Introduction To Scholastic Theology (PDFDrive) PDF

Introduction to Scholastic Theology
Introduction to
Scholastic
Theology
•
Ulrich G. Leinsle
Translated by Michael J. Miller
The Catholic University of America Press

Washington, D.C.
Originally published in 1995 in German as Ulrich G. Leinsle,
Einführung in die scholastische Theologie
(Paderborn: Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh).
Copyright © 2010
The Catholic University of America Press
All rights reserved
The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements

of American National Standards for Information Science—
Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials,
ANSI Z39.48-1984.
∞
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Leinsle, Ulrich Gottfried.
[Einführung in die scholastische Theologie. English]
Introduction to scholastic theology / Ulrich G. Leinsle ;
Translated by Michael J. Miller.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-8132-1792-5 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Scholasticism—History. I. Title.
B839.L4513 2010
230.09—dc22 2010028748
Contents
Abbreviations ix
Introduction: What Is Scholastic Theology? 1

1 On the history of the concept “Scholasticism” 1
2 Attempts at a definition 5
3 Characteristics 9
4 Scholastic theology 12
1 How Did Scholastic Theology Come About? 16

1 Patristic themes and methods 16
1.1 Philosophy and theology 16
1.2 Auctoritas and ratio 20
1.3 Augustine’s program of Christian education and theology 24
1.4 Systematic and axiomatic theology: Boethius 28
1.5 Collections of sentences: Isidore of Seville 31
2 Scholastic theology: Methods and presentation 33
2.1 Development of the schools, curriculum, and the liberal arts 34
2.2 Instructional procedure 39
2.3 The Bible and Scholastic theology 43
2.4 Collections of sentences and Summas 54
2.5 Theological systematization 59
2.6 Treatise and letter 65
2.7 The Scholastic sermon 68
2 The Self-Concept of Early Scholastic Theologies 74

1 Freedom from contradiction and theological truth:
Duns Scotus Eriugena 74
v
vi Contents
2 Faith seeking understanding: Anselm of Canterbury 78

3 Systematic treatment of patristic sentences: The school of Laon 82
4 Theology as wisdom and way of life: Hugh of St. Victor 86
5 Theology as linguistic criticism: Peter Abelard 90
6 The metaphysical grammar of discourse about God:
Gilbert Porreta 94
7 The textbook: The Sentences of Peter Lombard 98
8 Axiomatic theology 102
9 Towards a standard theological language 107
10 Scholastic and monastic theology 111
11 Learned heresy 115
3 Theology as a Science at the University 120

1 The university as the home of theology 120
1.1 University organization, teaching activity, and
presentational forms 120
1.2 The mendicant orders at the universities 124
1.3 Biblical or systematic theology? 126
2 Aristotle as a challenge to theology 131
2.1 A new scientific model 131
2.2 A pagan view of the world and man 133
2.3 The influence of non-Christian syntheses 136
2.4 The Church’s reaction: The prohibition of Aristotle 138
2.5 Theological truth and the truths of the natural sciences 141
2.6 The condemnations of 1270 and 1277 144
3 The scientific character of theology 147
3.1 Faith and argument: William of Auxerre 147
3.2 Between Bible and science: The early Dominicans 149
3.3 Salvation history or metaphysics: The Summa Halensis 154
3.4 Presuppositions and goal of theological science:
Albert the Great 158
3.5 Theology as science and wisdom in Christ: Bonaventure 162
3.6 A proof of scientific character? Thomas Aquinas 167
3.7 The Franciscan reaction: William de la Mare 171
3.8 Immunization through “enlightenment”: Henry of Ghent 175
3.9 Augustinian or Aristotelian science? Ægidius Romanus 179
Contents vii
4 Theological Controversy and Church Reform 182

1 Scholastic theology amid societal upheaval 182
1.1 The development of academic study 182
1.2 Formation of schools and the dispute about the two ways 187
1.3 Theology, Church, and society: Wycliffe and Hus 193
1.4 Toward a biblical and affective theology: Johannes Gerson 199
1.5 University theology and spiritual direction for aristocratic
ladies: Vienna 203
1.6 Scholastic criticism of devotio moderna and Reform theology 207
2 Theological certainty in an uncertain age? 210
2.1 Human action in the knowledge of God: Duns Scotus 210
2.2 Assuring human statements about God: Francis
of Meyronnes 214
2.3 Axiomatic metaphysics as the foundation of theology:
Meister Eckhart 218
2.4 What can we know? William of Ockham 222
2.5 Propositional logic of the faith: Robert Holcot 227
2.6 What can we do? Gregory of Rimini 231
2.7 God’s knowledge and human freedom: Marsilius of Inghen 234
2.8 How do I find a gracious God? Gabriel Biel 238
5 Humanist and Reformation Theology 243

1 University, humanism, and Reformation 243
1.1 Reformatio studii: Wish and reality 243
1.2 Biblical-humanist reform of theology: Erasmus of Rotterdam 247
1.3 University theology and Reformation: Disputatio 250
2 Approach to theology in Reformed Christianity 255
2.1 “Contra scholasticam theologiam”: Martin Luther 255
2.2 The new “Summa”: Melanchthon’s “Loci theologici” 260
2.3 Summa of self-knowledge and practical knowledge about
God: Calvin 264
3 The Catholic understanding of theology 268
3.1 Humanist reform of Scholasticism and controversy:
Johannes Eck 268
3.2 Cajetan and the new Thomism 272
viii Contents
6 Scholastic Theology: Early Modern Period 277

1 Development and presentational forms 277
1.1 The university as a territorial and confessional institution
for education 278
1.2 Catholic theology after the Council of Trent 280
1.3 Scholastic and positive theology 286
1.4 The development of schools of Catholic theology 290
1.5 Presentational forms 294
2 The “Scholasticism” of Protestant orthodoxy 298
2.1 From creed to theological system 299
2.2 Concept of theology in early Lutheran Orthodoxy:
Johann Gerhard 302
2.3 Anti-Scholastic “Scholasticism”: Abraham Calov 306
2.4 Theology in one sentence: Johann Adam Scherzer 311
2.5 Theology within the framework of the encyclopedia:
Johann Heinrich Alsted 315
2.6 Reformed “Cartesian Scholasticism”: Christoph Wittich 319
3 God and modern man: The debate about grace 323
3.1 Man as a free instrument of God: Francisco Suárez 323
3.2 Natural morality or the effect of grace? Gabriel Vázquez 327
3.3 God’s decision and man’s freedom: Bartolomeo Mastri 331
3.4 God’s knowledge dependent on free human beings:
Rodrigo de Arriaga 334
3.5 Thomistic opposition to the scientia media:
Jean-Baptiste Gonet 338
3.6 Causal-metaphysical predetermination of the will:
Ludwig Babenstuber 342
4 The difficult assimilation of the new 346
4.1 Caramuel and the Galileo case 346
4.2 Cartesian teaching on the Eucharist: Robert Desgabets 348
4.3 Eclectic theology: Eusebius Amort 351
7 Prospect: Enlightenment and New Scholasticism 354
Bibliography 361
Index of Names 387
Abbreviations
Abbreviations for editions of complete works are noted during the

discussion of the individual authors.
Periodicals and Series

ABG Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte. Bonn.
AFP Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum. Rome.
AFrH Archivum Franciscanum Historicum. Firenze [Florence].
AHD Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen
âge. Paris.
AHSI Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu. Rome.
AnPraem Analecta Praemonstratensia. Averbode.
ATG Archivo teologico Granadino. Granada.
BGPh(Th)MA Beiträge zur Geschichte der Philosophie (und Theologie)
des Mittelalters. Münster.
CollFr Collectanea Franciscana. Rome.
CUP Chartularium Universitatis Parisiensis. Ed. by Heinrich
Denifle. 4 vols. Paris 1889–1897.
EThL Ephemerides theologicae Lovanienses. Leuven/Louvain.
FStud Franziskanische Studien. Münster.
FZPhTh Freiburger Zeitschrift für Philosophie und Theologie.
Fribourg.
HDG Handbuch der Dogmengeschichte. Ed. by Michael
Schmaus. Freiburg im Breisgau.
HDThG Handbuch der Dogmen- und Theologiegeschichte. Ed. by
Carl Andresen. Göttingen.
HJ Historisches Jahrbuch (der Görresgesellschaft). Munich.
ix
x Abbreviations
HPBL Historisch-politische Blätter für das katholische

Deutschland. Munich.
HZ Historische Zeitschrift. Munich.
MS Mediaeval Studies. Toronto.
QuD Quaestiones Disputatae. Freiburg im Breisgau.
RBen Revue bénédictine de critique, d’histoire et de littérature
religieuses. Maredsous.
RÉAug Revue des études augustiniennes. Paris.
RechAug Recherches augustinennes. Paris.
RGST Reformationsgeschichtliche Studien und Texte. Münster.
RMAL Revue du Moyen-âge latin. Strasbourg.
RSR Recherches de science religieuse. Paris.
RThAM Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale.
Leuven/Louvain.
RThom Revue thomiste. Paris.
SMGB Studien und Mitteilungen zur Geschichte des
Benediktinerordens und seiner Zweige. Munich.
SSL Spicilegium sacrum Lovaniense. Leuven/Louvain.
StudLeib Studia Leibnitiana. Wiesbaden.
ThPQ Theologisch-Praktische Quartalschrift. Linz.
VIEG Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische
Geschichte Mainz. Wiesbaden.
WiWei Wissenschaft und Weisheit. Düsseldorf.
ZKG Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte. Stuttgart.
ZKTh Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie. Innsbruck.
Introduction to Scholastic Theology
Introduction: What Is Scholastic Theology?
An introduction to Scholastic theology is in the first place an ambiguous

undertaking, especially if it is to be done by a philosopher. It approaches its
object from outside, so to speak. Its goal is to accompany the reader until he
can move about without this introduction. But in what field should he be
able to move about? In Scholastic theology, you will answer. Therefore the
first question to ask is: “What is Scholastic theology?”
The whole purpose of this volume is to answer that question, and to do
so only in a rudimentary way, in the form of an introduction. Therefore it
is understood not as a question about the oft-invoked “essence” of Scho-
lasticism, but rather—straightforwardly in an introduction—as a phenom-
enological or semantic question: What (sorts of things) do we signify with
the term “Scholastic theology”? These may be quite dissimilar phenomena
which admit of no univocal concept.1 The characterization of a discipline
as “Scholastic” seems initially and unproblematically to hark back to a use
of the term “scholastic” that can be described as “pedagogical” and should
be treated with well-founded suspicion. That is why it is necessary to survey
the history of the concept “Scholastic theology,” whereby “theology” is re-
garded as being specified by the adjective “Scholastic.” At the same time we
must stake out the boundaries within which this introduction will range.2
1 On the history of the concept “Scholasticism”

Derived from “σχολή” (leisure, ease, spare time, but also leisure devoted
to the sciences, e.g., an instructor’s lecture), we encounter “σχολαστικός”
1. The question is framed in a similar way in Schönberger, Scholastik, 15–19.

2. See especially the comprehensive study by Quinto, Scholastica; see also Schmidinger’s ar-
ticle “Scholastik,” HWP 8:1332–42; Schmidinger, “‘Scholastik’ und ‘Neuscholastik’” and the bibli-
ography cited therein.
1
2 What Is Scholastic Theology?
for the first time in a philosophical context in the Politics of Aristotle (384–
322 BC). It signifies a freely chosen activity which is performed for its own
sake, and ultimately θεωρία as an expression of σχολή, the pursuit of what
is essential unencumbered by the immediate requirements of living.3 Ar-
istotle’s disciple Theophrast (372/369–288/285 BC) uses “σχολαστικός” in
this sense to describe himself: he is someone who lives for θεωρία.4 “Βίος
θηωρητικός” for Chrysippus (281/277–208/204 BC) is synonymous with
“βίος σχολαστικός” as a term for the way of life proper to the philosopher
alone.5 Through the organization of “schools of philosophers,” “σχολή” or
“schola” becomes in Cicero’s time (106–43 BC) a term for everything con-
cerned with the business of schooling: the place, the instruction, but also
the [ideological] alignment of the school.6 A scholasticus, accordingly, is
anyone who has to do with the school, and in a broader sense an educated
man (eruditus, literatus, sapiens), but especially the rhetorician (rhetor, first
century BC) and the learned legal counselor (third century AD).7
This linguistic usage is essentially preserved in Christian antiquity also.
We find “scholasticus” (sometimes in the superlative) especially as a mark of
distinguished learning and erudition and as a term for rhetoricians, advo-
cates and officials.8 As late as the Merovingian period it is the customary title
for a civil servant, whereas from the Carolingian period on it also designates
the head of a cathedral, municipal, or monastic school.9 In any case scholas-
ticus is not found in the early and High Middle Ages as a (self-) description
of a particular kind of theology, but rather as a description of persons, books,
or a manner of speaking or teaching (scholastice loquentes, scholasticae disputa-
tiones), whereby “scholastic” can simply mean “learned,” but also “academic”
[schulmässig, sometimes implying dependence on a school of thought]. With
reference to the education of his day, Haimo of Auxerre († ca. 855) defines
“scholastice” as “philosophice sive dialectice.”10 In the twelfth century scholasti-
cus serves in monastic circles (admittedly in very few instances) to character-
3. Aristotle, Politics 1313 b, 2–3; 1322 b, 38–39; 1341 a, 18–19; see also Nicomachaean Ethics 1177 b, 22.
4. Diogenes Laertios, Vitae philosophorum V, 37, ed. H. S. Long, vol. 1 (Oxford, 1965), 215.
5. Plutarch, Moralia 1033 c, ed. M. Pohlenz and R. Westmann (Leipzig, 1959), 6:2–3.
6. Cicero, Tusculanae disputationes 1.7–8, ed. K. Büchner (Zürich-Stuttgart, 1966), 8–9; 1.113
(114–15); 2.6 (146–47); 3.81 (270–71); 5.25 (278–79).
7. See Du Cange, Glossarium mediae et infimae latinitatis (Paris, 1883–1887), 6:350 (Papias);
Sueton, De grammaticis et rhetoribus 30, ed. G. Burgudi (Leipzig, 1963), 4. Theodosiani Libri XVI,
8.10.2, ed. Th. Mommsen—P. M. Meyer (Berlin, 1905), 405. Claus, Ho Scholastikós, 20ff., 150ff.
8. See Manser, “Die mittelalterliche Scholastik”; Claus, Scholastikós, 95–125.
9. See Schmidinger, “Scholastik,” 1334.
10. See Landgraf, “Zum Begriff der Scholastik,” 488.
What Is Scholastic Theology? 3
ize the methods and persons of the municipal or cathedral schools.11 Even
the title Historia scholastica by Petrus Comestor (ca. 1100–ca. 1179) indicates
nothing more than the fact that the work was a popular medieval textbook.
“Scholastic” as a description of medieval philosophy and theology is a
modern term. Erasmus of Rotterdam (1466–1536) and Martin Luther (1483–
1546) explicitly contrast their positions with those of “scholastic” theology
and philosophy, which they see embodied in the three late medieval schools
(sectae) of the Thomists, the Scotists, and the Nominalists. “Scholasticism”
takes on negative connotations and implies reverence for Aristotle, barbaric
Latin, hair-splitting, sophistry, useless logical disputations and pastoral bar-
renness.12 Luther’s Disputatio contra scholasticam theologiam (1517) distances
itself from a particular sort of theology, which besides the aforementioned
evils is characterized by its Aristotelianism (especially the Metaphysics) and
the overemphasis on man’s capability as opposed to the grace of God which
alone is effective (sola gratia).13 In view of this clear dissociation of Luther
and the humanist disdain for Scholastic “barbarism,” the early Protestant
school cannot be described as Scholasticism. Moreover the initial Protes-
tant altercations with Aristotelian metaphysics are conducted in a human-
istic and not a Scholastic spirit. Thus in 1598 Rudolf Goclenius (1547–1628)
publishes an Isagoge in Peripateticorum et Scholasticorum Primam Philoso-
phiam, quae dici consuevit Metaphysica.14 Later Christoph Scheibler (1589–
1655) describes “Theologia scholastica” as a “strange sort of theology, as it is
pursued by the noble professors at the great schools and other schools. In
which nothing else is to be found but what they had to discuss most inge-
niously pro and contra.” In contrast, correct theology is entirely “directed ad
praxin [toward practical formation] or at training.”15
The rejection of Scholastic theology expounded here, however, could
not prevent the establishment, influenced by the newly incorporated meta-
physics of Catholic (and especially Spanish) Scholasticism, of a sort of
Scholasticism in the Protestant schools as well, although it soon met with
resistance from within those ranks.16 The undifferentiated use of scholasticus
11. See Chenu, La théologie au douzième siècle, 325; Leclercq, Wissenschaft und Gottverlangen, 11.
12. See Dalfen, Erasmus von Rotterdam; Quinto, Scholastica, 133–41; Schmidinger, “‘Scholastik’
und ‘Neuscholastik,’” 36–38.
13. WA 1, 224–28; see also the Römerbrief-Vorlesungen [Lectures on the Letter to the Romans]
dated 1515–1516: WA 56, 273, 296, 312, 337, 354; Quinto, Scholastica, 208–15.
14. Frankfurt, 1598; see also Leinsle, Ding, 175–88.
15. Ch. Scheibler, Aurifodina theologica (Leipzig, 17272), A3ff. ; Leinsle, Ding, 324.
16. Especially Jakob Thomasius, “Historia variae fortunae, quam Metaphysica experta est,” in
Thomasius, Erotemata Metaphysica (Leipzig, 1670); see also Leinsle, Reformversuche, 141–46.
even as late as the seventeenth century is illustrated by the early Aristotelian
scholar Christian Dreier (1610–1688), who contrasted his own philosophy
with the interpretation of Aristotle proposed by “Scholastici et Jesuitae,” call-
ing the former “scholastica speculatio” as opposed to “praxis civica.”17 The
term “Scholasticism” is fraught with even more negative connotations in
Enlightenment philosophy, which since the days of Christian Thomasius
(1655–1728) saw in the “pedantic philosophy” of the “Papist monks and
friars” nothing but a prejudiced doctrine beholden to the authority of the
“dark,” unenlightened centuries of yore.18
In contrast, the so-called Second Scholasticism or Baroque Scholasti-
cism at the Catholic universities and religious houses of study at the turn of
the eighteenth century consciously regarded itself as the continuation and
renewal of medieval philosophy and theology.19 Precisely in the expression
“theologia scholastica,” however, “scholastic” acquires a new meaning. As dis-
tinguished from so-called positive theology (exegesis, casuistry, canon law),
it designates “theologia speculativa” (systematic theology), which is carried
out methodically first in the Commentary on The Sentences of Peter Lombard,
and later in the Summa Theologiae of Thomas Aquinas or in the treatises of
a cursus theologicus.20
“Scholasticism” thus signifies, from both the outsider’s and the insider’s
perspective in the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries, medieval, and early
modern philosophy and theology, especially at Catholic (but sometimes
also at Protestant) universities and upper schools until the Enlighten-
ment.21 The Enlightenment claimed to have prevailed over it. The Catholic
renewal of Scholastic (especially Thomistic) philosophy and theology in
direct opposition to the Enlightenment in the nineteenth century is there-
fore described as Neoscholasticism. Although the term “Neo-Scholastic”
originally had a political emphasis within the context of the Ultramontane
movement, it eventually appears, thanks to the legitimacy bestowed on it by
the encyclical Aeterni Patris dated August 4, 1879, as the name selected by
philosophers, theologians, and periodicals themselves to make clear their
17. Ch. Dreier, Sapientia seu Philosophia prima (Königsberg, 1644), a2v; see also Leinsle, Reform-
versuche, 128–34.
18. Ch. Thomasius, Einleitung zur Hof-Philosophie (Frankfurt/Leipzig, 1710), 39f. ; see also
Leinsle, Reformversuche, 162–67. This theme continued to be influential down to the time of Hegel,
see Schmidinger, “‘Scholastik’ und ‘Neuscholastik,’” 42–43.
19. See Giacon, La seconda scolastica; Leinsle, “Scholastik,” 54–69.
20. See Quinto, Scholastica, 238–95; Schmidinger, “‘Scholastik’ und ‘Neuscholastik,’” 44; Lang,
Loci theologici, 28; Tshibangu, Théologie positive.
21. See Leinsle, “Scholastik,” 54–56.
ecclesiastical alignment.22 Yet Neoscholasticism, like Baroque Scholasti-
cism, is not just a repetition of the Middle Ages, but at least partially an ap-
plication of Scholastic methods and teachings to new questions, which are
nevertheless treated along the same lines as the old authorities and meth-
odologies. Scholasticism (in most cases restricted to Thomism) thereby be-
comes a normative standard of philosophy and theology.
2 Attempts at a definition
“What-is-it” questions are not uncommonly understood to be ques-
tions calling for a definition. So it happened that in Neoscholasticism there
were attempts to define the essence of the normative standard “Scholasti-
cism” and thus to delineate a theoretical paradigm for the academic disci-
pline.23 These attempts at a definition should be critiqued in terms of their
presuppositions and their historical suitability.
As early as 1909 the historian Martin Grabmann advocated a concept of
Scholasticism informed by the Scholastic method: “The Scholastic method
intends to gain as much insight as possible into the contents of the faith
through the application of reason and philosophy to the truths of revelation,
so as [1] to bring supernatural truth closer to the human mind which re-
flects on it, [2] to make possible a systematic, organically structured general
presentation of the truth about salvation, and [3] to be able answer reason-
ably the objections raised against the contents of revelation.”24 This influ-
ential definition of the term, nevertheless, is both too broad and too nar-
row. It restricts Scholasticism to theology. However, since specialists have
demonstrated that the methods of decisive importance for medieval theol-
ogy were developed in jurisprudence and medicine, in some cases within
Islam, “Scholasticism” can no longer be restricted to theology alone.25 To
explain and defend the rationality of the contents of revelation, moreover,
is not an independent method but rather a concern that can be pursued by
different methods. The narrowing of the Scholastic method to this concern
leads Grabmann to conclude that theologians who apply the technique of
22. See Schmidinger, “‘Scholastik’ und ‘Neuscholastik,’” 48–52.

23. Quinto stages a debate between the “pars destruens” (De Wulf, Grabmann, etc.) and the
“pars construens” (De Rijk, Wieland), Scholastica 330–87; Schönberger offers a good overview and
at the same time a critique of these attempts in Scholastik, 20–40; see also Schmidinger, “‘Scholas-
tik’ und ‘Neuscholastik,’” 46–47.
24. Grabmann, Geschichte 1:36–37; see also Quinto, Scholastica, 339–49.
25. See Koch, “Von der Bildung der Antike”; Madiski, “Scholastic Method.”
Scholastic theology but do not share this concern (e.g., heretics) cannot be
deemed “Scholastic theologians.”
Grabmann’s handy definition, furthermore, is a critical response to a tra-
dition of Neoscholastic attempted definitions which, in contrast to a purely
historical delimitation of Scholasticism as the science taught at medieval
schools,26 tried to find a substantial formal component of Scholasticism. Mau-
rice de Wulf regards as Scholastics those thinkers who from the twelfth centu-
ry until the late Middle Ages formed an “overwhelming majority,” displayed
unity in a great number of basic ideas and achieved a great and substantial
synthesis of fundamental Western beliefs.27 This substantial unity in doctrinal
beliefs again restricts Scholasticism to medieval theology and harmonizes
the doctrinal conflicts that were present; according to this view, any irrecon-
cilable doctrinal tendencies, especially in the late Middle Ages, can only be
classified as “anti-Scholasticism” or as the disintegration of the (High) Scho-
lastic synthesis.28 The temporal limit “until the late Middle Ages” is at a loss
to account for the phenomenon of a Second Scholasticism. De Wulf ’s desire
to define the contents of Scholasticism is shared by Clemens Baeumker, who
in any case assumes only a “common property” of a formal and substantial
sort: receptivity, submission to authority, preeminence of tradition over the
work of the individual, conformity to a school.29 Fernand Van Steenberghen
takes up an intermediate position between de Wulf and Baeumker by insist-
ing, over and above the more formal common features, on the “foundational
doctrines” as a “sort of common basis upon which the great masters of the
thirteenth century constructed their philosophical buildings in various styles
out of more or less dissimilar materials.”30 In this passage expressly applies to
the thirteenth century only, so that other epochs of Scholastic teaching are
left out of consideration.
We encounter a more historical-phenomenological delimitation, which
should be read at the same time, however, as a critique of the attempts at
a substantial definition, in the writings of Gallus Manser (1866–1950), who
understands “Scholasticism” to mean everything that was taught at me-
26. Thus, Manser, “Scholastik,” 321–28.

27. De Wulf, Geschichte der mittelalterlichen Philosophie, 81–84; concerning the critique: Schön-
berger, Scholastik, 20–21; Quinto, Scholastica, 330–39.
28. Starting with Mandonnet, Siger de Brabant. In light of the critique of this concept, de
Wulf later repudiated it; for an author who retains the division but with different emphases, see
Schmidt, “Scholastik.”
29. Baeumker, “Christliche Philosophie,” 339–43.
30. Van Steenberghen, Philosophie im 13. Jahrhundert, 500; see also Quinto, Scholastica, 402–3.
dieval schools.31 Bernhard Geyer is similarly cautious with regard to the
term Scholasticism, which in his opinion has the shortcomings of all his-
torical abstractions and is in essence “practically worthless.” At best one
can mention several characteristics of Scholastic philosophy: a close rela-
tion between philosophy and theology, dependence on ancient philosophy,
especially Aristotle’s, and a particular “Scholastic” method.32 Josef Pieper,
following Hegel, attempts to understand Scholasticism as the process by
which the “barbarian” peoples assimilated the educational heritage of pa-
gan and Christian antiquity, as “a scholarly undertaking on a vast scale that
was carried on for several centuries.”33 This definition of course fits some
aspects of early and high Scholasticism, but certainly not late and Baroque
Scholasticism. Finally, Wolfgang Kluxen defines “Scholasticism” in the pri-
mary sense as “the medieval form of ‘science’ in general”; for “all theoreti-
cal knowledge assumes the form of rational knowledge, becomes scientia.”34
But basically that makes the term “Scholasticism” superfluous, because it
only underscores the scientific character of the philosophy and theology
taught in the schools during the Middle Ages.
This term is fraught with so many misunderstandings that even the field
of medieval studies today largely dispenses with it. “The concept of Scho-
lasticism has ceased to be a theme of medieval studies.”35 Instead of a Scho-
lasticism that has been over-defined as a theoretical uniformity, Kurt Flasch
recommends acknowledging only a methodical and terminological conti-
nuity.36 This methodical, academic form for the Scholastic theology and
philosophy of the Middle Ages and the early modern period, as viewed by
outsiders (especially by its opponents), reduces the tradition to a construct
that can be more easily countered once it has been labeled.
As we can see, however, this name appears to admit of no univocal
application.37 On the other hand, the label Scholastic, as an initial distinc-
tion can be used not only against later opponents but also with reference
to contemporary theological phenomena (monastic spirituality, epistolary
31. Manser, “Scholastik,” 321–23.

32. Ueberwegs Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie, vol. 2: Die patristische und scholastische
Philosophie, ed. B. Geyer (Berlin, 192811), 141–43; on this concept compare Quinto, Scholastica, 351.
33. Pieper, Scholastik, 28, 48–52.
34. Kluxen, “Thomas von Aquin,” 181.
35. Schönberger, Scholastik, 36; see especially Flasch, Einführung in die Philosophie des Mittel-
alters, 38.
36. Flasch, Geschichte der Philosophie, 2:29; see also Schönberger, Scholastik, 36–37.
37. See Schönberger, Scholastik, 41–51.
literature, mysticism). Thus Bonaventure already distinguishes the “discip-
lina scholastica,” as a theoretical teaching that is suited to “audiendo solum”
[“hearing only”], from a “disciplina monastica” in which one must be trained
by “observando” [“by observing it”].38 Scholastic theology is distinguished
from other forms; indeed, the universities went so far as to appoint pro-
fessors to separate chairs for Scholastic (= speculative, systematic) theol-
ogy and positive theology in the seventeenth century.39 This did not cause
Scholasticism to be “a particular entity with a specialized literature . . . , its
claim to predominance never entirely unchallenged”; it was that already in
the Middle Ages, as Wolfgang Kluxen correctly observes.40 In this distin-
guishing function (from within and without) with regard to other forms of
theology (in the Middle Ages as well) I see also therefore along with Rolf
Schönberger the possibility that the Scholastic forms of theology can be de-
scribed without necessarily presupposing a univocal concept of Scholasti-
cism.41 It is beside the point that the Scholastic method (or methods) was
not actually developed in theology but was also used in law, philosophy, and
medicine. This only shows that, from the perspective of that time, it was a
matter of scientific method, by which theology also was guided. Thus Lam-
bert Marie de Rijk, too, regards “Scholasticism” as a collective, not generic
term for that scientific activity, especially philosophy and theology, that fol-
lows a particular method, which in turn is characterized by a particular sys-
tem of teachings and concepts, distinctions, propositional analyses [Satz-
analysen], logical techniques, and rules of debate.42 One could therefore
say: the development and application of these methods creates and distin-
guishes Scholastic theology as a scientific or academic theology, and thus as
a particular undertaking, from other sorts of theology.
That doesn’t bring us any farther, though, unless this method can be de-
fined or reconstructed in detail. Statements by medieval theologians about
their method are rare, however; systematic treatises De methodo are not
38. Bonaventure, Collationes in Hexaemeron II.3, in Opera omnia, ed. Quaracchi (1882–1902),
5:337a; see also Quinto, Scholastica, 81–87.
39. See, for example, Die Matrikel der Universität Innsbruck, vol. 2, Matricula theologica, part 1,
ed. J. Kollmann (Innsbruck, 1965), lvi; see also Leinsle, Studium im Kloster, 95–97.
40. Kluxen, “Thomas,” 181.
41. See Schönberger, Scholastik, 45: “Scholastik [. . . ] läßt sich wohl nur durch eine Kombina-
tion von einzelnen Beschreibungen, aber nicht durch eine definitorische Formel fassen.” [“Scholasticism
. . . can probably be understood only through a combination of individual descriptions but not
through a formulaic definition.”]
42. De Rijk, La philosophie au moyen âge, 20–21. Concerning the critique, see Schönberger,
Scholastik, 49–50.
commonly found until the sixteenth century, and again these treatises on
logic typically apply generally to the scientific method that must be used in
all disciplines if they intend to be considered sciences.43 Thus the statement
that Scholasticism is a “method without a ‘discourse’” can hold true only for
parts of medieval Scholasticism but not for the modern offshoots.44 It’s just
that this “discours de la méthode” [methodological discourse] is treated not
in the specialized discipline in question but rather generally in the study of
Logic for all the disciplines. Here of course we should distinguish the sci-
entific method, as it is established for instance in the Posterior Analytics of
Aristotle, from the form of presentation and the teaching technique, so that
even within this methodological concept of “Scholasticism” differentiations
again take effect, which show that the Scholastic method, too, is not a uni-
form construct but rather a complex methodological paradigm with shift-
ing techniques, presuppositions, manners of representation and standards
of rationality. Common to them all, however, is their orientation to a stan-
dard of scientific rigor (which in each case is determined by the times). If
we want to understand what Scholastic theology means in a particular era,
we must therefore above all study the underlying concept of science.45 For
that concept determines the methods to be applied, and these in turn deter-
mine the form in which the related discipline is handed down orally and in
writing. Therefore the characterization of a discipline as Scholastic can be
made comprehensible only in terms of the scientific criteria and techniques
of the Middle Ages and of the early modern period.
3 Characteristics
If a definition of the essence of Scholasticism is not possible, then at
least a few characteristics should be listed to make the object in question—
Scholastic theology in the Middle Ages and the early modern period—
more accessible. An initial characteristic is its academic character [Schulmäs-
sigkeit, a term that sometimes implies dependence on a school of thought],
in contrast to forms of free, spiritual or monastic theologizing. Thus Jean
Leclercq has suggested speaking about a “theology of the schools” instead
of about “Scholastic theology.”46 But new problems crop up here. In the me-
43. See Ashworth, Language and Logic; Leinsle, Ding, 452–59.
44. Schönberger, Scholastik, 50. The general discourse, however, should be expected after the
general acceptance of the Posterior Analytics in logic.
45. This has been carried out in an exemplary way by Schrimpf, “Bausteine.”
46. Leclercq, “Renewal of Theology,” 72.
dieval school system there were various types of schools at which theology
was taught: monastic schools, cathedral and municipal schools, and later re-
ligious houses of studies, general houses of study, and universities.47 Among
the monastic schools a further distinction must be made between internal
schools for the choir monks and the schools for the externs (people living
in the world). One suspects that these different schools with their different
students represent in each case a different theology. Thus Anselm of Can-
terbury, who since Grabmann has been considered “the father of Scholasti-
cism,” was a monk in Bec at the time when he wrote his most important
works. If one restricts “Scholastic theology” to the nonmonastic schools,
then Anselm is not a Scholastic. On the other hand, a typical Scholastic like
Abelard was from time to time a monk and an abbot and was conversant
with the forms of monastic theology.48 Moreover in the twelfth century
we are dealing with a strongly person-centered scholarly education, which
was acquainted not only with a school in Laon but with a school of Laon, a
school of Abelard or a Porretan school (at various locations). Here, at the
latest, Scholastic theology in the sense of “the theology of the schools” dis-
solves into more than one.49
Likewise a definition of Scholastic theology by means of a standard of
scientific rigor or rationality, as Wolfgang Kluxen and Gangolf Schrimpf
have suggested, seems to be insufficiently precise as a uniform criterion.50
For even in the patristic period we find rational proof of the faith and sci-
entific theology with methods that are basically Scholastic (quaestiones et
responsiones, commentary),51 since even Grabmann can speak about the
“Scholasticism of the late Greek patristic era.”52 However the concept of sci-
ence and the standard of rationality change, as Schrimpf demonstrates in
an exemplary fashion, not only between the ninth and the twelfth century
(Scotus Eriugena and Abelard) but even more with the reception of the Pos-
terior Analytics of Aristotle and in the early modern debate on method. Yet
presumably the factor that characterizes the Scholastic form of theology as
an academic, scientific and rational penetration of the deposit of faith, with
a special technique and form of presentation that distinguish it from other
47. See Leclercq, Wissenschaft; Koch, Artes liberales.

48. See Stock, The Implications of Literacy, 525.
49. See Leclercq, “Renewal,” 72–74, in which he nevertheless insists that generally in the
twelfth c. there were two kinds of theology (monastic and Scholastic).
50. See Schrimpf, “Bausteine,” 2–3; 24–25.
51. See especially Studer, Schola Christiana, 126–31.
52. Grabmann, Geschichte, 1:92.
forms, is found precisely in the reception of the current concept of science
in the theological schools [of a given era]. What distinguishes medieval and
early modern Scholasticism, then, is in each case the contemporary stan-
dard of rationality and scientific rigor that is not shared by other historical
periods, whereas the fundamental effort to study the deposit of faith in an
academic, scientific and rational way will always be the indispensable con-
cern of any theology.53
It is beside the point, initially, that these standards are not the property of
theology but are received [from other disciplines]. “Scholastic” procedures
are not restricted to the Western theology of the Middle Ages, as we have
seen.54 Thus Abelard’s Sic-et-Non method, which some consider to be typical
of early Scholastic theology, can also be found in the writings of Patriarch
Photius of Constantinople († ca. 891) as well as in the works of the canonists
Bernold of Constance († ca. 1100) and Ivo of Chartres († ca. 1165).55 George
Madiski was able to show, furthermore, that the Aristotelian or high Scho-
lastic method, along with the elements of Sic-et-Non, lectio, and disputatio
already had their “natural habitat” in Islamic law around a century earlier.56
The structure of the Summa Theologiae of Thomas Aquinas is by no means
his special property, but rather an instructional system that was used widely
in the Arab world as well.57 Even Photius’ acquaintance with the Sic-et-Non
might have been due to Arabic influence.58 More remarkable, as matters
stand, is the acceptance of these basically nontheological methods and stan-
dards for use in theology. In each instance they change the self-understand-
ing of theology in the schools and universities. They lead to conflicts and
debates with the opponents of these methods, who see in them nothing but
“frivolous innovations” of pagan origin which will dilute the wine of God’s
word and destroy the simple faith.59
Thus it seems most likely that synchronic [zeitbedingte] methods and
scientific standards were what gave rise to Scholastic theology. Bernhard
Geyer has already recommended this way of proceeding: “The easiest way
to gain insight into the nature of Scholastic theology is to start by examin-
53. On this subject see the impressive remarks of Pope Benedict XVI in “The Regensburg Aca-
demic Lecture”: Benedict XVI, “Faith, Reason and the University: Memories and Reflections,” in
Origins 36/16 (Sept. 28, 2006): 248–52.
54. See especially Studer, Schola Christiana, 83–135.
55. Grabmann, Geschichte 1:113, 234–39, 242–46.
56. Madiski, “Method,” 648ff. 57. Ibid., 651–57.
58. Ibid., 568–69.
59. See, for example, Petrus Damiani, De sancta simplicitate scientiae inflanti opponenda (PL
145, 695–704).
ing its form of presentation and method.”60 As to its method, however, this
theology is “reflection on the text,”61 whether individual books of the Bible,
the Opuscula sacra of Boethius, Pseudo-Dionysius, or later the Quatuor libri
sententiarum of Peter Lombard and finally the Summa Theologiae of Aqui-
nas.62 Because of the form of instruction in the schools, theology, like phi-
losophy, is mainly interpretation, commentary on normative texts, whether
as a gloss, a literal commentary, paraphrase, or commentary in questions.
The text sparks questions (quaestiones), which are then discussed further in
separate treatises or, at the universities from the thirteenth century on, in a
disputatio.63 Theology is conducted in (to some extent ritualized) questions
and answers. A fundamental clarification of the truth is expected, especially
where the authorities seem to contradict one another. Initially, therefore,
the most important instrument is logic. But there are inquiries into many
things that pertain to neither the monk who is interested in his salvation
nor the simple believer.64 This inquiry, however, which seemingly stops at
nothing, is characteristic of Scholastic theology as a rational, scientific the-
ology, but also exposes it to the charge that it is only an “inclination to for-
mulate arguments without a serious problem.”65
4 Scholastic theology
If we are to define “Scholasticism” or “theology” in the Middle Ages, we
cannot start from today’s concepts. In the patristic era the concept of theol-
ogy covered a broad spectrum of themes and approaches, including Chris-
tian doctrine as a whole but also and especially “theologia triparta” made up
of poetic, political, and philosophical theology.66 The semantic fixation of
theologia upon the present understanding of the term came about together
with the development of a professional, academic, “scholastic” theology in
the twelfth century.67 Yet besides this term, other much more widely-used
60. Geyer, “Begriff,” 113.

61. Schönberger, Scholastik, 83.
62. See especially Häring, “Commentary and Hermeneutics.”
63. See Schönberger, Scholastik, 52–80; on patristics, see Studer, Schola Christiana, 126–35.
64. See Schönberger, Scholastik, 55–58.
65. K. R. Popper, Objektive Erkenntnis (Hamburg, 1984), 32.
66. See Studer, Schola Christiana, 12–13.
67. See Geyer, “Facultas theologica,” 138–45; Enders, “Zur Bedeutung”; Leppin, Theologie im
Mittelalter, 54, speaks not unfairly about “the beginning of a process of professionalizing the aca-
demic world view” [von einer “beginnende(n) Professionalisierung der akademischen Weltwahr-
nehmung”].
expressions appear, such as “divinitas,” “sacra lectio,” “sacra pagina,” “divina
pagina,” “doctrina sacrae scripturae.” Theologia and theologi seem to be used
generally for theological science and the corresponding educational system
only in university terminology from 1200 on.68 But since it is a foreign word,
even then it is rarely found even in the writings of theologians, and the older
expressions sacra pagina and sacra doctrina are maintained until Thomas
Aquinas.69 It is striking that the development of a uniform, handy designa-
tion clearly went hand in hand with the development of a corresponding
self-consciousness of the proponents of scientific theology in the schools
and universities. This was probably the result of interaction with the other
facultates. Theology’s own claim to be a science had to be demonstrated,
among other reasons because of the position of the docentes in theologica fac-
ultate at the universities and in society.70
But this could best be achieved by complying with the generally recog-
nized scientific standards. In that way theology proved at the same time to
be a rational enterprise. To begin with it is a conjecture that the develop-
ment of the name theologia was accompanied by a different understand-
ing of rationality in matters of faith, for instance, as opposed to the “intel-
lectus fidei” that Anselm of Canterbury had sought. This becomes evident
in the application of the Aristotelian concept of science to theology and in
the new questions that subsequently arise: whether a scientific theology is
necessary at all, in what sense theology is a science in the strict Aristotelian
sense, whether it has a theoretical or a practical character, etc.71 As a scien-
tific, rational enterprise Scholastic theology is supported by the conviction
that it is possible by the corresponding methods to find truth in theologicis
[in theological matters] as well, especially the truth of theological proposi-
tions (sententiae [German Sätze]). This leads especially in the fourteenth
century to the discussion of individual theological statements (sometimes
apparently detached from their systematic context) with regard to their
truth value.72 What to outsiders appears to be pointless quibbling about ter-
minology and phraseology is driven by this rational impulse to secure the
truth in theology by scientific methods.73
68. For examples, ibid., 141–43.

69. S.Th. I q.1: “De sacra doctrina, qualis sit et ad quae se extendat.” For a contrasting view, see
II/II q.1 a.5 ad 2: “Unde etiam theologia scientia est.”
70. See CUP I n.32 (I, 91).
71. See Geyer, “Facultas theologica,” 144.
72. See Hoffmann, “Satz,” 298–313.
73. See O. Schwemmer, Philosophie der Praxis (Frankfurt, 1980), 93: “Die mittelalterliche Scho-
The difference between theology and faith, which is a constituent of the
former, becomes even more accentuated, the less the questions discussed
in theology have to do with the practical problems in the lives of believers;
for “the habit of questioning has a theoretical character in the strict sense,”74
even when theology is understood as a practical science (as in Bonaventure
and Duns Scotus). Of course immediately practical and political questions
are also discussed in the schools, sometimes heatedly (poverty, begging,
usury, charging interest, tithes, etc.), but they alone do not abolish the dis-
crepancy between school and life that seems to be a constitutive element of
Scholastic theology.75 This theology is directed first of all to the teacher or
student who is involved in the business of education, whether in the form of
lectio, disputatio, or the Scholastic sermon.
Another difference, however, between theology and the Church’s Mag-
isterium, is articulated through the rationalization, scientific adaptation,
and adoption of nontheological, philosophical modes of argumentation.
This gives rise to the phenomenon of learned heresies (as distinct from
popular heresies) and the Lehrzuchtverfahren, the trial of the theologian in
which a finding of heterodoxy would cost him his professorship.76 This can
lead to an opposition between “Scholastic” and “ecclesiastical,” as noted for
instance by Gerhoh of Reichersberg († ca. 1169): the schools in France are
irreconcilable with the Roman Church because of their undisciplined in-
quiries.77 Not infrequently the wandering scholars and masters who did not
lead a well-ordered life in a monastery but lived more or less without super-
vision in a foreign city were regarded with mistrust because they lacked the
comportment befitting men of the Church.78
The fact that we retain the expression “Scholastic theology” in spite of
the abovementioned problems has its basis precisely in the development of
medieval theology. That is why we understand Scholastic theology not as a
lastik kann man geradezu als eine fast totale Herrschaft des Sprachsystems über alle anderen Orientier-
ungs-, Reaktions- und Interaktionssysteme ansehen. Das dialektisch nach allen Seiten hin abgesicherte
Argument, das jeweils beweist, was nur sein kann und was jedenfalls nicht sein darf, reicht aus, um Wahr-
heit und Wissen zu garantieren.” [“Medieval Scholasticism can be regarded as an almost total do-
minion of the linguistic system over all other systems of orientation, reaction, and interaction. The
argument that has been tested and proved on every side proving in each instance what must be and
what cannot be, is sufficient to guarantee truth and knowledge.”]
74. Schönberger, Scholastik, 63.
75. For further discussion see Flasch, Einführung, 38; Schönberger, Scholastik, 64–68.
76. See esp. Fichtenau, Ketzer und Professoren.
77. Ibid., 254–55.
78. Ibid., 245–57.
defining, univocal term, but rather as a collective name for the theology that
was developed along various lines in medieval schools and universities and
to some extent was still pursued or renewed in the early modern period.
The characteristics that distinguish it from contemporary forms of theol-
ogy (epistolary literature, monastic treatises, spirituality, mysticism) are the
methods accepted in these schools for use in theology: commentary on an
authoritative text, lectio, disputatio, and praedicatio, taking into account the
changing standards of rationality and concept of science in the individual
eras. But since these standards and concepts, like the methods themselves,
are part of a development, Scholastic theology should not be understood
either as a uniform structure, the essence of which can be summed up in
a definition. Instead its history can only be reconstructed genetically. Nor
should this lead to a genetic definition but rather, within the framework of
an introduction, merely to an independent understanding of the inquiries,
methods, and results of Scholastic theology in the Middle Ages and the ear-
ly modern period. This will be accomplished by alternating survey chapters
with the description of central problems in the respective historical peri-
ods. In these contexts the individual theologians will be introduced along
with their solutions. Therefore this volume does not offer a comprehensive
presentation of the history of theology or dogma. Nor can it evaluate the
individual theologians in terms of their achievements.79 An appropriate
understanding of Scholastic theology could, though, also help to overcome
many prejudices against “ivory-tower Scholasticism,” for example, the idea
that a Scholastic is nothing but a theologian who “under pressure from a
past that is deemed authoritative vainly attempts with outdated methods to
illuminate an outdated matter, without any lively understanding of present-
day problems.”80
79. For that purpose we refer the reader to the well-known standard works, especially the
Handbuch der Dogmengeschichte (HDG) and Handbuch der Dogmen- und Theologiegeschichte
(HDThG). Good surveys are offered in Evans, ed., Medieval Theologians; Köpf, ed., Theologen des
Mittelalters; Leppin, Theologie im Mittelalter.
80. G. Krüger, Das Dogma von der Dreieinigkeit und Gottmenschheit (Tübingen, 1905), 259;
cited in Grabmann, Methode 1:1.
1 How Did Scholastic Theology Come About?
Since an unequivocal definition of “Scholasticism” does not seem possi-

ble, we are left with the option of describing the development in intellectual
history that led to the characteristic features of western Scholastic theology
in the Middle Ages and the early modern era. The extent to which the con-
ventional subdivision into pre-, early, high and later Scholasticism is useful
would have to be demonstrated in this context by documenting paradigm
shifts, that is, changes in methodological and thematic issues.
1 Patristic themes and methods

Medieval theology is not an absolutely new beginning: extensive areas
of it owe much to the thematic and methodological precedents from the
patristic period. Therefore the most important components of this patristic
heritage must be presented at least briefly in order to understand better the
achievement of medieval theologians.
1.1 Philosophy and theology

The “Scholastic” theology of the Middle Ages was not the first to develop
in close contact and dialogue with philosophy. This was already true of the
“scientific theology” of the patristic era.1 Likewise, we are familiar with ac-
ceptance of pagan παιδεία by Christians since the days of Paul, and also with
the rejection thereof in the name of the folly of the Cross (see 1 Cor 1:18–21;
Acts 17:19–34). In particular the school of Alexandria (Clement [† ca. 215],
Origen [† 253]) tried to recast all the Greek philosophical modes of thought
into theology, yet it was aware of the difference between the “barbaric phi-
1. See, among other studies, Stockmeier, Glaube und Kultur, 120–37; Studer, Schola Christiana,
170–94; Kobusch, Christliche Philosophie, 26–57.
16
How Did Scholastic Theology Come About? 17
losophy” of Christianity and the richly differentiated Hellenistic culture of
its day. Greek philosophy is not necessary for salvation, but it is for a deeper
understanding of what is believed: “However, just as we declare it possible to
be a believer without any knowledge of the art of writing, so too we agree that
one cannot possibly understand the teachings contained in the faith without
learning. For the ability to accept correct teachings and to reject the others
comes not simply from faith, but only from faith that is based on knowledge.”2
Faith, then, needs rational justification of its content (fides quae) and of the
assent given by the believer (fides qua). Now this rational justification, which
is supposed to lead to an understanding of the content of the faith, takes place
with the help of the intellectual methods and philosophical precedents of the
era in question. For Christianity in late antiquity, this implies philosophy. The
philosophy of the Greeks, however, seemed to Clement [of Alexandria] to
have been surpassed by Christ. “Since the Word Himself has come to us from
heaven, we need not, I reckon, go any more in search of human learning to
Athens and the rest of Greece. . . . For if we have as our teacher Him that filled
the universe, . . . the whole world, with Athens and Greece, has already be-
come the domain of the Word.”3 This priority of the Christian message over
pagan philosophy is a constituent element of every Christian theology, if it is
not to be relativized as an arbitrary philosophy of religion or worldview. What
is relativized instead is philosophy: it becomes a propaedeutic or preparatory
instruction for the faith insight and for theology as well, and thus its claim to
be the independent way of salvation for the educated men of late antiquity is
denied.
Yet this optimistic equilibrium between pagan philosophy and Chris-
tian revelation in a scientific theology is not shared by all. Tertullian († after
213) speaks in a different language: “What indeed has Athens to do with Je-
rusalem? What concord is there between the Academy and the Church? . . .
Our instruction comes from ‘the porch of Solomon,’ who had himself
taught that ‘the Lord should be sought in simplicity of heart.’ . . . We want
no [wise sophistry] after possessing Christ Jesus, no inquisition after en-
joying the Gospel! With our faith, we desire no further belief. For this is
our primary faith, that there is nothing which we ought to believe besides.”4
2. Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis I 35, 2.

3. Clement of Alexandria, Exhortation to the Heathen [Protreptikos] XI 112, 1. The surpassing
knowledge of Christ was essential to the Church Fathers, a point emphasized especially by Studer,
Schola Christiana, 151–70.
4. Tertullian, Praescriptio haereticorum [The Prescription against Heretics] 7 (PL 2, 23–24).
Through this retreat to faith alone, however, Christians in the cultured and
philosophically trained world of late antiquity became liable to the accusa-
tion that they were irrational and uneducated; Celsus (around 178 AD), for
example, ascribes to the Christians the following maxim: “Do not examine,
but believe! . . . Your faith will save you! . . . The wisdom of this life is bad,
but foolishness is a good thing!”5 The reasons for rejecting philosophy soon
become set pieces of argumentation: Philosophy offers only ingenious, for-
mal erudition without any practical benefit for everyday life; the schools of
philosophy disagree; the lives of philosophers do not correspond to what
they teach; philosophy is the source of all heresies; moreover it is restricted
to an elite, whereas Christianity is addressed to the uneducated and the il-
literate as well. Then there are the individual doctrines of the philosophers’
schools that contradict Christianity.6 All this seems to suggest that Chris-
tianity is incompatible with pagan philosophy, which is fundamentally en-
tangled in error: “So, then, where is there any likeness between the Chris-
tian and the philosopher? between the disciple of Greece and of heaven?
between the man whose object is fame, and whose object is [salvation]?
between the talker and the doer? . . . between the friend and the foe of er-
ror? between one who corrupts the truth, and one who restores and teaches
it? between its thief and its custodian?”7 Yet in these antitheses there is also
a subliminal admission that the Christian theologian is dependent on a set
of skills, if he is to perform his service as a restorer and interpreter of truth
and an enemy of error. But where is this skill set to be obtained, if not from
education, including the philosophy of the day? Indeed, philosophy is em-
ployed at the very least in the erudite attack on a theology that works with
philosophical methods.
A pragmatic rejection of philosophy is found in many circles of early
Christian monasticism, which understood itself to be a “philosophy” com-
mitted to a definite way of life (asceticism).8 Thus Eusebius († 339) relates
that Origen “restrained himself as much as possible by a most philosophic
life, sometimes by the discipline of fasting, again by limited time for sleep.
And in his zeal he never lay upon a bed, but upon the ground. . . . By giving
5. Origen, Contra Celsum I, 9, 11–13 (SChr 132,98).

6. See the article by H. Görgemanns, “Philosophie: Griechische Patristik,” in HWP 7:617;
Studer, Schola Christiana, 154–56; Kobusch, Christliche Philosophie, 41–50: “Das Christentum–Pla-
tonismus für das Volk.”
7. Tertullian, Apologeticum [Apology] 47, 1–8 (CCh SL 1, 163, 1–164, 32).
8. See Studer, Schola Christiana, 13–14, Kobusch, Christliche Philosophie, 34–40.
such evidences of a philosophic life to those who saw him, he aroused many
of his pupils to similar zeal.”9 The philosophy of the monks was reduced to
asceticism, and so any concern with education (παιδεία) beyond the simple
faith seemed to them reprehensible. Athanasius († 373) quotes the Father
of monasticism, Anthony (251–356) as saying: “To those who have the in-
working through faith, demonstrative argument is needless, or even super-
fluous. For what we know through faith this you attempt to prove through
words. . . . So the inworking through faith is better and stronger than your
professional arguments.”10 The appearance of heresies made the monks
suspicious of scientific theology also, as the disputes over Origen showed.
Sweeping judgments condemning philosophy and theology at the same
time were not uncommon.11
When the step is taken from simple faith to theology, this happens even
in the patristic period through the addition of rational reflection, or as Bo-
naventure (1217/8–1274) would later put it, “per additionem rationis.”12 Of
course ratio in theology takes on a particular form in every age. For the
Church of the patristic period it was pagan and to some extent Gnostic phi-
losophy, from which standard lines of argumentation were adopted. The pos-
itive or negative value of such theology, however, is measured according to
the Church Fathers by the positive or negative value of the philosophy that is
applied and rendered theologically fruitful. On the one side stands Origen:
“It is, in agreement with the spirit of Christianity, of much more importance
to give our assent to doctrines upon grounds of reason and wisdom than on
that of faith merely.”13 The contrary position is represented again by Tertul-
lian when he warns against mixing faith and philosophy in a diluted theology
that reflects “the dignity of Plato, or the vigour of Zeno, or the equanimity
of Aristotle, or the stupidity of Epicurus, or the sadness of Heraclitus, or the
madness of Empedocles,” depending on the school that is followed. Instead
Christians have the duty to restore truth in its purity, to purge the clear blue
sky of the clouds of philosophy and thus of all heresy.14 For philosophy is the
soil that produces all erroneous doctrines, against which simple faith seems
to be charmed because it knows nothing about them: “It is better for you to
9. Eusebius, Church History VI, 3, 9.

10. Athanasius, Vita Antonii 77 (PG 26, 951A).
11. See Stockmeier, Glaube und Kultur, 132–33.
12. Bonaventura, Sent. prooem. q.1 concl. (I, 7b).
13. Origenes, Contra Celsum I, 13.
14. Tertullian, De anima 3, 2–3. (CCh SL 2, 785, 11–24).
remain in ignorance, lest you should come to know what you ought not.”15
But how should the Christian discriminate then among various teachings?
How is he to confront heresies effectively when they break out, and argue
against them? How is he supposed to find his way when differences come to
light even in the sacred Scriptures that have been accepted authoritatively?
Without the methods of question and answer (quaestiones et responsiones,
ζητήματα) that were expertly developed by the Alexandrine school, without
the combination of scriptural and rational arguments (probationes), without
the philological, philosophical, and in some cases allegorical commentary
on an authoritative text which was customary in the philosophical schools
of late antiquity also, no progress can be made.16 But with that we have taken
the step from faith to a theology which now understands itself to be scientific
and is guided by contemporary standards of rationality.
1.2 Auctoritas and ratio

Behind the multilayered relation between philosophy and theology
there is a pair of concepts that would become decisive for Scholastic theolo-
gy but had already developed initially in the patristic period: auctoritas and
ratio. Auctoritas in a Christian context implies both the quotable literary au-
thority of the Bible and of the early Church Fathers and also the official au-
thority of God and of the Church leadership.17 In both cases the auctoritas
is not infrequently justified by its age, just as the normative character of the
earliest period of Christianity, in connection with the priscus mos [venerable
custom] of Roman law, was one of the predominant intellectual paradigms
of late antiquity and of the Middle Ages.18 This justification of ecclesiastical
customs solely because of their age was countered already in the writings
of Cyprian of Carthage († 258) with the demand for reason: “Neither must
we prescribe this from custom, but overcome opposite custom by reason.”
Even more explicitly: “[C]ustom without truth is the antiquity of error.”19
Reason as the test of a truth claim appears here in the first place as an appeal
against a traditional justification of ecclesiastical customs, yet it is not to be
restricted to that role; for the truth claim demanded by reason becomes a
definitive motif of all theology as a rational enterprise.
15. Tertullian, Praescriptio haereticorum 14, 2 (CCh SL 1, 198, 6–7).

16. Concerning these methods, see especially Studer, Schola Christiana, 171, 201–4.
17. See the article “Autorität,” in HWPh 1:723–30; Studer, Schola Christiana, 230–65.
18. See Stockmeier, Glaube und Kultur, 227–35.
19. Cyprian, ep. 71, 3 (CSEL 3, 2, 773); ep. 74, 9 (806–7).
Augustine (354–430) deserves credit for having been the first to think
through comprehensively, and in a way that decisively shaped Scholastic
theology, the relation between auctoritas and ratio. In his thought this re-
lation cannot be reduced to a simple formula. Not the least important in-
fluence on his perspective was Alexandrinian theology with its deliberate
inclusion of philosophy.20 As early as his stay in Cassiciacum, Augustine
clearly enunciated the insufficiency of mere auctoritas for an educated man:
The “auctoritas majorum” [“authority of the ancestors”] is restricted to that
of the wise, yet even with them only the “rationes” [“reasonable arguments”]
should count.21 On the other hand he is indebted to the auctoritas of sacred
Scripture for overcoming his skepticism.22 In those passages in Augustine’s
writings where he reflects on the mutual relationship of the two, it is less
a conflict between reason and authority than a demand for the reasonable
justification of authority, as in Cyprian’s works. One conflict that can oc-
cur, at any rate, is the clash of divine auctoritas with arrogant human reason
(praesumptio, astutia).23 In contrast, “vera ratio,” that reason which has con-
firmed its truth claim in the light of divine truth as well, is in agreement with
the latter. This applies also to the authority of the Holy Bible, but not to
scriptural exegesis, which always remains a human, fallible, and risky under-
taking.24 Moreover, auctoritas is temporally and logically prior to ratio. This
is justified theologically with regard to divine auctoritas as an act of grace,
as a demand upon faith and a preparation for ratio: “auctoritas fidem flagitat
et rationi praeparat hominem.”25 This is why human knowledge can advance
from auctoritas to ratio, from faith to insight into what is believed. Now this
step is no longer an act of intellectual arrogance but rather a requirement
for a truly reasonable life; for someone who remains obligated to author-
ity alone does not reach the goal of human life, of the “beata vita,” since he
does not arrive at knowledge of the truth but rather stops at faith. But to Au-
gustine—at least in Cassiciacum—stopping at faith is something for people
who are too lazy, too stupid, or too preoccupied for the sciences.26
Yet the path to ratio does not start at every sort of faith, since the histori-
20. See the groundbreaking study by Lütcke, Auctoritas, esp. 34–46, 182–95.
21. Augustinus, C. Ac. I, 3, 7–8. (CChr SL 29, 6–8); for possible sources, see Lütcke, Auctoritas,
36–38.
22. See Lütcke, Auctoritas, 84–88.
23. See, for example, Augustinus, ep. 102, 14 (CSEL 34, 555–57).
24. See Augustinus, ep. 143, 7 (CSEL 44, 257).
25. Augustinus, vera rel. 24, 45 (CCh SL 32, 215, 4–5).
26. Augustinus, de ord. I, 5, 15 (CCh SL 29, 115, 37–41); II, 9, 26–27 (121–23); C. Ac. II, 20, 43
(60, 16–61, 24).
cal record is for Augustine an object of faith only, but not of ratio. Above and
beyond the test of the credibility of the report, historical facts are the object
of faith alone.27 On the other hand, intelligible facts (e.g., of mathematics
and other disciplines) can only be examined rationally. Finally, objects “de
divinis rebus” [“concerning godly things”] are believed first, but then they
may under certain circumstances provide the basis for a rational insight
as well.28 This, however, is only sometimes the case, and it presupposes a
moral purification. Even the facts of salvation history are not immediately
the object of rational insight; rather, through our faith in them we arrive at
an insight into the timeless, intelligible truths (aeterna) about God that are
contained in scriptural statements concerning salvation history.29 The step
from credere to intellegere [from believing to understanding] therefore has
a temporal component but also a thematic component. Here, too, reason
is again concerned about the truth of the theological statement (or of the
proposition to be believed authoritatively) that has been made intelligible:
“Tunc agnoscemus quam vera nobis credenda imperata sint.” [“Then we will
recognize how true those things are that we are commanded to believe.”]30
The insight of reason corroborates the authority, not in simply accepting it,
but rather on the basis of the truth that has been recognized.
Even the faith that temporally precedes the intellegere is for Augustine
not an irrational faith; therefore authority as such also refers to ratio. For
the believer, too, must render an account about whom he believes (cui sit
credendum) and therefore examine the authority with regard to its credibil-
ity. There is no other way for this to happen, however, than through ratio-
nal arguments.31 On the other hand, finite reason (quantulacunque ratio)
inevitably runs up against its limits and recognizes therein the necessity and
usefulness of faith.32 Finally, faith in the authority hermeneutically presup-
poses an understanding of the words of that authority and thus a prelimi-
nary understanding of the object of faith that does not come from the faith
itself.33 Rational justification of the faith authority and rational penetration
of the content of the faith, when they are institutionalized, make up the
chief components of theology.
27. Augustinus, div. quaest. 48 (CCh SL 44A, 75); C. epist. fund. 12, 15 (CSEL 51, 1, 208–9).
28. Augustinus, div. quaest. 48 (CCh SL 44A, 75, 7–10).
29. Augustinus, ag. christ. 15 (CSEL 41, 118, 17–21).
30. Augustinus, quant. an. 76 (CSEL 89, 224, 11–12).
31. Augustinus, vera rel. 45 (CCh SL 32, 215, 4–8).
32. Augustinus, ep. 120, 3 (CSEL 34, 707, 2–5).
33. Augustinus, En. in Ps. 118, 18, 3 (CCh SL 40, 1720–1); see Duchrow, Sprachverständnis, 106–7.
For Augustine, this auctoritas is now, after Christ’s divine authority, the
continuation thereof par excellence in the “auctoritas scripturae” [“author-
ity of Scripture”], as he repeatedly emphasized from 392 on.34 Yet here
too, being personally affected by the word of God is contrasted with the
hermeneutic-theological approach to Scripture, which defuses scandalous
passages by means of contemporary allegorizing and thus responds to the
“verbi auctoritas” [“authority of the word”] with its own interpretation: that
it is only a matter of a “figurata locutio” [“figurative speech”].35 On the other
hand the correct exegesis is actually a part of the authoritative character of
Scripture; for Augustine it is a true book in terms of (natural) science as
well. One proviso: If a sentence in the Bible were clearly false in the literal
sense, it would have to be interpreted in some other way. All sources of er-
rors in the codex or in the translation should be assessed in advance.36 The
problem of possible contradictions in the Bible itself, which was a major
concern of the patristic authors and a favorite point of attack on the part of
the “unbelievers,” prompted Augustine to resolve these alleged contradic-
tions in an exemplary way in De consensus evangelistarum. Agreement and
harmonization are the order of the day here, since there must not be any
contradictions in a book having divine authority, neither within the book
itself nor in comparison to extra-biblical truths.
If ratio is at the service of biblical auctoritas as a matter of principle,
then the Church’s teaching authority in the service of the truth also appears
as an “external hermeneutic principle” and “guardian of true exegesis.”37
Consequently for people today the Church’s authority is sufficient cause
to believe the authority of Scripture, as Augustine put it in the famous say-
ing: “Ego vero evangelio non crederem, nisi me catholicae ecclesiae commoveret
auctoritas” [“Indeed, I would not believe the Gospel if the authority of the
Catholic Church did not move me to do so.”]38 Justifying this authority of
the Church is again the task of ratio, especially in debating with pagans and
heretics—a task that is admirably taken up in De moribus Ecclesiae Cath-
olicae et de moribus Manichaeorum. The ratio auctoritatis attempts to prove
that acceptance of the authority and obedience to it is an act of reason or
at least a reasonable activity. Augustine sums up this program of theologi-
34. Augustinus, duab. anim. 9 (CSEL 25, 1, 61, 20); see Lütcke, Auctoritas, 128–36.
35. Augustinus, doct. chr. III, 15 (CCh SL 32, 87, 19–22).
36. Augustinus, ep. 82, 3 (CSEL 34, 354, 2–22); see ep. 143, 7 (CSEL 44, 258, 2–9).
37. Lütcke, Auctoritas, 144.
38. Augustinus, c. ep. fund. 5 (CSEL 25, 1, 197, 22–23); see util. cred. 31 (ibid., 38–40).
cal investigation in the alternative: proof of the truth of the contents of the
faith or proof of the authoritative position of the one who demands that we
believe this content.39 Despite this basically harmonizing tendency, it must
not be overlooked that ratio has a critical potential as well, which in certain
circumstances can endanger the position of the auctoritas. Therefore theol-
ogy is always an adventure of critical reason in the presence of the claim of
divine, biblical and ecclesiastical authority.
1.3 Augustine’s program of Christian education and theology

Of incalculable importance for Scholastic theology is not only Augus-
tine’s nuanced synthesis of ratio and auctoritas, but also the equilibrium that
he strikes between pagan education, concentrated in the artes liberales, and
Christian faith.40 The seven liberal arts (grammar, rhetoric, logic, arithme-
tic, geometry, astronomy, music) are regarded initially as a propaedeutic to
philosophy.41 In them the essential knowledge of the educated man of late
antiquity is codified. The arts supply the philosopher with arguments and
examples. At the same time they offer a preliminary exercise of the mind as
a preparation for the abstract truths of philosophy.42 Thus during his early
philosophical period, the value of the artes was quite well defined for Au-
gustine.
From a theological perspective, this role as a propaedeutic to philoso-
phy can no longer suffice. When Augustine sets about describing Christian
education in his work De doctrina christiana (388–97), he is well aware of
the long struggle over the legitimacy of pagan παιδεία within the framework
of Christianity. For Augustine it is justified inasmuch as it is enlisted in the
service of religious purposes: “tibi serviat quidquid utile puer didici, tibi ser-
viat quod loquor et scribo et numero” [“May anything useful I learned as a boy
serve Thee; may that which I say and write and reckon serve Thee”].43 A
worldly education that does not lend itself to being ordered to this religious
objective is stigmatized as a useless and sinful “curiositas.”44 With regard to
39. Augustinus, c. ep. fund. 14 (211–12). Listed as possible arguments: the professional and
moral qualifications of the person invested with authority, miracles, the fulfillment of prophecies,
and more generally: the success, age, and continuous tradition of the authority, recognition of the
authority even among opponents. See Lütcke, Auctoritas, 166–76.
40. See esp. Marrou, Augustinus, 163–392; Studer, Schola Christiana, 102–3, 149.
41. On the varying divisions of the artes in Augustine’s writings, see Ferrarino, “Quadruvium,”
359–64.
42. Augustinus, de ord. I, 2, 3 (CCh SL 29, 90, 1–17); see Leinsle, “Weltordnung,” 369–77.
43. Augustinus, conf. I, 15, 24 (CCh SL 27, 23, 7–8).
44. Ibid., X, 35, 54–57 (ibid., 184–86); see Marrou, Augustinus, 296–97.
man’s eternal destiny, an education in the liberal arts contributes nothing
unless it is used as a path to God. Therefore caution is required also when
themes from pagan education are placed at the service of Christian theol-
ogy, so that “the demon of art” does not thereby insinuate itself again into
Christian education.45
The philosophical outline of a “studium sapientiae” [“study of wisdom”],
as set forth in Cassiciacum in De ordine, is less decisive for medieval theol-
ogy than the theological purpose to which profane education is put in De
doctrina christiana. On the one hand the bishop of Hippo adheres to phi-
losophy as a path to God, yet he places it in the Christian context of faith, so
that it becomes “sapientia christiana.”46 An indispensable condition for this,
however, is the study of the artes; besides this education there is no other
way by which one can reach sapientia.47 If the way of sapientia were the only
way, then only a few would arrive at theology. Augustine himself traveled
that path. The bishop of Hippo now realizes that in addition to this sapien-
tial type of theology another type is necessary, which makes it possible to
employ the arts and sciences directly in the service of the faith. Augustine
now terms this latter type scientia:
not indeed so as to attribute to this knowledge [scientia] everything whatever that
can be known by man about things human, wherein there is exceeding much of
empty vanity and mischievous curiosity, but only those things by which that most
wholesome faith, which leads to true blessedness, is begotten, nourished, defended,
strengthened; and in this knowledge most of the faithful are not strong, however
exceeding strong in the faith itself. For it is one thing to know only what man ought
to believe in order to attain to a blessed life, which must needs be an eternal one;
but another to know in what way this belief itself may both help the pious, and be
defended against the impious, which last the apostle [1 Cor 12:8] seems to call by
the special name of knowledge.48
The task of this theological knowledge, therefore, according to Augus-

tine, is to beget, nourish, defend, and strengthen the faith, to present it to
believers and to defend it against unbelievers. This outlines the ecclesiastical
aims of a theology that is supposed, on the one hand to prepare for the faith,
and on the other hand to justify it and to communicate it in catechesis. The
45. See Augustinus, conf. V, 3, 4 (CCh SL 27, 59, 26–38); doct. chr. IV, 14, 30–31 (CCh SL 32,
137–39); Marrou, Augustinus, 296–97.
46. See Augustinus, ep. 218 (CSEL 57, 426); ep. 155 (CSEL 44, 430–34).
47. Augustinus, de ord. 2, 18, 47 (CCh SL 29, 132–33).
48. Augustinus, de trin. 14, 3 (CCh SL 50A, 424, 56–67); see Augustinus, doct. chr. 2, 7, 9–11
(CCh SL 32, 36–38).
basis for this program of theology is therefore the study of sacred Scripture:
The “divinarum scripturarum studiosus” undertakes the study of this scientia.49
Yet even as early as Augustine, theology cannot be reduced to exegesis: be-
sides plainly exegetical works, which in any case are repeatedly interrupted
by speculative questions, there are dogmatic and polemical treatments and
elementary summaries of the substance of the faith.50 This corresponds ex-
actly to the stated ecclesiastical aims of the theological scientia.
Within this framework, the old pagan education can be justified in an
officially Christian society only by reasons from the Bible and in the service
thereof. Whatever useful things can be found in it are either to be found
in the Bible also or else to be used in interpreting it. The value of profane
education is thereby drastically relativized: only as a resource or auxiliary
discipline to theology does it have any justification in the Christian world of
education.51 Augustine thereby aligns himself with the conciliatory tenden-
cy among the Church Fathers in the debate about παιδεία. His achievement
consists of De doctrina christiana but above all in the fact that he outlined a
plan of studies and an examination of theological methods for the “divina-
rum scripturarum tractator et doctor” [“one who commented on and taught
the sacred Scriptures”].52 Naturally the linguistic subjects of the Trivium,
especially grammar and rhetoric, seemed particularly important for the
theologian. To Latin grammar was added the knowledge of foreign languag-
es, primarily Greek and Hebrew. Yet Augustine associates with grammar
the exact sciences: history, geography, natural history, and the mechanical
arts. These are followed by rhetoric and dialectic (logic) as instruction in
the formal laws of right thinking and science. The so-called Quadrivium
of mathematical arts (arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy, which
Augustine sometimes calls celestial mechanics) make the transition to phi-
losophy, which is pursued here essentially as doxography: a selective over-
view of the teachings of the pagan philosophers, insofar as they agree with
the Christian faith.53 Augustine adopts to a great extent the curriculum
of the schools of his day and now places it as a whole at the service of the
interpretation of divine revelation. He modifies several subjects, however,
and thereby gives rise to those problematic areas that then led to debates
49. Augustinus, doct.chr. 2, 7, 10 (CCh SL 32, 37, 15).

50. For example, Enchiridion (CCh SL 46, 21–114), de fide et symbolo (CSEL 41, 1–32).
51. Augustinus, doct. chr. 2, 42, 43 (CCh SL 32, 76–77).
52. Ibid., 4, 4, 6 (119, 1); see Augustinus, prooem. 4–9 (2–6).
53. Ibid., 2, 40, 60 (73–74).
in nascent Scholasticism. It makes sense to supplement the languages with
Hebrew, but it is surprising that he excludes the ancient classics from this
curriculum. By no means does the former rhetorician intend to present this
propaedeutic education as an end in itself. It is no longer a question of the
slow, thorough training of the mind for the philosophical ascent to God, as
we still find in De ordine, but rather of a set of lessons that can be used in
theological work and are to be learned as soon as possible, “ut non sit necesse
christiano in multis propter pauca laborare” [“so that the Christian need not
labor over many things for the sake of a few”].54 Abbreviation, an empha-
sis on the rudiments and elementary instruction are therefore the order of
the day. Brief manuals, compendia, and lexicons are recommended. Such
books were prized and composed in late antiquity by both Christian and
non-Christian educators.55
The goal of the curriculum in De doctrina christiana is clearly the interpre-
tation of the Bible, which in Augustine’s view is the principal way in which
theology is carried on as a science. Here, too, he basically applies the proce-
dures of the ancient schools to a new text: lectio, emendatio, enarratio. Not
included, however, is the aesthetic iudicium in the reading of the classics; for
the Bible is not a work of art whose aesthetic value is at issue.56 From this
grammatical perspective Augustine then moves to the theological-systematic
perspective, especially in discussing the topical-hermeneutic rules of Tyco-
nius (before 383), which are to be read as keys for understanding Scripture
and as means for constructing a theological system, even though Augustine
recognizes that they are inadequate.57 In contrast Augustine takes as his basis
a hermeneutic system governed by a quartet of concepts: res, signum, uti, and
frui: Christian doctrine as a whole is divided, like any science, into res [top-
ics, matter] and signa [signs]. The written word itself is a sign par excellence.
The things signified thereby, however, are meant either to be used (uti) or to
be enjoyed in a godly manner (frui).58 This division therefore is by no means
exclusively theological; Augustine explicitly assumes it for every “doctrina.”
54. Ibid., 2, 39, 59 (73, 30–31).

55. See Marrou, Augustinus, 347–48; Studer, Schola Christiana, 177–78.
56. See Marrou, Augustinus, 356.
57. Augustinus, doct. chr. 3, 42–37, 56 (CCh SL 32, 102–16); Tyconius, Liber de septem regu-
lis (PL 18, 15–66; critical edition: F. C. Burkitt, The Book of Rules of Tyconius [Cambridge, 1894,
reprinted 1967], “Texts and Studies 3, 1”: de domino et eius corpore; de domini corpore bipertito; de
promissis et lege; de specie et genere; de temporibus; de recapitulatione; de diabolo et eius corpore [On
the Lord and His Body; on the bipartite Body of the Lord; on the promises and the Law; on spe-
cies and genus; on times; on recapitulation; on the devil and his body].
58. Augustinus, doct. chr. 1, 2, 2 (CCh SL 32, 7, 1–8, 20); see Grillmeier, “Symbolum,” 156–64.
Therefore the “doctrina christiana” also has to follow these general rules. Only
by filling in this general schema does Augustine produce one that is specifi-
cally theological, a basic outline of systematic theology with which Augustine
prefaces his work.59 The goal is God, who is the sole object of the frui, from
which all the rest is elaborated: Christ as Incarnate Wisdom of God and Re-
deemer, and his Body, the Church. At the same time, these are the eternal,
unchangeable truths that are supposed to be learned from Scripture by means
of the profane education.
1.4 Systematic and axiomatic theology: Boethius

Whereas Augustine’s concept of theology as a whole was basically the
scientific interpretation of sacred Scripture, the “last Roman,” who is also
called the “first Scholastic,” A. M. S. Boethius († 524) followed another path
in his Opuscula sacra (ca. 512–521), which were extremely influential and of-
ten commented on during the Middle Ages.60 Stylistically these five short
works are occasional compositions, some of them letters that aim at answer-
ing a very specific question, for example, “How the Trinity is One God and
not three gods” (treatise 1, De Trinitate), “Whether Father, Son and Holy
Spirit are affirmed about the Godhead substantially” (treatise 2), and “How
substances can be good in what they are, although they cannot be substantial
Good” (treatise 3, De hebdomadibus).61 The philosophy to which Boethius
is consciously indebted is Neoplatonism, in connection however with the
thought of Aristotle, some of whose works on logic Boethius translated (the
so-called Logica vetus: The Categories, De interpretatione). The purpose is to
treat theological questions using new terminology and philosophical meth-
ods in a way that can be described as rational-argumentative.62
The basis for his argumentation in these Trinitarian debates is no longer
Scripture alone, but rather the already formulated “sententia” [“thinking”] of
59. Augustinus, doct. chr. I, 5, 5–21, 19 (CCh SL 32, 9–16).
60. See Schrimpf, Axiomenschrift; A. M. S. Boethius, Die Theologischen Traktate, translated,
with Introduction and notes by Michael Elsässer (PhB 397) (Hamburg, 1988), vi.
61. See Lambert, “Nouveaux éléments.” Stylistic studies show the close connections between
treatises 1, 2, and 5, whereas De hebdomadibus is stylistically closer to the Commentaries on Aristo-
tle and De fide catholica appears to be rather disparate in its style.
62. Boethius, de trin. prol. (ed. Elsässer 3, 1–4): “Investigatam diutissime quaestionem [. . .] forma-
tam rationibus litterisque mandatam offerendam vobis communicandamque curavi.” [“I have carefully
investigated this question at great length, framed it with reasonable arguments and committed it to
writing so as to offer and communicate it to you.”] Ibid., (3, 16–18): “Idcirco stilum brevitate contraho
et ex intimis sumpta philosophiae disciplinis novorum verborum significationibus velo. . . .” [“For that pur-
pose I aim at a concise style and clothe the matters taken from the most profound disciplines of
philosophy in new terminology. . . .”] For the sources, see esp. Micaelli, Studi; Micaelli, Dio.
the Catholic Church, which is to be supported and defended now with phil-
osophical methods.63 To that end Boethius presents an explicit justification
of his theological approach in a review, along Aristotelian lines, of the meth-
ods and fields of the theoretical sciences, natural science, mathematics and
theology: “In naturalibus igitur rationabiliter, in mathematicis disciplinaliter,
in divinis intellectualiter versari oportebit.” [“It will be necessary, therefore,
to proceed reasonably in matters of natural science, systematically in math-
ematics, and intellectually in godly matters.”]64 We proceed “intellectually,”
however, when we adhere strictly to logic and metaphysics and refrain from
all misleading figurative expressions about theology. Boethius does not out-
line a comprehensive theological system but rather develops his method
chiefly with reference to doctrine about God and the Trinity. In medieval
commentaries on this work, therefore, special attention is always paid to his
theological epistemology and methodology.
The third theological work, De hebdomadibus, becomes very important
for early and high Scholasticism. The method that Boethius uses here is
the axiomatic method common in mathematics since Euclid (ca. 295 BC),
which is applied now, though, to the realm of metaphysical theology. Again
this is not something specifically theological but rather a general, scientific
way of proceeding: “Ut igitur in mathematica fieri solet ceterisque etiam disci-
plinis, praeposui terminos regulasque, quibus cuncta quae sequuntur efficiam.”
[“Therefore, as is usually done in mathematics and also in other disci-
plines, I present first the terms and rules, from which I will prove all that
follows.”]65 Here this treatment, which begins with definitions and axioms,
is explicitly characterized as a scientific procedure. From the axioms—
self-evident propositions that are accepted by everyone without further
proofs—all the consequences are then to be derived according to the rules
of logic. They are now the basis for the entire discourse, which in keeping
with the questions framed in this work, is a metaphysical-theological dis-
course. It concerns the goodness of creatures, which they cannot have in
and of themselves. No wonder this rigorous approach repeatedly stimulated
theologians to proceed likewise in their fields (e.g., Alan of Lille [ca. 1120–
1202]).66 Most notably the schools of St. Victor, Chartres, and the circle of
Gilbert Porreta († 1154) devoted attention to the Opuscula sacra. The whole
63. Boethius, de trin. c.1 (ed. Elsässer 4, 6–7).

