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A Critical Review of
Giberson, Karl W. Saving Darwin: How to Be a Christian and Believe in Evolution. New York: HarperOne, 2008. USA $14.99.
Upon reading Karl Giberson’s book, Saving Darwin, I too became a disillusioned fundamentalist—disillusioned with Giberson’s naive assumption that philosophical naturalism, upon which the neo-Darwinian synthesis is based, is somehow compatible with the Christian worldview.
Never mind Giberson’s nonchalant dismissal of sophisticated arguments in support of Intelligent Design with “devastating” quips like, “I don’t think they [ID theorists] have a good feel for how the historical practice of science has gradually . . .[led] practicing scientists away from such explanations.” (159) Forget the various theological blunders littered throughout the book—such as the stunning assertion that the Christian concept of hell is a, “secondary doctrine.” (38) All such problems, while noteworthy, pale in comparison with Giberson’s patent refusal, throughout the book, to acknowledge the inherent incompatibility of philosophical naturalism with Christianity.
By philosophical naturalism, I mean the prevalent doctrine that the universe, as we know it, is a closed system of material causes and effects. The idea that nothing exists beyond matter and energy; that the physical world is all there is. This nihilistic doctrine constitutes the metaphysical foundation upon which Darwin’s theory of biological origins is predicated upon; and any attempt to detach Darwin’s brand of evolutionary theory from its naturalistic base inevitably leads one to adopt a non-Darwinian form of evolution.
Consider, as Giberson does in his book, that Darwin’s theory is touted by its proponents as being the conclusive argument against design. They reason, that since Darwin was able to explain the origin of the species by means of an undirected, naturalistic process, there is no longer a need to infer design or teleology in nature. All such appearances, say the Darwinists, are merely an illusion. Accordingly, those who posit any form of intelligent guidance or input within nature (Such as theistic evolutionists or deists) are essentially rejecting Darwin’s formulation of evolution.
If God exists, and if he played an active role in the advent of biological life—either by guiding the evolutionary process or setting the initial conditions or laws of the universe—Darwin’s theory of unguided, naturalistic, evolution is necessarily wrong. Under Darwin’s framework, we are merely the result of chance and necessity—random variation (genetic mutation) and natural selection. Any worldview which claims God intended life to arise or inserted the information necessary for life to arise, or guided the evolution of life, challenges this basic claim.
Therefore, I find it hard to understand how Giberson believes one can claim to be a Christian and fully accept Darwin’s theory of evolution without being a complete hypocrite. Affirming the truth of two incompatible worldviews is simply oxymoronic. Yet, this is precisely what Giberson’s insipid book advocates.
The dissonance in Giberson’s argument comes out clearly in chapter three, where he address’s Darwin’s “dark companions.” In this chapter he attempts to defend Darwinism from its critics by disassociating the biological theory from its overarching metaphysical implications. At the beginning of the chapter he states: “The connection between biological and social Darwinism is complex and troubling, and perhaps even suspicious, but there is no denying that it has always been there, even before evolutionary theory became known as “Darwinism.” (79 Emphasis mine) Oddly, after explaining social Darwinism’s role in the development of such atrocious social projects as Eugenics and even admitting its influence on the Nazi’s, he concludes:
Thoughtful evolutionists hasten to point out that no necessary connection exists between biological evolution, which provides descriptive explanations of how nature works, and social Darwinism, which suggests prescriptive guidelines for how society should behave. It is far from obvious that eugenics, unbridled capitalism, relaxed attitudes about infanticide, or rampant militarism is implied by the theory that species originate through natural selection.” (80)
I wonder if Giberson has ever considered that the reason social Darwinism has always been attached to evolutionary theory is because it is predicated upon and bolsters a view of reality which does imply eugenics, unbridled capitalism, relaxed attitudes about infanticide, and rampant militarism; namely, philosophical naturalism.
If there is no overarching purpose or design in the universe, if God played no role in the development of human life, if nature is a closed system of causes and effects, then there are no objective moral values. Furthermore, there is no sensible reason to believe that human life is intrinsically valuable. It seems to me, then, that the social Darwinists are simply following the logic of philosophical naturalism to its ultimate conclusion. They, unlike Giberson, are not being hypocrites; but advocating exactly what their metaphysics entail. Sadly, Giberson appears to be willfully blind to these facts.
For example, he argues in chapter six that he wishes Intelligent Design were true; in fact, he goes as far as to say that, “all Christians . . . should wish it were true.” (155) Why, because Intelligent Design coheres nicely with the Judeo-Christian worldview–a worldview that he admits becomes extremely questionable if Darwin’s theory of evolution is true:
I have a great appreciation for the counterarguments for God’s existence. I understand how honest thinkers and seekers of truth like Daniel Dennett and Michael Ruse [both prominent Darwinists] can end up rejecting God. Like that of most thinking Christians, my belief in God is tinged with doubts and, in my more reflective moments, I sometimes wonder if I am perhaps simply continuing along the trajectory of a childhood faith that should be abandoned. (155)
Yet, in spite of the troubling fact that Darwinian evolution poses a serious threat to his faith, Giberson stubbornly refuses to acknowledge its tacit metaphysical implications. He refuses to consider the possibility that Darwinism is built upon a worldview which is wholly incompatible with his Judeo-Christian proclivities—he is willfully blind.
In a later chapter he laments the fact that, “virtually all the leading spokespersons for science—the ones on bookstands and public television—are strongly antireligious,” and argues against the idea that evolutionary theory has rendered religion superfluous mythology. (174) His argument is that the silent majority of evolutionary biologists don’t think this way; that many, in fact, do believe in God. What he fails to realize is that the silent majority of evolutionary biologists are either metaphysically confused or blatantly adhering to two contradictory views of reality.
I submit that the only Darwinian evolutionists being consistent to their worldview are the exceedingly antireligious spokesmen like Richard Dawkins and Carol Sagan. Darwinism is predicated upon philosophical naturalism and the views they advocate so passionately are the logical outgrowth of such a view of reality. As such, I can see no way in which Darwin can be saved. Contra Giberson, there is no coherent way in which one can be a Christian and fully accept Darwinian evolution.
At the end of the day, the strongest rational Giberson has for maintaining his Christian faith, in light of Darwinian evolution, is one of pure practicality. As he explains:
As a purely practical matter, I have compelling reasons to believe in God. My parents are deeply committed Christians and would be devastated, were I to reject my faith. My wife and children believe in God, and we attend church together regularly. Most of my friends are believers. I have a job I love at a Christian college that would be forced to dismiss me if I were to reject the faith . . . Abandoning belief in God would be disruptive, sending my life completely off the rails. (155-156)
Basically, the only reason he doesn’t reject the existence of God is because he would make a lot of people upset with him and would loose his job.
While I sympathize with Giberson’s need for a job and his desire to remain in friendly fellowship with family and friends, I think it’s time that he stop living a double life. The idea that Christianity is compatible with a scientific theory predicated upon philosophical naturalism is nothing but rehtorical nonsense. For this reason, I implore him to be consistent: either, Christianity is true, and Darwinian evolution is false or Darwinian evolution is true and Christianity is false. There is no middle ground; for the truth of one means the negation of the other.
Since the rise and dominance of metaphysical naturalism in both science and philosophy, many academics have rejected the traditional Judeo-Christian understanding of the soul. To be sure, substance dualism–the view that both immaterial and material substances exist–is not a popular position amongst contemporary philosophers of mind. However, substance dualisms’ fall from grace is not entirely due to naturalistic philosophy. Another reason for its failure has been its persistent association with Cartesian dualism.[1]
The linkage between substance dualism and Cartesian dualism in contemporary philosophy of mind is unfortunate for two reasons: (1) most philosophers believe Descartes arguments have been soundly refuted, and (2) the Cartesian form of dualism exhibits significant conceptual difficulties. It seems, then, that it is not substance dualism, per se, that modern philosophers find repugnant, but its widespread Cartesian formulation.
Thankfully, while Christians are committed to some form of substance dualism, they are not necessarily committed to a Cartesian view. As Eleonore Stump explains, Cartesian dualism is hardly the only game in town for orthodox Christians:
As a matter of historical fact . . . it is not true that a Cartesian sort of dualism has been the view traditional espoused by all major monotheisms. Aquinas, whose views surely represent one major strand of one major monotheism, is familiar with an account very like Cartesian dualism, which he associates with Plato; and he rejects it emphatically.[2]
Unbeknownst to many, Aquinas proposed a form of substance dualism significantly different from both Plato and Descartes; one which naturalistic philosophers may find harder to refute.
This paper will introduce Thomistic dualism, compare and contrast it with the Cartesian view, and offer several reasons why Christian philosophers should favor this form of substance dualism above the Cartesian model. It will accomplish this by: (1) outlining Descartes understanding of the mind and the body and posing two formidable difficulties facing it, and (2) outlining Thomistic dualism and explaining how it better addresses the problems facing the Cartesian view.
Descartes and Cartesian Dualism
Cartesian dualism, as it is most commonly formulated, goes something like this: the mind, being a nonphysical object, is a completely different sort of thing than the body, which is a physical object, “located in space” and comprised of, “atoms familiar to chemistry.”[3] Unlike the body, the mind is completely immaterial, lacking an exact special location, and unable to be seen or touched.[4] Although the mind and the body are two completely different substances, they stand in a causal relationship with one another; each having a distinctive impact on the other.
To understand this causal relationship, one can imagine the mind and body working together in a way much like a scientist controlling a space probe:
Your body is like a probe, sent by NASA to explore a distant planet. The probe sends pictures back to mission control, where scientists decide what the probe should do next. Instructions are sent back to the probe which responds accordingly. The probe itself is entirely unintelligent. Similarly, information about the world is communicated by the body to the mind; the mind decides on a course of action and communicates the decision back to the body. The body itself makes no decisions.[5]
As it stands, the body is not autonomous; depending upon the direction of the mind to accomplish anything.
Descartes arrived at these conclusions about the nature of the mind and the brain through a prolonged introspective process which he recorded in his seminal work: Meditations on First Philosophy. During his meditations, Descartes came to the startling conclusion that he could imagine himself without a body.[6] Conversely, he also realized it was equally impossible for him to doubt that he had a mind: “If I try to doubt I have a mind, I will discover myself with thoughts like ‘I doubt I have a mind’, and so must admit that I have a mind—for the activity of doubting is mental.”[7] Based upon these fundamental introspections, Descartes developed his theory of substance dualism.
