony.
john calvin
55
In 1541, a changed political situation in Geneva brought about Calvin’s recall
to the city. Although his original intention was to remain in the city for a mere
six months, he never left the city again until his death in 1564. During this
period, Calvin sought to consolidate the Reformation in Geneva, and to extend
and develop its theological foundations and political influence. Under his leadership, Calvinism quickly became an international movement. Missionaries
were sent out from Geneva into Calvin’s native France, achieving a significant
impact on French religion and culture. The coming of the Wars of Religion
in France can be seen as the direct outcome of the burgeoning influence of
Calvinism in his homeland. Yet this pattern of growing influence is by no means
limited to France; the rapid expansion of Calvinism in Germany, the Low
Countries and England demonstrates the growing influence of this international
movement on the shaping of Protestantism.
The phenomenon of the refugee and the place of refuge played no small part
in the propagation of Calvinism. Geneva was one of a number of European
centres (such as Frankfurt, Emden, and Strasbourg) which played host to Protestants who had been exiled from their homelands on account of their beliefs.
During their period of exile, such refugees often absorbed Calvin’s outlook, and,
upon their return to their native lands, proceeded to propagate Calvinism. While
French exiles were by far the most numerous, they were supplemented by others,
particularly the ‘Marian Exiles’ – the English Protestants seeking safety from the
persecutions launched by Mary Tudor. On returning to England after Mary’s
death, these individuals often went on to secure high office in both state and
church. Thus 12 of the 18 bishops appointed by Elizabeth I in the aftermath of
the mass resignations of 1559 had sought refuge in Europe during Mary’s reign;
most returned to England convinced Calvinists. Other countries, by receiving
Calvinist refugees, nourished centres of Calvinist activities which had the potential to extend their influence beyond their congregations.
So what are the main ways in which Calvin’s legacy has shaped Protestantism? A number of factors may be discerned.
Calvin’s Influence on the Shaping of Protestantism
The growing reputation of Geneva as a centre of Calvinism led to a substantial
number of future Protestant church leaders and theologians moving to the city
to secure the educational benefits it so liberally provided, or attempting to replicate them in their homelands. The beliefs and practices of Geneva thus came to
play an almost normative role in the development of Reformed thinking. As most
of the innovations introduced in Geneva are directly due to Calvin’s innovations,
his personal influence on the development of international Protestantism must
be regarded as immense. The main lines of that influence may be summarized
as follows.
56 alister e. mcgrath
Educational
In part, Geneva’s international reputation rested upon its academy, founded by
Calvin in 1559, with the eminent theologian Théodore de Bèze as its first rector.
Inaugurated on 5 June 1559, the academy embodied the model of theological
education favoured by Calvin, including immersion in biblical studies and languages, a sustained engagement with systematic theology, the mastering of
rhetoric as an essential prerequisite to effective preaching, and the fostering of
a critical yet appreciative attitude towards secular philosophy. Calvin placed theological education on a new and rigorous footing, which influenced Protestant
attitudes for at least 250 years, in both the old world and the new.
As Calvinism became an international movement, an increasing number of
European universities became favourably disposed towards the new religion, and
gradually came to overshadow the Genevan Academy. Thus the universities of
Leiden and Heidelberg rapidly gained an international reputation, and were supplemented by the new Calvinist academies located strategically at cities such as
Herborn in Hanau (the location of the celebrated Wechel presses). The Edict
of Nantes, which offered safety to Calvinists in certain specified regions, led to
the emergence of new and influential academies in Saumur and Sedan. The
foundation of Harvard College (1636) established the intellectual hegemony
of Calvinism in New England, ensuring the survival of the by then not so new
faith in the new world.
With the passing of its monopoly on clerical education, Geneva’s star
slipped from the ascendancy. Calvinist pastors found cosmopolitan institutions
at places such as Heidelberg, Saumur and Sedan more attractive than that of
Geneva, despite the powerful and evocative links with Calvin which still lingered
at that city. Yet these newer academies and universities nevertheless embodied
and modelled a practice of theological education which was clearly due to
Calvin. Although the influence of Genevan theological education diminished
over time, the broader impact of Calvin’s vision remained significant for many
generations.
The structures of the church
Calvin’s experience as a pastor in Strasbourg brought a new intellectual rigour
and practical wisdom to the issue of the organization of the church. The importance of church structures to the international development of Calvinism can
perhaps be appreciated best by comparing the very different situations within
which Lutheranism and Calvinism came to be established in Western Europe
and North America. Lutheranism generally advanced through the sympathy of
monarchs and princes, perhaps not totally unaware of the important ecclesiastical role alloted to them by Luther’s doctrine of the ‘Two Kingdoms’. Although
Calvin was aware of the potential of winning over monarchs to his ideas (his
particular ambition being to gain a sympathetic hearing within the French
john calvin 57
court), Calvinism generally had to survive and advance in distinctly hostile situations (such as France in the 1550s), in which both monarch and the existing
church establishment were opposed to its development. Under such conditions,
the very survival of Calvinist groups was dependent upon a strong and welldisciplined church, capable of surviving the hostility of its environment. The
more sophisticated Calvinist church structures proved capable of withstanding
considerably more difficult situations that their Lutheran equivalents, providing
Calvinism with a vital resource for gaining ground in what might at first sight
seem thoroughly unpromising political situations.
Calvin’s Ecclesiastical Ordinances of 1541 established as normative the distinctive fourfold ministry of pastors, teachers (or ‘doctors’), elders and deacons,
as well as two committees – the Company of Pastors and the Consistory. Whereas
Luther regarded the organization of the church as a matter of historical contingency, not requiring theological prescription, Calvin held that a definite
pattern of church government was prescribed by Scripture, and insisted that the
Reformed church should embody this fourfold ministry. The continuing influence of this understanding of the organization of the church remains powerful
in contemporary Presbyterianism, and continues to be reflected in other sections
of modern Protestantism, especially in Baptist communities.
The ‘Company of Pastors’ played a particularly important role in Calvin’s conception of the church. It provided the eight pastors within the city of Geneva,
and their colleagues in the rural area immediately around the city, with what
was, in effect, a corporate episcopacy, ensuring unity of doctrine and policy. The
Consistory, which included elders as well as pastors, acted as a court of ecclesiastical discipline. Although it rapidly fell into disrepute on account of the severity of some of its judgements, its very existence nevertheless affirmed the
legitimate place of the church in shaping the moral life of the civil community
– a theme which is repeatedly found in later Protestant accounts of the role of
the church.
The emphasis upon the Bible
As William Chillingworth once memorably argued, ‘The Bible is the religion of
Protestants’. This influential perception was given credence largely through the
influence of Calvin upon the intellectual habits of an emerging generation of
Protestants. Calvin made three decisive contributions towards the consolidation
of the place of the Bible within Protestant theology and spirituality.
1 The biblical commentary aimed to allow its readers to peruse and understand
the Bible, explaining difficult phrases, commenting on issues of translation,
identifying points of importance, and generally allowing its readers to
become familiar with the thrust and concerns of the biblical passage. Calvin
produced a series of biblical commentaries, dealing with virtually every book
of the Bible, aimed at a variety of readerships, both academic and lay.
58 alister e. mcgrath
2 The expository sermon aimed to fuse the horizons of the scriptural texts and
its hearers, applying the principles underlying the scriptural passage to the
situation of the audience. Calvin’s sermons at Geneva are a model of their
kind. In particular, Calvin developed the practice of lectio continua – the continuous preaching through a scriptural book, rather than on passages drawn
from a lectionary or chosen by the preacher. For example, during the period
between 20 March 1555 to 15 July 1556, Calvin is known to have preached
some two hundred sermons on Deuteronomy. The importance of preaching
to Calvin’s understanding of the Christian life can be appreciated by considering the architecture of St Peter’s Cathedral, Geneva, in which the pulpit
towers above the congregation, dominating the interior of the cathedral in
the way that the Bible should dominate the lives of believers.
3 Works of biblical theology, of which the supreme example is Calvin’s Institutes, aimed to allow their readers to gain an appreciation of the theological
coherence of scripture, by bringing together and synthesizing its statements
on matters of theological importance. By doing this, it enabled its readers
to establish a coherent and consistent worldview, which would undergird
their everyday lives. ‘My object in this work,’ wrote Calvin, ‘is to so prepare
and train students of sacred theology for the study of the word of God that
they might have an easy access into it, and be able to proceed in it without
hindrance’ (Opera Calvini, 1. 255). In other words, the book is intended to be
a guide to Scripture, functioning as an extended commentary to its often
intricate and complex depths of meaning. Its impact on the consolidation
of the Reformation was substantial. As the French historian Pierre Imbart
de La Tour once commented: ‘The first work of Calvin was a book – the
Institutes. The second was a city – Geneva. Book and city complement one
another. One is doctrine formulated; the other is doctrine applied.’ For
Calvin, scripture moulded doctrine, which in turned shaped the realities of
Christian life.
Calvin’s emphasis upon the importance of the Bible was taken up and developed by others. A small group of English exiles in Geneva in the late 1550s produced the Geneva Bible (1560), which combined a new English translation of
the biblical text with extensive marginal notes, in effect providing a continuous
theological commentary on the text of the Bible. This work rapidly became the
Bible of preference for English-speaking Protestants, and retained this status
until well into the seventeenth century, when the King James translation of
1611 gradually began to displace it, partly for political reasons.
Calvin’s theological influence on Protestantism
It is widely considered that Calvin’s greatest impact upon Protestantism lies in
his theology. This influence can be located at two distinct levels: the ideas which
Calvin develops, and the medium which he deployed in propagating them –
namely, the Institutes of the Christian Religion.
john calvin 59
In March 1536, the Basle printers Thomas Platter and Balthasar Lasius published the Institutio Christianae Religionis, usually known in English as the Institutes of the Christian Religion. The translation of the Latin title poses some
problems. The word Institutio immediately suggests a parallel with the Institutes
of Justinian, a foundational legal code of the classical period, familiar to Calvin
from his Orléans period. In terms of its structure or content, however, the
work bears little resemblance to a legal code. Erasmus employed the same
Latin word to mean ‘instruction’, or perhaps even ‘primer’ (for example, his
Institutio principis Christiani of 1516, which may have served as an inspiration
for Calvin’s title). The English word Institution conveys another of Calvin’s
concerns – to return to a more authentic form of Christianity than that encountered in the late medieval period. It is Christianity as originally instituted which
concerns Calvin, not as it was developed (or deformed, in Calvin’s view) in the
Middle Ages. In practice, most English translations choose to render the Latin
title as Institutes of the Christian Religion, despite the alternatives suggested by
the Latin original.
It is clear that the first edition of the work was modelled on Luther’s Lesser
Catechism of 1529. Both its structure and substance indicate the extent to which
Calvin has drawn upon this important educational work of the German Reformation. Its 516 small-format pages consist of six chapters, the first of which is
essentially an exposition of the Ten Commandments (or Decalogue), and the
second an exposition of the Apostle’s Creed. After expositions of ‘The Law’,
‘Faith’, ‘Prayer’ and ‘The sacraments’, Calvin includes two chapters of a more
polemical nature on ‘False sacraments’ and ‘The liberty of a Christian’.
The second expanded edition of the Institutes dates from Calvin’s Strasbourg
period. Published in Latin in 1539, the volume was now three times as long
as the first edition of 1536, with 17 chapters instead of six. Two opening
chapters now deal with the knowledge of God and the knowledge of human
nature. Additional material was added on the doctrine of the Trinity, the relation of the Old and New Testaments, penitence, justification by faith, the nature
and relation of providence and predestination, and the nature of the Christian
life. Although the work retained much material drawn from the earlier edition,
it is evident that its character and status had changed. It was no longer a catechism; it was well on the way to being a definitive statement of the nature of the
Christian faith, inviting comparison with the Summa Theologiae of Thomas
Aquinas.
As already noted, a French edition of the Institutes was published in 1541.
This is not actually a direct translation of the 1539 edition; there are several
points at which material from the 1536 edition, although altered in 1539, has
been included, in translation, in that of 1541. This has led to speculation that
Calvin may originally have intended to produce a French translation of the 1536
edition, and, abandoning this project, included material already translated into
the 1541 edition without the modifications introduced in 1539. The work shows
numerous minor alterations, all of which may be explained with reference to the
envisaged readership. Scholarly points likely to cause difficulty (for example, all
60 alister e. mcgrath
Greek words and references to Aristotle) are omitted, and additional material
likely to be familiar to the intended readership (for example, French proverbs and
idioms) are added.
A further Latin edition appeared in 1543, with a French translation in 1545.
Now expanded to 21 chapters, it included as its most significant addition
a major section on the doctrine of the church. Minor alterations include the
addition of two chapters on vows and human traditions, and the creation of a
separate chapter for the material relating to angels. The impact of experience
upon Calvin’s religious reflections is evident in this edition, particularly in the
discussion of the importance of ecclesiastical organization. Despite the obvious
merits of this edition, an inherent defect, already discernible in 1539, now
becomes transparently obvious: the work is poorly organized. New chapters
are added, without thought being given to the overall impact such addition has
upon the structure and organization of the work. Many chapters are impossibly
long, without any attempt to subdivide them into sections. The Latin edition of
1550, and the subsequent French translation of 1551, attempted to remedy this
deficiency by subdividing their 21 chapters into paragraphs. A few additions
may be noted, such as new sections dealing with biblical authority and human
conscience. The fundamental flaw remains, however: the edition of 1550, like
that of 1543, must be regarded as a remarkably poorly organized work.
Recognizing both the need for total revision and the limited time available in
which to achieve this (illness was a recurring feature of Calvin’s final years), the
reformer decided to recast the entire work. While a few additions are made, the
most significant change is the total reordering of the material, which virtually
restores unity to what had almost degenerated into a series of unrelated fragments. The material was now distributed among four ‘books’, arranged as
follows: the knowledge of God the creator; the knowledge of God the redeemer;
the manner of participation in the grace of Jesus Christ; the external means or
aids which God uses to bring us to Jesus Christ. The 21 chapters of 1551 are
now expanded to 80 chapters, each carefully subdivided for ease of reading, distributed over these four books.
It is possible that Calvin had adapted the quadripartite structure of the edition
of 1543 to create the new division of material; an alternative explanation,
however, is that he had noticed and adapted the fourfold division of material in
the Four Books of the Sentences of Peter Lombard, a seminal medieval theologian
to whom Calvin often refers. Is Calvin setting himself up as the Protestant successor to Peter Lombard, and his Institutes as the Protestant alternative to his
great theological textbook? We shall never know. What we do know is that the
Institutes rapidly became firmly established as the most influential theological
work of the Protestant Reformation, eclipsing in importance the rival works of
Luther, Melanchthon and Zwingli.
The remarkable success of the 1559 Institutes partly reflects its superb organization. Philip Melanchthon established the definitive pattern for Lutheran
works of systematic theology in 1521, through the publication of his ‘Commonplaces’ (Loci Communes). In its first edition, this work simply treated a
john calvin 61
number of subjects of obvious relevance to the Lutheran Reformation. Gradually, however, polemical and pedagogical considerations obliged Melanchthon to
expand the work considerably. Melanchthon met this challenge in a surprisingly
inadequate manner: he merely added additional material, regardless of the
impression of lack of a unified structure this created. It soon became evident
that this way of handling material was clumsy and disorganized, incapable of
achieving the systematic analysis needed for the theological debates of the late
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Calvin, however, bequeathed to his heirs
an intensely systematic and organized structure, which proved ideally suited not
merely to the needs of his own generation, but also for those of at least a century
to come. Lutheranism never really recovered from the false start given to it by
Melanchthon; the intellectual domination of Protestantism by theologians of
the Reformed tradition is partly due to both the substance and structure of
Calvin’s final edition of the Institutes.
Yet the importance of the theological ideas mediated by the Institutes
must not be overlooked. Calvin’s theology stamped itself decisively upon
the emerging mind of the Reformed church, totally displacing that of Zwingli,
which – with the exception of his sacramental ideas – rapidly became relegated
to the sidelines of theological debate. Limits on space prevent more than
two of the most distinctive ideas bequeathed by Calvin to his successors within
Protestantism being considered in what follows. The two topics chosen are to
be regarded as illustrative of Calvin’s approach, and indicative of the way
in which he has been of such influence on the shaping of the Protestant
theological mind.
Natural theology Calvin affirms that a general knowledge of God may be discerned throughout the creation – in humanity, in the natural order, and in the
historical process itself. Two main grounds of such knowledge are identified, one
subjective, the other objective. The first ground is a general ‘sense of divinity’ or
a ‘seed of religion’, implanted within every human being by God. God has
endowed human beings with some inbuilt sense or presentiment of the divine
existence. Something about or of God appears to have been engraved in the
hearts of every human being. Calvin identifies three consequences of this inbuilt
awareness of divinity: the universality of religion (which, if uninformed by the
Christian revelation, degenerates into idolatry); a troubled conscience; and a
servile fear of God. All of these, Calvin suggests, may serve as points of contact
for the Christian proclamation.
The second such ground lies in experience of and reflection upon the ordering of the world. The fact that God is creator, together with an appreciation of
his wisdom and justice, may be gained from an inspection of the created order,
culminating in humanity itself. ‘God has revealed himself in such a beautiful
and elegant construction of heaven and earth, showing and presenting himself
there every day, that human beings cannot open their eyes without having to
notice him’ (Institutes, I.v.1). Calvin makes no suggestion whatsoever that this
knowledge of God from the created order is peculiar to, or restricted to, Christ-
62 alister e. mcgrath
ian believers. Calvin insists that anyone, by intelligent and rational reflection
upon the created order, should be able to arrive at the idea of God. The created
order is a ‘theatre’ or ‘mirror’ for displaying the divine presence, nature and
attributes. Although God is invisible and incomprehensible, God chooses to
become known under the form of created and visible things by donning the
garment of creation.
Calvin thus commends the natural sciences (such as astronomy), on account
of their ability to illustrate further the wonderful ordering of creation, and the
divine wisdom which this indicates. This is widely seen as representing a historically significant incentive to the development of the natural sciences.
Calvin’s theological motivation for the study of nature is simple: this leads to an
enhanced appreciation of the glory and wisdom of God. This theme is developed
by Protestant confessional documents which have clearly been influenced by
Calvin at this point. Thus the Belgic Confession (1561), a Calvinist statement of
faith which exercised particular influence in the Lowlands (which would become
particularly noted for its botanists and physicists), declared that nature is ‘before
our eyes as a most beautiful book in which all created things, whether great or
small, are as letters showing the invisible things of God to us’ (Müller, 1903:
233).
Predestination One of the most distinctive themes of the Reformed tradition is
the emphasis placed upon predestination – the subject of a particularly vicious
dispute between Calvin and Jerome Bolsec in the 1550s. Although this doctrine
became of increasing importance in the writings of Calvin’s followers, such as
Théodore de Bèze, it is far from clear that it possesses this significance in Calvin’s
writings. Calvin defines predestination as ‘the eternal decree of God, by which
he determined what he wished to make of every person. For God does not create
everyone in the same condition, but ordains eternal life for some and eternal
damnation for others’ (Institutes, III, xxi, 5). Predestination is thus a doctrine
which should induce a sense of awe within us. The decretum horribile is not a
‘horrible decree’, as a crude translation of the Latin might suggest; rather it is
an ‘awe-inspiring’ or ‘terrifying’ decree.
Far from being arid and abstract theological speculation, Calvin’s analysis of
predestination begins from observable facts. Some do, and some do not, believe
the gospel. The primary function of the doctrine of predestination is to explain
why some individuals respond to the gospel, and others do not. It is an ex post
facto explanation of the particularity of human responses to grace. Calvin’s predestinarianism is to be regarded as a posteriori reflection upon the data of human
experience, interpreted in the light of Scripture, rather than something which is
deduced a priori on the basis of preconceived ideas concerning divine omnipotence. Belief in predestination is not an article of faith in its own right, but is the
final outcome of scripturally informed reflection on the effects of grace upon
individuals in the light of the enigmas of experience.
Experience indicates that God does not touch every human heart. Why not?
Is this due to some failure or omission on God’s part? In the light of Scripture,
john calvin 63
Calvin feels able to deny the possibility of any weakness or inadequacy on the
part of God or the gospel: the observable pattern of responses to the gospel
reflects a mystery by which some are predestined to respond to, and others to
reject, the promises of God. ‘Some have been allocated to eternal life, others to
eternal damnation’ (Institutes, III.xii.5).
This is no theological innovation. Calvin is not introducing a hitherto
unknown notion into the sphere of Christian theology. The late medieval
Augustinian school exemplified by such leading medieval theologians as Gregory
of Rimini and Hugolino of Orvieto had also taught a doctrine of absolute
double predestination, insisting that God allocates some to eternal life, others
to eternal condemnation, without any reference to their merits or demerits.
Their fate rested totally upon the will of God, rather than their individualities. It
is possible that Calvin has actively appropriated this aspect of late medieval
Augustinianism, according to which salvation lies outside the control of the
individual, who is powerless to alter the situation.
Calvin stresses that this selectivity is not in any way peculiar to the matter of
salvation. In every area of life, he argues, we are forced to reckon with the
mystery of the inexplicable. Why is it that some are more fortunate than others
in life? Why does one person possess intellectual gifts denied to another? Even
from the moment of birth, two infants may find themselves in totally different
circumstances through no fault of their own: one may find a full breast of milk
to suck and thus gain nourishment, while another might suffer malnutrition
through having to suck a breast that is nearly dry. For Calvin, predestination is
merely a further instance of a general mystery of human existence, in which
some are inexplicably favoured with material or intellectual gifts which are
denied to others. It raises no difficulties which are not already presented by other
areas of human existence.
Does not this idea of predestination suggest that God is dispensed from
common notions of goodness, justice or rationality? Although Calvin specifically
repudiates the conception of God as an absolute and arbitrary power, his discussion of predestination has raised the spectre of a God whose relationship to
the creation is whimsical and capricious, and whose conception and exercise of
power is not bound to any law or order. In the end, Calvin argues that predestination must be recognized to rest in the inscrutable judgements of God. We
cannot know, or hope to know, why God elects some and condemns others. God
must be free to choose whom God wills, otherwise the divine freedom is compromised by external considerations. The creator would thus become subject to
the creation. Calvin insists, however, that God’s decisions reflect the divine
wisdom and justice, which are upheld, rather than contradicted, by the fact of
predestination.
This doctrine has played a significant role in the development of Protestantism. In the first place, it served to distinguish the Reformed church from its
Lutheran counterpart. As intra-Protestant polemics became increasingly heated
during the late sixteenth century, pressure developed to find clear lines of demarcation between the Lutheran and Reformed communities. The doctrine of pre-
64 alister e. mcgrath
destination proved ideal for this purpose of differentiation, offering an unambiguous means of distinguishing them. Yet the doctrine was also of decisive
importance in fostering the notion of the divine calling of the Reformed church.
English Puritans settling in America, for example, saw themselves as God’s
chosen people, entering into a new promised land. As the recent history of
Southern Africa has shown, there is a worryingly easy transition from the theological idea of election to the political idea of ‘special privilege’ and the racist
idea of ‘apartheid’. Yet this must be regarded as an aberration of this idea, rather
than its authentic application. A further point of application lay in Calvin’s work
ethic, which celebrated the idea of activity within the created order as a means
of demonstrating and celebrating the individual’s divine calling. Max Weber
argued that the key to understanding the historical link between Calvinism and
capitalism lay in the new attitude to personal and economic activism encouraged by this doctrine. Controversial and problematic though Weber’s theory may
be, it highlights the relevance of this doctrine to the shaping of Protestant attitudes to the world throughout its history.
Although Calvin separated his discussions of predestination and providence
in later editions of the Institutes, it is clear from earlier editions that he sees a
close theological relationship between the two themes. Taken together, the two
ideas express the sovereignty of God over all aspects of the created order, including both secular history and salvation history (if this somewhat nuanced distinction be permitted). The theme of God’s providential government of both the
world and the church plays a particularly significant role in later Protestant
thought (for example, in relation to B. B. Warfield’s positive take on Darwin’s
theory of evolution, which he regards as a special case of the exercise of providence within creation.)
In conclusion, it may be noted that Calvin’s theological heritage has proved
fertile perhaps to a greater extent than any other Protestant writer. Richard
Baxter, Jonathan Edwards and Karl Barth, in their very different ways, bear
witness to the pivotal role that Calvin’s ideas have played in shaping Protestant
self-perceptions down the centuries. While the scholarly debate over the nature
and extent of Calvin’s influence over the development of modern capitalism, the
emergence of the natural sciences and the shaping of modern views of human
rights will continue, there is no doubting Calvin’s role in contributing to the
shaping of modern Protestant attitudes in these areas. It is impossible to understand modern Protestantism without coming to terms with Calvin’s legacy to
the movement which he did so much to nourish and sustain.
Further Reading
Cottret, B (2000). Calvin: A Biography. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Erdmans.
Bouwsma, W. J. (1988). John Calvin: A Sixteenth-Century Portrait. New York: Oxford
University Press.
john calvin 65
Higman, F. M. (1967). The Style of John Calvin in his French Polemical Treatises. London:
Oxford University Press.
Höpfl, H. (1982). The Christian Polity of John Calvin. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press.
Kingdon, R. M. (1956). Geneva and the Coming of the Wars of Religion in France,
1555–1563. Geneva: Librairie E. Droz.
McGrath, A. E. (1990). A Life of John Calvin: A Study in the Shaping of Western Culture.
Oxford: Blackwell.
Müller, E. F. K. (ed.) (1903). Belgic Confession, article 2. In Die Bekenntnisschriften der
reformierten Kirche. Leipzig: Böhme.
Parker, T. H. L. (1995). Calvin: An Introduction to his Thought. London: Chapman.
Prestwich, M. (ed.) (1985). International Calvinism, 1541–1715. Oxford: Clarendon
Press.
Wendel, F. (1978). Calvin: The Origins and Development of his Religious Thought. London:
The Fontana Library/Collins.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 4
Shapers of Protestantism:
F. D. E. Schleiermacher
Nicholas Adams
Friedrich Daniel Ernst Schleiermacher (1768–1834), the ‘father of modern theology’, was a Moravian Pietist pastor and professor of theology whose work in
Berlin in the early 1800s transformed Protestant theology in Europe. His legacy
for theology in general, and Protestantism more particularly, is twofold. He left
not only a large body of theological and philosophical writings, some of whose
arguments will be summarized here, but also a conception of how theology is to
be studied in the university.
Schleiermacher fundamentally shaped the way theology is studied in Western
Europe and North America. Any seminary or faculty of theology or divinity
which divides its subject matter into philosophical theology, doctrine, church
history, biblical studies and ethics is following a pattern laid down by
Schleiermacher in the early 1800s. The relationship between these different
subject areas varies widely from institution to institution, of course, but the
fundamental pattern of theological study represented by this division into separate areas of expertise is one of Schleiermacher’s gifts to the university. The
first section of this chapter will rehearse the main features of Schleiermacher’s
conception of theology.
The influence of Schleiermacher’s particular theological and philosophical
work can be divided up in a number of ways. In the second and third section we
shall look briefly at two areas where his work continues to shape current thinking: his discussions of feeling and consciousness in relation to religion, and his
understanding of hermeneutics and language. This means that relatively little
weight will be given here to the detail of his dogmatic theology as found in Der
Christliche Glaube (in English The Christian Faith). This is a shortcoming, but one
that is compensated for significantly by Schleiermacher’s own ordered thinking.
His main dogmatic arguments are summarized in his ‘Introduction’ to The
Christian Faith and are not so obscure as to require radical reinterpretation by
subsequent readers. The discussion here will also pay little attention to his
f.d.e. schleiermacher
67
Dialectics, Ethics, Aesthetics, Sermons or to his shorter works, which (especially
his wonderful Christmas Eve dialogue) richly reward patient attention.
Schleiermacher had a massive influence on subsequent theologians, whether
they agree with him or not. Perhaps the most noteworthy engagement with
Schleiermacher is that by Karl Barth. Barth admired Schleiermacher’s theology,
wrestled with problems thrown up by Schleiermacher’s way of conceiving
theology, and attempted to repair Protestant theology through a renewed
emphasis on God’s initiative and sovereignty. The fourth section summarizes
some of Barth’s criticisms.
Theology as a Subject of Study
Schleiermacher’s purpose in the Brief Outline of Theology as a Field of Study
(Schleiermacher, 1990) is to attempt a set of broad generalizations without
omitting or underplaying the particularities of the material he surveys. When
Schleiermacher was writing (first edition 1811, revised 1830), great changes
were underway in German universities, both in the way they structured the
teaching of subjects, and in the content of those subjects themselves. The study
of ‘History’, in the sense now familiar, was in its innovative and fascinating
infancy; biblical interpretation was being transformed through the development
of new critical methods; philosophy was dominated by the new experimental
idealism of Fichte, Schelling and Hegel and the romanticism of Friedrich
Schlegel and his colleagues. All of this was taking place against the backdrop of
political conflict in Europe in the wake of the French Revolution and the rise
to prominence of Napoleon Bonaparte. The relationships between state, church
and university were thus topics urgently in need of ordered consideration.
The most arresting features of the Brief Outline are the description it gives of
the purpose of theological study and the way it divides its subject matter. The
purpose of theological study is startlingly simple: it is to serve ‘church leadership’. The division is tripartite: (1) philosophical theology, (2) historical theology,
(3) practical theology. These are terms with currency in theology today, and
although they are to a significant extent influenced by Schleiermacher, some
divergences and developments are quickly apparent. The purpose of ‘philosophical theology’ is to gain an overview or, as he says, a ‘general concept’, of religious communities or fellowships of faith (Schleiermacher, 1990: §33). Once
one has an overview of what religious communities are (or might be), then one
can compare actual existing examples with this ‘idea’. This comparison is what
philosophical theology attempts. The undertaking also has a therapeutic dimension: once one knows what Christianity ‘is’, one can diagnose deviations from
this general concept. Schleiermacher recognizes that this is a risky enterprise,
and draws attention to the temptation to identify the particularities of one’s own
particular tradition with Christianity per se. This, he says, is a mistake. Doing
philosophical theology means recognizing that within the scope of Christianity
68 nicholas adams
as a general concept, there is room for diversity and disagreement. Without a
generous conception of this diversity, it is impossible to make sense of the tasks
of ‘apologetics’ and ‘polemics’. These refer respectively to public speech from the
particular community to a wider audience and argument within a particular
community. At the same time, diversity does not mean lazy tolerance. On the
contrary, it requires sustained argument in order to cure ‘diseased conditions’ in
Christianity: that is why apologetics and polemics are required. One of the skills
Schleiermacher requires of the theologian is an ability to tell the difference
between genuine diversity within Christianity and sick deviation from it. This
is not something that can be determined in advance of patient enquiry:
Schleiermacher seeks to discern rules for how this might be conducted.
The kinds of task undertaken in philosophical theology are elucidation of the
ways in which it is distinctive (which involves exploring the meaning of ‘revelation’ and ‘inspiration’), the continuities and discontinuities thrown up by its
history (involving ‘canon’ and ‘sacrament’) and the relationship of the church
to other institutions (involving ‘hierarchy’ and ‘church authority’) (§§43–8).
Schleiermacher seems to be making a distinction between asking what kind of
thing ‘revelation’ or ‘canon’ is in general and asking what ‘revelation’ or ‘canon’
Christian theology claims for itself in particular. Philosophical theology has a
certain grammatical job that is distinct from, but related to, historical theology.
Philosophical theology tries to settle the categories for discussion; historical theology argues about what is placed in these categories. One can already see here
the need for further clarifications (which Schleiermacher does not supply at this
stage): for example, to what extent are general concepts peculiar to a particular
tradition? It is clear from the acuteness of Schleiermacher’s philosophical thinking in other contexts that he well understands the importance of this kind of
question. He himself recognizes in other work that there is no ‘universal language’, but that nonetheless translation between them is possible. In the current
context, Schleiermacher implies that it is indeed difficult to say how we get from
particulars to generalities, and that general concepts are unstable and open to
dispute, but that nonetheless we do use general concepts, and sometimes quite successfully. The fact that general concepts are disputable does not mean we should
not use them. It does mean that some care is required in their exercise. And
philosophical theology is a discipline that exercises precisely this care. There is
admittedly a certain circularity here, but it is difficult to see how it could be
avoided without giving up all attempts at generalization and therefore at any
ordering of knowledge whatsoever.
‘Historical theology’ is the term Schleiermacher uses for those aspects of
theological study which describe the particular contents of Christian belief and
practice. Under its heading come ‘exegetical theology’, ‘church history’ and ‘historical knowledge of the present’.
Exegetical theology encompasses questions about the canon of scripture and
how it is to be interpreted. It roughly corresponds to what is currently called ‘biblical studies’, although for Schleiermacher its purpose is exclusively to serve the
church. He subdivides it into various categories: ‘higher criticism’ (determining
f.d.e. schleiermacher
69
what the canon is), ‘lower criticism’ (reconstructing the original meaning of the
text) and ‘hermeneutics’ (specifying the rules for interpreting the text).
Church history is, for Schleiermacher, a comprehensive category. He calls it
‘historical theology in the narrower sense’ and its purpose is ‘knowledge concerning the total development of Christianity since its establishment as a historical phenomenon’ (§149). Part of this means skilfully relating the minute
details recorded in documents to what he calls ‘a single picture of their inner
reality’. Unless this ‘picture’ is borne in view, one has not history but merely
‘chronicle’ (§153). One can see that getting a grasp of this ‘inner reality’ is difficult, but Schleiermacher is clear that this is the task of church history. It has
different aspects. One is a description of what he calls ‘the church’s life’, which
entails understanding the cultural resources for worship available to Christians
at any particular time, and the ways in which being a Christian affects how
people live their lives outside worship. Schleiermacher’s discussion here (as in
so many places) is concerned to avoid one-sidedness: there is a problem either
if Christian life is identified with morality in everyday life while worship
has become empty ceremony; or if Christian life is identified exclusively with
what goes on in worship, while everyday morality is determined by alien nonChristian practices and beliefs. For Schleiermacher, worship and ethics are two
aspects of one church life, and while they can be distinguished from each other
for analytical purposes, they belong together.
The third subcategory, after ‘exegetical theology’ and ‘church history’, is ‘historical knowledge of the present’. First in this category is doctrine. Again, ‘dogmatic theology serves the leadership of the church’ (§198) by showing how
current doctrinal formulations arise from historical developments, and at the
same time indicating how they inform practice in the present. Dogmatic theology rehearses historical debates so that old confusions are not repeated in the
present. Beyond this, Schleiermacher advances some observations about the role
and scope of disagreement in matters of doctrine. Schleiermacher is particularly
interested in the relation between things that are fixed (and can be reduced to
rules) and things that cannot be fixed (and which display spontaneity). In his
discussion of doctrine, Schleiermacher explores the relationship between tradition and innovation, orthodoxy and heterodoxy. These are not mutually exclusive. They are two ends of a single continuum and are, moreover, equally
important (§204). Tradition is the relatively stable, rule-bound element of doctrine: it can be preserved and handed down in a relatively fixed form. Innovation
is the spontaneous, surprising element of doctrine: it is mobile and introduces
new modes of expression. The enemy of good doctrine is one-sidedness: orthodoxy is needed for unity; heterodoxy is needed for development (§§203–6). This
is obviously a formal point, which makes no attempt to make judgements about
particular dogmatic formulations. What, then, are the criteria for testing them?
Schleiermacher offers two: their consonance with Scripture and their consonance with other formulations. What form do dogmatic formulations take?
Schleiermacher suggests this will depend on ‘the existing condition of the philosophical disciplines’ (§213). In general, ‘dogmatic theology is endless’ (§218).
70 nicholas adams
Why? Each theologian has to digest all topics in theology, because they are all
related to each other. Skill in dogmatic theology means grasping at some level
what it is that binds them together, even if it is impossible to specify concretely
what that something is.
This leads to Christian ethics. About this, Schleiermacher is very prescriptive:
dogmatic theology has both speculative and practical sides, but this distinction
is not an ‘essential separation’; it is merely a division of labour between different theological emphases (§223). Schleiermacher notes with disapproval that
some theologians fail to acknowledge this, and develop ethics and doctrine in
isolation from one other. He diagnoses the problem’s origin in the appeal to different kinds of philosophy: ‘rational theology’ for doctrine, ‘philosophical ethics’
for Christian ethics. This, he says, is a serious error which needs correcting. It
can only be corrected, he suggests, by doing dogmatics properly, and that means
that one’s style of reasoning needs to be the same for both doctrine and ethics
(§§225–7). The church needs one dogmatic theology divided into two aspects
(doctrine and ethics), rather than two undivided but separate disciplines.
One cannot do theology without knowing what people in churches actually
think. This means that the study of theology will include gathering information
about what communities do, in fact, think. And not just one’s local church,
but all the major denominations at a particular time. This kind of knowledge
helps communities correct any one-sidedness from which they may suffer.
Schleiermacher calls this area of study ‘church statistics’ (§232ff.), the last of
the subdivisions of ‘historical theology’.
The third and final part of the Brief Outline after philosophical theology and
historical theology concerns ‘practical theology’. Practical theology is not to be
separated from philosophical or historical theology, but is distinct from them by
virtue of its particular emphasis. The practical theologian’s job is to teach others
about how the church can embody what is said in the more speculative or scholarly aspects of theology (§258). Practical theology is concerned with the relationship between clergy and laity, ecclesiastical hierarchy, the effectiveness of
communication of theology and pastoral work.
Schleiermacher acknowledges the danger in saying that there is one discipline
of theology, divided up into different aspects. The main danger he identifies is
what we would call the problem of deciding the ‘core’ of theological education.
Schleiermacher insists that there can be no definite specification of what counts
as core and what counts as specialization (§335). This has to be judged on a caseby-case basis for each student.
Part of the aim of Schleiermacher’s work, broadly conceived, is formal: to
assist existing debates and provide resources for their development. Doing this
requires an account of the rules of debate, the limits of discussion, and the adjudication of boundaries so that one can determine whether a discussion is really
part of an existing debate or is better described as starting a new and different
one. There is constant pressure in his writing to discern contrary tendencies and
to find structures of thinking in which they correct each other rather than
become one-sided. This is particularly obvious in his discussion of ethics. As we
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71
have seen, Schleiermacher argues strenuously against the tendency to split dogmatics into theoretical and practical sides. Even so, Schleiermacher’s diagnosis
here is largely negative: the idea of an integrated dogmatic study, with both speculative and practical dimensions, is something he can only imagine, and he
leaves this as a task for future generations.
Schleiermacher’s influence on the structure of contemporary university
study of theology does not stop with his conceptions in the Brief Outline. His way
of looking at human experience in On Religion is a major resource for some conceptions of what ‘religious studies’ is. The order of Schleiermacher’s argument
is from general observations to particular instances rather than the other way
round. As we shall see, he starts with a general and universal experience
(‘feeling’), then moves towards how it is expressed in language, then moves
towards how it finds particular expression in communities and finally says how
it is expressed most perfectly in Christianity. Any study which begins with ‘religion’ as a general category, with ‘religious language and practice’ as a subheading, and then ‘particular religious languages and practices’ as a further
specification follows Schleiermacher’s lead here.
Feeling, Consciousness and Religion
The most important discussion by Schleiermacher of consciousness in relation
to Christianity are his On Religion: Speeches to its Cultured Despisers of 1799
(revised 1830) and The Christian Faith of 1821 (also revised 1830). This section
will take the main argument about feeling from these two works together
(Schleiermacher, 1988, 1989).1
The main purpose of Schleiermacher’s On Religion is to separate religion from
metaphysics and morality (Schleiermacher, 1988: 22–3; Crouter, 1988: xiv;
Bowie, 1998: xiv–xv). Why would he want to do this? The short answer is:
because of issues raised by two massive influences on German thought, Spinoza
and Kant. To understand Schleiermacher we need to understand what Spinoza
and Kant had bequeathed to Schleiermacher’s time.
Spinoza, in his Ethics (1677) argued that the only thing humans can know
is the one substance, which is ‘God or nature’. There is no separate God, known
relationally as in the theological traditions of Judaism and Christianity. There is
only the one unified substance, of which humans (and their thinking) are an
integral part. Philosophy’s task is to explicate the one substance, and explain
how its unity is related to its different parts and to give an account of how it
is thinkable in philosophy. Metaphysics which posits a separate God (whether
known relationally or not) is based on misconceptions about what a ‘substance’
is or on other faulty premises whose mistakenness can be demonstrated.
Kant, in his Critique of Pure Reason (1781) and Religion Within the Limits of
Reason Alone (1793), argued that the only things humans can know are the presentations of our minds. The only things of which we have such presentations
72 nicholas adams
are objects in the world. We have understanding when sense experience (provided by objects) and concepts (provided by the mind) are combined. God,
however, is not the kind of object which provides us with sense experience.
For that reason we cannot have knowledge of God. Rather, God is a product
of reason, and is an idea by which we measure our actions in the world. Ideas
are not known: they are posited by our minds. Nonetheless, God is an indispensable idea, and is an idea that guides our moral lives. Religion, as considered
within philosophy, is the practice of having our lives guided morally by the idea
of God.
Schleiermacher, in common with his contemporaries, learned from these
philosophical arguments, and attempted to repair their shortcomings. Spinoza’s
arguments were powerful in demolishing the idea that philosophy can arrive at
the idea of God, understood as a being separate from the world. Kant’s arguments were powerful in the ‘Copernican revolution’ they created, in focusing not
on the objectivity of objects, but on the activity of human thinking in ‘constituting’ objects of consciousness. After Kant, philosophers like Schleiermacher
were concerned to show how consciousness (now, along with language, one of
the foci of philosophy) could be explored and explained. Spinoza’s account of the
world lacked an adequate account of human freedom. It was good at describing
the determined nature of reality, but was bad at doing justice to spontaneity,
human creativity or moral freedom. Kant tried to address this by suggesting
there were two realms: the determined realm of nature, and the free realm of
human moral action. Kant, however, was left with the difficult task of showing
how these realms related to each other. Both Spinoza and Kant were weak at
showing how human feelings, relations and spontaneity are integral to experience. Early nineteenth-century German philosophy, especially romantic philosophy, to which Schleiermacher is a contributor, attempted to correct these
defects by redescribing nature as itself spontaneous (and not merely ‘active’) as
well as determined, and human action as freely creative as well as bound by
rules. It is in discussions of consciousness and language that philosophers experimented with such corrections.
What romantic philosophers did less carefully was consider religion in the
light of these changes. Once ‘metaphysics’ (i.e., the attempt in philosophy to
know God) was abandoned, what might ‘religion’ entail? Was it to be reduced to
morality (as in Kant, as it appeared to the romantics)? Some German philosophers at the beginning of the 1800s argued for a ‘new religion’ which would
unite conceptual rigour and sensual experience; others turned to a worship
of nature. Schleiermacher believed he could do justice to the history of
Christianity by redescribing it in the wake of Spinoza and Kant, rather than
having to abandon it in favour of something new (e.g. the erasure of religion by
art). The task of On Religion and The Christian Faith is to show how it can be done.
Schleiermacher, then, set himself the task of a non-metaphysical and nonmoral account of religion. He appealed to something his romantic contemporaries, the ‘cultured despisers of religion’, would have to agree upon: the power
of human intuition and feeling. ‘Intuition’ (Anschauung) is a technical term in
f.d.e. schleiermacher
73
German philosophy, and arguments about how it is conceived are a central
concern of German philosophy in this period. Broadly, it describes the relationship between mind and world without splitting one from the other. It asks the
question: how is the mind ‘in’ the world? For Schleiermacher, we have intuition
because we are linked to the world in a way that transcends our cognitive and
practical activity (Bowie, 1998: xvi). We are not merely Spinoza’s mechanical
effects of a self-relating universe, nor free agents who posit the world through
our subjectivity (such as in Fichte). We are both active and receptive agents. We
have an immediate feeling (intuition) of being both wholly individual and yet
part of a whole that transcends us. This intuition is prereflexive, that is, it is what
we have to think about, rather than itself being a product of our thinking
(Crouter, 1988: xxxii). Religion is the practice of doing justice to this intuition.
Schleiermacher’s argument in On Religion is that the key category is experience.
We experience our bond with the whole (the infinite) but we experience it individually (finitely). Religion is the interplay between the tug towards conceptual
thinking (the finite) and the tug towards preconceptual intuition (the infinite).
That means that thinking itself is inherently one-sided, and that truly religious
understanding means, in a crucial sense, not ‘thinking’ at all but feeling. This is
not irrational wooliness, but an attempt to describe the relation between finite
and infinite, at the same time as redescribing Christian religious life. The remainder of On Religion tries to show how this general insight can be applied in more
and more particular ways: to communication and language, to social life and
communities, and finally to Christianity.
The Christian Faith continues this pattern. The ‘Introduction’ is a variation on
the theme of On Religion followed by greater particularity. It attempts to
redescribe the details of dogmatic theology in line with the fundamental insight
that religion is feeling rather than thinking (in the above sense) and that theological reasoning is thinking in the light of this feeling. The Christian Faith insists,
as its substantial claim about intuition, that faith has at its root a feeling of
radical dependence (Gefühl der schlechthinnigen Abhängigkeit), which finds its
highest expression as God-consciousness. This claim decisively separates
Schleiermacher from the pneumatology of Hegel, for whom all experience is necessarily conceptually mediated. For Hegel the idea that there could be a nonmediated consciousness is a mistake. It is worth delving a little deeper here, as
Schleiermacher is not at all persuaded by Hegel.
Hegel insists that any experience of the infinite or absolute is mediated by the
finite or determinate. In trinitarian terms, following scriptural warrant, the
Father is only known through the Son. Developing this insight experimentally,
this relationship is universalized in the Spirit and encompasses all knowledge.
Knowledge of God is thus knowledge of the Son. Schleiermacher does not agree.
The two poles between which he wishes to steer are solipsism (i.e., we do all the
world-constituting work in our pure individuality, as for Fichte) and naturalism
(i.e., the world is self-constituted and we are just its effects, as for Spinoza).
Schleiermacher addresses this by suggesting that we are dependent and receptive upon a prior world we did not create, but that the manner of our response
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is spontaneous and unique to each of us (Bowie, 1998: xvii). We have a (spontaneous, individual) feeling of radical (receptive, universal) dependence. The
formula ‘feeling of radical dependence’ is designed to perform this double task.
Schleiermacher associates the feeling of radical dependence with the concept of
God, through an account of ‘God-consciousness’. This means that ‘God’ refers
both to what can be known (in so far as it is mediated) and what cannot be
known (in so far as it is what gives rise to ‘knowing’, and therefore itself unknowable). For Hegel, this would require acknowledging that God is, at least, partly
unintelligible, which he (with Spinoza) rejects. For Schleiermacher, it requires
admitting that intelligibility rests upon the unintelligible, which he (with the
early Schelling) accepts. Schleiermacher is therefore more Augustinian and less
Spinozist here, in so far as he thinks theology involves speaking what cannot
be spoken. What evokes our thinking cannot be thought, and we should not
confuse the response that is evoked from us with the idea that we ourselves are
the prevenient agent of the world’s reality. The triumph of the concept in Hegel
is a trinitarian theology dominated by the Word; the feeling of absolute dependence in Schleiermacher is a trinitarian theology oscillating brilliantly between
Creator and Spirit, but (problematically for orthodox theology) with no intrinsic
need for the Word. A properly trinitarian theology need not be forced into either
position here: whether it finds itself concerned with intelligibility or unintelligibility, or with both in human action, depends upon which person of the Trinity
is currently the focus of discussion.
The Christian Faith elaborates an interplay of opposites (God and world, sin
and grace) and shows how they are handled together in human consciousness.
Every major doctrine is to be redescribed, according to this pattern, as
the elucidation of the consciousness we have of these opposites and how we
respond in self-consciousness and action. This ‘interplay of opposites’ structure
is Schleiermacher’s substitute for trinitarian theology, and it has some startling
consequences. Most strikingly, the order of topics does not follow the creed
(Father, Son, Spirit, church, eschaton) but something quite different: creation,
God, sin, grace. The order of the second section is particularly experimental:
the state of humanity, the person and work of Christ, justification and sanctification, the church, Scripture, sacraments, the eschaton, redemption, Trinity.
It is worth noticing that although Schleiermacher’s theology is dominated
by human action (consciousness and response), and although this topic
normally comes under the topic of pneumatology, the Spirit is not itself a topic
for Schleiermacher. This omission is interesting: is it because Schleiermacher is
untrinitarian, and oblivious to the necessity of doing justice to the Spirit? Or is
it because Schleiermacher is so attuned to the Spirit-filled nature of human
action that the whole discussion is pneumatological, and thus the Spirit cannot
be merely a topic in it?
Schleiermacher’s focus on feeling is a way to avoid being trapped in a theology reduced to metaphysics or morality, and his handling of consciousness
reflects romantic debates about how descriptions of knowledge and action are
rooted in questions about how the infinite is related to the finite.
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Hermeneutics and Language
Schleiermacher’s contribution to hermeneutics continues to teach philosophers
about key issues in language and meaning. Although Schleiermacher’s work in
this area was famously rehearsed and recovered in Hans-Georg Gadamer’s Truth
and Method of 1960, recent work by Manfred Frank and (in English) Andrew
Bowie makes the relevant texts available in ways that throw the principal issues
into sharp and informative relief (Schleiermacher, 1977; Bowie, 1998).
Schleiermacher loved rules. ‘Pleasure in truth is pleasure in rules, joy in
agreement of individual things with the rule’ (Crouter, 1988: xxii). And more
than rules, he loved exploring why having a good set of rules is insufficient for
performing the task that the rules are for. Rules need to be applied, and applying rules is a skill or art (Kunst). A skill is something one learns by practice, not
by learning more rules; if this were not so, there would be an endless regression
with rules governing rules. The interpretation of texts, not least Scripture, is
something governed by rules. It is the task of the philosopher to elaborate these
rules in as succinct a way as possible. Schleiermacher’s hermeneutics is partly
such an elaboration. At the same time, rules are applied by specific persons at
specific times in individual ways. They exercise skill and make judgements in
ways that are not reducible to rules, but indicate the freedom and spontaneity
of the interpreter. Schleiermacher’s hermeneutics is partly an exploration of the
implications of acknowledging such freedom and spontaneity.
Schleiermacher uses many pairs of words to develop his hermeneutics.
Explaining their tasks highlights the central issues. The main pairs are: grammatical and technical interpretation, formal and organic function, intuition and
feeling, receptivity and spontaneity, dialectic and hermeneutics, transcendental
and transcendent, divinatory and comparative method (Bowie, 1998: vii–xxxi).
Grammatical and technical interpretation refer to the two poles of interpretation: the general and the individual. Grammatical interpretation concentrates
on an individual example of a general usage. Technical interpretation concentrates on an individual example of a general usage. In grammatical interpretation, people are just users of language. In technical interpretation language is
just the tool with which people express themselves individually.
The relationship between ‘formal’ and ‘organic’ function, a distinction from
the Dialectics of 1811, addresses the question: how much of ‘meaning’ is provided by the world, and how much by each person? By ‘organic’ function,
Schleiermacher draws attention to the way the world encounters each person
differently: it cannot be specified in advance. By ‘formal’ function, he means the
aspects that are clearly the same for each person. Judgement is what happens
when the formal meets the organic. This means that the problematic distinction
between ‘analytic’ and ‘synthetic’ judgements (Kant) can be repaired by a single
notion of judgement, which includes a distinction between formal and organic
functions (Bowie, 1998: xxi). One can speculate about the implications this has
for scriptural interpretation. Instead of distinguishing ‘literal’ from ‘imaginative’
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(allegorical, spiritual, figurative) interpretations, it makes more sense to have a
single notion of interpretation, with both literal and imaginative functions
always present. This means even the most literal approach has an imaginative
aspect, and even the wildest fancy of the imagination is about this text rather
than another.
Intuition and feeling, covered in the previous main section, are terms
whose job is to describe the relationship between world and mind. The term
‘feeling’ (along with ‘divination’) is understood by some readers to indicate that
Schleiermacher thinks interpretation is about empathetic identification between
reader and author. This is a distortion. ‘Feeling’ describes a person’s being part
of the world in a way that defies thinking because it is what makes thinking
possible. The relationship is ‘intuited’ rather than thought.
Receptivity and spontaneity refer, as a pair, to the fact that when we make
judgements, we use rules. The rules are received. Our use is spontaneous. We do
not make up the rules: if we did, others could not make sense of us. Our use of
them is not rule-bound: if it were, there would be an endless regression of rules
for using rules. Interpretation is the skill of using the rules of interpretation.
Hermeneutics and dialectic refer respectively to the individual and universal
aspects of understanding. Hermeneutics is the business of determining what a
particular person is trying to say. Dialectic is the business of determining the
principles behind the skill of making judgements, or the foundations of the art
of entering into dialogue. Hermeneutics is concerned with meaning of statements; dialectics is concerned with whether they are true. Truth is not a metaphysical entity ‘out there’, but the product of a certain kind of reasoning about
whether statements accord with what a particular community takes to be true.
Schleiermacher thus puts ‘community’ and ‘universal’ on the same level, in
matters of making judgements of truth. Judgements of truth are always made
according to the criteria of a particular community (Bowie, 1998: xx–ii).
The difference between ‘transcendent’ and ‘transcendental’ in Kant (Critique
of Pure Reason, A296/B352–3) is made problematic by Schleiermacher. For
Kant, ‘transcendent’ refers to the transgression of limits, and thus does not refer
to objects of experience at all, whereas ‘transcendental’ refers to space, time and
concepts – that which limits sense data in the conditioning of something
thought. Schleiermacher does not make a separation between the ‘transcendent
basis’ of our being and the ‘transcendent basis’ of our thinking. This is because
thinking is part of being: it takes place after intuition, which is already the indication that mind is in the world. The conditions for judgement are the same as
the conditions for there being a world. Because of the role played by ‘feeling’ in
Schleiermacher’s thought, ‘transcendent’ and ‘transcendental’ are, in some
sense, the same thing (Bowie, 1998: xxiv–v).
The difference between divinatory and comparative methods concerns the
relationship between rules and their application. Divination is the ability to
understand what someone means without exhaustive rules. We have already
seen how there cannot be exhaustive rules: skill is always needed to apply them.
What is the character of this skill? ‘The divinatory method is the one in which
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77
one, so to speak, transforms oneself into the other person and tries to understand the individual element directly’ (Schleiermacher, 1998: 92). Notice the ‘so
to speak’ in this phrase. It is an indication of the struggle Schleiermacher has to
explain the aspect of interpretation that cannot be reduced to rules. It is contrasted with ‘comparative’ method, which treats someone else as ‘something
universal’ and measures whether and how far they depart from other things that
are similarly universal. Comparing different performances of the same musical
score would be an example of this. Divination draws attention to the fact that
individuals can relate to others as individuals (rather than treating them as
instances of something general). Comparison draws attention to the fact that
individuals all share something in common. The crucial thing is that divination and comparison belong together: they may not be separated from each
other. Without comparison, divination has no way of knowing whether it has
made a mistake: it is not subject to any higher criteria of correction. Without
divination, comparison cannot know that an individual is, in fact, an example
of something universal: it would just have an infinite regression of rules that
determine whether something is an example, without ever applying this rule
(Schleiermacher, 1998: 93). Taking divination and comparison together means
one can make interpretations and test them.
How do all these matters affect actual interpretation of Scripture? This is an
important question, not least because there does not seem much relationship
between the interpretation of Scripture and The Christian Faith. In general, for
Schleiermacher, philosophical considerations indicate that interpretation is an
infinite task. The role of historical criticism is particularly interesting here. Historical criticism is not undertaken in order to resolve difficulties or solve problems about what something means: this cannot be done, because ‘no language
is completely present to us, not even our own mother tongue’. We cannot completely eliminate difficulties about meaning even in everyday sentences. Rather,
historical criticism is useful because it provides ‘ongoing instructions’ for interpretation: it keeps the debate about meaning alive (Schleiermacher, 1998:
14–15). Interpretation of Scripture is an infinite task because we do not have
a secure starting point: ‘Beginning in the middle is unavoidable’ and ‘we must
be satisfied with arbitrary beginnings in all areas of knowledge’ (Bowie, 1998:
xxxvi, xxvii). Particular conceptions of what a passage of Scripture means are
handed down, and can be tested against other interpretations. There are rules
for doing this, but no rules for applying these rules: only the skill of the interpreter. There is thus no theory for deciding whether an interpretation is any
good, only particular judgements by other skilful interpreters.
In hermeneutics, Schleiermacher is more interested in the conduct of argument and disagreement in scriptural interpretation than he is in actual interpretation of Scripture. Put differently, he is concerned to articulate the ethics of
scriptural interpretation. This could mean that Schleiermacher abdicates his
responsibilities as an interpreter in favour of endless generalizations about how
interpretation might take place, should anyone actually wish to do any. This is
not the case. Schleiermacher’s context is one in which there is no shortage of
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scriptural interpretation, and it has been made more complex by the rise of historical criticism. He himself was a pastor, and he delivered sermons each Sunday.
Many of them are published, and it is obvious that Schleiermacher did a great
deal of scriptural interpretation in contexts of worship. In these one sees
Schleiermacher’s struggle to correlate his reading of Scripture with the theological task which he sees so clearly (assisting church leadership), a difficulty
exemplified by his almost complete ignoring of the Old Testament (Barth, 1982:
16; DeVries, 1996: 55). The task of the hermeneutics is different. His task is to
assist the community of interpreters to disagree well and argue fruitfully. Here,
as in so many other places, it is clear that Schleiermacher considers the discipline of hermeneutics to be in the service of the leaders of the church.
Barth on Schleiermacher
Karl Barth’s critique of Schleiermacher in his Protestant Theology in the
Nineteenth Century is important (Barth, 1972; cf. Barth, 1982). While it is true
that Barth did not possess the same facility in philosophy as Schleiermacher,
and although one needs to acknowledge that Barth had neither the detailed
knowledge of romantic philosophy, nor access to the texts readers enjoy
today, his criticisms are worth hearing. They provide a great deal of help in
understanding why Schleiermacher continues to fascinate and trouble theologians today. We will focus on Barth’s account of Schleiermacher’s handling of
Christology and the Trinity.
The main question Barth asks is this: how do On Religion and the
introduction to The Christian Faith relate to the substantial dogmatic discussions
in The Christian Faith? Put differently, what is the relationship between
Schleiermacher’s general observations and overviews and the nitty-gritty?
Barth’s judgement is that the relationship is a problem. To summarize in
advance, Barth thinks that Schleiermacher’s general observations tend to prejudge dogmatic questions in a decidedly untheological fashion, and when they
do not, they produce contradictions. We will now look briefly at how he arrives
at this view.
‘The Christology is the great disturbing element in Schleiermacher’s doctrine
of faith’, Barth suggests (Barth, 1972: 431). ‘Jesus of Nazareth fits desperately
badly into this theology . . . He obviously gives Schleiermacher . . . a great
deal of trouble!’ (p. 432). Barth suggests that because of the grand sweep of
Schleiermacher’s theology, and its conception of dogmatics as the elucidation
and elaboration of human consciousness of God, Jesus has to fit the scheme. Jesus
fits badly and Barth notes that this is an indication of the high quality of
Schleiermacher’s theological instincts, because he does not quite allow the big
overview to crush the particularity of Jesus. Barth suggests that although
Schleiermacher wanted to proclaim Christ in the Christological sections of The
Christian Faith, the overarching theme of consciousness makes this difficult. The
difference between God and humanity (two different actors) gets subsumed into
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79
a single consciousness (of one human actor) (Barth, 1972: 431–2, 457–62).
Barth insistently poses the question of difference: both God’s trinitarian difference (between Father, Son and Spirit) and the ontological difference (between
creator and creature). He even constructs a little test: in a genuinely trinitarian
theology, when one describes the divinity of one person (for example, the Logos)
one finds one’s account inextricably describing the divinity of another (say, the
Spirit). ‘Reformation theology, starting in reverse fashion, from the Logos,
passes this test: as a theology of the Word it is at once a theology of the Holy
Spirit . . .’ (Barth, 1972: 460). Schleiermacher’s theology does not start with
Christ, but starts with human consciousness. In trinitarian terms, it privileges
human response to God, which makes it a theology of the Spirit. But whereas
starting from the Logos ensures the divinity of the Spirit in Luther’s theology,
for example, it is not clear to Barth that starting from the Spirit in the way
Schleiermacher does ensures the divinity of the Logos. Barth is emphatic:
Schleiermacher does indeed insist on the divinity of the Logos, but this divinity
does not follow from Schleiermacher’s argument. Rather, it is asserted, and in a way
that sticks out like a sore thumb (Barth, 1972: 461).
Barth’s point is this: Schleiermacher manages to work out a modern
Christology which is integrated into a broader modern theology but he finds it
exceptionally difficult. It is to this difficulty that Barth wishes to draw attention:
why so difficult? Schleiermacher, for Barth, does much good work in describing
Christ as mediating God and humanity, but the notion of mediation does not
itself tell us that Christ is divine. The Reformers did this much better: ‘The sole
mediation which enters into consideration there is the recognition of the Father
in the Son through the Spirit in the strict irreducible opposition of these
“persons” in the Godhead’. In other words, mediation is not enough: it is how
this mediation is described that matters: ‘Schleiermacher immunized the concept
of revelation’ (Barth, 1972: 464). How does this happen? By considering
Christology under the broader heading ‘The State of the Christian as Conscious
of the Divine Grace’ (The Christian Faith: §§91–105). Barth worries that putting
things like this suggests that Christ gets functionalized as a way to determine the
state of the Christian, albeit a special and the most important way. It is true that
Schleiermacher uses words like ‘only’ as in the summary at the head of §91: ‘We
have fellowship with God only in a living fellowship with the Redeemer . . .’ but for
Barth the force of this ‘only’ comes merely from the insistent tone used by
Schleiermacher and is not intrinsic to his description of Christ (Barth, 1972:
471).
Good theology, as Barth sees it, needs constantly to remind itself and its
readers that it is trying to do justice to something that is other than itself. Theology must always be open to correction, repair and revision and, more importantly, must be open to contradiction by God. Schleiermacher’s account of
dogmatics as a description of Christian consciousness is one-sided: it successfully
captures the thinkability of human response to God but does insufficient justice
to God’s objective revelation. This is a significant shortcoming, because Christian
hope is rooted in a salvation made possible precisely because God is different, and
not subject to the world as we are. The more confidently theology ‘knows’ things,
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the less it gives cause for hope beyond what we know from our tragic historical
experience.
Barth is by no means the last word on the matter. For example, Barth tended
to see philosophy and theology as distinct disciplines: Schleiermacher could have
taught him the need to develop Christian philosophical arguments rather than
allow philosophy per se to be considered in opposition to dogmatic theology. It is
important to correct Barth’s criticisms by paying more attention to the romantic philosophy that gave Schleiermacher not only his vocabulary but provided
his theology with its basic argumentative tools. Schleiermacher well understood
the unthinkability of the infinite: it was a central topic in romantic philosophy.
Like his contemporaries, he was concerned to show how the thinkable finite
relates to this unthinkable infinite. He was sure that the parts of philosophy that
address this question are theologically significant. In this, Schleiermacher stands
in a line of theologians that include Augustine, Anselm and Aquinas: the question, of course, is how well his (untrinitarian) account of the Trinity discharged
these tasks.
Schleiermacher’s approach to hermeneutics is especially relevant to understanding how he conceives of the task of dogmatic theology. His skill in
hermeneutics is probably unmatched by any prior or later figure. He understood
that because Scripture is written and interpreted, there cannot, pace Barth,
be any absolute ‘over and against’ between revelation and history, only a
recognition that the infinite is knowable – although by definition not absolutely
– through the finite. Instead of saying Schleiermacher fails to acknowledge
God’s objective difference, it might be better to say that he does not adequately
elaborate the theological significance of God’s unthinkable difference from the
world. This retains Barth’s insight – that purely human hope is almost no hope
– and helps do justice to Schleiermacher’s romantic conceptual heritage.
Schleiermacher understands Christian dogmatics as finite thinking in relation to
the infinite, and not as the elaboration of objective revelation over and against
the fragility of merely human knowledge. Schleiermacher teaches that dogmatics is merely human knowledge, and that the interpretation of Scripture is a
human art.
Perhaps the problem with Schleiermacher for contemporary theology is that
grammatical questions sometimes concern him at the expense of substance and
that at other times his substantial theology is too experimental. Substantiating
this, however, requires detailed engagement with his work.
Conclusion
Schleiermacher was arguably the best philosophical theologian since Aquinas.
Comparing Schleiermacher with Aquinas has its pitfalls, but it helps throw some
of the main issues into relief. Three things are worth mentioning in this
connection.
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81
1 Schleiermacher tried to address the major topics in theological education of
his day. Like Aquinas he suggested an order for tackling questions, and did
so with a view to improving the quality of theological education, particularly in the area of theological reasoning.
2 Schleiermacher relied very heavily on philosophical reasoning that is not
straightforwardly Christian. As Aquinas used Aristotle to help interpret
Scripture, so Schleiermacher used German idealist and romantic philosophy.
This accounts for his reliance on categories like ‘consciousness’ and ‘subjectivity’ and the elaboration of practices of artistic creativity and their relation
to rules.
3 Schleiermacher is subject to the same queries and criticisms as Aquinas.
What is the relationship between biblical interpretation and philosophical
reasoning? To what extent do the particular philosophical resources not just
assist but prejudge dogmatic questions? What are the limits to speculation?
How far do the powerful structures overdetermine the particular questions
under consideration? Asking these questions helps show why some critiques
of Schleiermacher are so passionate: at stake is not merely whether his
theology is persuasive, but whether it is genuinely theological.
Just as Aquinas is for many the authoritative voice of medieval Christian theology, so Schleiermacher is the authoritative voice of modern Christian theology.
Theology in the twenty-first century has learned from both, but is no longer
either medieval or modern. Yet the questions it tackles are inherited questions:
what is the relationship between Christ and the Logos? How is the Trinity an
image of the relationship between infinite and finite? What have human and
divine action to do with each other? What is the difference between Christian
and non-Christian descriptions of the world? Schleiermacher’s voice is audible
in many, if not all, twentieth-century engagements with these questions, but the
answers he gives are perhaps not as decisive as the way he organizes their presentation and discussion.
Schleiermacher shows the fruitfulness of good Christian philosophical arguments. At the same time, he shows the thrill and danger of experimentation in
doctrine. Whether or not one wishes to do the kind of theology Schleiermacher
did, his work helps us to understand how modern theology has taken the form
it has, and why it receives the criticisms one finds in post-modern theology,
whether broadly orthodox or radically experimental, or both.
Note
1 In this section I rely heavily on the arguments in Bowie (1998) and Crouter (1988).
References
Barth, Karl (1972). Schleiermacher. In Protestant Theology in the Nineteenth Century,
trans. B. Cozens & J. Bowden. London: SCM, pp. 425–73.
82 nicholas adams
Barth, Karl (1982). The Theology of Schleiermacher, ed. D. Ritschl, trans. G. Bromiley.
Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Bowie, Andrew (1998). Introduction. In F. Schleiermacher, Hermeneutics and Criticism
and Other Writings. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, pp. vii–xl.
Crouter, Richard (1988). Introduction. In F. Schleiermacher, On Religion: Speeches to its
Cultured Despisers. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, pp. xi–xlv.
DeVries, Dawn (1996). Jesus Christ in the Preaching of Calvin and Schleiermacher. Louisville,
KY: Westminster John Knox Press.
Schleiermacher, Friedrich (1977). Hermeneutik und Kritik, ed. Manfred Frank. Frankfurt
am Main: Suhrkamp.
Schleiermacher, Friedrich (1988). On Religion: Speeches to its Cultured Despisers, trans.
R. Crouter. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Schleiermacher, Friedrich (1989). The Christian Faith, ed. H. R. Mackintosh & J. S.
Stewart. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Schleiermacher, Friedrich (1990). Brief Outline of Theology as a Field of Study, trans.
T. N. Tice. Lampeter, UK: Edwin Mellen.
Schleiermacher, Friedrich (1998). Hermeneutics and Criticism and Other Writings, trans.
A. Bowie. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 5
Shapers of Protestantism:
Karl Barth
John Webster
The Swiss Reformed theologian Karl Barth (1886–1968) is widely considered to
be the most significant Protestant dogmatic thinker since Schleiermacher at the
beginning of the nineteenth century. In the period from the early 1920s to the
late 1960s, Barth was a central protagonist in many of the major developments
in German-speaking Protestant theology and church life. His theological work,
which spanned a number of fields but was most notable in the area of Christian
doctrine, effected a thorough reordering of the discipline, not only by the challenge which it presented to the theological conventions then dominant, but also
by its sheer fecundity and the vividness of its portrayal of the Christian faith and
its objects. Barth was an exceptionally prolific author. His chief literary legacy
is the unfinished Church Dogmatics (when Barth ceased work on the project, he
was preparing the 13th volume). This immense work is complemented by a great
number of other writings, particularly commentaries on biblical, credal and
confessional texts; studies in historical and practical theology; and occasional
and polemical writings.
As might be expected in the case of a thinker of such considerable stature,
there has been widespread disagreement about the nature and extent of Barth’s
contribution to Christian theology. The sheer range of Barth’s work, and the controversial character of its fundamental claims, have almost inevitably generated
divergent and often conflicting interpretations of his thought. Moreover, Barth
has often been read very selectively, with the result that a part has often been
taken for the whole, and inadequate maps of the territory drawn, often for the
purpose of hostile criticism. Thus, for example, Barth’s exegetical or ethical writings have rarely featured in accounts of his theology, and as a result he has been
subjected to criticism for developing an account of Christianity dominated by
abstract dogmatic concerns, or one in which human action has scarcely any role
to play. Some such interpretations have acquired near canonical status in studies
of Barth, and their authority can only be dislodged by scrupulous study of his
writings both in depth and in breadth.
84 john webster
These schematic interpretations have often been tied to a particular account
of the development of Barth’s work which has come to serve as an interpretative filter. On this account, Barth’s work can be divided into two phases. A first
phase, stretching from the middle of the First World War to the end of the 1920s,
is characterized by an emphatically contrastive account of the relation between
God and the world, and by an accentuation of divine sovereignty and transcendence of such power that the mundane realities of history, culture and morality are all but erased. This phase is usually labelled ‘dialectical’. In a second
phase, stretching from the early 1930s to the end of Barth’s career, it is claimed
that he is more deeply committed to affirming the fellowship between God and
his creation, most of all in the mature trinitarian and Christological materials
in the fourth volume of the Church Dogmatics.
With slight variations, this account has provided the framework for many
widely divergent accounts of Barth and for numerous studies of particular
themes in his theology. It suffers, however, from two fatal flaws. One is that it is
too simplified to be illuminating as a close reading of Barth’s texts. It tends
to arrange both exposition and criticism of Barth by proposing a trajectory of
his development, placing on it what are considered to be his major writings
and then analysing them by isolating certain general themes. A second problem
is that this account of Barth’s development – never very well-grounded – is
now unsupportable in view of the considerable bulk of posthumous material
now available in the collected works currently in process of publication.
Some of the most crucial parts of this posthumous material consist of lecture
texts from the 1920s. Among other things, these manuscripts demonstrate that
many of what were often taken to be Barth’s concerns only later in his career –
above all, his interest in the human world, which the dominant interpretation
usually assigned only to his work in the 1950s – can be found already in the
1920s, at the very point where Barth was thought to be excluding such interests. Far from being, therefore, a thinker whose work went through a series of
shifts, Barth can be shown to be strongly consistent, most of all in his commitment throughout his career to articulating a vision of Christianity shaped by the
biblical gospel and by a reading of the Reformed tradition as both theocentric
and humane.
Life
Born in Basel in1886, Barth was the son of a moderate pastor and biblical theologian whose gentle and pious commitment to Christian orthodoxy was quietly
influential upon his son’s later development. In Barth’s early years the family
moved to Bern, and there he began theological studies in 1904. From here he
went to Berlin, at that time one of the centres of liberal Protestant scholarship
under the magisterial leadership of Adolf von Harnack, whom Barth admired
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85
greatly. It was, however, Wilhelm Herrmann in Marburg who was Barth’s chief
early theological mentor. Herrmann enabled Barth to articulate a thoroughly
modern account of Christianity, that is, one which took Kant’s metaphysical
scepticism and Schleiermacher’s theology of Christian consciousness with
great seriousness. But Herrmann also acted as a barrier against the collapse of
Christianity into cultural immanence, of which Ernst Troeltsch was, for Barth,
the paradigmatic instance. After finishing his studies and a brief period on the
staff of a liberal theological periodical, Barth took up pastoral work in the small
Swiss town of Safenwil.
In his 10 years in parish ministry, Barth experienced a complete volte-face,
abandoning his moderate liberalism and discovering an account of Christianity
oriented to the wholly miraculous and ‘other’ reality of God, and the sheer
gratuity of God’s relation to the world of human affairs. The shift was in
some measure prepared for by Barth’s involvement in the antibourgeois Swiss
social democratic movement, and by his distaste at the collusion of mainstream
Protestant liberalism with German state militarism. But above all, he discovered
that the tradition in which he had been reared offered only scant resources for
Christian proclamation. In effect, Barth found his operative theology crumbling.
For help, he turned to the Bible, especially to Paul, finding there ‘the world of
God’. The Bible, that is, witnessed to a transcendent reality of overwhelming
potency which set itself before its readers on its own terms, not as a solution to
human problems or an adornment to worldly projects, but as pure divine selfpresentation. Out of this study came a flood of articles, lectures and addresses,
but above all Barth’s commentary The Epistle to the Romans, first published
in 1919 and then completely rewritten three years later – an explosive piece
of theological writing whose reverberations were felt throughout European
Protestantism.
In 1921, Barth took up the academic work which was to engage him until
retirement, first as Professor of Reformed Theology in Göttingen. His four years
there were a period of intensely concentrated development. Lacking a doctorate
and largely unprepared for university teaching, Barth had to acquaint himself
with the classical Christian tradition, especially in its Reformed expressions. At
first he taught mainly courses of theological exegesis (notably the Gospel of John
and 1 Corinthians) and historical theology. In the latter connection he gave
a remarkable series of lectures on Schleiermacher (even at this early stage, his
vigorous critique is deeply respectful of the thinker whom he honoured above
all moderns), as well as introducing himself and his students to key Reformed
texts and thinkers. Toward the end of his period in Göttingen he lectured for the
first time on dogmatics; this lecture material (published posthumously as
The Göttingen Dogmatics) already contains in early form some important theological judgements which would characterize his mature work. Alongside his
teaching, Barth was also leader of what was to be (unhelpfully) named ‘Dialectical Theology’, a critical movement which associated him with figures such as
Bultmann and Brunner. The journal Zwischen den Zeiten became the chief organ
of the movement, and Barth its prophet.
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Barth moved to Münster in 1925, staying there for five years. Consolidating
the theological positions sketched out in the first half of the decade, Barth continued his exegetical and historical teaching. A finely drawn depiction of the
history of Protestant theology in the nineteenth century derives from lectures
first given at Münster. But Barth became increasingly preoccupied with dogmatics and ethics, two areas of theology he considered to have a differentiated
unity, corresponding to the integration of gospel (doctrine) and law (morals)
which he took to be the particular genius of the Reformed confession. In 1927
he published the first volume of his Christian Dogmatics; though the project was
quickly abandoned, it constituted a necessary stage in the preparation of the
Church Dogmatics. He also lectured at length on ethics; although the full text was
only published after Barth’s death, some of the material was adapted for inclusion in the Church Dogmatics. Barth’s fascination with dogmatics was a major
factor in the dispersal of the circle around him: Bultmann and others thought
that Barth had become a scholastic. Barth judged them to be trying to reinvigorate the anthropocentrism of Protestant liberalism.
Moving to Bonn in 1930, Barth rewrote his first published attempt at a dogmatic prolegomena, and so started the production of the Church Dogmatics
which was to occupy him for the rest of his theological career. By the early
1930s, he was established as the commanding Protestant theologian in
Germany. Free from anxiety about the viability of the theological task, and possessed of a thorough knowledge of great tracts of the exegetical and doctrinal
traditions of Western Christianity, Barth worked at constructive doctrinal theology with increasing confidence and relish. He was a key figure in Protestant
resistance to the Nazi regime, both in a flood of occasional writings and in his
participation in the formation of the Confessing Church (Barth played a major
role in drafting the Barmen Declaration in 1934). Dismissed from his post in
1935, he returned to his native Basel, where he remained for the rest of his life.
Here the Church Dogmatics occupied the central place in Barth’s intellectual
work. As he wrote, its bulk increased exponentially. He found himself not only
having to work out a fresh position on exegetical and historical questions, but
also having to think out from the beginning some crucial tracts of Christian
teaching (revelation, Trinity, predestination, creation, atonement, and much
else). And, furthermore, he discovered that he could only do descriptive justice
to his material by writing at considerable length. This proved to be a major factor
in the noncompletion of the project, which is broken off in the middle of the
fourth volume.
Despite his absorption with the Church Dogmatics, Barth did give himself to
other tasks. He was an influential figure in postwar ecumenical endeavours; he
was a devoted teacher to crowds of students from around the world; he was in
great demand as lecturer, teacher and correspondent; he gave voice to his – frequently controversial – views on political and church life, to the dismay of the
establishment. After retiring in 1962, Barth travelled to the USA, but shortly
after his return suffered a long period of ill health which left him unable to work
on major tasks for the rest of his life. Work on the Church Dogmatics (apart from
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a final fragment) had already effectively ceased when his long-time assistant
Charlotte von Kirschbaum became permanently ill. He continued to teach a
little, and to write minor pieces. Barth died on 10 December 1968.
Barth was a complex and powerful personality. He possessed a strong sense of
public vocation, from which he derived a firm sense of his own identity. At
various points in his life, his self-assurance and uncompromising adherence to
hard-won conviction led to strained or broken relations with others, a situation
to which Barth sometimes responded by presenting himself in the role of misunderstood outsider. Alongside this vigorously active and sometimes conflictladen external life, Barth also maintained the remarkable interior concentration
necessary for his intellectual work, and he was able to write (both in his theological work and in his correspondence) with pastoral sensitivity, gentleness and,
at times, humane serenity.
Earlier Work
The conventional account of Barth has it that, after his break with Protestant
liberalism around 1916, his theology was dominated by a radically polarized
understanding of God’s relation to humanity, one in which Barth assembled all
manner of theological themes (eschatology, revelation, divine aseity, sin and
grace) and some more abstract ideas (the absolute, origin, crisis, that which is
‘other’) into a colossal protest against the religion and theology of immanentism. Not only does this account fail to do justice to the full range of Barth’s
writing in the 1920s; it also mischaracterizes his fundamental intentions in the
period. For all its polemic, Barth’s earlier work is no mere volley of protest or
negation; it is driven by a positive intent, namely to articulate the fundamental
relatedness of God and his human creatures, in a way which does justice both
to divine sovereignty and the human realities of history, culture and morality.
