Reformed Theology in the Context of the Reformation(s)

Author(s):  
Carl Trueman

Reformed theology developed in the Reformation as both a positive appropriation of, and reaction to, Lutheranism. In its soteriology it was close to that of Martin Luther, but in its understanding of the Lord’s Supper it rejected the objective presence of Christ in the elements. As the sixteenth century wore on, Reformed theologians addressed issues of worship, where the development of the Regulative Principle was central. Also, Reformed theologians of the Bucer–Calvin trajectory went further than the Lutherans in pressing for a clearer demarcation between church and state on ecclesiastical matters, even though they were not able to achieve their ideal. As the century drew to a close, the rise of movements within the Reformed camp, particularly that of the Arminians, set the scene for increasingly rarefied and divisive debates over the basic elements of the Reformed understanding of grace.

Author(s):  
Peter Marshall

This chapter examines the religious conversions in sixteenth-century England. Some historians have rightly warned us that there was more to the Reformation than a succession of individual religious conversions, noting that most people didn't undergo one. But without such conversions there could have been no Reformation, and attempting to untangle them draws us to the mysterious seed beds in which change first took root. For historians have to make sense of a paradox: that a convert's radical rejection of the old and familiar could not come out of nowhere; that it must somehow be grounded in earlier attitudes and experiences. The chapter first considers the English authorities' response to the Ninety-Five Theses of Martin Luther and to ‘Lutheran’ heresy before discussing William Tyndale's Worms New Testament and the public abjuration of heresy. It also analyses the deep and bitter divisions between heretics and Catholics over religion.


Author(s):  
David M. Whitford

Violence was first experienced in the church as martyrdom. Under the Roman Empire, Christians were subjected to state-sponsored penalties ranging from fines to corporal punishment to execution. A number of prominent early theologians and apologists fell victim, including Polycarp, Justin Martyr, Origen, Cyprian, Perpetua, and Felicity. With the end of persecution under Constantine and then its eventual designation as the empire’s official religion, Christianity’s relationship to violence changed significantly. While some theologians had attempted to grapple with the question of whether Christians could join the Roman armies, the new relationship between church and state required new theological consideration. Accordingly, new questions arose: For example, could or should the state enforce right belief? Over time, three general approaches to violence emerged. The first is a coercive model. In this model, the state (and then later, the church in places) used its punitive powers to enforce Christian orthodoxy and fight against its enemies, both within its own borders and externally. St. Augustine provided part of the justification for coercion in his “Letter 93: To Valentius,” in which he argued that not all persecution is evil. If persecution is aimed at bringing one to right belief and practice, it has a positive goal. Many heresy trials and later executions were supported by “Letter 93.” Later thinkers expanded the model of internal persecution against heretics to external attacks on those deemed threatening to Christianity from outside the church or outside the empire. The Crusades were largely justified on such bases. The second is a pacifist model. Though perhaps the dominant model in the first two centuries of the church, it was quickly eclipsed by the other two perspectives. Early theologians such as Tertullian and Cyprian argued that because Christ forbade Peter to use the sword in the Garden of Gethsemane, Christians were forbidden from using violence to achieve any ends, “but how will a Christian man war, nay, how will he serve even in peace, without a sword, which the Lord has taken away” (Tertullian, On Idolatry, Chapter 19, “On Military Service.”) In the medieval period, the pacifist model was adopted by some monastic traditions (e.g., the Spiritualist Franciscans), but more commonly by what were then considered heretical movements, including the Cathars, Albigensians, Waldensians, and Czech Brethren. The final model is often called the “Just War” perspective. The origin for this theory can be found in St. Ambrose’s response to a massacre of innocent people. He argued that while a Christian should never use violence for his or her own benefit, there were times when a Christian, out of love for neighbor, had to use violence to protect the weak or innocent. To stand by and watch the powerful attack or kill the innocent when one can do something to prevent it is nearly as great a sin as being one of the attackers. As with the coercive model, Augustine provided much of the framework for this view of violence. Augustine allowed that there were some righteous wars, fought at the command of God as punishment for iniquity. That view remained less influential and is more closely connected to the coercive model. Far more influential was his view that there were wars that were necessary for the protection of the homeland and the innocent. In this sense, he outlined two major principles that guided later thinking. First, a war must have a right (or just) cause (ius ad bellum), and one must fight the war itself justly (ius in bello). Just causes included defending the homeland, coming to the aid of an ally, punishing wicked rulers, or retaking that which was unlawfully stolen. Beyond the simple cause, it also had to be rightly intentioned—it could not be fought for vainglory’s sake, nor to take new lands. It had to have some method of state control, since states go to war, not individual people. When conducting the war, one also had responsibilities. One had to be proportional, have achievable ends, and fight discriminately (that is, between combatants, not combatants against civilian populations). Finally, and most importantly, war had to be a last resort after all other measures failed, and it had to be aimed at producing a benefit for those one sought to defend. In the medieval era, Thomas Aquinas added significant precision to Augustine’s framework. All three models continued into the Reformation era. The advent of formally competing visions of Christianity following Luther’s excommunication by the pope and his ban by the emperor in 1521 at the Diet of Worms added new dimensions to these models. Martin Luther had occasion to comment upon all three.


