Priest-Kings?

May 21, 2010
(Note: I'm leaving town tomorrow, and will have little chance to reply to post--hence the barrage today--or reply to comments for several days.  So by all means comment, but I may take a few days to get back to you...the same goes for comments earlier today that I haven't gotten to.)


So I have found a reason to like Vermigli: namely, he’s a bit more restrained than Bullinger.  In “On the Office of the Magistrate” from the Sermonum Decades, Bullinger starts out rather carelessly on his proof that “care of religion belongs to the Magistrate,” by alleging that in ancient times, kings were also priests.

“For among them of old, their kinges were priestes, I mean maisters and overseers of religion.  Melchisedech that holie and wise Prince of the Chanaanitish people, who bare the type or figure of Christe our Lord, is wonderfullie commended in holie Scriptures: Now he was both king and priest together.  Moreover in the booke of Numbers, to Iosue [Joshua] newlie ordained and lately consecrated, are the lawes belonging to religion given up and delivered.”

A bit later, after explaining how the magistrate is to make sure to forbid and punish idolatry, he pushes things further again:

“What may be thought of that moreover, that the most excellent princes and friends of God, among God’s people, did challeng to themselves the care of religion as belonging to themselves, in so much that they exercised and toke the charge therof, even as if they had beene ministers of the holie things?  Iosue in the mount Hebal caused an altar to be builded, and fulfilled all the worship of God, as it was commaunded of God by the mouth of Moses.  David in bringing in and bestowing the arke of God in his place, and in ordering the worship of God, was so diligent, that it is wonder to tel.”

In these passages Bullinger has (deliberately), it seems, blurred the line between kingly and priestly duties, insisting that, so much does the magistrate have the care of religion, that he can pretty much be said to share the priestly office.  In response to an objection a couple pages on, Bullinger protests “But our disputation tendeth not to the confounding of the offices and duties of the magistrate, and ministers of the Church, as that wee would have the king to preach, to baptize, and to minister the Lord’s supper”--nay, Bullinger, your disputation doth tend that way.


Essentially what Bullinger does in this essay and others is to invert the hyper-papalist version of the “two swords” doctrine.  Where Boniface VIII in Unam Sanctam held that the ecclesial authority rightly held all spiritual and temporal power, but condescended to delegate most of the actual dirty work of temporal power to civil rulers, reserving the right to correct them when they messed up, Bullinger tends to present us with a mirror image: the civil authority rightly holds all spiritual and temporal power, but condescends to delegate most of the actual work of spiritual power to ecclesial ministers, reserving the right to correct them when they mess up.


While Vermigli in places presents the same kind of model, on this particular matter of priest-kings, he is more cautious, as I discovered in a passage I just translated today, commenting on 1 Kings 12:26-33 (Jeroboam’s idolatrous sacrifices).  Vermigli attempts to give us a balanced account:

“Indeed, these are two functions, but very much conjoined, and they mutually help and correct one another.  For ministers move the people in a certain way by teaching and admonition, that they might gladly perform the commands of the higher magistrates; and good magistrates, in turn, take care that the people live by the prescription of the divine law.  Again, ministers correct the errors of magistrates, not of course with the sword, but with the word of heavenly teaching. And indeed a magistrate, if the ministers of the Church less than rightly attend to their tasks, or fall into grave sins, can either remove them out of their place or move them by the punishments they deserve.  Yet however much these two resources are thus conjoined, they are not nevertheless one and the same; it is permitted to a single person to execute one of them only....the civil power and the sacred ministry are matters of such weight, care, and concern, that each should expend a whole man and all his strength; and it is hardly possible to find one man who is sufficient to carry out all the duties of either of them.  Nor should anyone raise as an objection the case of Moses, who attended to both; because it was such a burden that he sustained it only briefly.  For God commanded him quickly that he commit the priesthood to Aaron.  To be sure, the Hasmoneans were priests and kings, but, though they are to be commended in this--that they liberated the people--their occupation of the Israelite kingdom is hardly to be approved of.  And in truth, we should not be at pains to explain concerning Samuel and Eli; because their deeds pertained not to making laws, but to judging specific claims, nor are they to be hauled in for imitation.  And in Melchisedek God willed for there to be this joining of offices, so that the express type of Christ might be discerned in him.”  (NB: This was a first stab at a translation, and a couple parts are a bit iffy.)