The protest is not against the relation of God and humanity so much as against
theologies which considered that relation to be grounded in, managed by or
within the competence of the human subject.
As Barth struggled to give shape to these convictions in his last years as pastor
and his first years as professor, he found himself working on three related fronts:
biblical exegesis; a critical account of liberal Protestant religious culture, and
especially of its theology; and the interpretation of the thinkers and texts of the
Reformed tradition.
The Epistle to the Romans is undoubtedly the most significant exegetical work
from this period, yet it remains largely misunderstood. It is frequently read either
thematically, as a source book for Barth’s own ‘dialectical’ views, or as a
hermeneutical manifesto protesting against the hegemony of the historicalcritical method. Neither reading takes account of the fact that the book is a commentary – not a treatise on Paul or on Barth’s own theology, but an attempt to
give a sequential exposition of what Paul said in Romans as the medium of what
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God now says to the churches. Certainly, Barth does not stop short at describing
the historical background and linguistic form of Paul’s text, and in the prefaces
to the various editions of the commentary he is sharply critical of the cramping
effect of the concentration on such matters by his exegetical colleagues. But this
does not mean that he is merely composing free variations on themes from Paul.
He is attempting a conceptual paraphrase of Romans; the aim is to attend to and
rearticulate Paul’s thought, not to treat it as raw material for theological construction. Implicit within what Barth is attempting is a theological conviction
that the biblical text is not a religious artefact enabling reconstruction of the
circumstances of its production or of its author, but the instrument of a divine
action of communication in which the reader is summoned and judged.
As Barth recovered a way of reading Scripture which was interested above all
in the content of the biblical text and its function as medium of revelation, he
found himself increasingly distanced from liberal Protestant theology. One of his
major tasks when he turned to theological teaching was thus to develop an interpretation of the history of modern theology. He did this, however, not in order
to dismiss or abandon its tasks, but in order to be instructed by it and to learn,
by both agreement and interrogation, about the contemporary responsibilities
of Christian theology.
Many of those associated with Barth adopted his critical tone and announced
the end of the liberal era; Barth’s own judgements were more complex, reserved
and self-questioning. This can be seen from his lectures on Protestant Theology in
the Nineteenth Century (Barth, 2001), first given in the late 1920s and then
refined and eventually published shortly after the end of the Second World War.
But even at the beginning of his teaching career, Barth showed himself to be a
nuanced and respectful reader of the tradition, even when most puzzled or even
repelled by it. His 1923/4 lectures on The Theology of Schleiermacher are a case
in point. Barth had deep reservations about Schleiermacher’s project; but
Schleiermacher remained for him the living voice of Christian theology, one
whose arguments often set the terms of debate, and one whose vision of a
humane, churchly and Christocentric faith Barth shared, even when he sought
to reground and reconstruct it. Barth feared that Schleiermacher ran together
Christology and anthropology too easily, in such a way that the specificity of
Jesus’s existence is imperilled, and the Christ reduced to being a mere modification of a general realm of religious feeling. And he feared that for all his greatness Schleiermacher offered the initial impulse to a tradition which, in its late
nineteenth-century phase, rendered the Christian gospel immanent within
human moral and religious culture. Barth did not dispute Schleiermacher’s conviction that the Christian faith is concerned with both God and humanity; his
protest was against the distortions introduced by making the first term a function of the second, thereby allowing the human factor to acquire axiomatic
status.
By way of response, Barth sought to develop a theology of God’s relation to
humanity in which the twin foci (God and creatures) were retained but redefined
and related in an entirely different way. His primary resource for constructing
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such a theology was the Reformed tradition, which came to expression in the
exegetical, doctrinal and confessional texts of Calvin and his successors. Barth
had little deep knowledge of this tradition before he was required to teach it in
Göttingen, but delved into it with great zeal, lecturing on Zwingli, Calvin, the
Heidelberg Catechism and the Reformed Confessions in his first two years as professor. What he found in this tradition was a theology which held together both
an emphasis on the free sovereignty of divine grace and the reality of human
life as a historical project undertaken in active obedience to the saving will and
presence of God. This ordering of grace and ethics, the vertical and the horizontal, the divine and the humane, quickly established itself as one of Barth’s
deepest intellectual and spiritual instincts, not only shaping his interpretation of
the Calvinist tradition, but also providing one of the leading motifs of the later
Church Dogmatics, namely, the theme of covenant fellowship.
When Barth first ventured to lecture on dogmatics in Göttingen, he sketched
in rudimentary form some of the material which he would later develop in his
mature dogmatic writings. Such themes as the tight linkage of the doctrine of
the Trinity and revelation, the distinctly Reformed account of justification and
sanctification – or the rejection of double predestination – already appear in the
mid-1920s. Moreover, Barth has a clear conviction that theology takes place
within the sphere of the church and its confession; it is not inquiry into the possibility of the Christian religion, but inquiry into the adequacy of the church’s
act of proclamation when measured against the church’s ground and norm,
which is the self-communication or Word of God. Far from being concerned with
history, universal reason, morals or experience, theology is situated alongside
the preacher, sharing the same responsibility before the prophetic and apostolic
witness.
Barth’s interpretation of the Reformed tradition enabled him to give theological grounding to his interest in the sphere of the ethical. In some early lectures
and articles from the period when Barth was extricating himself from his liberal
inheritance, he appeared to be a negative moralist, undercutting emphasis on
human social action by vivid depiction of the wholly transcendent rule of the
divine work. His aim, however, was not to dissolve the ethical but to relativize it,
and precisely thereby to establish its basis in the presence and action of God. In
the late 1920s, Barth gave a full-scale cycle of lectures on moral theology, published posthumously as Ethics (Barth, 1991). One of his major preoccupations
there was to explain the correct ordering of grace and human moral activity,
and thus to clarify the relation of dogmatics to ethics. He argued that Christian
theology is at all points determined by the triune God’s self-revelation. That revelation is, however, both indicative and imperative. Accordingly, ethics is inseparable from dogmatics, for a theology of human action emerges from the gospel’s
proclamation of the acts of God which dogmatics portrays. But, alongside this,
dogmatics must be completed by ethics, because revelation is also command.
Barth structures his ethics in a trinitarian way, treating in sequence the
command of God as creator (Father), reconciler (Son) and redeemer (Spirit), and
within this structure handles detailed topics such as marriage, sexuality, politics,
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education and much more. This trinitarian pattern was retained as the structure for the Church Dogmatics.
The Church Dogmatics
Reading the Church Dogmatics is no easy matter. Quite apart from the sheer scale
and argumentative and conceptual complexity of the work, Barth’s rhetoric is
very demanding – in the literal sense that Barth writes in such a way as to place
his readers in the presence of and under the claim of the gospel which he seeks
to indicate. The style of the Dogmatics is in important respects closer to that of
preaching than to that of conventional scholarly discourse, for Barth seeks not
only to elicit an intellectual judgement from his readers, but to persuade,
console, delight and exhort them. He writes neither as apologist, nor, despite the
immense erudition of the work, as technical scholar, but as church theologian,
making his case by extensive appeal to and exposition of Scripture and the derivative texts of the classical Christian tradition. He is only incidentally engaged in
nontheological conversations; though he discusses philosophical texts at some
length, he does not accord them foundational significance, preferring to give
himself to the task of instructing the reader in the absorbing and utterly compelling reality of the works and ways of the triune God. The primacy of description helps explain the bulk of the Dogmatics, for Barth describes not by
condensing his subject matter into concepts, but by cumulative depiction, establishing a conviction by manifold portrayal, recapitulation and rephrasing. The
work has to be read at length in order to see how its various parts build into a
coherent portrait of the Christian gospel, one which is, moreover, not static, but
rather the attempt to indicate the living history of God with us. It also has to be
read as a project which developed over the course of the 30 years in which Barth
was at work on it, so that it has the unity not of a single statement but of a direction or of an integrated though complex and evolving vision.
The Church Dogmatics is divided into four volumes (the doctrines of the Word
of God, God, creation and reconciliation; a fifth volume on the doctrine of
redemption was never begun), each subdivided into part-volumes. The two parts
of Church Dogmatics I (1932, 1938) begin and end with discussion of the nature
and functions of dogmatics; the discussion is rooted, however, in an extensive
account of revelation and the being and activity of the triune God. Barth makes
the doctrine of the self-revealing Trinity do the job which for many other theologians is undertaken by theological prolegomena, namely that of establishing
the grounds on which the theological task is possible. Instead of starting from,
for example, a concept of religion or history, or an ontology or anthropology,
Barth sets out from the given reality of revelation as it occurs in the sphere of
the church. His first task, therefore, is an account of the ‘Word’, that is, the revelatory presence of God. God’s Word is neither a deposit of truth nor a set of
statements, but a divine act, namely, the event in which God has spoken, speaks
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now, and will speak, and which encounters us through the human instrument
of Scripture and its proclamation in the church. Both preaching and Scripture
are functions of God’s majestic self-utterance in which, with utter dignity, aseity
and spontaneity, God presents himself as lord of all reality. As self-revealing Lord,
moreover, God establishes the human conditions for the reception of revelation,
such that from start to finish – from its objective grounds to its subjective realization – revelation is the work of God. One of the crucial functions of trinitarian language about God is to state how in its entire scope, the work of
self-revelation is a wholly sovereign divine undertaking.
Barth’s interweaving of revelation and Trinity has often been judged to
subsume the doctrine of the Trinity under that of revelation; the resulting idiom
(of a single self-manifesting divine subject) is also thought to lead to an underplaying of the personal differentiations between Father, Son and Spirit and to
challenge the fittingness of the term ‘person’ in a trinitarian context. In fact, the
opposite is more nearly the case: Barth absorbs revelation back into Trinity, and
does not have an independent doctrine of revelation so much as an account of
the Father, Son and Spirit and of the differentiated unity in which they act and
so communicate their presence. This theme is given two lengthy portrayals in
Church Dogmatics I. I/1 describes the work of revelation proper to each mode of
God’s being. As Father, God reveals himself as creator and Lord; as Son, God
reveals himself as reconciler, overcoming human enmity; as Spirit, God reveals
himself as redeemer, making real our reconciliation to God. Dogmatics I/2 delves
more deeply into the same matters in an extended treatment of incarnation and
Spirit, which constitutes the first truly great piece of writing in the work. The
overarching aim of the exposition is to propound that in the work of Christ and
Spirit, God is both the objective and the subjective reality of revelation: both the
divine gift and its reception proceed from God alone. The volume is then rounded
out by a discussion of the nature of Scripture as prophetic and apostolic witness
to revelation, and by a concluding presentation of the role of dogmatics in the
church which seeks to hear and speak the gospel.
Four related themes are handled in the treatment of the doctrine of God in
Church Dogmatics II: knowledge of God, the reality of God, divine election and
the divine command. Barth’s starting point in discussing knowledge of God is
not the critical question of whether knowledge of God is possible, but rather the
objectivity in which God knows himself. Human knowledge of God is gracious
participation in divine self-knowledge through the mediation of the creaturely
signs which serve God’s self-manifestation. For such knowledge, humanity has
no capacity other than that bestowed by God in Christ through the Spirit. From
here, Barth moves to the central exposition of the divine reality, concentrating
not on questions of the existence of God but on God’s character, thereby keeping
his attention fixed on the particular identity of the triune God enacted in the
drama of creation and reconciliation. God’s essence is to be determined out of
his works, those acts in which God ‘names’ himself, declaring his identity as
Father, Son and Spirit. In his works, God manifests that his being is directed to
the establishment of fellowship with creatures, and so that he is one who loves
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in freedom: freedom is the depth of the divine love, and love is the actuality or
shape of God’s freedom.
The twin themes of freedom and love are further explored in a thorough
reworking of some traditional conceptions of God’s attributes (which Barth calls
divine ‘perfections’). The reworking continues in even more radical form in the
doctrine of election. Barth seeks to detach the theology of election from the
notion of an abstract, omnipotent divine will, and to reintegrate it into the particularity of God manifest in Christ. Talk of election is, in effect, an expansion of
the name of Jesus, that is, of his sovereign work of reconciling love. Election is
thereby linked, first, to God’s self-election: as the God who elects, God determines
that from all eternity he will be gracious. Second, election is the election of
humanity, not simply for a certain fate (as in the older doctrine of divine decrees)
but to a form of life and action. Accordingly, the doctrine of God closes with a
lengthy treatment of ethics as rooted in the command of God. Election means
covenant, and covenant entails a mutuality in which God is encountered by his
creatures not as mere cause or force but as Lord by whom all things are made
possible and to whom obedience is owed.
The third volume of the Dogmatics, on the doctrine of creation, is a point at
which Barth diverges very markedly from the more conventional modern treatments of creation and anthropology. He is reluctant to allow this material to
furnish a pretheological entrée to Christian language about God, and instead
expounds them as doctrines which derive from prior teaching about God’s identity. Thus, for example, he resists the metamorphosis of the Christian doctrine of
creation into a generic account of origins, arguing that talk of God as creator is
as much an assertion of faith as other pieces of Christian teaching. In particular, knowledge of the creator is Christologically derived. The point is summed up
in Barth’s proposal that creation is to be understood in terms of its purpose (what
Barth calls its ‘inner ground’), namely covenant, the fellowship between creator
and creature. Similarly, in treating anthropology, Barth maintains the ontic and
noetic priority of Christology: to be human and to know what it is to be human
are grounded in the fact of the man Jesus. There are many ramifications here:
a distinctive understanding of soul and body, an understanding of relation as
humanly definitive, and a highly complex account of human temporality. A
theology of providence is set out in Church Dogmatics III/3, where once again
Barth is at pains to be Christianly specific. This means that the content of belief
in providence is not a world picture or philosophy of history but the active conservation, accompaniment and governance of creaturely reality by God, spiritually perceived. A final part-volume turns to ethical themes, again in line with
Barth’s overall conception of the ethical character of dogmatics. Under the overarching theme of freedom, it considers life before God, life in fellowship, respect
for and protection of life, and the limitations of humanity.
Because the fourth volume, on the doctrine of reconciliation, bulks so large
in the whole work, and because it contains some of the most mature and expansive expression of Barth’s convictions, it is tempting to read the Dogmatics backwards, and see the earlier volumes as mere stages on the way (especially for those
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who see Barth as steadily moving away from transcendentalism to a mellow
humaneness). In fact, the doctrine of reconciliation presupposes the earlier
materials, which it does not supplant but bring to full fruition. The intellectual
structure of the material is extremely intricate, no section being fully understandable without reference to all the others. Its scope is vast, treating not only
salvation, but also the person of Christ, the doctrine of sin, pneumatology, the
theology of the church and of the Christian life, and ending with a fragmentary
exposition of baptism and the Lord’s Prayer as its ethical conclusion.
Barth does not follow the traditional sequence of Christology, soteriology, and
Spirit in the church and the believer. Instead, all the topics are assembled in three
long passages of argument in the first three part-volumes, each with a matching structure, and together forming a carefully constructed set of repetitions,
echoes and variations. Each part-volume begins with a substantial treatment of
the person and work of Christ (which Barth stubbornly refuses to separate). In
IV/1, the theme is ‘Jesus Christ, the Lord as Servant’, in which the obedience of
the Son of God is portrayed as his bearing of divine judgement, followed by his
vindication at the resurrection. Here Barth pulls into one complex pattern the
credal notion of Jesus as ‘true God’, and the classical Protestant notions of the
Son’s ‘state of humiliation’ and his priestly office. IV/2 treats the ‘exaltation of
the Son of Man’. Here the paradox of Jesus’s lowly deity as the servant Lord is
reversed, and his humanity is manifest in the triumphant ‘homecoming of the
Son of Man’; the tradition’s confession of Jesus as ‘true man’ is thus linked to
his ‘state of exaltation’ and to his kingly office. IV/3 rounds out the portrait by
looking at the unity of the two natures of Christ and at Jesus as ‘the true
witness’, the light of life in his office as prophet.
Having expounded this integrated account of the being and act of Jesus
Christ as the divine-human agent of reconciliation, each part-volume then
considers the effectiveness of the work of reconciliation in overcoming human
sin. As the obedient Son of God, Jesus Christ exposes sin as pride, which is the
antithesis to his humble self-offering; as the victorious Son of Man, Jesus Christ
exposes sin as the sloth which refuses the calling of God; as the true witness,
Jesus Christ exposes sin as falsehood. Thereafter, Barth expounds the ways in
which the work of reconciliation effects the renewal of human life: as justification, sanctification and vocation; as the gathering, upbuilding and sending of
the community in the Spirit’s power; and as the individual believer’s acts of faith,
love and hope.
Conclusion
Barth’s work continues to generate a considerable literature of commentary and
criticism. Because he looms so large in twentieth-century theology, most major
Protestant theological thinkers and movements have positioned themselves with
regard to his work, and there is, in addition, a large body of Roman Catholic
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commentary, much of it appreciative. Current work on Barth demonstrates a
number of concerns. Many have attempted to interpret Barth in terms of his
context – whether by setting him in the wider history of modernity (of which
he is considered by some to be the sternest of critics and by others a late
example), or by envisaging him (especially in his earlier work) as a postmodern
thinker avant la lettre, or, more successfully, by detailed historico-genetic study of
the sources and evolution of Barth’s thinking. Others continue to assess Barth’s
dogmatic achievements; in recent scholarship, his doctrine of the Trinity and his
pneumatology have been heavily criticized as a late flowering of the putative
Western monistic tradition, though these criticisms are difficult to sustain from
the full range of his thinking. Similarly, his doctrine of the church has been
debated, and by some judged to be too occasionalist, lacking in a sense of the
church as a human project by which the presence and activity of God is brought
to bear upon the world. It remains the case, however, that the best critical interpretations of Barth have been those which engage in scrupulous study of his
texts and are alert to his character as a modern biblical and church dogmatician
and moralist in the tradition of open Reformed Christianity.
Bibliographical Information
There is a full bibliography of primary and secondary materials in Wildi
(1989–94). Barth’s collected works (Gesamtausgabe) are currently under publication in Switzerland (Zurich: Theologischer Verlag Zurich). Besides the Church
Dogmatics (1956–75), attention should also be paid to the other major lecture
cycles (most published posthumously): see Barth (1982, 1990-, 1991, 1992,
2001). There are also many collections of essays: see Barth (1928, 1954, 1961,
1962, 1971). Among the biblical studies, see Barth (1933a, 1933b, 1986,
2002). Commentaries on credal and confessional texts include Barth (1938,
1956, 1960a, 1960b, 1964). There is also an important commentary on
Anselm (Barth, 1960c).
The secondary literature on Barth is vast and multilingual. A good account
of his life and work is offered in Busch (1976). Introductions include Hunsinger
(1991) and Webster (2000a, 2000b), where more detailed bibliographies can
be found.
References
Primary literature
Barth, K. (1928). The Word of God and the Word of Man. London: Hodder and Stoughton.
Barth, K. (1933a). The Epistle to the Romans. London: Oxford University Press.
Barth, K. (1933b). The Resurrection of the Dead. London: Hodder and Stoughton.
Barth, K. (1938). The Knowledge of God and the Service of God. London: Hodder and
Stoughton.
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95
Barth, K. (1954). Against the Stream. London: SCM.
Barth, K. (1956). Credo. London: Hodder and Stoughton.
Barth, K. (1956–75). Church Dogmatics. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Barth, K. (1960a). The Faith of the Church. London: Collins.
Barth, K. (1960b). Dogmatics in Outline. London: SCM.
Barth, K. (1960c). Anselm. Fides Quaerens Intellectum. London: SCM.
Barth, K. (1961). The Humanity of God. London: Collins.
Barth, K. (1962). Theology and Church. London: SCM.
Barth, K. (1964). Learning Jesus Christ through the Heidelberg Catechism. Richmond, VA:
John Knox Press.
Barth, K. (1971). Fragments Grave and Gay. London: Collins.
Barth, K. (1982). The Theology of Schleiermacher. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Barth, K. (1986). Witness to the Word. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.
Barth, K. (1990–). The Göttingen Dogmatics. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Barth, K. (1991). Ethics. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Barth, K. (1992). The Theology of Calvin. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Barth, K. (2001). Protestant Theology in the Nineteenth Century. London: SCM.
Barth, K. (2002). The Epistle to the Philippians. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox
Press.
Secondary literature
Busch, E. (1976). Karl Barth. London: SCM.
Hunsinger, G. (1991). How to Read Karl Barth. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Webster, J. (2000a). Karl Barth. London: Continuum.
Webster, J. (ed.) (2000b). The Cambridge Companion to Karl Barth. Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press.
Wildi, M. (1989–94). Bibliographie Karl Barth, 3 vols. Zurich: Theologischer Verlag
Zurich.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 6
English Protestantism to the
Present Day
Gerald Bray
Origins
Although Protestantism as we know it originated in Germany and Switzerland,
there is a sense in which its true origin lies in fourteenth-century England, where
the Oxford don, John Wycliffe (1330–84) first taught many of the doctrines
which would later characterize the German Reformation. Among other things,
Wycliffe denied the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, and said that
the true church consisted only of the elect, and was therefore invisible. He also
believed that it was necessary to translate the Bible into the spoken language
and preach its message to the common people. Wycliffe’s followers, known as
‘Lollards’, from an old word meaning ‘to mumble’, took up his precepts and
made two separate translations of the Bible into English. They organized cells
all over England, and in the early fifteenth century they attracted some prominent supporters. But persecution, which included the introduction of burning
as punishment for heresy, drove the Lollards underground, and they were
soon reduced to impotence. By the time the reformation reached England
they were a scattered remnant, which quickly merged into the newly arrived
Protestantism.
Wycliffe’s ideas, however, circulated all over Europe, and were particularly
influential on the Bohemian reformer, Jan Hus. Through him they reached
Martin Luther and influenced his thought long after they had been forgotten in
English university circles, where reforming ideas first reappeared through the
influence of Renaissance humanism. Erasmus (1466–1536), its leading exponent, spent some time in Cambridge and attracted a small but important following there, as well as in London and Oxford. Men of the calibre of John Colet,
dean of St Paul’s cathedral, advocated serious reform along Erasmian lines, and
when German Protestant literature began to appear in the 1520s, it was avidly
read in English academic circles. William Tyndale (c.1494–1536) was moved to
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propose a translation of the Bible into English, but as that was illegal he
was forced to flee the country. He went to Wittenberg, where he became one
of Luther’s most devoted disciples. In 1526 he published an English New
Testament, complete with a series of prefaces to the different books, although
these were little more than translations of the ones which Luther had produced
for his German Bible.
Tyndale’s work was banned in England, and probably would have had no
influence there had it not been for King Henry VIII’s looming marital difficulties. The king needed a credible male heir if his dynasty was to be secure, but his
wife, Catherine of Aragon, had produced only a daughter and was rapidly
growing too old to have further children. Henry decided to apply for an annulment of the marriage, on the rather specious grounds that Catherine had previously married his older brother Arthur (who had died shortly afterwards) and
that his own marriage therefore fell foul of Leviticus 20 : 21, which says that if
a man marries his sister-in-law the union will be childless. Weak though his case
was, Henry was determined to pursue it and did all he could to secure the
required papal annulment. Unfortunately for him, Catherine was the aunt of
Charles V, King of Spain and Holy Roman Emperor, to whom she appealed for
help. Charles was then in the process of conquering Rome and making the Pope
his prisoner, so there was no possibility that Henry’s request would be granted,
in spite of indications that the Pope was willing to do so. Henry’s patience ran
out in 1529, when he decided to summon a parliament in which he stirred up
anti-clericalism among the laity. He dismissed his chief adviser, Cardinal Thomas
Wolsey, and advanced Thomas Cromwell, a layman who was sympathetic to the
desire for ecclesiastical reform. Through Cromwell, he came in contact with
Thomas Cranmer, a Cambridge don who had written a tract supporting the
king’s desire for an annulment, and when the archbishopric of Canterbury fell
vacant in 1532, Cranmer was appointed to it.
After a long campaign, designed to wear down the clergy’s resistance and persuade as many people as possible that the church was hopelessly corrupt, Henry
finally engineered the break with Rome in 1534, when he had both the church
and the parliament declare that he was ‘supreme head in earth’ of the Church
of England. This declaration was immediately followed by the suppression of the
canon law faculties in the universities and soon afterwards by the dissolution of
the lesser monasteries. There were some who objected to the king’s policies, especially in the north of England where rebellion broke out, but Henry was strong
enough to crush the opposition and to carry the country with him. The dissolution of the greater monasteries went ahead in 1538–40, and Henry bought
the support of the rising middle class by selling off large amounts of monastic
land to them. This created a landed gentry with a vested interest in protecting
the new order of things, a development which would prove to be invaluable later
on, when a catholic reaction set in and threatened the progress of reformed ideas
in the church.
Theologically speaking, Henry’s break with Rome can scarcely be called a
Protestant Reformation. There was no change at all to the liturgy and theology
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of the church. Mass continued to be said in Latin, and priests were not permitted
to marry. An English translation of the Bible was authorized in 1538, but even
that was not printed after 1541, by which time it had become illegal to deny
such things as transubstantiation and priestly celibacy. From 1536 to about
1538 there was an attempt to forge an alliance between England and the
Protestants of Germany, but this foundered on the mutual dislike of Henry
and Luther as well as on the fact that the king did not accept the theological
innovations which Protestantism entailed. When Henry died in 1547 very
little had changed in the Church of England, and a number of Protestant
sympathizers, including Thomas Cromwell, had lost their lives at the hands of
an essentially Catholic king.
The English Reformation
The English reformation began in earnest only after Henry VIII died. His nineyear old son, Edward VI, who had been given Protestant tutors, succeeded him.
The regency council included Thomas Cranmer, who was thus free to make some
far-reaching reforms. He quickly produced an English-language liturgy which
was designed to emphasize the Protestant doctrine of justification by faith alone.
The Book of Common Prayer, as this liturgy was called, was introduced at
Pentecost 1549, but it was sufficiently conservative that the anti-Protestant
bishops were able to claim that it was acceptably Catholic in content. This was
not what Cranmer and his close associates, who by then included a number of
European divines whom he had invited to England, wanted to hear, and he was
soon engaged on a revision of the prayer book. Before that appeared however,
he got parliament to legislate for clerical marriage and produced new ordination
services (the Ordinal), which emphasized the Protestant value of a learned ministry. He also published a series of sermons (the Homilies) which taught the basic
doctrines of Protestantism, and which the clergy were ordered to read from their
pulpits every Sunday. The revised prayer book came out in 1552 and was a
clearly Protestant work. The traditionalist bishops could not accept it, but by
then many of them had been deprived of their sees and sent into enforced retirement. A few months after the second prayer book came out, Cranmer produced
42 ‘articles’ of faith, in which he outlined his own form of Protestant teaching.
This owed much to Martin Luther, but even more to Martin Bucer and the
emerging ‘Reformed’ theology which later came to be called ‘Calvinism’ after its
leading exponent.
Cranmer also wanted to reform the church’s administration and discipline,
but he was prevented from doing so both by powerful opposition among the aristocracy, which may have feared an ecclesiastical dictatorship, and by the premature death of the King, which brought his half-sister Mary, daughter of the
rejected Catherine of Aragon, to the throne in July 1553. Mary soon had
Cranmer arrested on the ground that he had supported the claims of the
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Protestant Lady Jane Grey to the crown, and many prominent reformers left the
country. Parliament agreed to return to the Roman obedience, but only after it
had extracted a promise from the queen that there would be no attempt made
to recover the old monastic lands for the church. The dispossessed bishops were
reinstated, and their Protestant substitutes were arrested along with Cranmer.
There followed a show debate at Oxford, in which Cranmer was obliged to defend
his Protestant views against the now dominant Catholic opposition, and that
paved the way to his eventual trial for heresy. He was eventually burnt at the
stake in 1556, by which time the flames had already claimed a number of other
victims, including Nicholas Ridley and Hugh Latimer, both prominent reformers. Not content with punishing a few leaders, Mary did her best to extirpate
Protestantism wherever she could find it, and over 200 ordinary people met their
deaths for their beliefs. This struck public opinion as unwarranted savagery, and
did much to discredit Catholicism in the eyes of the English people. Mary’s marriage to Philip II of Spain did not help either, because it embroiled the country
in an unwanted war with France, which caused England to lose Calais, its last
remaining possession in that country. Mary also tried to restore the monasteries, and the fear grew that she would compel the gentry to surrender their
recently acquired lands. Most seriously of all, her marriage to Philip was childless, and it soon became clear that the Catholic revival had no future. When
Mary died in 1558, she was succeeded by her Protestant half-sister Elizabeth,
and the reformation was re-established on what would turn out to be a permanent basis.
The Elizabethan Settlement and Puritanism
Elizabeth’s strategy was to restore Protestantism as it had been at the death of
Edward VI, but to do so in a way which reconciled as many traditionalists as possible to the new order. She issued a new prayer book, based on Cranmer’s 1552
version but with somewhat more ritual than he had prescribed. Most of the
bishops refused to support her, so she forced them out and appointed men who
were prepared to do her bidding, but the population as a whole was ready to back
her. By 1563 there was a second book of Homilies and a revised set of articles,
their number reduced to 39. There was also a catechism for use in schools and
a detailed set of instructions (known as ‘injunctions’) which determined how the
new settlement was to be implemented at parish level. As Elizabeth was not
immediately excommunicated by the Pope, many English traditionalists continued to worship in the church, which is exactly what the queen wanted. When
her excommunication finally came (in 1570) it was accompanied by a papal
order that all loyal Catholics should do their best to assassinate the ‘heretical’
queen. This outrageous demand turned many traditionalists against the papacy,
and forced the government to persecute those who continued to waver in their
allegiance. Though it was never wiped out completely, Catholicism came to be
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regarded as a foreign element in English life, and Protestantism began to make
the steady progress which was to assure its place as the national faith of the
English.
Yet as this happened, the character of English Protestantism became much
more complex than it had been at the start of Elizabeth’s reign. Under Mary, significant numbers of Englishmen had taken refuge abroad, and it was there that
they came into real contact with European Protestantism for the first time. In
Frankfurt, the English exile community split between those who were loyal to
the 1552 prayer book and those who wanted more radical reforms, along continental lines. The conservatives won the argument, but the radicals went to
Geneva where they were welcomed and encouraged to plan for a future reformation in England. They abandoned set forms of worship and began a fresh
translation of the Bible, which was based on the latest critical texts. The Geneva
Bible was known mainly for its marginal notes, which provided a radical Protestant interpretation of Scripture. For example, the name ‘Antichrist’ was applied
without hesitation to the pope, and Catholics were identified with Old Testament
idolaters. It was also famous for being printed in cheap pocket editions, which
made it possible for ordinary people to own a copy of the Scriptures. It was this
factor, more than any other, which made the Geneva Bible the translation of
choice in late sixteenth-century England, and which opened the door to a more
uncompromising form of Protestantism.
When Elizabeth came to the throne, these exiles hastened back to England,
and for a while they were her most reliable supporters. She put several of them
in high positions, and their outlook influenced the revision of the articles of religion mentioned above. But whereas Elizabeth saw her settlement as final, these
radicalized Protestants regarded it as merely transitional. Soon they were
agitating for further reforms which would ‘purify’ the church of its remaining Romish corruptions. These people called themselves the ‘godly’, but their
enemies nicknamed them ‘puritans’, and the latter term has prevailed in
common parlance. The Puritans had significant support in the House of
Commons, a fact which led to increasing conflict between the lower house of
parliament and the crown. They concentrated on trying to raise the educational
level and preaching standard of the clergy, and this gained them considerable
support. Even the queen may have agreed with them in principle, but her
methods were those of gradualism, not of revolution. That this was essentially
a difference of opinion among allies can be seen from the fact that when it
became clear that England was threatened by a Catholic invasion, the Puritans
abandoned their opposition to the government, and agreed to accept the existing establishment as by far the lesser of two evils. But after the Spanish Armada,
on which Catholic hopes were pinned, was defeated (1588), the old Puritan
demands re-emerged in an even more radical form.
In 1589–90 a series of tracts was published under the pseudonym of Martin
Marprelate, which attacked the church hierarchy with unprecedented ferocity.
A handful of radicals were rounded up and executed, but the identity of Martin
Marprelate was never revealed. Moderate Puritans tried to persuade the hot-
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heads to be patient and wait for the queen’s death, when it was widely expected
that the reforms they desired would be introduced by her successor, who was
James VI, the Calvinist king of Scotland. The majority followed this advice, but
some came to believe that the Church of England was unreformable and they
left it altogether. These extremists came to be called ‘separatists’, and many
of them went to Holland, where they were granted almost complete freedom
of worship. It was in Holland that some of the separatists met groups of
Mennonites, who persuaded them that infant baptism was unjustifiable on
biblical grounds. Thus originated the English Baptists, some of whom felt obliged
to return home to preach their new understanding of the gospel.
Civil War Over Religion
By then, the queen was long dead and James had ascended the English throne
as James I (1603–25). The Puritan leaders immediately petitioned him to
reform the Church of England along Scottish (Presbyterian) lines, but James
would not agree to that. Instead, he sponsored a Puritan project to produce a
new translation of the Bible, based on the latest critical texts. The one condition
which he imposed was that the new translation should have no marginal
notes accompanying it. A series of committees were set up to do the work,
which was finally completed in 1611. It was immediately authorized for use
in church, and within a generation it had completely displaced all earlier
translations, to become the classic Bible of the English-speaking world. It was a
translation acceptable to all shades of church opinion, a fact which was vitally
important in a church which defined its faith as grounded on Scripture alone.
So significant was this achievement that, although the King James Bible
is no longer widely used in Protestant churches, the tradition of nondenominational Bible study and translation has continued in England to the
present day. Whatever their other differences, English Protestants have always
been one in their study of the Scriptures, and this has given them a unity and
cohesion which has served to counteract the sometimes sharp denominational
divisions in the church.
James I did his best to maintain the Elizabethan settlement in the face of
Puritan pressure to change it, but because the moderate Puritans respected him
for his Calvinist theology, they were usually willing to tolerate his compromising policies in other areas. This changed under his son and successor, Charles I
(1625–49). Charles wanted to enforce the letter of the Elizabethan settlement of
1559, and he had little sympathy with Calvinism. In 1629 he shut down the
Protestant-leaning parliament and four years later he was able to appoint
the like-minded William Laud as Archbishop of Canterbury. Before long, even
the more moderate Puritans were being openly persecuted, and many fled to
New England. Those who remained behind could do little as long as the king was
firmly in control, but in 1637 a revolt against Laudian policies in Scotland forced
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Charles to raise an English army to crush it. The campaign went badly, and in
1640 the king was obliged to recall parliament.
The pent-up frustrations of a decade were suddenly unleashed, and the
Puritans were soon demanding religious freedom. In 1641 Archbishop Laud
was arrested, and a few months later, civil war broke out between the king on
the one side and the Puritan House of Commons on the other. By 1643 it was
clear that the Puritans were winning, but the king would not surrender. Even
after he was captured, Charles played for time by making false promises to his
captors. In the end, he was put on trial and executed, and the monarchy was
abolished (1649).
By then, Archbishop Laud had been put to death (1645) and the Episcopal
Church of England had been dismantled (1646). More significantly in the long
term, an assembly of theologians at Westminster had drawn up a new confession of faith, two catechisms and a Presbyterian form of church order which
parliament adopted in 1647. These documents were intended to be the basis for
the union of the churches of England, Scotland and Ireland. Although they were
rescinded when the monarchy was restored in 1660, they were afterwards
adopted once more in Scotland (1690) and also became the fundamental confession of faith on which classical English Presbyterianism was built.
The Collapse of Puritanism and the Division of
English Protestantism
In 1649 English Puritanism was firmly in control of parliament and the country,
but it was rent by internal divisions. After 1640 religious censorship was no
longer effective, with the result that a plethora of new sects emerged. Most of
these proved to be ephemeral, but a few, like the Quakers, have survived to the
present day. The main division was between the Presbyterians, supported by the
Scots, and the so-called ‘Independents’, who wanted a congregational form
of church government. To make things even more complex, some of these
Independents rejected the practice of infant baptism, thereby becoming the
nucleus of the future Baptist church. But even these early Baptists were divided
into Calvinists, who agreed with the Presbyterians on most doctrinal matters,
and the so-called ‘Arminians’, named after the Dutch theologian Arminius
(1560–1609), who rejected the doctrines of unconditional election and
predestination. Before long, the Puritan movement was divided along many
criss-crossing lines, and all too often the Puritans fought each other rather than
their common enemies.
Parliament was largely Presbyterian in complexion, but the army generally
supported the Independents, and Oliver Cromwell, its commander-in-chief, tried
to implement a broad-based toleration based on a Congregationalist principle.
Unfortunately, it was an idea ahead of its time and almost nobody was satisfied
with it. As time went on, Cromwell became increasingly dictatorial, thereby
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alienating many of his own followers. After his death, there was no one able to
succeed him, and in 1660 King Charles II (1660–85) was restored with the
backing of the Presbyterian faction in the army, which had gradually ousted the
Independents.
Charles II promised toleration, but his more fanatical supporters were determined to avenge their defeat and humiliation during the civil war. They would
not countenance anything less than a near-complete restoration of the old
Episcopalian Church of England, with only token concessions to Puritanism.
This was unacceptable to most of the Puritans, and when the new order was
imposed in 1662, about 2,000 ministers left the church. Laws were quickly past
to restrict their activities, and legal penalties against dissenters, as their supporters were called, were also introduced. Persecution soon followed, but it was
of limited effectiveness. The king tried to find a compromise, but the fear that
any move towards toleration would also benefit Roman Catholics ensured that
all such attempts would fail. Charles was succeeded by his brother James II
(1685–8) who had converted to Catholicism in 1672 and who was naturally
inclined to favour his co-religionists whenever possible.
The ensuing crisis drew both conforming and dissenting Protestants together
and James was forced to flee the country, leaving the crown to his Protestant
daughter Mary II (1689–94) and her Dutch husband, William III (1689–
1702). The constitutional settlement that emerged from these events guaranteed the position of the Church of England, and future sovereigns would
be obliged to enter into communion with it. At the same time, the church’s
monopoly was compromised by an act of toleration, which granted certain
limited rights to dissenters. Furthermore, in 1695 religious censorship was
effectively abolished, which gave dissenters freedom to propagate their beliefs.
The Protestant State
From 1689 to 1832 England was an officially Protestant state to a degree that
it had not been before and has not been since. Roman Catholicism declined into
insignificance and the Church of England’s Protestant character was loudly proclaimed on every possible occasion. It controlled both the law and education to
such an extent that in 1753 it was given a monopoly over marriages (except
those of Jews and Quakers, for whom there were special provisions). Dissent also
declined, not least because it was possible to hold all the essential tenets of
Calvinism and remain within the established church. But dissent also suffered
from scepticism, which was spread under the guise of ‘enlightenment’. By 1720
almost all the surviving Presbyterians and a large number of independents had
become Unitarians, and those who resisted the trend were marginalized and
ineffective.
This situation might have continued indefinitely had it not been for the ‘evangelical revival’, a movement of spiritual renewal that got underway about 1740.
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Its most prominent figure was John Wesley (1703–91), who was converted in
1738 and soon became an indefatigable outdoor preacher. The revival had its
own internal divisions, caused mainly by the fact that Wesley rejected the
Calvinist doctrines of election and predestination, but its impact was unstoppable. By the end of the eighteenth century, Wesley’s followers had become
clearly defined as ‘Methodists’, so called because they practiced a methodical
spiritual discipline, and they were virtually separate from the Church of
England. The Calvinistic revivalists, on the other hand, remained within the
established church, where they formed an ‘evangelical’ tradition which continues to the present day. The revival’s most noticeable innovation was the introduction of popular hymn singing. So successful was this that today most English
people regard the singing of hymns as the main ingredient of public worship,
something that would have astonished the first reformers.
The revival also served to reanimate the older dissenting traditions, making
them more like one another in the process. Preaching for conversion and congregational hymn singing became the order of the day, and by 1800 a palpable
renewal of English Protestantism was discernible right across the denominational spectrum. One result of this was a new emphasis on social and political
reform, including the abolition of slavery. Another was the explosion of a
worldwide missionary movement, of which the interdenominational British and
Foreign Bible Society (founded 1804) was the most prominent manifestation.
Ironically, the chief casualty of the revival was the country’s Protestant constitution. The Church of England was widely criticized for its apparent lethargy,
and its willingness to support the status quo in the state. Because of this, it was
regarded as one of the chief obstacles to reform, and disestablishing it became
one of the great revivalist causes of the nineteenth century. This process began
with the emancipation of Protestant dissenters (1828) and Roman Catholics
(1829) and continued with a series of revolutionary measures which greatly
weakened the Church of England’s hold on the country’s life. Civil registration
of births and marriages was introduced in 1837, tithes were generally abolished
in 1836, the church courts which handled matrimonial and inheritance disputes were deprived of those jurisdictions (1858) and finally the ancient universities were opened to all without discrimination (1871).
Religious Pluralism and Secularization
By then the Church of England had to all intents and purposes become a voluntary society not unlike the nonconformist denominations, though it was not
disestablished. It remained larger than all the other churches put together, and
underwent its own renewal process that strengthened its ability to defend itself
against secularist attacks. New dioceses were created, ancient sinecures and
anomalies in its administration were ironed out, and a limited form of selfgovernment was introduced. The evangelical wing of the church remained
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strong, but the main impetus for internal reform passed to a new group, the socalled ‘Anglo-Catholics’ who emerged after 1833. The Anglo-Catholics began by
issuing a series of 90 tracts in which they advocated a church which would
be spiritually independent of the state and which would recover its preReformation heritage. The more extreme advocates of this school of thought
began to blame the Reformation for being the root cause of the heresies and
secularization which they saw all around them, and after 1845 there was a
steady stream of conversions to the Church of Rome from among this group.
Anglo-Catholicism was stoutly resisted by the Protestant mainstream, but the
real danger to English Protestantism came from elsewhere. It was not Roman
conservatism but secular liberalism which made the greatest inroads on all the
Protestant churches, and led to a steep decline in their intellectual vigour and
influence. At first there was a fairly united front against such things as Charles
Darwin’s On the Origin of Species (1859), but by 1900 most prominent church
leaders and departments of theology in the universities had accepted the new
liberalism. Orthodox Protestants joined forces with like-minded people in North
America to produce a series of tracts called The Fundamentals (1912), but the
only result of this was the appearance of a new (and pejorative) term to describe
traditional orthodoxy – ‘fundamentalism’. Despite the high quality of much conservative scholarship, ‘fundamentalism’ was soon regarded as obscurantist and
excluded from church government in almost all the denominations.
By 1914 the churches were losing ground, though this had not yet translated
into a corresponding loss of social and political influence. Social reform and missionary endeavour remained characteristic of all the churches, and almost no
one questioned the public role of Protestantism as England’s official ideology.
The First World War (1914–18) transformed this situation, but its long-term
effects were not immediately felt. The churches were enthusiastic recruiters for
the war effort, and dead soldiers were frequently compared with Christ himself,
because they sacrificed their lives for their fellow citizens. But as the futility of
war and the failure to establish a lasting peace became obvious, the church’s
earlier enthusiasm turned many people against it. Some church leaders joined
the rising labour movement and advocated a form of Christian socialism, but
most did not and Protestantism came to be associated with social conservatism
to a degree that was altogether new in its history.
Church attendance continued to decline, but ironically the churches’ influence on social policy seems to have increased in the mid-twentieth century.
A clear example of this can be seen in the 1944 Education Act, which made
religious instruction (by which was meant an undenominational basically
Protestant Christianity) compulsory in all state schools. Religious broadcasting
was also a prominent feature of this period, and it too, was mainly Protestant in
character.
Secularization in the modern sense did not begin to affect English society until
after 1960, by which time churchgoing had become the preserve of a small
minority. The Christian morality which had traditionally shaped the law of the
land was challenged and then abandoned, as divorce and abortion became easily
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obtainable. Religious education was transformed into ethics or the study of
world religions, and some prominent church leaders denied the basic tenets of
Christianity without being disciplined for it. By 2000 all the main Protestant
churches had become so pluralistic in both doctrinal and ethical matters that it
was difficult to see any relationship between them and the Protestant beliefs
which had originally brought them into being.
Having said that, it is also true that all the Protestant churches were affected
by a conservative evangelical revival, which after 1970 was increasingly tinged
with a ‘charismatic’ spirituality, which emphasized the importance of exercising spiritual gifts like speaking in tongues, prophecy and faith healing. Traditional forms of worship were widely abandoned in favour of largely unstructured
services with a high level of congregational participation. The Authorized
Version of the Bible celebrated its 350th birthday in 1961 as the still-dominant
translation throughout the English-speaking world, but by 2000 it had been
replaced almost everywhere by a vast range of new translations, none of which
had a clear edge over the others. The loss of a common Bible had severe effects
on Protestants, who no longer had a familiar reference point which they shared,
but it must be emphasized that this change was in no sense denominational, nor
was it confined to England.
In fact, probably the most significant development in English Protestantism
since 1945 has been its increasing exposure to worldwide Christianity. As the
traditional missionary movement contracted dramatically, so the churches
founded by missionaries in different parts of the world began to appear in
Britain. Immigrants brought them from the West Indies and Africa, and mass
communications ensured that when a church in Toronto ‘sneezed’ with a new
form of charismatic blessing in the early 1990s, many English congregations
immediately caught cold! Similarly, the ordination of women and the granting
of full recognition to practising homosexuals in North America and Australasia
has had a powerful knock-on effect in England, although there is still a native
traditionalism which does what it can to resist such trends. English Protestants
have embraced some aspects of Americanization wholeheartedly but they have
also resisted others, most notably the American fascination with apocalyptic millenarianism, which remains a fringe interest in England. In a sense, it would not
be too much to say that a distinctively ‘English’ Protestantism no longer exists.
It has become part of a global phenomenon in which the English-speaking world
as a whole may be dominant, but in which England itself plays only a supporting role, contributing significantly in some areas (especially church music), but
in many others absorbing and reflecting what are in reality worldwide trends.
The Current Scene
In the light of the above, it can be said that Protestantism remains the dominant
religious influence in England, but that it no longer enjoys the monopoly that it
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had before 1960. Roman Catholicism is numerically almost as strong as the
Church of England, but it has undergone its own internal reforms which have
produced a situation similar to that found in the main Protestant churches
and is therefore no longer the threat to Protestantism that it once was. NonChristian religions have become prominent through immigration, but it is still
too early to tell how long that will last. As immigrant children integrate into
English society, they may lose contact with their ancestral cultures and religions,
which would nullify their apparent gains. On the other hand, they may succeed
in domesticating Islam or Hinduism, so that an authentically English form of
these religions will emerge. The vast majority of English people have no formal
attachment to any religious body, but to the extent that they participate in
religious activities at all, it is usually to some form of Protestantism that they
turn. Committed Protestants deplore the lingering popular attachment to such
politically incorrect hymns as William Blake’s Jerusalem or Onward Christian
Soldiers, but the fact that such an attachment still exists bears witness to the
residual Protestantism of English popular culture. Similarly, religious broadcasting remains basically Protestant, and it is not unusual for Church of England
clergy to appear in radio or television soap operas as part of the local landscape.
Theology continues to be taught at several state universities, and the emphasis on biblical studies points to its fundamentally Protestant character. There is
a growing academic interest in the English Reformation that has both challenged and reaffirmed the Protestant character of the English nation and people.
Perhaps more significantly, the state’s growing inability to provide adequate
social services and education has led to a revival of church-related activity in
these spheres, not least in inner-city areas where the churches are often the only
social agencies rooted in the locality. It is still uncommon for prominent public
figures to profess any form of Christianity, and media hostility to the church
remains strong, but reporters frequently express surprise at the strength of
grassroots faith, which is after all what really counts, and the BBC’s hymnsinging Songs of Praise retains its enormous popularity.
Protestant denominationalism is much weaker than it has ever been, and a
practical pan-Protestant ecumenism is now all but universal in England, especially among lay people. Presbyterians and Congregationalists joined together to
form the United Reformed Church in 1972, although a similar scheme to unite
Anglicans and Methodists was a failure. Even so, forms of worship have converged to a significant extent, and parachurch organizations like Tear Fund
(relief work) and Spring Harvest (events, conferences, etc) play a prominent role
in shaping Protestant attitudes. The main internal divisions in all the churches
are between liberals and conservatives on the one hand, and between charismatics and non-charismatics on the other. As these divisions cut right across
denominational boundaries, interdenominational co-operation between the
like-minded is strengthened and denominational labels become even less important. Today, homosexuality is far more likely to divide Protestants from one
another than episcopacy or infant baptism are, and there is no indication that
that trend will be reversed in the near future. Similarly, charismatic experiences
108 gerald bray
cause more ripples than a new Bible translation does, however great an improvement it may be on its various rivals.
English Protestantism will survive, and in all probability it will continue to
shape the country’s religious culture for the foreseeable future. At the beginning
of the third millennium, the real question is whether a new synthesis of doctrine, spirituality and social witness will emerge which can reunite what have
become competing forces within Protestantism, and make a genuine impact on
the nation as a whole.
Further Reading
Bebbington, D. W. (1989). Evangelicalism in Modern Britain. London: Unwin.
Bosher, R. S. (1951). The Making of the Restoration Settlement. The Influence of the
Laudians, 1649–1662. London: Dacre Press.
Bray, G. L. (1994). Documents of the English Reformation. Cambridge, UK: James Clarke.
Brigden, S. (1989). London and the Reformation. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Clark, J. C. D. (2000). English Society 1660–1832, 2nd edn. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press.
Collinson, P. (1990). The Elizabethan Puritan Movement, 2nd edn. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Davies, H. (1996). Worship and Theology in England, 3 vols, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.
Dickens, A. G. (1989). The English Reformation, 2nd edn. London: Batsford.
Fincham, K. (1990). Prelate as Pastor. The Episcopate of James I. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
Hughes, P. E. (1980). Theology of the English Reformers, 2nd edn. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker.
Hylson-Smith, K. (1988). Evangelicals in the Church of England. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Hylson-Smith, K (1993). High Churchmanship in the Church of England. Edinburgh: T & T
Clark.
Paul. R. S. (1985). The Assembly of the Lord. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Rupp, E. G. (1986). Religion in England 1688–1791. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Trueman, C. (1994). Luther’s Legacy. Salvation and the English Reformers 1525–1556.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Tyacke, N. (1987). Anti-Calvinists. The Rise of English Arminianism, c. 1590–1640.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
White, P. (1992). Predestination, Policy and Polemic. Conflict and Consensus in the English
Church from the Reformation to the Civil War. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University
Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 7
Scottish Protestantism to the
Present Day
Kenneth B. E. Roxburgh
The emergence of Scottish Protestantism can be traced to 1525, when the
Scottish parliament tried to prevent Lutheran literature from entering the
country. Beginning with instances of individual conversions to the Reformed
faith, Protestantism eventually became closely associated with Scottish religious
identity.
The Scottish Reformation
The Reformation in Scotland of 1559–60 came later than in most countries in
Europe and marked a decisive rejection of Rome, the Latin mass, the papacy,
priesthood and much else.
Accounts of the life of the church, prior to that time, differ according to the
perspective of the writer. Traditional accounts feel that at the parish level the
church was ill served: many priests were illiterate and greedy and the higher
clergy were effectively appointed by the crown and drawn largely from the influential families. They practised simony and their moral conduct was not to be
admired. It seems that easy generalizations are difficult to make as the spiritual
health of different religious houses may have varied considerably.
Early Protestants
As early as 1494 a number of Ayrshire lairds and tenants were summoned
before the Lords of the Council accused of unorthodox opinions, although they
were confined to Kyle (Sanderson, 1997: 36ff.). A parliamentary act in 1525
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attempted to curb any opinions contrary to the established Christian faith, and
all discussion of Luther’s teachings were prohibited, unless of course they were
being condemned.
Patrick Hamilton arrived in Scotland in 1523 after studying in Paris and
Louvain where academic disputes had taken place on Luther’s views. In 1527
Hamilton was charged with ‘disputing, holding and maintaining divers heresies
of Martin Luther . . . repugnant to the faith’ and on returning in 1528 from a
time in Marburg he ‘taught and disputed openly in the university’ at St Andrews.
Hamilton was the most striking example of an early Lutheran evangelical but
he was by no means the only one. Others were persecuted and many subsequently fled to Cromwell’s England. Lutheran books were imported, especially to
St Andrews and Edinburgh, and in the 1530s there is a report of an unnamed
‘woman of Leith’ who, in childbirth, refused to invoke the Virgin’s help, praying
instead directly to Christ ‘in whose help I trust’. She did finally recant her heresy.
These early prosecutions, convictions and abjurations reveal a curious blend of
early Lollard belief and Lutheran heresy.
John Knox
In 1547, John Knox preached at St Andrews against Roman Catholicism.
Following a military defeat to the French, Knox was imprisoned in the
French galleys for 19 months and then spent time in England from 1549 to
1554, again going into exile when Mary Tudor came to power and spending
formative years in Geneva. He returned briefly to Scotland in the winter of
1555–6, eventually settling in May 1559 at the invitation of Protestant Lords
of the Congregation.
During the 1550s, house cells of Edinburgh’s Protestants were beginning to
be organized on a more formal footing. These ‘privy kirks’ spread under the
patronage of sympathetic lairds. The result was that small isolated groups
became well-organized and militant. In 1556 John Knox, writing from Geneva,
had encouraged these groups of believers to meet once a week as a ‘congregation’ for the ‘reading, exhorting and in making common prayers’ (Kirk, 1989:
1–16).
In April 1558 Mary, Queen of Scots, married the Dauphin Francis, leading to
the prospect of a union of the Scottish and French crowns, and heightened the
nobility’s fears that the administration would become dominated by French
interests. John Knox’s preaching encouraged people to pull down images, altars
and altar-pieces in the parish churches and to burn them. By 2 July a crosssection of society from nobles to lairds and burgesses had ‘purged’ a series of
towns of Roman Catholicism and Knox was established as the first Protestant
minister in Edinburgh. Parliament met and abolished the mass, proscribed the
jurisdiction of the Pope, repealed anti-heresy laws, and adopted a Protestant
Confession of Faith.
scottish protestantism
111
The Reformers stressed the importance of the parish, their ministers conducting a radically different type of service from before, based on lengthy
sermons expounding biblical texts. The ritual of the mass disappeared and the
number of sacraments was reduced to two. However, the actual provision of
ministers was hindered by a lack of supply in many areas. Most parishes had to
make do with a ‘reader’, not a minister, for at least a generation. The result of
this meant that in many respects the progress of the Reformed Church after
1560 depended on a series of local Reformations, each moving at its own pace
and with its own distinctive problems to surmount.
The Post-Reformation Period
The period following the Reformation was characterized by conflict between
church and state with competing forms of church government, namely those of
Presbyterianism and episcopacy. James VI was anxious not only to unite the
crowns of Scotland and England, but also to unite the churches. Episcopacy, for
many Scottish Protestants, was too reminiscent of ‘Romish’ religion and the
policy of the Stuarts brought turmoil to Scottish politics and religion.
Covenanters: 1638–89
In 1638, opponents of the royal policy drafted the National Covenant, upholding ‘true Reformed religion’. Nobles, ministers, burgesses and common people
in various parts of the country signed the Covenant, backed by popular enthusiasm. At a November meeting of the General Assembly in Glasgow all opposition to Presbyterian and Puritan conviction was silenced and episcopacy was
rejected. The Covenanters’ victory against the King in the Bishops’ Wars of 1639
and 1640 forced Charles I to accept Presbyterianism within Scotland.
When Charles II was restored to the throne in 1660 it soon became clear that
the king would not support Presbyterianism, and an Erastian episcopacy was
established by 1662. Over 270 ministers were deprived of their livings and
conflict eventually erupted into military action between the crown and the
Covenanting forces. The ‘killing times’ embittered many Presbyterians against
any form of episcopacy.
The Glorious Revolution of 1688, which brought about the flight of James
VII and the accession of William and Mary to the throne, was an event of religious as well as political significance. It was perceived probably by the majority
of the Scottish population, at least in the Lowlands, as a rejection of James VII’s
attempts to reintroduce the practice of Roman Catholicism. The reinstatement
of ‘the antediluvians’, 60 Presbyterian ministers who had been deposed since
1661, and their restoration to their parishes, whether held by someone else or
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not, led to the beginnings of an expulsion of Episcopal ministers and the abolition of episcopacy. This was followed in 1690 by the re-establishment of full
Presbyterian government in the Church of Scotland.
The Eighteenth Century
The eighteenth century was a crucial period in the development of Scottish
national identity. Within this period, religion played an important part in
national, as well as individual, experience of what it meant to be Scottish at a
time when many political, economic and cultural changes were taking place.
Religion, in the form of Scottish Presbyterianism, continued to influence the lives
of most Scots as it pervaded the whole of Scottish society in the eighteenth
century.
Presbyterianism became the dominant force throughout the land. The vast
majority of clergy were now committed to a Presbyterian church government,
along with a subscription to the Westminster Confession of Faith for retaining
soundness and unity of doctrine. The Church of Scotland’s claim to be the
national church of the Scottish people was largely unthreatened. However, this
would change. The middle decades of the eighteenth century would witness the
disruption of that unity as the result of the 1733 Secession and the formation
of the Relief Church in 1761. By the end of the century, there would be seven
different Presbyterian Churches within Scotland.
The Secession Church
Patronage was one of the issues which caused great debate and division within
the Church of Scotland during the eighteenth century. Despite the guarantee
made at the Act of Union of 1707, the British parliament in 1712 passed the ‘Act
concerning patronage’, which restored the rights of lay patrons to appoint ministers to charges within their gift. Many viewed the act with great alarm, and
problems arose when patrons not only insisted on their rights of presentation,
but also presented unwanted men. In 1729 the Assembly provided special committees to induct unpopular presentees who were being opposed. These became
known as ‘Riding Committees’, partly because they were seen as trampling over
the decisions of presbyteries and also because they moved about the country
conducting inductions, riding in and out of parishes. In the Assembly of 1731
an overture was presented which many people believed would restrict the call of
a minister to the heritors and elders of a congregation (Fraser, 1831: 358–60).
This overture became an act of church law in 1732, despite being opposed by
the majority of presbyteries who responded to the overture. It was also fiercely
resisted by a number of ministers, headed up by Ebenezer Erskine, Minister of
Stirling. Erskine was at this time the Moderator of the Synod of Perth and
scottish protestantism
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Stirling. On 10 October 1732 he preached a blistering sermon attacking the new
measure. Erskine was rebuked for this intemperate sermon by the Synod in
1732. When he appealed to the Assembly of 1733, the rebuke was upheld and
Erskine, along with William Wilson of Perth, Alexander Moncrieff of Abernethy
and James Fisher of Kinclaven were suspended from the ministry. They held to
their charges and churches nevertheless, and continued to preach. In December
1733, they constituted themselves as the Associate Presbytery, thereby beginning the first secession from the Church of Scotland. By 1742 the Secession
Church had 20 ministers and 36 congregations and by 1745 it had a synod of
three presbyteries.
The Relief Church
From 1749 until 1752, many members of the evangelical party within the presbytery of Dunfermline supported the rights of the Inverkeithing congregation in
their opposition to the settlement of Andrew Richardson as their minister. They
consistently refused to obey the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland and
perform an induction service. Several members of the emerging Moderate party
within the Church of Scotland were determined to use the Inverkeithing case to
uphold the case for ecclesiastical law and order, by disciplining those who refused
to obey the orders of the Assembly. During the General Assembly of 1752, a
motion was carried that one of the six ministers of the presbytery of Dunfermline who had refused to induct the new minister to Inverkeithing should be
deposed, and Thomas Gillespie, a leading evangelical, was deposed from the ministry of the church. The decision of the General Assembly confirmed the power
of the Moderates within the Church of Scotland (Roxburgh, 1999).
Following further disputed settlements, Thomas Boston, minister of Jedburgh, joined Thomas Gillespie at the induction of Thomas Colier to the newly
formed congregation at Colinsburgh in Fife. On 22 October 1761, following the
induction services, the three ministers and an elder from each of the three congregations met together and constituted themselves into the Presbytery of Relief.
They stated that they were acting ‘for the relief of oppressed Christian congregations’ and that the presbytery would fulfil the same purpose as that of
‘members of the Established Church of Scotland’ (Struthers, 1843: 160). They
believed that each individual, regardless of economic background or educational
attainment, was of equal value in the eyes of God and should have a voice in the
affairs of the Church.
From the three congregations which existed in 1761, the presbytery grew to
19 congregations by the time of Gillespie’s death in January 1774. In 1800 the
Relief Church had 60 congregations and 36,000 members, and by 1847 it had
grown to 136 congregations. In May 1847, when it joined with the United
Secession Church to form the United Presbyterian Church in Scotland, it became
the largest single denomination in Glasgow and accounted for slightly less than
one-fifth of churchgoers in Scotland (Roxburgh, 1999).
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Revival
Whereas the leaders of the emerging Moderate party within the Church of Scotland devoted their time and energy to gaining positions of influence within the
General Assembly of the Church of Scotland in order to effect change, members
of the Popular party believed that only a spiritual awakening could reverse the
spiritual malaise that prevailed within the country. In an age when various
changes were taking place in society, many people were seeking a refuge in a
Protestant identity associated with the familiar security of past generations,
which harkened back to past experiences of religious fervour and spiritual vitality such as the Scottish Reformation and the Covenanting movement.
The revival tradition in Scotland was one that was intimately woven into the
experience and expectation of evangelicals in the Church of Scotland. Accounts
of the Scottish Reformation under John Knox, as well as later spiritual awakenings in the seventeenth century, were recalled in the early 1740s as news of a
fresh awakening in New England through the ministry of George Whitefield and
Jonathan Edwards was eagerly received on the Scottish side of the Atlantic. By
1741 expectations were nourished that Scotland could also experience a similar
outpouring of the Holy Spirit, one which would recapture the glorious days
when the Scottish experienced the blessing of God.
The message that Whitefield and others preached was well received by several
people of ‘great rank’, particularly the Earl of Leven and the Marquis of Lothian.
However, it was among the ordinary people of Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen,
and Dundee that the Revival had its greatest impact. Although revival eventually reached a number of towns and villages throughout Scotland, the early
hope that it was the herald of some millennial ‘latter day glory’ was never
realized. However, almost 20 years after the revival began, the church at
Cambuslang kept a day of fasting and thanksgiving ‘in commemoration of the
Reformation Work . . . in this place . . . about twenty years ago’. These memories encouraged them to believe that their identity as Scots could not be divorced
from their spirituality as Presbyterians, Protestants and evangelicals.
The Nineteenth Century
The eighteenth and nineteenth centuries witnessed the growth of other nonPresbyterian Protestant denominations in Scotland: the Evangelical Union, the
Baptists and the Christian Brethren.
The Evangelical Union
James Morison entered the Theological Hall of the United Secession Church in
Glasgow in 1834 and was ordained and inducted to the Kilmarnock congrega-
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115
tion in 1840. He began to preach ‘the doctrine of a Universal Atonement, and
consequently a free and unlimited offer of salvation to all and sundry’. Morison
was questioned over the theological views propounded in the tract and ‘accused
of heresy’ by some members of the Presbytery. In May 1843, following his deposition from the ministry of the Secession Church, Morison formed the Evangelical Union. The new denomination grew very quickly, with accessions from
several ministerial students and ministers from the Congregational Union who
had been deposed for their anti-Calvinist views, and by the end of 1843 there
were 13 churches in the Union. By 1875, this number had increased to 82 and
by 1896 to over 90 churches. The Evangelical Union was founded ‘for mutual
countenance, counsel and co-operation in supporting and spreading the glorious, simple, soul-saving and heart-sanctifying gospel of the grace of God’. The
Union consisted of some churches that were Presbyterian in government and
others that were Congregational in church polity. However, in 1896, the Evangelical Union united with the Congregational Union to form the Congregational
Union of Scotland. By that time, Scottish theology had followed Morison’s lead
in abandoning the Calvinism of the Reformers and adopted a more inclusive
evangelicalism.
Baptists
There had been a Baptist presence in Scotland since the 1650s during
the Cromwellian era. This presence had disappeared by the end of the
seventeenth century and re-emerged in Keiss in Caithness when Sir William
Sinclair, influenced by Baptists in England, established a congregation in the
area.
In the eighteenth century, Baptists made up a very small number of the
churchgoing population of Scotland. By 1800 there were two Baptist groups
operating in Scotland: the ‘English’ Baptists of 42 members and up to 100
hearers and the Scotch Baptists with around 400 members and approximately
1,000 hearers. Scotch Baptists affirmed the plurality of elders and deacons in
contrast to the sole pastor and diaconal model of the ‘English’ Baptists. They
also believed that pastors/elders should be present when the Lord’s Supper
was celebrated. They sought to maintain uniformity of practice within their
congregations. The ‘English’ Baptists preferred a single pastor in charge of the
congregation.
In the period 1800–27 there were three streams of Baptists in Scotland:
Scotch, Haldanite and ‘English’ Baptists. The Haldane movement was strongly
evangelistic, as were the English Baptists, and by the 1830s they were the
strongest force of Baptists in Scotland. The division among Scotch Baptists
in 1834 over the necessity of elders being present at the Lord’s Table
fatally weakened the connexion and, although once the dominant grouping
of Baptists, they played a minor role in the subsequent history of Baptists in
Scotland.
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The Haldane brothers James Haldane and his older brother Robert became itinerant evangelists in 1797, having an interest and involvement in evangelism in
Britain and overseas. As members of the Established Church of Scotland they
developed ecumenical contacts with other Christian leaders in the Church of
England such as Charles Simeon, as well as Independents like David Bogue,
believing that the success of evangelism depended on Christians co-operating
together in propagating the gospel message. Robert began to use his wealth to
establish the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel at Home.
In 1798 Robert Haldane sold a large part of his Airthrey estate near Stirling
to finance the work of home evangelism and began to open preaching centres,
where evangelicals of different denominations preached to the poor. The
Haldane connection grew rapidly. By 1805 there were 25 congregations in existence and by 1808 the number had grown to 85. The Edinburgh congregation
drew crowds of more than two thousand and in 1801 they moved to larger
premises at the head of Leith Walk, the average attendance for a Sunday evening
service being about 3,600. To provide pastors the Haldanes founded academies
for the training of catechist-preachers in Glasgow, Edinburgh, Dundee and Elgin,
whom they maintained at their own expense.
Both brothers became Baptists in 1808. Although a considerable number
left the church at this time and formed an independent church, the Haldane
brothers never made baptism an issue which barred people from communion
or membership. In 1808 the Haldanes set up their own Baptist home missionary
society that led, in 1827, to the establishment of the Baptist Home Missionary
Society for Scotland. The influence of the Haldanes in Scotland in the first
half of the nineteenth century was pervasive. In their vision for the spread
of evangelical Christianity, assisted by ministerial friends from England, an
extraordinary transformation of Scottish church life was achieved within a few
short years.
The Christian Brethren
The Brethren movement originated in or about the year 1825. It grew out of
Protestant evangelicalism and shared its defining characteristics of biblicism,
conversionism, activism and crucicentrism. Beginning in Dublin and Plymouth,
the movement spread north of the border. The 1859 revival provided a catalyst
for significant growth; by 1878 there were 78 meetings and 115 meetings were
established by 1885. A democratizing of society, as well as revival influences,
was changing people’s perception, and the involvement of the laity within the
Brethren movement proved to be popular in drawing people from other denominations. Revivalism piety, a simple message and zeal in spreading it were the
hallmarks of early growth among assemblies.
Brethren spirituality found its fullest expression in the weekly breaking of
bread service. It was marked by simplicity, solemnity, a lack of ritual and an
openness to the impulse of the spirit. By 1930 there were some 30,000 Brethren
scottish protestantism
117
assemblies, comprising only 1.95 per cent of all Protestant church members and
yet with a significant influence within Scottish Christianity.
Presbyterian divisions
18 May 1843 witnessed the destruction of the Church of Scotland. Many of the
economic, social and cultural forces which were changing Scotland became
evident at this time. The central issue that dominated the one leading up to the
Disruption was that of the imposition of a minister upon a parish church. Some
454 ministers out of 1195 (37.9%), many elders and as much as half the lay
members of congregations left the security of the established church for the sake
of religious freedom and self-determination. Within a few years the Free Church
had created an alternative national church, covering nearly the whole of Scotland. By 1847 the church had erected over 730 places of worship and supported
513 teachers with over 44,000 children in their schools. In 1847 it founded
New College in Edinburgh and in the mid-1850s had two other colleges in
Aberdeen and Glasgow. With one exception all their missionaries joined the new
church.
Free Presbyterian Church of Scotland As the Free Church moved into the second
half of the nineteenth century some members appeared to be quite willing to
relax their commitment to state connection as a principle of the church, while
others maintained that it was a central issue of the Free Church. Forms of
worship were changed by the introduction of hymns and instrumental music
instead of the exclusive use of the Psalms. Additional tension was found in the
debates between the supporters of higher critical methods with regard to the
Bible, which were introduced into the Free Church colleges.
The Free Presbyterian Church was founded in 1893 as a result of the liberalization of Calvinist doctrine in the 1890s. It created a Second Disruption,
during which many thousands of Gaelic-speaking Highlanders left the Free
Church. The Free Presbyterians made exclusive use of psalmody and still allow
no instrumental music in public worship. The Church retained the Westminster
Confession of Faith as its credal statement. They maintained the belief that the
whole Bible is inspired and infallible. The 1893 Free Presbyterian Church initially comprised two ministers and some 7,000 people. By July 1895 they had
seven ministers, 18 students, 40 missionaries and 20,000 people connected to
the new church. By 1900 the Free Presbyterian Church had 75 charges and
mission stations, 70 of which were located in the Highlands.
Twentieth Century Developments
The twentieth century opened with the union of the Free Church and the United
Presbyterian Church. In 1900 the four Highland synods of the Free Church had
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239 ministers; 19 ministers remained in the Free Church and 220 went into the
United Free Church. By 1905 30,000 people remained in the Free Church and
over 600,000 were now connected to the United Free Church.
Protestants and Roman Catholics
Catholics, the majority of whom are descended from Irish immigrants, have routinely experienced prejudice from the very beginnings of their stay in Scotland.
In 1900 there were 450,000 Catholics in Scotland, about 10 per cent of the
population. They were concentrated in the west of Scotland, with nearly 70 per
cent to be found in Motherwell, Glasgow and Paisley – predominantly an urban
and industrial focus. As late as the late 1920s and 1930s the General Assembly
of the Church of Scotland waged a relentless campaign against the supposedly
malign effects of Irish Catholic immigration that was seen to be a ‘menace’ to
‘Scottish Protestant identity’ (Devine, 2000). A movement involving many
national church leaders incited popular hostility towards Irish Catholics. The
campaign was both sectarian and racist in tone, not with the desire of evangelism but of isolating and driving off the population. Outbreaks of violence eventually led the Church of Scotland to bring its campaign to an end and the
anti-Catholic interests committee was dissolved in 1937. The outbreak of war
in 1939 led all the parties to combine to defeat the Nazi threat and fascism.
However, the remnants of sectarianism continues to effect parts of the west of
Scotland to the present time.
Protestantism continues to be a marked feature of Scottish Christianity.
However, the state of the church in Scotland, facing decline in the midst
of a secular society, means that for the majority of Christians the issue of
protest against Roman Catholicism is not the most vital aspect of their
identity as believers. Survival, rather than accentuating the divisions
within the church, at present, is the major issue facing Protestants in various
denominations.
References
Devine, Thomas (2000). Scotland’s Shame: Bigotry and Sectarianism in Modern Scotland.
Edinburgh: Mainstream.
Fraser, Donald (1831). The Life and Diary of the Rev Ebenezer Erskine. Edinburgh: W
Oliphant.
Kirk, James (1989). Patterns of Reform. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Roxburgh, Kenneth (1999). Thomas Gillespie and the Origins of the Relief Church in
Eighteenth Century Scotland. Berne: Peter Lang.
Sanderson, M (1997). Ayrshire and the Reformation: People and Change, 1490–1600. East
Linton, UK: Tuckwell Press.
Struthers, Gavin (1843). History of the Relief Church. Glasgow: A Fullerton and Co.
scottish protestantism
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Further Reading
Cameron, J. K. (1994). The Church in Scotland from the Reformation to the Disruption.
In G. Gilley and W. J. Shiels (eds.), A History of Religion in Britain. Oxford: Blackwell,
pp. 129–51.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 8
Welsh Protestantism to the
Present Day
D. Densil Morgan
Protestantism in Wales, as in England, dates from Henry VIII’s breach with
Rome. Its real impact, though, was in Elizabeth I’s appointment of resident
Welsh-speaking bishops, who combined a deep commitment to traditional cultural mores with a zeal for Word-centred reform. The Welsh Prayer Book and
New Testament of 1567, translated by Bishop Richard Davies (c.1510–81) and
the Renaissance scholar William Salesbury (c.1520–84), and the Welsh Bible of
1588, translated by Bishop William Morgan (c.1541–1604), were exceedingly
significant for the later development of the nation’s life. Although a powerful
group of Roman Catholic exiles kept alive the hope of reconverting Wales to the
old faith, by the third quarter of the sixteenth century Reformation values had
generally triumphed.
It was not until the 1630s that Puritanism began to manifest itself as nonconformity to the rituals and discipline of the established church. The first
Independent (Congregational) church was gathered in 1639, and the first
Baptist congregation was convened in 1649 though there had been less formal
gatherings of believers outside the bounds of the establishment for some years
before. By the Commonwealth period (1642–60), Puritanism in its Independent,
Baptist, Quaker and Presbyterian guises, rooted itself in different parts of Wales,
though it never became widely influential. The Restoration of the monarchy in
1660 brought the Puritan ascendancy to an end, though Protestantism in its
Anglican form was re-established and the 39 Articles and Book of Common
Prayer became normative for the bulk of Welsh Christians once more.
What united the Anglican Church and the older dissent was a shared commitment to the Protestant faith. Irenically minded Independents such as Stephen
Hughes (1622–88) and the Anglican Society for the Propagation of Christian
Knowledge (SPCK) disseminated Welsh Bibles and established schools. Educational work and a more vibrant evangelistic mission was undertaken by Griffith
Jones (1683–1761), rector of Llanddowror, though a more pronounced spirit-
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ual renewal came about in 1735 with the dawning of the Evangelical Revival
led by Daniel Rowland (1713–90) and Howell Harris (1714–73). Biblically
based and emphasizing the Reformation doctrine of justification by faith alone,
the revival broke the bounds of Welsh Anglicanism and created what became in
1811 the Welsh Calvinistic Methodist Connexion.
By then Protestant Nonconformity had been transformed into a widely
popular religious movement. Its success in winning the allegiance of the
ordinary working people was spectacular. What had been a minority movement
was now a vibrant, energetic confederation of Methodists (Calvinistic and
Wesleyan), Independents and Baptists, who together comprised the principal
manifestation of Protestantism in Wales. Popular Nonconformity produced a
generation of preachers of unequalled power, of whom the Baptist Christmas
Evans (1766–1838), the Calvinistic Methodist John Elias (1774–1841) and
the Independent William Williams of Wern (1781–1840) were the most
celebrated. By the middle of the nineteenth century academic excellence and
theological acumen were represented by the Calvinistic Methodist Lewis
Edwards (1809–87), principal of Bala College, while political radicalism was
spearheaded by the Independents David Rees (1801–69) and Gwilym Hiraethog
(1802–83). Effective gospel preaching, the sovereignty of the Word of God and
its application to the political sphere had turned Wales into ‘a nation of Nonconformists’.
The later nineteenth century saw the renewal of Welsh Anglicanism, though
its rejuvenation was only partly due to Protestant emphases. Although the evangelicals were active, Tractarianism became a definite force. Nonconformity, for
its part, was beginning to show signs of strain. If the tradition of popular preaching still existed, the chapels were finding it progressively difficult to contend with
the twin challenges of modernity and Anglicization. The widespread religious
revival of 1904–5 led by Evan Roberts (1878–1951) proved more significant for
the development of international Pentecostalism than in the renewal of Welsh
Nonconformity. The crisis was exacerbated by the political struggle to disestablish the four Welsh dioceses, which pitched Nonconformist against Anglican,
and between 1889 (when the controversy effectively began) and 1914 (when
parliament passed the Welsh Church Act cutting the link between the Anglican
Church and the state), Christian integrity on both sides suffered grievously.
Disenchanted by religious disputes, many people came to feel that the values of
the future would be more secular in nature.
Following the First World War Nonconformity still remained the principal
manifestation of Welsh Protestantism, with as many as one in five of the
population being baptized and communicant members of their respective
denominations. Although Anglicanism remained weaker numerically than
Nonconformity on the whole, it still drew some 13 per cent of the Welsh people
to its services. Following disestablishment, the newly formed ‘Church in Wales’
was now more substantial than any one other single denomination.
By this time doctrinal liberalism threatened to eclipse orthodoxy as the
Nonconformist creed, with such accomplished theologians as Thomas Rees
122 d. densil morgan
(1869–1926), John Morgan Jones (1873–1946) and D. Miall Edwards
(1873–1941) convincing many that in order to survive, Protestantism would
have to adapt to the norms of philosophical idealism and the values of the
Enlightenment. Not all were convinced, and by the 1940s a spirited Calvinistic
renewal, deeply indebted to the work of Karl Barth, had occurred. Theologians
such as J. E. Daniel (1902–62) and preachers like Lewis Valentine (1893–1986)
combined a Barthian emphasis with a deep commitment to the doctrinal standards of classical Welsh Nonconformity. Evangelicalism of a more conservative
stripe was championed in Wales by the influential London-based preacher
Martyn Lloyd-Jones (1899–1981).
By the late 1960s secularization was taking its toll on all the mainline denominations. Chapel culture was in retreat, while the Christian presence was more
and more dominated by Catholicism and a catholic Anglicanism. The final
quarter of the twentieth century witnessed steep statistical decline across the
board, and the undoubted vitality of the charismatic movement and the establishment of newer evangelical or ‘house’ churches did little to stem the secular
tide. Protestant convictions, however, still persist, and the twin ideals of biblical
authority and the spiritually liberating doctrine of justification by faith preserve
both a link with the past and a hope for the future.
Further Reading
Bassett, T. M. (1977). The Welsh Baptists. Swansea: Ilston Press.
Evans, Eifion (1985). Daniel Rowland and the Great Evangelical Awakening in Wales.
Edinburgh: Banner of Truth Trust.
Jenkins, Geraint H. (1978). Literature, Religion and Society in Wales, 1660–1730. Cardiff:
University of Wales Press.
Jenkins, Geraint H. (1992). Protestant Dissenters in Wales, 1639–89. Cardiff: University
of Wales Press.
Morgan, D. Densil (1999). The Span of the Cross: Christian Religion and Society in Wales,
1914–2000. Cardiff: University of Wales Press.
Pope, Robert (1998). Building Jerusalem: Nonconformity, Labour and the Social Question in
Wales, 1906–39. Cardiff: University of Wales Press.