As his thinking evolved, Descartes came to the disquieting conclusion that the mind constituted the total essence of the human being. As he explains, “I know I exist, and meanwhile notice nothing clearly to pertain to my nature or essence, except this alone, that I am a thinking thing, I rightly conclude that my whole essence consists in this one thing, that I am a thinking thing.”[8] Descartes refusal to give the body a place in the essence of a human being was the natural outgrowth of his epistemology; namely, his near complete rejection of empiricism. For Descartes, the senses could not be trusted, and therefore, the only true knowledge one could have about the world was that which could be arrived at by pure reason. As a rationalist, the only aspect of his own humanity that he could be totally certain about, was the unavoidable fact that he was a “thinking thing.”[9]
Seeing as how the mind and the body constitute two “ontologically distinct substances”, and that the, “mind alone constitutes the essence of the individual and the body in no way partakes of this essence,” Descartes concluded that the mind could exist completely independent from his body.[10] This is made clear enough in his own words,
Because on the one hand I have a clear and distinct idea of myself, in so far as I am only a thinking thing, not extended, and on the other hand a distinct idea of body in so far as it is only an extended thing, not thinking, it is certain that I am really distinct from my body and can exist without it.[11]
Unsurprisingly, this radical distinction between the mind and body is the source of significant challenges for Cartesian dualists.
To begin with, from a philosophical and scientific perspective, Cartesian dualists fail to provide an adequate account of the, “union of mind and body,” that is, to explain how two ontologically distinct and self-contained substances are capable of working together in a causally integrated way. Exactly, how is it that the mind (which is immaterial) can have a direct casual affect on the brain (which is material)? While, this objection does not constitute a defeater for Cartesian dualism, it does constitute a significant conceptual hurtle; one which is responsible for it’s rejection by contemporary philosophers.
Secondly, from a theological and anthropological perspective, Cartesian dualism fails to account for the importance or value of the physical body. Why is it, that God embodied our souls in the physical realm at all? Why is it that God insists on resurrecting our bodies in the last days? Why did God come down as the incarnate word of God—as the physical man Jesus Christ? Furthermore, why is it wrong, morally, to harm or disparage the human body? These, and other questions, are exceedingly difficult to answer under the Cartesian model.
It is for this reason that the author recommends the following Thomistic form of substance dualism.
Aquinas and Thomistic Dualism
In order to understand Aquinas’ view of the soul, one must first have a basic grasp of Medieval metaphysics.[12] Like Aristotle, Aquinas and other scholastic philosophers distinguished between two basic dimensions of physical entities: matter and form.[13] To understand Aquinas’ distinction between matter and form, one must strip away any modern conceptions of matter they might have.
To begin with, one should not think of matter in a physical sense; that is, “as an independently existing raw material yet to be formed.”[14] Rather, one must think of matter in terms of “potentiality”; as Aquinas explains, “Matter is that which is not as such a ‘particular thing,’ but is in mere potency to become a ‘particular’ thing.”[15] In other words, matter (or ‘prime matter’ as Aquinas termed it) on its own has no existence; it simply has the potential of being actualized into an existent entity.[16] In this sense, prime matter is, “that which is common to all material things and which is formed into different entities by the second element—the substantial form.”[17]
This leads naturally into the second dimension of all physical entities: the substantial form. The substantial form is the, “inherent principle which makes the existent entity [a physical object] what it is.”[18] Or, put another way, the substantial form constitutes the essence of and actualization of a physical entity. One could very well imagine the substantial form as being the “information”, “blue-print”, or “code” underlining all reality and bringing physical existence into being.
When combined with prime matter, the substantial form “becomes the existent [individual] entity,” or substance.[19] Hence, the substantial form acts as the grounding of all physical being; and as such, any physical thing that exists, or has being, has form. This basic metaphysical truth can be most easily remembered in Aquinas’ famous dictum: “form gives existence to matter.”[20]
Seeing as how form is the essence of all existing entities, and provides grounding of being, it follows that physical entities are not the only objects which have form. According to Aquinas, immaterial entities (such as God or Angels) do as well–he referrers to this as the subsistent form. Subsistent form applies only to immaterial entities which have no physical instantiation—in this sense, it can be understood as, “form existing on its own.”[21]
Aquinas’ motivation for adopting this view was derived from Augustine, who believed that, “being is a matter of having order, species, and mode.”[22] In other words, anything that has being or existence must have some distinguishable order, configuration, or characteristics which make it distinctive from other entities; that is, it must have an essence. This is why immaterial entities, like angles, must also have form.[23]
Now that these basic metaphysical principles have been elucidated, the reader is in a position to grasp Aquinas’ understanding of the human soul.
Aquinas and the Human Soul
To begin with, Aquinas understood the soul to be the substantial form of the body. He maintained this view because human beings are a part of physical reality; as such, like any other physical entity, they require a substantial form in order to instantiate or actualize their physical existence. As the reader will recall, “a substantial material form is the configurational state of a material object that makes that object a member of the kind or species to which it belongs and gives it the causal powers characteristic of things of that kind.”[24] Accordingly, the soul, acting as the substantial form of the body, is what configures and differentiates and gives life to a unique human individual.
J. P. Moreland explains it this way: “the soul is an individuated essence that makes the body a human body and that diffuses, informs, animates, develops, unifies and grounds the biological functions of its body.”[25] As such, the human person “must be defined as a deep unity of form and matter.”[26] Accordingly, the combination of body and soul, like matter and form, constitutes one complete substance.[27]
However, the soul, unlike the substantial form of other physical objects, may persist upon the death of the body, and unlike other material things is capable of existing without a physical instantiation. For this reason, Aquinas also identified the soul as being a subsistent form. In this sense, the human soul is truly unique, in that it has its foot in both the material and immaterial realms.[28] Stump elucidates this paradoxical reality:
The human soul . . . is a configured configurer. On the one hand, like an angel, it is able to exist and function on its own, apart from matter. On the other hand, the human soul is not, as Plato thought, a spiritual substance moving the body which is also a substance in its own right; rather, the human soul is the substantial form constituting the material substance that a human being is, and it configures matter, as material forms do.[29]
Hence, the soul, as both the substantial and subsistent form, contains the information that constitutes human essence; and even after we die, and the particles of our body dissipate, the information, that constitutes our essence, our identity, continues to exist.
However, it is important to note that when the soul is separated from the body this constitutes an abnormality; that is, the existence of the soul apart from the body is an incomplete one. As Aquinas explains, “since the soul is a part of human nature, it does not have perfection of its nature except in union with the body . . . and so, although the soul can exist and intellectively cognize when it is separated from the body, nonetheless it does not have the perfection of its nature.”[30]
Facing the Challenges of Cartesian Dualism
The reader may recall that Thomistic dualism was offered up as a happy alternative to Cartesian dualism in light of the significant challenges facing Descartes theory. This final section will briefly demonstrate how Thomistic dualism faces up to the considerable challenges facing the Cartesian model and why Christian philosophers should favor this form of substance dualism above others.
The first hurdle facing Cartesian dualism was its inability to define the union between the soul and the body–more pointedly, it’s failure to explain how two ontologically distinct and self-contained substances are capable of working together in a causally integrated way. While this is a formidable problem for Cartesian dualism; the Thomistic dualist has less to be concerned about. This is because the Thomistic dualist, unlike the Cartesian, is not postulating the existence of two individual substances; rather they are postulating one complete being whose nature is comprised of both material and immaterial form.
As Aqunias says, “We must not think . . . of the soul and body as though the body had its own form making it a body, to which a soul is super-added, making it a living body; but rather that the body gets its being and its life from the soul.” [31] Under the Thomistic view, the union of body and soul is deep and well defined; hence, the conceptual problem of explaining the causal relationship between soul and body is much less significant.
Regarding the second hurdle, concerning the theological and anthropological significance of the body, Thomistic dualism is completely unfazed. Unlike the Cartesian, the Thomistic dualist holds that the physical body is part of the nature of man. Under the Thomistic model it’s considered normal for a soul to be united to a body; and, while the soul can subsist without a body, this is considered abnormal. Accordingly, it’s easy to see why God places such importance and value on the human body; why God sent his son to exist as a physical man; and why God intends to reunite our souls with a new glorified body at the resurrection.
Conclusion
While Cartesian dualism is viewed by many philosophers as being the only option for someone interested in substance dualism; it is certainly not the only game in town. As this paper demonstrates, Thomistic dualism offers a dynamic and arguably superior alternative to the Cartesian view. Unlike Descartes’ model, Aquinas’ conception of the body and soul is comprehensive and avoids the major challenges often thrown at substance dualism; by providing a clearer picture of the soul’s unity with the body and rendering the body intrinsically valuable. Consequentially, Thomistic dualism is more likely to stand up against the materialistic explanations of the mind which currently dominate western thinking; and place substance dualism back on the table as a viable option.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Aquinas, Thomas. Thomas Aquinas: Selected Writings. Translated by Ralph McInernny. New York: Penguin Books, 1998.
Graham, George. Philosophy of Mind: An Introduction. New York: Blackwell Publishers, 2002.
Moreland, J. P. and Scott B. Rae. Body & Soul: Human Nature & the Crisis in Ethics. Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2000.
———. P. and Stan Wallace. “Aquinas versus Locke and Descartes on the Human Person and End-of-Life Ethics.” International Philosophical Quarterly XXXV, no. 3 (Fall 1995). http://www.afterall.net/papers/490580.
Moyal, George J. D., ed. Descartes: Critical Assessments Volume III. New York: Routledge, 1991.
Ravenscroft, Ian. Philosophy of Mind: A Beginner’s Guide. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005.
Stump, Eleonore. Aquinas. New York: Routledge Taylor & Francis Group, 2003.
[1]Eleonore Stump, Aquinas (New York: Routledge Taylor & Francis Group, 2003), 191. Emphasis mine.
[2]Ibid., 191-192.
[3]Ian Ravenscroft, Philosophy of Mind: A Beginner’s Guide (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 9.
[4]Ibid.
[5]Ibid., 10.
[6]George Graham, Philosophy of Mind: An Introduction (New York: Blackwell Publishers, 2002), 151.
[7]Ibid.
[8]George J. D. Moyal, ed., Descartes: Critical Assessments Volume III (New York: Routledge, 1991), 150.
[9]Ibid.
[10]J. P. Moreland and Stan Wallace, “Aquinas versus Locke and Descartes on the Human Person and End-of-Life Ethics,” International Philosophical Quarterly XXXV, no. 3 (Fall 1995), http://www.afterall.net/papers/490580.
[11]Moyal, Descartes: Critical Assessments Volume III, 150.