64. Ibid., c.2 (8, 16–18).
65. Boethius, De hebd. (34, 14–16); see Dreyer, More mathematicorum, 100–106.
66. See below, section 2.8.
work is constructed out of nine axioms, the first of which defines generally
what a “communis animi conceptio” is (a “common concept of the mind,” the
κοιναί ἦννοιαι of the Stoic-Neoplatonic tradition). In the axiomatic method,
however, everything depends on the axioms and the correct logical deriva-
tion of the conclusions. The goal is proof. Boethius’ short treatise, therefore,
along with De Trinitate, became an important medieval textbook but at the
same time a model of the method of theological proof.
This method is applied directly to theology in the treatise De fide cath-
olica, which offers a brief summary of the fundamental tenets of the faith,
whereby the doctrine on the Trinity again constitutes the “arx religionis
nostrae” [“fortress of our faith”].67 The Trinitarian doctrine is then explic-
itly related to the Bible, which presents all this to our faith: “Haec autem ut
credantur vetus ac nova informat instructio.” [“The Old and the New Law,
moreover, propose that these things should be believed.”]68 Their author-
ity is the bond that holds the whole Church together.69 Finally, treatise 5,
Contra Eutychen et Nestorium had great influence on the further develop-
ment of theological terminology, for example, the concept of “person.” In
this work Boethius tries to set forth and prove Catholic teaching about the
two natures in Christ. Here, too, in keeping with the axiomatic method, he
attributes heresy to an ignorance of the initial postulates, combined with
the arrogance of false knowledge.70 Examining presuppositions and above
all defining the terms used (natura, persona, etc.) is therefore the indispens-
able task of theology if it is to avoid errors.
The wide-ranging influence of Boethius as “schoolmaster of the Middle
Ages” developed out of the peculiar character of his writings. The clearest
evidence of this is the tradition of direct commentary on his philosophi-
cal and theological works.71 A second type of influence was the adoption of
the axioms from De hebdomadibus, which we encounter substantially more
often than direct commentary. One can say the same about the terminology
of De Trinitate and Contra Eutychen in Trinitarian doctrine and Christol-
ogy.72 Finally and least often we find the composition of distinct theological
works in the axiomatic method borrowed from Boethius, which neverthe-
67. Boethius, De fide cath. (ed. Elsässer 46, 8–10; 48, 31).
68. Ibid. (46, 29–48, 30).
69. Ibid. (62, 258–63).
70. Boethius, Contra Eut. (ibid., 66, 30.41–42).
71. See Häring, “Commentary of Gilbert of Poitiers”; Häring, Commentaries on Boethius;
Green-Pedersen, Topics.
72. See Schrimpf, Axiomenschrift, 148–49.
less, precisely as a scientific method for theology, prescribes an unmistak-
able standard of rationality.
1.5 Collections of sentences: Isidore of Seville

Whereas Augustine recommended manuals, compendia, and lexicons
as resources for theological science, it was only a matter of time until such
works were composed for the discipline of theology itself. A model of this
genre is the three-volume collection of Sententiae by Isidore of Seville (ca.
560–633), which furthermore, because of his grammatical, exegetical, and
encyclopedic works, especially the Differentiae and the Etymologiae (= Orig-
ines), became the universal reference work of the Middle Ages.73 Isidore
was not alone in his attempt at a theological synthesis, which essentially re-
fers to the teachings of the patristic period. Earlier Prosper of Aquitaine (ca.
390–after 455) collected in his Sententiarum ex operibus S. Augustini delibata-
rum Liber 392 sentences from Augustine’s writings and put them into a new
context, which admittedly is still not very systematic. Fulgentius of Ruspe
(467–532) proceeds more systematically in his little book De fide ad Petrum,
which influenced systematic theology in the Middle Ages.74
In dissemination and influence, however, these two authors are surpassed
by Isidore’s Sentences, which in book 1 present an outline of dogmatic theol-
ogy, in book 2 the doctrine on virtues and in book 3 the doctrine on vices.
The organization of the dogmatic section is still relatively topical but already
anticipates the theological systematization of the Middle Ages: like Augus-
tine in De doctrina christiana, Isidore starts with God as the “summum bonum”
[“supreme good”]. The attributes of God are discussed (chs. 1–3), and then
the fact that he can be known from the beauty of creation (chs. 4–5); as a
transition to the teaching on creation there is a treatise on eternity and time
(chs. 6–7). The doctrine about creatures is presented in a treatise about the
world (ch. 8), evil (ch. 9), angels (ch. 10), man (ch. 11), his soul (ch. 12), and
senses (ch. 13). Next comes doctrine about Christ (ch. 14), the Holy Spirit
(ch. 15), the Church, heresies and pagans (chs. 16–17), the Old Testament Law
(ch. 18), for the interpretation of which the seven rules of Tyconius are again
applied (ch. 19),75 about the difference between the testaments (ch. 20), the
Creed and prayer (ch. 21), Baptism and Eucharist (ch. 22), martyrdom and
miracles (chs. 23–24), and about the Antichrist and his miracles (ch. 25). This
73. See especially Fontaine, Isidore de Séville; Cazier, Isidore de Séville.
74. See Grillmeier, “Fulgentius von Ruspe.”
75. See Cazier, “Tyconius.”
leads to the treatise on eschatology (chs. 26–30): the resurrection, judgment,
hell and its punishments, and eternal happiness.76
Not only Isidore’s theological system but also his method of working al-
ready exhibits clear features of medieval Scholasticism. The writings of the
classic authors of antiquity but also those of ecclesiastical writers already
formed a very copious library. As is still the case today in academic work,
the first task is therefore that of selecting sources and making excerpts. It
testifies to the level of Isidore’s scholarship, however, that he states this
method as such and attempts, usually in the prologue of his works, to jus-
tify it within the framework of a captatio benevolentiae [rhetorical device to
gain the reader’s good will]. He expressly describes his approach as a culling
of flowers on different meadows; the result, he says, is therefore in the first
place a florilegium (anthology): “veterum ecclesiasticorum sententias congre-
gantes, veluti ex diversis pratis flores lectos ad manum fecimus.” [“By gathering
the sentences of the old ecclesiastical writers, we have made them readily
available like flowers selected from various meadows.”] The guiding prin-
ciple for the selection is abbreviation: “et pauca de multis breviter perstringen-
tes” [“touching briefly upon a few things out of many”], so that even “fastidi-
osi lectores” [“readers who are difficult to please”] will not be scared away by
too voluminous a work. Yet with mere excerpts and summaries a scientific
work is only just begun (which is true today also). Next comes one’s own
achievement, which in Isidore’s view consists of two phases: addition and
modification: “pleraque etiam adjicientes, vel aliqua ex parte mutantes” [“add-
ing many things also, or changing them in some respect”].77 Therefore if we
want to emphasize the author’s own achievement or opinion, we will have
to pay attention not only to which sentences he cites, but above all to what
he himself adds, leaves out or changes. When Isidore describes his own
method also as bringing out goods from a treasury (depromere) or as gath-
ering flowers (deflorare), he is by no means inventing a new method but is
employing one that was cultivated in the literature of late antiquity.78 Here
again, therefore, the method of working is not exclusively theological but
rather has been borrowed from the profane science of late antiquity. This
work calls for a large library, on the one hand, and on the other hand for a
good memory as well: “veteris lectionis recordatio.” Memory is not infallible,
however, and so many errors are mixed in with passages that are cited ex-
76. See Cazier, Isidore de Séville, 77–81.
77. Isidor, quaest. in Gen., praef. (PL 83, 207b); see Fontaine, Isidore de Séville, 763–84.
78. For illustrations, see Fontaine, Isidore de Séville, 767–68.
actly.79 Such errors are not infrequently characteristic, since they may reveal
the author’s intended interpretation or purpose.
The resulting textbook is not exactly original or stylistically elegant, but it
is clear and short: “conpendiosa brevitas” [“comprehensive brevity”] is called
for, not the verbosity of late classical rhetoric: “prolix enim et occulta taedet ora-
tio; brevis et aperta delectat.” [“Long-winded and obscure oratory is tiresome;
brief, clear speech is delightful.”]80 Recognizing the author’s own achieve-
ment is not always easy; it lies in the arrangement of the excerpts, in the addi-
tions, omissions and changes, which can be detected only through compari-
son with the sources. The compiler, after all, does not make them explicitly
but rather sweeps his tracks. Therefore the work as a whole, for instance the
Sententiae, is not just like a mosaic in which available stones are merely placed
alongside one another according to a definite plan. Isidore does not stop at
mere doxography (a review of the authors’ opinions), but rather makes out of
the patristic sentences a whole (cento) consisting of related parts, as Gregory
the Great had done before him in an exemplary way in his Moralia.
A justification of the overall plan, for instance of the Sententiae or even
the Etymologiae, is still lacking in Isidore. Thus the very first book of the Sen-
tentiae exhibits an arrangement leading from the doctrine on God to escha-
tology; the structure of the Christology and Pneumatology, however, is puz-
zling, as are the individual chapters in the teaching about the Church and
her institutions. The division here is predominantly associative and topical;
moreover the Sententiae are not introduced by a Praefatio in which the au-
thor might have justified his intention and method. In this form and with
this structure, nevertheless, the Sententiae of Isidore become, along with
Augustine, Fulgentius of Ruspe, and Gennadius of Marseille († 492/505),
a model text for the theology of the early Middle Ages, which will likewise
refrain at first from justifying its theological method and systematization.81
2 Scholastic theology: Methods and presentation

The simplest way to arrive at an understanding of Scholastic theology is
by starting from its academic form. Although the rudiments of its methods
and presentational forms are anticipated in the patristic era, in the schools
79. For illustrations, see Fontaine, Isidore de Séville, 780.

80. Isidor, quaest. in Gen., praef.3 (PL 83, 208b); orig. 13, praef. 1–4, ed. W. M. Lindsay (Oxford
1911).
81. See Grillmeier, “Symbolum,” 164–69.
of the tenth through twelfth centuries they are developed in a way that be-
comes typical for Scholasticism.
2.1 Development of the schools, curriculum, and the liberal arts

The school is the homestead of Scholastic theology and the soil in which
it thrived. Theology signifies here an academic discipline, even when the
word for it was nonexistent. Theology did gain admission to the schools, yet
not everywhere and not always in the same way. Therefore we should take a
preliminary look at the development of the school system and the course of
education until around 1200.
One characteristic of the so-called Carolingian Reform was the organi-
zation of schooling in imperial circles with a marked reliance on the educa-
tional heritage of late antiquity.82 Because of competition with Constanti-
nople, the capital of the eastern Roman Empire, among other reasons, the
value of education was recognized, at least for a small clientele from the up-
per classes.83 The era, however, had no educational heritage of its own to
offer. So they were guided by the curriculum of late antiquity, as established
by Augustine, Boethius, and Cassiodorus (ca. 480–after 580): The artes libe-
rales again became the common property of “education” and a propaedeu-
tic for theology, for a career in the service of the ruler or the Church. The
institutions responsible for this new education were on the one hand the
court of Charlemagne (768–814) at the Palatine school, and on the other
hand churches and monasteries. Tours, Laon, Corbie, Ferrières, Fulda,
Reichenau, and St. Gallen deserve special mention in this regard. This laid
the foundation for very different types of schools:84
1. Public schools in governmental, commercial, and population centers:
The Palatine school of Charlemagne was initially considered to be such.
Later this role was taken over by the public city schools, which had a long
tradition, especially in Italy. The curriculum—usually under ecclesiastical
supervision—was by no means aimed at the training of clerics, but rather
was meant to provide a broad preparatory education.
2. C athedral schools under the direction of a scholasticus. These, too, were
not really devoted to theology but were in the first place preparatory
schools for higher service in the clergy, the sciences and professions, or
82. See Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin.

83. See Flasch, Einführung, 18–24.
84. For an initial overview, see Evans, Old Arts, 8–15; Evans, Philosophy and Theology.
in the empire. Yet in these very schools theology very quickly made itself
at home and found a privileged place.85
3. Personal schools were centered on a teacher of philosophy or theology.
This type reached its full flowering in the twelfth century. Sometimes it
began with a teaching position at a city or cathedral school, for example,
in Laon. However, the site could change frequently, as in the case of Abe-
lard (1079–1142): the school is wherever the teacher is.86
4. Monastery schools for externs: Ever since monasteries took on educational
duties, their schools were accessible to those who lived outside the
monastic community. The instruction was often first-rate, which assured
them of influence similar to that of the cathedral schools, until they di-
minished in importance as a result of competition with the city schools
and universities.
5. Monastery schools for interns: These provided the literary, monastic and
theological education for future members of the religious order itself.
The theology offered therein was often clearly aimed at (and restricted
to) the requirements of monastic life.
6. Schools for special disciplines, for example, for law (Bologna) and medicine
(Salerno); these became customary especially in Italy. At such schools
theology was unimportant. On the other hand, even these schools
contributed to the development of those methods that, being scholastic
(and therefore scientific), went on to have an effect on theology.87
“Scholastic theology” therefore is not uniformly related to one type of
school, but rather to a process of teaching and learning that distinguishes
it from other forms of theologizing. Theology is an academic subject that
presupposes, however, a previous education, as Augustine authoritatively
described it for this era. Neither theology nor the preparatory education is
initially an end in itself in the operation of the school, for the students in-
tend to complete their education and leave the school. Therefore the new
schools recognize that the trend in late antiquity toward the compendium,
the lexicon and rudimentary education is suitable for their situation, and
so they adopt these elements. So it is once again the artes liberales through
which the profane knowledge of late antiquity is handed on to the early
Middle Ages. Alcuin (730/35–804) relates this knowledge instrumentally
85. Concerning the German schools, see Sturlese, Deutsche Philosophie.

86. See Leclercq, “Renewal,” 72–73.
87. See Madiski, “Scholastic Method”; Kantorowicz, “Quaestiones disputatae.”
to sacred Scripture, which he considers the quintessence of theology, for it
alone contains true, divine knowledge about man and the world.88 What
was taught at Carolingian and post-Carolingian schools often amounted
to more than a modest curriculum. Consider that it served primarily to in-
struct future officials and clerics in reading and writing, the rudiments of
Latin and the simplest forms of reckoning (sometimes on the fingers) so as
to calculate the date of Easter. Comprehensive instruction in all the artes is
described as late as Lupus of Ferrières († 862) as a pious wish and a mere
fable: “hoc tempore fabula tantum est.”89 The “curriculum” may have existed,
but the actual execution usually looked quite different. In individual cases,
however, depending on the teacher and the students, the offerings could be
of very high quality. On the other hand, many schools limited themselves
according to Alcuin’s program to elementary instruction, without really ap-
plying these skills then to sacred Scripture and thus pursuing theology.90
Since Alcuin’s time, the fact that the truth about the world and about man
can be found in sacred Scripture is as much a commonplace as the merely
instrumental status of the artes. This rules out the possibility of a conflict
between philosophy that is part of the liberal arts and theology; for one ei-
ther draws on those resources or else sets them aside. One does not dispute
with them as though they were dialogue partners with equal rights.
The relationship between philosophy and theology is also described
within the framework of this course of education. For Alcuin the seven lib-
eral arts are “septem philosophiae gradus” [“seven degrees of philosophy”]:
they therefore constitute philosophy as a whole but are at the same time
understood as a propaedeutic “ad culmina sanctarum Scripturarum” [“lead-
ing up to the summits of sacred Scripture”].91 Even Duns Scotus Eriugena
changed nothing in this curriculum, which describes the available profane
knowledge as philosophia and while teaching the liberal arts has theology in
view: “Understood as the quintessence of science, which had already been
brought to its conclusion in the ancient world, they are supposed to guaran-
tee reliable access to and development of that totality of truth which Sacred
Scripture contains.”92 In this context the pursuit of philosophy also means
initially the pursuit of instruction in the artes, as exemplified by the intro-
88. Alcuin, Disputatio de vera philosophia (= Dialectica) (PL 101, 854A); see Schrimpf, Eriugena,
28–35.
89. Letter from Lupus of Ferrières to Einhard (MGH Epist. VI, 8).
90. See Alcuin, Disp. de vera phil. (PL 101, 853A. 854A).
91. Ibid. (853–54); see Werner, “Meliores viae sophiae.”
92. Schrimpf, Eriugena, 35.
duction to the manual by Martianus Capella, De nuptiis Mercurii et Philologi-
ae (ca. 430), which contains within the framework of a late classical fictional
narrative a compendium of seven compendia of the artes liberales, and thus
can serve as a substitute for the individual writings of Cassiodorus and Bo-
ethius.93 Philosophy as that is understood today was offered as part of the
Trivium, especially in the study of dialectic, which if necessary drew upon
those sections of Aristotle’s Logic that had been translated by Boethius, Por-
phyry’s (ca. 233–ca. 305) Isagoge to the Categories, and the logical writings
of Boethius himself. Introductory philosophical questions, the division of
the sciences, and the justification of the liberal arts were treated under that
heading also. In these discussions of the classification of the sciences it be-
came clear, however, that the seven artes could not be harmonized so easily
with the Platonic, the Stoic, or the Aristotelian division of philosophy.94
The twelfth century is characterized by the expansion of the philosoph-
ical-propaedeutic course of studies, albeit formally still within the frame-
work of the artes. Interest in treating questions of natural philosophy, meta-
physics, and ethics did not yet go beyond these parameters. Apart from the
works of Boethius (De hebdomadibus and De consolatio) and parts of the Pla-
tonic dialogue Timaeus, however, comprehensive sources for this purpose
were not available. Moreover this education did not provide any special-
ized training, but rather the general scientific skills needed to address the
questions of the individual specialties (law, medicine, theology). Augustine
had already included architecture and medicine among the arts.95 Besides
the old artes Isidor lists two new sciences: law and medicine. In places like
twelfth-century Paris where special schools for the liberal arts are founded,
these are always merely a preparation for the higher studies that even the
magistri of these schools take up after a brief stint of teaching. This is true
of the theologians also. They too—both students and masters—come from
these schools; most often the latter have taught for some time in the artes
as well, but not too long: “non est consenescendum in artibus” [“one should
not grow old in the arts”].96 The “introduction to scientific work” that was
learned in them, however, continues to have decisive importance for the
pursuit and methodology of higher studies; the most important in the case
of theology are the “trivial” verbal arts of grammar and dialectic.
93. Ibid., 37–48.

94. See Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 55–66; Evans, Arts, 15–19.
95. See Ferrarino, “Quadruvium.”
96. See Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 81–82.
But is it permissible to set about the study of God’s word with such
profane methods or “arts”? The conflict that had played itself out in early
Christianity between pagan παιδεία and Christian revelation now appears in
a different form: does the word of the Bible obey the rules of grammar? May
we approach the mystery of faith with logical methods? Shouldn’t we live
the Gospel instead of picking it apart philologically (grammatically) and
philosophically (dialectically)? If so, what is the purpose of the long time of
preparation in profane arts that are of no use for salvation and only promote
arrogance and the academic idleness of the masters and scholars?
In applying grammar, theology occupies itself with the analysis of bibli-
cal passages, while systematic theology gives preferential treatment to the
study of the words and names that we use in theological statements about
God. After an introduction, Praepositinus of Cremona († 1210) begins his
Summa, “Qui producit ventos” with the programmatic statement: “E vocabu-
lis quae de Deo dicuntur incipiamus” [“Let us begin with the words that are
predicated of God”].97 Theology becomes a grammar of speech about God,
which is supposed to obey the laws of reasonable discourse.
Besides grammar, dialectic is the principal instrument of theology. Since
Augustine’s day, dialectic is that discipline which determines the truth of rea-
sonable argumentation and its conformity to the rules. It decides whether
propositions are formally correct and free from contradictions. That is why
Scholastic theology appears in the form of a determination of the truth value
of statements that are introduced (not only in the works of Praepositinus) by
the expressions: “quaeritur de hac (propositione) . . .” [“the question is asked
about this proposition . . .”], “utrum concedendum sit . . .” [“whether it should
be granted . . .”], “an dici debeat . . .” [“or whether it should be said . . .”].98 In
the Letters of St. Paul correct or incorrect syllogisms are identified, or else
the ideas therein are put into syllogistic form.99 This, however, attributes to
a formal and, what is worse, profane discipline the competency to decide in
matters of theology and faith. This very soon gives rise to a protest, which in
the history of philosophy is known under the heading of “dialecticians and
anti-dialecticians.”100 Yet even the so-called anti-dialecticians certainly ac-
knowledge in most cases a purely instrumental service rendered by the artes,
which is that much easier to do because they are looking at a philosophy
97. Praepositinus of Cremona, Summa “Qui producit ventos” I, 1, 1: ed. Angelini, Ortodossia, 187, 1.
98. See Angelini, Ortodossia, 31–32.
99. For example, Lanfranc of Bec, Comm in 2 Cor 3:10–15 (PL 150, 225–26); see Sigebert von
Gembloux, De scriptoribus ecclesiasticis c.155 (PL 160, 582).
100. See, for example, Evans, Arts, 57–90.
that is restricted to instrumental disciplines (grammar, logic). Peter Damian
(1007–1072), too, who is usually cited as a proponent of the “ancillary under-
standing” of philosophy, speaks generally in his work De divina omnipotentia
about that “humanae artis peritia” [“skill in human art”], which in discussing
“sacra eloquia” [“sacred words”] must not arrogate to itself the “jus magisterii”
[“right of mastery, of teaching authority”] but should perform services for
her mistress “velut ancilla” [“as her handmaid”]. For human art itself is fallible
and cannot arrive at the truth without the guidance of the divine word.101
The substantial truth claim of the word of God thus withstands the rational
test of truth by human reason.
2.2 Instructional procedure

Theology as an academic discipline is connected with the instructional
procedure in the school. The latter is carried out in an interdisciplinary way,
first in the lectio [reading] of a text that is regarded as authoritative, for exam-
ple, a book of the Bible, a passage from the Church Fathers, or the classical
authors (Martianus Capella, Donatus, Cicero, Boethius, Pseudo-Dionysius).
Lectio means first of all commenting on a section-by-section reading of a text,
a method that reached its apogee in the schools of the twelfth century. In
many respects it resembles contemporary exegetical lectures or the reading
of texts as a seminar exercise. Yet the format that was to be followed makes
clear both the Scholastic, medieval character of this procedure and also its
rationality. The “authentica,” the actual words of the reading itself, are con-
trasted with one’s own words and those of one’s contemporaries, which were
called the “magistralia.”102 The lectio is therefore the privileged place where
auctoritas and ratio come up for discussion.
The basic form of the lectio is divided into five phases:103
1. The accessus ad auctores: introductory questions such as authorship of
the book, the literary genre, time of composition, place in the systematic
context, the division or outline of the entire book, the usefulness to the
reader, etc. are considered here.
2. The littera: the authentic text is presented aloud in sections. In most writ-
ten commentaries this is omitted. Only the first few words (lemmata) of
the corresponding section are noted.
101. Petrus Damiani, De divina omnipotentia, c.5 (PL 145, 595–622).

102. See Chenu, Théologie, 351–65.
103. See Rentsch, “Kultur,” 75–76. Rentsch, however, omits no.1!
e divisio textus: the section of the text under discussion is divided
3. Th
thematically into smaller subsections, sometimes down to the level of
individual sentences or clauses.
e expositio: the thematic presentation of the doctrinal content of
4. Th
the individual section or sentence while confronting it with earlier and
contemporary opinions. A prerequisite for this is an explanation of
terms and distinctions among their meanings. They are sometimes listed
alphabetically in the distinctiones literature.104 One cannot always affirm
that the authoritative text is true in the literal sense; one then resorts to
the technique of exponere reverenter: One pays the necessary respect to
the authority (e.g., the biblical text) by looking for a good meaning of the
text, by advocating another opinion—objectively but by making distinc-
tions, for instance in linguistic usage or meaning.
e dubia: after the presentation of the text, the instructor brings up
5. Th
and answers questions that refer either to the text itself or follow from it
thematically. This is the “Sitz im (Schul-)Leben” [“the (academic) expe-
riential setting”] for the development of a second literary genre in the
scholastic enterprise: the quaestio.
As the conclusion of the lectio, however, the quaestio is the privileged
place for the question of truth. By answering it in his conclusio or sententia,
the master decides also as to the truth of theological propositions. Thus fac-
tual questions are assumed to be answerable.105 Originally it was most often
a matter of harmonizing discrepancies between authorities. Given the many
different opinions, this is increasingly replaced by the question about the
truth of a matter. Wherever the decisive method is logical-rational examina-
tion, optimism prevails that the truth can be found, even in the multiplic-
ity of opinions. Scholastic questions are therefore not skeptical but rather
sometimes curious-sounding questions; for one can ask about anything, es-
pecially in schools where the quaestio has become independent of the lectio
method and is a separate pedagogical device. The magister does not always
have an answer. Odo of Ourscamp († after 1171), for example, postponed
his answer once to the next day.106 At first questions are not posed accord-
ing to a fixed rule or system, but rather as they come up, as in the ancient
104. See especially with regard to scriptural commentary Rouse & Rouse, “Statim invenire.”
105. Concerning the following “characteristics of Scholastic inquiry,” see Schönberger, Scho-
lastik, 53–80.
106. Grabmann, Methode, 2:26.
quaestiones et responsiones or in a modern question-and-answer session.107
The simplest answers, naturally, are references to authorities with whom the
master agrees.
The results of the quaestiones are summarized in literary form at first in
similarly miscellaneous collections of questions, which quite often contain
material by different and sometimes anonymous authors.108 Sometimes
scholars looked through the scriptural commentaries of the magistri for
quaestiones and excerpted them, for example, in the case of Robert of Melun
(† 1167) and Richard of St. Victor († 1173). The place of many questions in
the outline of systematic theology became clear in this way.
Already in the patristic era there was theological questioning, precisely
about biblical passages. Often perplexed confreres or preachers are the ones
posing the questions; we have vivid examples of this in Augustine’s expla-
nation of several questions about the Letter to the Romans.109 This mode
of instruction has its source in the dialogical, dialectical questions of antiq-
uity. We are well acquainted with medieval disputation of questions in con-
nection with the lectio from the ninth century on. At first it does not seem
to have been a disputation with assigned roles, but rather a simple inquiry,
especially in the case of contradictory authorities, which were perhaps fol-
lowed by an equally simple answer by the teacher. Probably that was how it
was usually done in the school of Anselm of Laon († 1117). We then encoun-
ter fully developed quaestiones with pro and contra around the mid-twelfth
century in the works of Odo of Ourscamp, who was a student of Anselm of
Laon and Abelard. Even in these early examples some of the more difficult
passages from Scripture are explained by extended questions. The logical
methods for this are provided initially within the framework of the dialec-
tica in the artes liberales; Haimo of Halberstadt († 853), too, distinguishes
between a simple, random disputation and liberaliter disputare, which pre-
supposes the methods of the artes liberales.110 A strictly logical disputatio
in forma (in syllogistic form) is possible only after the general acceptance
of the Logica nova (especially the Topica and the Sophistici elenchi): John of
Salisbury († 1180) maintains that without these, one does not dispute “ar-
tistically” but haphazardly.111 The great disputations became a field of intel-
107. See Studer, Schola Christiana, 128–29.

108. See Landgraf, Einführung, 40–42.
109. CSEL 84; see Studer, Schola Christiana, 201–3.
110. Landgraf, Einführung, 41.
111. John of Salisbury, Metalogicon l.3 c.10 (PL 199, 910).
lectual activity in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; they were depen-
dent on the university organization. Among these academic events we must
distinguish between the ordinary disputations that took place weekly or
biweekly, and the solemn Disputationes de quolibet, which were not custom-
ary until the latter half of the thirteenth century and were held twice year,
before Christmas and Easter. Here any theological question at all could be
brought up. Therefore the Quodlibeta, the literary outcome of these disputa-
tions, are important documents of that time.112
Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) carefully presents the simplest form of
disputed questions in his textbook for beginners, the Summa Theologiae, al-
though he first warns about the conventional welter of arguments and ques-
tions.113 Thomas divides the individual question first into articuli, the struc-
ture of which corresponds to the general scheme of the quaestio.
1. Posing of the question: Quaeritur, utrum (an) . . . [It is asked whether . . .]
This really is a question, not just a thesis that is to be proved in the
following lines. The precise manner in which the question is phrased
already contributes much to the answer. This answer is open, however,
and not already decided by the formulation.
2. Arguments
a) videtur quod sic/quod non: [It seems that it is / that it is not . . .]
Arguments for a possible answer are given (in Thomas’ works only
a few): Scripture, the Church Fathers (auctoritates) and reasonable
arguments (rationes);
b) sed contra: [But on the other hand . . .] Arguments for the opposite
answer (Thomas usually gives only one). Since the question is open,
we are not dealing here with proponents or opponents of a thesis,
but rather with alternatives that are to be discussed rationally; each
alternative must be in principle non-contradictory and possible.
3. R esponse: Respondeo dicendum. . . . [I reply by saying . . .] The conclusio,
which is often given sententiously in a single sentence, is the place where
the question is resolved, the place for the actual teaching of the magister,
who attains therein his highest authority. For his task is the determina-
tio magistralis [magisterial decision], whereas the presentation of the
arguments and sometimes also their analysis along the lines of the given
conclusio was usually a matter for the baccalaurei [bachelors of arts]. The
112. See Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 83.

113. Thomas Aquinas, S.Th. I, 1, Prol., Marietti edition (Turin-Rom, 1952).
answer given is justified by means of the arguments presented in step 2 or
with new arguments of the magister.
4. The analysis of the arguments from step 2 along the lines of the given
conclusio: Ad primum (etc.) dicendum . . . [concerning the first argument,
it should be said . . .]. The solutio usually provides important amplifica-
tions of the conclusio in dealing with the arguments, which are by no
means rejected wholesale as arguments of opponents, but rather are
discussed in detail.
This basic pattern is followed to a great extent in the thirteenth century,
although it is greatly elaborated in the quaestiones disputatae de quolibet. The
proliferation of Scholastic opinions on a given question causes the quaes-
tiones scheme in late Scholasticism (e.g., in William of Ockham [ca. 1285–
1347]) to appear more complex and tortuous, because here the individual
opiniones are discussed in depth, whereas the few introductory arguments
hardly carry weight any more.114
2.3 The Bible and Scholastic theology

Until well into the thirteenth century theology consists of lengthy pas-
sages of biblical exegesis. “Theologia” and “sacra pagina” or “divina pagina”
are to a great extent synonymous until Thomas Aquinas.115 Sacred Scrip-
ture is the preeminent object of academic lectio, which should be distin-
guished carefully from the lectio divina of monastic spirituality.116 Whereas
the latter involves the personal study and assimilation of the scriptural pas-
sage for the sake of the spiritual life, the academic lectio makes available the
entire toolkit of procedures for interpreting a literary text, first and foremost
the criteria of the artes liberales, especially grammar and dialectic. For the
explanation of the content, the florilegia from the writings of the Church
Fathers are indispensable. These explanations were added to the authentic
text orally at first, then in writing as well in the form of glosses: a proce-
dure that was familiar from legal scholarship. Similarly, the textbooks used
in teaching the liberal arts were glossed, for example, works by Boethius,
Martianus Capella, Donatus, and Priscianus.117 Depending on the position-
ing of the glosses in the manuscript, we distinguish between interlinear and
114. The schema is described in Rentsch, “Kultur,” 88–89.

115. See Geyer, “Facultas theologica,” 141–43.
116. See Leclercq, Wissenschaft, 84–86.
117. See Smalley, Study, 46–66; for additional information and corrections, see Bertola, “Glos-
sa ordinaria”; also Holtz, “Rôle des Commentaires.”
marginal glosses. Interlinear glosses usually add explanations of individual
words, while marginal glosses add more extensive comments (usually pa-
tristic sententiae) on individual verses or passages. Thus we find a wealth of
literature in gloss form from the time of Berengar of Tours († 1088), and then
in the circle that included Bruno the Carthusian († 1101) and in the school of
Anselm of Laon. From the end of the ninth century on, the prevailing meth-
od is a combination of interlinear and marginal gloss.
The most widely diffused and therefore the most important gloss in early
Scholasticism still contains riddles for scholars today: the Glossa ordinaria,
which in later Scripture commentaries is presupposed as an initial gloss and
sometimes acquires an authoritative character as “the Gloss” pure and sim-
ple.118 The magister therefore relies on the Glossator. The Glossa ordinaria is
a collective work, which came to include material by various authors. The
earliest parts (on the books of Wisdom and Sirach) were written by Wala-
fried Strabo († 894). Evidently the Glossa ordinaria assumed its final form
in the school of Laon (Anselm, Radulfus [† 1131/33], Gilbertus Universalis
[† 1334]); nevertheless the attribution of individual parts to a particular au-
thor is uncertain. E. Bertola’s attribution of the parva glossatura to Anselm
of Laon, the media glossatura to Gilbertus Universalis, and the magna glossa-
tura to Peter Lombard (ca. 1095–1160) is plausible as far as the chronological
sequence is concerned, but not proven. Again, the authoritative status of a
gloss as a “Scholastic gloss” is not limited to works about the Bible and thus
about theology. We can trace the same development with respect to the topi-
cal and theological writings of Boethius.119 The Glossa ordinaria provides for
every book in the Bible an introduction, for which Jerome (340/50–419/20)
usually acts as godfather, and then in connection with the individual verses
a more or less concise scholarly apparatus made up of patristic and medi-
eval sources (that are later called expositores as opposed to the glossator or the
ordinator glos[a]e himself). The expositores range from the Church Fathers
through the Venerable Bede (672/73–735), Walafried Strabo, Paschasius
Radbertus (ca. 790–ca. 859), Duns Scotus Eriugena († ca. 880), via Haimo
of Halberstadt, Lanfranc of Bec (ca. 1010–1089), Hrabanus Maurus (780–
856), and Berengar down to the commentaries of the school of Laon and
Gilbertus Universalis.120
To a great extent the glosses continue to follow the so-called catena
118. See Bertola, “Glossa ordinaria”; Swanson, “Glossa Ordinaria.”
119. See Schrimpf, Axiomenschrift; Green-Pedersen, Topics.
120. See Smalley, Study, 66.
technique, which we still find in the Catena aurea of Thomas Aquinas. This
method, again, is not limited to scriptural commentary, but can be found in
“systematic” works also as late as the twelfth century.121 The most impor-
tant patristic passages on a verse from Scripture are cited (and in systematic
or polemical works, of course, the relevant scriptural passages as well). The
citations are reconciled with one another as to their content, while discrep-
ancies and various possible interpretations are indicated. Thus it is a proce-
dure that still owes much to auctoritas, while ratio limits itself to selecting
and discriminating among the authorities, weighing their importance and
arranging them accordingly. These very features made the gloss a reference
work and textbook whose value and influence could hardly be exaggerated.
Indeed, the scholar found immediately for every passage the most impor-
tant and advanced teachings and thus was spared the trouble of studying
the sources himself. Out of this Glossa, at the service of further commentary
but also of preaching, grew a wealth of literature consisting of distinctiones,
allegoriae, or adnotationes on individual words or passages.122
These glosses became important—not only in the field of law—pre-
cisely where the literal text was difficult to understand or (in law) impos-
sible to obey. Glossing a text in such cases often meant mitigating, adapting,
explaining, and thus reinterpreting it. Against this background we can see
why Francis of Assisi (1181/82–1226), for example, stipulated in his testa-
ment that his Rule must be followed “sine glossa,” that is, to the letter and
without relaxation or adaptation.123 “Glossa” increasingly has the conno-
tation of “falsitas” and is therefore replaced, for instance, by Thomas Gas-
coigne (1403–1458) in the fifteenth century with “expositio communis.”124
Yet the gloss could also become a problem for theological instruction itself:
it immediately provided the interpretation, so that as a result one could by-
pass the text itself. Robert of Melun (ca. 1100–1167) clearly points out the
dangers of such a “gloss theology”: the mere recitation of glosses without
further investigation, and instead questions that allegedly probe deeply but
are only based on ignorance of the books of the Bible, for instance, whether
Ezra lived before or after Moses. In Robert’s opinion this reverses the order
of teaching: secondary literature is put in the first place, the text is neglected
121. See, for example, Schrimpf, Eriugena, 85–86.

122. See Häring, “Commentary,” 177–78.
123. Ibid., 182–85; Francis of Assisi, Testamentum, Opuscula S. Francisci, L. Lemmens, ed.
(Quaracchi, 1904), 79.
124. See Smalley, Study, 271.
and all the effort is devoted to the “studium glosularum.” The “intelligentia
textus” [“understanding of the text”], the “sententia” [“thought, meaning”],
however, does not depend on the study of glosses per se. The purpose of
studying sacred Scripture is precisely to understand the text, to elaborate
the sententia, and not to know the right section of the Gloss: “Non enim ille
bene legit, qui quod scriptura sentit diligenter non exponit.” [“He does not read
well who does not explain diligently what Scripture means.”]125 It does no
good merely to recite from glosses, which after all say only what others have
said about a passage. A gloss has no authority of its own above and beyond
the authority of the Fathers who are cited. Therefore it is miserable igno-
rance and damnable stubbornness to think that one has obliged oneself
“quasi sacramento” [“as if by an oath”] to recite from the glosses.126
The process of finding the sententia of biblical passages sparks questions,
which are then further elaborated in the form of a quaestio and put into
written form in the Scriptural commentaries.127 The procedure follows the
general pattern of lectio or disputatio. Whereas at first it was only a few in-
dividual questions, for example in the works of Gerard of Csanád († 1046),
in the school of Laon the number increased appreciably, until in the glos-
satura magna we find the genre of a commentary in quaestiones. We have an
example by Robert of Melun from the period 1145–1155 entitled Questiones
de Epistolis Pauli.128 This is no accident, because for him the quaestio and
not the gloss is the right instrument with which to discover the sententia
of the text. Later the questions were sometimes detached from the com-
mentary and circulated independently: thus the genre of the commentary
in quaestiones came about. Yet they are still related to the Bible, they are still
quaestiones de divina pagina.129 A division of labor in the organization of the
thirteenth-century university appeared here: The baccalaureus biblicus lec-
tured on a sort of “fundamental exegesis” with the assistance of the Gloss;
the magister, in contrast, expounded the meaning (sententia) by means of
quaestiones. In these the text itself can often be disregarded—in the manu-
125. Robert of Melun, Sententiae, “praefatio,” in Œuvres de Robert de Melun, ed. R. M. Martin,
vol. III, 1 (Louvain, 1947), 11, 28–12, 1; see Grabmann, Methode, 2:342–46.
126. Robert of Melun, Sent. praef., vol. III, 1: 24, 17–29; see Grabmann, Methode, 2:348–49.
127. For an indispensable inventory of medieval scriptural commentaries, see Stegmüller, Rep-
ertorium Biblicum, 11 volumes in all.
128. Robert de Melun, Questiones de Epistolis Pauli, in Œuvres, ed. R. M. Martin, vol. II (Lou-
vain, 1938); see Smalley, Study, 66–82.
129. Robert de Melun, Questiones de divina pagina, in Œuvres, ed. R. M. Martin, vol. I (Lou-
vain, 1932).
script version as well—and be replaced by a systematic arrangement of the
questions. The transition from biblical lectio to systematic theology should
be seen precisely in this gradual detachment of the quaestiones and the sen-
tentia arrived at therein from the biblical text.130 Biblical exegesis (divina
pagina) and systematic presentation (fides catholica) are nevertheless still
united in one work.131 It was not always a commentary directly on the bibli-
cal text, though: Zacharias Chrysopolitanus bases his In unum ex quatuor
(written between 1140 and 1145) on the harmony of the Gospels by Am-
monios of Alexandria, which he uses as an outline for what is essentially a
catena of passages from the Church Fathers and contemporary magistri.132
Many Scholastic scriptural commentaries are extant not in a copy (or-
dinatio) composed by the magister himself, but only in transcripts (reporta-
tiones) written down by students; these versions may or may not have been
revised and therefore not infrequently contain discrepancies or disagree-
ments; because of these errors and misunderstandings they should be used
with caution.133 Not all the books of the Bible were annotated in the schools
with the same zeal and partiality. The Psalms, the Pauline Letters and Gen-
esis 1 were among the biblical texts most commented on in the early twelfth
century. In contrast, there was essentially nothing written about the rest of
the Pentateuch and the historical books of the OT, the prophets, or even the
Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles.134 In 1121 or 1123, when Abelard tried
to hold a lectio on Ezekiel in Laon, this was forbidden as something unusu-
al.135 Soon scholars noticed also the errors and uncertainties in the biblical
text [i.e., the Vulgate] on which the commentary was based. Hebrew was for
the most part unknown. Stephen Harding (1059–1134) and the early Cister-
cians, especially Nikolaus Manjacoria († ca. 1145), however, with the help of
Jews, worked on a corrected version of the [Latin] OT text so as to restore
the “hebraica veritas.”136
Scriptural interpretation flourished in a particular way in the school of
the Canons Regular of St. Victor in Paris, where the tradition of monastic
spirituality (lectio divina) was combined with that of Scholastic exegesis.
130. See Smalley, Study, 75–81.

131. See Bliemetzrieder, “Anselme de Laon,” 480.
132. PL 186, 11–619; see van den Eynde, “Magistri”; Evans, “Zachary of Besançon.”
134. See Geerlings, “Commentaires patristiques,” esp. 208–11; Studer, Schola Christiana, 206–8,
293–94.
135. Abaelard, Historia calamitatum 202–36, ed. J. Monfrin (Paris, 1959), 69–70.
Hugh of St. Victor († 1141) wrote numerous works “occasioned” by the
Bible, which became important precisely because they combined spiritual
interpretation with Scholastic instruction. Besides the Notul[a]e ad litteram
[Brief notes on the literal sense] for the historical books of the OT, there
are homilies on Ecclesiastes, a threefold exegesis of the Lamentations, com-
mentaries on the Magnificat and the Our Father, etc.137 The latter works,
like those of Richard of St. Victor, offer a spiritual, mystical, scriptural ex-
egesis that presupposes the doctrine of the fourfold meaning of Scripture.
In contrast, Andrew of St. Victor († 1174) should probably be described
as the most important literal exegete of the twelfth century—so much so
that even at Isaiah 7:14 he presents only the Jewish interpretation, which
prompted Richard to write an Invectio . . . contra Andream socium suum super
illud Ecce virgo concipiet [“Invective against Andrew his confrere concerning
the passage ‘Behold, a virgin shall conceive’”].138 Andrew also kept in con-
tact with Jewish exegetes.139
At the Parisian schools of theology in the second half of the twelfth cen-
tury, sacra pagina was advocated primarily by three figures of paramount
importance: Petrus Comestor, Petrus Cantor († 1197) and Stephen Lang-
ton (who remained in Paris until 1206; † 1228). They no longer expounded
individual passages or books from the Bible, but rather explained all of sa-
cred Scripture comprehensively, usually for a moral purpose. It was noted
about Stephen Langton: “Totam scripturam primus medullitus et moraliter
cepit exponere” [“He was the first to begin to explain all of Scripture in a thor-
oughgoing and moral way”].140 Only occasionally does the commentary still
follow the method of glossing individual passages. Then there is a basic in-
troduction to the Bible, the Historia scholastica by Petrus Comestor, which
provides a survey of the biblical books and of history from the creation of
the world to the death of the apostles. The possibilities for spiritual exegesis
are always indicated precisely, as Hugh of St. Victor had demanded in his Di-
dascalicon. As Zacharias Chrysopolitanus had done, Petrus Cantor too first
presents the biblical texts in a harmonization that is then glossed, so that
the whole work is described also as Verbum abbreviatum. For the purposes
of spiritual exegesis he offers in his Summa Abel an alphabetically arranged
137. PL 175.
138. MS Paris, BN lat. 13432, f.65–83. See Häring, “Commentary,” 193.
139. See Smalley, Study, 145–56; Berndt, André de Saint Victor.
140. Catalogus virorum illustrium 27, ed. N. Häring, “Two Catalogues of Medieval Authors,” in
Franciscan Studies 26 (1966): 201; see Quinto, Stefano Langton, 1–42.
lexicon of possibilities for exegesis, grouped under individual headings (be-
ginning with Abel). The theory of exegesis is investigated in writings such as
De difficultatibus Sacr[a]e Scripture and De Tropis loquendi.
The Scholastic interpretation of the Bible, which includes a variety of
approaches, presupposes the theory that Scripture has more than one mean-
ing or sense. Very important proponents of this theory of the fourfold sense
of Scripture were Hugh of St. Victor with his Didascalicon, Petrus Cantor,
and last but not least in the thirteenth century Bonvanture’s prologue to the
Breviloquium; the latter two are also in the Victorine tradition.141 The senses
of Scripture are not just exegetical methods; for Hugh they are disciplines
which together produce the sacra doctrina. Therefore the theologian in the
Middle Ages had to be well versed in all these areas, from literal exegesis
to the mystical-spiritual interpretation. Although the emphasis may depend
on the individual author and the field in which he worked (school, mon-
astery, parish), the literal sense usually predominates. The doctrine of the
fourfold sense of Scripture was practically canonized and handed down in
the oft-cited mnemonic verse by Augustine of Dacia († 1281):
Littera gesta docet, quid credas allegoria,
moralis quid agas, quo tendas anagogia.142
The foundation for the spiritual interpretation is the littera or the histo-
ria. Without it a spiritual interpretation goes astray as a matter of principle.
There is no question about the historicity of divine revelation in the bibli-
cal books. Thus Hugh recommends beginning with a careful lectio of the
historical books of the Bible. The littera is, so to speak, the alphabet that the
theologian has to learn first. He who proceeds otherwise acquires knowl-
edge like that of a donkey.143 For an understanding of the historical sense,
history and geography should be applied, besides the linguistic disciplines.
Upon this foundation, then, the building of the spiritual interpretation
is constructed; allegory is the first step. Allegorical interpretation, which
was already common in reading classical authors in the schools of antiq-
uity, found a home especially in Alexandrian exegesis. It concerns initially
141. See esp. de Lubac, Exégèse médiévale [Medieval Exegesis]; Chenu, “Théologie symbolique”;
Smalley, Study, 242–63.
142. “The literal sense teaches what happened; what you should believe—the allegorical; the
moral (= tropological) sense—what you ought to do; what you should strive for—the anagogical.”
See Châtillon, “Vocabulaire,” 17–18.
143. See Hugh of St. Victor, Didascalicon VI, 3, ed. Ch. H. Buttimer (Washington, 1939), 114,
9–10: “quorum scientia formae asini similis est. noli huiusmodi imitari.”
an overall interpretation of Scripture in relating the OT to the NT as the
“prophetic prefiguration” or “type” of the latter.144 In OT words, figures and
events, components of the NT event involving Christ and the Church are
discerned. Allegory occurs as verbal allegory (words that have a meaning
other than the literal sense), but also as “allegoria facti”: events and figures
“mean” something else above and beyond the historical context. There are
many methods, some of which are handed down in fixed patterns; the imag-
es and metaphors used are generally intended to reveal something hidden,
to open up a new dimension of understanding.145 This is true also for bibli-
cal numbers, for which precise rules were handed down from the days of
Augustine. Unfamiliarity with numbers is an obstacle to the allegorical and
mystical understanding of many scriptural passages, he maintains explicitly
in De doctrina christiana.146 The technique of number allegory is developed
in the twelfth century in precise rules: for example, the analogy between
number and what is numbered, the interpretation of numbers as sums of
terms or products of factors, affinities, and types of numbers based on their
composition, but also the meaning of the symbolic numbers themselves (4,
7, 12, etc.).147
The moral or tropological sense derives from Scripture rules for Chris-
tian living and its virtues, either for the Church as a whole or for the in-
dividual person. This kind of interpretation, which passes from “factum” to
“faciendum” [from what has been done to what should be done], reaches its
apogee in the moral-pastoral scriptural exegesis of Petrus Cantor and Ste-
phen Langton, sometimes mixed with clear criticism of conditions in the
Church. The basic models for this interpretation are the pastoral rules and
the Moralia in Job by Gregory the Great († 604).148
The mystical or anagogical sense is by no means the exclusive prov-
ince of contemplative circles; rather it is one of the forms of exegesis even
in non-monastic schools. The anagogical sense points on the one hand to
the Second Coming of Christ at the end of the ages, but on the other hand
to the mystical anticipation thereof in the individual soul and its ascent to
heavenly glory. Anagogy as the goal of the spiritual interpretation of Scrip-
ture can be more or less closely connected with allegory or tropology; it
144. Dohmen, “Schriftsinn.”
145. See esp. Spitz, Metaphorik and the discussion there of individual images and metaphors.
146. Augustinus, doct. chr. II, 16, 25 (Cch SL 32, 50, 52–53).
147. Basic presentation in Meyer / Suntrup, Lexikon der mittelalterlichen Zahlenbedeutungen;
see also Hellgardt, Zahlenkomposition; idem, “Zahlenallegorese.”
148. See Smalley, Study, 242–63; Baldwin, Masters.
usually cannot do without a foundation in the allegorical interpretation of
Scripture.149
In works entitled Distinctiones and Allegoriae the possibile interpreta-
tions of individual words or objects are then set down as though in a lexicon,
whereby types are developed: “Jerusalem” means literally the city in Israel,
allegorically the Church, tropologically the human soul, and anagogically the
heavenly Jerusalem in glory.150 Individual Scripture passages for a particular
interpretation can also be listed under a keyword: for example, it is possible
to interpret “bed” allegorically as sacred Scripture (Song of Songs 1:16), tro-
pologically as contemplation (Luke 17:34), conscience (Psalm 6:6) or car-
nal desire (Amos 6:4), anagogically for eternal punishment ( Job 17:13) and
eternal happiness (Luke 11:7).151 The danger of such allegorical-symbolic
interpretation lay in neglect of the text itself in its literal sense, even for the
“doctrina fidei.” Thomas Aquinas clear-sightedly insists instead on the pri-
macy of the littera: Only from the literal sense can a valid theological argu-
ment be obtained, not from an allegorical interpretation.152
Nevertheless it would not do justice to medieval biblical studies if one
were to see only the symbolic-spiritual interpretation. Indeed in St. Victor
and in the Parisian schools flourishing centers of literal exegesis developed
under Andrew of St. Victor († 1175), Herbert of Bosham († 1186), Petrus
Comestor, and others. 153 Andrew of St. Victor limits himself exclusively to
the historia. The other senses of Scripture are of as little interest to him as
Scholastic theological questions, insofar as they are not immediately related
to an understanding of the littera. He consults Jewish exegetes and com-
pares the text of the Vulgate with the Hebrew wording. The interpretation
of the Church Fathers is measured accordingly and quite often criticized.154
Strongly influenced by Andrew was Herbert of Bosham, who claimed to be
the first to expound the Hebraica [Hebrew version] after the example of Je-
rome.155 He does not venture to soar on the pinions of a difficult spiritual
interpretation but rather is determined to keep his feet on the ground and
elaborate only the meaning of the littera.
149. See Adamus Scotus, Ad viros religiosos: quatorze sermons d’Adam Scot, ed. F. Petit (Tonger-
lo, 1934), 28 and 94.
150. See Dohmen, “Schriftsinn,” 20.
151. See Smalley, Study, 247; Bataillon, “Instruments de travail”; Bataillon, “Intermédiaires.”
152. Thomas Aquinas, S.Th. I q.1 a.10 ad 1 (I,9).
153. See Smalley, Study, 112–242. For the works of Andrew of St. Victor, see: CCh CM 53.
154. See Berndt, André de Saint Victor.
155. See Smalley, Study, 186–95; see also by the same author “Commentary.”
This study of the littera broadens theologically through the influence
of the Historia scholastica by Petrus Comestor, which Stephen Langton
deemed as influential as the Liber Sententiarum of Peter Lombard. Tak-
ing it as his model, Peter of Poitiers (ca. 1130–1205) wrote his Compendium
Historiae in Genealogia Christi, in which he gives an outline of biblical his-
tory from Adam to Christ in the form of a genealogical tree of Christ.156
These works were the basic bibliography for the “Introduction to the Bible”
course that the baccalaurei biblici at a thirteenth-century university had to
teach. The format of this instruction has come down to us in several manu-
scripts from the turn of the thirteenth century: in the prologue the purpose
of the lectio was formulated; then Jerome’s prologue to the book in ques-
tion was read. The text was read through line by line; in a later development,
students would bring their own copies and annotate them. In addition the
glosses were always read. They were named after their initial words and
ranked according to the weight of the authority: Augustine, Bede, etc.; next
difficulties from the glosses were presented.157 Once the littera cum glosis
of a passage had been read through, the lecturer went back to the begin-
ning and started the allegorical interpretation. For that purpose, howev-
er, the text as such had to be established first and, if necessary, corrected,
since punctuation marks were not used in the manuscripts; consequently
individual words could belong to either the previous or the following sen-
tence. Furthermore there was no standard division into chapters, much less
a numbering of the verses. Instead the book was usually divided into tituli
(meaning units), which were listed at the beginning like a table of contents.
In Paris, at least, no standard division of the Bible into chapters and verses
developed until the thirteenth century. The divisions, punctuations, and
corrections were compiled, especially in the thirteenth century, in so-called
correctoria. Stephen Langton’s corrections and divisions of the biblical text
became influential. But even an obviously faulty text could provide support
for a particular spiritual interpretation.158 Around this time likewise the first
concordances appear; unlike the reference works that we have today, these
contained parallel passages compiled by Stephen Langton, among others,
based on the glosses.159
Preaching flourished in the thirteenth century, thanks in part to the ar-
156. See Moore, Peter of Poitiers, 118–22.

157. E.g., in Stephen Langton: Smalley, Study, 216–19.
158. Ibid., 220–23.
159. Ibid., 241.
rival of the mendicant orders in the university cities. The postilla became
very important in this development. (The term comes from the expres-
sion post illa verba [after these words], that is, the explanation following the
scriptural verse or passage.) In this form of commentary explanations were
added to the biblical text that had been divided into meaning units (loci),
whereas by then the term glossa referred only to the interlinear and mar-
ginal glosses. It is remarkable how closely the early mendicants followed the
spiritual interpretation of Scripture by the Victorine school, while continu-
ing also their study of the literal sense. Clearly the tradition of lectio divina
was adopted in the Dominican and Franciscan Orders, and to that end they
fell back on the tried and true assistance of Hugh of St. Victor, for instance.
At the same time they distinguished their Scripture studies from the specu-
lative theology of the magistri who were secular clerics. The prime example
is the influential Postilla super totam bibliam by the Dominican Hugh of
St. Cher († 1263) and his collaborators (ca. 1235). He sees in the disciples
who plucked ears of grain on the Sabbath (Mark 2:23) the “fratres studentes”
[“student friars”] in their “studium scripturarum” [“study of the Scriptures”];
the Pharisees who forbade them to do so are of course the theologians, who
in turn are to be divided into two groups, the “morales” (probably in the
tradition of the Parisian schools of moral theology, which included Cantor,
Langton, Philipp the Chancellor [† 1236]), and the “questioniste” (the strict
Scholastics). The “moralistae” say, “It is not good to incorporate so many
quaestiones into theology.” The “questionist[a]e” say: “It is not good to invent
so many moral interpretations.” The bottom line, per Hugh: “et quilibet rep-
rehendit quod nescit.”160 Hugh’s Postilla became the most important supple-
ment to the Glossa ordinaria, for example in the works of Bonaventure and
Albert the Great († 1280) and at Oxford. His importance was eclipsed in
the early modern period (especially for preachers on account of the various
moral “practical applications”) by the Franciscan Nicholas of Lyra († 1349).
This cordoning off of biblical theology from Scholastic theology is
clearly indicated also by the differentiated linguistic usage in the thirteenth
century. Until then “sacra pagina” had meant both the biblical books and
theology as a whole. In reference to the Bible itself the term is now increas-
ingly replaced by “Scriptura” or “Biblia,” so that the “magister in sacra pagina”
is not necessarily (just) an exegete, but also a systematic theologian. Now
160. “And each finds fault with what he does not know.” Hugh of St. Cher, Postilla in Bibliam
(Paris, 1530–1545), VI f. 86; see Smalley, Study, 269. Supplementary remarks at ibid., XIII.
the business of the instructor is no longer sacram paginam glossare [to gloss
the sacred text] but rather Scripturam postillare [to comment on Scripture].
For examples of the latter we should mention the scriptural commentaries
of Thomas Aquinas and Bonaventure. In Paris (unlike at Oxford) the pos-
tilla generally presents only a few questions concerning systematic theology
and mostly quaestiones that refer only to the text.161
2.4 Collections of sentences and Summas

Besides Scripture-based biblical theology, the twelfth-century schools
saw the development of a systematic theology that presented its findings in
the form of systematically arranged collections of sentences and summas.162
We are acquainted with their patristic models, Prosper of Aquitaine and es-
pecially Isidore of Seville. In the linguistic usage of biblical theology, “senten-
tia” means the (deeper) meaning or doctrinal content of a Scripture passage.
This matter was raised in the lectio or quaestio and then pinned down. Next
come the “sentences” of the Church Fathers and of contemporaries, which
were collected in the glosses. Independent collections of sentences some-
times show already in the title that they are anthologies of statements, ques-
tions, solutions, and theses of other scholars: “Sententi[a]e a magistro Untolfo
collect[a]e,” “Sententi[a]e Augustini a magistro Anshelme conjunct[a]e.”163 Even
the compiler of the most important volume of sentences, Peter Lombard, is
described by contemporaries not as an author but rather as a “collector senten-
tiarum.” The “flores patrum” [“flowers of the Church Fathers,” i.e., sayings col-
lected in florilegia] are then also described as “sententiae.” These collections,
however, are still intended as systematic introductions to the study of sacred
Scripture, after the model of Augustine’s De doctrina christiana. This is made
clear even in the titles: Sententie divine pagine, Sententie divinitatis. In the
course of a disputation “sententia” then means also the master’s authoritative
solution to a question, or else one position that is contrasted with another.164
Later on systematic collections of sentences, especially introductory
works, are not infrequently referred to as Summae, and smaller introductory
161. Smalley, Study, 271–77.

162. See Grabmann, Methode, 2:21–24.
163. The most important Early Scholastic collections of sentences are listed in Landgraf, Ein-
führung, 35–39.
164. Grabmann, Methode, 2:23, maintains that this meaning does not occur until the thirteenth
century; it is already attested, however, in Vivianus of Prémontré (ca. 1140): see Leinsle, Vivianus
7*, 7–8: “alterius quorum sententie vos consensum tribuisse fortasse recolitis” [“perhaps you recall that
you had agreed with the sententia = opinion of someone else among them”].
textbooks as Summulae.165 Robert of Melun defines the Summa as “singulo-
rum brevis comprehensio” [“a brief compendium of individual facts”]. Hono-
rius of Autun († ca. 1137) calls his world chronology Summa totius. Abelard
describes his Introductio to theology as “aliquam sacrae eruditionis summam
quasi divinae scripturae introductionem” and thus indicates precisely the pur-
pose of such a “basic course”: an introduction to the study of sacred Scrip-
ture, which is still the chief object of theology.166 Nevertheless the introduc-
tory courses become more and more voluminous. Even Hugh of St. Victor
calls his not exactly little work, De sacramentis christianae fidei, a “brevem
quandam summam omnium.”167 Then in the late twelfth century “summa”
becomes the term for a theological introductory and reference work in gen-
eral, which often is arranged alphabetically as well, like the Summa qu[a]e
dicitur Abel by Peter Cantor, but also for basic moral-ascetical manuals, like
the summas de vitiis et virtutibus [on vices and virtues], for catechetical out-
lines, collections of sermons, homiletics handbooks, compilations of cases
heard in the confessional, liturgical manuals, and last but not least in the
form of summulae logicales for introductory books on logic. Around 1200
summa refers to the systematic summary of an academic subject, which has
far surpassed the little introductory textbook and the technique of compil-
ing sentences.168 Thomas Aquinas, however, meant his Summa of theology
to be understood again as a textbook for beginners.
Collecting and systematically arranging sentences, nevertheless, involves
some fundamental methodological problems that are hardly noticeable when
one simply reads or uses such collections, which are usually quite dry. If sen-
tences by several authors are to be compiled under one keyword, the basic
prerequisite is that they not be contradictory, even though they are worded
so as to make different statements. “Diversa, non adversa,” was the slogan by
which one tried to resolve this difficulty: Whereas the authors say different
things, they do not contradict each other, but rather complement one an-
other meaningfully and, taken as a whole, correspond to the truth.169 This
was already the classical principle used in the patristic era to arrive at a “con-
sensus evangelistarum” [“agreement among the Gospel writers”] in places
where they are obviously divergent.170 What the “consensus evangelistarum”
165. For linguistic usage in antiquity, see Studer, Schola Christiana, 130.
166. PL 178, 979.
167. “a brief summary, so to speak, of all [the Sacraments]”; PL 176, 183.
168. Particular illustrations can be found in Grabmann, Methode, 2:23–24.
169. See Leinsle, Vivianus, 50–52.
170. See de Lubac, “Diversi.”
was for the patristic era, is for the twelfth century the agreement of patristic
authorities and contemporary teachings. In this regard early Scholasticism
usually harks back to the same principle: The Church Fathers do say dif-
ferent but not conflicting things.171 Above and beyond patristic passages,
the principle is then applied to the apparently contradictory sentences of
contemporaries or of a single author.172 For, as Robert of Melun explains, in
one author we find a conciseness that makes him difficult to understand, in
another verbosity and furthermore a different arrangement of the material
in each; yet through the principle of harmonization, “diversa, non adversa,”
out of all this a scholar can produce “unum sententiarum excellentissimum
corpus” [“one quite outstanding body of sententiae”].173 The technique of
“exponere reverenter” [“explaining reverently”] or “pie interpretari” [inter-
preting piously] is conducive to this effort. When authorities conflict, at
least one must be interpreted in such a way as to make the contradiction
appear avoidable.174 Thus Hugh of St. Victor assumes on principle that the
declarative [or indicative] form [of an argument] is just another means of
investigating the thesis in question and should not be immediately under-
stood as the author’s thesis.175
One scholar who does not share this optimism about the possibility of
harmonizing authorities is Abelard. After all, Augustine in his Retractiones
took into account the fact that “diversa et inter se adversa” could be found
in his own works.176 Early scholars in canon law in particular had to as-
sess the possibility of contradictory precepts. They developed the method
of “sic et non” [“yes and no”] in order to produce a “concordantia canonum”
[“concordance of canons”].177 Abelard admits in the very first sentence of
his Sic et Non that in the wealth of patristic sources there can be “non solum
ab invicem diversa, verum etiam invicem adversa” [“not only different but also
conflicting things”].178 In that case one cannot simply impute falsity to the
one side, but rather must carefully and methodically examine the origin and
meaning of the sentences: Is the work in question authentic? Is it possible
that the author retracted an opinion? Have linguistic usage and the meaning
171. See de Ghellinck, Mouvement, 481–82, 517–23.

172. E.g., in Bernard of Clairvaux, Cant. 81, 11 (ed. Leclercq III, 291).
173. Robert of Melun, Sent., praef. (ed. Martin III, 1, 46–47).
174. See Chenu, Théologie, 364–65.
175. Hugh of St. Victor, De sacramentis I, 1, 2 (PL 176, 187).
176. Augustinus, Retr., prol.2 (CSEL 36, 9).
177. See de Ghellinck, Mouvement, 472–81; Grabmann, Methode, 2:199–221.
178. Abaelard, Sic et Non, prol (PL 178, 1339); see Leinsle, Vivianus, 53–55.
of the words been maintained or have they changed? The historical-critical
examination here is accompanied therefore by linguistic criticism. If the dif-
ficulty cannot be resolved even by all these means, then the weight of au-
thority is the deciding factor. The logical consistency of the rational edifice
must be preserved, however.
Due to the methodical character of the collections of sentences and ear-
ly summas, the peculiar manner and doctrine of each work can be discerned
only through a careful investigation of the working method and technique
of compilation. The precise combination, selection and arrangement of the
excerpted material, along with the linguistic treatment of previously formed
sentences, allow the scholar to identify the personal achievement of the
“collector sententiarum.”179 Verbal fidelity is often less important than the
functional modification of the texts, because editorial reworking is a more
decisive factor than verbatim repetition for the coherence and consistence
of the theory being presented and indicates more clearly the compiler’s own
thinking and his acceptance, rejection or criticism of a sentence. The pas-
sages written by the compiler himself are part of this editorial activity also,
since they go beyond the merely mosaic-like work of putting sentences to-
gether.180
Differences are clearly noticeable even in the doctrinal function of di-
rect quotations. In the school of Laon the verbatim citation is replaced by
an independent formulation of the substantial content, of the “Patristic
idea.”181 The scriptural verses cited in the patristic passage often disappear
along with it. Later collections of sentences then make use of the earlier
ones as a matter of course and sometimes arbitrarily (Hugh of St. Victor).
Divisions, examples but also revised patristic passages are taken from them
and again reshaped. Many collections of sentences practically found and
come to define a school, for example, the Sententie Anselmi for the school of
Laon. In the Sententiae Berolinenses a patristic citation is turned into a ques-
tion, which the author himself then answers along Augustinian lines with a
“dicimus.”182 In contrast, Vivianus of Prémontré, for example, is still working
much more simply around 1140. In his writings the most important means
of harmonization is still omission, especially when he copies out one source
179. See esp. Weisweiler, “Sententiae Anselmi,” Weisweiler, “Sententiae Berolinenses”; Weis-
weiler, “Arbeitsmethode.”
181. Weisweiler, “Sententiae Anselmi,” 232.
182. See Weisweiler, “Sententiae Berolinenses,” 356.
at length and summarizes. His own editorial activity here is minimal; it is
evident occasionally in a change of “ergo” to “igitur” on in supplements to
individual words. Not infrequently with his summarization technique, the
long discussions of the source are cited only as theses or sententiae, whereas
the biblical foundation and all the rhetorical trimmings are left out.183 Nat-
urally, the function of a citation is changed most often in passages where
only the gist is quoted. Texts are regrouped in a new systematic framework
and acquire new functions: What was an answer in the source becomes a
question; what was a premise there becomes a thesis; cautious formulations
are adopted apodictically; the logical structure of the source text is some-
times completely unraveled; occasionally texts from several sources are so
interwoven that a hybrid text results. Sentences by contemporaries are usu-
ally introduced by a “quidam” [“a certain person”] who then has to be iden-
tified. Passages by the compiler himself connect the quotations, hold the
text together through cross references (which may themselves be quoted
again) and not insignificantly deal with the sources by thematically classify-
ing, explaining, modifying, accepting, or rejecting the sentence under con-
sideration.
Since collections of sentences in early Scholasticism are still understood
to be at the service of scriptural interpretation but at the same time are re-
garded as systematic works, we should pay special attention to the function
of citations from Scripture in this incipient “systematic theology.” By way of
example the following functions should be mentioned:
1. Foundation of thematic exegesis.
2. A stylistic device resulting from spiritual exegesis (especially in
monastic circles and treatises).184
3. Biblical introduction of a theological term, for example, “libertas a
peccato” by referring to 2 Cor 3:7 and Rom 6:20–22.
4.Biblical characterization of persons, things and times, for example,
“sancti homines” supported by Rom 6:14 and Luke 10:42.
5. A type of argument (“auctoritas”).185
Already in the school of Anselm of Laon, “authentica” and “magistralia,”
patristic authority and the master’s sentence (“definitiones magistrales” and
183. For examples, see Leinsle, Vivianus, 61–62.

“dicta magistralia”) appear side by side with equal right. More and more of-
ten the teachings of the Church Fathers are dealt with only in the context
of discussion with the magistri. Now it is not uncommon for the latter to be
presented right at the beginning of the collection. Thus the collection Liber
Pancrisis begins with the list of authors from whose works the sentences
and questions were taken: Augustine, Jerome, Ambrose, Gregory the Great,
Isidore, Bede, and then the “moderni magistri,” the contemporaries follow:
William of Champeaux († 1122), Ivo of Chartres († 1116), Anselm, and Radul-
fus of Laon.186 The Deflorationes of Werner of St. Blasien († 1174) still dis-
tinguish precisely the “authentica doctrina Patrum” [“authentic teaching of
the Fathers”] (Gregory, Hilary of Poitiers, Augustine, Isidore, Jerome, Bede,
Remigius) and the others “qui modernis temporibus catholici atque orthodoxi
magistri fuere” [“who have been Catholic and Orthodox masters in modern
times”] (e.g., Zacharias Chrysopolitanus, Hugh of St. Victor, Honorius of
Autun). Werner fittingly describes his own work as “syntagmatizare,” ar-
ranging systematically, so that the result is “un florilège sagement classé” [“a
wisely ordered florilegium”].187 Sentences of the Fathers and the masters
alike were then used above all in questions and disputations, which in the
late twelfth and early thirteenth century were also written down in the form
of summas. Eventually the collections of sentences themselves, especially
those of Peter Lombard, soon became in turn the object of abbreviationes
and glosses, in which the masters gave their opinions on the new subject
matter.188
2.5 Theological systematization

What is accomplished in the collections of sentence and summas is not
only the assimilation of auctoritas by means of ratio, but also the arrange-
ment of the material that has been handed down into a theological frame-
work. This outline itself is again dependent on patristic sources, especially
on Augustine, and yet it is elaborated differently in the individual schools
of the twelfth century. Theological systematization takes place through this
process.189 According to the classification of H. Cloes we can distinguish
three basic types of systematic theology, which, however, do not often ap-
186. See Chenu, Théologie, 358.

187. PL 157, 726; see Glorieux, “Werner de Saint-Blaise.”
188. See Landgraf, Einführung, 43–47.
189. See the groundbreaking study by Cloes, “Systématisation”; see also Grillmeier, “Sym-
bolum.”
pear in the purest form: a biblical type that examines salvation history, a
logical type that studies concepts, and a systematic theology that is a mix-
ture of both forms.190
We already find a systematic biblical theology dealing with salvation
history in the school of Anselm of Laon. After a short presentation of the
doctrine about God, he makes the transition to the creation of the world, of
angels and of men. For the doctrine on redemption (“regeneratio et repara-
tio”), salvation history offers a chronological scheme consisting of the time
of the natural and the written (OT) law and the time of grace.191 The sac-
raments are then more or less explicitly classified under the time of grace.
Yet the Sententiae Atrebatenses, for example, place Christology before the
scheme of the three eras in salvation history, which are thereby interpreted
as a comprehensive salvific event in Christ.192
Hugh of St. Victor, too, structures his systematic masterpiece De sacra-
mentis along the lines of salvation history, centered at any rate on man. The-
ology has to describe why man was created and as what, how he fell and was
restored.193 The entire treatise on God is subsumed under the first ques-
tion, whereas the angelology, for example, causes some difficulties in this
outline. The anthropocentric approach, however, is soon replaced by the
basic schema of “opus conditionis” (book 1) and “opus restaurationis” (book
2: Christ and the sacraments until the end of the ages). Since the “opus res-
taurationis” is defined as “Incarnatio Verbi cum omnibus sacramentis suis,” the
treatise on the sacraments can easily be incorporated here in the “opus res-
taurationis.”194 Yet the discussion of simony, vows, virtues, and vices also is
squeezed into the teaching on sacraments.
Extremely influential for medieval systematic theology were the four
books of Sentences by Peter Lombard. The “Magister sententiarum,” however,
does not organize his work around salvation history alone, but rather ini-
tially cites in the prologue the Augustinian scheme of “res—signum, uti—
frui” from De doctrina christiana. This seems at first to be a perfectly logical
conceptual arrangement. In fact, however, this scheme “goes nowhere” and
the Lombard’s structure is essentially determined by Hugh of St. Victor.
190. Cloes, “Systématisation,” 287.

191. Sententie Anselmi, Anselm von Laons systematische Sentenzen, ed. F. Bliemetzrieder, in BG-
PhMA 37/2–3 (Münster 1919): 78–79.
192. Ed. O. Lottin, Les Sententie Artebatenses, in RThAM 10 (1938): 218.
193. Hugh of St. Victor, de sacramentis l.1 p.1 c.30 (PL 176, 205–6).
194. Ibid., l.1 prol. c.2 (183 B).
Book 1 deals “De mysterio Trinitatis,” which is associated with the “res quibus
fruendum est” [“things that are to be enjoyed”]; yet, as in the later books, the
division in the prologue is no longer applied. In book 2, which deals with
creatures (“nunc ad considerationem creaturarum accedamus”), Hugh’s anthro-
pocentric schema is explicitly adopted.195 Book 3 then treats the Incarnation
but, as the prologue to this book makes clear, under the heading of “repa-
ratio”: “sic enim ratio ordinis postulat” [“for that is what the arrangement de-
mands”].196 As with Hugh, the sacraments that are presented in book 4 also
belong to the “reparatio.” Not until the prologue to book 4 is the Augustinian
distinction of “res—signa; uti—frui” applied again, since the sacraments as
“signa” are particularly conducive to this treatment. Thus the discussion of
the “res” is followed immediately by that of the “signa.”197 Then, however, the
eschatology in part 2 of book 4 does not fit into this arrangement; on the
other hand, in the structure organized according to salvation history it easily
found its place in the “reparatio,” although Peter Lombard does not demon-
strate this in greater detail either.
In contrast, we find a really thoroughgoing logical-conceptual schema
in Abelard and his school. The approach resembles that of Augustine’s
Enchiridion but it is not simply borrowed. Whereas in that work Augustine
uses the three supernatural virtues (fides—spes—caritas) as constructive el-
ements in the system, Abelard bases his structure on “fides—caritas—sacra-
mentum.”198 The Theologia Scholarium regards the “humanae salutis summa”
[“perfection of human salvation”] as consisting of these three matters.199
Faith is directed on the one hand to the very nature of the Deity, and on
the other hand to the “divina beneficia” and all the “dispensationes” and “or-
dinationes” of God, as they are expressed in the creeds of the apostles and
Church Fathers.200 The presentation of “fides” itself begins therefore with
the doctrine on God and the Trinity. In contrast, a consideration of God’s
gracious acts certainly can follow the course of salvation history, as that is
expressed in the creeds. The Incarnation, too, is one of the “beneficia” and
195. Petrus Lombardus, Sententiae in IV libris distinctae, 2 vols., numbered 4 and 5 in the series
Spicilegium Bonaventurianum (Grottaferrata 1971/81), l.2 prol. (4:329.6), l.2 d.16 c.1 (4:406.3–5).
196. Ibid., l.3 prol. (5:1, 3–15).
197. Ibid., l.4 prol. (5:231, 3–5); on the Augustinian tradition see Fuchs, Zeichen und Wissen,
33–45, 75–77.
198. Abelard’s early “theologies” (Theologia “Summi boni” and Theologia christiana) do not
come into consideration here, since they only offer treatises on God and the Trinity.
199. Abaelard, Theologia Scholarium I, 1 (CCh CM 13, 318, 1–2).
200. Ibid., I, 17 (326, 206–10).
“ordinationes” of God. In his Sic et Non Abelard modifies this schema so that
the sequence runs “fides—sacramentum—caritas”; consequently the treatise
on the sacraments immediately follows the one on faith, and moral theol-
ogy is not dealt with until part 3 under the heading of “caritas.” This now be-
comes the decisive structure for most collections of sentences by the school
of Abelard. The Epitome Hermanni and the Sententiae Florianenses still follow
the first schema, while the Sententiae Parisienses, Magister Roland († 1181)
and Omnebene († 1185) follow the second. The Epitome clearly places the
transition from the Incarnation to the Sacraments under the heading of the
“beneficia”: the Incarnation is the “summum beneficium” [“supreme benefit”],
as is generally taught; but the sacraments too are God’s “beneficia” and ac-
cordingly should really be part of book 1 on the faith, or at least be closely
connected with it.201 Thus “caritas” as “moral theology” seems even more
distinctly separated from “dogmatic theology.”
The structure typical for Abelard can be presented schematically as fol-
lows, according to his Sic et Non:
1. Fides
1.1 Treatise on God
1.1.1 The Trinity
1.1.2 The Attributes of God
1.2 Beneficia Dei
1.2.1 Treatise on Creation
1.2.1.1 The Angels
1.2.1.2 Man
1.2.2 The Incarnation
1.2.3 Mary and the Apostles (the Church)
2. Sacramentum
2.1 Baptism
2.2 Eucharist
2.3 Matrimony
3. Caritas
3.1 Love
3.2 Good Works
3.3 Sin
201. See Epitome theologiae christianae c. 38 (PL 178, 1738 C); contrast Sententiae Florianenses,
ed. Ostlender, 14.
Whereas there had already been logical problems of classification in the
schemata organized along the lines of salvation history, and historical ar-
rangements of material within the conceptual schemata, in the mid-twelfth
century several influential mixed forms developed. One such schema is pre-
sented by the Summa Sententiarum, which was compiled around 1135–40
under the influence of Hugh of St. Victor.202 The first part, as with Abelard,
is devoted to a presentation of the faith; indeed, it even uses Abelard’s “sum-
ma formula”: “Tria sunt in quibus humanae salutis summa consistit,” [“There
are three things in which the perfection of human salvation consists,”] but
now according to the schema “mysterium divinitatis—sacramentum incarna-
tionis,” in which we can see again Hugh’s influence. The editor of the Summa
Sententiarum deals with Abelard much as Peter Lombard had dealt with the
Augustinian schema. He steers the plan toward salvation history: After the
treatise on God he regards the part on “fides” as being already concluded
and then turns to creation, man, the fall, and the restoration (redemption),
down to the “remedia sacramentorum” after the model of Hugh of St. Vic-
tor.203 The sacraments themselves are treated according to the schema of
the three eras or “Laws” in salvation history.
A different sort of mixed form is found in the Sententiae divinitatis from
the Porretan school.204 These sentences begin immediately with the doc-
trine of creation and then proceed to the creation of man, “praetermisso an-
gelorum tractatu” [“omitting the treatise on the angels”]. Man is considered
(1) in his creation according to the image and likeness of God, (2) in the
state of freedom from sin, (3) in his fall, and (4) in his restoration. Here
again there is tangible evidence of the influence of Laon and St. Victor.205
In part 4 the Incarnation and the treatise on the sacraments (means of the
“reparatio”) are presented. Only then does the Tractatus de divinitate et Trin-
itate follow. The transition indicates the overall connection: “Diximus, quali-
ter ipse homo factus est, vidimus etiam quomodo per peccatum cecidit a cogni-
tione divinitatis, et qualiter reparatus. Modo videamus de ipsa divinitate et
Trinitate.” [“We have said how man himself was made, and we also saw how
he fell through sin from the knowledge of Divinity, and how he was restored.
202. PL 176, 41–154; as to the dating, see Leinsle, Vivianus, 37–39; see also A. Grillmeier, “Ful-
gentius von Ruspe.”
203. Summa Sententiarum tr. 2 c.1 (PL 176, 79 C); tr.3 c.2 (91 A); tr.4 c.1 (117 A).
204. Ed. B. Geyer, Die “Sententiae divinitatis”: Ein Sentenzenbuch der Gilbertischen Schule (BG-
PhMA 7, 2–3) (Münster, 1909).
205. Sent. div., tr.1 (ed. Geyer 8*); tr.2 (ibid., 18).
Now let us see about Divinity itself and the Trinity.”]206 This would be, then,
a schema that ascends by way of salvation history (creation, fall, redemp-
tion) to the knowledge of God (cognitio divinitatis) as the goal of man and of
theology. Right knowledge of God, however, is possibly only after the res-
toration of fallen man. Hence the position of the treatise on God and the
Trinity at the conclusion of the Sententiae divinitatis.
The compiler of the Ysagoge in theologiam, from the broader school of
Abelard, bases his work on a different schema of ascent.207 He divides his
collection into treatises on “natura humana,” “natura angelica” and “natura
divina.” Human nature is presented in books 1 and 2 in terms of creation,
body, and soul (including the faculties and virtues). The treatise on virtues
is followed by the treatise on merit, grace and freedom, Paradise, and the
prelapsarian state. The doctrine of the fall is likewise developed strictly in
conceptual terms in the questions, “quid sit malum, quid peccatum, quid vi-
cium.” [“What is evil? What is sin? What is vice?”] The treatise on redemp-
tion adheres to the schema “bona—mala—remedia malorum” [“goods—
evils—remedies of evils”], whereby the means of salvation are subdivided
again according to the eras in salvation history.208 The means of salvation
in the era of grace consist partly of the Incarnation and sufferings of Christ,
partly of the acraments. The author then attempts to develop his angelology
(book 3) exactly in parallel to the first two books. Therefore with regard to
the angels as well he follows the schema of creation, fall, and restoration
(in this case: confirmatio bonorum, confirmation of the good angels [in their
allegiance]). The discussions, however, are substantially shorter.209 The
treatise on God has a strongly epistemological accent: the ways of knowing
God are presented, then the three divine attributes (power, wisdom, will),
and finally the testimonies of the prophets and philosophers are considered.
The Sentences of Magister Roland (Bandinelli), composed around 1150,
owe more to Abelard.210 He adopts the schema “fides—sacramentum—cari-
tas,” only to house within it much material from salvation history. The sub-
206. Sent. div. tr.4 (ibid., 155*); Cloes merely traces the schema of the Sent. div. back to a sim-
ple thematic arrangement.
207. Écrits théologiques de l’école d’Abélard: Textes inédits, ed. A. Langraf (SSL 14) (Louvain,
1934), 63–285.
208. Ibid., 130.
209. Ibid., 220: “Brevem igitur de homine disputacionem brevior de arcana spirituum natura et
summo Deo sequatur distinctio.” [“Let this brief argumentation about man, therefore, be followed
by a briefer distinction between the secret nature of the spirits and the Supreme God.”]
210. Die Sentenzen Rolands nachmals Papstes Alexander III., ed. A. Gietl (Freiburg, 1891).
division of the treatise on fides into the doctrine about God and his “benefi-
cia,” however, is replaced by the division into the doctrine on Divinity and
an exposition of His works. The latter, however, include the angels, the cre-
ation of the world and of man, his fall, and the restoration, which is accom-
plished during the three eras of salvation history. Thus Roland clearly shows
that he, like the Summa Sententiarum, is dependent on Hugh of St. Victor.
In Roland’s presentation, however, the third era of salvation history (tempus
gratiae) overlaps with Abelard’s second topic: “sacramentum.” Thus he now
wishes to treat that part of the faith (topic 1, fides) that pertains to the libera-
tion and redemption of man, “cuius quidem in sacramentis consistit redemp-
tio” [“whose redemption, indeed, is established in the sacraments”].211 The
difficulties of striking an equilibrium between the salvation-history schema
and a conceptual organization are clear here, as they often are in the treat-
ment of the sacraments, which on the one hand are means of redemption
and on the other hand objects of faith.
2.6 Treatise and letter

Besides the literary forms that emerged directly from the academic en-
terprise (scriptural commentaries, collections of sentences, and summas),
we find two freer genres, which nevertheless are important for the develop-
ment of theology precisely in early Scholasticism: the free treatise (some-
times in dialogue form) and the letter. Both had originated in antiquity, not
uncommonly from written or oral inquiries.212 However, unlike Scholastic
writings, which usually can be identified with a teaching position, the au-
thenticity of such writings is more difficult to prove. It often happens that
works by “lesser” masters are attributed to more important ones so as to
ascribe greater influence to them.213 Especially in circles of monks and can-
ons regular, the monograph treatise (often conducted in dialogue form) was
a favorite, for example, many works by Bernard of Clairvaux (ca. 1090–1153)
or Aelred of Rievaulx (1110–1167).214 The most important testimonials to
this genre are perhaps the writings of Anselm of Canterbury (1033–1109),
among them dialogues such as De grammatico, de veritate, de libero arbitrio,
monographs such as the Monologion and Proslogion, Cur Deus homo, etc.
We have a Dialogus inter philosophum, judaeum et christianum by Abelard. In
these works one usually finds few immediate signs of academic activity. In-
211. Ibid., 154–55. 212. See Studer, Schola Christiana.