Pope, Robert (1999). Seeking God’s Kingdom: The Nonconformist Social Gospel in Wales,
1906–39. Cardiff: University of Wales Press.
Tudur, Geraint (2000). Howell Harris: From Conversion to Separation, 1735–50. Cardiff:
University of Wales Press.
Williams, Glanmor (1997). Wales and the Reformation. Cardiff: University of Wales Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 9
Irish Protestantism to the
Present Day
Alan Ford
Protestantism in Ireland is much more than a religion. It is inextricably linked
to political, cultural, even racial identity, defining as it does one half of that stark
divide which so dominates modern Irish history: Protestant versus Catholic. This
is evident from the earliest history of the Protestant church. It was created by a
political act – Henry VIII’s decision to break with Rome was extended to Ireland
by the 1537 Irish Act of Supremacy. It became associated with Anglicization and
Englishness as Henry’s Dublin government sought to enforce the Reformation.
And it gained most of its support from English emigrants to Ireland and their
descendants. At the same time, however, beneath these generalizations there
lurk much more complex realities: over the centuries, Irish Protestantism grew
and changed, becoming more than just a colonial church: it developed its own
distinctive and varied theological, political and cultural identities, reacting to
and being shaped by its Irish environment. These complexities are reflected in
the denominational development of Irish Protestantism, which followed that
familiar post-Reformation fissiparous trajectory of initial unity broken by
repeated separation and division.
Defining Irish Protestantism: The First Century: 1537–1640
The Church of Ireland as established by Henry VIII was initially limited to those
areas of the country controlled by the royal government in Dublin, and was
more concerned with enforcing royal supremacy than spreading Protestantism.
It was not until the reign of James I (1603–25), when English power was
extended to the whole island and the plantation of Ulster led to an influx of
English and Scots settlers, that it was possible to speak of the Church of Ireland
as a national Protestant church, with royally appointed bishops in every diocese.
124 alan ford
Initially this church united all Irish Protestants by subtly adapting its English
heritage to allow for a broader ecclesiological polity, accommodating Episcopalians and Puritans. Its confession of faith, the Irish Articles of 1615, went
beyond its English model, the Thirty-nine Articles, by adopting Calvinist doublepredestination, taking a more relaxed approach to episcopacy, and formally identifying the Pope with Antichrist. As a result, Presbyterian ministers who arrived
in Ulster with the Scottish settlers after 1610 found that they could happily serve
within the Church of Ireland.
The fact that the vast majority of the native inhabitants of Ireland remained
committed to Catholicism placed Irish Protestants in a difficult position: though
they claimed to be an established national church, they had the allegiance of
only a minority of the population. Some responded to this difficulty by accepting that Protestantism in Ireland was essentially colonial, and that the Church
of Ireland was an offshoot of the Church of England. But others, including, most
notably the leading Irish Protestant scholar, Archbishop James Ussher of
Armagh (1581–1656), sought to develop an alternative identity, which later
became widely accepted in the Church of Ireland. Ussher sought to legitimize
the Church of Ireland by tracing its ancestry back to the early Irish Celtic church
– the church of St Patrick and the islands of saints and scholars – which was,
he claimed, to all intents and purposes Protestant.
The unity and independence of the Church of Ireland was ended in the
mid-1630s by the success of the new and firmly anti-Calvinist Archbishop
of Canterbury, William Laud, in bringing the Church of Ireland into line
with the Church of England. The English Thirty-nine Articles replaced the
1615 Irish confession in 1634, and new disciplinary canons eliminated
Presbyterians from the Church of Ireland and began the fragmentation of Irish
Protestantism.
From Disaster to Disaster: 1641–89
The fragmentation of Irish Protestantism was accelerated by the disasters of the
1640s. In 1641 Irish Catholics in Ulster rose against the English settlers, attacking them and driving them out of the province with considerable loss of life. The
savagery of the rebellion, and the exaggerated accounts of the number slaughtered, turned 1641 into an iconic event in the Irish Protestant imagination, symbolizing barbaric Irish Catholic cruelty towards godly Protestants. It also began
a long period of military struggle between Irish Catholics and English and
Scottish Protestants, which culminated in Cromwell’s victories in Ireland in
1649–50. Under the Commonwealth the Church of Ireland was disestablished
in 1647, and in its place a rich variety of Protestant sects gained a hold in
Ireland, including Baptists, Independents, Quakers and, most importantly, Presbyterians. Thus, though the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660 saw the
Church of Ireland also restored as the national church, the narrow basis of the
irish protestantism
125
Protestant settlement in Ireland, as in England, ensured that the Church was
now faced with opposition on two wings, from Catholics and dissenters, in particular, Presbyterians.
The post-Restoration consolidation of Protestant control of land and political
power was challenged dramatically by the accession of a Catholic monarch,
James II, in 1685: this placed Irish Protestants, like their counterparts in
England, in the awkward position of opposing a divinely appointed English king.
Any reservations were, however, soon quashed by the arrival of William of
Orange as a military saviour, and his triumph over James II at the Battle of the
Boyne in July 1689 would later become one of the symbols of Irish Protestant
solidarity.
The Long Eighteenth Century 1690–1800
The defeat of James was followed by a lengthy period during which the
Irish Protestant establishment set about securing its ascendancy. From the
1690s on a series of penal laws imposed penalties on Irish Catholics (and, to a
lesser extent, dissenters) that excluded them from land, influence or political
power. The Church of Ireland became the church of government, its bishops
occupying prominent political positions, appointed by English governments
often more on the basis of their political loyalty than their pastoral qualifications. Attitudes towards Protestant dissent varied, with some Whig prelates,
such as Archbishop King of Dublin, being positively disposed, while their high
church counterparts were more hostile towards those who rejected establishment and episcopacy.
Treatment of dissenters was mixed. All Irish nonconformists suffered under
the provisions of the sacramental test imposed in 1714 (not repealed till 1780),
which required all office holders to take Anglican communion. Though this
excluded them from political life, dissenters’ freedom to practise their religion
had been secured by the Toleration Act of 1719. The Presbyterians had, in
addition, secured a grant from Charles II in 1672, the regium donum, which was
used to pay its ministers, an arrangement that survived until 1870. The Presbyterians were bedevilled by internal divisions, most notably between the
Old Lights, conservative Calvinists, and the more liberal New Lights, who
came to prominence in the 1720s, rejecting the need to subscribe to the
Westminster Confession. The dominance of the New Lights led to some of the
Old Lights allying themselves to the conservative Scottish ‘Seceders’ who had
broken with the Church of Scotland in 1733. In the 1740s a new element was
added to Irish Protestantism, with the growth of Methodism offering an evangelical Arminian theology and a new missionary zeal. Steady growth after the
first visit of John Wesley to Ireland in 1747, mainly in areas of previous Church
of Ireland strength in Ulster, saw the Methodists grow to 44,000 members by
1844.
126 alan ford
The second half of the seventeenth century saw resurgence in Protestant selfassurance, with the restoration of legislative independence to the Irish parliament in 1760, and the repeal of some of the penal laws. The 1798 rising,
however, dented that confidence, and it was followed by the Act of Union in
1800, which, as well as joining the two states, also joined the Church of Ireland
to the Church of England.
Political Challenges: 1801–1922
The long nineteenth century faced Irish Protestantism with a series of political
challenges that forced the churches to reaffirm and restructure their outlooks
and institutions. The privileged established position of the Church of Ireland
came under continued attack from Catholics and dissenters: the result was a
series of concessions, often imposed by the state, which reformed the hated tithe
system, saw the final lifting of the penal laws with Catholic emancipation in
1829, the reduction in the number of Church of Ireland bishoprics and, finally,
the disestablishment of the Church of Ireland in 1870. This latter was an
immense shock to the Church’s members, being seen by many as a political
betrayal. In fact, freed from its link to the state and the Church of England, the
newly independent church was given an opportunity to redefine its role in
Ireland, look again at its Irishness, and come to terms with the rapid political
changes associated with the growth of the largely Catholic home rule movement. Though there was within the Church of Ireland a very small high church
minority, some of whom proved influential in the development of the Oxford
Movement in the 1830s and 1840s, the freedom to define its own prayer book
and beliefs which came with disestablishment confirmed its distinctly low
church character.
Within the Presbyterian church the main challenge was as always the preservation of unity: here the departure of the non-subscribing New Light ministers
in 1830 to form the Remonstrant Synod, left the remaining conservative ministers free in 1840 to join with the seceders to form the dominant force in modern
Irish Presbyterianism, the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church in
Ireland, which by the end of the century had its own theological colleges and a
significant record in overseas missionary work.
The tenor of all the Irish Protestants in the nineteenth century was decidedly
evangelical, as the revival which had begun with the Methodists in the eighteenth century spread amongst established and dissenting churches alike. The
evangelical commitment to Reformation principles, biblical fundamentalism,
the importance of conversion and personal religious experience, together with
a marked hostility to Catholicism, all marked two of the major Protestant enterprises in the nineteenth century, the Second Reformation and the Great Revival
of 1859. The former began around 1800 and reached its peak in the 1820s, as
evangelical Protestants of all denominations sent out missionaries to even the
irish protestantism
127
remotest areas of Ireland in a new attempt to win over the Catholic population.
The offer of free primary education, and even free food during the famine, produced some short-term gains, but ultimately the movement was more notable
for the way in which it provoked sectarian bitterness than for the number of converts it gained. The Ulster Revival of 1859 epitomized the new spirit of Irish
Protestantism, with its mass rallies, and scenes of great religious enthusiasm
and excitement, which transcended denominational boundaries.
Dealing with the New Ireland: 1922 to the Present
In 1922 Irish Protestantism was split in two: becoming a minority in the newly
established southern Irish Free State, while remaining a majority in the six counties of Ulster which chose to remain within the United Kingdom. Though
Protestant churches remained all-Ireland institutions, the contexts in which
they operated, north and south, became increasingly distinct. Within the
strongly Catholic ethos of the southern state, Protestant numbers declined dramatically, from 207,000 in 1926 (7% of population) to 157,000 in 1946
(5.3%), to 107,000 in 1991 (3%, nearly all Church of Ireland). The fall is largely
accounted for by emigration, but in the eyes of Irish Protestants the most significant cause was the 1908 Ne Temere papal decree that required that the children of mixed marriages must be brought up Catholic. Initially southern
Protestants were unsure of where their allegiance lay, but under the firm leadership of Archbishop John Gregg of Armagh they committed themselves to the
Irish state and, despite some notable setbacks, such as the Fethard on Sea boycott
of 1957 (when Catholics, urged on by their parish priest, boycotted Protestant
shops and businesses), Protestants and Catholics in the Republic were, by the
end of the twentieth century, remarkably well-integrated, culturally, politically
and religiously.
The same cannot be said for Northern Ireland. During the early twentieth
century, politics and religion had fused in Ulster, as Protestants joined together
in solemn league and covenant to oppose home rule. The whole purpose of creating the Northern Irish state in 1920 was to ensure that the Protestant majority in Ulster did not become a minority in an all-Ireland state. Political power and
Protestantism, as a result, went hand in hand in Ulster until well into the twentieth century. The Orange Order, originally founded in the 1790s, and dedicated
to sustaining the ‘glorious and immortal memory’ of William’s victory at the
Boyne, served as a crucial link between Protestant churches and the state in
Northern Ireland, upholding anti-Catholicism and fundamentalist principles.
Catholic resentment against discrimination led to the creation of the civil rights
movement in 1967: escalating tensions led to the outbreak of violence in 1969
and the beginning of the Northern Ireland ‘troubles’ as paramilitary organizations exploited and reinforced the entrenched and hostile political and religious
positions of the Catholic and Protestant communities.
128 alan ford
The response of the churches to the troubles has been firm, with regular condemnations of the use of violence and calls for reconciliation. But the realities
of sectarian bitterness in the North have often made it difficult for religious
leaders on either side to translate these words into real changes in attitude
within their own communities. This largely explains the slow pace of ecumenism
in Ireland. Efforts to promote reunion of the Protestant churches in the 1930s
foundered on the Church of Ireland’s reluctance to recognize Presbyterian
orders and sacraments; it was not until 1973 that formal ecumenical meetings
between the Catholic and Protestant churches got under way. Even then,
long-entrenched fundamentalist suspicion of Roman Catholicism made it very
difficult for Protestant churches (and especially Presbyterians) to engage in
ecumenical discussions or be seen to make concessions. The foundation of a
small breakaway Free Presbyterian church in 1951 by the maverick minister
and (later) politician, Ian Paisley (b.1926), provided a focus for disaffected
Presbyterians, concerned at the implications of ecumenism and liberalism.
Nevertheless, the Protestant churches in Ireland have been deeply involved
with practical initiatives to foster reconciliation, such as the Corrymeela
Community (founded in 1965) in the north and the Glencree Reconciliation
Centre (founded 1994) in the south, and the Irish School of Ecumenics,
with bases in both Belfast and Dublin. Though the Good Friday Agreement of
10 April 1998 formally brought to an end the paramilitary violence, it left Irish
Protestantism with the continuing challenge of dealing with sectarian attitudes
and assumptions.
By the end of the twentieth century, the largest religious grouping in Northern Ireland remained the Presbyterian Church – in the 1991 census 337,000
people (21.4% of the population) gave their religion as Presbyterian. The two
other main denominations were the Church of Ireland, with 279,000 members
(17.7%), and the Methodists with 60,000 (3.8%).
Conclusion
The linkage between religion and political, cultural and even racial identity in
Ireland makes understanding Irish Protestantism particularly complex and fascinating. Presbyterians can be politically liberal and theologically conservative;
firm Unionists can be fiercely proud of the Irish origins of the Church of Ireland;
‘Anglicans’ can be committed Irish speakers. Disentangling these various strands
is not just difficult – it is impossible, for they have become intertwined in
markedly different ways, depending upon time, circumstance and Protestant
denomination. What is clear is that religion still serves as a major force in defining identity, especially in Northern Ireland. The close association between political power and Protestantism, and the sense of being an embattled minority, has
decisively shaped the Protestant outlook that, historically, has combined a sense
of religious and cultural superiority, and mystification at the hold which ‘popery’
irish protestantism
129
has maintained on the Irish people, with an Old Testament sense of being a
chosen people. As a result, despite the markedly different tenor of the Protestant
churches in the south, and for all the middle-class interest in ecumenism and
commitment to reconciliation, the obdurate and unyielding Northern loyalist
remains to this day emblematic of the Irish Protestant spirit, with its twin poles:
hatred (and fear) of Catholicism; and a firm fundamentalist evangelicalism.
Further Reading
Akenson, D. H. (1971). The Church of Ireland: Ecclesiastical Reform and Revolution,
1800–1885. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Bolton, F. R. (1958). The Caroline Tradition of the Church of Ireland with Particular Reference to Bishop Jeremy Taylor. London: SPCK.
Bowen, Desmond (1978). The Protestant Crusade in Ireland, 1800–70: A Study Of Protestant–Catholic Relations Between the Act of Union and Disestablishment. Montreal: Gill &
Macmillan.
Brooke, Peter (1987). Ulster Presbyterianism. The Historical Perspective 1610–1970.
Dublin: Athol Books.
Connolly, S. J. (1992). Religion, Law and Power: The Making of Protestant Ireland
1660–1760. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Ford, Alan (1997). The Protestant Reformation in Ireland, 2nd edn. Dublin: Irish
Academic Press.
Ford, Alan, McGuire, James and Milne, Kenneth (eds.) (1995). As by Law Established. The
Church of Ireland since the Reformation. Dublin: Lilliput Press.
Greaves, R. L. (1997). God’s Other Children. Protestant Nonconformists and the Emergence
of Denominational Churches in Ireland, 1660–1700. Stanford, CA: Stanford University
Press.
Hempton, David and Hill, Myrtle (1992). Evangelical Protestantism in Ulster Society,
1740–1890. London: Routledge.
Holmes, Finlay (2000) The Presbyterian Church in Ireland: A Popular History. Blackrock,
Ireland: Columba Press.
McDowell, R. B. (1975). The Church of Ireland 1869–1969. London: Routledge & Kegan
Paul.
Megahey, Alan (2000). The Irish Protestant Churches in the Twentieth Century. London:
Macmillan.
Phillips, W. A. (ed.) (1933). History of the Church of Ireland from the Earliest Times to the
Present Day, 3 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 10
Nordic Protestantism to the
Present Day
Aasulv Lande
The great Reformation which took place in Western Christendom half a millennium ago swept into the Nordic countries over a period of 30 years from the
1520s, and followed a generally similar pattern in all Nordic countries. Two
new Nordic states emerged in the 1520s: West Scandinavia centred in Denmark,
and East Scandinavia centred in Sweden. Both states formed Lutheran
state churches. During the five following centuries the number of Nordic
national units increased from the original two blocks to five independent
countries, all with Lutheran state churches. Forced by ideas of religious
plurality from inside and secularization from outside, the established alliance
between state and church has become increasingly questioned and a Protestant
variety has emerged amid the ideologies and religious alternatives of late
modernity.
The Sixteenth Century: From Reform to Reformation
Nordic reaction to the economic and political power of the Hansa covenant
had inspired the Danish-led Nordic Kalmar Union, uniting Denmark, Sweden
and Norway under a single monarch, from 1397. There were, however,
movements in Sweden and Norway working for independence. The appearance
of Protestantism had different effects under these circumstances. Whereas it
inspired an independent Swedish state in the East, it confirmed Danish authority in Western Scandinavia. After an early period of inspiration through biblical
humanism, largely mediated through the German city of Rostock, Lutheran
influence from Wittenberg became the dominating ideological power in both
kingdoms.
nordic protestantism
131
Denmark, Norway and Iceland
Building on a basis laid by biblical humanism, Reformation ideas spread in
middle-class Malmö (which was then part of Denmark) and Copenhagen. The
preacher Hans Tausen (1494–1561), who had studied in Wittenberg, was the
first Dane to put a definite evangelical stamp on the growing reform movement.
The Lutheran Reformation was politically secured in Denmark by the rule of
Christian III (1536–59). In 1537 a national church assembly adopted a Church
Ordinance based on the Lutheran teaching of the two kingdoms. While a specific Lutheran doctrine was not adopted, church ministers were nevertheless
instructed to possess and use the Bible, Luther’s Sunday Postilla, Confession Augustana and Small Cathechism, Melanchthon’s Loci Communis, Saxon Visitations and
the Danish Church Ordinance. Johannes Bugenhagen cooperated closely from
Wittenberg, and visited Copenhagen where he ordained seven Bishops, six from
Denmark and one from Norway. A Bible translation named after Christian III
appeared in 1550 and Hans Thommison’s Hymnal in 1569.
In Norway, biblical humanism and Reformation thought gained ground in
Oslo, but even more so in the Hansa city of Bergen, where the first Norwegian
Lutheran Bishop, Geble Pederssøn, took office. Norwegian strategies for national
independence rested, however, with the Roman Catholic Archbishop in Nidaros
(Trondheim), Olav Engelbrektsson. His defeat and departure in 1537 meant that
the Reformation confirmed Norwegian subordination to Danish administration.
The Danish Church Ordinance was adopted, and Danish replaced Norwegian
nationally as the administrative and religious language. The Bible of Christian
III also shared the Norwegian religious language.
Iceland demonstrated a sharper resistance to reform. A violent uprising, led
by the Holar Bishop Jon Arason, was crushed and the bishop was executed.
Thereafter Icelandic resistance was broken and the Danish Church Ordinance
implemented. The linguistic tradition of Icelandic was, however, retained. An
Icelandic translation of the Bible appeared in 1584.
Sweden and Finland
The leading reformer in Sweden was Olaus Petri (1493–1552) who studied in
Uppsala, Leipzig and Wittenberg. Insisting on the authority of the Bible, he
stressed the spiritual essence of the church. Gustav Vasa had emerged a victorious king in Sweden and Finland in the 1520s, breaking out of the Danishdominated Kalmar union. At the 1527 national congress in Västerås he gained
support from the Swedish nobility in dissolving church property. Canon law and
dependence on Rome were discontinued. Advised by Olaus Petri, the national
congress stated that the Word of God should be preached purely and clearly. An
unsuccessful attempt at Roman Catholic restoration led to the Uppsala Assembly in 1593. The immediate occasion was the possibility of a Polish king inheriting the Swedish throne. Fearing a political union with Catholic Poland, a
132 aasulv lande
Swedish Church Council confirmed its national and Lutheran character as a
conditio sine qua non for any union with Poland. Protestantism in Sweden thus
strongly manifested its national character.
In the emerging new church structure episcopacy was given a prominent role.
Cathedral chapters remained centres for education of Protestant ministers. In
1571 a national Church Law was adopted. Like the Danish Norwegian Church
Ordinance it was based on the Lutheran two-kingdom doctrine. Luther’s Smaller
Catechism, a Swedish liturgy, hymnal and handbook were published and circulated around 1530. Liturgical reforms were moderate, and elements that might
be given an evangelical interpretation were retained in the new Swedish mass.
The Gustav Vasa Bible was published in 1541.
The Finnish Reformation, likewise, emerged under the royal leadership of
Gustav Vasa. Swedish-speaking congregations in Finland closely followed the
reformatory procedures of central Sweden. Finnish-speaking congregations
experienced the Reformation by different channels. In 1520s reformational
ideas spread from Turku/Åbo. The outstanding Finnish reformer Mikael Agricola (1508–57), later Bishop in Turku/Åbo, was educated in Wittenberg and
particularly influenced by Philip Melanchthon. Agricola was a pioneer of
Finnish language use in society and church, and produced a basic reader in the
Finnish language, followed by a prayerbook and a translation of the New Testament (1548). The development of the Finnish language in church continued –
a Finnish hymnal appeared in 1580. Although Finland politically remained a
unit under Sweden, the Reformation inspired a popular and national renewal in
Finnish culture and religion.
The Seventeenth Century: Lutheran Orthodoxy Emerges
The seventeenth century was characterized by the struggle between Denmark
and Sweden for Nordic supremacy and increasing Swedish engagement on the
European continent. Denmark suffered several setbacks in wars with Sweden
and Germany, most notably the loss of Skåne to Sweden in 1658. The religious
hinterland of contemporary political turmoil showed, however, a socially supportive attitude. Lutheran orthodoxy not only worked as a stage of affirming
reformatory belief – it also provided religious comfort in a time of political confusion and social discomfort. The spirit of the age was expressed artistically by
contemporary hymnwriters. The witch-hunt that took place during this century
in Nordic countries – showing a cruel religious answer to turmoil and uncertainty – will not be treated in this outline.
Denmark, Norway and Iceland
Famines, epidemics, cold winters and rainy summers further plagued an already
defeated Denmark, and the populations’s health deteriorated. As a result of
political developments, the degree of religious uniformity increased. In the spirit
nordic protestantism
133
of the century, King Christian IV chose for his national slogan Regna firmat pietas,
a motif which actually made proper religion a condition for progress. In 1660
Denmark-Norway became an autocratic royal state. The Royal Law (kongeloven)
of 1665 declared that the king was the supreme authority and only responsible
to God. Although Christ was recognized as the spiritual head of the church, the
external order of the church lay firmly in royal hands.
Penitence became a theme of ecclesiastical thought and teaching. Several
educational institutions were established, culminating in university reform and
a compulsory university exam in 1629. The continued use (for a century) of the
textbook (1633) by Jesper Brochmand, Universæ Systema Theologiae, testified to
the stability of orthodox Lutheranism. But even orthodoxy had a plural character. For example, Holger Rosenkrantz argued for an anthropocentric theology in
the line of Philip Melanchthon and Catholic traditions. Mysticism, in the wake
of Johann Arndt and Paul Gerhard, also reached Denmark in the first decades
of the century. Puritan and conformist devotional literature from England
spread as well.
Spiritual trends of the age were expressed by Thomas Kingo (1634–1703),
the first great Danish hymnwriter. His masterly baroque language gave a poetic
twist to a bold Lutheran faith: repentance, sin, guilt and awareness of personal
calling. The Kingo hymnal was officially approved in 1699, serving the church
in Denmark-Norway for a century to come.
By introducing autocratic rule in 1660, Norway was further subjected to
Danish rule. In contrast to the Danish economy, the Norwegian economy
progressed steadily during the century. Thanks to forests, fishing and related
industries Norway became more of an equal partner to Denmark; Norwegian
self-confidence was on the rise, and the wider Norwegian experience entered the
religious sphere. In Bergen Dorothe Engelbrektsdatter (1634–1716) wrote
hymns on the transience of life in a popular Lutheran vein (e.g. Dagen viker og går
bort and Når verden med sin glede sviker). Hymns by Peter Dass (1647–1707) from
Alstadhaug in Nordland prefecture radiated a paternal warmth and toughness
that reflected his close contact with fishing communities in Northern Norway. His
courageous and outspoken description of the living conditions in the region
remains legendary. Theologically inspired by Jesper Brochmand, his hymn Herre
Gud dit dyre Navn og Ære has become a treasure of international hymnody.
Iceland also fostered outstanding hymnwriters during the time of Lutheran
orthodoxy. Especially influential was Hallgrimur Petursson (d.1674) who published Fifty Lenten Hymns. These hymns combined objectivist orthodoxy with
deep personal piety. The pietistic flavour of these church hymns is considered a
reason why the pietist movements never challenged the ecclesiastical structure
of Islandic Lutheranism.
Sweden and Finland
For Sweden the seventeenth century was a period of expansive wars, whereby
Sweden ascended as a European power. The dominating royal figure was Gustav
134 aasulv lande
II Adolf who ruled from 1611 to 1648. Together with Fieldmarshal Axel Oxenstierna (1583–1654), he led the Swedish expansion into Eastern Europe –
involving the country in the Thirty Years’ War (1618–48). The war with
Denmark was bitter, but Skåne went to Sweden in the peace treaty of 1658. The
last two decades of the century were, however, peaceful.
The Lutheran Church in Sweden and Finland retained the characteristic
diocesan structure, inside which autocratic bishops ruled their sees. Church
ministers were organized as a special class, consistorium regni, conflicting regularly with the desires of royals and patrons. Autocratic pressure upon church
bodies was strengthened after the conversion to Catholicism by Queen Christina
(1654). The fact of her conversion, however, demonstrated a pluralist capacity
of Lutheran orthodoxy. The Bishop in Strängnäs, Johannes Matthiae, thus
expressed an ecumenical spirit approving of a confessional plurality. Disputes led
in 1663 to a consolidation around the Lutheran Formula of Concord. As in
Denmark-Norway, theological education was now the business of universities.
A new university, besides Uppsala, was established in 1666 in Lund. Cartesian
philosophy, which had been defended in the Swedish centre of learning in
Uppsala, initiated debate, which concluded by declaring Cartesianism a heresy
in the theological field, but allowing its use in other sciences. A new Swedish
hymnal appeared in 1695 prepared by Jesper Svedberg, a preacher at the royal
court. There are similarities to the Danish hymnal by Kingo. It was in use for
more than a century and provided orthodox Lutheranism with a poetic image.
The Gustav Adolf Church Bible came in 1618 and reappeared in a revised
version in 1703 as the Bible of Karl XII.
In Finland, a university – Åbo Akademi – was established in 1640, powerfully
informing the theology of the Finnish church. The prelate, Isak Rothovius,
led orthodoxy to dominance in accordance with Swedish models. However, as
in Sweden, in Finland the line of orthodoxy was not left undisputed. Professor
Terserus in Turku/Åbo defended an ecumenically tolerant attitude to differences
of confessions in a 1662 catechism. For a period he was discharged
from his office as bishop, but eventually reinstated. Lutheran concern for
Finnish culture and language continued. Orthodox professors at Åbo Akademi
promoted Finnish language and a policy of general education. A Finnish hymnal
and a collection of hymns for Swedish-speaking congregations were also
published.
The Eighteenth Century: Orthodoxy, Enlightenment
and Pietism
During the eighteenth century, Nordic societies remained involved in wars in the
rest of Europe and conflicts between themselves. The hereditary social structure,
however, was in the process of breaking up, replaced by class structures based
on industrial production. A wave of pietist revival spread and tensions with the
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established church became the order of the day. Enlightenment ideas also swept
over European Christendom and left their marks on Nordic Protestantism. As
Lutheran orthodoxy also remained prominent throughout this period, a
complex pattern of alliances and interactions developed.
Denmark and Norway
State pietism was a special feature of Denmark in the eighteenth century. While
pietism was given special legal status, it was at the same time forced into a form
of state submission. The supervision of pietists rested with church officials
(based on the 1741 Danish Conventicles Act). Accordingly, lay gatherings, which
were characteristic of pietism, were to be led by the official minister of the local
church – a heritage of orthodoxy. The leaders of the pietist movement in
Denmark-Norway were Bishop Eric Pontoppidan (1698–1764) who published
a pietist catechism, and the hymnist Hans Adof Brorson (1694–1764). His collection of hymns, The Costly Clenod of Faith (Troens Rare Klenodie), gave moving
literary expressions to the idea of renouncing the world.
The spirituality of the time contained a demand for a living Christianity.
The Danish-Halle mission to Tranquebar in India began in 1705. During the
reign of Fredrik IV (1699–1730), a Mission Collegium was founded in Copenhagen (1714). Christian VI (1730–46) was the most prominent representative
of state pietism, as he surrounded himself with pietist advisors. Subsequently,
he promoted Christian education. In 1739 a new educational law opened the
first elementary schools in the double kingdom and reformed the university
system.
Other strands of pietism possessed a nonconformist potentiality and led to
tensions over religious authority. In such instances wider Enlightenment ideas
such as tolerance and religious freedom advanced the position of pietism. For
example, a colony of Moravians in Christiansfeld in Denmark was recognized in
1771.
Nonetheless, pietist and Enlightenment ideas were mostly in conflict. Enlightenment freedom extended beyond the borderlines of Protestantism and various
universities started to free themselves of theological control. New rationalist
ideas by Christian Wolff (1679–1754) influenced Danish-Norwegian theology
and the Norwegian-born writer and historian Ludvig Holberg fought both superstition and metaphysics. In tune with rationalist thinking he emphasized Christianity as an ethical system. The official theology of the universities embraced
the rationalist and ethical interpretation of faith.
The pietist movement inspired Norwegian missionary initiatives. The Sami
mission developed from a group of seven ministers in Western Norway naming
themselves ‘The Pleiad’ (syvstjernen). Their leader, Thomas von Westen
(1682–1727), was appointed by the Missionscollegium in 1716 to work among
the Sami in North Norway, and made several journeys to the North. The
Seminarium Lapponicum was established in Trondheim (1717) to educate
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missionaries to the Sami. Another minister, Hans Egede (1686–1758) experienced a calling to preach to the ‘poor Greenlanders’, whom he believed to be
descendants of Norwegian Viking settlers. The Norwegians had, however, disappeared, and Egede decided to work as a pioneer missionary among the Inuit
of Greenland.
Johan Ernst Gunnerus, Bishop of Trondheim 1758–73, promoted Enlightenment ideas in Norway. He wrote on dogmatics and in 1760 founded Det
Kongelige Norske Videnskabers Selskab, a scientific society. Ordinary Norwegian
believers did not receive Enlightenment ideas easily. Erik Pontoppidan’s pietistic
catechism, for example, remained in the schools whereas the EvangeliskChristelig Psalmebog – an Enlightenment hymnal – met strong opposition from
congregations.
Sweden and Finland
Karl XII died in 1718, and with him died the royal autocracy and Swedish status
as a European power. Swedish administration, in contrast to Denmark, was
quickly dominated by Enlightenment ideas. After Karl XII’s death there followed
a 50-years long ‘Age of Freedom’ and from 1771 to 1792 Sweden was subjected
to the aesthetic concerns of King Gustav III. Nonetheless, there were pietistic
movements. A pietist revival spread around 1700 from the coastal city of
Karlskrona and found a wide response. The movement was, however, opposed
by both Lutheran orthodox and Enlightenment groups. In 1726, again in
contradistinction to Denmark, the Conventicle Act forbade religious gatherings of
lay people.
Pietism in Sweden was a combination of ethical radicalism and spiritual contemplation. The former movement was largely inspired by Halle – the radical
pietist Joseph Konrad Dippel (1673–1734) also belonged to this general tendency. He visited Sweden in 1726–9 and his teaching of a subjective and ethical
atonement was widely received, but split the pietist movement. Radical pietism
developed chiliastic features and a critical attitude towards the church. As the
state actively intervened, radical pietism actually disappeared as an organized
movement around 1740. Moravian spirituality inspired by Zinzendorf
(1700–60) then began to dominate pietism. In the 1740s a difference between
radical pietism (largely related to Halle) and the spirituality of the Moravians
became evident. In the end, the Moravians exerted a strong influence for a
century. The writing Nådens ordning til saligheten and the collection of songs Sions
sånger are devotional expressions of Swedish Moravianism.
Wolffian rationalism influenced Sweden from the 1730s onwards, even
spreading among clergy, and tensions with Lutheran orthodoxy occurred. Two
different examples of this incursion are significant. The great natural scientist
Carl von Linné (1707–78) mediated between Lutheran orthodoxy and Enlightenment ideas. To him natural science verified religious belief and led to true
knowledge about the divine majesty, omnipotence, omniscience and mercy.
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Emanuel Swedenborg (1688–1772), son of Bishop Jesper Svedberg, came closer
to the radical pietists. He combined speculative vision with insights from natural
science, neoplatonic mysticism and Enlightenment ideas. Inspired by Dippel, he
developed a doctrine of justification based on experience and ethical concerns.
His ideas spread in England – and have maintained their appeal as a unique combination of Enlightenment ideas and mystical thought. Without doubt, Enlightenment ideas led to increased religious tolerance. As a result, religious freedom
for non-Swedes was legally confirmed in 1781. However, when combined with
orthodoxy, it also undergirded the uniformity and validity of the Church of
Sweden for Swedes.
Even before 1700 Finland was influenced by pietist revivals. Orthodox professors and church leaders such as Gezelius the Younger were in close contact
with the German pietist leader Spener and published devotional literature in a
conservative, pietist spirit. Some Finnish pietists attacked the church sharply. A
remarkable example is the minister Achrenius who, for a period, came to support
separatist thought. Embracing apocalyptic ideas, he left his profession but
later returned as a church-loyal pietist. Moravianism broke through after the
1741–43 war with Russia and spread throughout Finland. Other forms of
pietism are also found, including a penance movement with ecstatic and psychopathologic features which appeared in the Swedish Tornedalen revival in the
1770s. In 1796 a related revival movement broke into Savolaks in Finland and
inspired numerous Finnish revival movements.
Contrasting with the different types of revivals, Enlightenment ideas were
promoted by Finnish intellectuals. Professors like Johan Brovallius and Carl
Fredrik Mennander, both natural scientists who were later appointed bishops,
broadly worked for Enlightenment-derived and educational reforms.
The Nineteenth Century: Revivals, Confessionalism
and Liberation
The Nordic national structure changed as Finland and Norway emerged as separate, national units. Through democratic reforms power was transferred to the
people and autocratic government crumbled. Lutheranism suffered the same
fate and lost its monopoly within Nordic religious life. The patriarchal church
structure followed suit and gave in to lay power, and revival movements were
crucial promoters of democratization. There was also a growing pluralism that
challenged Christian traditions. Liberation was a great theme of the nineteenth
century.
Denmark and Iceland
The official Danish church and their ministers were largely informed by Enlightenment ideas by the dawn of the nineteenth century. Among these – but
138 aasulv lande
retaining a conservative and dogmatic orientation – was Bishop Jakob Peter
Mynster (1775–1854) who became the leading figure in the church. Bishop
Hans Martensen (1808–84) was in dialogue with Hegelian thought and tried to
mediate between church and culture. He disagreed with emerging Gruntvigian
ideas as well as with the individualism of Søren Kierkegaard and the pietist individualists. However, the latter stood for the new theme: liberation, that had been
introduced by the ideas in the new constitution of 1849, which emphasized religious freedom. A priority was, however, given to the Evangelical Lutheran
Church, which was seen as the Danish folk-church and supported by the state
as such. The right to establish a free congregation with its own pastor was
approved in 1868.
The subject of freedom was pursued in different ways by the two great
theological personalities of the century: Søren Kierkegaard (1813–55) and
N. F. S. Grundtvig (1783–1872). Kierkegaard spoke for Christian decisiveness –
the freedom of absoluteness – in pronounced conflict with the compromising
nature of church Christianity, in his view exemplified by Martensen. In his
later works Kierkegaard developed an uncompromising critique of the church.
Grundtvig started his career by radically attacking rationalist-influenced
Christianity. Inspired by Lutheranism and experiences from English Christianity,
he developed a church-centred freedom focusing on ‘the living Word’. By this
he meant the preached word and, furthermore, the apostolic confession
which he saw as prior to biblical texts. He envisaged a unity of culture and
faith and formulated the slogan ‘First human then Christian’ (Menneske først,
kristen så). In numerous hymns he praised creation, ordinary human life and
fellowship in the Spirit. Danish folk high schools were inspired by Grundtvig
and brought his ideas of Christian joy in creation to farming towns and fishing
communities.
Iceland remained as a part of the Danish kingdom during the nineteenth
century. However, neither Grundtvig or other Danish movements influenced
Iceland’s Protestantism, as the Icelandic cultural creativity continued in its own
context. For example, a new liturgical handbook was created and a hymnal was
again published in 1886.
Norway
Norway separated from Denmark, only to be united with Sweden in 1814 in
accordance with the peace treaty concluding the Napoleonic wars. The national
liberation of Norway, inspired by the French Revolution, was expressed in the
constitution of 1814. The evangelical Lutheran State church remained, and so
did the Conventicle Act. But in 1842 a law permitting dissidents’ free practice of
their faith replaced the Conventicle Act. Previously Norwegian ministers had
studied at Copenhagen University, but after 1813 theological teaching began at
Kongelig Fredriks Universitet in Christiania (Oslo). Its biblically based teaching
was inspired by the early Grundtvig, but when in 1825 Grundtvig gave tradition
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priority over the Bible some Norwegian professors parted from their earlier
teacher.
Moravian thought constituted a background of the revival movement initiated by Hans Nielsen Hauge (1771–1824). After a mystical experience of calling
on 5 April 1796 he started as a preacher, holding gatherings and also promoting the country’s industrial development. Fears of Norwegian independence
movements aggravated the persecution of Hauge. He was imprisoned for activities contrary to the Conventicle Act, but released in 1814 after 10 years. The
Hauge revival was particularly strong among farmers and in rural settings, and
paved the way for other revivals. A mission movement was organized by Norsk
Misjonsselskap in 1842. Its pioneer missionary H. P. S. Schroeder (1817–82)
worked in South Africa, for the last year in a separate organization. His ideas of
a church mission contradicted the ideas of the pietist administration.
Towards the end of the century several respected Norwegian authors
broke with church-based Christianity. Originally a Grundtvigian, Bjørnstjerne
Bjørnson (1832–1910) embraced atheistic Darwinism in the 1880s. Arne
Garborg (1851–1921) saw the religious question as his main literary challenge.
National and pietist renewal inspired Norwegian hymn writing. The hymnal
of Magnus Brostrup Landstad appeared in 1869. Professor Elias Blix
(1836–1902) wrote hymns in the new Norwegian language, combining Hebrew
and Norwegian images. His collection Nokre Salmar (1892) introduced a
liberating voice to Norwegian congregations.
Sweden
From 1809 Swedish life and politics were founded on ideas of the Enlightenment
and espoused religious freedom. The state church model remained in Sweden,
although gravely altered. The loss of Finland to Russia in 1809 led to a national
grief – but also to a national revival.
Swedish thinkers were innovative in their dual commitments and reactions.
For example, the philosopher E. G. Gejer, in a treatise about the Enlightenment,
declared himself a Christian in a ‘personal fashion’. He came to represent a religious liberalism with emphasis on freedom of conscience. Another example, S.
Ödmann (a disciple of the natural scientist Carl von Linné), combined a Bibleoriented and contemporary rational spirituality. Henrik Schartau (1757–1825)
worked in Lund from 1785. He represented an understanding of freedom quite
different from the moods of rational liberalism. He emphasized Lutheran teaching on ministry and considered lay gatherings to be misguided enthusiasm. Confronting Moravian subjectivism he preached and held large catechistic sessions
in Lund. His influence in Sweden is still seen after two centuries. Rather than
extolling freedom, Schartau pointed to its limitations.
Two types of revivals had a more evangelical, inner character. North Swedish
revivals differed in their stronger Moravianism and focus on lay people. Swedish
‘readers’ (läsare) from the North studied the Bible as well as Pontoppidan and
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Luther. Devotional literature was a constitutive feature of their piety. Karl Olof
Rosenius (1816–68) was influenced by Anglo-American contacts, especially
George Scott, a Methodist preacher in Stockholm. Rosenius preached an evangelical doctrine but liberation from guilt was one of his favourite themes. He was
a founding father of Evangeliska Fosterlandstiftelsen (1856), an organization
which remained inside the Swedish Lutheran church.
In Karesuando, the northernmost congregation in Sweden, Lars Levi
Lästadius (1800–61) worked from 1825 onwards. He preached orthodox
Lutheranism, emphasizing confession of sin and absolution. But ideas of liberation were also apparent in the contextual and Sami element of the Lästadian
movement. It spread among the Sami, increasing their self-confidence and selfesteem. Lästadius’s role among the Sami might be compared to the role of
Grundtvig among Danish farmers.
A conflict had built up between the Swedish revival movements and the established church, especially the high church movement in Lund. Professor (later
Bishop and Archbishop) Henrik Reuterdahl (1795–1870) considered church
and state in Sweden to be an insoluble unity. As Minister for Church Affairs he
revived the Conventicle Act to stop uncontrolled lay gatherings. The action led to
a polarization between the Church of Sweden and the free churches. The sharp
legal reaction was later modified and the Conventicle Act was dissolved in 1858.
Internal problems in the revival movements meant that schisms were
unavoidable. A follower of Rosenius, P. P. Waldenström (1838–1917), preached
the love of Christ in the tradition of Dippel, but rejected the necessity of an objective atonement, claiming ‘Atonement is not needed for the sake of God but for
the sake of human beings’. His ideas led to a break with Evangeliska Fosterlandstiftelsen. In 1878 the Swedish Covenant Church (Svenska missionsförbundet) was
established as a separate church.
Revival movements kindled an interest in overseas mission. Peter Fjellstedt
was a Swedish pioneer for the cause. Inspired by Anglican missionary initiatives
he worked with the Swiss Basel Mission. While the Swedish Mission Society had
begun in 1835, Fjellstedt was instrumental in the foundation of Lund’s missionssällskap in 1845, which later merged with Swedish Mission Society to
become a Lutheran Church Mission.
Religious themes were central to Swedish literature in the 1890s – examples
are Verner von Heidenstam, Gustaf Fröding and not least Selma Lagerlöf.
Finland
Inspired by Swedish revivals, Paavo Ruotsalainen (1777–1852) arose as a pietist
leader in Finland. His great concern was certainty of salvation. But, with Hans
Nielsen Hauge, he mediated between the church and revival, wanting to remain
in the church. Other revivals occurred in Österbotten (Western Finland) and
Karelen. Eventually Ruotsalainen’s theology of assurance was attacked and
became a source of schism in the movement.
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The Rosenius-inspired preacher F. G. Hedberg followed a more evangelical orientation than Ruotsalainen, and an organization, Lutherska evangeliförsamlingen,
was established in 1873. The organization remained inside the Finnish church.
The Twentieth Century: Democratization
Two processes run parallel in the twentieth century. Unified and monopolist
Lutheran Christianity gave way to a religious plurality and a secularist environment. The resulting social change promoted an ecumenical outlook, opening the
church to new relationships outside the national and cultural borders. This pluralist situation led into a basic discussion on theological identity, and different
answers were given by ‘orthodox’ and ‘liberal’ theology. In relation to democracy
the question was on polity: ‘is the church to be governed from above or from
below?’ and ‘are ordinary believers or ordained office holders to govern the
future of the church bodies?’
Denmark
In Denmark the democratization process and its subsequent effect on church
polity has been stronger and more marked than the identity debate on liberal or
orthodox theology. A result of democratization – led by the Danish Liberal party
– was the establishment of congregational boards (menighedsråd) in 1903. All
rituals were revised around 1900 and the Grundtvigian influence was particularly visible. The Danish church retained its basically congregational character,
and might rightly be characterized, as argued by the distinguished church historian Hal Koch, as ‘well-ordered anarchy’. When, in 1946, a congregation
wanted a woman minister a theological confrontation came to the surface which
serves as the Danish model. Amid protests from Internal Mission and the majority of clergy, ordination of the first woman took place in 1948.
After a liberal and humanist theology prevailing in Denmark before the First
World War, a Barthian or dialectical theology trend appeared. In the 1920s a
group of angry young church leaders attacked liberal theology and other factions in the Danish folk church. They took their name from the periodical Tidehverv and have remained a unique radical and objectivist presence in Danish
theology and church life. Danish theology, subsequently, has basically followed
German traditions. The influence of Grundtvig and Kierkegaard remain powerful (at least in the churches) but not central. The position of Grundtvig is confirmed after celebration of the second centenary of his birth in 1983. Interest in
Kierkegaard has also increased – a centre for Kierkegaard studies in Copenhagen
was established in 1993. Kaj Munck, who was killed by the Nazis during the war,
was a disciple of Kierkegaard and interpreted Christianity as martyrdom in his
spirit.
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Barthian thought was strong in the 1950s and 1960s, the ethical theology
of Niels Hansen Søe (1895–1978) providing an illustration. During the 1960s
and 1970s ecumenism was well represented by Kristen Skydsgaard (1902–90)
and Leif Grane (1918–). The theological faculty of Århus University (founded
1942) has provided fresh Danish contributions to theology. K. E. Løgstrup has
argued for an ethics based on a universal awareness while Regin Prenter and his
colleague Johannes Aagaard emerged as original Danish missiologists. Prenter
was one of the first Scandinavian theologians to give interreligious dialogue a
theological rationale. Aagaard has been a committed critic of neoreligious
‘guruism’. A group devoted to interreligious dialogue, ‘Ikon’, emerged from the
circle around Johannes Aagaard in 1992.
Non-Lutheran Protestants are still a minority in Denmark. The largest group
is the Danish Baptist Fellowship with 6,000 members.
Norway
The general transition to a democratic church government in Norway has
not been smooth. The war situation from 1940 to 1945 was an exception to
the normal church order. Bishop Bergreav emerged as the ecumenical
church leader in the confrontation with Nazism. The 1942 document Kirkens
grunn expressed the right of a church to protest against state autocracy (albeit
in the context of the war) and yet the state church system was maintained
to the turn of the millennium. The government appoints bishops and provosts.
Appointment of priests, however, is now left with diocesan councils
(bispedømmeråd). The responsibilities of congregational councils, established in
1920, has increased. Since 1969 Norway has had an independent Church
Council (kyrkjeråd). A further move away from the state, a Church Assembly
(kyrkjemøte) with the final decision in spiritual matters and ecclesiastical
policies, was established in 1984. The positions of bishops as well as of the
government are thus weakened parallel to the growing importance of democratic organs.
The first decades of the century, however, were marked by questions of a theological nature. As a protest against the instalment of a liberal professor in dogmatics at Oslo University, the private Lutheran School of Theology (Det teologiske
menighetsfakultet) was established in 1908. Professor Ole Hallesby, whose background was the conservative Erlängen theology, became its dominant teacher.
As a church politician he worked to exclude liberals from positions in the church.
A confrontation took place in 1953 when Bishop Schelderup attacked Hallesby
for preaching the doctrine of hell in a radio broadcast. The discussion flared and
was formally brought to a conclusion by a decision in the Norwegian parliament
admitting room for different interpretations of the doctrine. This, however, was
eclipsed by the issue of the ordination of women. Schelderup ordained the first
woman to the priesthood in 1961.
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Norway has fostered a few theologians of outstanding quality, such as the Old
Testament scholar Sigmund Movinckel, who developed a cultic interpretation of
the Psalms. The missionary Karl Ludvig Reichelt (1877–1952) contributed
towards a Christian understanding of Buddhism by his writings and work
among Buddhist monks in China.
During the twentieth century Bible translations appeared in the Norwegian
language for the first time since the Reformation. The Orientalist Alexander
Seippel (1851–1938) produced unique New Norwegian translations utilizing
ideas later found in theologies of liberation. Hymnody has continued in the tradition of Magnus Brostup Landstad and Elias Blix. Among noted contributors
are Anders Hovden, Svein Ellingsen and Arve Brunvoll.
The Norwegian Mission Society and the Norwegian Lutheran Mission are the
strongest mission organizations with church-founding work in Africa and Asia.
The two organizations have a critical attitude to the World Council of Churches.
The Christian Mission to Buddhists has provided a special Nordic contribution
in the field of interreligious dialogue.
In 1992 the membership of the state church was 88 per cent of the total
population (4.2 million). Although only about 3 per cent attend church every
Sunday, 80 per cent of the population are baptized and confirmed and about 55
per cent are married in the church. The church cares for 95 per cent of funerals. The figures demonstrate the varied influence of secularization on church traditions. Other Protestant churches are markedly of a minority character: the
Lutheran Free Church has about 50,000 members, Pentecostals about 40,000,
Methodists about 18,000 and Baptists about 12,000.
Iceland
In 1918 Iceland became an independent republic. The former Danish-Icelandic
Lutheran state church model was initially governed by the Icelandic Department
of Religion. However, a Church Council was established in 1931 and from 1957
a Church Assembly, with certain administrative authority, was formed. Iceland
has one diocese with its bishop residing in Reykjavik. There are extra bishops for
Skálholt and Hólar. The bishop is chosen by a body consisting of church ministers and lay people. The first woman priest was ordained in 1974.
Liberal theology came to Iceland in the beginning of the twentieth century,
represented by the learned Bishop Jon Helgason. Icelandic liberal theology was
open to spiritism during and after the Second World War, and Professor Haraldur Nielsson was a dynamic spokesman for spiritualist theology. Critical views
of this Icelandic theological tradition have been expressed, influenced by the
Danish Internal Mission. The YMCA and YWCA movements came early to
Iceland and constitute a large lay organization in cooperation with the Norwegian Lutheran Mission. Membership of the Icelandic national church includes
92.4 per cent of Icelanders, while the majority of nonmembers belong to the
Lutheran Free Church.
144 aasulv lande
Sweden
The Church of Sweden was the first Nordic church to disestablish the state
church system. Various church councils (kyrkomötet) have central authority
within the church. The Bishops’ Council convenes annually and has a role in
preparing the church assembly. The role of bishops has been diminished by the
democratic election of congregational councils, cathedral chapters and the
church assembly. Political parties, in turn, present lists of candidates for election
to the national church boards. The church has three boards of national significance: the Mission Board, the Board of Diakonia and the Board for Swedish
Church Overseas. A majority of representatives to the church boards are selected
on lists presented by ordinary political parties. But at times nonpolitical groups
successfully present lists of candidates for election.
A high church faction opposed the 1958 decision to admit women for ministry. The first woman to be ordained in the Church of Sweden was Margit Sahlin
(1960). Ministers who refuse to recognize women as ministers in the church are
currently barred from ordination in the Church of Sweden.
A dominating personality in the Swedish church during the last century has
been Professor and later Archbishop Nathan Söderblom (1866–1931). Influenced by Ritschl and Harnack, he fought uncompromisingly for the freedom of
research. Noted contributions to theology are his 1903 work Uppenbarelsereligion (Revealed Religion) and his struggle for ecumenical unity, as manifested in
the first Universal Conference on Life and Work which met in Stockholm in
1925. The 1925 meeting, in turn, reflects the 1895 initiation of the Student
Christian Movement in Vadstena. The Church of Sweden has consistently promoted ecumenical work. In 1968 an ecumenical congress was arranged in
Uppsala. The relationship to the Anglican Church has been especially notable.
Einar Billing was a representative of the so-called ‘young church’ movement
(ungkyrkorörelsen) and he emphasized the religious dimensions of the folk
church. A breakthrough of a more doctrinally conservative ecclesiastical
theology was originated by Bo Giertz, Bishop in Western Sweden (Göteborg
1949–70).
The Lund theologians exerted a strong influence, and Anders Nygren was a
dominating figure. Dialectical in character, Nygren contrasted the Christian idea
of agape with the Greek concept of eros. Gustav Wingren promoted a creationoriented theology reminiscent of the Grundtvigian Dane Løgstrup. Wingren, in
particular, opposed the objectivist methodology of the Uppsala philosopher
Ingemar Hedenius. The Pentecostal expansion in Sweden, led by the charismatic
preacher Lewi Pethrus (1884–1974), has been exceptional. The Word of Life
movement (Livets ord), with its centre in Uppsala, saw a dynamic period under
the leadership of Ulf Ekman in the 1980s and 1990s. The movement has an
international network and is especially committed to mission in the previous
Soviet Union.
In 1997 85.3 per cent of Swedes were members of the Lutheran Church of
Sweden, 78.4 per cent of newborn babies were baptized and 49.7 per cent con-
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firmed. In the same year 91,939 Swedes were registered as Pentecostals, the
largest Protestant group outside the Swedish Church. There are 70,000
members of Swedish Covenant Mission.
Finland
The question of church and state was first raised by the Social Democrats in
1903, but was soon removed from the political agenda. After Finnish independence (1917) state tensions between the conservative political right and revolutionary left were reflected in the church. Generally, the church sided with the
right in the civil war that occurred at the time of independence. A religious
freedom act in 1922 extended the right to establish independent churches and
also the right for individuals to declare themselves as having no religious affiliation. Self-governance for Finnish folk churches was granted only in 1973 with
the establishment of a central supreme Church Council. The members of the
Church Council are selected democratically.
The Finnish tension between folk church spirituality and evangelical revivalism remains. During the Second World War Finland became isolated from other
Nordic countries due to its comradeship with Germany in fighting the Sovjet
Union. The Finnish Lutheran Church, likewise, had supported the patriotic
struggle against Bolshevik Russia. Nonetheless, Christian concern for social
issues were confirmed by the war experience and continued to be a source of
contention after the war. The military chaplain Erki Niinivaara (1907–85) developed a theology of social concern related to the teaching of Gustav Wingren.
Internal mission organizations took a critical stand against this type of theology.
The Evangelical Lutheran Internal Mission Society, led by Urko Muromaa
(1890–1966), and neorevivalist movements such as The Evangelical Lutheran
Folk Mission of Finland (1967) expressed criticism of such a socially and
culturally open theology. A sharp opponent of Niinivaara was Osmo Tiililä
(1904–1972), a Professor of Systematic Theology. Eventually Tiililä left the
Lutheran Church of Finland. Finally, after 30 years of controversy, in 1986 the
Supreme Church Council allowed ordination of women in the Lutheran Folk
Church.
During the twentieth century, Finland has produced some remarkable church
architecture. Examples include the postfunctionalist Chapel of Resurrection in
Turku (1940), the ‘formless church’ in Vuoksenniska (1958) and the Tampere
Kaleva Church (1966). Another Finnish modern contribution is the Thomas
Mass – engaging new groups of people in an active and participatory church
liturgy. A new hymnal was produced in 1984 and a new translation of the Bible
in 1992.
Finnish theologians have developed a Lutheran-based research dialogue in
close contact with Orthodox theology. As such, broad contacts with Russian
Orthodoxy have emerged and are noteworthy. For example, Professor Seppo
Teinonen (1924–95) pioneered a method of systematic theological concern for
ecumenism and missiology, which has been continued by Professor Mannermaa
146 aasulv lande
at Helsinki University. A substantial ecumenical achievement took place in the
Finnish diocese of Porvoo in 1992, with the issue of the Porvoo Common
Statement (Council for Christian Unity, 1993). It expressed the visible unity of
Anglican churches in the UK and the Nordic and Baltic Lutheran churches.
About 85 per cent of Finns are members of the Evangelical Lutheran Church.
Among the minority Protestant churches Pentecostals are the largest group
with 50,000 members.
References
The Council for Christian Unity of the General Synod of the Church of England (1993).
The Porvoo Common Statement Conversations between the British and Irish Anglican
Churches and the Nordic and Baltic Lutheran Churches & Essays on Church and Ministry
in Northern Europe, Occasional Paper 3. London: Church House Publishing.
Further Reading
Brohed, Ingmar (ed.) (1996). Church and People in Britain and Scandinavia. Biblioteca
Historico-Ecclesiastica Lundnsis 36. Lund: Lund University Press.
Grell, Ole Peter (1995). The Scandinavian Reformation from Evangelical Movements to
Institutionalisation of Reform. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Hope, Nicholas (1995). German and Scandinavian Protestantism 1700–1918. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Österlin, Lars (1995). Churches of Northern Europe in Profile. A Thousand Years of
Anglo-Nordic Relations. Norwich, UK: The Canterbury Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 11
Protestantism in the Netherlands
to the Present Day
Peter van Rooden
The present-day Netherlands emerged as a political entity in the last quarter of
the sixteenth century. The new state was the haphazard result of internal political upheavals and the fortunes of international war. Religion was deeply
involved with the crisis that shattered the unity of the territories north of France
and west of the Empire that the Habsburg family had patiently gathered during
the fifteenth and the first half of the sixteenth centuries. Conversely, the political outcome of what became known as ‘the Revolt’ determined not only the religious settlement of the Dutch Republic but also the religious identities of the
people living in the shattered Habsburg Netherlands. This close relation between
political and religious developments has endured to the present.
Early Protestants and the Dutch Revolt
When the Revolt broke out, Protestantism in the Netherlands had been fairly
effectively kept at bay for 50 years. Whatever compromises Charles V was willing
to make with Protestants in the Empire, he was not prepared to accept religious
dissent in the territories he had inherited. It was not that there was little interest in reform or rebellion. Erasmian and Lutheran conceptions had, from an
early date, been absorbed by clergy, schoolteachers and artisans. These dissidents
met in small groups to discuss the Bible and its interpretation. They were supported by a flood of heterodox books, mostly published in Antwerp.
Anabaptism, a much more popular movement, had emerged in the wake of
Melchior Hoffman’s preaching in 1530. Dutch Anabaptists were deeply involved
in the Münster revolution. In the Netherlands too, they engaged in direct political acts: for instance, attacking the city hall of Amsterdam in 1535. They were
fiercely persecuted and effectively suppressed. It was only in the 1550s that
148 peter van rooden
Anabaptist circles re-emerged, most of them influenced by the pacifist message
of Menno Simons. In these same years the Reformed movement started to build
churches in the south. Their churches had consistories and, from the early 1560s
onwards, there were attempts at a synodal organization modelled on the French
Huguenots. The Reformed church was strongly influenced by Calvinism, but
other Reformed influences were important as well: the Heidelberger Catechism
was translated into Dutch in 1563 and reprinted at least 60 times before 1585.
In the 1560s a general revolt broke out against the centralizing policies of the
Brussels government of the Habsburg Netherlands. Twenty years later, political
and military vicissitudes had resulted in a new and independent political entity
in the North, which had introduced the Reformation in its Reformed variety,
standing over against the southern provinces of the Habsburg Netherlands –
which had been reconquered by Spanish troops and where Protestantism had
effectively been wiped out by a militant counter-Reformation. The now Protestant Dutch Republic would remain at war with Spain and the Southern Netherlands till 1648.
The Dutch Republic as a Confessional State
The fundamentals of the religious geography of the Netherlands were determined between 1600 and 1625. In a 20 to 40 mile wide belt right behind the
front lines, stretching from the south-west to the north-east through the middle
of the present-day Netherlands, no attempts at Catholic reorganization were tolerated. The Reformed church in these areas was closely allied with public
authority, and subject to an almost completely Erastian regime. All inhabitants
of this area were reckoned to belong to the Reformed church, and over time it
became homogeneously Protestant. The areas to the south and east of this
Protestant belt that were conquered by the armies of the Dutch Republic after
1625 – Twente, Brabant and Limburg – have remained solidly Catholic to the
present day. Confessional identity in these areas had been strengthened over two
generations, and the Republic was never able to suppress all Catholic organization there.
A highly original religious order developed in a third area, north and west
of the ‘Protestant belt’, in the provinces of Holland, Utrecht and part of
Friesland. Here, from a very early date, political authorities had allowed the
re-establishing of Catholicism. The Mennonites, the peaceful successors to
the violent Anabaptists of the 1530s, also found most of their adherents here.
Following the phenomenal economic expansion of the Dutch Republic, this was
the area where Lutheran churches and Jewish synagogues were established,
organizing immigrants from the Iberian peninsula, Germany, Scandinavia and
eastern Europe.
In this core area of the Dutch Republic the Reformed Church, too, enjoyed the
most liberty. It could engage in various conflicts about its confession and public
status. Theologically, these conflicts have been interpreted as a process by which
protestantism in the netherlands
149
conceptions stemming from other centres of Reformed Protestantism, such as
Heidelberg and Zürich, were slowly excluded in favour of the strict Calvinism as
taught in Geneva. The process culminated in a fierce conflict about predestination between two Leiden professors of theology, Jacobus Arminius and Franciscus Gomarus. In the second decade of the seventeenth century, during a truce
in the war with Spain, all of the many political conflicts within the young Republic became clustered around this theological debate and the Republic was
brought to the brink of civil war. In 1618–19, after the victory of their political
allies, the followers of Gomarus used the Synod of Dordrecht to commit the
public church of the Republic to a mitigated version of the doctrine of double
predestination, which henceforth would remain a hallmark of orthodox Calvinism, distinguishing it from Arminianism.
In the course of the seventeenth century, the religious order of the Dutch
Republic stabilized into a peculiar form of the confessional state. The Reformed
Church had a monopoly on public expressions and manifestations of religion. It
was supported by political authority, and was financed from public funds. Public
office could not be held by those who were members of other religious groups.
On the other hand, no laws forced people to attend the services of the public
church or to take part in its rituals. Marriages could legitimately be contracted
before the civil magistrate. Baptism was not obligatory, although it seems to have
been generally sought. With some misgivings, the Reformed Church generally
baptized all children, but it accepted as full members only those who were willing
to make a public confession of faith and to submit to its discipline. Over time, all
those who did not explicitly belong to other religious groups were considered to
be Reformed. The confessional nature of the Dutch Republic rested upon the
toleration of other religious groups, who were always accorded a lower social
status.
Organizationally, religious groups were among the main building blocks of
the local worlds of the Dutch Republic. In cities such as Amsterdam or Leiden,
Reformed, Lutherans, Jews, Mennonites, Arminians and Catholics were important elements of the local political economy. Socially, religion in the mature
Dutch Republic tended to be produced in the form of a public order, accommodating the hierarchical nature of these local political worlds. Both in word and
deed, discursively and practically, creating and sustaining early-modern Dutch
Christianity boiled down to strengthening social hierarchies. The existence of
different religious groups, the famous ‘toleration’ of the Dutch Republic, was
part and parcel of this social production of Christianity in the form of a public
order. The Reformed Church was most visible and ‘public’, with the ‘tolerated’
Dissenters much less so, and the ‘conniving’ Catholics not allowed to show themselves at all. Ideologically, the public Reformed Church rested upon a massively
detailed intellectual orthodoxy, defined at the Synod of Dordrecht, and defended
by university-based theologians, jealously guarding the public sphere they
represented. There were vigorous theological debates in the seventeenth- and
eighteenth-century Netherlands, but they all took the form of a judicial-like
determination of the borders of the legitimate public sphere, deeply intertwined
with political power.
150 peter van rooden
The Protestant Nation
This Dutch confessional state was challenged by the emergence of an enlightened sociability and the rise of cultural nationalism from the 1750s onwards.
Both developments tended to stress the importance of moral individuals over
against social and political hierarchies, and could easily integrate pietistic
notions. An indigenous revolution in the 1780s was suppressed, but in 1795
French armies installed these defeated revolutionaries as caretakers of a satellite state. They overhauled the decentralized Dutch Republic and made it into a
modern nation state on the French model. The Kingdom of the Netherlands,
installed after the fall of Napoleon, inherited the new national bureaucracy of
the revolutionaries and immediately reorganized all churches to involve them in
the task of nation building and creating citizens. As this fitted in quite nicely
with several evangelical and liturgical initiatives aimed at creating Christian
individuals that the churches had undertaken during the revolutionary years,
there was very little opposition to this political project.
Socially, religion in the new Kingdom of the Netherlands was produced in the
form of individual believers, members of the moral community of the nation.
The state and the churches invested heavily in religious mass education. Ideologically, Christianity was depicted as a simple moral conviction, which every
individual could attain, and which was to be propagated in a public sphere open
to all. This notion had already been used to justify the revolutionary separation
of church and state, undertaken in 1796: all religious groups are equal, as they
all attempt to inculcate the inner piety that is the core of the moral life of the
responsible citizen.
This new notion of the function of Protestantism also justified the way
in which the Dutch state treated the overwhelming mass of its citizens as
objects to be improved and transformed. Religion was the most important means
by which this educational relation between the state and its citizens was
expressed. This legitimization of political inequality was based as much upon
practice as upon ideology. During the first three-quarters of the nineteenth
century, the Dutch Protestant churches, supported by the state-sponsored
primary education system, engaged in an unprecedented process of religious
education, even as it confirmed the processes of cultural class formation
which formed the basis of the new Dutch nation state. The ideal of the nation
as a community of moral individuals was considered to be the true expression
of Protestantism.
Protestantism, Mass Politics and the Welfare State
In 1834, secession (Afscheiding) took place within the former unified ‘public’
church. Six (of almost 1,500) ministers, five of them quite young, set up a new
protestantism in the netherlands
151
organization. They harked back to the Calvinist doctrine upheld by the public
church of the Republic, yet it is also clear that they gained adherents by tapping
into popular discursive notions about ministers not being really pious, but only
learned. The contemporary character of the secessionist movement becomes
clearer in light of the fierce reactions it provoked. The secessionists unequivocally threw into question the close links between citizenship, knowledge and
piety that formed the basis of the order of the new Dutch kingdom. In response
the Dutch government quartered troops with families that had seceded, dismissed schoolteachers and other public servants who joined the movement, and
in general did its utmost to make their lives miserable. Many, as a result, emigrated to the USA. Still, the movement grew at an amazing rate, gaining the
adherence of 4–5 per cent of all Dutch people in the 1880s.
During the 1870s and 1880s, with the emergence of modern mass politics
in the Netherlands, the higher levels of Dutch Protestantism – the universities,
the main cities and the higher organizational levels of the church – polarized
both ecclesiastically and politically. Ecclesiastically, the conflicts involved the
emergence, from the early 1860s, of modernist theological notions developed
at Leiden University, denying miracles and the doctrine that the Scriptures
are inspired. The nature of religious education in the primary school system
became a politically divisive issue from 1857. This ongoing polarization in the
second half of the nineteenth century resulted in a new geographical structure,
opposing orthodox and liberal Protestant areas, superimposed upon the much
older contrast between Protestant and Catholic areas, and enduring to the
present day.
Abraham Kuyper (1837–1920), a Leiden-trained theologian who became an
orthodox minister and later a journalist and national politician, decisively
influenced the nature of both these conflicts. Kuyper was a superb agitator and
mobilizer, and a natural-born mass politician. Better than anyone else in the
Netherlands he understood both the strength of mass politics and the necessity
of dramatic political stances to engender mass support. The most important way
in which he convinced his followers of the importance of their struggle was by
presenting them with a new view of history. He described Dutch history as an
ongoing struggle between three principles: Catholicism, Calvinism and liberal
humanism. The essential element of this historical view was its dramatic appeal.
Dutch national life was depicted as a struggle between radically different principles. Kuyper’s movement, true to its modern nature, was very vague about its
ultimate ends, shifting them according to short-term political successes or failures. It is clear that for some time the neo-Calvinist movement was considered
to be a possible alternative way to organize Dutch Protestantism in its entirety,
taking over the former public church and driving out the liberals. At the end of
the 1880s, however, it became clear that this would not happen. Instead, Kuyper
led his followers out of the former public church, joining with the larger part of
the churches that had issued from the Afscheiding and setting up the new, neoCalvinist Gereformeerde Kerken in Nederland. This decisively shattered the unity of
the Protestant nation.
152 peter van rooden
From the beginning, Kuyper had resolutely decided to forego any attempt at
reforming the public school system in an orthodox Protestant direction. Instead,
he opted for confessional schools to be established apart from the public school
system. His concentration on this issue conferred a supreme strategic advantage.
It made possible an alliance with the Catholics, who wanted confessional schools
of their own, the basis of the emancipation from their status as second-class citizens. Kuyper’s interpretation of the Dutch nation as made up of three different
groups offered an excellent justification for this strategy. Although it was a huge
slap in the face for all those Protestants – liberal and orthodox – who had identified the nation with Protestantism, it made possible the devaluation of the
public school as no more than an instrument of a particular group and interest.
At the same time it justified the alliance of Catholics and orthodox Protestants,
whose wishes for separate schools accorded with the divided nature of the
nation.
Elsewhere in Europe, such ideological ghettos had emerged as well, for
example the Socialist and Catholic movements in Germany. In the Netherlands,
these ghettos took over the nation, almost eclipsing the notion of a common
citizenship. What elsewhere were minority movements and subcultures, in
the Netherlands became ‘pillars’ (zuilen). The term, although fairly late
(post-Second World War), perfectly expresses the notion that the Netherlands
was made up of several distinctive ideological groups, which together supported
the nation, and that one belonged to the nation by belonging to one of these
groups.
The ‘pacification’ of 1917 which ended the political struggles between liberal
and confessional parties was, in reality, a clear-cut confessional victory. It rested
upon the introduction of universal suffrage and the equal public financing of
public, Catholic and Protestant primary schools. The introduction of universal
suffrage introduced a period of more than 50 years in which Christian political
parties would poll more than half of the vote. During the better part of the twentieth century, religion was a more important aspect of social identity in the
Netherlands than class or region. Organizationally, Christianity was promoted
by means of all the elements of modern social life: schools and universities, journals and magazines, mass political parties, associations and cultural organizations, organized sports and cultural activities, trade unions and employers’
organizations. Socially, twentieth-century Dutch Christianity was thoroughly
ethnicized. Being an orthodox Protestant or Catholic was a matter of birth, and
over time both identities were physically inscribed: for example, by the 1950s the
Dutch could ascertain each other’s religious’ identity at a glance or by a person’s
speech. Intellectually, Christianity had become an ideology, a total conception of
the whole world and of all history from a self-conscious partisan viewpoint,
meant to engage people in a social movement.
The former public church had been badly shaken by the Kuyperian secession
of the 1880s and even more by the emergence of the pillarized society,
which shattered its pretentions to be the national (vaderlandse) church. After the
Second World War, there was a sudden surge for renewal, which allied itself with
protestantism in the netherlands
153
the new welfare state and, though less explicitly, with the Socialists, who had
shed their German orientation and looked instead towards the modernizing
British Labour Party. In a dizzying surge of renewal, social engineering by the
state and modern American management techniques were enthusiastically
embraced as a way to overcome the inefficient and non-Christian pillarized
society. The not-so-secret hope was to put the Catholics and neo-Calvinists in
their place.
The modern Dutch welfare state, established in the 1960s, did indeed break
the power of the pillars, but it did not fulfil the hopes of the former public church.
The restored social and moral unity of the nation resulted in a period of acute
dechristianization. More than half of Dutch people living at the end of the
twentieth century did not reckon themselves to belong to any church. Those
who did were less involved with their churches than ever before. The main Dutch
Protestant churches, the former national church, the Kuyperian neo-Calvinists,
and the Lutherans were in an interminable process of reunion, all the while suffering a massive haemorrhage of members. Orthodox Calvinists, descendants
of those followers of the 1834 Afscheiding who had not joined up with Kuyper,
had since the 1970s built up their own organizational world, in the wake of the
collapse of the Protestant pillar. Yet this new Protestant world was no longer a
pillar. It was not one of several building blocks of the Dutch nation, but a ghetto.
Many of its children are escaping this sect by joining the Evangelical movement
in the Netherlands, which holds out a promise of a warm piety that is not linked
with a total social world and a particular and restrictive lifestyle. Dutch
Evangelicalism and Pentacostalism finds it hard, though, to attract members
from outside this fairly limited market of the youth of reorganized orthodox
Protestantism.
Bibliographical Information
Augustijn’s (1994) article “Niederlande” describes the history of Christianity
in the territory of the modern Netherlands from the early Middle Ages to
the present day. His interpretation of the early Dutch Reformation and the
events leading up to the Synod of Dordrecht is still authoritative. The article
offers an extensive bibliography. Jonathan Israel’s massive The Dutch Republic
(1995) is very good on day-to-day politics and religion, especially during the
seventeenth century. R. Po-Chia Hsia and Henk van Nierop (2002) offers
the most recent work on the religious diversity of the Republic. No English
language book on the social history of Dutch religion in the eighteenth century
exists, but there is a marvellous intellectual history of the period in Joris van
Eijnatten’s Liberty and Concord in the United Provinces (2003). Michael Wintle’s
(1985) Pillars of Piety offers a competent interpretation of nineteenth century
Dutch church history, while van Rooden (2003) contains a more political
interpretation.
154 peter van rooden
References
Augustijn, Cees (1994). Niederlande. In Gerhard Krause & Gerhrad Müller (eds.), Theologische Realenzyklopädie, vol. 24. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, pp. 474–502.
Israel, Jonathan (1995). The Dutch Republic: Its Rise, Greatness and Fall, 1477–1806.
Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Po-Chia Hsia, R. and van Nierop, Henk (eds.) (2002). Calvinism and Religious Toleration
in the Dutch Golden Age. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
van Eijnatten, Joris (2003). Liberty and Concord in the United Provinces: Religious Toleration and the Public in the Eighteenth-Century Netherlands. Leiden: Brill.
van Rooden, Peter (2003). Long-term Religious Developments in the Netherlands,
1750–2000. In Hugh McLeod & W. Ustorf (eds.), The Decline of Christendom in Western
Europe, 1750–2000. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, pp. 113–29.
Wintle, Michael (1985). Pillars of Piety: Religion in the Netherlands in the Nineteenth
Century, 1813–1901. Hull, UK: Hull University Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 12
Protestantism in Eastern Europe to
the Present Day
Parush Parushev and Toivo Pilli
Any researcher addressing the issue of the development of Protestantism in
Eastern Europe is faced with at least two difficulties. The first is to define ‘Eastern
Europe’ and the second is to decide how Protestantism is to be understood.
The area that is called Eastern Europe in geopolitical terms today has quite a
complex historical development and this is reflected in its Protestant history
and development. In the context of Protestantism, the Baltic countries of
Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania had long-standing cultural and religious contacts
with the Nordic countries, specifically Sweden. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the Baltic region also experienced the robust presence of
both Prussia and imperial Russia. The traditional Central-Eastern European
peoples of present-day Poland, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, the Transylvanian area of Romania, Croatia, and Slovenia are part of Western European
development as dominated by the Austro-Hungarian Empire and its history.
Roman Catholicism and its opposition are dominant themes here. The cultural
and religious life of Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, Bessarabia, and the Caucasian
peoples in the last two centuries has been inseparably tied to the historical development of Russia. Part of this history is the interaction with the Orthodox
Church. Finally, Protestantism in the so-called Balkan states of Romania, Bulgaria, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia and Montenegro, Macedonia, Albania,
Greece, and Turkey took root and developed under the dominance of the Islamic
Ottoman Empire.
The term ‘Protestant’ itself also has diverse content. In the Eastern European
context it includes Lutheran and Reformed Church traditions (the usual definition), but also the Hussite Church and the Evangelical Church of Czech
Brethren. Moreover, the Anabaptists, through German Mennonite and Herrnhuter communities in Russia, Estonia and old Livonia, had a formative influence
for the indigenous Protestant movements. Neo-Protestants such as Baptists, Pentecostalists and Seventh Day Adventists made their way to Eastern European
156 parush parushev & toivo pilli
countries in the second half of the nineteenth century and during the first
decades of the twentieth century. The list is far from complete: one could add
pockets of Unitarians in Hungary and Romania; Methodists in the Baltics
and the Balkans; Congregationalists in Bulgaria; and a Nazarene presence in
Romania, Bulgaria and former Yugoslavia. At the end of the twentieth century
an influx of missionary and charismatic movements added a further flavour to
an already complex recipe.
The mosaic becomes even more colourful if one attempts to trace the development of Protestantism through the centuries. By the end of the Council of
Trent in 1563 the majority in Poland, Lithuania, Bohemia and Hungary professed Protestant faith, but after the Counter-Reformation Catholicism regained
its dominance. In countries such as Russia, Ukraine and Belarus Protestantism
has always been a minority religion. Nevertheless, indigenous attempts at the
reformation of church life in Orthodox communities in the eighteenth century
resembled similar attempts in the Western part of Europe undertaken in the
sixteenth century. In what follows, we will trace some of the chronological and
cultural trajectories of Eastern European Protestantism.
The Beginning of Protestantism
The traditional view of the beginning of Protestantism ties it to the sixteenthcentury Reformation movements. The new thinking spread rapidly into the east
of Europe in the 1520s. Andreas Knopken, who had come to Livonia with a commendatory letter from Philip Melanchthon, preached reformational ideas in
Riga (Latvia) as early as in 1521. The magisterial Reformation, particularly
Calvinism, had a remarkable impact in (present-day) Poland, which was already
influenced by humanistic and Hussite views. Königsberg University was founded
in 1544, for example, in East Prussia for the training of Protestant preachers.
In Hungary, Protestantism had direct ties with Martin Luther through personal
contact with a prominent Reformation leader Matthias Dévai Biró (d. 1545).
Even in Russia there were signs of early Protestant presence. In the midsixteenth century, Matthew Bashkin, probably influenced by some Lithuanian
Protestants living in Moscow, was imprisoned in Volokamsk monastery for his
non-Orthodox views (which also seem to have been Unitarian).
The Spread in Largely Roman Catholic Countries
Because of the Roman Catholic opposition encountered, Protestant expansion
in Eastern Europe was far from smooth. The Catholic Counter-Reformation
weakened Protestantism in many Central-Eastern European countries. Except
for some minor remnants, the Counter-Reformation almost wiped out Protest-
protestantism in eastern europe
157
antism in Slovenia and Croatia and certainly paralysed Protestant development
in Poland. Similar histories occur in Hungary and in Bohemia and Moravia,
where up to 90 per cent of the population were Protestant by the end of the
sixteenth century, but this was dramatically, permanently and rapidly reversed.
As a result, in present day Hungary a quarter of the population belongs to
Protestant churches (primarily Lutheran and Reformed) while the majority population is Roman Catholic. Today approximately 40 per cent of Czechs are
Roman Catholic and only 10 per cent belong to non-Catholic denominations
(Hussite, Evangelical Church of the Czech Brethren, and others). In Poland and
Lithuania, only a very small minority of the population is Protestant.