Bad History + Bad Theology = Bad Historical Theology (VanDrunen Review III.1)

May 8, 2010

Van Drunen’s third chapter, “Reforming Natural Law and the Two Kingdoms: John Calvin and His Contemporaries,” is longer than either of the previous two, considerably denser, and much more important to VanDrunen’s project, and so I am afraid it will take quite a commodious review to do it justice.  Before I start, I ought to admit up front that I am going to do something very un-kosher in this review--I am going to take a historian to task on theological grounds.  I know, you’re covering your ears with horror at the very suggestion! 

Historians will of course claim that theirs is an objective task of simply trying to figure out what historical writers said, and reserving judgment on whether what they said was right or wrong, to what extent we should imitate it today, etc.  Theologians may argue over whether Calvin was wrong or right, but the historian is solely interested in uncovering what Calvin said, for good or ill.  Of course, such claims are not altogether true of any historian, but in my mind, they are particularly disingenuous when dealing with historical theologians (or theological historians?), particularly ones working within very confessional traditions like the Reformed.  When someone is taking the time to write a book on the history of a doctrine, odds are that they have a strong interest in the doctrine; and if they have a strong interest, odds are that they have a strong opinion; and if they have a strong opinion, then, human nature being what it is, odds are that they want to be able to show that their opinion has been supported by key historical figures.  This is particularly true of Reformed theologians, who, despite their anti-Catholicism, have a strong affection for “tradition,” and are almost obsessive in their attempts to prove that their pet doctrines were held by the great Reformed theologians of ages past, particularly Calvin.  In fact, it is a useful rule of thumb that if you ever see any Reformed guy arguing that Calvin has been misunderstood on a certain point, and what he really said was X, you can be quite sure that his interest is not merely historical, but stems from the fact that he strongly believes X himself.  

Such is the case with VanDrunen; he has let us know right from the start that he thinks that the modern craze for extending Christ’s lordship to all of life is a mistake, and he wants to recover a tradition which keeps Christ’s lordship in its proper ecclesial sphere.  Therefore, although he purports to be pursuing the merely historical task of telling us what Reformed theologians said, it is clear that he is also trying to recommend certain ideas to us rather than others, and so in this review I will not merely be questioning aspects of his historical narrative, but also the theological value of the position he attributes to Calvin.  This is particularly reasonable since VanDrunen does not really seem very interested in history in this chapter, as I shall consider in a moment.

Given that I am sounding so negative, I should add another caveat--VanDrunen does some really solid work in this chapter.  I’m about to make some objections about the way he handles the history, but I should say up front that he makes some very solid historical points, particularly against other Reformed folks who have manifested the same annoying tendency to try to prove that Calvin is on their side, whatever that side might be.  Modern neo-Calvinists have got to face up to the fact that Calvin said some rather silly things, that they must be willing to renounce from time to time.  And so, my biggest beef with VanDrunen in this chapter is not “Calvin never said that!” but rather, “Ok, Calvin said that...so what?  The Bible clearly says the opposite, so let’s gently correct Calvin and move on.”

With these caveats out of the way, let me address three methodological problems with how this chapter is set up, from a historical standpoint.  First, in the title of the chapter, “John Calvin” should have been written in size 24 font, and “and His Contemporaries” in size 8.  In a 52-page chapter, Calvin’s contemporaries get 3 pages--1/2 page of intro, 1 page for Bucer, 1/2 page for Vermigli, and 1 page for Zanchi.  For a study purporting to tell us about the origins of Reformed social thought, this is simply irresponsible.  VanDrunen seems a little nervous about it himself, acknowledging in the chapter’s introductory pages that of course it was a common error to act like Calvin was “the one measure by which later Reformed theology must be assessed” (67), and that recent historians have highlighted both the importance of other early Reformed figures and the discontinuities between Calvin and later Calvinists.  Yet, having raised these objections, VanDrunen dismisses them with a casual wave of his hand: “Though his influence on the later Reformed tradition was not exclusive, it was certainly not surpassed by any of his contemporaries” (68).  Therefore, in a study which is necessarily selective, “granting Calvin the spotlight seems well justified” (68).  