213. See Leinsle, “Hugo von St. Viktor.” 214. See Leclercq, Wissenschaft, 171–212.
stead they often sparkle with a polished style, which in the dry atmosphere
of collections of sentences, commentaries and summas can usually find a
place only in the prologue.
Treatises often come about in response to inquiries or at the insistence
of confreres, friends, or high-ranking personages. In such cases the trea-
tise may become a letter as a result of the dedicatory epistle prefacing it,
as of yore in many of Augustine’s writings, which reply to very specific in-
quiries.215 Precedents for the lofty epistolary style, which in the “epistolary
treatises” is often sustained only in the dedication, could be found in Cicero
and Seneca, but also in Augustine and Jerome. The models and rules of a
good epistolary style are summarized in the ars dictaminis.216 We find that
the ars dictaminis and anthologies of letters flourish anew precisely at the
beginning of the twelfth century.217 Rhetorical figures of speech therefore
define the style and the genre of theological letters also, which should be
noted when interpreting them: “Someone who takes a medieval text seri-
ously does not have to take all its formulations literally.”218
Both letter and treatise not infrequently refer to contemporary contro-
versies, of a Scholastic sort as well, and therefore contribute significantly to
the clarification of theological questions and to the development and dis-
semination of theological doctrine.219 They sometimes belong also to the
genre of polemical literature, in which the author makes a personal effort to
persuade his correspondent, who has taken up the opposite position; thus
Adelmann of Lüttich († ca. 1061) exhorts Berengar of Tours to renounce
his teaching on the Eucharist, which he regards as heretical.220 Especially
in monastic circles, such letters are open letters; the author counts on the
fact that they will be read widely. Therefore, precisely because of their pub-
lic character, letters often assume the form of a thematic treatment, for
example, the Epistola de buccella Judae data et de veritate Dominici corporis,
in which Guibert of Nogent (1053–1124) disputes Berengar’s teaching and
debates the question, whether Judas received the Eucharist at the Last Sup-
per.221 Such particular questions are characteristic of the theological episto-
215. E.g., Augustinus, quaest. ad Simpl. (CCh SL 44, 1).

216. See Leclercq, “Genre épistolaire,” 63–70.
217. See the groundbreaking study, Ott, Briefliteratur.
218. Leclercq, Wissenschaft, 204.
219. See Leinsle, Vivianus, 42–44; the occasion here was the debate between Bernard of Clair-
vaux and Abelard around the time of the Synod of Sens (1140).
220. PL 143, 1289–96.
221. PL 156, 527–38.
lary literature of the twelfth century. A glance in Ludwig Ott’s groundbreak-
ing work shows, for example, the following problems treated in the writings
of Walter of Mortaigne († 1174): the efficacy and effect of baptism by her-
etics, the manner of the divine omnipresence, Christ’s sadness and agony,
the legal effects of betrothal, the effects of vows in marital law, particular
points in the doctrine about grace, the degrees of caritas, and knowledge
in Christ’s soul. Hugh of St. Victor expresses in a similar way his thinking
about the will of Christ, Mary’s virginity, but also about exegetical ques-
tions and the interpretation of particular passages, for example, the visit of
Peter and John to the tomb ( John 20:3–10). In letters, too, as in academic
activity, individual theological formulas are examined with regard to their
justification, for example, the Christological formula “assumptus homo est
Deus” [“the man assumed (in the Incarnation) is God”] by Walter of Mor-
taigne or the statement “Pater Spiritu Sancto diligit Filium” [“The Father
loves the Son by the Holy Spirit”] by Richard of St. Victor.
The method used in such theological epistolary treatises can certainly
be characterized as Scholastic, embedded in the effort to edify the corre-
spondent or to instruct him theologically. Moreover the excerpts and florile-
gia that had been collected from patristic writings and later authors offered
a wealth of material for this purpose. Writers liked to compile points and
convey them to the addressee in the form of handy treatises.222 Even with
lesser minds we find a simple procedure of compilation whereby they sim-
ply write out a “great source” in abbreviated form and conflate it with an-
other consistent one. Thus Vivianus of Prémontré (ca. 1140) uses a relatively
simply technique, which he terms a “harmonia,” to compile for the Dean
and Master Gerhard of St. Quentin (attested to 1108–1138) his Tractatus de
libero arbitrio, composed of lines from Bernard of Clairvaux and the Summa
Sententiarum.223 This and similar treatises usually have a specific occasion
and purpose, which is a criterion for testing them historically and with re-
gard to their authenticity. In this instance, for example, Gerard of St. Quen-
tin had once proved, along with Vivianus, to be a follower of Bernard and an
opponent of Abelard; this treatise was written in order to develop their po-
sition more emphatically and to distinguish it. Naturally here, as elsewhere,
it is asserted that this is not supposed to make the correspondent any wiser
(see Proverbs 1:5), since he is already well enough versed in these matters.
222. Concerning Richard of St. Victor’s “excerptiones” see, for example, Ott, Briefliteratur, 651–57.
Such formulaic modesty is a stylistic device and should be evaluated ac-
cordingly. Soon we find entire collections of letters by individual or various
authors in which the attribution is often dubious and therefore should be
tested in each case. Last but not least, such collections of letters can serve in
turn, stylistically and thematically, as an influential source of further episto-
lary literature.
2.7 The Scholastic sermon

Petrus Cantor lists lectio, disputatio, and praedicatio [preaching] as the
components of the study of sacred Scripture. Lectio lays the foundation,
disputatio erects the walls, and praedicatio finishes the roof of the spiritual
building.224 The Scholastic sermon, one of the tasks of the magistri, is there-
fore formally and substantially an important element in the development
and dissemination of Scholastic theology. Especially in the case of univer-
sity sermons, this is not the least important method of grappling with cur-
rent problems.225
Like theology in general, the homiletic teaching of the Middle Ages, set
forth in the Artes Praedicandi,226 was profoundly influenced by Augustine.
In De doctrina christiana, after explaining the Christian course of education
and the methods of scriptural interpretation, he gives an outline of Chris-
tian rhetoric, which adopts much from the rhetoric of Cicero and antiquity.
The pastoral orientation of the sermon is more strongly accentuated in the
much-utilized Regula pastoralis by Gregory the Great.227 Early Scholastic
homiletic teachings and examples (mostly from monastic circles) contrib-
ute other elements that are somewhat typically Scholastic.228 The possibili-
ties for interpretation according to the fourfold sense of Scripture are of
course developed; thus Guibert of Nogent sees in the four senses the four
wheels on which sacra pagina as a whole moves.229 Alan of Lille already sees
the sermon as a field on which ratio and auctoritas contend. For him the
sermon signifies the highest (seventh) degree of perfection; it presupposes
confessio, oratio, gratiarum actio, perscrutatio scripturarum, inquisitio a maiore,
and expositio scripturae [profession of faith, prayer, thanksgiving, careful in-
224. Petrus Cantor, Verbum abbreviatum c.1 (PL 205, 25); see Smalley, Study, 208.
225. See Davy, Sermons univeritaires; Bataillon, “Crises”; Zier, “Sermons”; Bériou, “Sermons
latins.”
226. A basic reference is Charland, Artes Praedicandi.
227. See Roth, Predigttheorie.
229. Guibert von Nogent, Quo ordine sermo fieri debeat (PL 156, 26 C).
vestigation of Scripture, consulting a more learned scholar, and the exposi-
tion of Scripture].230 It should have the following structure: (1) Auctoritas
(scriptural text), (2) Captatio benevolentiae [plea for the listeners’ benevo-
lence], (3) Interpretation of the text while citing further Scripture passages
and authorities in support of one’s arguments and thus “producing consid-
erable excitement in the public and then calming it,” (4) Exemplification.231
Whereas this schema is still essentially bound up with the rhetoric of
antiquity, as it was handed down within the framework of the artes, the
structure of the learned sermon changes significantly in the thirteenth cen-
tury. Then, too, there was a new audience for the Latin sermon, which was
zealously cultivated in the university cities especially by the mendicant or-
ders that had just taken up residence there. The Artes Praedicandi list de-
tailed rules for the learned sermo.232 The university sermo, unlike the freer
popular sermon, has the following structure:
e thema of the sermon is announced. This is a sentence (dictum aliquod
1. Th
authenticum) from sacred Scripture (e.g., taken from the readings for the
day) that serves as the thematic foundation for the sermon.233 Besides
this there is also the custom, especially in the popular sermon, of explain-
ing the whole Gospel (without stating a theme) in the form of a homily
or a postilla.234
2. N ext comes the prothema, another Scripture passage, the subject of an in-
troductory discourse, which may be long or short and which is supposed
to prepare the listeners to hear aright; the prothema is concluded with a
prayer. Since the prothema leads the listener to the sermon, it should be
regarded as something of a preached “popular homily,” as J. B. Schneyer
has concluded from his exemplary study of such prothemata.235
nce the listener is well disposed, the introitus follows, the introduction
3. O
of the theme, which is mentioned again (also for the sake of latecom-
ers). The inventio of the theme usually applies sacred Scripture and the
Church Fathers, but on the other hand the Aristotelian rules of “ars
inveniendi,” of thematic arrangements, quotations from philosophers or
230. Alanus ab Insulis, Summa de Arte Praedicatoria (PL 210, 111 B).
231. Roth, Predigttheorie, 40.
232. Ibid., 32–86; Charland, Artes Praedicandi, 109–226, including a detailed description of the
structure of a sermon.
233. E.g., Thomas Waleys, De modo componendi sermones, c.2, in ed. Charland, Artes Praedi-
candi, 341.
234. See Charland, Artes Praedicandi, 112–13.
235. Schneyer, Unterweisung.
common proverbs, which are now supposed to lead the listener to the
theme itself. But the theme can be introduced through a logical argu-
ment also, whereby the truth thereof and the necessity of discussing it
can be demonstrated expressly.
4. The theme must then be subdivided in the divisio. Usually the words
of the theme that are relevant to the further division of the sermon are
emphasized. Here we should distinguish between the division of the text
(divisio) that is usually done in the lectio also, and the distinctio, the subdi-
vision of a theme according to its various aspects (e.g., love: love of God
and love of neighbor). A multiplicity of meanings in one or more of the
senses of Scripture can also be decisive for the division. The preacher has
a wealth of material available, some of it already arranged alphabetically,
in the Distinctiones and Allegoriae.236 The art of structuring a Scholastic
sermo is evident precisely in the correct division of the theme.
5. The division of the theme results in the division of the sermon in the
partium declaratio, called clavis for short. This offers the key to under-
standing the sermo and proves the sufficiency of the division with regard
to the various points. Naturally, for this proof one again uses concurring
authorities, which may provide points for further subdivisiones. Usually a
repeated threefold pattern develops, which is elaborated in divisiones and
subdivisiones and gives the sermon the appearance of a tree that branches
out extensively.237
6. Now, at last, the preacher can start the exposition of his theme, the dila-
tatio. Not all the parts of the division are always elaborated with the same
thoroughness. In typical university sermons we find here, too, auctori-
tas, ratio, and exempla combined in each section. The use of authorities
follows fixed rules of allegatio or citation [Verbindung]. They serve, for
example, to elucidate an analogy, to mediate a difference, to define, inter-
pret, describe, specify, modify, corroborate, subdivide, or supplement.238
The ratio is required when explaining terms, but also when independent-
ly compiling and evaluating authorities, when including an etymology
or the various hermeneutical possibilities in the fourfold interpretation
of Scripture, when proving the truth of the articles of faith symbolically
contained in the Scripture passage and stating the conditions and quali-
ties of such an interpretation. Finally, the exemplum is chiefly supposed
236. See Rouse/Rouse, “Statim invenire.”

237. E.g., Charland, Artes Praedicandi, illustration on title page.
238. Ibid., 196–98.
to underscore the affective and practical aim of the sermon.239 Then
there are several other stylistic devices for the embellishment (orna-
tus) of the discourse, which are systematized in detail. Thus Robert of
Basevorn (ca. 1322) lists twenty-two stylistic devices for the university
sermon in Oxford alone, among them the correct transition (digressio,
transitus) to the next section of the divisio, artistic parallels, and balance
among the sections, etc.240
7. After the long, skillful exposition, the preacher summarizes the main idea
in a sentence or phrase in the unitio, which can also be a citation from an
authoritative text.
8. The clausio or conclusion of the sermon is a short prayer, either a petition
or a doxology, addressed to God.
Thematically the sermones are important in two respects: (1) they offer
plenty of material for those who study the history of the times, and (2) they
provide a usually critical insight into the state of affairs at the university and
in society. The Parisian university sermons for the crucial year 1230–1231, ed-
ited by M. M. Davy, shed light on university and theological activity as well
as on conditions in the Church and society. The accumulation of benefices,
nepotism, simony, heresies and councils, the lifestyles and duties of prel-
ates, clerics and professed religious, the lives of the social classes, and their
relations with one another are oft-recurring subjects of the sermon.241 On
the other hand, however, there are developments within theology that are
not the object of a disputation in the lecture hall but rather are addressed in
the pulpit, especially the entrance of pagan Greek philosophy in the form of
Aristotle into theology, which is a major concern in university sermons as
late as Bonaventure’s Collationes in Hexaemeron (1273).242 It is pointed out
repeatedly that the roles of “domina” (“mistress,” theology) and “pedissequa”
(“attendant, handmaid,” philosophy) must not be interchanged, that the
gold of theology cannot be replaced by the brass of Aristotle. The mingling
of the two disciplines is an oft-recurring theme. Thanks to the rhetorical de-
vices, the conservative cast of the theologians usually comes across more
strongly in these moralizing sermons than in the business of the lectio and
disputatio itself.243 Possibly many a magister spoke his mind more clearly
239. See Bataillon, “Similitudines”; Bataillon, “Images.”

240. Ibid., 212–18.
241. See Davy, Sermons universitaires, 82–119.
243. Examples in Davy, Sermons universitaires, 84–88.
from the unassailable position of the pulpit than he would have done in a
disputatio, in which one has to expect objections at any moment.
The significance of the sermones was clearly recognized even in their day,
as medieval collections of sermones demonstrate.244 From early Scholasti-
cism, moreover, we have collections by authors whose other works have
largely been consigned to obscurity. Not infrequently the preacher’s alle-
giance to a school becomes clearly evident, for instance the Porretanism
of Radulphus Ardens († 1200) and Abelard’s teaching on grace in others,
whereas Martin of Léon († 1221) cites continuous passages from the Sen-
tences of Peter Lombard.245 Sermons, too, are at first collected individually
(often as reportationes) and copied, and sometimes further edited, and thus
crop up in the collections at the most unexpected places.246
The polished preaching technique of the university sermons, howev-
er, elicited criticism, not least in circles of monks and canons regular. The
early Franciscans, too, distanced themselves from it at first and cultivated
the popular sermon “sine distinctionum clavibus” [without the academic
hair-splitting].247 We find a distinct reaction to it also in the Life (written
between 1260 and 1275) of the Premonstratensian Abbot Siard of Marien-
gaarde in Friesland, who ruled from 1164 to 1175.248 It does indeed seem
odd to apply Scholastic methods of preaching to a popular sermon for the
proverbially doltish farmers of Friesland. The Scholastic extravagance could
very well defeat the purpose of the sermon, that is, the proclamation of the
faith. “Thus the entrance of Scholastic methods of instruction and disputa-
tion into the sermon, that is, definition and division, arguing, exemplifying
and challenging, could appeal at best to the masters and students.”249 The
biographer contrasts Siard’s manner of preaching and that of the “moderni.”
The heavenly gift of preaching has been replaced by a long, inflated sermo
consisting of many well-distinguished sections, which is of no use but only
makes a splendid appearance.250 The biographer consistently objects also
to ownership of the “libri et sermones modernorum” [“books and sermons
244. Schneyer, Repertorium, 11 vols., is an indispensable inventory.

245. See Landgraf, Einführung, 47–48. Concerning the infiltration of philosophical terminol-
ogy into the learned sermon, see L.-J. Bataillon, “L’emploi.”
246. See Bataillon, “Sermons rédigés, sermons réportés (XIIIe siècle),” in Prédication, Art. III,
69–86.
247. See Bataillon, “Predicazione,” 691–94.
248. See Leinsle, “Aristoteles.”
249. Schneyer, Geschichte, 180.
250. Vita Siardi c.17, ed. H. Lambooij / J. A. Mol in Vitae Abbatum Orti Sancte Marie. Vijf abten-
levens van het klooster Mariëngaarde in Friesland (Hilversum / Leuuwarden, 2001), 306–8.
of the moderns”] for preaching in the parishes: his contemporaries just
wanted to assemble a long sermo by heaping up biblical “authorities,” cit-
ing chapter and verse, so as to prove themselves as magistri.251 Once again
the logic (“doctrina sophistica”) of Aristotle is to blame, which leads only to
turmoil and disputes but not to peace of soul.252 The sermones of the Scho-
lastics are of no use to the listeners, since the latter pay attention exclusively
to the “modus procedendi,” to the particular divisiones, and distinctiones but
not to their own sins and negligence. People then recommend the sermo to
others on account of its structure, its “distinctio membrorum,” but not for its
content, which should serve to edify the listener.253
251. Vita Siardi c.12 (294–96), c.3 (258).

252. Ibid., c.17 (308, 16–18). See Absalon von Springiersbach, Sermo IV (PL 211, 27): “Non reg-
nat spiritus Christi, ubi dominatur spiritus Aristotelis.” [“The spirit of Christ does not reign where the
spirit of Aristotle rules.”]
253. Vita Siardi c.17 (308, 8–10).
2 The Self-Concept of Early Scholastic Theologies
At the same time as the development and general acceptance of Scho-

lastic scientific methods in theology, the schools of the eleventh and twelfth
centuries witnessed the elaboration of the themes of theology and the theo-
retical justification of it as a scientific discipline. Since a comprehensive his-
tory of theology or of the dogma cannot be offered within the parameters of
this introduction,1 we should at least point out the self-concept of the theo-
logical approaches, which were quite diverse.2 This will make it clear that so-
called early Scholastic theology is found only in a multiplicity of schools and
theologies. Moreover the fact that their understanding of theology, relying
on criteria for science and rationality, was quite often expressed in conflicts
is not a superficial feature resulting from the schoolmasters’ love of disputa-
tion, but rather is an essential part of theology as a Scholastic inquiry.
1 Freedom from contradiction and

theological truth: Duns Scotus Eriugena
One focal point for the articulation of the early medieval understanding
of theology was the controversy over the doctrine of predestination start-
ed by Gottschalk [Godescalc], a monk from Fulda and later from Orbais
(† 869), in which all the leading theologians of the day became involved.
Gottschalk’s teaching about “gemina praedestinatio” [“twin predestination”]
stated, briefly, that from all eternity, in a single act of justice and mercy, God
divided mankind into the damned and the elect, so that the destiny of the
1. For the history of dogma and theology, see esp. HDG and HDThG; for a detailed study see
Landgraf, Dogmengeschichte der Frühscholastik; for the theology of the human act and ethics, see
Lottin, Psychologie; for an overview see also Evans, ed., Medieval Theologians and Leppin, Theologie.
2. Concerning the problem of an historical “self-concept,” see, for example, Borgolte, “Selbst-
verständnis.”
74
The Self-Concept of Early Scholastic Theologies 75
individual human being is determined before birth. Hence redemption
in Christ did not take place for all men. Baptism and membership in the
Church are prerequisites for election, but not all the baptized are chosen.
Moreover man’s will is not free but wicked; grace alone working in the elect
ensures that they do not give in or agree to evil and concupiscence. The
good that man does, however, is not his work, but the work of God’s grace.3
Gottschalk’s teaching, inspired by Augustine’s doctrine of predestination
and based on God’s immutability, is logically consistent and well thought
out. Yet it has dangerous consequences: man cannot change his eternal des-
tiny by his own action. In the opinion of some contemporaries, this aided
and abetted fatalism or immorality.
Gottschalk’s scientific method still followed what his Abbot Hrabanus
Maurus had taught in the Carolingian schools. This essentially consisted
of a catena technique of noncontradictory sentences from the Church Fa-
thers, underpinning a definite doctrine.4 With the proof from authority and
consistent definition, however, the apparatus of theology had already been
exhausted. Therefore the standard of rationality was essentially considered
to be the dialectica of the artes liberales and the proper use of the proof from
authority. In Gottschalk’s judgment, his teaching on predestination satisfied
this criterion, whereas the Church’s did not.
The official Church reaction to Gottschalk’s teaching in the condemna-
tions by the Synods of Mainz (848) and Quierzy (849) is less important
to us here than the theological grappling with “the Gottschalk case.”5 In
the judgments requested by Bishop Hinkmar of Rheims († 882) and King
Charles the Bald (823–877), Prudentius of Troyes († 861), Lupus of Ferri-
ères († 862), and Ratramnus of Corbie († after 868) unanimously indicate
that Gottschalk’s teaching on predestination agrees with that of Augustine
and consequently should be a good Catholic position. In doing so the judg-
es follow precisely the conventional scientific method that Gottschalk him-
self employs: logical consistency and the proof from authority ensure the
truth of a theological teaching. In this case, therefore, methodically prov-
en truth is opposed to an official ecclesiastical condemnation of the same
teaching that is based mainly on practical religious considerations.
A further judgment that Hinkmar of Rheims ordered Duns Scotus Eri-
3. Œuvres théologiques et grammaticales de Godescalc d’Orbais, ed. D. C. Lambot (Louvain,

1945); see also Schrimpf, Scottus Eriugena, 74–79; Otten, “Carolingian Theology,” 76–80.
4. See Jolivet, Godescalc d’Orbais, 161–84.
5. Schrimpf, Johannes Scottus, 77–78.
ugena († ca. 880) to make was supposed to set new standards for theolo-
gy.6 Scotus first offers a short doctrine on theological method, which is of
fundamental importance. To him the proof from authority alone no longer
seems sufficient, especially since a development can be traced in Augus-
tine’s works in his treatment of the question of predestination. That is why
the formal foundation for a theological finding of truth is logic, as the “ars
disputatoria,” the rules of which must be followed here. Logic, however, is
synonymous with truth. “Ratiocinatio” is the term that sums up this effort, in
direct contrast to mere rhetoric.7 Theology as a scientific study is thus clearly
distinguished, in its methods and purpose, from the rhetoric of ecclesiastical
preaching. The right key to theology, albeit only a wooden one according to
Augustine, is logic.8 Scotus finds the method of theology, like that of every
“piae perfectaeque doctrinae” [“conscientious and complete teaching”], in phi-
losophia, which in Scotus’ writings can generally be translated as “science.”9
Consistently, immediate reference is made therefore to “profane” methods,
namely general scientific or philosophical methods, whereby “philosophy”
denotes above all the whole field of the artes. Along with Augustine, how-
ever, “true religion” is then equated with true science/philosophy as a striv-
ing for truth:
For if, according to St. Augustine, “it is believed and taught . . . that science, i.e., sci-
entific striving for wisdom is nothing other than religion, inasmuch as those whose
teachings we do not approve do not participate in the Sacraments together with
us either,” then what else does it mean to pursue science but to elucidate the rules of
the true religion, through which the highest and noblest cause of all, God, is humbly
honored and tracked down in a reasonable way? Therefore it follows that true sci-
ence is true religion and conversely true religion is true science.10
These ideas, which essentially rely on the early Augustine, clearly set
a task for theology: it must explain scientifically the rules of true religion.
Therefore there can be no contradiction between true religion and true phi-
losophy/science. Religion, too, is defined as a bit of reasonable praxis: in it
knowledge about God is pursued in a reasonable manner; but only in theol-
ogy are the rules of this praxis examined with respect to their truth. “Regula”
6. Johannes Scotus Eriugena, De praedestinatione (CCh CM 50).

7. Ibid., 1.2–3 (6.31–8.75); see also Scottus Eriugena, Praef. (3.30–4.36).
8. Ibid., Praef. (4.50–52).
9. Ibid., 1.1 (5.4–18); see also Schrimpf, Scottus Eriugena, 89.
10. Scottus Eriugena, Praed. 1.1 (5.9–18); see also Augustine, De vera rel. 5.8 (CCh SL 32, 187).
German translation in Schrimpf, Scottus Eriugena, 89 (Herv. UGL).
in this context designates first of all the laws of logic and the other liberal
arts, the “rules of right reason,” and then in keeping with them the rules of
true religion also.11 These rules are not just theoretical truths, but also laws
with practical significance. The elucidation of the rules takes place accord-
ing to the scientific method in four steps; for every science is made up of
four main parts or methods: division, definition, proof, and recapitulation
[Rückführung = reduction to a simple formula]. A given whole is logically
divided up into its parts and the units are defined. Then what is still im-
plicitly contained in these statements is made clear by means of syllogistic
proof, and finally everything is restated in terms of a single scientific foun-
dation.12 There should be recourse to these four procedures in solving each
and every quaestio, and not just to the proof from authority. Logical cor-
rectness, that is, demonstrability, is to a great extent identified with truth in
the works of Duns Scotus; moreover in his view ontic realities can also be
expressed adequately in logically correct propositions.13
In the theological application of this method an erroneous teaching can
be refuted “with true arguments” and with the authority of the Church Fa-
thers, or else “refuted first with divine authority and then demolished ac-
cording to the rules of reason which possesses the truth.”14 The first me-
thodical step is therefore scriptural proof, then the second consists of
applying the abovementioned scientific methods. In [official] judgments
about predestination, therefore, it is first established that Gottschalk’s
teaching is contradictory; then the Church’s teaching is demonstrated to
be in itself free from contradiction and compatible with the teaching about
man’s free will. Only then can the proof from authority begin, so that the
following sequence results: Scripture—ratio—auctoritas. The meaning of au-
thoritative passages, however, is to be expounded according to all the rules
of grammar and semantics; for the authority is nothing other than the truth
discovered by reason, and an authority can never claim more than that. If a
Church Father settles a question, this is only for the benefit of posterity.15
Scotus’ concept of theology as a scientific, rational explanation of the
11. See Scottus Eriugena, Praed. 1.1–4 (5–9).

12. The four methods are adopted in Scottus Eriugena, Periphyseon V, 360–70 (CCh CM 145, 14).
13. See Schrimpf, Scottus Eriugena, 94.
14. Scottus Eriugena, Praed. 1.2 (7.42–44); 1.4 (9.105–7).
15. Scottus Eriugena, Periph. I, 3056–59 (CCh CM 161, 98): “Nil enim aliud videtur mihi esse
vera auctoritas nisi verae rationis virtute reperta veritas et a sanctis patribus ob posteritatis utilitatem
litteris commendata.” [“True authority seems to me to be nothing other than the truth discovered
by virtue of true reason and set down in writing by the holy Fathers for the benefit of posterity.”]
rules of Christian religion was not in keeping with the times or the Carolin-
gian educational system, as was demonstrated by the negative reactions of
his student Prudentius, of the Bishop of Troyes († 861) and of Florus of Ly-
ons († ca. 860). In Prudentius’ view, the use of logic is one of the “prophanae
novitates” [“profane novelties”] that had already been rejected in 1 Timothy
6:20. Florus, on the other hand, contrasts Scotus’ scientific procedure with
the “ordo pietatis” [“order of godliness”], that attributes to divine authority
and sacred Scripture the additional role of judging as to the truth value of
worldly books.16
2 Faith seeking understanding: Anselm of Canterbury

An eleventh-century theological controversy of similar dimensions can
serve as the background for the understanding of theology formulated by
the “Father of Scholasticism,” Anselm of Canterbury (1033–1109), which is
often taken to be normative for all of Scholasticism.17 The dispute about the
Last Supper in the debate with Berengar of Tours († 1088) unites and then
again divides leading theologians in a discussion during which even the
self-concept of theology becomes controversial.18 Berengar’s struggle to un-
derstand the words of consecration by means of logic arrives, unlike vulgar
opinions, at the solution that “fidei et intellectui” [“to faith and the intellect”]
bread and wine through transubstantiation become the Body and Blood of
Christ, which are enjoyed by the faithful in a spiritual way, while bread and
wine remain for the senses.19 Berengar essentially justifies his teaching ac-
cording to the method of Duns Scotus, giving to ratio (which is identified
with truth) clear priority over auctoritas.20 Yet by no means does Berengar
renounce the proof from authority; rather, he depicts his teaching as being
in harmony with Ambrose and Augustine. On account of insufficient logi-
cal “perspicuitas,” however, he declares null and void the oath that he swore
to uphold the official formulation of the doctrine on the Eucharist in 1059.21
16. Prudentius, De praedestinatione contra Joannem Scotum (PL 115.1009–1336), Florus, Adver-
sus Joannis Scotti erroneas definitiones liber (PL 119.101–250).
17. The “normative” view is taken especially by Grabmann, Methode, 258–340.
18. See Holopainen, Dialectic, 44–118; Gibson, “Berengar of Tours,” 61–68; Cantin, “La ‘raison’”;
Schrimpf, “Bausteine,” 9–16.
19. Berengar, Purgatoria epistola contra Almannum, in Lanfranc et Bérenger: La controverse eu-
charistique du XIe siècle, J. de Montclos (Leuven, 1971), 531–38; Berengar, De sacra coena adversus
Lanfrancum, ed. W. H. Beekenkamp (Den Haag, 1941).
20. Berengar, Sacr. coen. 35.47–48, 52.
21. Ibid., 13; see also Hödl, “Confessio Berengarii.”
Moreover according to Berengar it is not up to synods but rather to the
theologian, the “eruditus fidelis” to present clearly (i.e., by means of logic),
to the extent possible for our knowledge in this [earthly] condition, what a
“regula fidei” [“rule of faith”] implies and what it excludes. Logical compre-
hension is by no means a profanation of the sacrament.22 In the debate with
his opponents Berengar makes it clear that theology cannot and must not
do without the laws of logic: “As thinking beings we cannot renounce the
laws of thought. One does not honor God by disowning the human mind,
the rules of which are formulated in logic and grammar. Man as a thinking
being is the image of God. He must not relinquish this dignity. Respect for
the laws of thought has its own religious significance.”23
Among the many writings in the controversy over Berengar, the con-
trary interpretation by Lanfranc of Bec deserves special attention with re-
gard to its concept of theology and its method.24 Lanfranc, the most impor-
tant logician of his day, advocates in theology the unequivocal primacy of
auctoritas over ratio; for faith, too, precedes rational comprehension. Faith is
meritorious, while reason is not. Even Paul rejected logical endeavors where
the faith is concerned (1 Timothy 6:20). Lanfranc himself tries to conceal
as much as possible the involvement of logic in theology by presenting the
consensus of authorities and grouping them according to their importance.
The consensus and unanimity of the teaching are assumed, however, and
must be preserved. The debate about the Eucharist thereby becomes at the
same time a debate about the correct method for theology. Thus in 1059
there are discussions in Rome not only about the Eucharist, but also “de
eminentia rationis” [“on the excellence of reason”] and “de immunitate auc-
toritatis” [“on the immunity, i.e., incontrovertible character of authority”].25
Anselm of Canterbury’s fundamental answer concerning the task and
method of theology should be viewed against the background of the Beren-
gar controversy. His formula, “fides quaerens intellectum” [“faith seeking un-
derstanding”] caused him to become the “Father of Scholasticism.”26 The
arguments that he developed in his influential works, Monologion, Proslo-
gion, and Cur Deus homo are methodically presented in his Epistola de in-
22. Berengar, Sacr. coen. 3.47–48, 89–90.

23. Flasch, Einführung, 45.
24. Lanfranc, De corpore et sanguine domini contra Berengarium Turonensem (PL 150.407–
442); see also Cantin, “Ratio”; Holopainen, Dialectic, 77–118.
25. Berengar, Sacr. coen. 18.
26. See Grabmann, Methode, 1:258–340.
carnatione Verbi.27 As it was for Lanfranc, faith is the first thing for Anselm;
he expressly adopts Augustine’s motto, “Credo, ut intelligam.” [“I believe so
that I might understand.”] To try to support the faith with logical, scientific
reasons would be to secure Olympus against vibrations from human foot-
steps by cordoning it off. For faith is ultimately a grace given by God. On
the other hand it is certainly in the interest of the believer to explain the
faith and to make it comprehensible with the methods of scientific reason.
This effort proceeds along two lines: the believer can gain insight into the
intelligibility of the faith and he can thereby at the same time reply to objec-
tions and questions that arise as he probes the deposit of faith. For Anselm
the monk and bishop, however, theology as the path to understanding the
faith is always inserted into and ordered to the praxis of the life of faith. In
thus viewing and securing the faith, however, one should not proceed from
the formulations of sacred Scripture that have been accepted as authorita-
tive, but rather from the interpretation of the doctrine of the faith given by
the Church Fathers, as it has been elaborated from a systematic perspec-
tive. Yet even the Fathers themselves are not always unanimous and require
interpretation. The task of safeguarding the unity of the faith in interpret-
ing Scripture and the Fathers belongs to the pope. Auctoritas in the strict
sense, therefore, is no longer a passage from Scripture or the Fathers, but
rather a carefully formulated article of the “fides christiana.”28 The articles of
faith form the “regula veritatis” [“rule of truth”], and therefore also the norm
for an interpretation of the world that claims to be true. The task of ratio in
this context is to strive for insight into the intelligibility and the coherence
of what is believed through an ever deeper penetration into it. Of course
contradictory interpretations may very well be ruled out thereby; the faith,
nonetheless, remains superior in principle to ratio.
Even though the auctoritas of faith and of the Church has precedence
over ratio, it still invariably relies on reason to develop an understanding of
the faith. Anselm’s own approach can be described in a no less influential
and misunderstood motto than “sola ratione” [“by reason alone”].29 The sta-
tus of ratio is by all means maintained: “ratio . . . et princeps et judex debet
27. Anselmi Cantuariensis Opera Omnia, ed. F. S. Schmitt, vol. 2 (Rome, 1940; reprinted Stutt-
gart, 1968), 3–35; see also Schrimpf, “Bausteine,” 16–19; Kienzler, Glauben, 25–157; Holopainen,
Dialectic, 119–55; Gemeinhardt, “Theologische Methode.”
28. Anselm, Ep. de inc. verb. (ed. Schmitt II, 5–8).
29. Anselm, Monol. prooem (ed. Schmitt I, 8.18–20); Anselm, Prosl. prooem (ed. Schmitt I,
93.2–4); in this passage, however, he writes “sola cogitatione”; Kienzler, Glauben, 28–33, argues that
the expression is always “sola ratione.”
omnium esse quae sunt in homine.” [“Reason . . . must be the ruler and judge
of everything that there is in man.”]30 This ratio, however, is no longer just
logic that is to be used purely as an instrument; in Anselm’s writings it is ex-
panded by an analysis, inspired mainly by Augustine and Boethius, of philo-
sophical and in particular metaphysical concepts: substance, person, liber-
tas, veritas, rectitudo [righteousness]. It is not logical consistency alone that
now decides as to the correctness of one’s understanding of the faith; one
now strives for such an understanding with metaphysical methods. Only
such an understanding offers the “rationes necessariae” [“necessary reasons”]
that should enable theology to make the mystery of the Trinity intelligible
in a binding way even to human understanding. This insight is never so
complete as to eliminate faith; Anselm describes it instead as “aliquatenus”
[“to a certain degree”]. Yet reason can arrive in just this way at insights that
can be recognized as true without the foundation of the faith and therefore
are to be accepted by the unbeliever as well, for example, it can arrive at the
knowledge of God’s existence, as the famous argument from the Proslogion
is supposed to show. On the other hand, the inability to grasp something
with the understanding or to make it intelligible is no reason for faith to
reject it also. In this case ratio is by no means the judge of fides. Instead such
an arrangement is morally ruled out as “praesumptio.”31
If reason tried to debate in theology whether something in the Church’s
doctrine of the faith was not true (quomodo non sit), that demand of reason
would be unjustified; the best remedy against such presumption is to refer
to the humility with which one must first accept what the Church believes
and professes. Only then can a Christian ask (quaerere, not disputare), “quo-
modo sit” [“how it is”]. Therefore theology can only offer insight into the
How of what is believed, but can neither call into question nor substanti-
ate the faith as a whole. Within the framework of his monastic, Augustinian
understanding of theology, Anselm also points out that the prerequisite for
a correct understanding of the faith is “soliditas fidei” [“firmness of faith”],
acquired through “sapientiae et morum gravitas” [“wisdom and serious com-
portment”].32 Theology without the practice of the faith is therefore not
possible. Theology is necessary, however, because reference to the author-
ity of the Church Fathers alone cannot suffice. With that, Anselm clearly
distances himself from all those who think that the recitation of patristic
30. Anselm, Ep. de inc. verb. 1 (II, 10.1–2). 31. Ibid., 1 (II, 4.5; 6.6).
32. Ibid., 1 (II, 6.5–7.4).
sentences is already theology. In particular Anselm gives five reasons for the
need to probe the faith personally and rationally, but at the same time he
marks out the insuperable limits of this endeavor:
1. Life is short, and the Fathers could not say everything about the truths of
the faith.
e “veritatis ratio” can never be fully exhausted by the human mind.
2. Th
3. C hrist bestows his gifts of grace on his Church until the end of time, and
therefore he also grants progress in knowing these things.
4. Scripture itself invites us to investigate the faith, while clearly giving pre-
cedence to faith: “Nisi credideritis, non intelligetis” (Isaiah 7:9, Vulgate).
[“Unless you believe, you shall not understand.”]
5. U nderstanding the faith is a path leading from faith to the beatific vision
of God as the goal of our life.33
3 Systematic treatment of patristic sentences:

The school of Laon
Whereas the creative work of Anselm of Canterbury is carried out in the
literary forms of treatise, dialogue, and letter, which are typical for monastic
culture, we encounter the academic form of theology unmistakably in the
school of Laon. Glosses and collections of sentences are the characteristic
writings of this school. Not everything that is reputed to be by the principal
of the school, Anselm (ca. 1050–1117), and his brother Radulfus († 1131/33)
is authentic, as the definitive works by F. Bliemetzrieder, H. Weisweiler, and
O. Lottin have shown.34 Literarily speaking, too, these are academic produc-
tions, often different reworkings of the same source. The foundation was,
first, Anselm’s oral instruction, which attracted the scholars and churchmen
of his day: John of Tours (ca. 1120), Adam Parvipontanus († before 1159), Gil-
bertus Universalis († 1134), Alberic of Rheims († 1141), but also Norbert of
Xanten († 1134), who was prevented, however, by the monastic zealot Drogo
(† 1137), then Prior of St. Nikasius in Rheims, from attending Anselm’s lec-
tures on the Psalms.35
We search in vain for a theory of theology in the collections of sentences
33. Anselm, Cur Deus homo (II, 40.2–12).
34. Landgraf, Einführung, 55–62, lists collections of sentences; see also Bliemetzrieder, Anselm
von Laon; Weisweiler, Schrifttum; Lottin, Psychologie, vol. 5.
35. Vita S. Norberti A (MHG SS 12, 678); see also Grauwen, Norbert, 42.82. Concerning Dro-
go: Leclercq, “Drogon.”
from the school of Laon. We can discover it only by reading between the
lines or by inferring it from their methods. The most striking thing initially
in these collections of sentences, which in part are organized quite loosely
or thematically, is the strictly patristic orientation, especially the reliance on
Augustine. The sentences are used to resolve questions that either remain
individual questions or else are put into a larger systematic context. Stereo-
typically they begin with Quaeritur, Quaeritur etiam, Potest quaeri, etc. [“It
is asked,” “. . . also,” “It may be asked”].36 Theology here is an interrogative
discipline. The central themes are the Trinity, the doctrine of original sin,
Christology, and the sacraments. Sometime we also find that sentences are
taken from biblical glosses and collected in independent anthologies (e.g.,
the collection Deus hominem fecit perfectum) or reworked thematically (e.g.,
the collection Dubitatur a quibusdam).37 The questions often go into great
detail and show the downright rational approach of this school, for instance
to Christology and the doctrine of redemption: Why didn’t redemption oc-
cur earlier? Why not by a single word instead of through God’s kenosis or
self-emptying? Did God the Son take on flesh so as to deceive the devil?
Why didn’t the devil save Christ from death [i.e., thwart the redemption]
when he recognized his divinity after the betrayal by Judas? Why were only
men saved and not the angels? Why did God take on human nature but not
angelic nature? Canonical questions are often mixed in with teaching on
the sacraments, for instance with regard to the validity of consecration by
a priest who is unworthy, excommunicated, or removed from the clerical
state. The teaching on Penance usually deals at length with the measure of
satisfaction and the magnitude of the sin.38
Answers to these questions are expected in the first place from the
Church Fathers, above all from Augustine. This orientation toward the past
is a characteristic feature of the school of Anselm of Laon, along with its
relatively simple technique of compiling sentences and its initial efforts to
systematize theology. Obviously there is little demand here for dialecti-
cal [logical] skill, nor for Anselm of Canterbury’s metaphysical analysis
of theological concepts. He did not become a fixture in this school but is
mentioned only in passing. Instead Anselm and Radulfus apparently still
adhere to the method of Lanfranc in his debate with Berengar: assigning
weight to the authorities in such a way that the use of logic becomes un-
36. See Weisweiler, Schrifttum, 260–379. 37. Ibid., 292–311, 314–57.

38. Ibid., 276–81.
necessary or imperceptible. In contrast to the monograph tradition, of
which Anselm of Canterbury is a part, the school of Laon tries to elucidate
an overall theological context—naturally while citing the Church Fathers.
One additional step in the general systematization is the thorough elabo-
ration of an individual treatise, for example, on matrimony or simony. The
patristic sentences, however, are already clearly accompanied by sentences
by contemporaries, cited at least as “quidam” [“some authors”], while the
distinctive technique of the magister in his manner of posing questions and
of selecting, ranking and reconciling the sentences is evident in continu-
ous series of new summas. These make use of the older works of the school,
often as patterns.39 The teacher usually expands them by inserting his own
points, of course while citing patristic material (sometime whole florilegia),
which in turn is often taken from another collection of the school. Weiswei-
ler therefore speaks about the “additive method of the School.”40 The in-
tention of an author and especially his theological system can be discerned
precisely from his manner of interweaving the “ready-made” parts and his
own additions. The justification of the individual teachings is supposed to
be improved by new sentences, or else an unmethodical system should be
replaced by a better one. “Nothing schematic, therefore, but everything liv-
ing and most vivaciously alive, albeit often in detail work, which nonethe-
less reveals more clearly their love for the new method and for the material
being treated.”41
Most importantly, in the school of Laon we can observe the transition
from exegesis to systematic theology. Anselm’s contribution to the Glossa
ordinaria has already been mentioned. His exegetical activity related to the
lectio provided the material for the first systematic collections of sentences
on individual questions, in typical fashion, for example, in his letter on the
Eucharist entitled “‘Calix’ id est potus sanguinis Christi,” which in turn was
included within larger collections of sentences.42 A biblical-patristic char-
acter and a systematic theological approach are therefore the principal fea-
tures of the first medieval theological school that merits the name.
This is directly connected, however, with the conservatism of this
school, which is already quite evident in its choice of methods. We have a
pertinent document that gives us an insight into the standpoint of Anselm
39. Weisweiler, “Arbeitsmethode.”

40. Weisweiler, Schrifttum, 243; 239–43.
41. Ibid., 251.
42. Ibid., 190–204. [The title means “‘Chalice,’ that is, the drink of Christ’s Blood.”]
of Laon: his letter to Abbot Heribrand of St. Laurentius monastery in Lüt-
tich.43 In the very first sentence Anselm warns against trying to answer the
questions at hand about God’s good will and the evil in the world “in pugnis
verborum” [“in battles of words”] rather than “in sententia.” Two methods
of theology are plainly indicated here: his own method of compiling sen-
tences, which harks back to patristic material, and the dialecticians’ “battles
of words,” which are immediately dismissed (with biblical arguments, of
course) as childish. On the other hand, it is up to men to debate the correct
meaning of individual passages. Anselm claims that this is part of his work
and the work of his school. Others disagree, opining that they can pursue
theology by logical and grammatical means: “Haec non attendentes, quidam
maxime inflati nomine scientiae, sensus Patrum ignorantes, languerunt, ut ait
Apostolus, circa quaestiones et pugnas verborum.” [“Disregarding these things,
some who are greatly puffed up in the name of science, while ignorant of
the understanding of the Fathers, have grown faint, as the Apostle says, with
questions and battles of words.”] Specifically, Anselm accuses his opponents
of childish behavior, arrogance in the name of science, unfamiliarity with
the mind of the Fathers, a disordered and ultimately self-destructive desire
to discuss questions and joust verbally. After this disqualification of other
methods comes the methodical motto of the compilation method: “diversa,
non adversa.” The Fathers say different but not contradictory things. There-
fore patristic passages must be sorted, interpreted, and arranged harmoni-
ously: “Sententiae quidem omnium catholicorum diversae, sed non adversae, in
unam concurrunt convenientiam.” [“The different but noncontradictory sen-
tences of all Catholic authors, moreover, meet in one agreement.”] The goal
of compilation is denoted by the word “convenientia,” and in the writings of
Vivianus of Prémontré by “armonia.” The methodical outlook and approach
are identical.44 Hopes are pinned on the possibility of harmonization, not
on logical or grammatical investigations. For what matters is the sententia,
the meaning, not the verbal formulation. Admittedly, there can be differ-
ences in wording that sound like “contrarietates et pugnae” [“oppositions
and conflicts”]. Now there are typical reactions to these battles of words:
those of little faith are horrified, but for combative theologians it is a parade
ground, on which the presumptuous fight at length. In all the commotion
the “probati” [“experts”] are excluded, whereas they can show, when all the
43. Edited by Lottin in Psychologie, 5:175–78.

others fail, that it is not a matter of contradictions but rather of a real har-
mony among apparent dissonances. These “probati” are clearly the leading
authorities for one’s own school.
Thus the writings of Anselm of Laon exhibit neither a dialectical ef-
fort to interpret the patristic sentence nor—in contrast to Anselm of Can-
terbury—a specifically metaphysical interest. The main interest is rather
moral and practical, in exegesis also, even when the questions become quite
subtle, for instance in the doctrine on original sin and sacramental theol-
ogy (e.g., whether Christ’s Body which was given to the disciples at the Last
Supper was capable of suffering).45 The fact that such a conservative school
became so widely influential at the beginning of the twelfth century and at
the same time was prohibited as an innovation sheds considerable light on
the ecclesiastical mentality of the time and shows, on the other hand, what
an exceptional phenomenon the philosophical and theological thought of
Anselm of Canterbury was. Not least important is the fact that the methods
and writings of the school of Laon could be applied fruitfully in monastic
circles and among canons regular for their lectio divina. This ensured that
these works—circulated in manuscript form—would have a wide appeal.
For their works handed down to later generations the treasure of patristic
thought in a ready-made, systematic and harmonized form. Theology as
the interpretation of sacred Scripture with reference to patristic material
became a matter for “probati” in the setting of ecclesiastical schools: Who
would not want to be one of them?
4 Theology as wisdom and way of life:

Hugh of St. Victor († 1141)
Another school that was strongly influenced by the compilations of sen-
tences from the school of Laon was the school of St. Victor in Paris, where
since the days of William of Champeaux († 1122), its first teacher of the-
ology, academic theology was combined with the cloistered life of the re-
formed canons regular. This synthesis crystallized remarkably in Hugh of
St. Victor’s understanding of theology.46 Hugh’s high esteem for the Scrip-
tures and the Fathers connects him with the school of Laon, yet he plainly
45. See Lottin, Psychologie, 5.443–44.

46. See esp. Ernst, Gewissheit des Glaubens; [authentic works by Hugh], 287–92; Berndt,
“Hugo von St. Viktor”; Sicard, Hugues de Saint-Victor. On the school itself and the older literature,
see Landgraf, Einführung, 73–79.
uses patristic material much more freely and reworks it more independently
than the works of Laon.47 Theology as the interpretation of sacred Scripture
is at the latter’s service in his opinion also; at any rate it alone can fathom
the truth and depth of sacred Scripture. That is why theology is by no means
superfluous. Since its method of teaching and of presentation is to a great
extent identical with that of secular disciplines, its distinctive features are
now sought in its contents: theology’s materia and modus tractandi [method
of treating] must be defined.48
The object of sacred Scripture and thus of theology consists of “the
works of man’s restoration” (opera restaurationis hominis). Consequently,
theology is basically teaching about the redemption of mankind. It is pos-
sible to comprehend the “opus restaurationis,” however, only in terms of the
“opus conditionis.” Through this work of creation, what did not exist came to
be; through the work of redemption, what had been lost was made better.
“Therefore the work of creation consists in the creation of the world with all
its elements; the work of restoration consists in the Incarnation of the Word
with all his sacraments, which preceded it from the beginning of the world
or follow after it until the end of the world.”49 The reality of creation, how-
ever, is primarily the object of “secular writings,” which are summarized in
philosophy. The “opera restaurationis” are reserved for the sacred Scriptures
and constitute a “dignior et sublimior materia” [“more worthy and sublime
matter”].50 The reality of creation is treated in sacred Scripture, on the other
hand, in a way that is only propaedeutic and dispositive, for sacred Scripture
“could not show adequately how man was restored if it did not show first
how he fell; nevertheless it could not show his fall adequately if it did not
first explain how he had been established by God; but in order to show how
man was first established, the foundation and creation of the whole world
had to be presented, because the world was created for man’s sake. His soul,
indeed, was created for God’s sake, and his body for the sake of his soul, and
the world for the sake of the human body, so that the soul might be sub-
ject to God, the body to the soul and the world to his body.”51 Theocentric-
ity and anthropocentricity are combined in this concept of a theology that
intends to be primarily a doctrine of man’s redemption. Conflict between
philosophy and theology is avoided as long as no contradictions appear be-
47. Weisweiler, “Arbeitsmethode.”

48. Hugo, De sacr., prol.1 (PL 176.183 A); see also Hugo, De script. (PL 175.11 A).
49. De sacr., prol.1 (PL 176.183 AB). 50. De sacr., prol.2 (183 C).
51. De sacr., prol.3 (184 B).
tween the biblical and the philosophical interpretation of the reality of cre-
ation. Nevertheless philosophy is not thereby relegated to a merely instru-
mental function, but rather its own field of inquiry is reserved for it; it has
to cultivate this field with its own methods—ultimately, however, within
the context of a comprehensive theological interpretation of the world. The
matter (the general field) of theology, too, is attuned to man in salvation his-
tory as a whole: “First, therefore, it describes its matter in the fact that man
was created and destined, then his misery in guilt and punishment, then
restoration and mercy in the knowledge of truth and love of virtue; finally
man’s home and joy in blessedness.”52
Hugh not only delimits the field that is the object of theology, distin-
guishing it from secular science, but also provides a doctrine of theological
method as distinct from the philosophical disciplines, which he investigated
as to their method and value in his Didascalicon. Like theology, the secular
sciences (artes), too, are teleologically defined with man as their end and are
understood as a propaedeutic of salvation. Their goal is the restoration of the
likeness to God in us, for the degree of one’s conformity with God corre-
sponds to the degree of one’s wisdom.53 The path to this goal of man’s striv-
ing for knowledge leads, however, by way of the “studium sapientiae” [“study
of wisdom”], philosophy. For Hugh, however, philosophical wisdom is at the
same time the divine wisdom of the Creator.54 That is why the secular artes as
a whole are at the service of lectio of sacred Scripture. Now within the frame-
work of this philosophy there is already a theology; since it is a philosophical
and thus a secular science, it is the “theologia mundana” as opposed to the
“theologia divina.” “Theologia mundana” tries to know God by way of crea-
tures, through the “simulacrum naturae” [“likeness of nature”], whereas the
“simulacrum gratiae” [“likeness of grace”], that is, the “opus restaurationis” in
the Incarnation and the sacraments, remains the exclusive province of “theo-
52. Ibid. (184 C).

53. Hugo, Didasc. II, 1 (ed. Buttimer 23.17–19): “hoc ergo omnes artes agunt, hoc intendunt, ut
divina similitudo in nobis reparetur, quae nobis forma est, Deo natura, cui quanto magis conformamur
tanto magis sapimus.” [“Therefore this is what all the arts accomplish and intend: that the divine
likeness—which is for us a form, but for God his nature—might be restored in us; for the more we
are conformed to it, the wiser we are.”] See also Hugo, Didascalicon de Studio legendi / Studienbuch,
trans. and intro. by Thilo Offergeld (Fontes Christiani 27) (Freiburg, 1997), “Einleitung” [Intro-
duction], 68–79.
54. Ibid., II, 1 (ed. Buttimer 23.20–21); see also “Epitome Dindimi in philosophiam,” ed. R. Bar-
on, Traditio 11 (1955): 91–148, citation at 146: “Finis enim omnis philosophiae agnitio est summi boni,
quod in solo rerum omnium factore situm est.” [“The end of all philosophy is the knowledge of the su-
preme good, which is situated in the sole maker of all things.”]
logia divina.”55 Thus Hugh allows a purely philosophical theology to make its
appearance. As a fundamentally fallible reflection on the “opus conditionis,” it
is bound up with the whole of theological wisdom, which is developed only
in the reflections of sacred Scripture and acquires its certainty therein. When
worldly theology sets itself up as an absolute and tries to do without ties to
scriptural reflection on salvation history, it becomes an erroneous “wisdom
of this world” as opposed to the wisdom (or folly) of God.56
Also corresponding to the sapiential character of Victorine theology
within the framework of a community of canons regular is the “modus trac-
tandi” [“method of treatment”] foreseen by Hugh. Natural predispositions,
study and one’s way of life must come together in a good Augustinian spirit
in order to achieve the type of theologian suited to this school.57 Therefore
we are by no means dealing merely with a school or university curriculum.
Rather, theology and one’s way of life are very closely connected. Along
with Bernard of Chartres († 1124/30), Hugh regards humility above all, zeal
in questioning and researching, a tranquil life, silence and self-examination,
poverty, and residence abroad as components of the disciplina of study:
Mens humilis, studium quaerendi, vita quieta
Scrutinium tacitum, paupertas, terra aliena
Haec reserare solent multis obscura legendi.58
[These things are wont to unlock for many
people the secrets of reading.]
Anyone who approaches sacred Scripture with this attitude sees in it the
perfection and surpassing of all worldly knowledge. The interpretation of
sacred Scripture is gained by way of lectio and meditatio, the independent
and also spiritual assimilation of the scriptural passage according to what
Hugh regards as its threefold sense: historical, allegorical, and tropological.
History and allegory promote man’s knowledge; tropology his “mores” or
morals; both sides must come to an agreement again in “sapientia” [“wis-
dom”].59 For Hugh, too, theology consists essentially in the right manner
and order of reading sacred Scripture, and therefore everything depends on
55. Hugo, In hierarchiam caelestem I, 1 (PL 175.925 D).

56. Ibid. (923B–928B).
57. Hugo, Didasc. III, 6 (ed. Buttimer 57.6); see also the introduction to Hugo, Studienbuch, ed.
Offergeld, 68–69.
58. Ibid. III, 12 (ed. Buttimer 61.11–14); taken from Bernhard of Chartres; see also Lacroix,
“Hugues de Saint-Victor.”
59. Hugo, Didasc. V, 2.6 (ed. Buttimer 95.15–17; 104.21–22).
that for theology and the theologian: the path proceeds via lectio and medi-
tatio to oratio, prayer, and from there to contemplatio. The knowledge that is
gained along this path is not an end in itself, but rather as a matter of prin-
ciple is at the service of the faith: to confirm the believer himself in the faith,
to give an account of it and to hand it on to those who are less learned are
the goals, and not curiositas, knowledge for the sake of knowledge or one’s
own vanity, which Augustine had already ruled out.60
The center of theology and sacred Scripture is the work of redemption
in Jesus Christ. Since the knowledge of him is central, the allegorical inter-
pretation is considered to have the greatest importance. But since I can in-
terpret signs as such only if I already know the thing signified, in allegorical
interpretation the NT should be read before the OT; for “divine Scripture
as a whole is one single book and that one book is Christ, because divine
Scripture as a whole speaks about Christ and divine Scripture as a whole
is fulfilled in Christ, and when we read Scripture we strive, by knowing his
deeds, words and commandments, to obtain the grace to do what he com-
manded and to receive what he promised.”61 The historical sense of Scrip-
ture, however, is the foundation for this spiritual-theological investigation,
in the service of which all worldly sciences are also enlisted. With that Hugh
has already formulated as a program what is then carried out in exegetical
detail by Andrew of St. Victor. Here, too, theology is bound up with ques-
tioning (studium quaerendi). This questioning about man and his redemp-
tion, however, is more than a merely academic custom; in keeping with the
Augustinian tradition,62 it is bound up with a way of life and ordered to a
goal, both of which point beyond school to the praxis of the life of faith.
5 Theology as linguistic criticism: Peter Abelard

The sapiential, harmonious approach of Hugh is quite different from
the program and form of theology in the writings of Abelard (1079–1142).63
For him, as in the school of Laon, the object of theology consists of articles
of faith formulated on the basis of the “sacra pagina”; the goal is the rational
justification thereof, sometimes referred to as “intelligentia.” The method is
60. Ibid., V, 10 (ed. Buttimer 111.5–112.5).

61. Hugo, De arca Noe morali II, 8 (PL 176.642 CD).
62. See Studer on Augustinus De Trinitate, 73–78.
63. See esp. Cottiaux, “Conception de la théologie”; Jolivet, Arts du langage; Niggli, “Philoso-
phischer Scharfsinn.”
the one commonly used in the schools: glosses, commentaries, but also the
method of systematic theologia employing all available logical and philo-
sophical means. Although for a time he was a monk and an abbot, Abelard
moved in intellectual circles in Paris in which the students require only “hu-
manas et philosophicas rationes” for theological truths and stake everything
on “intelligentia” but not on the inscrutable wording of the Bible. They are
unwilling to believe anything that they have not already comprehended
and consider it ridiculous to preach incomprehensible things.64 Therefore
Abelard sets himself the task of developing “intelligentia” with human, phil-
osophical arguments precisely on the basis of the authoritative scriptural
text; in other words, to reveal its hidden meaning and to test its truth value
not only through a series of patristic citations or through spiritual exegesis,
but through rational examination. This examination therefore refers to the
“scriptum” (the wording) and the “sententia” (the teaching).65 This method,
unlike Hugh’s, is not typically theological but is valid generally “in omni dis-
ciplina.” The decisive criterion here is ratio, which leads to a decision, if not
always to certainty. For Abelard, however, the ratio referred to here is em-
bodied in the artes of the Trivium, especially in dialectic.
Theology therefore is primarily the argumentative, linguistic, and logi-
cal examination of authoritative texts; it treats “de scripto” [“what is writ-
ten”] along the lines of an exegesis of the sacra pagina. Abelard understands
works of systematic theology—insofar as they are not participating in cur-
rent debates—as introductions to the study of sacred Scripture (divinae
scripturae introductio).66 The argumentation must have at least probability in
its favor and must not contradict the faith itself.67 Therefore the arguments
are drawn chiefly from philosophy and the realm of “similitudines” (analo-
gies, especially in the doctrine of the Trinity). Thus the magister himself
must first understand what he “is reading,” that is, what he is presenting to
the scholars in the lectio. The theological truths must not only be recited but
understood and scientifically interpreted (intellegi ac disseri).68 For this pur-
pose there are both scriptural commentaries and systematic works (Theolo-
gia Summi Boni, Theologia Christiana, Theologia Scholarium = Introductio in
64. Abaelard, Hist. cal., ed. J. Monfrin (Paris, 1967), 82, 690–83, 701.
65. Abaelard, Dialogus inter Philosophum, Judaeum et Christianum, ed. R. Thomas (Stuttgart–
Bad Cannstatt, 1970), 97.1478–85.
66. Abaelard, Theologia Scholarium, praef. 1 (CCh CM 13.313.1–3).
67. Ibid., II, 18 (414.243–44): “saltem aliquid verisimile atque humanae rationi vicinum, nec sacrae
fidei contrarium proponere.”
68. Ibid., II, 56 (435.885–436.894).
Theologiam). The works of commentary, first and foremost the Commen-
tary on the Letter to the Romans, work their way through the scriptum to
the sententia, whereas the systematic works start with the logical, rational
explication of the sententia itself.69
This becomes very clear in Abelard’s first systematic presentation of
theology, which however includes only the doctrine on the Trinity: in the
Theologia Summi Boni (so named after its initial words; it is also called the
Tractatus de unitate et trinitate divina [Treatise on the divine unity and trin-
ity]), written in 1120.70 Here Abelard makes the widest use thus far of the
philosophy that consists mainly of Boethius and the logica vetus. He relates
the philosophical concept of the highest good (summum bonum) to the
Christian, Trinitarian God. In Abelard’s view this is justified by Christ him-
self, the “Lord of the faith,” who gave three different names to this same god
of philosophy. Accordingly it is clear also that to a great extent the argumen-
tation proceeds philosophically and that philosophical studies, especially
of dialectic, are expressly demanded of the reader.71 Whereas in exegetical
and later systematic works the quotation of Scripture passages has the final
probative force, that is not the case in this context; here further justifica-
tion by ratio is required. Even here, however, Abelard remains faithful to the
linguistic component of theology: the Theologia Summi Boni is intended as
a rational investigation of what Christ accomplished in giving the god of
philosophy the names Father, Son, and Spirit. The fact that this theology
nevertheless does not lack a foundation in practical living (Abelard wrote
the treatise as a monk) explains the repeated reference to the praise of God,
which corresponds to the monastic tradition. In the teaching about the
Holy Spirit, Plato’s doctrine of the world soul (which is familiar from Mac-
robius and Boethius) is discussed extensively. The decisive feature in either
case, however, is the explanation in terms of the philosophical categories of
substance and accidents, person, etc.
Abelard clearly distinguishes his position, however, from that of the
pseudo-dialecticians as well; they do not use their knowledge to interpret
Scripture correctly but rather place it at the service of attacks against the
faith and thus of the Antichrist.72 That is no reason, however, to condemn
69. Editions: CCh CM 11–13; Expositio in Epistolam ad Romanos: Römerbriefkommentar, trans.
and intro. by Rolf Peppermüller (Fontes Christiani 26/1–3) (Freiburg, 2000).
70. CCh CM 13.1–201: Abaelard, Theologia Summi Boni, trans. and ed. by U. Niggli (PhB 395)
(Hamburg, 1989), with an extensive introduction; see also Nielsen, “Peter Abelard,” 107–14.
71. Abaelard, Theol. Summi Boni III, 5.100 (CCh CM 13.201.1360–63).
72. Ibid., II, 1–4 (114.1–115.35).
dialectic and its application in theology; only its misuse leads to sophistry.
What is bad is not the science but its misuse. Abelard decisively opposes
“those untrammeled and wild combatants” who “through the one horn
of their pride fight even against the Creator” and have “raised their voice
against heaven.”73 Yet he himself makes very extensive use of dialectic and
philosophy, on the basis of the faith, of course; at the beginning he pres-
ents briefly the content of the faith as “totius disputationis thema et summa
fidei” [“the subject of all disputation and summary of the faith”], so as then
to discuss the individual questions in a strictly rational way and to answer
objections.74 To a great extent the procedure here too is linguistic criticism
and metaphysical analysis, as the questions and distinctions of the second
book make clear: Why the divine substance is simple and formless; the dis-
tinction of Divine Persons, six meanings of “idem” and “diversum” [“same”
and “different”]; meanings of “person,” etc. In this way Abelard develops the
fundamental question of theology: whether and how it is possible to apply
human expressions to God. Nor does it do any good for the opponent in
the disputation to say that he does not want to go into words and meanings
but rather to keep to the truth of the meaning. He must nevertheless make
clear what “genitus” [“begotten”] means, so as then to see that “genitus” and
“ingenitus” [“unbegotten”] are designations of Persons in the Trinity. For
Abelard, “verba catholica” [“Catholic words”] must be added to “sana intel-
ligentia” [“sound understanding”].75 The basis for this is chapter 1 of Peri
hermeneias on the correspondence of word, concept, and thing.
This apparatus of semantic and logical analysis is used aptly so as to
answer the objections of opponents; there are many of them, however, es-
pecially in Trinitarian matters. For Abelard too, nevertheless, theological
questions are not verbal battles but rather objective inquiries [Sachfragen].
One must speak correctly about the object, however, with words that are
employed “ad placitum hominum” [“for human purposes”]. There can be
agreement about objective inquiries, therefore, only through agreement
about the generally accepted meanings of the terms being used.76 In this
way one can reply for example to objections to the concept of substance
with reference to the Trinity, to the status of the Divine Persons or to the
73. Ibid., II, 13 (118.125–119.128).

74. Ibid., II, 1 (123–29).
75. Ibid., III, 2.84 (194.1142–57); III, 1.33 (171.412–26).
76. Abaelard, Sermo in Ann. Virginis, ed. V. Cousin, in Petri Abaelardi Opera (Hildesheim, re-
print 1970), 1:356–57.
questions of whether there is a real difference in God or how a Trinity of
Persons is possible without real multiplicity.
In Abelard’s writings the defense of the faith is followed by the positive
step: the amplificatio, which is done “verisimilibus et honestissimis rationibus”
[“by means of probable and most worthy reasons”].77 Abelard sees clearly
that many theological arguments are not compelling. Anselm of Canter-
bury’s “rationes necessariae” are expressly retracted. The divine nature is ul-
timately incomprehensible; that is why a strict proof in this regard is often
impossible. Language itself is metaphorical (translata); the trios by which
the relations among the Three Divine Persons are explained are only “si-
militudines” (comparisons, analogies). When it is a question of proving a
matter as it is in itself, however, standard linguistic usage with unambigu-
ous meaning is required.78 Abelard views the “rationes honestae,” however,
as having higher value than mere “necessitas.” Such reasonable arguments
are expressed by the terms “oportet,” “convenit,” or “melius” [“it is proper,
fitting, better”]. The reasonableness of the divine relations and operations
is thereby underscored, without strictly proving their necessity. Thus, for
example, the unicity of God is proved from his functions as Creator and
designer [Ordner] of the world, and it is demonstrated that this is far more
conducive to God’s honor than the premise of several gods.79 Therefore it is
a matter of arguments from reason and from appropriateness, which often
have moral premises. When it is possible and necessary, however, for exam-
ple in a debate with opponents or in resolving apparent contradictions be-
tween undeniable theological truths, the whole apparatus of dialectic must
be applied so as to arrive at the “amplificatio fidei” [“fuller explanation of the
faith”]. Here rational argument is at the service of the faith, even though
some of Abelard’s teachings were rejected as heretical.80
6 The metaphysical grammar of discourse

about God: Gilbert Porreta
What Abelard sought and found above all in dialectic, his younger con-
temporary Gilbert Porreta (Gilbert de la Porrée, G. of Poitiers [† 1154]) and
the Porretan school named after him found in grammar and in the works of
77. Abaelard, Theologia Christiana V, 1 (CCh CM 12.347.8).

78. Abaelard, Theol. Summi Boni III, 2 (194.1145–68).
79. Abaelard, Theologia Christiana V, 9–16 (350–54).
80. On Abelard’s school see Luscombe, School.
Boethius: the scientific apparatus of theology.81 For it must be shown now
that theology is a science as Boethius understood it. Boethius’ definition of
the object of this science, which is dependent on Aristotle, applies in the
first place however to philosophical theology: it deals with unmoved, ab-
stract, and immaterial objects and therefore belongs to the field of purely
intellectual knowledge. By virtue of its object, however, theological knowl-
edge has greater truth than truths about the created world, which is subject
to change.82 For Christian theology, the path of knowledge leads from faith
to the truth that is known, but not from the knowledge to faith. Supernatu-
ral faith is the prerequisite of theology. For the whole life of the unbeliever
is sin, and there can be no good—understandably, given Gilbert’s [Neo]pla-
tonism—without the greatest good.83 That is why faith as a grace is under-
stood, following Augustine, as enlightenment by God. Yet not all Christians
receive in faith the same knowledge of God. For there are the “animales” or
“parvuli” [“little ones”] and the “spirituales” or “perfecti.” The former believe
only the fundamental truths of Christianity, without even arriving at an ini-
tial insight into these truths “in speculo et aenigmate” [see 1 Cor 13:12].84 The
latter, in contrast, attain an understanding of the faith “suppositionibus ratio-
num,” that presupposes rational arguments. Theology as opposed to simple
faith comes about therefore precisely through the “expositio rationum,” the
explanation of the reasonable arguments for the truths of faith. Of course it
is not necessary for salvation; this can be attained by simple believers also.85
Yet even theology itself is not just a rational effort but ultimately a gift of
the Holy Spirit, so that theology is really “spiritualis” only when it submits
to the Holy Spirit.86 For in the final analysis it is He himself who is at work
in His gifts. Theology is therefore not a science like any other, but rather a
spiritual knowledge of the truths of faith brought about by the Holy Spirit.
To be sure, it happens by adducing reasonable arguments for the truths of
faith. Since God himself on the one hand is the highest truth and on the
81. See esp. Van Elswijk, Gilbert Porreta; Nielsen, Theology; on the authenticity of his works,
40–46; for his concept of theology: Gilbert Porreta, Commentarius in Boethii Opuscula sacra, ed.
N. M. Häring (ST 13) (Toronto, 1966). On his literary output and school: Landgraf, Einführung,
79–92.
82. Gilbert, Comm. Boeth., 85.1–6, 86.10.
83. Gilbert, Comm. in Ep. Pauli (British Museum, London Cod.) add. 11.853–54.151r (cited by
Nielsen, Theology, 116): “doceo non, ut cognoscentes credant, sed ut credentes cognoscant de praedictis
veritatem.” [“I teach not so that those who know might believe, but rather so that believers might
know the truth of what is proclaimed.”] See ibid., f.47v (Nielsen, Theology, 119).
84. Ibid., f.57r (Nielsen, Theology, 124). 85. Ibid., f.170r.85r (Nielsen, Theology, 125).
86. Ibid., f. 55r.63v (Nielsen, Theology, 126).
other hand produces the gift of theological knowledge, no conflict can arise
here in the first place between faith and dialectic, as one finds in Berengar
and Abelard. Theology has a “veritas secundum pietatem” [“truth in keeping
with piety/devotion”], unlike the truth of grammar and dialectic. It is de-
posited in sacred Scripture and is useful for eternal salvation, whereas the
secular sciences are useful only for temporal pleasures.87 The task of theolo-
gy, therefore, consists of the explicit knowledge of the faith so as to help in-
struct simple believers. They must also and particularly be enlightened as to
the invalidity of the authority of heretics. Especially useful for this purpose
is the logical analysis of the heretics’ arguments, which often draw false con-
clusions from true premises. If the heretics say something right about God,
it is only by chance.88 Some pagan philosophers, in contrast, have attained
a knowledge of God “per naturalem rationem” [“by natural reason”], but still
not without God’s help. They did not arrive at a knowledge of the Trinity
and the Incarnation, though.89 A knowledge that is used “praeter rationem,”
however, in other words, not for the praise of God, which is the goal of the-
ology, is useless.90
Philosophical knowledge of the world, moreover, cannot arrive at the
ultimate necessity of its reasons and regulae, but can only support them by
habit. Philosophical sentences have only a “consuetudini accommodata neces-
sitas” [“necessity that befits custom”]. Only theology can make clear (meta-
physically) the real causal connection, even where those philosophers who
attribute absolute truth to their own sentences discover contradictions, for
example, in the virgin birth.91 An absolute truth of philosophical knowl-
edge separated from theology is thus denied in principle. Knowledge of na-
ture relies on the path from custom and induction and in its very methods
cannot come into conflict with theology.92 Theologically correct knowl-
edge of nature, in contrast, must proceed from faith and from that point of
departure arrive at theology, where, unlike philosophy, “veri nominis atque
absoluta necessitas” [“a necessity truly so called and absolute”] rules: “In his
enim non cognoscentes credimus, sed credentes cognoscimus.” [“For we do not
believe in these things by knowing them, but rather know by believing.”]93
Accordingly, however, the correct knowledge of nature, like theology as a
87. Ibid., f.160r (Nielsen, Theology, 128).

88. Gilbert, Comm. Boeth. 235.57; 61.16; 161.9ff.; 234.51.
89. Gilbert, Comm. in Ep. Pauli f.6v–7r; f.139v–140r (Nielsen, Theology, 130).
90. Ibid., f.69r (Nielsen, Theology, 131). 91. Ibid., f.57v.140v (Nielsen, Theology, 136).
92. Gilbert, Comm. Boeth. 164.38; 323.61. 93. Ibid., 164.42.
whole, is also a gift and work of the Holy Spirit and is included in the “cath-
olica fides” that becomes the starting point for the philosophical explanation
of the world as well.94 A conflict between right philosophy—which is now
no longer restricted to instrumental logic but has become an explanation of
nature—and theology is contradictory to the highest degree: it would be a
contradiction in God himself.
Theology takes place methodically by presupposing the “rationes.” As
in every science one must distinguish here between the reasons proper to
each discipline (rationes propriae) and the (thematically metaphysical) rea-
sons common to all sciences (rationes communes), as they are summarized
axiomatically by Boethius in De hebdomadibus. Gilbert understands rationes
communes to include the a priori truths of logic and truths that have inter-
disciplinary validity (sometimes also in a figurative sense, e.g., rationes na-
turales in theology).95 One must refer to these general rules (or rules taken
from other sciences) especially when theology’s own business comes to an
end because there are no terms available to express it properly.96 This raises
again therefore the question of the justification and singularity of theologi-
cal discourse, now under the aspect of a metaphysically founded grammar
of discourse about God. Thus for instance “esse” [the verb “to be”] in the
sentence “Deus est” means something other than in the sentence “corpus est”
or “homo est.” In theology “esse” is a proper name of God; in reference to
creatures it does not express their own being but rather connotes their de-
pendence upon God.97 The same goes for “bonum” [“good”]. The grammar
here, then, is founded upon a metaphysics that is profoundly influence by
Boethius and Neoplatonism: God is the being of all created things, which
thereby depend on him for their existence and goodness.98
For Gilbert this dependence guarantees the universal correspondence
(proportio) between God and creature, the eternal and the temporal, which
in turn justifies his application of arguments from the natural sciences (phi-
losophy) in theology.99 Gilbert is acutely aware of the metaphorical and
linguistic character of theological discourse and knowledge. Theological
truths, especially the doctrine of the Trinity, are almost ineffable (vix dici
94. Ibid., 164.48ff.