Several factors contributed to the resilience of Protestantism in certain
regions. The steady growth of the German-speaking Protestant population in
some areas prepared the ground for the renewal and the later growth of Protestantism in the 1800s – which was already anticipated by the previous century’s
pietistic influences. The renewal came when several so-called neo-Protestant, or
evangelical, movements (Baptists, Seventh Day Adventists, proto-Pentecostals
and others) reached Eastern Europe. In other cases the policies of tolerance
(usually by ‘Enlightenment’ monarchs) helped to strengthen the Protestant
cause in the areas with a strong Roman Catholic presence. Such was the effect
of the Edict of Toleration issued by Joseph II in the Austro-Hungarian Empire in
1781.
In the nineteenth century, the migration of Hungarian, Czech, Slovak and
German Protestants into the northern areas of the southern Slavs (now Slovenia, Croatia, Vojvodina), after the Ottomans were forced to withdraw, significantly contributed to the advance and later renewal of Protestantism in
South-East Europe. The colporteurs of the British and Foreign Bible Society who
distributed biblical literature and parts of the Bible also added to the growth of
Protestantism in Poland, the Balkans and other areas.
Through American missionary activity in the first half of the nineteenth
century (first launched in Beirut in 1819), Protestantism slowly penetrated the
territories of south-east Europe and the Ottoman-controlled Middle East among
the present peoples of Turkey, Greece, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Albania, Lebanon,
Syria, Armenia, and Kurdistan. The first Protestant community (predominantly
Armenian) in the Ottoman Empire was officially established by a Sultan’s charter
on 1 June 1840. A Protestant liberal arts college (Robert College) was founded
in Istanbul in 1863, itself the product of a previous Congregational Bible school
established in 1840.
The Spread in Largely Orthodox Countries
Protestant history in Eastern Europe is both well and poorly documented. While
the story of Protestantism in Central-Eastern Europe is known to a certain
extent, the development of Protestantism among the eastern Slavs, and
158 parush parushev & toivo pilli
the Orthodox reaction to it, is relatively unsurveyed. Lutheran and Reformed
beliefs penetrated the Russian Empire through peasants, traders and craftsmen
of German, Swiss or Scandinavian origin as early as the seventeenth century,
but they almost never put down roots among the indigenous people. As a result,
their history is left unknown and their effect unclear. After the establishment
of the Moscow Duchy and the formation of the independent Russian Orthodox
Church and Patriarchate (in the sixteenth century), Orthodox Christianity
became the only legal form of Christianity in the vast region of Russia
and Ukraine (as well as later in Belorussia and Bessarabia). Eventually there
emerged groups – the Dukhobors (Spirit wrestlers) and the Molokany (milk
drinkers) – who can be considered ‘Protestant’ in their thinking and against
whom the Orthodox Church reacted. Their histories are, consequently, better
documented.
The Dukhobors emphasized the role of the Holy Spirit in their theology. This,
combined with their belief in nonviolence and refusal of military service, the
specific grounds of persecution, have led some scholars to relate their emergence
to nearby immigrant Quakers. The Molokany (most probably named for drinking milk during fasting times or the refusal of alcoholic beverages) had a strict
ethical biblicism organized around the Ten Commandments and the Sermon on
the Mount. Molokany spread in the Imperial lands, including Siberia, Ukraine
and the Caucasus, and even emigrated to North America. By the end of the nineteenth century, most Molokany had merged with the Baptists. It is worth noting
that many early Russian Evangelical Christian and Baptist leaders had Molokany
backgrounds.
In the nineteenth century, some Protestant groups – pietists, Stundists and
Baptists – stood out because of their moral standards, and made significant
impact in aristocratic society. Protestant pietistic forms (personal conversion and
devotional life), through Bible study and prayer meetings, were common in some
circles of influence. One of the far-reaching results of the pietistic movement in
Russia was the founding of the Russian Bible Society (1812–14), though the
translation of the Bible into contemporary Russian was completed only in 1876.
It should also be mentioned that the first decades of the nineteenth century saw
a re-emergence of the pietistic Herrnhuter movement in some other parts of
Tsarist Russia, such as the Baltic region.
In the twentieth century Baptists became the largest Protestant group in
Russia and Ukraine. Baptists emerged from three sources: Pashkovism (in St
Petersburg), the Stundist movement (in Ukraine), and a separate beginning in
the Transcaucasus region.
Pashkovism is a result of the evangelistic meetings of 1874 held by Lord Radstock (a British nobleman who had joined the Plymouth Brethren) in St Petersburg in which some Russian nobility were converted. Most notable of the
converts was Colonel V. A. Pashkov, whose advocacy of Radstockism was such
that the whole movement was named after him. In their organization, at least
initially, Pashkovites did not ordain leaders or baptize, but they were solely
protestantism in eastern europe
159
engaged in Christian literature distribution and emphasized spiritual renewal.
In 1908 one Pashkovite, Ivan Prokhanov (of St Petersburg), founded the Union
of Evangelical Christians. By 1922 it had grown up to 250,000 members. In its
confession and its principles the Union was Baptist and it was accepted into the
Baptist World Alliance.
Ukrainian Stundism, first seen in Kherson province in the early 1850s, has
its roots in the pietism of German Mennonite and Lutheran colonists. The
German Protestant colonists were allowed to exercise their own faith but were
prohibited from proselytizing among the Orthodox. Nonetheless, their influence
through Bible hours (Stunden) reached beyond their own community. Their doctrines and church organization as expected paralleled western Protestants in
that they believed that the Bible was the only basis for faith and rejected Orthodox liturgical elements. Specifically pietistic inclinations can be seen in their
abstaining from strong drink and dancing. The powerful nineteenth-century
German Baptist leader Johann Gerhard Oncken (1800–84) visited Stundist communities and persuaded them to accept believer’s baptism. Oncken also affected
many key Mennonite leaders in Ukraine.
The third cradle of Slavonic Baptist life was the Transcaucasus area. Martin
Kalweit, a German Baptist from Lithuania, founded a small Baptist community
in Tiflis (now Tbilisi) in the 1860s among the Molokany. From this group Ivan
Kargel (1849–1937) and Vassili Pavlov (1854–1924) emerged as two of the
most influential Russian Evangelical Christian and Baptist leaders. Caucasian
Baptists formed the Russian Baptist Union in 1884.
Surprisingly, at the beginning of the Bolshevik regime, the Baptist and
Evangelical Christian movements saw tremendous growth. By 1929 there were
approximately 500,000 adult members in both Unions of Baptists and Evangelical Christians. Adding children and family members, the figure could easily
increase up to three million. However, at the end of the 1920s the favourable
attitude of the Soviet government turned into severe persecution. Membership
diminished drastically and wartime devastations accelerated the process. Furthermore, while Evangelical Christians and Baptists had a similar theology,
attempts to join the two movements had failed until 1944 when the officially
atheist government forcefully united the two groups for the purpose of effective
control. The amalgamation was called the All-Union Council of Evangelical
Christians-Baptists. In August 1945 Pentecostals were added to the All-Union,
and in the 1960s the majority of Mennonite Brethren followed. The post-war
period in the Soviet Union is characterized by Soviet government policy to allow
only the Orthodox Church and one organized Protestant community to operate
legally (although with some exceptions, such as Catholics, Lutherans, and
Methodists). Those Protestant groups who were not willing to join the All-Union
remained illegal and formed underground structures. Those who professed their
legal Protestant (All-Union Churches) beliefs had severe strictures placed on
their public and personal lives, including access to education and choice of
career. Underground church members faced far worse.
160 parush parushev & toivo pilli
The Future of Eastern European Protestantism
After 1945 the Communist governments of Eastern Europe largely dominated
the life of Eastern European Protestant communities. That dominance is over
now, but its legacy is there, reflected in the uneasy relationship between the
secular state and the churches, the absence of mature structures of theological
education, and a strained relationship between the Protestant groups and culturally dominant religions. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, in the
widely secularized and rapidly changing Eastern European societies, a major
challenge that the diverse Protestant groups face is to establish a network of
cooperation and a sense of unity in mission.
Further Reading
Basse, O. and Stricker, S. (eds.) (1989). Religionen in der UdSSR. Zollikon, Switzerland,
G2W Verlag.
Brandenburg, H. (1977). The Meek and the Mighty: The Emergence of the Evangelical
Movement in Russia. New York: Oxford University Press.
Buscay, M. (1959). Geschichte des Protestantismus in Ungarn. Stuttgart: Evangelisches
Verlagswerk.
Otter, J. (1970). The Witness of Czech Protestantism. Prague: Kalich.
Ramet, S. P. (ed.) (1992). Protestantism and Politics in Eastern Europe and Russia: The
Communist and Postcommunist Eras. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Ramet, S. P. (ed.) (1993). Religious Policy in the Soviet Union. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press.
Reshetnikov, Yu and Sannikov, S. (2000). Obzor Istorii Evangel’skogo-Baptistkogo Bratstva
na Ukraine.Odessa: Bogomyslie.
Sannikov, S. (2001). Dvadtsat’ Vekov Hristianstva. Vtoroe Tysjacheletie, Tom II. Odessa and
St Petersburg: Bogomyslie.
Savinskii, S. N. (1999–01). Istorija Evangel’skih Hristian-Baptistov Ukrainy, Rossii and
Belorussii, Tom I (1867–1917), Tom II (1917–1967). St Petersburg: Biblia dlja Vseh.
Savinskii, S. N., Dyck, J. P., and Savchenko, P. D. (eds.) (1989). Istoriia Evangel’skih
Khristian-Baptistov v SSSR. Moscow: AUCECB.
Sawatsky, W. (1981). Soviet Evangelicals Since World War II. Kitchener, Ontario: Herald
Press.
Sawatsky, W (1986). Evangelicals in Eastern Europe Compared. Occasional Papers on
Religion in Eastern Europe 6, 4 (August), Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Schmidt, C. (2000). Auf Felsen gesagt: die Reformation in Polen und Livland. Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 13
French Protestantism to the
Present Day
Alister E. McGrath
The origins of Protestantism in France can be traced back to the 1520s. There
is evidence of growing interest in Lutheranism around this time, particularly
within the University of Paris and within sections of the royal family. John
Calvin, whose family came from the Noyon area, is thought to have been influenced in the late 1520s and early 1530s, at least to some extent, by the emergent evangelical groupings in Paris and Orléans.
Significant growth took place within the French Protestant movement during
the late 1550s, helped to no small extent by Calvin’s patronage from Geneva.
French Protestant pastors were trained in Geneva, under Calvin’s guidance and
protection, and smuggled into France in order to establish and develop local congregations. The origins of the term ‘Huguenot’, regularly used to designate
French Protestants around this time, remains unclear. Rapid growth within the
movement led to tensions with traditional Catholics, which exploded in the Wars
of Religion. The origins of this protracted struggle date to 1562, when the Duke
of Guise’s supporters opened fire on Hugenots. Protestant rhetoric became
increasingly revolutionary in the late 1560s, with its leading representatives
advocating that Christians did not have the obligation to obey leaders who themselves defied God. Calvin himself, after advocating for many years that obedience
to the civil authorities was a Christian duty, came to the conclusion that a prince
who persecuted the church had forfeited his right to be obeyed. A new phase of
hostility was opened up with the St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre (1572), in
which an entire generation of Huguenot leaders were massacred. This event
prompted the predominantly Protestant town of La Rochelle to refuse to pay
taxes to the French crown, provoking further hostilities. Eventually, the Edict of
Nantes (1598) offered a degree of security to French Protestants, establishing
certain centres as ‘safe havens’ for Huguenots. The revocation of this edict in
1685 by Louis XIV brought an end to this period of toleration, and caused many
Huguenots to seek refuge abroad, especially in England.
162 alister e. mcgrath
Protestantism now became a minority faith within France, characterized by
the watchword savoir resister. Although the suspension of persecution in 1763
offered Protestants relative security, this proved short-lived. The French Revolution (1789) brought new hostility to all forms of Christianity within France,
including Protestantism. The subsequent restoration of Roman Catholicism
(1801) brought few tangible benefits to Protestants. The increasingly secular
attitude of the French republic after 1905 led to a reduction in tension between
Protestants and Catholics. Although making up only 2 per cent of the population in the year 2000, French Protestants such as Lionel Jospin and Jacques Ellul
have distinguished themselves in the fields of political life and theological
engagement.
Further Reading
Ligou, Daniel (1968). Le protestantisme en France, 1598–1715. Paris: Société d’Edition
d’Enseignement Superieur.
Poland, Burdette C. (1957). French Protestantism and the French Revolution: A Study in
Church and State, Thought and Religion, 1685–1815. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Van Kley, Dale K. (1996). The Religious Origins of the French Revolution: From Calvin to the
Civil Constitution, 1560–1791. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 14
Italian Protestantism to the
Present Day
Alister E. McGrath
Evangelical attitudes were widespread within the Italian church of the 1520s
and 1530s, with a number of leading Italian churchmen reflecting various
degrees of sympathy towards the reforming agenda of Martin Luther. However,
the increasingly politicization of Italian church life in the 1540s led to a growing
perception that any degree of sympathy with Protestantism was tantamount to
disloyalty to Rome, and a corresponding disinclination to engage with the
Protestant agenda. By 1565, Protestantism had virtually been eliminated from
Italy as a serious threat to Roman Catholicism. It was only in 1848 that Protestants were finally given their religious freedom, along with Jews. This critical
development led to a revival within Italian Protestantism. New congregations
were established, both within traditional indigenous Protestant communities
(especially the Waldenses) and churches whose origins are to be traced to AngloAmerican influence, such as the Methodists and Baptists. The Facoltà Valdese di
Teologia was founded in 1855 near Turin, and in 1920 transferred to a site in
Rome close to the Vatican.
Today, Protestants account for less than 1 per cent of the Italian population,
predominantly consisting of Pentecostal and charismatic groupings, existing
uneasily alongside the older traditional denominations. In recent years, complex
patterns of immigration from Eastern Europe has led to a modest expansion in
the Protestant population, with an increasing number of Protestants being of
non-Italian origin. The authoritative Enciclopedia delle religioni in Italia (2001)
distinguishes nearly one hundred different strands within modern Italian
Protestantism, leading to the conclusion that the movement is at present both
fragmented and inherently fissiparous.
References
Introvigno, Massimo (ed.) (2001). Enciclopedia delle religioni in Italia. Turin: Elledici.
164 alister e. mcgrath
Further Reading
End, Thomas van den (1969). Paolo Geymonat e il movimento evangelico in Italia nella
seconda metà del secolo XIX. Turin: Editrice Claudiana.
Comba, Emilio (1950). Storia dei Valdesi. Torre Pellice: Claudiana.
Tedeschi, John A. (1999). The Protestant Reformation in Sixteenth-Century Italy. Kirksville,
MO: Thomas Jefferson University Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 15
Protestantism in the United States
of America to the Present Day
John Corrigan
Protestantism Comes to America
Protestantism arrived in America a century after Roman Catholicism, but to a
region of the New World that had been left largely unexplored by the Spanish
and French. The strings of missions established by the enterprising friars
in the borderlands of New Spain from Florida to California, and the French
explorations of the St Lawrence valley, Great Lakes, and Mississippi River valley
framed the English (and other nations’) colonial ventures on the eastern seaboard, but did not immediately challenge them. Accordingly, the seventeenthcentury growth of Protestantism in America was largely unimpeded by Roman
Catholic interests, and in the eighteenth century, when frictions between French
and English colonies became more pronounced, they were brought decisively to
a halt by the French cession to England of all territories east of the Mississippi
(excluding New Orleans) in the Treaty of Paris (1763). Protestantism, in short,
rooted easily in an American soil that was a world apart from the religious
strife in Europe, from the monumental bloodletting of the sixteenth- and
seventeenth-century religious wars between Catholics and Protestants.
The Puritan settlement of New England, which began in 1620 and produced
relatively stable sustainable communities by the mid-1630s, was grounded in a
lively and committed Protestantism. Opting for the Atlantic crossing in order to
escape persecution in England, Puritans brought with them a devotion to the
Bible, respect for the clergy, the cultivation of modesty and simplicity in everyday life, and an emphasis on spiritual rebirth, or conversion. They also imagined
their migration to America as a commission from God. Casting their relationship with God in terms of a covenant, they pledged themselves to the ideal of
pure religious communities, “holy commonwealths,” and they surmised that
God would protect and strengthen those communities inasmuch as Puritans
were diligent in cultivating piety and policing morality.
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John Cotton, a Cambridge-trained minister whose preaching led to many conversions among the early English settlers of New England, took the lead in articulating the theology of the Puritan communities, particularly with regard to
pressing questions about baptism, clerical authority, church government, and
the moral life (e.g., The Way of the Churches of Christ in New England, 1645). A
coauthor of the defining document of the New England Way, the Cambridge
Platform of 1649, Cotton stressed faith in God as the key to salvation. He was
not the only minister in New England, however, and his was not the only voice.
Debate frequently broke out among laypeople and clerics alike over some of
the central theological themes of Puritanism. In one of these cases, Anne
Hutchinson, a highly educated and theologically informed follower of Cotton
who arrived in New England shortly after him in 1634, publicly protested
against what she believed to be religious doctrine that valued good deeds, or
“works,” over faith in God. Labeled an antinomian (i.e., “against” the “laws of
moral conduct”) for her insistence that only God knows the elect and that good
works were no sure indication of salvation, she was summoned to a court of
ministers to explain her theological views. Unsuccessful in defending herself, she
was excommunicated by her church in 1638, and she left the colony for Rhode
Island.
Rhode Island, where Hutchinson lived briefly before removing herself to
Long Island Sound, had been founded in 1636 by Roger Williams, who had also
fallen foul of the Massachusetts authorities for his unorthodox views, in his
case regarding the relation between the civil and ecclesiastical authorities.
Williams, like Cotton and a large number of other New England clergy, was educated in England at Cambridge, became an Anglican minister, and, after embracing Puritanism, came to America in 1631. He believed that the Bible taught
that church and state should be kept separate – so, for example, the civil authority should not enforce the first four of the Ten Commandments, as was the
case in Massachusetts. The legislature rejected his views, and banished him to
England. With his family and some friends, he fled south instead, founding the
city of Providence. He eventually obtained from England a charter for the colony
of Rhode Island that granted religious liberty to all who lived there. Quakers
were among the first groups to take advantage of that religious freedom, settling
there at mid-century after having been badly treated by the authorities in
Massachusetts (including the hanging of four Quakers there between 1659 and
1661).
Population growth in New England, the diversification of religious viewpoints, social stratification and frictions that came with the escalation of the
Atlantic trade, and the fact of less vigorous piety in the second generation of
Puritans led to other problems for the holy commonwealths. Church membership slipped. The ministers predicted woe, but many laity remained unconcerned. Some people worried that New England had drifted from its obligations
under the covenant. Others encouraged that drift in their work and social life.
One of the defining moments in this transition from one kind of Protestantism
to another – from Puritanism to Congregationalism, in a sense – was the Salem
protestantism in the usa 167
witch-hunt of 1692. That hysteria, which was centered in Salem village, led to
the deaths of at least 25 people, 19 by hanging. Social change in Salem, reinforced by personal grudges in the community, set the stage for the accusations
and subsequent inquisition. The authority of the clergy was briefly and dramatically reasserted in Salem, but after Governor Phips put an end to the
witchcraft court, a stream of recantations and apologies followed, including
admissions of error from the clergy, whose stature in New England was significantly diminished.
In the southern colonies, religious life did not preoccupy the population
as it did in New England. The so-called “Southern religious ethic” was not
grounded in any sense of covenant with God, and the Protestant settlements in
the southern tidewater – from Delaware to Georgia – were much less ambitious
than their northern counterparts in supervising everyday morality. Conceived
as a trading enterprise, the initial colonization of Virginia developed as an economic venture, not a religious experiment. The Anglican clergy who came in
small numbers to Virginia were confined within a lay trustee system of church
administration that limited and manipulated their power to affect the social
world of the planters. The Anglican Church was formally established by law in
Virginia, but piety was unimpressive. Church organization was weak and there
were no bishops. Anglican preaching in the South, which tended to focus on
issues of obedience, decorum, and manners, underscored the differences
between the planting class (and their clergy) and the have-nots, and in the
process fostered class conflict.
Located geographically between the lax South and the holy commonwealths
of New England, the various Protestant groups that settled the middle colonies
represented an assortment of national backgrounds and religious points of view.
Many of the groups that came to the middle colonies were schismatic or sectarian. The Dutch who established the colony of New Netherlands at the mouth of
the Hudson River had little ambition for religion in the New World, but the
Reformed faith of the Dutch took root in New Jersey, especially after the English
acquired the Dutch colony and renamed it New York in 1664. Also in New
Jersey, in the Philadelphia area, and along the Delaware and Hudson Rivers –
which had been settled by Finns and Swedes in the 1640s – Lutherans established small communities beginning in the 1620s. Puritans settled in New Jersey
as well. Pennsylvania, founded by the Quaker William Penn in 1681, attracted
not only Quakers but numerous other groups seeking refuge from religious persecutions and wars in Europe. Mennonites came to Germantown, Pennsylvania
in 1683, where they shared a meeting-house with Quakers. Amish and Hutterites arrived, and in the first part of the eighteenth century, Dunkers, Moravians, and Schwenckfelders followed. Lutheran congregations, Dutch Reformed,
and Quakers succeeded in organizing themselves into societies, and Luther’s
German Bible was published in 1743 (followed in 1771 by the first American
printing of the King James Bible). Henry Muhlenberg, who came to Philadelphia
in 1742, was especially effective in drawing Lutheran congregations throughout the middle colonies into association. Muhlenberg, who strongly opposed
168 john corrigan
Quakers, Mennonites, and several other groups in the middle colonies, also represents something of the complexity of religious life in that region before the
Revolution. In spite of the fact of numerous examples of cooperation among
religious groups there – the middle Atlantic was religiously diverse in a way
unknown in New England or the South – Protestants fought frequently with
each other, over issues of doctrine and local influence.
Patterns of Revival and Reform
Scotch-Irish Presbyterians also settled the middle colonies, Philadelphia becoming a presbytery by the early eighteenth century – and they were present in New
England and the South as well. The fledgling seminary established by Gilbert
Tennent, known as the “Log College” of New Jersey, trained Presbyterian clergy
who played key roles in launching and sustaining the mid-eighteenth-century
religious revivals that swept through the colonies in the 1720–50s. Collectively
known as the Great Awakening, the revivals were characterized by conversions
on a scale previously unseen in America. Fueled by the emotional preaching of
itinerant ministers, and engaging people from a wide range of denominations,
the various local outbreaks of piety that began in New Jersey under the preaching of Tennent and the Dutch Reformed minister Theodore Frelinghuysen
coalesced into a recognizable pattern of mass conversions and unprecedented
emotional display during the visit of the charismatic preacher George Whitefield. A deacon in the Church of England, Whitefield toured the colonies in the
early 1740s, arousing his audiences with extempore preaching that was so
elegant and poignant, said Benjamin Franklin, that merely the manner in which
he pronounced the word “Mesopotamia” would cause people to weep.
Jonathan Edwards, the other leading figure of the revival, likewise preached
effectively to his congregation in Northhampton, Massachusetts, witnessing a
flurry of conversions there. Edwards, however, made his main mark as the theologian of the revival. His attempts to understand the revival issued in a number
of treatises that profoundly shaped the religious culture of New England and
contributed substantially to the development of the following two centuries of
American Protestantism. Defending the revival against critics such as Charles
Chauncy of Boston, who labeled it an undisciplined outburst of “heat” that produced no “light,” Edwards, in The Distinguishing Marks (1741), and especially,
the Treatise on Religious Affections (1746), linked revival piety to moral regeneration. Two subsequent works, Freedom of the Will (1754) and Original Sin (1758),
developed nuanced and complex understandings of human nature that incorporated some of the arguments of Enlightenment philosophes as well as
Christian doctrines.
In the years leading up to the revolution, the so-called “black regiment” of
Protestant clergy (a reference to the color of clerical dress) helped to articulate
American frustration with British colonial policies. Charles Chauncy, Jonathan
protestantism in the usa 169
Mayhew, Samuel Cooper, and other New England ministers, together with colleagues from New York and Philadelphia, criticized the British from their pulpits,
a sermon of Mayhew’s on one occasion leading directly to mob violence. Most
important for Protestantism, however, in terms of its relationship to the Revolution, was the formal separation of church and state that came in the wake of
independence. Thomas Jefferson’s Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom (1786)
was supported by evangelicals such as Baptists and Methodists who had grown
more vocal since the Great Awakening in the southern Piedmont (the revival
there having been promoted by itinerant graduates of the Log College).
The statute separated church and state and ended legal oversight of religious
belief. Protestant groups such as Baptists who had fought against the established
Anglican Church in Virginia (which in most cases became the Episcopal Church
after 1784) supported it. Passage of the statute set the stage for the ratification
of the first amendment to the US Constitution, which guaranteed freedom of
religion and ended the formal establishment of religion, that is, the support of a
religion through public revenues. Many of the states continued their traditions
of public support for religion, however, because of ambiguity about the applicability of federal statutes to the individual states. By this means, Congregationalism was kept secure in Connecticut and Massachusetts well into the nineteenth
century.
Among the several currents that shaped Protestantism at the beginning of
the nineteenth century, the two most important were the emergence of camp
meetings, and other forms of religious revival, and the efforts of Protestant
churches to reform society through the organization of voluntary associations.
The camp meeting, which was a feature of religious life in frontier areas, had a
precursor in the open-air revivals that were a part of the Great Awakening.
Developed in frontier Kentucky by Presbyterian preachers and “circuit riders” –
itinerant ministers on horseback who rode a circuit of assignments through
sparsely settled areas – camp meetings were held outdoors over the course of
several weeks. They were characterized by highly animated expressions of religious faith, sometimes referred to as “exercises,” as in the “jerking exercise,”
“fainting exercise,” and “barking exercise.” The Cane Ridge, Kentucky revival
of 1801, which attracted as many as 25,000 people, was supervised by
Barton W. Stone, who, with his followers, joined with Alexander Campbell to
form the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) 30 years later. The days-long
format of the meetings, and the uninhibited performance of emotionality
among the participants, remained key features of the revivalism of the Second
Great Awakening, which unfolded in various ways north and south, east and
west.
The Second Great Awakening featured several styles of piety. A revival that
began at Yale College under President Timothy Dwight served as a model for
Dwight’s student, Lyman Beecher, in the latter’s revival preaching in New
England in the early nineteenth century. That revival, in the northeast, was
characterized by a view of conversion as a more gradual process and one imbedded in the usual means of preaching, church attendance, prayer, Bible reading,
170 john corrigan
and study. In upstate New York, in communities that were developing rapidly
along the Erie Canal, the effervescent emotionality associated with frontier
revivals was more visible. Charles Grandison Finney’s program there of “new
measures” included the “anxious bench” beside the preacher for people whose
conversions were near and who might benefit by proximity to him, and the protracted meeting, which could last several days. Differences of style between
Beecher and Finney were never entirely settled (although Beecher eventually
embraced some of Finney’s ideas and approach) and the awakening never had
the kind of theological center – common ideas and practices – that characterized the revival in the previous century. However, the 1820s and 1830s gave
birth to a vast number of voluntary associations in virtually every part of the
country where the revival took place. Those associations typically crossed
denominational lines, incorporating a number of Protestant groups. Frequently
they were focused on social reform, in causes ranging from temperance and
crusades against prostitution to the organization of resources for the support
of widows, care of orphans, or construction of hospitals. They also included
mission enterprises, religious publications projects, and moral improvement
societies. Of particular importance in antebellum America were the abolitionist
movements, which were organized through church associations. The American
Colonization Society, which was organized in 1817, raised money to remunerate masters for their slaves, and then sent the former slaves back to Africa
(Liberia). The fervor of the awakening was more typically manifest in movements such as those associated with the Quaker sisters Sarah and Angelina
Grimke, Theodore Weld, Frederic Douglass, William Lloyd Garrison, and others
who called for the immediate emancipation of slaves.
New Ventures
The emergence of African-American denominations took place against the
backdrop of the Second Great Awakening. Just as the nation pursued various
pathways towards a new self-understanding in the wake of the break with
England, individual groups (e.g., frontier Methodists, upper-class Congregationalists, American Episcopalians) carved out more stable identities for themselves
within the dominant Protestant population. African Americans established their
own frameworks for collective religious life through various means but especially
in the forming of the African Methodist Episcopal Church (AME) and the African
Methodist Episcopal Zion Church (AMEZ) in the early nineteenth century. In
both cases the new denominations grew out of black dissatisfaction with their
treatment in the white churches – being forced to sit apart from whites, noninclusion in parts of the service, nonrepresentation in church government, and
other forms of discrimination. The AME evolved from Richard Allen’s leading a
group of people out of St George’s Church in Philadelphia in 1787. The denomination was established in 1816 when Francis Asbury consecrated Allen as its
protestantism in the usa 171
first bishop. The AMEZ came about as a result of protests by Peter Williams,
James Varick, and several other African Americans at the John’s Street Church
in New York City in 1796. The AMEZ was officially chartered in 1801. The
majority of blacks remained within the Baptist and Methodist churches, but
after the formation of the black denominations many of those who chose to stay
within the major Protestant denominations pursued more ambitious agendas of
protest and social reform.
Some American Protestants elected to remove themselves from the debates
and the cooperative ventures of the urban and seaboard congregations in order
to pursue community experiments in religious innovation. The assortment of
utopian and communal movements that subsequently sprang up in the first halfcentury or so of the new nation featured a range of theologies and styles of
everyday devotion. Shakers, who had settled in New York (having emigrated
from England under the supervision of Mother Ann Lee) established a string of
over 20 communities by 1825. They embraced a notion of God as Father-Mother
and a ritual style that featured dancing and emotional “shaking.” John
Humphrey Noyes’s Oneida Community, established in upstate New York in the
1840s, arranged relations between the sexes according to a scheme of “complex
marriage” and perfectionist theological views. The Mormons, who gathered
around Joseph Smith after his publication of the Book of Mormon in 1830,
believed in ongoing divine revelation to the church, through its leaders, and
sought the “New Jerusalem” on the western frontier. Known as the Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, its members practiced polygamy (“plural marriage”) and fought frequent battles, both in print and in military engagement,
with critics throughout the nineteenth century.
Debate over slavery and anticipation of civil war resulted in schisms in the
Protestant churches. Southern denominations that were formed out of disagreements with church members in northern states included the Southern
Baptist Convention (1845), Presbyterian Church in the US (originally 1857),
Methodist Episcopal Church, South (1844), and a southern faction of the Episcopal Church. The last of these, the Episcopal Church in the South, reunited with
the northern branch immediately after the Civil War. The other denominations
that had split into northern and southern factions took longer to re-establish
common ground, and some, such as the Southern Baptist Convention, continue
to stand alone.
Just before the Civil War, in 1858, the Businessman’s Revival, a widespread
revival distinguished by its heavily male participation, reinforced the themes
of conversion and personal regeneration. Especially manifest in cities such
as New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, but also visible in rural areas, in
southern cities such as Wilmington, and as far west as San Francisco, it was
characterized by lay leadership, prayer meetings, and noon-hour services for
businessmen. Following on the heels of the severe economic crash of 1857,
it demonstrated the ongoing appeal of Protestant evangelical notions of sin,
repentance, and the action of divine grace. Its most important contribution
to American Protestantism was its popularization of the notion of prayerful
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requests to God as a sign of faith and a necessary exercise in the spiritual life of
Protestants.
Liberal Protestantism began to emerge in force after the Civil War, the way
having been prepared by various antebellum writers and religious leaders.
William Ellery Channing’s explication of “Unitarian Christianity” (a profession
that would lead to emphasis on Jesus as human exemplar rather than divine
savior) to an audience in Baltimore in 1819 served to identify liberalism as a
distinct strand of American Protestantism. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Divinity
School Address,” preached at Harvard in 1836, urged a rejection of the myths
of Christianity in favor of intuition. And Horace Bushnell’s Christian Nurture
(1847), which questioned the notion of human depravity and challenged
revivalism, promoted Sunday school education (which was developing rapidly
at that time) and encouraged people to recognize the possibilities for spiritual
improvement through activities in the world. One of the consequences of theological innovations such as these was the increased toleration among Protestants, in the period after the Civil War, for doctrinal looseness and a reorientation
towards the world – which was envisioned as a potential fountainhead of possibilities for redemption.
Liberal theology was less known for its constructive theology than for its styles
of worship and its accommodation to social theories of laissez-faire, social
Darwinism, and self-reliance. Protestant preaching turned decisively from the
centuries-old model of Word/explication/application to a format influenced
by the lively and extemporaneous preaching of revivalists, whose style had
been increasingly influential over the course of the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries. The Bible remained key to Protestant religious life, but there was
a growing tendency to approach it from another angle, less as a record of the
historical development of Christianity and a proof text for doctrinal authority,
and more as an expression of wisdom and a means of inspiration. One of the
consequences of the changes wrought by liberal theology was the emergence
of a gospel of wealth that linked worldly success through diligent striving
with spiritual status and prospects for the afterlife. The extreme statements of
this thinking, which were manifest in ministers’ pulpit declarations of wealth as
an indication that a person was saved, were challenged by a range of other
leaders, both secular and clerical, who stressed benevolence and stewardship as
the hallmarks of the Christian life. The middle ground was defined by “Wealth,”
an article published by the industrial monopolist Andrew Carnegie in 1889,
which turned the meaning of the phrase to a defense of the importance of
sharing one’s wealth with others, of charity as the necessary final step in
the unfolding of a good life. Carnegie, like the nineteenth-century “princes of
the pulpit,” Phillips Brooks, Henry Ward Beecher, Russell Conwell, and others,
nevertheless continued to promote the notion that wealth was an indicator of a
person’s moral status, that wealth came, as William Lawrence, Brooks’s successor as Episcopal bishop of Massachusetts said in 1900, “only to the man of
morality.”
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Revivalism, in the form of highly orchestrated urban gatherings, rose to
national prominence in the latter part of the nineteenth century through the
efforts of Dwight L. Moody, an unordained, nondenominational, and sentimental preacher, and founder of the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago. In the
early twentieth century, the leading revivalist was Billy Sunday, an exprofessional baseball player, who presented himself as a “rube of the rubes,” a
man of rural Iowa origins and old-fashioned upbringing. His athletic emotional
performances on revivalist stages across America gained him a broad following.
When his popularity peaked on the eve of World War I, he was renowned not
only for his ability to coax conversions from revival attendees, but for his successes in inspiring social reform, particularly in temperance and antiprostitution
campaigns.
Social reform was addressed more directly by the leaders of the Social Gospel
movement in America. Reacting to liberal theology’s accommodation to classist
social theory, the proponents of the Social Gospel endeavored to craft a more
precise theological statement regarding the place of the person in society. Walter
Rauschenbusch, a Baptist minister who served time early in his career in an
impoverished New York City neighborhood, and Washington Gladden, a Congregationalist minister and prolific author, were at the forefront of the movement. Calling for the Christianizing of society through reform, social justice, and
cooperation, Rauschenbusch, Gladden and others looked forward to the historical realization of a social “Kingdom of God” characterized by harmony. Their
influence – particularly through Rauschenbusch’s Christianity and the Social
Crisis (1907) – was felt across the Protestant denominations, and led to the formation of the Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America in 1908.
The FCC, through merger with other church agencies, became the National
Council of Churches in 1950.
The Challenges of Modernity
Early in the twentieth century the issue of gender came to a head with the Men
and Religion Forward Movement, an interdenominational effort to draw men
back into the churches. The movement was partly a reaction to gains made by
women, partly a representation of the “muscular Christianity” and imperialistic nationalism of the period, and partly an outgrowth of the well-established
Young Men’s Christian Association (the American branch of which had been
established in Boston in 1851). It featured a traveling program of lectures
and workshops, and recruited boys and young men into the Boys Brigades of
America, the forerunner of the Boy Scouts. This impulse found expression in
twentieth-century organizations such as the Fellowship of Christian Athletes
and the Promise Keepers movement.
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For a century, women had been intensifying their efforts to gain social equality as American citizens (a campaign culminating in the passage of women’s suffrage in 1920) and to enlarge their role in the Protestant churches. Membership
of Protestant churches has always been characterized by a “female majority”
who provide audiences for sermons, participants for rituals, and financial
support for the churches. Women felt themselves called to preach virtually from
the beginning of the English settlement of North America, but very few had
been ordained into the ministry. The first of these, Antoinette Brown, was fully
ordained in the Congregational Church in Butler, New York, in 1853. It was not
until 1889 that Anna Howard Shaw was ordained by the Methodist Protestant
Church. Nearly a hundred years passed after that before Marjorie Matthews
became the first woman bishop in the United Methodist church. Along the way
there were many female preachers, in the larger evangelical churches and
among groups such as the Quakers and the nineteenth-century Christian Connection. Women established and sustained a host of reform societies, leading
national campaigns for such causes as temperance (i.e., Frances Willard’s
Women’s Christian Temperance Union), abolitionism, religious education, and
female suffrage. Debate about religion and women’s roles became pronounced
with the publication of Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s provocative The Woman’s Bible
in 1895–98. Against this background, the movement to boost male involvement
in the churches, as well as the promotion of “muscular Christianity” by Billy
Sunday, Josiah Strong, and others, represented something of the anxiety Protestant church leaders were experiencing about their own roles vis à vis the demands
of women.
Protestants also had difficulty coming to terms with the influx of Roman
Catholics and Jews, which dramatically changed the demographic makeup of
the nation between 1880 and 1925. Protestants previously had indulged their
suspicion of such groups in various nativist campaigns, fomented by reactionary
periodicals such as The Protestant, and marked by violence against nonProtestants in the form of church burnings, vandalism, and assault. By the
1920s Protestant fears had contributed to a revived and powerful Ku Klux Klan
that carried out terrorist attacks on Catholics and Jews in many states.
Protestants were challenged theologically in their attempts to come to terms
with the demands of women, and to reconcile themselves to the fact of a rapidly
increasing population of Catholics and Jews. Their theological efforts were complicated by the growing prestige and authority of science. Whether in the area
of Biblical studies, geology, astronomy, economics, or the cluster of areas that
together comprised the business of “evolution,” the capability of science to force
wholesale reconsideration of cherished notions of cosmic and social order was
inescapable by the early twentieth century. The problem was not entirely new to
the churches, as during the course of the nineteenth century some denominations had begun to explore ways in which to incorporate the most pressing scientific conclusions into their views of the world. Liberals had the least trouble
accommodating science, and though evangelicals had to try harder, many were
able to come to some rapprochement with the new theories. Some, however,
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sought in the Bible a standpoint for resistance. They drew on the interpretations
of mid-nineteenth century Princeton seminary theologians Benjamin Warfield
and Charles Hodge, who, in the issues of the Princeton Review, had made a
case for biblical inerrancy. Beginning as a series of Bible conferences in the
1860–80s, the movement came to be associated with Niagara, New York, where
it flourished during the 1890s. The ideas that developed from this background
eventually took shape as The Fundamentals (1910–15). The essays collected in
that publication attacked Catholics, Mormons and others, opposed the demands
of women, rejected new forms of biblical criticism such as the German “higher
criticism,” and strenuously resisted evolution and other scientific theories. Insisting on the inerrancy of Scripture, they affirmed the necessity of organizing personal life and social life according to biblical models. The term “fundamentalism”
appeared in Curtis Lee Laws’s Baptist Watchman-Examiner in 1920. The movement took root in Northern Baptist and Presbyterian seminaries, and conservatives distilled their ideas in short series of statements about doctrine. Liberals
answered with the Auburn Declaration of 1924, setting the stage for the
“monkey trial” of 1925, which took shape as a battle of fundamentalists against
liberals. The trial in Dayton, Tennessee of John Scopes for teaching evolution in
a public school ended in the humiliation of the Presbyterian antievolution
spokesman, William Jennings Bryan, and led to the stagnation of the fundamentalist movement in the 1930s. Fundamentalists renewed their campaign
against modernity, however, in the 1950s, under the leadership of the Baptist
revivalist and anticommunist Billy Graham, and in the 1970s, when they
focused their criticisms on a set of issues that included feminism, homosexuality, abortion, parental authority, and religion in public life.
Fundamentalism became a major theme among Protestants in the twentieth
century, influencing debate in virtually all of the denominations and furnishing
an easily recognizable public profile to conservative Protestantism. Alongside it
another influential movement developed from its beginnings in the early twentieth century – Pentecostalism – which emerged out of various healing and holiness movements of the late nineteenth century and through the promotion of
“Spirit baptism” at C. F. Parham’s Topeka Bible College. The most distinctive
feature of Pentecostalism, glossolalia, or “speaking in tongues,” is associated with
worship at the Azusa Street Church in Los Angeles in the spring of 1906. Glossolalia as practiced by the worshipers there was taken as a sign of the presence
of the Holy Spirit in that community, and specifically as an indication of individuals being “baptized” or “filled” with the Holy Spirit.
Pentecostals sought to restore practice of the primitive Christian religion, so
as to form a religious community uncomplicated by church history and the
various sediments of sacramental, clerical, and doctrinal tradition that had
accumulated over the centuries. For Pentecostals, the vitality and authority
of the primitive church rested above all in the events of Pentecost, when
followers of Jesus who gathered for prayer shortly after his death experienced the
“gifts” of the Holy Spirit. Those gifts, sometimes called the “latter rain,” included
healing, prophecy, miracles, and various other capabilities in addition to
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speaking in tongues. For many Pentecostals, the yearning for the experience of
regeneration was intensified by their belief that the end of the world and the
coming of Christ were imminent. Those who were not baptized in the Holy Spirit
would suffer the terrible tribulations of the end times while the saved escaped
them through the miracle of the “rapture.”
Pentecostals organized themselves into denominations such as the mostly
African-American Church of God in Christ, which was nurtured by Charles H.
Mason. Also important were the Church of God, which probably began in 1902
on the heels of the Camp Creek, North Carolina Holiness revival, and the Assemblies of God, which, after several false starts, settled its headquarters in Springfield, Missouri in 1918. Healing has played a major role in the movement since
its beginnings. Aimee Semple McPherson, founder of the Church of the
Foursquare Gospel in Los Angeles, has been a model for Pentecostalist healers
since the 1920s. Pentecostalist religious life, as it developed in the twentieth
century, created a popular religious culture that included counterparts of the
secular culture such as television programs, concerts, musical recordings, business manuals and self-help books, diet programs, sporting events, fashion, and
so forth, all massaged in such a way as to reflect a Christian viewpoint. Pentecostalism by the late twentieth century firmly embraced the culture of the
Protestant middle class. It was one of the largest and fastest growing movements
within American Protestantism, had exercised extensive influence on Christianity outside of North America, and was represented in Roman Catholicism in
the devotions of “charismatic Catholics.”
Evangelical Protestant missionizing was rapidly accelerated at the beginning
of the twentieth century. Missionary enterprises had been fostered during the
nineteenth century by the so-called “mainstream” Protestant denominations –
usually identified in the mid-twentieth century as the Presbyterian Church in
the USA, Reformed Church in America, Episcopal Church, American Baptist
Convention, United Presbyterian Church, United Methodist Church, United
Church of Christ, the Southern Baptist Convention, The Lutheran ChurchMissouri Synod, American Lutheran Church, Disciples of Christ (Christians),
and the Unitarian-Universalists. Particularly in the aftermath of the Businessman’s Revival of 1858 (sometimes called the Prayer Union Revival), those
churches (or their precursors) mounted ambitious missions to Africa, Latin
America, and Asia, with missions to China becoming the leading initiative by
1900. Evangelical initiatives within and outside of those denominations built
upon this background of mission activity so that by the mid-1920s there were
as many as 15,000 American and Canadian missionaries in the field. The
number of missionaries grew steadily throughout the twentieth century, particularly in connection with evangelical groups (which joined forces under
umbrella organizations such as the Evangelical Foreign Missions Association)
and Pentecostal groups such as the Assemblies of God. Premillennialism, a focus
on demonology, and a strong aversion to cultural relativism characterize the
efforts of many Protestant missionary groups, and have contributed substantially to gains in Africa and South America.
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During the Depression, regional religious movements emerged within Protestantism. Led by clergy from a wide range of denominations, they deployed
martial imagery to rally Protestants to conservative agendas, blaming the
nation’s economic trauma and human suffering on Jews, Catholics, and other
non-Protestant groups. Coinciding with the revival of the Klu Klux Klan, these
movements – such as Lutheran pastor Frank Buchman’s Moral Re-armament,
the Kansas Baptist Gerald B. Winrod’s Defenders of the Christian Faith, and
North Carolinian William Dudley Pelley’s Legion of Silver Shirts – were largely
fundamentalist reactions to modernity. Protesting against the teaching of evolution, the New Deal, and other seemingly liberal causes, they began to unravel
as the nation went to war in the 1940s, but their legacy was apparent in later
twentieth-century movements such as the Christian Coalition.
In the aftermath of World War II, the Protestant denominations experienced
a surge in membership, new church construction, and public involvement. Presbyterian layman John Foster Dulles, who served as the Secretary of State under
Dwight D. Eisenhower (1952–9), was the “priest of nationalism” who brought
a strongly ecumenical Protestant influence to the shaping of policy. The ecumenical efforts on the part of virtually all of the Protestant churches during the
1950s-60s in fact marked the decades as a hothouse of aspirations and plans
for Protestant theological consensus. The reunions of denominations that have
been divided since the Civil War – the joining of North and South Methodist
churches in 1939, for example – set the stage for broader cooperation as represented in the Consultation on Church Union, which, during the 1960s–80s
brokered theological agreements among Methodist, Episcopal, Presbyterian, and
UCC denominations.
Conservatives and Liberals
Alongside ecumenicalism, postwar revivalism characterized the religious mood
of the nation. That revivalism was manifest not only in increased churchgoing,
but especially in the re-emergence of revival preaching and evangelical conversion ritual. The Baptist revivalist Billy Graham, who became a national figure
following a successful crusade in Los Angeles in 1949, set the tone for much of
the revival religion of the time. Premillennialist, deeply anticommunist, and
wary of demonic forces (but secure in the belief that angels were “God’s secret
agents”), Graham offered a religious vision that was well suited to the Cold War
atmosphere of the 1950s and 1960s. Preaching the evils of sin and the necessity for spiritual regeneration, Graham drew large crowds to his urban revivals,
and he eventually became a religious consultant to American presidents.
Graham’s revival crusades, which were lavishly detailed and finely orchestrated events, were broadcast on radio and television. Those broadcasts found a
large and responsive audience. Just as Graham had built upon the religious
broadcasting modeled by the Catholic Depression-era “radio priest” Father
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Coughlin and the Catholic television pioneer Bishop Fulton J. Sheen, subsequent
Protestant preachers built upon Graham’s successes. Televangelism, which captured the attention of Protestants in the 1970s and 1980s, beamed evangelical
Protestant messages into homes across the nation, and, indeed, the world.
Marion Gordon “Pat” Robertson founded the Christian Broadcasting Network
(CBN) in 1965 as a vehicle for charismatic Protestantism. Focusing on prayer
and healing – physical as well as spiritual – Robertson cultivated a large and loyal
audience through transmission of “The 700 Club” program, and eventually
mobilized that audience as a political force. His political organization, the Christian Coalition, in the late twentieth century sought to influence national, state,
and local policy on the issues of interest to most conservative evangelicals (e.g.,
opposing evolution, abortion, and homosexual rights) and eventually served as
a base for the failed campaign of its founder for President. The televangelism
ministry of Pentecostals Jim and Tammy Bakker began at CBN, but acquired a
stronger national profile after they began broadcasting their “Praise the Lord”
(PTL Club) show in 1974. Their cable television program reached 13 million
households before the organization broke up in the late 1980s following revelations of Jim’s affair with a church secretary and massive financial fraud (for
which Jim originally was sentenced to a jail term of 45 years). Assemblies of
God evangelist Jimmy Swaggart, whose televangelism ministry reached almost
two million households by the late 1980s, likewise lost his authority when his
activities with a prostitute became public. Jerry Falwell, a Baptist Fundamentalist pastor in Lynchburg, Virginia, began broadcasting his “Old-Time Gospel
Hour” in 1968. Drawing on the support of his viewers, he established a college
(Liberty University) and a national political organization, the Moral Majority
(1979). Like other prominent Protestant televangelists, Falwell was conservative, and tended to broach his agenda for social action in terms of his opposition
to modernity.
Liberal Protestantism has also been active in various causes since the middle
of the twentieth century. Protestant denominations played a pivotal role in
the Civil Rights movement (1954–66) that sought to end discrimination against
African Americans, particularly in the South. The Southern Christian Leadership Conference, which was founded in 1957 and led for a time by Baptist pastor
Dr Martin Luther King, Jr, was at the forefront of that movement. Individual
denominations also developed means by which to address racism, for example,
the Commission on Religion and Race created by Presbyterians in 1963 and
the Episcopalian Society for Cultural and Racial Unity. The churches likewise
provided a foundation for protest against the Vietnam War and nuclear escalation. By the end of the twentieth century, Protestant churches – together with
Jewish and Catholic groups – had developed a theological basis for criticism
of human spoliation of the environment. The Evangelical Environmental
Network, which includes several dozen evangelical organizations and conferences (some of which are conservative on other matters), has been active
in promoting an interpretation of the Bible as care for creation. Individual
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denominations have issued their own statements as well, as in the case of
the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, which adopted a statement on
environmental care in 1993.
Protestant campaigns for female ordination have resulted in much discussion,
some action, and some reaction since the mid-twentieth century. The Presbyterian Church (USA) began ordaining women in 1956. Since that time, the
numbers of female ministers in Protestant denominations has greatly increased,
especially during the period 1977–97, when, for example, female ordinations in
the American Baptist Church rose from 157 to 712; in the Episcopal Churches
in the USA from 94 to 1,394; and in the United Methodist Church from 319 to
3,003. By the late 1990s, over 50 percent of Unitarian-Universalist clergy were
women. Southern Baptists have ordained hundreds of women as well, but
the strongly conservative turn taken by that denomination in the late 1990s,
and especially a commitment to the authority of men over women that was
announced in 2000, undermined or curtailed pastoral opportunities for women.
Gay rights became a live issue within the Protestant churches in 1964, with
the founding of the Consultation of the Church and the Homosexual, a series of
meetings organized by gay groups and Methodist agencies in San Francisco. The
Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches, founded in 1969
by Troy D. Perry, who had been a minister in the Church of God, grew to over
100,000 members by 1990. Some denominations became active in outreach to
the gay community during this time, while others continued to characterize
homosexuality as sinful. Most official Protestant positions on homosexuality fell
between the approach of the Unitarian-Universalist Association, which allows
same-sex marriage, to Southern Baptist condemnation of homosexuality: most
support gay rights but oppose homosexual practice, and welcome gays into their
churches but refuse to ordain or marry them.
At the beginning of the twenty-first century, Protestantism in America was
enormously more complex than it was in the nineteenth century. The proliferation of denominations has been profound: some came about through theological innovation, others through schism, others as a result of racial and ethnic
difference, and yet others because of re-emergent regional emphases. The complexity of Protestantism is equally manifest in its fluidity, in the way that Americans move from one congregation to another, one denomination to another,
bringing with them expectations and tastes that influence the congregations
that they join or rejoin. Protestants have also complicated their religious life
through popular devotions, and through their embrace of or flirtation with ideas
and practices – reincarnation, astrology, healing arts, goddess-worship – not
historically linked to Protestant institutions. Pentecostals increasingly represent
their religious life with reference to popular culture in all of its forms, from
motorcar racing to dieting. The dynamic aspect of American Protestantism is
visible in all such developments. While sharing a past grounded in the Reformation of the sixteenth century, American Protestants in the twenty-first
century identify themselves in a myriad of ways.
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Further Reading
Allen, Leonard, Hughes, Richard T., and Bellah, Robert (1988). Illusions of Innocence:
Protestant Primitivism in America, 1630–1875. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Hammond, Phillip E. (1992), The Protestant Presence in Twentieth-Century America:
Religion and Political Culture. Albany, NY: SUNY Press.
Hall, David D. (1989). Worlds of Wonder, Days of Judgment: Popular Religious Belief in Early
New England. New York: Knopf.
Hatch, Nathan O. (1989). The Democratization of American Christianity. New Haven, CT:
Yale University Press.
Heyrman, Christine (1997). Southern Cross: The Beginnings of the Bible Belt. Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press.
Hutchinson, William R. (ed.) (1989). Between the Times: The Travail of the Protestant Establishment in America, 1900–1960. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Jenkins, Thomas E. (1997). The Character of God: Recovering the Lost Literary Power of
American Protestantism. New York: Oxford University Press.
Mathews, Donald G. (1979). Religion in the Old South. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
May, Henry Farnham (1991). The Divided Heart: Essays on Protestantism and the Enlightenment in America. New York: Oxford University Press.
Ostrander, Richard (2000). The Life of Prayer in a World of Science: Protestants, Prayer, and
American Culture, 1870–1930. New York: Oxford University Press.
Rubin, Julius H. (1994). Religious Melancholy and Protestant Experience in America. New
York: Oxford University Press.
Schmidt, Leigh Eric (2000). Hearing Things: Religion, Illusion, and the American Enlightenment. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Thuesen, Peter Johannes (1999). In Discordance with the Scriptures: American Protestant
Battles over Translating the Bible. New York: Oxford University Press.
Wacker, Grant (2001). Heaven Below: Early Pentecostals and American Culture. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Winner, Lauren F. and Balmer, R. H. (2002). Protestantism in America. New York:
Columbia University Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 16
Shapers of Protestantism:
Jonathan Edwards
Stephen R. Holmes
Jonathan Edwards (1703–58) is routinely described as the greatest theologian
to have been born on American soil. It was not always thus. His star has risen
over the past 50 years or so for a variety of reasons, and the scholarly attention
paid to him has increased correspondingly. The year 2003 sees the tercentenary
of his birth, and will no doubt witness another flurry of publications. What is it
that makes this American Puritan so particularly interesting in our day?
It has been said of Crick and Watson, the discoverers of the double helix shape
of the DNA molecule, that they were no cleverer than many other people of their
generation in different disciplines in British universities, but that they had the
good fortune to have something to be clever about. Their discipline presented
them with a major issue that needed solving, and that was capable of solution
at that moment. I have no wish to cast aspersions on the intellect of these fine
scholars, or indeed on that of Jonathan Edwards, but I suspect that his continuing interest lies not just in his undoubted genius, but in a similarly fruitful location. As Edwards was born, the philosophical discussions of John Locke, and the
implications of the scientific theories of Isaac Newton, were changing the intellectual world, among English-speaking peoples at least, beyond recognition. If
the great vision of true Christianity that the Puritans had lived and breathed
was to survive into this new age of modernity, there was a need for a theological demonstration that it was not incompatible with the coming ways of
thought. At the heart of Edwards’s genius, perhaps, was his attempt to offer such
a demonstration.
Today the announcement that we are now all ‘post-modern’ echoes in our
ears: whatever this may mean, it at least indicates that we are collectively beginning to realize that the ways of thinking we have inherited are not necessary,
and even perhaps that they are not adequate. The writings of one who analysed
these ways of thought from the perspective of the gospel of Christ, and whose
thought was as brilliant as it was pious, must be of interest to Christian thinkers
seeking to make sense of our own times. Jonathan Edwards was marginalized in
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his own lifetime, misunderstood in the century that followed his death, and
mocked in the century that followed that. Finally, perhaps, he is being appreciated as the devout and profound Christian thinker he is.
Edwards’s Life
Edwards was born in 1703. He was the fifth child, and only son among 10
daughters, of Timothy Edwards, himself a minister, and Esther, daughter of
Solomon ‘Pope’ Stoddard, the minister of Northampton church in Massachusetts, and a significant figure of the times as his epithet indicates. The beginnings
of Edwards’s own ministry came in a small New York Presbyterian congregation, which however soon reunited with its parent church. After a brief period
as a tutor at Yale, and some illness, Edwards accepted a call to assist his grandfather, now 83, in the ministry in Northampton. When the great man died
in 1729, Edwards succeeded to the pulpit he was to occupy for the next 21 years,
a period encompassing the events of the ‘Great Awakening’ (a revival, parallel
to the British ‘Evangelical Revival’ and led by some of the same people,
notably George Whitefield), in which he was heavily involved. His ministry in
Northampton also saw significant controversy: Edwards sought to shore up the
New England Calvinist settlement as the first cracks began to appear, and argued
with his congregation over admission to the Lord’s Table, and matters of church
discipline.
These pastoral disagreements led to Edwards’s removal from his pulpit. He
and his family settled in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. The (not quite) seven years
they spent there were remarkable: Edwards lived in poverty, far from any seat of
learning or library; endured conflict with the leading merchant family of the
town (who wanted to exploit the Native Americans); gave himself in ministry to
teaching, befriending and defending his Native American flock; and produced a
flow of writings which are the basis of his present reputation. From that unlikely
frontier post flowed The Freedom of the Will, Original Sin, True Virtue and a number
of other works.
Edwards’s genius was recognized, and he was invited to the presidency of
Princeton. As the town was then ravaged by smallpox, he was given the new
vaccine. The science, however, was in its infancy, and he contracted the disease
from the vaccine and died in March 1758, at the age of 54. He had in mind
greater works, which, we must assume, would have flowed even more freely from
the context of an academic appointment; what he had written is ample testimony to his industry, his piety, and his ability.
Edwards’s Theology
The substance of Edwards’s theology is built on the great achievements of European Reformed orthodoxy; his recommendation (in a letter) of François Turretin
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and Peter van Mastricht as the theologians he had learnt most from is indicative
of the origins of his thought. The mode of his theology is that of the Puritan
pastor-scholar, who studied for the benefit of his congregation, and wrote mostly
on those occasional themes that his pastoral duties demanded. The heart of
his theological vision was a conception of God’s glory, which borrows from,
but goes beyond, Mastricht. God’s own eternal life as Father, Son and Spirit is
perfectly happy and complete. Just so, God does not need the world; there is
nothing lacking in God’s life that the world can make up. However, the perfection of God’s life is infinitely beautiful, and the perception of beauty by intelligent beings is a moral good, and so it is better that this recognition should
happen than not. The ultimate reason for creation, then, is for intelligent creatures (angels and human beings) to exist and behold God’s glory, the shining
beauty of his perfection. In all that he does, God acts that the perception of his
glory, and so the enjoyment of his beauty, may be maximized. God does not gain
anything by being thus glorified: how can perfection be improved? It is, however,
a moral good that this should happen, and so he acts to make it happen. (This,
in summary, is the argument of the Dissertation Concerning the End for Which God
Created the World.)
It is clearly not appropriate, under such a scheme, to assume that God left the
discernment of his glory to chance. Every part of creation must be so ordered
by God that his creatures’ understanding of, and delight in, his glory is maximized. The essence of God’s self-glorification is the salvation won in Jesus
Christ, the incarnate Son, and so the creation in whole and in part is ordered to
increase the visibility to intelligent creatures of the grand narrative of the gospel
(fall, incarnation, passion, resurrection, Pentecost and the time of the church,
the return of Christ and final consummation). What seem to the modern reader
the most alien, or possibly most medieval, features of Edwards’s corpus reflect
this point: his endless typologizing of creation, finding ‘images or shadows of
divine things’ in every part of the created order, is merely a necessary concomitant of this prior understanding. The world and its history are indeed a vast
network of symbols and correspondences, providentially ordered by God so that
the glory of the gospel may be discerned. Not just the eternal fate of human
beings (predestination), but every ‘incidental’ detail of the created order must be
decreed by God in the way that will most promote his glory. One of Edwards’s
earliest writings, ‘On Insects’, dating from his teenage years, offers not just
a natural history of flying insects, but an improvement of the same, discussing
how the ordering of their lives images forth the gospel story. Such a coda
may have been standard for the day, but for Edwards it becomes vital, and his
notebook of Images or Shadows demonstrates the breadths and lengths he will go
to in finding correspondences. The ‘filth’ in which newborn children are covered
is a representation of their guilty state before God as a result of original sin;
the unfading colour of the sky represents the undiminishing joys of heaven, and
so on.
It is not just natural history, however: Edwards’s sustained attempts to map
the political events of his day to the images of the book of Revelation (which are
again likely to be merely incomprehensible to the modern reader) indicate a
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belief that God providentially orders the events of world history to display the
truth of the gospel narrative, and so his own glory, just as much as he does the
objects in the created world. Edwards believed (for various reasons) that
the Puritan polities of America would be the source of a worldwide revival of
religion, and that recent events in history confirmed and illustrated this. The
discovery and production of immense natural and agricultural riches in the
Americas was an image of the vast riches of the gospel that would be discovered
in the ‘new’ world; their export to Europe was a precursor of the same thing happening in spiritual terms. Again, the invention of the telescope, which made
heavenly objects appear so much clearer, and indeed nearer, was a type of the
coming revival of religion – when heavenly things would indeed become nearer
and plainer. Edwards scoured the newspapers of the day looking for events that
could be used to map the unfolding of God’s providential plan with the description of that plan in the Apocalypse; the loss of Spanish merchant ships was a
part of the coming fall of antichrist. (Edwards, in common with most Puritans,
identified the papacy with the antichrist.)
Nor, finally, is it credible that God would allow the accidental waste of some
of his creatures. Rather, if perdition is to be the fate of some, it must be a
fate decided on by God to further display his perfections to those creatures who
shall finally be found rejoicing in his presence. Edwards’s (notorious) preaching
of hell often emphasizes the utility of eternal punishment in demonstrating the
infinite justice of God, the magnitude of his holiness, and the depths of the
mercy and grace he displays in the gift of redemption. The saints in heaven will
be able to see the sufferings of the damned in hell, and the sight will increase
their understanding of God’s perfection, and so their joy in God, and the worship
they offer.
Given this, Edwards is compelled to teach (the traditional Reformed doctrine
of) double predestination, and indeed wrote two significant works in defence of
Calvinism, which was coming under sustained attack in his day. Original Sin was
the first, asserting the imputation of Adam’s guilt to all his descendants. The
second, generally considered to be the more significant of the two, was The
Freedom of the Will. This is an argument for what in philosophical terms is called
‘compatiblism’, the idea that a deterministic, or in this case predestinarian, doctrine is not incompatible with a robust account of human freedom. Edwards’s
position is built on the assertion that to be free is to be able to choose one’s course
of action, without any interference from external constraints. So it is not
implausible to assume that all our choices are predictable, if only we know
enough about our motives and preferences. Nor is it inappropriate to describe
choices as freely made even though we can explain their roots in terms of chemical reactions in the brain, or the divine arrangements of the created order.
Edwards defends this with an impressive barrage of philosophical and theological arguments.
Edwards’s particular interest, however, is not in a philosophical nicety, but in
an ethical objection to Calvinism. It had been argued that a choice that was
determined could not be ethically significant. That is, if I cannot but do such-
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and-such, whether because of my genetic makeup or the predestining activity
of God’s Spirit, I should not be blamed for so doing. This argument is intuitively
attractive, but (as Edwards demonstrates) devastating, not just to traditional
Calvinism, but to almost all forms of ethical discourse. One implication of this
position, for instance, is to absolve from any blame someone who is so used to
violence that it has become habitual: his violent reaction to his wife’s failure to
respond to his drunken advances was a reflex result of alcoholism and habit, and
thus entirely predictable and unavoidable. The very fact, then, that should compound the guilt of his action, becomes under this alternative scheme that which
absolves it. For Edwards, the decisive case is divine: God’s goodness and holiness
is a necessary result of who he is, and yet clearly it is praiseworthy and so morally
relevant. Edwards’s way through the argument is to analyse the concept of
necessity. There are certain forms of necessity – factors which are external to me
– which do remove my moral culpability: if I act in a particular way because
someone is holding a gun to my head, or because I have unwittingly taken a hallucinogenic drug, I cannot be held fully responsible for my actions. Other forms
of necessity – those internal to me – establish my moral culpability: actions that
are so habitual that I cannot avoid them, for instance.
With this defence in place, Edwards can assert Calvinist double predestination: my choice to accept or reject the gospel of Christ is freely made, and morally
significant, although predetermined by God. Thus Edwards can teach that God
preordains that certain of his creatures should finally suffer his severity, so that
the advancement of his glory can be fully realized, without any infringement of
the ‘rights’ of his creatures. This argument, historically, was perhaps doomed to
failure, inasmuch as the coming Enlightenment with its celebration of human
dignity and responsibility would find such themes utterly alien; whether it has
yet been effectively answered (as opposed to merely mocked or ignored) is a moot
point.
The works thus far described are, in my judgement, those that were central
to Edwards’s theological project. He also published several controversial works
which are consonant with the main thrust of his thought, but not central to it.
This category includes perhaps his most famous writing, The Religious Affections,
and the other writings on revival that led up to it.
The Great Awakening began in Northampton in 1734, after Edwards
preached a series of doctrinal sermons on Calvinist themes. It lasted in waves
across colonial America for 15 years or so, but Edwards’s congregation was only
powerfully affected for the first two years, and then again under the ministry of
George Whitefield in 1740. Many church leaders saw dangers of ‘enthusiasm’
in the revival (in the eighteenth century, ‘enthusiasm’ meant fanaticism – an
unreasoned and unreasonable religious attitude), compounded by the habits of
some of the itinerant revival preachers, who would denounce unsupportive ministers as ‘unconverted’. Among other things, these opponents objected to the
extremes of emotional display that took place in revival services (including
screaming, weeping, uncontrolled laughter, and physical symptoms such as
falling or jerking), claiming that true religion was a matter of believing certain
186 stephen r. holmes
intellectual propositions, and that such emotionalism was a distraction, if not a
demonic deception.
Edwards was initially simply supportive of the revival, and his earliest revival
writing, The Narrative of Surprising Conversions (1736) was merely descriptive of
what God was doing among his people. As the controversy matured, Edwards
attempted to analyse the revival experiences, and to steer a careful middle course
between a rejection of what God was really doing, and an uncritical celebration
of all that went on, no matter how bizarre. He developed this position theologically in The Distinguishing Marks of the Spirit of God (1741), and further, with
narrative examples, in Some Thoughts Concerning the Revival (1742). The Religious
Affections (1746) was his mature statement of his thoughts.
‘Affections’ are, roughly, strong emotions. They are central to true piety,
according to Edwards, who cites the biblical commendations of love for God, the
fear of God, and so on. To suggest that real faith is unemotional, then, is simply
false. However, it is equally erroneous to suggest that all emotion is evidence
of the work of the Spirit in a person’s life. Edwards’s key contribution, perhaps,
is the concept of a ‘negative sign’ – something that, while either spectacular
or frightening, proves nothing, either way. To begin with, Edwards’s point
was simply that to take physical, vocal or emotional manifestations as adequate
evidence either for or against conversion is not acceptable. A person worked on
by the Spirit of God might very well respond in such ways; so might someone
deluded, insane or possessed. A humble devotion in religion and an unostentatious holiness of life was the only admissible evidence for this conclusion,
whether accompanied by the most astonishing displays, or whether achieved
quietly and without fuss.
By the time he came to write the Affections, however, Edwards’s thought had
become more pessimistic. The long list of negative signs, each with attached
Scripture proofs, becomes so comprehensive that one is tempted to wonder if
anyone may have assurance of their salvation. The positive signs, designed to
give assurance, speak of such imponderables as ‘balance’, and culminate in a
lengthy and impassioned account of persistence in Christian practice until death
as the decisive proof. It is tempting, psychologically, to see the fact that those who
he had hoped converted in the revival were now hounding him from his pulpit
as the decisive element in this, and no doubt there is a measure of truth in the
idea. Edwards’s youthful optimism about transformed Christian lives had proved
unfounded, and this cannot but have influenced his thinking. He was too good
a theologian, however, for this to be his only consideration; this introduces an
important Edwardsean concept, the ‘sense of the heart’.
To understand this, some background is necessary. The Puritan tradition
that Edwards had inherited had struggled with the psychological description of
conversion. This was largely due to a prevailing understanding of human
psychology that believed discrete ‘faculties’ existed, notably a thinking faculty
(the ‘mind’) and a volitional faculty (the ‘will’). Conversion obviously involved
both faculties, in that the gospel is to be believed, and decisions of faith and
repentance are to be taken, but one must have the prior role. So was conversion
jonathan edwards 187
fundamentally a matter of knowing, with volitional consequences, or fundamentally a decision, with intellectual concomitants? Neither was adequate, but
arguments persisted about which was more so. The new psychological theories
of John Locke, however, offered a way through the impasse, in their refusal to
divide the mind up into such discrete entities. Edwards seized on this possibility,
and developed the concept of a psychological event that was at once intellectual
and volitional. This he called the sense of the heart.
In an important sermon, ‘A Divine and Supernatural Light’, on Mt 16:17,
Edwards described the way in which conversion comes to one who has previously known the gospel story, and even believed it to be factually accurate. The
new feature is a perception of the beauty, the harmony, the perfect justice
and fittingness, of what God has done. This is an experiential understanding,
equivalent to tasting a food one had only heard about, and so really comprehending what before now was only report. Conversion is not just about knowing
and believing the gospel, but about being overwhelmed with awe and joy at the
rightness of what God has done.
At the heart of Edwards’s account of the psychology of conversion, then, is
this new experiential knowledge, but how can anyone be sure that they have this
particular experience? The problem goes back to Calvin himself, who spoke of a
temporary faith, that mimics the signs of true piety. The pastor must attempt to
discern the truth (the burden of Edwards’s writings on the issue of qualifications
for communion), but certainty is unobtainable. In this connection it is also
important to remember the different social situation Edwards experienced:
where today a person in search of selfish religious gratification would find it in
any one of the variety of new religious movements available, in Edwards’s day
such a person might well appear faithful in Christian practice. The possibility of
an apparent piety which was false, because not growing from a true sense of the
heart, was obvious and serious, and so the lack of assurance that seems to be
the result of the tests in The Religious Affections is inevitable.
The Significance of Edwards’s Theology
These, then, in too-brief outline, are the major themes of Edwards’s theology.
Why might he matter today? There are arguments or ideas that Edwards
advanced that we might borrow to address issues in our own context: gaining
wisdom on distinguishing a true work of the Spirit of God from The Religious
Affections, perhaps, or defending Calvinism with the arguments in The Freedom
of the Will. Such borrowings are significant, and not inappropriate, but I want
to suggest something deeper. Edwards was a theologian of modernity – perhaps
the first such. He wrote with a profound grasp of what Newton and Locke had
to say, and offered response after response to the Deists who, in the spirit of the
nascent Enlightenment, used such new ideas to attack Christian orthodoxy.
In an age that describes itself as post-modern, that is finally, in its intellectual
188 stephen r. holmes
pursuits and its popular cultures, repudiating the totalizing claims of the modernistic synthesis that was built on Newton and Locke, Edwards has something
profound to say. He saw through the deceptions and half-truths of the Enlightenment with startlingly penetrative vision, and critiqued them in the name of
the gospel of Christ. He offered a way to think Christianly that was able to accept
what was true, wholesome and edifying in the new ways of thinking, and to deal
with what needed repudiation. No doubt he was wrong about many things.
No doubt he had his own blind spots and distortions. His attempts to render
Reformed orthodoxy credible, relevant and life-giving in the language of modernity, and in the face of the Enlighteners remains, nonetheless, powerful and
astonishingly relevant for the reinvigoration of Reformed Christianity in our
own day.
Bibliographic Information
At the time of writing, 18 volumes of a complete edition have been published by
Yale University Press, under the general editorship of Harry S. Stout; this will be
the definitive edition for many years when complete. The old two-volume S. E.
Dwight and E. Hickman edition is still in print from various sources, and contains most of the significant works.
Further Reading
Cherry, Conrad (1993). The Theology of Jonathan Edwards: A Reappraisal. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
Holmes, Stephen R. (2000). God of Grace and God of Glory: An Account of the Theology of
Jonathan Edwards. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Jenson, Robert W. (1988), America’s Theologian: A Recommendation of Jonathan Edwards.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Marsden, George M. (2003). Jonathan Edwards: A Life. New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press.
Pauw, Amy Plantinga (2002). The Supreme Harmony of All: The Trinitarian Theology of
Jonathan Edwards. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 17
Canadian Protestantism to the
Present Day
Darren C. Marks
The quest for a Canadian identity has become a national obsession, borne
out of the history, location, and geography of Canada. Its development from
an “ad hoc” colonial outpost to nationhood, its proximity to the United States
of America, and its vast geography indelibly mark Canadian identity as a whole,
and its Protestantism specifically. Canada is still consciously involved in a
very lively debate on what Canada should be. The “prolonged adolescence”
(Grant 1977: 18) of Canada appears, at the beginning of the twenty-first
century, to have turned full circle to its seventeenth century origins of a novel
cultural mosaic. The comfort of Canada in no longer being a British colony has
given way to a new discomfort about being a “cultural colony” of the United
States.
An Accidental Mosaic
English-speaking Canada, unlike French interest in New France,1 was, until the
mid-eighteenth century and the beginnings of unrest in New England, of little
interest to the British crown. Early British interest in present-day Canada was
divided between exploiting natural resources and containing French expansion.
The earliest Protestant settlers in Canada were mainly a mixture of British Anglicans and Presbyterians and American Congregationalists, whose business interests, not religious commitments, saw them active in “Canada.” Any clerical work
was haphazard and almost entirely directed towards military garrisons and the
nearby settlers, but a form of early religious tolerance can be detected with
Protestant military chaplains crossing denominational lines to meet demand.
By 1700 new immigrants to English Canada expanded the Protestant mix
to include English Puritans, Baptists, and Quakers (including two women
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missionaries, Hester Biddle and Mary Fisher). Mission activity began modestly
with the 1703 appointment of John Jackson by the Society for the Propagation
of the Gospel to the settlement of St John’s, Newfoundland. Post-1750 economic
migrants, both English-speaking and non-English-speaking, bring Moravian
pietism, German Lutheranism, and English Methodism into the Protestant
mosaic. The 1755 expulsion of the French-speaking Acadians allowed a new
American-derived migration of Free Churches into the then largely French Maritimes. Finally, the decades around the American Revolution (1775–83) doubled
English Canada’s population as Loyalists resettled in Ontario and the Maritimes
from New England. Of note in this migration were freed and escaped African
slaves whose predominant Protestant affiliation was Baptist. Two important
early leaders were the black American David George (1742–92) and the
white Britain John Burton, whose apprentice Richard Preston (1790–1861)
later formed the African Baptist Chapel in Halifax.
With the 1791 creation of Upper Canada (Ontario) and Lower Canada
(Quebec and the Maritimes), the mosaic looked as follows. Lower Canada
was primarily composed of Anglicans, Methodists, Congregationalists, and
Presbyterians, although there were pockets of other traditionally nonconformist
communities. French-speaking Lower Canada was staunchly Roman Catholic.
Upper Canada was initially more diverse, having the non-English-speaking
Lutherans, Mennonites, and Moravians and the English Quakers form communities alongside British settlements. Following the Loyalist influx, which by 1812
composed nearly 80 percent of Upper Canada’s population, “distinctly American forms of particular denominations” (Murphy, 1996: 113) ran alongside
British Protestants and rurally based non-English-derived pockets of Protestant
identity.
Unlike New France or New England, the lack of a formal or subscribed plan
of colonization meant that British North America was haphazardly organized.
There was no initial overarching vision or consensus of what kind of colony
Canada was to be, only that it be. For each Protestant denomination or sect
a centralized vision of identity – as nation and denomination – seemed
secondary to the ordinary business of life itself. The vast geography meant that
resources were critically short, especially spiritual resources in the form of clergy
and buildings. The typical template was that only the larger urban settlements
could afford to build churches, call clergy, and run churches. Smaller rural
centers were left largely alone or had to share any resources. This isolationalism
and spiritual vacuum would later help explain the growth of revivalism in the
rural and native populations and the success of American Methodist circuit
riders (beginning 1786 in Lower Canada and 1794 in Upper Canada).
Three markers of Canadian Protestant identity flow out of this initial mosaic
pattern. The first is that paucity of resources often meant that limited forms of
“religious tolerance” were dictated by circumstances. Specific denominations
could afford neither buildings nor hired clergy, and therefore often shared with
proximate denominational cousins. Second, larger towns began to have a different religious character in that they could afford to replicate European and
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191
American Protestant denominational competition as they could afford to
build, call, and equip. Finally, the center of gravity for ecclesiastical institutions
was to be located with the laity. Any form of ecclesiastical establishment or centralized control (especially from abroad or America) was met with resistance and
suspicion.
By the 1800s the mosaic begins to crack, with the two competing forces in
Canadian Protestantism straining against each other. The urban-based and
politically elite re-creation of British society, an Anglican-Presbyterian-British
(Wesleyan) Methodist coalition, begins to try to assert a “British” identity and
hegemony, but runs counter to the nonconformist rural and mercantile-based
Loyalist-influenced (and financed) Protestant traditions. This period is also the
zenith of limited positive relations towards Catholicism, who shared the British
distrust of evangelical – meaning American – enthusiasts who advocated republicanism. Centralization and uniformity played out against quasi-republicanism
(later federalism) and nonconformity. The next century sees the playing out of
these two polar opposites.
“Mindful of Duties as Christians in Wilderness Lands”2
Two histories begin to merge in the late 1700s. The first is the “outer history” of
powerful institutions, church leaders, and politics, while the second is the “inner
history” of popular religion or smaller groups such as revivalists or evangelicals.
Both are necessary to understand Canadian Protestant identity. While both
histories stress the Canadian shift from colony to Christian nation in ethos, the
rationale as to how this “Christianized” nation should emerge varies. For the
mainstream, largely urban-based, British-derived Protestant elite, to be Christian and Protestant was a cultural replication of Britain, complete with an
established Anglican church. For the nonmainstream Protestants – Baptists,
Congregationalists, American Methodists3 – influenced by New England piety
and Wesleyan theology, to be Christian and Protestant was to experience new
birth and to live with the hope of a new kingdom divorced from worldly political concerns (Stewart & Rawlyk, 1972: 88). Radical individualism and a focus
on winning souls, the answer to spiritual decay and rationalism, declared that
involvement in the nation-creation was of secondary importance to the business
of the kingdom. As long as the state permitted religious freedom, often granted
by sheer isolation alone, and promoted virtuous society, the Christian had little
interest in political squabbles – particularly of the kind seen in the American
colonies.
The transformation from wilderness outpost to “Christian garden” on a
macro-level can be understood as a move to counter American rebellion and
influence in British North America. The 1787 appointment of Charles Inglis
(1734–1816) as bishop of Nova Scotia, and by extension all of British North
America, followed by the 1791 Canada Act granting one-seventh of all crown
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land grants to be given to Protestant churches – that is, Anglican churches –
effectively created a de facto established church. Inglis’s appointment signaled the
intention of the British crown to privilege Anglicanism. Inglis’s own equivocation between the “duty owed God” and the “duty owed the king” (Murphy 1996:
126) marks the effort of Anglicanism as a means to secure allegiance to the
crown and to offset the agitating influence of American religious sectarianism
replete with ideas of the Enlightenment. The double threat of French-derived
Enlightenment “atheism” and American-derived religious dissent bred a pestilent cocktail of democracy and social unrest for which one vaccine was the presence of a strong, centralized, and crown-loyal Anglican church (Rawlyk, 1994:
102).