[12] It is the opinion of the author that this is the primary reason why Thomistic dualism is completely overlooked in contemporary discussions in the philosophy of mind.
[13] Moreland, International Philosophical Quarterly.
[14] Ibid.
[15] Ibid.
[16] Ibid.
[17] Ibid.
[18] Ibid.
[19] Ibid.
[20] Thomas Aquinas, Thomas Aquinas: Selected Writings, trans. Ralph McInernny (New York: Penguin Books, 1998), 19.
[21]Stump, Aquinas, 198.
[22] Ibid., 200.
[23] Ibid.
[24] Ibid., 197.
[25] J. P. Moreland and Scott B. Rae, Body & Soul: Human Nature & the Crisis in Ethics (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2000), 202.
[26] Moreland, International Philosophical Quarterly.
[27] This point can be confusing because Thomistic dualism is classified as a form of substance dualism. The truth be told, Thomistic dualism is a bit strange; it doesn’t fit into any category neatly. It is not a materialistic reductionist theory which reduces the mind to the brain and it also doesn’t fit well within the confounds of property dualism (the postulation that mental states emerge from brain states). Seeing as how Thomistic dualism still distinguishes between material and immaterial entities, it makes more sense to classify it as a form of substance dualism.
[28] Stump, Aquinas, 200.
[29] Ibid., 200-201.
[30] Ibid., 201.
[31] Moreland, International Philosophical Quarterly.</I>
Unbeknownst to many, there is a growing debate among scholars as to whether or not the notorious Reformed Theologian Jacob Arminius was actually a Molinist. In 1996, the venerable philosopher and theologian Eef Dekker argued this very point in an original paper entitled: Was Arminius a Molinist? In the article, Dekker suggests that if one examines Arminius’ use of middle knowledge, “the most specific checkpoint of Molinsism,” he would invariably conclude that, “Arminius indeed can be called a Molinist . . . [because] the theory of middle knowledge is at the very core of Arminius’ doctrine of divine knowledge.”[1]
Unsurprisingly, this sentiment is not shared by all. Critics like, Kirk R. MacGregor, have strongly condemned Dekker’s view, on the grounds that it does not take into consideration the subtle differences in Arminius’ and Molina’s thought:
On the one hand, if the theory [that Arminius was a Molinist] simply denotes the doctrine of God’s prevolitional counterfactual knowledge, then Arminius’ system is undoubtedly based upon scientia media. On the other hand, if the theory is taken as shorthand for the full range of divine cognitive activities posited by Molina from God’s counterfactual knowledge to his creative decree, then Arminius’ system is not grounded in scientia media, as it deviates quite sharply from Molina’s depiction of God’s complete and unlimited deliberation.[2]
What is one to make of such extreme views? How much, if any, did Arminius draw from Molina’s ideas? These are precisely the questions this paper seeks to answer.
In an attempt to paint a more balanced picture, this paper will examine the extent of Molina’s impact on Jacob Arminius; specifically explaining how Molina’s ideas influenced Arminius’ understanding of divine providence and free will. To accomplish this goal it will: (1) outline Molina’s roll in the Sixteenth-Century revival of Scholasticism—explaining his controversial attempt at reconciling God’s providence with human free will (via. the sceintia media), and (2) summarize the impact of Scholasticism on Protestant thinkers—providing compelling evidence for Molina’s direct influence on Arminius’ thought.
Luis de Molina and Sixteenth-Century Scholasticism
The unassuming Spanish theologian, Luis de Molina, best known for his controversial doctrine of middle knowledge, has been touted by some as, “perhaps the greatest philosophical theologian in Church history.”[3] This, to be sure, is surprising to many Protestants who, aside from a few vague notions about middle knowledge, know very little about the man. Although, it is beyond the scope of this paper to provide a comprehensive biography; it is necessary to provide some biographical facts in an effort to explain Molina’s central roll in the Sixteenth-Century revival of Scholasticism.
Molina entered the Society of Jesus (known more commonly as the Jesuit order) at Alcala when he was only eighteen years old; and from there he was sent to Coimbra in Portugal to take up studies in philosophy and theology.[4] He was so successful in his studies that, at the end of his course, he was made professor of philosophy at Coimbra, and promoted a few years later to the chair of theology at the affluent University of Evora.[5]
Molina would go on to become a principal player in the extraordinary sixteenth-century revival of Scholasticism on the Iberian Peninsula, “a revival fueled in large measure by the Protestant Reformation and the subsequent Catholic response at the Council of Trent.”[6] Many Protestants are surprised to learn that the issues surrounding the problem of human free will and divine providence raised by John Calvin and Martin Luther were the subject of intense debate among Catholic theologians as well. Unlike the Protestants, however, the Catholic debate (which began years before Arminius’ disputations) revolved more around the theology of Thomas Aquinas than that of Augustine.[7] It pitted the newly founded Society of Jesus—represented by Molina and Francisco Suarez—against, “the more established religious orders, especially Thomas Aquinas’s own Dominicans [primarily represented by Domingo Banez].”[8]
Molina, “ignited a fierce controversy,” in 1588 when he published his seminal work: Liberi Arbitrii cum Gratiae Donis, Divina Praescientia, Providentia, Praedestinatione et Reprobatione Concordia (The Compatibility of Free Choice with the Gifts of Grace, Divine Foreknowledge, Providence, Predestination, and Reprobation), more commonly known as the Concordia.[9] In it, Molina, “framed an explanatory order among the various logical moments of [God’s] omniscience,” positing that God has knowledge of conditional future contingents (i.e. counterfactuals of creaturely freedom) by means of scentia media or middle knowledge.[10] He was convinced that his explanatory scheme “provided the key to avoiding the Protestant error of obliterating human free choice without relinquishing divine sovereignty in the process.”[11]
But, what is middle knowledge and how does it reconcile divine providence with human free will? As quoted earlier, Eef Dekker asserts that middle knowledge is the, “most specific checkpoint of Molinism,” and maintains that it lies at the, “very core of Arminius’ doctrine of divine knowledge.”[12] Is Dekker’s assessment correct? The following section approaches an answer to these questions by providing a basic outline of Molina’s theory of middle knowledge and explaining how it solves the problem of divine providence and human free will.
Molina and the Problem of Divine Providence and Free Will
Before discussing middle knowledge it is necessary to clarify Molina’s views on providence and free will. To begin with, Molina held a high view of divine providence; as Alred J. Freddoso attests:
The doctrine of divine providence [as Molina understood it] involves the thesis that God, the divine artisan, freely and knowingly plans, orders, and provides for all the effects that constitute His artifact, the created universe with its entire history, and executes His chosen plan by playing an active causal role sufficient to ensure its exact realization.[13]
According to this understanding of providence, everything that transpires is, “properly said to be specifically decreed by God.”[14] However, regarding God’s decrees, Molina would be quick to make a distinction between occurrences which God specifically and knowingly intends and occurrences [namely, human sin and natural evil] which God specifically and knowingly permits—the latter being a “concession to creaturely defectiveness.”[15]
Another crucial aspect of Molina’s understanding of providence—closely tied to notions of intention and permission–is the idea of God’s general or divine concurrence. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the word concurrence denotes, “the simultaneous occurrence of events or circumstances,” or an, “agreement or union in action.” Other words one might use to express this idea are consent or cooperation.
So, the idea behind divine concurrence is this: God being the creator and sustainer of the universe is the primary cause of all things—including the effects of secondary causes (such as human action)—therefore, secondary causes require consent or cooperation from God in order to transpire. As Molina explains it:
The primary, though remote, source of contingency for the effects of all secondary causes belonging to the natural order is God’s will, which created the free choice of human beings and angels and the sentient appetite of those beasts that seem to be endowed with some sort of trace of freedom with respect to certain acts; on the other hand, the proximate and immediate source is the free choice of human beings and angels.[16]
Naturally, the idea that the proximate and immediate source of secondary causes is the free choice of human beings is extremely controversial—namely, because it assumes humans have free will.
Molina on Free Will
Freddoso describes Molina’s conception of freedom as being “strongly indeterministic,” and correctly asserts that, “in modern terms he [Molina] is an unremitting libertarian.”[17] But, what does libertarian free will entail? More often than not, libertarianism is misunderstood and abused. Consequently, it is only proper to provide a brief outline of the modern philosophical understanding of libertarian free in an effort to help the reader understand Molina’s ideas more clearly.
To begin with, modern libertarians (or, indeterminists) are careful to distinguish between two distinct categories of causation: event-event causation and agent causation. J. P Moreland defines event-event causation as being the idea that, “all causes and effects are events that constitute causal chains construed either deterministically (causal conditions are sufficient for an effect to obtain) or probabilistically (causal conditions are sufficient to fix the chances for an effect to obtain).”[18] For the determinist, event-event causation is the only game in town. Under their view, human actions are, “mere happenings; they are parts of causal chains of events that lead up to them in a deterministic fashion.”[19] As such, human freedom does not truly exist.
Libertarians, while accepting event-event causation as the correct explanation of most events in the natural world, posit a second form of causation to explain human action—namely, agent causation.[20] Agent causation denotes the unique ability of human persons (i.e. agents) to instantiate events by virtue of their own power or ability to do so. Libertarians recognize that agents are, “first-movers, unmoved movers who simply have the power to act as the ultimate originators of their actions.”[21] In other words, agents are the efficient cause (i.e. producers) of their actions which are not determined by previous events.
A common misconception, often held by critics of libertarian free will, is that the actions performed by agents are entirely random; this, however, simply reveals their total ignorance on the matter. Contrary to what critics say, libertarians ardently believe agents produce actions intentionally; that is to say, agents have distinct reasons for acting and these reasons are the final cause of their actions.[22]
To understand this, imagine a thirsty little boy who desires a coke. Believing there is a coke in the refrigerator, the little boy, acting as a first-mover, opens the refrigerator and grabs the coke. In this scenario, the boy is the efficient cause of his actions, while his desires and beliefs are the final cause. Accordingly, the little boy’s actions were not random; there were good reasons for him to act. However, the boy’s reasons did not necessitate his actions; for, it was within his power to refrain from grabbing the coke the entire time.
This final point holds particular importance for Molina, who believed man could not justly be responsible for his sin if he did not have a genuine choice to make. In other words, if the little boy in the above example had been told by his parents not to drink the coke, but it was not within his power to refrain from grabbing the coke, his parents could hardly be just in condemning the boy when he did grab the coke. As Molina explains,
What grievance will God have on Judgment Day against the wicked, since they were unable not to sin as long as God did not efficaciously incline and determine them to the good, but rather solely by His own free will decided from eternity not so to determine them? Most assuredly, if this position is accepted . . . God’s justice with respect to the wicked vanishes, and a manifest cruelty and wickedness is discerned in God.[23]
Thus, at the heart of Molina’s libertarianism, lies a genuine concern for the character of God; for Molina, both His justice and goodness are at stake if man does not have free will.
