The Soul of the Body of England

May 21, 2010

Heinrich Bullinger gets a little carried away with himself in his dedication to King Henry VIII at the beginning of his treatise “On the Authority of Holy Scripture,” making for some jolly fun translation work.  After a couple pages spent reassuring Henry that he has been right to take for himself the headship of the Church of England, and not to listen to those who say that kings have no right to rule the Church, he exhorts him to take the reform of the Church firmly into his own hands, and concludes with this rousing encomium: 

“But already, O most powerful King, since the Lord has selected and anointed you to be above his people, you understand what is proper for you and what it is necessary to do.  You are the king, therefore you are the father of your country.  You are the head of the kingdom, therefore you will exercise understanding for yourself and your kingdom.  You are the soul of the body of England, therefore you will animate your people for the duties of a holy life.  You are the eye, the sun, and the light of the Church of England, therefore, snatching the Church redeemed by the blood of Christ from the jaws of the Antichrist himself, you will illuminate it with the word of Christ, and what is subverted by superstition will also be restored by true religion.  You have begun the work of Christ beautifully, and it advances extraordinarily through the grace of God; you will continue fearlessly in hope of the promise of God.  They who desire the advancement of the glory of Christ pray to the Lord for you and for your kingdom, and they rejoice for the gifts given by the Lord for those who labor therein.”* 

This is especially remarkable, of course, in light of how little the Reformation was advancing under Henry at this point...in fact, this same year he began taking steps to actively repress it, and made denial of transubstantiation a capital offence.

*my own translation

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.  

Two Kingdoms Theory, Bullinger-Style

April 30, 2010
At the risk of sounding like Puddleglum in my continued negativity, I note that Vermigli and Bullinger’s political theology seems to combine the worst of both worlds.  They insist on a tremendous continuity between the civil and ecclesial realms when it comes to establishing the prince’s authority to manage the Church and its ministers, but they insist on tremendous discontinuity when it comes to any of the influence or authority going the other way.  We hear that Christ’s kingdom is a purely spiritual kingdom, and so all the things that he tells his disciples to do and how to live, etc., are only intended to ministers in the Church, not to any other authorities; in fact, when he tells them things like “You are not to lord it over one another as the Gentiles do”; far from calling into question the power-arrangements in the empire, he intends to reinforce them.

Consider the following passages from Bullinger's Confutation of the Pope's Bull Against Queen Elizabeth: 

“Therefore although our Lord Jesus Christ was by his almighty father ordained both king and priest in his kingdom, and that he manifestly avouched himself to be a king; yet notwithstanding he laid aside the government of temporal and worldly things, and too himself to the charge only of spiritual things.  By reason whereof when Pilate asked him whether he were the king of Israel or no, He denied not himself to be a king, but he addeth an exposition and meekly answered, ‘My kingdom is not of this world.’  Whereupon in another place of the Gospel he said, he came not to be served (that is to wit as a worldly prince) but to serve or to do service himself, and to give his life for the ransom of the whole multitude.  For that cause, he utterly refused the judging or dividing of the heritage that was desired at his hand, and put it over from himself to the lawful judges, not without displeasure saying, ‘Man, who hath made me a judge over you?’  And therefore when the people were purposed to have made him a temporal king, he fled, and by that flight of his showed that those his ministers must not seek for worldly sovereignty in the Church, and much less possess it or by any means claim it, not nor receive it or take it upon them if it be offered.  Besides this, he not only commanded to give unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, but also furthermore when the tribute that was wont to be paid to the Magistrate was demanded of him, he commanded a penny that was taken out of a fishes mouth, to be paid for him, lest he might be an offence unto others.”

“Most trimly and effectually hath the Lord herein severed the ecclesiastical ministry from the civil authority.  And justly doth he challenge and yield to the magistrate, that which belongeth to the magistrate, without derogating or taking any thing from him, and conveying it to himself and his, and likewise show the ministers what they also ought to do.  ‘Ye know,’ saith he, ‘that there be Princes or Magistrates ordained among people, and among the Gentiles, so as there is no need that you also should be made rulers over nations.  I mind not to make wars with the Romans, and to put down their presidents and Tetrarchs, to set you by in their rooms (which thing, notwithstanding the Jews believed that Christ should have done, and therefore when he answered not their expectation, they acknowledged him not to be the Messiah.)  Princes have their power given them of God.  Whereby you understand, that there is no cause why you should strive among yourselves for sovereignty.  For you see that those which are in office already, shall continue still in their charge.  Thus much said the Lord concerning civil government.”