Several factors, however, resisted the attempt to establish the Anglican
Church. The first is the sheer diversity of non-Anglican Protestant and Roman
Catholic settlers. Many Protestants – Presbyterians, Wesleyan Methodists, and
Congregationalists – were quite happy to resist the tide of Enlightenment free
thinking and American-style democracy by stressing a society based on British
Christian values, but not at the expense of a de facto established church (Moir,
1959: xii). From 1812 until the 1840s these voices, joined by an increasingly
political Free Church movement and in particular Methodism under Egerton
Ryerson, would consistently resist any formal attempt to grant Anglicanism preferred status. A measure of religious freedom, in principle, was granted outside
Anglicanism but advantageous laws, imperial and colonial, such as the initial
1791 Canada Act and subsequent additional clergy reserves land grants and
restrictions on education for non-Anglicans, effectively created a church–state
alliance that excluded the proffered religious tolerance. In Upper Canada
contention centered on land grants while in Lower Canada-Maritimes the
contention centered on education. By 1840 compromises restricted Anglican
control of education and gave Presbyterians, Methodists, and Roman Catholics
a share of the lucrative clergy reserves.
A second factor is the “inner history” of early Canada, divorced from the
urban corridors of power but equally committed, for different reasons, to the
creation of a “Christian garden” out of the Canadian wilderness. While much
of the battle between establishment and an embryonic nationalism was fought
in public via newspapers (such as Egerton Ryerson’s (1803–82) Christian
Guardian and John Strachan’s (1778–1867) The Church) and tracts by the powerful few, the Methodist circuit riders in Upper Canada and the evangelical
preachers of the Maritimes had another vision of Canadian identity as a “people
highly favored of God.” To understand why, despite having a vast influx of
Loyalists and voluntarists, British North America was not prone to join the
American Revolution or subscribe to American political structure, and why
Canada in the nineteenth century had a mollified liberalism in its Protestant
churches, one needs to understand the role of evangelical pietists.
Anglican preferment meant that many other Protestant identities (excluding
British Methodists and the Church of Scotland) were dependent on American
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support for much of the 1700s and early 1800s. Surprisingly the “contagion
of (American) disaffection” met with an unexpected quietness in transplanted
Loyalists to the political struggles of their fostering American brethren. Certainly
geography plays a part: the lack of a truly centralized and powerful government except in the urban centers made governmental intervention haphazard
and minimal for rural communities. The dispersion of settlements also made
it relatively easy for a small military presence to isolate the few dissenting
centers and individuals. Nonetheless, the fact remains that, despite widespread
contact and dependence, Loyalists remained largely “apolitical” towards
the struggles of the American Revolution. This apolitical perspective is a
benchmark of a great revivalism that swept through the rural populations of
Lower Canada and the Maritimes in the 1770s and up to 1783 (Stewart &
Rawlyk, 1972: 93).
The expulsion of the French Acadians was understood by Loyalists as an
opportunity to transform a Roman Catholic and pagan wilderness into a
Christian garden granted a providential imprimatur. This vision of a “Christian
utopia” merged with a revivalism that blended Anglican moralism and protoMethodist mysticism (in William Law’s Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life)
with American-developed evangelicalism in such a manner as to minimize the
political overtones of democratic egalitarianism and the principle of voluntary
association in favor of a preoccupation with one’s spiritual state. As seen in
the preaching of Henry Alline (1748–84) and the “New Light Movement,” a
renewal of New England Puritanism (moralism) without its essential Calvinism,
the cooperative providential role of the individual before God above and beyond
mere politics was essential. The Christian was to reject interest in politics (except
where it hindered the gospel) and to concentrate on conversion, piety, and the
cocreation of a Christian society. Alline argued for a cooperative place in Christian history for the individual but not in a political form as found in American
revivalism. For the Loyalist revivalists their commitment to God was purer than
that of their American kin in that they could rise above the petty politics that
consumed the Americans and focus, instead, on “spiritual” truths. Unlike their
American parents, they were “God’s pure people,” who though sharing forms of
American utilitarianism, were essentially apolitical.
The evangelical awakening explains the lack of resonance to American
interests outside of British circles in British North America. However, it also
contributes with its intrinsic voluntarism to a post-1812 foundation for
dissent against establishment and a movement towards nationalistic federalism
in Methodist, Baptist, and other Free Church traditions.4 It represents a counterbalance to the continued rehabilitation of British values in what is increasingly thought of as a separate nation. The evangelical tradition also brings
another theological marker to the fore in that it is one parent, itself already
a hybrid of British Loyalist and American interests, of the coming hybrid of
American and British theological interests into a unique Canadian theological
voice.5
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“A Sense of Proportion”: Sedimentation, Mission,
and Modernity6
Beginning with the de jure closure of establishment in 1854, through to the
1930s, Canadian Protestants were engaged with a growing tide of secularism
and urban change. Canada, confederated in 1867, grew into its identity as a
“middle power.” This period of sedimentation and reaction is also the great age
of Canadian mission.7 What galvanized Protestants across Canada was a sense
of continuing a form of Christian Protestant society under threat from Roman
Catholicism via the new non-British immigrants,8 Anglo-Catholicism via the
Tractarian movement, and modernity itself.9 For the urban-based denominations the primary expression of Christian society was the equivocation of
“Victorian values and progressiveness” – or British Protestantism. Mission in the
city was a mission to the urban dispossessed and the non-Protestant. Great philanthropic societies and movements such as the Sunday School and temperance
movements were formed to meet the challenges of the new cities. For the rural
communities and the evangelical denominations the primary expression of a
Christian society was a general resistance against modernity itself, particularly
ideological in regard to Darwinianism and the “new theology.” Mission in this
instance is the creation of independent theological colleges and mission to the
indigenous peoples. In both instances, for mainline and free churches, the sedimentation of a national denominational identity became increasingly important. Intradenominational ecumenism worked to create national bodies to shore
up funding and resource management problems derived from the previous ad
hoc dependence on American and British parents.
The initial conflation between the secular/sacred and nation/establishment
prepared the way for denominational schools. The initial charters of Canada’s
earliest universities were largely church-based and had their charters, complete
with modified religious testing of faculty and students, contested by a prosecular movement in an alliance with the Free Churches.10 The formation of a single
nondenominational university, for example, was posited as a solution in the University Act of 1849. The University of Toronto was to be a secular institution,
without religious testing, lacking theological training, and not permitting clergy
to serve as either Chancellor or President. As long as secular education promoted
“a sane and tactful course” in regard to civic responsibility, most Protestant
leaders were happy to allow a separation of theological-religious training from
wider higher education.11 The effect of the closure on the education debate was
twofold. First, it drove denominational schools into an ossification of their particular identities. Second, it signaled the isolating of Canadian Protestantism
from an increasingly secular wider society, except in the promotion of a common
societal good. Late Victorian Canada was church-oriented and Protestant but its
relevancy took forms that became the Social Gospel movements of the 1920s.
By the 1960s even this point of contact was eroded and Protestantism, especially mainstream forms, seemed anachronistic.
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The late 1800s marks the struggle with Darwinism and higher criticism. In
almost all denominational schools, debate over higher criticism in particular,
and the role of wider modernity, flared. The vast majority of faculty, trained in
either Europe or America, found the “grassroots” boards to be resistant to new
teaching on the Bible and the new speculative theologies (Moir, 1982: 19–57).
Until the 1930s the radical programs of German and American theology could
only find forms sympathetic to the sense of Canadian propriety and Canadian
evangelical roots, both guarded by nonacademic powerful lay leaders.12
Propriety meant that scholarship could continue unencumbered with religious connotations unless it directly challenged societal norms. In the case
of the Darwinian debate, as long as Darwin’s theories remained scientific (in
the Baconian sense of empirical and not speculative) and applied (in the Reid
“Common Sense” of appropriate range of application to the material and not the
moral world) they found acceptance from Protestant thinkers (McKillop, 1987a:
44–53). In fact, the study of the book of nature, as in William Paley and largely
replicated in Canada’s James Bovell’s (1817–80) 1859 work Outlines of Natural
Theology, could lead to a wonderment at the Christian God. The Scottish Enlightenment’s position of reason, guided and circumscribed by revelation, as directed
toward moral improvement, held a powerful influence in Canadian Protestant
circles. The threefold erosion of a Baconian scientism (method over speculation),
a stress on Scottish “Common Sense” philosophy, and a static but divinely
ordered Newtonian–Paleyan world by the turn of the century in favor of idealism and process rekindled the metaphysical debate on Darwinianism (McKillop,
1987b). Modernity was welcome as long as it remembered it was a guest in the
Protestant house.
Ironically, Canada’s eighteenth-century revivalist tradition also contributed
to the rapid rise of secularism in Canada, particularly in Methodist and lowchurch Anglicanism. Although older revivalist tradition was not so much a
formal set of doctrines but a loose set of assumptions, these assumptions allowed
a dialogue with modernity that paralleled the wider secular conversation. These
assumptions included belief in the fallen nature of human reason, in a providential God, and the subsequent relevancy of the Bible as a blueprint for a
society. These parallel the secular trinity of Bacon–Paley–Reid. The “wounded
reason” of sinners meant that science, useful in itself as technique, could not
address the true needs of human society and must be confined to technical solutions. This is a form of Baconism. The activity of a providential God mimics the
Paleyan belief in an ordered universe, so that Protestant evangelical society –
voluntarist and democratic – is the best manner forward (and blessed) for a
culture. Finally, it is only proper that God’s inerrant or inspired Word, the Bible,
should be the guidebook, limiting but still in dialogue with reason and science,
towards such a society and mission (Gauvereau, 1991). A curious hybrid occurs
in the evangelical mind, largely divorced from either European-American speculative attempts of synthesis (mainly idealism) and the extreme American
fundamentalist hostility towards modernity. This hybrid holds the primacy of
revelation and the need for a dialogue with secular society but values theology
196 darren c. marks
only to the extent that it serves assumptions already committed to. Furthermore,
it also kept modernity (and theology) largely uncritiqued as long as modernity
kept to its own sphere of knowledge and it remained, at worst, neutral or, at best,
cooperative to the vision of a revived society. The end result, for both Canadian
mainline Protestants and Canadian evangelicals, was a form of unsophisticated
biblicalism and a historist progressivism that conflated Canadian Protestant,
mainly Anglo-Saxon, society with civilization and Christianity.
Post-1918 Canadian evangelicals and mainline denominations simply did not
have the academic resources to counter the disillusionment of Western society
and the rise of the sciences that it initially encouraged. Tethered to an ideological historicism, and to a promotion of science as neutral technique or method,
it was vulnerable to the failure of the former and the sheer explanatory power
of the latter. The only permissible point of contact between the secular and
sacred was a stress on the sociological good inherent in thoughtful religion.13
Protestantism in Canada splintered into either a reactive position similar to
American fundamentalism or positioned itself as a vehicle for the promotion of
a wider cultural liberalism. The sharp rise of Bible schools and colleges from
1919 to 1939 is evidence of reaction14 and one interpretation of the Presbyterian–Methodist Church Union (United Church) is as a movement towards this
functional interpretation of Protestant mission heavily committed to social
reform and relevance over theological distinction (Keith, 1985).
Fragmented Gods and a Return to Mosaic
The last 50 years has seen Canada change in many significant ways. Immigration patterns have made Anglo-Saxon Canada a minority as other cultures add
to the ethnic and religious mosaic. No longer is Canada even nominally a Christian nation. Religious Studies departments are, by and large, divorced from faithbased study of religion in favor of scientific study. Wilfred C Smith (1916–2000)
was McGill’s first purpose-appointed (1949) Professor of Comparative Religion.
Feminist scholars have reminded Canadian Protestants that one can never
return to the marriage of culture and Christianity without marginalization
and of the need for a Christian experience that includes the feminine and the
“other.”15 Non-European-based Protestant forms (and mission) and the rapid rise
of Pentecostalism and American evangelicalism have sharply affected traditional Protestantism. Mainline denominations, when growth occurs, often finds
it in non-European variants while American evangelicalism (and fundamentalism) attracts historical Canadian evangelical churches, especially in low-church
Anglican and Free Church forms.16 Assisting this last tendency is the mass
exportation of American church resources to Canadian laity. Finally, the dream
of the “Lord’s dominion” or “Christian garden” seems now more than ever a
chimera as Protestant and Catholic institutions struggle with their own history
of institutional abuse, particularly in regard to the indigenous peoples. Cana-
canadian protestantism
197
dian Protestantism, for good or evil, has turned full circle. It remains a laitycentered, geographically or linguistically influenced phenomenon that struggles
towards a coherent identity, still thinks itself a theological colony, and wonders
how it can be relevant.
One Attempt for Identity: Douglas John Hall
With the exception of George P. Grant’s (1918–88) Lament for a Nation (1963)
there has been little attention paid to a philosophical or theological interpretation of Canadian identity. One notable recent voice, however, has been McGill’s
Douglas John Hall. Hall’s work, heavily influenced by Grant,17 argues that Canadian identity, including that of the church, suffers under a “cultural malaise”
derived from its history and placement. Canada’s history, its colonial adolescence, and linkage to wider American values such as optimistic and scientificeconomic progress, and its geography as an isolated “Northern” nation, combine
to lend Canada a “skepticism” in spite of its proximity to the United States.
“Nordicity,” for Hall, a geographical and climate-derived isolationism, means
that “true belief,” the American alliance of nationalism and religion (via Calvinistic providentialism), never truly took root in Canadian Protestant church
forms, providing a way forward for Canadian theologians and churches to manifest the Christian gospel in the West (Hall, 1993: 110–11).
Although Canadian Protestant churches have followed the largely Western
position in holding to a form of liberalism, it did and does so in a manner that is
political rather than merely the “academic humanism” of American liberalism
or the “religiously simple” and reactionary personalistic American pietism.
Canadians, Hall argues, have always understood, borne out of “survival”
(Atwood, 1972), that stewardship – in critique of and by life-affirming action in
the modern world – is a leitmotif of Christian life. For Canadian Protestants in
an age of pluralism, nuclearism, and at the end of an American Constaninianism (theologia gloria) the task is a rediscovery of the “meaningfulness of existence” divorced from the ills of America’s covert nihilism (Hall, 1993: 290). The
means to do this is an embracement of “Christian distinctiveness” and a recovery of “Christian theology and preaching” as a locus of God’s action in the world
(Hall, 1996: 462). This means a “thinking renewal” of the “theologia crucis,” a
critical alliance with the oppressed and marginalized and a mission of stewardship towards the “spiritual demands of the ordinary,” found within the very core
of Protestantism (Hall, 1996: 460). Canadian “values” such as “tolerance,” “difference,” and “otherness” are given theological approval. Hall, while arguing for
a distinctly Canadian voice, largely turns to the resources of German theology
and European origins. However, he seems reluctant to argue for the Christian
exclusiveness found in the ecclesiological theologies of his Germanic heroes.
Nonetheless, Hall appears to support the thesis that whatever Canadian Protestantism is, it is shaped by its dual relationship to America and Europe.
198 darren c. marks
Notes
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
The province of Quebec (New France to 1763 and Lower Canada after 1791)
quickly shifted its vision from being a location of exploited resources to a Roman
Catholic society and mission field with the charter of New France (1627). The key
difference from New England (American) and then British North American English
settlers at this early stage of colonization is the French commitment towards les
bons sauvages, whose conversion to Christianity would, in turn, spur on European
Catholics towards greater faith.
Stewart and Rawlyk (1972: 28).
“British” Wesleyans were active in the 1830s, supported by the Colonial Office, to
eradicate the American Wesleyan republican influences.
Much of the early revivalist movements, including Alline’s New Light movement,
were translated into Baptist churches. Much of the early American Methodist flavor
of Upper Canada is mitigated post-1812 due to widespread British immigration.
What remained, however, is the intrinsic sense of voluntarism that even British
forms contained, despite competing political conservativism.
Examples of this include S. F. Wise’s thesis that American evangelicalism, and sense
of providence in particular, combines with a Burke-influenced British conservativism that immobilized any sense of nationalism in favor of traditionalism. Carl
Berger argued that Canadian nationalism is inherently a fusion of American
notions of juridical freedoms with British traditionalism, allowing diversity to be
valued and protected by law but in such a manner as to give preeminence to British
values as the norm. See McKillop (1987).
Moir, 1982.
See Moir and McIntire (1988). Indigenous missions were largely the activity of
Methodists whose missions included education and centralization, but by 1840
racist policies undermined cooperation with the first nations as reservations became
limiting to the promised program of land ownership and independence. After 1840
centralization was coercive and understood as a negative by the first peoples.
Protestantism in Quebec remained largely influenced by its decided alliance with
(and dependence on) English-speaking Canada rather than French Canada, even in
education and culture.
Roman Catholic support for the Metis rebellion of 1869–70 also added much fuel
to the anti-Catholic sentiment.
Dalhousie University (1817), although Church of Scotland, did not in principle
exclude other denominations. However, it did remain staunchly Presbyterian and
by the 1830s this caused Baptists and Methodists to establish their own colleges.
Moir (1982: 23). Religious education persisted into the 1980s in Canadian public
schools.
A few examples suffice: Toronto stalwart S. H. Blake’s 1909 successful challenge to
University College’s perceived conflation of religious studies with Christian doctrine;
and, one of many dismissals for heterodoxy in all institutions, Victoria College’s
firing of George C. Workman.
For example, the neo-orthodoxy movement never thrived in Canada (Moir, 1982:
73).
There were over 100 in Canada by 1980, half of which were formed between 1919
and 1939 (Moir, 1982: 96).
canadian protestantism
199
15 Dorcas Gordon (1995) notes that Canadian feminist scholarship does not vary from
other national counterparts in its themes. Marilyn Legge (1992) counters this in a
small measure by asserting that Canadian literature can provide a blueprint for a
Canadian feminist theology.
16 Most notably Thomas T. Shields of the Jarvis Street Baptist Church.
17 He borrows heavily Grant’s critique of the West as being a failed “technocracy” with
its belief in a progressivism that will solve or absolve human suffering. In fact, Grant
argues that such a technological progressivism must end up, as argued by Nietzsche, in the culture of the amoral superman. See, famously, Grant (1969) and also
Hall (1987: 37–44, 1993: 84, 1996: 461).
References
Atwood, Margaret (1972). Survival: A Thematic Guide to Canadian Literature. Toronto:
Anasis.
Gauvereau, Michael (1991). The Evangelical Century: College and Creed in English Canada
from the Great Revival to the Great Depression. Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University
Press.
Gordon, Dorcas (1995). Feminist Theology in Canada. In Ofelia Ortega (ed.), Women’s
Views, Theological Reflection, Celebration and Action. Geneva: WCC Press, pp. 127–
37.
Grant, George P. (1963). Lament for a Nation. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart.
Grant, George P. (1969). Time as History. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
Grant, J. W. (1977). Religion and the Quest for National Identity. In Peter Slater (ed.),
Religion and Culture in Canada. Waterloo, ON: Canadian Corporation for Studies in
Religion, pp. 7–22.
Hall, Douglas John (1987). Thinking the Faith: Christian Theology in a North American
Context. Minneapolis: Fortress.
Hall, Douglas John (1993), Professing the Faith: Christian Theology in a North American
Context. Minneapolis: Fortress.
Hall, Douglas John (1996) The Future of Protestantism in North America. Theology Today
52(4): 458–66.
Keith, C. N. (1985). The Resistance to Church Union in Canada 1904–1939. Vancouver,
UBC Press.
Legge, Marilyn (1992). Colourful Differences: “Otherness” and the Image of God for
Canadian Feminist Theologies. Studies in Religion 21(1): 67–80.
McKillop, A. B. (1987a). Nationalism, Identity and Canadian Intellectual History. In A.
B. McKillop (ed.), Contours of Canadian Thought. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
McKillop, A. B. (1987b). Caliban: The Missing Link (Daniel Wilson). In A. B. McKillop
(ed.), Contours of Canadian Thought. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, pp. 61–98.
Moir, John S. (1959). Church and State in Canada West. Toronto: University of Toronto
Press.
Moir, John S. (1982). A History of Biblical Studies in Canada: A Sense of Proportion. Chico,
CA: Scholar’s Press.
Moir, John S. and McIntire, C. T. (1988). Canadian Protestant and Catholic Missions 1820s–
1960s. New York: Lang.
Murphy, T. (1996). English Speaking Colonies to 1854. In T. Murphy and R. Perin (eds.),
Concise History of Christianity in Canada. Toronto: Oxford University Press, pp. 108–89.
200 darren c. marks
Rawlyk, G. (1994). The Canada Fire: Radical Evangelicalism in British North America.
Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press.
Stewart, G. and Rawlyk, G. (1972). A People Highly Favoured of God: The Nova Scotia
Yankees and the American Revolution. Toronto: Archon.
Further Reading
Grant, J. W., Moir, J. S., and Walsh, H. H. (eds.) (1966–72), History of the Christian Church
in Canada (3 vols). Toronto: Ryerson Press.
Murphy, T. and Perin, R. (eds.) (1996). Concise History of Christianity in Canada. Toronto:
Oxford University Press.
Stackhouse, John G. (1993). Canadian Evangelicalism in the Twentieth Century: An
Introduction to its Character. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 18
Indian Protestantism to the
Present Day
Ivan Morris Satyavrata
The Beginnings of Protestant Mission in India to 1858
Protestant influence in India had inconspicuous beginnings, with the establishment of British, Dutch and Danish trading stations in the first half of the seventeenth century. An Anglican chaplain of the East India Company, Patrick
Copeland, was responsible for the conversion of the first Indian Protestant, baptized in England in 1616, and other chaplains likewise engaged in the occasional
mission activity. Later evangelical-minded chaplains, such as Claudius
Buchanan and Henry Martyn, would be much more active in their missionary
activities. The European trading companies were, however, generally opposed to
missionary work in the territories under their control.
The first organized Protestant mission in India began with the arrival in 1706
of two German Lutherans, Bartholomew Ziegenbalg and Henry Plutschau, at
Tranquebar, 150 miles south of Madras on the East coast of India. The Tranquebar Mission began with the patronage of King Frederick IV of Denmark, and
subsequently earned the support of Anglican mission associations such as the
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge (SPCK) and the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel (SPG). The most significant contribution of this mission
was the first translation of the Bible into an Indian vernacular, with the publication of the Tamil Bible in 1792. A leading figure in the Tranquebar Mission
was C. F. Schwartz, whose personal integrity and Christian statesmanship
greatly enhanced the credibility of the Protestant missionary enterprise in India.
Protestant mission in North India began with the arrival of the first missionary for the British Baptist Missionary Society (BMS), William Carey, in 1793.
Carey established a mission station at Serampore near Calcutta. Although the
Serampore mission primarily devoted itself to conversion, significant contributions were also made in the fields of education, journalism and social reform.
202 ivan morris satyavrata
The mission’s most important contribution was in the area of Bible translation:
by the end of Carey’s life, he had facilitated the translation of portions of the
Bible into 34 indigenous languages. The arrival of the Scottish missionary,
Alexander Duff, in Calcutta in 1830 marked the introduction of a new phase in
Protestant missions, in which liberal English education began to be used as a tool
in mission. Duff ’s approach succeeded in drawing high caste Hindus to Christianity and gained popularity, but also would become the focus of much debate
in subsequent years.
The evangelical awakening in Britain in the late eighteenth and early
nineteenth century saw the emergence and arrival in India of a number of
other mission agencies, including the London Missionary Society (LMS) and
the Church Missionary Society (CMS). A key figure for the LMS was W. T.
Ringeltaube, the first Protestant missionary to Travancore, whose work saw
mass conversions among the Shanars or Nadars, a section of low caste Hindus in
south India. The CMS, under the leadership of a German Lutheran, C. T. E.
Rhenius, also saw large numbers of converts in the Tirunelveli district.
The Basel Mission worked in South Kanara on the west coast and other
missions such as the Gossner Evangelical Lutheran Mission and the Leipzig
Lutheran Mission soon followed. The first American Mission was the American
Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. Other American missions to arrive
in India during the first half of the nineteenth century included Presbyterians,
Baptists and Lutherans.
The achievements of the first 150 years of the Protestant missionary presence in India included 331 churches, 130,500 Protestant Christians, over 2,000
boarding and day schools, 48 ordained Indian Christian workers and 700 catechists (Menachery, 1982: 41). Protestant missions had also helped initiate a
number of social and moral reforms against the practices of sati (the Hindu
widow’s self-immolation on her husband’s funeral pyre), infanticide and oppression of Hindu widows. Unfortunately the cultural imperialism that was implicit
in the predominant missionary attitude towards Indian culture and religion
resulted in intense mid-century conflict between the Christian missionary and
Hindu communities. A growing perception that Christianity was a denationalizing force intensified and hardened Hindu resistance to Christian missionary
work.
This provided the context within which the struggle for an authentic Indian
Christian identity began to be expressed in the work of some early pioneers of
indigenous Christianity. These include Krishna Mohan Banerjea (1813–85),
a Bengali high caste convert, whose contributions as a priest, scholar, social
reformer, national civil rights leader and statesman earned him both an honorary Doctor of Law from Calcutta University and a title of honour from the
British Government. Lal Behari Day (1824–94), another Bengali convert who
became a pastor-evangelist and nationalist, was the first to propose the concept
of an Indian national church based on the Apostles Creed, inclusive of Roman
Catholics and free from foreign control. Nehemiah Goreh (1825–95), a high
caste Brahmin by birth and reputable Sanskrit scholar, became an effective and
indian protestantism
203
renowned Christian apologist. These represent a class of Indian Christians
who remained passionately Christian and deeply Indian at the same time, thus
earning the respect of fellow Indians of other faiths.
Widespread dissatisfaction with British rule led to the 1857 ‘Sepoy mutiny’,
an uprising by Indian military personnel in north India. Although the revolt was
anti-British rather than anti-Christian, both missionaries and Indian Christians
suffered persecution because of their proximity to the Europeans. The event
became a watershed in the history of Indian Christianity, as its immediate cause
was the rumour of forced conversions. As such, whatever the true cause, it was
inevitable that religious persecution of Christians accompanied it. The result
was that the British Government issued an edict disclaiming any interest in
proselytization, and effectively distanced colonial politics from Christian mission.
Protestant Christianity in India Since 1858
In 1958 the government of India passed from the British East India Company
to the British Government, and its policy of religious neutrality provided a
favourable atmosphere for missionary activity. Protestant missions in India thus
experienced their most vigorous growth in the second half of the nineteenth
century. While the older missionary societies consolidated and extended into
new territories, a number of new American and European missionary societies
began work in different areas.
Most growth during this period was through group or mass conversions from
the oppressed classes (or ‘Dalits’). These occurred in the wake of a series of severe
famines and plagues between 1870 and 1920, during which Christians were
active in organizing relief work. Consequently, between 1870 and 1900, the
number of Protestant Christians in India quadrupled. By 1930 it was estimated
that 80 percent of Protestants were the products of mass conversions. While the
motives of mass converts to Christianity have been suspect, the liberation and
empowerment of the Dalits may be Protestantism’s most significant contribution to India.
Protestantism also experienced rapid growth among aboriginal tribal groups
during this period, through programs of economic aid, education and medical
services. These, again, contributed to both a social liberation and a spiritual
emancipation. For instance, the first Protestant mission among the Naga tribe
in northeast India was established in 1886, and by 1950 there were about
50,000 Naga Christians. Churches in the north-eastern states of Nagaland,
Mizoram and Meghalaya have continued to grow rapidly since India’s independence. Following 1858, Protestant social projects added to their mandate of
nation building, with a renewed emphasis on educational and medical work. The
establishment of orphanages, widows’ homes, leper asylums and agricultural
and industrial training institutions became important components of rural
developmental programmes.
204 ivan morris satyavrata
The Indian Protestant search for identity in the twentieth century was largely
shaped by the independence struggle and the birth of the Indian nation in 1947.
Although most Christians saw British rule in India as providential, since it provided freedom for missionary activity, missionary and Indian Christian leaders
such as C. F. Andrews, K. T. Paul, V. S. Azariah, S. K. Datta and S. K. Rudra
encouraged active Christian participation in the national struggle. During the
drafting of the Indian constitution these leaders, with maturity and foresight,
rejected the suggestion of a separate electorate for Christians.
The nationalist spirit expressed itself as the impulse towards indigenization,
contextualization and the aspiration for a national church. The missionary attitude to Indian culture had, in general, always been decidedly negative. Conversion to Christianity usually meant that the convert broke with the cultural and
social traditions of the community and embraced a Western way of life. A
growing awareness of their rich cultural heritage helped Indian Christians to
develop a positive attitude to indigenous culture and pursue indigenization of
worship, church architecture and evangelism while working towards selfgovernment and support. Likewise concern for the need of using thought forms
and constructs shaped within the distinctly Indian religious and sociopolitical
context has occupied many Indian Protestant minds over the past 150 years.
Creative Indian thinkers include Sadhu Sundar Singh, A. J. Appasamy, N. V.
Tilak, P. Chenchiah, V. Chakkarai, P. D. Devanandan, M. M. Thomas, S. J.
Samartha and V. K. Samuel.
Part of the ethos of a national Indian identity was the establishment of
church union movements. K. C. Banerjea’s Christo Samaj (1887), Parani Andi’s
National Church in India (1886) and the Western India Native Christian
Alliance (1871) were nineteenth-century precursors of later national and
indigenous church union movements. The two most important of these unions
were the formation of the Church of South India (CSI) in 1947, and the Church
of North India (CNI) in 1970. The CSI brought together the south Indian Anglican dioceses, the South Indian United Church (Presbyterian and Congregational) and the south Indian districts of the Methodist Church (British). The
constituents of the CNI were the north Indian Anglican dioceses, the United
Church of North India (Presbyterian and Congregational), the Council of Baptist
Churches in North India, the Disciples of Christ, the Church of the Brethren and
the Methodist Church (British and Australian). At present negotiations for an
even wider national union of churches are being carried out. Two other ecumenical organizations are important to note. The National Christian Council
of India (NCCI), formed in 1914, is an ecumenical agency that coordinates
common concerns of churches and Christian institutions, providing a forum for
interdenominational consultation and concerted action. A parallel body in the
Evangelical Fellowship of India (EFI) – although theologically more conservative
– was formed in 1951. It networks over a hundred denominations and parachurch agencies.
The twentieth century saw the arrival of some younger Western evangelical
and Pentecostal missions in India, and a number of new indigenous church and
indian protestantism
205
mission movements. Many of these largely independent evangelical or charismatic church movements continue to experience phenomenal growth and,
together with the older Protestant denominations, constitute about 60 per cent
of India’s approximately 30 million Christian population (Johnstone & Mandryk,
2001: 310). Indigenous Protestant missions began with the formation of the
Indian Missionary Society (IMS) in 1903, and the National Missionary Society
(NMS) in 1906, but in the last few decades the indigenous missionary movement has burgeoned to over 44,000 workers in about 450 mission agencies
(Johnstone & Mandryk, 2001: 311).
Although some sections of the Protestant Church in India are experiencing
decline due to corruption and nominalism, there is ample evidence of vitality
and growth. The future of Protestantism in India hinges largely on how effectively it succeeds in resolving the issue of self-identity: whether it is able to affirm
continuity with historic and global Protestantism, and yet remain authentically
Indian – culturally integrated within Indian society.
References
Johnstone, P. and Mandryk, J. (2001). Operation World: 21st Century Edition. Carlisle, UK:
Paternoster.
Menachery, G. (ed.) (1982). The St. Thomas Christian Encyclopaedia of India. Trichur: The
St. Thomas Christian Encyclopaedia of India.
Further Reading
Baago, K. (1969). Pioneers of Indigenous Christianity. Madras: CLS.
Firth, C. B. (1976). An Introduction to Indian Church History. Madras: CLS.
Mundadan, A. M. (1984). Indian Christians: Search for Identity & Struggle for Autonomy.
Bangalore: Dharmaram Publications.
Neill, S. (1984). A History of Christianity in India: Beginnings to AD 1707. Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press.
Neill, S. (1985). A History of Christianity in India: 1707–1858. Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press.
Perumalil, H. C. and Hambye, E. R. (eds.) (1972). Christianity in India: A History in
Ecumenical Perspective. Alleppey: Prakasam Publications.
Richter, J. (1908). A History of Protestant Missions in India. London.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 19
South-East Asian Protestantism to
the Present Day
Yung Hwa
South-East Asia consists of 11 nations: Brunei, Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos,
Malaysia, Myanmar, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, Timor and Vietnam.
It is ethnically diverse with hundreds of languages and a melting pot of all the
great Asian religions and folk beliefs. The population was 518 million in 2000,
with Christians forming 21.2 per cent, of which 8.8 per cent are Protestants,
including all mainline denominations, Pentecostals and independent churches.
The Philippines has the highest proportion of Protestants (24.1%), followed by
Indonesia (9.7%) and Singapore (7.2%), with the lowest in Cambodia (0.9%).
Given that only around 8 per cent of Asia’s entire population is Christian, these
figures show that Christianity is particularly vibrant in the region, although the
church remains relatively weak in Cambodia, Laos and Thailand.
History and Identity
Protestant history may be best separated into two historical epochs, each with
differing emphases and resultant identities. The two epochs are the sixteenth to
the nineteenth centuries and the twentieth century.
Sixteenth to nineteenth centuries
Curiously, the origins of Protestantism in the region is linked to early Roman
Catholic missions (1534) to the Moluccas islands. Dutch takeover of the East
Indies in 1605 from the Portuguese resulted in the Dutch United East India
Company forcing all Catholics to embrace Reformed Christianity. Thus the oldest
Protestant church in Indonesia today, the Moluccan Protestant Church, is con-
south-east asian protestantism
207
sidered to date either from 1534 or 1605, depending on its Catholic or Protestant origin. Over the next two centuries, there was little European action to
advance the indigenous church. However, despite this missionary lethargy, the
first complete translation of the Bible in an indigenous language was published
in Malay in 1733.
The nineteenth century brought fresh impetus to the growth of Protestantism
to the region. American Baptists began work in Myanmar (Burma) in 1813. The
London Missionary Society sent William Milne, a Presbyterian, to Malacca in
1814. In the same year, the Netherlands Missionary Society began sending missionaries to Java and the Moluccas. Anglicans came as military and settlement
chaplains to Myanmar in 1813 and Singapore in 1826, with missionaries to
indigenous peoples arriving later. Other groups and denominations followed
in quick succession, including Rhenish missionaries, German Lutherans, Plymouth Brethren, and American and British Methodists. From 1840 onwards,
indigenous churches began emerging in the Philippines. Many, such as the five
million strong Philippines Independent Church today, originated in part as a
protest against colonialism and as independence movements against Spanish
Catholicism.
The twentieth century
Protestant denominations and missions from the West continued to impact
the whole region throughout the twentieth century. Until the outbreak of the
Second World War, except for the Filipino independent churches and some overseas Chinese churches, church leadership was largely in the hands of Western
missionaries. With few exceptions, little emphasis was given to the training of
indigenous leaders in the region. During this period, Protestant identities were
largely, though not exclusively, rooted in those of Western denominations.
The end of the war ushered in a period of immense change. In tandem with
nationalistic independence movements, mission-founded churches likewise
moved towards independence, at least organizationally if not always financially.
Leadership increasingly passed into indigenous hands. This period also saw rapid
institutional growth of seminaries, parachurch organizations, and denominational and interdenominational structures.
Protestant churches have had a significant social impact in the region. In
countries where Christian presence was relatively strong, mission schools made
major contributions to education before national independence, after which governments increasingly took over this responsibility. Protestant-founded universities continue to play significant roles in Indonesia and the Philippines.
Protestant churches have contributed significantly to social outreach in the
region through ministries such as running orphanages and recently in drug
rehabilitation work. Individual Protestants have also significantly impacted
national politics in countries like Indonesia, where some such as Johannes
Leimena played key roles in the independence movement, and the Philippines,
208 yung hwa
where Jovito Salonga was Senate President (1987–92) and Fidel Ramos the
President (1992–8).
Protestantism has experienced steady growth throughout the last century.
Particularly following the Second World War many indigenous independent or
free churches began emerging throughout the region. But unlike the earlier
indigenous movement in the Philippines, these came out of Protestant freechurch traditions or newer charismatic models, and are not necessarily tied
up with nationalistic concerns. In general, the majority of Protestants in the
region are theologically conservative in doctrine and often, but not numerically,
Pentecostal-charismatic in spirituality. Indeed most of the large churches, some
with over 10,000 members, in Bangkok, Jakarta, Kuala Lumpur, Manila and
Singapore are Pentecostal-charismatic. But it is questionable whether all this
growth has also been marked by the emergence of true indigeneity in theology,
spirituality and pastoral practice.
The Future
There is no doubt that Protestantism as a whole is growing rapidly in the region,
except for a small minority of churches caught in traditionalism or overly influenced by Western liberal theology. Moreover, churches in Singapore, Malaysia
and the Philippines are sending missionaries overseas, including to the West, in
increasing numbers. All indications point to continuing rapid growth and an
increasing impact on world Christianity in the coming years.
However, Protestant churches in Southeast Asia face three crucial challenges.
First, the churches must learn to overcome the growing pressures of restrictions
on religious freedom, especially in Muslim dominant countries. In general,
where Christianity is in the minority, relationship between Catholics and various
Protestant groups are cordial because of the need to band together to deal with
state restrictions. It would probably be correct to say that only in the Philippines,
where Christianity is dominant, are there any overt tensions between Protestants and Catholics. At the same time, within Protestantism, there are continuing tensions between ecumenical, evangelical and Pentecostal-charismatic
churches, although the lines between these grouping are often blurred.
Second, the emergence of an increasingly post-denominational and independent Protestant mindset in the region threatens to lead to growing divisiveness
instead of opening the way for the development of a deeper ecumenism based
on the gospel.
Finally, Protestantism in the region and Asia in general has, in the past, been
built on a Western identity and thus described as ‘culturally deformed’ for many
Asians. An indigenous identity rooted firmly in both the biblical faith and the
region’s contextual and cultural distinctiveness is desperately needed if the
present growth is to be both sustained and nurtured.
south-east asian protestantism
209
Further Reading
Athyal, Saphir (ed.) (1998). Church in Asia Today: Challenges and Opportunities. Singapore:
Asia Lausanne Committee for World Evangelization.
Freston, Paul (2001). Evangelicals and Politics in Asia, Africa and Latin America. Cambridge,
UK: Cambridge University Press.
Hwa, Yung (1997). Mangoes or Bananas? The Quest for an Authentic Asian Christian
Theology. Oxford: Regnum.
Roxbrough, John (1995). Context and Continuity: Regional Patterns in the History of
Southeast Asian Christianity. Asian Journal of Theology 9: 30–46.
Sunquist, Scott (ed.) (2001). A Dictionary of Asian Christianity. Grand Rapids, MI:
Eerdmans.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 20
Japanese Protestantism to the
Present Day
Nozomo Miyahira
Origins (c.1850–80s)
Protestant Christianity in Japan essentially dates back to the mid-nineteenth
century, when Western European powers launched into treaties of commerce
and amity with Japan. In 1859 American and English missionaries reintroduced
Protestant Christianity to Japan, although Christianity was still under an official
ban until 1873. The first Japanese Protestant Christian was baptized in 1865 by
James H. Ballagh (1832–1920) of the Reformed Church in America, and
in 1872 Christians baptized by him established the first Protestant church in
Yokohama. These Christians, the Yokohama Group, sought an evangelical,
non-denominational and self-governing character.
Protestant churches, called Kirisuto Kokai (Church of Christ), quickly emerged
in Tokyo, Kobe and Osaka. Missionaries from the American Reformed and Presbyterian Churches, along with the American Board, held a joint conference in
1872 to help existing Protestant churches to unite as one church on the basis
of a Japanese identity, but in fact, due to missionary intransigence, the union did
not materialize as hoped.
In 1877 the Reformed and the Presbyterian missions united to form Nihon
Kirisuto Icchi Kyokai (The Union Church of Christ in Japan) with a highly denominational character, whereas in 1886 the American Board organized Nihon
Kumiai Kyokai (the Associated Churches in Japan) characterized by congregationalism and an independent spirit. After 1886 the Union Church and the
Associated Churches attempted unification, but this was in vain due to the
strong objection raised by Niijima Jo (1843–90), a Japanese Missionary of the
American Board and a founder of the Doshisha Ei Gakko (Doshisha English
School, 1875, later Doshisha University). Japanese Christians taught by an
American educationalist, Leroy L. Janes (1837–1909) at the Kumamoto Yo Gakko
japanese protestantism
211
(Kumamoto Western School) or the Kumamoto Group, would make a deep
impact on later generations in the Associated Churches.
In 1887 the Nihon Sei Ko Kai (Japan Holy Catholic Church) was founded,
funded by the American Episcopal Church, the Society for the Propagation of
the Gospel and the Church Missionary Society. This church adopted the Lambeth
Quadrilateral of 1888. In 1907 the Nihon Mesojisuto Kyokai (Japan Methodist
Church) was built as a collaboration by three American Methodist churches.
The latter half of the nineteenth century saw Baptist, Lutheran and other
Protestant missionaries from the USA landing in Japan to plant respective
churches, but efforts for self-support by the Japanese laity proved problematic
across the board.
The Mukyokai (Non-Church Movement), led by Uchimura Kanzo
(1861–1930), steered a different course. Uchimura was a member of the
Sapporo Group, a group of students influenced by the American agronomist,
William S. Clark (1826–86) at the Sapporo No Gakko (Sapporo Agricultural
School, later Hokkaido University). In 1891 Uchimura had to resign his
teaching post at the Daiichi Koto Chugakko (The First High School, later part of
Tokyo University), as his faith prevented him from bowing to a document
containing the Imperial Precept on Education signed by the Emperor. From
1900, he took the initiative in creating Mukyokai groups engaged mainly in
Bible study, while regarding the clergy and the sacraments as hindrances to the
Christian faith.
Theological and Social Issues (1880–1939)
From the late 1880s liberal theology, known as Shin Shingaku (new theology)
began to become popular through the influence of the American Unitarian
Association and the Allgemeiner evangelisch-Protestantischer Missionsverein. In
1901 a heated theological controversy over the doctrine of the Trinity and Christology broke out between Uemura Masahisa (1858–1925) from the Yokohama
Group, later a founder of the Tokyo Shingakusha (Tokyo Theological Seminary,
1904) and Ebina Danjo (1856–1937) from the Kumamoto Group, later Chancellor of Doshisha University. Uemura supported the divinity of Christ and the
doctrine of substitutionary atonement as the basis of historic Protestantism,
while Ebina thought of Christianity as an ultimate realization of religious consciousness, universal to all human beings, and therefore also relating to Confucianism and Shintoism. The conference of the Fukuin Domeikai (Evangelical
Alliance in Japan) held in 1902 approved a view closer to Uemura’s, but
Ebina remained influential in the Japanese Christian community. Ebina’s more
general liberal understanding of human progress later guided Yoshino Sakuzo
(1878–1933), Professor at Tokyo Imperial University (later Tokyo University), to
champion democracy in the imperialistic polity in the second decade of the
twentieth century.
212 nozomo miyahira
In the 1930s Kagawa Toyohiko (1888–1960), a Christian social reformer,
proposed a nationwide evangelistic movement called Kami No Kuni Undo (the
Kingdom of God Movement). The American social gospel stimulated not merely
Kagawa but also Nakajima Shigeru (1888–1946), Professor at Doshisha
University when Ebina was Chancellor there, to develop a ‘social Christianity’
invested in a practical social ethic. Opposing this ‘social Christianity’, Takakura
Tokutaro (1885–1934), one of the followers of Uemura and a devotee of Peter
T. Forsyth, insisted upon an evangelical Christianity that stressed the human
need for redemption against human progressivism.
Many Japanese theologians in the 1930s converted to the theology of Karl
Barth, but they catered to the wider Japanese nationalism without appreciating
Barth’s criticism of Nazism in the Japanese context. In 1937 Yanaihara Tadao
(1893–1961), one of the disciples of Uchimura, was forced to resign his professorship of economics at Tokyo Imperial University, because of his severe criticism of aggressive Japanese foreign policies in Asia. It is not surprising that after
the war, in 1951, when the anti-Christian social structure had already been
overturned, he became the Chancellor of Tokyo University.
The United Church of Christ in Japan and the Second World
War (1939–45)
The Imperial Diet passed the Shukyo Dantai Ho (Religious Organizations Act) in
1939 with a view to controlling all religious organizations, including Christian
churches. In 1941 more than 30 Protestant denominations were incorporated
into Nihon Kirisuto Kyodan (The United Church of Christ in Japan) and
their leaders were instructed to keep the churches under the aegis of the
government. This was a rejection of the headship of Christ in favour of one
mandated by the government. Their mandate was to support the Japanese
wartime regime and to suppress Asian Christians by coercing them into worshipping the Japanese Shinto shrines, while propaganda argued that the United
Church was the ideal form of Japanese Christianity to replace Western-derived
Christianity in Asia.
Japan unconditionally surrendered in 1945, and the United Church followed
this by stating that the United Church must follow the Emperor’s holy will and
now contribute to the formation of the New Japan. Within a few years, unsurprisingly, many churches including Korean churches in Japan seceded from
the United Church to return to older denominational roots or to form new
denominations.
Through dialogues with other Asian churches and a gradual admission of a
destructive Japanese nationalism in the wider Japanese culture, in 1967 Protestant denominations began to admit responsibility for their wartime collaboration while members of the United Church. The United Church is still active in
Japan and remains for many, including other Asian churches, a challenge
japanese protestantism
213
because of its role in the war and the post-war period. World War Two and
its aftermath have left indelible marks on Japanese Protestantism, not only
in terms of its collaboration but also in terms of its theological and ideological
commitments.
Post-war Protestant Theology (1945 to the present)
The defeat in 1945 left the Japanese utterly dejected and from within this painful
emotional climate emerged Theology of the Pain of God (1946) by Kazo Kitamori
(1916–98), later Professor of Systematic Theology at Tokyo Union Theological
Seminary (which itself belongs to the theological tradition of the Yokohama
Group). For Kitamori the concept of the pain of God is not a kind of Sabellian
Patripassianism that claims that the suffering of the Son on the Cross reveals the
suffering of the Father himself. Instead, the pain of God consists essentially in
the fact that the Father not only begets the Son but also leads him to suffer and
die on the Cross, and that God forgives unforgivable sinners. In this sense the
pain of God is not a substantial or ontological concept, but rather a concept of
the relation between the Father and the Son, God and sinners.
As a follower of Nishida Kitaro (1870–1945), who was the representative
Japanese philosopher before the defeat, and also as the first Japanese student of
Karl Barth, Takizawa Katsumi (1909–84) developed a theology of Immanuel.
Nishida set forth a theory that contradictory concepts such as transcendence
and immanence are mutually complementary to each other. Takizawa found in
the reality of Immanuel – God being with us in Christ – which Barth emphazised,
a dialectic relationship between God and humanity, transcendence and immanence. In dialogue with Takizawa, who took a favourable view of Buddhism, Yagi
Seiichi has continued to elaborate on a point of contact between Christianity
and Buddhism. Yagi’s study (Yagi and Ulbrich, 1973) is also based on a parallel
phenomenon he discerned between his conversion to Christianity and his
enlightenment in Zen Buddhism. Yagi argues that both experiences set human
beings free from something conceptual. Furuya Yasuo, who taught at the International Christian University founded in 1949 by both American and Japanese
Christians, has also endeavoured to relativize Christianity and instead develops
a pluralistic Christian theology open to other religions including Buddhism
(Furuya, 1997).
Attempts to indigenize Christian theology into an Asian or a Japanese context
have been made by Takenaka Masao (Doshisha University). He has also been
active in the study of indigenous Christian art and ethics. Takenaka has maintained active dialogues with Asian theologians and shares the Asian understanding of God as the ‘rice of life’, not Christ as the ‘bread of life’ (Takenaka,
1986). More recently, Miyahira Nozomo (2000) has commenced unfolding a
Theology of the Concord of God by reformulating the doctrine of the Trinity as
‘three betweennesses’ and ‘one concord’ in a Japanese cultural climate.
214 nozomo miyahira
Future Tasks
Japanese Protestantism has contributed immensely to modernization in Japanese education, welfare and politics, but the Protestant Christian population is still
under 1 percent. This disproportionate relation in Japan presents the following
tasks.
First, Protestant Christians need to collaborate in pursuing an integration of
learning and faith applicable to teaching in each academic discipline. Early in its
history Japanese Protestant Christianity was quick to embrace new ideas and
show remarkable adaptation, at least theoretically, to Japanese society. It is
equally clear, however, that these movements, whether liberal or conservative,
have also fallen into a gap in execution between theologians and Japanese Christians. ‘Taught’ Christianity, highly prized by Japanese theologians, must be practised as a living Christian faith able to concretize those ideas.
Second, and related to the first, ‘evangelical’ and ‘liberal’ Protestantism
should not be viewed as separate or competing lines of thought within the
expression of Japanese Protestantism. Rather, serious explorations, breaking
away from the sectarian schisms and inheritances of its mission roots, must be
made in order to establish a Japanese Christian social praxis based on the traditional Christian doctrines but able to meet the challenge of Japan today.
Third, Protestant Christianity, far from a monolithic religion itself, can stimulate indigenous Japanese theology in various ways, while tapping Japanese
cultural and philosophical tradition and exercising vigilance against negatives
inherent in Japanese society, such as exclusionary nationalism. In this respect
the work of two theologians are of note and value. Miyata Mitsuo’s comparative
work of wartime nationalism and its interpenetration in the church in Germany
and Japan is a masterful analysis of the perils of church and state relation. Dohi
Akio, as a historian, has made massive contributions with his analysis of Japanese Protestant thought, on Christian response to the Emperor system and problems of discrimination. It is to the work of individuals such as this that the future
of Japanese Protestantism must look if it is to remove the dross of its past while
recovering the genius of its identity in the global church.
References
Furuya, Y. (ed.) (1997). A History of Japanese Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.
Kitamori, K. (1946). Theology of the Pain of God. London: SCM Press.
Miyahira, N. (2000). Towards a Theology of the Concord of God: A Japanese Perspective on
the Trinity. Carlisle, UK: Paternoster Press.
Takenaka, M. (1986). God is Rice: Asian Culture and Christian Faith. Geneva: World
Council of Churches.
Yagi, S. & Ulbrich, L. (eds.) (1973). Gott in Japan. Munich: Kaiser.
japanese protestantism
215
Further Reading
Dohi, A. (1979). Christianity in Japan. In T. K. Thomas (ed.), Christianity in Asia: NorthEast Asia. Singapore: Christian Conference of Asia.
Drummond, R. H. (1971). A History of Christianity in Japan. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.
Ikado, F. & McGovern, J. R. (eds.) (1966). A Bibliography of Christianity in Japanese
Protestantism in English Sources (1859–1959). Tokyo: International Christian
University Press.
Lee, R. (1967). Stranger in the Land: A Study of the Church in Japan. London: Lutterworth.
Michelson, C. (1959). Japanese Contributions to Christian Theology. Philadelphia:
Westminster Press.
Miyata, M. (1963). Der politische Auftrag des Protestantismus in Japan. Hamburg: Herbert
Reich Verlag.
Mullins, M. R. (1998). Christianity Made in Japan: A Study of Indigenous Movements.
Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.
Phillips, J. M. (1981). From the Rising of the Sun: Christians and Society in Contemporary
Japan. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis.
Takizawa, K. (1987). Das Heil im Heute Texte einer japanischen Theologie. Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 21
Korean Protestantism to the
Present Day
Young-Gi Hong
One of the distinctive characteristics of the Christian map in the twentieth
century is that the center of gravity of Christianity moved away from the West.
In the development of non-Western Christianity the rapid growth of Korean
Christianity is a noticeable phenomenon. Korean Protestantism in its short
history has come to constitute about 20 percent of the whole population (about
46 million) and has become a major religion today, alongside the more traditional Buddhism (24%) and Catholicism (7%), whose Korean mission was much
earlier. Korean Protestantism is best understood from the perspective of three
epochs: from its introduction (1884) to the liberation from Japanese rule (1945),
from the liberation to 1987, and from 1987 to the present.
Introduction (1884) to the Liberation (1945)
The trajectory of Korean Protestantism and the subsequent acceptance of
Western values is unique for an Asian country. Protestantism was introduced to
Korea in 1884, after a century of Catholicism. The major source for the newfound missionary impetus came from the United States. Dr. Horace Allen, the
first Western missionary to Korea, was sent by the Presbyterian Church. Over
the next decade, missionaries from several mission organizations and denominations arrived in Korea: Methodist Episcopalians in 1885, Canadian Baptists
in 1889, English Anglicans in 1890, and Southern American Presbyterians in
1892.
Part of the rapid success of the growth of missionary-planted Protestantism
is related to the cultural and political decline of the Chosôn dynasty
(1392–1910) and then, during the Japanese occupation, the political pressures
from Japan. Young and progressive Koreans were yearning for new solutions to
korean protestantism
217
age-old problems: Western technology and knowledge offered hope and progress
to them while the ordinary Korean was simply disenfranchised as one political
system replaced another without any real change. The profound despair and
discontent prompted by national political and social crises meant that Protestant
Christianity came to be regarded as an attractive alternative to the corrupt
bureaucracy of the Chosôn dynasty and the forced identity of Japanese
occupation.
Protestant Christianity in Korea then is ineluctably linked to modernization.
Protestantism has been coupled with the values of modernity – education,
technology, and industrialization – and political sensibilities such as equality,
freedom, and eventually democracy. The simple equation is that Korean modernization meant Westernization, and Protestant Christianity was accepted
as an enlightened ideology that brought modernization (Park, 1992: 345–71).
It is not surprising that many of the “indirect methods” of mission adopted
by the first Protestant missionaries (e.g., the establishment of schools, hospitals,
and publishing houses) were quickly embraced and formed substantial institutional and ideological structures that now seem to be part of a modern Korean
ethos.
During the Japanese colonial period (1910–45), many Koreans expressed
their hostility to the Japanese by becoming Christians, which was seen as being
both a rejection of Japanese values, and also a movement towards political
emancipation and even, in a curious fashion, an assertion of a uniquely Korean
self-identity (Ro, 1983: 163). Protestantism could be accepted for its support of
the much-needed movement towards modernization without a collision with
a pre-existent nationalism, as the dominant colonial nationalism was that of
Japan, not of Korea (Min, 1992). Korean Christianity therefore forged a strong
link with a new emerging Korean nationalism, one that had already rejected its
own political and cultural structures of the 600-year-old Chosôn dynasty and
now had an alien ideology forced on it. The active role of the Protestant churches
in the Independence Movement in 1919 is an example of this interrelationship
between a growing nationalism and Protestant forms. In 1920 the Protestant
population was 323,574, about 1.4 percent of the population, but by the end
of the occupation this had increased to 507,922. Put in theological terms,
“eschatological hope” in the context of suffering reinforced the development of
the movement.
From Liberation to Democratic Transition (1987)
Following liberation, the outbreak of the Korean War (1950–3) left deep emotional and mental scars on Korea. The trauma of the war ushered in another
period of expansion, widespread evangelization, and further cultural openness
to Western ideology. Korean Protestantism during this period was characterized
by rapid church growth (mainly through evangelical or later charismatic
218 young-gi hong
Protestants who came in large numbers) and marked by its contribution to the
democratization movement (mainly through progressive Protestants).
In 1960 the Protestant population was 623,072, but by 1985 it had strikingly increased to 6,489,282, or 16.1 percent of the population. Concomitantly
there was an explosion of churches (5,011 in 1960 to 35,869 in 1995) and a
variety of denominations. Presently there are nearly 200 Protestant denominations within Korea. By far the most important denominations are the evangelical (mainly Presbyterian and Methodist) or charismatic-derived ones as they
quickly prioritized nationals in the leadership of local congregations (Ro, 1996:
40). Their conservative theology, which the first Western missionaries brought,
has largely been replicated in the majority of Protestant churches and one finds
an emphasis on evangelism, a congregational church polity, the Bible, and a
vibrant spirituality, with a particularly Korean stress on prayer (Hong, 1997:
206–16).
To date Korean churches are influenced by American church growth theology praxis and have adapted it into their context (Yi, 1994: 180–201). This has
encouraged the use of technology and strategies of church growth that lead
many church leaders and Koreans to believe that the megachurch is preferred.
David Martin has identified the Korean Protestant scene as “a spiritual enterprise culture” that requires “in the top echelon, a kind of international manager
of the Spirit” (Martin, 1990: 143). As a result, large congregations are interpreted as a sign of religious prosperity and market success. This enterprise
culture has also brought about a negative effect in that the effectiveness of evangelical strategy is often judged on the quantity of “results.” This phenomenon of
megachurches may be understood, on a positive note, as not only the product of
a combination of cultural and contextual factors (e.g., modern large-scale and
rapid urbanization) and benefits from modernity (e.g., the use of technologies,
resources, and the mass media), but also the use of lay leadership in wellfunctioning small group systems, and strong pastoral leadership that elicits
passionate spirituality from church members (Hong, 2000).
There are over 400 large churches with more than 1,000 adult attending
members in Sunday services, and 15 megachurches with more than 10,000.
Some of the largest congregations in the world are in Korea. The Yoido Full
Gospel Church, an Assemblies of God church led by Rev. Cho Yong-Gi, is the
largest congregation with over 230,000 attending members. The Kumran
Church, the largest Methodist congregation, has an attending membership of
30,000.
While the majority of Korean Protestants focused on church growth, progressive historical Protestants played a leading role in the democratization movement against the military dictatorship from the 1960s to the 1980s. Christian
churches and cathedrals frequently served as sites of meetings, prayers, and
demonstrations, as police were much more hesitant about breaking up antigovernment activities taking place on sanctified ground (Chang, 1998: 42). Minjung
theology, developed in the mid-1970s, provided a norm and basis for democratic activism and was decidedly influenced by the liberation theology of Latin
korean protestantism
219
America. Minjung, meaning “the people,” is a political interpretation of Korean
Christian experiences (Suh, 1981: 19) following paradigms found in the Bible.
It tried to contextualize Korean theology by applying the biblical message of the
alleviation of the suffering of the marginalized to Koreans suffering under political and social oppression (cf. So, 1983; Na, 1988) during the military occupation. Minjung theology rationalized Christian participation in secular politics in
support of democracy against the military rulers, and also against the injustice
and inequality suffered by many Koreans adrift in the cultural move towards
modernization. Minjung theology, although much esteemed in rarified progressive church circles, and despite its hope of political impact, was finally an elite
project and marginalized itself – inevitably colliding with the “critically conservative” political thinking of evangelicals (that is, of the vast majority of Korean
Christians) For them, the Korean church needed a new theological framework,
not derived from Protestant liberalism or Latin American theology to undergird
its social action and critique. Despite the Minjung movement and the everincreasing growth of evangelical and charismatic Protestants, Korea remained
under military dictatorship from 1960 to 1987. This period marked rapid industrialization, urbanization, and political and social oppression until 1987 when
unprecedented demonstrations forced the hand of the military government and
democratic elections were called.
From Democratic Transition (1987) to the Present
This period does not mark a great deal of numerical growth for Korean Protestantism. But Korean Protestantism entered a new maturity in that it began its
own missionary expansion and saw the emergence of a political stress in the previously seemingly apolitical evangelical and charismatic Protestants. In 1979,
the number of countries to which the Korean church sent missionaries was 26,
but it increased to 138 in 1996 and to 145 in 2002. In 1979 there were 93 missionaries sent from Korea; now there are over 10,000, with the expectation of
more each year. Korean churches, originally the product of mission activity, are
now one of the largest missionary providers to the rest of the world, including
the West.
The period after 1987 also marks evangelical-charismatic Protestant participation in civil society movements. Korean evangelicals and charismatics began
to campaign for political justice in elections and to found a number of civil movement groups, such as the Citizens’ Coalition for Economic Justice and the
Christian Ethics Movement. Such Protestant-based groups constitute nearly 70
percent of about 1,150 nongovernmental organizations and related groups
operating in Korea. Given the large numbers of evangelical-charismatic Protestants it is not surprising that there is a large representation in politics. Declared
Christian congresspersons (Protestant and Catholic) comprise 177 members,
nearly 65 percent of all congresspersons in the 16th National Assembly. This
220 young-gi hong
percentage is above that of Christians in the population (around 28%) and raises
the question of how their subsequent political “theologies” or interests actually
reflect, or will collide with, a much wider Korean society.
The Future of Korean Protestantism
Korean churches have been blessed with amazing growth throughout turbulent
times, and are expected to gain greater political and social significance in Korean
society. This raises the question of whether Korean churches will keep their vitality in Korean society as a whole and continue to grow in the same manner as in
their earlier history. Korean Protestantism, especially in its more conservative
forms, is suffering from its own success in that it now faces the problem of stagnation in membership, nominal Christians, and an ever-increasing gap of social
credibility (Hong, 1999). Korean churches must retain and develop their
spiritual vitality by renewed commitment to prayer and evangelism in an
age of modernity, economic affluence, and spiritual-numerical success. Korean
churches must also upgrade their social credibility in the eyes of the Korean
people. Although at present Christians enjoy an important position within
Korean society, this alone does not guarantee that they will not become irrelevant both to a wider Korean society and to the Christian gospel in its Korean
ministry. The future of Korean Protestantism will depend on its developing and
integrating new social concerns that presently face Korea with its historically
successful missionary zeal.
Finally, Korean churches are expected to gain more influence in World Christianity in the future. In order for the Korean churches to exercise Christian leadership in the world, they need to embody a sacrificial spirit in order to share their
spiritual and material blessings, and also their personnel, with developing countries and to build an effective network with the other world churches in sincere
dialogue (Hong, 2000). The Korean church needs Christian leaders who can
preach, lecture, and write in English to enlarge its impact on the world churches.
The Korean church also needs Kingdom leaders who can think and act in terms
of Kingdom growth rather than mere institutional growth. Church growth in
Korea should not be limited to Korean society but should have a positive impact
on the world churches. The future lies open for the Korean churches, if only they
remain faithful to the gospel.
References
Chang, Yun-Sik (1998). The Progressive Christian Church and Democracy in South
Korea. Journal of Church and State Spring, 40, 2: 437–65.
Hong, Sung-wook (1997). Theological Conceptualization of the Concept of God in Korea.
Ph.D. thesis, The Oxford Centre for Mission Studies (with Wales University).
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Hong, Young-gi (1999). Nominalism in Korean Protestantism. Transformation: An
International Evangelical Dialogue on Mission and Ethics 16, 4: 136–41.
Hong, Young-gi (2000). Revisiting Church Growth in Korean Protestantism. International Review of Mission 353: 190–202.
Martin, David (1990). Tongues of Fire. Oxford: Blackwell.
Min, Kyong-bae (1992). Hanguk Kidok Kyohoesa (The History of the Korean Christian
Church). Seoul: Taehan Kidokyo Ch’ulp’ansa.
Na, Yong-Wha (1988). A Theological Assessment of Korean Minjung Theology.
Concordia Journal 14, April: 138–49.
Park, Young-sin (1992). Kidokgyo wa Sahoe Byôndong (Christianity and Social Change).
In Yôksawa Sahoe Byôndong (History and Social Change). Seoul: Min Young Sa, pp.
56–88.
Ro, Bong-rin (1983). Non-spiritual Factors in Church Growth. In Bong-rin Ro and
Marlin L. Nelson (eds.), Korean Church Growth Explosion. Seoul: Word of Life Press &
Asia Theological Association, pp. 159–70.
Ro, Chi-jun (1996). Hanguk Kyohoe Ûi Kaegyohoizuui (The Emphasis on Local Congregations in the Korean Church). In Won-kyu Yi (ed.), Hanguk Kyohoe wa Sahoi (Korean
Church and Society), 3rd edn. Seoul: Nathan, pp. 39–73.
So, Nam-dong (1983). Minchung Sinhak Tamku (An Exploration of Minjung Theology).
Seoul: Hangilsa.
Suh, David Kwang-Sun (1981). A Biographical Sketch of an Asian Theological Consultation. In Kim Yong Bock (ed.), Minjung Theology: People as the Subject of History.
Singapore: Commission on Theological Concerns, pp. 17–42.
Yi, Wôn-gyu (1994). Han’guk Kyohoe-ui Hyônsil-kwa Chônmang (The Reality and
Prospect of the Korean Church). Seoul: Sôngsô Yôngu (Bible Study) Press.
Further Reading
Grayson, James Huntley (1985). Early Buddhism and Christianity in Korea: A Study in the
Implantation of Religion. Leiden: E. J. Brill.
Grayson, James Huntley (1989). Korea: A Religious History. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
Kim, Andrew E. (1995). A History of Christianity in Korea: From its Troubled Beginning
to its Contemporary Success. Korea Journal 35, 2: 34–53.
Kim, Andrew Byung-Yoon (1999). Rethinking of Korean Missions. Journal of Asian
Mission 1, 1: 101–19.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 22
Chinese Protestantism to the
Present Day
Carver T. Yu
Chinese Protestants have struggled for their identity in a context of unprecedented social-political turmoil and cultural transformation in China from the
Opium War (1839–42) to the Communist Cultural Revolution of 1949. The
backdrop of hostile nationalistic reaction against Christianity (as a foreign religion), the general perception of the complicity of the Christian mission with
Western imperialism and colonialism, and the reality of denominational and
theological divisions in the package of the Christian faith brought into China
by missionaries have created and challenged Chinese Protestant identity. The
Taiping Rebellion (1851–64), which clothed political intent with an indigenous
but syncretistic form of the Christian religion, complicated earlier issues in
Chinese Protestant history. Likewise, the “New China” and its communist commitments have exacerbated many systemic problems. Each epoch of Chinese
history seems to build on its predecessor’s inability to found a coherent identity.
China’s missionary heritage, its rejection (or suspicion) of Western cultural
forms (in all China’s political identities) and its own unique attempts at syncretism or indigenization are the themes that interweave in the tapestry of
Chinese Protestantism and play out in the very real and concrete situation of its
people.
Origins of the Chinese Protestant Church
Robert Morrison (1782–1834) arrived in China in 1807. He baptized the first
Chinese convert, Cai Gao (1788–1846), after seven year’s labor. In terms of
number, his success was meager. However, over 12 years, with the help of
William Milne (1785–1822), he completed the translation of the Bible into
Chinese. He also composed numerous hymns in Chinese and wrote several books
on basic doctrines and church organization. Morrison’s (and Milne’s) main
contribution was this massive effort of translation. Milne arrived in 1813, and
chinese protestantism
223
moved to Malacca in 1815 with the vision of converting and training Chinese
for the task of evangelizing China. For that purpose, the Anglo-Chinese College
was founded in 1818. The second Chinese convert, Liang Ah Fa (1789–1855),
was baptized by Milne in 1816, trained by him, and later ordained by Morrison
in 1827 to become the first Chinese minister. Milne’s other contribution for
Chinese Protestant identity is in a gospel tract he wrote, Zhang Yuan Liang You
Xianglun (Dialogues Between Two Friends, Chang and Yuan), which set a model
for indigenous evangelism.
Liang marks the beginning of “Chinese” Protestantism. His first convert was
his wife, who became the first Chinese female baptized into the Protestant
Church. In 1828, he performed his first baptism as a Chinese minister for a
young Chinese convert Gu Tian Qing. Later, another of his converts, Qu Ang,
baptized and subsequently ordained by him, became a significant leader in the
development of Protestantism in Hong Kong. Liang’s significance is not only as
a pastor; he was also the first indigenous Christian writer. Though relatively
uneducated, he produced in 1819 his first gospel tract, Jiushilu Cuoyao Luejie
(A Brief Exposition of the Summary Record of Salvation). In 1828, he wrote
another tract, Shuxue Shengjing Luelun (A Brief Discourse on the Understanding
of the Bible), which was basically a testimony of why he believed despite persecution. A year later, he wrote a simple exposition on Christian life, ZhenDao Wenti
Qianjie (A Simple Exposition of Questions Concerning Truth). Due to Liang’s
effort, the first Chinese Qidaowen Zanshensi (Book of Prayer and Hymns) was produced in 1833. Perhaps the most significant of his writings was a tract titled
Quan Shi Liangyan (Good Words for Admonishing the Age). It integrated Confucian ethics with the Christian idea of a heavenly kingdom of righteousness and
equality and represented the first serious attempt of indigenous theology. The
emphasis was on moral transformation of the person through repentance. The
tract made a great impact on Hong Xiuquan (1814–64), who was subsequently
converted, and started the God-worshiping Society, which later became the base
for the Taiping Rebellion.
Another important figure in the beginning of the Chinese Church was Ho
Tsun Sheen (1817–71). Accompanying James Legge (1814–97) from Malacca
to Hong Kong in 1843 and working closely with him, Ho became the first
Chinese minister in Hong Kong. Through him, the indigenous Chinese church
in Hong Kong came into being. Liang Ah Fa, Qu Ang, Ho Tsun Sheen, and Hong
Xiuquan provided the trajectories from which Chinese Protestants would follow,
namely the poles of reliance or sympathy towards Western missions and ideology, and a movement, sometimes extreme, towards indigeneous leadership,
worship-praxis, and theology.
The burden of imperialism
Chinese Protestant identity emerged steadily, though slowly. The Opium Wars,
however, dealt a heavy blow to the young fragile church. Missionaries were
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widely suspected of collaborating with Western imperialists. The charge was not
unmerited. Robert Morrison, for example, served as translator for the East India
Company, and later accompanied Lord Amherst in his diplomatic endeavors in
China. His son, John Robert Morrison (1814–43), both served as the British Consulate in Guangzhou and was actively involved in missionary work. The Christian church, particularly missions, was accused of a grave moral failure in
condoning and even exploiting the opium trade for furthering the cause of
spreading the gospel. Indeed, Charles Gutzlaff (1803–51) would travel on an
opium trading ship along the Chinese coast to distribute gospel tracts. To further
fuel resentment, humiliating treaties and edicts of toleration imposed on the
Chinese contained advantageous terms and rights for missionaries and their
Chinese converts. Protestant missionaries – such as Gutzlaff, Peter Parker
(1804–88) and Elijah C Bridgman (1801–51) – were involved not only as interpreters but also as secretaries in the negotiation of treaties. Missionaries
appeared to the Chinese all too ready to exploit China’s defeat in order to further
their religious invasion. Only the Anglican Church made a feeble protest against
the war. Christianity was thus perceived by the Chinese as a foreign religion
forced onto China by gunboats as part of the Western scheme of cultural invasion. David Urquhart (1805–77) was the lone voice in Britain to condemn the
introduction of Christianity into China by force.
The 1858 Tianjing Treaty and the subsequent Convention in 1860 gave
missionaries greater freedom than ever before to spread the gospel in all parts
of China. Hostile Chinese reactions spread at the same time. By the end of 1860,
a highly influential anti-Christian tract Pixie Jishi (A Record of Facts for Warding
off Heterodoxy) was widely distributed. Outbreaks of sporadic violence resulted
in the killing of missionaries and Chinese converts and the burning of churches.
These incidents were preludes to the Boxer Uprising of 1900, in which hundreds
of missionaries and Chinese converts were killed. The young Chinese church
was caught between the upsurge of nationalism and its dependence on Western
churches. The “foreignness” of their religion was a serious stigma. A few
Chinese Christian leaders, such as Chen Mengnan and Chen Dao Ren, demanded
the formation of an indigenous Chinese Church independent of foreign control.
Chen Mengnan organized independent Chinese churches in the Guangdong
province in 1873, while Chen Dao Ren expressed the need for an indigenous
church in 1879 in his Reformation of the Mission Enterprise in China. Some
missionaries began to recognize the urgency for the Chinese church to become
indigenous and independent. John Campbell Gibson (1849–1919) advocated
the idea of a “self-supporting, self-governing and self-propagating” Native
Church. In 1881 he put the idea into practice by organizing a “three self ”
presbytery in Shantou in the Guangdong province. However, the concept of a
fully independent indigenous Chinese church had not yet been seriously
considered by missionary societies. In fact the process of indigenization proved
to be too slow and too late for the church in China to cope with the rapid sociocultural transformation and political upheaval in China in the early part of the
twentieth century, and Chinese Christians had to pay a heavy price for that
failure.
chinese protestantism
225
At the turn of the twentieth century, defeated in the Sino-Japanese War
(1895) and by an allied Western force in the Boxer Uprising, China was on the
brink of being divided and colonized by foreign powers. A crippling indemnity
imposed in 1901, and the scramble for concessions to Western powers, brought
patriotism and xenophobia to a new height. The Church in China was categorically perceived as foreign and thus met with strong emotional rejection.
From the May Fourth Movement of 1919 onward, there was an intense antiChristian movement among intellectuals and at the popular level. At the same
time, while the whole nation embarked feverishly on a course of cultural transformation for the sake of national salvation, Chinese Protestants remained
uncertain in regard to faith and culture as well as their divided identity. The question of how they could identify with their compatriots in national reconstruction while holding a foreign religion rejected by them never abated. Chinese
Christian leaders – Cheng Jianye (1881–1939), Zhao Zichen (1888–1979), and
Liu Tingfeng (1891–1947) – worked to indigenize the Christian faith on the one
hand, and sought to participate in cultural transformation based on Christian
values on the other.
For a truly indigenous Chinese Church to emerge, the biggest obstacles were
not only its Western dependence or origin but also the confusing variety of
denominations compounded by differences in national origin, theological
persuasions, church organization, and liturgy. Conflicting approaches, competition, and even rivalries were not uncommon with more than 130 missionary
societies from six countries. Cooperation, when it manifested at all, merely meant
avoidance of competition. The so-called Comity Agreements merely defined
which mission would work within what territory, usually organized around the
national origin of the mission agency. The church was thus highly fragmented.
This problem was discussed at the World Missionary Conference held in
Edinburgh in 1910. Organic union of mission bodies of similar doctrines, and
federation of groups by geographic location, were proposed. The China Continuation Committee was set up to facilitate such unification. In 1917, steps for
unity were proposed: uniting churches of similar ecclesiastical order, intercommunion between churches in particular areas, and finally the formation of the
Chinese Council of Churches. Denominational union within Chinese missions
of differing national origin led the way. In 1922, for example, the Presbyterian
Churches of Britain, Canada, New Zealand and the United States, together with
churches belonging to the London Missionary Society and American Board of
Commissioners for Foreign Missions, united as the General Assembly of Presbyterian Churches in China. Likewise, Anglicans united as the Zhonghua Sheng
Gong Hui. Congregationalists later united with the Presbyterians. In short order,
Lutherans, Baptists and Methodists each united. The next step would be
interdenominational union. After much effort in 1927 six major denominational bodies joined together as the Church of Christ in China. While this was a
notable step forward, only about one-third of Protestant churches in China were
represented.
Indigenization also moved in a different direction from attempts to found
national churches with revivalist evangelists like Watchman Nee (1902–62),
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Wang Mingdao (1900–91), Wang Zhai, and John Sung (1901–44) leading the
way. This form of indigenization was more grassroots-based and therefore more
idiosyncratic in composition. Watchman Nee, for example, separated himself
from the Methodist Church over the issue of baptism and ordination. Deeply
influenced by the Brethren polity, he started the “Local Church Movement” with
the idea of one church for each locality. His church grew rapidly and spread from
Shanghai to Shandong, Jiansu, Zhejiang and Fukien, and was later widely
known as “the Little Flock.” Wang Mingdao separated himself from the Presbyterian Church (over infant baptism), and became an independent evangelist
preaching personal salvation and the transformation of society through personal repentance and spiritual renewal. His preaching tours generated a huge
following. In 1936, he founded a church, “the Christian Tabernacle,” that called
for strict spiritual discipline, removal of corrupt leaders, and a separation from
foreigners. It was estimated that by 1949 independent churches founded
through these itinerant evangelists alone accounted for one-fourth of the total
number of Chinese Christians. In many ways, these are the forerunners of the
“house churches.”
The eradication of Protestantism
After the establishment of New China under the Communist Party in 1949, anticapitalist and anti-imperialist ethos forced the church to review its relations
with foreign missions. The “three-self ” principle of complete independence from
foreign control was adopted and indigenization took on a new political meaning.
“Three-self ” and nationalistic patriotism, which meant unquestioning support
of the Communist Party, became intertwined. Under the leadership of Wu
Yaozong (1893–1979), the Three Self Patriotic Movement (TSPM) was founded
in 1950 so that the Christian Church in China could become “China’s Christian
Church.” Foreign links were severed and denominationalism purged. Chinese
churches were brought within the TSPM, coordinated by the governmental Religious Affairs Bureau. By 1958, many churches were closed and congregations
were coalesced into a few state-approved churches. During the Cultural Revolution even those few churches were closed. The only churches that would survive
were the underground “house churches.” House churches, locally run and
organized, are often regarded as the truest or most genuine forms of indigenous
church in China bred in isolation.
Creating a Truly Chinese Church and Theology
Church organization and the establishment of indigenous leadership were
certainly significant in the quest for Protestant identity in China, but the real
test of authentic indigenous identity lay somewhere deeper. Several questions
chinese protestantism
227
remained and were asked across all epochs of Chinese Protestant history: “Was
the gospel brought to the Chinese truly the Word that became flesh and made
its dwelling among them, full of truth yet also full of grace?”; “Were Chinese
Christians able to show the relevance of the Christian faith to their struggle
for national salvation and cultural reconstruction?”; “Did the Christian faith
empower Chinese Christians to become active participants rather than alienated
observers in determining the future of China?” Chinese missions and theologians, across China’s history, have had to address both the problems of indigenization and contextualiztion. The following are some of the more notable
attempts, and the critiques of such attempts.
William Milne was the first Protestant missionary to tackle the question of
indigenization. In his gospel tract Dialogues Between Two Friends, Chang and
Yuan, he addressed the Confucian ideal of attaining inner saintly personhood
expressed in sagely statesmanship. He affirmed the ideal, yet questioned the
comprehensiveness of such a vision of life, pointing to the reality of sin in
human nature and to the wonder of the Creator’s love manifested in Jesus Christ.
Milne’s colleague, James Legge, took a similar approach. He attempted to clear
misunderstandings of the Chinese humanistic tradition prevalent in the West.
As a result, he undertook the task of translating Chinese “classics” into English
as a way to affirm the value of the tradition. American missionary W. A. P.
Martin (1827–1916) likewise affirmed the spiritual and scientific insights of the
Chinese humanistic tradition. However, he thought that those insights needed
to be extended further in order to reach the ultimate truth. In his book Tiandao
Xaoyuan (Pursuing the Source of the Way of Heaven), he used two Confucian
concepts, Gewu (investigation and understanding of things in accordance with
their own nature) and Zhizhi (comprehensive and ultimate knowing), to show
that the Chinese had contributed profound insights into the understanding of
the nature of things. To arrive at comprehensive and ultimate knowledge, the
Christian faith could add illumination to insights. So he proposed the formula of
“adding Confucius and Jesus together.” Many missionaries, however, were much
less optimistic about the value of the Chinese humanistic tradition.