Molina on God’s Omniscience and Prescience
Now that Molina’s views on divine providence and free will have adequately been explained we can turn our attention to his views on God’s omniscience and prescience; analyzing, in particular, the concept of middle knowledge. To understand Molina’s views on these matters, however, one must first remember that he was heavily influenced by and drew upon the writings of the great Scholastic thinkers of the Middle Ages. In light of this, one must understand their basic understanding of omniscience to understand Molina’s.
In those times, it was common for medieval theologians to make a distinction between two “types” of divine knowledge; the first, was referred to as natural knowledge.[24] Natural knowledge, is not based upon God’s will, rather, it is based upon God’s knowledge of himself and of every metaphysical possibility outside of himself.[25] As William Lane Craig notes, “God’s natural knowledge includes knowledge of all possibilities. He knows all the possible individuals he could create, all the possible circumstances he could place them in, all their possible actions and reactions, and all the possible worlds or orders which he could create.”[26] In short, by His natural knowledge, God knows everything that could be. Furthermore, “God could not lack this knowledge and still be God; the content of God’s natural knowledge is essential to him.”[27]
The second type of knowledge can be called free knowledge. By His free knowledge, God knows every aspect of actual reality—including the past, present and future—after deciding, from among the vast array of possibilities known by his natural knowledge, which world to instantiate; this type of knowledge is referred to as ‘free’ because, “it is preceded by an act of divine free will.”[28] Molina elucidates,
The second type is purely free knowledge, by which, after the free act of His will, God knew absolutely and determinately, without any condition or hypothesis, which ones from among all the contingent states of affairs were in fact going to obtain and, likewise, which ones were not going to obtain.[29]
Unlike natural knowledge, free knowledge is based upon God’s will and, therefore, its content could be different from what it is now, as Craig states, “if he had created a different world, the content of his free knowledge would be different.”
Molina fully adopted the medieval depiction of omniscience outlined above, with one important exception: Molina posited the existence of a third type of God’s knowledge. He referred to this type of knowledge as middle knowledge because it logically fell in between God’s natural and free knowledge. Middle knowledge is not contingent upon God’s will like free knowledge is; rather it is based upon God’s complete understanding of his free creatures,
The third type is middle knowledge, by which in virtue of the most profound and inscrutable comprehension of each faculty of free choice, He saw in His own essence what each such faculty [human being] would do with its innate freedom were it to be placed in this or in that or, indeed, in infinitely many orders of things—even though it [the human being] would really be able, if it so willed, to do the opposite.[30]
If natural knowledge can be summed up as God’s knowledge of all that could be, middle knowledge can be similarly summed up as God’s knowledge of what free actions a creature would make in any given circumstance or possible world God might place him in.[31] In this respect, it can properly be said that God’s middle knowledge of conditional future contingents is partially contingent upon free creatures—in the sense that it is based upon what they would do in any given circumstance.
One can easily see how Molina’s view of omniscience would provide a robust view of God’s prescience. Relying upon His natural and middle knowledge, God determines what type of world and what type of creatures he desires to create; once God acts upon this desire and creates, he has complete foreknowledge of everything that will transpire in the created world based upon his free knowledge. In this sense, God does not, “acquire his knowledge of the future by ‘foreseeing’ what lay ahead. Rather he has such knowledge innately.”[32] Molina explains in more detail:
The knowledge by which God knows absolutely, without hypothesis, what is in fact going to happen because of created free choice is always free knowledge in God, and such knowledge depends on the free determination of His will, a determination by which He decides to crate such-and-such a faculty of free choice and such-and-such an order of things.[33]
Reconciling Divine Providence and Human Free Will
The aspect of Molina’s account of omniscience which holds the key to reconciling a high view of divine providence with a libertarian view of free will is not middle knowledge per say; rather, it is that God has middle knowledge pre-volitionally. That is to say, God has middle knowledge before his free act of creation. As Molina states, “God, before He decides to create a being endowed with free choice, foresees what that being would do on the hypothesis that it should be placed in a particular order of things.”[34] Thus, in favor of a high view of providence, it can be said that God chooses what creatures to make, what world to create, what circumstances they will be placed in, and what causal relationship He will play in the matter. Conversely, in favor of libertarian free will, God endows humans with the ability to act as first movers, unmoved movers of their actions—in this sense they are totally responsible for the choices they make because they are the ones making them.
It seems, therefore, contra Dekker, that middle knowledge, so construed as the ability to know what a creature would do in any given circumstance, is not the, “most specific checkpoint of Molinism.”[35] Rather, it is the idea that God has middle knowledge before his free act of creation which enables Molinism to reconcile providence and free will. In this sense, it is both the complex interaction between the three types of God’s knowledge and the creative way in which Molina utilizes them that makes his ideas so unique. What remains to be determined is the extent of Molina’s impact on Arminius’ ideas. Is Dekker correct when he asserts that the, “very core of Arminius’ doctrine of divine knowledge” is middle knowledge?[36]
Jacob Arminius and Protestant Scholasticism
To grasp the extent of Molina’s influence on Arminius, one must start by analyzing the mental environment in which Arminius lived and worked. Consequently, Arminius’ mental environment was heavily influenced by the resurgence of Scholasticism within the Catholic Church. In fact, Protestants in Arminius’ day adopted so much from this movement that modern scholars now refer to the Protestant intellectual movement of that period as Protestant Scholasticism.
As protestant ideas began to take hold in Europe, the generations following Luther and Calvin were faced with the task of establishing protestant orthodoxy and building schools and universities.[37] Because of this, Protestant Scholasticism has been correctly described, “as a self-consciously Protestant methodological adaptation of the Reformation to the classroom.”[38] In this respect, most of what Protestants adopted from Scholasticism was their systematic approach to theological issues. As R. S. Clark explains,
[In this context, Scholasticism was] . . . a ‘technical and logical approach to theological system’ which subdivided the loci component parts and subjected those subdivisions to analysis by propositions. It was a method designed to facilitate clarity in debate and to make use of Scripture and the broader Christian tradition. Its goal was to provide ‘an adequate technical theology for schools, seminaries, and universities’ and the church with ‘right teaching’, literally orthodoxy.[39]
The result of this adaptation of Scholastic methodology was the production of, “vast systematic works,” by both Reformed and Lutheran theologians.[40] According to Justo L. Gonzalez, these works, “could be compared with the great summas of medieval scholasticism, both in their size and in their careful distinctions and analyses.”[41]
It seems, for some Protestants, the appeal of Scholasticism went beyond mere methodology. According to Gonzalez, there was also a rekindling of interest in Aristotelian logic and metaphysics among certain theologians,“some even began using the works of their Jesuit counterparts, who also were doing theology on the basis of Aristotle.”[42] Evidentially, Jacob Arminius, was one such theologian.
Arminius was often accused of, “supporting the theology of ‘Jesuits and other adversaries,” by his Reformed critics who believed he was trying to usurp orthodox Reformed doctrine.[43] In one account, Casper Sibelius, a student at the University of Leiden, speaks explicitly about his professor’s use of Scholastic works in the classroom:
I observed, among a number of fellow students enrolled in the private theological class of doctor Arminius, many things that, had I been ignorant, might easily have led me into dark and abominable errors. For in that class we were utterly drawn away from reading the works and treatises of Calvin, Beza, Zanchi, Martyr, Ursinus, Piscator, Perkins, and other learned and valuable theologians of the church of Christ, we were commanded to examine not only holy scripture, but equally so the writings of Socinus, Acontius, Castellio, Thomas Aquinas, Molina, Suarez and other enemies of grace.[44]
Perhaps, however, this was just negative press–one opponent’s cheap attempt at discrediting Arminius’ ideas among Protestants. While this is a valid hypothesis, the number of opponents who complained about the similarities between Arminius’ work and that of the teachings of Molina and other Jesuit scholars causes one to pause.[45] Perhaps, if there was a way to establish a direct connection between Arminius and Molina, one could rule this hypothesis out completely? Interestingly, there is.
As it turns out, historians have acquired an itemized list of the full contents of Arminius’ library. This list identifies a large portion of the authors listed by Sibelius—demonstrating that Arminius, indeed, maintained a significant collection of Jesuit writings.[46] Most notably, it shows that Arminius had a full copy of Molina’s Concordia. It seems, then, firmly established, that Molina had a considerable impact on Arminius’ intellectual development.[47]
Not only is there a direct link between Molina and Arminius, but the mental environment in which Arminius lived and worked was overwhelmingly steeped in the methodology of medieval Scholasticism. What remains now, is to compare and contrast Arminius’ views on divine providence, omniscience, and human free will with that of Molina’s. Once this is accomplished, a full account of the extent of Molina’s impact on Arminius will have been made; allowing for a decisive opinion on Dekker’s thesis.
Arminius on Divine Providence, Human Free Will, and Omniscience
At even a cursory reading of Arminius’ writings one can see the profound influence Molina had on his thought. The question is, however, how far reaching was this influence? Are there any important areas in which the two diverge? In order to answer these questions, this section will exposit Arminius’ teachings on divine providence, human free will, and omniscience and compare it with Molina’s views; following the same basic pattern of the previous section, which outlined Molina’s thought.
Accordingly, the discussion necessarily begins with the issue of divine providence. Note the remarkable similarities between Molina and Arminius on this issue:
[Speaking of providence] I declare that it preserves, regulates, governs and directs all things, and that nothing in the world happens fortuitously or by chance. Besides this, I place in subjection to Divine Providence both the free-will and even the actions of a rational creature, so that nothing can be done without the will of God . . . only we must observe a distinction between good actions and evil ones, by saying, that ‘God both wills and performs good acts,’ but that “He only freely permits those which are evil.’[48]
Like Molina, Arminius holds a high view of God’s providence; acknowledging God’s direct and active involvement in everything which takes place in His creation. Interestingly, he differentiates God’s involvement between ‘good acts’ and ‘evil acts’ in much the same way as Molina did; stating that God only, “freely permits those [acts] which are evil.”[49] This idea of permission, is fundamental to both Molina and Arminius’ thought and is directly tied to their mutual concern for preserving the free will of man and protecting the character of God—that is, from dispelling the idea that God is the author of sin.