“He repeateth the same argument, which he had objected against them in the 20th chapter of Matthew, saying, ‘There is no reason why you should strive for superiority.  For the Princes that reign at this time in the world, neither are now nor shall hereafter be put down for me.  For the Magistrate continueth still in his former state and dignity.  He shall reign, but so shall not you reign.’  By the way also and as it were glancingly, he shadoweth out the office of princes, saying, ‘And they which have power over them are called Good and Gracious,’ that is to say, they be ordained of God, to the end that they should do good to their subjects.  For the Apostle saith: ‘The Magistrate is God’s minister, for thy welfare.  For princes are not a terror to such as do well, but to such as do ill.  And what could be said more pithily and strongly in this case, that which is said already, or rather now twice repeateth, ‘but so shall not you.’  By and by he addeth an ordinance after what sort the Ministers must behave themselves in their ecclesiastical charge, saying: ‘He that is an elder among you, let him become fellow to the younger.’”

“‘After that the holy Ghost is come down into you, you shall receive power, and you shall bear witness of me, not only at Jerusalem, but even to the uttermost coasts of the earth also.’  And what else is this, than if he had said, ‘The holy Ghost shall teach you to understand, what manner of kingdom mine shall be, doubtless spiritual, and not worldly, wherein I shall sit and reign the chief and only sovereign.  And in this my kingdom, that is to wit, in the very Church of the saints, you shall be witnesses and not kings, preachers and not princes.  For by preaching of the Gospel you shall gather me a Church out of the whole world.  This I say is Christ’s doctrine concerning supremacy and reigning, and concerning the ministry of Christ in the Church, more lightsome than the sun.”

We should note, for future references of reviewing VanDrunen, that these Reformers do seem to have a pretty strong two kingdoms doctrine when it comes to restricting the scope of Church authority, but it starts looking quite different when it comes to articulating the scope of civil authority, as Torrance Kirby notes.  I’ll be interested to see how VanDrunen deals with this.

"The Most Sacred and the Most Honourable of Callings"

April 29, 2010

If you know me, you know it’s frustrating enough for me when the Reformers claim that civil authority wields its authority as permanent fixture of the creation order, or when they claim that the magistrate ought to rule over the Church.  But, I can handle all that.  But how about when they go and claim that civil authority is not merely a lawful and important calling, but the most honourable and important calling there is--more honorable than ecclesial offices.  Consider John Calvin, from the Institutes: “No one ought to doubt that civil authority is a calling, not only holy and lawful before God, but also the most sacred and by far the most honorable of all callings in the whole life of mortal men.” 

Or how about Heinrich Bullinger, who insists that politicians are thousands of times more virtuous and honorable than monks:  

“And for the excellency of their office, which is both the chiefest and the most necessary, God doth attribute to the magistrate the use of his own name, and calleth the princes and senators of the people gods, to the intent that they by the very name should be put in mind of their duty, and that the subjects might thereby learn to have them in reverence....There is more true virtue in one politic man, who governeth the commonweal and doth his duty truly, than in many thousands of monks and hermites, who have not so much as one word expressed in the holy scriptures for the defence of their vocation and vowed order of living: yea, I am ashamed that I have compared the holy office of magistrates with that kind of people, in whom there is nothing found worthy to be compared with them....Truly if the prince do faithfully discharge his office in the commonweal, he heapeth up to himself a number of very good works and praise that never shall be ended.”

Beginning with the Ends (VanDrunen Review I.1)

April 27, 2010
I have been asked to review David VanDrunen’s Natural Law and the Two Kingdoms: A Study in the Development of Reformed Social Thought for the Scottish Bulletin of Evangelical Theology, and so I will be blogging through the book in detail as I read it; of course the final review will be far more condensed than what I offer here.  So here is the first post, which doesn’t get us past the first page (don’t worry--it will go faster after this!).