95. Ibid., 294.90; 191.6; 115.14ff.
96. Ibid., 136.26: “dum scilicet, quod cogitamus, propriae significationis verbis explanare non pos-
sumus.” [“Namely, when we cannot explain what we are thinking in words that signify it properly.”]
97. Ibid., 188; see also Van Elswijk, Gilbert Porreta, 252–60.
98. Gilbert, Comm. Boeth. 180.51.273.
99. Ibid., 87.
potest). Our concepts do not adequately correspond to their theological ob-
ject. That is why the first question must always concern the exact meaning
of the words in their own native science and the metaphysical-grammatical
rules for transposing them for use in theology. It must always remain clear
that we are dealing with figurative language, on the basis of a “proportio com-
munis,” even and precisely when sacred Scripture itself makes use of such
terms.100 Theology becomes the doctrine of the “nomina divina” [“divine
names”], which then must be standardized in their exact theological mean-
ing: it becomes a scientific regulation of language, which then tries to en-
compass the whole doctrine of the faith argumentatively; it becomes “argu-
mentis probata fides catholica” [“the Catholic faith proved by arguments”].101
The theology of Gilbert and the Porretan school is less euphoric in its
use of dialectic than Abelard’s; on the other hand it lacks the sapiential and
spiritual character of the Victorines: it is instead the development of the lin-
guistic side of discourse about God, carried out in textual studies, especially
in commentary on sacred Scripture and Boethius. The authority of the Fa-
thers of the Church remains unquestioned. The extent to which patristic ar-
guments were valued is demonstrated by their research in the Greek Fathers
down to Byzantium so as to corroborate their own controversial teaching
on the Trinity.102 Yet in this school authority is outranked by ratio, which is
supposed to attain its goal in theology (the science superior to philosophy):
“veri nominis atque absoluta necessitas” [“a necessity truly so called and abso-
lute”] as the hallmark of the supreme science.
7 The textbook: The Sentences of Peter Lombard

The influence of one twelfth-century work of systematic theology out-
lasted that of all the others: the Sententiae in IV libros distinctae by Peter
Lombard († 1160).103 Various factors contributed to this phenomenon.
Supplied with annotations and glosses early on, the Sentences enjoyed wide
circulation from the early thirteenth century.104 As is usual with textbooks,
100. Ibid., 57; Gilbert, Comm. in Ep. Pauli f.164v (Nielsen, Theology, 135, n. 77).
101. Gilbert, Comm. Boeth. 342.
102. See Häring, Zwettler Summe, 7; Sturlese, Philosophie, 143–56.
103. Critical edition: Petrus Lombardus, Sententiae in IV libris distinctae (Spicilegium Bonaven-
turianum 4/5) (Grottaferrata 1971/81). On the work and its influence see esp. I, 1 Prolegomena.
Concerning Peter Lombard’s theology as a whole: Colish, Peter Lombard.
104. See Lottin, “Premier commentaire,” 64–71; Landgraf, “Drei Zweige”; Landgraf, “Sentenz-
englossen”; for an overview, see Landgraf, Einführung, 93–109.
excerpts and abridgments are produced for use in school.105 Thanks to the
organization of the universities, a two-year lecture on Lombard, who is
called the Magister for short, became obligatory for every baccalaureus sen-
tentiarius if he wanted to complete a master’s degree. From then on com-
mentaries on the Sentences were the most important sources of systematic
theology, and this remained the case well into the sixteenth century. Then
Alexander of Hales († 1245), even while functioning as Magister actu regens
(1223–1227) still based his ordinary lectures not on a biblical text, as was the
custom, but on the Sentences of Peter Lombard: a procedure that would set
an academic precedent.106 Yet initially the prospects of this theology were
by no means that splendid; for like Gilbert and Abelard, Peter Lombard too
had to endure the accusation of heresy.107 However, the later bishop of Paris
was expressly named by the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) as the source
of orthodox teaching.108 Besides the Sentences the most important extant
works by Lombard are remarkable glosses on the Psalms and the Letters of
St. Paul.
If we look at the work of the “Magister Sententiarum,” his great influence
on future generations may at first seem surprising. It is by no means a very
original or stylistically impressive work. It is very much in keeping with the
summas of sentences compiled by followers of the school of Abelard and
St. Victor. In the prologue the Lombard clearly states that he intended his
work, written 1155–1158, to continue in the line of the early Scholastic collec-
tions of sentences. It is composed “ex testimoniis veritatis in aeternum fundatis”
[“of testimonies of truth that are well-founded for all eternity”] and contains
“majorum exempla doctrinamque” [“the examples and teachings of our ances-
tors”], in other words, it is not so much his own teaching as that of the Fa-
thers that the reader finds in this supposedly little work. This should make
it unnecessary to consult the numerous works of the Fathers individually:
abbreviation and substitution as an encyclopedic principle for theology are
clearly evident here.109 But that also states precisely the purpose of this fu-
ture textbook: to become the sole foundation for theology and to replace all
other books (eventually even the Bible in coursework). The material, how-
105. Details in Landgraf, Einführung, 96–98.

106. See Petrus Lombardus, Sent. I, 1.117*–18; an indispensable reference work with regard to
commentaries on the Sentences is Stegmüller, Repertorium commentariorum.
107. See de Ghellinck, Mouvement, 250–67.
108. DH No. 804.
109. Petrus Lombardus, Sent., prol. n. 4f (I, 2.4.14–26).
ever, is quoted from the Fathers, who are immediately set up as authorities,
and what the Magister himself says in addition should never stray “a paternis
limitibus” [“from within the patristic boundaries”]. The immediate goal of
the work is to explain the Catholic faith against all errors and heresies, as em-
phasized in the prologue, which as a whole is strongly apologetic.110
The Lombard’s collection of sentences is a systematic collection; as we
have seen, it is not organized exclusively along the lines of salvation history,
nor is its basic schema purely conceptual; rather, it is a mixed form incor-
porating both possibilities. This very feature would fructify the theological
work of the subsequent era: striking a balance between the biblical narra-
tive approach and the claim to pursue systematic theology. In this the Lom-
bard relies above all on the Summa Sententiarum, which for its part stands
midway between Hugh of St. Victor and Abelard. Hugh’s De sacramentis and
Abelard’s Theologia Scholarium and the Summa Sententiarum are Peter Lom-
bard’s immediate sources, as well as Ivo of Chartres and the Decretum Gra-
tiani. In executing the plan, the Magister also cites his own glosses on the
Pauline Letters and the Psalms and the Glossa ordinaria.111 Augustine leads
the patristic citations with approximately 950 passages. He is cited twice as
often as all the other Church Fathers combined.112 Especially remarkable
among the Eastern Fathers of the Church is the early use of John Dama-
scene († ca. 750); Pope Eugene III (1145–1153) had his work De fide ortho-
doxa translated into Latin by Burgundio of Pisa.113
The Lombard’s theology as a whole, too, stands somewhere between
Hugh of St. Victor and Abelard. He had studied in both schools before he
became magister and canonicus at Notre Dame. He has the logical acuity
of Abelard but in many instances also criticizes his position and takes up a
contrasting one.114 His logical training is already clear now in his theologi-
cal system, which does not follow Abelard’s schema “fides—caritas—sac-
ramentum” but rather Augustine’s schema of “res—signa” or “uti—frui.” By
repeatedly going through the contents of the OT and NT, the Magister pro-
duces the divisions of this schema. This outline still refers to Scripture it-
self, the “forma praescripta in doctrina” [“the prescribed form in (matters of)
doctrine”], which exists prior to systematic speculation (“speculatio studiosa
atque modesta”).115 The decisive thing, at any rate, is that devising a system
110. Ibid. (4.15–20). 111. Ibid., Prolegomenon (1.1.118*–122*).

112. See Baltzer, Sentenzen, 2–12. 113. Colish, Peter Lombard, 22.
114. See Luscombe, School, 261–80.
115. Petrus Lombardus, I Sent. d.1 c.1 n.1f (I, 55.5–23).
and thus theology is a human activity. Systematic theology has not yet been
completely separated from scriptural exegesis; that is precisely what would
occur then as a result of commentaries on the Sentences of Peter Lombard.
Balance, caution, and a somewhat conservative approach character-
ize the Lombard’s understanding of thology and his individual treatises as
well. Already in the prologue he cites Hilary at length in opposition to those
“sons of unbelief ” who do not subject their intentions to ratio nor busy
themselves with the studium doctrinae but try to support their dreams with
words of wisdom. They do not follow the “ratio veri” [“reason of what is
true”] but rather the “ratio placiti” [“reason of what is pleasing”]: their ques-
tion and the basis for their arguments is not what is true, but rather whether
it suits them. That is why their goal is not the defense of truth but rather
their own notions; they want to teach these instead of the truth, adapting
their doctrine to their desires. The Lombard evidently sees in his own time
the same things that Hilary rebuked in his day: the debate between the sol-
id presentation of theological truth and the defense of one’s own ideas.116
There is no need to underscore the fact that the Magister advocates the ex-
planation of objective truth. It is remarkable, however, that with this cita-
tion he imputes moral defects to his opponents, yet emphasizes at the same
time that an orientation to reason and continual study are apt to lead to the
“intelligentia veritatis” [“understanding of truth”]. By no means, therefore,
does he rebuke his opponents for studying too much and placing their trust
in reason; rather, he is diagnosing a deficiency, or a wrong use of it.
Accordingly, the method of theology is first of all the clear, reasonable
presentation of Church doctrine; the Lombard makes this point by quoting
a methodological reflection on the doctrine of the Trinity from the works
of Fulgentius of Ruspe (as cited by Augustine).117 The first consideration is
scriptural authority, “auctoritates sanctarum Scripturarum.” From these texts
one must prove (demonstrandum) what the Church’s deposit of faith is. The
contents of the faith are not to be proved by rational arguments, but rather
to be corroborated by scriptural proof, “utrum ita se fides habeat” [“whether
the faith understands itself thus”]. Only in the second step does ratio come
into play, and with a clearly polemical tendency: the “garruli ratiocinatores”
[“long-winded reasoners”] are accused of both ignorance and conceit; one
must confront them with their own methods: arguments from reason and
116. Sent. prol. n.3 (3.16–4.10).
117. I Sent d.2 c.3 (I, 63.9–17): “Quis ordo servandus sit cum de Trinitate agitur.” [“What order is
to be preserved when it is a question of the Trinity.”] See also de Ghellinck, Mouvement, 229–49.
“similitudines” (analogies), thus along the lines of an Abelard or a Gilbert.
Yet the Magister himself specifies attributes for both of these methods of
proof that are quite significant: a passage written by the Lombard states
that the arguments from reason must be Catholic and the analogies must
fit! Only in this way can one satisfy the opponents’ philosophical demands.
The “mansueti” [literally: “those who have been tamed”], in contrast, will
be more perfectly instructed about the contents of the faith in this way;
those who still cannot find what they are seeking, though, should sooner
complain about their state of mind than about the truth or the systematic
presentation of theology. Thus the methodological standard that is applied
here to theology is just as clear as its strictly ecclesiastical character: found-
ed on the ultimate authority of sacred Scripture, theology has to explain the
contents of the faith in arguments from reason that are proven to be Catho-
lic and in fitting analogies, in such manner that believers are led to a deeper
understanding, whereas opponents will have no excuse left but their inabil-
ity to understand it.
This programmatic statement in the middle of a dry textbook calls for
theology, according to the understanding of the time, to be a scientific justifi-
cation of the Church’s faith (“de ea quae est in nobis fide [. . .] rationem reddere”
[“to give a reason for that faith which is ours”]).118 Uniting scientific rigor
(still viewed here in the tension between auctoritas and ratio) and ecclesial
character now becomes the program of a theology of the via media [“middle
path”], which is based substantially on Peter Lombard and paves the way for
him to enter into the curriculum of the thirteenth-century universities.119
8 Axiomatic theology
The attempts to establish theology as a science in the strict sense lead
to the adoption of general scientific procedures in theology. This develop-
ment is advanced the farthest in the thoroughgoing axiomatic approach to
theology in the works of Alan of Lille [Alanus ab Insulis] (ca. 1120–1202)
and Nicholas of Amiens. The two scholars take different models of the axi-
omatic method, however: Alan follows Boethius, De hebdomadibus, while
Nicholas bases his work on Euclid.120
118. Concerning this medieval reading of 1 Peter 3:15 as a program for theology, see de
Ghellinck, Mouvement, 279–84.
119. Ibid., 267–77.
120. See Evans, “Axiomatic Method,” 36–52; Dreyer, More mathematicorum, 142–70.
The Regulae de sacra theologia by Alan of Lille highlight from the very
start the connection with the secular sciences: All sciences have at their own
foundation certain regulae [rules], which also indicate the limits of the sci-
ence in question; the regulae go by different names: in logic they are maximae
(namely, sententiae), in rhetoric—loci communes, in ethics—general prin-
ciples, in physics—aphorisms, in arithmetic—porismata, etc. Like all other
sciences, theology too as the “supercaelestis scientia” has its foundational rules
or axioms.121 These are per se of higher rank than those of all the other sci-
ences, but they are also more difficult to discover. With Gilbert Porreta, Alan
attributes absolute and irrefutable necessity (necessitas absoluta et irrefraga-
bilis) to the theological axioms in contrast to the foundations of the natural
sciences, which are based only upon the customary course of nature.122 It is
not easy, however, to find theological axioms or to formulate them correct-
ly. Someone who follows only the natural sciences will necessarily perceive
them as riddles (aenigmata) or paradoxes, which seem to be illogical and are
difficult to grasp. In fact Alan’s regulae include quite paradoxical formulas,
for example, “Only the monad [monas] is Alpha and Omega without Alpha
and Omega” (rule 5), “God is the intelligible sphere whose midpoint is ev-
erywhere and whose circumference is nowhere” (rule 7). They are also de-
scribed as emblemata (e.g., the image of the sphere) or entymemata, whereas
Boethius calls them hebdomades (according to Alan equal in dignitas to the
axioma). Because of their difficulty, however, they are not to be expected of
beginners, but rather demand an audience that is already experienced in the-
ology.123 The axiomatic presentation of theology, therefore, is not a didactic
method of handing it on, but rather the scientific proof of logical consistency
and necessity, and incidentally also the proof of the scientific character of
theology.
The axioms of theology, however, are for Alan unambiguously meta-
physical propositions, the most general and fundamental of which reads:
“Monas est, qua quaelibet res est una,” [“A monad is that by which any thing
is one,”] whereby the “supercaelestis unitas” by definition means God and
at the same time the strongly Neoplatonic provenance of this (Boethian)
metaphysics is made clear. It is required that these first propositions be un-
provable and self-evident, so that everyone agrees with them immediately
121. Alanus ab Insulis, Regulae de sacra theologia, prol. (PL 210.621 AB); see also Chenu, “Un
essai”; see also Glorieux, “Somme”; Dreyer, More mathematicorum, 142–62.
122. Alanus ab Insulis, Regulae, prol. (621 C–622 A).
123. Ibid. (623 B).
upon hearing them. Yet the decisive thing is not people’s agreement, since
many theological axioms are widely known (e.g., that there must be one
single principle for all things), while other strictly metaphysical proposi-
tions (e.g., that for everything that is utterly simple, being and essence are
identical) are known only to a few. The foundational axioms of the Regulae,
however, are of the latter sort. The Trinity is brought in at the third rule,
“The Monad begets a Monad and turns the ardor (of love) back upon itself ”
(rule 3).124 Even the abovecited rules show that in Alan’s system not all the
rules are unprovable axioms of the same order; instead the later ones are
supposed to be derived from the earlier ones, which he does accomplish in
the first steps. On the other hand, the constant logical deduction becomes
difficult in the case of facts from salvation history such as the Incarnation. It
is “substantiated” in rule 99 based on the threefold status of man, his thesis
(original natural and rational state), from which he can “stand out” (exsta-
sis) in two directions: upward to God in his apotheosis and downward to the
beasts in his hypothesis. Now since the latter occurs, God leaves his status
of apotheosis and empties himself to the point of hypothesis.125 Finally, rela-
tively simple dogmatic statements, for example, concerning Christ’s agony
(rule 105) are quoted and explained as axioms too.126 Precisely in this sec-
tion and in his teaching on the sacraments, where his approach is more like
that of a conventional summa, Alan’s attempt shows how difficult it is to
harmonize a metaphysical system of axioms and a biblical “fact” from salva-
tion history or the historical institutions of the Church in such a way as to
construct a thoroughly demonstrative science from those elements.
That is exactly what Nicholas of Amiens claims to do in the title of his
work Ars fidei Catholicae, which was written between 1187 and 1197: give a
technically correct presentation of the Catholic faith.127 Here technically
correct means according to Euclid’s rules for the axiomatic method, which
were originally laid down for geometry. Already in the twelfth century, then,
we are dealing with a Theologia more geometrico demonstrata, at least accord-
124. Ibid., reg.1–3 (623 A–625 A).

125. Ibid., reg. 99 (673 C–674 A). The three statuses lead to the derivation of two sorts of the-
ology (supercaelestis or apothetica and subcaelestis or hypothetica) and of a “naturalis philosophia quae
circa terrena vertitur” [“natural philosophy which deals with earthly things”] in the summa “Quon-
iam homines” I n.2: ed. Glorieux, “Somme,” 121.
126. Alanus, Regulae, reg. 105 (677 C).
127. Edition: M. Dreyer, Nikolaus von Amiens: Ars fidei catholiciae—Ein Beispielwerk axiom-
atischer Methode (BGPhThMA, n.s., 37) (Münster, 1993); see also Dreyer, More mathematicorum,
162–70.
ing to the plan. Axioms, definitions (descriptiones) and postulates (petitio-
nes) are the basic scaffolding with which Nicholas begins his presentation
(book 1: doctrine on God and the Trinity; book 2: creation of the world,
the angels and men, freedom; book 3: Incarnation and redemption; book 4:
the sacraments; book 5: eschatology). The definitions of cause, substance,
matter, form, quality, accident, distinction and what is distinguished, move-
ment, actuality, name and verb, number, are generally valid for all the parts
(definitions are occasionally supplied subsequently in the later books). The
three postulates say:
1. The cause of everything composite is the composer.
2. With reference to causes, an infinite regression is ruled out.
3. To the qualities of the causes of what is created, which themselves are not
caused, belong their effects as well; thus for example God’s goodness is
declared on the basis of its causality and effect.128
Then there are seven additional generally valid axioms (communes concep-
tiones):
1. Everything has being from that cause which brought its cause into being.
2. Every cause is temporally prior to and of a higher rank than what is
caused by it.
3. Something is not at the same time prior, nobler or higher than itself.
4. I f someone greater owns someone lesser, then the lesser is bound to
place himself and all that he has in the service of the honor and the will
of the greater.
5. Anyone who commits injustice deserves the greater punishment, the
higher the rank of the one who was wronged.
6. R eparation is to be measured according to the rank of the one against
whom a sin is committed.
7. W hat is heard moves the soul intensely, but what one has seen moves it
most intensely.129
As one might easily suppose, the first three axioms pertain to the doc-
trine about God and creation, while the satisfaction theory of Anselm of
Canterbury, for example, can be derived from axioms 4–6 and the doctrine
of the sacraments follows from axiom 7. In contrast to the axiomatic system
128. Nikolaus of Amiens, Ars (ed. Dreyer 77.15–79.4).

129. Ibid. (ed. Dreyer 79.5–18).
of Alan of Lille, however, Nicholas carries out the logical deduction thor-
oughly, stating the axioms, definitions and postulates used in each case. Usu-
ally the proof concludes with: “Et sic patet propositum,” that is, the formerly
unproven proposition that was merely assumed to be true has now been
proved from the postulates. These postulates, however, are of a quite dif-
ferent sort. Not one of them is genuinely theological; axioms 1–3 are meta-
physical propositions from the (Platonist) doctrine of causes, axioms 4–6
are rules of justice in medieval society, and finally, axiom 7 can most read-
ily be appealed to as a generalized experience from everyday life. Whereas
these axioms are valid for all the books, in the later books the necessary def-
initions are given explicitly, for instance the definitions of good, evil, useful,
love, justice, merit, demerit, humility, mercy, glory, grace, and satisfaction
for sin in book 2, and the definitions of sermon, sacrament, Baptism, Eu-
charist, Matrimony, Penance, the consecration of basilicas, anointing with
chrism and oil, and Church in book 4. The axioms are applied to the theo-
logical questions, which are thus developed terminologically, but this gives
rise precisely to the “ars catholicae fidei” [“art of the Catholic faith”]. For ev-
ery technically correct presentation consists of definitions, distinctions, and
propositions, which in a rigorous, logical sequence prove the propositions
that are assumed hypothetically.130 This method of “probabiles fidei nostrae
rationes” [“plausible reasons for our faith”], becomes necessary however for
Nicholas’ apologetic purpose of providing an exposition of the faith that
can lead Muslims, Jews, and heretics to the faith also, although it cannot
ultimately prove the faith and thereby replace it.131
Nicholas, unlike Alan, cites not only metaphysical axioms but also
principles of social justice and even of everyday experience, and his point
of departure is Euclid’s universal method instead of Boethius’ Neoplatonic
metaphysics; in this way he is spared the methodological gaps that Alan
has to tolerate when he introduces salvation history and sacramental theol-
ogy into his axiomatic system. The nontheological axioms of this theology,
however, reveal the full significance of Nicholas of Amiens’ undertaking: it
is not about a technically correct exposition of theology as a learned, quasi-
mathematical game or the reduction of faith to proved knowledge; instead
130. Ibid. (ed. Dreyer 77.13–15): “Nempe editionem hanc artem fidei catholicae merito appello. In
modum enim artis composita diffinitiones, divisiones continet, et propositiones artificioso processu pro-
positum comprobantes.” [“Certainly, I call this exposition the art of the Catholic faith, and rightly so.
For it is composed in the manner of an art and contains definitions and divisions and propositions
that prove what is proposed by a skillful/systematic process.”]
131. Ibid. (ed. Dreyer 76. 5–22).
it is about the scientific proof of the rationality of the contents of the faith,
on the basis of metaphysics, social philosophy, and everyday experience.
9 Towards a standard theological language

In the late twelfth century theologians begin to sketch syntheses of the
existing schools that join together the linguistic-grammatical, logical, bib-
lical, metaphysical, and partially axiomatic approaches. Typical of these
are the influential systematic works of Peter of Poitiers (ca. 1130–1205) and
Praepositinus of Cremona (ca. 1150–1210).
Peter of Poitiers was a student of Peter Lombard and taught in Paris
from 1167 to 1193. His most important work consists of the Sententiarum
libri quinque, written before 1170/76.132 If we compare the two collections
of sentences, however, the striking difference is immediately apparent: be-
sides traditional sentences, Peter of Poitiers discusses at great length the
suitability of theological terms, sometimes new vocabulary that he himself
introduces. Thus the affirmation of God’s existence is immediately followed
by a linguistic-critical reflection on distinguishing the words that are predi-
cated of God and on their modes of expression (book 1, chapter 2). This
systematic exposition in five books (Trinity, The Fall, Restoration through
virtues, Restoration through the Incarnation, and Restoration through the
Sacraments) is still understood as an introduction to sacred Scripture. It in-
tends to present the “disputabilia sacre pagine” [“debatable points of Sacred
Scripture”] in an orderly way (“in serie”) for beginners. The effort to system-
atize and the question technique are combined with a clear awareness of the
linguistic execution of theology [des sprachlichen Vollzugs von Theologie].133
In doing so Peter is undertaking a “modesta inquisitio,” thus indicating that
he wishes to avoid all useless or ridiculous questions that are not genuinely
theological.134
His method is first and foremost to make precise linguistic-logical dis-
tinctions, as is the heritage of the schools of Abelard and of the Porretans:
132. Sententiae Petri Pictaviensis, ed. Philip S. Moore and Marthe Doulong, vol. 1 (Publications
in Medieval Studies 7) (Notre Dame, Ind., 1961); vol. 2 (Publications in Medieval Studies 11) (Notre
Dame, Ind., 1950). See Moore, Works. This Petrus Pictaviensis should be distinguished from the
Porretan who taught in Vienna, Magister Petrus, who is sometimes identified as the author of the
“Zwettler Summa,” and from a canon regular of St. Victor by the same name; see also Häring, Zwet-
tler Summe, 3; Landgraf, Einführung, 105–9. Sturlese, Philosophie, 145–56.
133. See Petrus Pictaviensis, Sent. prol. (I, 1.15–2.35).
134. Ibid., Introduction XII*.
“Distingue, distinguenda est h[a]ec, non est danda sine distinctione,” etc., we
read again and again, especially where conflicting authorities must be har-
monized. The first thing that a theologian has to learn, therefore, before
tackling sacred Scripture, is a precise theological terminology, a standard
theological language one might say, for without it one cannot understand
anything at all about theological questions, in Peter’s opinion. “Nam ignora-
ta virtute nominum et verborum, necesse est nihil eorum intelligi, quae hoc inqui-
rantur.” [“For if one has overlooked the force of the nouns and verbs, then
one will inevitably understand nothing of what is being sought thereby.”]135
Thus immediately in the second chapter of book 1 he distinguishes nine
word types or ways of using terms with reference to God:136
1. Designations of essence: essentia, divinitas [essence, divinity];
esignations of essence but sometimes also of Persons: potentia, sapien-
2. D
tia, bonitas [power, wisdom, goodness];
3. Expressions of relation without reference: simile, aequale [like, equal];
4. Expressions of relation with reference: pater, filius [Father, Son];
5. Collective expressions for all the Persons together: Trinitas.
6. Expressions of relations involving all the Persons with respect to crea-
tures: Creator, Dominus [Lord].
7. E
xpressions of temporal relations involving individual Persons with
respect to creatures: missus [the One sent];
emporal expressions of a non-relational sort: Incarnatus, humanatus
8. T
[the One who was made flesh, became man];
9. Metaphorical expressions: agnus, leo, character [Lamb, Lion, character or
spiritual mark (in sacramental theology)].
Making linguistic and terminological distinctions is combined in Peter’s
work with a didactic method that attaches great importance to precision
and transparency. All nine word types are illustrated. Furthermore he has
his students prepare schematic drawings (figura) that are also included in
his work.137
A similar concept of theology forms the basis of the summa “Qui pro-
ducit ventos” by Praepositinus of Cremona, who taught in Paris at the same
135. Ibid., PL 211.981 C.
136. Ibid., I, 2 (I, 11.25–43).
137. Ibid., I, 15 (I, 153) concerning predestination and reprobation; I, 22 (I, 193) on distinguish-
ing among the Persons of the Trinity; I, 30 (I, 240) on the relation of the procession of the Holy
Spirit from the Father and the Son; Alberich of Trois-Fontaines testifies that this didactic method
was apparently an exceptional phenomenon: Introduction, xxi.
time as Peter of Poitiers and Alan of Lille and succeeded the former as chan-
cellor of Paris. His approach is even closer than Peter’s to the axiomatic
method of Alan and the linguistic logic of the Porretan school; he begins
the first book of his summa fully aware of the necessity for neat terminol-
ogy: “E vocabulis igitur qu[a]e de Deo dicuntur incipiamus.” [“Let us begin
therefore with the terms that are predicated of God.”]138 In contrast to
Peter, Praepositinus now presents in detail the grammatical and syntacti-
cal rules that are supposed to make precise discourse about the relations
in God possible. We are dealing therefore with the sketch of a theological
grammar. First the required or available words are classified:
ords that are spoken without reference to time (“ab aeterno,” e.g.,
1. W
Deus bonus, Deus justus),
2. W ords that are spoken with a temporal connotation (“ex tempore,” e.g.,
Creator, refugium, Dominus),
3. W
ords that are spoke about all three Persons and each one individually
(e.g., Deus),
4. W ords that are spoken about all three Persons together, but not about
each individually (e.g., Trinitas),
ords that are spoken only about two Persons (e.g., principium Spiritus
5. W
Sancti [the principle from which the Holy Spirit proceeds]),
6. Words that are spoken about only one Person (e.g., Pater, Filius,
Spiritus Sanctus),
7. As for their grammatical classification, they are nomina (“names”
= nouns and adjectives), verbs and participles.
8. I n the case of the adjectives, it should also be considered whether they
connote a division (e.g., unus [one]) or not (e.g., bonus [good]), whether
they are single predicates (e.g., aeternus) or relational expressions (e.g.,
coaeternus, coaequalis) with reference to another Person or a third party
(e.g., prescius [prescient]).139
Detailed rules for this vocabulary are now stated that define the mean-
ing of a given term in theological usage:
1. A
ll words that are spoken referentially about all three Persons and each
one individually designate the divine essence, except for adjectives that
connote a division.
138. Präpositinus, Summa “Qui producit ventos” I, 1 (ed. Angelini, Ortodossia, 197.1).
139. Ibid., (199.2–16).
2. Verbs, participles, and adjectives that connote a relation of Persons to
one another are predicated in the plural of the three Persons together
(e.g., potentes omnia [able to do all things], coaeterni).
3. Nouns that designate the divine essence are predicated in the singular of
the three Persons (e.g., Deus).
4. Adjectives that express no relation of one Person to another have the
same meaning when they are predicated in the plural of the three Persons
(e.g., “Pater et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus sunt aeterni” [“. . . are eternal”]).
5. In connection with Persons, adjectives that connote a division (e.g., unus,
aliquis, distinctus [one, someone, distinct]) connote (in the [Latin] mascu-
line or feminine gender) a distinction (e.g., “Pater est unus, Filius est alius,
Pater et Filius sunt duo” [“The Father is one, the Son is another, the Father
and the Son are two”]). In connection with nouns that designate the
divine essence, they also designate the essence (e.g., “Pater est unus Deus,
Pater et Filius sunt una essentia” [“The Father is one God; the Father and
the Son are one essence”]); in the neuter gender they likewise designate
the essence (e.g., “Pater et Filius sunt unum” [“The Father and the Son
are one”]).
6. The noun “persona” designates the distinction, answers the question
“quid tres?” [“three what?”] and in the plural is used collectively for all
three Persons.140
The rules are not laid down here according to the axiomatic method,
however, but rather emerge from a sometimes tedious disputation of the
pro and con of patristic authorities and contemporary opinions, whereby
the author is clearly aware of the constant possibility of false conclusions
based on imprecise word usage (fallaciae).141 Such terminological work
presupposes, however, a previous knowledge about the contents of the faith
as it is proposed by the Church. The object of discussion for theology is not
that but rather the adequacy of human discourse in explaining it. A logical
analysis of Praepositinus’ procedure shows that the contents of the faith as
formulated by the Church (whenever possible in standard language) can be
expressed as axioms and in that form are the precondition for the whole
discussion about the adequacy of the formulation. For example, the funda-
mental axioms for the doctrine of the Trinity are:142
140. Summary with citations: Angelini, Ortodossia, 21.

141. On the influence of the Sophistici Elenchi and on the beginnings of the Logica Moderno-
rum, Angelini, Ortodossia, 108.
142. Ibid., 35, for synopsis.
1. The Father (Son, Holy Ghost) is God.
2. Father, Son, and Holy God are one God.
3. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are three Persons.
e essence is Person (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit). [Das Wesen
4. Th
ist Person . . .]
5. God is (by his essence), is mighty (through his might), etc.
6. God is simple, eternal, unchanging, perfect, etc.
7. God is his essence, his might, etc.
8. The Father begets the Son; the Son is begotten by the Father; the Father
and the Son breathe forth the Holy Spirit; the Holy Spirit proceeds from
the Father and the Son.
9. Th
e Father gives being to the Son by begetting; the Father and the Son
give being to the Holy Spirit by breathing forth.
10. The Father is fatherhood (paternitas), and so on for the other Persons.
Thus Praepositinus does not stop at a vague axiomatic approach con-
sisting of propositions that are not further reducible, but rather seeks to
work out the necessary terminological precision for the axioms and all the
statements derived from them. This procedure distinguishes his writings
from the axiomatic method of Alan of Lille and Nicholas of Amiens. Now
conclusions are drawn from axioms that are really theological. Theology has
become a specialized science that intends to be sure of itself. Praepositinus
is concerned not primarily with a metaphysical or rational-experiential jus-
tification of theology, but rather with its activity as an academic, scientific
and ecclesial discipline: How can we produce a linguistically precise, cor-
rect, consistent, and at the same time ecclesiastically accepted theology by
means of speculative grammar and the Aristotelian logic that is now wide-
spread (especially using the Topics and the Sophistici Elenchi)?143
10 Scholastic and monastic theology

The development of “academic” theology in the schools of the twelfth
century, which had already reached the stage of self-assurance with Prae-
positinus, was accompanied by theological currents that have been men-
tioned only incidentally thus far and since the study by J. Leclercq have
been grouped under the general heading of “monastic theology.”144 While
143. Ibid., 107–11; Kobusch, “Grammatica speculativa.”
144. See esp. Leclercq, Wissenschaft, and his extensive bibliography; for the contrast see also
Quinto, Scholastica, 52–56.
it is correct to assume that the twelfth-century monastic orders and reform
movements had an independent theological tradition, it is an oversimplifi-
cation to contrast monastic and Scholastic theology. For Anselm of Can-
terbury was a monk, as was Abelard for a time; Hugh of St. Victor was a
reformed canon regular; Alan of Lille, one of the most clearly defined Scho-
lastics, became a Cistercian. On the other hand, figures such as Bernard of
Clairvaux, Peter Damian, Rupert of Deutz (1075/80–1129/30) and Gerhoh
of Reichersberg certainly were not part of the movement of genuine Scho-
lastic theology but rather grappled with it more or less competently.
The cloistered life and life at institutions of higher education were dif-
ferent and to some extent incompatible, and not just in the twelfth century.
Yet a Benedictine monastery was understood to be precisely a “school for
the service of the Lord” (dominici schola servitii), certainly a school where
in-depth study of the faith is embedded in a personal search for God and
collective action for the praise of God.145 The monastic school for interns
is also included in this way of life and is thus clearly distinguished from the
city or cathedral school that is populated by nonresident teachers and schol-
ars. The Premonstratensian Philip of Harvengt († 1183), who himself had a
Scholastic education, is one witness who mentions liturgy, prayer, silence,
weeping, and lectio divina as the basic elements of cloistered life as opposed
to the “tumult of secular schooling” (Laon and Paris being the prime ex-
amples).146 Petrus Comestor sharply contrasts the “claustrales,” who devote
themselves more to prayer than to lectio (in the technical sense), with the
“scholares,” who spend all their time on lectio and have little left for prayer.147
Naturally it is easy, from the superior vantage point of one’s own piety, to
complain about or inveigh against the uselessness of Scholastic, academic the-
ology and to rate “sancta simplicitas” higher than worldly “curiositas.”148 Nev-
ertheless, what differentiates the two ways of life and the sorts of theologizing
connected with them are the purpose, the methods and the oral and literary
forms of their respective theologies. In monastic theology the purpose is to
advance personally in the faith, to edify others, who often share the same way
of life, or to defend against false teachings or harmful influences. Therefore in
his scriptural exegesis Bernard of Clairvaux relates monastic theology to his
own experience and thereby differentiates it from technical, scientific exegesis:
145. Regula Benedicti, Prologue 45 (CSEL 75.8).

146. Philipp von Harvengt, Ep. 7 (PL 203.58).
147. Petrus Comestor, Sermo IX (PL 198.1747).
148. See, for example, Petrus Damiani, De sancta simplicitate (PL 145.695–703).
As for us, we wish to proceed with caution and simplicity in commenting on these
mystical and holy words. Let us conduct ourselves as does sacred Scripture, which
interprets the wisdom hidden in the mystery with words that are our own; when it
speaks to us about God, it depicts him with the help of our own feelings and senti-
ments. Scripture makes the invisible and hidden reality of God, which is of such
exalted worth, accessible to the human mind, as though in vessels of little value that
are taken from the reality known to us through the senses.149
The ordering of theology to cloistered life, liturgy, and prayer150 makes

the cloistered schools the home of symbolic-experiential scriptural exege-
sis, as it is practiced preeminently in the school of St. Victor but also in the
poems that Alan of Lille wrote in the monastic tradition. Indeed, stylistic
elegance and poetry are found in the cloisters and not in Scholastic collec-
tions of sentences: the poetic works of wandering scholars (and magistri)
cannot be compared with it.151 Again, the allegorical, tropological, and ana-
gogical interpretation of Scripture (sometimes apart from Scholastic sche-
mata) is cultivated above all in the tradition of the cloistered schools, and
this gives rise to a “théologie symbolique.”152 The monastic tradition of spiri-
tual exegesis and scholastic learning interpenetrate in the best examples of
this genre, which often refer to the symbolism even in the title: for example,
Richard of St. Victor’s Benjamin major and Benjamin minor; Hugh of St. Vic-
tor’s De arca Noe morali and De arca Noe mystica. Such works often originate
from the collationes, spiritual-ascetical lectures for the confreres or conver-
sations with them. Hugh, for example, shows them in the story of Noah’s
ark the whole structure of the Church, Christ, and the spiritual life. The ark
moreover is depicted or construed in a downright symbolic way as a figura
(image for meditation); in much the same way Adam of Dryburgh (Ada-
mus Scotus, † 1212) paints a panorama of the whole world.153 Among the
Victorines in particular, however, the symbolic interpretation always has
its foundation in the exact interpretation of the literal sense (littera). Since
every part in the figura is important for the symbolic reading, this leads to
questions and different interpretations, for example, in the treatise De tri-
149. Bernard of Clairvaux, Super Cant. 74.2 (S. Bernardi Opera. II, Roma, 1958, 240.16–22).
150. Bernard of Clairvaux, De consid. V, 32 (III, 493.24–25): “at orando forte quam disputando
dignius quaeritur et invenitur facilius.” [“But He is sought more worthily and found more easily by
praying hard than by debating.”]
152. See esp. Chenu, Théologie au XII, 159–209.
153. Hugh of St. Victor, De arca Noe mystica (PL 176, 681–684); Adamus Scotus, De tripartito
tabernaculo p. 2 (PL 198, 683–744); see also Sicard, Diagrammes. A remarkable reaction to Hugh is
expressed in Smalley, Study, 96: “Oh yes! we think of the Kindergarten.”
partito tabernaculo by the Premonstratensian Adamus Scotus in response
to an extremely detailed inquiry from John of Kelso (ca. 1175) concerning
Exodus 25–27, for example about the location and significance of the sixth
tent curtain (Exodus 26:9) or of the bronze grating or network at the altar
(Exodus 27:4).154
Remarkably, the historical sense that appears here is strongly connected
with monastic theology. Whereas the theologians of the cathedral and state
schools generally do not develop much of a sense of history, the historical
foundations of the way of life in a specific cloister always provide an incen-
tive to grapple with one’s own past.155 Out of historiography (e.g., monastic
chronicles), however, develops an interpretation of history or a theology of
history, as is evident in Otto of Freising († 1153), for instance. Historiogra-
phy, too, becomes a means of theological edification and self-examination;
this is clearly the case with the Cluniac abbot Petrus Venerabilis († 1156),
who in the prologue to De miraculis becomes angry “about the indifference
of many people who distinguish themselves by their knowledge, love of
literature and eloquence yet are too lazy to leave to their posterity written
records of the wonderful works that the Almighty accomplishes again and
again on earth to strengthen his Church.”156 Thus historiography is ordered
to the Church, the praise of God and mutual edification, whether in the
form of hagiography (which sometimes assumes the form of an ascetical
sermon on the subject of a saintly figure),157 or in the form of a monastic,
ecclesiastical, or secular chronicle. Such documents exhibit all possible
combinations of theological intention, critical sense and belief in miracles,
sometimes even in the defense of manifestly material interests.158 Replace-
able parts, like the sentences of the magistri, are carried over from one saint’s
life to the next, which in some instances is composed for a definite purpose,
for instance to achieve the exaltation of the relics or canonization.159
Monastic theology most often regards itself in its existential setting as
superior to Scholastic theology. Authors, including Bernard of Clairvaux,
are fond of differentiating their work from Scholasticism by citing Jerome’s
remark that the monk has the “officium lugendi” [“duty of mourning”] and
154. PL 198.609–792; see also Chenu, Théologie au XII, 192–96; Leinsle, “Charitati militare,” 9–10.
156. Petrus Venerabilis, De miraculis, prol. (PL 189.907).
157. See, for example, the Vita Siardi (ed. Lamboij and Mol, Vitae Abbatum, 242–349; 43–51).
158. Examples in Leclercq, Wissenschaft, 179–82.
159. Examples in Leclercq, Wissenschaft, 186–87; Heffernan, Sacred Biography.
not the “officium docendi” [“duty of teaching”].160 The excesses of the Scho-
lastic enterprise and the personal conduct of magistri and scholares could
provide welcome grounds for pious aloofness, as when Stephen of Tour-
nai (1135–1203) wrote to the Pope: “The students are no longer interested
in anything but what is new. The magistri, who loved their reputation above
all else, compose new summas every day and new theological works that
please the listeners and deceive them, as though the writings of the Fathers
who explained sacred Scripture were not enough.”161 If one must pursue
theology, then it should not be as a science with the methods of dialectic
terminology (“profanae vocum novitates,” 1 Tim 6:20), for that does not ed-
ify but only leads to pride (“scientia inflat,” 1 Cor 8:1). With such passages
from the Bible people in many circles believed that they were armed against
the Scholastic enterprise.162 Yet the rejection of all Scholastic, academic
theology is neither a universal nor a necessary characteristic of “monas-
tic” or cloistered theology. The addition of religious community life, how-
ever, makes the theology advocated here an existential-experiential theol-
ogy, a kind of wisdom (e.g., in the school of St. Victor) that can then be
contrasted with mere science, as Bernard of Clairvaux programmatically
maintains: “There (in the schools) we hear what wisdom teaches; here we
receive it into ourselves. There we are taught, here—deeply moved. Instruc-
tion produces knowledgeable men, whereas association [in religious life]
produces wise men. . . . There one arrives at wisdom; here one penetrates
into it.”163
11 Learned heresy

From Gottschalk via Berengar down to Gilbert Porreta and Peter Lom-
bard we encounter again and again in the history of theology the accusation
of heresy. Scholastic theology and heresy—contrary to all later protesta-
tions—seem to be very closely connected. In contrast to the popular reli-
gious movements and heresies of the twelfth century, we are dealing here
with a learned, academically trained departure from the norm of Church
160. Hieronymus, Contra Vigilantium 15 (PL 23.351); Bernard of Clairvaux, Sup. Cant. 64.3 (II,
168.3–4); Ep. 89 (VII, 236.3–4).
161. Stephen of Tournai, Ep. 251 (PL 211.517).
162. See, for example, Petrus Damiani, De sancta simplicitate scientiae inflanti anteponenda (PL
145.695).
163. Bernard of Clairvaux, Sup. Cant. 23.14 (I, 147.22–148.13).
doctrine.164 Proceedings against teachers are therefore different from those
against popular heresies. The mistrust with which ecclesiastical and clois-
tered circles viewed the free schools and the theology pursued in them pro-
vided a fertile soil for the suspicion of heresy: “Contrary to hallowed pre-
cepts, they debate about the incomprehensible Godhead; flesh and blood
argue with many words and without reverence about the Incarnation of the
Word. They divide up the indivisible Trinity and demonstrate the differenc-
es within it. There are already as many errors as doctors, as many teachings
as listeners, as many blasphemies as public places.” So Stephen of Tournai,
Abbot of Mont Ste. Geneviève in Paris, to Pope Innocent III (1198–1216).165
On the other hand, the learned heresies (e.g., of Abelard and Gilbert Por-
reta) are not uncommonly accused of being esoteric doctrines.166 A lack of
understanding of Scholastic terminology or of the Porretan “standard lan-
guage” and methods in broad sectors of the Church further contributed to
the suspicion of heresy.
As this early Scholastic theology was taking shape, we observe at the
same time the development of a formal and juridically exact concept of her-
esy.167 The background for this was the Gregorian reform along with the de-
velopment of the papal primacy of jurisdiction. In this trend the concept of
heresy, as found for instance in Gerhoh of Reichersberg and Peter Damian,
applies only in a very restricted way to the learned heresy; above all it is a
disciplinary measure aimed at departures from the “Romana ecclesia”: “here-
ticum esse constat qui Romane ecclesie non concordat,” [“Anyone who does not
agree with the Roman Church is recognized as a heretic,”] as Gregory VII
put it (1073–1085).168 This formula can then be applied to doctrinal devia-
tions if one assumes that the Roman Church has always preserved the true
faith; for unlike schism, heresy does not rend Church unity but rather the
truth.169 Only in this version can the reforming papacy’s concept of heresy
be applied to deviations in speculative theology, as Gerhoh’s battle against
Abelard and Gilbert’s students proves. For him as a reformed canon regular,
164. See Fichtenau, Ketzer; Grundmann, Religiöse Bewegungen; Lambert, Medieval Heresy; An-
genendt, Religiosität, 192–201.
165. CUP I, 48 n. 48.
166. See Abaelard, Confessio fidei, ed. Ch. S. Burnett, Medieval Studies 48 (1986): 132; Gaufred
of Auxerre, Contra Capitula Gilberti c.1 (PL 185.595).
167. See esp. Lourdeaux and Verhelst, eds., Concept of Hersesy; Hageneder, Häresiebegriff.
168. Register of Gregory VIII (MGH Epist/4, VII, 25); see also Classen, Häresiebegriff, 31–32.
169. Thus Gerhoch von Reichersberg, Liber de laude fidei, (Opera inedita, Rom 1955/56, 1.254);
von Reichersberg, De investigatione Antichristi I, 53 (MGH lib 3, 359–60); see also Beinert, Kirche,
368–80.
Scholasticism (scholastice) is the antithesis of ecclesiastical discipline (eccle-
siastice), with which doctrine is bound up. The “scholae in Francia” are the
cradles of heresy and therefore contrary to the “ecclesia Romana.”170
Bernard uses a substantially more interesting argument, from a formal
perspective, in his polemic against Abelard and Gilbert.171 On the one hand
Bernard accuses Abelard of innovating in matters of faith: he says that a new
faith is being set forth, that Abelard regards his “novitates” as superior to the
faith and the doctrine of the Catholic Fathers; in short, that he is proclaim-
ing a “nova haeresis.”172 This innovation is unmasked, however, as an old er-
ror, which goes back to the well-known heresies of the patristic era: Arian-
ism in the doctrine on the Trinity, Pelagianism in the doctrine on grace, and
Nestorianism in Christology.173 This makes clear also the final judgment
with which Bernard intervenes with Pope Innocent II (1130–1143) against
Abelard: Whatever he says, deep down he is a heretic.174 Heresy, though,
is not simply an error in matters of faith that fallible human beings might
make, but rather the adherence to error and the defense of it, after it has
been pointed out that it is an error. Heresy therefore is not just a matter of
the intellect but above all a matter of the will.175 In Bernard’s view this is
precisely the case with Abelard, who despite the condemnation in Soissons
in 1121 has not desisted from his errors but keeps producing new ones and
arousing those that were sleeping concealed among the general public and
thus is endangering the faith of the simple people.176 Gilbert too is accused
of innovation in the form of a distorted and obscure interpretation of the
Trinity with which the Catholic Church cannot possibly agree.177
It is also typical of the twelfth century that the attacks against real and
alleged heresies of the magistri originate with individual ecclesiastics. The
papacy, at this stage in the development of its claim to universal jurisdic-
170. Gerhoch, Dialogus (MGH lib 3.227.235).

171. See Leclercq, L’hérésie, 12–26.
172. Bernard of Clairvaux, Ep. 190.26 (VIII, 38.16); 189.2–3 (VIII, 13–14); 192 (VIII, 43, 17–19);
190.2 (VIII, 18.25); 330 (VIII, 267.11–12).
173. Bernard of Clairvaux, Ep. 192 (VIII, 44.4–6): “Cum de Trinitate loquitur, sapit Arium; cum
de gratia, sapit Pelagium; cum de persona Christi, sapit Nestorium.” [“When he speaks of the Trinity,
it smacks of Arius . . .”]. See Ep. 330–32 (VIII, 266–272); 336 (VIII, 276.1–4); 338.2 (VIII, 278.12–15).
174. Bernard of Clairvaux, Ep. 331 (VIII, 269.11–12): “Monachum se exterius, haereticum interius
ostendit.” [“He makes an outward show of being a monk, but inside he proves to be a heretic.”]
175. Bernard of Clairvaux, Ep. 193 (VIII, 45.7–8): “haereticum se probans, non tam in errore quam
in pertinacia et defensione erroris.” [“. . . proving that he is a heretic not so much in his error as in his
obstinacy and defense of error.”]
176. Bernard of Clairvaux, Ep. 331 (VIII, 269.15–270.4).
177. Bernard of Clairvaux, Sup. Cant. 80, 6–8 (II, 281–83).
tion, reacts only to accusations and very slowly. Trials of theologians are at
first a local affair.178 The Gottschalk case was still treated as a purely dis-
ciplinary matter. He was flogged in the presence of the Synod in Mainz in
848 and thrown into prison, where he nevertheless continued his theologi-
cal work. The controversy with Berengar of Tours followed the procedures
of synodal heresy trials, although even at that early date the reform papacy
clearly participated. The synods or councils that passed judgment however
were local ecclesiastical assemblies in Rome and Vercelli in 1050, in Paris
(1050), in Tours (1054) and again in Rome (1059 and 1079). At the Lenten
synod in Rome in 1059 it was explicitly noted that they had followed the
procedure foreseen by the Council of Ephesus for the renunciation of her-
esy: Berengar must retract his erroneous teaching, affirm and subscribe to
the creed that is presented to him and consign his writings to the fire by his
own hand in the presence of the assembly.179
The proceeding against Abelard in Soissons in 1121 still followed es-
sentially this same pattern: Abelard handed over his Theologia Summi Boni
to the cardinal legate Cuno of Preneste (who served in that capacity from
1111–1121), who forwarded it to the Bishop of Rheims, who had jurisdiction.
The latter had his theological advisors examine it. We have only Abelard’s
own account of this procedure, but the evident inability of the Church
leadership to debate with highly educated magistri ultimately prompted
the Church authorities to resort to the old disciplinary measures, as in the
proceeding against Berengar.180 In contrast, Bernard of Clairvaux and Wil-
liam of St. Thierry († 1148/49) prepared for the Synod of Sens (1140) with
accusations against Abelard in letters and lists of errors.181 Already in ad-
vance of the synodal proceeding Abelard objected to it in an Apologia and a
Confessio fidei. The assembly in Sens was originally planned by Abelard as a
debate with Bernard in the presence of other magistri. At the instigation of
Bernard, however, it was to become a condemnation of a list of “errors” by
the bishops of France. Abelard protested against this repurposing of a de-
bate, appealed to Rome, left the synod and set out for the Eternal City. The
interventions of his opponents were faster, however, and thus Innocent II
condemned Abelard’s teachings as a whole, imposed perpetual silence upon
178. See esp. Miethke, “Theologenprozesse.”
179. See Bernold of St. Blasien, De veritate, ed. R. B. C. Huygens, “Bérenger de Tours, Lanfranc
et Berold de Constance,” Sacris Erudiri 16 (1965): 355–403, citation at 380.
180. Abaelard, Historia Calamitatum, ed. Monfrin, 82–89.
181. Capitula haeresum Petri Abaelardi (PL 182.1049–54); for further lists see Miethke, Theolo-
genprozesse, 98, n. 60.
him, sentenced him to monastic house arrest and ordered his books to be
burned. Given the haste of the proceeding and Abelard’s later reconciliation
with Rome, probably arranged by Petrus Venerabilis, it is not possible to
say with certainty which teachings in particular were condemned.182 Final-
ly, the influence of the papacy was more clearly evident in the proceeding
against Gilbert Porreta in the papal consistory at Rheims in 1148. The mere
fact that Gilbert had a number of folio volumes containing patristic writings
brought into the assembly room made it clear that a theological and not a
disciplinary settlement of the dispute was called for. Contrary to Bernard’s
intervention, the consistory pronounced no unequivocal condemnation of
Gilbert, but merely condemned an anonymous mediocre student work and
had it torn to pieces.183
The exclusively local significance of the trials of theologians, the exces-
sive demands upon the Church leadership in theological matters, but also
the simplifying effect of polemics and “publicity” ensured that the effects
of such condemnations would be relatively minor. Abelard’s teachings were
circulated precisely by means of the lists of errors.184 One characteristic of
theologian trials in the following period, however, would be to examine pre-
pared lists of errors rather than the original writings. The consistory in Rhe-
ims was a prime example of a condemnation of “auditors’ transcripts,” and
Gilbert’s influence and the importance of his school were enhanced rather
than diminished by it.
182. On the proceeding: Miethke, “Theologenprozesse,” 96–102.

183. Ibid., 103–13.
184. See Luscombe, School, 103–42.
3 Theology as a Science at the University
Whereas twelfth-century theology was essentially characterized by the

multiplicity of schools, the organization of the universities around the year
1200 and the widespread acceptance of the strict Aristotelian concept of sci-
ence set forth in the Posterior Analytics placed theology as a body of knowl-
edge in a new sociological and theoretical context: it had to maintain its place
as a science within the university organization. Traditionally this passage of
theology from an academic discipline to a university science is described as
the transition from early to high Scholasticism.
1 The university as the home of theology

The university’s understanding of its nature and mission and theology’s
claim to be a science were mutually dependent as they evolved. Therefore
we will look first at the development of the first universities, their teaching
activity, and the presentational forms that resulted from it.
1.1 University organization, teaching activity,

and presentational forms
The early thirteenth century is characterized by the organization of a
new scientific institution, the university.1 Chronologically this began with
the organizational forms of the Italian schools of Bologna and Salerno,
which of course specialized in law or medicine respectively. Of paramount
importance for theology was the corporate organization first of the magistri
and later of the scholares in the various Parisian schools. We find the begin-
nings of this in the final decades of the twelfth century. Decisive steps in
1. On the history of the university see esp. Rashdall, Universities; Leff, Paris; Weijers, Termi-
nologie.
120
Theology as a Science at the University 121
this process included: the granting to the magister of authorization to teach
(licentia docendi), dealing with the chancellor as the official ecclesiastical au-
thority and with the city government of Paris as the municipal authority,
the royal privilege of Philip II (1180–1233) dating back to 1200, and finally
the university statutes of Chancellor Robert of Courson/Courçon (†1219)
from the year 1215. Disputes, unrest, and strikes marked the development
of the university in Paris in its struggle for independence from ecclesiasti-
cal oversight. For the University of Paris was still strongly influenced by the
tradition of the cathedral school of Notre Dame, which (unlike Oxford)
was ruled by a Church-appointed chancellor.2 In contrast, at the end of the
twelfth century in Oxford, located at a considerable distance from the see
of the bishop of Lincoln who had jurisdiction, the various abbey schools
gave rise to a studium generale, which in 1214 received papal approval from
Innocent III.3
The university now defined the educational career of the future theolo-
gian also.4 The student who enrolled in one of the “nations” [nationes] (in
Paris there were four, in Oxford—three) at around the age of fifteen had to
complete first the philosophical education institutionalized in the facultas
artium [faculty of the arts] before he could be promoted to the “higher”
faculties (theology, law, medicine). The relation between philosophy and
theology was thus fixed also by the university: without philosophy no the-
ology. After six years the scholar could become a baccalaureus artium [Bach-
elor of Arts]. As such he lectured on the classical texts under the direction
of the magister, and upon concluding this practicum he obtained the licen-
tia docendi, provided that he had reached the age of twenty-one. After what
was usually a very short stint of teaching in philosophy he could then begin
the study of theology (minimum age seventeen), and it took seven (later
six) years to earn the baccalaureate.5 The baccalaureus biblicus (minimum
age twenty-five), after a solemn principium or introitus, lectured cursorily on
the books of the Bible for one or more years as a cursor. Then as a bacca-
laureus sententiarius he spent two years under the supervision of a magister
explaining the Sentences of Peter Lombard. With that he was a baccalaureus
formatus. As such he had to participate in lectures and disputations and give
2. See Gabriel, “Conflict.”

3. On the significant differences from the Parisian model (in the collegiate system, among
other respects), see Leff, Paris, 75–115.
5. See Glorieux, “L’enseignement,” and the bibliography therein.
sermons for four years in order to qualify as a Magister of Theology. After
an examination of his university accomplishments by the magistri the licen-
tia docendi was then conferred upon him, and after an evening disputation
(vesperies), a commendatory speech on sacred Scripture and another dispu-
tation in the Aula Episcopi (“bishop’s hall,” hence called the aulica), as well
as a disputation with four magistri, he was solemnly declared a Magister; as
such he himself decided a disputation for the first time and now had to re-
solve the questions posed in the previous disputations explicitly in terms of
his position (resumptum). The permanent exercise of his faculty to teach did
not automatically go with the title. Therefore a magister who was actually a
student teacher for a year in Paris was called a magister actu regens.6
As was already the case in the schools of the twelfth century, the forms
of instruction were the lectio, disputatio, and praedicatio [reading, debate,
sermon], which now, however, underwent institutional and formal devel-
opments. The lectio was still the central duty of the magister, especially the
interpretation of the sacra pagina, that is, of a book from the Bible. These
biblical lectures by the magistri became increasingly rare, though, over the
course of the thirteenth century. Alexander of Hales lectured for the first
time in Paris, even as a magister, on the Sentences, which in the course of
training was actually the daily task of the sententiarius. The resulting Com-
mentaries on the Sentences were, particularly after the magistri began to lec-
ture on the Sentences, the most personal and most important Scholastic
works that clarify the doctrinal development beyond the Lombard. As op-
posed to the auditor’s transcript (reportatio), the lecture on the Sentences
was then not infrequently published in a special ordinatio [outline of sub-
jects treated] of the magister (or else as his own scriptum). In contrast, the
cursory reading by the baccalaureus biblicus or cursor can be best compared
to a sort of introductory lecture or “fundamental exegesis.” In addition there
were repetitions (sometimes called collationes, a term that can also mean
spiritual talks, however).7
As a result of the institutionalization, similar variations arose in the area
of the disputatio, especially the distinction between the ordinary disputa-
tion and the disputatio de quolibet [on an arbitrary subject]. The ordinary
disputation was a matter for a magister actu regens in his school and his stu-
dents. It took place in the afternoon between the canonical hours of none
6. See Glorieux, Répertoire.

7. Methodologically important is the precise investigation by Oliva, Débuts, 210–13, 225–52.
and vespers. The following morning the magister then held the sole lecture
of the day. Students of other magistri could participate in such a disputation.
Baccalaurei are obliged to do so a few times. In order to be a sententiarius,
one must have collaborated at least twice as a respondent, once for a magis-
ter of another nation. The baccalaureus formatus himself could preside over a
quaestio tentativa (as opposed to the quaestio ordinaria of the magister). Out
of this orderly disputation developed the literary genre of the quaestiones
disputatae (e.g., the Q. d. de veritate of Thomas Aquinas).
The disputatio de quolibet (also called disputatio extraordinaria, quodlibet-
alis, quodlibetica) reached its prime in the thirteenth century.8 It originated
institutionally around the time of the debates of 1229–1231 and at first was
found chiefly in the schools of the mendicant orders. Usually during these
solemn biannual disputations between fifteen and twenty questions were
posed (although occasionally there were as many as thirty-four). The dis-
putation was conducted in two steps: the discussion of the questions (the
actual disputatio) on the first day and the determinatio of the magister on
the next dies legibilis [day on which a lecture could be held]. Because of the
free choice of questions, the quaestiones de quolibet always shed light on the
pressing questions at the university and in society, but often too they dis-
cussed questions that sound purely “Scholastic,” for example, in the Quod-
libets of Henry of Ghent (ca. 1217–1293): whether the Holy Spirit would be
distinguished from the Son by some relation if he did not proceed from
him (V, 9 of 1280), or whether there is any temporal succession in eternity
(V, 13). Many magistri made the quodlibet almost the main component of
their literary activity (e.g., Henry of Ghent, Godfrey of Fontaines). In the
late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, however, the main burden of
work in the quaestio de quolibet was transferred to the baccalaurei, so that
the disputations increasingly acquired an educational function and there-
by diminished in theological value. At the same time there were also dis-
putations of a more private sort, of which the Sorbonica at the Collège de
Sorbonne in Paris was the most remarkable, since it assumed a permanent
place in the curriculum.
We have already referred to the theological significance of the university
sermons.9 The sermon, which was attended by the members of the univer-
sitas as a community of ecclesial life, became the task of the magistri and
8. See Glorieux, Littérature quodlibétique.

9. See Supra, 1.2.7.
was firmly anchored in the program of formation, especially at the inaugural
ceremonies for a new magister or baccalaureus. Furthermore the chancellor,
too, had the right to speak during such ceremonies and to deliver a solemn
discourse.
Besides these “major” literary forms in the university culture we find the
minor ones, which were usually more common: collections of questions for
the purposes of examination, indices (margaritae), florilegia, college note-
books, concordances and abbreviations, which were substantially based on
the technique of the twelfth century.10
1.2 The mendicant orders at the universities

At first glance it may seem paradoxical that the new religious orders—
the Dominicans and the Franciscans, communities which were committed
to renewing the Church in the spirit of the Gospel—became a part of this
rigid, self-assured university organization that was usually striving for auton-
omy from the ecclesiastical authorities.11 Yet precisely in the university cit-
ies this new “evangelical” movement found enthusiastic followers among the
students and—remarkably—among the magistri. A conflict with the faculty
of theology, which was staffed mainly by high-ranking secular clerics, was of
course unavoidable. For the new orders brought with them to the univer-
sity not only their own way of life and a strongly Bible-oriented tradition of
teaching, but also a pronounced ecclesial sense. Moreover, they were directly
subject to the pope and were regarded as his envoys to the university.
The Order of Preachers set out very early on the road to Paris, in keep-
ing with its goal of training friars to preach and to debate, especially with the
heretics in southern France. The first friars already arrived in Paris in 1217,
and from 1218 on the university granted them residency in St. Jacques. Of
course, the juridical questions about the corporate status of the local com-
munity remained unresolved at first. The place in question was a “House of
Studies” sponsored by the univeristy, where university professors taught as
well, for instance the “founder” of St. Jacques, John of Barastre († before
1240). We find similar circumstances in Oxford, where the first Dominicans
took up residence in 1221.
The first Friars Minor came to Paris probably in the same year as the
Dominicans, initially without any academic ambitions. Yet through their
10. See Grabmann, “Methoden”; Grabmann, “Hilfsmittel.”

11. See esp. Berg, Armut und Wissenschaft.
intensive preaching activity and their way of life they soon gained influence
in university circles. At first the Franciscans had no teacher of their own in
their convent; by 1231, however, there is evidence that Haymo of Faversham
(† 1243/44) was lecturing the Friars Minor on the Bible as a cursor.12 In Ox-
ford, where the Franciscans settled in 1224, the highly regarded Chancel-
lor Robert Grosseteste (ca. 1168–1253) held lectures for them from around
1230 on. Moreover, at the express wish of their Provincial, Agnellus of Pisa
(1194–1232), the Friars Minor attended instructions at the university.13
The studies of the mendicant orders entered a new phase as a result of
the entrance of university magistri into the orders, or else through the ac-
quisition of the licentia docendi by the friars. During the disturbances at the
university in 1229–1231 (a strike, the departure of magistri and scholares from
Paris after the death of several students in altercations), the Dominicans suc-
ceeded (1229) in obtaining the licentia docendi for Roland of Cremona († ca.
1259). Already before he entered the order he had been a professor of philos-
ophy in Bologna. His successor in Paris was Hugh of St. Cher († 1263), who
had entered the order in 1225 as a bachelor of theology and a doctor of canon
law. The Dominicans acquired a second professorial chair in Paris through
the entrance of the magister actu regens John of Saint Gilles (ca. 1180–after
1258) in 1230. This was the situation for the Franciscans after the entrance of
the magister actu regens Alexander of Hales, who consequently continued his
lecturing in the convent of the Friars Minor.
The faculty of theology apparently took note of these admissions to the
orders without raising major objections. Yet just the fact that the mendi-
cants remained in Paris during the years 1229–1231 caused displeasure over
their “uncorporate behavior.”14 A similar incident in 1253, however, led to a
crisis in the secular clergy’s opposition to the mendicants with the so-called
Mendicant Conflict, in which not only the rights of the mendicant orders at
the university were at stake, but increasingly the theological legitimacy of
this way of life in an urban, university culture as well.15
Meanwhile other orders, too (e.g., the Cistercians and Praemonstraten-
sians) had founded colleges in Paris (in order to eliminate the influence of
the secular clergy on their young men in formation, among other reasons),
and so in 1252 the existence of a college and the possession of the licentia
12. Ibid., 106.

13. See Little, “Franciscan School.”
14. See Köhn, “Monastisches Bildungsideal,” 30.
15. Glorieux, “Le conflit.” For the pre-history, see Glorieux, “Les années.”
docendi were made conditions for the acceptance of consecrated religious
into the corporation of magistri. At the same time the professorial chairs
for the religious were limited to one per order, which is why both Thom-
as Aquinas and Bonaventure were at first denied acceptance.16 When the
mendicants did not join the university strike of 1253 and refused to take the
oath to uphold the new statutes, they were expelled from the corporation of
magistri and excommunicated. Only through the repeated intervention of
Pope Alexander IV (1254–1261) was the Mendicant Conflict concluded ju-
ridically in favor of the new orders, while the literary feud, especially in the
debate of Thomas Aquinas and Bonaventure with William of Saint Amour
(† 1272) and Gerard of Abbéville († 1272), continued and increasingly be-
came a disagreement over first principles. This also led to a growing influ-
ence of papal power in university activities; a case in point was the decla-
ration of the Cardinal Legate Benedetto Gaetani (later Pope Boniface VIII
[ruled 1294–1303]) in the year 1290:
We command by virtue of due obedience that in the future no magister shall preach,
debate, or privately or publicly state his opinion about the privilege [of the mendi-
cants], under penalty of dismissal from office and the loss of benefice. The privilege
of the mendicant friars shall remain in force, and whoever has any doubt about it
should ask the Pope for clarification. Truly, I say to you, before the Roman Curia
would withdraw this privilege from the mendicant friars it would sooner destroy
the University of Paris.
The university’s reacion was now unequivocal: “And the universitas mag-
istrorum bowed its head, accepted the apostolic blessing and went home.”17
In contrast, the matter developed more harmoniously at first in Oxford.
Here, though, with the appointment of Thomas of York († ca. 1260) as Ma-
gister in 1253, there were difficulties because of the fact that the Franciscans
normally dispensed with the study of the artes. On the other hand, major
conflicts arose in Oxford in the years 1311–1317 with regard to the obligation
to lecture on the Sentences for a year before studying the Bible, which con-
tradicted the custom of the mendicant orders in Oxford.18
1.3 Biblical or systematic theology?

The conflict over lecturing on the Sentences that played itself out pub-
licly in Oxford in 1313–1317 was significant as a matter of principle: what
16. CUP I n. 200 (I, 226–27). 17. See Miethke, “Papst, Ortsbischof.”
18. See Leff, Paris, 103–6.
should have priority in university theology, the Sentences or the Bible? The
mendicants advocated a clear preference for the Bible from the very start.
Once again, therefore, it was a question of the precedence of biblical or sys-
tematic theology. Thanks to the teaching of Robert Grosseteste, among oth-
ers, theology at Oxford had an unmistakably biblical emphasis. Grosseteste
plainly stands in the same tradition of moral-pastoral exegesis as Stephen
Langton, for instance, since Thomas Eccleston describes his teaching with
the Franciscans as “tam in quaestionibus quam praedicationi congruis subtili-
bus moralitatibus” [“both in questions and in subtle matters of morality suit-
able for preaching”].19 Grosseteste is not part of the Parisian tradition of
systematic theology, but rather applies himself to the Bible and the Church
Fathers from a background of philosophy and natural science. Tellingly, the
only twelfth-century “Scholastic” on his “reading list” was Hugh of St. Vic-
tor.20 Grosseteste draws his theology mainly from Augustine and Gregory
the Great, and was influenced philosophically by Seneca in particular, which
only underscores the tropological-moral character of his scriptural exege-
sis.21 For Grosseteste the Bible and theology (as sacra pagina) are still one.
Later as bishop of Lincoln and chancellor of the University he still addresses
the magistri of Oxford in clear terms and warns them against departing from
this tradition. The books of the OT and the NT must remain the founda-
tion for the edifice of theology. The morning hours are devoted to explaining
them in the lectiones ordinariae, as was also the custom among the magistri in
Paris.22
The staunch representative of the Oxford biblical tradition in Oxford,
however, was the Franciscan Roger Bacon (ca. 1220–after 1292).23 Even in
his Compendium studii theologiae (after 1290) he still emphasized that the
real concern of theologians is “circa textum sacrum sciendum” [“understand-
ing the sacred text”]. Yet for fifty years scholars had been dealing chiefly
with questions, as was evident from their treatises and enormous summas.
In his view, however, these questions were really of a philosophical nature
“tam in substantia quam in modo” [“both in substance and in method”].24
19. Tractatus Fr. Thomae Eccleston De adventu Fratrum Minorum in Anglia, ed. A. G. Little (Par-
is, 1909), 60; see also Little, “Franciscan School,” 807.
20. See Southern, Robert Grosseteste, 187.
21. Ibid., 195, see the list: 3,000 citations from Augustine, 1,257 from Gregory the Great; Seneca
leads the philosophers with 333 as opposed to Aristotle with only 68.
22. Roberti Grosseteste Epistolae, ed. H. R. Lund (Rolls Series, 1861), 346–47; see also Smalley,
Study, 276–77.
23. On his life and work, see Hackett, “Roger Bacon.”
24. Roger Bacon, Compendium of the Study of Theology, edition and translation with introduc-
Therefore compiling theological questions was in principle a betrayal of
theology as scriptural exegesis. In his Opus Minus (1266/67) he had already
severely attacked as “peccatum” [“a sin”] the usual Parisian practice of theo-
logical study, namely that a single summa of a magister, the Lombard’s Liber
Sententiarum, was preferred to the text that really should be interpreted in
the theological faculty, sacred Scripture. The whole reputation of a theo-
logian consisted then of his interpretation of the Lombard, and everyone
thought that he had to write a commentary weighing as much as a horse.
Once someone had lectured on the Sentences he felt that he was already a
master of theology, although he had scarcely heard anything of his real tex-
tus yet. The baccalaureus biblicus, however, is subordinate to the sententia-
rius. The sententiarius has the best hours for his lectures, an assistant and a
lecture hall at the religious house. The biblical scholar, however, has nothing
and must go to the sententiarius to beg for his hours. The sententiarius even
debates and is already considered to be a magister. The biblical scholar can-
not debate. So it has been in Bologna and elsewhere. Bottom line: “quod est
absurdum” [“this is absurd,” i.e., a reductio ad absurdum, proving the falsity
of the premises from the logical conclusion]. Subordinating sacred Scripture
to the Sentences, moreover, contradicts an old faculty regulation. Every other
faculty interprets only the authentic text. For if you really know and have un-
derstood the text exactly, you have learned everything that there is to learn
in that faculty. Indeed, that is what the authentic text was made for. All the
more reason that this should be the case in theology, for here the authentic
text comes from the mouth of God and of the saints. The Church Fathers in-
terpreted only the biblical text. That was the practice of the early teachers of
theology, namely Robert Grosseteste and Adam Marsh († ca. 1259), the first
teachers of the Franciscans at Oxford. Alexander of Hales, however, Bacon’s
Parisian confrere, was the first to lecture on the Sentences instead of the Bible,
and from then on this abuse became established in the Franciscan Order as
well. It would have been much better to lecture on the Historia scholastica by
Petrus Comestor, as had been the custom earlier, for the latter work is essen-
tially closer to theology (as sacra pagina) than the Liber Sententiarum. That
is why Bacon advocated reinstating the Historia scholastica and abandoning
the many questions that no longer have any relation to the sacred text. In-
stead, text-related questions should be posed. Now it is true, however, that
tion and notes by Thomas S. Maloney, [Studien und Texte zur Geistesgeschichte des Mittelalters
20], (Leiden, 1988), part 2, prologue, page 48; see also Bérubé, “Dialog,” 111–12.
while the biblical scholars lecture on the text in a cursory fashion, they do
not explain it, since they don’t debate questions, whereas the theologians in
their questions are really just pursuing philosophy. Yet the theological ques-
tions in the summas and sentences must be verified by the biblical text.25
Then, too, the text commonly used in Paris is corrupted, the literal sense is
often understood incorrectly and therefore the spiritual sense of Scripture
is likewise wrong or dubious. Furthermore jurists, even if they don’t have
the faintest idea of canon law, are more highly esteemed in the Church than
biblical scholars and attain ecclesiastical honors more quickly.26 This bibli-
cal reaction to the situation in Paris and Bologna came too late, however, to
do anything about the decline in biblical theology and the rise of the ques-
tions and commentaries on the Sentences.
Biblical and systematic theology, scriptural commentary and commen-
tary on the Sentences, parted ways not only in Paris but also in Oxford. The
Dominican magister Richard Fishacre († 1248) in the prologue to his com-
mentary on the Sentences clearly distinguishes between the moral-tropo-
logical scriptural exegesis of a Grosseteste and speculative theology with its
questions taken from sacred Scripture but collected in the book of sentences.
The questions are still referred back to sacred Scripture, but the indepen-
dent value of the sentences as a systematic work of theology is recognized.
Therefore reading the Sentences should by no means be neglected, since this
study deals “de questionibus circa fidem difficilibus” [“with difficult questions
about the faith”].27 Even such a thorough Scripture commentator as Bacon’s
contemporary and confrere Thomas Docking († after 1269), who taught be-
tween 1260 and 1265, lectured on the Sentences.28
In Paris it was in fact the mendicants who, unlike the magistri from the
secular clergy, followed the Victorine school and first revived lecturing on
sacred Scripture, which led to the scriptural commentaries of Thomas Aqui-
nas and Bonaventure. We should mention here especially the postilla to the
Gospels by the Dominican Hugh of St. Cher (ca. 1235). He clearly distances
himself from the mutual critiques of the “moralistae” and the “quaestionistae”
and combines the best of both traditions: for him theology is both scrip-
25. Corrected text: Little, “Franciscan School,” 808–9; see also Tshibangu, Théologie, 122–36;
Bérubé, “Dialog,” 100–110; Antolić-Piper, “Begründung.”
26. Roger Bacon, Opus Minus, ed. J. S. Brewer (London, 1859), 330, 349; Bacon, Opus Tertium, 84.
27. Richard Fishacre, In Sent., prol., ed. Long, in “Science,” 96–97; see also Niederbacher and
Leibold, Theologie, 131–87.
28. See Little, “Franciscan School,” 846–50.
tural interpretation and also systematic theology, as represented by his con-
frere Richard Fishacre.29 The symbolic interpretation of sacred Scripture
gained new impetus, especially in the Franciscan tradition. On the other
hand the general acceptance of the pagan, Aristotelian worldview in the fac-
ulty of arts posed serious problems for the theologian, too, who looked to
the actual wording of Scripture. Aristotelian categories (esp. the doctrine of
the four causes) make their way into exegesis.30
The attempt to strike a balance between theology as scriptural interpre-
tation and as a systematic science is evident also at an influential position in
the works of Thomas Aquinas, in the first question of his Summa Theologiae.
After discussing theology as “sacra doctrina” along the lines of the Aristote-
lian concept of science, in articles 9 and 10 he poses apparently unmediated
questions about the character of “sacra Scriptura” and about the validity of
its metaphorical language and of the manifold sense of Scripture.31 Yet the
relation between Scripture and systematic theology has plainly changed.
Whereas Roger Bacon claims that systematic questions must be traced back
to the text of Scripture, Thomas attempts a systematic justification of the
language and interpretation of sacred Scripture. He succeeds by assuming
that God is generally the Auctor of Scripture, who determines that the res
[things] designated by the words are also supposed to function in turn as
signs for a further meaning. Thus for Thomas the words or sentences do not
have various meanings, but rather the res are read as signs.32 The spiritual
sense of Scripture is therefore not just the product of interpretation but is
rather built into the literal sense (in una littera) thanks to God’s comprehen-
sive knowledge, although the intentio auctoris (i.e., God’s intention) initially
concerns the literal sense.33 This accomplishes three things:
1. Scripture and theology remain interrelated. Scriptural exegesis must al-
low itself to be justified systematically, however.
2. Literal exegesis is clearly restricted in its significance (e.g., as opposed to
the Victorine school).
3. Spiritual exegesis (probably also as a result of the experience of the con-
fusion surrounding Joachim of Fiore [ca. 1130–1202]) is deprived of its
arbitrariness and acquires a certain ontological character. The res [things]
29. See Smalley, Study, 269–70: Niederbacher and Leibold, Theologie, 37–78.
30. On Hugh of St. Cher and Guerricus of St. Quentin: Smalley, Study, 295–98.
31. Thomas Aquinas, S.Th. I q.1 a.9 f., ed. Marietti (Turin-Rome, 1952), 8–9.
32. For Bonaventure’s similar position, see also Leinsle, Res et signum.
33. S.Th. I q1 a10 i.c. (9).
as such in Scripture have further meanings that are determined by the
author (God), not by the exegete.
2 Aristotle as a challenge to theology

At the same time that theology was being incorporated into the univer-
sity, a difference of opinion arose within theology which was to be decisive
for the thirteenth century: should theologians accept or reject the philoso-
phy of Aristotle (which had been translated since the mid-twelfth century)
and of his Arabic commentators?34
2.1 A new scientific model

Aristotle posed an initial theoretical challenge for theology as a science.
Whereas in the twelfth century theology had still been guided essentially
by Augustine and Boethius, the general acceptance of the Posterior Analyt-
ics in the teaching of logic meant that now theology was confronted with
a scientific ideal that until then had been foreign to it, and many of its ele-
ments must have appeared at first to be incompatible with theology under-
stood as the interpretation of Scripture. On the other hand, only the proof
of the strictly scientific character of theology could secure its place at the
university. Therefore the Aristotelian concept of science had to be adopted,
if possible, or else surpassed. The self-reflection and self-assurance of theol-
ogy that we could observe already in Praepositinus finds expression now in
a special introductory or theoretical doctrine of theology.35
Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics can be regarded as a fundamental docu-
ment in the western understanding of science.36 Its concept of science,
however, is initially applicable only to mathematics and the natural scienc-
es. Ẻπιστήμη (scientia) is certain, proven knowledge that is based on experi-
ence and for its method allows only a logically precise procedure of proof
by means of syllogisms. Knowledge in the strict sense is not just knowledge
of “The Fact That” (something is true), which can be gained through expe-
rience also, but rather the knowledge of the Why (of the causes): scientia
ex causis. Moreover, knowledge refers to being, not to becoming or doing,
34. See Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 149–66; Grabmann, Forschungen; Van Steenberghen
“Aristoteles.”
35. See esp. Köpf, Anfänge; Dreyer, More mathematicorum; Langer, “Aristoteles.”
36. See Aristoteles, Analytica Posteriora; English translation in The Basic Works of Aristotle, ed.
Richard McKeon (New York: Modern Library, 2001), 110–86.
and therefore has for Aristotle a theoretical and not a poietic character like
τέχνη (ars).37
The following elements of the Aristotelian concept of science are of
decisive importance to thirteenth- and fourteenth-century theology for its
self-understanding as a science in the context of the university:
1. The object of science (subjectum scientiae). Every science is concerned
with a class of things as its object; it presupposes the existence and defini-
tion of this object and inquires into its qualities, which should be proved
to the extent possible from the definition. If theology wants to show that
it is a science, it has to explain what its central object is (e.g., God), how
its existence can be established (the theoretical problem of the “proofs of
God’s existence”) and how its qualities can be identified.
2. The proof as a logical method. A proof is a “syllogism that produces
knowledge.”38 Theology as a science that proves is therefore subject to the
logical testing of the validity of its proofs. Such a syllogism proves some-
thing, however, only if it is obtained from necessary and true premises.
3. The problem of [ first] principles therefore becomes just as central for
theology as the problem of its object. The principles of the proof should
be prior to and more evident than the conclusions derived from them.39
In twelfth-century theology, metaphysical or theological axioms were
sometimes assumed as principles of theology, but usually articles of
faith served that purpose. The latter, however, are grasped only by faith
and therefore do not satisfy the conditions for Aristotelian principles
of proof.40 Since Aristotle assigns the understanding of principles to
another cognitive faculty, the νοῦς (intellectus), the object of knowledge
(scientia) is ultimately the conclusion that is proved.
4. The requirement that the principles of the proof be necessary. The
conclusion is based on necessary premises.41 Theology, considered as
the exposition of God’s historical salvific acts, as they are recorded in its
central textus, sacred Scripture, was hitherto unfamiliar with such strict
necessity, which on the other hand could jeopardize God’s freedom.
5. The requirement that the principles and the known propositions be
general. Our modern understanding of the humanities and social sciences
notwithstanding, in Aristotle’s view individual historical facts are not the
37. See Aristoteles, An. post. B 19, 100 a 6; Met. A 1, 891 a 28.
38. Aristoteles, An. post. A 2, 71 b 17. 39. Ibid., 71 b 19.
40. See Lang, Prinzipienlehre. 41. Aristoteles, An. post. A 4, 73 a 24.
object of knowledge and science: de singulari non est scientia.42 Theology,
however, deals with historical, free, unique acts of God. If it is to be a sci-
ence in the Aristotelian sense, it must demonstrate that its object and its
propositions are general.
6. The distinction between theoretical and practical science. If one argues
for the scientific character of theology, one must explain whether it is
a theoretical science in the Aristotelian sense, that is, restricted to the
knowledge of the object’s essence and the proof of its attributes, or a
practical science, and therefore related to human activity and its goal.
With reference to precisely this question, various authors, orders, and
schools will manifest profoundly different concepts of theology and its
status: for at this juncture is decided also the significance of theology
beyond the university for religious, ecclesial, and political life.43
7. The certainty of theological statements. Proven knowledge in the most
strict sense is attained when any further question about what is known
has been ruled out.44 Theological truths do not appear to have this objec-
tive certainty, independently of their subjective certainty, that is, the
believer’s degree of conviction. For they, like their premises, are based
on faith. Moreover, God’s freedom must be taken into account, since
theological topics ultimately depend on it.
2.2 A pagan view of the world and man

Whereas the ideal of science set forth in the Posterior Analytics present-
ed a formal challenge to theology, the latter compelled medieval scholars
to grapple with the contents of Aristotle’s writings on natural philosophy
(Libri naturales, including De anima) as they were more widely circulated.
They had already been translated in part by Gerard of Cremona († 1187)
from the Arabic. Here the theologian who believes in creation and thinks
largely along Augustinian lines encounters an explanation of the world and
of man that not only knows nothing about revelation, but seems to contra-
dict it in some of its central tenets. The question then arises: Can this pagan
knowledge be integrated as a component of philosophical education that
is still understood as a propaedeutic to theology, or even be carried over
into theology? Doesn’t that simply mean baptizing the pagan Aristotle? The
old formula that philosophy is the ancilla [handmaid] of theology presup-
42. Ibid., B 21, 67 a 27. 43. See Krebs, Theologie und Wissenschaft.
44. See Heim, Gewissheitsproblem.
posed a philosophy restricted to instrumental logical disciplines. Could this
formula still be applied to an independent, comprehensive pagan interpre-
tation of the world, as found in Aristotle’s works, or did scholars have to
redefine the relationship [between theology and philosophy]?
The theologians in Paris and Oxford only gradually became aware of the
problems posed by Aristotle’s works on natural philosophy. In particular the
following teachings of the Stagirite had to be viewed as incompatible with
Christianity:
1. The eternity of the world. Calcidius and Boethius were acquainted with
this as an opinion of Plato (Timaeus 28 A–38 C); the question as to the
truth of this thesis became pressing, however, partly because Aristotle’s
interpretation of the world in his works of natural science proved to be
far superior to the previous explanation, even in the view of thirteenth-
century theologians. If the thesis of the eternity of the world, time and
movement is a necessary component of this natural science, then from
the theological perspective it is false because it contradicts revelation.45
If one were to attribute to it a truth in the sphere of natural explana-
tion (philosophy) but not in the sphere of theology, this would give the
impression of a double truth: what is true in philosophy can be false in
theology.46 Philip the Chancellor († 1236) already dealt with this express-
ly in his influential Summa de bono. For him creation implies a temporal
beginning. Therefore Aristotle cannot teach a strict eternity (aeternum)
but only an unlimited temporal duration (perpetuum) of the world.47
Alexander of Hales, on the other hand, sees no contradiction between
the Stagirite’s thesis, which is to be interpreted purely in terms of natural
science, and the wording of the Bible, since Aristotle only means to say
that space, time, and movement came into being at the same time.48 For
Robert Grosseteste, who adheres strictly to the text of the Stagirite, this
conciliatory attitude of Alexander is mere nonsense and an attempt to
make a Catholic out of the heretic Aristotle. The real compromise was
achieved by Thomas Aquinas, who managed to show that an eternal
creation is theologically and philosophically possible.49
45. See Dales, Discussions.