Nevertheless, there is a crucial difference here as well. Arminius states that God, “both wills and performs good acts,” suggesting that God acts as the first mover or efficient cause of all good actions. In this regard, Arminius is more in line with Reformed ideology than with Molina who simply argued that God “intends” good acts.
The discussion of God’s causal involvement with both good and evil actions flows naturally into the subject of God’s divine concurrence. Here, once again, there are both striking similarities and subtle differences between the two. Regarding divine concurrence, Arminius says,
[it] is necessary to produce every act, because nothing whatever can have any entity except from the First and Chief Being, who immediately produces the entity. The Concurrence of God is not his immediate influx into a second or inferior cause, but it is an action of God immediately flowing into the effect of the creature, so that the same effect in one and the same entire action may be produced simultaneously by God and the creature.[50]
From this quotation, one would gather that Arminius holds the exact same view of divine concurrence as Molina. He explains that, without God, there would be no actions at all because He is both creator and sustainer of all life. In this sense God is “necessary” for producing every action.
However, as was stated earlier, Arminius also seems to suggest that God acts as the efficient cause of all good actions; speaking elsewhere about the issue of divine concurrence he states, “the power of God serves universally, and at all times, to execute . . . [creaturely action] . . . with the exception of permission; specially, and sometimes, these acts are executed by the creatures themselves.”[51] This statement implies there are times when God acts as the immediate cause of actions and others when he simply allows creatures to act in accordance with their nature. In this sense, Arminius deviates from Molina rather drastically.
Arminius on Free Will
It is typically believed that Arminius maintained a libertarian view of free will; and in some sense this is true but in another it is false. Somewhat incongruently, Arminius held to libertarian free will when it came to creatures performing evil actions but not when it came to creatures performing good actions. Regarding evil actions, Arminius asserts that God permits creatures to act as the efficient cause or first movers of their actions—“to conduct their motions agreeably to their own nature.”[52] However, as was just discussed, when it comes to good actions, Arminius appears to be a determinist—at least in the sense that something other than the creature [i.e. God] is acting as the first mover or efficient cause of the action.
In any event, Arminius’ embracement of the libertarian view of freedom, when it comes to the evil acts of men, was spurred by the exact same reason as Molina—to avoid making God the author of sin. As the historical record attests, Arminius began writing about this issue to counter the overbearing views of his rival, Francis Gomarus, “who felt constrained to present his form of Calvinism in a most offensive way.” According to Gomarus, “God moves the tongues of men to blaspheme,” and, “predestined . . . [man] . . . to sin.” The implication of Gomarus’ thought, which Arminius strenuously argued against, was that God directly causes men to sin.
Arminius on Omniscience and Prescience
It is in Arminius’ writings on God’s omniscience that the clearest example of Molina’s influence can be seen. Like Molina, Arminius embraced the same three types or categories of God’s knowledge:
The Scholastics say besides, that one kind of God’s knowledge is natural and necessary, another free, and a third intermediate (medium). (1) Natural or necessary knowledge is that by which God understands himself and all possible; (2) free knowledge is that by which he knows all other beings; (3) middle knowledge is that by which he knows that “if this occurs, that will happen.” The first precedes every free act of the divine will. The second follows the free act of the divine will. This latter act indeed is preceded by the free will, but sees any future thing as a consequence of it . . . middle [knowledge] must intervene in things that depend on the freedom of creaturely choice.[53]
This passage demonstrates, in the most explicit fashion, the vast extent of Molina’s influence on Arminius’s thought; yet, rather paradoxically, it also demonstrates a fundamental difference in their understanding of middle knowledge.
In support of Dekker’s thesis, it can be said that, “Arminius’ conception of the scientia media is foundational to his revision of the doctrine of predestination and to his soteriological synergism.”[54] Furthermore, it can be said that Arminius defines middle knowledge correctly as being that by which he knows, “if this occurs, that will happen.”[55] However, Arminius clearly deviates, quite drastically, from Molina’s logical ordering of middle knowledge.
Unlike Molina, Arminius argues that middle knowledge is, “preceded by the free will,” which essentially means that God does not have middle knowledge pre-volitionally.[56] As MacGregor explains,
From his claim that God perceives ‘created will’ or ‘created choice’ through middle knowledge we see that Arminius . . . seems to clearly presuppose that it transpired before (not after) God’s scentia media. In other words, Arminius assumes that God has already settled on creating a particular group of individuals logically prior to his apprehension of scientia media, which knowledge then furnishes him the rational ground to elect or reprobate every such individual based upon what each would freely do in the actual world.[57]
Thus, Arminius’ understanding of middle knowledge and how it explains God’s foreknowledge of conditional future contingents is the exact opposite of Molina’s.
In Arminius’ view, God creates based upon his natural knowledge, and has knowledge of what free actions the creatures in his created world would make, based upon his middle knowledge. In contrast, Molina, believed God had middle knowledge before his free act of creation and in fact relied upon this knowledge in making his decision to create this particular world.
Conclusion
Based upon this papers analysis, it can be concluded, without reservation, that Molina had a profound influence on Arminius’ thinking. Not only is there a direct link between Molina and Arminius [via. The copy of the Concordia, along with other Jesuit writings, in Arminius’ library], but the mental environment in which Arminius lived and worked was overwhelmingly steeped in the methodology of medieval Scholasticism. Furthermore, a careful comparison of Arminius’ and Molina’s understanding of divine providence, free will, and omniscience, shows that Arminius held similar if not identical positions on many of the issues related to these topics. However, there are notable differences between them as well: (1) Molina was a strict libertarian while Arminius was only a libertarian concerning the evil actions of men and (2) Arminius’ did not believe God had middle knowledge pre-volitionally. Based upon these facts it can be concluded that Arminius was not a Molinist, as Dekker believes, but that he simply drew upon and reinterpreted Molina’s thoughts.
[1] Eef Dekker, “Was Arminius a Molinist?,” Sixteenth Century Journal 27 (Sum 1996): 337.
[2] Kirk R. MacGregor, A Molinist-Anabaptist Systematic Theology (New York: University Press of America, 2007), 64.
[3] Ibid., 14.
[4] J. Pohle, “Luis de Molina,” in The Catholic Encyclopedia, http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/10436a.htm. (accessed October 14, 2009).
[5] Ibid.
[6] Luis de Molina, On Divine Foreknowledge: Part IV of the Concordia, trans. Alfred J. Freddoso (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988), vii.
[7] This is not to say that Augustine’s theology did not play an important role in the Catholic debate; but simply to point out which theologian’s work Molina and his adversaries interacted with the most.
[8] Ibid., vii.
[9] Ibid., vii.
[10] MacGregor, A Molinist-Anabaptist Systematic Theology, 14.
[11] Ibid., 15.
[12] Dekker, “Was Arminius a Molinist?,” 337.
[13]Molina, On Divine Foreknowledge, 3.
[14] Ibid., 3.
[15] Ibid., 3.
[16] Ibid., 94.
[17] Ibid., 24.
[18] J. P. Moreland, Scott B. Rae, Body & Soul: Human Nature & the Crisis in Ethics (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2000), 123.
[19] Ibid., 123.
[20] Ibid., 129.
[21] Ibid., 129-130.
[22] Ibid., 129.
[23] Molina, On Divine Foreknowledge, 139.
[24] Eef Dekker, Middle Knowledge (Leuven: Peeters, 2000), 4.
[25] Ibid., 4.
[26] William Lane Craig, The Only Wise God (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1987), 129.
[27] Ibid., 129.
[28] Dekker, Middle Knowledge, 4.
[29] Molina, On Divine Foreknowledge, 168.
[30] Ibid., 168.
[31] Dekker, Middle Knowledge, 5.
[32] Craig, The Only Wise God, 133.
[33] Molina, On Divine Foreknowledge, 170.
[34] Ibid., 170.
[35] Dekker, “Was Arminius a Molinist?,” 337.
[36] Ibid., 337.
[37] Clark, R. S in, Protestant Scholasticism: Essay’s in Reassessment, ed. Carl R. Trueman, R. Scott Clark (Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1999), 115-116.
[38] Ibid., 115.
[39] Ibid., 115-116.
[40] Justo L. Gonzalez, The Story of Christianity Volume 2 (New York: Harper One, 1985), 175.
[41] Ibid., 175.
[42] Ibid., 175.
[43] Richard A. Muller, God, Creation, and Providence in the Thought of Jacob Arminius (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1991), 28.
[44]Ibid., 27-28. Emphasis mine.
[45] Ibid., 28.
[46] Ibid., 46.
[47] Ibid., 46.
[48] James Arminius, The Writings of James Arminius Volume One, trans. James Nichols and W. R. Bagnall (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1956), 120.
[49] Ibid., 120. Emphasis mine.
[50] Roger E. Olson, Arminian Theology: Myths and Realities (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2006), 122.
[51] James Arminius, The Writings of James Arminius Volume 2, trans. James Nichols and W. R. Bagnall (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1956), 70.
[52] Ibid., 70.
[53] Muller, God, Creation, and Providence in the Thought of Jacob Arminius, 155-156.
[54] Ibid., 154.
[55] Ibid., 155.
[56] Ibid., 156.
[57] MacGregor, A Molinist-Anabaptist Systematic Theology, 71.
In recent years Molinism has made a come-back in philosophical circles thanks to the work of Alfred J. Freddoso, Thomas Flint, and William Lane Craig. As a result, Molina’s ideas are creeping their way back into theological discussions as well. Slowly but surely, pastors and seminary students are becoming acquainted with, at least, the term Molinism. Often, this minimal acquaintance leads the uninitiated to do a quick search on goggle. Upon searching, they are confronted by the blog-post of Dr. C. Matthew McMahon on A Puritan’s Mind entitled: The Heresy of Middle Knowledge. Curiosity gets the best of them and they eagerly click on the post with the inflammatory title. As they read the first paragraph of McMahon’s article, and encounter his thesis statement, any positive interest in Molinism which might have existed quickly fades away:
“In this paper, the heresy I am re-refuting surrounds Theology Proper, or the doctrine of God. It is specifically in terms of the doctrine of the knowledge of God, or His Omniscience. The error is called Molinism, or Middle Knowledge (Today Open Theism is its close brother.)”
After reading the final words of his thesis the troubled pastor or seminary student dutifully stuffs Molinism in a black file-folder marked, “Heresies that must not be named,” and forego any more research on the matter.