In this book, David VanDrunen attempts to lend scholarly weight and sobriety to the growing chorus of Lutheran-esque Reformed theologians who are decrying the takeover of Reformed circles by Kuyperianism and Christian worldview thinking.  Darryl Hart has perhaps been the loudest and most recurrent voice in that chorus, but many of his colleagues at both Westminster Seminaries and elsewhere have voiced similar concerns, lamenting that Reformed Christians now see the need to apply their Reformed faith--their “worldview”--to every area of life, instead of recognizing the necessity of a large secular realm of politics, economics, science, and more, a realm governed by the natural law, rather than by specifically Christian principles.  VanDrunen wishes to rehabilitate the notions of natural law (commonly dismissed as a Catholic doctrine) and the two kingdoms (commonly dismissed as a Lutheran doctrine) as historically Reformed doctrines.  He proposes to offer a narrative in which the two kingdoms was taught by the Calvinist Reformers and their theological descendants all the way up to the end of the 19th-century, at which point the spectre of ubiquitous secularism frightened Reformed folks into adopting the “neo-Calvinist” (Kuyperian) innovation.

I must admit up front that I not only find his conceptualization of nature and grace, creation and redemption, to be theologically incoherent, but also am highly skeptical of his historical narrative.  The Protestant Reformers, with the close marriage of Church and State that they taught and lived, seem an odd place to look for a pristine bifurcation of secular and sacred kingdoms; perhaps VanDrunen would do better to recruit Marsilius of Padua and John Locke as allies.  Nevertheless, this book promises to be a work of thorough scholarship, and I will seek to withhold my skepticism as I wait to see how VanDrunen fills out his narrative.

Let’s look now at chapter 1, “The Untold Story of Reformed Social Thought.”  He begins, prudently and helpfully, with definitions of the two doctrines he wishes to recommend to us, “natural law” and “the two kingdoms.”  The first he defines as the “belief that God had inscribed his moral law on the heart of every person, such that through the testimony of conscience all human beings have knowledge of their basic moral obligations and, in particular, have a universally accessible standard for the development of civil law.”  The second conceives “God as ruling all human institutions and activities, but as ruling them in two fundamentally different ways.  According to this doctrine, God rules the church (the spiritual kingdom) as redeemer in Jesus Christ and rules the state and all other social institutions (the civil kingdom) as creator and sustainer, and thus these two kingdoms have significantly different ends, functions, and modes of operation.”  

I will refrain for now from voicing the Biblical and theological objections to these definitions that immediately suggest themselves, since VanDrunen’s main point in this book is historical rather than theological.  As a historical point then, I object that both of these definitions are rather too vague, especially the second.  Many theologians, such as the natural theologian par excellence, Aquinas, would have agreed that natural law provides a universally knowable standard for basic moral obligations and for civil law, but they did not thereby conclude that it formed an altogether self-sufficient bubble that ought not to be permeated and transformed by evangelical law.  Natural law may provide a sufficient bare minimum for the unredeemed to function morally in civil society (though I confess I am more inclined to an Augustinian pessimism on this point), but that does not mean it is a perfect standard for civil morality all on its own.  This is why, for instance, the Reformers could argue that the Turkish emperor was a legitimate monarch, but could nevertheless insist that princes in Christendom should seek to arrange their societies in many ways according to specifically Gospel principles.  To argue that there is such a thing as natural law is not necessarily to show that natural law is entirely perfect in its own sphere, which is, I believe, what VanDrunen wishes to show (though if I turn out to have misunderstood him, I shall let you know). 