Now, let’s examine this for a minute.  Let’s grant that Calvin exercised more influence on the subsequent Reformed tradition than any other single figure among his contemporaries; that does not mean that he exercised more than all of them combined.  It might be fair to say that if we were to try to quantify influence, and oversimplify the picture a lot, we might say that Calvin’s influence on later Reformed thought was 35%, Bullinger’s 20%, Bucer’s 15%, Vermigli’s 10%, Knox’s 10%, and others’ 10% (sorry, I have a weakness for using statistics).  Does this preponderance justify him receiving 49 pages and everyone else receiving 3?  

In particular, VanDrunen has ignored an important point, which is that this study is not about Reformed theology in general (over which Calvin has had an unmistakably strong influence), but about Reformed social and political thought, which is a somewhat different matter.  I’m sure that there’s a lot of literature on the subject that could offer a more well-informed opinion, but based on my knowledge, it seems quite certain that, compared to his influence on other issues, Calvin’s political theology had much less of an impact on subsequent Reformed thought.  In France, the Huguenots, as a persecuted minority, never had much opportunity to put a political and social ideal into practice.  In England and Scotland (and thus later in America), despite the name of Calvin being held in high regard, political theology and indeed ecclesiology was dominated either (among the Dissenters) by Knoxian and proto-Puritan strains of thought that differed dramatically from Calvin, or (among the Establishment) by Erastian, and, as Torrance Kirby shows, Tigurian (that is, from Zurich) political theology.  In Germany and Switzerland, the latter influences held sway.  The Netherlands I know too little about to say, though I think it would be fair to say that here Calvin’s influence was fairly strong, though alloyed with other elements.  Even in Geneva, subsequent political and social thought was molded as much by Beza as by Calvin himself.  

Now, to point all this out is not merely a quibble of historical methodology, as it would be if Calvin and his contemporaries shared basically the same paradigm (as VanDrunen seems to try and say, though without much conviction).  Bucer’s De Regno Christi portrays a richer, more complex, and maddeningly ambiguous picture of the relation between “the kingdom of Christ” and “the kingdoms of this world” than does Calvin, as I shall hopefully discuss a bit more when I get to the end of the chapter.  Knox and the Presbyterians, with their notion of a theocratic “national covenant” are certainly far from Calvin and even further from what VanDrunen wants to advocate.  Vermigli and Bullinger (enormously influential upon many strands of early Reformed thought), while drawing a sharp “two kingdoms” dichotomy, did not draw it in anything like the way VanDrunen wants to, since their paradigm made the oversight of religious affairs the foremost duty of the civil magistrate (see Torrance Kirby’s The Zurich Connection for a fascinating discussion of the unique and bizarre blend of Gelasianism and Augustinianism that these two theologians propounded).  All of this means that, whatever VanDrunen is able to prove about Calvin in this chapter really proves rather little about the “Development of Reformed Social Thought,” since it leaves 2/3 of the foundations of Reformed social thought out of the picture.

The second methodological problem is perhaps another to which the Reformed seem especially prone.  We Reformed have an obsession with order, logic, systems.  (Perhaps this is why--to indulge a thought that just struck me--we seem so prone to go head-over-heels for Austrian economics.)  This has its uses, but it can really get in the way of doing good history, because it means we are always looking for people to be orderly, logical, consistent.  And people aren’t!  How many real thinkers, thinkers with interesting thoughts worth studying, were consistent in all of their thinking across different contexts, different genres, different debates, different decades?  If you can point me to an example (Francis Turretin, maybe, or the dime-a-dozen Reformed systematicians of the last century) then to me that’s just proof that they aren’t thinkers with interesting thoughts worth studying, because they’re not thinking like real people.  Real people change their minds, real people get passionate about something and overstate their case, real people get caught up in a debate and over-emphasize just one side of an issue, only to over-emphasize the other side the next year in a different debate.  