46. See Dales, “Origins.”
47. Philippi Cancellarii Summa de Bono, ed. N. Wicki (Bern, 1985), I, 49.
48. See Dales, Discussions, 66–70.
49. Robert Grosseteste, Hexaemeron 1, 8, 2–4, R. C. Dales—S. Gieben, eds. (London, 1983),
e denial of the Ideas. This did not contradict Scripture as much as it
2. Th
questioned the great authority of the theological tradition: Augustine.
Anyone who denies the Ideas as the thoughts of God destroys also the
ontological basis for the symbolic interpretation of the world, as cultivat-
ed especially in Franciscan circles. He implicitly denies at the same time,
for example in Bonaventure’s view, God’s plan for his world, and thus
Divine Providence, and consigns everything to mere fate or chance.50
lack of clarity with respect to the individuality of the intellectual soul. Even
3. A
in Aristotle’s work the status of the νοῦς (anima intellectiva, intellectus agens
= intellectual soul, agent intellect) vis-à-vis the biological constitution
of man is not explained fully. Then there is an epistemological problem:
According to the Stagirite and his Arabic commentators, something that
is singular and transitory cannot know anything that is generally valid and
necessary. Therefore the intellect itself must be thought of as universal and
eternal, interpreted ontologically as a spiritual substance (intelligence)
outside of the human individual. It is merely active in various subjects.
This interpretation is theologically unacceptable, because it would mean
that the human individual was no longer constituted by a unique, per-
sonal, and immortal intellectual soul and was thus released from eternal
reward or punishment, which would make morality arbitrary. There were
facile attempts at harmonization even in this regard; William of Auvergne
(ca. 1180–1249), for instance, simply applies Aristotle’s statements about
the agent intellect of the human race to God, in connection with the Neo-
platonic interpretation of Avicenna (ca. 980–1037).51 Here again Thomas
Aquinas, in grappling with a heterodox variety of Aristotelianism (Siger
of Brabant [† 1284], Boethius of Dacia [† before 1284]), was the one to
provide the crucial clarification by showing that an individual intellect
corresponds more closely to the Aristotelian approach than the previous
interpretation.52 Even then the epistemological problem could not be
resolved in purely Aristotelian terms, but outright conflict with previous
theological doctrine was avoided.
58–61; Thomas Aquinas, De aeternitate mundi contra murmurantes, in Opuscula philosophica (Turin:
Marietti, 1954), 103–8.
50. Bonaventura, Collationes in Hexaemeron, vis. I coll.3, 2–5, ed. F. Delorme (Quaracchi,
1934), 91–92; see also Leinsle, Res et signum, 74.
51. See Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 339–50, 154; Bazán, “Conception.”
52. Thomas Aquinas, De unitate intellectus in Opuscula philosophica (Turin: Marietti, 1954),
59–90.
The three problematic areas mentioned above were not just incidental
skirmishes. They were central to the conflict between an independent, pure-
ly natural interpretation of the world that knows nothing of revelation, and a
theology based on the authority of revelation and its doctrinal tradition. At
stake was the correct (= true) interpretation of the world, man and knowl-
edge from the perspective of Christian truth. On the other hand, scholars
also saw the great advantages of Aristotelian physics and especially meta-
physics for the interpretation of theological truths (e.g., the teaching about
the matter and form of the sacraments). The new paradigm of science as a
way of explaining the world prevailed in sacra doctrina as well, despite resis-
tance and obvious difficulties in harmonizing it with the truths of revelation.
2.3 The influence of non-Christian syntheses

Along with the entire philosophy of the pagan Aristotle, the thought of
Arabic and Jewish philosophers made its way into educational world of the
Middle Ages, which until then had been essentially Christian. Although the
syntheses of philosophy and revealed theology created in Arab-Jewish cul-
tural circles and especially in Spain had no immediate influence as models,
they had to be reckoned with, in view of the Crusades and the efforts of
Frederick II (1194–1250).53 Here again it was not the theology of Islam that
was initially the object of the discussion, but rather its philosophy, especial-
ly in the figures of Avicenna (Ibn Sina, † 1037) and Averroës (Ibn Rushd,
† 1198).
Avicenna, who significantly was first translated into Latin by Jews, con-
tributed to the Middle Ages not only a wealth of knowledge in the natural
sciences and medicine but also a metaphysics which, although partly Aris-
totelian, was nevertheless deeply dyed in Neoplatonism, with God as the
“dator formarum” [“Giver of forms”] at the summit. This metaphysics could
be more easily integrated into the previous way of thinking than Aristotle’s
“first philosophy” or Averroës’ naturalistic system. Avicenna’s influence,
even in matters of style, can be detected also in a not exactly revolutionary
theologian like William of Auvergne, but likewise in the works of Albert the
Great and Thomas Aquinas.54 Avicenna became very important even after
the 1277 condemnation of so-called Averroist teachings; for now Averroës
could be supplanted so to speak by Avicenna, who thanks to his Neopla-
53. Concerning the background of Islamic-Christian relations see esp. Southern, Western Views;
Daniel, Arabs.
54. See Gilson, “Avicenne.”
tonic implications could also be harmonized with Augustine’s doctrine of
the ideas, as attempted for instance by Henry of Ghent.55 Finally, Avicenna
had a decisive influence on Duns Scotus (ca. 1265–1308), so that E. Gilson
prefers to speak of the time after 1277 as a second aetas Avicenniana [age of
Avicenna], following the first one which lasted until the massive influx of
commentaries by Averroës. Avicenna supplied valuable elements for the-
ology: his teaching about intellects can be combined with the doctrine on
the angels; God as the “dator formarum” seems closer to the Christian un-
derstanding of God than the “unmoved mover” of Aristotle; yet Avicenna
makes God subject to a strict necessity to diffuse himself, which is difficult
to reconcile with God’s freedom in creation. Moreover, even William of Au-
vergne saw the incompatibility of the Islamic notion of blessedness with the
Christian idea, whereas he plainly accepted the independent existence of
the intellectus agens [agent intellect] along with Avicenna.56
Integrating Averroës into the Christian intellectual heritage proved to
be more difficult, if not impossible. For he is by design a strict Aristotelian,
so that in his case all the difficulties in accepting the Stagirite are increased.
Tellingly, his treatise on the agreement between religion and philosophy
was not translated into Latin. It taught a priority of philosophy, even in mat-
ters of faith, which led in the Islamic world to a conflict that can be viewed
as a parallel to the twelfth- and thirteenth-century disputes in Christian
lands.57 For Thomas Aquinas, nevertheless, Averroës became the Commen-
tator pure and simple, even though he did not follow him at every point.58
Instead Thomas would be concerned, especially in the critical point about
the individuality or generic unity of the human intellect as a whole, with
establishing an Aristotelianism that would be compatible with the Chris-
tian faith and opposed to the influence of the Averroës commentary on De
anima and its recipients in the faculty of arts.
Accepting Jewish sources must have seemed easier to the medieval theo-
logian than integrating Islamic thought. We have already observed the influ-
ence of Jewish exegesis, for instance in the work of Andrew of St. Victor. Loris
Sturlese has pointed out a possible mutual influence of Jewish and Christian
55. Heinrich von Gent, Summa quaestionum ordinariarum a.22 q.5 (printed edition Paris, 1520;
reprinted New York: St. Bonaventure, 1953), f.134v D; a.25 q.3 (f.156r S); see also Emery, “Image of
God.”
56. See Roger Bacon, Opus maius II, 5, ed. J. H. Bridges (reprinted Frankfurt 1964), II, 45–48;
Gilson, “Avicenne,” 98–103; and for a list of discrepancies between William and Avicenna (119).
57. Averroës, Traité décisif sur l’accord de la religion et de la philosophie (Paris: L. Gauthier, 1983).
58. See Vansteenkiste, “Tommaso d’Aquino.”
schools in the Rhineland.59 Especially significant for the thirteenth century
was the philosophical-theological synthesis of Moses Maimonides (1138–
1204), who like Averroës was originally from Córdoba. His program, pre-
sented in the Guide for the Doubtful (Dux dubitantium, ca. 1190), corresponds
to a thirteenth-century need resulting from the separation of philosophy and
theology. In it Rabbi Moses tries to show not only that is there no contradic-
tion between them but on the contrary that the Bible itself contains the true
(Aristotelian-Arabic) philosophy. This can be discovered through allegorical
interpretation, which is customary in the Latin-speaking world as well. In the
Jewish world itself, Maimonides’ teaching led initially to a bitter controversy
over the correctness of this interpretation of the Bible as opposed to the pre-
vious literal exegesis.60 For Maimonides’ synthesis can be read in two ways,
and both have the force to disrupt Jewish as well as Christian theology: in
this synthesis philosophy is substantiated by the Bible (a position taken again
by the strict biblicism of seventeenth-century Calvinism),61 but on the other
hand the Word of revelation is measured against the truth of Arabic-Aristote-
lian philosophy, which is assumed. Thus even the individual practical precepts
of the Old Testament Law are now set on a rational, philosophical founda-
tion. The controversy surrounding Maimonides therefore becomes a concern
of Christian theology and the Church as well. The study of Maimonides’
books, which was sometimes banned by the Jewish authorities, could become
a danger for Christianity also. Thus the intervention of the tribunal of the In-
quisition in 1232 led to a book-burning in Montpellier. This was followed in
1242 by a burning of the Talmud in Paris. The equation of Arabic-Aristotelian
philosophy with the Bible (or the biblical substantiation thereof) resulted in
a theological legitimation, from a Christian perspective, of the fundamental
errors of Aristotelianism; according to William of Auvergne, the Jews became
heretics because after their dispersal in the Arab world they accepted Arabic
philosophy, including the doctrine that the world is eternal.62
2.4 The Church’s reaction: The prohibition of Aristotle

The influx of pagan and Islamic thought, first into philosophy and later
into theology, presented a major challenge to Christianity, as we can see
59. Sturlese, Philosophie, 86–95, 265–76.

60. See Greive, “Maimonideische Kontroverse.”
61. See, for example, Johann Heinrich Alsted, Triumphus Bibliorum sacrorum (Frankfurt, 1625).
62. William of Auvergne, De legibus in Guilelmi Alverni Opera omnia (Paris, 1674; reprinted
Frankfurt, 1963), I, 24b.
from the reaction of the official Church, manifested in the repeated prohibi-
tion of Aristotle in Paris.63 As always with ecclesiastical condemnations, an
occasion was required. This had been provided in 1210 at a provincial synod
presided over by Archbishop Peter of Corbeil (ca. 1150–1222) through the
condemnation of Amaury of Bène († 1206) and David of Dinant († after
1206) along with Amaury’s disciples.64 The ruling that David’s quaternuli
[notebooks] should be handed over to the bishop to be burned was accom-
panied by a prohibition (applying to Paris only) against reading “libri de nat-
urali philosophia” and “commenta” under pain of excommunication.65 The
reason, of course, was the teaching of David of Dinant about nature, which
relied on Aristotle. Clearly, prohibiting the “reading” (that is, the lectio, both
in public and in private) of Aristotle’s writings on natural philosophy was an
attempt not only to treat the symptoms but to strike at the root of the evil.
The “commenta,” of course, are primarily the Arabic commentaries of Avi-
cenna; Averroës had not yet been translated. Precisely because these writ-
ings were already being “read,” if not within the framework of theological
studies then at least in the artes, it was known that the Aristotelian teaching
was dangerous and incompatible with Church doctrine. The expanded ver-
sion of the prohibition, which Chancellor Robert of Courson included in
the statutes of the university in 1215, shows that initially it applied only to
the masters and students of the arts. Here the prohibition is expressly ex-
tended to the Metaphysics also, which in 1210 could very well be classified
among the “libri de naturali philosophia” as opposed to “philosophia mora-
lis.” Next textbooks on the subject (summae de eisdem) were forbidden, spe-
cifically the teachings of David of Dinant, Amaury of Bène, and Maurice
of Spain (Mauritius Hispanus).66 Thus Aristotle’s natural philosophy and
metaphysics were banned from the university. Private reading (not lectio)
of the works was not ruled out. Moreover the prohibition was a local one; it
did not apply in Oxford, for example, where in later years intensive transla-
tion activity (under the direction of Robert Grosseteste) and a thorough
discussion of Aristotle’s natural philosophy could be conducted.
The faculty of theology in Paris, thinking along the lines of Petrus
Comestor or Praepositinus of Cremona, regarded these prohibitions be-
63. See esp. Grabmann, Divieti.

64. On these proceedings against the “sects” which were obviously connected with the teach-
ings of the Cathari, see Fichtenau, Ketzer, 280–83; Lambert, Heresy, 99–100.
65. CUP I n.11 (I, 70); see also Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 90–100.
66. CUP I n.20 (I, 78–79).
nevolently, especially since Peter of Corbeil and Robert of Courçon them-
selves had once been magistri in Paris.67 Certainly at this point in time the
influence of Aristotle in the theological faculty was still insignificant. “Tran-
quillitas scholarum” [“calm in the schools”], the express purpose of Robert
of Courson’s statute, was plainly agreeable to the theologians, who were
mostly conservative and pastorally minded.68 The picture becomes clearer
only in the letter of Gregory IX (1227–1241) to the theological faculty dat-
ed July 7, 1228.69 Written in a homiletic style strewn with quotations from
Scripture, the letter contains a clear warning against having anything at all
to do with philosophy. Philosophy must remain instead the handmaid, or
indeed, as Jerome puts it, the captive slave girl of theology. The “theologi-
cus intellectus” [“theological mind”], however, has the dominant role of the
man in the house of the sciences. He is stationed over all the faculties and
is responsible for disciplining them and guiding them along the right path.
Therefore, a disordered inclination to philosophy should be equated with
adultery and idolatry. Then the pope speaks plainly: In Paris many masters
of theology have left the path of the ancients [the Church Fathers] in in-
terpreting the “celestis pagina” [i.e., sacred Scripture] and given themselves
over to “profane innovations,” namely the “doctrina philosophica naturali-
um,” not for the benefit of their students, but rather to prove their own eru-
dition. This inverts the order of instruction: the slave girl forces the mistress
to serve; only leaves are offered to the students but no fruit with which to
satisfy their hunger; this drink does not quench their thirst. Therefore the
Pope exhorts the magistri of the theological faculty to have done with this
madness (vesania) and in the future to teach only theology strictly speaking
(= sacra pagina) without the addition of philosophical fables. Now Aristotle
is not mentioned by name here, but the philosophy of the day was precisely
the Stagirite’s. James of Vitry (1180–1254), at any rate, understood the pope
well: “Since theological books suffice for a Christian, it is not fitting to busy
oneself all too much with the ‘libri naturales.’”70 Therefore in 1230 there was
already among the theologians in Paris a trend in favor of Aristotle which
included him at least to some extent in theology, as we can observe in the
works of William of Auvergne and (less often) in the writings of William of
Auxerre.
67. See Grabmann, Divieti 64–65.

68. See also J. Châtillon, “Mouvement théologique.”
69. CUP I n.59 (I, 114–16); Grabmann, Divieti, 72–75.
70. See Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 102.
The pope—probably influenced by William of Auxerre, who in 1230 was
staying in Rome—could not maintain the strictly negative attitude. Yet only
very slowly did the conviction gain acceptance that at least several points
of Aristotelian philosophy could be put to use profitably for theology as
well.71 The letter “Parens scientiarum” dated April 13, 1231, does not permit
the forbidden books of Aristotle for the faculty of the arts but proposes
that they be reviewed and expurgated. A commission headed by William
of Auxerre was appointed but because of his death did not begin its work.
The theologians, on the other hand, were enjoined not to conduct them-
selves as philosophers, to allow neither vernacular nor Hebrew expressions
and to debate only those questions that can be decided “per libros theologi-
cos et sanctorum tractatus” (“by theological books and the treatises of the
saints”).72 Innocent IV (1243–1254) extended the Parisian prohibition of
Aristotle, as formulated by Gregory IX, to Toulouse as well on September
22, 1245.73 Urban IV (1261–1264) renewed it for Paris as late as January 19,
1263, long after Aristotle had in fact legitimately gained admission to the
university lectures.74 A new wave of translations included in particular the
commentaries of Averroës, which became known in Paris from around
the year 1230.75
2.5 Theological truth and the truths of the natural sciences

The writings of Averroës, in connection with Aristotle’s writings on
natural philosophy, which from 1252 (De anima) or 1255 became an official
course of lectures in the faculty of the arts,76 presented now for theology
a serious challenge which determined the climate and the literary output
of the leading theologians of the day. Albert the Great and Thomas Aqui-
nas, neither of whom was ever a professional philosopher, wrote their com-
mentaries on Aristotle. On that account Albert had to put up with being
rebuked for uncultured dilettantism by Roger Bacon.77 In his series of lec-
tures to the Franciscan convent, Bonaventure tried to salvage the old order
of philosophy and theology. There was a theological concern in this inten-
71. See the letter of Gregory IX dated April 23, 1231: CUP I n.87 (I, 143–44): quaedam utilia et
inutilia.
72. CUP I n. 79 (I, 138); see also Grabmann, Divieti, 95–101.
73. CUP I n. 149 (I, 185–86).
74. CUP I n. 384 (I, 427–28).
76. CUP I n. 201, 246 (I, 227–30, 277–79).
77. Roger Bacon, Opus Minus, 327–28.
sive discussion of Aristotle’s philosophy: to make this new understanding
of the world and man compatible with Christian revelation and thus to pre-
vent the break up of philosophy and theology and the danger of a heterodox
Aristotelianism.78
At the faculty of the arts, where scholars did not have to have these
theological misgivings, a heterodox Aristotelianism took shape principally
in the figures of Siger of Brabant and Boethius of Dacia. At first there were
the familiar difficulties with regard to the eternity of the world and the
species-wide unity of the human intellect, which were theologically offen-
sive.79 Yet more was at stake: The question about a philosophical (= natu-
ral scientific) truth that was independent of revelation and theology had
yet to be resolved. To theologians it could appear that an independent
truth of philosophy was being set up in opposition to the truth of revela-
tion, “quasi sint due contrarie veritates” [“as though there were two contrary
truths”].80 At any rate, the methods used by the masters of arts to explain
the relation between philosophical and theological truth claims had been
developed by the theologians themselves. Alexander of Hales had already
conceded that Aristotle settled questions only according to the principles
of natural science and knew nothing about creation as a supernatural divine
intervention. His philosophical doctrine, therefore, is not absolutely true
(non simpliciter), but rather should be interpreted in terms of the state of
the author’s knowledge.81 One could fall back on this position and derive
Aristotle’s opinion from his sources and presuppositions. As a philosopher
one can dispense with the question about the relation between Aristotle’s
and Averroës’ teaching and the truth of revelation, but the theologian can-
not.82 Significantly, Alexander’s distinction was not derived from Averroës,
who recognizes only one truth, philosophical truth, but rather from Moses
Maimonides, who uses it as Catholic theology does to reconcile the biblical
and83 Aristotelian worldviews.

79. See Wéber, “Discussions”; Zimmermann, “Mundus est aeternus.”
80. Thus Etienne Tempier in his ruling dated March 7, 1277: CUP I n. 473 (I, 543).
81. Dales, “Origins,” 172, following the Paris B.N. Ms. lat. 16406, fol.7vb. On similar opinions
expressed by Albert the Great, see Sturlese, Philosophie, 332–50.
82. Thus Siger of Brabant, De anima intellectiva c.7, in Siger de Brabant, Quaestiones in tertium
de Anima, De anima intellectiva, De aeternitate mundi, ed. B. Bazan [Philosophes Médiévaux 13]
(Louvain-Paris, 1973), 101.7–9: “quaerendo intentionem philosophorum in hoc magis quam veritatem,
cum philosophice procedamus” (“examining in this matter the intention of philosophers rather
than the truth, since we are proceeding philosophically”].
83. Moses Maimonides, Dux dubitantium 2.15 (Paris, 1520) f. 48v; see also Dales, “Origins,” 173.
This distinction between the author’s intention (intentio auctoris) rela-
tive to the state of his knowledge and the truth of an assertion is now ap-
plied by the masters of arts to redefine the relation between philosophy
(science) and theology. Boethius of Dacia formulates the typical argument.
The naturalis (i.e., the philosopher who proceeds according to the princi-
ples of natural science) knows no truths of revelation, for example creatio
ex nihilo [creation from nothing]. It is not found among his principles and
work methods. He can affirm or deny everything that he affirms or denies
only “ex causis et principiis naturalibus” [“on the basis of natural causes and
principles”]. If we heed this foundation, it follows that a thesis in natural
science cannot be accepted as absolutely true; rather, if it contradicts the
simple truth of revelation, it is false “absolute accepta” [“taken absolutely”],
even though it is methodologically correct and has been derived logically
from the limited principles of natural science. Therefore the truth of rev-
elation, correctly interpreted, does not contradict natural science (philoso-
phy), rightly understood. For the “christianus subtiliter intelligens” [“Chris-
tian who understands subtly”] recognizes that the truth of revelation is a
matter of faith, whereas a thesis in natural science has been derived method-
ically from the corresponding principles. And so he can keep both: “salvat
fidem et philosophiam neutram corripiendo.” [“He saves faith and philosophy,
while wresting neither.”] Theologians and those in authority in the Church,
however, who do not understand such difficult things, should listen to the
wise man and abide by the law of Christ with the obedience of faith, know-
ing meanwhile that faith is not knowledge (scientia).84
This stance taken by Boethius also shows, however, that philosophy had
transformed its understanding of itself in its dealings with theology. Faith
in the “lex Christi” [law of Christ] is not knowledge. Knowledge, however,
is restricted to proofs derived from premises; it is determined by logical
validity and the value of the premises. What happens, though, when the-
ology itself now claims to achieve, out of the “lex Christi” that is grasped
through the obedience of faith, a form of knowledge (scientia) in the ab-
solute sense, indeed, claims to be a science in the Aristotelian sense? The
theoretical problem is intensified in everyday practice. Boethius’ short
work, De summo bono sive de vita philosophi presents a philosophical ethics
that is by no means anti-Christian yet is acquainted with an independent,
84. Boethius of Dacia, De aeternitate mundi, ed. Géza Sajó (Berlin, 1964), 45–62; see also
Dales, “Origins,” 177–78.
this-worldly happiness in the philosopher’s ideal way of life, which is clearly
set apart from the eternal happiness “quam in futura vita per fidem expecta-
mus” [“which we look for in the next life by faith”].85 The “god of the phi-
losophers” who is loved and honored here is the “primum principium” [“first
principle”] and “summum bonum” [“supreme good”]. Love for this God is
manifested “secundum rectam rationem naturae et secundum rectam rationem
intellectualem” [“according to the right reason of nature (i.e., as required by
natural law) and according to intellectual right reason”].86 All of this is elab-
orated as a purely philosophical ideal, along with the “sola recta delectatio”
[“sole proper delight”] in contemplating the Supreme Good: “Haec est vita
philosophi, quam quicumque non habuerit, non habet rectam vitam.” [“This is
the philosopher’s life; anyone who does not have it does not have an up-
right life.”]87 Faith and knowledge, theological hope for the afterlife and the
philosophical formation of this world have plainly diverged.
2.6 The condemnations of 1270 and 1277

The most vigorous theological reaction of the Church authorities to the
appearance of a heterodox philosophy occurred in the condemnations of
1270 and 1277. While both had a purely local character, they were neverthe-
less of fundamental importance. Each ruling was preceded by an intensive
debate at the theological faculty.88 The thirteen propositions89 condemned
on December 12, 1270, by Bishop Étienne Tempier († 1279) were to a great
extent the same as the errors that Bonaventure had combatted in the series
of sermons that he gave in 1267 and 1268: unity of intellect, eternity of the
world, denial of the bodily resurrection, denial of Providence, fatalism.90 At
least four of the condemned propositions were clearly aimed at Siger of Bra-
bant; yet the radical current of thought at the faculty of the arts could not be
restricted to him and his followers.
85. M. Grabmann, ed., “Die Opuscula de summo bono sive de vita philosophi und de sompniis
des Boethius von Dacien,” in Grabmann, Mittelalterliches Geistesleben, vol. 2 (Munich, 1936), 200–
24, citation at 211.7.
86. Ibid., 216.6–12.
87. Ibid., 216.15–17.
88. See Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 442–462; or the anthology edited by Flasch, Aufklärung
im Mittelalter? Kritisch zur Überbewertung der Verurteilung von 1277, for example, Bianchi, “Turning
Point.” Leppin, Theologie, 118 f. suggests the designation “consistent Aristotelianism” as opposed to
the expression “heterodox Aristotelianism” introduced by Van Steenbergen. But that might make
the representatives of the Theological Faculty look like “inconsistent” Aristotelians.
89. CUP I n. 432 (I, 486–87).
90. Bonaventura, Collationes de decem praeceptis (1267) (Op. V, 4505–32); Collationes de
donis Spiritus sancti (1268) (Op. V, 455–503).
Whereas we can understand the condemnation in 1270 to a great extent
as a listing of the theologically incompatible philosophical teachings of the
new Aristotelianism, the 219 propositions condemned on March 7, 1277,
with the help of a commission including several high-ranking theologians
had a more fundamental character. The later ruling had been preceded by
serious conflicts with the theological faculty and in the faculty of the arts
itself. Moreover the condemnation took place explicitly at the behest of
Pope John XXI (1276–1277), who on April 28 would demand an investiga-
tion of the theological faculty as well.91 Heresy was already suspected there,
too. Thus the condemnation of 1277 could not simply be taken as a reaction
of the theologians to the masters of arts, especially since theologians like
Thomas Aquinas (exactly three years before his death) and Ægidius Roma-
nus (1243/47–1316) were affected by the condemnation and the associated
burden of excommunication. Granted, the prologue accuses the masters of
arts of overstepping boundaries as a matter of principle. The masters of arts
now faced the very same charge that had been leveled at the theologians in
1228: they were meddling in matters that did not concern them.92 Symp-
tomatic of the climate of mistrust was the university-wide decree of Sep-
tember 2, 1276, forbidding lectures and disputations “in locis privatis” and
secret assemblies. The only exceptions were the departments of logic and
grammar, which were generally not suspect.93
An examination of the sources for the 1277 list of errors shows that these
formulas applied only in a very qualified sense to the teachings of the magistri
Siger of Brabant and Boethius of Dacia and sometimes condemned proposi-
tions about the relation of philosophy to theology that were quite true. Since
the excommunication of the teachers and hearers of these propositions natu-
rally presupposes a literal interpretation [of the Bible], this caused great un-
certainty in theological teaching as well. Beside the well-known “errors” of
Aristotle and the condemned teachings of Thomas Aquinas (the possibility
of an eternal world, the individuation, unity and essential form of man, lo-
calization of spiritual substances, etc.), other condemned propositions that
seriously affected the self-understanding and development of theology con-
cerned the relation between reason and faith, philosophy and theology, divine
omnipotence and natural causes, divine and human knowledge. The epis-
91. See Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 354; De Libera, “Philosophie et censure.”

92. See CUP I n.59 (I, 114–16); n. 473 (I, 543): “proprie facultatis limites excedentes” [“going
beyond the limits of their own faculty”].
93. CUP I n. 468 (I, 538–39).
temological status of the individual philosophical sentence was not made
explicit; instead it was assumed that they were all asserted as equally true.
Theologically, however, they are false. Thus Étienne Tempier must have had
the impression that the notorious “double truth” was being proposed, as he
explains in his prologue. Therefore it was not the so-called “Averroists” but
rather the Bishop himself who was actually the author of the “doctrine of
the double truth.”94
Besides those propositions, however, there were fundamental attacks
on the position of theology at the university in the first place. These char-
acterize the climate in which theology had to fight for its scientific status:
Theological discourse in based on human fables (152). Theological knowl-
edge does not broaden our knowledge (153). Consequently theology does
not convey any knowledge at all and it therefore not a science. There are
fables and false statements in the Christian law (= sacred Scripture, theolo-
gy) as there are elsewhere (174). The Christian law impedes the acquisition
of knowledge (175). There is no higher state of human existence than the
free pursuit of philosophy (40). Philosophers are the sole “sapientes mundi”
(“wise men of the world,” see 1 Cor 1:20) (154). In deciding a question with
certainty one must not be content with authorities (150).95
Of particularly great significance for the theological development of the
fourteenth century were the condemnations of the theses concerning God’s
causality, which for the most part were inspired by Avicenna:96 The first
cause has no knowledge of future contingencies, because something contin-
gent in the future cannot be classified as being and is singular, whereas God
recognizes nothing singular (42). The first principle of being cannot be the
cause of the complex variety of creatures on earth without the mediation of
other causes (43). A multiplicity of effects cannot proceed from the first ef-
ficient cause (44). God brings forth necessarily that which comes forth from
him immediately (58). God can bring about the effect of a secondary cause
only with its cooperation (63). Intelligible substances participate in the cre-
ation of things (73).97 The controversy over these condemned theses would
lead to a broader discussion about the power of God with the distinction
94. See Dales, “Origins,” 179.

95. See Flasch, ed., Aufklärung, 137–38, 215–18, 229–30. For a discussion see esp. De Libera,
“Philosophie et censure”; Bianchi, “Turning Point”; Boulnois, “Chisame,” and other essays in
Aertsen and Speer, eds., Was ist Philosophie im Mittelalter? esp. 371–434.
96. See Bannach, Lehre, 96–111.
97. See Flasch, ed., Aufklärung, 139–43, 155, 158, 165.
already present in the Summa Halensis between his absolute power and his
ordered power (i.e., that which is freely bound by the existing course of the
world and by salvation history).98 God’s freedom with regard to the causal
explanation of the world, however, leads also to questioning the value of the
rational explanation of the world (and of theological self-assurance) against
the backdrop of a divine will that is independent of all secondary causes and
this-worldly facts (and thus explanations). This means that there are clear
theological reservations about the philosophical claim to truth; the truth-
claim of theology, however, which must struggle for its own scientific charac-
ter, and the certainty of the believer are subject to the proviso of God’s will,
which could also be quite different. The theoretical scientific self-assurance
of theology as a university discipline therefore necessarily appeared to be the
pressing need of the hour.
3 The scientific character of theology

Theology’s controversial encounter with the new ideal of science and its
position at the university created a new theological treatise: the introduction
to theology and its epistemological teaching.99 It can be found in individual
questions, series of questions, parts of monographs, but especially in the in-
troductions to summas and commentaries on the Sentences. They manifest
the self-understanding of a theology poised between its responsibility to the
sacra pagina and the claim to be a science in the Aristotelian sense.
3.1 Faith and argument: William of Auxerre

The so-called Summa aurea or “Golden Summa” of William of Auxerre
(† 1231) was probably completed during the 1220s (after 1215, before 1229).
In the prologue it offers us an initial introduction to theology, although not
in the Aristotelian sense. It does identify well the point of departure for the
discussion.100 The very first quaestio of the prologue formulates a funda-
98. Alexander of Hales, Summa theologica, p. 1 inq. 1 tr. 4 q. 1 c. 2 (I, 207); q. 2 c. 2–3 (I, 219–22);
q. 3 c. 2 a. 1 (I, 233–34); see also William J. Courtenay, art. “Potentia absoluta / ordinata” HWP VII,
cols. 1157–62; Courtenay, Capacity, 68–74.
99. See Köpf, Anfänge, 67–69; Grabmann, Erkenntnislehre; Chenu, Théologie comme science;
Kraml, Rede von Gott; Niederbacher and Leibold, eds., Theologie.
100. Magistri Guillelmi Altissiodorensis Summa Aurea, ed. J. Ribaillier, vol. 1 (Spicilegium Bo-
naventurianum 16) (Paris-Grottaferrata, 1980); see in the same series Introduction générale (Spicile-
gium Bonaventurianum 20) (Paris-Grottaferrata, 1987), 3–16; see also Niederbacher and Leibold,
eds., Theologie, 13–35.
mental attack on theology. Starting from the “definition of faith” in Hebrews
11:1, where faith itself is described as an “argumentum,” it must seem per-
verse that the magistri try to support the faith with arguments from reason.
For faith itself is “probans non probatum” [something that proves but is not
proved], an argument, not a conclusion that would require proof. A science
of faith in the strict sense would thus be an oxymoron.101 The solution of-
fered by William follows the earlier teaching of Praepositinus. Faith relies
in three ways on ratio: among believers faith is strengthened and increased
by it; it defends the faith against heretics; finally, simple folk may be moved
to believe by rational arguments. William by no means subscribes to an Ar-
istotelian explanation of theological science; instead he adheres to the tra-
ditional understanding of faith and theology exemplified by Augustine and
Anselm of Canterbury. Faith is an illumination by God and therefore affects
intellegere [understanding]: The more enlightened a soul is, the more clearly
she sees also that the matter in question is in fact as she believes it to be, but
also how and why it is so: “quod est intelligere” [“which is to understand”].102
Therefore William also agrees with Simon of Tournai (ca. 1130–1201), who
considers the connotation of “argumentum” in Aristotle to be incompatible
with the linguistic usage of the Bible: in Aristotle the argument is a reason
(ratio) for believing a dubious thing; for Christians, on the other hand, the
argument is faith itself, which creates its own reasons (ratio).103 Theological
progress (in persons) is therefore, as Augustine says, possible only as prog-
ress in faith, not as a deductive extension of knowledge from a first princi-
ple. Instead the first principle and the first truth is God himself, upon whom
one must rely in making the ascent of faith.104
In the second quaestio William emphasizes, as Peter Lombard had done,
that arguments drawn from reason must be suitable; this is not the case
with reasons that are related only to “res naturales” [“natural things”]. The
heretics’ blunder consists precisely of the fact that they simply applied such
arguments to God and thereby arrived at their errors (Arius and Sabellius
being the prime examples).105 William generally agrees with this: all her-
esies ultimately can be traced back to a hasty transference of purely natu-
ral circumstances to God, that is, to an unwarranted natural-philosophical
101. William of Auxerre, Summa aurea, l.1 prol.1 (15, 1–10); see also Beumer, “Theologie als in-
tellectus fidei.”
102. William of Auxerre, Summa aurea, l.1 prol.1 (16.35–37).
103. Ibid., (16.39–41). 104. Ibid., (18.80–84).
105. Ibid., prol. 2 (18.1–19, 37).
or metaphysical line of argument in theology. Therefore in his own theol-
ogy he tries to do entirely without the “propriae rationes rerum naturalium”
[“proper reasons of natural things”]. Instead in his theological pursuit he
intends to stick exclusively with reasons that are theological or suited to the
matter at hand.106 By design, therefore, William is already practicing that
sort of abstinence with regard to teachings from other disciplines, namely,
Aristotelian natural philosophy, which Gregory IX so urgently recommend-
ed to the theologians of Paris in 1228. From the perspective of William’s un-
derstanding of faith, in any case, theology cannot become an Aristotelian
science.
3.2 Between Bible and science: The early Dominicans

The biblical, evangelical impulse of the mendicant way of life and their
theology would necessarily be expressed also in their systematic reflection
on theology itself. The earliest introduction to theology by a Dominican has
been preserved in the theological summa of the first Dominican magister in
Paris, Roland of Cremona, which was probably written in the 1230s.107 He
was clearly influenced by William of Auxerre yet on the other hand presup-
poses the Aristotelian concept of science. He still understands theology as
divina scriptura, although for the first time he now regards the central ob-
ject and scientific character of this activity as problematic, with reference
to the Aristotelian framing of the methodological questions.108 In a quota-
tion from the Posterior Analytics Roland takes as his foundation Aristotle’s
strict, experientially based concept of science.109 This already makes it clear
that biblical theology in itself is not yet science in the strict sense. Rather it
surpasses mere science—as understood in the tradition of Hugh of St. Vic-
tor—and constitutes wisdom (sapientia), the goal of all other sciences.110
Theology therefore has the status of mistress in relation to the other sci-
ences and artes, and employs them comprehensively.111 Although theology
is not strictly speaking a science, one can examine it according to all the
elements of an Aristotelian science: object, principles, and proof. Its central
object, viewed in terms of the Bible and salvation history, is “Christus inte-
106. Ibid., (20.56–71).

107. See Filthaut, Roland von Cremona; Köpf, Anfänge, 54–55.
108. Roland of Cremona, Summa, prol. q.2 (unpublished): see also Köpf, Anfänge, 276; Grab-
mann, Erkenntnislehre, 189.
109. See Roland, Summa prol.q.2, cited in Köpf, Anfänge, 152, n. 105.
110. Ibid., cited in Köpf, Anfänge, 219, n. 325.
111. See Köpf, Anfänge, 241, 244.
ger” [“the whole Christ”], which includes God, man and the whole Church
from the beginning until the end of time, and even the damned (in imagine
[as creatures made in the divine image]).112 The articles of faith cannot be
the principles of demonstration for theology in the Aristotelian sense, be-
cause they lack the requisite self-evident character. Moreover according to
Hebrews 11:1 the articles of faith themselves are arguments that cannot exist
without faith. In any case it is possible to draw further conclusions from the
articles of faith using the scientific method. This still presupposes personal
faith, however.113 The articles of faith themselves, though, are not syllogisti-
cally derived from a preexisting faith, but rather are the content of faith that
is believed. In “fides formata,” the faith that is realized (in works as well), the
objective and the subjective or affective elements of faith coincide, and the
faith becomes a thematic “argumentum.” Without this faith, which assumes
the role of the foundation for science that is played in the Aristotelian con-
cept by experience, there is no theology.114
We are indebted for Richard Fishacre († 1248) for the first commentary
on the Sentences by a Dominican at Oxford.115 His introduction to theology
in the prologue of his commentary uses the Aristotelian four causes as an
outline.116 Under the heading causa finalis he inquires into the necessity and
usefulness of theology. Here already, as with Roland of Cremona, the con-
cept of science defined in the Posterior Analytics is taken as a basis, yet it is
immediately replaced by the fundamental division of all knowledge into sci-
entia deorsum (natural, worldly knowledge) and sapientia de sursum (God-
given wisdom in the three books of life, Scripture, and creation). Theology
(regarded as sacra scriptura), however, is necessary because God cannot be
known adequately from nature alone. This is also the reason for the priority
of theology over the natural sciences; for the useful knowledge that can be
learned in them is found in sacred Scripture too, along with much more that
cannot be found in the natural sciences. Therefore the other sciences are
still “pedissequae et ancillae” [“women in waiting and maidservants”]; schol-
ars—unlike many theologians of his day—should not bother too much
112. Roland of Cremona, Summa, prol. q.2, cited in Köpf, Anfänge, 100–1, n. 93.
113. Ibid., cited in Köpf, Anfänge, 141, n. 60–62; see also Summa l.3, CIV, 5, ed. A. Cortesi (Ber-
gamo, 1962), 321; CV, 1.322.
114. Ibid., prol. q.2, cited in Köpf, Anfänge, 198–99, n. 220.
115. See Pelster, “Richard Fishacre”; Long and O’Carroll, Fishacre, 15–48; Niederbacher and
Leibold, Theologie, 131–87.
116. Long, ed., “Science,” 79–98; see the more detailed discussion in: Grabmann, Erkennt-
nislehre, 205–15; Niederbacher and Leibold, Theologie, 165–84.
about them so as not to awaken the suspicion of an adulterous relationship
with a hired maid.117 Clearly we see here the aftereffects of the warning by
Gregory IX to theologians not to busy themselves with (natural) philoso-
phy. The efficient cause of sacred Scripture and theology is God. There-
fore it is “verissima, ordinatissima et certissima” [“most true, highly ordered
and quite certain”]. Its truth, method and certainty, then, are dependent
in principle, not on the Aristotelian theory of science and a procedure of
demonstration, but rather on the truth and veracity of God.118 Therefore
“scientia vel scriptura” (= theology) knows no syllogistic method of proof;
it is based in principle not on human arguments from reason but rather on
the authority of the author, that is, God. This very argument demonstrates
the equation of sacred Scripture and theology, which is not yet regarded as
problematic. In this discipline, moreover, there is no transition from what
is known to what is less known; instead, everything that is taught is equally
certain, since God’s authority guarantees the entire contents of Scripture.
This is immediately turned into an appeal to the moral sense of the theolo-
gians: “Quod si tantus est huius sapientiae auctor, quales debent esse auditores!”
[“Now if the Author of this wisdom is so great, what should the students be
like!”]119 The materia of theology is initially described very comprehensive-
ly and skillfully in the three simple elements of “natura suprema, media et in-
fima” [“highest, middle and lowest nature”], namely God, rational creatures
and bodies, and the structures compose of those elements, the Church and
man, which are both incorporated again into Christ. The object of theol-
ogy, therefore, cannot be so easily defined as Roland does. The indivisible
fundamental element is God himself; the “maxime compositum” [“most
composite element”], in contrast, is Christ, whereas the actual subjectum is
the union of the two higher elements: God and the rational creature, that
is, the Church or God’s salvific history with mankind.120 In man, however,
there are two powers: the virtus motiva and the virtus apprehensiva, the affec-
tive faculty of will and theoretical understanding. Theology, being aligned
with both, is neither a purely theoretical nor a purely practical discipline,
but necessarily concerns the knowledge of God as the highest truth, insofar
as that is possible on earth, and union with the highest good. Now the theo-
retical part is reserved for the discussion of more difficult questions about
117. Fishacre, In Sent., prol., ed. Long, “Science,” 85–87; see also CUP I n.59 (I, 114–16).
118. Fishacre, In Sent., prol., ed. Long, “Science,” 87–89.
119. Ibid., 89–90.
120. Ibid., 91–96; see also Köpf, Anfänge, 101–2; Niederbacher and Leibold, Theolgie, 175–77.
the articles of faith, that is, in the historical context of lectures on the Sen-
tences. The moral, practical part, on the other hand, is treated in the inter-
pretation of sacred Scripture. Both parts refer, nevertheless, to Scripture as
the foundation of theology as a whole; for speculative theology, too, is pres-
ent “indistinctly” in Scripture, but is elaborated by the “magistri moderni” in
disputations for methodological reasons. The questions in the Lombard’s
Sentences are expressly declared to be excerpts from the Bible; this legiti-
mizes systematic theology biblically.121 Along the lines of the Augustinian
moral preparation for the speculative investigation of the faith, the moral in-
terpretation of sacred Scripture must precede the lectures on the Sentences.
Neither one is an Aristotelian science, however; instead, the two together
convey a knowledge that, according to the self-understanding of the theolo-
gian, surpasses all Aristotelian scientific theory.
Clearly dependent on Richard Fishacre is Robert Kilwardby († 1279),
whose commentary on the Sentences dates to the 1250s (after 1256).122 Tak-
ing Proverbs 9:1 as his point of departure, he develops his introdution to
theology in several questions; the basic understanding of theology as wis-
dom is present, while at the same time it is investigated again according to
the four causes. In the very first sentence, however, Kilwardby distinguishes
more clearly than Fishacre between theological teaching and sacra scrip-
tura.123 The problematic relation between the Sentences and the Bible is
resolved in such a way that God naturally remains the auctor of Scripture,
while the Lombard is only the “compilator vel promulgator” of the sacred
text. The fact that the Sentences are derived from Scripture is already taken
for granted.124 Question 12, which is decisive for the question of scientific
character, lists all the reasons why the Aristotelian concept of science ap-
pears to be inapplicable to theology (viewed here as scriptura): generality,
necessity, knowledge of causes, evidence. In order to resolve the question,
Kilwardby distinguishes in principle between two kinds of knowledge: the
one comes from divine inspiration and is obtained through the study of a
book; the other comes from human ingenuity and is conveyed “viva voce.”
121. Fishacre, In Sent., prol., ed. Long, “Science,” 96–98.

122. Robert Kilwardby, Quaestiones in Librum Primum Sententiarum, J. Schneider, ed. (Bay-
rische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Publication #13 of the Kommittee für die Herausgabe unge-
druckter Texte aus der mittelalterlichen Geisteswelt [Committee for the printing of unpublished
texts from the medieval intellectual world]) (Munich, 1986); see also Grabmann, Erkenntnislehre,
215–26.
123. Kilwardby, I Sent q.1 (3.1–3).
124. Ibid., 3.15–16.
Theology presupposes the first mode of knowledge. Only within this frame-
work can one meaningfully discuss theology as a science.125 Furthermore
one should distinguish between theoretical and practical science (scientia
speculativa, activa). The fact that theology does not come under the head-
ing of theoretical science is not discussed further here at all. Theology as
a whole has to do with man’s actions, more specifically with the perfect re-
demption of man. The theoretical part of theology is aimed at this as well;
as contemplation it is subordinate to the commandment of love of God and
is called sapientia [wisdom], while the practical part is defined by the com-
mandment of love of neighbor and is called scientia. In theological terms, all
other objects of contemplation or faith, however, become scibilia [“know-
able things,” suitable topics for scientific investigation] inasmuch as they are
ordered to this goal.126
In keeping with the way of life of the early mendicant orders, there was a
very decisive adherence to the practical orientation of theology as a whole.
The Aristotelian concept of science, however, was not in keeping with
theological tradition. First of all, Aristoteles is unacquainted with a science
based on divine inspiration. The philosophical concept of science is there-
fore not applicable to sacra scriptura, and furthermore it does not even cover
all manmade sciences, but in the strict sense only the theoretical sciences,
principally mathematics.127 Therefore theology (as sacred Scripture) does
not produce a habit of knowledge in the sense of knowledge about a conclu-
sion that has been proven, but rather first generates faith in all those things
which are simply accepted “sine ratiocinatione” [“without argumentation”]
on the evidence of Scripture. This faith, however, surpasses the purely nat-
ural knowledge (scientia) of the philosophers, because it is founded upon
love for the first truth. If ratio is added to faith, the result is not science but
again the Augustinian intellectus or intelligentia, insight into the faith. We can
speak here about knowledge (scientia) only in the Augustinian sense as the
common habit of faith and contemplation, and likewise about wisdom.128
Theological knowledge is therefore in principle insight into the faith, gained
from the practice of living out the faith and serving it, but not from science
in the Aristotelian sense.
125. Ibid., q. 12, 30.45–49; see also Kraml, Rede von Gott, 93–103.
126. Kilwardby, I Sent q. 12.30.31–44. 127. Ibid., 30.50–31.73.
128. Ibid., q. 13.33.1–34.34.
3.3 Salvation history or metaphysics: The Summa Halensis

Alexander of Hales († 1245) figures in the Parisian tradition as the found-
er of lectures on the Sentences and at the same time as the first Franciscan
magister (starting in 1236). His Glossa in quatuor libros Sententiarum, which
dates to around 1223–1227, still does not provide a detailed theoretical jus-
tification of theology as a science, but rather a treatment of the materia of
the book of sentences.129 The entire contents of the systematic theology are
derived from Exodus 3: the doctrine about God in book 1 from Exodus 3:14–
15, and the contents of the remaining books from Exodus 3:7–8. Theology is
therefore still understood essentially in terms of salvation history: God re-
veals himself in his merciful care for his oppressed people and leads it to the
land of milk and honey. Thus theology sets out from the doctrine about God
and leads via the teaching about the fall, repentance, and redemption to the
Church and her sacraments and to eternal happiness with its gifts of grace.130
In contrast, the so-called Summa Halensis, which should be regarded
as a collaborative work of the early Parisian Franciscan school, presents a
detailed scientific theory of theology.131 The first chapter of question 1 im-
mediately inquires into the scientific character of systematic theology (doc-
trina theologiae, not sacra scriptura).132 The answer proceeds not so much
from the Posterior Analytics as from the concept of science in the Aristote-
lian Metaphysics. As Aristotle did, the Summa distinguishes between knowl-
edge about causes and knowledge about what is caused (which depends on
the former). The first type is a knowledge for its own sake, especially the
knowledge about the “causa causarum” [“cause of causes”].133 This scien-
tia, however, is theology, which thereby is defined in the genuine sense as
metaphysics and sapientia, which agrees well with the introductory quota-
tion from Boethius and his view of theology.134 Although the concept of
science and wisdom found in the Metaphysics is applied at first to theology,
129. Alexander of Hales, Glossa in quatuor libros Sententiarum Petri Lombardi I, Introitus (Bib-
liotheca Franciscana Scholastica Medii Aevi 12) (Quaracchi, 1951), 1–4; see also Osborne, “Alexan-
der of Hales,” 9.
130. See Kraml, Rede von Gott, 90–92.
131. (Summa Halensis =) Alexander of Hales, Summa theologica, I (Quaracchi, 1924). On the
question of authenticity and sources, see Summa theologica, IV, Prolegomena; Pergamo, De Quaes-
tionibus; Osborne, “Alexander of Hales,” 5–18; Niederbacher and Leibold, Theologie, 110–12.
132. Summa Hal. I Tr. int. q.1 c.1 (I, 1–4); see also Gössmann, Metaphysik, 15–36; Niederbacher
and Leibold, Theologie, 77–130.
133. See Aristoteles, Met. I, 1–2.
134. Summa Hal. Tr. int. q.1 c.1 (I, 1); see also Supra 1.1.4.
it is nevertheless rendered more specific by the affective and practical orien-
tation that distinguishes it from pure metaphysics. This affective, practical
orientation constitutes the real sapiential (“relishing, tasting”) character of
theology, whereas metaphysics (as theologia philosophorum, the theology of
the philosophers) is only wisdom as the perfection of knowledge and thus
of the habit of knowing. The other sciences, however, which deal only with
subordinate causes, are only scientiae, not sapientia.135
It is remarkable that the answer given by the Summa does not go at all
into the foundation of theology in sacred Scripture. Only in the response
to the objections against applying the Aristotelian concept of science (now
from the Posterior Analytics) to theology does it bother to mention Scrip-
ture. The insufficient generality of the contents of sacred Scripture is imme-
diately rejected as a reason for the inapplicability of the concept of science.
Whereas secular history recounts the individual fact only as such, in Scrip-
ture the individual historical fact has a universal meaning. Through his-
torical facts, general acts and conditions are indicated for the instruction of
men and the contemplation of the divine mysteries. Since what is singular
in Scripture designates something universal, the concept of science is there-
fore applicable to it. The universalization of what is manifested in salvation
history ought therefore to guarantee the scientific character of theology in
its biblical foundation as well.136 Moreover, the Summa now demonstrates
(just as desperately) that Scripture contains not only singular but general
propositions (of a moral kind), for example, Proverbs 1:7 or 1 Timothy 1:5,
so that the “universale in praedicando” [“the universal in preaching”] is pres-
ent here just like the “universale in exemplando” [“. . . in providing examples”]
on the basis of its prophetic meaning, while the “universale in significando”
[“. . . in giving signs, i.e., warning”] is found in the general meaning of salva-
tion history. Through the metaphysical attribution of the facts of salvation
history to God, who is the universal cause of creation, or to Christ who is
the universal cause of redemption, theology can furthermore lay claim to
the “universale in causando” [“the universal in causing”], so that in its biblical
foundation, too, theology can now claim to be an Aristotelian science par
excellence, as sapientia in the sense explained in the Metaphysics I,1.137
135. Ibid., q.1 c.1 sol. (I, 2a). For a further development of the teaching about the practical or sa-
piential character of theology, see Amorós, “Teologia”; Niederbacher and Leibold, Theologie, 116–20.
136. Summa Hal. Tr. int. q.1 c.1 ad 1 (I, 2–3); see also Gössmann, Metaphysik, 18–19; Nieder-
bacher and Leibold, Theologie, 128.
137. Summa Hal. Tr. int. q.1 c.1 ad 2 (I, 3).
The discussion of the object and method of theology shows how difficult
it is to balance this concept of theology as a science with biblical thinking
about salvation history. Depending on the perspective, the object of theol-
ogy is considered to be the work of redemption, Christ or God (divina sub-
stantia), so that theology can then be defined in a handy formula as “scien-
tia de substantia divina cognoscenda per Christum in opere reparationis” [“the
science of the divine substance which is to be known through Christ in the
work of reparation”].138 The Summa strikes a balance here between the defi-
nition of theology as sapientia as understood in the Metaphysics (substantia
divina), the Christocentrism of a Roland of Cremona and the definition of
theology in terms of salvation history along the lines of Hugh of St. Victor.
In the methodological treatise, finally, the current schemata from the theory
of science must be entirely abandoned. The “modus sacrae Scripturae” [the
“method of sacred Scripture”] does not follow the rules of an art or a sci-
ence. The reason for this, however, lies in the divine wisdom, which through
the Scriptures informs man about what is important for his salvation. Ulti-
mately theology is defined as knowledge about salvation on the basis of divine
instruction and thus exempt from the laws of methodology.139 It is moreover
an affective, practical discipline, to which the methods of the theoretical
sciences—namely definition, division, and syllogism—are not applicable.
Instead we find methods that are suited to the “affectus pietatis” [“devotion
of piety”], namely precept, example, admonition, revelation, prayer. The “pi-
etas” in question here, however, is “cultus Dei” [“the worship of God”].140 In a
Franciscan way, therefore, theology appears to be related here again to piety
and reverence for God, thus embedded in Franciscan religious life.
This affective element is expressed also in the discussion of the specifi-
cally theological certainty in comparison with the other sciences. Weighty
objections arise to a certainty that would be equivalent to that of the scienc-
es: the certainty of mere belief as opposed to intellectus [understanding], in-
sufficient perspicuity of the principles, the metaphorical and equivocal style
of Scripture. The Summa makes a fundamental distinction between affective
and intellectual certainty. Theology leads to greater affective [i.e., subjec-
tive] certainty than experience; on the other hand it lags behind empirical
138. Ibid., q.1 c.3 sol. (I, 6); see also Gössmann, Metaphysik, 25–26; Niederbacher and Leibold,
Theologie, 120–22.
139. Summa Hal. q.1 c.4 a.1 sol. (I, 8a); see also Gössmann, Metaphysik, 27–31; Niederbacher
and Leibold, Theologie, 122–27.
140. Summa Hal. q.1 c.4 a.1 ad 2 (I, 8b).
evidence [Anschauungs-Evidenz] in intellectual certainty, since it is based
on faith alone.141 Therefore even in its principles theology is different from
the other sciences, namely the theoretical sciences. The latter are founded
on self-evident, true principles; theological principles, in contrast, have two
components: truth and goodness, and thus a theoretical and a practical ele-
ment. They are “principia veritatis ut bonitatis” [“principles of Truth consid-
ered as the Good”]. With regard to theoretical [speculative] truth they are
less evident than the principles of other sciences. With regard to practical
goodness, however, they are acknowledged to have the status of “principia
per se nota” [“self-evident principles”], namely, for moral conduct.142
Theology is described here with an unmistakably practical emphasis,
yet it is not just a moral philosophy; its supernatural element becomes ap-
parent in its divine origin: It is “a Deo et de Deo et ductiva ad Deum” [“from
God and about God and leads to God”].143 Now the other sciences come
from God (a Deo), too, but they are not conveyed in the same manner,
through divine inspiration as a gift of grace, which is why it is possible to
say formulaically that theology (doctrina sacra) comes from the Holy Spirit.
The truth in it is therefore a “bonum gratuitum” [“a gratuitous good,” i.e., a
grace], and this is precisely the basis for its practical certainty also, which
consequently should not be measured according to the standards of human
science. It is not concerned about God (de Deo) only in the metaphysical
sense, but rather in terms of the Triune God in his salvific work. It leads to
God (ad Deum) through the principles of fear and love, based on faith in
God’s mercy and justice.
Since theology (again in the sense of sacred Scripture) thus conveys a
practical certainty based on inspiration and a knowledge of the same sort,
the question arises as to the validity and necessity of theoretical attention to
the scientific status of theology itself. A certain discrepancy in the Summa
Halensis cannot be overlooked: the scientific character of theology is ini-
tially proved along Boethian lines with a concept of theology as understood
in the Metaphysics, while the Christian character of this theology and its
unique status and independence from all other sciences is supposed to be
explained then by a markedly affective, practical concept of theology found-
ed on sacred Scripture. The latter sort of theology, however, hardly corre-
sponds to the scientific concept from the Metaphysics and is largely exempt
141. Ibid., a.2 sol., ad 1 (I, 9). 142. Ibid., ad 2 (I, 9b).
143. Ibid., q.1 c.2 ad ob. (I, 5b).
from the methodological claims of the theory of science. This “immunity”
is not so difficult to defend, inasmuch as the Franciscan theologians hark
back to the sapiential theology of the monastic and Victorine circles and
understand theology as sapientia [wisdom] and thus as something which in
principle surpasses every scientia [science, knowledge]. The fault lines in the
attempted equilibrium are all too plain.
3.4 Presuppositions and goal of theological science:

Albert the Great
Composed around the year 1245, the commentary on the Sentences by
Albertus Magnus (ca. 1200–1280) contains no question specifically devoted
to the problem of the scientific character of theology.144 Instead it is as-
sumed in the very first article. This article inquires as to the object of theolo-
gy, now understood however from an unmistakably Aristotelian perspective
on science. As described by the Posterior Analytics, science presupposes its
object. Theology, in contrast, appears to have to define and prove its object
first. Doesn’t that contradict its scientific character?145 In the answer the sci-
entific character of theology is explicitly affirmed: It is the highest science.
Its object is presupposed as “materia de qua” [“the matter about which”],
yet it is investigated in the science itself out of didactic considerations, es-
pecially when the definition of the object is obscure, such as the statement
by Peter Lombard that according to Augustine “res et signa” [“things and
signs”] are the object of theology. They are its object, not absolutely, but
rather with regard to the goal of theology, which again is markedly practical:
to share in eternal blessedness, whereby even the Augustinian distinction
between uti and frui [to use and to enjoy] is brought in. Either the things
and signs themselves effect blessedness or they are useful, that is, dispose
the soul to it.146
In the Aristotelian sense, however, the subject of a science is the central
object; the object’s properties, considered as passiones [i.e., the ninth Cat-
egory], and its differences are proved through the principles proper to the
science. Besides the problem of the object, this now poses the problem of
principles: Starting from what principles does theology prove its proposi-
tions? In this sense the question about the object alludes to the fundamen-
144. For the philosophical background, see Sturlese, Philosophie, 224–388.

145. Albertus Magnus, I Sent d.1 a.1, in Opera omnia, ed. A. Borgnet, vol. 25 (Paris, 1893), 15; see
also Senner, “Wissenschaftstheorie”; Burger, “Bedeutung.”
146. Albertus Magnus, I Sent d.1 a.2 sol. (16).
tal presuppositions of theology as a science. Albert presents them using the
traditional term of credibile [something that can be believed]. This, howev-
er, includes the praeambula or fundamental axioms that are logically prior
to the individual articles of faith, for example:
1. God is truthful.
2. God exists.
3. The Holy Spirit is the author of sacred Scripture.
4. Sacred Scripture is infallible.
Only then do the twelve or fourteen articles of faith follow, along with
several basic moral truths, for example: Fornication is a mortal sin. In con-
trast to the praeambula, these are the genuine premises of theology from
which everything else in theology is proved. Albert has thereby clarified
the later distinctions among fundamental-theological, dogmatic and moral-
theological contents within the framework of theological science. The fun-
damental axioms are not immediately the premises of theological reason-
ing but rather the presuppositions thereof.147 Their justification is therefore
not within the scope of the genuinely scientific exposition of theology. At
III Sent. d.24 a.8, in any case, Albert distinguishes between “suppositiones et
dignitates,” that is, the underlying axioms that are implied in the articles of
faith, and the articles of faith themselves, which are derived as theoremata
from the principles. Finally, the consequences for moral conduct are cor-
ollaries.148 In this passage, therefore, the articles of faith themselves have
become propositions derived from axioms, whereas at I Sent. d.1 a.2 they ap-
pear together with the moral principles as premises: “de istis enim probatur
omne quod probatur in Sacra Scriptura.” [“For from them is proved every-
thing that is proved in Sacred Scripture.”]149
Specifically, at any rate, the matter of theology is God as its most emi-
nent and central object, from which it also takes its name. Yet theology does
not consider God in himself (absolute tantum) but rather as the Alpha and
the Omega, “principium et finis,” whereby Albert has at the same time struck
a balance between the two concepts of theology (as science, as salvation
history) in his treatment of creation (principium) and the arrangements for
arriving at the goal (virtues, gifts of the Holy Spirit, sacraments).
147. See Lang, “Bedeutung.”

148. Albertus Magnus, III Sent d.24 a.8 sol. (Ed. Paris. 28, 465); see also Senner, “Wissenschafts-
theorie,” 327–28; on the Augustinian tradition, see Fuchs, Zeichen, 33–48.
149. Albertus Magnus, I Sent. d.1 a.2 sol. (Ed. Paris. 16b).
Albert also poses the question about the unity of theology, expressly
along the lines of the Aristotelian theory of science.150 Here unity is guaran-
teed by the generic unity of the object (unius generis subjecti scientia). Albert
does not see such a unity in theology, since on the one hand God is the ob-
ject in several sciences (e.g., in metaphysics also), while on the other hand
theology contains much heterogeneous material: the lives of the patriarchs
and the status of the angels, creation, moral instructions, etc. Like the early
Dominicans and Franciscans, nevertheless, Albert sees theology as a practi-
cal science, directed toward the one “finis beatificans” [“beatific end”]. The-
ology investigates how the “beatificabile” (“thing that can be beatified,” i.e.,
man) can reach this goal by means of the “dispositiones beatificantes” [“be-
atifying arrangements”] that assist him as means or free him from obsta-
cles, which are the “res hujus mundi” [“things of this world”]. Theology can
therefore treat of all things; it is a universal science, but with an unequivo-
cally practical-affective character, directed toward the goal of eternal bless-
edness. The things of this world, however, are means to this end. Theology
is thereby implicitly defined as a practical science. Even the historical facts
of sacred Scripture and its contents are not the object of theology “secun-
dum se” [“in and of themselves”] but rather only as means with regard to
this goal. Thus the study of sacred Scripture is fruitful only from this overall
theological perspective: it combines the scientific-theoretical element with
the traditional ascetical element of “lectio divina.” Here too Albert’s thought
is informed by the Dominican way of life. On the other hand, the problem
of the insufficient universality of biblical facts is thereby resolved. They are
general examples in a practical science, the purpose of which is defined as
follows: “ut boni fiamus” [“that we may become good”].151
The question explicitly asked in article 4, whether theology is a theo-
retical or a practical science, thus seems to be answered already in principle.
Remarkable in any case is the biblical foundation on which the question is
decided: Titus 1:1–2, which speaks about the “agnitio veritatis quae secundum
pietatem est, in spem vitae aeternae” [“knowledge of the truth which accords
with piety, in the hope of eternal life”]. “Secundum pietatem” is explained by
the Gloss as “in accordance with the Christian religion.” The foundation of
theology is still practical religion, the practice of worshipping God within
the context of living out a Christian life. Even “Scholastic” theology, ac-
150. Ibid., d.1 a.3 (17).

151. Ibid., d.1 a.3 ad2 (18).
cording to Albert, cannot be separated from it. In this way the knowledge of
the truth in the secular sciences (in liberalibus artibus) is different from the
knowledge of theological truth. Theological truth, however, is always “veri-
tas secundum pietatem” [“truth which accords with godliness”]. There are
two aspects to this: first, reverence for God in himself and in the members
of the Body of Christ and everything that serves that purpose. This is the
objective, practical orientation of theology. Its distinctive feature however,
in Albert’s view, comes from the “finis intentionis” [“end which is intended”],
namely substantial union, including the intellect and will, with God as the
“finis beatificans.” Through its consistent orientation to this goal theology
becomes an affective science of salvation. Theological truths are not merely
rational truths; they are oriented to moral conduct and affective behavior.
Within the sciences of natural philosophy there is no such orientation.
Consequently this establishes both the distinctiveness and the necessity of
theology as an autonomous science.152
The traditional concept of “sapientia” can also be applied to this affective
science, certainly with arguments drawn from Metaphysics I.1: it is knowl-
edge about the highest objects and to the highest degree, namely, about
God and according to the principles of the faith. The latter rank higher than
the principles of reason, so that there can be no problem at all with regard to
the self-evident character of the principles.153 Theology in the metaphysi-
cal sense, moreover, is the only free science (gratia sui), because here the
object of knowledge is sought at the same time for its own sake: God, to
whom all aspire through this “scientia beatificans.” Albert clearly opposes
a purely moral, practical theology without any affective orientation: “Ut
boni fiamus,” personal ethical improvement, is only a subordinate goal; the
final goal of theology remains the “veritas affectiva beatificans” [“the affec-
tive truth that beatifies”]. An increase of theoretical knowledge is at first not
even mentioned.154 Therefore theology does not exist in order to further
our knowledge about “theological subjects” or truths, but rather to lead us
to blessedness by improving our lives.
The method of theology therefore is guided by the goal: being an ad-
monition and encouragement of the faithful, it employs the methods of
scriptural interpretation according to the fourfold sense of Scripture.155 In
152. Ibid.; see also Rohner, “De natura Theologiae.”

153. Albertus Magnus, I Sent. d.1 a.4 ad 1 (19a).
154. Ibid., ad 3–4 (19).
155. Ibid., a.5 (19–20).
the debate that has been institutionalized in the book of Sentences, there is
a need, of course, for argument so as to prove the truth and to expose er-
ror. Three grounds for proof are mentioned: authority, natural reason, and
analogies. The rather succinct impression given by the short article shows
clearly that the controversy over the Bible and the Sentences plays no role
here. Scientific character, in the strict sense of a procedure of proof (scientia
istius libri), nevertheless, is attributed only to lectures on the Sentences and
consequently to systematic theology.
Albert makes it clear that the Aristotelian concept of science offers the-
ology many useful clarifications, especially with regard to its unique nature
and the status of its fundamental principles. As an affective science of sal-
vation, however, theology is still bound up with faith and the living out of
religion. Its preeminence is thus demonstrated only theologically, and not
in terms of the theory of science.
3.5 Theology as science and wisdom in Christ: Bonaventure

Bonaventure (1217/18–1274) does not pose the question as to the scien-
tific character of theology explicitly in his commentary on the Sentences.156
He inquires instead about the object and goal of the theological enterprise,
more precisely of the book of Sentences, which is equated with theology.
His concept of science is still relatively vague. Theology and faith, however,
are clearly distinguished according to their respective objects: The object
of faith (credibile) is in itself a primary truth to which the believer assents;
this is to be distinguished from the “doctrina sacrae Scripturae” [“teaching
of sacred Scripture”], which is endowed with the highest divine author-
ity; finally, in a third step beyond faith and authority, there is also the “ratio
probabilitatis” [“reason of formal proof ”], and this gives rise to the object
of (systematic) theology or the collection of Sentences. For here it is a mat-
ter of setting forth “rationes probantes fidem nostram” [“reasons proving our
faith”].157 Faith, sacred Scripture, and systematic theology are precisely
distinguished. Systematic theology comes about through the addition of
plausible, probable reasonable arguments. Is that enough to guarantee its
scientific character?
The question can be answered only in view of the practical, affective
character of theology. Science, then, is understood in principle to be a “hab-
156. Bonaventura, I Sent. prooem. q.1–4 (Op.I, 6–15); see also Tavard, Transiency; Kraml, Rede
von Gott, 107–12; Niederbacher and Leibold, Theologie, 189–233.
157. Bonaventura, I Sent. prooem. q.1 ad 5–6 (I, 8b).
itus directivus” of the intellect. It is therefore a guiding authority, either a
theoretical, speculative one for the intellect per se, or a practical, moral one
with regard to man’s ethical perfection, or finally the union of theoretical
and practical knowledge (sapientia) for affective action. Bonaventure sees
this sapientia embodied in theology, but with a clear preponderance of the
practical element: theology is in the first place not theoretical but practi-
cal knowledge with one purpose: “ut boni fiamus.” The two are combined,
however, in the devotion that is formed by faith. Theological truths, for ex-
ample, the fact that Christ died for us, are different from the theorems of
geometry, for example, because of their affective orientation.158 As was al-
ready the case in the Summa Halensis, so too here the sapiential character of
theology is emphasized with a markedly affective and practical orientation.
The method, in contrast, is defined as “modus ratiocinativus sive inquisitivus”
[“an argumentative or investigative method”]: reasoning, argumentation
and quaestio thus define systematic theology; for unlike the Summa Halensis,
Bonaventure is not inquiring about the method of the sort of theology that
is identified with sacred Scripture, but rather about the method of a com-
mentary on the Sentences as the basis for systematic theology.159 The rela-
tion between the Sentences and the Bible, however, is resolved now accord-
ing to the Aristotelian model of subaltern sciences.160 With regard to their
certainty and their method, the Sentences are “subaltern” or subordinate to
the authority of scriptural as understood in faith. The rational, scientific
method of systematic theology therefore remains nonetheless connected
with the authority and certainty of sacred Scripture, but not to the [particu-
lar] method of its exposition.161
This sapiential understanding of theology also dominates the sermon
Unus est magister vester Christus (ca. 1257), which may have been intended
for the inceptio ceremony.162 In a way that is still nonpolemical as compared
with his later work, the Franciscan magister presents his view of theology.
In keeping with the Scripture verse Matthew 23:10 on which it is based,
the Christocentrism of theology is clearly elaborated. To a great extent Bo-
naventure’s procedure is still the compilation of various passages from the
Church Fathers; Augustine is by far the one most often cited. Bonaventure
158. Ibid., q.3 sol. (I, 13). 159. Ibid., q.2 sol. (I, 10–11).
160. See Köpf, Anfänge, 145–46.
161. Bonaventura, I Sent. prooem. q.2 ad 4 (I, 11); for the concept of theology as distinct from
sacra scriptura see also Donneaud, “Sens.”
162. Edition by Russo, Metodologia, 99–133.
takes his program for theology from Hugh of St. Victor and is thus in good
Franciscan company. Theology is geared on the one hand to the human ef-
fort for certain knowledge (cognitio certitudinalis) but on the other hand to
living the faith in the three-step process of pietas, ratio, and veritas.163 Pietas
corresponds to faith, ratio to proof and consequently science, whereas truth
corresponds to contemplation. As a science, therefore, theology as a whole
has a mediating function; it is only a part—albeit an important one—of the
path leading from faith to the comprehension of the truth. Scientific knowl-
edge is ordered to the spiritual gift of understanding; faith, however, is or-
dered to virtue, and contemplation to blessedness. The knowledge sought
in scientific theology is a “cognitio collativa” [“comparative knowledge”]
and consists therefore increasingly in the compilation and comparison of
authorities and arguments.164 The theology which in the Augustinian tradi-
tion is viewed as insight into the faith is based on revelation and author-
ity, mediated or confirmed by Christ. Without enlightenment by Christ,
no one can penetrate the “sacramenta fidei” [“mysteries of faith”] (as Hugh
of St. Victor understands that expression), and thus be a theologian in the
true sense of the word.165 The nonbelieving theologian, as we find later
in the case of Ockham, is for Bonaventure still unthinkable. Christ, how-
ever, is also the center of Scripture, “fundamentum totius fidei christianae”
[“the foundation of all Christian faith”], of the teaching of the apostles and
prophets, of the Old and New Testaments.166
Bonaventure now significantly incorporates Aristotelian material into
his elaboration of the second step, the knowledge of reason, without deviat-
ing from his basic perspective. He lists the following requirements for scien-
tific knowledge: unchanging truth on the part of what is known, infallible
certainty on the part of the knower. According to the Posterior Analytics I,2,
however, necessity and certainty are found in the knowledge of causes. Nev-
ertheless, even in this Aristotelian interpretation of science, Christ is still
the “magister cognitionis” [“Master of knowledge”], for unchangeable truth
cannot be found in the realm of created truth. That is also why the Aristo-
telian interpretation is immediately supplemented and rendered harmless
by Augustine’s doctrine of the eternal truth about us. Indeed, according
to Augustine only the being of things “in ratione aeterna” [“in their eternal
form/aspect”] is unchangeable, that is, in the Word, in Christ. He alone is
163. Bonaventura, Serm. theol. IV, 1 (ed. Russo 100.8–12).
164. Ibid., (100.12–19). 165. Ibid., n.2–3 (100.21–102.44).
166. Ibid., n.5 (102.65–72).
the medium of knowledge that makes things “perfecte scibiles” [“perfectly
knowable”].167 Natural, Aristotelian knowledge is therefore never a com-
plete, perfect knowledge of things. It is just as incapable of leading to the
certainty that is required for science. Certainty can be found only in the
“sapientia increata” [“Uncreated Wisdom”], Christ. Thereby Bonaventure
manages also to introduce long passages from the Augustinian theory of il-
lumination into his teaching about science. For without enlightenment by
Christ, the created intellect does not even arrive at sure knowledge of any
thing; how then could it ever attain certainty about theological truths?168
Natural knowledge is therefore deficient knowledge. It must in principle be
surpassed and requires a theological foundation. Theology proves therefore
to be the authority that legitimizes the “natural” sciences as well.169
Scientific theology in turn, however, is only one part of the way to wis-
dom, which is to be attained in contemplation. This too is at all points con-
nected with Christ in his divinity and humanity.170 The way to wisdom,
however, has only one order and one author who must be “read” here. The
order leads from faith via ratio to contemplation; the sancti (the saints, but
in the technical sense the Church Fathers), who are contrasted with the
philosophi (the pagan philosophers), knew this way. The latter are accused
of ignorance of the correct method, since they disregarded the foundation
of faith, relied on reason alone and thus were completely unable to attain
contemplation. Philosophy is therefore in principle a deficient mode of
knowledge. This is already a denial of a philosophy that is emancipated from
theology; it was later formulated even more forcefully starting in 1267 in the
fight against the heterodox currents within the faculty of the arts, in several
series of lectures: Collationes de decem praeceptis (1267), Collationes de donis
Spiritus sancti (1268) and so on until the Collationes in Hexaemeron (1273).
For philosophy does not know the “doctor et auctor” Christ, the “director et
adjutor nostrae intelligentiae” [“guide and help of our intellect”], whose spe-
cific direction is necessary for knowledge of the truth.171 God’s cooperation
in the knowledge of reason involves on the one hand the effort to know and
on the other hand the certainty of the object. Natural, a posteriori knowl-
edge retains its rights, though; it must however be combined in an Augus-
167. Ibid., n.6–7 (106.77–96). 168. Ibid., n. 9–8 (108.113–112.157).

169. See Hattrup, Ekstatik der Geschichte.
170. Bonaventura, Serm. theol. IV, 11 (ed. Russo 112.158–65).
171. Ibid., 16 (118.235–39); on Bonaventure’s development, see esp. Ratzinger, The Theology of
History in St. Bonaventure (Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1971, 1989).
tinian way with the “lex aeterna” [“eternal law”]. As far as the natural foun-
dation of our knowledge in experience is concerned, Aristotle was perfectly
correct. Bonaventure can accept also his critique of Plato’s doctrine of ideas
as the only certain knowledge: We need to reject not the ideas but rather
Plato’s disdain for the sensible world. In order to establish the “via sapientiae”
[“way of wisdom”] in the eternal ideas, Plato abolishes the “via scientiae” in
creaturely categories. In contrast, Aristotle is accused of the converse: dis-
daining the ideas so as to make experiential science alone possible. But each
philosopher has received a special discourse: Plato that of wisdom, and Ar-
istotle that of science. Plato looks predominantly upward, Aristotle—down-
ward. Augustine, on the other hand, received both discourses at the same
time from the Holy Spirit. That is why he is the most eminent interpreter
of sacred Scripture, and therefore the theologian par excellence. To an even
more eminent degree Paul and Moses unite science and wisdom, whereas
Christ, as the “principalis magister et doctor” has them to the highest degree
possible.172 Theology must therefore combine Aristotelian knowledge and
Platonic wisdom in the spirit of Augustine, in order to understand Paul and
Moses and to be instructed by Christ.
This happens when the honor due to a magister is shown to Christ by
imitating him in practice, when one listens to him in humble faith, when
he is the authority who decides one’s quaestio, which must not spring from
curiositas or disbelief but proceeds from a willingness to learn, as in the case
of Nicodemus. The object of these questions, however, is the entire field of
knowledge, of practical conduct and ethical decision-making.173 The theo-
logian therefore is just the “ministerialis doctor” [“learned official”] who
must align his teaching with Christ’s, that is, with the “scientia veritatis fidei”
[“science of the truth of the faith”].174 With Franciscan optimism (which in
light of the actual situation at the university could easily strike us as naïve),
Bonaventure finally points out that all “doctores christianae legis” [“doctors
of the Christian law”] strive after all for the bond of love and consequently
must reach an agreement in their sententiae as well. Dissenting opinions
and sentences brought into theology from outside originate only in the
presumption of the magister and therefore do not belong to theology in the
Franciscan sense. Rather, excessive reliance on sense knowledge, discrep-
172. Bonaventura, Serm. theol. IV, 18–19 (ed. Russo 120.258–124.300).