The ambiguity is even worse in his definition of the “two kingdoms.”  I should mention now that nowhere in this opening chapter do I see a recognition by him, that, although it has become a common shorthand, this term is not a proper translation of Luther’s doctrine, which is generally taken to be the foundation of “two kingdoms” theory.  Scholars recognize now that Luther’s doctrine should actually be translated “two regimens,” which makes a crucially important difference.  “Two kingdoms” sounds like the Augustinian idea of two incommensurable cities--the society of the city of man and the society of the city of God--and raises the objection that surely one could only be a citizen of one city at a time (which is clearly Augustine’s point).  “Two regimens” suggests two kinds of rule within one kingdom, one society--a spiritual form of rule and a temporal form of rule.  In such a conception, it certainly seems that one could be a subject of both rules at once, which are both carrying out their God-ordained task within a single, Christian society.  And yet, fundamental as this translation distinction is, nowhere do I see VanDrunen make it; perhaps he will return to make it later, but his failure to do so here at the outset leaves us with a puzzling ambiguity.  On the one hand, VanDrunen wants to insist, with the Lutheran “two regimens” conception, that the Christian is genuinely a citizen of civil society, which frankly seems hard to do on the Augustinian model.  On the other hand, he wants to insist on the radical incommensurability of these two, and is adamant, against the neo-Calvinists, that these are not simply two different forms of rule within the same kingdom.  It seems like he wants to have his cake and eat it too.

But, back to my questions about his definition.  The contrast between creation and redemption, although it is intended to clarify the distinction between the two kingdoms, simply makes things foggier in my mind.  Because the crucial question here, it seems to me, is how we conceive the relationship between creation and redemption.  The Anabaptist might well agree that there are two kingdoms, one belonging to creation and one belonging to redemption, but if (as in at least some forms of Anabaptism) the purpose of redemption is to rescue us out of creation, then this means that the Christian’s task, as a redeemed person, is to withdraw from the civil kingdom.  Or the postmillenialist might agree that there are two kingdoms, one belonging to creation and one belonging to redemption, but if redemption is a new creation, designed to completely renew and remake the old creation, then the Church’s task is to wholly supplant the civil authority; or perhaps, to transfigure the task of civil authority into something wholly redemptive.  What VanDrunen seems to envision is a particular kind of amillenialist account of creation and redemption, in which the purpose of redemption is to save one part of our being (the “spiritual” side) from sin, while leaving the rest of us firmly planted within the old creation, which remains as it always has, until Christ returns.  Whatever the case, I would like to see VanDrunen recognize that simply invoking “creation” and “redemption” does not solve anything, since the crucial question is the theological question of how these two relate.  

The same sort of problem comes with his language of “significantly different ends, functions, and modes of operation.”  Now, the “functions” and “modes of operation” is not terribly significant in this definition.  Deacons and elders have different functions and modes of operation, and yet we see no need to characterize them as occupying two different kingdoms, and most any understanding of Church and state would grant that civil authorities have a different function than ecclesial ones.  It is with the language of different “ends” that a crucial point is raised, and this language has been a crucial point of discussion for political theology.  This language can help clarify things for us, but VanDrunen will need to unpack it a lot further, since the mere fact that the ends are different tells us little.  Is one end subordinated to another?  Are both ends ultimate ends, or is the civil end merely a “proximate” or “provisional” end?  Consider the following three relationships of differing “ends”: 1) the construction foreman and the bricklayer have different ends, since the goal of the former is to construct a building, while the goal of the latter is simply to lay bricks; yet the latter “end” is subordinated to the former, so that the bricklayer’s task is incorporated within the task of constructing a building, which thus provides his ultimate end.  2) The bricklayer and the carpenter have different ends, since the task of one is to lay bricks, and of the other, to construct wooden frames; but the ends of both are subordinated to a larger end which both share.  3) The bricklayer and the farrier have different ends, that are, for all practical purposes, entirely unrelated to one another.  

No doubt many more different relationships of differing ends could be proposed, and lest anyone should doubt that this is indeed a thorny question when it comes to issues of nature and grace, civil and ecclesial society, let him take a look at the wranglings of Aquinas scholars over the past half-century.  

All of this is not intended, at this point, as an indictment of VanDrunen; after all, you can’t expect him to deal with all this on the first page.  But I am trying to flag up some of the key points of ambiguity that VanDrunen will have to resolve at some point if he wishes to put forward this Reformed two kingdoms theory as a viable model for Church and State, and one that can be used to critique other proposals.  

In the next post, I shall deal with the remaining bulk of chapter 1, where VanDrunen situates his task against the background of contemporary proposals for Church, State, and society, and outlines what he is going to do in the rest of the book.