VanDrunen seems terribly reluctant to admit that Calvin was “inconsistent,” as if this were to accuse him of the unforgiveable sin.  He hems and he haws and he gives various explanations, before finally admitting that yes, perhaps, Calvin was inconsistent at points.  This way of looking at it also means that, since inconsistency is an odd aberration, VanDrunen can identify what the “heart” of Calvin’s “real” position was, and then dismiss other aspects as lamentable inconsistencies.  This, I submit, is not good history.  The fact is that even a man as systematic as Calvin thought many different things over the course of his life and simultaneously wanted to do justice to a number of different intellectual and practical ideals, which led him to sometimes assert, for instance, a radical discontinuity between church and state, and sometimes a close partnership between the two.  The Calvin that VanDrunen gives us is a rather inhuman, disembodied Calvin, a mind whose true ideas we can identify if we can succeed in disentangling them, as Calvin himself couldn’t quite do, from earth-bound issues of practical life.  This perhaps makes sense, when we consider VanDrunen’s Gnostic paradigm of the Christian life, in which the Christian’s true identity is “spiritual” and “heavenly,” separated from the mundane earthly affairs in which, as a human, he must still be engaged.  (You know, that came across rather harshly; I didn’t really intend for it to, but, there it is--maybe my true feelings are harsher than I thought.)

Third, and closely related, VanDrunen seems to have very little interest in the historical context within which Calvin and the Reformers formulated their statements on social and political issues.  For someone seeking to do historical work in any period, this is a significant oversight, but when dealing with a period as tumultuous and conflicted as the Reformation, it is grievous indeed.  At one point, after introducing Calvin’s rather shockingly dualistic statements in the Institutes (e.g., “For there exists in man a kind of two worlds, over which different kings and different laws can preside”) VanDrunen says, “I turn now to describe Calvin’s view of the nature of these two kingdoms and thereby to explain why he drew this contrast so sharply.”  “Aha!” I thought, “Here it is; he’s going to explain to us why, in historical terms, Calvin felt compelled to state things this way, about the context of anti-papal polemics and so on.”  Alas, no.  VanDrunen proceeded to explain Calvin’s view in terms of other theological commitments of his, with absolutely no mention of the historical, polemical context.  

This approach explains why VanDrunen finds himself so flummoxed when he comes to the fact that, in actual practice in Geneva, Calvin did not seem to abide by the radical disjunction that he had asserted in the Institutes; in fact, even in the Institutes, Calvin appears to contradict himself, very quickly moving to give civil magistrates charge over religious affairs.  We can see this same phenomenon, even more vividly, in the work of Bullinger and Vermigli--they will make the most shocking, unqualified statements about the incommensurability of civil and religious affairs, of church and state, on one page, and then, a couple pages later, they’ll be saying how silly people are who think that spiritual and ecclesial matters aren’t the province of the civil magistrate.  Part of the explanation for this lies in understanding the polemical context.  They don’t like the way in which the popes and the Catholic Church have claimed a plenitude of power over all affairs, spiritual and temporal,  so that the Church has become in many respects indistinguishable from a worldly kingdom.  In reaction to this, they will in certain contexts argue forcefully for the separation of civil and religious affairs, but then it becomes clear, when they turn to consider the civil magistrate, that they don’t want anything like a complete separation.  Rather, they want to separate civil affairs from ecclesial authority, but they don’t necessarily want to separate ecclesial affairs from civil authority; the independence of the Chruch is simply not a high value for them at this point.  We all do this sort of thing all the time, and in the polemically-supercharged setting of Reformation theology, it stands to reason that they did it even more.  VanDrunen, though, gives almost no attention to the historical context or causes of the claims Calvin makes, a critical oversight in a book purporting to give us a history of Reformed social thought.

Now, all that was prolegomenal--good heavens!  I told you this would be a long review.  

PMV Has A Good Line

“If God be God, let us follow him, and that not by halves, but wholly. But it is to be feared (say they), lest while we are against the superior power, we bring danger to the commonwealth….[Rather], it is to be feared lest while they overmuch regard and defend the commonwealth, they lose heaven."