For many, Dr. McMahons malicious and poorly researched blog-post is both their first and last introduction to Molinism. I find this situation very sad, because Dr. McMahon’s description of Molinism is filled with inaccuracies and misrepresentations. To rectify this unfortunate situation I will correct four of the biggest mistakes in McMahon’s post.
(1) McMahon claims that the Doctrine of Middle Knowledge is Open Theisms “close brother.”
This claim is truly baffling considering Molina’s doctrine of Middle Knowledge is actually Open Theisms worst nightmare; for, it ascribes to God what Molina terms supercomprehension. Without getting into too much detail, this means that God has knowledge of how a person would freely act in any and all possible worlds. He calls this supercomprehension because it says that God has comprehensive knowledge of states of affairs that may never actually obtain (something far beyond regular comprehension.) On top of this, Molina believed that God had this knowledge prior to his decision to create. To put it in the crude vernacular of modern language: the doctrine of middle knowledge is like foreknowledge 2.0.
Open Theism argues that it is impossible for God to have foreknowledge—especially foreknowledge of the free actions of human beings. So, it is entirely false and nonsensical to claim that Molina’s Doctrine of Middle Knowledge is Open Theisms “close brother.”
(2) McMahon says, “middle knowledge states that God cannot know the future free acts of men in the same way He knows other things absolutely. Thus, this middle knowledge is dependent upon the free acts of what men will do. God, in His “omniscience”, waits for men to act and then will choose them to be saved based on their choice to be saved.”
It’s clear from this statement that McMahon has grossly misunderstood the thrust of Molina’s argument. Molina holds to a libertarian view of free-will which basically means that human beings are the efficient cause or first cause of their own actions. Naturally, if man has libertarian free-will then God’s middle knowledge is partly contingent (dependent) upon man because man is the one producing the action. However, it does not follow from this that, “God, in His “omniscience,” waits for men to act and then will choose them to be saved based on their choice.” This is the Arminian position.
The crucial part of Molina’s theory is not that God has middle knowledge but that he has middle knowledge prior to his free act to create. Accordingly, God knew that Peter would deny him when placed in situation A (A being the situation described in the gospels) before the foundation of the world. Furthermore, God knew how Peter would act in any and all possible situations that he could put Peter in. Based on both his natural and middle knowledge God chose to create a world in which situation A would obtain.
So, it is not that God waits for men to act and then chooses them. God chooses what creatures to make, what world to create, and what situations to place them in—knowing what free choices they will in fact make. Thus, God predestines but this does not impinge upon mans free will. Man is still responsible for his actions because he is the cause of his actions.
(3) McMahon says, “The Molinian logician will argue that an action must first occur before it can be true. God, then, cannot know anything in this manner as true and absolute unless it has first occurred.”
This statement is obviously false, because Molina believed God possessed middle knowledge before his free act of creation. In other words, the Molinist does not believe an action must first occur before it can be true—that is Open Theism. The Molinist believes that God has supercomprehension, and thus can have knowledge of actions before they occur and even if they never occur.
(4) McMahon says, “It is certainly easy to see what the doctrine of Middle knowledge is attractive here. Men are ultimately their own little saviors.”
Well, actually, the doctrine of middle knowledge says no such thing. In fact, the doctrine of middle knowledge has only indirect implications on matters of soteriology—it is directly concerned with matters of God’s omniscience. There may be some crazy exception (there always is) but Molinist’s do not believe man can save himself. They do believe salvation comes from the Lord—through the work of Jesus on the cross.
Michael Dowd recently made the oxymoronic claim that he was a Christian Naturalist on his blog Evolutionary Times. According to Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary, an oxymoron is a, “combination of contradictory or incongruous words . . . something that is made up of contradictory or incongruous elements”—and this is precisely what Michael Dowd’s claim amounts to.
Christians believe in God—an all-powerful, all-knowing, personal agent who exists outside of space and time. Simply put, Christians believe in the supernatural. This is a foundational belief upon which all other Christian beliefs and doctrines are built upon. There is no confusion on this point because the Judeo-Christian worldview is crystal clear about the nature of God—he is a person and he is the creator and sustainer of all things (this includes both material and immaterial (spiritual) elements.)
Naturalism asserts that nature is a closed system of material causes and effects—it denies the existence of God and the existence of immaterial substances (spirits or souls). Simply put, Naturalism is a repudiation of the Christian worldview; it stands as the complete antithesis of the Christian picture of reality. There is absolutely no confusion on this point because naturalists are very clear about their position on the nature of reality—the physical/material world is all that exists.
Accordingly, Michael Dowd’s assertion that he is a “Christian Naturalist” is incoherent and can only be explained by one of three ways: (1) Dowd misunderstands what it means to be a Christian, (2) Dowd misunderstands what it means to be a naturalist, or (3) Dowd misunderstands what it means to be a Christian and what it means to be a naturalist. Now, we can easily eliminate numbers (2) and (3), because it’s quite clear from his writings that Mr. Dowd understands naturalism. As he says,
“I am a Christian Naturalist, not a supernaturalist . . . my focus and locus of inspiration is found in the cosmos and in this life.” (emphasis mine)
To that extent, it seems clear that Mr. Dowd misunderstands what it means to be a Christian. In fact, we can be sure of this for one important reason: Mr. Dowd espouses a naturalistic worldview which, by definition, rejects the foundational Christian belief that God exists. “But wait,” you say, “Mr. Dowd talks about God all the time; he even dedicated his book Thank God for Evolution to him!” Mr. Dowd may very well believe in god, but not in the Christian God. This is made very clear in his book:
“What a difference it makes to be groping our way forward in faith—in partnership with God, or, should you prefer less traditional terminology: trusting the Universe, trusting Reality, trusting Time.” (pg. 30)
For the Christian, using terminology like, “trusting the Universe,” is not the same as using terminology like, “trusting God.” This is because the most basic Christian belief is that God is not the universe—God is the creator and sustainer of the universe. The universe, the complex arrangement of matter and energy, is not the same thing as a personal, immaterial, God who created matter and energy. So, when Michael Dowd suggests—as he does throughout his book—that we can interchange these terms it becomes evident that he grossly misunderstands what it means to be a Christian.
In short, Mr. Dowd might as well take the word ‘Christian’ out of his self-description and simply call himself a naturalist—for that is what he is.
Last Wednesday night I got the opportunity to attend The Church Basement Roadshow: A Rollin’ Gospel Revival, with my friend Joel Borofsky. Joel and I are working on a book which critiques the emergent church movement; so we couldn’t pass up the chance to meet some of its key leaders. Tony Jones, Doug Pagitt, and Mark Scandrette, all of whom contributed to the recent book, An Emergent Manifesto of Hope, were there.
The Church Basement Roadshow is touring churches across the country in an attempt to garner interest in the emergent movement and promote their latest books. The show is interesting to say the least; a surreal experience that will stick with me for a long time. Jones, Pagitt, and Scandrette play the parts of Duke Arnold, A. B. Hawthorn, and A. L. Withee; old time revival preachers from 1908. As you walk in, they greet you; in full costume and in character. A guitar player and backup singer set the mood, playing everything from old-time hymns to Johnny Cash. After a brief performance, they invite the audience to stand and join them in song; while Duke and Withee revv up the crowd; yelling, “Amen!” and “Gl-o-o-r-y!”
Joel and I found ourselves on the front row; unable to sing along. The whole thing felt wrong. Was the crowd really singing to Jesus, or was it all part of the show?
Eventually, the enthusiastic trio took the stage and sang their theme song; a humorous revival tune boldly declaring that, “love is the way.” In between their crazy antics and humorous skits, Jones, Pagitt, and Scandrette took turns reading selections from their books (which were on sale in the back) and desperately pleading for reform. After each monologue, promo videos were played; and they even urged the crowd to adopt a child through compassion international.
By far, the most interesting presentation of the night was made by Mark Scandrette; a compassionate man with an honest desire to reach out to the “dregs” of society. He read a selection from his latest book, Soul Graffiti. In it, he recalls how he and his friend Joseph befriended an aging transvestite who called himself, Emperor Arcadia.
The Emperor lived in an old bus with a peculiar message inscribed in bold letters on the side: “I HAVE BEEN CONDUCTING EXPERIMENTS ON MYSELF FOR 30 YEARS—EXPLORING THE MYSTERIES OF CHEMISTRY AND HEALTH. MY PRESCRIPTION: EAT A CLOVE OF GARLIC AND DRINK OUR OWN URINE AND SEMEN TWICE A DAY.”[1] Suffice to say, the Emperor’s mind suffered from years in a mental institution, excessive drug abuse and a lifetime of sexual immorality. Mark provides this bleak picture of the Emperor’s life in his book,
Estranged from his family after years in mental institutions, he had moved west from Wisconsin. During the sexual revolution of the 1970’s he was something of a celebrity in San Francisco’s gay club scene, hosting “naked pool” on Sunday afternoons at a popular bar South of Market where he would prance nude around the pool table exchanging fiery jabs with patrons. The club owner let him live in the basement of the building for many years . . . Emperor Arcadia was [also] locally famous for crashing society balls, civic celebrations, and parades, announcing himself swathed in a velvet cape and crown and accompanied by his matching miniature poodles on leashes. As he got older and more peculiar, he lost his social currency and became more isolated.[2]
I sat on the front row, engrossed by Mark’s story, starving to hear more about their interaction with the Emperor, dying to know how it would end.
However, as the story progressed, and Mark recounted all of the time he and his friends had spent with the Emperor-bringing him food, celebrating Christmas, listing to him rant and rave about his chemical concoctions—I began to wonder, “when are they going to share the gospel?” This thought lingered in my mind, and I waited patiently, yearning to hear the saving message of Jesus preached to this lost and dying soul.
Finally, the moment I had been waiting for arrived. One Sunday, Mark and his friend Joseph, found the Emperor collapsed in his bus after taking a lethal dose of Phenobarbital. They quickly called for an ambulance which rushed him to the hospital. Mark rode along holding his hand . . .
At the emergency room after he was stabilized, a nurse invited me into the examining room where I stood alone by his side . . . With his eyes still shut he murmured, “I wanted to die. Why did you save my life?”
I hesitated for a moment, searching for words. “You are my friend and I care about you.”
Agitated, with speech still slurred, he asked, “But why do you care about me?” And then louder and more desperately he repeated, “Why do you care about me?”[3]
“This is it,” I thought to myself, “the moment I’ve been waiting for.”
Slowly I lifted my hand and began to caress his bald head. “Emperor, we are all loved,” I said.[4]
How desperately anticlimactic! Who loves everyone? Why are we all loved? Why didn’t he speak to him about Jesus? How could he pass up such an opportune moment? Talk about a total let down! This was not the ending I had hoped for.