It is much more interesting to see how Chinese Christians dealt with the
problem of Chinese culture. In the second half of the nineteenth century, there
were indigenous theological reflections of considerable depth. Meng Juezi, a
Chinese Christian of the Basel Mission (his name means “awakened dreamer”)
addressed the common Chinese dream of attaining saintliness through selfcultivation but added that the dream seemed ever unattainable. The human will,
due to weakness, was inadequate to deal with its uncontrollable desires and
insurmountable selfishness. Thus he showed adeptness in adapting Christian
Protestant notions such as the “unfreedom” of the will (and sin) to the Chinese
mindset. Others – Chang Ding, Yuan Ang Bong, and Lee Ang Fu – also testified
to their aspiration yet disappointment at attaining authentic and saintly personhood. The realization of the reality of sin (and therefore the need of salvation) through self-reflection was the key to their spiritual awakening. The
Confucian ideal was affirmed, but something more than self-cultivation needed
228 carver t. yu
to be done. The issue of whether “salvation” could be attained through the self
or through the “power” of an “Other” (Christ) was raised.
Zhao Zichen brought an ontological dimension to the Confucian–Christian
dialogue started in the early part of the twentieth century. Affirming Confucian
personalism and its cosmic dimension, he added that “Christianity is a personalism in which the Absolute is a person that comes into relation with His
creatures” (Zhao Zichen, 1918: 371). The cosmos, grounded on and infused
with God’s personhood, is God’s continual outflowing and the unfolding of God’s
immediate self-consciousness, self-transcendence, and self-direction in love.
Jesus Christ, then, is the true manifestation of perfect personhood and the
expression of God in love. He alone is the true attainment of what Confucius
aspired to. Christ’s immediate awareness of his unity with God, the source of creation, is the common point for both divine self-expression of love and human
aspiration in the image of God.
These various attempts at indigenous dialogues have one thing in common:
they all tried to maintain continuity with their cultural tradition (dominantly
Confucianism) while aiming to bring it to a new height of achievement through
the Christian faith. Zhao, unlike his predecessors and those who would follow,
betrays an optimism characteristic of liberal Protestantism before World War II.
The Cultural Revolution would retrieve awareness of human depravity, but find
echoes of it in both Chinese and Christian traditions. Confucianism, NeoConfucianism in particular, had consistently ignored the thread of human
depravity, and found the Christian concept of sin repugnant. However, contemporary Neo-Confucianist philosophers are more ready to talk about “the awareness of the darkness in humanity.”
In addition to finding a compatible dialogue with Chinese philosophy, indigenization would also need to address the much more difficult issue of “ancestor
worship.” Missionaries such as Martin pleaded for toleration, pointing to the fact
that kneeing and prostration before what symbolized the presence of ancestors
should not be understood as worship, as these postures were commonly practiced in the family context as respect toward one’s parents. Other missionaries
of pietist or fundamentalist orientation would object to such toleration and see
the practice as idolatry. This divide between tolerance and objection pretty much
dictates the forms of the present conversation in Chinese Protestant churches in
regard to ancestor worship.
The Effect and Future of Chinese Protestantism
Catalyst – critique and fragmentation
While the issue and history of contextualization caused considerable tension
among missionaries as well as Chinese Christians before 1949, the contribution
of Protestant churches to Chinese society was substantial, if not sustained, in
terms of medical, educational, and political reform. Mission societies such as
chinese protestantism
229
the China Inland Mission, while concentrating on evangelism, used medical
and educational services as means to propagate the gospel. Many missionaries
– Martin, Timothy Richard (1845–1919), and Young J. Allen (1836–1907) –
advocated reform of the Chinese society through education as well as the
Christian message. Instead of just “saving heathens from the suffering of hell,”
the responsibility of Christians “to save heathens from the hell of suffering
in the world” was equally important. 1844 saw the founding of the Ningbo
Mission School, and in short order numerous primary and secondary schools
and 13 universities were established through mission and church effort.
In 1875, Allen started a news magazine, Wan Guo Gung Bao (Global News), that
by 1878 (under William Muirhead 1822–1900) actively called for reform of
many social ills and corruptions in China. Together with Richard, Martin, and
Alexander Williamson (1829–90), Allen and Muirhead established the Society
for the Diffusion of Knowledge (Guan Xue Hui). This society, and Richard in
particular, was most active in promoting social, cultural, and political reform.
Richard’s proposals for the modernization of China were highly regarded by government officials. He later became deeply involved in the “Hundred Day Reform”
headed by Kang Youwei (1858–27), and was invited to serve as advisor to the
Emperor.
Richard and Allen set an example to Chinese Christians in working out the
social implications of the gospel. They were, however, criticized by many of their
peers for what seemed to be a preoccupation with what would be known as a
“social gospel.” However, their vision was a vision of the Kingdom of God being
unfolded in history. The debate between those who exclusively preached a gospel
for personal salvation and those who saw political reform and cultural transformation as part and parcel of the gospel intensified after the May Fourth
Movement. Wang Mingdao is representative of the camp advocating personal
salvation. Wu Leiquan (1870–1944), Zhao Zichen, and later Wu Yaozong, who
saw the Christian message as highly relevant to the social reconstruction in
China largely adopted a more integrative approach. Tensions intensified when
Communist ideology and its antireligion rhetoric became the dominant force in
sociopolitical reform. Some saw Communism as consonant with the previous
“social” teaching of many Chinese theologians and leaders and warmed to it
despite the antireligion posture. Others saw Communism as a force of destruction, especially in terms of its uncompromising antireligion posture and rejected
it and its confluence with social reform initiated and earlier proposed by many
Christians. Thus many reject what Richard, Allen, Wu Leiquan, Zhao Zichen,
and Wu Yaozong saw as integral (but not exclusive) to the Christian Gospel – a
critique of social structures from the vantage of the gospel.
A new humanity in China?
It is interesting to note that at the height of the Cultural Revolution, when China
was thrown into chaos and its people into intense suffering, Western Christian
230 carver t. yu
theologians mythologized the Maoist “New Humanity” in China. In the early
1970s, ecumenical seminars and conferences were held to discuss the “theological meaning of New China.” In the Båstad Seminar, C. S. Song suggested that
Christians should see “New China” as a secularized version of salvation history.
Donald E MacInnis, similarly, referred to the “new humanity in China” as
ushered in by Mao. The only dissenting voice was that of Philip Shen who cautioned against the Maoist–Christian euphoria and called for a theological critique of power (Lutheran World Federation, 1976). In many ways, the largely
Western conversation about Maoist–Christian dialogue is an academic rehearsal
of China’s own history. In it there are voices calling for accommodation and dialogue and a hope of finding a theory that allows an indigenous Chinese voice
but somehow this theory seems disjointed from the praxis and situation of the
Chinese people.
The Protestant church in China is experiencing phenomenal growth. A relatively conservative estimation puts it at 20 million. Nevertheless, the Protestant
Church is again in an intense search for identity in a new era of rapid economic
reform oriented toward a market-driven economy. Beneath the surface of conformity under the TSPM and Christian Council, diversity is emerging in response
to the various challenges. Theological exploration, however, remains hesitant.
Fragmentation once more remains a threat.
Further Reading
Barnett, S. W. and Fairbank, J. K. (eds.) (1985). Christianity and China – Early Protestant
Missionary Writings. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Bays, Daniel H. (1996). Christianity in China: From the Eighteenth Century to the Present.
Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
Cohen, Paul (1963). China and Christianity – The Missionary Movement and the Growth of
Chinese Anti-foreignism 1860–70. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Hsü, Immanuel C. Y. (1990). The Rise of Modern China. New York: Oxford University
Press.
Hunter, A. and Chan, K. K. (1993). Protestantism in Contemporary China. Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press.
Fairbank, John K. (ed.) (1973). Missionary Enterprise in China and America. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Lam, Wing-hung (1983). Chinese Theology in Construction. Pasadena, CA: William Carey
Library.
Latourette, Kenneth S (1929). A History of Christian Mission in China. New York:
Macmillan.
Lutheran World Federation/Pro Mundi Vita (1976). Christianity and the New China. South
Pasadena, CA: Ecclesia Publications.
Lutz, Jessie G. (1965). Christian Mission in China: Evangelist of What? Boston: Heath.
Lutz, Jessie G. (1988). Chinese Politics and Christian Missions: The Anti-Christian Movement
of 1920–28. Notre Dame, IN: Cross Cultural Publications.
chinese protestantism
231
Whyte, Bob (1988). Unfinished Encounter: China and Christianity. London: Fount.
Ying Fuk-tsang (1995). Cultural Accommodation and Chinese Christians (1860–1911).
Hong Kong: China Alliance Press.
Zhao Zichen (1918). The Appeal of Christianity to the Chinese Mind. Chinese Recorder,
49.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 23
Protestantism in Australia, New
Zealand and Oceania to the
Present Day
Ian Breward
Protestantism in Australia and New Zealand has been predominantly British in
ethos, with significant variants in Oceania. American impact has grown since
the 1950s. Civic, confessional and evangelical variants must be noted.
British occupation of New South Wales in 1788 saw the beginnings of Protestantism in chaplaincies to convicts, officials and settlers. Despite differences,
Protestants combined in educational, evangelistic and philanthropic activities,
united by evangelicalism, hostility to Rome (a dominant theme in Protestantism
until the 1970s) and optimism about missions to the peoples of the Pacific and
Asia. Samuel Marsden planted Church Missionary Society workers in New
Zealand in 1814, followed by Wesleyans who also worked in Tonga, Samoa and
Fiji. Polynesian Protestants outnumbered British migrants until the 1850s, providing hundreds of missionaries to other parts of the Pacific and establishing
strong village theocracies. Settler churches depended heavily on Britain for ministers and money, when mineral discoveries and availability of land fuelled
migration, and expanded the need for expansion of government. The Treaty of
Waitangi (1840) attempted to balance Maori interests and colonization in New
Zealand. Aborigines were less fortunate. Many settlers regarded indigenous religion and culture with contempt, as obstacles to Christian civilization. Protestant
missionary methods failed, as did attempts to establish the Church of England.
Other denominations attacked the privileges of Anglicans. Governor Bourke recommended government subsidies for all churches in 1836. The Anglican majority were the main beneficiaries, but Presbyterians and Wesleyans were also
assisted in keeping pace with the expansion of settlement. Such grants lasted
until the 1890s in Western Australia, but were abolished in 1855 in New
Zealand, because Bishop Selwyn wanted the church to have spiritual independence. Aid to church schools continued in most colonies until the 1870s, when
a free, compulsory and secular public system was established. Many Protestants
welcomed this change, believing that the God-given tasks of church and state
australia, new zealand, and oceania 233
should not be confused, without in any way limiting the churches’ responsibility to work for a new model Christian society.
Protestant demography remained relatively stable until the 1970s, with
regional variations due to Roman Catholic numbers, which were lowest in New
Zealand, South Australia and Tasmania. Elsewhere, they were over 20 per cent
and a challenge to Protestants used to dominating a much smaller minority,
suspect about their allegiance to the crown or liberal and democratic values. Universal male suffrage and responsible government from the 1850s diminished
these doubts, for Catholics were soon active in politics, the professions and philanthropy. Neighbourly co-operation could not be avoided in isolated settlements,
though Freemasons and Orange Lodges kept Protestant sentiment alive among
those whose religious commitment was slight. Protestant political parties never
took, despite the passions roused by Ne Temere, the papal decree of 1908 stipulating that the children of mixed marriages must be brought up as Catholics,
and what seemed seditious utterances by Roman bishops, such as Liston in
Auckland who was acquitted of a charge of sedition in 1922 after a Protestantinspired trial. Anglicans were the dominant shapers of civic Protestantism, supported by Congregationalists, Presbyterians and Wesleyans. Confessional and
evangelical identity was found not only in the major churches, but also among
Lutherans, Baptists, Churches of Christ and the Salvation Army. Ethnic identity
was an important component of Protestantism, but Welsh and Gaelic rarely
lasted beyond the second generation of migrants. Worship and publication in
German ceased because of the intensity of anti-German feeling in the First
World War among some British Protestants, who behaved disgracefully against
fellow Australians. Internal migration, intermarriage and the absence of smaller
denominations in country towns and rural districts weakened denominational
identity and underlined Protestant commonalities.
Defining Protestant boundaries is complicated by the fervent repudiation of
Protestantism by some Anglo-Catholic Anglicans, who came to control a
number of rural and metropolitan dioceses. Sydney and Melbourne were the
exceptions. The latter developed a comprehensive ethos, but with many evangelical parishes and Ridley College – an Anglican theological college with an
evangelical tradition – but Sydney remains unequivocally Protestant and evangelical. New Zealand Anglicans were less polarized by party networks, but like
their Australian counterparts were often dismissive of other Protestants and saw
themselves as an unofficial established church. Roman Catholics, however, were
never in doubt that Anglo-Catholics were Protestants, even if some sectarian
groups repudiated them and other major churches attacked their ritualism and
theology.
While Protestants differed markedly on polity, worship and aspects of morality, it was Anglicans, Lutherans, some Baptists and Churches of Christ who
rejected intercommunion and interchange of pulpits. Despite this, Protestants
shared many deep convictions and greatly influenced the social construction of
their societies. They were convinced that God providentially ordained their
colonies for colonization and the development of Christian nations. The supreme
234 ian breward
authority of the Bible, liberty of conscience, the right of private judgement, justification by faith alone, honouring the Sabbath and behaving with integrity in
one’s vocation were widely recognized as Protestant fundamentals, even if exegesis led to different doctrinal conclusions and sharp polemic.
Protestants valued education highly. When they lost subsidies for their
schools, they energetically fostered Sunday schools, which in some colonies
reached almost 80 per cent of the juvenile population. They provided libraries
and religious nurture, trained leaders and offered many cultural and sporting
activities. Their anniversaries and picnics were major social events, and many
had a strong evangelistic emphasis, which was an important barrier to the diffusion of theologically liberal ideas. Anglicans, Presbyterians and Wesleyans
established secondary schools and residential university colleges, which powerfully shaped Protestant elites and community leaders. They valued capitalism
and suspected socialism, contributing significantly to the economic growth of
the colonies by the foundation of both large and small businesses, as well as agricultural and pastoral industries.
The foundation and support of a plethora of improving societies was an
expression of Protestant activism for the well-being of their neighbours. Savings
banks, libraries, temperance societies, orphanages and homes for the blind, aged,
disabled and mentally ill, were all part of embodying the Kingdom of God.
Protestants lobbied their parliamentarians on Sabbath observance, regulation
of gambling, family law, prostitution and alcohol abuse, as well as protection
of missionaries and ending the labour trade on Queensland sugar plantations.
Legislatures opened with prayer and all the major churches actively encouraged
the foundation of public hospitals. Methodists and the Salvation Army combined
effective evangelism with wide-ranging social compassion, making imaginative
use of the pastoral gifts of Bible women (precursors of deaconesses, involved in
Bible teaching, pastoral work and education), deaconesses and evangelists in
urban mission. Protestants played an important part in the pioneering social legislation of the 1890s and 1900s. Some were active in trade unions and the
formation of Labour parties, but most preferred the political style of liberalism,
seeing free trade as applied Christianity.
Newspapers exerted considerable social leverage, whether they were small
rural papers or metropolitan dailies with circulations larger than influential
British papers. Many editors were convinced Protestants and welcomed articles
and editorials by leading clergy. Denominations had their own journals, with
robust commentary. Large number of books, booklets, sermons and tracts were
published in all the colonies, along with British and American publications
which informed colonists of the latest religious intelligence and theological
trends. While the Australian and New Zealand colonies were provincial, the
quality of theological discussion was high and quite the equal of that in major
British and American cities.
By the end of the nineteenth century, difficult theological issues were widely
discussed, not only because of freethinkers’ attacks, but also because of fiery
debates in the colonies, and the attraction of theological liberalism over against
australia, new zealand, and oceania 235
narrowly constructed confessionalism. The 1880s controversy over Charles
Strong of Scots Church, Melbourne about how to interpret the atonement and
other traditional doctrines to changing contemporary culture was symptomatic
of difficulties in all the churches, but especially for Presbyterians. Regular visits
of international evangelists reinforced the appeal of evangelical varieties of
Protestantism, and inspired many to offer for missionary service in the Pacific,
Asia, Africa and Latin America, though that was also encouraged by the Student
Volunteer Movement and Student Christian Movement which grew out of the
visits of the missionary statesman John Mott to Australian and New Zealand
universities. Home missions were also important, growing rapidly in the twentieth century, and developing into service for those living within the vast distances of the Australian outback. Presbyterians, Anglicans and Methodists
ministered to all, not just to their own flock, imaginatively using aeroplanes and
radio to provide medical services.
Implicitly racist attitudes about the limitations of indigenous peoples and cultures and Chinese miners encouraged paternalistic policies of denominational
and faith missions. Distinction between culture and gospel was not an issue, for
the spiritual superiority of British Christianity was still axiomatic for many
Protestants. Missions to Aborigines were a dismal failure in the nineteenth
century, except for Lutheran work in Central Australia. Frontier conflicts, dispossession, murder and deadly European diseases dramatically reduced the
Aboriginal population, although strong Maori churches had emerged in New
Zealand by the 1860s. Land wars and unjust confiscations convinced many
Maori that British Christianity was not for them. Prophetic leaders with deep
scriptural knowledge created very durable versions of Maori Protestantism.
Remnants of Anglican and Methodist communities survived and grew slowly
in the twentieth century, though weakened by the emergence of the Ratana
Church in the 1920s, and the failure of church leaders to give real authority to
Maori clergy and lay leaders.
Similar problems surfaced in Melanesian churches and in the Aboriginal missions which resumed in the twentieth century. Aborigines remained locked into
a paternalistic system of governance until the 1970s, reinforced by racist public
attitudes and destructive government policies which removed children from their
families until the 1960s. Missionaries with anthropological training pioneered
changes of attitude to indigenous culture, which were invaluable when huge
new populations were found in the New Guinea Highlands in the 1920s and
1930s. Missions and the Australian Government had to find new models of partnership. When the twentieth century began, many Protestants looked forward
optimistically to further religious and social progress. The worst of the depression of the 1890s was over, and Australians were excited by the formation of the
Commonwealth in 1901. Attempts to unite Protestant churches on both sides
of the Tasman failed in the first decade; but hope remained despite many setbacks. Finally, Congregationalists, Methodists and Presbyterians united in Australia in 1977, with some Presbyterians staying out of the Uniting Church. A
wider scheme in New Zealand included Anglicans and the Churches of Christ,
236 ian breward
but was finally rejected by Anglicans in 1976. Comity agreements in Melanesia,
the formation of mission councils in the 1920s, cooperation in religious teaching in state schools, the founding of the Melbourne College of Divinity in 1910,
Bible colleges and combined theological teaching in Sydney and Dunedin were
examples of practical ecumenism. Key clergy were involved in the partnerships
which led to the formation of the World Council of Churches, and in the formation of national councils of churches in both Australia and New Zealand.
Evangelical ecumenism was expressed in parachurch groups, missionary cooperation and evangelism, notably in the influential Billy Graham campaigns.
Theological disagreements between evangelicals and Liberals strained
Protestant unity, but only Presbyterians resorted to heresy trials. Professors
Samuel Angus and Lloyd Geering, and Dr Peter Cameron attracted huge public
interest for their expositions of contemporary faith. Defenders of historic Protestantism were typecast as defensive, mean-spirited and backward-looking.
Anglican evangelicals in Melbourne and Sydney reacted differently, developing
scholarship and spirituality, as well as potent lay networks, some of which fell
into super-holiness and antinomianism.
By the 1980s, regional theological scholarship had expanded and matured,
with fruitful interaction with Roman Catholics and Orthodox colleagues that
gave fresh impetus to contextual theology, indigenous issues, and the boundaries
between science and religion. Mainstream churches wrestled with the challenge
of rapidly growing Pentecostal churches and charismatic groups, and the separatism they engendered.
Protestant churches grew dramatically after 1945, but attendance in the
major denominations peaked in the 1960s and then went into serious decline,
especially among the under-30s, when commitment to institutions generally
diminished during the watershed years of the 1960s and 1970s, a time when
leisure options grew, television relativized morality and dissent took forms which
left Protestantism uncertain about which directions to follow. New forms of mass
entertainment, changed musical styles, and the emergence of articulate feminism were not effectively countered by revised liturgies; contemporary music,
songs and hymns; or by attempts at theological relevance. Asian religions, new
age ideas and skilfully marketed self-help spiritualities left Protestantism looking
vulnerable, compared with Orthodoxy and Roman Catholicism. Complicity in
male domestic violence and aberrant sexuality has been very costly in credibility and compensation payments. Acceptance of inclusive liturgical language has
been patchy, as has recognition of women’s potential for leadership and the
importance of feminist theological perspectives. Lutherans, Pentecostals and
Presbyterians, with some Anglicans, have rejected the ordination of women in
the name of fidelity to Scripture, but most Anglicans, New Zealand Presbyterians and the Uniting Church reached the opposite conclusion. Polynesians and
Melanesians have, for cultural reasons, been very resistant to changes in gender
boundaries.
Paradoxically, some forms of institutional decline have been more than
matched by new forms of recognition. Both Australia and New Zealand have had
australia, new zealand, and oceania 237
Anglican archbishops appointed as governor-general. Pacific Protestants have
provided many clergy to assist in government after independence. Church
schools, chaplaincies and social welfare services have expanded because of generous government subsidies, so that churches are now major employers, and
increasingly constrained by governmental priorities, despite generous giving by
members and skilful investment of capital. Though Protestantism is decreasingly
influential politically, its values and priorities still influence many parliamentarians, even if the number of public theologians and advocates with national
stature have diminished. Though Protestants used radio very creatively from the
1920s to the 1970s, their influence through television has declined in prime
time. They have been as bewildered as other agencies by the power of electronic
data transmission that has made censorship almost impossible. Yet possibilities
for cultural connection with themes explored in television, film and video are
very real, even if it is hard to reach consensus on the priorities of Christian
witness.
The growth of aid and development agencies with Christian bases since the
1960s underlines how powerfully Protestant styles of compassion run. Numbers
of coalitions have emerged to recall Protestants to the historic foundations of
their faith, but without agreed criteria for resolving deep theological divisions,
Protestants are vulnerable to the powerful forces of cultural change. Many
of the foundations on which they relied for identity have weakened, even
disappeared.
Exclusion of Asian migrants has gone. Britishness has been replaced by multiculturalism. Roman Catholics are the largest body of regular worshippers.
Other religions challenge Christian hegemony. Migration has modified Protestantism, with strong Korean, Indonesian, Chinese and Pacific Island churches
standing outside mainline networks, or challenging denominational priorities.
Aboriginal, Maori and Islander Christians have rejected the normative character of the British and European heritage and demanded that their own cultural
heritage be given due weight. That has had divisive political consequences when
it has involved claims to land and sacred sites that threaten miners’ and pastoralists’ power, and challenge the secular religion of development.
Some Protestant leaders have been captivated by post-modernism and political correctness, or selective historical reconstructions. Many members and their
children have dropped out of census allegiance into the categories of ‘No religion’ or ‘Object to state’, the numbers of which have grown in striking similarity to the decline of denominational allegiance. Almost 39 per cent of the
population now use civil celebrants rather than clergy for rites of passage.
Residual Protestantism survives in the search for authenticity and freedom
in spirituality, rejection of ecclesiastical authority, dissent and individualism,
none of which require commitment to any external religious community, or to
the sacrificial community service which characterized earlier generations of
civic Protestants. Civic, confessional and evangelical Protestantism has shown
remarkable ability to adapt contextually when in vital connection with its biblical and experiential foundations. That can be seen most clearly in the Pacific
238 ian breward
Islands, where traditional culture and village Christianity are closely integrated.
That synthesis has come close to collapse with military coups in Fiji, destructive
civil wars in Bougainville and in the Solomon Islands, and the near collapse of
civil society in parts of Papua New Guinea, amid a welter of violent competing
corruptions.
In Australia and New Zealand, Protestantism still retains strong missionary
outreach, capacity for practical service, scepticism about pretentious claims to
piety and virtue, and ability to innovate. Its networks and values are still influential, but fragile, unless renewed by major recommitment from a younger generation. Theological and ethical issues are still divisive, for the balance between
unity and diversity is always elusive. Issues of gender, sexuality, ecology, social
justice and ethnicity are the context in which witness to divine grace seen in the
crucified and risen Lord, and experience of transformation by the Spirit in the
Christian community might remake evangelism and the capacity for hope-filled
activism which energized regional Protestantism for two centuries.
Further Reading
Breward, I. (2001). A History of the Churches in Australasia. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Carey, H. M., Breward, I., Doumanis N., Frappell, R., Hilliard, D., Massam, K., O’Brien,
A., Rutland, S. D., Thompson, R. (2001). Australian Religion Review. Journal of
Religious Studies 24.3–25.1.
Davidson, A. K. (1997). Christianity in Aotearoa. Wellington: NZEFM.
Hutchinson, M. (2001). Iron in our Blood. Sydney: Ferguson.
Kaye, B. (ed) (2002). Anglicanism in Australia. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press.
Piggin, S. (1996). Evangelical Christianity in Australia. Melbourne: Oxford University
Press.
Thompson, R. (2002). Religion in Australia. Melbourne: Oxford University Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 24
African Protestantism to the
Present Day
John S. Pobee
Africa, the second largest continent, covering an area of just under 12 million
square miles, encompasses many and diverse peoples, races, cultures, religions,
histories and temperaments in about 52 sovereign and independent nations. It
may be divided into two major regions: Africa north of the Sahara and Africa
south of the Sahara. The former is largely Hamitic, Arabic-speaking and Muslim.
Africa south of the Sahara is peopled by aboriginal Bushmen of the Kalahari
region, the Khoikhoi or Hottentots of the south-west, Pigmies of the Congo
forest, Hamitic peoples of north-eastern and east-central Africa, Blacks and
Caucasians. The Caucasians, mainly Dutch and English, have lived in Southern
Africa since 1653 and 1820 respectively and have no other home than
Southern Africa.
Africa used to be described as the sleeping giant. Today constant news and
reports of wars, excruciating and abject poverty, sickness especially the AIDS epidemic, genocide and political instability constitute evidence of a continent very
much alive, if not a continent in turmoil. Alongside much negative reporting
stands the story of rich mineral and other natural resources. Today the continent bears the marks of slavery, European colonialism (Neill, 1966: 284–411),
missionary movements and now globalization.
A study of such a large continent can only be variegated, in broad strokes
and almost a silhouette. But pluralism – religious, cultural, ethnic and racial –
characterizes the continent and constitutes the context in which Christianity as
a whole lives its life.
Homo Africanus, Homo Religiosus Radicaliter
African traditional religions, Christianity and Islam are evident in different
countries, in varying mixes, percentages and degree of influence. Africa has
240 john s. pobee
become the heartland of world Christianity (Walls, 1976: 180), with Christian
predominance in Ghana (c.62%), Kenya (c.73%), Uganda (c.78.3%), Republic of
South Africa (c.79.2%) and Namibia (c.96.3%). Likewise, Islam is very strong
and making continued advances, predominately in North Africa since the military conquest by Muslim Arabs in 647, as well as in Senegal (91%), Mali (80%),
Sudan (73%) and Gambia (84%). It is also growing in Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda,
Malawi, Mozambique and South Africa. Islam is an ever-increasing challenge
for African Christians.
The history of the Crusades has determined that Christians and Muslim in
Africa look at each other with suspicion. Islamic religion tends to become a state
religion and its teachings and practices permeate all economic, social and political institutions and policies. Hence sharia has become a causus belli between
Christians and Muslim in the Sudan and Nigeria where Protestants and Roman
Catholics have been at a social disadvantage and under persecution. As early as
1910, Islam was judged sufficiently strong to evoke a call for establishing a
‘Christian belt’ across sub-Saharan Africa as a strategy for halting Islamic southern advance. There is also heightened concern for all kinds of religious fundamentalism, Islamic in Algeria, Egypt and Sudan, and in South Africa Afrikaaner
fundamentalism led by the Reformed Church of South Africa.
Protestantism in an African Context
Protestantism, a product and legacy of the sixteenth-century schism in the Latin
Church, came to Africa bearing the marks of its founding schism and division.
The sundering of the Una Sancta, not only Protestant churches from Catholicism
but also from each other, was transplanted to Africa. Later still, Protestant traditions from North America also came to Africa. The Protestant missionary
enterprise was, in part, an attempt to undermine Roman Catholicism, established in Africa in the fifteenth century. Relationships were far from easy and
often competitive and vicious. For example, Portuguese and Spanish missionaries considered the Reformed-Presbyterian faith of the Dutch on the coast
‘Calvin’s poison’ (de Marees, 1605) while Catholics felt similar disgust for
Protestants where both were active.
Eighteenth-century Protestant missionary work in Africa was the outgrowth
of the evangelical revival. Its marks included a literal interpretation of the
Scriptures, the offer of forgiveness and grace, a serious sense of accountability
to God, belief in the love and judgement of God, a Puritan ethic, and an emphasis on personal religion. This revival spawned missionary societies such as the
Baptist Missionary Society which arrived at Baviaanskloof, South Africa in
1792; the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel (Anglican), which worked
in the Gold Coast and South Africa in the eighteenth century; the Denmarkbased Trankebar Mission; the Moravian Mission from Herrnhut who operated in
Genadendal South Africa; the Church Missionary Society which worked in
african protestantism
241
Sierra Leone, Uganda, Nigeria and Kenya; the Evangelical Missionary Society or
more commonly the Basel Mission in Ghana and Cameroon; the North German
Missionary Society of Bremen (Ustorf, 2002) in Ghana and Togo; the Paris
Evangelical Mission Society which worked in Lesotho in 1833 to set up a mission
which became the Church of Basutoland; and the London Missionary Society.
Thus Protestant denominationalism was introduced into Africa as mission
societies emerged, by and large, under the auspices of specific denominations,
each carving a piece of Africa as its own and stamping regions with individual
Protestant emphases.
Complicating the story further is the linking of mission with European trade
and later European colonialism. The Society of the Propagation of the Gospel,
for example, came to the Gold Coast at the invitation of the Company of
Merchants (later the Royal Africa Company). The Rev. Thomas Thompson
became the first Anglican missionary to Cape Coast, Gold Coast, 1751–6, as a
chaplain to the British in the castle. Pieter de Marees, a trader from Holland,
introduced the Reformed tradition to Moree in Ghana in 1600. Similarly, the
Basel Mission came to Osu, Ghana under the auspices of the Danish governor.
In South Africa Robert Moffat served as Cecil Rhodes’ interpreter in Matabele.
Christian missions were projected as yet another face of European colonial life
in Africa. Adventure, study, politics, trade and evangelism came in one package,
namely Protestant missions writ large. This mix implied an anthropology by
which Africans were defined in terms of Western values, and especially an
assumed European superiority.
Mission outposts in Africa were often styled ‘daughter churches’ of the parent
church in Europe. Thus a paternalistic relationship existed between the founding churches and the African churches. Church structure as a consequence was
very hierarchical. For example, in Lesotho, church leadership was in the form of
the Seboka (Assembly), composed of 16 missionaries and nine local or African
ministers, which looks reasonably egalitarian. However and crucially, the Sekoba
had no authority to deal with the administration of overseas funds, secondary
or industrial education because the Seboka had African representation. Such
matters were the sole responsibility of the conference of European missionaries.
This paternalism, widespread throughout most of Africa, particularly in
Southern Africa, is seen by Africans as a technique of white domination through
guardianship.
Consequently churches have become the targets of African politicians and
nationalists. Churches, according to such rhetoric, prepared the way for eventual enslavement by the political compatriots of the missionary. Kwame
Nkrumah of Ghana makes the classic statement that ‘the stage opens with the
appearance of missionaries and anthropologists, traders, concessionaires and
administrators. While the missionaries with “Christianity” implore the colonial
subject to lay up “treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust doth
corrupt”, the traders, concessionaires acquire his mineral and land resources,
destroy his arts, crafts and home industries’ (Nkrumah, 1958; cf. Pobee, 1975:
217–37).
242 john s. pobee
As mentioned earlier, the denominational demography of Africa has been
determined by the balkanization of Africa by colonialists. Missionaries often
went where they could enjoy colonial protection. The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel (SPG), the Universities Mission to Central Africa and the
Church Missionary Society (CMS) went to the Gold Coast (Ghana), Tanganyika
(Tanzania), South Africa, Nigeria and Southern Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) where the
English governed. This rather arbitrary balkanization has been a continued
problem for Africa, as it ignores historic African cultural and ethnic boundaries
in favour of one borne out of European expediency.
Despite being denominationally and nationally biased, missions were seen as
outposts of churches in Europe, never churches in their own right. Thus the CMS
was not called a church but CMS Mission. Anglicanism in Ghana was successively called SPG and the English Church Mission. Presbyterianism in Ghana was
styled the Basel Mission. This was not only a question of nomenclature; those
churches were governed from overseas even if there were representatives of the
mission board locally. This has been problematic for many obvious and lamentable reasons – too many to recount.
African Protestant churches, thus, have been in a ‘North Atlantic captivity’.
Given the North Atlantic provenance of the missions and missionaries, ‘it was
inevitable that African churches should at first be extensions of “home
churches” abroad’ (Nketia, 1962: 112). African churches were transplants and
replicas in respect of their theology, worship, structures and so on. Even the spiritualities and élan of the Protestant churches have been in North Atlantic captivity: ‘In the first excess of evangelistic zeal little or no attempt was made to
understand the African way of life’ (Dike, 1957). The reasons for this scenario
were varied. Obviously the missionaries could only bring what they had. But
there was also a theological mindset as articulated by Rev. Richard Sibbes (cited
by Rooy, 1965: 30). In a seventeenth century sermon, Lydia’s Conversion, he
argued that ‘God in preparation for the most part civilizeth people, and then
christianizeth them’. Needless to say, civility was judged by European standards
and culture.
However, some missionary theorists such as Henry Venn, secretary of CMS
(1842–72), touted the idea of a euthanasia of mission by which missions aimed
at establishing a self-supporting, self-governing and self-propagating church.
This movement was often thwarted: for example, in 1864 when the CMS
attempted to appoint Samuel Ajayi Crowther as Bishop of the Niger Mission, the
Rev. Hinderer (a CMS missionary in Nigeria) argued that if ‘they [the Africans]
hear that a black man is our master, they will question our respectability’ (D.
Hinderer to H. Venn, 15 November 1864, CMS CA2/049).
The nineteenth-century movement of Ethiopianism in southern Africa and
Nigeria spearheaded the resistance to the ideology of white Christian domination. The movement was a motley group (Shepperson, 1968; Ayandele, 1966;
Pobee, 1992). Ayandele quoting Agbebi, for example, writes of the classic
agenda of Ethiopianism: ‘to render Christianity indigenous to Africa, it must be
watered by native hands, turned by native hatchet, and tended with native earth.
african protestantism
243
It is a curse if we intend for ever to hold the apron strings of foreign teachers
doing the baby for aye’ (Ayandele, 1966: 200). However real the bigotry and
paternalism of the missionaries, a distinction between European colonialism,
which often reduced Africa to brute and raw creation and the missionaries, who
treated Africa and Africans humanely, is important, taking into account their
own biases (Ayandele, 1966: 12).
Despite the presence of Western missionaries, the true agent of Protestant
mission in Africa is the peculiar African creation of the local catechist.
The unsung hero of African church history prepared the ground for the
missionary/priest, nursed the congregation, won souls for the church, and
stayed with the people at the grassroots. He was the holy man on whom
the African Christian community was focused. He is an African leader for
Africans.
The Protestant churches in Africa made their mark in two ways. The first was
by introducing and fostering formal education in most African countries,
responding to the African’s overwhelming desire for knowledge and the power
to read and write like white people. Schools were pioneered by the missionaries
and in most countries, particularly Anglophone Africa, in partnership with the
colonial administration. Though the church’s educational work was originally
designed to be a handmaid for missions and a training ground for Christian life,
it soon became more secular by fitting people for places in a Western-style society
and the civil service. Second, because Africa was plagued by malaria, yellow
fever, diphtheria and dysentery, churches took medical work to be an important
aspect of their ministry and mission. Thus the churches demonstrated their
concern not only for heaven but also with earthly and human welfare. Another
important contribution, often ignored, of the Christian mission churches is the
work of producing written forms of African languages for the first time. This has
contributed, in subtle ways, to developing the consciousness, pride and identity
of Africans.
The Post-Independence Period
Before independence, in most former African colonies, Christian churches
appeared to be the only heavyweight institutions, for good or evil, in society that
could stand up to the African nationalist movements and governments. There
was inevitably an initial, and in some cases a continual, struggle between church
and state. African nationalists often tried to paint churches as colonial lackeys
who were out of tune with true African aspirations. The nationalists, often
mouthing socialist rhetoric, have tried to edge churches out of keystone areas
such as education and health (e.g. Ghana under Kwame Nkrumah). However,
in almost all cases, churches were left to continue in those ministries, which is
perhaps more evidence that the church continues to be a heavyweight player in
African societies.
244 john s. pobee
African Theologies
Today African Protestant churches are trying to shape themselves according
to an African ethos, so that Christ may become truly African too. Two pieces of
evidence are worth reviewing here. First is the emergence of African theology.
Missionary Christianity peddled what used to be called ‘classical theology’,
contextually minted in Europe and largely a product of Enlightenment culture.
This was characterized by a stress on rationality, absolute individualism, and a
literate academic approach to Christianity. Such an approach in Africa, where
the majority are not literate, is not exactly helpful.
Four types of African theology are emerging which seek liberation from North
Atlantic constructs of theologizing. The first is an African narrative theology.
The non-literate and barely educated are also called to give account of their
faith. Here, the theologian becomes an articulate individual in the midst of such
a community who captures their way of thinking. Such theology is found in song
and dance, art, story telling, and lastly sermons. It is communitarian in that it
starts from the African’s communitarian epistemology and ontology, not from
metaphysics but from the experience of Christian life of Africans. It is sometimes
called ‘theology-by-the-people’ (Amirtham & Pobee, 1986).
The second African theology is the product of African theologians who,
though trained in the North and West, are endeavouring to hold dialogue
between the eternal non-negotiable Word of God and the African reality and
context, especially the African culture that hitherto had been discounted. Its
Protestant pundits include Christian G. Baeta (evangelical Presbyterian, Ghana),
Harry Sawyerr (Anglican, Sierra Leone), Bolaji Idowu (Methodist, Nigeria), John
Mbiti (Anglican, Kenya), and Kwesi A. Dickson (Methodist, Ghana). These dialogical theologians are a bridge between North–South and East–West theologies
and heritages.
The third African theology is the liberation theology, primarily from
Southern Africa, that tries to let the Word of God engage the socio-economic and
political realities of their context. An important catalyst in its evolution was
the racist ideology that previously operated in Southern Africa. Among such
Protestants theologians, all from South Africa, are Desmond Tutu (Anglican),
Manas Buthelezi (Lutheran), Allan Boesak (Reformed) and John de Gruchy
(Congregationalist).
Finally, the emerging African Feminist-Womanist theologies have developed
from the continent-wide Circle of African Women in Theology. Two of its
leading voices are Mercy Amba Oduyoye (Methodist, Ghana) and Musimbi
R. A. Kanyoro (Lutheran, Kenya). They argue that the truth about the reign of
God will remain hidden until all take on board the views and participation
of women. In Katie Cannon’s Foreword to Oduyoye and Kanyoro (1992),
she writes: ‘African women theologians have turned once-invisible words
into reflective, critical insights, so that concepts knowable only to sound and
african protestantism
245
hearing are now viable and available to an infinite range of readers’ (Cannon,
1992: viii).
These four strands of theology in Africa agree on certain points. First, theology is a wisdom by which members of the church live; it is not only knowledge.
As wisdom it must have the capacity to engage the emotions without which
change and renewal are impossible. This theology has three constituencies in
the church, the academy and the world – not just the academy. Second, the ecumenical vision must be a catalyst for a theology that will renew church and
society. African Protestantism has rejected the arbitrary separations of its founding missions and instead embraces movements that are ecumenical and respectful of African identities and heritages. Finally, theology must be incarnational in
the sense of meeting the needs of Africans in the situation of a fallen world that
is yet in the process of redemption. To be both wise and ecumenical, African
theology must be incarnational, addressing African society with the timeless
gospel of Jesus Christ, not a gospel of its ‘North Atlantic Captivity’.
African Initiatives in Christianity
The most important offshoot of the Protestant tradition in Africa, evidenced
by rapid and vibrant growth, is African Initiatives in Christianity (AIC). These
churches represent a protest against the ‘North Atlantic captivity’ of the gospel
and the church. Their various designations – some self-definitions and some
labels from outside – indicate their varied emphases and critique of the historic
Protestant churches. They have been called a syncretistic movement, a designation originating in Bengt Sundkler’s description of them, which he later
retracted, as ‘the bridge over which Africans are brought back into heathenism’
(Sundkler, 1948). This identifies their tendency to mix received Christianity
with African traditional religions and practices such as polygamy. AICs are
also separatist churches meaning that they are schismatic offshoots from the
historic Protestant churches. Thus the Church of the Lord or Aladura separated
itself from the CMS-founded Anglican Church in Lagos, Nigeria. The Church of
Christ in Africa (Kenya) broke away in 1959 from the Anglican mission in
Kenya.
Two related forms of AICs are prophetic and messianic-based churches. Some
AICs are popular prophetic movements, centring on a charismatic teacher, which
echoes what has been said above about the holy person in African Christianity.
The Apostolwo Fe Dede Fia Hiabo Nuntimya (Apostle Revelation Society) was
established in 1939 by Prophet Wovenu, himself once a member of the
Evangelical Presbyterian Church. Messianic movements (e.g. Zion Christian
Church and the Nazarene Baptist Church of South Africa) emphasize messianic
aspirations, especially in apartheid South Africa. There has been some confusion
about the term ‘messianic’ and it has been proposed to replace messianic with
246 john s. pobee
‘iconic’, by which is signalled that a prophet is identified as the reflection and
concretization of Christ, without necessarily usurping Christ’s unique place
(Sundkler, 1976: 193, 310).
Finally, some AICs are spiritual or Pentecostal or charismatic churches. Regardless of whatever connections they may have with North American Pentecostal
movements, in Africa they represent dissatisfaction with the type of Protestant
Christianity that had become very cerebral and did not manifest acts of power
in the Spirit. An example of this tradition is the Musama Disco Christo Church
of Ghana and its emphasis on prophecy, healing, prayer, holiness and a concern
for inner renewal and not on institutional structure or administrative form. Of
course, AICs may be a mixture of all the above in some form.
AICs play varied socio-political, economic and religious roles in rural and
urban environments. They represent the search of African peoples, particularly
within the Protestant tradition for ‘a place to feel at home and where they have
a sense of belonging’ (Pobee, 1998: 35).
Protestantism has existed on the African Continent for over 200 years. For
much of that period it was driven by a missionary impetus, but Africa’s missions
have metamorphosed into African churches. This change corresponds to an
evident vitality of the African Protestant churches, calling for new relationships
in response to the shifting of political and economic power from northern
metropolises and multinationals to the developing world. African churches, and
particularly the AICs, lead the critique on the very cultures that spawned them
and argue for an African Protestantism and Christianity.
An important aspect of this change in relationships is the change from traditional patterns of North–South relationships to churches engaging one another
on the continent itself. In this regard, as mentioned earlier, the ecumenical
movement has been an important catalyst. The formation of the All Africa Conference of Churches (AACC) in 1963, an assembly of Protestant churches in
Africa, has been the catalyst in this new development. And, of course, it is not
unrelated to the wider ecumenical development that radiated from the 1910
Edinburgh Conference.
Local circumstances have also forced ecumenical collaboration. Churches
have needed to join ranks to face up to dictatorships by African governments.
The cruel apartheid situation in South Africa forced the churches in Southern
Africa to work together as a united voice in the South African Council of
Churches to counter the situation. Protestant churches in Zaire, forced by
President Mobutu, became one state-recognized united Protestant church.
Similarly, the AACC has been intervening in war-torn Sudan, where the
Muslim-Arabic government was oppressing non-Muslims. There are also incountry issues such as recurring natural disasters that have forced Protestants
into ecumenical cooperation.
The striking aspect of the post-missionary era is focused by the debate on a
missionary moratorium. Many African Christians think the continuing preponderance of foreign missionaries is a hindrance to the ‘self-hood’ of the African
church. The moratorium aims to exclude anything that negatively affects the
african protestantism
247
effective development of African spiritual resources. This includes easy acceptance of traditional mission practices of the equivocation of the ‘Bible with the
plough’ and ‘Christianity with commerce and development’. AICs regard three
components to be essential for an African church and mission: self-motivation,
self-contextualization and self-critique. While willing to work with traditional
missions in the development of a truly African church, AICs are not willing to
return to a missionary ‘North Atlantic captivity’, however implicit the relations
between mission and development.
The moratorium raises another important theological point and the challenge
for Africa. As Africa becomes the heartland of world Christianity, world Christianity is becoming more truly universal (Walls, 1987) as its core message of
the incarnation demands. The Protestant churches of Africa are part of this
unfolding globally incarnated body of Christ, and are a voice that, by focusing
on the African Christ, refuses to be subsumed into a new form of colonial
dependence.
References
Amirtham, S. A. and Pobee, J. S. (1986). Theology by the People. Geneva: WCC.
Ayandele, E. A. (1996). Missionary Impact on Modern Nigeria. London: Longmans.
Cannon, Katie (1992). Foreword. In Mercy Oduyoye and Musimbi Kanyoro (eds.), The
Will to Arise. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis.
De Marees, P. (1605). Description et récit historique du riche royanne d’or de Guinea.
Amsterdam: Cornille Claesson.
Dike, K. N. (1957). Origins of Niger Mission. Ibadan: Ibadan University Press.
Neill, S. (1966). Colonialism and Christian Missions. London: Lutterworth.
Nketia, J. H. (1962). The Contribution of African Culture to Christian Worship. In Ram
Desai (ed.), Christianity in Africa as Seen by the Africans. Denver, CO: Swallow.
Nkrumah, K. N. (1958). Speech at the Conference of Independent African States in
Accra. 18 April. In William V. S. Tubman and Kwame Nkrumah, Speeches Delivered at
the Inaugural Session, Parliament House, Accra, Ghana. Accra: Government Printer.
Pobee, J. S. (1975). Church and State in the Gold Coast. Journal of Church and State 17:
217–37.
Pobee, J. S. (1992). Skenosis: Christian Faith in an African Context. Gweru, Zimbabwe:
Mambo.
Pobee J. S. (1998). African Initiatives in Christianity. Geneva: WCC.
Rooy, S. H. (1965). The Theology of Missions in the Puritan Tradition. Delft: J. W. D.
Meinema.
Shepperson, G. (1968). Ethiopianism Past and Present. In C. G. Baeta (ed.), Christianity
in Tropical Africa. London: Oxford University Press.
Sundkler, B. G. M. (1948). Bantu Prophets in Southern Africa. London: Oxford University
Press.
Sundkler, B. G. M. (1976). Zulu Zion and Some Swazi Zionists. Uppsala: Gleerup.
Ustorf, W. (2002). Bremen Missionaries in Togo and Ghana 1847–1900. Accra: Asempa.
Walls, A. F. (1976). Towards Understanding Africa’s Place in Christian History. In J. S.
Pobee (ed.), Religion in a Pluralistic Society. Leiden: Brill.
248 john s. pobee
Walls, A. F. (1987). The Christian Tradition in Today’s World. In Frank Whaling (ed.),
Religious Situation of the World from 1945 to the Present Day. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Further Reading
Hastings, A. (1974). Wiriyamu. London: Search Press.
Hastings, A. (1994). The Church in Africa 1450–1950. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Pobee, J. S. (1983). African Spirituality. In G. S. Wakefield (ed.), Dictionary of Spirituality.
London: SCM.
Pobee, J. S. (1988). Kwame Nkrumah and the Church in Ghana 1949–1966. Accra: Asempa
Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
PART II
Protestantism and Present Identity:
Relations and Influence
Protestantism and its Relations
25 Protestantism and the Bible
26 Protestantism and the Arts
27 Protestantism and Politics, Economics, and Sociology
28 Protestantism, Law and Legal Thought
29 Protestantism and the Sciences
251
268
287
298
306
Protestantism and its Influence
30 Protestantism and Liberalism
31 Protestantism and Feminism
32 Protestantism and Fundamentalism
33 Protestantism and Racism
34 Protestantism and Judaism
35 Protestantism and Spirituality
36 Protestantism and Missions
322
332
344
357
372
382
392
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 25
Protestantism and the Bible
R. Kendall Soulen
Protestant Christians today use and interpret the Bible in a bewildering variety
of ways. Time has shown that the Reformation principle sola scriptura (scripture
alone) possesses a messy fecundity, giving rise generation after generation to
overlapping but often clashing communities of biblical interpretation. Indeed,
one thing Protestants today often share is a tendency to deplore the ways many
of their fellow Protestants use and interpret the Bible.
Nevertheless, many Protestants do in fact relate to the Bible in broadly similar
ways, ways that unite them not only with each other but also with Catholic and
Orthodox Christians. There are at least two reasons for this.
One reason is rooted in what the ecumenical church bequeathed to Protestants at the time of the Reformation, namely, liturgical and theological traditions
that go back to the church’s origins. When Protestant Christians today gather
for worship, they praise God in the words of the Bible, they offer prayers and sing
hymns filled with biblical allusions, they study the Bible and teach it to their
youth. Most notably, perhaps, they listen to a congregational leader read and
interpret the Scriptures aloud, and they do so with the expectation that God will
use the interpreted Scripture to speak afresh to the gathered community. All of
these uses of the Bible are rooted in the life of the ancient church and synagogue,
and they unite Protestants not only with each other but also with Catholic and
Orthodox Christians, and even with Jews.
The other reason has its roots in what the Protestant movement has
bequeathed to the ecumenical church over the last two and a half centuries,
namely, the possibility of adopting a modern, critical perspective on the Bible,
the church’s sacred Scriptures. Protestants were not the only early pioneers of
modern biblical criticism, nor have all Protestants ever accepted biblical criticism. But Protestants and Protestant institutions were the first to embrace the
critical study of the Bible in a programmatic way, and they were the first to insist
that future clergy be taught to understand and be able to use the results of
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biblical criticism. Today a vast fund of scholarship concerning the Bible’s historical origins and literary composition exists that was inconceivable to Christians of an earlier age. Make of it what one will, this fund of scholarship is now
an inescapable fact, one that confronts Protestant, Catholic, and Orthodox
Christians alike, and, to that extent at least, places them all in a common
situation.
Unfortunately, these two sources of unity among Protestants and other
Christians also contain seeds of division. For Protestants not only inherited
ancient ways of using the Bible to worship God, but they modified them as well,
thereby contributing first to the rupture of the Western church, and then to the
ongoing rupture of the Protestant movement itself. Similarly, Protestants helped
create modern biblical criticism, but from the outset they have disagreed bitterly
about its truth and implications for Christian living.
If, therefore, we are to tell the story of Protestantism and the Bible, however
briefly, we must spend some time looking at how early Protestants received and
modified ancient approaches to the Bible, and thereby created a family of overlapping but also conflicting approaches to the Bible. And we must take a look at
the rise of modern biblical criticism, and take account of some of the ways contemporary Protestants have sought to come to terms with it.
Reformation Trajectories and Challenges
The sixteenth-century Protestant Reformers inherited most of their basic convictions about the Bible, even as they modified them in light of a powerful experience of the Bible as the living Word of God. We can examine the result by
looking at how the Reformation generation typically understood the Bible’s
central content and purpose, its authority, and its proper interpretation. In each case,
we will see that the Reformers set fruitful trajectories for later Protestants to
explore, and simultaneously created lasting problems that Protestants still
wrestle with today.
The content and purpose of the Bible: Christ alone – by faith alone
Since ancient times, Christians have used the Bible to worship God on the supposition that the Bible represents some kind of unity. To some extent, Christians
have supposed that this unity flows from the fact that the Bible is inspired, that
is, that God authored it through many human authors. More significantly,
however, Christians have understood the Bible’s unity to flow from the fact that
it was all about one great thing, and that it had been given by God to the church
for one great purpose. What the Bible was about, they assumed, was the inexhaustible truth and wisdom of God, as reliably spelled out by church councils
dealing with the Trinity, the incarnation, and, in the Western tradition influ-
protestantism and the bible
253
enced by St Augustine (354–430), salvation by grace rather than by works.
What the Bible was for, they thought, was to provide instruction and enlightenment to Christians of every age in matters of faith and obedience.
The Reformers generally accepted these tacit understandings about the Bible’s
content and purpose. Their contribution was to bring both points into vividly
sharper focus. They could do this, in part, because they belonged to the first
generation of theologians to reap the benefits of Christian humanism. Luther
studied the New Testament in the original Greek, thanks to a new edition prepared in 1516 by Desiderius Erasmus (1466–1536), a priest and cosmopolitan
humanist who was the most famous scholar of his day. Yet while the Reformers
were indebted to the humanist revival for fresh editions, grammars, and so on,
they did not achieve their insights by linguistic skill alone. Instead, they arrived
at their convictions about the Bible’s content and purpose in the course of teaching, preaching, praying, and working to reform the church.
The heart of the Reformer’s discovery was that Bible was not a book about
doctrine and instruction, no matter how helpful or divine, but a book about news,
something that had happened, and something altogether wonderful at that. The
good news at the Bible’s heart was that God out of sheer overwhelming love and
mercy had turned to save wicked men and women through the obedience of one
man, Jesus Christ, who took their wickedness upon himself so that they in turn
might share in his righteousness and life through faith. For the Reformers, this
news of salvation in Christ alone (solus Christus) was the central theme of all the
prophets and the apostles. It was the infinitely precious treasure for the sake of
which the Bible also was precious. As Luther put it, the Scriptures are “the swaddling cloths and the manger in which Christ lies . . . Simple and lowly are these
swaddling cloths, but dear is the treasure, Christ, who lies in them” (Luther,
1960: 236). Or in Calvin’s words, “This is what we should in short seek in the
whole of Scripture: truly to know Jesus Christ, and the infinite riches that are
comprised in him and are offered to us by him from God the Father” (Calvin,
1958: 70).
This understanding of what the Bible was about led the Reformers to a
corresponding understanding of what the Bible was for, as surely as thunder
follows lightening. If the Bible is about the news of Christ, then it exists in
order to be proclaimed, so that people can hear the news and believe it. For the
Reformers, faith in the gospel was not adjunct to salvation, but was salvation
itself, the way that God put wicked people right (hence justification by faith alone
– sola fide). The Reformers would have been amazed by the idea that the Bible
can be rightly studied and understood in a neutral or uncommitted way, as
later proposed by historical criticism. For them, the Bible can be rightly understood only by those who read it hoping and expecting to be addressed by the
living Word of God, and who are eager to respond to that word with faith and
obedience.
The Reformers’ sharpened vision of the Bible’s content and proper use
has proven to be fantastically fruitful. It has unleashed wave upon wave of
Christian revival and inspired tenacious missionary efforts that have gradually
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spread Christian faith around the globe. It has given birth to new ways of doing
Christian theology that have expressed the contents of the Bible in dialogical
and interpersonal terms rather than in the categories of Platonic and
Aristotelian philosophy. And it has provided spiritual grist for influential intellectual movements that have profoundly shaped modern culture, from the
German idealism of Hegel and Fichte to the existentialism of Heidegger and
Sartre and beyond.
At the same time, the Reformers’ account of the Bible’s content and purpose
contains the seeds of future problems. For the underlying dynamic of their vision
is as fragile as it is rich. On one side, the whole Bible must stay in contact with
what the Bible is about, namely, God’s living Word of salvation, the gospel of
Jesus Christ. On the other side, the whole Bible must be read in ways that stay
in contact with what the Bible is for, creating and sustaining faith. But these elements can easily fall apart. One way this can happen is when the interpreter
becomes preoccupied with the Bible in its own right, unconnected to the Word
of God that speaks through it and the church that hears it. This threatens to
happen in Protestant Scholasticism, and almost certainly occurs in many forms
of modern biblical criticism. But the breakdown can also happen when
Christians try to link God and the church apart from the Bible altogether. This
danger was already evident in radical Reformers like Thomas Müntzer
(c.1489–1525), a German Anabaptist who held that the Holy Spirit spoke
directly to him in fresh revelations apart from Scripture. Arguably, it is present
again in some forms of liberal theology as well.
The authority of the Bible – sola scriptura
Prior to the Reformation, Christians tended to think of the Scriptures as one
element in a large constellation of divine institutions in the church, alongside
the sacraments, the priesthood, and doctrine. All of these served in various ways
to mediate God’s saving grace to the faithful, and so all of them together enjoyed
a claim to divine authority.
The Reformation changed this picture dramatically by offering a radically
simplified picture of how God’s favor toward us in Christ (what Protestants typically mean by grace) is communicated to the church: through Scripture alone.
The Reformers demote the rest of the constellation. Its elements no longer have
independent significance, but are now simply signs and servants of the Bible’s
message. This implies a new conception of priesthood, for example, which is now
understood to mean that all believers are called by the Word and empowered by
the Spirit to minister to one another in the church. Above all, it implies a new
understanding of scriptural authority. If Scripture alone is the medium of God’s
saving Word, then Scripture alone must be judge over all matters of belief,
conduct, and worship in the church.
Sola scriptura simplifies and concentrates divine authority in a way that
has had huge consequences for the church and Western culture generally. The
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principle confers dignity on voices of dissent by establishing a court of appeal
that towers above all mere human authority, whether of pope, emperor or king.
It offers a lofty vantage from which to survey and judge inherited tradition.
Finally, it offers all this to everyone, or at least everyone who can read the Bible.
While this last may not have been Luther’s intention, it was the inference many
drew from his example.
But sola scriptura also creates problems that have bedeviled Protestants from
the outset. Exactly what portions of previous tradition does the Bible authorize?
Luther himself adopted a largely conservative position. While he trimmed back
the number of sacraments, for example, he held fast to the ancient church councils. But others soon took a more radical view. Michael Servetus (1511–53), a
physician and early enthusiast of the Reformation, concluded after lengthy
study that the Bible did not teach the Trinity or the divinity of Christ, views that
eventually led to his arrest, trial, and execution in Calvin’s Geneva. A related
problem is this: what attitude should Protestants take on issues where Scripture
is silent? Does the Bible permit what it does not explicitly prohibit, for example,
organ music in worship? Lutherans and many Anglicans have tended to answer
“yes,” holding that such customs are neutral or indifferent (adiaphora), that is,
permissible so long as they are not required for salvation. But Puritans and many
pietists have tended toward the opposite view: what the Bible does not explicitly
allow it prohibits. In sum, the Reformation program of sola scriptura has had a
paradoxical result. It unites Protestants by differentiating them from Catholics
and Orthodox Christians. But it has proven to be a continual source of fragmentation within the Protestant movement itself.
The interpretation of the Bible: the literal sense and the clarity of Scripture
The Reformers inherited an approach to biblical interpretation known as the
Quadriga (originally a four-horse chariot). The Quadriga distinguished four senses
or levels of meaning in a biblical text: a literal or historical level, and three spiritual levels – the tropological (concerned with morals), the allegorical (concerned with doctrine), and the anagogical (concerned with the world to come).
The point of the system was to direct the reader beneath the letter of the text
to discover hidden truths considered richer and more spiritually valuable.
This approach was thought to be especially necessary for the Old Testament,
whose literal sense was often deemed particularly unnourishing, but it was also
permitted when interpreting the New Testament too.
Although Luther made use of the Quadriga in his early years, he and other
sixteenth-century Reformers gradually found this system to be cumbersome,
artificial, and above all unnecessary. For them, the gospel was not hidden below
the surface of the Bible, but was present in the literal sense of Scripture itself.
They held this to be true not only of the New Testament, but of the Old
Testament too, for they interpreted the literal sense of the Old Testament in a
strongly prophetic fashion, as intrinsically oriented by God toward the coming
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Messiah. Thus Calvin can write, “If one were to sift thoroughly the Law and the
Prophets, he would not find a single word which would not draw and bring us
to [ Jesus Christ]” (Calvin, 1958: 70). At the same time, the Reformers did not
simply reject the idea that Scripture has a spiritual sense. Instead, they reinterpreted it to refer to the use that the Holy Spirit makes of the letter of Scripture
to awaken faith in the heart of the reader. According to this view, the spiritual
sense refers not to a secret meaning hidden beneath the letter, but to the literal
sense itself as the means by which God speaks to the believer.
Another feature of Reformation hermeneutics is the rule that Scripture is its
own interpreter (scriptura sui ipsius interpres). Opponents of the Reformation
argued that the Bible contained too many obscure passages to stand alone as
supreme authority in the church: it needed an equally authoritative interpreter
to stand alongside it. The Reformers insisted that the Bible’s main message was
perfectly clear to the unprejudiced reader, and that the Bible’s clearest passages
provided all the light necessary to illuminate more obscure verses. In this way,
they sought to ensure that church tradition remained subservient to the letter
of Scripture, not its master or equal.
The Reformation emphasis on the literal sense of Scripture helped to create a
new form of popular Christian piety centered in preaching, reading, and studying the Bible. As a result, Protestant populations between the sixteenth and early
twentieth centuries probably commanded a higher level of biblical literacy
across a broader cross-section of occupations than ever before in Christendom.
Today, similar kinds of Bible piety are taking root among peoples throughout
Asia, Africa, and Indonesia.
But the Protestant approach to interpretation has created lasting problems,
too. Above all, the notion of “the literal sense” of Scripture has proven to be
remarkably slippery. Time has shown that a person’s understanding of the
Bible’s literal sense depends a great deal on the context in which one reads a
given passage, and the purpose for which one reads it. The Reformers read each
verse in the light of every other, and they saw the whole centered in Christ. With
the rise of historical criticism, however, Protestants increasingly understood the
literal sense of Scripture to refer to what a given passage once meant in its original historical setting, rather than what it means in its current literary place
within the Bible. As this shift occurred, it became vastly more difficult to see the
Bible’s literal sense as the vehicle of the Spirit’s contemporary work. And it also
became more difficult to read the Old Testament as a prophetic voice that points
to Christ.
Post-Reformation Trajectories and Challenges
Protestant approaches to the Bible today reflect not only trajectories and problems of the sixteenth century, but also of religious movements and perspectives
that sprouted chiefly in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Here we note
three such movements that developed characteristic approaches to the Bible
protestantism and the bible
257
whose impulses continue to be felt today, in a variety of overlapping and mutually influencing ways.
Protestant scholasticism
A university-based movement that flourished chiefly in German-speaking lands
from 1550 to 1750, Protestant scholasticism sought to be a loyal guardian of
the Reformation, but gradually developed an approach to the Bible that differed
markedly from that of the Reformers. In place of the Reformers’ emphasis on
what the Bible was about (the gospel) and what it was for (awakening faith), the
Scholastics became preoccupied with the Bible itself, and above all, with establishing its supreme authority over against Roman Catholic claims on behalf of
the pope. In the process, they gave a whole new prominence to the doctrine
of biblical inspiration. They held that since God directly dictated every word of
Scripture (verbal inspiration), the Bible mirrored God’s own perfect truthfulness,
and was free from error in every respect (plenary inspiration). In the words
of Johannes Quenstedt (1617–88), professor of theology at the University of
Wittenberg, “each and everything presented to us in Scripture is absolutely
true whether it pertains to doctrine, ethics, history, chronology, topography, or
onomastics” (Systema, P. 1, C. 4, S. 2, q. 5, quoted in Preus, 1970: 346).
The Scholastics also shifted the Reformers’ emphasis from the Bible as news
to the Bible as doctrine. To describe that doctrine as accurately as possible, they
reintroduced the vocabulary of medieval scholasticism that the Reformers had
generally avoided (hence the movement’s name). And while the Scholastics
never lost touch with the importance of repentance, faith, and obedience, they
increasingly interpreted all this in terms of giving intellectual assent to the
propositional content of faith.
Scholasticism stands at the head of a stream of Protestantism that seeks
to combine belief in the Bible as the Word of God with the highest standards of
academic rigor. The weakness of this tradition has proved to be its rigid doctrine
of inspiration, which tends to make the Bible rather than the Bible’s message
the focus of attention, and leaves little room for acknowledging the humanity of
the biblical authors.
Pietism
Arising as a reaction against Scholasticism in late seventeenth-century
Germany, Pietism quickly spread to England, Holland, and the New World, and
today is a major force in global Christianity. Philip Jacob Spener (1635–1705),
a founder of the pietist movement, sought to reform theological education by
reclaiming the Bible for the ordinary life of faith. He and other piestists insisted
that the proper use of the Bible was to lead to faith in Christ. They affirmed the
doctrine of inspiration but were uninterested in trying to prove it by rational
argument, pointing instead to inward assurance created by the Holy Spirit. For
them, the Bible’s drama of salvation was to be played out within the believer’s
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heart. John Wesley (1703–91), Anglican priest and founder of Methodism,
emphasized studying the Bible in small groups in conjunction with practices of
prayer, exhortation, and confession. From the beginning, pietists have embraced
popular Christian education, founding numerous Bible societies that print and
distribute cheap Bibles, and producing huge volumes of devotional literature,
including poetry, hymns, and calendars.
A strength of Pietism has been to keep alive the Reformers’ concern that
Christians read the Bible for the sake of Christ, even as it pitches that conviction
in a new key, emphasizing personal experience and intense devotion. A weakness of Pietism, however, has been a tendency to emphasize the heart’s engagement with Scripture at the cost of the mind’s, and to sidestep the most difficult
challenges to faith.
Millenarianism
Protestants have often shown an intense interest in the parts of the Bible that
are concerned with the end of this world and the beginning of the world to come.
Among the radical Reformers this interest sometimes took millenarian form,
that is, the belief that Christ will return to reign upon earth for one thousand
years before ushering in the world to come. Explicitly condemned by early
Protestant confessions as a Judaizing heresy (cf. Augsburg Confession, art. 17),
millenarian ideas nevertheless took hold again among some seventeenthcentury Puritans and Anglicans, and have reappeared in forms of popular
Protestantism ever since. Millenarian outlooks are characterized by intense
interest in biblical chronology and contemporary events, interpreted in light of
the book of Daniel and of Revelation (especially chapter 20). They also typically
assign the Jewish people a significant place in God’s contemporary dealings with
the world, in contrast to the many other forms of Protestantism that regarded
Judaism as obsolete. An influential variation of millenarian ideas appears in the
work of J. N. Darby (1800–82) and C. I. Scofield (1843–1921), who taught that
Christ would rescue all true Christians before a final period of tribulation befalls
the earth.
At its best, millenarianism nourishes hope in God’s this-worldly promises and
pricks the conscience of domesticated churches. It is surely not coincidental that
eschatological themes play a prominent role in the hymnody of enslaved blacks
in nineteenth-century America, helping them to endure and ultimately prevail.
But at its worst, millenarianism treats the Bible as a codebook and fosters
credulous escapist forms of Christian faith.
The Rise of Modern Historical Criticism
Starting in the late seventeenth century, a new approach to reading the Bible
began to appear that was less interested in the Bible as the unique medium of
the Word of God than as the product of human authors, basically similar to
protestantism and the bible
259
other ancient and modern writings. Now known as historical criticism, the
approach was initially represented only by a few mavericks such as the Dutch
Jewish philosopher and rationalist Benedict Spinoza (1632–77). Spinoza held
that the interpreter must not approach the Bible assuming its truth from the
outset, and that the Bible in fact contained numerous contradictions and errors,
views that led to his expulsion from the synagogue. From the late eighteenth
century onward, however, historical criticism gained an ever-sturdier foothold
at German Protestant universities. By the mid-twentieth century, the historical
critical approach to the Bible enjoyed a virtual monopoly on intellectual
respectability at Protestant seminaries and universities throughout Europe and
North America.
The reasons for the steady rise of historical criticism are complex. One factor
was the Enlightenment’s spirit of emancipation, which sought to break the
church’s authority over religious, academic, and political spheres of life.
Another was budding empiricism, which inspired defenders and opponents of
biblical authority alike to concentrate on sifting evidence for the Bible’s credibility. But historical critics have also consistently justified their approach by appealing to principles of the Reformation. Their aim, as they have seen it, has been to
clear away the dogmatic overlay of church tradition (now including Protestant
church tradition), so that the Bible’s original literal message can speak for itself
once again.
In reality, historical critics actually created a new conception of what it means
to understand the Bible. The goal of historical criticism has been to determine
what a biblical passage meant in its original historical context (the sensus literalis historicus), not what (if anything) it means to people today. The Reformers,
in contrast, assumed that the literal sense of a biblical passage naturally encompasses both past and present meaning, and that the interpreter’s job was to
clarify both. Furthermore, historical criticism holds that to understand the Bible
rightly, the interpreter must conscientiously set aside all of his or her prior theological commitments, and apply only the same criteria of judgment applicable
to ordinary life. In contrast, the Reformers believed one should approach
the Bible in faith and attentive humility, expecting to be addressed by the living
Word of God. Finally, historical criticism holds that the main prerequisites for
successful interpretation are extensive training in languages and historical
methods. To these, the Reformers would have added spiritual disciplines such as
prayer, meditation, and participation in the church’s life and worship.
Despite these differences, or rather because of them, historical criticism
gradually painted a new picture of the Bible shockingly different from previous
tradition. We can explore this new picture by looking at three issues.
Source criticism and the composition of the Pentateuch
Traditionally, Christians (and Jews) believed that Moses was the author of the
Pentateuch (the first five books of the Bible). Early historical critics, however,
260 r. kendall soulen
noted that these books contain numerous contradictions, repetitions, changes
in literary style and so on. Whereas previous Christians tried to reconcile or
“harmonize” such passages, early historical critics offered a different solution:
the Pentateuch was a composite made up of originally separate traditions. In the
1870s, Karl Heinrich Graf and Julius Wellhausen proposed an influential form
of this hypothesis, according to which the Pentateuch was composed of four
sources of substantially different origins and outlooks (known as J, E, P, and D),
originating from 850 to 450 Bce. Their hypothesis helped create the subdiscipline known as source criticism (study of literary sources), which was eventually joined by form criticism (study of popular genres), redaction criticism (study
of editorial composition), and numerous others. The upshot was the creation of
a new picture of the Bible as a loose conglomoration of written and oral traditions that originated in vastly different circumstances and were edited and
recombined over the course of time.
The quest for the historical Jesus
Traditionally, Christians regarded the four Gospels as different but equally reliable reports about Jesus. Early on, however, historical critics such as Samuel
Reimarus (1694–1768) drew a sharp distinction between what the Gospels
report that Jesus said and did and what he actually said and did. Ever since, historical critics tried to get behind Gospel traditions that originated after Jesus’s
death (e.g., reports of his resurrection, miracles, miraculous birth) to Jesus
himself. In the second half of the nineteenth century, historians produced
dozens of biographies of Jesus, believing they could construct an objective
portrait of Jesus’s personality and aims by using historical methods to separate
fact from fiction in the Gospels. The scholar, organist, and physician Albert
Schweitzer (1875–1965) crushed this hope in his book, The Quest for the Historical Jesus ([1906] 1998). The book demonstrated that the nineteenth-century
portraits of Jesus simply mirrored their authors’ liberal ideals. Since then, scholars have differed about the merits of renewed quests for the historical Jesus.
Many argue that such portraits are thinly conjectural, while others argue that
more sophisticated methods will produce better results. In either case, however,
scholars now accept a new verdict about the Gospels: they are not neutral,
unprejudiced reports, but testimonies saturated throughout with the theological perspectives of the early church.
The Religionsgeschichtliche Schule and the uniqueness of Christianity
Toward the end of the nineteenth century, scholars began to notice surprising
similarities between ancient Israel and other ancient peoples of the Middle East,
and between early Christianity and other religions of the time. Eventually
a movement was born known as the Religionsgeschichtliche Schule (history of
protestantism and the bible
261
religions school) whose goal was to describe the origin and development of
Judaism and Christianity against the backdrop of Near Eastern religion generally. Ernst Troeltsch (1865–1930), professor at the University of Berlin and the
movement’s primary theologian, argued that the new historical perspectives
ruled out supernaturalistic faith entirely, and required Christians to accept the
historically relative and conditioned nature of the Bible and Christianity. Many
theologians and biblical scholars have refused to accept Troeltsch’s consistent
historicism, arguing that it does not take the Christian tradition’s theological
claims seriously enough. Nevertheless, the Religionsgeschichtliche Schule has
helped demonstrate that ancient Judaism and Christianity are not as exceptional
as traditional readers of the Bible had assumed, but are parts of a broad interconnected fabric of human culture and religion.
Contemporary Approaches to Biblical Interpretation
Historical criticism has brought genuine gains to the Protestant understanding
of the Bible. It has brought many biblical writings into sharply finer focus and
increased sensitivity for the Bible’s literary and theological diversity. More
importantly, perhaps, they have given many modern readers of the Bible an
unprecedented appreciation for what one might call the Bible’s humanity. The
Bible did not fall from the sky but was born from a deeply human and enormously intricate history. This knowledge enables many Protestants to view the
biblical writings as human works with which it is at times possible and even necessary to disagree, for example, on moral matters pertaining to the treatment of
slaves, women, or homosexuals, or on cosmological issues pertaining to the
origins of the universe. At the same time, however, historical criticism also has
a negative side. Above all, it has made it more difficult for many Protestants to
use the Bible in the ways that the Reformers held that it should be used: to
promote knowledge of and communion with God.
One common way Protestants manage the resulting challenge is by ignoring
it. Critical perspectives on the Bible are confined to the academy, while churches
continue to use and interpret the Bible in more or less traditional ways. In addition to mutual indifference, however, Protestants have developed several strategies for responding to the challenge of historical criticism. Three such strategies
are outlined here, which together map a broad terrain within which many
Protestants today navigate, moving at times closer to one strategy, at times closer
to another.
Conservative approaches
Conservative approaches to biblical interpretation reaffirm the character of the
Bible as the inspired Word of God and on that basis deny the validity of many
262 r. kendall soulen
or most of modern historical criticism’s findings and methods. The roots of this
strategy go back to Protestant Scholasticism and, to a lesser degree, Pietism. In
nineteenth-century America, the strategy was ably represented by several generations of gifted Presbyterians associated with Princeton Theological Seminary,
such as Archibald Alexander (1772–1851) and Charles Hodge (1797–1878).
Today, the approach is common among conservative Protestants such as evangelicals, fundamentalists, Pentecostals, and others.
A conservative approach to the Bible typically emphasizes the inseparability
of faith in the inerrancy of Scripture and faith in Christ. If the former falls, so
does the latter. In the words of Charles Hodge, “Faith . . . in Christ involves faith
in the Scriptures as the Word of God, and faith in the Scriptures as the Word of
God is faith in their plenary inspiration. That is, it is the persuasion that they are
not the product of the fallible intellect of man but of the infallible intellect of
God” (Hodge, 1983: 137). From this starting point, a conservative approach
typically goes on to reaffirm the harmonious and noncontradictory unity of
the Bible, its essential freedom from error, and so. Wherever the findings and
methods of historical criticism appear to challenge these views, they are rejected.
Sophisticated advocates of a conservative approach argue that historical criticism rests on a number of tenets that cannot be demonstrated by historical
investigation alone and that are finally philosophical or theological in character.
The historical critic approaches the text having decided in advance to evaluate
it according to criteria that are secular in character. Naturally this approach
yields unsatisfactory results, for it gives unwarranted normativity to the interpreter’s experience and beliefs. In the name of objectivity, historical criticism
substitutes a human-centered worldview for a God-centered one. Instead, the
conservative approach insists, one must read the Bible with unreserved trust in
its truthfulness and authority.
Yet despite its hostility toward modern historical criticism, conservative
approaches to the Bible are often modern in unwitting ways. They share historical criticism’s preoccupation with questions of evidence and historical factuality. Moreover, they are arguably no less prone to imposing external criteria on
the Bible’s message, if only by being selective in the texts they emphasize. For
example, many contemporary conservatives give great weight to the New
Testament’s few injunctions against homosexual activity, while passing quickly
over Jesus’s more extensive teachings on nonviolence.
Liberal approaches
Liberal approaches to biblical interpretation typically hold that Christians are
morally and intellectually bound to accept biblical criticism’s verdict regarding
the Bible’s human origins and historically conditioned character. This demands
in turn, they believe, a substantially new account of how Christians understand
the Bible’s authority and significance for Christian life today.
protestantism and the bible
263
An important progenitor of this strategy was the German theologian
Friederich Schleiermacher (1768–1834). Raised in the Pietist tradition, and
later professor of theology at the University of Berlin, Schleiermacher saw the
biblical interpretation of his day locked in fruitless battle between moralistic
rationalism on the one side and defensive supernaturalism on the other. He tried
to transcend the conflict by arguing (with the rationalists) that Christians must
read the Bible like any other book, while holding (with the supernaturalists) that
it contained something of supreme religious significance. This, for Schleiermacher, was the New Testament’s memory of Jesus’s religious personality, which
continued to exercise historical influence that shaped and enlarged the church’s
fellowship with God. He de-emphasized other traditional claims, such as miracles, the significance of the Old Testament, and the inspiration of the whole
canon.
Schleiermacher stands at the head of a family of liberal strategies that continue to locate the source and norm for Christian life in some aspect of the biblical witness, such as its portrait of Jesus, or its prophetic concern for justice and
liberation. However qualified, the strategy’s continued affirmation of biblical
authority put it in a line of descent from the magisterial Reformers. In contrast,
another family of liberal approaches rejects the idea that the Bible can properly
serve as a norm for Christian life today. Since all religious inheritances from the
past are historically conditioned and imperfect, Christians are justified in using
the Bible only as a source of valuable memories, symbols, images, and so forth.
Meanwhile, Christians must seek the norm for religious life in their contemporary experience of God, and future Christians will have to do the same. This strategy draws inspiration from the radical historicism of Ernst Troeltsch, theologian
of the Religionsgeschichtliche Schule, and arguably from the radical Reformers,
who sought guidance directly from the Holy Spirit apart from God’s Word in the
Bible.
The second strategy in particular has been adopted by a number of contemporary movements that interpret Scripture in light of the history, contemporary
circumstances, and aspirations of a particular historically oppressed group, such
as feminist interpretation, womanist interpretation, gay/lesbian interpretation,
and so on. Generally speaking, these movements see the modern interpreter as
standing on the same level as the biblical text, and view the relation between
them as one of dialogue, or, more realistically, struggle. The reader should take
the biblical text seriously enough to be open to its influence, especially insofar as
it can inspire Christians today to seek greater justice, human flourishing, and so
on. On the other hand, these approaches caution that the church has often used
the Bible to justify the subjugation of women and the mistreatment of minorities and dissenters. Therefore the reader must approach the Bible with suspicion
and be prepared to reject its claims whenever they seem to legitimate oppressive
interests.