2016 ◽  
Vol 23 (1-2) ◽  
pp. 111-127
Author(s):  
Olof H. de Vries

The Reformation was the religious representative of an encompassing breach in European history. In this transition Anabaptism combats infant baptism as being a symbol of the social-religious unity of the corpus christianum that was passing by. Hence it introduces believer’s baptism as being a major symbol of a new epoch, of which persecution by church and state was the sad and existential consequence. Baptism of itself pertains to a sacrament of transition from old to new, achieved by the death and resurrection of Jesus.


1984 ◽  
Vol 53 (1) ◽  
pp. 17-29 ◽  
Author(s):  
Bodo Nischan

One of the principal areas of disagreement between the followers of Martin Luther and the Swiss reformers during the Reformation concerned the Lord's Supper. As one church historian has observed, “every dissension concerning the Gospel necessarily expresses itself in dissension over the Lord's Supper.” Not surprisingly, therefore, liturgical variations in the celebration of the communion service became major points of controversy as well. Unfortunately, modern scholarship has often overlooked or underestimated the significance of these differences.


1993 ◽  
Vol 30 ◽  
pp. 185-207 ◽  
Author(s):  
Euan Cameron

Two themes which figure repeatedly in the history of the Western Church are the contrasting ones of tradition and renewal. To emphasize tradition, or continuity, is to stress the divine element in the continuous collective teaching and witness of the Church. To call periodically for renewal and reform is to acknowledge that any institution composed of people will, with time, lose its pristine vigour or deviate from its original purpose. At certain periods in church history the tension between these two themes has broken out into open conflict, as happened with such dramatic results in the Reformation of the sixteenth century. The Protestant Reformers seem to present one of the most extreme cases where the desire for renewal triumphed over the instinct to preserve continuity of witness. A fundamentally novel analysis of the process by which human souls were saved was formulated by Martin Luther in the course of debate, and soon adopted or reinvented by others. This analysis was then used as a touchstone against which to test and to attack the most prominent features of contemporary teaching, worship, and church polity. In so far as any appeal was made to Christian antiquity, it was to the scriptural texts and to the early Fathers; though even the latter could be selected and criticized if they deviated from the primary articles of faith. There was, then, no reason why any of the Reformers should have sought to justify their actions by reference to any forbears or ‘forerunners’ in the Middle Ages, whether real or spurious. On the contrary, Martin Luther’s instinctive response towards those condemned by the medieval Church as heretics was to echo the conventional and prejudiced hostility felt by the religious intelligentsia towards those outside their pale.


Author(s):  
Michael J. Lynch

This chapter, continuing the historical survey of the previous chapter, slows down and focuses on the reception of the so-called Lombardian formula in the Reformation and early Post-Reformation period, especially among the Reformed churches. After looking at how well-known Reformers such as Martin Luther, John Calvin, and Zachary Ursinus understood the Lombardian formula, concentration shifts to a few critical events that provide important background to the Synod of Dordt and intra-Reformed debates on the extent of the atonement. More specifically, the chapter covers a late sixteenth-century debate between the Lutheran Jacob Andreae and the Reformed theologian Theodore Beza on the extent of Christ’s work. Next, it looks at the back-and-forth between Jacob Arminius and William Perkins. Finally, it gives a thorough examination of the Hague Conference of 1611, which featured a discussion of the various doctrines of grace among the Remonstrants and Contra-Remonstrants.