173. Ibid., 21–23 (124.312–126.340).
174. Ibid., 24 (128.356–60).
ancies among sentences and the despair of finding the truth are obstacles
on the way to truth, which have been overcome in principle by Christ.175
Bonaventure, of course, is setting up an ideal of theological science and wis-
dom, which even in his time must have seemed outmoded in view of the
developments at the university, although he accepts Aristotle in part and
thereby immunizes him theologically and incorporates his understanding
of science in the overall scheme of an Augustinian-Franciscan synthesis.
3.6 A proof of scientific character? Thomas Aquinas

In contrast the Bonaventure’s Franciscan synthesis, Thomas Aquinas
(1225–1274) firmly aligned himself, even in his early commentary on the
Sentences (1254–56), with the Aristotelian concept of science.176 According
to the latter, it should be proved that theology (sacra doctrina) is a science;
Thomas was obviously aware of the difficulties standing in the way of his en-
deavor in his day. Sometime before the year 1259 he took up the topic again
in his Expositio super librum Boethii De Trinitate and finally in abbreviated
form for beginners in question 1 of the Summa Theologiae.177 What strikes
the reader initially is that Thomas is explicitly grappling with the necessity
of an autonomous theology alongside the disciplines of philosophy and the
natural sciences.178 The necessity is substantiated by man’s supernatural
goal, the vision of God. As in the writings of Thomas’ teacher, Albert the
Great, theology is therefore understood here as “manuductio” [“guidance”]
to man’s eternal destination, but certainly not as the mere satisfaction of
intellectual needs concerning “res divinae” [“the things of God”]. Man re-
ceives this guidance not only from creatures, as in philosophy, but directly
from divine inspiration. Thomas now uses this as an argument for the pre-
eminence of theology and for its claim to rule the other sciences. What
was traditionally described by the image of the “ancilla,” “pedissequa,” or
“famula” [“handmaid,” “woman in waiting,” or “servant girl”] becomes in
Thomas’ treatment a model of dominion: the other sciences are vassals to
theology, which for its part is proved to be the sovereign in the kingdom of
the sciences. The relationship is explained in terms of the Aristotelian mod-
175. Ibid., 26–28 (130.381–132.410).

176. On the dating and textual criticism, see Oliva, Débuts; see also Niederbacher and Leibold,
177. See Kraml, Rede von Gott, 112–17; Grabmann, Erkenntnislehre, 101–85; Neumann, Gegenstand.
178. Thomas Aquinas, I Sent. prol. q.1 (edited by Oliva, Débuts, 310–14); S.th. I q.1 a.1 (I, 2–3);
see also Niederbacher and Leibold, Theologie, 235–89.
el of subaltern sciences, justified here, of course, by the respective purposes
of the sciences.179 The other sciences are destined to be auxiliary sciences
to theology, just as the apothecary’s art (pigmentaria) is an auxiliary science
to medicine: The physician orders the apothecary and employs his services
for his own purposes. This subordination out of practical considerations is
described in the Summa Theologiae as a relation between the military and
politics (the bonum exercitus, the good of the army, is aimed at the bonum ci-
vitatis, the good of the state) and is accompanied by an additional theoreti-
cal reason: the object of theology (God) and its degree of certainty account
for its preeminence over all theoretical sciences.180
This claim, however, makes the certification of the scientific character
of theology unalterable. The singularity of biblical facts causes little trouble.
They are generalized in the traditional manner as “exempla operandorum”
[“examples of works to be performed”] as in a practical science.181 On the
other hand, the problem of principles and certainty takes on a more difficult
form, especially since science is defined as “cognitio certitudinalis” [“knowl-
edge characterized by certitude”]. This very quality, however, is explained
here solely by a reference to the “lumen fidei” [“light of faith”] that unbeliev-
ers do not have.182 Theology itself cannot substantiate the articles of faith
scientifically, just as no science in the Aristotelian sense can prove its own
fundamental axioms. But that would seem to make theology in principle a
science that owes its existence solely to a special illumination (of faith). As
such, can it be recognized as general knowledge?
Thomas finds the way out of the theoretical problem by applying once
again the model of subaltern sciences. While it is not possible for us to ver-
ify the articles of our faith, nevertheless they are verified in the knowledge
of God. This corresponds to the model of subaltern sciences: The higher
sciences proceed from self-evident principles and derive from them conclu-
sions that are then used by the lower sciences, with faith in the reliability
of the higher sciences, as premises for their own conclusions.183 Thomas is
fond of using the example of optics, which presupposes geometry with re-
179. On the scheme of subaltern sciences, see: Köpf, Anfänge, 145–49; Niederbacher and Lei-
bold, Theologie, 277–80; for the perspective that regards them as “famulantes et praeambulae,” see
Thomas Aquinas, In De Trin. q.2 a.3 ad 7 (ed. B. Decker, Studien und Texte zur Geistesgeschichte des
Mittelalters 4 [Leiden, 1965], 97.6–7).
180. Thomas Aquinas, S.Th. I q.1 a.5 i.c. (I, 5).
181. Thomas Aquinas, I Sent prol. a.3 ad 2.1 (ed. Oliva, Débuts, 322).
182. Ibid., ad 2.2-A and 2.2-B (322–324); for the findings of text- and literary criticism (re revi-
sions), see also Oliva, Débuts, 139–85.
183. Thomas Aquinas, III Sent d.24 a.2 sol.3 (III, 770).
gard to the definition of a line and applies geometric knowledge to its par-
ticular case, the visible line. In a similar way theology assumes the articles of
faith as premises. These, however, are not self-evident principles, but rather
are presupposed as theorems of the scientia Dei [science of God], believed,
and used as premises in proving theological conclusions.184
This solution, however, has its problems as well, which become evident
in the commentary on Boethius.185 Theology, considered as the “scientia de
divinis” [science of divine things] must be further subdivided into human
(nostra) theology and divine theology (theologia Dei et beatorum). “Theol-
ogy” becomes, like “science,” an equivocal or analogous expression, and the
rules for its use must still be established. Human theology is connected with
experience and takes creatures as its point of departure. In this context God
is known only a posteriori, not as he is in himself. We possess no knowledge
of God’s essence, as is actually presupposed for an Aristotelian demonstra-
tio potissima [best sort of proof].186 Now such knowledge is assumed only
for God himself and for those who have been perfected and are enjoying
eternal happiness (i.e., the vision of God). Human, a posteriori theology is
viewed here, of course, not as the theology of revelation but as metaphysics.
The theology of revelation, in contrast, appears as an imperfect participa-
tion in and assimilation of the knowledge of God through faith. Therefore
we have to distinguish among three kinds of theology, each with its own
mode of knowledge:
1. metaphysics as “scientia divinorum ex parte nostra” [“the science of divine
things from our perspective”].
2. t he knowledge of God and of the saints (ex natura ipsorum: by their
own nature).
3. the theology of revelation as a participation in (2) through faith.
The difference between the second and third kinds of theology, how-
ever, lies also in the fact that (2) is intuitive, while (3) is discursive knowl-
edge. The Aristotelian model of subaltern sciences, however, holds for two
sciences with discursive knowledge; for something that is a theorem (i.e., a
derived proposition) in the superior science is used in the subaltern science
as a premise. In (2), however, everything is self-evident, so that there is no
184. Thomas Aquinas, S.Th. I q.1 a.2 i.c. (I, 3).

185. Thomas Aquinas, In De Trin. q.2 a.3 resp. (ed. Decker 86–87); see also Jenkins, Knowledge,
56–76.
186. See Aertsen, “Von Gott.”
need to distinguish between principles and conclusions. It seems dubious,
therefore, that the term “scientia” can be applied in the strict sense to (2).187
The things which constitute the knowledge of God are known to the theo-
logian of the third kind only in faith. From these contents of faith he can
derive further conclusions through scientific methods. Obviously in this
passage Thomas is trying to highlight the preeminence of revealed theol-
ogy with regard to philosophy (including metaphysics), and he does this by
deriving its principles from a higher source.188 This proof of the scientific
character of revealed theology adds little to that form of theology itself ex-
cept further problems: if the principles are grasped only in faith, pointing
out that they are evident in the knowledge of God and of the saints is of
little relevance to the theologian or his status at the university.
Explaining revealed theology as participation in the “theology” of God
and the saints, however, settles the question as to the theoretical or practi-
cal character of our theology. Although it seems at first that theology, with
its orientation to man’s final end in the commentary on the Sentences, can
be defined in affective terms, as it had been in the writings of Albert the
Great, this immediately changes in Thomas’ treatise when he examines the
contents of this end or goal.189 This, of course, is not to dispute the fact that
theology has practical elements as well, which are aimed at right conduct.
Its final goal, however, in terms of which the character of the whole science
is defined, is the “contemplatio primae veritatis in patria” [“contemplation of
the first truth in (our heavenly) homeland”], and therefore precisely that
perfect “theology” that we do not have here. This latter kind, however, is
by nature purely theoretical, speculative. The affective element of beatitude
found in Albert the Great is missing here. That is why all of theology, too, is
primarily a speculative, theoretical science. Theology is no longer primarily
concerned now with rules for the Christian life on the way to eternal happi-
ness, but rather with the theoretical consideration of the “first truth” of God
and of the true propositions derived from it.190 This first truth, nevertheless,
is still incorporated into Christian life as a partial realization of man’s goal,
on the basis of good works, whereby the practical implications of theology
are brought in as well.191
187. Thomas Aquinas, In De Trin. q.2 a.3 ad 5 (89.5–14).
188. Ibid., resp. n.3 (87.21–23).
189. Thomas Aquinas, I Sent. prol. a.3 resp. (ed. Oliva, Débuts, 320–21); see also Friederichs,
Theologie.
190. A critique of this view is found in Kraml, Rede von Gott, 114–16.
191. Thomas Aquinas, I Sent. prol. a.3 ad 1 (ed. Oliva, Débuts, 322).
This theoretical, scientific definition of theology also has consequences
for its methodology. The separation of Bible from the Sentences, each with a
different method, which Albert the Great had still advocated, has been sur-
passed already in the commentary on the Sentences.192 The unity of theol-
ogy is underscored also by the fact that the [various] modes of theological
discourse are justified for individual parts or steps: revelation or prayer for
the principles (by the Revealer or the receiver, respectively), narrative for
corroboration; similes and metaphors to guide the listener; argumentation
to refute errors (only on the basis of the literal sense); precepts, examples,
and tropological interpretation for moral teaching; “quaestiones sacrae scrip-
turae,” though, for the “contemplatio veritatis” that is the final end of theology
as a whole. That goal can be reached, however, only through the argumenta-
tive method, which naturally includes allegory and anagogy: exegesis and
sentences are fused in a unified theology that tries to assert itself as science.
3.7 The Franciscan reaction: William de la Mare

The doctrine about the science of theology in the commentary on the
Sentences (ca. 1270) by William de la Mare, who is better known as the au-
thor of the Correctorium fratri Thomae, can be read to some extent as the
Franciscan reaction to the Thomist “proof ” of the scientific character of
theology in the Aristotelian sense. William served as magister regens [full
professor] in Paris in 1274/75.193 His concept of science is clearly and logi-
cally formulated. Scientia in the sense of a scientific discipline is a collection
of true propositions, or more precisely of true statements, since only state-
ments have a definite truth value.194 In contrast, a law (lex) is a collection
of precepts and prohibitions that are not true or false but rather good or
bad, just or unjust, to be observed or not. We must decide between the two,
scientia and lex, with regard to theology: is it a science of theoretical, true,
proven propositions or does it have a normative, prescriptive character for
everyday life? The Franciscan is inclined toward the second solution, but is
also aware of the burden of tradition, in which the “sancti doctores” [“holy
192. Ibid., a.5 resp. (329–31).
193. Guillelmus de la Mare, Scriptum in primum librum Sententiarum, ed. H. Kraml (Bayrische
Akademie der Wissenschaften; Veröffentlichung der Kommittee für die Herausgabe ungedruckter
Texte aus der mittelalterlichen Geisteswelt 15), esp. 29*–83*; concerning the few certain dates in
William’s life, see de la Mare, 13*; see also Kraml, Rede von Gott, 117–26; Niederbacher and Leibold,
194. William de la Mare, I Sent. q.1 sol. (12.27–13.38); on the continuance of this understanding
of science in the writings of Ockham, see Leinsle, “Einheit der Wissenschaft nach Wilhelm von
Ockham.”
doctors”] knew of no clear distinction between descriptive and normative
sentences and therefore did not use the terms “lex” and “scientia” correctly.
For after all, from the law we derive a practical knowledge of what to do;
besides, the law too contains many statements, yet that is not the primary
intention of the law, but rather a means of convincing people to accept or
observe the law. Their presence does not turn the law into a collection of
descriptive statements. Only in the sense of this confused linguistic usage
of tradition does William acknowledge that theology has a scientific char-
acter. In the proper sense, however, it is a normative, practical collection of
instructions about how to act, and consequently lex. Above and beyond the
equation of theology and sacred Scripture, theology is thus shown to be the
epitome of the “vetus et nova lex” [“Old and New Law”].195
For this reason William maintains that the scientific character of theol-
ogy can be demonstrated in an exclusively biblical way as well, by showing
the inferential procedure of proof in Scripture. Generally Paul is referred
to for this purpose, and then individual passages such as Isaiah 53:7, Mat-
thew 5:3, and the other Beatitudes are interpreted as syllogistic arguments.
There is the possibility of proofs even in statements of faith; by no means
do all of them have the same faith-character based on authority; rather, we
should distinguish between faith on the basis of the certainty of the mat-
ters themselves and faith on the basis of authority. In the first case there are
gradations in our knowledge that allow for a syllogistic procedure in which
the premises must be better known than the conclusion. In the second case,
which actually corresponds to the legal character of Scripture, this is not the
case, insofar as faith only is being considered here. If faith, however, is ac-
companied by the spiritual gifts of understanding and knowledge [Wissen-
schaft] based on merit, then clearly we recognize gradations in our knowl-
edge about the articles of faith also, so that here too a syllogistic procedure
becomes possible.196 This presupposes, however, not a science obtained by
human effort, but rather the infused gifts of grace that are called knowledge
and understanding, and it consequently eludes human effort and cannot be
deemed a general proof of the scientific character of theology.
This is precisely what constitutes for William the difference between
theology and the secular sciences. Theology (considered as sacra scriptura
and hence as lex) is accepted in faith based on the authority of the speak-
195. For the sources of this interpretation see Sileo, Teoria della scienza teologica II, 131–64.
196. William de la Mare, I Sent. q.1 sol. (13.39–64).
er. Only from faith does understanding then follow. In the other sciences,
however, belief follows understanding. William maintains that both can
be admitted, that theology is therefore a law and also a science; his conclu-
sion should be interpreted in this sense: its scientific character should be
viewed only within the framework of its legal character. It does not produce
a new or a natural wisdom that is independent of the act of faith—not even
when it proceeds syllogistically.197 In clear contrast to the Summa Halensis,
the universality of the science is seen now in the moral application of indi-
vidual events as examples, and furthermore William denies that universal-
ity is necessary in order for theology to have a scientific character. For it is
precisely the business of the law to incite people to do good by presenting
individual good deeds and to discourage them from doing evil by decreeing
singular punishments. If theology is understood in this moral, prescriptive
sense, then universality is not required of its statements.198
The limited scientific character of theology within the framework of its
legal character results also in a solution to the question of whether it is a
theoretical or a practical science. Here Thomas is referred to directly, and
his solution is immediately rejected as null and void: “Sed hoc nihil est.” For
here Thomas is arguing not in terms of the immediate goal of science, but
rather from its more remote final end, the contemplation of God’s truth in
beatitude. Since our whole life and quest for knowledge is aimed at that,
however, this would make all sciences theoretical, so that there would be no
practical sciences at all. In any case one cannot define the meaning and task
of theology as Thomas tried to do.199 Science as a human activity must be
defined in terms of its immediate goal, not from the final end of human life
as a whole. Now William is unequivocally taking the legal character of the-
ology as his point of departure. Law, however, is a collection of precepts of
a practical nature, concerned with man’s conduct. Therefore if we can speak
about a scientific character of theology, then it must be within the frame-
work of this understanding. Consequently theology should be addressed
unequivocally as a practical science. Only in a subordinate clause does Wil-
liam mention the possible difference between the legal character of sacred
Scripture and the allegedly systematic, theoretical scientific character of the
book of Sentences. The Sentences are justified in principle only as an explana-
tion of sacred Scripture (expositoria) and thus of the law: systematic theol-
197. Ibid. (14.65–71). 198. Ibid., ad 1 (14.72–87).

199. Ibid., q.2 sol. (15.21–24).
ogy is still an exposition of the law and thus dependent upon the practical
character of the law itself.200
Of course William does not deny that theology as a practical exposition
of law contains theoretical parts in the form of statements. This pertains es-
pecially to the doctrine about the One, Triune God. Yet this is a common
feature of the practical sciences: Not everything that is treated in them deals
directly with human activity. Thus in medicine one must know a lot about
the human body and the humors, but that does not make medicine a merely
theoretical science. Aristotle himself in his Ethics deals with the faculties of
the soul as a prerequisite for his teaching on human action and the virtues.
The important thing is that even the theoretical parts be related to human
action. Thus the teaching about God in theology is not a theoretical science
(or, in Thomistic terms, a participation in the beatific vision) about what
God is like in and of himself; it is taught, rather, with a view to man’s activity
in worshipping God, in believing and hoping.201 On the one hand, there-
fore, theology has a direct connection to life, and on the other hand, as a
practical science with theoretical elements, it is in good company with med-
icine and ethics, at the university as well. Consequently there is no need to
reformulate it as a theoretical science in order to assure it of a place there.
Through this practical character, scriptural theology is also clearly dis-
tinguished from any sort of metaphysics in the Aristotelian sense. Any blur-
ring of the boundaries, such as we find in the Summa Halensis, is rejected at
the outset. Metaphysics as a purely human theology on the basis of natural
arguments from reason is theoretical or speculative; scriptural theology as
lex [law], in contrast, is based on divine revelation and is of a practical na-
ture. Although metaphysics determines that [natural] theology is the high-
est science and “sui gratia,” because it is directed only to knowledge for its
own sake, these definitions are not applicable to [scriptural] theology. For
no law is given for its own sake or merely for the sake of knowledge, but
rather with a view to human activity. Finally, the connection with man’s final
end, described by Thomas as the contemplation of God, takes nothing away
from the practical character of theology. For at issue, after all, is not a theory
of contemplation (scire contemplari), but rather the act of contemplation it-
self. Therefore this end, again, is not an increase of theoretical knowledge
but rather an activity.202 Therefore even Thomas would have had to define
200. Ibid. (15.25–28). 201. Ibid., ad 1 (16.29–38).

202. Ibid., ad 2–4 (16.39–51).
theology, correctly understood, as a practical science, had he grasped the
fact that “contemplari” describes a human act. Its immediate object is there-
fore what it prescribes: the right worship of God (cultus divinus).203 The ob-
ject of the Bible and the Sentences, however, is the same; for the Sentences are
only the explanation of the law. A purely speculative-theoretical theology
is thus just as impossible as Thomas’ thesis about the primarily theoretical
character of this science.204 Once again school and life, “Scholastic” theol-
ogy and a Christian-Franciscan way of life are connected to each other in
theology’s understanding of itself: theology is the explanation of revelation
(understood normatively) with a view to human activity in right worship.
3.8 Immunization through “enlightenment”: Henry of Ghent

Another possible alternative to the Thomistic theory of subaltern sci-
ences, besides the “lex” concept of William de la Mare, is the Augustinian
theory of theology that Henry of Ghent (ca. 1217–1293) develops in the very
extensive questions in his Summa dealing with the theory of science.205 In
his view, too, proving the scientific character of theology is still a problem,
yet he tries to accomplish it by other means than his predecessors used.
From Augustine he borrows the fundamental view of knowledge as enlight-
enment (illustratio, illuminatio); for only sensory knowledge can be traced
back to purely natural factors; God participates in all knowledge beyond
that, guaranteeing by his illumination the truth and the certainty of the
knowledge. Knowledge of truth is possible for man, therefore, only if God
in his freedom concurs in it.206 In general, however, we can rely on the fact
that the course of the world is so ordered that man can recognize the truth
on the basis of the natural faculties with which he is endowed.207 The divine
light itself, however, in which he knows the other truths, eludes knowledge
in this world.208
Now theology is based on a knowledge of faith that surpasses human
nature with respect not only to man’s capacity to know but also to its ob-
ject.209 Theology consists of an understanding of faith, as Augustine and
203. Ibid., q.3 a.1 sol. (24.258–25.280); concerning the discussion of the object of theology, see
de la Mare, “Einleitung” [Introduction], 51*–66*.
204. Ibid., q.3 a.2 sol. (27.344–28.364).
205. See Beumer, “Erleuchteter Glaube”; Kann, “Skepsis”; Speer, “Sapientia nostra,” 260–66.
206. Henry of Ghent, Summa quaestionum ordinariarum, P.I a.1 q.2 (facsimile reprint of the
1520 Paris edition, New York: St. Bonaventure, 1953), I f. 7r I.
207. Ibid. (I f. 7v M). 208. Ibid., I a.1 q.3 (I f. 8v–10v).
209. Ibid., I a.3 q.4 ad 2 (I f. 29v R).
Anselm had defined it, but in a scientific manner: it should become “intel-
ligentia fidei” and therefore presupposes the faith at all points.210 It unfolds
in a three-step process:
1. The believing theologian assents to the truths that he derives immediate-
ly from sacred Scripture. These serve as premises of the further scientific
development.
2. F rom these premises he deduces further truths that are hidden in them
“sub primis scibilibus” [“beneath the first knowable truths”] and are not
explained immediately by the wording of Scripture.
3. As a theologian he tries to examine rationally all the truths that he previ-
ously adhered to only in faith.211
A definition of theology as a science on the basis of its method alone
therefore falls short, because it does not include the decisive step (3). This
step cannot be taken with faith and natural reason alone, but rather presup-
poses a special enlightenment in which the revealed truths of the faith be-
come intelligible [einsichtig]. The light of faith allows one to recognize only
the fact that the truths of the faith are true and it corresponds therefore to
knowledge of a given; the step to real insight into the coherence of what is
believed presupposes an illumination by grace that is somewhere between
faith and the beatific vision.212 Moreover, the syllogistic derivation of fur-
ther articles of faith from the initial truths of the faith is likewise possible
only on the basis of this supernatural, gratuitous enlightenment.213 The
work of theology is properly speaking an activity that owes its existence to
a twofold grace: the grace of faith and the special illumination that enables
one to understand the faith. The mere application of the Aristotelian, meth-
odological concept of science to theology therefore falls too short.
The solution proposed by Henry [of Ghent] with regard to the scientific
character of theology harks back to Bonaventure’s principle of the transi-
tion from credibilia [believable things] to intelligibilia [intelligible things].
At the same time Henry distinguishes between a broad concept of science
and a narrow one. In the broader sense every certain knowledge of a truth
should be treated as scientia.214 In this sense also the objects grasped by
210. Ibid., I a.13 q.3 (I f. 91r); q.6 (I f. 94r–95r).

211. Ibid., a.13 q.8 (I f. 98v); see also Finkenzeller, Offenbarung, 175–76.
212. Henry of Ghent, Summa I a.13 q.4–7 (I f. 92v–97v).
213. Ibid., I a.6 q.1 ad 1. (I f. 42v).
214. Ibid., sol. (I f. 42v).
faith are known; theology, therefore, in the form of steps (1) and (2), should
be treated as science, even though a comprehension of the truths of faith
through contemplation or insight is not present. For the strict concept of
science Henry significantly does not accept the syllogistic method of Aris-
totle but rather Avicenna’s demand that the thing be self-evident. Certainty
must not depend on the authority of another, as is the case with faith. Such
self-evidence is not present in mere statements of faith. Unlike the “res natu-
rales” of the natural sciences, they can only potentially be made intelligible.
Yet the intelligibility of faith statements is due precisely to the “lumen me-
dium” [“mediating light”] in which they acquire the necessary evident char-
acter. Thereby theology in itself becomes the most certain of all sciences.
For it deals with the most certain things with the highest possible reliability
[Sicherheit] and greatest evidence for the knower, at least for a man215—
woman is expressly excluded from the pursuit of theology—upon whom
that spiritual “lumen intellectuale” has shined. Thus even the strict concept
of science as Avicenna understood it is now applicable to theology.216 The
scientific character in this sense is of course guaranteed supernaturally by a
gratuitous and free intervention of God.
Thomas’ theory of subaltern sciences, in Henry’s opinion, endangers
the very scientific character of theology. He accuses the theory of oversim-
plification and ignorance of what “subalternation” really means according
to Aristotle. The knowledge of God is not a discursive knowledge in which
the principles of our theology can be known with respect to their “why and
wherefore.” Subalternation comes about not with respect to the degree
in which known propositions are known, but rather and solely in the dis-
tinction between scientia quia [knowledge that] and scientia propter quid
[knowledge of causes]. Thomas’ doctrine does not prove any subalterna-
tion but rather that divine knowledge should be treated as wisdom in the
highest degree and as the first norm of all human knowing.217
The very method of theology described by Henry makes it clear that
he understands theological knowledge as a real extension of knowledge
which is not just aimed at practical life or the attainment of the final goal.
Here in his argumentation he proceeds along lines that are to some extent
quite similar to those of Thomas Aquinas, and he even strengthens the ar-
215. See Beumer, “Stellung Heinrichs von Gent.”

216. Henry of Ghent, Summa I a.7 q.2 sol. (I f.49v); see also Porro, “Statuto,” 501–3.
217. Ibid., I a.7 q.5 sol. (I f. 53v); see also Grabmann, Erkenntnislehre, 306–13.
guments for interpreting theology as a theoretical science. For all practical
moral effort, in Augustine’s view, is supposed merely to purify the mind for
the theoretical contemplation of the truth (speculatio veri).218 This theoreti-
cal activity, however, begins with faith and is meant to lead to the best un-
derstanding thereof that is possible in this life, so as then to end in eternal
contemplation. Therefore what William de la Mare determined to be the
final goal of theology, cultus divinus [divine worship], is here only a prepara-
tion for the real task of theological endeavor, corresponding in the ascent
toward God to the stage of purification, whereas the stage of illumination
is logically attributed to theology. Theology therefore does not have a two-
fold goal either, as for instance Thomas, Bonaventure, and Albert the Great
assumed, but rather a single one: theoretical knowledge. To it all practical
knowledge is ordered. The toil and effort of work is undertaken in theology
not for the sake of a practical moral goal, but rather “propter quietem specu-
lationis” [“for the sake of the repose of speculation”]. Any practical parts of
theology should be interpreted in terms of this theoretical goal and thus
classified within the framework of theology as a theoretical science. Yet pre-
cisely as a theoretical science theology is normative for all practical knowl-
edge; for in Henry’s writings, too, it consists of drawing near to God, who in
his purely theoretical knowledge knows and directs everything that is to be
done by man. Henry explicitly rejects the understanding of sacred Scripture
and thus of theology as “lex” [“law”] found in the writings of William de la
Mare. Theology is indeed God’s law, but by that very fact it is not a practical
rule like human law, but rather consists—harking back to Boethius’ con-
cept of rule—of theoretical rules (ex regulis speculativis) and is therefore of
a purely theoretical nature.219 The theoretical character of theology is thus
shifted back into sacred Scripture itself, even at the risk of prompting later
commentators to discover a contradiction in the expression “regula specula-
tiva.”220
The question as to the agreement of the other sciences with the truth
of theology can be regarded as a theological reaction to the accusation of
teaching a “double truth” in the 1277 condemnation.221 The first thing to
note is that specific truths of the faith are beyond natural knowledge, for
example, the virgin birth and the resurrection. Any contradiction between
218. Henry of Ghent, Summa I a.8 q.3 sol. (I f. 65v); see also Leone, “Zum Status.”
219. Ibid., ad 2 (I f. 65v); see also IST, ch. 1.1.4 and 2.8.
220. See Köpf, Anfänge, 207–8.
221. Henry of Ghent, Summa I a.7 q.13 (I f. 62r–63r).
theological truth and the truth of natural knowledge is ruled out as a mat-
ter of principle. It is possible, of course, for a theological truth to be false
according to the personal judgment of a philosopher. In that case, never-
theless, the underlying problem is only an error of the philosopher, who
considers false anything that surpasses his ability to know. In themselves,
however, philosophical and theological truth cannot contradict; instead
philosophical truth is claimed as a guide and preliminary step to theology.
Therefore a theologian who out of ignorance of philosophy considers to
be false many things that have in fact been proved true philosophically is
rash (temerarius). Truth that has been proved philosophically, however, in
no way diminishes the status of theology, since the latter owes its scientific
character not to any human effort but rather to divine enlightenment.
3.9 Augustinian or Aristotelian science? Ægidius Romanus

The period of theoretical discussion about theology as a science fol-
lowing Thomas Aquinas and already in the debate with Henry of Ghent is
characterized by the commentary on the Sentences (book I, ca. 1276/77) by
the Augustine Recollect Ægidius Romanus († 1316), who was a magister in
Paris from about 1285 until 1292 and while he was still alive was declared
the most important theological authority in his order.222 Like Henry, he
favors Augustine over Aristoteles, without however denying Thomistic in-
fluences, especially in his acceptance of the theory of subalternation.223 He
understands theology as sapientia, and the scientific character of theology,
in his view, is situated within that framework. Insofar as theology regards
its objects principally as divina [the things of God], it is wisdom; it can be
addressed as science only to the extent that it considers its objects “ut hu-
mana” [“as human matters”], because science for Ægidius is in principle
restricted to human effort and the corresponding objects. This distinction
is derived from Augustine, not from Aristotle.224 Of prime importance for
the scientific character of theology, therefore, is not so much Aristotle as
Augustine. On the other hand, in order to clarify the problem of first prin-
ciples, the Thomistic theory of subalternation is brought in, again of course
in a way combining Augustinian and Aristotelian arguments that is typical
222. See Prassel, Theologieverständnis.

223. See Beumer, “Augustinismus”; Egenter, “Vernunft.”
224. Ægidius Romanus, In Primum Librum Sententiarum, prol. p.2 princ. 1 q.1 (Venice, 1521;
reprinted Frankfurt, 1968), f. 6vb.
of Ægidius: The scientific character of theology is maintained according to
Augustine, De Trinitate XIII, 9. But in order to prove that it is scientific in the
Aristotelian sense as well, the obviousness of its principles in a higher sci-
ence must be established, since they exist in our theology only as articles of
faith. A higher science, however, exists only in the knowledge of God and of
the saints. Therefore theology (but not “our theology”) is a subaltern science
to the knowledge of God and the knowledge of the saints.225 On the other
hand, none of the usual modes of subalternation between the natural scienc-
es applies to this instance of subalternation. In principle Ægidius recognizes,
not just one (like Henry of Ghent), but three ways of subalternation:
1. Subordinate service to a higher science that has a higher-ranking object.
2. Subordination of “knowing that” to “knowing why.” Henry of Ghent had
recognized this as the sole model of subalternation. The example of ge-
ometry and optics cited by Thomas comes under this mode of subalter-
nation. Ægidius immediately concedes that the term is used equivocally.
3. Two sciences deal with the same object, but the superior in a more pre-
cise way than the subordinate science.226
Consequently, in the proper sense only the ambiguous mode (2) re-
mains as a real model of subalternation. Yet neither this nor any other mode
is applicable in the strict sense to theology. Points of comparison can be
found with all three models of subalternation, yet subalternation can no
longer serve as a proof of scientific character.227 It is referred to, however, to
clarify the degree of certainty of theological statements. One can give rea-
sons for this certainty in three ways:
1. on the part of the object,
2. through an appropriate light of knowledge, or
3. in relation to the knower.228
A science that deals with principles has a higher degree of certainty;
theology, though, deals with God, the original principle; therefore it is (in
itself) the most certain of all sciences. Moreover it relies not only on the
natural light of knowledge (natural understanding) but, as Henry of Ghent
also says, on a supernatural light. This is completely unknown to the Phi-
225. Ibid., a.2 (f.4va).

226. Ibid., a.1 (f.4ra); see also Prassel, Theologieverständnis, 40–47.
227. Ibid., a.2 (f.4va.).
228. Ibid., princ. 2 q.2 (7rab).
losopher (Aristotle). He assumed that one could attain certainty only by
the light of the natural intellect. Therefore theological certainty is not de-
rived from the same source as philosophical-scientific certainty, and by the
same token it eludes philosophical discussion. The certainty of faith, how-
ever, is the highest degree of certainty, at least considered as the believer’s
“certitudo adhaesionis” [“certitude of adherence”]. In contrast, the situation
is less than ideal with “certitudo speculationis,” the objective certainty of the
propositions derived from what is believed, since it is based on faith, which
cannot claim the evident character of objective knowledge.
As to the question about the aim of theology, Ægidius (unlike Henry
of Ghent) subscribes to the solution of Albert the Great, which again has a
strongly Augustinian orientation. In his opinion there is nothing at all wrong
about attributing more than one aim to theology (still considered as sacra
pagina), and does not try to make it an absolutely theoretical or merely a
practical science.229 An initial aim of theology, for Ægidius, is good conduct.
On the other hand, however, he also acknowledges that Scripture deals “de
summe speculabilibus” [“with things capable in the highest degree of being the
objects of speculation”]. Above all, however, love is sought in theology; the
various subordinate aims are ordered to it; for upon it depend the Law and
the Prophets. The chief aim of sacred Scripture, therefore, is to lead man to
love of God and love of neighbor. A science, however, is defined in terms of its
chief aim. Love (charitas), however, is a virtue of the will [Affekt], not of the
intellect. Therefore, first of all, the purely theoretical-intellectual interpreta-
tion of theology by Henry of Ghent must be rejected. But neither is theology
a practical-moral science that could be subordinated to the “intellectus pract-
icus” [“practical intellect”]. It is, rather, as in the works of Albert the Great, a
“scientia affectiva” [“affective science”] and therefore more wisdom than mere
science. Only within the context of this affective understanding of theology
can one ask and answer the question as to the predominance of the theoreti-
cal or the practical element in it. In this regard Ægidius now gives priority
to Thomas, inasmuch as he assumes that the vision of God is the principal
feature of beatitude and orders all our knowledge to it, but especially theol-
ogy. Therefore it still has a more strongly theoretical than practical character.
Thomas’ optimism, in thinking that he could make an Aristotelian science out
of theology and ensure its certainty by arguments from the theory of science,
had vanished at any rate by the end of the thirteenth century.
229. Ibid., princ. 4 q.1 (7vb–8ra).

4 Theological Controversy and Church Reform
The scientific theology of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries—a pe-

riod often deprecated as the decline of “late Scholasticism”—is character-
ized on the one hand by the logically precise analysis of theological truths
and of their presuppositions, and on the other hand by the transition of the-
ology from the lecture hall to a position of social and ecclesial influence in
its effort to bring about reform in the Church. Within academic theology
during those uncertain times, the question about the foundation and the
certainty of theological statements and thus of our knowledge of salvation
became the foremost theological and existentially pressing problem.
1 Scholastic theology amid societal upheaval

Whereas thirteenth-century theology had been concerned primarily
with its position at the university and with proving its scientific character,
in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the differences between the theo-
logical schools came to the fore with the utmost clarity, because of refined
logical techniques, among other reasons. The reason why theology did not
become bogged down in the “Scholastic” squabbles between the various
schools was its involvement in the societal and ecclesiastical situation of the
late medieval period, which was characterized by societal upheavals, the rise
of the territorial state, heretical movements, and the Western Schism and
reform councils.1
1.1 The development of academic study

Paris and Oxford, the centers of theological life in the thirteenth cen-
tury, continued to set the tone in the fourteenth; especially after the con-
1. See esp. Obermann, Herbst.
182
Theological Controversy and Church Reform 183
demnations of 1277, Oxford gained preeminence.2 Now the decisive philo-
sophical and theological innovations generally came from England, such as
those connected with the names Duns Scotus (ca. 1265–1308) and William
of Ockham (ca. 1285–1347). They were welcomed in Paris with vehement
controversy. Oxford, however, was also the source of John Wycliffe’s theses
concerning theology and church polity, which fell on more fertile soil at the
new University of Prague.
Paris, however, rose to the occasion of the ecclesiastical controversies
of the late Middle Ages and became the most important ecclesiastical advi-
sory authority; debated questions that were to be officially decided by the
pope and the Curia were referred to magistri in Paris for a provisional theo-
logical decision (doctrinalis determinatio praevia).3 Prime examples were
the Immaculate Conception of Mary (1387), the theoretical debate about
poverty and the controversy with the Franciscan groups (especially the
Fraticelli) inspired by the teachings of Joachim of Fiore.4 Luther, too, would
appeal to the university against the pope. The Western Schism (1378) at first
had a debilitating effect on theology at the University of Paris but on the
whole strengthened its position; all but a minority of the Parisian magistri
professed obedience to Avignon, while at the same time the university be-
came the seedbed of anti-papal tendencies that favored a national Church.5
Yet the decisive models for overcoming the schism were supposed to come
from Paris (of all places), where initially the “via cessionis” [“way of resigna-
tion”] without a general council was the preferred solution. However, Peter
of Ailly (1352–1420) and John Gerson (1363–1429), the leading figures in the
reform movement in Pisa and Constance, were Parisian theologians, too.6
The theological university scene, nevertheless, was drastically changed
by the founding of new universities in the fourteenth and fifteenth centu-
ries. In the territory of the Holy Roman Empire alone, nineteen university
foundations were registered between 1347 (Prague) and 1502 (Wittenberg).7
Sometimes in implementing the plan of the founder (emperor, prince, city,
bishop) there were considerable delays before instruction actually began.
During the Western Schism the obedience [i.e., confessional allegiance] in
2. See Leff, Paris and Oxford; Courtenay, “Parisian Faculty of Theology.”

3. Rashdall, Universities 1:549–50, with reference to Jean Gerson.
4. See Leff, Heresy 1:51–258; Lambert, Heresy, 189–214.
5. See esp. Swanson, Universities.
6. See Rashdall, Universities, 1:549–83.
7. Ibid., 3:211–288: Prague (1347/48), Vienna (1363), Erfurt (1379), Heidelberg (1385), Co-
a given place could be strengthened by the foundation of universities.8 The
sheer abundance of localities for university teaching, which in many cases
had been preceded by cloister or city schools, and in Cologne even by a
Dominican studium generale [general house of studies],9 produced a kind
of theological awakening which cannot be reconciled with notions about
a decadent “late Scholasticism.” Naturally, new ideas were more easily ad-
mitted at new universities than at old ones, where hard and fast traditions
already prevailed. The new universities at least claimed to be, like Paris,
transregional institutions, but at the same time there was an unmistakable
tendency to nationalize and regionalize even theological instruction. This
was most clearly evident in the founding of the University of Leipzig (1409)
by the emigration of the German professors and students from the Univer-
sity of Prague. The University of Greifswald owed its establishment to the
pronouncement of the interdict against Rostock (1437).
The exchange of professors and the traveling of itinerant students,
however, kept academic life from becoming too provincial while again re-
sulting in relations and rivalries between universities that were often quite
distant.10 The theology at the new universities was sometimes influenced
also by the religious orders, for example, in Erfurt and Wittenberg by the
Augustine Recollects, in Tübingen by the Benedictine Abbey at Blaubeur-
en [Brüder vom gemeinsamen Leben]. The communities of canons regular
at cathedrals [Prälatenklöster] now sent their most gifted men to the new
universities and thus brought university theology back to their own cathe-
dral schools where they trained their confreres; there is little evidence that
university theology influenced the education of the lower clergy in the late
Middle Ages.11 In this respect as well, Scholastic theology in the late Middle
Ages, situated in the midst of the ecclesial and social tensions of an urban
culture, was many-layered, more complex and less easily characterized than
in the thirteenth-century controversies that played out essentially between
Dominicans, Franciscans, and secular clergy.
Formally, the focal point in theological instruction in the fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries was still the course of lectures on the Sentences, which in
logne (1388), Würzburg (1402), Leipzig (1409), Rostock (1419), Louvain/Leuven (1425), Trier
(1454), Greifswald (1456), Freiburg im Breisgau (1455/56), Basel (1459), Ingolstadt (1459), Mainz
(1476), Tübingen (1476/77), Frankfurt an der Oder (1500/06), Wittenberg (1502).
8. See Swanson, Universities, 216–17: List of universities approved by the popes from 1374–1418.
9. See Sturlese, Philosophie, 324–26.
10. See, for example, Uiblein, “Beziehungen”; Gabriel, “Via Antiqua.”
11. See Oediger, Bildung.
many respects however was changing. First we should distinguish between
the cursory “lectura textualis” [textual reading] of the baccaleureus [bachelor]
and the work of the magister [master], which has been preserved most often
in the form of questions pertaining to the Sentences. Both forms of instruc-
tion dispense to a large extent with the Lombard’s text. Instead an abridged
version was taken as the textual basis, sometimes even in the “lectura.”12 At
any rate, questions are already incorporated in the introductory lectures at
important passages. In contrast, the Quaestiones in Libros Sententiarum dis-
pense with all reference to the text and now systematically discuss the in-
dividual questions that are important in a given context without regard for
completeness. Thus Heinrich Totting of Oyta (ca. 1330–1397) discusses ten
questions on book 1 of the Sentences but only one apiece for the rest. That
alone shows the overemphasis given here to the philosophical problems of
the doctrine about God. In contrast to the simple form of the quaestio in
Thomas’ writings, its structure had already changed in the works of Henry
of Ghent (ca. 1217–1293) and even more markedly from Ockham on. The
general arguments pro and con carry much less weight than the extensive
discussion (sometimes subdivided into quaestiunculae) of the contemporary
opiniones, citing and sometimes refuting the arguments that support them.13
Just as scholars often were acquainted with the Lombard’s text only from
abridgments, the university teachers themselves likewise wrote abbreviations
of important commentaries on the Sentences, especially at the new universi-
ties, which were not yet endowed with libraries. So, for example, an abbrevia-
tion of the commentary on the Sentences by the Franciscan Adam Woodham
(or Goddam, ca. 1298–1358) is attributed to Heinrich Totting of Oyta.14 The
Scholastic masterpiece of Gabriel Biel (ca. 1410–1495) was his Collectorium,
which closely follows Ockham’s commentary on the Sentences, while of course
borrowing also from other authors for the purpose of revision.15
The explanation of Scripture, which was per se still the province of the
magister, was carried out in a twofold course, like the lectures on the Sentences:
first the “lectura textualis,” the cursory reading by the baccalaureus, and then
the exposition by the magister, which was usually restricted to just one book or
a few chapters; the text again became merely the occasion for an independent
12. Thus Heinrich Totting of Oyta used the abbreviation “Quoniam velut quattuor flumina para-
disi” attributed to Hugh of St. Cher; see also Lang, Heinrich Totting, 50–53.
13. See Rentsch, “Kultur der quaestio,” 88–89.
14. Lang, Heinrich Totting, 54–61.
15. Gabriel Biel, Collectorium circa quattuor libros Sententiarum, praef., ed. W. Werbeck/U. Hof-
mann (Tübingen, 1973), 1:6–7.
discussion of questions. Heinrich of Langenstein (1325–1397) during his thir-
teen years of teaching in Vienna did not get past the first three chapters of the
book of Genesis.16 Francis of Retz († 1421) took the Proverbs as his text and
within that context discussed all the current theological questions; Heinrich
Totting did the same with the Psalms (1–50). Thus, for example, at Psalm 21
Christological questions are considered (the separation of Christ’s divinity
from his body and soul at his death) as well as the permissibility of casting
lots and of praying to God for temporal goods, but also whether the priest
must refuse Communion to a sinner even if his sin is not publicly known.17
In the following period these questions were not infrequently detached from
the commentary and handed down independently in manuscripts.
This practice of abbreviating older works leads us also to the first com-
mentaries on the Summa Theologiae and the Summa contra Gentiles by Thom-
as Aquinas.18 Outside of the Dominican Order, however, the works of Aqui-
nas did not yet belong to the official literary canon in the faculty of theology.
Even in the order they served as a doctrinal plumb line rather than as the basis
for instruction. We find a collection of questions on the S.Th. for university
use in the Compendium Summae Theologiae by Heinrich of Gorkum († 1431
as a professor in Cologne).19 As Gabriel Biel does with Ockham, Heinrich of
Gorkum presents questions that correspond thematically but not textually to
the contents of the S.Th. His student Johannes Tinctoris († 1496) wrote the
first non-Dominican commentary on the S.Th., which he probably compiled
as part of a teaching assignment. From Cologne the interpretation of Thomas
by magistri traveled to Vienna, where the Dominican Leonhard Huntpichler
(† 1478) expounded the S.Th. for the first time; in 1490 we find lectures on it in
Freiburg and Rostock, while the great commentaries of Cardinal Cajetan date
from 1497 on. In Paris Peter Crockaert, O.P. († 1514) was the first to lecture
on Thomas in 1507. His student Francisco de Vitoria (1483/93–1546) brought
this practice to Salamanca and thus inaugurated the Thomist commentaries
of Spanish Scholasticism in the early modern period.20 We owe an early com-
mentary on the Summa contra Gentiles to the Viennese Dominican Johannes
Werd († 1510).21
16. Lang, Heinrich Totting, 80.

17. Ibid., 93.
18. See Grabmann, “Hilfsmittel des Thomasstudiums,” 424–89.
19. See Höhn, “Köln.”
20. Ibid., 655. For a list of commentaries on the S.Th., see Mitschelich, Kommentatoren.
21. I. W. Frank, “Der Wiener Dominikaner Johannes Werd († 1510) als Verfasser von Thomas-
kommentaren,” in Eckert, ed., Thomas von Aquino, 609–40.
The societal and ecclesiastical situation in the late Middle Ages, along
with the new perspective on the pastoral dimension of theology, caused the
professors to take positions also on practical questions of pastoral care and
Church polity in the form of their own disputations, sermons, treatises and
more pastorally oriented commentaries on parts of the liturgy (e.g., Gabriel
Biel’s commentary on the canon [of the Mass], commentaries on the Our
Father, the Magnificat, etc., and Heinrich Totting’s Advisamenta against
abuses in the Diocese of Passau). Particularly important, of course, were the
treatises on the theoretical debate about poverty and on ending the West-
ern Schism and the efforts to bring about reform in the Church,22 which led
to the so-called reform theology of the fifteenth century.
1.2 Formation of schools and the dispute about the two ways
The opponents of Scholastic philosophy in the early modern period
were fond of characterizing it as “philosophia sectaria” because it was said
to be slavishly bound up with a particular doctrinal tendency or “school.”23
The historical phenomenon of the formation of more or less fixed doctri-
nal traditions, often independent of localities but usually connected with
religious communities, takes us back to the condemnations of 1277. Since
both Avicenna and Averroës, both Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas were af-
fected by them, now the Franciscans especially sought to consolidate their
position by turning decidedly to Augustine.24 This was already becoming
clear in William de la Mare’s concept of theology, but also in the works of
the secular priest Henry of Ghent and the Augustinian friar Ægidius Roma-
nus. Besides the antagonism between religious orders [Ordensgegensatz],
another important factor in the development of the late Scholastic schools
was the difference between the doctrinal traditions at Paris and Oxford, as
we encounter it in the critique by Roger Bacon. Thus it was the Dominican
Robert Kilwardby who in 1277 as Archbishop of Canterbury pronounced
the first ruling that pertained to Oxford, condemning sixteen propositions
of Thomistic philosophy; his arguments were taken up again by the Francis-
can John Peckham (ca. 1230–1291) in 1284 and 1286.25 The decisive moment
for the first phase in the formation of schools, however, was the so-called
22. See, for example, Prügl, Ekklesiologie; Prügl, Antonio de Cannara.

23. See, for example, Albrecht, Eklektik, 184–85.
24. Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 464–69, summarizes this reliance under the general name
of “Neo-Augustinianism.”
25. Ibid., 457–58.
Correctorium debate. The first and most important Correctorium fratris Thom-
as by William de la Mare (1277/79) was recognized by the general chapter
of the Franciscan Order in 1282 as the norm for the correct interpretation
of Thomas’ works. It was forbidden to read Thomas without this compila-
tion of corrections. Dominican scholars described it as a corruptorium and
tried to refute it in various Correctoria corruptorii [corrections of the corrup-
tion].26 The fact that this and later debates did not discuss the overall con-
text but rather individual sentences (particularly in this instance the unity
or multiplicity of the Forms, the possible eternity of creation, the relation
between intellect and will) gives the impression of typically “Scholastic”
controversies among schools of thought, contributing to the image of late
Scholasticism as analytical quibbling over individual sentences and words.
The condemnations of 1277 prevented the Dominicans at first from elab-
orating Thomas’ teachings further; yet the students and followers of Thom-
as were being formed in Paris (Bernard of Trilia [ca. 1240–1292]), Oxford
(Richard of Knapwell [† after 1286], Robert of Oxford [† before 1300]), Ger-
many ( John of Sterngassen [† after 1327]) and Italy (Hannibaldus de Han-
nibaldis [† 1272], Remigius of Florence [1235–1319]) in the controversy with
the Franciscans. The general chapters of the Dominicans in 1278 and 1286
committed the order to the “doctrina venerabilis fratris Thomae” [“teaching of
Venerable Friar Thomas”]. Of course we find no towering figures in these
early Thomistic schools.27 On the other hand Thomism was not so bind-
ing upon the Dominican Order that could there be no exceptions. The Ox-
ford Dominicans especially manifest a line of thinking in Crathorn—who,
records show, was at Oxford from 1330 to 1332—and (even more clearly) in
Robert Holcot († 1349) that is connected to Ockham and modern linguistic
criticism, albeit with different emphases, which naturally led in turn to con-
troversies within the same Dominican school at the university.28
The decisive stimuli for early fourteenth-century theology, but also for
new controversies among the schools, would come from Franciscan Eng-
land in the figures of John Duns Scotus and William of Ockham. In each
case we are dealing with the formation of a new school, which is already
evident in the extant work of these authors. The students modified the work
26. On the Correctorium debate, see Roensch, Early Thomistic School.

27. See Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 469–71; Grabmann, “Italienische Thomistenschule”;
Grabmann, “Forschungen”; Grabmann, “Einzelgestalten.”
28. See Hoffmann, Die “Conferentiae”; Hoffmann, Methode; Hoffmann, Crathorn; Hoffmann,
Ockham-Rezeption.
of their master and attributed their own subsequent developments of the
teaching to the authority of the “Doctor subtilis” or the “Venerabilis Inceptor,”
respectively.29 The hypothetical text-critical reconstruction of the Oxford
Scriptum super libros Sententiarum of Duns Scotus attempted by V. Richter
and his school is therefore an important step toward understanding the fur-
ther development of the Scotist school in England and France. The parts
published so far clearly show on the one hand Scotus’ ties to the Franciscan
school with its praxis-oriented theology and its ongoing debate with Henry
of Ghent, but on the other hand, also differences that very soon appeared
especially among his Parisian students.30 Yet these very controversies tes-
tify to how profoundly he changed theology at the turn of the fourteenth
century during his short life and in his few authentic works. Scotist schools
formed on the one hand in Franciscan circles in France and England ( John
of Bassoles [† 1347], Francis of Meyronnes [1288–1328]), but soon in Spain
and Italy also.31
Unlike Duns Scotus, William of Ockham, the “Venerabilis Inceptor” [ven-
erable Founder] of the “Nominales” [“Nominalists”] was not only opposed
academically to his contemporaries who viewed universals in realistic terms,
but also became involved, after his flight from Avignon, in the political con-
flict between Emperor Louis of Bavaria and the pope.32 Both in his ordinatio
[introductory list of topics] to the First Book of Sentences and also in the
list of his philosophical and polemical writings there is much later materi-
al, extending even to the central question about universals.33 In both cases,
with Scotus and Ockham, we are dealing with a relatively short teaching
career, the literary expression of which we owe to a great extent to the first
students. Ockham’s linguistic-critical solution to the problem of universals
and science must have appeared to be the “destruction” of the metaphysical
foundation of theology both to Thomists and to the Franciscans who had
an Augustinian orientation.34 The battle of the united Reales (Realists, i.e.,
Thomists, Scotists, Augustinians) against the Nominales [Nominalists] was
29. See esp. Richter, Studien; Richter and Leibold, Unterwegs.

30. See Richter, “Duns Scotus’ Text zur Univozität”; anthology of texts: Johannes Duns Sco-
tus, Über die Erkennbarkeit Gottes. Texte zur Philosophie und Theologie, edited and German transla-
tion by Hans Kraml, Gerhard Leibold, Vladimír Richter (Hamburg, 2000).
31. See Vázquez Janeiro, “Rutas e hitos”; de Castro, “Bibliographía”; Manrangon, “Le origini.”
32. Concerning the problem of the political writings, see also Richter, “Unterwegs . . . Ock-
ham,” 143–46; Kraml and Leibold, Wilhelm von Ockham, 77–88.
33. See Richter, “Zu Ockhams Entwicklung”; Richter, “Aus der Nominalismus-Forschung.”
34. An initial impression is provided by the critique by Walter Chatton († ca. 1344), Walter
therefore waged not only disputando [in formal disputations], but also with
academic and ecclesiastical prohibitions, for example, the Parisian Nominal-
ist Statute of 1340.35
The effort of the orders to determine their theological bent quasi-offi-
cially was further evidenced by the Augustine Recollects, who could point
to [Ægidius] Romanus as their first eminent theologian in Paris. The general
chapter in 1287 prescribed acceptance of the “opiniones, positiones et sententi-
ae” of Ægidius for the entire order; this precept was incorporated in mitigat-
ed form in the 1290 statutes.36 Here, however, as in the other schools found-
ed by religious Orders, the model was not followed slavishly; there was still
some intellectual independence despite all the attachment to Ægidius and
the marked reliance on Augustine. This is evident in the influential figures
of James of Viterbo († 1307/08), Hermann of Schildesche (ca. 1290–1357),
Alphons Vargas Toletanus (ca. 1300–1366) and Hugolin of Orvieto (ca. 1300–
1373), but especially in the works of Gregory of Rimini († 1358), who for his
part would become the point of departure for a “via Gregorii” that extended
as far as Johannes von Staupitz († 1524) and the young Luther.37 The Augus-
tinian school remained the most important strain of Augustinian thought in
the late Middle Ages, especially in their doctrine on grace. Precisely in its
adherence to Ægidius, however, it also incorporated Thomistic-Aristotelian
thinking, whereas Gregory of Rimini and his school were closer to the ba-
sic positions of Ockham (conceptualism, potentia dei absoluta [the absolute
power of God]), while adhering to Augustinian teachings on grace and pre-
destination. The most important localities for Augustinian teaching careers
beside Paris were Oxford, Bologna, Prague, Erfurt, and finally, in the case of
Staupitz and Luther, Wittenberg.
The development of the schools associated with religious Orders clearly
shows that they were strongly influenced by the two “ways” of philosophy
and theology in the late Middle Ages: the “via antiqua” of the Realists and
the “via moderna” of the Nominalists; the latter were especially important
at fifteenth-century German universities. When both methods were en-
sconced to different degrees at the same university, this led not infrequent-
ly to an open conflict, to a “dispute about the two ways” [“Wegestreit”].38
Burley († ca. 1345) and John Lutterells († 1335) Libellus contra doctrinam Guilelmi Occam. See Hoff-
mann, Johannes Lutterell; Hoffmann, Ockham-Rezeption.
35. See Paqué, Pariser Nominalistenstatut.
36. See esp. Zumkeller, “Augustinerschule.”
37. See Oberman, ed., Gregor von Rimini.
38. See Zimmermann, ed., Antiqui und Moderni in its entirety.
However, this heading conceals rather than reveals the actual differences
at the individual universities and among the particular groups.39 There was
still no mention of a “via moderna” during the controversies in Paris in 1340;
there the decisive debate came about from 1466 on. On March 1, 1474, at the
instigation of the Realists, the basic books of the Nominalists or Termini-
stae were forbidden by King Louis XI (Ockham, John of Mirecourt [Sent.
1344/45], Gregory of Rimini, Pierre d’Ailly, Adam Woodham et alii). In
contrast, Averroës, Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas, Ægidius Romanus,
Alexander of Hales, Duns Scotus, and Bonaventure were recognized as the
founding authors of the Realists.40 The fact that Albert the Great is the first
to be mentioned after the “Commentator,” indicates the continuing strength
of the Albertistae, who were able to become established in Paris after 1403,
especially among the Dominicans when they were allowed to return after
having been expelled from the university in 1387 on account of their adher-
ence to the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception. The ban on Nominalist
books and studies was not revoked until 1481/82. The de facto exclusion of
one school of thought in Paris resulted in the migration of many Nominal-
ists back to universities within the territory of the Holy Roman Empire.41
The universities in imperial territory were usually characterized by the
(temporary) predominance of one school of thought. We might mention
Cologne as the main center of the Albertist via antiqua. Major tensions
beginning in 1425 eventually led each party to petition the Elector to ban
the other. Here, too, “via antiqua” or “via moderna” is just a collective name,
especially in the faculty of theology, which actually comprised Thomists,
Ægidians, Scotists, and Albertists (all of them Reales) and Nominalists
with their own colleges.42 From Cologne the “via antiqua” came to Heidel-
berg also, which until then had been predominantly Nominalist; in 1452
the earlier school of thought received the same official protection as the
more modern one, and in 1453 it was able to open its own residential col-
lege [Burse]. Here, too, the debate manifested itself, among other ways, in
disturbances during the lectures of the “Realist” magistri. In Freiburg the
via antiqua bore the marks of Scotism in particular. In 1484 both ways were
officially established; this had less to do with philosophical reasons than
with competition from the new University of Tübingen, where both ways
39. Gilbert, “Ockham, Wyclif.”

40. Ehrle, Sentenzenkommentar Peters von Candida, 311–13.
41. For particulars, see Gabriel, “Via antiqua.”
42. Ibid., 467.
were being taught. Tübingen showed great tolerance not only for the two
ways but also for the new humanism (Reuchlin, Melanchthon), which was
regarded precisely as a means of overcoming the old dualism.43 The human-
istic approaches joined forces here significantly with the via antiqua. Ele-
ments common to the various schools of thought at Tübingen were a high
regard for John Gerson and an Augustinian orientation, especially through
the master of the moderni, Gabriel Biel, who was among the proponents
of the devotio moderna.44 The quarrel between the schools of thought was
more severe in Ingolstadt, where in 1477/78 plans to divide the university
were considered and the conflict lasted until the official abolition of both
ways in 1518/19. Whereas Erfurt was regarded in the fifteenth century as an
essentially Nominalist university, the two ways were described in Witten-
berg in 1502 not in the conventional manner but as “Thomists” and “Sco-
tists,” with an additional third school of thought, the “via Gregorii” (Gregory
of Rimini) that was professed especially by the Augustine Recollects.45 The
classical opposition of Nominales and Reales was thought to have been re-
solved already in principle.
In fact the “dispute about the ways” manifested also a certain institution-
al and terminological ossification at the universities in the second half of the
fifteenth century, in particular vis-à-vis the really “modern” movements—
humanism and the new philosophy of the Italian Renaissance, which at
first came from outside the university. After all, it was possible to study at a
university only by enrolling in one of the two “ways” (which had their own
burses, colleges, etc.). Along with the generally recognized fundamentals in
theology came then the doctrinal traditions of the respective school with its
standard manuals. Their prohibition in Paris was therefore tantamount to
the prohibition of the school in question. The linguistic-logical analyses of
the via moderna with its formalism seemed to contemporaries, at any rate,
more backward and “Scholastic” than the openness of “realist” metaphysics
to humanistic concerns. Thus it was possible for the proponents of the via
antiqua to regard themselves as more modern and broadminded than the
adherents of the via moderna, which placed the main emphasis on the indi-
vidual science and the tradition of logic cultivated since Ockham and John
Buridan († after 1358). In Cologne dangerous innovations were attributed
43. See the detailed discussion in Oberman, Werden und Wertung, 4–140.
44. See Oberman, Spätscholastik.
45. See Gabriel, “Via antiqua,” 476–81; Knuuttila, “Trutfetter.”
to the via antiqua in 1425. In Heidelberg it appeared quite plainly as a re-
form movement in opposition to the via moderna, and the students demon-
strated against it because they wanted to stay with the old doctrinal habits
of the moderni.46 These facts clearly testify that the “dispute about the ways”
had nothing to do with modernity or conservatism above and beyond the
contrasting doctrines about universals.
A decisive catalyst for fifteenth-century theology, however, was the reviv-
al of Augustinian theology, in particular of its anti-Pelagian doctrine of grace;
in the fourteenth century Thomas Bradwardine († 1349) and Gregory of
Rimini provided important impetus to this development. Bradwardine’s re-
turn to Augustine to argue against the Pelagiani moderni went on to influence
Wycliffe, although we can hardly speak about a special “via Bradwardini.”47
In a way typical of theology on the eve of the Reformation, both theologians
interpreted Augustine’s anti-Pelagianism so as to counteract the late Medi-
eval pious practices that suggested justification by works, but also to refute
the speculation of “Nominalist” theology about power [Macht] and grace in
terms of an “assurance of salvation” or, in the writings of Johann von Staupitz,
even of a “claim to salvation.” The edition of Augustine’s works (Basel 1506)
organized by Johannes Amerbach (ca. 1443–1513) then made the thought of
this Father of the Church accessible almost in its entirety.48
1.3 Theology, Church and society: Wycliffe and Hus

If one regards late Scholastic theology merely as an academic endeavor
in the quarrel among “ways” and schools of thought, its societal relevance
seems insignificant. On the other hand, the decisive Church-state conflicts
of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were brought about by university
theologians: John Wycliffe (ca. 1330–1384) in Oxford and Jan Hus (1370/71–
1415) in Prague. The path from the professor’s podium to societal change
and Church reform had plainly become shorter than in the twelfth or thir-
teenth century. For both theologians, however, academic, “Scholastic” doc-
trine was the foundation of the ecclesial and social consequences and of
their conflict with the ecclesiastical authorities.
John Wycliffe spent most of his life in the schools of Oxford (until 1381),
first as a philosopher (baccalaureus 1356, magister artium 1360), then from
46. See Gössmann, Antiqui und Moderni, 108–16.

47. See Oberman, “Tuus sum, salvum me fac,” 350; for a critique thereof, see Schulze, “Via
Gregorii,” 22–24.
48. See Oberman, Werden und Wertung, 82–140.
1372 on as magister actu regens of theology.49 The influential elements of his
theology were:
1. The blatant realism of his metaphysics with regard to universals and the
resulting rejection of Nominalist philosophy, which is clearly expressed
both in his Summa de Ente and in the treatise De Ydeis. God’s perfect
knowledge implies the real existence of the ideas of things in his mind,
but likewise the necessity of the individual fact.50
2. A strict scriptural principle which attributes directly to statements in
sacred Scripture the character of necessary and eternal truth (absoluta
necessitas), to an even higher degree than in mathematical statements,
and thus contrasts with the nominalist distinction between a truth
“secundum intentionem auctoris” [“according to the author’s intention”]
and a truth “secundum virtutem sermonis” [“according to the force of the
utterance”].51
3. Reliance on Augustine’s anti-Pelagian teaching about grace, as transmitted
by Thomas Bradwardine, including his teaching about predestination.52
Bradwardine’s Causa Dei (1344) is the decisive attack against the alleg-
edly “Pelagian” tendencies of Ockham and his contemporaries (Holcot,
Woodham) in their teaching about free will and merit (that a meritum de
congruo is possible even for a sinner).
4. A ugustine’s concept of the Church in De civitate Dei [The City of God],
with his distinction between the visible Church and the heavenly, true
Church, which consists exclusively of those who are predestined for sal-
vation (praesciti). For its part, predestination cannot be ruined even by
an individual’s mortal sin. Nor can the multitude of the damned (corpus
diaboli) be changed through human agency.53
In the academic life of his times Wycliffe’s theology appeared as a reso-
lute challenge to “modern” trends on the part of a “fundamentalist” reaction-
ary. His program, indeed, rejected those critical elements of the “modern”
theology that had become widely accepted: a linguistic-critical rejection
of realism about universals, a critical examination of the truth of theologi-
cal sentences, man’s free will vis-à-vis God’s free will in his contingent dis-
49. See Leff, Heresy, 2:494–558; Robson, Wyclif; Lambert, Heresy, 225–42.
50. Concerning the treatise De Ydeis, see Robson, Wyclif, 171–95.
51. Ibid., 164.
52. See Leff, Bradwardine; Leppin, Theologie, 148–51.
53. See Leff, Heresy, 516–46.
positions of grace. Taken together, however, these theoretical-Scholastic
elements of Wycliffe’s theology did not yet necessarily result in that thrust
which later led to his condemnation (1377; 1381/82; 1407 and 1411) and his
association with the revolutionary social movement of the Lollards. His con-
demnation and departure from Oxford in 1381 also had another immediately
theological, Scholastic cause: his rejection of the doctrine of transubstantia-
tion as a contradiction to the teaching of the early Church.54
The combination of the scriptural principle and the Augustinian under-
standing of the Church, however, produced those teachings that brought
Wycliffe into conflict with Church teaching and practice. Once again it
was actually a conservative program of reform that incorporated Francis-
can initiatives and a vision of life in the early Church, especially in its re-
jection of worldly property and secular power (De civili dominio). His spiri-
tual understanding of the Church led him to reject the hierarchy, precisely
with respect to the Western Schism: God alone elects the pope from the
Church of the predestined and for it; who that is cannot be known with-
out a special revelation. In the Schism, ultimately, both popes appeared as
Antichrist.55 In this understanding of the Church, of course, the power to
bind and loose belongs to God alone, and not to the pope or the priests.
Whereas the Nominalists had guaranteed some role for secondary causes in
the work of salvation (albeit one that could be dispensed with at any time),
they are completely ruled out here: just as God’s knowledge is absolutely
necessary, so too is his action; anything above and beyond the revelation in
sacred Scripture must be dismissed, even if a precept or an article of faith
were pronounced by an angel.56 It is quite a different matter, though, with
the office of the king, which is divinely established. Yet even the king, who
by virtue of his office is “vicarius dei” [“God’s vicar”], is in principle “frater
noster” [“our brother”].57 Although it is not very consistent with his theo-
logical approach, Wycliffe also concedes to the king far-reaching rights over
the visible Church, including the right to confiscate Church property and to
convert church buildings into fortresses.
His step from the professorial chair at Oxford to the heretical move-
54. Wycliffe, De eucharistia, ed. J. Loshert (1886), in John Wyclif, Latin Works (New York, re-
printed 1966), vol. 12; see also Leff, Heresy, 549–57; Lambert, Heresy, 243–83.
55. Wyclif, De potestate pape, ed. J. Loshert (1907), in Latin Works, 19:185; see also Leff, Heresy,
530–33.
56. Wyclif, De potestate, in Latin Works, 19:259.
57. Wyclif, De officio regis, ed. A. W. Pollard/C. Sayle (1887), in Latin Works, 4:4.
ment of the Lollards was based on the fact that both rejected papal author-
ity and the contemporary Church with its secular power and property. The
transformation of Wycliffe’s theology into political agitation was manifested
for the first time in the Farmers’ Uprising of 1381; consequently, of course,
one could now suspect that Wycliffe’s influence was behind all disturban-
ces.58 The controversies of the Lollards at Oxford (Blackfriars 1382) con-
cerned what was still in part a university movement, which was supposed to
be quelled once again according to academic custom by the condemnation
of Wycliffe’s followers and their expulsion from the university. The popu-
larization of Wycliffe’s teachings in Lollard circles led on the one hand to
their reformulation as brief theses for the purpose of easier comprehensi-
bility and on the other hand to the production of works ascribed to their
theological forefather.59
Less genuinely philosophical in his mindset yet in agreement with
Wycliffe’s realism was the magister from Prague, Jan Hus, whose condemna-
tion and burning at the stake by the Council of Constance would lead to the
most radical disturbances of the fifteenth century.60 Hus’s influential teacher
Stanislaus of Znaim († 1413) had already tried to reconcile Wycliffe with of-
ficial Church doctrine.61 In his academic theology, Hus himself presents the
picture of a none-too-independent theologian of the via antiqua, especially
in his Commentary on the Sentences (1407–1409).62 Typical here of the
later Wycliffe, of course, is his concept of Church as “universitas praedestina-
torum” [“the company of the predestined”]. A predestined soul, however, is
someone who really lives a Christian life; therefore the true Church is the
communion of real Christians, of good Christians. As in Wycliffe, the cata-
lyst of the Hussite movement was found here in its spiritualized concept of
Church. Furthermore Hus, too, had an understanding of the Eucharist that
was rather unclear yet deviated from the doctrine of transubstantiation.63
Wycliffe had had a much greater influence on Hus’s teachers, Stanislaus of
58. Concerning the Lollards, see: Leff, Heresy, 559–605; Lambert, Heresy, 243–83.
59. See Leff, Heresy, 574–77; especially the 25 articles of 1388.
60. See Herold, Pražká Univerzita; for a critical review of the ideological interpretations of
Wycliffe’s influence on the “early bourgeois revolution” in the case of Hus and afterwards, see:
Sousedík, “Wyclif und Böhmen,” with bibliography. On Hus and the situation in Bohemia, see also
Lambert, Heresy, 284–348; Seibt, ed., Jan Hus.
61. Stanislaus de Znoyma, De gracia et peccato, ed. Zuzanna Silagiová (Fontes Latini Bohemo-
rum 1) (Prague, 1997), Introduction xxvi–xxvii.
62. Magistri Joannis Hus, Super IV libros Sententiarum in Opera omnia, ed. W. Flajšhans/M.
Komínková (Prague, 1903–1907), vol. II. See esp. De Vooght, Hérésie, 60–84.
63. See Sousedík, “Huss”; Kolesnyk, “Hussens Eucharistiebegriff.”
Znaim and Stephan Páleč (ca. 1370–1424), who were therefore accused in
Rome in 1407/08 and forced to recant.64 While the university theologian
Jan Hus was to a great extent orthodox in his teaching, above all what mat-
tered for the Hussite Reformation was his preaching, but also the tensions
between the German majority and the Czech minority at the university. Af-
ter the attempt by King Wenceslaus to crush the German majority, these
tensions led in 1409 to the departure of the German professors and students
for Leipzig. This left Jan Hus and Jerome of Prague († 1416) as the represen-
tatives of the now-Czech faculty of theology.65
In his preaching ministry at “Bethlehem” (as opposed to his university
sermons, even in the vernacular), Hus aligned himself with the moralizing
reformer’s theology of Konrad of Waldhausen (ca. 1325–1369, in Prague from
1360 on) and Jan Milič of Kremsier (ca. 1325–1374), both of whom were not
so much theologians as clergymen concerned about practical reform in the
Church.66 It was precisely their abandonment of the Scholastic distinctions
in their teaching about sin and grace and their black-and-white depiction of
issues, for example, with regard to God’s judgment of sinners, which pro-
duced the effect that a reform sermon ought to have. The luxury, greed, and
simony of Church rulers were standard themes. Hus’s spiritualist concept
of the Church was evident here especially in the contrast between the real
Church (universitas of good Christians = the predestined) and the existing,
corrupt institutional Church, with a marked devaluation of ecclesiastical in-
stitutions and human laws in favor of immediate contact with Christ, who
is Life, by his grace and by obedience to God’s Word. Thus the established
Church during the Great Schism necessarily appeared not as a way of salva-
tion but as an obstacle to it.
Hus’s conflict with the Church was, after all, of a more practical than
genuinely theological nature. This is clearly evident in his treatise De Eccle-
sia from the year 1413 and the polemical works that followed, aimed now
directly at the practices of the antipope John XXIII (reigned 1410–1415).67
Here too his theology, insofar as it concerns the forgiveness of sins and ec-
clesial obedience, is still thoroughly Catholic. Given the contemporary situ-
ation, however, even such a theology must have seemed provocative when
64. See Leff, Heresy, 625–26; Hrdlička, “Hus und Páleč.”

65. Ibid., 608–20.
66. On their sermons, see De Vooght, Hérésie, 72–84.
67. Magistri Joannis Hus Tractatus de Ecclesia, ed. S. Harrison Thomson (Cambridge, Mass.,
1956); see also Holeček, “Hussens Kirchenverständnis.”
it called abuses by their names. Despite the adherence to the sacrament of
Penance and the spiritual power of the keys, it was an indictment of their
misuse by the ruling clergy: They took from the Gospel only what served
their position of authority and personal comfort, while they were unwilling
to undertake the fundamental “ministerium caritativum” [“charitable minis-
try”]. In chapter 11, for example, and elsewhere the words of Scripture are
constantly played off against the abuses in the contemporary Church:
Every passage of Scripture, especially from the Gospel, that seems to them to mean
that they ought to live in wealth and pleasure, to be attached to the world and to suf-
fer no humiliation for Christ, they will repeat over and over again, proclaim at the
top of their lungs and interpret at great length. Every passage, however, that admon-
ishes them to imitate Christ and his poverty, meekness, humility, long-suffering,
chastity, zeal and patience, they suppress, gloss it as they see fit or explicitly dismiss
it as unnecessary for salvation.68
This excerpt shows that Hus is taking aim at Scholastically trained cler-
ics, who have mastered the technique of glossing uncomfortable passages of
Scripture as well as logic; for the devil, “sophista pessimus” [“the worst Soph-
ist”] leads them astray to this false conclusion: that Christ gave this authority
(the power of the keys) to Peter and the other Apostles; therefore to us; con-
sequently we can do what we want. They erroneously consider it equally self-
evident that they will attain blessedness and rule with Christ when he comes
again. These “powers of darkness” are contrasted with the true believers who
possess the “potestas predestinacionis” [“power of predestination”]; therefore
the “veraces christicole” [“true worshippers of Christ”] must, if need be, resist
the power of the institutional Church when it tries to keep them by force or
deceit from imitating Christ.69 Resistance is not offered here to God’s com-
mand but only to the abuse of authority, especially by simoniac priests; Hus
goes on to prove in great detail that they are the real heretics. In doing so
Hus also expressly vindicates the opinion of Stephan Páleč and Stanislaus of
Znaim “de clero pestifero” [“concerning the pestilential clergy”].70 The very
fact that the treatise De ecclesia proceeds by the logical argumentation of a
formal debate shows that Hus’s plea for a reform of the Church cannot be
separated from his academic activity; on the contrary, Church reform has
become here the object of academic theology, which of course has left the
narrow confines of the lecture hall; for this treatise was read aloud not at the
68. Ibid. (91); see also Liguš, “Schriftbegriff.”
69. Ibid. (92).
70. Ibid. (95).
university but rather in “Bethlehem.” This combination of academic and ref-
ormational activity anticipates Luther, who in 1520 after reading De ecclesia
declared: “Breviter: sumus omnes Hussitae. Denique Paulus et Augustinus ad
verbum sunt Hussitae.” [“In short: we are all Hussites. Finally Paul and Augus-
tine, read literally, are Hussites.”]71
1.4 Toward a biblical and affective theology: John Gerson

The Great Schism, the decline of ecclesiastical life, political conflicts,
the controversies among the schools of thought, and the sterility of aca-
demic theology formed the background for the reform theology of the
Parisian professor and chancellor John Gerson (1363–1429), who through
his influence that transcended all allegiance to particular schools became
the “Church Father of the fifteenth century.”72 After the usual baccalaureate
years (1388–1392), Gerson was authorized to teach theology in 1392. As early
as April 13, 1395, he was appointed chancellor of the University of Paris, a
position which he formally held, in addition to numerous other offices and
benefices, until his death.73 Gerson continued to fulfill the professorial duty
of interpreting sacred Scripture, yet his lectures on the Gospel of Mark are
not exegesis but rather the treatment of current questions on the basis of
individual (and often partial) verses from the Bible.74 Even the titles of the
individual lectures show his fondness for contemporary problems of mo-
rality and asceticism: for example, De comparatione vitae contemplativae ad
activam [On comparing the contemplative to the active life]; De non esu car-
nium [On abstaining from meat]; Super victu et pompa praelatorum [On the
prelates’ way of life and pomp]; De vita spirituali animae [On the spiritual
life of the soul]; Contra curiositatem studentium [Against studying for curi-
osity’s sake]; De desiderio et fuga episcopatus [On desiring and fleeing the
episcopate]; De theologia mystica [On mystical theology].
Gerson was clearly aware of the deficiencies of the academic theology of
his day. In a letter dated April 1, 1400 to Peter of Ailly he regards the standard
set by the theological faculty in Paris as the nucleus of Church reform. Yet
only useless questions are being discussed there, which like husks unprofit-
ably burden the stomach of the memory.75 All their attention is focused on
71. WA Br 2.52.24–25; see also Oberman, “Hus und Luther.”
72. See Oberman, Werden und Wertung, 56–71; Burger, Aedificatio.
73. Biographical information in Burger, Aedificatio, 24–26; Roth, Discretio spirituum, 61–75.
74. Ibid., 35–40, with its critique of the plan of the edition by P. Glorieux: Jean Gerson. Oeu-
vres complètes III (Paris, 1962).
75. Ed. Glorieux, 2:26, 31 (29 April 1400).
the Prolegomena to book 1 of the Sentences, where speculative philosophi-
cal problems are discussed, whereas the actual teaching about the faith in
books 2–4 is scarcely elaborated. The accusation that Roger Bacon had lev-
eled in the thirteenth century against lecturing on the Sentences returns now
in different circumstances: Theologians are no longer occupied with their
own field: “solida veritas, moralia, biblia,” and this makes them the laughing-
stock of the other faculties. The controversies among the schools (especially
over the superfluous formalities of the Scotists) and the lifestyles of individ-
ual faculty members contribute little to their reputations.76 Instead of such
useless activity, Gerson assigns a pastoral duty to academic theology: in-
structing simple believers and solving the moral problems of the day ought
to be the most urgent goals of the faculty. To that end he recommends the
literary genre of short treatises on the most important points of religion,
especially the commandments: theological education of the people instead
of academic controversies! On the other hand Gerson also encourages the
cataloguing of forbidden or scandalous opinions by inquisitors. The chan-
cellor must make sure that no one who advocates such teachings receives an
authorization to teach.77 The academic independence of university theol-
ogy, with its special terminology, methods and rules that put off outsiders,
should be pruned for the sake of a simple, pastoral and ecclesial theology.
For Gerson the abiding foundation of theology is sacred Scripture in its
literal sense. In his lecture on Mark 3:29 entitled De sensu Litterali Sacrae
Scripturae78 he formulates this in twelve conclusions of a theological cri-
tique of language and method:
1. The literal sense of sacred Scripture is always true.
2. I t should be explained according to the rules of grammar, figures of
speech and rhetorical tropes not (as the Nominalists do) according to
the laws of Scholastic logic.
3. I t should be judged according to the decisions that the Church has made
under the inspiration and with the guidance of the Holy Spirit, not at
one’s own discretion.
4. S acred Scripture, especially in moral matters, makes use of indefinite
instead of general expressions. Such propositions must be verified in at
least one definite case.
76. Ibid., 2:26–27; see also Contra curiositatem studentium II (Glorieux, 3:242).
77. Ed. Glorieux, 2:28.
78. Ed. Glorieux, 3:333–40.
5. A theological proposition that is correct in the logical sense must be
disavowed if it is false in the literal sense, offensive or morally doubtful.
6. Th
e literal sense was first revealed through Christ and the Apostles, il-
lustrated by miracles, corroborated by martyrs, explained and defended
(along with the conclusions drawn from it) by the Church Fathers and
defined by the Councils. Appropriate punishments have been prescribed
by the ecclesiastical authorities for transgressions of these norms.
7. If the literal sense is attacked when it has already been defined by the
Church, one should therefore proceed against the challengers not with
academic disputations (curiosis ratiocinationibus) but rather with the ap-
propriate punishments.
8. If the literal sense has been defined by decrees, decretals or at councils, it is
just as much a part of theology and sacred Scripture as the Apostles Creed.
9. Although the literal sense is sufficiently clear in Scripture itself or has
been explained by the work of scholars, it can be proclaimed “compen-
diose” [“summarily”] in a few articles separately (e.g., as a profession of
faith), especially in view of the uneducated and differences of opinion.
10. The literal sense is interpreted reasonably in theological houses of
study [affiliated with Generalates of religious orders], in other dioceses
or by means of consultation with a concilium [advisory council] of
local theologians.
11. A nyone who denies an interpretation that has been defined as biblical by
the bishop (or the bishop together with a concilium doctorum) should be
punished and obliged to recant.
12. If someone maintains that the literal sense is not true and proceeds to
oppose it in word and deed, this gives rise to the urgent suspicion of
heresy, more precisely, of incorrigibility and obstinacy in an error of
intellect and will.
The impression of purely positive ecclesiality given by this list should be
viewed within the context of the goal that Gerson is trying to attain with this
decidedly biblical and ecclesial alignment of theology as a whole.79 Theol-
ogy should again serve the purpose of human life, eternal salvation, for man
aspires to God as his natural center and place of rest. This is where certainty
can be found with regard to Scholastic disputes and the insecurity of theo-
logical knowledge.80 Therefore theology must immediately become a bib-
79. See Burrows, Gerson, 102–25.