PMV's Uneasy Balance

Well, sickness and a barrage of papers and then travels have kept me from coming back to PMV for a while, alas, but I've been reading his "On the Magistrate" recently and finding some very interesting notions. Some well-informed fellow named Steven offered an extended comment on my previous post, which I hope to interact with later. Some of what is in this post, I think, addresses some of the issues he pointed to.

I'm still trying to give PMV the benefit of the doubt (though the previous post may not have sounded like it), but his articulation of the relation of Church and State in "On the Magistrate" had some troubling points.

In his treatise “On the Magistrate,” PMV attacks the claims of the Roman pontiffs to supreme spiritual and political authority, and outlines the proper authority of the magistrate. PMV is very focused on trimming the Church down to size, after its medieval pretensions, and so attempts to outline a doctrine of church and state in which the two exist in a harmonious, symmetrical equality. Thankfully, he seems to recognize that the Church needs to still have some kind of supremacy so he suggests repeatedly that since the Word of God is supreme over all, and the Word is entrusted to the Church, the Church maintains a kind of supremacy. However, his exposition of the two authorities shows that this supposed supremacy is meaningless, and that, if anything, the magistrate ends up on top.

So first, what is the authority of the ecclesiastical power? Inasmuch as it wields the Word, it encompasses everything, even the civil power: "the word of God is a common rule, whereby all things ought to be directed and tempered. For it teacheth in what manner the outward sword and public wealth ought to be governed: and generally also it showeth how all things ought to be done of all men." PMV is no advocate of the spirituality of the Church; he realizes that it makes no sense to say that the Church governs merely the inward and spiritual, for of course this must translate into action. "The ecclesiastical power after this manner comprehendeth all things, because out of the word of God it findeth how to give counsel in all things. For there is nothing in the whole world whereunto the word of God extendeth not it self. Wherefore they are far deceived, which use to cry, what hath a preacher to do with the public weal? What hath he to do with wars? what with apothecaries? what with cooks? But let them tell me: when the minister of the word perceiveth the law of God to be violated in these things, why should he not reprehend them by the word of God? Why should he not admonish them? Why should he not exhort them to cease from sin?" This is indeed a wonderful confession of the scope of the Church's concern and authority, extending to all areas of life, contrary to what most moderns will tell us. He specifically says that ministers should rebuke magistrates for going to war wrongfully (if only we had more of that nowadays!)

But the rub comes when he goes on to sketch the legitimate sphere of control of the state. Political power, he says, “is extended to all things which pertain to political power.” Ok, fair enough. “But after what manner?” he and we ask. Well, the magistrate doesn’t require internal repentance of his subjects, he says; it doesn’t have the tools to compel these things. But the Church does, and so the magistrate should make sure the Church does its job: “it ought to have a care that Bishops, pastors, and teachers in the Church, do teach purely, reprehend fatherly, and by the word of God administer the sacraments.” So it seems we have a reciprocal arrangement, in which the Church has authority over all things in a spiritual way, and makes sure the State does its job, and the State has authority over all things in a civil way, and makes sure the Church does its job.

PMV summarizes, “Wherefore either power extendeth most amply, and comprehendeth all things, but not after one and the self-same manner.” So both have full jurisdiction, but in different ways? So they’re basically equal? Well, PMV again points to the important difference in the very next line: “And the rule of either of them is taken out of the word of God, the which doth plainly appear to be in the Church.” So this is the basic set-up: church and state both have jurisdiction over every area of society, including each other, but each according to their proper type of jurisdiction; nevertheless, the Church maintains the primacy through its guardianship of the Word.