2019 ◽  
pp. 1-22
Author(s):  
Amy Nelson Burnett

Traditional narratives that distinguish between the Eucharistic controversy and the origins of Anabaptism have obscured the underlying connection between the two debates. The Lord’s Supper was the topic of almost 20 percent of all works printed in Germany between 1525 and 1529, and by 1529, almost two-thirds of these imprints also discussed baptism or the sacraments more generally. The controversy pitted the exegetical authority of Martin Luther against that of Erasmus, and participants used all the techniques of dialectic and rhetoric to persuade their readers. To understand the issues debated in the 1520s, one must pay careful attention to terminology. Calling Luther’s opponents “Zwinglians” obscures the significant contribution of other figures to the debate, and the phrase “real presence” is anachronistic and inaccurate in describing the debate. The debate in the 1520s concerned Christ’s corporeal or substantial presence in the bread and wine.


1970 ◽  
Vol 21 (3) ◽  
pp. 243-259 ◽  
Author(s):  
William J. Baker

‘No portion of our annals’, Macaulay wrote in 1828, ‘has been more perplexed and misrepresented by writers of different parties than the history of the Reformation’. In the early years of the nineteenth century, when polemicists turned to history more often than to philosophy or theology, the Reformation was the subject most littered with the pamphlets of partisan debate. Macaulay could have cited numerous examples. Joseph Milner's popular History of the Church of Christ (1794–1809) set the Reformation in sharp contrast to the ‘Dark Ages’ when only occasional gleams of evangelical light could be detected, thus providing the Evangelical party with a historic lineage; Robert Sou they, in his Book of the Church (1824), presented a lightly-veiled argument for the retention of the existing order of Church and State as established in the sixteenth century; and in 1824 William Cobbett began the first of his sixteen weekly instalments on a history of the Protestant Reformation in England and Ireland, in order to call attention to the plight of labourers in the British Isles. In the history of the Reformation, duly manipulated (‘rightly interpreted’), men found precedents for their own positions and refutation of their opponents' arguments.


2019 ◽  
pp. 59-80
Author(s):  
Pamela M. King

This chapter details relations between Church and state in Richard Fox’s age. The break with Rome, the royal supremacy, and the dissolution of the monasteries irreversibly altered the way in which the early Tudor polity would be conceived. Already in the sixteenth century, accounts of this period were informed by the Reformation. Incidents such as Bishop Fox’s change of plan at Oxford—transforming a primarily monastic ‘Winchester College‘ into the secular Corpus Christi College—became overlaid with foreshadowed significance. Ultimately, Fox’s was the last great age of bishops founding university colleges, since the requisite mix of authority and wealth seldom coalesced so favourably thereafter and certainly could not during the assault on episcopal incomes later in the sixteenth century. Clerical dominance in Church and state made Corpus.


PMLA ◽  
1953 ◽  
Vol 68 (1) ◽  
pp. 111-127
Author(s):  
Heinz Bluhm

This paper is a continuation of two earlier articles on Nietzsche's attitude toward Luther. In his first creative period ending with Richard Wagner in Bayreuth, Nietzsche had sung the praises of Luther and the Reformation. Martin Luther was one of his proudly acknowledged heroes, together with such men as Richard Wagner and Arthur Schopenhauer. Nietzsche chose to see in Luther one of his spiritual forebears and in the Reformation a definite harbinger of modern culture. Strongly opposed to Roman Catholicism, young Nietzsche let all the light fall on Protestantism and especially upon its fountainhead, Martin Luther. He was convinced that a progressive spirit manifested itself in sixteenth-century Protestant Germany. He thoroughly approved of it and admonished his contemporaries to ally themselves with the mind that was in Martin Luther and to hold fast to the heritage of the German Reformation.


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