80. Gerson, De consolatione, ed. Glorieux, 9:196; see also Grosse, Heilsungewissheit.
lical, affective, mystical theology in which theory and practice are united.
The first requirement for that is repentance, a key word as Gerson interprets
Mark 1:15 on the one hand Contra curiositatem studentium [against merely
speculative theology] and on the other hand De theologia mystica speculative
conscripta [in terms of systematic mystical theology].81 The path therefore
leads away from “Scholastic mischief ” to an experiential theology. For Ger-
son, however, such a theologia mystica is the object of doctrine (speculative
conscripta, rationally ordered and put into writing). Mysticism is rendered
systematic, schematic and thus teachable: this gives rise to a “spiritual theol-
ogy” (doctrina de mystica theologia), a theory of mystical experience.
Mystical theology intends to address precisely those faculties in man
that are not satisfied by purely intellectual Scholastic theology: the heart
[den Affekt], which is supposed to come to the experiential knowledge of
God through repentance.82 Another prerequisite for theology is an appro-
priate moral attitude: Only the “boni et devoti” [“the good and the devout”]
can know God in this way; in contrast, morally corrupt theologians, whom
Gerson also takes into account, remain at the level of “theologia ratiocina-
tiva,” where they can indeed know very much; yet even the demons believe
and tremble ( James 2:19). Unlike Scholastic theology, mystical theology
does not rely on previous philosophical training; it is itself a kind of phi-
losophy, but one that is also for simple people and the ignorant.83 Gerson
found models for a mystical theology especially in the writings of Pseudo-
Dionysius, about which he wrote commentaries.84 Through the purification
and activation of all the faculties of the soul that have been weakened by sin,
the whole man should be involved in aspiring to God, and not just the intel-
lect, as Gerson explains by pointedly contrasting the two kinds of theology
and noting ten differences between them. They are already distinguished by
their respective objects: Speculative theology aims for the True, mystical
theology—for the Good. In principle mystical theology can reach its goal
without speculative theology, but not vice versa; for the goal of theology as
a whole involves the will and not merely the intellect. The mere Scholastic,
however, lacks both experience of any kind and the instruments with which
to reach this goal. Speculative theology does not produce calming certainty
81. Ed. Glorieux 3:224–92; De mystica theologia, ed. A. Combes (Lugano, 1958), see also Quin-
to, Scholastica, 114–28.
82. Gerson, De myst. theol. c.6, ed. Combes 70.6–8.
83. Ibid., p.1, ed. Combes 8.11 f.; see also Burger, Aedificatio, 129–43; Burrows, Gerson, 143–48.
84. See A. Combes, Jean Gerson Commentateur Dionysien: Les “Notulae super quaedam verba
Dionysii de Caelesti Hierarchia” (Paris, 1973); Quinto, Scholastica, 114–28.
but rather intellectual unrest. It does not lead to sure results. This unrest,
however, can be traced back ultimately to an insufficiency of the will: the
sea of sensual desires. Only mystical theology leads away from these to terra
firma, the shores of eternity.85 The Bible, the Church’s Magisterium and re-
ligious experience are the main pillars of this largely conservative reform
program that is offered as an alternative to a Scholasticism that is perceived
as sterile and starry-eyed, concerned with quaestiones that are no longer the
questions of the day.86
1.5 University theology and spiritual direction

for aristocratic ladies: Vienna
John Gerson was not alone in opting for a biblical, pastoral theology.
At that same time a trend originating in Paris, a conciliatory via moderna,
became popular in Vienna; the associated moral-theological, ascetical, and
catechetical works, some of them in German translations, were circulated
in monastic circles (especially among adherents of the Melk Reform), and
also among canons regular and sometimes even among the laity. It was sup-
ported by theologians, some of whom belonged to the university while oth-
ers were employed at the court of the Duke: Heinrich of Langenstein (1325–
1397), Nicholas of Dinkelsbühl87 (ca. 1360–1433) and their students Thomas
Peuntner (ca. 1390–1439) and Nikolaus Kempf (1397–1497).88 We find pas-
toral and moral-theological problems as well as opinions on current ques-
tions in the works of Heinrich Totting of Oyta also (ca. 1330–1397), who
after studying and teaching in Erfurt, Prague, and Paris (1337–1381) taught in
Vienna with Heinrich of Langenstein from 1383 to 1397.89 Both scholars owe
much to university theology for their methodology and framing of ques-
tions. Their discussions—at times precise but other times prolix—range
from the principles of theology to the temptations of the devil.
A remarkable foundation for a biblically and ecclesiastically oriented
85. Gerson, De myst. theol. p.6, ed. Combes, 73–87.

86. See Hübener, “Konservativismus.”
87. See R. Damerau, Der Galaterbriefkommentar des Nikolaus von Dinkelsbühl (Giessen, 1968);
Damerau, Die Quästionen des Nikolaus von Dinkelsbühl zum Galaterbriefkommentar (Giessen, 1970).
Idem, Der Herrengebetskommentar des Nikolaus von Dinkelsbühl (Giessen, 1971) (vols. 7, 9, and 10 in
the series: Studien zu den Grundlagen der Reformation).
88. See Rupprich, Wiener Schrifttum; Th. Hohmann, Heinrichs von Langenstein ‘Unterscheid-
ung der Geister’: Lateinisch und deutsch: Texte und Untersuchungen zur Übersetzungsliteratur aus der
Wiener Schule (Munich, 1977), 257–76. Concerning the diffusion and significance of the Viennese
“pious literature,” see also Drossbach, “Innovation.”
89. See Lang, Heinrich Totting, 37–43, 99–115.
school of theology, which avoids the extremes of the Nominalist and Realist
positions, is the introduction to theology that Heinrich Totting summarizes
in twelve axioms or principles in his Quaestiones super libros Sententiarum,
which belong to the period that he spent in Prague or Vienna (before 1388):90
1. It can reasonably be assumed that there is only one God.
2. G od is supreme wisdom, which cannot be deceived, and supreme truth,
which cannot deceive.
3. Everything that God has revealed is true; that is, if something has been
revealed by God, it is true.
4. God is the free First Cause, upon whose generous goodness creatures
depend for their entire being and goodness.
5. To God is due all respect and submission on the part of his creatures, the
cultus latriae [the worship of adoration].
6. S ince in God all perfection and goodness are joined in the highest pos-
sible unity, the cultus latriae is due to him alone.
7. Th
ere is one Church, that is, one assembly of mortal men who possess
the true worship of God.
8. A Church or assembly of men possesses the most salvific worship
of God.
9. The law of the Christian Church teaches most truthfully the most salvific
divine worship owed by mortal men.
10. Considering the law of the Christian Church and its most pure wisdom,
the rationality and dignity of her divine worship, her miraculous begin-
ning, her constant endurance and the merits of Christians, any human
being with normal judgment must arrive at the conclusion that all the
books presented by the Church as godly according to her law or as com-
posed by divine revelation are to be held firmly as such.
11. All the canonical books of the OT and NT are to be considered divine
or composed by divine revelation.
12. All the truths of sacred Scripture from which other theological truths
can be inferred causally, on the basis of properties or intrinsic relation-
ships, are the essential principles of our theology.
A decisive figure for the organizational development and theological ap-
proach of the early University of Vienna, moreover, was Heinrich of Langen-
stein (1325–1397), who was a master of theology in Paris from 1376 on and
90. Clm 18364; cited by Lang, Wege der Glaubensbegründung, 231–35; on its influence, see 225–37.
taught in Vienna in 1383/84.91 Besides his activities at the university and in
ecclesiastical politics during the Western Schism, there is a decidedly pas-
toral emphasis in his writings. The biblical foundation for his theology is
evident in his Viennese Commentary on Genesis (chapters 1–3 only) and his
work De idiomate hebraico, which underscores the importance of the biblical
languages for the study of theology. Heinrich himself had learned Hebrew
in Paris and Vienna from baptized Jews. In his theology Heinrich brings to
bear an eclectic variation of the via moderna which borrows especially from
Gregory of Rimini and thereby, like Heinrich Totting, avoids objectionable
or radical theses.92
Heinrich’s pastoral and ascetical writings, however, were the most wide-
ly circulated.93 He gave the secular priests in his benefice of Grossrussbach
precise instructions about how to teach catechism to the children in the
parish. Above all they should teach them the correct wording and under-
standing of the Our Father, the Hail Mary, and the Creed (in German).94
Earlier in 1380, Langenstein himself had given a “Lectura super Pater noster”
in Paris.95 Other works by Heinrich that were translated into German in-
cluded his treatise “On the discernment of spirits” (the Latin text of which
has been lost) and his “Quaestio on the temptations of the devil and helps
against them.” The latter had a long and influential textual tradition.96 This
very quaestio is well suited to illustrate the step from university to pastoral
theology and from the Latin original to the German translation. The ques-
tion is situated, moreover, within the context of the late Medieval belief in
the devil and demons, although it by no means supports it. The main source
for the quaestio on temptations is De virtutibus by William of Auvergne,
whose outline is still applied here. Quantifying the temptations and rem-
edies was a favorite schema of the period. Thus Gerson describes fifty-eight
temptations of the devil in De diversis diaboli tentationibus alone.97 Lan-
genstein’s quaestio, however, proves to be a university lesson, not pastoral
91. About his life see Kreuzer, Heinrich von Langenstein.—Heinrich von Langenstein, Der Sen-
tenzenkommentar, ed. R. Damerau (Studien zu den Grundlagen der Reformation 15–18) (Marburg,
1979/80).
92. See Lang, Christologie.
93. Heinrich von Langenstein, Erchantnuzz der sund, ed. R. Rudolf. (Texte des späten Mittelal-
ters und der frühen Neuzeit 22) (Berlin, 1969). The authenticity of this work is disputed because of
its vocabulary by Wiesinger, “Autorschaft.”
94. Clm 17645, fol. 125va–126r; see also Kreuzer, Heinrich von Langenstein, 146.
95. See Kreuzer, Heinrich von Langenstein, 105.
96. Synoptic edition: Hohmann, Langenstein; see also Hämmerl, Welt, 151–62.
97. Ed. Glorieux, 7:343–60; see also Grosse, Heilsungewissheit, 8–44.
instruction: “Quaestio magistralis de temptatione diaboli.”98 The translation,
which presumably was done by a clerical courtier for a lady at the ducal
court,99 already deviates from the original Latin quaestio in the fact that it
does not adopt its precise formulation of the question or the main argu-
ments. The questions are still framed in a purely scientific, theological man-
ner: Can a man on the earthly pilgrimage be led astray by the devil through
deceit and cunning? Even the general distinctions among temptations
(temptatio probativa/pulsativa, [i.e., a temptation that tests/impels one] to
perform or omit an action) and their subdivisions are missing. On the other
hand the translation expands on the text, sometimes with citations from
Augustine, but also with rather colorful comparisons that have no place in
a Scholastic quaestio.100 The translation begins immediately with the four
aims of the devil’s temptations: mortal sin, schism and heresy, error in hu-
man sciences, superstition. The quantifying continues: The devil, presented
as magister of antitheology, tries to prove his conclusions contrary to ours,
and he opposes the Ten Commandments with the seven capital sins and
the twelve (or fourteen) articles of faith with his own theses, resulting in
either nineteen or twenty-one conclusions.101 The basic framework of the
quaestio is provided however by the seven temptations of the devil accord-
ing to William of Auvergne:
1. Wearing the sinner down or tormenting him with a [particular] sin,
2. The unusual or marvelous character of the object,
3. Temptation to change one’s state of life,
4. Counsel to seek goods that are unattainable for human weakness,
5. Counsel to run a risk for the sake of a supposed good,
6. Recommendation of a vice under the guise of virtue,
7. Complete peace and the cessation of temptations 1 through 6.102
98. Vienna, Schottenstift Codex 128 fol. 204va; Cod. 326, 300v; on the question of authorship,
see also Hohmann, Langenstein, 151–57.
99. Cf., Hohmann, 157–58; inferred from Schottenstift Codex III, 4–7 (181/183): “dye ich hye
durich dye sunder lieb, dye ich hab zu ewrem ewigen hayll, wirdigew fraw, vmb dye lieb, dy ir mir habt
erczaigt, yn dewczsch hab geschriben, das ir euch dester pas chündt halten gegen dem selbem.” [“which
(instruction), for the love of sinners that I have unto your eternal salvation, Honorable Lady, and
for the sake of the love that you have shown me, I have written in German, so that you may all the
more suitably be informed and armed against it (i.e., temptation).”]
100. For example, Schottenstift Codex III, 45–85 (185–87): Just as the fisherman lures the fish
from their spawning place so as to catch them in his net, so the Devil lures men from their state in
life (laymen, priests, bishops).
101. Hohmann, Langenstein, 178.17–20.
102. Ibid., 180–94.
Finally, besides the threefold remedy that every virtue offers against
temptations, namely in considering the value of the virtue itself (proprio
gladio), in contrasting it with the vice (gladio alieno) and in fleeing from the
missiles of the Evil One, sixteen remedies taken from William of Auvergne
are listed.103 This produces an impressive and easily remembered outline of
good and evil with which to apply Scholastic teaching to the needs of prac-
tical spiritual direction.
1.6 Scholastic criticism of devotio moderna

and Reform theology
One force for renewal within the Church that also affected the opera-
tions of academic theology in the fifteenth century was devotio moderna.104
In the person and original intention of Geert Groote (1340–1384), who
studied in Paris himself (M.A. 1358), we must at any rate describe this move-
ment initially as anti-Scholastic. He was mainly concerned about a reform of
Christian life according to an ideal of the early Church. University theology
and its fashions were castigated in the harshest possible words.105 This rejec-
tion of academic science appears also under Groote’s name in the Conclusa
et proposita non vota [Resolutions and intentions not vowed], which not
only reject the study of the artes and profane sciences, but also repudiate the
mainspring of late Scholastic theology: disputation.
Item: avoid and abhor all public disputation which is quarrelsome for the sake of
triumphing or excelling, as all disputations of theologians and artists in Paris are;
indeed, do not even go to them for the sake of learning, because they are obviously
contrary to silence [i.e., recollection], give rise to lawsuits and disagreements and
are vain and forever impertinent and usually superstitious, beastly, devilish and
worldly, so that the teaching is often harmful and always useless. Vain also is the
waste of time. . . . Item: you should never study in order to earn the title of Doctor
of Theology. . . . Item: generally speaking it is of the flesh, and they think carnally.
Item: you would be distracted in many respects from your neighbor’s salvation.
Likewise from prayer, from purity of heart and seclusion [i.e., detachment from the
world]. Item: you must then attend many idle lessons and have dealings with a lot
of people, among whom a man becomes defiled and dissipated.106
103. Ibid., 189–214.

104. Anthology of texts: Geert Groote, Thomas von Kempen und die Devotio moderna, ed. H. N.
Janowski (Olten-Freiburg, 1978); on the problems of defining and delimiting the movement, see
also Derwich and Straub, eds., Neue Frömmigkeit; Gerwing, “Devotio moderna.”
105. See Klinkenberg, “Devotio moderna,” esp. 402–5, discussing Ep. 9 dating from 1381.
106. Beschlüsse und Vorsätze, no. 14.16, ed. Janowski, Geert Grote, 50.
This attitude, which in many respects recalls the Gregorian Reform of
the twelfth century, would give way, however, in the fifteenth-century move-
ment of devotio moderna to a more moderate position which—while primar-
ily concerned about the religious welfare of pupils and students—eventually
no longer excluded even university studies or teaching by its members. This
late phase becomes evident especially in the via moderna of the new Univer-
sity of Tübingen with Gabriel Biel, Wendelin Steinbach († 1519), and Peter
Braun († 1553), all three of whom belonged to the Brothers of the Common
Life according to the monastic reform of the Windesheimer Congregation
(“Fraterherren”). The anti-Scholastic impulse of the early period continued
in their attempt to overcome the boundaries between schools without giving
up their own membership in a school and in their reliance on the Church
Fathers (especially Jerome) and John Gerson, who became the “fifteenth-
century Father of the Church.”107 Thus in this movement, most impor-
tantly in the figure of Gabriel Biel, university theology, the clerical lifestyle
and pastoral commitment (not accidentally along Augustinian lines) were
once again united in a way of life. Deliberately included in this synthesis was
the enthusiasm of the Italian humanists for antiquity and the revival of its
literature and philosophy. Within this spirituality, new forms of theological
presentation could develop, such as Biel’s commentary on the canon of the
Mass or Johannes Altenstaig’s (ca. 1480–after 1525) glossary, Vocabularius
theologiae (1517).
Even apart from the movement itself, devotio moderna strongly influ-
enced many theologians who distanced themselves from the conventional
forms of academic theology and demanded a reform of the Church and of
clerical studies that would be clearly oriented to sacred Scripture. Especially
worth noting in this regard are Johannes Pupper of Goch († 1475), Johannes
Ruchrath of Wesel (ca. 1425–1481) and Wessel Gansfort (ca. 1419–1489).108
In his Epistola de scripture sacre dignitate, Johannes of Goch contrasts the
fundamental authority of “canonica scriptura” with “aliorum scripta, prae-
sertim Scholasticorum et Philosophorum” [“the writings of others, especially
Scholastics and Philosophers”].109 “Scholastici” here are the disciples of the
prevailing theological schools, for whom the authority of Thomas Aqui-
nas, for example, is more important than sacred Scripture. To build upon
107. See Oberman, Werden und Wertung, 56–71.

108. Anthology of texts: G. A. Benrath, ed., Reformtheologen des 15. Jahrhunderts (Texte zur
Kirchen- und Theologiegeschichte 7) (Gütersloh, 1968).
109. Text found in Benrath, ed., Reformtheologen, 10–19.
such weak authorities, which can easily be disputed and overturned by oth-
ers and consequently only produce dissension, is a sign of an extreme lack
of understanding and furthermore contradicts the unanimity of the early
Church. The Bible versus Scholastic theology, the unity of the early Church
versus Scholastic squabbles—so the battle lines were drawn now. The writ-
ings of contemporaries, especially of the Mendicant Orders, generate even
more doubts by listing many opiniones. Their arguments are of philosophi-
cal origin, springing from the darkness of Aristotle, who knew nothing
about the light of Sacred Scripture. The pagan Aristotle thus becomes the
ancestor and forefather of “Scholastic” theology as a whole. In view of the
knowledge of salvation found in sacred Scripture, philosophical knowledge
proves to be inadequate and false, the “wisdom of the world” which is coun-
tered in Christ by the folly of the cross. Therefore when theologians rely
on Aristotle instead of on sacred Scripture, they are fundamentally in error:
what is required is a scriptural principle instead of philosophy as the basis
for theology.110
Outside of sacred Scripture, which alone can lay claim to infallible au-
thority and faith without doubt, there is a gradated hierarchy of authorities.
Next in rank after Scripture come the Church Fathers, insofar as they agree
with it. Their doctrine is to be accepted “fideli devotione” [“with faithful de-
votion”]. The teachings of the “doctores moderni,” however, especially the
mendicants, are mere opinions. They are based on philosophical arguments
and therefore have no firm foundation; they muddle the mind instead of
enlightening it and serve vanity more than the truth. In a dispute among
opinions, however, one must decide according to the degree of probabil-
ity. Whenever a proof from Scripture is lacking, it is completely arbitrary
whether Thomas, Albert the Great or Duns Scotus said something. The
contemporary practice is contrasted with the example of the Church Fa-
thers ( Jerome and Augustine), who as a matter of principle presented their
teachings as opinions only and never tried to attribute to them the authority
of the canonical books. Given the multiplicity of theological opinions and
schools, the question about theological truth and about the possibility of
ascertaining it was bound to reappear. The Scholastic theology of the late
Middle Ages is therefore a wrong way that is in need of reform. No wonder
Luther in his Epistula gratulatoria applauds Johannes of Goch’s indictment
of the “billy goat” Aristotle and expresses the hope that soon there will be
110. See Schüssler, Primat der Heiligen Schrift.

no more Thomists, Albertists, Scotists, and Ockhamists left on earth, but
only simple children of God and true Christians.111
2 Theological certainty in an uncertain age?

A fundamental problem of late Medieval theology, which also manifest-
ed in varying degrees its development, was the search for certainty. Within
theology itself the question was raised as to the status and truth of theologi-
cal statements and the possibility of substantiating them; theologians also
investigated the existential question as to the knowledge of God and of his
salvific will for the individual sinful human being in view of the fundamen-
tal freedom of God and the gratuitousness of grace.112
2.1 Human action in the knowledge of God: Duns Scotus

The most powerful impetus for the elaboration of the problem of cer-
tainty in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century theology came from the short
life and the few authentic works of the “Doctor subtilis,” John Duns Scotus
(ca. 1265/66–1308). These, moreover, sometimes have to be reconstructed
by distinguishing the actual text from the materials that were superimposed
by his students.113 In the Franciscan tradition that was shaped especially by
William de la Mare, Scotus sees theology as a whole in relation to human
action. Acts, however, are performed for a purpose, which the acting person
must know and aspire to. The necessary requirement for that is a definite,
sure knowledge both of the end and also of the means to that end. Uncer-
tainty with reference to one’s final end ultimately makes action just as im-
possible as ignorance with regard to the means. The acting person therefore
must know:
1. how the end is to be attained;
2. what means are necessary for that end;
3. whether those means are sufficient to attain the end.
Therefore theology is necessary, above and beyond philosophy, as a
teaching about the supernatural end of human action, eternal blessedness,
which God bestows by a freely given grace, contingently, not by necessity,
111. Text: Benrath, ed., Reformtheologen, 9–10.

112. See in general: Perler, Wahrheitsbegriff; Lang, Glaubensbegründung; Dettloff, Entwicklung;
Grosse, Heilsungewissheit, 35–44.
113. See esp. Richter, Studien, 11–16.
but rather out of a free acceptance of merits. No knowledge about that end
can come from natural understanding. Theology owes its existence to God’s
revelatory action, which produces in us a knowledge—albeit an obscure
one—of supernatural truths (e.g., “Deus est trinus,” “God is Three”).114 Pre-
cisely in view of God’s freedom, however, this must suffice to obtain cer-
tainty about the supernatural end of human action and about the means of
attaining this end. Thus already in the first quaestio of the Oxford lectures
on the Sentences in 1300/01, Scotus dismisses the (Aristotelian-Arabic) phi-
losophy that supposes that it can reckon God’s action of necessity and cal-
culate human action accordingly.
The basis for understanding theology, according to Duns Scotus, is
therefore not a theoretical insight into its object, God, but rather man’s ac-
tion (praxis), which Scotus, like Aristotle, clearly distinguishes from the in-
tellect; this earned his approach the label of “voluntarism,” as opposed to
the “intellectualism” of Thomas Aquinas. Theology is practical knowledge
(cognitio practica), which unlike the intellect is directed toward something
outside of itself: the deed, the activity. Because of this (possible) relation to
an object, it is defined as practical knowledge. Human action in the precise
sense, however, logically and ontologically presupposes the intellect and is
thereby distinguished from vegetative and sensory processes (behaviors).
Action is based on an act of free will, a choice (electio). This is governed by
the norm of rightness, that is, conformity with “ratio recta” [“right reason”],
and it can therefore be judged ethically. For that purpose, however, the hu-
man act needs a guideline, a “directio,” at least with respect to the moral qual-
ity of the circumstances of the act. Theology, therefore, as a theory of action
and ends, has to teach three things and thus provide the needed “directio”:
1. Under what conditions is it possible to strive for the supernatural end of
human action?
2. What conditions must the acts toward that end fulfill?
3. What conditions must the means to that end satisfy?
Theology therefore is neither a theoretical science, as Henry of Ghent
claims, nor is it according to the view of Thomas Aquinas a theoretical-
practical science, but rather it is thoroughly related to praxis. For man’s end,
114. Duns Scotus, In I Sent., prol. q.1 (edition consulted: Johannes Duns Scotus, Über die
Erkennbarkeit Gottes. Texte zur Philosophie und Theologie, lateinisch-deutsch, hg. u. übers. von
Hans Kraml, Gerhard Leibold, Vladimir Richter, Hamburg 2000, 4–20; as interpreted by Richter,
“Textstudien,” 439–45; see also Leibold, “Kontroverse.”
beatitude (fruitio Dei, the enjoyment of God) is after all the end of activity,
not of theoretical knowledge.115
Our theological knowledge therefore is subject to a twofold arrange-
ment, the individual elements of which would not infrequently be played
off against each other in subsequent periods:
1. This knowledge is partial and not comprehensive, obscure and not clear,
in accordance with the free, contingent revelation of God.
2. I t is nevertheless sufficient for practical action with regard to man’s
supernatural end.
The question of theological certainty and truth is therefore, to Duns
Scotus’ way of thinking, an immediately practical and existential question:
How can theology provide the certainty that I must presuppose if my life is
to be meaningful with respect to its ultimate success or failure? Duns Scotus
still succeeds in considering both partial aspects at the same time. This is
evident especially in the question about the object (subjectum) of theology.
The central object of a science is that which cannot be attributed to some-
thing else, the thing in terms of which virtually all the propositions of that
science can be asserted. Perfect theological knowledge, by its very nature,
is possessed by God alone, for only God knows himself perfectly. In this
knowledge of God all theological truths are virtually contained and verified.
Theological knowledge therefore has as its central object God, not in some
relation or other to his work (e.g., as Creator or Redeemer), but not in the
philosophical-metaphysical definition of him as ens [Being] or ens infinitum,
either, but rather in his nature [Wesen], in which all of these relations are
included (as theological truths).116
If theological knowledge is to attain the certainty required for action
and at the same time declare in accordance with the truth what it is possible
for us to say about God, then it must be proved in the first place that an un-
equivocal discourse about God is possible. God’s existence and action must
be recognizable for us and describable in precise language.117 This is the
theoretical-scientific background for the doctrine of the univocal charac-
ter of being, which is inseparably connected with Scotus’ name. It is aimed
115. Duns Scotus, In I Sent., prol. q.3 (Scotus, Erkennbarkeit, 28–43); see also the interpretation
by Richter, “Duns Scotus’ Text zur Theologie,” 465–75.
116. Duns Scotus, prol. q.2 (Scotus, Erkennbarkeit, 20–28); see also the interpretation by Rich-
ter, “Textstudien,” 445–49.
117. On the problem of proving the existence of God, see Richter, Studien, 30–78.
especially against Henry of Ghent, whose opinion Scotus summarizes in
three conclusions:118
1. God cannot be known “per se” but only “per accidens,” that is, only his
attributes can be known.
2. G od can be known “in universali,” that is, in a general concept that can be
predicated about several things, but only by an analogous concept, not
by strict, univocal predication.
3. God cannot be known “in particulari,” in his proper individuality,
because a creature is only a “peregrina similitudo” [“passing, distant like-
ness”] of God and allows us to infer only some of God’s attributes.
Duns Scotus sees that as an invalidation of any precise theological
knowledge and of its claim to truth. His critique takes language, the propo-
sition, as its point of departure. Attributes (e.g., “sapiens”) are predicated of
a subject and therefore presuppose some knowledge about what the subject
is (quidditative, “with respect to its what-ness”). This is true also for knowl-
edge about God, if theological discourse is to obey the rules of grammar.
As Henry of Ghent correctly observes, our knowledge does not arrive at an
understanding of God’s nature, of how he is in himself, but for other reasons
than Henry supposes. God is knowable in this way for himself alone; for all
others he is knowable only as a freely chosen object of cognition. Here, at
any rate, the creature’s likeness to God is no reason to assume that it pro-
vides particularly accurate or inaccurate knowledge about him.
That requires, rather, that a concept be constituted in such a way that
one can predicate univocally with it, so that it becomes possible to formu-
late propositions with truth value and thus to construct correct syllogisms
(without quaternio terminorum, a set of four terms yielding no real conclu-
sion).119 This is not the case, however, with a merely analogous concept, but
only with a univocal concept. In order to form such a concept about God it
suffices that the predication be unambiguous and that it be possible to as-
118. See Richter, “Univozität”; about Henry of Ghent, see also Aertsen, “Von Gott kann man
nichts erkennen,” 30–36.
119. Duns Scotus, In I Sent. dist.3 q. 1 (Duns Scotus, Erkennbarkeit, 98, 5–10): “Conceptum uni-
vocum dico qui ita est unus quod eius unitas sufficit ad contradictionem, affirmando et negando ipsum de
eodem. Sufficit etiam pro medio syllogistico ut extrema unita in medio sic uno sine fallacia aequivocationis
concludantur inter se uniri.” [“I call univocal a concept which is ‘one’ is such a way that its unity suf-
fices to formulate a contradiction by affirming and denying it about the same thing. It suffices also
as a syllogistic middle term or mean, so that we may conclude that the extremes which are united
in the mean that is ‘one’ in this way are united to each other without any fallacy of equivocation.”]
sign a precise content to the concept, although that by no means solves all
further questions. Of course, the predication as such (and consequently the
concept) cannot be certain and dubious at the same time. It suffices, there-
fore, to speak about God as ens [being], without yet having determined
whether this ens is finite or infinite. Only on this basis will a philosophical
discussion about God be meaningful, because there is a common object of
discourse, whereas the analogy of concepts in Henry of Ghent eliminates
precise, common discourse and consequently abolishes theology as a sci-
ence. Someone might just as well claim that “man” cannot be predicated
in the same way of Socrates and Plato, that there are instead two concepts
here, which appear to be one because of their great similarity. With that,
however, all univocal predication, the foundation of scientific discourse,
is abolished. We must take as the epistemological source of theology not
just any vague (ontological) similarity, but rather the successful predication
that is presupposed by human speech acts. This guarantees that our theol-
ogy, though partial, is nevertheless sufficient to make our actions ultimately
meaningful.
2.2 Assuring human statements about God:

Francis of Meyronnes
The stimulus that Duns Scotus provided for fourteenth-century theol-
ogy was further developed in many different areas of theology by his stu-
dents. One example of this was the work of Francis of Meyronnes, OFM
(1288–1328), a representative of the Franciscan theology of the follow-
ing generation. He lectured on the Sentences as a baccalaureus in Paris in
1320/21 and in 1323 became a magister; he was already Provincial Minister of
Provence in 1324 when he was called to Avignon to work in the papal Curia,
where he served, among other capacities, as arbitraror in the dispute over
religious poverty and in the proceedings against Ockham.120 We are deal-
ing in this case as well with a relatively short teaching career and successive
redactions of his commentary on the Sentences; the final one, the so-called
Conflatus, is extant in a relatively early print edition. Here in particular,
however, additional texts that do not date back to the original lectures on
the Sentences were obviously incorporated.121
120. See esp. Möhle, Formalitas, 25–27; also Roth, Franz von Mayronis; in places corrected by:
Rossmann, Hierarchie.
121. Edition used: Franciscus de Mayronis, In Libros Sententiarum, Quodlibeta, Tractatus For-
malitatum, De Primo Principio, Terminorum Theologicalium Declarationes, De Univocatione (Venice,
Francis also illustrates quite clearly the debate among the Parisian schools:
Dominican Thomists against Franciscan Scotists along with eclectics and a
few independent theologians like Peter Aureol (ca. 1280–1322). This debate
can be followed literarily in the Disputatio collativa by Petrus Rogerii [Pierre
Roger], OSB (1292–1352, later Clement VI), which he conducted with Francis
of Meyronnes in 1320/21 as a baccalaureus in Paris.122 The disputed points may
seem “typically Scholastic” to the modern reader: Whether the principle of
contradiction can be established in theology; whether the divine essence de
potentia dei absoluta can be contemplated without the Divine Persons; wheth-
er a real distinction can be made between the creaturely status by which a
creature is dependent on God and the creature itself; whether in the order of
origin an angel was created by the Father earlier than by the Son; whether in
God there is only a “signum a quo” ([“sign from which”] Petrus Rogerii) or a
“signum in quo” ([“sign in which”] Francis of Meyronnes), etc. The language
and style of the disputations also produce the impression of sterile “Scholasti-
cism,” especially due to the fourfold division of all decisions and conclusions,
which is sometimes carried out quite strictly.123
The real concern and the theological importance of such controversies
becomes clear only when on reflects on the “linguistic turn” taken by theolo-
gy since Duns Scotus. It is not by chance that the Conflatus begins with a long
exposition of the principle of contradiction as a principle of ambivalence in
theology.124 With this principle Scotus had laid the foundation for univocal
predication about God. Every predication is true or false, never both at the
same time. Thus unambiguous predication and bivalent [zweiwertige] logic
are set forth as the basis for theology as a whole. Theological propositions
have definite truth value, even our statements about God; for the principle
of contradiction is equally valid for God and creatures. Our theological state-
ments can be rendered certain only if contradictions are inadmissible in God
as well. According to the underlying realistic semantics, however, univocal
predication and the validity of the principle of contradiction in statements
about God presuppose “something” (ontologically) about which contra-
dictory statements (with reference) are possible. Contradictory statements
1520; reprinted Frankfurt, 1966). Concerning the problems of literary criticism: Rossmann, “Sen-
tenzenkommentare”; Möhle, Formalitas, 29–41.
122. Ed. J. Barbet, François de Meyronnes—Pierre Roger, Disputatio (1320–1321) (Textes phi-
losophiques du moyen-âge 9) (Paris, 1961); see also Rossmann, “Sentenzenkommentare,” 140–65.
123. See Rossmann, “Sentenzenkommentare,” 220–27.
124. Franciscus de Mayronis, Conflatus, prol. q.1 (2r–4r); see also Roth, Franz von Mayronis,
297–369; Möhle, Formalitas, 42–73.
presuppose distinctions: one thing and another thing, same and different,
example and counterexample. Corresponding to our distinctions in state-
ments about God, therefore, there must be actual distinctions in the nature
of God, if theological discourse is to be assured semantically (and thus on-
tologically). This becomes especially urgent in the doctrine of the Trinity:
multiplicity of Persons—oneness of nature; communication [i.e., sharing =
Mitteilung] of the essence—non-communication of the Persons, etc. A real
distinction is ruled out, since that would imply a division in God; a mere[ly
notional] distinction on the part of man does not assure predication along
the lines of a “realistic” semantics. Consequently an additional sort of dis-
tinction must be assumed (“ex natura rei,” “resulting from the nature of the
thing”), which does not signify a real division yet does guarantee a semantic-
ontological correspondence with our distinctions and thus a univocal refer-
ence of our theological discourse. This is the origin of the so-called formal
distinction, which is already found in the writings of Duns Scotus and be-
came a point of dispute with the Thomists and Nominalists. The application
of this potential solution in Francis of Meyronnes is initially restricted to the
relation between relational statements (concerning properties or persons)
and absolute statements (about the essence or nature), and also between es-
sential attributes and the substantiality [Wesenheit] of God himself. These
signify different “formalitates,” not different things, but not just moments or
aspects of an intellectual/notional subdivision, either. Now of course it is
possible to make further statements about such “formalitates.” The attributes
ascribed to them cannot in turn signify real qualities or distinctions, but only
corresponding modifications (in disjunct pairs) of the formalities; they are
therefore only “modi intrinseci” [“inner modalities”] that do not change the
nature of the formalities: finitude—infinitude, reality—possibility, neces-
sity—contingency, existence, reality, and haecceitas (individuality).125
The importance of the principle of contradiction in theology is also evi-
dent on another level: with regard to God’s freedom and sovereignty, which
Francis staunchly defended as a good Scotist, most clearly in a quaestio from
Codex Vaticanus lat. 901 that was probably submitted as an opinion in the
Ockham trial.126 God’s sovereignty is explicitly compared to the univer-
sal sovereignty of the Pope, which Francis emphatically advocated while a
member of the Curia in Avignon, despite their divergent opinions in the
125. Conflatus l.1 d.33 q.3 (101rv); ibid. q.5 (103rv); see also Roth, Franz von Mayronis, 319–25;
detailed discussion in Möhle, Formalitas, 74–113, 286–336.
126. Text: Rossmann, Hierarchie, 251–57.
debate about poverty.127 He attributes to both a potentia absoluta [absolute
power] that is not connected with existing laws (even its own), but rather
is itself the cause of its freely willed laws.128 In view of this absolute sover-
eignty of God, the question arises concerning the validity of human theo-
logical statements, but by the same token concerning the meritoriousness
of human contingent action with respect to man’s final end. The factual or-
der of creation and redemption is contingent; it springs from a sovereign,
free-will decision of God, who consequently complies with it in his potentia
ordinata [ordered power], although in and of himself he would not be com-
pelled to do so. Finally, which statements can then derive their permanent
validity [Bestand haben] not only from God’s nature but also to his creative
and redemptive acts, independent of God’s dispositions? Thus God could
have saved mankind, for example, even without the death of Christ.129 Can
we then in theologicis [in theological matters] rely on those arguments that
are valid in our lawfully ordered reality: for example, that guilt has punish-
ment as a consequence, and merit results in reward? Francis discusses this
question explicitly in three respects: with regard to the principles of nature,
of moral action and of supernatural merit. From a purely causal perspective,
there is no necessary connection between the state of grace and acceptance
by God, in the sense that there would be no contradiction if the conse-
quence failed to materialize. From the moral perspective, the absolute sov-
ereign can determine the price of a thing with complete freedom; thus God,
who is free per se, determines what is necessary in order to obtain eternal
happiness. Therefore at any time he can also change, increase or diminish
the price: thus eternal happiness must not depend on the presence of su-
pernatural gifts of grace, much less on merits. In and of himself, God can
grant it even without these prerequisites or refuse it when they are present.
It is remarkable, in any case, that the question of whether man is accepted
or rejected in God’s sight is discussed according to the rules of a bill of sale,
albeit in order to show forth the mercy of God, who can supply eternal hap-
piness even below the agreed-upon “selling price.”130 The Conflatus accepts
as a possible “consideration” or service by man in return even a morally bad
act (actus vitiosus), which naturally would then be not only morally good
but even meritorious. Thus God in and of himself (de potentia absoluta) can
127. Ibid., 106–31.

128. Franciscus de Mayronis, IV Sent. d.25 q.4 (213r); see also Rossmann, Hierarchie, 245.
129. Ibid., 252.
130. Rossmann, Hierarchie, 253–54.
determine that everyone who blasphemes God is admitted to eternal life,
and everyone who praises God is damned; in the same way he could damn
all the righteous and save all sinners.131
The sole supporting principle of this discussion proves to be the prin-
ciple of contradiction, rigorously interpreted to mean a simultaneous con-
tradiction that cancels out everything positive. Even God cannot do some-
thing that involves such a contradiction.132 On the other hand, everything
else is subject to his will and thus contingent. As in the writings of Duns
Scotus, however, the first rule of everything contingent is the divine will.
He freely establishes the norms of how it comes about.133 This expressly re-
vokes all the “rationes necessariae” of Anselm of Canterbury in theology. The
only reason that can be given for all contingent (salvific) action of God is
his will; to inquire further makes no sense, especially since all theological
reasons are only reasons quoad nos [with respect to us], even with recourse
to the prudence [Klugheit] of God, whose will is certainly regarded as being
guided by his intellect. In and of himself (de potentia absoluta), God could
act quite differently. Theological reasons for God’s actions are therefore
mere reasons of convenience.134 Univocal statements about God’s nature
are therefore ultimately juxtaposed with [stehen . . . gegenüber] unconfirmed
statements about his actions.
2.3 Axiomatic metaphysics as the foundation

of theology: Meister Eckhart
The image of the Dominican Meister Eckhart (ca. 1260–1328) is defined
and encumbered more by his German-language treatises and sermons than
by his Scholastic Latin works from the periods when he taught in Paris
(1293/94, 1302/03, 1311–13).135 In 1293/94 he lectured on the Sentences.136
The questions that come up during his teaching career as magister show
how strong a proponent Eckhart was of the Thomistic, Neoplatonic tradi-
131. See Conflatus I d.17 (73rv); see also Dettloff, Entwicklung, 173.
132. See Conflatus I d.43/44 q.4 (125r): “Utrum deus possit facere quicquid non includit contra-
dictionem” [“Whether God can do whatever does not involve a contradiction”]; see also Möhle,
Formalitas, 71–73.
133. Conflatus I d.45 q.1 (129v–130r).
134. See Rossmann, Hierarchie, 259–63.
135. Introduction to his life and work: Ruh, Meister Eckhart.
136. So far only the Collatio in libros Sententiarum has been edited: Meister Eckhart, Die latein-
ischen Werke, 5:1–26.—The dating of the work to 1293 is according to Ruh, contrary to J. Koch, who
still dates it to 1297–1300, when Eckhart was already Prior in Erfurt and Vicar of Thüringen.
tion of his order.137 That scholastic tradition was at the same time impor-
tant for Eckhart’s early view of God.138 It inquires into the identity of being
and knowing in God, which leads then directly to the controversies between
Thomists and Scotists over the doctrine of distinctions [in God], and on the
other hand also underscores the Thomistic emphasis on God’s knowledge
rather than his action. Eckhart’s thesis is that the indistinguishability here is
real and possibly notional and intellectual as well; as his first argument he
immediately cites two passages from Thomas.139 In keeping with the Liber
de causis, God’s intelligere [understanding] is even depicted as the founda-
tion of his being: God does not know because he is, but rather is because
he knows, whereby “esse” is understood in principle as creaturely being.140
This is confirmed by John 1:1, which does not say, “In principio erat esse” (or
ens) [“In the beginning was being”], but rather “In principio erat verbum” [“. . .
the Word”]. “Verbum,” however, connotes truth and thus knowledge. In the
dialectical interaction with these concepts in this Neoplatonic interpretation
of being and knowing, everything that belongs to the intellect becomes non-
ens [nonbeing], of course, because in that way nothing is said about its being
realized outside of the intellect. If God is only intellect, however, and as such
the cause of all being, then in God there is neither existence nor being (that
is, considered as something created and definite).141 The game of affirmation
and negation that Eckhart is playing here is supposed to show forth the radi-
cal otherness of God even within the framework of the Thomistic analogy of
being and can consequently be interpreted as the exact antithesis of Scotist
univocality. Formally speaking (formaliter), God is not being (ens) but rather
something higher of another sort, namely, the cause of all being and “puri-
tas essendi” [“purity of being”], a being of an altogether different kind than
creaturely being.142 Compared with the linguistic, logical presuppositions
and methods of a Duns Scotus, Eckhart’s quaestiones appear quite modest.
Their importance lies rather in their Neoplatonic, dialectic development of
Thomistic metaphysics and of its thinking about the analogy of being.
The Opus tripartitum, Eckhart’s principal work in Latin, which dates at
least in part from his second stint as magister in Paris, has been preserved
137. Meister Eckhart, Quaestiones Parisienses, in Lateinische Werke, 5:27–83.

138. See Imbach, Deus est intelligere.
139. Meister Eckhart, Quaestiones Parisienses q.1 n.1 (37, 4–7): S. Th. I q.26 a.2; ScG I, 45.
140. Ibid., n.4 (40.5–41.14).
141. Ibid., n.8 (44.10–45.5); see also Manstetten, Esse est Deus, 305–44.
142. Meister Eckhart, Quaestiones Parisienses q.1 n.12 (47.14–48.8).
essentially only in its overall plan and in the Opus Expositionum (Scriptural
exegeses). No longer extant is the set of metaphysical axioms and thus the
foundation of the entire work, the Opus propositionum, and the Scholastic
elaboration in the Opus quaestionum. The immediate effect that it had was
negligible; its influence was of considerable importance only on Nicholas
Cusanus (1401–1464). The academic world, especially in Paris, was occu-
pied with other trends in the years 1311–1313 and afterward, so that the idio-
syncratic Summa of the magister from Thüringen was not very influential.
Meister Eckhart explains the purpose of the work and its method in the
prologue to his exegesis of the Gospel of John:
In interpreting this Word [ John 1:1] and the sayings that follow it, the author in-
tends, as in all his works, to explain the doctrines of the holy Christian faith and
of the Scriptures of both Testaments with the help of the natural arguments of phi-
losophers. . . . Furthermore this work proposes to show how the truth of the princi-
ples, conclusions and peculiarities evident in nature for him “who has ears to hear”
(Matthew 13:43) is clearly suggested precisely in the words of Sacred Scripture,
which are interpreted with the help of these natural truths.143
Eckhart’s exegesis is therefore not a conventional Scriptural commen-

tary, but rather a demonstration of the exact agreement of biblical revela-
tion and natural, metaphysical reason. He proceeds in a way that obviously
shows no signs yet of the divergence of philosophy and theology, faith and
rational insight since 1277 and aligns itself with the Albertine-Thomistic tra-
dition of his order. The entire Opus tripartitum thus tries to meet the needs
of the “fratres studiosi” [“student friars”] and to set down in a kind of summa
everything that seems worth noting about doctrinal statements, quaestiones,
and scriptural exegesis.144 The Summa Theologiae of Thomas Aquinas serves
as the model for the Opus quaestionum, but Eckhart is striving here for brev-
ity rather than completeness.145 Eckhart is quite conscious of the novelty
and boldness of his metaphysical theology and conceptual dialectics. He is
counting on the fact that much “will appear at first glance atrocious, dubi-
ous or false”; yet that should only lead to a more precise, in-depth study, so
as to arrive finally at an insight into the agreement of Scripture, authority
and arguments from reason.146 Eckhart specifies the precise connections
143. Meister Eckhart, Expositio Sancti Evangelii secundum Iohannem, prooem. n.2 f. (Lat. Werke
3:4.4–6, 14–17); German translation, i.e., the cited work is a Latin-German edition.
144. Meister Eckhart, Prologus generalis in Opus Tripartitum n.2 (Lat. Werke 1:148.5–149.2).
145. Ibid., n.5 (1:151.2–6). 146. Ibid., n.7 (1:152.3–7).
among metaphysical axioms, quaestio and scriptural exegesis in the first arti-
cle of each part: In the Opus propositionum it is the statement, “Esse est Deus”
[“God is being”]; in the Opus quaestionum—the question “Utrum Deus sit”
[“Does God exist?”], and in the area of scriptural exegesis—Genesis 1:1.
The metaphysical foundation of scriptural exegesis is thus clearly under-
scored. The fundamental propositions of metaphysics remain the norm for
the interpretation of Scripture.147
Against the background of the first Parisian quaestio it must appear at first
to be a rupture in Meister Eckhart’s teaching when already in the prologue to
the Opus tripartitum he repeatedly and decidedly insists on the fundamental
proposition: “Esse est Deus.”148 In the first quaestio he had still used “ens” and
“esse” primarily for creaturely things and assigned preeminence to intelligere.
Yet even in that work he already speaks about God as “puritas essendi” [“purity
of being”]. Now, within the framework of Christian Neoplatonic metaphys-
ics, this becomes the prevailing point of view, without which one can neither
prove the existence of God nor carry out Eckhart’s program of a metaphysi-
cal interpretation of Scripture. Methodologically little has changed since the
first quaestiones. We no longer encounter disputations pro and con but rather
theses that are proved by multiple arguments (the shorter arguments being
enumerated). In neo-Platonic conceptual dialectics, in each case the (ab-
stract) fundamental concept is sought first, the concrete thing is then derived
from it and the negative contrary concept is formed as well: being/an existing
thing/nothingness, unity/one/many, truth/a truth/a falsehood, goodness/a
good/an evil; the pattern is not followed through consistently, however.149
The “purity of being” [or: “Pure being”] has now become “esse” [“being”] it-
self as the fundamental definition of the biblical, Christian, and metaphysical
God, whose identity is fundamental for Eckhart. “Esse” or “ens” in the abso-
lute sense should be distinguished from “ens hoc et hoc” [“this or that being”]:
with that, God’s logical otherness is just noted by means of another predicate,
as Eckhart will go on to show with the remaining transcendentals.150 Then,
through the corresponding negative concepts, everything that is not ens in the
proper sense appears as nothing: “praeter esse et sine esse omnia sunt nihil, etiam
facta.” [“Aside from and without being, all things, even those that are made,
147. Ibid., n.11 (1:156.11–14).

148. Ibid., n. 12 (1:156.15); see also Tabula Prologorum n.1 (1:11–12).
149. Ibid., n.4 (1:150.1–151.1); for a philosophical exposition see esp. Schirpenbach, Wirklichkeit.
150. Meister Eckhart, Prologus in Opus propositionum n.1–15 (1:166–76).
are nothing.”]151 Already in the Neoplatonic Liber de causis, the wealth of the
origin is contrasted with the paltriness or “the nothingness” of anything else:
This provides the metaphysical basis of the mystical longing for God, but also
of the personal “Entwerdung” [“un-becoming, being unmade”] that occurs by
emptying oneself and recognizing one’s own nonbeing in comparison with
God’s being.152 The costs of such metaphysical-theological speculation, how-
ever, follow close behind: natural causation and metaphysical participation in
being go their separate ways, but the same is true also of the explanation of na-
ture and metaphysical-theological speculation. Explanation by natural causes
has become theologically dispensable, since the being, unity, truth, and good-
ness of things depend not on natural causes but directly on God.153
On this foundation Eckhart constructed a theology and a mysticism
that even in his day gave offense by the dialectical and (especially in the
German works) misleading way in which they were formulated. On the one
hand his theology emphasizes the absolute preeminence of God, not in his
will and his power, as in the thought of Scotus and his school, but rather
in his being; on the other hand, through direct ontological participation
in God’s being, a close association becomes possible, overcoming of the
chasm between the “nothingness” of the creature and the “Being” of God in
the no longer analogous but univocal ontological relation of God, the Son
of God as image (imago) and “what is divine in the soul.”154 Immediate con-
tact with God and intellectual certain are to be gained along this speculative
path, which proves to be dangerous, however, as demonstrated by the trial
and posthumous condemnation of Eckhart in the Bull “In agro dominico” by
John XXII (1316–1334) dated March 27, 1329.155
2.4 What can we know? William of Ockham

Like Duns Scotus, William of Ockham (1285–1347) provided important
stimuli for the development of fourteenth- and fifteenth-century theology
during a relatively short teaching career (Oxford, ca. 1317–1324), especially
in his consistent application of logical linguistic criticism to the assertions
of theology.156 The theoretical equipment developed in logic and physics to
151. Ibid., n. 22 (1:178.16–17).

152. Ibid., n. 21 (1:178, 10–15).
153. Ibid., n. 24 (1:180.6–181.2); n.25 (1:182.3–6).
154. Idem, In Joh n. 23–24 (3:19–20); see also Ruh, Meister Eckhart, 78–86.
155. See Ruh, Meister Eckhart, 168–87, with bibliography on the Eckhard trial: 204–5.
156. For the certain dates and authentic works see esp. Richter, “Unterwegs . . . Ockham”;
Kraml and Leibold, Wilhelm von Ockham, 6–13, 89–101.
discuss the requirements of a science is immediately brought to bear on the-
ology in the prologue of his Scriptum in I Sent., where he inquires about the
evidence of theological truths in the very first quaestio.157 Theological truths
are in principle statements, propositions; for we do not know things (except
in an intuitive understanding) but really only propositions. “Knowledge”
is used propositionally. Theological truths in the strict sense are the truths
necessary to obtain eternal happiness, whereby Ockham immediately aligns
himself with the practical orientation of Franciscan theology. Among these
theological truths are those which can be known by natural reason as well
(God exists, God is wise, good, etc.), but also purely supernatural truths
(Trinity, Incarnation). The question as to the evidence of theological truths
in general is more far-reaching than the question of their scientific charac-
ter that was formulated in the thirteenth century: How do we go from the
knowledge of the terms of a proposition (insofar as they are referential) to
an insight into the truth of the proposition? This question arises not only
with necessary, scientific statements, but also with contingent proposi-
tions based on immediate intuitive knowledge, for example, “Socrates est
albus” [“Socrates is white”]. If I don’t have Socrates right in front of me, this
proposition does not have the necessary evidence for me. Ockham inquires
therefore into the epistemological status of supernatural theological state-
ments for man, who has no intuitive insight into the truth of God: What
then, if anything, can we know in theology?158 Ockham answers the ques-
tion in one of his typically complex replies, with a discussion of each of the
objections and opinions, so that question 1 expands to fill seventy-two pag-
es of the critical edition:
1. With regard to theological statements, a human being places an act of
perception (apprehensio) and of judgment or assent (judicium) that it is
true. The judgment is partially dependent on one’s experience with these
matters (habitus).
2. The act of judgment presupposes knowledge of the terms of the proposi-
tion (in their significance).
3. Sensory perception alone does not cause the act of judgment (assent
to the truth); there must be additional intellectual (propositional)
knowledge.
157. On this whole subject, see Guelluy, Philosophie; Leff, William of Ockham, 320–98; Leppin,
Geglaubte Wahrheit.
158. William of Ockham, I Sent. prol. q.1, in Guillelmi de Ockham, Opera theologica I, ed.
G. Gál/S. Brown (New York: St. Bonaventure, 1967), 5–7.
4. With respect to the same object, intuitive and abstract knowledge is pos-
sible for man. The two should be separated from each other, even in the
case where God is the object.
5. Man on his earthly pilgrimage can have an abstract knowledge of God. In
contingent matters, however, abstract knowledge does not convey com-
plete certainty about existence or nonexistence, since it does not directly
presuppose them. The ultimate foundation of certainty remains the im-
mediate, intuitive knowledge of the terms insofar as they are referential.
6. Normally we human beings on our earthly pilgrimage have no intui-
tive knowledge of God, yet such knowledge is possible de potentia dei
absoluta [by God’s absolute power]. It is independent of abstract knowl-
edge. In this way homo viator [man the wayfarer] can arrive at a distinct
knowledge of God, which nonetheless does not remove all doubts.
7. De potentia absoluta God can grant to man on his earthly pilgrimage an
evident knowledge of many theological truths, but not of others, espe-
cially not of contingent and future statements: “God has assumed flesh,”
“There will be a resurrection of the dead,” “The holy soul will come to
share in eternal happiness.” Evident knowledge of statements about salva-
tion history and of those derived from it is therefore ruled out.159
The certainty of a theology of salvation history in its fundamental state-
ments therefore rests at most upon an abstract knowledge (and assent),
which cannot remove the decisive doubt as to whether that is really the
case. Recourse to a certainty of faith, however, is meaningless for the cer-
tainty of theology, since Ockham explicitly separates theology and faith. The
theologian can be a believer, but need not be: the figure of the personally
nonbelieving or heretical theologian appears.160 The question then aris-
es: What additional knowledge does a human being acquire through the
knowledge of theological truths? Can theology broaden his knowledge? In
the case of a believer, his faith (fides adquisita) is surely deepened thereby.
In the case of a non-believer or a heretic, however, theological knowledge
contributes nothing at all to his faith. Every student of theology, of course,
acquires knowledge about many things that do not belong to other sci-
ences. At the very least he learns them simply in the way of comprehension
(actus apprehensivus, for example, hearing and learning by heart), regardless
of whether they are technical terms, articles of faith or scientifically proved
159. Ibid., q.1 (1:15–51).

160. Ibid., q.7 (1:196–99).
conclusions. Thus equipped, the theologian can do everything that there is
to do in theology: preach, teach, reaffirm, etc., except believe. Nothing more
is required for theology than to learn theological truths and to master the
techniques of logic. Nevertheless, as a whole it cannot be described either
as knowledge in the strict sense nor as a science in the Aristotelian sense,
because assent to the truths of faith is possible only in faith. Faith and evi-
dent knowledge, however, cannot be united. Yet theology can contain state-
ments that are proved rigorously and thus can be regarded as scientific; for
science [“knowledge of a thing”] in the strict sense refers to the individual
demonstrated conclusion; only in the sense of an orderly classification can
physics as a whole, for example, be regarded as science.161 Much less can
theology as a whole claim the honorary title of wisdom, since evidence is
indispensable for that. Nevertheless, if a theologian had a knowledge that
enabled him to defend and confirm the faith with evidence, he would pos-
sess wisdom. In the natural course of things, however, that is impossible.
Scientific technique cannot disguise the fundamental uncertainty of theol-
ogy, due to its lack of evidence, or the uncertainty of the theologian with re-
spect to the presuppositions of his faith. Therefore a careful examination of
the degree of evidence of the individual theological statement is required.
This examination becomes urgent in the case of statements that affect
man’s life insofar as it is ordered to its final goal, especially with regard to
God’s freedom and the contingency of his salvific work, which in his ab-
solute power could have been different from what was in fact decreed de
potentia ordinata.162 When, for instance, are my actions justified in God’s
sight; when am I (as sinner) accepted by God?163 In theses that sounded
harsh to his contemporaries, namely the Oxford Chancellor John Lutterell
(† 1335), who initiated his trial in Avignon (1324),164 Ockham expounds the
nonnecessity of all created causes (or forms) for acceptance by God: God
in and of himself is free to grant eternal life to whomever and for whatever
reason he wills; his will (love, hatred) alone decides, not some necessary
dispositions (forma, habitus, caritas) on the part of the human being. The
presence of grace and meritorious acts, therefore, says nothing per se about
whether a human being is accepted by God and destined for eternal life.
161. See Leinsle, “Einheit der Wissenschaft.”

162. See Bannach, Lehre; Schröcker, Verhältnis, 25–87.
163. William of Ockham, I Sent. d.17 q.1 (Op. theol. 3:440–466); see also Dettloff, Entwicklung,
253–90.
164. See Hoffmann, Johannes Lutterell.
Ockham certainly does, however, maintain that they, along with the sac-
raments (baptism), are in fact necessary de potentia ordinata [by virtue of
God’s ordinances].165 There is clearly a discrepancy between this factual
necessity in the contingent order of salvation and the absolutely free will
of God. A question like this can, however, be resolved and understood
in human terms on the basis of the principle of contradiction. Thus, for-
mally speaking, it is not a contradiction to say “Act X is meritorious” and
“Act X is not informed by a supernatural habitus,” because the reason for
the first statement is not some natural or supernatural habitus (e.g., vir-
tue, grace, faith). The meritoriousness of our actions is therefore not based
on our good qualities or on some other created cause (e.g., habitual grace)
but solely on God’s actual, voluntary and free bestowal of grace: the accep-
tance of my actions as merit with respect to eternal life. In his action, God
in and of himself is free and not dependent on created causes. Therefore in
and of himself he can also reject an act performed with the help of grace and
accept a purely natural act as meritorious. In principle, therefore, meritori-
ous action does not exceed human potential.166 As human acts, both kinds
of acts are within the realm of human possibility, but with respect to their
meritoriousness and consequently their value in God’s sight, both are left
to God’s discretion. Two divergent practical consequences result from this
teaching:
1. t he effort and obligation to do something for one’s own salvation: late
medieval devotion to works and the multiplication of pious practices;
2. t he fundamental uncertainty as to whether everything that I do is suf-
ficient for my salvation in God’s sight or contributes anything at all, and
thus the existential uncertainty: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”
(Mark 10:17).
Given God’s freedom and the contingency of the order of salvation,
theology, being uncertain knowledge without definitive evidence, cannot
answer the question unequivocally in a way that would remove all doubts.
From the perspective of the theory of science, and also existentially, theo-
logical optimism is not justified.
165. Ockham, I Sent. d. 17 q.1 (3:452.6–13); see also Dettloff, Entwicklung, 263.
166. Ockham, I Sent. d.17 q.2 (3:471–72); this would then be misunderstood as “Pelagianism”;
see also Leppin, Theologie, 142–43.
2.5 Propositional logic of the faith: Robert Holcot

The current of theological linguistic criticism inaugurated by Ockham
soon burst through the hard and fast boundaries between schools of thought
and crossed over to other religious orders. Previously the Dominican Durand
of Saint Pourçain (ca. 1275–1334) had already turned aside from the Thomism
of his order.167 In the Dominican Order we find Ockhamistic thought criti-
cally accepted in the work of Robert Holcot († 1349), who lectured on the
Sentences in Oxford from 1330–1332 and in 1334 became a master of theology.
Holcot combined an academic career with pastoral work (preaching), which
lends color particularly to his scriptural commentaries.168
As Francis of Meyronnes and Ockham did before him, Holcot poses
the question: What logic is satisfied by statements of faith and of theology,
if certain knowledge generally cannot be obtained in theology? Therefore
Holcot clearly distinguishes between scientific-Aristotelian logic and a
“logica fidei,” which nevertheless should not be dismissed as “irrationalism”
or “fideism”; for Holcot intends thereby to assure the rationality of assent
given in faith to an unproved truth and to remove it from the realm of a
sheer willful decision with regard to eternal life.169 To do that, he must first
distinguish between the natural act of faith and the supernatural act of faith
proceeding from the habit or virtue of faith. The natural act of faith is not
a matter of sheer will, but rather depends on the degree of insight into the
unproved statement that is supposed to be believed; for the truths of faith,
strictly speaking, are for Holcot not “supra rationem” [“transcending rea-
son”] but rather “contra rationem” [“contrary to reason”]: they are opposed
to conventional Aristotelian logic.170 This however does not exempt the as-
sent of faith from investigating the object of faith and reasoning intellectual-
ly about it.171 In his Conferentiae, Holcot once again expressly delineates his
understanding of the act of faith in contrast to the opinion of Crathorn and
the Franciscan Walter of Chatton († ca. 1344).172 Here he refers to the per-
167. See Dettloff, Entwicklung, 107–28.

168. See esp. Hoffmann, Methode; Hoffmann, Ockham-Rezeption, 85–94; Smalley, English Fri-
ars, 133–202; on the Scriptural commentaries, see Smalley, “Robert Holcot.”
169. Robert Holcot, I Sent. q.1 (Opus quaestionum ac determinationum super libros Sententiarum,
Lyon, 1497, a II rb 19–34); see also Hoffmann, Methode, 33.
170. See Lang, Glaubensbegründung, 159–65; corrected by Hoffmann, Methode, 175–77.
171. Holcot I Sent. q.1 a.6 (f. a V rb 47–va 11); see also Hoffmann, Methode, 179–82; citation at
179, n. 36.
172. Holcot, Conferentiae a.2 (Ed. Hoffmann, Conferentiae, 82–104).
sonal experience of every human being: If two contradictory propositions
seem equally dubious to me, I need additional knowledge that will provide
me with sufficient certainty to assent to one of the two. If on the other hand
the truth of a statement is established, for the “intellectualist” Holcot as-
sent is no longer a matter of the will but rather a necessity of reason. How-
ever, a doubtful proposition never becomes true or certain through an act
of will.173
In principle, however, the object of faith consists of propositions, state-
ments, and not the (ontological) things or matters (res significatae) desig-
nated by the propositions.174 Faith is therefore just as propositional as
knowledge:
By the object of faith I mean only that which is designated as being believed, and
by the object of cognition I mean only that which is designated as being known.
And because strictly speaking no thing that exists outside the mind is designated
as being known—for example, I do not know the stone, but rather the fact that the
stone is heavy; so it is known by me that the stone is heavy; and the verb “is known,”
as well as the participles “known” or “believed,” are predicated not of something
simple but rather of a complex that is variously formulated—this is why we say that
only the complex is the object of the act of faith.175
The act of assenting to faith occurs with reference not to a “res” [thing]
outside the mind, but rather to a proposition whose terms, however, signify
(in personal supposition) and thus stand for the thing and do not just have
a purely grammatical or logical meaning. The truth of the proposition is for
Holcot the “res significata,” not an intentional or mental object (complexum
significatum), as Crathorn and Gregory of Rimini claim.176 The material
truth of faith statements and theological propositions is consequently as-
sured with regard to their extension. It is dependent on the use of the terms
in the proposition as signifiers, that is, they are true if the terms really do
designate what they mean, and consequently a corresponding res outside
the mind can be produced for which they stand. This is not the case, for
example, in Anselm’s proof of the existence of God; here it would be nec-
essary first to prove that “istud quo majus cogitari nequit” [“that thing than
which nothing greater can be thought”] can be used as a signifier [i.e., with
173. Ibid., a.2 (91.2–18).
174. See Hoffmann, Methode, 211–16 (with literary-critical emendations of the incunabulum
text); see also Perler, Wahrheitsbegriff.
175. Translated from the German version by Hoffmann, Methode, 216; see also Hoffmann,
“Satz,” 300.
176. See Crathorn, I Sent q.2, ed. Hoffmann, Crathorn, 152–205; Holcot, Conferentiae a.1 (67–82).
a real, objective referent].177 The verification of theological statements now
becomes the decisive problem. This cannot be accomplished by means of a
proof that immediately entails knowledge, but rather is a matter of faith and
its own logic. That is why “God is,” meaning the result of a philosophical
proof, is something different from a faith statement; the philosophical proof
does not attain the object of the Catholic faith, since the concept “god” for
the philosopher or the pagan is different from the Catholic’s concept. We
are dealing therefore with an equivocation which rules out all proof and in-
deed requires a special “logic of faith” in order to assure theological state-
ments.178
This logic is required precisely in those situations where statements
about God necessarily involve an appraisal of his freedom or man’s free-
dom, that is, with (future) contingent statements—another point disputed
by Holcot and Crathorn.179 Statements about the future have no definite
truth-value; contingent statements are not demonstrable. If we maintain
both God’s freedom and his omniscience, then statements about future
contingent matters are necessarily either true or false, as statements, but not
at the same time nor successively. Consequently, in view of the freedom of
God and of man, there must be statements which are true and yet in an-
other respect false, for example, “Socrates (or this man) will go to heaven.”
For that depends both on God’s freedom and also on the freedom of that
man. But what is true today cannot be false tomorrow, except for predic-
tions of contingent events which as future statements are falsified by the ac-
tual occurrence, for example, “The soul of the Antichrist will be created,” or
“The day of judgment will take place.” Once the event takes place, the state-
ment in its future form can no longer be made and is thus false. Now since
such contingent future statements can be the object of revelation, Holcot
accepts, for purely logical reasons, the possibility that such statements can
be falsified even when they are found in the Bible, and therefore admits the
possibility of a faith in statements that are possibly false, even in the case of
the “anima Christi.” This leads to “objectionable” theological formulations:
“God can deceive. The soul of Christ was capable of being deceived. Sacred
Scripture can be false. A false faith can be meritorious.”180
177. Holcot, Quodlibet; cited in Hoffmann, “Satz,” 302, nn 23–24.

178. Holcot, I Sent q.4 (f. d VII vb 7–14); see also Hoffmann, “Satz,” 302–3.
179. See Hoffmann, Methode, 36–40, 279–379.
180. Holcot, II Sent. a.2 a.9 (f. h VI vb 22–39; h VI vb 55–VII ra 10); vgl. Hoffmann, Methode,
37, 392.
In his theology Holcot maintains the freedom of man with at least the
same intensity as God’s freedom, starting with the question about the free-
dom of the act of faith. Just as theology has individual propositions as its
object, so too, man’s behavior is to be observed and judged in individual
acts. The vocabulary used reflects this: Holcot no longer speaks primarily
about the [faculty of] will (voluntas) but rather about the individual act
of will (velle) and its (propositional) object. There is a remarkably strong
emphasis on man’s natural powers and rational arguments, which is why
Thomas Bradwardine numbers Holcot among the “Pelagiani moderni.”181
Precisely in ethical questions, however, these rational arguments are aimed
at a More or Less, for example, in Holcot’s hypothesis that there is a natural
love of God:
Anything that the human intellect can consider supremely lovable, [man] can also
love above all things, and this by his natural powers, because he is completely and
utterly master of his voluntary decisions. . . . God should be loved above all things.
God should be loved more than Plato, than Socrates, etc., because He is better (and
consequently more lovable) than Plato, than Socrates, etc.182
Furthermore, man by his natural powers can will that God (and not
something else) should be God.183 Thereby, however, he places an act of su-
preme benevolence toward God. Holcot agrees with Bradwardine, though,
in a purely logical way, that God can also be the efficient cause of man’s sin-
ful acts, and of the act of faith, too, which then however would no longer be
an act of assent. Holcot, in any case, restricts this causality to God’s “volun-
tas beneplaciti” [“permissive will”] and thus rejects any direct command of
sin by God (“voluntas signi”).184 The technique used in the discussion here,
as always, is propositional logic, with all its possibilities for analyzing falla-
cies, especially through the perennial distinction between the proper and
improper use of language (modus loquendi vs. forma loquendi), so as to guar-
antee theological statements in their truth value as well.185 The latter are
still dependent on Scripture but likewise on the logical proof of their truth
or credibility.
181. See Leff, Bradwardine.

182. Holcot I Sent. q.4 (fol. d III ra48–rb28); see also Hoffmann, Methode, 58–59.
183. Luther would later argue for precisely the opposite thesis.
184. Holcot, II Sent. q.1 (fol. f VIII ra1–b18); see also Hoffmann, Methode, 40–44; on Ockham
see also Schröcker, Verhältnis, 126–42.
185. See Hoffmann, Methode, 71–77 (applied also to the example of Eucharistic doctrine: tran-
substantiation or annihilation).
2.6 What can we do? Gregory of Rimini

The question as to the meritoriousness of our actions ex puris naturali-
bus [by our unaided natural faculties] that had been raised by Duns Sco-
tus, Ockham, and their students, among others, was answered by the Au-
gustine Recollect Gregory of Rimini († 1358) in his revival of Augustine’s
anti-Pelagian teaching on grace.186 His predecessor in this endeavor in the
via antiqua was Thomas Bradwardine († 1349). Gregory, however, followed
the via moderna. He lectured on the Sentences in Paris in 1343–1344 and was
promoted to the degree of magister as early as 1345, contrary to the regula-
tions of his order.187 His quaestiones on II Sent. d. 26–29, which are crucial
for this debate, are overloaded to an otherwise unusual extent with citations
from Augustine, along with passages from Pelagius. Gregory intends there-
by to secure his teaching historically as well. His opponents, the “Pelagiani
moderni,” are Duns Scotus, Ockham and Adam Woodham. To them can be
attributed historically, at worst, a kind of Semipelagianism—a term that was
not yet available in the fourteenth century, though. In Gregory’s writings
they appear as “super-Pelagians” who err more seriously than Pelagius him-
self by attributing too much to our powers and too little to God’s grace.188
That is the crux of the debate: With respect to a God who is omnipotent
and free, what can man do by his own power? Can he comply at all with
God’s will? What happens to man’s autonomy and self-assertiveness (free-
dom) vis-à-vis this God? Gregory conducts his debate with his opponents
by means of citations from Augustine,189 but he is basically addressing the
problem of “modern,” late medieval man, who realizes that in his subjectivi-
ty he is confronted with God’s action. To a great extent Gregory agrees with
Ockham in the nominalist presuppositions of his teaching on human action
and grace, and its pointedness follows as a consequence precisely from this:
In this regard we cannot observe man in his habitual disposition, but rather
his individual actual deed. Likewise God’s actual “auxilium speciale” [“spe-
cial assistance”] is necessary for these individual acts; God’s “influentia gene-
ralis” on man’s life is of as little use here as an habitual grace.190
186. See Burger, “Augustinschüler.” 187. See Marcolino, “Augustinertheologe.”
188. Gregory of Rimini, II Sent. d.26–28 q.1 a.2, in Gregorii Ariminensis OESA Lectura super
Primum et Secundum Sententiarum, A. D. Trapp and V. Marcolino, eds. (Spätmittelalter und Ref-
ormation 6–12), vol. VI (Berlin-New York: 1980), 59.34–35; see also the Foreword, vol. VI, vi–vii.
189. For a list of the citations from the anti-Pelagian writings in II Sent. d. 26–29, see Burger,
“Auxilium speciale,” 225.
190. Gregory of Rimini, II Sent. d.26–28 a.1, a.3 (6:77, 7–12); see also Burger, “Auxilium spe-
ciale,” 220–22.
Gregory’s quaestiones, which sometimes are quite elaborate with mul-
tiple subdivisions,191 are remarkable in the first place for their precise fram-
ing of the questions. The description of man’s condition (before or after the
fall) is assumed; at issue is the kind of influence that God chooses to exer-
cise upon human action:
d.26–28 q. 1: “Whether man in his present condition—assuming God’s general in-
fluence—can perform any morally good act by his free will and his natural endow-
ments without the special help of God’s grace.”
d.26–28 q. 2: “Whether man in his present condition can avoid any sin whatsoever
by his natural powers without the special help of God’s grace.”
d.29 q. un.: “Whether man before he committed sin was capable, by his free will and
the powers of his nature, without further help from God, to accomplish any morally
good or truly righteous or virtuous act.”
One expects precise questions to have equally precise answers, which

Gregory does give in his conclusions and proves in separate steps:
1. No human being in his condition after the Fall—under the effect of
God’s general influence—can accomplish any morally good act without
the special help of God.
2. N o human being in his condition after the Fall—under the effect of
God’s general influence—can discern adequately, without God’s special
help in matters of morality, what should be willed or not willed, what
should be done or avoided.
3. No human being in his condition after the Fall—given the operation of
God’s general influence—can will or act accordingly without God’s spe-
cial help, not even if he had the adequate discernment described in (2).192
4. No sinful, free human being in the present state can avoid any actual sin
whatsoever without God’s special help.
5. No sinful, free human being in the present state can or could avoid even
one of his sins without God’s special help.193
6. No human being habitually possessing gratia gratum faciens [i.e., in the
state of sanctifying grace] (therefore a justus in the technical sense) can
avoid any actual sin whatsoever without God’s special help.
7. No human being habitually possessing gratia gratum faciens can avoid
even one of his sins without God’s special help.194
191. See Burger, “Auxilium speciale,” 201–5.

192. Gregory of Rimini, II Sent. d.26–29 q.1 a.1 (6:24.10–19).
193. Ibid., q.2 a.1 (6:88.25–89, 10). 194. Ibid., a.2 (102.3–5; 104.8–9).
8. Before the Fall, the first man, Adam, was not capable of performing any
good act by his own powers without the help of God’s general influence.
9. By his natural powers alone, supported by God’s general influence, Adam
before the Fall was not capable of performing any morally good or truly
virtuous act; rather, he needed additional special help from God, above
and beyond the conditions mentioned previously.
10. B efore he had committed sin, Adam was able, by his free will and natu-
ral powers and with the additional help of grace (over and above God’s
general influence) to perform a morally good act without the further
special help of God.195
The picture that Gregory draws of the ability, will and action of a human
being after the fall presupposes at all points the necessity of the exercise of
God’s influence through actual grace in the special case. As a matter of prin-
ciple, a human being after the fall is incapable of withstanding a temptation
without the special help of God’s grace, but also of fulfilling God’s com-
mands; indeed, in principle he is no more capable of willing the good than
the devil.196 To begin with, a morally good act requires that one comply
with God’s commands for God’s sake and not for some other purpose. This
presupposes loving God for his own sake; this is no longer possible after the
fall, unless God himself bestows this ability upon man anew. According to
Augustine, however, every act that does not originate in this way from the
love of God for his own sake is morally bad. Therefore among the pagans,
too, there are no morally good acts performed by natural powers.197
The moral quality of an act should be strictly distinguished from its
meritoriousness and acceptance unto eternal life, which is discussed in
I Sent. d.17 q.1.198 A moral act becomes meritorious only through God’s ac-
ceptance of it unto eternal life; he does this freely as a matter of principle,
however, most importantly de potentia dei absoluta, as Gregory maintains in
three conclusions:
1. De potentia dei absoluta someone can be in God’s grace and accepted
without the habit of infused charity (the love of God).
2. On the other hand someone who does have this habitus may not be ac-
cepted by God for eternal life.
195. II Sent d.29 q. un. a.1 (116.18–20; 117.18–21; 130.12–15).