After the show I approached Mark, and having introduced myself, I inquired as to what ever happened to the Emperor. Mark explained that they had lost touch and weren’t sure where he was. Then I dropped the bomb, “I was just curious,” I said, “did you ever share the gospel with the Emperor?”
Mark kindly explained that the Emperor got upset when Jesus’ name was mentioned, and that he and Joseph had opted not to speak of Jesus around him.
I marveled at his reply. “So,” I asked, “there was never a point in which you confronted him to change his lifestyle or challenged him to repent?”
Mark seemed surprised, “No” he said.
“But it was his depraved lifestyle that got him where he was,” I insisted, “how could you withhold from him the one message that could drastically change his life?”
Mark was visibly upset with my comment and informed me that I was being extremely judgmental. He asked me how I could possibly make such a statement, especially since I didn’t know the whole story (It was surprising how quick Mark criticized my point of view considering the Emergent Church constantly espouses toleration and open minded conversation). Mark didn’t seem tolerant of my point of view; and I got the distinct impression that he was not open to what I had to say.
Frankly, this did not bother me. Mark has convictions, and just like me, he is willing to fight for them. Despite what the Emergent Church wants us to believe, it is no different from any other movement or institution; its proponents passionately think they’re right and everyone else is wrong. I wish they’d be as forthright in their writings as Mark was in our conversation; it’s refreshing when people are honest.
I tried to explain to Mark that it was not judgmental to speak the truth; that it was, in fact, the most loving thing that one could do. He disagreed. He didn’t think it was as necessary to share the gospel with someone as it was to show them love (in a practical way). He lamented over the terrible ways in which Christians treat people like the Emperor and argued that it was more important for Christians to show love and compassion like Jesus.
I told Mark I agreed with him: Christians do need to show genuine love and compassion to people like the Emperor (in a hands on practical kind of way). Christians do need to reevaluate how they treat homosexuals and transvestites. However, Christians also need to share the gospel; because, ultimately, Jesus is the only real hope for our world.
Again, Mark disagreed. He feared that sharing the gospel with people like the Emperor would come off as judgmental and would only drive them away. He argued that the message of Jesus could be better communicated by loving action. I stressed to Mark that both the practical and the propositional had to be presented to the lost in order for the full message of Jesus to be received. It simply isn’t enough to show love in a practical way.
The message of Jesus is not simply one of practicality; it has content which can only be communicated through words. As Christians, it’s our responsibility to communicate, not only the practical side of Jesus’ message, but the content. For, “How then will they call on Him in whom they have not believed? How will they believe in Him whom they have not heard? And how will they hear without a preacher?” (Romans 10:14 NASB)
The lost cannot be found without hearing the word of God; the sinner cannot be saved without hearing the word of God, and it’s up to Christians to make sure that a sick and dying world hears it. Sharing the gospel is not intrusive or judgmental, it’s the most loving gesture that anyone could make toward someone as hopeless and lost as the Emperor. As the Apostle Paul noted, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news of good things!” (Rom. 10:15)
Despite my best efforts, Mark never seemed to grasp what I was saying. Eventually, I decided to back off and let our conversation come to a close. That night, as I lay in bed, I wrestled for a way to explain to Mark, and others like him, the gravity of the situation. How could I demonstrate that one could be loving, in both a practical and a propositional sense? How could I show the tremendous importance of sharing the content of the gospel?
Several days later, I realized what must be done. The ending of Marks story was all wrong; it had to be rewritten . . .
The Emperor sat in the hospital bed in tears, screaming, “Why do you care about me? Why do you love me?”
I began to stroke his head and with tears running down my face I replied, “Because you were created by God and that makes you incredibly valuable.”
The Emperor peered deep into my eyes, obviously wrestling with what I had said, “I’m not valuable,” he screamed, “I’m worthless! God could never accept a man like me!”
“None of us are worthy to be accepted by God,” I exclaimed, “we’re all broken and distorted, but this is precisely why Jesus died on the cross for our sins, so that we could be accepted. God does think your valuable; he loves you Emperor.”
The Emperor buried his head in his hands, weeping in agony he whimpered, “I’ve been running from God for so long . . . h-how could I turn to him now?”
I wrapped my arms around the Emperor and gently whispered into his ear, “Repent, turn away from these things that are destroying you. Believe in Jesus with all your heart. It’s never too late Emperor . . . never.”
[1] Tony Jones, Doug Pagitt, Mark Scandrette, The Church Basement Roadshow (San Francisco: Jossey Bass, 2008), 61. This was the handout given to everyone who attended the show. It has selections from each of their books.
[2] Ibid., 64.
[3] Ibid., 66.
[4] Ibid., 66.
Introduction
Scholars in the first half of the twentieth century sought to answer the question of the historical origin of religion; today, however, most, “simply accept the existence of religion as a given part of our humanity,” employing what is known as the subjective approach to religious studies.[1] The subjective approach bypasses the question of the historical origin of religion by centering its attention on man. In other words, it understands religion to be an intrinsic part of what it means to be human and rejects the notion that it is the, “product of an encounter with an external reality.”[2] Accordingly, the study of religion becomes the study of various expressions of man’s subconscious, non-rational thought.
The subjective approach finds its beginnings in the mid-19th century, in the writings of noted German theologian and philosopher, Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768-1834). Facing the criticisms of his day, Schleiermacher sought to defend religion from its “cultured despisers.” His arguments redefined religion and mark the birth of liberal Protestantism.[3] This paper seeks to define Schleiermacher’s understanding of religion, and explain how his thought has impacted modern scholarship. To accomplish this goal, it will: (1) provide a brief synopsis of his life and explain the times in which he lived, (2) outline his concept of religion, and (3) demonstrate the effects his ideas have had on modern religious thought.
The Life and Times of Friedrich Schleiermacher
When examining complex ideas one should take the time to understand the context in which they were developed. Hence, before analyzing Schleiermacher’s philosophy, one should acquaint himself with the man. A brief look at his early life, academic career, and the cultural environment in which he lived and wrote is of inestimable value.
Early Education and Adult Life
Friedrich Daniel Ernst Schleiermacher was born November 21, 1768 to Gottlieb and Katharina-Maria Schleiermacher. His father was a second generation reformed clergyman, who served as a chaplain in the King of Prussia’s army during the Seven Year’s War. In 1778 he and his family were exposed to the teachings of a Moravian community in Gnadenfrei, during which time Friedrich claims to have had his first, “conscious religious experience.”[4]
In 1783 Schleiermacher entered the Moravian school in Niesky which had a profound and long lasting influence on his life. While at Niesky, Schleiermacher immersed himself in Moravian life; growing in his knowledge of Jesus and enjoying the camaraderie of his fellow classmates. He also received a modern humanistic education in which he studied Latin, Greek, and Hebrew and was introduced to the works of Homer, Sophocles, Euripides, Cicero, and other great thinkers.[5]
In 1785, Schleiermacher was advanced to the Moravian seminary at Barby. There, he was subjected to an almost monastic lifestyle. The Moravian seminary stressed the importance of personal piety and separation from the world; as a result, “the reading of modern belles lettres and philosophy . . . was forbidden by strict censorship.”[6] For, there was great suspicion of modern philosophical thought among the brethren; unfortunately, this frustrated Schleiermacher and other students who began to wonder if the objections made to faith by modern philosophy were too difficult to refute.[7] Consequentially, Schleiermacher formed a secret society in which he and fellow classmates read Kant, Goethe, and other modern German writers. Exposure to these writings lead Friedrich to have serious doubts about his faith; and he began to question Christian doctrines and beliefs.[8]
Growing increasingly unhappy with his situation at Barby, Schleiermacher eventually transferred to the more liberal University of Halle. There he continued in his studies in theology, philosophy, and philology in a more congenial setting.[9] While at Halle, Schleiermacher studied under the universities foremost philosopher, Johann August Eberhard, who gave him a firm foundation in all of the various fields of philosophy and further developed his interest in Kant. [10]
Throughout his adult life, Schleiermacher served in various capacities as a professor of theology and philosophy, as a pastor, and even as a hospital chaplain. However, he spent the breadth of his career teaching at the University of Berlin, where he was four-time dean of the theological faculty and a member of the Berlin Academy of Sciences.[11] During his lifetime, Schleiermacher showed incredible depth of interests, writing and lecturing on philosophy, theology, ethics, religion, hermeneutics, and psychology. At his death in 1834, some 20,000 to 30,000 mourners filled the streets, “proof of the esteem in which Schleiermacher was held by all.”[12]
Cultural Environment
As a young man Schleiermacher was challenged by the writings of contemporary German Philosophers and poets who questioned traditional Christian beliefs and practices. These writers were part of the broader movement known today as the Enlightenment. Enlightenment thinkers, reacting to the long-standing social and religious problems of the past, questioned the authority of traditional religious beliefs, exulting in the power of human reason in an effort to reshape the future . . .
In the eighteenth century, western Europe, emerging from the chaos of the religious wars, began to make rapid progress over its long-prevailing natural and social problems. The result was a great burst of optimism and confidence in the power of man to master himself and his universe. The tool of this mastery . . . was seen to be human reason. Man could overcome the past and create the future if only he could restructure his world by the power of his own mind.[13]
The Enlightenment had deep and long lasting effects on the Church throughout Europe, as Christianity, and religious faith in general, was, “subjected to scrutiny and reappraisal.”[14]
Do to the success of scientific research and innovation, the rationalism of Enlightenment thinkers rested increasingly on inductive reasoning; thus, empiricism and “experimental methodology” became the underlying basis for all knowledge. This was in direct opposition to the Church, which was operating under the pretense of a deductive logic grounded in biblical history, church tradition, and the propositional truth of Scripture. What resulted was a “dethronement” of God who was replaced by the power and ingenuity of man. The effects of this shift are still felt today.[15]
In Germany, nothing reflected this new wave of thought more than the writings of Immanuel Kant. Noted for his groundbreaking work in the area of epistemology, “Kant tried to show that both the laws of nature and the laws of morality are grounded in human reason itself.”[16] Thus, Kant dispensed with the need to explain external reality using metaphysical constructs; arguing that external reality could only be understood in terms of human reason and understanding.
The writings of Kant and other humanistic authors had a profound impact on Schleiermacher, who found his fragile childhood faith under immense pressure. Ultimately, the critiques of enlightenment philosophy drove Schleiermacher to defend religion against the arrogance of the intellectual elite in his famous work, On Religion: Speeches to its Cultured Despisers. [17] His response to religious critics in the Speeches and in subsequent writings is the primary focus of this paper.