Despite differences in strategy and emphasis, liberal approaches to the Bible
generally agree that it is imperative to liberate the Bible’s genuine message from
264 r. kendall soulen
the historically conditioned thought forms – not merely of accumulated tradition – but of the Bible itself. One contemporary fruit of this insistence is the
preparation of new inclusive-language translations of the Bible, which use
gender-neutral terms in place of masculine ones that are deemed to reflect the
Bible’s patriarchal origins. A moderate example of this is the New Revised
Standard Version (1989), which retains the masculine pronoun for God, but
elsewhere uses paraphrases, for example “brothers” is rendered as “brothers and
sisters” (cf. Rom 15 : 14). Liberal advocates regard such modifications as in
keeping with the Bible’s central message, while conservative critics reject them
as attempts to impose contemporary standards on the unchanging Word of God.
Postcritical approaches
A third family, known as postcritical interpretation, reaffirms the Bible’s character as the living Word of God but declines to uncritically accept or reject the
validity of historical critical perspectives on the Bible. Instead, the postcritical
perspective holds that Christians should cultivate the church’s own indigenous
ways of using and interpreting the Bible, while drawing selectively on a variety
of modern and premodern insights to help them in this task.
The postcritical approach draws inspiration from the Swiss Reformed theologian Karl Barth (1886–1968). Trained by liberal theology and historical criticism to understand and accept the Bible’s humanity, Barth nevertheless came to
believe that these approaches shortchanged the Bible’s divinity. Without rejecting the validity of historical criticism, Barth gave renewed prominence to the
Reformers’ belief that the Bible is the Word of God, the unique medium of God’s
living speech to the church. However, Barth did not understand this to mean
that the Bible possesses some inherent quality that directly mirrors God’s perfection, such as infalliblity, as the Protestant Scholastics and their conservative
heirs had long assumed. Rather, for Barth, the Bible’s deity consists in the free
and gracious use that God makes of the Bible to reveal something that transcends
its human authors, namely, God’s Word made flesh, Jesus Christ.
Postcritical theologians such as Hans Frei (1922–88) have stimulated interest in new literary approaches to the Bible such as narrative interpretation. In
his book The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative, Frei (1975) argued that the rise of historical criticism brought about a great loss of sensitivity to one central way the
Bible speaks of God, namely, through its literary qualities, and above all, through
its extended stories and realistic narratives. Precritical theologians such as
Luther and Calvin read biblical narratives with unsurpassed literary sensitivity,
in part because they took their historical veracity for granted. Once this veracity was called into question, however, critics and defenders of the Bible alike
began to pay less attention to the stories themselves than to the historical events
thought to lie behind the text. In the process, Frei held, theologians actually lost
touch with the way the biblical narratives communicate knowledge of God.
Frei’s recommendation was that Christians relearn how to read the Bible’s
protestantism and the bible
265
narratives as narratives without immediately pressing them into service as
historical reports. The biblical narratives portray the truth about God’s identity
and character more after the fashion of an oil portrait than a photograph,
distorting surface features to make accessible a deeper truth incommunicable by
other means.
Another important postcritical scholar is Brevard Childs (1923-) who has
proposed what he calls a canonical approach to biblical interpretation. Traditional historical critical methods assume that the earliest form of the biblical text
is the most important. They therefore aim to dissolve the biblical text into its
antecedent kernels, just as Graf and Wellhausen dissolved the Pentateuch into
the strands known as J, E, P, and D. But, Childs (1992) objects, this whole project
runs counter to the logic that gave rise to the Bible in the first place. Jews and
Christians deliberately put older traditions into new contexts, thereby creating
new literary wholes that are irreducible to their previous components. This
process continued until it ultimately culminated in the formation of the biblical
canon. The canon itself is a text in its own right in which all discernible units
large and small take on new hues and connotations within the whole. It therefore deserves to be taken seriously as a framework of interpretation in its own
right, especially for interpreters who regard the Bible as sacred Scripture, rather
than as documents of ancient Near Eastern religion.
Proponents of postcritical biblical interpretation hold that it draws on the
strengths of liberal and conservative approaches while avoiding their tendency
to pit the humanity and divinity of the Bible against each other. But postcritical
approaches are also vulnerable to criticism, for example, for being unclear about
whether and to what degree that truth of the Bible is tied to the reliability of its
historical statements.
The Future of Protestantism and the Bible
Protestantism was born as a reform movement within the universal church.
Yet for five hundred years, Protestantism’s relation to the Bible has helped
to make it something more akin to the great uncontrolled laboratory of Christianity, where it seems every experiment is permitted its season, with predictably
wide-ranging results. As the Protestant movement nears its sixth century, the
future of Protestantism and the Bible seems likely to be marked by the following
trends.
Protestants today adopt modern critical perspectives on the Bible as a supplement to ancient uses of the Bible rooted in liturgical and theological tradition
(e.g., prayer, preaching, praise), not as a replacement for them. This trend is likely
to continue as modern biblical criticism loses some of its former luster of intellectual superiority. Protestant scholars are more aware than they once were that
the Bible can be interpreted rationally from a variety of perspectives. The
Enlightenment goal of applying neutral criteria of judgment to the Bible has
266 r. kendall soulen
largely given way to the goal of becoming critically aware of the premises
(theological, philosophical, methodological, and cultural) that different communities bring to the study of the Bible.
Contemporary Protestant communities use and interpret the Bible through
the lens of cultural heritages other than those of Europe and North America.
This trend will certainly continue as the Protestant movement grows exponentially in Africa and the Far East while struggling in the lands of its origins. For
the foreseeable future, non-Western Protestants are likely to sift the heritage of
Western biblical scholarship with increasingly critical eyes. Today many Protestants in Asia and Africa believe it is necessary to liberate the Bible from the legacy
of Western colonialism, and find new ways to express Christian faith in terms
indigenous to their own cultures. Tomorrow, these new experiments in biblical
faith may help to revitalize Protestant churches in Europe and North America.
Finally, Protestants today are perhaps more aware than in the past of the
relative strengths of Catholic and Orthodox approaches to the Bible, which
emphasize tradition and continuity above constant experimentation. Even when
Protestant experiments bear good fruit, the communities that enjoy them are
often small and prone to fracture. If Protestants are to preserve what is worth
preserving in the Protestant relation to the Bible, therefore, they may do well to
learn more from their Catholic and Orthodox brothers and sisters than they have
in the past.
References
Calvin, John (1958). Preface to Olivétan’s New Testament (1535/43). In Joseph
Haroutunian (ed.), Calvin’s Commentaries, Library of Christian Classics, vol. 23.
Philadelphia: Westminster Press.
Childs, B. S. (1992). Biblical Theology of the Old and New Testaments. Minneapolis: Fortress
Press.
Frei, Hans (1975). The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative: A Study of Eighteenth and Nineteenth
Century Hermeneutics. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Hodge, Charles (1983). The Inspiration of Holy Scripture, its Nature and Proof. In Mark.
A. Noll (ed.), The Princeton Theology, 1812–1921. Phillipsburg, NJ: Presbyterian and
Reformed Publishing Co.
Luther, Martin (1960). Preface to the Old Testament. In E. Theodore Bachmann (ed.),
Luther’s Works, vol. 35. Philadelphia: Fortress Press.
Preus, Robert (1970). The Theology of Post-Reformation Lutheranism. St. Louis: Concordia
Publishing House.
Schweizer, Albert ([1906] 1998). The Quest for the Historical Jesus. Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins University Press.
Further Reading
Abraham, W. J. (1998). Canon and Criterion in Christian Theology. Oxford: Clarendon
Press.
protestantism and the bible
267
Felder, C. H. (ed.) (1991). Stony the Road We Trod: African American Biblical Interpretation.
Minneapolis: Fortress Press.
Gerrish, Brian A. (1982). The Old Protestantism and the New: Essays on the Reformation
Heritage. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Lindsell, Harold (1976). The Battle for the Bible. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan.
Pelikan, Jaroslav (1959). Luther the Expositor. St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House.
Preus, James (1969). From Shadow to Promise: Old Testament Interpretation from Augustine
to the Young Luther. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Reventlow, H. G. (1985). The Authority of the Bible and the Rise of the Modern World, trans
J. Bowden. Philadelphia: Fortress Press.
Rogers, Jack and McKim, Donald (eds.) (1979). The Authority and Interpretation of the
Bible. San Francisco: Harper and Row.
Schüssler Fiorenza, Elizabeth (1990). Bread Not Stone: The Challenge of Feminist Biblical
Interpretation. Edinburgh: T & T Clark.
Soulen, Richard N. and Soulen, R. Kendall (2001). Handbook of Biblical Criticism, 3rd edn.
Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press.
Steinmetz, David (ed.) (1990). The Bible in the Sixteenth Century. Durham, NC: Duke
University.
Wood, Charles M. 1981. The Formation of Christian Understanding: An Essay in Theological Hermeneutics. Philadelphia: Westminster Press.
Yeo, Khiok-khng (1998). What has Jerusalem to do with Beijing? Biblical Interpretation from
a Chinese Perspective. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 26
Protestantism and the Arts
Trevor Hart
Protestantism – the adroit castrator
Of art; the bitter negation
Of song and dance and the heart’s innocent joy –
You have botched our flesh and left us only the soul’s
Terrible impotence in a warm world.
(Thomas, 1995)
Bitter Negation
The subject of this chapter is altogether more complex and ambiguous than is
sometimes supposed, and the attempt to address it helpfully in a brief compass
behoves us to draw some careful distinctions early on. R. S. Thomas’s poetic complaint (see above) cannot be denied its legitimacy, and it finds many echoes and
resonances in the literature. That the Reformation had immediate, substantial
and negative implications for Christian attitudes to the arts is clear and is
reflected, for example, in the barbed observation of the humanist Erasmus as
early as 1526 (explaining the departure of Hans Holbein the Younger from Basel
for the Netherlands) that ‘here the arts are freezing’ (Christensen, 1996: 74; see
also Michalski, 1993: 192). The popular perception of Protestantism as characterized at best by frigid Philistinism, lacking in sensibility or serious interest in
beauty, and at worst by a determination to clamp down upon, if not stamp out,
artistic endeavour and enjoyment wherever possible, is not without foundation.
One only has to dwell (as many treatments of our theme do) on the outbursts of
iconoclastic frenzy which accompanied the Reformation’s spread across Europe
(see, e.g. Christensen, 1979, esp. chs 3 and 5; Duffy, 1992: 390ff.; Freedberg,
1988; Gutmann, 1977: 75–63; Michalski, 1993, esp. ch. 3). And yet, of course,
such caricature misses far more than it apprehends.
protestantism and the arts 269
The particular polemical context of the Reformation gave a prominence and
urgency to specific aesthetic questions. This led to a rash of acts of over-zealous
hooliganism which were supported and encouraged by some Reformers just as
surely as they were eschewed and condemned by others. For, while the overall
disposition of the Reformation towards art may be argued to have had a negative impact upon art’s immediate well-being,1 the attitudes of the Reformation’s
major theologians were far from uniform, let alone consistently negative. Nor,
of course, was the Reformation itself concerned with ‘the arts’ in any broadbrush manner. Indeed, we should note early in this chapter that our use of this
category ‘the arts’ reflects a peculiarly modern way of thinking, and despite our
given title we should avoid the distorting anachronism involved in reading a
modern conception of ‘the arts’ back into the period prior to the eighteenth
century (Wolterstorff, 1997: 6ff.). The Reformers’ concerns were directed
towards what they saw as the dangerous (i.e. idolatrous) misuse of particular
artistic objects and practices in that late-medieval Christianity which was their
wider target. In practice this meant the visual and plastic arts (chiefly painting
and sculpture) as deployed in liturgical and other religious contexts (Hardy,
1999). As we shall see, while some Protestants allowed this critical reaction to
taint their disposition toward human artistry more broadly, others distinguished
clearly between sacred and secular uses of and subjects for art, and saw the latter
as worthy human responses to God’s gift of an orderly and beautiful creation.
So art, creative imagination as such, was not the issue at the Reformation, but
the way certain themes had been and were being deployed in visual art in the
religious culture of Catholicism.
The Reformation may certainly be said to have rediscovered and reinstated an
ancient theological concern (reaching back through the centuries to the Hebraic
cast of mind of the Old Testament prophets) with the limits and legitimacy of
human attempts to represent God’s mysterious reality in material form.2 Yet, as
we shall see, it was the specific theological, socio-economic and cultural circumstances of the day that gave rise to the particularly vigorous (and at times
pathologically vicious) responses which ensued. We shall not understand its
significance or the fervour that drove it unless and until we appreciate that
those who wielded the sharpened instruments believed they were performing
life-saving surgery on a cancer, not capricious castration.
This leads us to the obvious but important observation that what Reformation attitudes and practices with respect to the visual arts amounted to at
that particular moment of history is not the whole story of Protestantism’s relationship with the arts as such, nor the index of its capacities. It may be that
deep and persisting patterns of an unnecessary and unhelpful sort were etched
on the very soul of Protestantism by the vigour with which these battles
were originally fought, resulting in a more dispersed suspicion of the creative
arts (what John McIntyre, 1987: 7 dubs Protestant ‘iconophobia’), especially
in any context which juxtaposes them directly with Christian faith. So, for
example, in seventeenth-century England we find John Bunyan prefacing
his classic The Pilgrim’s Progress with an apology aimed at Puritan readers
270 trevor hart
for whom divinely revealed truth should never be sullied by association with
the ‘dark figures’ and allegories thrown up by human imagining (see Bunyan,
1954: 1–7). Others in other ages have doubtless felt a similar need to justify
their endeavour to bring faith and artistry together in one way or another.
But the history of Protestantism nonetheless manifests a wide variety of different attitudes to, and accommodations of, art in relation to life, faith and
theology. In identifying some of these, a question which may helpfully be
kept in view is how far Protestantism, with its distinctive theological emphases,
possesses resources for a positive evaluation of human artistry, and how
far it may be supposed to have benefited (or to possess resources capable of
benefiting) the arts.
Such a wider perspective must not, though, lose sight of the critical concerns
of the Reformers. For, however precisely focused and overstated these may
sometimes have been, and however morally problematic the actions to which
they sometimes led may appear, they arose from insights that are of abiding and
wider aesthetic and theological significance. Indeed, in an age where, for many,
aesthetic experience has effectively substituted itself for religious faith as a perceived window onto ‘spiritual’ realities (see Pattison, 1999, esp. ch. 1), we may
find that Reformation perspectives possess a curious freshness, reminding us
of things which some theological approaches to art (not least some in the
Protestant tradition) appear to have forgotten or broken faith with. In what
follows, while concentrating chiefly on the historical context out of which distinctively Protestant attitudes to human artistry were born, I shall suggest that
Protestantism is indeed capable of developing a positive theological account of
and engagement with the arts which, precisely in its affirmation of them, constrains and criticizes as it locates human creativity in relation to God’s own. In
John de Gruchy’s words, it proves to be ‘iconic and aniconic at the same time’,
the challenge being to maintain that tension faithfully and creatively (de Gruchy,
2001: 27).
‘Goodly Sights’: On the Eve of Iconoclasm
Concern about the appropriate use of images in ‘the nonverbal mediation of religious belief ’ (Hardy, 1999: 6) did not suddenly emerge fully fledged in the early
sixteenth century. Its history is as ancient as Christianity itself, and those
Reformers who chose to do so were able to draw upon a long tradition of theological reflection on the subject. The substantive theological issue, as we have
already noted, was that of the capacity of creaturely (and, more specifically,
material) reality to represent, and thereby mediate, the reality of God; or,
perhaps, the capacity of God to be known through such things. For Christians
this issue was, and is heightened by, the core claim that God, while wholly other
than the created world, has actually appropriated creaturely form, chiefly in the
incarnation, but also through the physicality of baptism and the Eucharist, and
protestantism and the arts 271
more broadly in engaging directly with the life and history of his creatures. The
modes of presence and activity posited are different in each case; but each
involves the relationship between God and the creature being mediated by
physical things.
None of this was lost on exponents of icons in the Byzantine debate which
rumbled on from the seventh to the ninth centuries.3 So, for example, John of
Damascus (c.665–749) argued directly from the incarnation that veneration of
images of Jesus could not be judged idolatrous, since God himself had rendered
himself in human form. It could not be breaking the second commandment to
honour a picture of God’s own self-imaging in the flesh. Opponents of icons,
though, held that this defence was specious, and simply proved the idolatrous
nature of such worship. What was pictured in such images was precisely the
humanitas, the ‘flesh’ of Christ, and not his deity (which by definition could never
be pictured). So those who venerated them were not worshipping God, but only
a creaturely physical reality behind which the invisible and mysterious reality of
God remained hidden. Both parties were agreed that the image as such was not
to be confused with God. Where they differed was on its capacity to refer beyond
itself to God, and to direct human worship appropriately. Those who advocated
the use of images thus developed a sophisticated theology of iconic transparency,
insisting that in worship the mind’s eye was naturally directed through the visual
symbol to terminate on the mysterious reality beyond it. To collapse these two
levels of reference, or to separate them from one another, so that attention was
directed onto the image as such was to fall into a crass literalism, untrue to their
proper understanding and use.
Similar arguments can be found among Western writers of the later medieval
period concerning religious art. Images, they insist, without being God are
nonetheless capable of figuring or signifying God in such a way as to inform the
mind and move the affections in worship. William Durandus (in his Rationale
Divinorum Officiorum of 1286) cites approvingly some verses inscribed on an
altar frontal in Bergen, reminding worshippers of the fundamental distinction
between that which they see with their eyes corporaliter, and that which their
hearts and minds are meant to discern spiritualiter (Camille, 1989: 203). It is the
transcendent referent which is the proper object of worship, and not the physical image itself. The same careful insistence is found in Thomas Aquinas
(c.1224/5–74) who, typically, cites Aristotle in support of his view:
As the Philosopher says (De Memor. et Remin. i) there is a twofold movement of the
mind towards an image: one indeed towards the image itself as a certain thing;
another, towards the image in so far as it is the image of something else. . . . Thus
therefore we must say that no reverence is shown to Christ’s image, as a thing –
for instance, carved or painted wood. . . . It follows therefore that reverence should
be shown to it, in so far only as it is an image. (Summa Theologica 3, Q. 25, Art. 3,
cited in Camille, 1989: 207)
Given this circumspect understanding, Bonaventure (1217–74) confidently
identifies three vital functions of the religious image: to educate the illiterate
272 trevor hart
masses concerning core doctrinal and narrative tenets of the faith (he refers
to images as ‘more open Scriptures’), to arouse due devotion and inculcate a
worshipful disposition since ‘our emotion is aroused more by what is seen than
by what is heard’, and to imprint certain vital truths on our memory (Liber III
Sententiarum, IX, a. 1, q. 11, cited in Jones, 1977: 84). In each of these regards
visible images were observed to be more efficient than the written or spoken
word, and a higher value came to be placed upon them.4
This practical exaltation of image over word in medieval piety reminds
us, though, that iconoclasm can never escape the image per se, since the word
functions by its capacity to evoke or generate mental images of one sort or
another, and nowhere is this more apparent than in the Christian Scriptures. To
speak and think of God as Lord, or father, or shepherd, or rock is just as surely
to trade in images as to paint or sculpt him as such. But Bonaventura’s observation about the superior efficacy of the physical image for certain devotional
purposes draws attention helpfully to an important distinction between physical
and mental images which may hold particular significance in liturgical and
devotional contexts. The very solidity and sensuousness of the painting or sculpture impresses itself upon us with a degree of inflexibility and permanence,
drawing our attention to the image itself and as such.
As Immanuel Kant was to observe much later, judgments about beauty are
always judgments about particular manifestations of it, and questions such as
‘what is it meant to be?’ are irrelevant to the case.5 An object may well be ‘an
image of X’, but in so far as we judge it to be beautiful, we are looking at it with
all such considerations bracketed out, and allowing it to impress itself upon us
in all its sheer particularity. Beauty, we might say, is by nature opaque. In the
case of the mental image, though, the opposite appears to be the case. As
philosophers in the twentieth-century phenomenological tradition observed, if
we strip away the reference ‘is an image of ’ then nothing whatever remains to
look at, and we realize that a mental image has no existence in and of itself; it is
inherently transparent, has its existence precisely as a vehicle for directing us to
something else; is, in fact, ‘a way of thinking about’ something else.6 It is, we
might say, anhypostatic, having its proper meaning and force only in its vital
relation to something else. This leads us to ask whether the mental image (evoked
or painted in our mind’s eye through the word) may be more naturally suited to
the careful distinction between image and prototype which the religious context
demands? Or, put negatively, is it likely that the physical image with all its sensuous affect will be more prone to collapsing these two levels with idolatrous outcomes? The Reformation, we should observe, was more a response to the grass
roots popular religion of the late medieval period than to the highest thoughts
of its theologians. The masses had not read Aquinas and, as Michael Camille
(1989: 207) notes, the need for constant reiteration of a sophisticated ‘visual
code’ during the period indicates at least the ever-present danger of popular
misunderstanding.
In practice, as Camille’s study shows, this danger was realized in all manner
of ways. From the late thirteenth century onwards there can be traced an
protestantism and the arts 273
erosion of any popular awareness that images were to be looked through rather
than looked at. Instead, there was to be found an increasing attention and devotion to the image itself and as such, and the investment of it with powers and
status unbefitting its reality as, in itself, a mere aesthetic object. A frankly superstitious preoccupation with the tangible paraphernalia of religion captured the
public imagination and, in due course, spawned an entire economy as a veritable ‘image explosion’ (Camille, 1989: 219) ensued. As William Jones notes,
‘Popular piety filled the churches of Europe with a diversity of sacred art – rood
screens, wall-paintings, stained-glass windows, crucifixes, statuaries, reliquaries and monstrances’ (Jones, 1977: 83). To patronize the production of such
devotional objects (whether for use in churches or domestically) came to be
viewed as, in itself, an act of pious ‘good works,’ and Europe’s artistic community rapidly adapted itself to this growing market (Jones, 1977: 86–7; Camille,
1989: 214).
Spiritual, economic and wider political concerns became mixed up in this
development, and thus iconoclasm, when it arrived, was laying an axe to the
root of an entire social status quo in which the wider populace was heavily
invested. Its chief focus remained, though, a theological and spiritual one.
Statues and paintings (not just of Christ, but depicting God the father and – most
frequently – the Virgin and other saints) had become the focus of individual
middle-class cultic guilds established to maintain them, and were regularly
invested with miraculous powers and associated with profound (and often
bizarre) visionary experiences (Camille, 1989: 223–4). Such objects – increasingly realistic rather than abstract in their depiction (Camille, 1989: 213–14;
Hardy, 1999: 7) – were used in liturgical drama and festival processions and, as
one study observes, readily acquired ‘an aura of peculiar sanctity as divine personalities or presences’ (Forsyth, 1972: 49, cited in Camille, 1989: 223). This
popular fascination with cultic physicality was further stimulated and seemingly
underwritten, as Camille notes, by the religious establishment when, in 1215,
the Fourth Lateran Council promulgated the eucharistic doctrine of transubstantiation (in which the creaturely realities of bread and wine were held to
‘become’ – rather than simply ‘figuring’ or referring the worshipper through
themselves to – the body and blood of Christ), a development further reinforced
by the instigation of the Feast of Corpus Christi in 1264 (Camille, 1989: 215).
Nobody was formally suggesting that religious images were to be afforded analogous treatment, but popular imagination had been decisively encouraged to
identify rather than to disentangle signifier and signified. If the result did not
amount to ‘idolatry’, then it was hard to see what ever would.
‘Unseemly Representations’: Reformation Responses
This centrality of the cult of the image to the web of late medieval religion helps
us to understand the otherwise seemingly odd attention granted to aesthetic
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concerns at the Reformation. One recent study has suggested that ‘The Reformation may even be regarded as a contest over the meaning and control of
images, their power to save and to damn, and the legitimate authority or tyranny
they represented’ (de Gruchy, 2001: 38). Like modern studies in the sociology of
knowledge, the Reformers in their own way recognized the powerful hold which
image-based media may have upon the human spirit, and their capacity to shape
and control religious, political and moral identity for good or ill (Freedberg,
1989). However, while the major Reformers were agreed in their opposition to
the idolatry which they perceived in the Roman church, they differed as regards
the practical implications of suppressing or correcting it.
Among the earliest and most radical responses was that of Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt (1486–1541) (see Zorzin, 2002). When Martin Luther fled
for the relative safety of the Wartburg, in the wake of his condemnation by the
Diet of Worms in 1521, Karlstadt implemented a rigorous reform of worship at
Wittenberg, including the abandonment of clerical vestments and the removal
from churches and destruction of all religious images. In writings such as his
1522 treatise, ‘On the Removal of Images’, Karlstadt advocated the use
of Mosaic law in the civic sphere, deprecated the role of scholarly learning in
interpreting Scripture (and, indeed, the value of the arts and humanities for
Christians), and urged all Christians to follow the immediate dictates of the Holy
Spirit (see Dillenberger, 1990: 90; Sider, 1978). In response to such urgings
by Karlstadt and others, many clearly judged themselves led by the Spirit to
implement without further delay the apparently clear and relevant injunction
of the second commandment (Exodus 20: 4–5a), regardless of official ecclesiastical or civil jurisdiction, and a spate of disorderly and illegal ransackings of
churches ensued. Civic authorities were placed under huge pressure, and some
were forced effectively to authorize in retrospect actions of violent iconoclasm
for fear of the unrest and destruction getting completely out of hand. Others
managed to effect a gradual and staged process while they weighed the possible
political and economic consequences of their actions (Christensen, 1979:
107–48). There can be little doubt that it was widespread public support that
led to the spread, both unofficial and official, of rigorous iconoclasm where it
occurred. As so often, though, democracy proved to be an unreliable index of
truth, and the groundswell was theologically unsophisticated and often at the
mercy of educated extremism.
More moderate than Karlstadt, but nonetheless unrelenting in his insistence
that visual and plastic art be banished from liturgical and devotional contexts,
was Ulrich Zwingli (1484–1531) whose influence among people and city
magistrates alike in Zurich resulted in 1524 in ‘an orderly but thorough destruction of virtually all material accessories to worship’ (Christensen, 1979: 107).
Zwingli had no time for illegal acts of iconoclasm (see, e.g. Potter, 1976: 130–1).
Nor (unlike some in the Radical Reformation) was he an opponent of the arts
as such. Trained as a humanist, he retained respect for the cultural products
of antiquity, and valued the highest achievements of the human spirit in
any sphere (see Klauber, 2000) so long as they did not engender attitudes or
protestantism and the arts 275
practices incompatible with a Christian piety and hope properly focused on God
alone through faith (Potter, 1976: 114–15). False bearings here were, he
believed, by definition idolatrous and the essence of Godlessness.7 Even artistry
with a religious theme was tolerable for Zwingli, so long as it did not intrude
on devotional contexts where it might give rise to inappropriate feelings of
reverence.8
Thus, what Bonaventure had celebrated as the image’s positive gain (its
capacity to arouse and direct the emotions in worship) Zwingli eschewed as its
chief weakness since, he held, fallen human beings are naturally prone to false
worship and, despite the careful distinctions of scholastic theologians, images in
church or other devotional situations inevitably become the occasion of idolatry and rob God of the worship due to him alone. Images of Jesus are especially
inappropriate and dangerous (though purely ‘historical’ representations of him
in depictions of gospel scenes are acceptable outside churches and for nondevotional use), dealing only at the level of the sensuous and unable to communicate the true Christ to us (Stephens, 1986: 174) – a clear echo of the
ancient iconoclasts’ insistence that images could not show forth the deity but
only the ‘flesh’ of the Saviour. For Zwingli, too, the religious image was spiritually opaque, rendered such by human sinfulness rather than its own incapacities or anything in the nature and capacities of God. His insistence that religious
subjects in art must be purely ‘historical’, though, indicates resistance to
any pictorial depiction of God even for non-devotional ends. The second commandment, therefore, Zwingli held to be binding on Christians as a prescription
against the deployment of the visual arts inside places of worship, a divine
strategy for the avoidance of an otherwise inevitable idolatry.
Martin Luther’s (1483–1546) attitude to religious images was more ambiguous.9 For Luther the Reformation was always first and foremost about another
theological issue altogether; namely, the doctrine of justification by grace
through faith rather than works. Compared to this, he considered the matter
of paintings and sculpture in church adiaphora – a matter of relative unimportance. Indeed, he insisted, no amount of smashing and burning could get rid
of superstitious idolatry, since this was lodged deep in the sinful human
heart and was likely to be established even more firmly there by any external
attempt to dislodge it; whereas, once the heart was liberated by faith from the
snares of works-righteousness, the ritual abuse of wood and stone in an attempt
to court favour with God would be bound to cease, having no further motive
force.10 Luther’s stated opposition to the religious image, therefore, centred primarily on its appropriation within and bolstering of a false understanding of
how to stand justified before God. He also objected strongly to the huge amounts
of money consequently invested in producing and venerating such images,
money which could and should have been spent in alleviating poverty and
human distress.11
Luther certainly never resorted to the somewhat crude ‘because the Bible says
so’ warrant for iconoclasm (the more violent manifestations of which he considered to be a triumph for the devil rather than Christ).12 Indeed, he interpreted
276 trevor hart
the second commandment explicitly as a gloss on the first, a proscription of the
making and use of plastic ‘gods’ as such, and not a prohibition on representative artistry more widely, even for use in church.13 More broadly, Luther resisted
the idea that Judaic ceremonial law is binding on Christians, it being part of what
has been abrogated by the New Covenant. Possession of images, therefore, he
considered to be a matter of Christian freedom, though the superstitious veneration of them was clearly sinful and to be abandoned. Luther’s thought on the
matter evolved, though, from critical and cautious tolerance to recognition of
the value of the image as a device for shaping religious identity in positive, rather
than negative, ways. Human beings, he insisted, cannot help forming images of
the objects of their attention and reflection. The religious image is merely an
extension of the mental image. If, therefore, ‘it is not a sin but good to have the
image of Christ in my heart, why,’ Luther inquires, ‘should it be a sin to have it
in my eyes?’14 We have suggested above one reason why to do so might be more
likely to furnish the occasion for sin, but Luther follows Bonaventura in advocating the benefits of religious art. For Luther, though, these benefits lie solely
in pedagogy, ‘for the sake of remembrance and better understanding’ among the
faithful.15 Prioritizing of the Word was not, therefore, exclusive of the image
since the ‘Word’ could, ironically, be faithfully painted and etched just as surely
as it had been made flesh. As we shall see, this concession was to provide a new
impulse for established art forms, and the development of entire new forms and
media.
Iconoclasm had been adopted and implemented as official policy in Geneva in
1535 (Michalski, 1993: 59). When John Calvin (1504–64) arrived in the city a
year later, therefore, he had no need to engage in the sort of urgent polemics
designed to shape immediate praxis, and his eventual published reflections on
the question of religious art betray the advantages of careful systematic reflection over impulse and rhetorical overstatement. Calvin is often listed together
with Karlstadt, Zwingli and others as, at heart, an iconophobe (Michalski, 1993,
ch. 2), and the theological tradition associated with him has frequently been
named as the chief perpetrator of art’s adroit castration.16 The 1559 edition of
the Institutes of the Christian Religion reveals, though, a more complex and subtle
understanding than we might expect to find. Calvin, unlike Luther, is certainly
emphatic in his rejection of images in liturgical and devotional contexts. His
criticism is directed chiefly towards visual representations of God as such (rather
than portrayals of Christ or the saints) and reflects the tenor of his wider doctrine of God. While he appeals to the abiding force of the Mosaic law, therefore,
the foundation for Calvin’s rejection of such art is his insistence that God so transcends the creaturely order that any attempt at visual depiction amounts to a
denigration of his glory and majesty (see Inst. I.xi). ‘Unseemly representations’
are, that is to say, not only inadequate to bear the weight of transcendence but
contradict God’s very being and profane his name. Since the chief end of human
beings is to know God truly and to offer him due worship (Inst. I.iii.3) it follows
that all figurations of deity must be prohibited absolutely, in church and
elsewhere.
protestantism and the arts 277
Calvin also banishes all images of other sorts from the sanctuary, rejecting
their alleged pedagogical value on the grounds that the human soul inclines naturally to idolatry wherever the opportunity for it arises (Inst. I.xi.9), that many
of the likenesses (of virgins, martyrs etc.) to be found in medieval churches were
actually morally dubious (‘examples of the most abandoned lust and obscenity’,
Inst. I.xi.7), and that there would be far fewer ‘unlearned’ Christians in the first
place if the Church took seriously its responsibility to preach the Gospel and
teach basic doctrine (ibid). Interestingly, this unstinting iconoclasm in the sacral
sphere was not carried through in its domestic counterpart where – recognizing
that the context in which an image is viewed has everything to do with its
meaning – Calvin was content for believers to keep visual depictions of biblical
narratives (Michalski, 1993: 70).
This distinction between sacral and secular spheres of life forms an important
part of the Renaissance background to Calvin’s thinking, and emerges in his attitude towards the arts in particular (Ramsay, 1938: 12–17). Despite the admittedly damning comments that he makes about the presumption and dangers of
the visual arts in church, it is misleading to suggest that Calvin had ‘a negative
attitude towards human creativity and imagination’ more widely.17 While he
inevitably insists that true creativity belongs to God alone, Calvin celebrates the
second-order powers of imagination and invention (‘the mother of so many marvellous devices’) with which God has invested the human soul (see Inst. I.v.5,
I.xv.6) and identifies artistic vision and skill as among those things which the
Holy Spirit ‘distributes to whomever he wills for the common good of mankind’
(Inst. II.ii.16). These gifts, he notes, are distributed ‘indiscriminately upon pious
and impious’ (Inst. II.ii.14), being part of that common grace which is nonetheless to be acknowledged and admired by believers (together, for example, with
the great learning of philosophers and scientists) lest, ‘by holding the gifts of the
Spirit in slight esteem, we contemn and reproach the Spirit himself ’ (Inst.
II.ii.15).
Indiscriminate rejection or belittling of the arts, therefore, is an affront to God
just as surely as is their misuse in the sacral sphere. God, Calvin insists elsewhere
– in a passage which shows him to be anything but aesthetically frigid – has provided for his creatures things which ‘seem to serve delight rather than necessity’
(Inst. III.x.1), and we should enjoy them as he intended us to. A purely utilitarian philosophy denigrates God’s beneficence, ‘robs a man of all his senses and
degrades him into a block’ (Inst. III.x.3). Of course, Calvin steers carefully away
from any apparent condoning of unbridled sensory excess. The key principle is
that things should be enjoyed in accordance with their divinely intended end.
Hence, painting and sculpture are to be enjoyed as gifts of God, ‘conferred upon
us for his glory and our good’. In the hands of fallen creatures they can and have
been abused (not least in the sacral context), but there is ‘a pure and legitimate
use’ of them to be enjoyed (Inst. I.xi.12). The artist, Calvin suggests, should
depict only that ‘which the eyes are capable in principle of seeing’, whether ‘histories and events’ or ‘images and forms of bodies’ (ibid.). We may take ‘capable
of ’ as meaning in principle rather than in fact, and read this as permissive of a
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degree of imaginative invention and licence. But it is clear that Calvin, following upon his absolute resistance to the visual figuration of God, is uncomfortable with figurative depiction more broadly. It is in this particular sense that he
emits negative signals about the imaginative (which functions on the basis of
tracing and constructing analogies and metaphors) and fails to appreciate the
more than mimetic capacities of art in engaging with the wonders of God’s creation. As John de Gruchy (2001: 41) has noted, it is a pity that Calvin did not
allow his commitment to Chalcedonian Christology to inform him more directly
at this point. The relationship between the two ‘natures’ of the Son of God, while
admitting of no confusion whatever, must yet be capable of figuration if the
humanity is truly to inform our understanding of God, as Calvin insists it does
(e.g. Inst. II.xiv.3). Indeed, the logical structure of the incarnation as Chalcedon
presents it comes tantalizingly close to that of metaphorical predication, in
which both unity and distinction must be maintained without loss, which
always contain(s) the whisper, “it is and it is not” (McFague, 1982: 13), but in
which one reality accommodates itself in giving another, strikingly different,
reality to be known.18 The accommodation involved in incarnation, in other
words, might have afforded Calvin both a model for a more adequate account of
poetic vision, and, perhaps, a basis for reckoning with the possibility that God
might lay hold of human artistry and render it capable of illuminating his way
of working in the world and its history.
Refocusing the Eyes of Faith?
Given the variety and complexity of Reformation responses to ‘aesthetic’ questions, we should expect the progeny to be mixed, and history does not disappoint
the expectation. As Paul Tillich (himself a Protestant theologian for whom
positive engagement with the arts was vital to the substance of theological
reflection and construction) observes, the broad pattern reflects directly the
Reformation preoccupation with the Word, and reveals a relative ‘lack of the arts
of the eye’ in Protestant life (Tillich, 1964: 214). Those art forms where the
ear is privileged – music and literature (the latter effectively baptized into this
category by virtue of its oral roots and the practice of reading Scripture aloud)
– have increased while other forms (including drama whose significant oral
aspect is eclipsed by its visual and concrete nature) have decreased. This, Tillich
holds, is theologically unfortunate since ‘the very nature of the Spirit stands
against the exclusion of the eye from the experience of its presence’ (ibid). We
have seen that there are Christological reasons for supporting this claim, though
the concerns about idolatry which haunted the Reformers should not be lightly
pushed aside in a rush to rediscover the role of ‘the eyes of faith’.
The roots of the Reformation in the Renaissance protected the arts from any
wholesale destruction or neglect, and secured instead a reorientation of sensibility and a redistribution of energy within Protestant artistry.
protestantism and the arts 279
As a religion of the Word it would be surprising if Protestantism had not made
some positive contribution to the literary arts. A theological emphasis placed on
the appropriation of the message of Scripture by the individual believer led to
the production and sale of large numbers of small-format Bibles, prayer books
and collections of sermons in vernacular translations and, while it is difficult to
correlate the evidence precisely (not everyone who purchased such books could
necessarily read them!), a recent study concludes that there can be little doubt
that the Reformation was at least one strong impulse among a number leading
to a demonstrable increase in literacy during the sixteenth century in Europe
(Maag, 2000: 543). It has been noted that John Calvin, himself a product of a
solid humanist education, made a substantial contribution to the adaptation of
the French vernacular for the purposes of philosophical and theological discourse (in the past these ‘high’ matters had been the preserve of Latin) at a time
when its use by artists such as Rabelais was in its vulnerable infancy (Ramsay,
1938: 15). In broad terms, then, Protestantism may be said to have encouraged
both the development and popular appreciation of literature. More specifically,
it has been argued that this ‘bookish’ impulse, together with a deepened appreciation of individual perspective and the everyday concerns of the ‘ordinary’
believer, fed directly into the emergence of the novel as a literary form in the
eighteenth century (see e.g. Watt, 1987: 74–85).
The most obvious ‘art of the ear’ is music, and although some Protestant
traditions have retained the caution shown by certain Reformers about music’s
capacity to shape human feeling and thereby detract from the intellectual and
spiritual purity of the Word in worship (see Wilson-Dickson, 1992: 64ff), most
have enthusiastically sung their faith as well as reading and speaking about it.
For Martin Luther, himself a musician of considerable gifts, music was second
only to theology in its importance for faith; this was due both to its role as a
natural vehicle for the promulgation of the Word, and its capacity, in unison
with the poetic articulation of faith, to dispose the heart and the spirit appropriately toward God (see Stewart, 1914: 57). As well as composing hymns,
Luther was an enthusiastic plagiarizer of popular melodies, borrowing folk
tunes, children’s songs and the like, and replacing profane with religious lyrics.
This policy of ‘redeeming’ melody from popular culture (continued by others
since, including the renowned eighteenth-century hymn writers Isaac Watts
and John and Charles Wesley) (see Westermeyer, 1998: 203ff) has succeeded in
enabling congregations to participate fully in the musical elements of worship.
While it may not itself constitute high culture, it has undoubtedly been effective
in inculcating a basic musical awareness and appreciation among the gathered
faithful. In any case, we ought not to underestimate the musical worth of much
popular hymnody over the centuries, and from Luther’s German Mass onwards
vulgar forms have generally been juxtaposed with more aesthetically refined
elements in worship. We should not forget that, before the advent of recording
technology, church was one of relatively few places where an opportunity regularly to hear and participate in music was available to most people. In the development of the Western musical tradition, therefore, Protestantism may be
280 trevor hart
supposed to have played at least two distinct roles: first, in drawing otherwise
uncultured people into a positive relationship with music through congregational singing, and second as patron to musicians and composers who, both
alongside and through their regular liturgical duties, were able to pursue their
artistry to the full. An obvious (if somewhat exceptional) example is the
Lutheran J. S. Bach (1685–1750) who composed more than three hundred cantatas for liturgical use (many of which may only have been intended for use
once) but also took the use of the keyboard as a solo instrument to hitherto
unknown heights (see Stewart, 1914: ch.VI) and thereby placed his stamp decisively upon musical history.
Although Tillich is correct to suggest that ‘the arts of the eye’ have been relatively disadvantaged in Protestant spheres of influence, it is important not to
overstate what is indeed a matter of relativity. Here, too, the story is a mixed one.
In the immediate wake of the Reformation many painters, sculptors and woodcarvers certainly found themselves effectively robbed of a market, and to the
economic hardship which this produced must be added the forced interruption
of living traditions which should have handed on both skills and a body of
interpretation to the next generation (Christensen, 1979: 164–80). Where one
branch of artistic opportunity was pruned, though, others quickly sprouted and
grew. Highly decorated shrines and crucifixes were no longer wanted, but appropriately decorated pulpits and altar surrounds were. The burgeoning technology
of the woodcut, initially developed within the monastery but largely secularized
during the Renaissance, was now drawn back into the church’s sphere of influence for both pedagogical and propagandist purposes. Illustrated Bibles and
prayer books abounded, and single-sheet broadsheets attacking the Catholic
Church hierarchy were mass produced and circulated (see Pettegree, 2000: 468;
Christensen, 1979: 170). Recognition of the political power of the image (especially the mass-produced image) also led to some of the Reformers permitting
their portraits to be painted or sketched. Lucas Cranach the Elder’s (b.1472)
famous woodcut depictions of Martin Luther were not born of vanity or adulation, but from a deliberate political desire to depict the reformer ‘as man of God,
and, later, as statesman of the church, in counterbalance to the hostile propaganda of his adversaries’ (Pettegree, 2000: 472).
Nonetheless, a century or so later in the solidly Reformed Netherlands, as
Simon Schama notes, even ‘Impeccable Calvinists were not averse to sitting for
their portraits’ (Schama, 1999: 211) and for considerations of a rather different sort! Portraiture, indeed, remained one obvious source of patronage for the
painter, and as a subject of artistic concern undoubtedly received a boost from
the secularizing impulse of the Reformation, its theological emphasis on the
importance of the individual, and its affirmation of humanity as created in
(albeit fallen from) the image and likeness of God, while never to be confused
with its Creator. So, too, the early development of rich traditions of landscape
and ‘still life’ painting may be traced in significant part to what from one perspective must be viewed as the liberation of the medium from subservience
to the church and its concerns, and the growing interest (for example in
Calvinism) in ‘what the eye can see’, namely, the created order in all its complex
protestantism and the arts
281
glory (Kuyper, 2000: 147, 167; Ramsay, 1938: 85ff.). In numerous ways, therefore, in the visual as well as other arts, we see that what the culture of Protestantism has led to is not a dark and forbidding sky against which the brilliant
course of occasional artistic meteors may be traced, but a reorienting and refocusing of the artistic ‘gaze’, including a secularizing and humanizing impulse
(Macmillan, 1990: 8). And this is not in spite of its theology, but a direct reflection of its convictions about how God is properly to be understood as related to
the world he has made.
While painting discovered many new secular subjects for its gaze, though,
religious ones remained important. Works by Dürer (1471–1528), Cranach the
Elder and Holbein the Younger (b.1498) all reveal a vibrant Protestant (mostly
Lutheran) religious imagery in the early sixteenth century, though it is one in
which a profound shift of theological and practical emphasis may be discerned,
away from the needs of religious devotion, and towards pedagogy.19 Theological
themes (e.g., the Lutheran polarity of law and gospel) and realistic scenes from
scriptural narrative dominated this emergent tradition of religious art in a bid
to exploit the benefits of the visual, ‘showing’ the Word, without collapsing back
into the perceived failings of medieval visual piety (see Christensen, 1996:
76–7).
A century later, in the Dutch Republic ultra-Protestantism held politics and
culture firmly in its sway. The young Rembrandt van Rijn (1606/7–69) was
born and raised in Leiden, also the birthplace of the growing religious conflict
between the ‘Remonstrants’ and ‘Counter-Remonstrants’ which would eventually engulf the whole Republic with its aftershocks. Its ‘resolution’ at the
Synod of Dort in 1619, when Rembrandt was just 12 or 13 years old, imposed
a strict Calvinist government upon his homeland, and one which represented
the more iconoclast end of the spectrum of Protestant sympathies. Even in this
religiously highly sensitized city – a ‘temple of the Word’ as Schama (1999: 209)
dubs it – inventories of the personal effects of the deceased reveal the existence
of a healthy market not just for images of secular subjects, but also for paintings
of Christian ‘religious history’, narrative scenes from both testaments of the
Bible, now purposed for domestic rather than cultic use (Schama, 1999:
196–215). Rembrandt himself was to serve both markets, though in his hands
the distinction between secular and sacred rather breaks down as his attention
to ordinary everyday scenes assume a distinctly ‘theological’ dimension, all
things being bathed in the light radiated by a sense of God’s justice and mercy
as Tim Gorringe (1995) suggests, while his explicitly ‘religious’ images often
concentrate our gaze more on the human and this-worldly aspects of the
story depicted than on the interventions of a supposed remote transcendence.
In as much as Rembrandt evokes a theology, that is to say, it is one which,
without any loss of sense of mystery, nonetheless sees that mystery as present
in the midst of every human circumstance, and transfiguring it. It is not just
a theology of ‘common grace’, but one that eschews the very distinctions
which this category presupposes, and sees instead the redemptive presence of
God in Christ ‘taking flesh’ again in the midst of the general, the ordinary and
the everyday.
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Getting the Relationship Right
As the great Calvinist writer Abraham Kuyper (1837–1920) observed in his
1898 Stone lectures, the key problem by then was once again that of carefully
disentangling the religious from a damaging conflation of it with the aesthetic,
and it was Protestant rather than Catholic perspectives which he now had in
mind as perpetrating a new and virulent mode of idolatry (Kuyper, 2000:
142ff.). The rush of romantic voices to fill the spiritual vacuum left by rationalism at the end of the eighteenth century had had a profound impact on Protestant theologians, and nowhere more so than in relation to their views on the
religious or ‘spiritual’ significances of art. The radical immanentalism of the
philosopher Schelling (1775–1854), according to whom art was a vital means
by which human spirit (and thereby the divine Spirit of which it is a direct manifestation) comes to self-expression (Berlin, 2000: 98), is closely related to
Feuerbach’s (1804–72) understanding of religion itself as a symbolic projection
of an unconscious self-awareness onto the clouds. The perception of the entire
physical, biological and historical ‘process’ as a bid for self-consciousness and
self-expression by the mysterious forces of ‘Spirit’ led naturally to an association
of human culture with ‘the religious’, and of art or ‘high culture’ in particular
with the most fully realized forms of this bid. For many thinkers, not least those
who had become disenchanted with the old theological dogmas so effectively
‘deconstructed’ by rationalist accounts, the aesthetic gaze (for art was understood here precisely as the occasion for contemplation) seemed now to provide
a privileged alternative route of access to knowledge of ‘the divine’. It was not
that art was once again being conscripted into ecclesiastical service. This time
the imperialistic intent was in the opposite direction entirely; ‘nature’, ‘culture’
and ‘art’ were lodging a bid for the territory of faith as their own, and claiming
the prerogatives of the divine for this world. The Christian doctrine of the incarnation, Hegel (1770–1831) had suggested, was a symbolic expression of the
idea that God and humanity were essentially already one. Incarnation was a
cosmic principle rather than a unique interruption of historical continuities by
God’s particular kenotic ‘becoming’. Art, with its careful attention to the world,
was thus viewed by many as already a site of ‘religious’ or spiritual concern. The
aesthetic gaze was equivalent to worship (see Pattison, 1999: 22).
We are back here with the very issues that so haunted the Reformers, and
which provoked their ire, not least the effective loss of the vital distinction
between created and uncreated, God and the world, and the consequent misdirection of the human ‘religious’ impulse. As in the sixteenth, so too in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries there followed responses which tended
unhelpfully in the direction of immediate suspicion if not denigration of the arts
and their place. There was, we might say drawing on a familiar Christological
analogy, a swing from a ‘monophysite’ to a ‘Nestorian’ tendency in the perception of the relationship between the two. At the beginning of the twenty-first
century, though, we find ourselves back with monophysitism. A sudden rush
protestantism and the arts 283
from arid secularism to embrace some form of ‘spiritual’ reality, combined with
a conviction that it is unlikely to be found within the mainstream religious traditions, promote art and artistry once again as prime candidates for alternative
sources of ‘spiritual’ satisfaction.
As Kuyper realized in his day, the most fruitful response from the churches
will likely be one which neither baptizes the arts as surrogate sacraments, nor
one which rejects them, or seeks to sideline or stifle their contribution to the rich
complexity of human living; but rather one which locates them with their own
distinctive integrity within a theologically informed vision of humanity, and of
God’s purposes for and ways of dealing with the world. Kuyper’s own attempt to
do this had its problems, but the attempt itself was well conceived, and has been
continued by others within the Neo-Calvinist tradition (see, e.g. Rookmaaker,
1970; Seerveld, 1980; Wolterstorff, 1997). It is an attempt which, whatever the
particular theological problems raised by different versions of it,20 succeeds in
putting paid to the prejudice with which we opened this chapter. Protestantism,
far from being incapable of accommodating the arts within its distinctive vision,
and no matter how many times it has, in Thomas’s words, ‘botched our flesh’,
is nonetheless a tradition or set of traditions possessed of rich theological
resources for rediscovering the true value of human artistry and its significance
for us as God’s creatures, firmly embodied in the physical processes of nature,
equally firmly embedded in those webs of cultural forms (including ‘religious’
ones) which point to our transcendence of mere physicality, and called by God
to a distinctive vocation and end (see Wolterstorff, 1997: 67–90).
Notes
1 See, for example, on the decline of German art tradition in the late sixteenth century,
Christensen, (1979: 164–80).
2 See de Gruchy (2001: 36). See further and more generally pp. 17–49.
3 For a thorough account of the history and issues see Cameron (1992). More
concisely see Parry (2000).
4 See Jones (1977) drawing on the testimony of Durandus.
5 See Kant (1987: 64): ‘Beautiful is what, without a concept, is liked universally’. See
further, §9: 61–4.
6 So, for example, Ryle (1963, ch. VIII) and Sartre (1972). For a full critical account
see Warnock (1976, Part IV).
7 See Stephens (1986: 154–5). Zwingli writes ‘Whoever has sought help and
confidence from a creature which the believer ought to seek only with God, has
made a foreign god for himself ’ ([1523] 1984: 69).
8 ‘Outside church as a representation of historical events without instruction for
veneration, they may be tolerated.’ (Zwingli, ([1523] 1984: 71).
9 What follows in this paragraph is based largely on the helpful overview provided in
Christensen (1979: 43–65).
10 See sermon preached on 11 March 1522 (LW, vol. 51: 83). Also ‘Against the
Heavenly Prophets’ (1525) in LW (vol. 40: 84–5).
284 trevor hart
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
See sermon preached on 12 March 1522 (LW, vol. 51: 86).
See LW 40:105.
See LW 40:86.
See LW 40:100.
LW 40:99. See also LW 43:43.
Cf, for example, the observation of P. T. Forsyth (1905: 145) that ‘If our spirits
habitually think of Nature as cursed and God-forsaken we can have no more Art
than Calvinism has left to Scotland.’
De Gruchy (2001: 41–2), drawing on a fleeting and unsubstantiated assertion in
Bouwsma (1988: 80).
Janet Martin Soskice (1985: 49–51, 64–6) describes metaphor as possessed of
unity of subject and plurality of associative networks (one hypostasis, two
natures?), and as involving the positing of some striking or prima facie strained
conjunction.
On these three figures in particular see Pettegree (2000: 462–83).
For a critical analysis of some key thinkers in the Neo-Calvinist tradition, and
an attempt to build constructively on their insights see Begbie (1991), esp.
pp. 142–258.
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The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 27
Protestantism and Politics,
Economics, and Sociology
J. Philip Wogaman
In relating Protestantism to sociopolitical thought and development, one is
struck by a paradox: Protestant churches, movements, and thinkers have played
and continue to play important roles on all sides of most issues. Protestantism
was a significant influence in the development of modern capitalism, but was
also important in the evolution of socialist thought. Protestantism has been a
major force in the struggle against racism, but it also helped provide legitimation for racial segregation and apartheid. Protestantism has been a principal
support for pacifism, but it has also been in league with nationalistic movements
and war efforts of one kind or another. Protestantism has encouraged human
rights and political democracy, but it has in some instances been a factor in the
emergence of totalitarianism. Protestantism has been on both sides in the great
debates over abortion and homosexuality that have troubled Western societies
in recent years.
Why the paradox? As a preliminary observation, the very fact that Protestantism was a movement toward religious freedom made it also a force toward
religious and social pluralism. Roman Catholicism was never as monolithic as
often supposed, but as a revolt against the authoritarian tendencies in that faith
tradition, Protestantism could be expected to produce a rich variety of ecclesial
styles and teachings.
It may be a mistake to attribute the Enlightenment to Protestantism, but it is
also worth noting that Protestantism was much more receptive to its influences,
including those bearing directly upon sociopolitical and economic thought.
Does that suggest that Protestantism has had a greater tendency toward cultural
accommodation, taking on the coloration of dominant secular cultural forces
in particular settings? Possibly so, but the lines of influence can flow in both
directions: just as secular culture has influenced Protestant faith and life, so
Protestantism has influenced secular culture. H. Richard Niebuhr’s classic work,
Christ and Culture (Niebuhr, 1951) explores several sharply divergent types of
288 j. philip wogaman
relationship between spiritual commitments and cultural realities. Niebuhr
(1894–1962) – who was incidentally brother of Reinhold Niebuhr – devoted
early attention to sociology of religion, focusing later on theology and ethics.
His Christ and Culture is at the intersection between these two emphases. Richard
Niebuhr’s work is also an illustration of how profoundly Ernst Troeltsch’s
classic study of the relationships between church and society (Troeltsch [1911]
1931) influenced both sociology of religion and Christian social ethics.
Troeltsch’s magisterial survey of 19 centuries of Christian history well illustrates that Christians and their churches have sought to relate their faith to
social issues in every age. That may be especially true in the decades following
publication of Troeltsch’s work, and despite the paradox, it is certainly true of
Protestantism.
Protestantism and Politics
If politics can be understood as a community when it acts as a whole,1 special
attention must be paid to attitudes toward the power that is thus focused to
achieve social purposes. Specifically, attention must be given to power as coercion. Protestantism has exhibited three contrasting tendencies in addressing
questions of coercive power.
The first of these, often taking its cue from the Sermon on the Mount (esp.
Matthew 5–6), rejects the use of force, either by sectarian withdrawal from the
political sphere2 or by engagements with public life through solely nonviolent
forms of influence. The latter has been well illustrated by the Society of Friends
(Quakers), whose pacifist witness has been remarkably consistent for more than
three centuries. This approach to power was exemplified by the Russian novelist/philosopher Leo Tolstoy, who taught that human nature is essentially good.
If the coercive instruments of state, such as police, armies, and prisons, could
be removed, that innate human goodness could be expected to flourish (see especially Tolstoy, 1885 and [1905] 1961). While Tolstoy was not himself a Protestant, his pacifist and anarchist views were largely derived from New England
Quakers (especially Adin Ballou). One of the best exemplars of recent Protestant
pacifism was the Mennonite theologian John Howard Yoder (see Yoder, 1972).
Yoder’s views are especially significant because he has largely avoided the more
sectarian tendencies of Mennonite Christianity, expressing that community’s
typical pacifism in more sophisticated theological form. Yoder, unlike Tolstoy, had
few illusions concerning the perfectability of human nature. Sin is a real and
persisting tendency in all human beings. And yet, Jesus has shown the way.
Jesus’s way of nonviolence – as expressed in the Sermon on the Mount – is politically effective. If it had not been, he never would have been crucified! By following the way of Jesus, we can also be effective, though not always in the
foreseeable future. Jesus, too, was temporarily defeated through his crucifixion.
But, through the resurrection, God confirmed the way of Jesus. It is not our
protestantism, politics, economics, sociology
289
responsibility to seek to manage the course of history. We are to be faithful to
Jesus’s way, and we can trust God to take care of the end results.
In what way can such pacifist tendencies be regarded as specifically Protestant? While pacifism also has ancient Christian roots – indeed, earliest Christianity may have been predominantly pacifist – the Protestant recovery of an
emphasis upon the political relevance of the Bible may be very important here.
The widespread use of the Bible among Protestants, commencing with Luther,
invited fresh reading, especially of the Gospel narratives and teachings of Jesus.
The second Protestant political tendency is more covenantal. It is to understand the state as an expression of the social contract among the participants in
society. The basic idea has very ancient roots, the germ of which can be found
in Socrates (as related by Plato) and the early Stoic tradition. The Enlightenment
social contract theorists, especially Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau, projected it
into the modern world. Of these, Locke was most distinctively a Protestant
Christian, but it is debatable whether his ideas were more theological or philosophical in origin. The contract tradition is the basic source of democratic
thought in the modern world. So far as Protestantism is concerned, it was
expressed most distinctively in the Calvinists, notwithstanding some of John
Calvin’s own authoritarian tendencies.
What was it about Calvinism that proved especially receptive to those
more ancient and more philosophical expressions of democratic thought?
It can be argued that it was Calvinism’s emphasis upon the sovereignty of
God, transcending every human expression or authority. If God is greater
than all human beings and if, as the Calvinists also emphasized, all humanity is
flawed by original sin, then it follows that no human being or elite oligarchy
can be entrusted with unqualified power. Power, broadly distributed through the
body politic, is responsible and self-correcting. All must be free to participate
since all can also, at least potentially, be responsive to the transcending will
of God.
Mainline Protestant denominations have generally provided broad support
for democracy, including those human rights that are basic to participation by
all of the people. The World Council of Churches’ early (1948) formulation of
the “Responsible Society” is a good illustration:
Man is created and called to be a free being, responsible to God and his neighbour.
Any tendencies in State and society depriving man of the possibility of acting
responsibly are a denial of God’s intention for man and His work of salvation. A
responsible society is one where freedom is the freedom of men who acknowledge
responsibility to justice and public order, and where those who hold political
authority or economic power are responsible for its exercise to God and the people
whose welfare is affected by it. Man must never be made a mere means for political or economic ends. Man is not made for the State but the State for man. . . . For
a society to be responsible under modern conditions it is required that the people
have freedom to control, to criticise and to change their governments, that power
be made responsible by law and tradition, and be distributed as widely as possible
through the whole community.3
290 j. philip wogaman
That statement well summarizes the increasingly dominant Protestant attitude
toward democracy, including the linkage between responsibility to God and to
the community, and with an underlying realism about political power.
The latter point had been anticipated by Reinhold Niebuhr’s familiar aphorism, “Man’s capacity for justice makes democracy possible; but man’s inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary” (Niebuhr, 1944: xiii). Niebuhr
himself, while a pacifist in his earlier career, became a strong proponent of
American entry into World War II. His “Christian realism” can be contrasted
with Yoder’s position, at least in that Niebuhr considers it imperative for
Christians to take responsibility for their actions and to do whatever they can to
achieve actual results that express their social convictions. His opposition to the
Vietnam War, which surprised many, was therefore not a return to his earlier
pacifist leanings; rather, it was based upon his assessment of the realities of that
war.
In the latter part of the twentieth century a more conservative evangelical
movement found its voice in American politics. Under the leadership of figures
like Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, and Ralph Reed, movements like the Moral
Majority and the Christian Coalition sought to achieve dominance in American
politics on behalf of conservative positions on cultural issues like abortion and
homosexuality and on economic issues such as, especially, the economic role of
government. While not all of the evangelicals could be described as fundamentalists, their political movements often sought support from chosen scriptural
texts, taken literally. The most literalistic of the conservative movements was
undoubtedly Reconstructionism, founded by the American fundantalist Rousas
Rushdoony, whose objectives included the structuring of public life exactly along
biblical lines, including the Levitical Code with all of its legalisms and severe
punishments. While such an extremist is an embarrassment to the more moderate political views of most evangelicals, the latter have generally exhibited
intolerant attitudes toward non-Christians as equal participants in public life.
Further complicating the picture, some evangelical Protestants have taken the
view that they should not participate in politics at all. (That would include the
Amish and the Hutterians, among others.)
Protestants thus have presented widely divergent approaches to politics. Over
time, the main weight of Protestant opinion has probably been best represented
by the ecumenically minded churches and their theologians. While these Protestants can disagree on major issues – such as the question of war – they are united
in their commitments to democracy and equal human rights for all.
Protestantism and Economics
Early in the twentieth century, the German sociologist Max Weber contributed
a seminal work on the influence of Protestantism on the development of modern
protestantism, politics, economics, sociology
291
capitalism (Weber, [1904–5] 1930). While he did not (as commonly supposed)
consider Protestantism to have caused capitalism to emerge in Western society,
he did attribute the peculiar cultural form of Western capitalism to Protestant
influence. Weber was especially impressed by the Protestant doctrine of vocation, especially in its Calvinist form. We are all “called” by God to service in the
world. In that Protestant form, the word “vocation” is not limited to those who
are called to a priestly role in the church; it includes all useful employment. In
economic life, that doctrine translated into an activist work ethic, thus into a
strong impetus toward productive enterprise. We should not be content with
things as they are; we should improve them, to the greater glory of God.
As Weber sees it, this not only contributed religious fervor to the acquisitive
instinct associated with capitalism, it added a certain almost ascetic dimension.
We should act to increase the sum total of wealth, but we should be good stewards of that wealth, devoting it not so much to our own selfish consumption as
to other good works. Weber takes the principal founder of Methodism, John
Wesley, to exemplify something of that spirit. In his writings on economic
matters, that eighteenth-century British leader summarized Christian responsibility in three parts: gain all you can, save all you can, and give all you can.
Evidently the early Methodists were more receptive to the first two of these than
to the third, for Wesley bemoans the effects of Methodist economic prosperity
upon Methodist spirituality:
I fear, wherever riches have increased, the essence of religion has decreased in the
same proportion. Therefore I do not see how it is possible, in the nature of things,
for any revival of true religion to continue long. For religion must necessarily
produce both industry and frugality, and these cannot but produce riches.
But as riches increase, so will pride, anger, and the love of the world in all its
branches. . . . We ought not to prevent people from being diligent and frugal; we
must exhort all Christians to gain all they can, and to save all they can; that is, in
effect, to grow rich. (quoted in Weber, 1930: 175)
That dilemma suggests the complexity of understanding how Protestantism
has influenced economic life. Clearly, Protestantism has often been supportive of
capitalism. Indeed, as Weber has reminded us, Western capitalism has flourished
most in precisely those places that have been most receptive to Protestantism,
particularly in its Calvinist or Reformed expressions: Switzerland, Scotland,
England, the United States. In such places, the captains of industry and commerce have been, at least historically, more visibly Protestant than anything else.
But it remains a nice question whether, as Wesley remarked, economic success
has contributed to or diminished the ardor of their religious commitments. In
some cases, indeed, economic success allied with Protestant spirituality may give
rise to self-righteousness: I have worked hard, I have been diligent, I have played
by the rules, therefore God has rewarded me with success. People who are less
well-off than I may be poor because they have not been as diligent and respon-
292 j. philip wogaman
sible as I have. Periodically, even today, the attitude surfaces in visible form that
spiritual piety is rewarded with economic success. The late nineteenth-/early
twentieth-century American Bishop William Lawrence preached that “in the
long run, it is only to the man of morality that wealth comes. . . . Godliness is in
league with riches.” The speech, frequently repeated before appreciative audiences of people in an economic position to feel reassured by such words, reinforced a persisting tendency among many Protestants to affirm capitalism as a
divinely ordained economic order. A twentieth-century journal, Christian
Economics, was sent free of charge to Protestant clergy throughout the United
States through the kindly generosity of a very wealthy Presbyterian layman.
Every page of the publication made clear that a Christian economics is one
altogether committed to laissez faire capitalism.4
It is striking that much of the reaction against unrestrained capitalism also
had Protestant roots. The Christian Socialism of mid-nineteenth-century
England is a case in point. While the leading figures of this movement, especially
the English theologian F. D. Maurice, may have been vague about the economic
implications, they were clear that economic competition should be subordinated
to economic cooperation. We are all a part of the same human community,
divinely intended to become the “Kingdom of Christ.” Maurice criticized, equally,
the “unsocial Christians and the un-Christian socialists” (Maurice, 1884: 35).
A more clearly socialist alternative among Protestants was supplied by the
German Christoph Friedrich Blumhardt (1842–1919) and the American leader
of the Social Gospel movement, Walter Rauschenbusch (1861–1918).
Blumhardt confronted the spiritual consequences of the greed inspired by
Capitalism:
And now, when Socialism sets up the goal that every person have an equal right
to bread, that matters of ownership be so arranged that neither money nor property but the life of man become the highest value, why should that be seen as
a reprehensible, revolutionary demand? . . . Resistance will be of no avail, because
it is God’s will that all men in every respect should be regarded equal. (Eller, 1980:
23)
On economic matters, Rauschenbusch was also essentially socialist. While not
all of the leading figures in the Social Gospel movement were clearly socialist,
the movement was characteristically critical of unrestrained capitalism and the
greed that it seemed to foster. The Social Gospel movement itself is generally
dated from 1865 to the outset of World War I (1914), but its influence continued
throughout the twentieth century in various ways. The Liberation Theologians
of the 1970s and 1980s, both Protestant and Catholic, were even more clearly
socialist, often discernibly influenced by Marxism.
As the twenty-first century began, Protestant economic thinking continued
to be expressed in diverse ways. If anything, however, Protestants had become
less ideologically definable. After the ending of the Cold War and the virtual collapse of Marxism as a world movement, global economic relationships had
become more clearly defined by free market institutions. Protestant thinkers,
protestantism, politics, economics, sociology
293
while not uncritical of excesses and inequalities fostered by those patterns, have
yet to articulate clear alternatives.5
Protestantism and Sociology
It would be difficult to establish a meaningful relationship between Protestantism, as such, and sociology as an academic discipline. However, if “sociology” is understood to mean thought about society in more general terms, much
more can be said. Are there discernible patterns of Protestant thought regarding race relations, the family, sexual relations, gender, cultural values, and so
forth? There definitely are, although again Protestantism exhibits diversity of
thinking.
In respect to race relations, Protestants were numbered both among the
stoutest defenders and most resolute critics of racism and racial segregation (or
apartheid). Much racism in the modern world was projected out of the seventeenth- to nineteenth-century institution of slavery (especially in America).
While slavery has a history reaching to prehistoric times, the reinforcement of
slavery by racism is a product of more recent history. The slavery practiced in
recent centuries was mostly through the enslavement of dark-skinned Africans.
In the slavery controversies of nineteenth-century America, Protestants (mostly
Southern) supported the institution by questionable biblical exegesis purporting
to represent divine judgment of persons of color. The cause of slavery itself was
defeated, first through the British abolition of the slave trade and then through
the freeing of American slaves following the Civil War. Nevertheless, the racist
ideologies used to justify slavery persisted in the support of racial segregation
(and in the support of South African apartheid).
Even comparatively liberal Protestant thinkers often either shared the ideology or were silent. (Interestingly, the Social Creed adopted by the newly formed
Federal Council of Churches of the United States in 1908 was silent on race relations, despite the passing of laws enforcing segregation in Southern states
during that period and the many incidents of lynching.) As late as 1936 a prominent, and otherwise quite liberal, Methodist theologian, Albert C. Knudson,
spoke at the General Conference of the (then named) Methodist Episcopal
Church in support of racial segregation in the church. God had, in his view,
created the races separate and intended to keep them that way!6
Such a perspective was to shift dramatically after World War II. This was
partly as a result of greater wartime racial intermingling, partly influenced by
careful studies by social scientists demonstrating the inherent equality of
persons of different racial groups and the social causes of perceived inferiority,
and partly due to more careful theological analysis. The major Protestant
impetus toward racial equality and integration was, however, from African
American Protestant leaders, most notably Martin Luther King, Jr. Dr King energized the Civil Rights Movement and captivated the imagination of the nation.
294 j. philip wogaman
By the end of the twentieth century racism and racial segregation were thoroughly repudiated in virtually all Protestant churches.
On two sociocultural issues, abortion and homosexuality, Protestantism
has yet to achieve any kind of consensus. Protestants are to be found on both
sides of the battle lines over abortion, in both the “prolife” and “prochoice”
camps. Complicating matters further, some Protestants take the view that abortion should be a legal option but in most instances morally disapproved. Former
President William J. Clinton remarked, somewhat in this vein, that abortion
should be safe, legal, and rare. But other Protestants, including especially the
evangelicals, have sought legal prohibitions. Yet others support freedom of
choice and feel that a range of circumstances warrant moral as well as legal
approval.
Among American Protestants the homosexuality issue proved especially divisive during the last quarter of the twentieth century. Major Protestant denominations, such as the Presbyterians, Methodists, United Church of Christ,
Disciples, Episcopalians, and Lutherans were driven by conflict over this issue.
Should homosexual persons be allowed to exercise pastoral ministry? Should
pastors be allowed to officiate at services solemnizing marriage-like relationships
between persons of the same gender? Negative responses to such questions
tended to dominate in the major denominations, but with very substantial
dissent.
Similar conflict has concerned the relative status of men and women. From
about the middle of the twentieth century, most of the major Protestant denominations became advocates of equal status in society. Increasingly, they applied
the same principle to their own life, most notably with the ordination of women
as clergy. By the end of the century, that had become quite routine in a number
of the principal denominations – with Southern Baptists being the main exception in that, although they do ordain women, their ministry is hedged about with
significant restrictions. In similar vein, the language used in liturgies and hymns
became more inclusive. Generic male language was changed and, with increasing frequency, the use of exclusively male language in referring to God was
avoided.7
Reflections
In surveying this somewhat confusing picture, one is struck by the sheer
diversity of Protestant views and practices. On some matters (such as the
condemnation of racism) Protestantism seems to have arrived at consensus.
On other issues, the differences among Protestants (even within the same
denomination) can be quite as great as the differences between Protestants and
other Christians. Moreover, one observes considerable changes of viewpoint over
time.
protestantism, politics, economics, sociology
295
Why the diversity? Why the conflicts? Why the changes? Some might say it is
because Protestantism lacks central agreed-upon sources of authority for its
views. In one sense that may be so. Even the common appeal among Protestants
to the Bible is as much a source of conflict as of consensus. The Bible is itself a
battleground between fundamentalist Protestants and those who make less literalistic uses of Scripture. Those who look for authoritative answers to political,
economic, and social questions, either in a written scripture or in ecclesial
authority, are courting disillusionment.
But that does not mean that Protestants lack authoritative bases for their
response to such questions nor that they are dependent upon the shifting perceptions and values of a given cultural milieu. Rather, I think, it is that Protestantism – at least at its best – is responding to a more transcendent and spiritual
source of authority. If one believes that God is infinitely greater than we are, the
implication is that all questions must remain open to fresh insight. “New occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth,” as the Protestant
nineteenth-century poet James Russell Lowell reminds us. Protestantism could
reverse itself on the issue of slavery and could embrace democracy and human
rights in general because of an underlying conviction that the eternal God is not
to be identified absolutely with any social order or system. Democracy could find
support among Protestants because that political tendency is, in principle, most
open to self-correction and the empowerment of all citizens.
But Protestantism has also responded most readily to an expansive understanding of God’s grace – that is, the love of God for all people, despite
their imperfections. Such doctrine is an affirmation, at the root, of the inclusive
bonds of community. It is a caution against the ever-recurring tendencies among
the religious toward self-righteousness. We are all sinners standing in the
need of God’s grace. Hence, the impetus toward love of people who are very
different is reinforced by fundamental religious doctrine. Translated into, say,
economic policy this undergirds a drive toward overcoming poverty. Economic
ideology must be subordinate to the practical questions of what really does
benefit people and what does minimize the effects of status divisions within
society.
We can note finally that there has been a persisting endeavor among Protestants to harmonize their attitudes toward society in general with their ecclesiologies – their views and practices in the structuring of their churches. To be
sure, some Protestants have retreated into sectarian isolation, regarding the
world as totally corrupt and beyond reform. And some Protestants have relegated their churches to secondary status. But for those taking both church and
world seriously, the drive toward the integrity of ecclesiology and social doctrine
is much more consistently expressed. The social pronouncements of many
Protestant denominations and of the modern ecumenical movements in
which they supply principal leadership are often a reflection of that integrity.
Those who criticize Protestant practice often do so on the basis of Protestant
assumptions.
296 j. philip wogaman
Notes
1 The definition is elaborated in Wogaman (2000: 11–32).
2 A tendency well illustrated by the Bruderhof communities, cf. the writings of
Eberhard Arnold or J. Heinrich Arnold (Farmington, PA: Plough Publishing
House).
3 World Council of Churches (1948: 200–1). The use of generic male language,
culturally typical of the period, can be noted with regret.
4 One’s impression, upon reading many issues of that publication, is that the message
was essentially that of the Austrian school of economics and figures like Ludwig von
Mises, and that the original Protestant emphases upon the sovereignty of God and
doctrines of vocation and stewardship were subordinated to that.
5 Daniel Finn’s volume Just Trading (1996) is an illustration of thoughtful analysis.
While Finn is Roman Catholic, his work was developed out of ecumenical dialogue
involving both Protestants and Catholics sponsored by the Churches’ Center for
Theology and Public Policy. By the twenty-first century it had become difficult to
distinguish the work of Protestant from Roman Catholic ethicists and theologians on
economic questions.
6 It should be noted that some Protestant theologians, such as Reinhold Niebuhr, took
a diametrically opposed view. Niebuhr’s 1932 classic, Moral Man and Immoral Society,
includes a section speculating on how African Americans could attain completely
equal status in American society.
7 The popular hymns of Brian Wren are an especially good illustration. Universityrelated divinity schools and the seminaries of “mainline” Protestant denominations
gave increasing support to these trends.
References
Eller, Vernard (ed.) (1980). Thy Kingdom Come: A Blumhardt Reader. Grand Rapids, MI:
Eerdmans.
Finn, Daniel (1996). Just Trading: On the Ethics and Economics of Internationl Trade.
Nashville, TN: Abingdon.
Maurice, Frederick (ed.) (1884). The Life of Frederick Denison Maurice: Chiefly Told in his
Own Letters. New York: Scribner.
Niebuhr, H. Richard (1951). Christ and Culture. San Francisco: Harper and Row.
Niebuhr, Reinhold (1932). Moral Man and Immoral Society. New York: Scribner.
Niebuhr, Reinhold (1944). The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness. New York:
Scribner.
Tolstoy, Leo (1885). My Religion. New York: Crowell.
Tolstoy, Leo ([1905] 1961). The Kingdom of God is Within You. New York: Farrar, Straus.
Troeltsch, Ernst ([1911] 1931). The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches, 2 vols. New
York and London: Macmillan.
Weber, Max ([1904–5] 1930). The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans.
Talcott Parsons. New York: Scribner.
Wogaman, J. Philip (2000). Christian Perspectives on Politics, rev. edn. Louisville, KY:
Westminster/John Knox.
protestantism, politics, economics, sociology
297
World Council of Churches (1948). Man’s Disorder and God’s Design, vol. 3. New York:
Harper & Bros.
Yoder, John Howard (1972). The Politics of Jesus. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.
Further Reading
Rauschenbusch, Walter (1907). Christianity and the Social Crisis. New York and London:
Macmillan.
Wogaman, J. Philip (1993). Christian Ethics: A Historical Introduction. Louisville, KY:
Westminster/John Knox.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 28
Protestantism, Law and
Legal Thought
John Witte Jr.
Most Western nations today are dedicated to the rule of law and have constitutions that define the powers and provinces of political authorities and the
rights and duties of their political subjects. Most nations make formal distinctions among the executive, legislative and judicial powers of government and
functions of law, and distinguish among bodies of public law, private law,
and criminal law, each with its own forms and norms of due process of law. Most
have sophisticated rules and procedures to facilitate the legal transactions
and interactions of their citizens and subjects and to resolve disputes between
and among citizens and the government. Most recognize multiple sources of
law – international treaties and conventions, national constitutions, statutes,
regulations, judicial precedents, customary practices and so forth. Protestantism
has made significant contributions to a number of these Western legal
ideas and institutions – particularly during the Protestant Reformation era in
Europe and in later Reformed and evangelical movements on both sides of the
Atlantic.
Reformation Era
The sixteenth-century Protestant Reformation was, in part, an attack upon
the legal power and political structure of the medieval Catholic Church. Since
the twelfth century, the Western Christian church had been organized as an
autonomous political authority in Western Christendom holding the legal power
of the spiritual sword. The medieval church claimed a vast jurisdiction – power
to make and enforce laws governing doctrine, liturgy, clergy, church property
and polity, marriage, family, inheritance, trusts, education, charity, contracts,
moral crimes and more. The church developed a system of canon laws that was
protestantism, law and legal thought 299
enforced by a hierarchy of church courts and clerical officials spread from Italy
to Ireland, from Portugal to Poland.
The Protestant Reformation began as a call for freedom from this regime –
freedom of the individual conscience from canon laws, freedom of political officials from clerical power and privilege, freedom of local clergy from centralized
papal and conciliar rule. “Freedom of the Christian” was the rallying cry of the
early Reformation. Catalyzed by Martin Luther’s posting of the Ninety-Five
Theses in 1517 and his burning of the canon law books in 1520, Protestant
leaders denounced canon law and clerical authority with unprecedented
alacrity and urged radical legal and political reforms on the strength of the new
Protestant theology.
All the early Protestant leaders – Martin Luther, John Calvin, Thomas
Cranmer, Menno Simons and others – taught that salvation comes through faith
in the gospel, not by works of the Law. Each individual was to stand directly
before God, to seek God’s gracious forgiveness of sin, and to conduct life in accordance with the Bible and Christian conscience. To the Reformers, the Catholic
canon law administrated by the clergy obstructed the individual’s relationship
with God and obscured simple biblical norms for right living.
The early Reformers further taught that the church was at heart a community of saints, not a corporation of law. Its cardinal signs and callings were to
preach the Word, to administer the sacraments, to catechize the young and to
care for the needy. The Catholic clergy’s legal rule in Christendom obstructed
the church’s divine mission and usurped the state’s role as God’s vice-regent
called to appropriate and apply divine and natural law in the earthly kingdom.
To be sure, the church needed internal rules of order to govern its own polity,
teaching, and discipline. Church officials and councils needed to oppose legal
injustice and combat political illegitimacy. But, for most Protestants, law was
primarily the province of the state rather than the church, of the magistrate
rather than the minister.