PMV goes on to clarify how these two types of jurisdictions work—they are two different types of subjections, the civil/political and the spiritual. All men are under the civil/political, which is enforced by the magistrates and which uses the means of external punishments (fines, execution, imprisonment), and external reward (money, honour, praise).
On the other hand is the spiritual subjection, which is a subjection of “faith and of obedience, for straightway as men hear of their duty out of the word of God, and that either this thing or that is to be done, or this or that to be avoided, they give place, believe and obey, because they perceive that it is the word of God which is spoken.” In other words, the civil power enforces itself by appealing to people’s physical fears and desires, and the spiritual power enforces itself only by appealing to men’s faith in and sense of duty toward God.
The civil power itself is subjected to the ecclesiastical, not civilly of course, but spiritually. For “it belongs to the Ecclesiastical power, to admonish out of the word of God for salvation.” But what if they don’t listen? Well, according to PMV’s earlier definition, it seems like this is all that can be done, for the spiritual power can only appeal to people’s faith and sense of duty—it cannot compel anything by external means. But it’s not quite that simple. For PMV thankfully grants that, if that magistrate doesn’t listen, then the minister should resort to excommunication.
Likewise, then, in this symmetrical, reciprocal arrangement, the ecclesiastical power is subjected to the civil, not spiritually, but civilly. “For these powers are occupied about the self-same things, and mutually help one another….The ecclesiastical power is subject unto the magistrate, not by a spiritual subjection but by a political.”
This is true first because, since all ministers are citizens, they owe civil allegiance to their magistrates: “Howbeit ministers, in that they be men and citizens, are without all doubt subject together with their lands, riches, and possessions unto the magistrates…their manners also are subject unto the censures and judgments of the magistrates.”
So it seems at first as if he is going to protect the crucial functions of the Church as the Church from civil interference: “as touching the sacraments and sermons, it [the Church] is not subject unto it [the civil power], because the magistrate may not alter the word of God, or the sacraments which the minister useth. Neither can he compel the Pastors and teachers of the Church to teach otherwise, or in any other sort to administer the sacraments, than is prescribed by the word of God.”
But, he goes on, in the next paragraph, to say, “We say moreover that ministers are subject unto the magistrate, not only as touching those things which I have rehearsed, but also concerning their function. Because, if they teach not right, neither administer the sacraments orderly, it is the office of the magistrate to compel them to an order, and to see that they teach not corruptly, and that they mingle not fables, nor yet abuse the sacraments, or deliver them otherwise than the Lord hath commanded. Also if they live naughtily and wickedly, they shall put them forth from the holy ministry.”

It sounds here as if PMV is contradicting himself. The magistrate may not alter the sacraments and word, because these belong to the Church, but then we are told that he can correct what he perceives as wrong administration of these.
Why does the magistrate have such authority? “For the king ought to have with him the law of God written because he is ordained a keeper, not only of the first table, but also of the latter. So then he which offendeth in any of them both, runs in danger of his power.” From this, it sounds like the monopoly on the Word, which PMV had granted to the Church, has been breached. Magistrates may tell ministers how to preach the word, because they too are ordained as keepers of the written law of God. I hope that PMV would not take refuge by saying that he has only given magistrates the right to interfere if they deem that the word has been preached or the sacraments administered contrary to Scripture. This doesn’t work because 1) all authority is merely authority to punish errors, so this qualification is meaningless, and 2) this presupposes that the magistrates have some capacity, above and beyond the Church, to judge for themselves what the Word teaches, and to apply it. If they have such power, and have it over the Church, we may justly wonder whether this careful balance and the unique power of the keys, have been overturned.

As if this apparent veto on the Church’s supreme guardianship of the Word were not troubling enough, in the next line, it begins to seem as if the magistrate is in fact supreme; “But although a king may remove an unprofitable and hurtful Bishop, yet cannot a Bishop (on the other side) depose a king if he have offended. So now we find that the magistrate has a power over the Church for which there is no reciprocal, and a most important power: the power of deposition. If the magistrate can remove bishops that he deems to have erred, and the bishop cannot remove a magistrate that he deems to have erred, then which power has supremacy, especially if the Church does not have a monopoly on the Word?