Schleiermacher on Religion
Schleiermacher’s first book, On Religion: Speeches to its Cultured Despisers, “launched modern theological reflection in a very decisive manner,” shifting religion out of the realm scientific rationalism and into the realm of feelings.[18] It was his attempt to redefine religion to a generation enthralled by the power of human reason and accomplishment. The “cultured despisers” referred to in the title were actually close friends of Schleiermacher; all belonging to an intellectual gathering in Berlin known as the Romantic circle.[19]
Schleiermacher’s purpose for writing the Speeches was to, “carve out a space for religion significantly different from what Kant and Fichte had done . . . He wanted to . . . [provide] . . . a new understanding of religion.”[20] He knew that religion could never provide the type of information about the world that natural science could, but was unwilling to categorize religion as simply being moral or artistic action, as Kant had. Thus, Schleiermacher relegated religion to a third category: that of the ‘experiential,’ that of feelings.
The feeling he described was the inherent, “awareness of the infinite,” that everyone senses as they interact with the universe.[21] It flows from the idea that “the infinite” or “God” is somehow tied to or exuded through external reality. However, these feelings are not based upon any previous knowledge, “ideas and principles are all foreign to religion . . . If ideas and principles are to be anything, they must belong to knowledge which is a different department of life from religion.”[22] Thus, when man subconsciously experiences the infinite he is experiencing something apart from himself and nature and expresses these feelings in terms of religion. Put in his own words, “true religion is sense and taste for the Infinite.”[23]
It’s important to note that Schleiermacher was not advocating a completely subjectivist view, as some have accused. Total subjectivity places religion in the hands of one’s feelings alone; Schleiermacher believed that there was an “Infinite” that all humans could experience, “We have in Schleiermacher an intensely relational view of humanity. Emotions are significant not simply because they are ‘felt’, but because they are inward witnesses and responses to realities other than the self.”[24]
It’s also worthwhile to mention that Schleiermacher’s choice of feelings to describe religious experience was rooted in his time spent with the Moravians. For, he held their commitment to piety with much esteem.[25] The Moravian’s stressed inner devotion and relationship with Christ, and one can see the faintest hint of this in Schleiermacher’s concept of the inner subconscious experience.
While Speeches was a defining moment in the field of religion, it was never meant to be an academic piece. Martin Redeker states, “Stylistically the book is neither a sermon nor a philosophical treatise, but rather a typical literary performance in the spirit of the romantic age.”[26] It’s clear that Schleiermacher’s original audience was his circle of friends, those intellectuals of the times, known as the Romantics. It was they who scoffed at religion and reveled in the new philosophy.[27]
For a more mature and fully developed presentation of Schleiermacher’s ideas one must turn to his later work, The Christian Faith. In this work, “Schleiermacher’s formula for the ‘essence’ of religion-or more precisely, of ‘piety’ or personal religiousness-is that it is a ‘feeling of absolute dependence.”[28] One can see the evolution of his thought; while previously, he had defined religion as an experience, the feeling of the infinite, in The Christian Faith this definition is narrowed. Religion is the feeling of absolute dependence.
Schleiermacher argued that God (or, the Infinite), “ is the source toward which the self-consciousness of absolute dependence is directed.”[29] As God reveals himself to man through his interaction with the finite, man becomes increasingly aware of his complete and total dependence upon God to sustain his very existence, and this feeling of dependence is ultimately what defines religious experience.[30]
On the surface level, Schleiermacher’s argument, that religion is the feeling of absolute dependence, seems abstract and convoluted, but in actuality the logic behind it is easy to follow. In its most basic form, it simply points out a common feeling sensed by most human beings, that man does not exist on his own, but is dependent upon something bigger than and outside of himself. Ultimately, Schleiermacher uses this reasoning to conclude that the Infinite does exist, because, “we can hardly be absolutely dependent unless there is something, other than ourselves, on which we are absolutely dependent.”[31] This “something” he concludes is God.
By ‘God’, however, he does not mean the God of the Bible. Schleiermacher argues that God is simply an “expression” which one uses to describe the feeling of absolute dependence. It’s the personification of one’s interaction with the Infinite, and by no means finds its basis in prior knowledge.[32] The word God is simply a linguistic convenience used by Schleiermacher to express something which is abstract and almost non descript.[33]
Schleiermacher’s Impact on Modern Religious Scholarship
Keith Clements believes that Schleiermacher, deserves the title, “Pioneer of Modern Theology,” and surely this is no exaggeration.[34]
Schleiermacher’s ascription of religion to the realm of feeling marked the start of modern Protestantism’s [liberalism’s] habitual emphasis on the knowledge of God as inward and experiential. It is an emphasis seen variously in a succession of figures as diverse as Soren Kierkegaard (1813-55), Albrecht Ritschl (1822-89), Adolf von Harnack (1851-1931), Ernst Troeltsch (1855-1923), Rudolf Bultmann (1884-1976), Rudolf Otto (1869-1937), John Oman (18601939, H.H. Farmer (1892-1981), and John Baillie (1886-1960) . . . Post-Enlightenment theology not only allows but often insists upon the place of ‘subjectivity’ in belief.[35]
Of course, this list is not exhaustive. Winfried Corduan traces some of the most significant effects Schleiermacher’s ideas have had on the study of religion in his textbook, Neighboring Faiths.
Influenced by Schleiermacher’s subjective approach, philosopher Ludwig Feuerbach taught that the idea of God is simply a conglomeration of “idealized” human traits. He reasoned that common characteristics or traits, such as love or power, that all humans share, could be idealized internally and expressed in terms of “God.”[36] Thus, like Schleiermacher, he traces the idea of God back to man, but goes further by claiming that the concept of God is simply a part of our imaginations.
Sigmund Freud explored the psychological aspect of religion, believing he had discovered the need in every human being for a father figure or “image.”[37] Note how similar this is to Schleiermacher’s claim that in every man is an inherent feeling of absolute dependence. Reflecting the ideas of both Schleiermacher and Feuerbach, Freud believed that God was simply mans “idealized” image of a Father.[38]
Famed religion scholar, Rudolf Otto, also mentioned in Clements list, “traced the basic religious impulse back to an encounter with the consciousness of holiness.”[39] As with the others, one can easily spot Schleiermacher’s influence in Otto’s thought. However, instead of speaking in terms of absolute dependence, Otto uses words like “fear’ or “awe” to describe one who is faced with the reality of his own insignificance in the universe. These feelings, of course, lead to the foundation of religion.[40]
To present a comprehensive list of all who have been influenced by Schleiermacher’s work is far beyond the scope of this paper. However, one can sense the tremendous impact this man has had on modern thought in these few pages, and can easily understand his part in shaping the new subjective approach to religion.
Conclusion
In today’s world, religious pluralism reigns supreme. People no longer think of religion in terms of verifiable fact or objective truth, but simply as a grouping of abstract feelings and emotions. The subjective approach to religion taught in most world religion courses, bolsters this belief when it places man and his subconscious feelings at the center of religious thought. These presuppositions, while distinctively modern or post-modern in their conclusions can easily be traced to the man Friedrich Schleiermacher. His concept that religion is the subconscious feeling of absolute dependence ignited a revolution in religious thought, and helped form the basis of liberal Protestantism. C. W. Christian sums up best when he states, “it is no mere matter of convenience to call Friedrich Schleiermacher the ‘father of modern theology.’ By almost any standard, he must be judged among the most significant figures in the history of Christian thought.”[41]
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Bongmba, Elias K. “Two Steps Forward, One Step Backward.” Journal of Theology for Southern Africa (March 1997): 81-96.
Christian, C. W. Friedrich Schleiermacher. Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1979.
Clements, Keith. Friedrich Schleiermacher: Pioneer of Modern Theology. London: Collins Liturgical Publications, 1987.
Corduan, Winfried. Neighboring Faiths. Illinois: IVP Academic, 1998.
Heard, Gerry C. “Schleiermacher’s Concept of Religion.” Perspectives In Religious Studies (Fall 1980): 19-43.
Marina, Jacqueline, ed. The Cambridge Companion to Friedrich Schleiermacher. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.
Redeker, Martin. Schleiermacher: Life and Thought. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1973.
Schleiermacher, Friedrich. On Religion: Speeches to its Cultured Despisers. Translated by John Oman. New York: Harper & Brothers, Publishers, 1958.
Sykes, Stephen. Friedrich Schleiermacher. Richmond: John Knox Press, 1971.
[1] Winfried Corduan, Neighboring Faiths (Illinois: IVP Academic, 1998), 21-22.
[2] Ibid., 22.
[3] Martin Redeker, Schleiermacher: Life and Thought (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1973), 2.
[4] Ibid., 8-9.
[5] Ibid., 9-11.
[6] Ibid., 12.
[7] Stephen Sykes, Friedrich Schleiermacher (Richmond: John Knox Press, 1971), 6.
[8] Jacqueline Marina, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Friedrich Schleiermacher (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 2.
[9] Ibid., 2.
[10] Redeker, 15.
[11] Marina, 2.
[12] Sykes, 15.
[13] C. W. Christian, Friedrich Schleiermacher (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1979), 20.
[14] Sykes, 3.
[15] Christian, 20-23.
[16] Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 1st ed., s.v. “Immanuel Kant.”
[17] Friedrich Schleiermacher, On Religion: Speeches to its Cultured Despisers, trans. John Oman (New York: Harper & Brothers, Publishers, 1958), ix.
[18] Elias K. Bongmba, “Two Steps Forward, One Step Backward,” Journal of Theology for Southern Africa (March 1997): 81.
[19] Ibid., 81.
[20] Ibid., 82.
[21] Ibid., 82.
[22] On Religion, 46.
[23] On Religion, 39.
[24] Keith Clements, Friedrich Schleiermacher: Pioneer of Modern Theology (London: Collins Liturgical Publications, 1987), 37.
[25] Christian, 55.
[26] Redeker, 34-35.
[27] Bongmba, 82.
[28] Marina, 37.
[29] Gerry C. Heard, “Schleiermacher’s Concept of Religion,” Perspectives In Religious Studies (Fall 1980): 22.
[30] Ibid., 23.
[31] Marina, 37.
[32] Ibid., 37.
[33] Ibid., 38.
[34] Clements, 7.
[35] Ibid., 36.
[36] Corduan, 22.
[37] Ibid., 23.
[38] Ibid., 23.
[39] Ibid., 23.
[40] Ibid., 23.
[41] Christian, 11.