These new Protestant teachings helped to transform Western law in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The Protestant Reformation broke the international rule of the Catholic Church and the canon law, permanently splintering
Western Christendom into competing nations and regions, each with its own
religious and political rulers. The Protestant Reformation triggered a massive
shift of power and property from the church to the state. State rulers now
assumed jurisdiction over numerous subjects previously governed by the church
and its canon law, such as marriage and family life, property and testamentary
matters, charity and poor relief, contracts and oaths, moral and ideological
crimes.
In Lutheran and Anglican polities, the state also came to exercise considerable control over the clergy, polity, and property of the church, forcibly divesting the Catholic Church and its clergy of huge property holdings and
periodically subjecting Catholic and Protestant dissenters to severe repression.
In Calvinist polities, church and state officials shared power and property more
evenly, though often with no less severe consequences to traditional Catholic
300 john witte jr.
institutions or to new Protestant nonconformists. Most Anabaptist communities
withdrew from civic life into small self-sufficient communities that were governed internally by biblical principles of discipleship, simplicity, charity, and
nonresistance and that set their own standards of worship, discipline, and
education.
These massive shifts in legal power and property from church to state in
Protestant lands did not break the ties between law and Christianity. For all of
the Reformation’s early anticanonicalism, many Protestant magistrates and
jurists eventually transplanted Catholic canon law rules and procedures directly
into their new state laws. Protestant authorities trimmed these canon laws of
Catholic theological accretions that they found obsolete or offensive. But they
retained many canon law norms and forms that were grounded in Scripture and
Christian tradition, applying them in many of the new civil statutes and court
decisions.
Moreover, Protestant leaders brought some of the new Protestant theology
to direct and dramatic legal expression. For example, Protestant theologians
replaced the traditional Catholic idea of marriage as a sacrament of the church
with new ideas of the marital household as a social estate, covenantal bond, or
little commonwealth of the earthly kingdom. On that basis, Protestant jurists
developed a new state law of marriage, featuring requirements of parental
consent, state registration, church consecration, and peer presence for valid
marital formation, and introducing absolute divorce on grounds of adultery,
desertion, and other faults, with subsequent rights to remarry at least for the
innocent party.
Protestant theologians replaced the traditional understanding of education
as a teaching office of the church with a new understanding of the public school
as a “civic seminary” for all persons to prepare for their Christian vocations. On
that basis, Protestant magistrates replaced clerics as the chief rulers of education, state law replaced church law as the principal law of education, and the
general callings of all Christians replaced the special calling of the clergy as the
raison d’être of education.
Protestant theologians introduced a new theology of the “three uses” of the
moral law set out in the Bible, particularly the Ten Commandments. On that
basis, Protestant jurists developed arresting new biblical theories of natural law
and equity; introduced sweeping changes in civil laws of social welfare and
moral discipline; and developed an integrated theory of the retributive, deterrent, and rehabilitative functions of criminal law and of ecclesiastical and
domestic discipline.
Protestant theologians, particularly Anabaptists, emphasized the voluntary
qualities of the Christian faith – that an adult individual must make a conscientious choice to accept Christ, to scale the wall of separation between the fallen
world, and to enter into the garden of religion. Though initially rejected, this
idea eventually became an important cornerstone for later Western legal theories of liberty of conscience and free exercise of religion.
protestantism, law and legal thought 301
Later Reformed Accents
While each of the four main branches of the Reformation, and the sundry
denominations that grew from them, continued to influence discrete legal and
political institutions in the following centuries, it was the Reformed and evangelical movements that eventually translated these early Protestant teachings
into the most influential legal and political reforms in the West.
Various Reformed writers converted Martin Luther’s famous doctrine that a
person is at once sinner and saint (simul iustus et peccator) into a firm anthropological foundation for later Western theories of democracy and human rights.
On the one hand, these Reformed Protestants argued, every person is created in
the image of God and justified by faith in God. Every person is called to a distinct
vocation, which stands equal in dignity and sanctity to all others. Each is a
prophet, priest, and king and responsible to exhort, to minister, and to rule in
the community. All thus stand equal before God and before their neighbors.
Every person is vested with a natural liberty to live, to believe, to love and serve
God and neighbor, and is entitled to the vernacular Scripture, to education, to
work in a vocation. On the other hand, these Reformed Protestants argued, every
person is sinful and prone to evil and egoism. All need the restraint of the law
to deter them from evil and to drive them to repentance. Every person needs the
association of others to exhort, minister, and rule him or her with law and with
love. Each individual, therefore, is inherently a communal creature, and belongs
to a family, a church, a political community.
These social institutions of family, church, and state are divine in origin and
human in organization. They are created by God and governed by godly ordinances. They stand equal before God and are called to discharge distinctive godly
functions in the community. The family is called to rear and nurture children,
to educate and discipline them, to exemplify love and cooperation. The church
is called to preach the word, administer the sacraments, educate the young, and
aid the needy. The state is called to protect order, punish crime, and promote
community. Though divine in origin, these institutions are formed through
human covenants. Such covenants confirm the divine functions, the created
offices, of these institutions. They also organize these offices so that they are protected from the sinful excesses of officials who occupy them. Family, church, and
state are thus organized as public institutions, accessible and accountable to
each other and to their members. Particularly the church is to be organized as
a democratic congregational polity, with a separation of ecclesiastical powers
among pastors, elders, and deacons; election of officers to limited tenures of
office; and ready participation of the congregation in the life and leadership of
the church.
From the later sixteenth to the later eighteenth centuries, various Reformed
groups recast these theological doctrines into democratic norms and forms.
Protestant doctrines of the person and society were cast into democratic social
302 john witte jr.
forms. As all people stand equal before God, they must stand equal before God’s
political agents in the state. As God has vested all people with natural liberties
of life and belief, the state must ensure them of similar civil liberties. As God has
called all to be prophets, priests, and kings, the state must protect their constitutional freedoms to speak, to preach, and to rule in the community. As God has
created people as social creatures, the state must promote and protect a plurality of social institutions, particularly the church and the family.
Protestant doctrines of sin, in turn, were cast into democratic political forms.
The political office must be protected against the sinfulness of the political official. Political power, like ecclesiastical power, must be distributed among selfchecking executive, legislative, and judicial branches. Officials must be elected to
limited terms of office. Laws must be clearly codified and discretion closely
guarded. If officials abuse their office, they must be disobeyed. If they persist in
their abuse, they must be removed, even if by revolutionary force or regicide.
These Protestant teachings were among the driving ideological forces behind the
revolts of the French Huguenots, Dutch Pietists, and Scottish Presbyterians
against their monarchical oppressors in the later sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. They were crucial weapons in the arsenal of the Puritan revolutionaries in seventeenth-century England and eighteenth-century America. They
remained important sources of inspiration and instruction during the great
modern age of democratic construction on both sides of the Atlantic.
New Evangelical Accents
While Reformed legal and political thought continued to influence the Western
tradition until the twentieth century, evangelical accents became increasingly
prominent in the nineteenth and early twentieth century, particularly in
America.
The rise of American evangelical legal and political influence was, in part,
a function of simple demography. American evangelicals had their roots in
small colonial Baptist and Anabaptist communities, many clustered in Roger
Williams’s Rhode Island. Their small size and separatist leanings kept them
from exercising much political influence at first. The First Great Awakening
(c.1720–70), however, divided many Protestant denominations into traditional
Old Light and evangelical New Light groups. It also sparked the rise of Baptist
and Methodist churches, whose leaders joined others to secure constitutional
guarantees of religious liberty for all. The Second Great Awakening (c.1810–60)
splintered and stunted traditional Reformed, Anglican, and Lutheran denominations still further and led to the explosive growth of Baptists and Methodists.
The rise of evangelical legal and political influence was also, in part, a function of theological innovation. While nineteenth-century American evangelicals did not work out a detailed new political theology or theological
jurisprudence, they added accents to the Protestant inheritance that helped
protestantism, law and legal thought 303
shape American law and politics until well into the twentieth century. For
example, evangelicals emphasized Christian conversion, the necessary spiritual
rebirth of each sinful individual. On that basis, they strongly advocated the
liberty of conscience of each individual, free speech, and the rights and duties
of the missionary to proselytize, both on the American frontier and abroad.
Evangelicals had a high view of the Christian Bible as the infallible textbook for
human living. On that basis, they celebrated the use of the Bible in public school
classrooms, the military, prisons, and elsewhere, while they castigated Jews,
Catholics, Mormons and others for their use of partial, apocryphal, or surrogate
Scriptures. Evangelicals emphasized sanctification, the process of each individual becoming holier before God, neighbor, and self. On that basis, they underscored a robust ethic of spiritual and moral progress, education and
improvement of all.
Many evangelicals coupled this emphasis on personal conversion and sanctification with a concern for social reform and moral improvement of the community. Great numbers of evangelicals eventually joined the national campaign
and Civil War to end slavery – though this issue permanently divided Methodists
and Baptists, as well as Presbyterians and Lutherans. Nineteenth-century evangelicals were more united in their support for successive, and sometimes successful, campaigns for new laws against dueling, freemasonry, reservations for
native Americans, lotteries, drunkenness, Sunday mails, and Sabbath-breaking.
In the later nineteenth century, many evangelical leaders also joined the struggle for the rights of emancipated blacks, poor workers, women suffragists, and
labor union organizers – none more forcefully and successfully than Walter
Rauschenbusch, the leader of the Social Gospel Movement. But on these issues,
too, evangelical camps were often bitterly divided.
On occasion, nineteenth-century evangelicals became actively involved in
national party politics, such as in the three unsuccessful presidential campaigns
of William Jennings Bryant at the turn of the twentieth century. Most
American evangelical groups, however, were suspicious of the national government and were staunch believers in the virtues of federalism and the prerogatives of state and local government. Many evangelicals further believed that the
individual congregation and the voluntary association were the most essential
sources of governance and improvement. They regarded churches, schools,
clubs, charities, businesses, unions, corporations, learned societies, and other
voluntary associations as essential buffers between the individual and state,
essential curbs upon state power, and essential instruments of law and authority in their own right.
Modern Pathways
After World War II, Reformed and evangelical Protestantism diminished as a
legal and political force in America, though individual Protestant luminaries
304 john witte jr.
such as Reinhold and Richard Niebuhr charted provocative new pathways, and
various Protestant ethicists and theologians continued to develop important
new themes, particularly relating to just war theory, the environment, and
biotechnology. But modern American Protestantism did not develop an authentic political model or program of legal reform on the order of Roman Catholicism after the Second Vatican Council. Some Protestants repeated old legal and
political formulas, often nostalgically (and selectively) recounting Protestant
progress and prowess in American history. Other Protestants focused their attention on single political issues – the restoration of prayer in public schools, the
eradication of abortion, the protection of the traditional family – often mobilizing ample political support and securing occasional legal victories for these
causes. Still others, particularly in the World and National Council of Churches,
threw their support behind ecumenical and interreligious programs. But a comprehensive Protestant political and legal platform, faithful to the cardinal convictions of historical Protestantism and responsive to the needs of an intensely
pluralistic modern polity, did not emerge in the twentieth century.
A notable exception to the recent pattern of Protestant political and legal quietism in America was the civil rights movement of the 1950s–60s that helped
to bring greater political and civil equality to African Americans in a series of
landmark statutes and cases. Another exception was the rise of the Moral
Majority and Christian Coalition in the 1980s and early 1990s as a broad political and cultural campaign to revitalize public religion, restore families, reform
schools, reclaim unsafe neighborhoods, and support faith-based charities. A still
further exception has been the very recent coalition of Protestant and other religious academics who have led campaigns for the greater protection of religious
freedom in the world and the cultivation of the interdisciplinary field of law and
religion. Whether these movements are signposts for a vibrant new Protestant
mission and ministry to law and politics remains to be seen.
Further Reading
Berman, H. J. (1983). Law and Revolution: The Formation of the Western Legal Tradition.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Helmholz, R. H. (1996). The Spirit of the Classical Canon Law. Athens, GA: University of
Georgia Press.
Hutson, James H. (ed.) (2000). Religion and the New Republic: Faith in the Founding of
America. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.
Klaasen, Walter (1981). Anabaptism in Outline: Selected Primary Sources. Scottdale, PA:
Herald Press.
Marty, Martin E. (1987). Religion and Republic: The American Circumstance. Boston:
Beacon Press.
McLoughlin, William C. (1971). New England Dissent, 1630–1833, 2 vols. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Noll, Mark A. (1988). One Nation Under God? Christian Faith and Political Action in America.
San Francisco: Harper & Row.
protestantism, law and legal thought 305
Skinner, Quentin (1978). The Foundations of Modern Political Thought, 2 vols. Cambridge,
UK: Cambridge University Press.
Stokes, Anson P. (1950). Church and State in the United States, 3 vols. New York: Harper
and Bros.
Vallauri, Luigi and Dilcher, Gerhard (1981). Christentum, Säkularisation und Modernes
Recht, 2 vols. Baden-Baden: Nomos Verlagsgesellschaft.
Walzer, Michael (1965). The Revolution of the Saints: Study in the Origins of Radical
Politics. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Witte, John, Jr. (2000). Religion and the American Constitutional Experiment. Boulder, CO,
New York, and Oxford: Westview Press.
Witte, John, Jr. (2002). Law and Protestantism: The Legal Teachings of the Lutheran
Reformation. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 29
Protestantism and the Sciences
Ted Peters
Like twins reared separately, Protestant Christianity and modern science were
born at the same time into the same family of Western European lineage. They
both inherited the same ancestry: a biblical belief in a God who creates a world
distinct from divinity and therefore a contingent creation; plus a Hellenistic
philosophical belief that both the human mind and the natural world are organized rationally and represented by mathematical structures. Both Protestantism
and science were educated by the disciplined thinking of medieval Roman
Catholic scholasticism. They both rebelled against hierarchical authority over
what the individual heart should believe and over what the individual mind
should think. They both took stands against superstition, magic, and human
manipulation of alleged supernatural powers.
The overlapping biographies of these twins can be organized into three broad
periods: the Copernican, the Kantian, and the contemporary. The first period,
the Copernican revolution, has three internal stages: Copernicus himself at
stage one in the sixteenth century, with Galileo and Newton marking stages two
and three in the seventeenth century. This period concludes with a mechanistic
worldview, according to which nature follows a course dictated by laws that
never go on a holiday and never need divine intervention or action. The Kantian
period, our second, tells how some Protestants developed two languages, one for
science and one for faith, untranslatable into one another. The two languages
permitted peaceful coexistence between science and theology. Finally, in the contemporary period the Kantian two languages are still widely spoken, but many
Protestants are pressing for consonance, for harmony to be gained through dialogue and perhaps even through mutual interaction.
Though the modern period is described by some in terms of a warfare between
science and religion, this does not seem to fit the actual history. John Hedley
Brooke, an Oxford historian of science, argues, “the image of perennial conflict
between science and religion is inappropriate as a guiding principle” (Brooke,
protestantism and the sciences 307
1991: 33). The other extreme, to describe this period as a history of peace and
tranquility, would also be misleading. Rather, Protestant history from the Reformation to the present day records a mixture of exploration and threat, advance
and withdrawal, enthusiasm and doubt.
The Copernican Revolution and the Protestant Reformation
Although the Copernican revolution and the Protestant Reformation shared the
same century, the sixteenth, they traveled in separate orbits with only occasional
intersecting. The first subject of what would become modern science was astronomy, and what we now think of as the Copernican revolution took three stages
to convince Europe. Nicholas Copernicus (1473–1543) at the University of
Cracow, Poland, initiated the first stage. Copernicus determined he needed to
reform the worldview he had inherited, namely the Ptolemaic worldview of
ancient Greece. The Ptolemaic (geocentric) understanding held that the earth is
immovable and that the sun and the other planets orbit the earth. Relying upon
his own observations (without a telescope) plus his own mathematical calculations, in De revolutionibus orbisum caelestium (1543) Copernicus advanced the
hypothesis that the sun, not the earth, stood at the center of the universe, and
the earth – like the other planets – revolves around the sun. This heliocentric view
of the universe could not be substantiated empirically, so during the sixteenth
century it stood as a mere philosophical David against the Goliath of Hellenistic
Ptolemaic tradition. Copernicus’s argument was not yet compelling.
Turning to the other twin, Protestantism, we observe that Martin Luther
(1483–1546) heard tales of Copernicus’s new thought but apparently had no
serious engagement. One offhand remark appears in 1539 – four years prior to
the astronomer’s major book – in Luther’s Table Talk (LW, 54: 358) where he
ponders a rumor that Copernicus believes the earth moves rather than the sun
and the sky: “This would be as if somebody were riding on a cart or in a ship
and imagined that he was standing still while the earth and the trees were
moving. . . . This is what that fellow does who wishes to turn the whole of
astronomy upside down.” Luther added that it was the sun that stood still, not
the earth, in the biblical description of Joshua fighting at Jericho (Joshua 10:
12). This remark did not come from Luther’s own authored writing but from students who took notes. Spoken in jest, it ought not be interpreted as indicating
any general opposition to science.
Central to Luther and to the other Reformers was the role played by Holy
Scripture in formulating theological commitments. Although they were literalists, they were neither uncritical nor were they rigid. Luther described the Bible
as the “cradle of Christ,” thereby ranking scriptural texts according to their relative value for teaching a God of grace and salvation. This hermeneutic indirectly opened scriptural interpretation to new developments in science as they
describe God’s created order. “The astronomers are the experts from whom it is
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most convenient to get what may be discussed about these subjects [sun, moon,
and stars]. For me it is enough that in those bodies, which are so elegant and
necessary for our life, we recognize both the goodness of God and His power”
(LW, 1: 41).
John Calvin (1509–64) opened the door even further by suggesting that the
biblical authors could tailor their renderings to fit the mind of the reader. In his
Commentary on Genesis he reports that Moses adapts his discourse to common
usage. When common usage changes, as it does with scientific development,
such a hermeneutical insight permits and encourages expanded interpretation.
The overriding concern of Luther and Calvin was to see the glory and grace of
God in the beauty of creation, so any hesitancy toward science was due to a fear
that dispassionate research may render invisible the divine authorship.
Both Luther and Calvin could distinguish between astrology and astronomy,
and both rejected astrology as idolatry while celebrating astronomy as science.
Luther was both amused and annoyed by the interest in astrology exhibited by
his colleague, Philip Melanchthon (1497–1560). The science of astronomy that
measures the stars, as valuable as this is, cannot measure the divine creator of
the stars. Beyond the aims to which “astronomy, medicine, and all natural
science are intended,” wrote Calvin, our “mind must rise to a somewhat higher
level to look upon his glory” (Institutes: I.V.2).
Evidence of this nonadversarial relationship is that near the end of Luther’s
life, Wittenberg became a podium for Copernicanism. Lutheran Reformer
Andreas Osiander (1496–1552) wrote an anonymous preface to the first edition
of Copernicus’s major work, De revolutionibus, for its 1543 publication. This
preface includes the infamous line: “it is not necessary that these hypotheses
should be true, or even probable; but it is enough if they provide a calculus which
fits the observations.” Two things are significant to note. First is the acceptance
of hypothesis as a component to developing new ideas. Second, that this work
has scientific value even if not true. Osiander supported the book’s publication,
to be sure; yet it appears he feared dogmatic rejection from church authorities.
As an outspoken Reformer writing the preface, he may have sought to make it
easier for Roman Catholics to adopt by deleting his own name. Just the previous
year, 1542, the Inquisition had been reestablished to stamp out Lutheran influence, so by his feeble attempt at anonymity Osiander might have sought to avoid
contaminating Copernicus’s science with a Lutheran association. Historians
debate whether Copernicus himself was aware or approving of the notorious
preface.
In summary, Copernican thinking within its own century awaited further
scientific confirmation before it could attain the status of irrefutable truth that
it presently enjoys in modern society. The Reformers, though dimly aware and
moderately interested, were preoccupied with other theological agendas, especially scriptural interpretation and the struggle with Roman Catholicism. For
both Protestants and Catholics, the Reformation and Counter-Reformation
became the primary lens through which any new developments could be viewed.
Catholics were poised to see new developments in science as a variant on Protest-
protestantism and the sciences 309
ant deviancy from church authority; whereas Protestants, somewhat more
poised to welcome new developments, had their eyes directed toward holy writ
with only furtive glances toward the starry heavens.
Galilean Copernicanism
The century following the history-shaking events of the Reformation witnessed
a period of Protestant consolidation and the establishing of foundations.
Aristotelian metaphysics was retrieved, and scholasticism returned to the
Reformation church bodies. Within this approach theological claims became
propositional. The Reformation’s sola scriptura metamorphosed into a new
emphasis on verbal inspiration and biblical inerrancy. The Bible became the
source of revealed information articulated in propositional form. Even though
Luther and Calvin had never questioned the Bible’s divine status, seventeenthcentury Protestants developed a vigorous defense of biblical authority, claiming
its dictation by the Holy Spirit. By implication, not only does the Bible cradle
Christ and the message of salvation, it also becomes the divinely appointed
authority on matters of astronomy and the other sciences. Even though
Copernican astronomy had found a home in Protestant universities, the clouds
of a coming storm were beginning to form. The new science would rebel
against both Ptolemy’s physics and Aristotle’s metaphysics; and for those who
interpreted Scripture through the logic of Aristotle in conjunction with the
cosmology of Ptolemy, a conflict could not be avoided.
The cultural storm approached as the Copernican revolution inserted a distance between God and the world, making it more difficult to perceive the presence of the Creator within the creation. Despite the advances in mathematical
support for heliocentrism as offered by the German astronomer Johannes Kepler
(1571–1630), the second stage actually begins with the Italian mathematician
Galileo Galilei (1546–1642). Galileo adapted the telescope to astronomy (and in
doing so discovered moons orbiting Jupiter among other fascinating things) and
more importantly provided the observational evidence on behalf of Copernican
heliocentrism. Galileo revived otherwise dormant attention to Copernicus with
the result that Copernicus’s book (De revolutionibus) was finally put on the index
of banned books by the Catholic Church in 1616. This was followed in 1632 by
an order from Pope Urban VII through the Inquisition to compel Galileo to
recant, and the Italian scientist remained under house arrest until his death, the
year Newton was born.
Kepler and Galileo buttressed the mathematical evidence for heliocentrism
and both affirmed that God organizes the creation mathematically and that the
human mind is capable of understanding divine reason. Both rejected
Aristotle’s notion of final causality – that is, both considered science to be the
study of efficient causation in nature and not the study of final ends or purposes.
Both altered the Aristotelian concept of change; no longer did change refer
to transition from potentiality to actuality but rather the rearrangement of
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particles in time and space. Both of these Copernicans sought to reconcile
Scripture with science.
However, a slight difference became historically decisive. Kepler, following
Plato and rejecting Aristotle, had a mystical temperament and emphasized how
God’s mathematical thoughts daily structure the natural world. Galileo’s temperament was more rationalistic, emphasizing how mathematics functions in a
lawlike way as a mechanism for nature. For Galileo, the scientist could describe
nature without reference to the divine. Natural laws provide exhaustive explanations. Though Galileo was a devout Roman Catholic believer, he set the stage
for a description of nature devoid of providential action.
Galileo supported Copernican heliocentrism with telescopic observations in
his major work of 1632, Dialogo sopra i Due Massimi Sistemi del Mundo. For him,
the glorious natural world (and our world) was created by God. However, and
crucially, God is the first cause only; thereafter the laws of nature describe the
cause and effect relations. Although Galileo was a theist, in relegating God to
first cause and removing God from active intervention, the seeds were sewn for
the rise of deism.
For sola scriptura Protestants, as well as the Vatican hierarchy, Galileo posed
a challenge with his declaration of independence on behalf of the scientific
interpretation of nature. In a letter to Castelli in 1613, Galileo wrote:
The Holy Bible and the phenomena of nature proceed alike from the divine Word,
the former as the dictate of the Holy Spirit and the latter as the observant executrix
of God’s commands . . . Nothing physical which sense-experience sets before our
eyes, or which necessary demonstrations prove to us, ought to be called in question (much less condemned) upon the testimony of biblical passages. (Dillenberger,
1960: 88)
With Galileo, the “Book of Nature” suddenly appeared on the same level as the
“Book of Scripture.” Nature gained an independent status to which other truth
must conform.
De-centering Earth
It is frequently said that the Copernican revolution shocked European Christianity by de-centering the planet Earth and thereby de-centering the focal status
of the human being within nature. There is little or no evidence to support the
claim that change in cosmic geography shocked either Protestants or Roman
Catholics. Far more serious than heliocentrism was the emerging empirical epistemology that would rely upon independent experimental knowledge and reject
biblical authority; and still more important yet was the emerging ontology of
a natural world operating mechanistically without divine participation or
intervention.
Somewhat disconcerting to the religious psyche, however, was a battle internal to theology regarding many worlds. A question raised centuries prior to
protestantism and the sciences 311
Copernicus was this: did God make only one world or many? Some, arguing from
an Aristotelian commitment to oneness as perfection, argued for a single world.
Others looked to the stars and wondered if each might support a living world
similar to Earth. Although the science of Copernicus and Galileo did not deal
directly with extraterrestrial life, its impetus to deviate from Aristotle seemed to
support the many worlds alternative. Toward the end of the seventeenth century
books appeared in France and England espousing the “many worlds” view. They
argued that the vastness of the universe dwarfs planet Earth in size and the possible existence of extraterrestrial civilizations blunts the human sense of selfimportance. Yet they also retained the earlier sense of human centrality in their
contention that human minds are responsible for the contemplation of this possibility and the celebration of the human mind makes it all bearable.
Despite the drama over cosmic centrality, the theological debates were themselves oriented around the contest between biblical and extrabiblical knowledge.
No mention of extraterrestrial life appears in the Bible, so some Protestant
extremists sought to deny the possibility. Opposing parties used speculation on
other worlds as leverage for establishing the independence of scientific research
in developing new knowledge. This contributed to advances in natural theology
as it advocated knowledge testifying to God apart from scriptural authority. The
net impact doctrinally was that creation – because the scope of our understanding of creation could now be expanded by science beyond what the Bible
has bequeathed us – took center stage and sent strict biblically revealed redemption to the wings. The domain of nature became divorced from its Christological center.
Newtonian mechanism
The theater of activity moves in the latter half of the seventeenth century from
the Continent to England and to the metaphor of the clock. The father of chemistry, Oxford scientist Robert Boyle (1627–91), sought to demonstrate divine
design in the natural realm. Science is a religious task, Boyle argued, disclosing
the admirable workmanship that God displays in the universe. Boyle likened the
natural world to a clock (the cathedral clock in Strasbourg is the specific clock
on Boyle’s mind) with a finely engineered mechanism. The clock metaphor
emphasized the orderly course of the world, an autonomous machine, with
which God would occasionally tinker when performing a miracle. Miracles
would not, however, call into question the normal dependable order discernible
to the scientist as the laws of nature.
The revolutionary forces set in motion by Copernicus attained full victory
in the work of Cambridge mathematician and physicist Sir Isaac Newton
(1642–1727). Author of scientific works such as Philosophia Naturalis Principia
Mathematica (1687), Optics (1704), and Arithmetica Universalis (1707), Newton
is remembered and applauded for unifying the heavens with earth in a single
mathematical concept of nature united by the laws of mechanics and the law of
gravity. By invoking the idea that all bodies everywhere operate with mutual
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gravitation, he ascertained that the forces that keep the planets in their orbits
must be reciprocally the squares of their distances from their centers. Newton
applied what was known about terrestrial mechanics to the heavenly bodies and
thereby erased any previously presumed gulf of difference. Derivation of such
knowledge is experimental, mechanical, and mathematical.
Although likening the natural world to a well-designed clock, Newton emphasized that it needs God as the clock maker – that is, as the first cause. Further,
the world clock also needs God for frequent adjustment and repair. Newton was
again a theist, believing in an active God whose concursus with nature performed
necessary tasks such as determining the actual paths of planets in their orbits.
Historians of science view this as a mistake on Newton’s part, as later research
would provide a scientific explanation for actions he had thought to be divine.
When asked by Napoleon (in an alleged conversation) about God’s intervention
into planetary orbits Pierre Simon, Marquis de Laplace answered, “I have no
need of that hypothesis.” What subsequent scientific history would carry beyond
Newton is the image of nature as a universal and mathematizable mechanism,
dependable and discernible, with no need for divine intervention. “Given the
mechanical world and his religious faith, Newton had creatively related the
two,” judges John Dillenberger, “But Newton’s successors saw that the two did
not necessarily imply each other” (Dillenberger, 1960: 125).
In terms of the number of pages, Newton wrote more on theology than on
science. Much of his theological work remains unpublished. Yet, even in his published theological treatises, Newton asserted that space in the natural world is
the divine sensorium; God is present to the world while allowing the world to
operate according to natural law. “The true God is a living, intelligent, and powerful Being,” he writes in Principia Mathematica; “In him are all things contained
and moved; yet neither affects the other: God suffers nothing from the motion of
bodies; bodies find no resistance from the omnipresence of God. It is allowed by
all that the Supreme God exists necessarily; and by the same necessity he exists
always and everywhere” (Dillenberger, 1960: 123). Rather than ask how Protestants react to such science, it is better to think that this is Protestantism as
science. Alexander Pope put it this way in his Epitaph on Newton:
Nature and Nature’s laws were hid in night;
God said, Let Newton be! and all was Light.
Protestants share with Roman Catholics and Orthodox Christians a number
of theological commitments that have fertilized the growth of natural science
in the modern world. First, the monotheistic commitment implies a unity and
universality to principles ordering the world. Second, the doctrine of Creation,
understood as a contingent divine act – God is free and did not need to make the
world the way it is let alone make the world at all – implies that we cannot deduce
the nature of the world from abstract principles; rather, we can understand
this world only by observation. Third, nature is positively affirmed not only
because it is a witness to the marvel and wonder of its divine creator but also
protestantism and the sciences 313
because it is beloved by God and therefore we human beings must treasure
nature. Fourth, by affirming that secular vocations are as divine as religious
vocations, Luther and Calvin indirectly inspired later Puritans and others to
actively pursue scientific study as a sanctified this-worldly enterprise (Barbour,
1966: 46–9).
What was missing or inadequate in astronomy and cosmology and physics,
from the Protestant point of view, was the moral dimension of human existence.
Methodist champion John Wesley (1703–91) could write two treatises on the
practical value of modern science, one on medicine and one on electricity, plus
A Survey of the Wisdom of God in the Creation; or a Compendium of Natural Philosophy (1777). On the one hand, Wesley saw signs of a divine designer in the
design of nature. On the other hand, Wesley voiced impatience with science
when it seemed to divert attention from what is really important to human life
and welfare. What really is important is to see that God created us with a moral
capacity to love one another.
Miracles
The eighteenth century witnessed a battle over the theological significance
of miracles. Seventeenth-century science had increased confidence in the
exhaustive order of cause and effect in the natural world, and the essence of
miracle came to be understood as a divine intervention that temporarily
disrupted the order. In a miracle God inserts a divine cause into the otherwise
autonomous nexus of secondary causes. The first cause that created the
order of nature ex nihilo in the first place returns in a miracle to disrupt it for a
providential end.
John Locke (1632–1704), the English philosopher who authored Essay
Concerning Human Understanding (1690) and other political works influential on
the development of American democracy, was a contemporary of Newton. In
The Reasonableness of Christianity as Delivered in the Scriptures (1695) and A Discourse on Miracles (1704), Locke analyzed miracles and marshaled biblical
accounts into a rational defense that Jesus is the messiah. Eyewitness testimony,
in particular, to Jesus’s miracle-working power was subjected to review and
found reliable. Miracles, in short, testify to the credibility of Christian faith.
In his A Short and Easy Method with the Deists (1698), Charles Leslie
(1650–1722) offered three rules to establish the credibility of witnesses to miracles: first, the event must be subject to outward senses such as seeing and
hearing; second, a miracle must be public if it is to be considered verifiable; and
third, the miracle must result in new customs or practices to demonstrate its
social impact. Later Protestants added a fourth rule: the miracle must lead to a
willingness on the part of Christian believers to suffer persecution for the faith.
These remain in usage even today.
Theologians of this era believed miracles were rare. Some Protestants were
willing to limit the miracle-working era to the biblical period, whereas Roman
314 ted peters
Catholics extended it to contemporary times through the miracle-working
powers of the saints. Of significance here is that Protestants presumed that testimonies of miracles contributed to the rational credibility of Christianity; and
by limiting miracles to rare events that disrupt the natural order, they could rely
upon that order as well for testimony to God’s creative design.
A philosophical revolution prosecuted by David Hume (1711–76) reversed
the meaning of what it meant to be rational. To be rational, from Hume forward,
is to affirm that the order of nature remains exhaustively intact and further to
deny, by definition, miracles. In his “Essay on Miracles” within the larger work,
Philosophical Essays Concerning Human Understanding (1751), Hume delimits the
concept of experience to experience of what is lawful in nature: “It is experience
only, which gives authority to testimony; and it is the same experience, which
assures us of the laws of nature . . . We may establish it as a maxim, that no
human testimony can have such force as to prove a miracle, and make it a just
foundation for any such system of religion” (Hume, 1962: 132–3). In other
words, we use experience to establish the laws of nature – how could we then
use experience to establish the violation of those laws? Due to this tie between
experience and the ubiquity of natural law, we must eliminate miracles as something rationally knowable. Without miracles, post-Hume theologians were left
with only the world’s original design as testimony to the divine responsibility
toward nature.
From Kant to the Two Languages
There are two kinds of reason, not one, said German philosopher Immanuel
Kant (1724–1804), namely reason applying to the starry heavens above and
reason applying to the moral law within. What we know as the causal law in
nature (every natural event has a natural cause) is not constrained by the objective world, he says in Kritik der reinen Vernunft (The Critique of Pure Reason, 1781);
rather, human consciousness is so constituted that it must interpret empirical
observations in terms of cause and effect. Human reasoning, in short, results
from the synthesis of experience with the external world plus a priori structures
such as space and time that come from the human mind. Because cause and
effect reasoning is limited to our understanding of the external physical (phenomenal) world, Kant concludes that we cannot have knowledge of the same type
for three theological (and therefore noumenal) ideas: God, freedom, and immortality. Decisive to note is that Kant splits human knowing. Disciples of Kant could
no longer speak of noumenal realities such as God on the same plane with phenomenal realities as observed by scientific research.
Even though divine matters could no longer be known as we know physical
objects, Kant could justify speaking of God, freedom, and immortality by turning
to the moral law within human awareness. The stern universal (if rational) voice
of conscience, he argued, bespeaks a transcendent source. The sense of duty
protestantism and the sciences 315
implies that we are free (else fated and not able to fulfill conscience) and that
immortality is promised (else why bother?). In his Religion innerhalb der Grenzen
der blossen Vernunft (Religion Within the Limits of Reason Alone) (1793), Kant
stressed that shouldering moral responsibility is an end in itself, even if it needed
the noumenal for its initial foundation. Kant relied upon the moral sense within,
not the testimony of miracles from without.
Kant marks a fork in the rivers, one flowing toward Liberal Protestantism and
the other toward Conservative Protestantism. The liberal stream took a turn to
human subjectivity with Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768–1834) and Albrecht
Ritschl (1822–89) leading to the nineteenth-century cultivation of a morally
conscious Christianity bent on transforming society into the kingdom of God.
The roles of faith and reason were reversed. Whereas, for Locke, reason provided
the basis for faith, liberal Protestant faith gave rise to its own reasoning. Instead
of miracles producing faith, faith produced miracles as a form of interpretation
of otherwise natural physical events. The religious language of liberal Protestants shied away from speaking of the objective world studied by science and
instead turned to the subjective sphere of consciousness, faith, and values. What
we know as the distinction between right and wrong, good and evil, faith and
nonfaith, became a subjective overlay superimposed on an otherwise valueless
nature studied by a value-free science.
Conservative Protestants were left to hold on to a divine design objectively
manifested in the natural realm and discoverable by science. Nonetheless, conservatives also feared that the direction being taken by modern science buttressed by Kantian philosophy would lead to atheism. “They were remarkably
right,” says Dillenberger, “But their own course of action was more shrouded in
defensive and rear-guard ways of thinking than in any creative advance through
the problems” (Dillenberger, 1960: 186).
The language of fact versus the language of meaning
The Kantian divide between two types of reason marks the next stage in this
history, not only for Protestantism but also virtually for all of Western culture.
Many commentators liken the divide to speaking two separate languages, with
science speaking the “language of fact” and religion speaking the “language of
meaning.” Science deals with objective reality, whereas religion deals with subjective interpretations of reality. Science is concerned with the physical, whereas
religion is concerned with the spiritual. Science asks questions about penultimate reality, whereas religion asks about ultimate reality. The most prominent
scientists, such as Albert Einstein, have held to the two-language view: science
speaks of objective facts whereas religion speaks of subjective values, and society
needs both.
Even belligerent advocates of atheism (based upon scientific materialism
or secular humanism) hold to the two-language scheme. This includes
Marxists and Maoists. Science and religion speak separate languages, contend
316 ted peters
spokespersons such as mathematician Bertrand Russell, astronomer Carl Sagan,
and biologist Richard Dawkins, and though science speaks truthfully about
reality, religious language speaks only of imaginary fictions, of pseudo-knowledge. To be authentic and democratic, society should live exclusively according
to the language of science and according to humanistic values based upon the
materialist worldview.
Twentieth-century neo-orthodox Protestant theologians such as Karl Barth,
Paul Tillich, Rudolf Bultmann, Reinhold Niebuhr, and Langdon Gilkey have
vociferously defended the two-language view. Gilkey spoke for the era while
taking the stand in a 1981 courtroom in Little Rock, Arkansas, as expert witness
against the teaching of creation as a scientific subject in the public schools. He
testified that science asks “how?” while religion asks “why?” Science deals with
objective or public knowing of proximate origins, whereas religion and its theological articulation deals with existential or personal knowing of ultimate origins
(Gilkey, 1985: 49–52, 108–13). What Gilkey advocates is that a healthy society
speaks both languages.
It is important to note that the two-language view emerges as a modern
cultural phenomenon, fully embraced by the liberal Protestant tradition and
its progeny, the neo-orthodox and related schools of thought. Conservative
Protestants have also absorbed the two-language view from culture and render
it limited support, but conservative theologians are still more likely to think
of theology as speaking about objective reality. Hence, conservatives are more
likely to see scientific and theological languages as commensurate (Murphy,
1996: 58).
It is always a mistake to presume that liberal Protestantism is proscience
and conservative Protestantism is antiscience. The distinction lies rather in
whether or not one can speak of God, moral freedom, and immortality along
with miracles in objective terms, in the same kind of language that science
speaks.
Evolution versus fundamentalism, creationism, and intelligent design
With the publication of the Origin of the Species in 1859, the match was lit for a
fiery controversy that has been burning down to the present. To explain variation and change in species, Charles Darwin (1809–82) enunciated the key
principle of evolution: “natural selection” or “survival of the fittest.” Natural
selection explains post hoc the evolutionary success of those species now in existence compared to those species that have become extinct. When the wide
variety of individual differences within a species becomes a factor in adapting
to changing environmental circumstances, and when some adaptations are
selected for and others selected against, large-scale Malthusian selection occurs
with the surviving remainder determining the heritable traits of a new species.
The last half of the twentieth century added the concept of genetic mutation to
explain heredity with greater precision, resulting in the neo-Darwinian synthe-
protestantism and the sciences
317
sis of natural selection with genetic mutation. The DNA that survives is considered a competitive success, the victor in nature’s relentless and impersonal
struggle to determine who will be more fit.
Darwinism has received mixed reviews among Protestants. Fundamentalists
and evangelicals, for whom science and religion still speak the same language,
are quite likely to see conflict. Liberal Protestants following the Kantian tradition of two languages see no conflict; they are more likely to either ignore evolutionary theory or in some rare cases incorporate evolution into Christian
anthropology.
Evolution appeared to be a challenge to fundamentalists for whom authority,
if not inerrancy, of Scripture is paramount. Bishop Samuel Wilberforce
(1805–73) of Oxford is remembered for saying that Darwin was guilty of limiting God’s glory in creation and that “the principle of natural selection is
absolutely incompatible with the word of God” (White, 1896: I, 70). At the John
T. Scopes “monkey trial” in Dayton, Tennessee, July 10–21, 1925, William
Jennings Bryan (1860–1925) defended the authority of the Genesis account of
creation against biological Darwinism, and defended Christian values and
democracy against social Darwinism. Much less absolutely, American fundamentalist Reuben A. Torrey (1856–1928) conceded that a person could “believe
thoroughly in the absolute infallibility of the Bible and still be an evolutionist of
a certain type” (Numbers, 1992: 39).
Fundamentalists are not alone in providing a Protestant response to
Darwinism. Scientific creationists and advocates of “intelligent design” oppose
Darwinian theory; other Protestants have embraced Darwinian theory and even
see themselves as evolutionary theists. Whereas fundamentalism appeals to the
authority and even inerrancy of the Bible, scientific creationism and intelligent
design appeal to scientific arguments against the common descent of humanity
from prehuman life forms and for restricting natural explanations to natural
factors. “Young Earth Creationists” at the Institute for Creation Research in El
Cajon, California, for example, hold that the earth was created pretty much as
we find it less than 10,000 years ago, and that at the moment of creation God
fixed the species. Creationists can accept microevolution within a species, but
they reject macroevolution from one species to another.
Intelligent design advocates are less concerned about the age of the earth
and more concerned about explaining how one species surpasses another
in macroevolution. They emphasize that emergent life forms are irreducibly
complex – that is, complex life forms could not result merely from incremental
change through natural selection. What is required for new evolutionary developments, they say, is “intelligent design” by a transcendent intelligent designer.
The struggle between Darwinism and intelligent design is the struggle between
a strictly natural explanation and a theological explanation, and both are
claimed to be scientific. Fundamentalists, creationists, and intelligent design proponents all agree that naturalistic ethics based upon Darwinian principles such
as survival of the fittest corrupt social morals by approving brute selfishness,
laissez faire capitalism, and “might makes right” nationalism.
318 ted peters
Other contemporary Protestants of the hypothetical consonance mind (discussed below) work to incorporate the anthropology of evolutionary theory into
their theology. Arthur Peacocke adds creatio continua to creatio ex nihilo in his
doctrine of creation, and argues that God has established a dialectic between law
and chance by which the world operates. Evolution is the history resulting from
God’s gifts of law and chance. “God is the Immanent Creator creating in and
through the processes of the natural order” (Peacocke, 1993: 104).
The Contemporary Question of Consonance
Speaking two languages has become less than intellectually satisfying for
many contemporary Protestants and their Roman Catholic colleagues. If there
is only one God and one world, then there must be only one truth. Science at
its best and theology at its best seek only one thing, the honest truth about
reality. Furthermore, both science and theology are realistic – that is, both
presume the existence of a reality to which their propositions refer. To be sure,
neither advocates a naive realism, wherein what you see is what you get; but both
operate with variants of critical realism, according to which some things cannot
be known directly but can be pursued indirectly. Neither God nor electrons can
be known directly, yet critical realism asserts that they are “there.” Even though
some criticize critical realism for its alleged foundationalism (Murphy), others
believe “critical realism offers considerable potential as a theoretical bridge
between the two disciplines” (McGrath, 1998: 164). With such things in mind,
many scholars are looking beyond warfare and even beyond the two-language
model to dialogue. “The imagery of ‘dialogue’ is thus vastly to be preferred to
the unhelpful (and frankly rather outdated) image of ‘warfare’” (McGrath,
1998: 28).
In the final quarter of the twentieth century the Notre Dame University historian of science Ernan McMullin began asking if we might be ready for exploring greater consonance between scientific and theological claims about the
world. What has developed among many Protestant theologians is a methodological agenda of hypothetical consonance. It is hypothetical, as it seeks to test
the waters of both science and faith, to see if they are the right temperature for
some degree of mixing.
The term “consonance” in the strong sense means accord or harmony. Full
accord or harmony between scientific and theological claims does not yet exist;
they still sing different melodies. Yet consonance in a weak sense appears to be
progressive and fruitful. In the weak sense consonance is put forth hypothetically, identifying common domains of “question-asking.” Recent discoveries and
theoretical advances in fields such as quantum physics, Big Bang cosmology, and
thermodynamics, for example, have raised questions within science of transcendence, about a divine ground to the physical universe. The God-question
rises up out of scientific reasoning itself (Davies, 1983: ix). Many theologians
protestantism and the sciences 319
are readying themselves for dialogue, for conversation with scientists on the
hypothesis that in the future further consonance may be uncovered (Peters,
1998: 18–19).
Robert John Russell (b. 1946), an ordained minister in the United Church of
Christ who holds a doctorate in physics, founded the Center for Theology and the
Natural Sciences at the Graduate Theological Union in 1981. Russell has proposed that whenever we discover consonance between a theological and a scientific claim, we will also find an element of dissonance closely related. For
example, the finite age of the universe according to Big Bang cosmology (the
theory that the entire universe began with a bang some 15 billion years ago) is
consonant with the theological claim that creation is temporally finite. Yet the
open Big Bang model pictures the universe as infinite in size, making it dissonant with the theological assumption that creation is spatially finite. Russell has
further proposed that the presence of dissonance and its relation to consonance
should drive the discussion further in creative ways; in this case, by expanding
the concept of finitude scientifically and theologically.
This agenda reflects the central tenet of Russell’s program: to promote the creative mutual interaction of science and theology. He advocates a “two way interaction between scientific and theological research programs” (Russell, Clayton,
Wegter-McNelly, and Polkinhorne, 2001: ii), meaning that when research is
taken up by theology it takes science into consideration; and it means that at
some point we should expect theology to suggest fruitful areas of research for
science to pursue. Nancey Murphy, who teaches Christian Philosophy at Fuller
Theological Seminary in Pasadena, California, measures both science and theology on the basis of whether or not they foster progressive research programs –
that is, do they yield fruitful new knowledge or expanded understanding?
(Murphy, 1990: 85–7).
At the beginning of the third millennium, we find a number of leaders in the
growing dialogue between science and faith to be hybrids, individuals with
advanced accomplishments in both Christian theology and natural science. John
Polkinghorne of Cambridge University is an ordained Anglican priest with a
widely respected reputation as a researcher in physics. Recently retired Oxford
University professor Arthur R. Peacocke, also an Anglican priest, is a trained
biologist. Peacocke has organized the Society for Ordained Scientists. Celia E.
Deane-Drummond has degrees in both genetics and theology as credentials for
her position as Professor in Theology and the Biological Sciences at Chester
College of Higher Education. Alister E. McGrath, Professor of Historical Theology at the University of Oxford, holds a doctorate in molecular biology. Physicist
and theologian Ian G. Barbour, now emeritus Professor at Carleton College
in Minnesota, is widely known for classifying patterns of interaction
between science and religion and for proposing two-way traffic on a bridge of
Whiteheadian metaphysics. Philip Hefner, a systematic theologian and former
director of the Zygon Center for Science and Religion in Chicago, though not a
hybrid, has pioneered an extensive integration of Christian anthropology with
biological and cultural evolution.
320 ted peters
At least two theologians in the dialogue would like to see theology considered
as scientific. Wolfhart Pannenberg, emeritus Professor of Systematic Theology
at Munich, contends that theological statements are constructed as hypotheses.
Because they cannot be confirmed directly by examination of the subject matter
to which they refer, namely God, theological assertions must be confirmed only
indirectly according to their ability to illuminate reality. This renders theological
commitments provisional, subject to further confirmation. The ultimate confirmation of our beliefs about God, then, will come eschatologically when we, as
St Paul says, see God face to face.
Thomas Forsyth Torrance, who taught Systematic Theology at the University
of Edinburgh from 1952 until 1979, argues that theology is scientific (actually
meta-scientific) because it is objective due to its subject “God.” Just as scientists
must remain humble before the truths of nature as they are revealed through
experimentation, and be willing to change their mind, so also must theologians
render themselves humble and obedient before the revelation of God. Like Karl
Barth (his teacher), Torrance begins with God’s self-revelation to us; and this
constitutes God’s objectivity. Human subjectivity does not manufacture belief
in God; rather, it responds to God as God comes to us in revelation. “Scientific
theology is active engagement in that cognitive relation to God in obedience to
the demands of His reality and self-giving” (Torrance, 1969: v).
Turning to the evangelicals, the American Scientific Affiliation (ASA) was
founded in 1941 to serve practicing scientists in the evangelical Christian community. Its membership consists of people with degrees in one or another
natural science, and it seeks to wrestle with the intellectual problems posed by
the dialogue between science and faith. These members pledge “as stewards of
God’s creation, to use science and technology for the good of humanity and the
whole world” (Hearn, 1997: 21).
References
Barbour, Ian G. (1966). Issues in Science and Religion. New York: Harper.
Brooke, John Hedley (1991). Science and Religion: Some Historical Perspectives. Cambridge,
UK: Cambridge University Press.
Calvin, John (1960). Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Ford Lewis Battles, ed. John
T. McNeill, 2 vols. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press.
Davies, Paul (1983). God and the New Physics. New York: Simon and Schuster.
Dillenberger, John (1960). Protestant Thought and Natural Science. New York: Doubleday.
Gilkey, Langdon (1985). Creationism on Trial: Evolution and God at Little Rock. San
Francisco: Harper.
Hearn, Walter R. (1997). Being a Christian in Science. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity
Press.
Hume, David (1962). On Human Nature and the Understanding, ed. Antony Flew. London:
Collier Macmillan.
Luther, Martin (1955–86). Luther’s Works (LW), American edn, ed. Jaroslov Pelikan and
Helmut T. Lehmann, 55 vols. St. Louis and Minneapolis: Concordia and Fortress.
protestantism and the sciences
321
McGrath, Alister E. (1998). The Foundations of Dialogue in Science and Religion. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Murphy, Nancey (1990). Theology in the Age of Scientific Reasoning. Ithaca, NY: Cornell.
Murphy, Nancey (1996). Beyond Liberalism and Fundamentalism: How Modern and
Postmodern Philosophy Set the Agenda. Valley Forge, PA: Trinity.
Numbers, Ronald L. (1992). The Creationists. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Peacocke, Arthur R. (1993). Theology for a Scientific Age. Minneapolis: Fortress.
Peters, Ted (ed.) (1998). Science and Theology: The New Consonance. Boulder, CO:
Westview.
Russell, Robert John, Clayton, Philip, Wegter-McNelly, Kirk, and Polkinghorne, John
(eds.) (2001). Quantum Mechanics: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, vol. 5. Vatican
City State and Berkeley, CA: Vatican Observatory and CTNS.
Torrance, Thomas F. (1969). Theological Science. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
White, Andrew Dickson (1896). A History of the Warfare of Science with Theology, 2 vols.
New York: Dover.
Further Reading
Barbour, Ian G. (1990). Religion in an Age of Science. San Francisco: Harper.
Deanne-Drummond, Celia E. (2001). Biology and Theology Today. London: SCM Press.
Hefner, Philip (1993). The Human Factor. Minneapolis: Fortress.
Pannenberg, Wolfhart (1976). Theology and the Philosophy of Science. Louisville, KY:
Westminster/John Knox.
Pannenberg, Wolfhart (1993). Toward a Theology of Nature, ed. Ted Peters. Louisville, KY:
Westminster/John Knox.
Peters, Ted (2003). Science, Theology, and Ethics. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate.
Polkinghorne, John (1998). Science and Theology. London: SPCK.
The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 30
Protestantism and Liberalism
Mark D. Chapman
The primary focus of liberalism is simply the supreme importance of liberty: ‘by
definition a liberal is a man who believes in liberty’ (Cranston, 1967: 459). There
are obvious comparisons to be made with the defining moment of Protestantism
in Luther’s The Freedom of a Christian of 1520: ‘A Christian is a perfectly free Lord
of all, subject to none’ (Dillenberger, 1961: 53). Yet, for Luther, liberty was conferred from God for a life of faith and action, but rooted solely in God and in no
capacity of the human being. Against Erasmus, Luther could write: ‘There can
be no “free-will” in man, or angel or in any creature’ (Dillenberger, 1961: 203).
Just as in Luther the freedom of the individual is a complex idea, so ‘Because different men at different times have meant different things by liberty, “liberalism”
is correspondingly ambiguous’ (Cranston, 1967: 459).
Negative Liberalism
In his classic defence of liberalism John Stuart Mill saw liberty as resting in the
sovereignty of the individual: any restriction on human freedom is at the very
least questionable. Liberalism thus came to emphasize the liberties of individuals against the authority of the state (Mill, 1962: 135). The state functioned
solely to preserve such liberties, often against the tyranny of the majority. The
self is thus prior to any conception of society: ‘Each person is to have an equal
right to the most extensive total system of equal basic liberties compatible with
a similar system for all’ (Rawls, 1971: 302). Liberalism in this sense is primarily
a negative concept which questions all forms of governmental action except those
which ensure the possibility of liberty (Berlin, 1969). The word ‘liberalism’
was first used in 1810 of a Spanish political party modelling itself on the British
tradition of tolerance which emerged from the British Glorious Revolution of
protestantism and liberalism
323
1688. John Locke’s philosophical defence of this settlement (together with Montesquieu’s defence of the separation of powers) was later a major influence on
the American Constitution, with its legal protection of individual rights and
democratic authority against monarchy and oligarchy.
The Enlightenment
The background to these political developments lies in the Enlightenment, with
its challenge to inherited ideas of authority in all spheres of life, including the
religious. No institution, however hallowed, was completely beyond the scope of
criticism. In his classic formulation Immanuel Kant wrote: ‘Our age is . . . an age
of criticism, and to criticism everything must submit’ (Kant, 1929: 9). It was primarily on account of his critical understanding of freedom and the importance
of the self-legislating individual that philosophers and theologians came to see
Kant as the ‘philosopher of Protestantism’ par excellence (Paulsen, 1899). This
model of liberalism was associated with the notion of a ‘civil society’, where a
critical public sphere was acknowledged quite distinct from the state (Habermas,
1962). Throughout eighteenth-century Europe, but particularly in Britain and
in parts of Germany, a dynamic process of communication developed which
resulted in the proliferation of organizations devoted to critical thought, together
with ever increasing levels of personal correspondence: liberalism was identified
with open communication and dialogue (Bödeker, 1988; van Dülmen, 1992;
Porter, 2000). Some saw this critical process as closely bound up with the
Protestant idea of freedom: the liberty of the individual was Luther’s great
triumph. For instance, the theologian L. T. Spittler wrote in 1782: ‘on the whole
we have achieved an extraordinary amount through this revolution of the last
thirty years, and it will probably one day be characterised as one of the most
radiant periods of the history of the Lutheran church’ (cited in Vierhaus, 1985:
18, my translation). In contrast to France, where the Roman Catholic church
was resistant to liberty, in England, and to a lesser extent in Germany, liberal
ideas were often conveyed by the clergy. In turn, a great deal of literature
motivated by religious concerns and often in the vernacular was produced for
an educated non-specialist public (Möller, 1986: 268–80; Wehler, 1987:
303–12; Porter, 2000: 96–129).
In the eighteenth century the effects of this critical ‘negative’ liberalism were
strongly felt in theology with the so-called ‘Neology’ which originated in Halle,
a centre of the German Enlightenment. Johann Salomo Semler used the term
liberalis theologia as early as 1774 to describe the historical investigation of the
New Testament unconstrained by dogmatic presuppositions (Graf, 2002). As
with Kant, Semler looked to a gradual emancipation from the tutelage of the
past towards the glorious liberty of the rational kingdom in contrast to the
dominant ecclesiasticism of the past. The political currents of such a theology,
with its threats to the confessionalist state, made some critical liberal
324 mark d. chapman
theologians, among them W. M. L. de Wette (1780–1849), into champions of
the freedom of speech against the repressive measures of the Restoration period
which followed the defeat of Napoleon.
This German example indicates the close connections between religious and
political authority in the Protestant states of Europe. Where there was a widespread acceptance of liberalism in the political sphere, as in England, there was
frequently a toleration of liberal ideas in the church and in theology. For the most
part, however, Protestant churches and theologians in Germany were opposed
to enlightened ideas, seeing themselves as defenders of a supernaturally based
absolutism in both church and state. Among Protestants, although critical liberalism was occasionally regarded as a development towards the flourishing of
free individuals, it was more often understood as seditious and revolutionary.
The German Idea of Freedom
Liberalism was not solely restricted, however, to such a critical negative understanding. As with Luther, many thinkers saw an inherent problem of anarchy
and antinomianism in the unbridled liberty of the individual. The long memory
of the Thirty Years’ War, and the suspicion of political anarchy and terror which
emerged in the French Revolution, meant that individual liberty itself was a
decidedly questionable ideal in the German states. In this context, the figure of
F. D. E. Schleiermacher (1768–1834) is pivotal, although he never used the word
‘liberal’ to refer to his theology: if he was a liberal at all, his liberalism was of a
very different kind from that of the earlier negative liberals of the Enlightenment. Schleiermacher, like many of his contemporaries (most obviously Hegel),
developed a more ‘positive’ understanding of the relationships between the
individual and society: to flourish or to be authentically free the individual
needed to be integrated into a concrete social whole. Such an idea of freedom
was later called the ‘German Idea of Freedom’ (Troeltsch, 1925: 80–107),
although it has analogues elsewhere. Furthermore, especially in his later writings, Schleiermacher displayed a greater respect for the ecclesiastical tradition
than many of his enlightened predecessors: not unreasonably his followers used
the term ‘mediating theology’ to describe their position. Methodological criticism
was far from the heart of Schleiermacher’s mature theological system.
After the failure of the liberal revolutions of 1848–9 a group of prominent
theologians founded the German Protestant Union in 1863, which again exemplifies this more positive understanding of liberalism: true liberty for the
individual required realization in a social universal. One of the principal theologians of this movement was Richard Rothe (1799–1867), who, while criticizing
the alliance of Lutheran orthodoxy and the police state, sought at the same time
to establish a culturally homogeneous national liberalism in both church and
state. While he endeavoured to make Christianity attractive to those who had
been alienated from the church, he was no defender of pluralism. ‘Protestant
protestantism and liberalism
325
freedom’ (where Luther was regarded as a national hero) was often developed
in opposition to the internationalism of Roman Catholicism and the cosmopolitanism of Judaism. Other theologians adopted a similar model: for
instance, the post-Hegelian theologian, Otto Pfleiderer demanded a ‘Germanization of Christianity’. At the beginning of the twentieth century, as liberal theologians began to analyse the crisis of modernity in terms of the fragmentation
and the relativization of values, so some moved towards ideologies of a ‘cultural
synthesis’. Indeed ‘liberal theology’ often functioned as the religious counterpart
to a nationalist ideology. ‘Individualism’ was often little more than a term of
abuse: the quest for community following the collapse of traditional patterns of
social organization was often made at the expense of individuality (Tönnies,
1988).
In German academic theology in the imperial period after 1870 the relationships between liberalism and Protestantism are equally complex: although he
refused the term ‘liberal’, Albrecht Ritschl (1822–89), professor of theology at
Göttingen from 1864, adopted a Kantian epistemology, but also tried to show
how God and the world were to be combined in an all-embracing system. PostRitschlian theologians, misleadingly labelled by their detractors as ‘culture
Protestants’ (Graf, 1986; Hübinger, 1994; Rupp, 1977), were often divided over
the nature of freedom. Wilhelm Herrmann (1846–1922), for instance, moved
towards a position of extreme dualism, where the freedom of faith seemed to
exert no influence over the world, whereas Ernst Troeltsch (1865–1923) continued in the Kantian tradition, displaying a critical engagement with modernity and also retaining a sense of the importance of the autonomous individual
(Chapman, 2001a).
Despite the obvious failure of conceptions of positive liberty during the First
World War, when many ‘liberal theologians’ associated themselves with the
national cause, many of the leading culture Protestants during the 1920s were
explicitly prepared to identify themselves as political liberals, defending a more
negative view of liberty, primarily on account of the hostility shown towards pluralism from many different quarters, and a belated recognition of the dangers
of the German Idea of Freedom. Leading figures such as Martin Rade and Adolf
von Harnack defended human rights, autonomy, and freedom of conscience and
their political expression in the Weimar Constitution. Some, including Troeltsch,
even participated in the Weimar system as active politicians.
Karl Barth’s vigorous post-war polemic failed to distinguish between types of
liberty, regarding culture Protestantism as an ideological legitimation of an antireligious secularism with its origins in the Enlightenment (Barth, 1961: 15).
This caricature overlooks many of the subtleties and the differences between preFirst World War scholars, and has also meant that the history of liberal theology in the later part of the twentieth century is only just beginning to receive
critical attention (Wolfes, 1999). What is important to stress is that both positive and negative forms of liberalism were defended by ‘liberal theologians’.
Although they were all interested in the possibilities for Christianity within the
constraints of modernity, this did not necessarily make them ‘liberals’ in the
326 mark d. chapman
negative or critical sense: Troeltsch remained the exception. Other ‘liberal theologians’ were very far from liberal, failing to defend human rights, individualism
and pluralism. Similarly ‘historical relativism’ was often seen simply as something which needed to be ‘overcome’ in a vision of ‘the whole’. ‘Liberal theology’ was thus often just as anti-pluralist as the German state. The critical
theories of the Enlightenment dissolved into theologies and philosophies of total
visions (whether ‘positive liberal’ or confessionalist), where autonomy was
quickly absorbed into an anti-pluralist nationalism. With only a few exceptions
(see Rendtorff, 1982) a critical Kantian form of liberalism has been virtually
absent from the German theological scene since the First World War. For the
most part, however, the Protestant churches have been more willing to accept
the liberal values enshrined in the Federal Republic.
England
In England the fate of liberalism was very different from that of Germany: most
importantly, there was a far greater degree of pluralism and toleration than in
most of the rest of Europe. The values of negative liberalism presented less of a
political threat. Despite a strong deist and free-thinking tradition which maintained an ambivalent relationship with the established church, the Church of
England (which was usually regarded as Protestant), like the governments it
served, displayed a limited degree of acceptance of Enlightenment ideas. The ‘latitudinarian’ tradition of the Cambridge Platonists continued into the eighteenth
century, allowing for ecclesiastical support of scientific and critical activity. The
study of theology was far less professionalized than its counterpart in Germany,
which allowed clergy to become involved in many other activities and to associate with other thinkers. The ‘Broad Church’ tradition which dominated the
Anglican establishment in the nineteenth century was thus more inclined
towards a defence of a negative view of liberty (although most religious thinkers
attacked Benthamite utilitarianism) (Reardon, 1995). Through the nineteenth
century, political liberalism also found its defenders among the many branches
of Protestant non-conformity (Cowling, 2001).
Central to the Broad Church understanding of liberty was the thought of
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834), particularly his Aids to Reflection (1825)
which associated religion with the rights of critical self-government animated
by a sense of ‘manly energy’ (aretē). The autonomy of the individual was combined with the notion of education into truth. Following this lead, in the early
years of the nineteenth century there was a great respect for an educated selfregulation in all affairs: positive freedom was established by a process of critical
education which moderated aimless individualism. Most of the leading figures
of the Broad Church shared with Kant the view that ‘human beings can only
become human beings by education’ (Kant, 1963: 17). Coleridge left his mark
protestantism and liberalism
327
on a whole generation of scholars in Cambridge, and through figures like Julius
Hare (1795–1855) he was deeply influential on F. D. Maurice (1805–72). For
Maurice, the comprehensive national church existed to ‘tell the world of its true
Centre, . . . to maintain the order of the nation and the order of the family’
(Maurice, 1891: I, 251). Both national church and national education functioned as a check on the selfishness of the prevalent individualism. Thomas
Arnold (1795–1842) propagated a similar method through his influential
reforms at Rugby School and in his ideal of a national church made up of critical thinkers: ‘The “Idea” of my life [is] . . . constructing a truly national and
Christian Church, and a truly national and Christian system of education’
(Stanley, 1844: II, 12). Under Arnold’s influence theological liberalism again
came to be associated, through educational reformers and theologians like
Benjamin Jowett (1817–93) and Frederick Temple (1821–1902), with the
enlightened pedagogical ideal of growth into human maturity. There was no
right ‘in all exercise of the intellectual powers . . . to stop short of any limit but
that which nature, that is, the decree of the Creator, has imposed on us. . . . If
we have made mistakes . . . the enlightenment of the understanding is the best
means to show us our folly’ (Temple, 1860: 57–8).
Christian truth was thus no special knowledge apprehended through God’s
direct communication, but was known in the same way as anything else,
and open to the same means of verification. Critical study posed no great threat
to the Christian religion, which meant that many English liberals sought to reconcile the claims of the natural sciences with those of religion (see Temple,
1884). The critical method was also applied to the study of history, which marks
one of the major achievements of English scholarship in the nineteenth century,
but also displays a nationalist positive form of freedom. Latent within the liberal
Anglican idea of history pioneered by Arnold, H. H. Milman, and A. P. Stanley
(Burrow, 1981) was a tension between a strong sense of cultural superiority and
a defence of pluralism and tolerance (see Creighton, 1985). Not surprisingly,
many conservative critics, most prominently John Henry Newman, regarded
Anglican liberalism as a nationalist heresy (Thomas, 1991).
In the early twentieth century, as Victorian complacency began to be questioned, so many liberals under the influence of T. H. Green developed a more
philosophically refined understanding of positive freedom, which frequently
resorted to Hegelian idealism to defend the integration of the personality in the
social whole (Bosanquet, 1923). The New Liberalism of J. A. Hobson and L. T.
Hobhouse sought to replace the old liberalism, which they saw as increasingly
individualistic, with the positive freedoms of a strong state (see Hobson, 1909;
Chapman, 2001b). A strange hybrid of the educational optimism stemming
from Thomas Arnold combined with the positive freedoms of New Liberalism in
the theology of William Temple (Nicholls, 1989: 61–87), which remained dominant in the English theological and political scene until the rise of economic
neo-liberalism in the 1980s. Such positive liberalism, however, was frequently
aligned with the socialism of the British Labour Party. In recent years the
328 mark d. chapman
negative liberalism of the post-war human rights legislation has been questioned
by the positive freedoms associated with the communitarianism and paternalism of some recent political theory (Chapman, 2000).
The USA
The relationships between liberalism and protestantism are different still in the
United States. The official political ideology of the founders embraced constitutionalism and human rights, promoting a rigid separation of church and state:
negative liberty was enshrined in a Bill of Rights. This meant that the dominant
Protestant religion tended to be regarded as a private matter (Marty, 1970). Nevertheless, through the nineteenth century many theologians, initially those
working in parish ministry rather than teaching in seminaries, were influenced
by European liberal thought (Dorrien, 2001). Horace Bushnell (1802–76), like
his English counterparts, was deeply influenced by Coleridge, focusing both on
the metaphorical character of religious language as well as the nurture and
growth of the Christian life. Although he provoked much controversy, his theology is more akin to Schleiermacher’s mediating theology than to the rigorous
criticism of Kantian liberalism: he nevertheless sought to make connections
between theology and the politics of civil rights.
Despite frequent controversy, a moderate liberalism, which sought to embrace
human reason and a scientific study of history, spread throughout the country
after the 1880s. It gradually moved into the seminaries, including Andover in
Massachusetts, which saw the rise of ‘progressive orthodoxy’ from 1885, and
Union in New York under A. C. McGiffert (1861–1933) and William Adams
Brown (1865–1943). This period also saw the development, under Washington
Gladden of Columbus, Ohio (1836–1918), of more political understandings of
theological liberalism: the language of negative liberalism began to enter theological discourse, although many theologians shared the dominant cultural and
national superiority of the time (Dorrien, 2001: 409–12).
The Chicago Divinity School was founded in 1895 on the principle of a close
interaction between sociology, ethics and theology in the attempt to ameliorate
social problems: social and political progress became central to the curriculum.
The leading figure, Shailer Mathews (1865–1941) claimed to derive his ethical
ideal of social individuality from the teachings of a Christ who legitimized
the fraternal (and evolutionary) goals of the Christian idea of positive freedom,
against the individualism of much American Protestantism: ‘The expanding
Christian society . . . will consist of groups of individuals each possessed of
the same spirit and method of life as that taught by their Master’ (Mathews,
1895–6: 424–5). Moving in a similar direction, Walter Rauschenbusch
(1861–1918), professor at Rochester Theological Seminary, formulated an
explicitly Social Gospel which focused on the Kingdom of God ‘as a great synthesis in which the regeneration of the spirit, the enlightenment of the intellect,
protestantism and liberalism
329
the development of the body, the reform of the political life, the sanctification of
industrial life and all that concerns the redemption of humanity shall be
embraced’ (Rauschenbusch, 1984: 76). Like other liberals, Rauschenbusch,
who was prepared to engage in the detailed study of economics and sociology,
sought after the unity of thought and action in a synthesis aimed at social and
political regeneration (Minus, 1988). In the United States such liberal solutions
were often marked by a naïve progressive optimism and were subjected to critique during the 1920s and 1930s, particularly after the Depression. Partly
under the influence of European dialectical theologians, many erstwhile liberals, most importantly the Niebuhr brothers, re-invigorated orthodox teaching on
sin, questioning the Social Gospel and its idealization of the American Progressivist ideology: ‘A God without wrath, brought men without sin, into a kingdom
without judgment through the ministrations of a Christ without a cross’
(Niebuhr, 1937: 173).
Prospects
The relationships between liberalism and Protestantism are so closely bound up
with developments in political theory that it is difficult to make any predictions
for the future. On the one hand, political globalization has seen the rapid spread
of liberal democracies and human rights legislation throughout the world,
which embody many of the values of classic negative liberalism. On the other
hand, however, many philosophers and theologians are becoming increasingly
aware of the complex ideologies that rest beneath the rhetoric of freedom (Song,
1997: 126; Milbank, 1990). Nevertheless it is important to note that the disastrous experience of some ‘positive’ forms of liberty in the twentieth century,
which have been used to justify the totalitarian ideologies of the ‘age of
extremes’, should make Protestants wary of siding too quickly with those who
are ready to dismiss the critical negative liberalism of the Kantian tradition (Graf,
2002: 36–8).
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The Blackwell Companion to Protestantism
Edited by Alister E. McGrath, Darren C. Marks
Copyright © 2004 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
CHAPTER 31
Protestantism and Feminism
Cynthia L. Rigby
Since the time of the Reformation, feminist thinkers have raised their voices from
among the Protestant ranks. As disciplined Christian believers, they have drawn
from Protestant doctrine in arguing for the full inclusion of women in every
sphere of life. They have loved the tradition, they have critiqued it, and they have
contributed to shaping it. This chapter will explore the relationship of feminism
to Protestantism first by offering an historical overview; then by surveying
current contexts, issues, and figures; and finally by envisioning the future.
Historical Overview
While the term “feminist” did not emerge until the nineteenth century, feminist
scholars generally identify certain figures and lines of thought as “feminist”
prior to this time. Broadly put, to speak of feminism in relation to the history of
Protestantism is to reflect on those movements and persons whose aim was to
promote the full humanity of women, or women’s “flourishing.”1 Protestant
feminists hold that women can thrive only when their equal creation in the
image of God is affirmed practically as well as theoretically, becoming manifest
in actual, physical, this-worldly reality. Efforts to win women’s acceptance as
preachers, voters, and ordained members of the clergy are grounded, historically and theologically, in Protestant convictions about the character of God’s
creative work.
Feminism and the Reformation
The theologies of the Reformation have been both praised for nurturing, and
criticized for impeding, feminist aims. Commonly decried are Reformation teach-
protestantism and feminism 333
ings concerning the “orders of creation,” used to justify the superiority of men
over women. Both Calvin and Luther argue that, while women are equally
created in the image of God, Eve’s creation after that of Adam signifies that her
relationship to him is one of subordination.2 In our prefallen condition, Luther
and Calvin assure us, the submission of female to male would have been painless. Women’s struggles to submit to their husbands and accept their more
limited role in church and society are not endemic to their subordination as God
originally intended it, they argue, but are consequences of the Fall. Because Eve
violated her subordinate role in offering the fruit to Adam, the relationship
between men and women is ever afterwards strained. In light of this reading of
the creation story, Luther and Calvin counseled women to remember that their
role is divinely ordained and to bear any suffering associated with it with humility, accepting it as a consequence of their sin.3
Protestant feminists through the centuries have rejected the Reformers’
teaching that women’s subordination is God’s intention, for at least four reasons.
First, they see a fundamental equality between Adam and Eve in the first creation story (Genesis 1). Second, they believe that Christ has come to redeem us
from the consequences of the Fall, including the tyranny of men over women.
Third, they believe it is nonsensical to argue that women are subordinate to men
because Eve was created after Adam. By this logic, Adam would be subordinate
to all other mammals created before him. Finally, Protestant feminists reject
women’s subordination as a divinely ordained good or a divinely ordained punishment because they believe such assertions both misrepresent the character of
God and undermine the full equality of human beings created in God’s image.
In the words of African theologian Louise Tappa, liberation is not possible “as
long as our view of God is nourished by, or reflects, the belief that it is God who
from the beginning has created one human category inferior to the other”
(Tappa, 1988: 31).
These arguments manifest clear and conscious opposition to Luther and
Calvin’s teachings regarding women’s subordination. Significantly, however,
Protestant feminist thinkers have not rejected all Reformation teachings outright, but have drawn upon many of the Reformers’ insights in developing their
critiques of Reformation anthropology. In addition to nurturing the transformation of women’s roles in church and society via appeal to the Reformation
notion that “the church is always in the process of being reformed” (ecclesia
reformata, semper reformanda), feminist thinkers lay claim, in their work, to
Reformation emphases regarding the priesthood of all believers, the vocation of
marriage, and sola scriptura.
The priesthood of all believers The Protestant emphasis on “the priesthood of all
believers” supports the conviction that women are full participants in Christ’s
church. At the heart of the message of the Protestant Reformers was a critique
of the clericalism of the papal church. Luther’s Ninety-five Theses were devoted,
in large part, to condemning the church’s bureaucracy. It was not the case, the
Reformers believed, that people of faith needed the mediation of a cleric or of an
334 cynthia l. rigby
institution in order to stand in a right relationship to God. In the context of the
Christian community, Luther taught, each of us acts as priest to the other as we
bear Christ to one another. Calvin, similarly, urged all Christians to embrace their
calling as priests by interceding in prayer for one another, testifying that Jesus
Christ is the one Mediator between God and humanity, and engaging in works
of love.
Contrary to the notion that the ordained priest occupied a privileged position
in relation to God, Luther and Calvin understood Scripture to teach that every
person is equally claimed and called to his or her particular vocation by God. A
pastor preaching to a congregation, a laborer planting in a field, a father diapering his child: all are called to glorify God in their work.4 Feminists are among
those who recognize that the doctrine of vocation has too often been misused,
by those in power, as a means for coercing women and minority persons into
“joyfully” embracing menial tasks. But it has also been appropriately used to
affirm men and women of faith in their day-to-day lives. According to Blaisdell,
the doctrine of Christian vocation “appealed to urban middle class women” of
the sixteenth century because it “supported . . . and lent dignity to . . . their
already active lives in business, artisan specialties, and the home” (Blaisdell,
1985: 34).
Marriage as a vocation In the context of this inclusive priesthood, marriage
grew to be accepted as a vocation equally worthy, in the eyes of God, to celibacy.
Luther’s and Calvin’s treatment of marriage, when compared with earlier theological understandings, left room for reflection on the relationship between
husband and wife as a partnership – an unequal partnership, but a partnership
nonetheless.
The rising status of marriage was a mixed blessing. As Rosemary Radford
Ruether explains, the Reformers on the one hand emphasized that the primary
purpose of marriage was companionship, not procreation. On the other hand,
however, Protestant glorification of marriage meant that “women lost the option
of a religious vocation distinct from marriage” (Ruether, 1998: 116). They were
left with only one acceptable calling, from the standpoint of social expectation:
“to be wife and mother,” living in subordinate relationship to their husbands
(ibid.). And yet many women, such as Elizabeth of Leeuwarden, an Anabaptist,
“appointed themselves to places of leadership” in their zeal to spread the
message of the Gospel. Women left their proscribed sphere at great cost to themselves: Leeuwarden, for example, was martyred in 1549 (Sprunger, 1985).
Sola scriptura As priests bearing Christ, women as well as men were encouraged to read, study, and test the Scriptures for themselves. Consistent with the
idea that all believers are priests, the Reformers insisted that the reading of Scripture should not be confined to the clergy. While they certainly did not advocate
self-reliant readings, recommending guidance from the scholars of the church
and hermeneutical accountability to the communion of saints, Luther and
Calvin exhorted believers habitually to engage in first-hand study of Scripture.
In his preface to The Institutes of the Christian Religion, for example, Calvin
protestantism and feminism 335
explains that the purpose of the volume is to “lend [his readers] a hand” in their
reading of Scripture, “in order to guide them and help them to find the sum of
what God meant to teach us in [God’s] Word” (Calvin, 1960: 6). He ends his
prefatory remarks by “urging” his readers to test his work by the Scriptures
themselves (ibid.: 8).
Protestant feminist thinking was born and nurtured in a context where this
principle of sola scriptura was in play. With Protestant emphasis on reading Scripture in the vernacular and teaching children the Bible and catechism at home,
there was both opportunity and incentive for women to study and rehearse
Scripture (see Blaisdell, 1985: 21–8). While the earliest Protestant feminist
thinkers rarely offered direct challenges to patriarchal interpretations of Scripture, they began circumventing their prescribed silence and subordination by
appeal to alternative biblical and theological teachings.5 Argula von Grumbach,
for example, admitted in a 1523 letter that the Apostle Paul’s mandate that a
woman remain silent did not allow her to advocate for a faculty member at the
University of Ingolstadt whom she believed was being mistreated. She argued,
however, that “when no man will or can speak, I am driven by the word of the
Lord when he said, ‘He who confesses me on earth, him will I deny.’ ” Buttressing her case further, she says she “takes comfort in the words of the prophet
Isaiah . . . , ‘I will send you children to be your princes and women to be your
rulers.’ ” Finally, she insists that her appeal is not a case of “a woman’s ranting,
but the Word of God” (Douglass, 1985: 97).
Another example of a woman who was led to engage in nonconformist behaviour by her reading of Scripture is Marie Dentière, who lived in Geneva at the
same time as Calvin. Douglass explains that Dentière “feels called to write and
speak, knowing full well that these roles are neither ecclesiastically nor culturally approved for women” because “she has so internalized the Reformed teaching of the freedom of the Christian and has so situated herself in the biblical
view of God’s liberating work in history” (Douglass, 1985: 102). In Dentière’s
words: “If God then has given graces to some good women, revealing to them by
his Holy Scriptures something holy and good, will they not dare to write, speak,
or declare it one to another?” (p. 104).
As women read and interpreted Scripture for themselves, many became convinced that patriarchal paradigms that subordinated women to men were unbiblical. Invited by the Reformers to read with a critical eye, feminists in centuries
following went on not only to assess patriarchal interpretations of Scripture, but
the patriarchal character of the bibli