PMV summarizes the whole arrangement: ““Briefly, as there is found no king nor emperor so great that is not subject to the word of God, which is preached by the Ministers: so on the other side is there no Bishop, which having offended, but ought to be reproved by the civil magistate. What difference soever there be, the same (as I have said) is wholly as touching the manners of reproving….Both of them do one help another, for the political prince giveth judgment, and the ecclesiastical indeed doth not give judgment, but teacheth how judgment ought to be given….So on the other side, the civil magistrate preacheth not, neither administereth sacraments. But unless these things be rightly ordered, he ought to punish the Ministers. And to be brief, there are two things to be considered of us in this comparison. In the civil magistrate is to be considered both the power and also the man which beareth and exerciseth the power. He in respect that he is a Christian man is subject to the word of God, and in the respect that he beareth authority and governeth, he ought also to be subject unto the same word of God, seeing that ought of the same he ought to seek rules to govern and bear rule. In the minister of the Church also is to be considered both the ministry in itself, and also the person which executes it. As touching the person, the minister is subject unto the civil power. For both he is a citizen, and he also payeth tribute as other men do, and is under the correction of manners. But as concerning the ministry, he is also subject some way unto the magistrat. For if either he teach or administer the sacraments against the word of God, he must be reprehended by the civil magistrate. And yet must he not seek for rules and reasons of his function at the same magistrate’s hand, but out of the word of God. But this distinction we may easily understand the differences and agreement of either power.”
PMV has again continued his illusion of mutual equality and support, with the Church as teacher over all. But if the Church is guardian of the Word, doesn’t it belong to the Church to reprove (and if need be, depose) a minister for improperly preaching the Word? Does it need the magistrate to do this for it? I can’t see why. Why should the magistrate be reproving a minister for failing to preach the Word unless it so happens that the magistrate disagrees with the Church about what the proper teaching of the Word (or administration of the sacraments) is. In this case, however, the magistrate must appeal to an independent right to interpret and apply the Word, apart from anything that the Church is teaching. So it appears, then, that the Word does not belong to the Church but rather floats free, to be applied by anybody to their proper sphere of authority, as in Kuyper’s spheres. If this be so, then, and the magistrate can actually compel the Church to alter its teaching, while the Church can merely advise the magistrate to change his tune, what do we have but full-blown Erastianism?

Again, perhaps I am being too harsh, as I tend to be when I get carried away typing something up. And perhaps PMV will remedy this in later writings. But I’m having a hard time seeing how this system is supposed to truly preserve the mutual integrity of each institution.

PMV--Slave to Natural Theology

Perhaps that title is a bit strong. But I am certainly disappointed in my Reformed forefathers when it comes to political theology. This post is the first of many that will no doubt follow on PMV--Peter Martyr Vermigli--and his political theology. As far as I can tell, only one book has been published on the subject (and it's simply a compilation of some of his writings), and I have it in my hands.

Though taking place within the context of a Biblical commentary, his whole discussion of the rights and privileges of the magistrate reeks of natural theology. When it comes to the question of "What if the magistrate is corrupt and abuses his powers?" it never enters into PMV's head to bring the Church into it at all:

But when princes are so corrupt, what is to be done? We must obey, but usque ad aras, that is, so far as religion suffreth. May private men take upon them to alter a corrupt Prince? They may do it in admonishing, in giving counsel and reproving, but not by force of weapons.

I happen to agree with what he says about private men, but he forgets that there is another institution in this picture--the Church. There is not simply the State and its citizens. The Church does have a certain ability to stand against the corrupt prince that the private man does not. Of course, again, this does not take the form of arms. In the case of pagan rulers, it may indeed not be able to take much form other than "giving counsel and reproving"--however, even this holds much more authority, coming from the Church, than from any number of private men. But what if the magistrate is a corrupt Christian? It is unconscionable that this question does not even arise for PMV. The magistrate is simply considered in terms of his public role as magistrate, and the question of whether or not he is a covenant member never arises. Where's the antithesis here? PMV takes examples from ancient Rome and applies them on magistrates of his day. But there is something really missing here. For, if the corrupt magistrate is indeed a Christian, the Church has a great deal more to say. The Church cannot fight with worldly weapons, but it can fight with what are far more powerful--spiritual weapons. It can bring all the discipline of the Church down upon that corrupt magistrate. Now, we can't necessarily know how this will turn out, but I have to wonder, why does PMV not even discuss this angle?

In other words, PMV needs to read Torture and Eucharist.