196. II Sent. d.26–28 q.1 a.1 (25.1–2; 26.8–12; 28.13–14).
197. See Burger, “Auxilium speciale,” 207–11.
198. Gregory of Rimini, I Sent. d.17 q.1 (2:215–249); see also Dettloff, Entwicklung, 313–21.
3. A
human being can love God meritoriously without this habit of grace;
for the sole basis of the meritoriousness is God’s acceptance.199
Thus to infer that a morally good act, which itself becomes good only
through the help of a special grace of God, is automatically meritorious
(valuable with respect to eternal salvation) is per se an invalid conclusion.
The acuity of Gregory’s logical argument is evident precisely in his reasons
for the second thesis: the habitual love of God (caritas) and eternal happi-
ness are two created entities which in and of themselves are not so necessarily
connected that one could not exist without the other. Therefore it is logi-
cally conceivable, and furthermore possible de potentia absoluta, that God
might not accept for eternal life a human being who possesses the habitual
love of God, or might take the state of happiness away from him after a time
and leave him with the caritas alone.200 God is free, in principle, to give one
of those gifts without the other; and both are gifts, not merited by man. For
no act by a human being, whether performed for the love of God or without
it, is meritorious in and of itself in such a way that God would have to accept
it as valuable unto eternal life. It is rather a “gratuita ordinatio divina” [“gra-
tuitous divine decree”], which is based on his free will.201 We can abide by
this decree, however, trusting that God does not change what he has freely
ordained. What can we do, then? By our natural powers, we can only sin,
but with the help of God’s special grace we can do good deeds, act meritori-
ously through his free acceptance thereof, and attain eternal life. Gregory’s
solution, modeled on Augustine’s anti-Pelagianism, would become impor-
tant for Luther, who praised Gregory as the one who had dared in Paris “Au-
gustinum producere et Sophistis opponere in hac materia” [“to promote Augus-
tine and to oppose the Sophists in this matter”].202
2.7 God’s knowledge and human freedom: Marsilius of Inghen

Whereas man’s knowledge is rendered uncertain with regard to divine
freedom, on the other hand the question arises: what about God’s knowl-
edge with regard to human freedom? What do we know theologically about
God’s knowledge concerning the free, contingent, future actions of man? The
question of futura contingentia,203 which was the subject of a lively discussion
199. I Sent. d.17 q.1 a.2 (2:222, 5–10); see also Dettloff, Entwicklung, 317.
200. I Sent. d.17 q.1 a.1 (2:234.23–235.21). 201. Ibid. (245.24–31).
202. WA Br 12.387.16–20.
203. For the debates at the University of Louvain/Leuven, see Baudry, Querelle des futurs contin-
gents; for a history of the problem: Craig, Problem of Divine Foreknowing; Schwamm, Vorherwissen.
in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and was thoroughly debated even
in difficult university disputations, is in modern dress the question as to ab-
solute knowledge even of future and contingent things: How will the course
of the world continue? As an example of the medieval discussion, which was
carried on not only at the universities but also by every “muliercula vel etiam
laica persona” [“common woman or even lay person”],204 we present here
Marsilius of Inghen (ca. 1330–1396), a professor in Paris and Heidelberg, who
studied in Paris (theology beginning in 1366) together with Geert Groote,
the founder of devotio moderna, and kept in contact with Heinrich Totting of
Oyta. From 1386 on he taught the artes at the new University of Heidelberg,
and he held the office of rector there from 1386–1392 and in 1396. Not until
1396 was he promoted in Heidelberg to the degree of doctor of theology, but
he died that same year.205 His Quaestiones super Quattuor libros Sententiarum,
which were influenced by Ockham, Adam Woodham and Gregory of Rimi-
ni, were composed in Heidelberg in the years 1392–1394 and grapple with the
problem in a logically precise manner. Every quaestio is subdivided accord-
ing to its premises (suppositiones) and conclusions, which in turn are proved
individually with many arguments.206
Even his way of framing the questions is oriented to the propositional
understanding of truth: Can the following propositions be true simultane-
ously, or are they contradictory?
I. Divine foreknowledge infallibly knows everything beforehand.
II. There are consequences that are produced contingently and freely.207
Marsilius maintains both presuppositions in faith, both God’s compre-
hensive foreknowledge and also the contingency of future, freely willed
events. Accordingly, the first proposition is proved very briefly in article 1:208
1. God knows in advance everything in the future.
2. God’s foreknowledge is absolutely infallible with regard to future events.
3. A
lthough most contingent future events depend on a created, free will,
they are infallibly known by God in advance.
204. Marsilius of Inghen, I Sent. q. 40; ed. Hoenen, Marsilius van Inghen, 2:71.
205. See Hoenen, Marsilius of Inghen, 7–11.
206. Ibid., 19–22; on the sources see also Santos Noya, “Auctoritates theologicae.”—Published
works: Questiones Marsilii super quattuor libros sententiarum (Strasbourg, 1501; reprinted Frankfurt,
1966).
207. Marsilius van Inghen, I Sent. q. 40 (ed. Hoenen, 2:61–113).
208. Ibid., a.1 (2:73–74).
But now what is the relation between this comprehensive foreknowledge
of God and the contingency of created things and the freedom of human will
that are emphasized at all points by Ockham?209 God’s knowledge, however,
being knowledge, is propositional. It refers to circumstances as the referential
objects of propositions (complexe enuntiabile), not to things.210 There must be
contingent future circumstances, if theological discourse about sin is to retain
its meaning; for sin is in principle a free human act. The prime example is the
Antichrist (a future figure), according to Daniel 11:36–37 and 2 Thessalonians
2:4. Now given that he will demand to be worshiped as God, there are in prin-
ciple three possible ways of explaining this:
1. The Antichrist acts freely, and this action is sin.
2. The Antichrist acts out of necessity and therefore does not sin. If God
then punishes him with eternal damnation, however, he is acting unjustly.
3. The Antichrist acts out of necessity and necessarily sins; he is damned
justly “ex natura rerum” [“by the nature of things”]. This answer (given by
Robert Holcot), however, makes God the “principalis actor” of sin and is
therefore just as unacceptable as (2).
Therefore only possibility (1) is theologically acceptable, and this re-
sults in a typical formulation of contingent future statements and of divine
knowledge about them:
(a) The Antichrist will sin at a point in time a, and
(b) The Antichrist is capable of not sinning at the same time a.
These two propositions are combined as:
(a–b) The Antichrist will sin contingently at the point in time a.
(c) God knows infallibly that the Antichrist will sin at the point in
time a.211
God’s foreknowledge and the contingent future are therefore not con-
tradictory, as one might assume. God’s knowledge implies also the mode in
which circumstances come to be, and thus also the contingency of future
circumstances. Yet Marsilius goes beyond that by making this knowledge
of God to be itself a contingent knowledge, and thus declares the mode of
what is known to be a mode of the knowledge: God himself does not know
necessarily, but rather only contingently what I will do in the future; but if
209. See Perler, “Notwendigkeit und Kontingenz”; Beckmann, “Weltkontingenz.”
211. Marsilius van Inghen, I Sent. q.40 a.2 (ed. Hoenen 2:75–82).
he knows it contingently, then also temporally. Therefore it is possible that
at a point in time a, he did not know it. God’s knowledge is therefore not
a knowledge about eternal, unchangeable ideas and their necessary conse-
quences in the world, as Marsilius maintains, clearly criticizing the via an-
tiqua (Thomas Bradwardine). The room for human freedom is therefore
expanded, so that even God’s knowledge is thereby restricted, at least in
its mode. Truth, considered in purely logical terms, implies not necessity
but rather facticity: The proposition “God knows (from all eternity) that p
will be the case at time t” does not imply the necessary occurrence of p at t.
Consequently, p can also not occur. God, however, could never have known
this latter proposition also, that p will not occur at t. Similarly, Marsilius at-
tempts to find a way out of the dilemma between the immutability of God’s
foreknowledge and the mutability of the future, again by tranferring the
mode of what is known to the mode of the knowledge. He plainly criticizes
our temporal notions of God’s foreknowledge as a procedure that is already
concluded and past. Instead one must speak about it in the present tense:
God knows (simultaneously) that p; this is compatible, however, with the
proposition: God did not know in advance that p, since in his knowledge it
is not determined in what way God himself or the human being will freely
decide. Therefore we should not think about the truth of the future accord-
ing to the model of historical truth. Statements about the past are true or
false in a determinate way. Statements whose truth-value still depends on
the influence of other potential circumstances are true only indeterminate-
ly.212 Thus not all truth should be interpreted according to the model of fac-
tual truth.
Furthermore God’s nonknowledge with regard to futura continentia re-
fers only to the scientia visionis, the immediate, intuitive knowledge of real-
ity, not to the “notitia simplicis notitiae vel apprehensionis” [“the knowledge
of simple cognizance or apprehension”] in which God knows all possible
circumstances. Thus it goes without saying that he knows that a contingent
future circumstance is possible. Thus in God there is simultaneously [1] nec-
essary cognizance [Kenntnis] of everything that is possible and [2] contin-
gent knowledge [Erkenntnis] of individual contingent events, dependent
on the free decision of the creature.213 A causal connection between fore-
knowledge and freedom, however, is ruled out entirely. Knowledge exerts

213. Marsilius of Inghen, I Sent. q.40 a.2 (ed. Hoenen 2:82–83).
no causal influence on the occurrence or non-occurrence of the known cir-
cumstance. In keeping with this fundamental decision, individual formula-
tions related to this set of problems are discussed semantically, along the
lines of theological linguistic criticism, as to their truth or admissibility in
theologicis [in theological discourse].214
Marsilius settles the last part of the quaestio only with an explicit pro-
viso: the simultaneous possibility of the infallible and all-encompassing
foreknowledge of God and a contingent future is for him incomprehensible
and utterly inexplicable. Nevertheless he will attempt it haltingly (balbutien-
do).215 The reason that they are reconcilable appears to be the quantitative
immensity of God. Another decisive factor is the realistic and at the same
time voluntaristic understanding of the divine ideas as the cognitive form,
original image and possible choices of the artist as he executes his work.216
God’s knowledge comprises everything possible, but his realizing will is se-
lective. The foundation of this willing is not his knowledge about the mere
possibility, but rather God’s positive disposition (scientia dispositionis, bene-
placiti). The latter, however, can as a matter of principle extend only to what
is good. The problem of theodicy can therefore be charged only to the ac-
count of man, whom God with his utmost skill created as a free being. Cor-
responding to the “immensitas” of God’s power there is an immense knowl-
edge, in which God, notwithstanding human freedom, eternally knows also
the circumstances of the creature’s free-will decision. This knowledge of
present and future circumstances is itself contingent.
Understanding must ultimately bow to faith, see through inadequate
temporal notions and in any case rule out a temporal change of God in his
knowledge.217 In view of God’s immensity and the autonomy of freedom
and its power to shape the future, human theorizing about God’s knowl-
edge, which has grown clever through linguistic and epistemological criti-
cism, has no suitable expression left except stammering.
2.8 How do I find a gracious God? Gabriel Biel

The anti-Pelagian doctrine in the writings of Gregory of Rimini, Ock-
ham’s theory which relativizes God’s free dispositions and secondary causes
as opposed to the first cause, and Marsilius’ more modest knowledge and
214. Ibid., 2:84–92.

215. Ibid., 2:92.
216. I Sent. q.1 a.1 (ed. Strasbourg f.3vb); see also Hoenen, Marsilius of Inghen, 153–54.
217. Marsilius of Inghen, I Sent. q.40 a.2 (ed. Hoenen 98–99).
discourse about divine things, taken together as a whole, form the back-
ground of the late Medieval search for theological certainty about one’s
own salvation.218 The most important figure connecting Ockham to Lu-
ther, besides Gregory of Rimini, was Gabriel Biel (ca. 1410–1495), in whom
we see at the same time a combination of devotio moderna and university
theology in Tübingen.219 The question, “What must I do to inherit eternal
life?” (Mark 10:17), or “How do I go about finding a gracious God?” is for
Biel, from the perspective of fallen man who nevertheless is not deprived
of his freedom, initially—de potentia ordinata—a question of the right dis-
position, and therefore an utterly practical, moral question. Here the rudi-
mentary level of our knowledge about God and his will should be borne in
mind.220 The decisive thing is that the human being should first do what he
can (facere quod in se est) so as to present himself disposed to receive grace.
This formula, however, states neither the measure nor the specific substance
of what the human being has to do.221 This disposition therefore cannot be
equated with a natural morality; that is, not every human being who acts
morally is thereby already disposed to grace; rather, he must do his best ac-
cording to his knowledge. He does this, negatively speaking, by removing
every obstacle to grace, and positively by striving (bonus motus) after God
as his origin and destination. God, de potentia ordinata, accepts such a dou-
ble act in his generosity as a prerequisite for grace.222
The pagan or unbeliever attains [this necessary] disposition by follow-
ing his reason and yearning with all his heart for greater enlightenment in his
knowledge of truth, justice and the good. The believer, in contrast, knows
more about God and has the regula fidei [rule of faith], by which he must
abide primarily. He knows, even if he is in the state of mortal sin and pos-
sesses only a fides informis [unformed faith], that God in his justice punishes
sinners and in his mercy leads the elect to salvation. Therefore believers are
obliged to have a loathing for sin and to obey God and his commandments.
The moral obligation is a prerequisite for grace: I must, in certain cases, do
something difficult in order to obtain in the first place the grace that enables
me to act meritoriously as a Christian. On the other hand, God in his ordi-
218. See Grosse, Heilsungewissheit, 35–44.

219. See esp. Oberman, Herbst passim; Grane, Contra Gabrielem; concerning the Vita Crusius,
see Gabriel Biel.
220. On the prehistory [of this problem] in high Scholasticism, see also Hamm, Promissio.
221. Gabriel Biel, II Sent. d.27 q.un. concl.4, in: Collectorium circa quattuor libros Sententiarum,
ed. W. Werbeck—U. Hofmann (Tübingen, 1984), 2:517–18. See Grane, Contra Gabrielem, 214–22.
222. Biel, II Sent. d. 27 q.un. concl.4 (2.517.3–10).
natio has bound himself to do his part: He has obliged himself to give his
grace to everyone who has done his best.223 A human being can therefore—
de potentia ordinata—depend on this and also rely on his God and make
claims upon him within certain limits, yet he can never be sure that he him-
self has already done his best. For he has to love God above all things and
purely for God’s sake. Gabriel Biel considers such a love as possible ex puris
naturalibus, thus even without grace. At any rate we never know precisely
whether the extent of our love of God has met the standard “super omnia”
and thus is already sufficient as a disposition, according to which God in his
justice must give us grace. Indeed, the exact quantity of the “price” of grace
is known to God alone. We just know that in the case of a sufficient disposi-
tion, God “certissime” [“most certainly”] bestows grace, but ultimately we
never know whether our actions are really sufficient.224
In any case we may still have a cognitio conjecturalis, that is, be able to
surmise our situation from fallible signs. Biel cites Alexander of Hales in
listing such indications that we possess grace: light, joy, and peace (see
Psalm 4:6–8). He then adds further symptoms mentioned by John Ger-
son and other authors. Symptoms, however, can be ambiguous and are not
sufficiently evident (apart from a special revelation) to guarantee certain
knowledge. They can likewise be due to demonic deception. The same goes
for the knowledge that one does not want to resist grace through a mortal
sin and [therefore] wishes to receive the sacrament of Penance. For Biel,
however, the absolution of the priest is only the sign (proclamation) of the
forgiveness by God that has already taken place through perfect contrition.
For this, however, the minimal requirement assumed by Duns Scotus—re-
moval of the obstacles (mortal sins)—does not suffice; it must be accom-
panied, rather, by the love of God “propter deum, super omnia” [“above all
things, for God’s sake”].225
But how can a human being love God in this way, without first being
enabled to do so by grace? Explicitly citing Duns Scotus, Ockham, and Pe-
ter of Ailly, Biel explains this ability ex puris naturalibus [by man’s natural,
unaided powers] in terms of free will and the dependence of the individual
act of will upon recta ratio [right reason]. To love God above all things is a
precept of practical reason.226 Every degree of the bonum [good] presented
223. Ibid. (2.518.29–55).

224. Ibid., a.3 dub.5 (2.524–26).
225. Ibid. See also Oberman, Herbst, 139–49.
226. Biel, III Sent. d.27 q.un a.3 dub.2 (3.503–7).
by reason must be attainable for the will; otherwise the will would not re-
ally be free. Furthermore love in the highest degree is possible with respect
to creatures also; it is likewise possible, then, with respect to the Creator.
Otherwise the will could bow only to an erroneous dictate of practical rea-
son but not to a correct one. De potentia ordinata [because God has so or-
dained it], such an act of love for God can then continue only together with
grace and infused caritas. For the love of God for his own sake and above
all things is the final disposition to grace, which is granted at the same mo-
ment. Simultaneity, nevertheless, is not causal dependency: The grace is not
the cause of the disposition to grace; the latter must instead proceed from a
different cause, and therefore ex puris naturalibus.227
On the other hand, the meritoriousness of such an act—that is, its sal-
vific significance with respect to eternal life—is a different matter.228 The
only act meritorious in God’s sight is one that occurs with the assistance of
grace. Anything else would be the Pelagianism that Gregory of Rimini bat-
tled. Grace and the human act, however, are two different entities. There-
fore God de potentia absoluta is not compelled to give grace to someone
who in every respect is disposed to receive it, nor to recognize that person’s
act as meritorious.229 Therefore there could be a human act that was mor-
ally perfect in every respect, which nevertheless would not be meritorious.
It is therefore impossible, at least de potentia absoluta, to make an inference
from the moral perfection of human acts to their value for eternal salvation.
Furthermore, the initial choosing of a morally perfect act is not meritori-
ous, for this occurs temporally before grace as a disposition to it. Only the
further execution of the act can be meritorious, since it alone stands under
the influence of grace.230
A human being can, however, comply with the logic of grace and sin: if
someone has performed such an act of love for God by his natural capacity,
then he cannot have committed a mortal sin, as long as the act continues to
be the object of his willing. Here it becomes clear that grace and the human
act are connected almost as if by a natural law: the act of love for God (as the
disposition) and the bestowal of grace are bound up with each other. Grace
and mortal sin cannot exist together; therefore neither can the final disposi-
227. Ibid. (3:505.61–506.3).

228. See Dettloff, Entwicklung, 353–61.
229. On the doctrine of potentia absoluta in the writings of Biel see also Schrama, Gabriel Biel,
53–55; on the accusation of (semi-)Pelagianism see: Metz, Gabriel Biel, 395–98.
230. Biel, III Sent. d.27 q.un. a.3 dub.2 (506.5–21).
tion to receive grace coexist with mortal sin. All other human action, how-
ever, is logically consistent with the individual act of willing an all-surpassing
love of God for his own sake.231
This security is certain, nevertheless, only for a human being who him-
self stands in the salvific order of grace. In contrast—as Peter of Ailly noted,
again in fending off “Pelagianism”—man sub lege (under the law, i.e., in sin,
outside of the order of redemption) can never de potentia ordinata properly
fulfill the command to love God by his natural powers and consequently
can never act meritoriously. He can, indeed, produce exactly the same act as
a human being in the state of grace, but not in a way corresponding to the
lawgiver’s intention. Consequently he has neither fulfilled the law of love
for God, nor done something meritorious. Instead he has not even acted
rightly, in the precise sense of the word, if we define “to act rightly” with
Peter of Ailly to mean “to act according to God’s law.” Certainly, though, he
can act morally. Natural morality, moral-theological rectitude and the value
of an act in God’s sight should therefore be strictly distinguished.232
In his mitigated view, however, Gabriel Biel also avoids a rigoristic in-
terpretation of grace that regards every human act that does not occur with
the assistance of grace as a (mortal) sin. The divine law, the Decalogue, does
not oblige one to act constantly upon the intention of all-surpassing love for
God, but rather corresponds to recta ratio. To follow the latter cannot be a
mortal sin. Otherwise God’s law would lead the human being to ruin and
would not be the way to the kingdom of God. Moreover, at every moment
in which a human being did not have charity, he would be transgressing the
law, even if he acted according to the Commandments. Therefore there is
a sort of act which, while fulfilling the law ad litteram [to the letter], is not
meritorious because it is not motivated by love for God; it is consequently
worthless for eternal life.233 It is therefore not permissible to conclude from
the moral quality of one’s own acts to one’s own eternal salvation. We have
only misleading signs, however, that we are in a state of grace. This leaves us
with a “certitudo conjecturalis” (conjectural certainty) and the moral effort to
go at least as far as the obligation of facere quod in se est [doing whatever we
can], which is to be fulfilled de potentia ordinata. For with that we can con-
clude that God in turn will bestow his gift on the basis of his justice.
231. Ibid. (506.23–507.39).

232. Ibid. (507.41–62).
233. III Sent. d. 37 q.un. a.3 dub.1 (III, 639–641).
5 Humanist and Reformation Theology
Humanism and the Reformation are generally considered to have been

opponents of late Scholastic theology or else the victory over it.1 To some
extent, however, their roots and development lay in university theology as
well.2 They led to a reform of theological studies, which had decisive conse-
quences not only for Protestant teaching but also for Catholic instruction in
the early modern period. Within the parameters of this introduction, there-
fore, we will disregard the dogmatic and controversial theological problems3
and focus primarily on the Reformers’ concept of theology and that of their
Catholic dialogue partners with regard to a “paradigm shift” in theology.
1 University, humanism, and Reformation

The reconfiguration of theology during the Reformation cannot be
viewed in isolation from the reform of Church, university, and theology that
was already demanded in so-called reform theology since the days of John
Gerson.4 Moreover the debate between the “two ways” was overcome as hu-
manism turned to bonae litterae [classical literature], at the universities also.
1.1 Reformatio studii: Wish and reality

The humanist movement, in all its complexity, was initially a phenom-
enon outside the university, which set itself up in deliberate contrast to aca-
1. One of the first to overcome this assessment, in the case of humanism, was Ritter, “Bedeu-
tung.”
2. See esp. Oberman, Werden, passim; on the concept of humanism: Oppermann, ed., Human-
ismus; Kristeller, “Humanismus und Renaissance”; also Bejczy, Erasmus, 62–103; Quinto, Scholas-
tica, 129–40.
3. For those topics see, in general, HDThG, vol. 2 and HDG; also Jung and Walter, Theologen
des 16. Jahrhunderts.
4. See IST, ch. 4.1.4–4.1.6.
243
demic life in the late Scholastic period, with its established structures that
had become particularly rigid during the fifteenth-century debate about
the two ways. Possibly the Italian universities were an exception, most of all
Padua, which became a stimulating center for philosophical development,
in German-speaking regions as well.5
The contrast between the humanist movement and the prevailing Scho-
lasticism can be summarized in the following points:
1. A
departure from the Scholastic method of disputation and its foundation
in late Scholastic logic. This was said to be based less on Aristotle’s writ-
ings on logic than on the logica modernorum [logic of the moderns] with
their sophismata [sophistries, quibbles], and insolubilia [interminably
debated questions].6
2. A turn to new sources. “Ad fontes!” now no longer meant consulting only
the Scholastic authorities, but rather Plato, the authentic Aristotle, the
Stoics, Cicero and the poets, and in theology—the Church Fathers, es-
pecially Augustine and Jerome. Their thought was no longer summarized
in just a few sentences; now the art of printing books made it available in
its full context in exemplary editions.7
e promotion of language studies. The “vir trilinguis” [“trilingual man”],
3. Th
the ideal educated man (eruditus), had to master Latin, Greek, and He-
brew. The linguistic elegance of the ancient writers and humanist authors
was contrasted with the “barbaric” Latin of the Scholastics with their
wretched termini technici. Disputation was not infrequently replaced by
rhetorical declamation.
Thus the rejection of Scholasticism was for the most part based on liter-
ary and methodological reasons (especially in the writings of Lorenzo Valla
[1405/07–1457]), whereas other Italian humanists, led by Giovanni Pico
della Mirandola (1463–1494), accepted much of the medieval intellectual
heritage.8
The reception of these humanist demands in the universities met with
material and organizational difficulties north of the Alps. Often they came
into conflict with the old rights of the professors of the arts to provide the
sole authoritative preparation for study in the higher faculties and to teach
5. See esp. Kristeller, “Humanism and Scholasticism,” 553–83; Schmitt, Aristotelian Tradition.
6. See esp. Lawn, Rise and Decline, 107–26.
7. See Baron, “Der erste Druck.”
8. See Kölmel, “Scholasticus literator.”
Humanist and Reformation Theology 245
the only authoritative methodology. Accordingly, the studia humanitatis at
first did not find a proper place at the universities; they were usually situ-
ated outside the system of faculties: for example, the short-lived Collegium
poetarum et mathematicorum founded by the emperor in Vienna in 1502, but
also the more permanent Collegium trilingue in Louvain (1519), and various
humanistic lectures in Tübingen and Ingolstadt. Only in Wittenberg were
the humanist departments successfully incorporated into the faculty of the
arts, even before Melanchthon’s reform of the university.9 The widely trav-
elled humanist lecturers or poets, moreover, usually could not prove their
qualifications by an appropriate university education. This resulted in dif-
ficulties with the students’ societies and academic stipends.
University reform along humanist lines, as it was carried out in Erfurt
and Leipzig (1519), Rostock (1520), Greifswald (1521), Heidelberg (1522),
and Tübingen (1525), by its very nature affected the faculty of the arts ini-
tially.10 Precisely through this change in preparatory studies, however, it had
considerable consequences for theology. This is illustrated by the inaugu-
ral discourse of the twenty-one-year-old Melanchthon at the University of
Wittenberg, De corrigendis adolescentiae studiis [On revising secondary stud-
ies] on August 29, 1518, which is supported not so much by Reformation as
by humanist principles.11 The humanist propaedeutic, which was an educa-
tion in speaking and judging, consisted of subjects that are still called “hu-
manities,” (languages, poets, rhetoricians, history), along with a philosophy
that was restricted to natural science and ethics. The humanist “ad fontes”
[return to the sources], however, applied also to theology: the Greek and
Hebrew languages made those sources accessible. Instead of so many “cold”
(= Scholastic) glosses, concordances, and dissensions [Diskordanzen], the
res [matter] itself was supposed to become clear from a reading of the text,
so that one could “savor Christ” (Christum sapere).12 The humanist student
was to have Homer in one hand and Paul in the other, but above all the
courage to taste the subject in the ancient texts themselves: “Sapere audete!”
[“Dare to taste!”].13 In reducing the study of theology to the Bible and the
Church Fathers and eliminating lectures on the Sentences,14 Melanchthon
9. See Boehm, “Bildungsbewegung”; de Vocht, History.

10. See Benrath, “Universität.”
11. CR 11.15–25; see also Stempel, Melanchthons pädagogisches Wirken; Wriedt, “Begründung,”
169–82; Scheible, Melanchthon, 31–32.
12. CR 11.23.
13. CR 11.25.
14. For the Protestant critique of the Sentences, see also Valentini, “Il primo commentario prot-
was in agreement with Luther, but not in many questions concerning the
propaedeutic study.15
The troubles, disturbances, and wars of the Reformation period were
by no means conducive to a fruitful development of university studies. A
marked decrease in the number of students was the result.16 “Evangelici non
student,” [“Evangelicals (i.e., Lutherans) don’t study,”] complained the ag-
ing Erasmus about the lack of students.17 Settling down to the new situa-
tion was a slow process, with respect to confessional lines of demarcation
as well. In 1527 the first Protestant university was newly founded in Mar-
burg. Remarkably, two professorial chairs exclusively for biblical studies
were provided for the theological faculty, whereas the faculty of the arts was
set up with ten professors (for Hebrew, Greek, rhetoric, and history, among
other subjects).18 Melanchthon’s plan for the university and its curriculum,
including a return to Aristotle (starting in 1537), the reintroduction of dis-
putations and the granting of doctoral degrees (1533), while it did not lead
to a “rescholasticizing” of Protestant theology, did incorporate certain ele-
ments of “Scholastic” academic life, informed by a humanistic spirit, how-
ever. The reformation of the other universities of Protestant princes was
usually carried out according to Melanchthon’s plans. The new universities
were “from the very beginning destined for the training of officials, pastors,
and teachers of the given territory.”19
In the territories that remained Catholic, the humanistic reform of the
universities usually occurred in connection with the partial or complete
takeover thereof by the Jesuits, as was the case in Ingolstadt, at the Collegium
Sancti Hieronymi founded in 1549 in Dillingen (which became a university
in 1552 and was Jesuit from 1563 on) and in Würzburg (1575/82). Accord-
ing to the Jesuits’ Ratio studiorum [Plan of Studies] (1599), the “humaniora”
(“more humane subjects,” i.e., the humanities) belonged to the gymnasium
estante.” The author in question is Lambert Danaeus (1530–1595), In Petri Lombardi librum primum
Sententiarum Commentarius triplex (Geneva, 1580).
15. See Luther, Briefwechsel [Correspondence] I, 170 (9 May 1518): “ut rursum Bibliae et S. Pa-
trum purissima studia revocentur” [“so that unadulterated studies of the Bible and the Church Fa-
thers might be reinstated”].
16. See the statistics on numbers of university students in Oberman, Werden, 432–33.
17. Opus epistolarum Desiderii Erasmi Roterodami, ed. P. S. Allen (Oxford, 1906–1958), vol. VII,
ep. 2006, 16–17; vol. IX, ep. 2446, 53–54;—vgl. Oelrich, Der späte Erasmus, 105–17.
18. See Benrath, “Universität,” 70.
19. Ibid., 70, 73–74: the university reforms: Basel (1532), Tübingen (1536), Leipzig (1539–1543),
Greifswald and Copenhagen (1539), Frankfurt an der Oder (1540), Königsberg (newly founded
1544), Jena (newly founded 1548), Heidelberg (1557/58), Rostock (1564), Helmstedt (newly
founded 1576); concerning the curriculum, see also Scheible, “Aristoteles.”
or secondary school and not really to the faculty of the arts [at the univer-
sity], which was reserved instead for a philosophical course of studies.20
1.2 Biblical-humanist reform of theology:

Erasmus of Rotterdam
The theology of the Reformers, especially of Melanchthon and Calvin,
in its peculiar humanistic, anti-Scholastic character was profoundly influ-
enced by the reform of theology that Erasmus of Rotterdam (1466–1536)
strove to bring about. Erasmus’ ideas were set down most importantly in
his essays that served as “Introductions” to the new 1516 edition of the New
Testament (Paraclesis, Methodus, and Apologia) and in the 1518 Ratio seu
Compendium verae Theologiae, a more extensive treatment that developed
out of the Methodus.21 The turn away from Scholastic theology to a bibli-
cal, practical “philosophia Christi” was for Erasmus a fundamental option,
although it did not lead to an all-inclusive condemnation:
I think that no one should consider himself to be a Christian if he disputes in thorny
and tiresomely muddled terms about “instances,” “relations,” “quiddities,” and “for-
malities”; he should instead hold and profess what Christ taught and showed us. Not
that I would condemn the efforts of those who have exercised the strength of their
talent in subtleties of this sort—and not without renown—nor that I would wish to
offend someone, but I would think—and truly, I hope that I am not deceived—that
that pure and unadulterated philosophy of Christ cannot be drawn successfully from
any other place than from the books of the Gospels, from the Letters of the Apostles,
in which someone who is philosophizing piously, by praying rather than by arguing,
more intent on changing his life than on arming himself, will certainly find that there
is nothing that is so important for man’s happiness or for any duty of this life whatso-
ever that is not handed down, treated and settled therein.22
In this humanistic invitation to theology as “philosophia Christi” all the

elements of the Erasmian reform of theology are already mentioned:
1. Theology is not an academic science but rather is accessible to all
Christians: “Nulli non licet esse theologum.” [“No one is forbidden to be a
theologian.”]23
20. See Schubert, “Typologie,” 85–99; Boehm, “Bildungsbewegung,” 342–45: Leinsle, Dilinga-
nae Disputationes, 86–91.
21. Published together in a Latin-German edition by G. Winkler: Erasmus von Rotterdam, Aus-
gewählte Schriften, gen. ed. W. Welzig, vol. 3 (Darmstadt, 1967); see also Winkler, Erasmus von Rot-
terdam; Hoffmann, Erkenntnis; Bejczy, Erasmus, 134–50.
22. Erasmus, Paraclesis (ed. Winkler, 27).
23. Ibid., 22.
e “philosophia Christi” consists first and foremost of following what
2. Th
Christ taught; it is an “illiterata philosophia” of simple people, which can
however change the world.24
3. C
hristian philosophy, in contrast to pagan philosophy, offers something
decidedly new; traces of its truth are to be found nevertheless even in the
ancient authors, who consequently ought to be read.25
4. Th
eology as “Christian philosophy” is generally related to man in his
concrete societal status and his striving for happiness, which should be
attained by putting into practice Christ’s instructions (“pie philosophari”
[“philosophizing piously”]).26
5. Th
e central object of theology is Christ, as we encounter him in the NT
writings. The study of sacred Scripture is therefore the real subject matter
of the “old and true theology.”
6. Th
e essential preparatory training for scientific theology is therefore
philological and humanistic, not dialectical and Scholastic. Nevertheless,
exegesis presupposes some knowledge of systematic (dogmatic) theol-
ogy, which cannot be derived from Scripture inductively.27
By no means does Erasmus, in his conciliatory approach, intend to con-
demn Scholastic theology and its great masters without distinction. Its fun-
damental problem, however, appears to be its overemphasis on human au-
thorities, especially those belonging to the individual schools of thought, as
opposed to the authority of Scripture. Only in the latter is Erasmus willing
to worship what he does not understand!28 Erasmus sees a further defect of
Scholastic theology in the useless questions that overrun dogmatic theol-
ogy and the casuistry that stifles moral theology, which contradicts his ideal
of simple pietas.29 Theology as such is not to blame for this, but rather the
fact that it is overloaded with Aristotelian philosophy and logic. In regard to
Scholastic quaestiones, Erasmus recommends, if need be, academic epoché,
the refusal to give a positive or negative judgment, and by way of example
he enumerates several late Scholastic quaestiones of this sort:
What sense would it make for me to torment myself over whether God could create
man to be anamárteton, that is, incapable of sin? Whether God would be one and
undivided if another God distinct from himself existed? . . . Or whether the propo-
24. Ibid., 18. 25. Ibid., 22–24.

26. Elaborated more extensively in the Ratio in terms of the three circuli of Christian society:
see also Winkler, Erasmus, 149–59.
27. See Hoffmann, Erkenntnis, 73–100; Krüger, Humanistische Evangelienauslegung.
28. Erasmus, Paraclesis (ed. Winkler, 32–34). 29. Erasmus, Ratio (ed. Winkler, 204–8).
sition “God is a beetle” is possible in the same manner as “God is man”? Whether
the capacity to beget in the Father is something absolute or is a quality, a property
of the Father. . . . Whether Christ’s soul was endowed with the fullness of grace that
can be bestowed upon a creature. Whether Christ’s soul knows in the Logos every-
thing that the Logos himself knows. Whether Christ’s soul mourned at the moment
of his conception. Whether the fire that punished the damned is of the same kind
as in our world.30
Humanist theology, in contrast, is based on Scripture and the Church

Fathers; instead of Scholastic guild erudition it offers profitable training in
how to live, instead of disputation—simple faith, and instead of curiosity—
piety.31 Teaching this is the essential matter of the second introductory essay,
Methodus, which immediately establishes its credentials as a continuation of
what Augustine intended in De doctrina christiana.32 For like a good Augus-
tinian, Erasmus attaches great importance to the moral qualities of the per-
son who occupies himself with theology. The propaedeutic consists in the
artes and in the knowledge of the biblical languages, Greek and Hebrew. Like
devotio moderna, Erasmus advocates an affective theology: “professio theologi-
ca magis constat affectibus quam argutiis” [“the theological profession depends
more on one’s dispositions than on subtleties”].33 “Affectus” here means “not
only feelings, but the evaluative reaction of the whole man to the difficult but
desirable philosophia Christi that he encounters in the images and figures of
Scripture.”34 This requires a literary and rhetorical education, the pursuit of
the Muses to which Augustine had already urged the young Licentius.35 The
entire Aristotelian-Scholastic philosophy, on the other hand, is unnecessary,
since it has no basis in Scripture. Erasmus is sure, at any rate, that he is in
agreement with Augustine in the fundamentally Neoplatonic orientation of
his systematic thought.36 Ancient philosophy, however, should be replaced
by the “philosophia Christi.” In comparison to the elite, subtle theology of the
universities, this new paradigm of “simple,” humanist lay theology will neces-
sarily seem to be quite plebeian: “nos plebeium instituimus theologum”;37 on
the other hand it enables someone who is not academically trained to be a
theologian.
30. Erasmus, Ratio (ed. Winkler, 470–73). 31. Ibid., 474–83.

32. Erasmus, Methodus (ed. Winkler, 38); see also Winkler, Erasmus, 65–91.
33. Erasmus, Methodus (ed. Winkler, 50). 34. Winkler, Erasmus, 86.
35. Erasmus, Methodus (ed. Winkler, 50–51); see also Augustinus, De ord. I, 8.23 (CCh SL 29.
100.34–45).
36. See esp. Krüger, Evangelienauslegung, 29–46.
37. Erasmus, Methodus (ed. Winkler 54–55).
This theology however is by no means an “uneducated” theology of the
sort that the late Erasmus would deplore among the Protestants.38 Rath-
er, it requires a new, “encyclopedic” education in sacred Scripture, which
Erasmus strikingly calls the “circulus et orbis Christi” [“orbit and sphere of
Christ”] and contrasts with the previous “circulus et orbis doctrinae” [“. . . of
doctrine”].39 First a Summa should be procured for the “tirunculus” [young
beginner]—not of Scholastic theology, but rather of the “dogmata Christi in
summam redacta” [“doctrines of Christ gathered into a summa”]: the foun-
dational pillars of all further instruction, as they are to be found in the Gos-
pels and Letters of the Apostles. This Summa consists above all in the teach-
ing about the new people of God instituted by Christ and about their moral
qualities.40 Only then can one study the life of Christ in detail, again with a
view to the “pietatis doctrina” [“teaching of piety”], incorporating multiple
senses of Scripture, which Erasmus retains as a good, patristic approach.41
Assuming as a matter of principle that Scripture per se is clear and eas-
ily understood, the commentaries of the Church Father, first and foremost
of Origen, can be consulted so as to save work; in contrast to the Scholas-
tic method, however, Scripture should be studied in its own context, and
not from the summulae, sermons and compendia of the Scholastics.42 The
humanist rallying cry, “ad fontes!” becomes a personal return to the “phi-
losophia Christi” in Scripture. The library of the Scholastics is replaced by a
new library: “Why don’t you make your heart into a library of Christ, from
which you can take new things and old as though from a storeroom, as the
need arises?”43 The undefeated debater in Scholastic armor who has memo-
rized his Duns Scotus is not the one to ask now, but rather the pious theo-
logian who is guided by the word of God, that is, who has proved by his life
that he is a Christian and yet is educated, “qui pure Christum docet” [“who
teaches Christ and Him alone”].44
1.3 University theology and Reformation: Disputatio

The Wittenberg Reformation, unlike the South German and Swiss Ref-
ormation, started out at a university and was articulated during its initial
38. See Oelrich, Erasmus, 105–17.

39. For a definition of encyclopedic education, see Henningsen, “Enzyclopädie”; Henningsen,
“Orbis Doctrinae.”
40. Erasmus, Methodus (ed. Winkler, 58–60).
41. Ibid., (ed. Winkler, 60); see also Krüger, Evangelienauslegung.
42. Erasmus, Methodus (ed. Winkler, 62–70). 43. Ibid. (ed. Winkler, 69).
44. Ibid. (ed. Winkler, 74–76).
phase using the methods of academic debate: in theses, assertiones or dispu-
tationes.45 The disputations at Heidelberg (1518) and Leipzig (1519) in partic-
ular should be mentioned as landmarks. The method of debating, however,
had changed in the fifteenth century. Now individual theses (propositiones)
are presented, which must then be proved or refuted (probatio), whereby
of course particular attention must be given to the question of admissible
authorities (auctoritas, ratio). With regard to the textual tradition of the dis-
putations, in principle we are acquainted with three types: only the theses
(or else the conclusiones) of many disputations have come down to us,46 for
many we have also the steps of the proofs (probationes, resolutiones), and for
still others there are more or less detailed protocols or transcripts.47 When
a thesis was assigned for academic disputation, it was initially assumed to
be demonstrable in principle, but not an already proven truth (“disputabilia,
non asserta”).48 As long as the disputation continues, the truth of the the-
ses is still a matter of debate, and agreement with one’s opponent is just as
possible as a refutation of his theses. The thesis becomes an assertio with a
claim to truth and personal conviction only through the probatio: “Correct
assertion is the combination of [1] a subject matter that has been qualified
by good probation with [2] a forceful [truth-]claim, whereby the matter es-
tablishes the claim, but the claim affirms the matter.”49
Disputation, of course, is in the first place a university affair among
scholars (coram universitate), as Luther originally had in mind even with the
theses on indulgences; yet precisely here the step is taken to the public or
ecclesial forum (coram publico, coram ecclesia), before which the further de-
bates were usually carried on.50
In Luther’s polemics, the following are initially admitted as authorities
for proof (in individual cases they should be applied critically, and occa-
sionally they make competing claims):
45. See esp. Kerlen, Assertio.
46. For example, Luther’s Disputatio contra scholasticam theologiam (1517) in 97 theses (WA I,
224–28).
47. See Hanspeter Marti, Art. “Disputation,” in Gert Ueding, ed., Historisches Wörterbuch der
Rhetorik, vol. II (Tübingen, 1994), cols. 886–80. So, for example, the Disputatio pro declaratione
virtutis indulgentiarum in 95 theses concerning indulgences (WA I, 233–38) and the resolutiones
(WA I, 530–628); the Heidelberg disputation (1518) with theses and probationes (WA I, 353–74);
the Leipzig disputation (1519) in a detailed protocol (WA II, 254–383) and separate resolutiones by
Luther (WA II, 391–435).
48. See WA Br 1.140.70–72.
49. Kerlen, Assertio, 22; see also Luther, De servo arbitrio: “Non contuli, sed asserui, et assero” [“I
did not discuss/contend, but rather I asserted and do assert”] (WA 18.787.11–12).
50. Ibid., 79–82.
1. Sacred Scripture,
2. Tradition,
a) traditio theologiae [the tradition of theology] (the Fathers of the
Church, but only with qualifications, since here we often find only
opiniones),
b) traditio ecclesiae [Church Tradition] (decrees and definitions of the
Universal Church),
3. Church (doctores, opinio communis, the Pope, the Council in a condition-
al and restricted sense, depending on the particular case),
4. experience and reasonable judgment (only about preliminary, hypotheti-
cal statements).51
Luther accuses his opponents precisely of a lack of proof for their theses,
wrong evaluation of their authorities, or else mere dependence on a school
of thought and violations of the rules of disputation: In a petitio principii [an
instance of begging the question], only positive authorities are admitted for
the alleged “proof ” of the thesis that has already been assumed to be true.52
As of 1520, however, as a result of the development of the reform move-
ment and the intervention of the pope, Luther’s tenets (assertiones) no lon-
ger appear to be merely debatable: They are to be accepted in faith, whereas
further debate about the details is possible.53 Now Scripture becomes cen-
tral as the probative authority: Where there is no scriptural proof, there has
been no probatio of the theses, but only the defense of an opinion.54 For Lu-
ther himself, disputation had no longer seemed advisable as a means of dis-
cussion with his opponents, in view of the extreme divergence of their evi-
dence, questions, and methods, and also of the refusal of the theologians in
Cologne and Louvain to debate; only with his followers could he continue
to debate, since with them there was a fundamental consensus about prin-
ciples and methods. Consequently the [very idea of a] nonpartisan panel of
judges appointed over the disputing parties to decide victory or defeat had
become illusory.55 With that, of course, the Reformation had also ceased to
be a university exchange modeled on the academic quest for truth.
The Reformation in southern Germany and Switzerland, too, was ac-
51. Ibid., 22–33. 52. Ibid., 34–44.

53. WA 6.598.17–20.23; 609.10–15.
54. WA 6.508.19–20: “Nam quod sine scripturis assertitur aut revelatione probata, opinari licet,
credi non est necesse.” [“For that which is asserted without Scriptural references or a proven revela-
tion can be held as an opinion but need not be believed.”]
55. See Kerlen, Assertio, 128–81.
quainted with disputations, but they were of a different character than the
academic exercises of the Wittenberg theologians. This becomes clear with
the so-called “first Zurich disputation” dated 29 January 1523.56 As Huldrych
Zwingli (1484–1531) imagined it, this was supposed to be a “para-academic”
disputation of theses over which he would preside, much like the ones that
had taken place that same year at the University of Basel and in Solothurn.
The Minor Council [Der Kleine Rat] that initiated the proceedings, how-
ever, evidently was planning a cross-examination of the two religious par-
ties.57 The council therefore had civic and political considerations (keeping
the peace) uppermost in mind. Theologians from the University of Tübing-
en were admitted as representatives of the bishop of Constance: “With a
number of scholars, as we deem appropriate, we will listen attentively, and
according to their findings from Sacred Scripture and in keeping with the
truth, we will let each one go home again, some of them with the command
to cease their proclamation, so that everyone does not keep preaching from
the pulpit whatever seems right to him, without a proper foundation in Sa-
cred Scripture.”58 The Council clearly regarded itself as a judge in a disputa-
tion for the purpose of conducting a probatio of questionable theological
teachings, using Scripture as the standard. Yet the delegation from Con-
stance came not to dispute but rather to make a [canonical] visitation; the
session of the Major Council [Grossen Rates] therefore proceeded not as a
disputation, but rather as a hearing, in which the accusation of heresy was
not leveled against Zwingli, however. Johannes Fabri (1478–1541), the bish-
op’s representative, for his part wanted an academic disputation and not a
discussion in the Council, since he had no mandate for the latter and had to
reject uneducated laymen as judges.
What was already evident in Zurich would become clearer in the settle-
ment of disputations through [inter]religious dialogues [Religionsgespräche]:
a new role for theologians in the development of the Reformation.59 Then
there was the failure of the plan for a national council, as it had been pro-
posed in Nuremberg. At this juncture the idea of a gathering of theologians
to serve as a judicial authority to evaluate the teachings from Wittenberg
appeared already as an alternative. The town clerk in Nuremberg, Lazarus
Spengler (1479–1534) suggested on March 27, 1524, that “several pious, Chris-
tian, learned and intelligent men in the [Holy Roman] Empire or in Chris-
tendom” should be commissioned “to confer about the main points of these
56. See Oberman, Werden, 241–66. 57. Ibid., 246.
58. CR 88.467.11–17. 59. See Honnée, “Religionsverhandlungen.”
matters, to consider them in light of Sacred Scripture and to decide them.”60
Thus Luther’s model of disputation (assertio + probatio from Scripture) was
still influential. Optimally, in order to prepare for a national council, the
theologians should convene in the vicinity of a university so as to draft a
compendium of Christian doctrine, of all the articles of the faith “established
in Scripture,” by which “the common man would have to be governed.”61 The
representatives of the traditional beliefs, too, for their part, submitted a plan
for a commission of theologians.62 The important decisions, however, were
made now, not in the national council, but rather in sessions of the Impe-
rial Diet, which at any rate was originally planned, as far as Speyer was con-
cerned, as a “nacional versamlung” [“national assembly”] including theologi-
cal experts.63 Finally, provisions were made in Speyer (1526) for an evenly
balanced panel with six or eight theologians from each side; now, however,
they were no longer supposed to test theses against Scripture (and thus to
conduct a disputation in the academic sense), but rather to bring about a
consensus in matters of religion on the basis of Scripture:
In order to waste less time in the aforementioned council and to prevent great and
unnecessary expenses, it was considered useful and good to assign meanwhile six or
eight excellent, learned, pious and brave men from both sides, to be lodged at impe-
rial expense in a [suitably] located town agreeable to all; these men should take up
all controversial matters and articles and with the utmost diligence venture to settle
them according to the Gospel, true Scripture and God’s word; and any matters in
which they reach agreement, they should forward in a timely fashion to the above-
mentioned council, together with the articles about which they could not agree,
and they should make known to the Christian Diet their opinions, and thereafter
take further action as needed.64
Thus the element from the practice of theology at the university that
remained a constant in the Reformation process was not really the disputa-
tion, but rather the test of the scriptural character of theological doctrines,
the probatio. Scripture—instead of the many Scholastic authorities and
ways—was recognized as the sole authority for this test, which both reli-
gious parties could in fact agree upon.
60. RTA VI, 492, no. 107. On Spengler see Grimm, Lazarus Spengler.
61. RTA IV, 202–3.
62. G. Pfeilschifter, Acta Reformationis Catholicae Ecclesiam Germaniae Concernantia Saeculi XVI.
Die Reformverhandlungen des deutschen Episkopats von 1520 bis 1570, vol. I (Regensburg, 1959), no. 50.
63. RTA VII, 1142.14–17; see also Honnée, “Religionsverhandlungen,” 25–27.
64. Friedensburg, Reichstag zu Speyer, 557.
2 Approach to theology in Reformed Christianity

The self-assurance of Reformation theology and its determination to
distance itself from the schools of late Scholasticism are evident in a new
methodological and substantial concept of systematic theology. We can
observe this in the new comprehensive presentations that now replace the
reading of the Sentences.
2.1 “Contra scholasticam theologiam”: Martin Luther

Martin Luther’s (1483–1546) first explicit altercation with Scholastic the-
ology was the Disputatio contra scholasticam theologiam [Disputation against
Scholastic Theology] dated September 4, 1517.65 In the printed version, some
of the “Scholastics” against whom he inveighs are named: Besides general
opinions (contra dictum commune, contra scholasticos) and philosophers (con-
tra philosophos) they are Duns Scotus, William of Ockham, Peter of Ailly,
and Gabriel Biel. For Luther, therefore, these thinkers essentially represent
“Scholastic” theology. We do not find here a critical discussion of Thomism,
as we do in Karlstadt’s theses of April 26, 1517, which contain objections to
Capreolus, among others.66
Luther’s critique is substantially defined by the incompatibility of his
Pauline picture of God and man, informed by the anti-Pelagian Augustine,
with the prevailing Aristotelian Scholasticism. Thus he begins his theses
with the Augustinian view that without grace man can neither know nor
will the good (theses 1–4), which is immediately contrasted with the teach-
ings of the Scholastics, especially Biel, about man’s natural capacity (the-
ses 5–36). Luther finds the basis for this false teaching in Aristotle’s ethics
and a purely philosophical view of man, which makes him the free master
of his actions and tries to attain justice through moral behavior (theses
37–40, Contra philosophos). Almost the entire Ethics of Aristotle is therefore
set aside as the enemy of grace, especially his doctrine of happiness, which
contradicts the Catholic doctrine (theses 41–42, Contra Scholasticos, Contra
Morales). Therefore the theologian must be liberated from Aristotle, as it is
stated in theses 42 and 43:
65. WA I, 224–28; see esp. Grane, Contra Gabrielem; idem, Modus loquendi theologicus, 130–38;
Lohse, Luthers Theologie, 114–15; Quinto, Scholastica, 208–15.
66. See Karlstadt und Augustin: Der Kommentar des Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt zu Augus-
tins Schrift “De spiritu et littera,” introduction and text by E. Kähler (Hallische Monographien 19)
(Halle, 1952), 8*–37*.
“43. It is an error to say: Without Aristotle one does not become a theo-
logian. Contrary to common opinion.
“44. Indeed, no one can become a theologian unless he becomes one
without Aristotle.”67
The rejection of Aristotle is nevertheless not limited to the Ethics, but
extends to the Logic also, whereby the “logica fidei” of Peter of Ailly is reject-
ed in particular (theses 45–49), and indeed to Aristotle’s work as a whole,
which like darkness is driven away by the light of theology—this includes
even the doctrine of universals in the Isagoge by Porphyry (theses 50–53).
Consequently, once the philosophy of Aristotle and thus the core curricu-
lum of the faculty of arts is withdrawn as a propaedeutic to theology, then
the genuine relation between grace, the law and human will can be set forth
according to Paul and Augustine and against Biel and Peter of Ailly (theses
54–98).
This formal and substantial rejection of Scholastic theology is intensi-
fied in the Heidelberg disputation (April 26, 1518). Already in the resolutio-
nes to the theses on indulgences (1518) Luther contrasts the theologus crucis
[theologian of the cross] and the theologus gloriae [. . . of glory] (thesis 58)
and sees in the latter the Scholastic theologian, who on the basis of natu-
ral, Aristotelian ethics knows about the goal of his striving, that is, about
good and evil, yet does not know the crucified and hidden God, but only
the glorified, omnipresent God who is supposed to be known from vis-
ible things (see Romans 1:19–20).68 The rejection of Scholastic theology is
therefore no longer articulated merely in terms of the theology of grace and
ethics, but also with regard to knowledge about God in general. In Heidel-
berg Luther sets out immediately from his view of the relation between the
law and grace, an approach that then allows him to critique earlier theology
precisely as a “theologia gloriae.”69 In particular Luther objects to the teach-
ing, found in the writings of Gerson and Biel, among others, of “facere quod
in se est” [“doing whatever one can”] as a prerequisite for grace. Instead, a
human being must abandon hope in himself and acknowledge his nothing-
ness so as to desire grace (thesis 18). A natural, metaphysical knowledge of
God, which tries to derive God’s attributes from creatures, does not lead to
wisdom, but rather is dismissed as foolishness according to [his reading of]
Romans 1:22 (thesis 19). Instead, the only access to knowledge of God is the
67. WA I, 226.14–16.
68. WA I, 613–14; see also Lohse, Luthers Theologie, 122–25; Lohse, “Luthers Selbstverständnis.”
69. WA I, 353–56.
cross. By this way, however, God’s metaphysical attributes (power, divinity,
wisdom, justice, goodness) are not known, but rather the “posteriora et visi-
bilia Dei” [“the subsequent and visible things of God”], namely his human-
ity, weakness, and folly (thesis 20). The Scholastic theologia gloriae is there-
fore a false, mendacious theology that views what is genuinely good (bonum
crucis) as only bad, and what is really bad (malum operis, the evil of work) as
good (thesis 21). Scholastic theologians therefore appear as “enemies of the
cross of Christ” (Philippians 3:18). Only by a previous acknowledgment of
one’s own nothingness does one arrive at true theology. But one does not
learn this in the philosophy of Aristotle, which Luther here criticizes philo-
sophically as well (theses 29–40). Instead, being puffed up, blind, and rigid
are the moral consequences of Scholastic theology (thesis 22). The remedy
for this is radical: obliterating it and turning to the folly of the cross. Lu-
ther’s deliberately paradoxical formulation of this “theology of humility”70
must have struck his contemporaries as the clearest possible rejection of the
prevailing Scholastic theology: “The theology that Luther opposed consists
not only in a false doctrine, but in an approach that is false from the outset,
which cannot lead to theology but only to a pseudo-theology.”71
What, then, should theology look like—the true, correct, pure theology
that Luther has in mind—as opposed to the one devised by the “swinish
theologians” who are asleep and at best produce a “theologia diabolica” that
the devil has no cause to fear?72 Unlike the humanists Erasmus and Mel-
anchthon, Luther expressly and frequently uses the terms “theologia” and
“theologus” so as to make clear thereby his own claim: “Theology is tanta-
mount to God’s word. The theologian is the one who speaks God’s word.”73
In inquiring as to the central object of this theology (the subject of the sci-
ence), Luther plainly turns aside from all Scholastic definitions. The [prop-
er] object is not God or Christ, but rather fallen, lost man and the justifying
and saving God.74 Everything beyond this definition that is taught de facto
in theology does not belong to it but rather is error and “vanitas.” Knowl-
edge about man and knowledge about God belong together in theology,
but only in that mutual relation which is now decisive: fallen man and the
70. See Grane, Modus loquendi theologicus, 146–51.

71. Ibid., 151.
72. See WA 56.274.14; WA 39.1.19, 17; WA 7.218.18–21; see also Ebeling, Lutherstudien, vol.
II.3.18–19.
73. WA 41.11.10.
74. WA 40.2.327.11–328.3: “ut proprie sit subjectum Theologiae homo reus et perditus et deus justi-
ficans vel salvator.”
God who justifies. Therefore only theology and not philosophy defines man
correctly and fully.75 This relation becomes the distinguishing characteristic
of theology, which at all points has a practical orientation. In his Table Talks
(1531), Luther wants to send speculative theology as a whole to the devil, in
the strict sense.76
The question as to the scientific character of theology, as understood
in the Aristotelian-Scholastic theory of science, has become quite super-
fluous after the elimination of Aristotle from theology. Luther’s theology,
too, would have difficulty asserting its scientific, academic status, as the re-
actions of Karlstadt (ca. 1480–1541) and Jodok Trutfetter († 1519) show.77
Luther insists on the clear and simple meaning of Scripture, on its relation
to experience and on the distinctions between the letter and the spirit, the
Law and the Gospel, which affect all theological interpretation.78 Theology
is usually understood as sapientia, and as such it stands in opposition to the
“human wisdom” of philosophy, as Luther characterizes it in thesis 1 of the
Disputatio de homine dated January 14, 1535.79 Unlike philosophy, theologi-
cal wisdom is brought about by the Holy Spirit, hidden in revelation and
in principle is infinite with respect to life.80 Moreover, as practical theology
it is founded on experience and not on abstract metaphysical speculation:
“Sola . . . experientia facit theologum.”81
In this Scripture- and experience-based theology, reason naturally does
not have the same place as in late Scholastic university theology. Ratio, if
it is to become fruitful for theology, is reason enlightened by faith and the
Holy Spirit, not presumptuous natural reason.82 Nevertheless Luther still
has reservations about it; it remains “a dangerous thing, especially when it
intervenes in spiritual matters.”83 For it always runs the risk of dealing arbi-
trarily with God’s word, confusing philosophical teaching and theological
truth or overestimating its own powers.84
75. Thus thesis 20 of the Disputatio de homine (1536): Ebeling, Lutherstudien, II, 1.19: “Theologia
vero de plenitudine sapientiae suae hominem totum et perfectum definit.” [“Theology, however, out of
the fullness of its wisdom, defines the whole and perfect man.”]
76. WAT 1.72.16–24.
77. See Ebeling, Lutherstudien, II, 3.59.
78. Thus he wrote already in the first lecture on the Psalms (1513/15): “In Scripturis sanctis op-
timum est Spiritum a litera discernere, hoc enim facit vero theologum.” [“In Sacred Scriptures it is best
to distinguish the Spirit from the letter; indeed, this is what makes the theologian.”] (WA 55.1.1;
4.25–26).
79. Edition by Ebeling, Lutherstudien, II, 1.15. 80. Ibid., II, 3.
81. WAT 1.16.13, no.46 (1531). 82. WA 40.1.457.6–7; WAT 191.25–26, no. 439.
83. WA 9.187.5–7.
84. See the general discussion in Lohse, Ratio und Fides, esp. 113–19.
How should this new theology be implemented at the university? Lu-
ther sees very clearly that his concept tends toward a dismantling of the in-
structional methods previously used. And so he writes on May 9, 1518, to
Trutfetter:
I simply believe that the Church cannot possibly be reformed unless canon law, de-
cretals, Scholastic theology, philosophy and logic, as they are currently pursued, are
completely stamped out and replaced with other studies; and in this firm convic-
tion I have proceeded until now, so that I pray daily that the unadulterated studies
of the Bible and of the holy Fathers [of the Church] may be revived as quickly as
possible.85
Although Luther realizes here that he is in agreement with the humanist

educational reform as well, nevertheless the impulse behind his reform and
his concept of theology are different from those of Erasmus, for instance, or
of the young Melanchthon. On March 11, 1518, Luther had already submitted
a suggestion for a reform of the curriculum, the contents of which, how-
ever, can only be reconstructed. Humanistic language studies (Greek and
Hebrew), Pliny, Quintilian, and mathematics are recommended; Aristotle
and the previous textbooks of logic are abolished.86 The abolition of Aristo-
telian ethics, which in Luther’s view is related to theology as the wolf to the
lamb87 (i.e., threatens to devour it), and the discontinuance of Thomistic
physics and logic proved, however, to be substantially more difficult. The
reform of theology was supposed to be made possible in turn, therefore, by
a reform of the preparatory studies.88 Then in article 25 of his circular letter
To the Christian nobility (1520), Luther discusses in detail the reform of the
universities and of theological studies.89 Again “the blind, pagan master Ar-
istotle” is the one to get rid of, meaning his Physics, Metaphysics, De anima,
and Ethics. On the other hand, the Logic, Rhetoric, and Poetics can stay or be
summarized in short compendia; in any case all commentaries by the vari-
ous schools of thought must be eliminated. In the faculty of law, canon law
must be abolished entirely; in theology the reading of the Sentences must be
replaced by the reading of Scripture. The faculty must put an end to the pre-
dominance of reading the Sentences, and thus of speculative theology, over
exegesis. Luther recalls the original custom of reading the Sentences only as
85. WA Br.1.170.33–37; German translation in Grane, Modus loquendi theologicus, 129.

86. See Grane, Modus loquendi theologicus, 143; Scheible, “Aristoteles.”
87. WA Br. 1.196.27–28.
89. WA 6.457–62.
an introduction to the books of the Bible and notes the theology professor’s
title: “teacher of Sacred Scripture.” Theological books should be brought
in only sparingly, especially the Fathers of the Church, insofar as they pro-
vide an introduction to Scripture: “The dear Fathers wished to lead us into
Scripture with their writings, and so let us use them to lead ourselves out [of
the present curriculum], so that Scripture alone is our vineyard, in which
we all should practice and labor.”90 Luther, however, would not be the one
to bring about an organizational reform of university theology; Melanch-
thon accomplished this in a synthesis of Reformation and humanist trends.
2.2 The new “Summa”: Melanchthon’s “Loci theologici”

In 1521 Philipp Melanchthon (1497–1560) published the first work of
systematic theology of the Reformation, his Loci communes rerum theo-
logicarum seu Hypotyposes theologicae.91 In 1535 a revised edition appeared,
followed in 1543/44 by a third version, which was the standard one until
Melanchthon’s death in 1560 and, like the earlier versions, was circulated in
numerous editions.92 The original intention, as Melanchthon presents it in
the dedicatory epistle, is both pedagogical and anti-Scholastic: The main
points (loci) of Christian doctrine should be conveyed to young students,
so that they see “what they should especially inquire about in Scripture, and
how horridly those masters babbled at every turn in theology, who instead
of Christ’s teaching presented to us Aristotelian subtleties.”93 Formally
speaking, from the very beginning the Loci thus replaced the Sentences of
the Lombard, which after all had also been conceived as a systematic intro-
duction to the exegesis of sacred Scripture. Still excluded here—on both
humanistic and Reformation grounds—is Aristotle’s philosophy, since
Melanchthon accuses both of his methodological predecessors, John Dam-
ascene and Peter Lombard, of an excess of philosophy and/or of collecting
mere opinions.94 As opposed to the “obscure and difficult disputations” and
commentaries of the Scholastics, who no longer deal with Scripture at all,
90. WA 6.461, 8–10; 462.8–10.

91. Philipp Melanchthon, Loci communes, 1521; Latin-German edition, translated and anno-
tated by H. G. Pöhlmann (Gütersloh, 1993).
92. For the textual history, see E. Bindseil in CR 21.59–82.230–51; 562–602. For a synopsis of
the structure: Wiedenhofer, Formalstrukturen 1:397–98; on the little known German version of 1558
composed by Melanchthon himself, see Schilling, “Loci communes deutsch.”
93. Loci, Dedication n. 4 (Pöhlmann 12/13); see also Wiedenhofer, Formalstrukturen, 1:315–26;
Quinto, Scholastica, 215–21.
94. Loci, Introduction n. 2 (Pöhlmann 16–19).
the Loci are intended merely as a list (nomenclatura) of those main aspects
by which the reader of Scripture can proceed systematically, or else those
aspects on which the “summa doctrinae christianae” [“summary of Christian
doctrine”] depends.95 These were enumerated by Melanchthon in 1521 in a
list, which he himself did not regard as exhaustive:
God the One and Triune, Creation, man, the faculties of man, sin, the consequences
[“fruit”] of sin, vices, punishments, the Law, the promises, renewal through Christ,
grace, the fruits of grace, faith, hope, charity, predestination, sacramental signs, man’s
states, magistrates, bishops, damnation, beatitude.96
Although the list still looks like a summary of the conventional treatises
of systematic theology, because of a pronounced turn away from the Scho-
lastic “theologia gloriae” to the Reformation “theologia crucis,” many highly
elaborate parts of the teaching on God and the Trinity, creation and Incar-
nation were immediately dropped:
We should worship the mysteries of the Godhead instead of investigating them. . . .
God Almighty, the Most-High, clothed His son in flesh so that He might lead us
from meditating on His majesty to meditating on the flesh and thus on our human
frailty. . . . Hence there is no reason why we should apply much effort to those most
exalted themes: God, His Unity, the Trinity, the mystery of creation, the nature and
manner of the Incarnation.97
Instead the theological discussion begins with the doctrine about man,
his faculties, his will, so as to go on and treat in detail the topics of sin and
the Law. For only when one knows the power of sin, the law and grace can
one really know Christ—and not when one speculates about His two na-
tures and the manner of the Incarnation.98 Not until the 1535 version are
the teachings on God, the Trinity, and creation actually developed, and as
of 1543 they are further elaborated with philosophical trains of thought,
although the biblical approach is still clearly predominant.99 Even now
the epistemological principal for the doctrine about God remains Christ,
in whom the Father is known. The “sapientia Christianorum” [“wisdom of
Christians”] is an altogether practical knowledge of God, which recognizes
95. Loci, Introduction n. 5–6 (Pöhlmann 14–15).

96. Loci, Introduction n. 4 (in the edition by Pöhlmann 18–19); on the problems of systematic
theology, see also Köpf. “Melanchthon,” 122–27.
97. Loci, Introduction n. 6–8 (Pöhlmann 18–21).
98. Ibid., n.12–13 (Pöhlmann 22–23).
99. CR 21.255–274.607–43; on the philosophical foundations see esp. Frank, Theologische Phi-
losophie.
God by comprehending His mercy, not by a theoretical insight into His “ar-
cana natura.”100
While Melanchthon avoids the name “theologia” for his presentation
in the Loci, he certainly does want to make sure that “doctrina” is anchored
in the university curriculum.101 His method of presenting it is therefore
the one generally used in the artes: the most important passages (loci) are
briefly summarized so as to make a summa, which at the same time indicates
what is to be investigated in this science.102 Unlike Scholastic theology,
the outline of Christian “doctrine” is organized by topic: a way of ordering
the main points so as to determine the principles, progress and goal of the
ars.103 The purpose is the concise, methodical presentation of the main mat-
ter of the ars in question. Theology therefore proves by its general scientific
method to be a genuine ars. Methodus, moreover, denotes on the one hand
the arrangement of the loci, and on the other hand the resulting summa, the
ordered, methodical presentation of the art in question. These definitions
would remain decisive for Protestant philosophy and theology well into the
seventeenth century.104
As Melanchthon announces in the 1521 introduction, his Loci are sup-
posed to replace the old summas of the Scholastics.105 The systematic ap-
proach, however, is due to the methodus, whereby “methodus,” like “summa,”
also denotes the work itself as a brief summary. Thus within the context of
sacred Scripture, the Letter to the Romans (or the Letter to the Galatians) is
the methodus of all Scripture or theology.106 In either case, each letter treats
everything that makes up the core or the “summa” or Christianity: the Law
and the Gospel, sin, justification, and grace. The Loci, which originally in
1521 resulted from lectures on the Letter to the Romans, are now a systemat-
ic work that is for theology what the Letter to the Romans is in the context
of sacred Scripture: “mea methodus,” an expression that is eventually used
as an alternative for “summa.”107 For in it the central concern (“summa”) of
Christianity is supposedly presented, which Melanchthon repeatedly at-
100. CR 21.255–56.
101. See Wallmann, Theologiebegriff; Bayer, “Theologiebegriff.”
102. Even in the 1521 version: Introduction n. 1 (Pöhlmann 16–17).
103. CR 21.253.
104. See the detailed discussion in Leinsle, Ding, esp. 11–20.
105. Introduction n. 3 (Pöhlmann 18–19).
106. CR 1.638. 1044; 11.37–38; see also Wiedenhofer, Formalstrukturen, 1:391–94.
107. See CR I, 285.366.451.487.567; III, 1112: “summa quaedam seu methodus est informanda” [“a
certain summa or method should be fashioned”]; vgl. Köpf, “Melanchthon,” 117–22.
tempts to express in brief formulas, so as to expound it in a way that makes
sense pedagogically: Man, who cannot find his salvation by himself, but
rather owes it to justification through Christ.108
This method is adopted by theology from general philosophical and
theoretical reflections about science that Melanchthon—in a clear return to
tradition—drew again from Aristotle beginning in 1536. In the 1538 version
of the Dialectica he explicitly recommends that students have Aristotle on
hand, for he is the “unus ac solus methodi artifex” [“one and only framer of a
method”].109 Without Aristotle there is no science, but only a great confu-
sion of doctrines.110 Of course, Melanchthon does not read his Aristotle in
the manner of the Scholastics, but rather as a humanist who is acquainted also
with Cicero and the Stoics; moreover he eliminates the Metaphysics, while
retaining the Ethics (unlike Luther).111 This new propaedeutic, which fur-
thermore still contains metaphysical elements (categories, the four causes) in
its dialectics, creates the conditions under which theological instruction can
once again become academic, although not Scholastic. This trend becomes
evident also in the reintroduction of disputations alongside humanist decla-
mations in Wittenberg from 1533 on. Melanchthon’s view of philosophy and
theology finds expression especially in the speech De philosophia dated 1536.
From the humanist perspective, philosophy consists of the various artes, and
their propaedeutic and methodological importance for theology is under-
scored. Indeed, for the humanist Melanchthon, the root problem consists
of an “inerudita theologia” of the sort that was common in the initial discus-
sions by the Reformers but could often be observed among the Scholastics
as well.112 It is “uneducated” because it lacks the correct method. It is a “con-
fusanea doctrina” in which the important points are not set forth precisely,
in which things that ought to be treated separately are mingled, and things
that should be explained in connection with each other are pulled apart. Of-
ten contradictory statements are made; whatever sounds like the truth is im-
mediately taken for a genuine argument. The result is a “doctrina monstrosa”
in which nothing is methodologically consistent, which can only give rise to
endless errors and disputes. A conventional knowledge of grammar and logic
is not enough to remedy this sorry state of affairs; rather an “erudita philoso-
108. See the 17 “summa”-formulas listed in Wiedenhofer, Formalstrukturen, 1:392–94.

109. Ph. Melanchthon, De dialectica libri quattuor (Strasbourg, 1538), Dedication.
110. CR 11.349, in the Oratio de vita Aristotelis, dated 1537.
111. See Leinsle, Ding, 11–13.
112. CR 11.278–80; see also Frank, Vernunft, 55–57.
phia” is needed, which contains in the first place methodology and rhetoric,
but also natural science and ethics.113 For this purpose it will not suffice to
carry over isolated bits of knowledge into theology; instead the science in
question must be studied as a whole. The Church needs the whole “orbis doc-
trinae” [“sphere of teaching”] and therefore a new encyclopedic education so
as to be able to pursue real theology. Everything else is barbarity, as one may
encounter among uneducated Baptists [Täufern], but also among humanists
who despise the real sciences.114 Therefore theology needs a method; it finds
one, however, only in Aristotle.
2.3 Summa of self-knowledge and practical

knowledge about God: Calvin
The Christianae Religionis Institutio—the Reformed “summa pietatis”
[“summary of religious duties”]—by John Calvin (1509–1564) underwent
a development similar to that of Melanchthon’s Loci. In the first edition
(1536) it appeared as a small, slim volume made up of six chapters that was
clearly dependent on Luther’s little catechism. Here the presentation of the
Ten Commandments, the Apostles’ Creed and the Our Father is followed
merely by teaching on the sacraments that is polemically opposed to the
Roman doctrine and teaching about Christian freedom, ecclesiastical pow-
er, and political rule.115 In the last authentic edition dated 1559 the work had
expanded to eighty chapters, by that time systematically arranged:
Book 1: “On knowledge of God the Creator”
Book 2: “On knowledge of God the Redeemer”
Books 3–4: “In what manner we receive the grace of Christ, the kinds of
fruits that it produces for us, and the sorts of effects that result from it.”116
The fundamental concern of this extremely influential Reformed over-
view of theology nevertheless remained the same at all its stages. It intends,
as the title already made clear in 1536, to present “totam fere pietatis summam
et quidquid est in doctrina salutis cognitu necessarium” [“almost a complete
summa of religious duties and whatever is necessary to know in the doctrine
of salvation”] so as to offer a helping hand to “pietatis studiosi” [“students
of religion”].117 Calvin had had a humanist schooling and was profoundly
113. CR 11.280. 114. CR 11.281–38.
115. Joannis Calvini, Opera selecta, ed. P. Barth (= OS), vol. I (Munich, 1926; reprinted 1963),
19–238; see also van’t Spijker, Calvin, 121–28.
116. OS vols. 3–5 (Munich, 1927; reprinted 1963).—Concerning the development, see: W.
Neuser in HDThG 2:241–42; van’t Spijker, “Calvin,” 191–94.
117. OS 1:19.
influenced by Erasmus, although according to Johannes Maior (ca. 1469–
1550) he was also trained in Scholastic logic at the Collège de Montaigu; for
Calvin, who strictly speaking was not educated in university theology but
rather in law,118 theology as a matter of principle should be classified under
the heading of the practical worship of God (pietas). Scholastic, speculative
theology, with which he occasionally debates in his teaching on the sacra-
ments, is thus abolished from the outset.119
Calvin agrees with Augustine, however, that the “summa sacrae doctri-
nae” (again the title of theology, as it was for Thomas Aquinas!) consists
of the knowledge of God and the knowledge of oneself.120 Nominally the
knowledge of God is situated within the tension between law and grace,
as in the early Melanchthon; in 1536 this subject is developed very briefly
and in purely biblical terms at the beginning of chapter 1, “De lege” (i.e., not
out of the experience of the sinful and justified human being), whereas
the more precise presentation is reserved for the treatment of the Creed in
chapter 2.121 Knowledge of God is prior to knowledge of oneself. It com-
prises here, as a prerequisite for knowledge of the law:
1. the fundamental attributes of God (hypostatized): God is infinite Wis-
dom, Justice, Goodness, Mercy, Truth, Power and Life;
2. God as the Creator of the universe and the consequent duty of creatures
to render service and obedience;
3. God as just Judge;
4. God as the merciful and gracious One, who is ready to accept whoever
comes to him in faith and trust.
Self-knowledge is in stark contrast to the knowledge of God. It shows
that human beings were created in the image and likeness of God but
through sin have become “children of wrath,” so that we are neither will-
ing nor able to do our duty. The Law—both the inner law (conscience) and
the written law—only reveals our fallen state: “This teaching about justice
clearly shows us how far away we are from the right path.”122 The law, how-
118. See Ganoczy, Calvin; Reuter, Vom Scholaren; Partee, Calvin; Spijker, “Calvin”; Frank, Ver-
nunft, 69–74.
119. See Ganoczy, Calvin, 179–92; van’t Spijker, “Calvin,” 205–6.
120. OS 1:37: “Summa fere sacrae doctrinae duabus his partibus constat: Dei cognitione et nostri.”
See Augustinus, Soliloquia I, 2.7; on the influence of Bernard of Clairvaux: Reuter, Vom Scholaren,
63–65. On anthropology and self-knowedge, see Faber, Symphonie, 87–131.
121. OS 1:69–76.
122. OS 1:39.
ever, also leads to a correct self-evaluation in God’s sight, which in turn cor-
responds to the steps in knowing God:
1. God is the Creator, our Lord and Father; we owe Him glorification,
respect and love.
2. N o one can accomplish this by his own unaided powers; therefore we are
all liable to judgment and eternal death.
3. C onsequently some way to salvation must be sought other than through
one’s own righteousness. Left to our own devices, we have nothing but
despair.
4. This way is opened up for us in the forgiveness of sins in Christ.
5. W ith His Spirit and equipped with a new heart, we are able to keep
His commandments.123
Therefore this knowledge of God is initially an altogether practical and
personal knowledge. Calvin’s theology here is consciously dependent on
its ideal of “pietas”; indeed, the Institutio is supposed to be the “summa” of
these religious duties.124 Already in the dedicatory epistle to King Francis
I (which is reprinted in all the later editions), he underscores his efforts in
this work to lead people “ad veram pietatem” [“to true piety”] and thus to
the knowledge of Christ.125 Theological knowledge is therefore conveyed
in a practical way that applies to everyday life; it does not lead to the knowl-
edge of a superterrestrial substance, but rather to knowledge of the living
God and of Christ.126 This pietas on the one hand corresponds to our sta-
tus as creatures, based on a proper acknowledgment of our duties with
regard to the Creator; an even more forceful reason, though, is our status
as adopted children of the Father.127 The learned jurist Calvin is certainly
thinking here in terms of Roman law. The meaning of pietas is summed up
in the right way of fearing and loving God.128 The “pietatis studiosi” [“those
seeking to practice piety”] for whom Calvin originally planned his work are
therefore not only students of theology. This fundamentally distinguishes
his intention from that of Melanchthon’s Loci: He does not want to write an
academic introduction for the study of theology. For, as Erasmus also had
said, all Christians are called to pietas as a lifelong endeavor: “Tota Christia-
123. OS 1:40. 124. See Ganoczy, Calvin, 220–32.
125. OS 1:21.
126. OS 1:23: “non nostra est, sed Dei viventis et Christi eius.”
127. OS 1:76; see also Faber, Symphonie, 81–85: “Geschöpfliche Wesenheit als Gehorsamakt”
[“Creaturely Essence as Act of Obedience”].
128. OS 1:52.
norum vita quaedam pietatis meditatio esse debet, quoniam in sanctificationem
vocati sunt.”129 [“The whole life of Christians must be a certain preparation
or training for piety, for they are called to sanctification.”] In contrast, the
false worship of God, which Calvin sees in idolatry, superstition and Rom-
ish customs, is held up as “impietas” [“impiousness, irreverence”].130
Calvin’s approach as a Reformer leads to a demand for a new method
of theological instruction, which he himself means to provide in the Insti-
tutiones. The Scholastics appear as the “impii” who are to blame for the fact
that the truth of Christ, while not yet entirely vanished, is nevertheless bur-
ied under the rubble, that is to say, under an inextricable tangle of compli-
cated theses that have no basis is Scripture.131 The theologian should start
out from “scripturae simplicitas” [“the simplicity of Scripture”] and should
rule out all the secondary literature of the Scholastics, which Calvin—like a
good Augustinian—regards as the product of curiositas.132 The Scholastics
take up positions either this side of Scripture or beyond it; in no instance is
their doctrine in keeping with Scripture; instead it is their own intellectual
construct.133 Besides Scripture, the young Reformer—like a good human-
ist—approves of the Church Fathers only. They unanimously refused to
mingle God’s word with subtle sophistries or to make it the object of logical
wrangling. If the Fathers were to come back today and listen to a disputa-
tion in so-called speculative (= Scholastic) theology, they would not be able
to detect that the subject matter was God.134
Calvin confronts Scholastic theology with his ideal of the authentic,
simple, and pure word of God. Scripture, which in itself is clear, should be
interpreted plainly for simple people as an “appeal, exhortation and instruc-
tion for men.” Therefore, despite his humanistic and philological schooling,
he intends to follow a simple and nonscholarly method of teaching even in
his scriptural exegesis, without dismissing as irrelevant, however, a thor-
ough education in languages and the Church Fathers.135 Comprehensibil-
ity and brevity are considered methodological norms both for scriptural
129. OS 1:224; “meditatio” here means training, practical effort to do something.

130. See Ganoczy, Calvin, 224–26; esp. OS 1:289–328: Epistola de fugiendis impiorum illicitis sac-
ris [Letter on fleeing the illicit sacred rites of the impious].
131. See also Ganoczy and Scheld, Hermeneutik.
132. OS 1:139. 133. OS 1:144.
134. OS 1:29.
135. OS 1:21: “Hanc mihi fuisse propositam rationem liber ipse loquitur, ad simplicem scilicet
rudemque docendi formam appositus.” [“The book itself testifies that this was my intended plan:
namely (to write a book) suitable as a model for teaching the simple uneducated man.”] See
Ganoczy and Scheld, Hermeneutik, 182–87.
interpretation and for the separate systematic presentation of the faith in
the Institutiones. Exegesis and systematic theology are methodologically
separate but serve the same ideal and complement one another.136 They are
adapted to “God’s pedagogy” in Scripture instead of giving an arbitrary or
speculative interpretation of Scripture, as though the word of God were a
plaything or a wax nose that can be twisted in any direction.137 Partial ob-
scurities should be illuminated through analogies; otherwise, though, one’s
point of departure should be the simple and clear sense of Scripture as the
norm for theology also: “The rule for thinking and speaking is to be derived
from Scripture; all thoughts and words should be very precisely aligned
with it.”138
3 The Catholic understanding of theology

The Catholic understanding of theology during the Reformation period
also experienced the tension between Scholasticism and humanism, but in
addition it was diametrically opposed to substantial elements of Reforma-
tion theology. This is evident in the works of the two most important dia-
logue partners of the Reformers: Dr. Johannes Eck and Cardinal Cajetan.
3.1 Humanist reform of Scholasticism

and controversy: Johannes Eck
The most important German opponent of Luther, Dr. Johannes Eck
( Johannes Maier von Egg an der Günz, 1486–1543), was by no means a
Scholastic of the old school.139 Already as a celebrated teacher in Tübingen
he was an adherent of the via moderna, yet he sought to improve Ockhamist
logic by opening it up to humanist methods of interpretation and a new lin-
guistic culture.140 In 1510 he was appointed professor in Ingolstadt. He was
initially on friendly terms with both Luther and the humanists. In his first
theological work, Chrysopassus praedestinationis (1514), he exhibited at least
a distinct affinity to the Reformation doctrine of grace and justification.141
136. See, for example, OS 3:6, 24–28 (Introduction to the Inst. 1539); see also Ganoczy and
Scheld, Hermeneutik, 122–23.
137. Johannis Calvini Opera quae supersunt omnia, ed. G. Baum, E. Cunitz, E. Reuss, 59 vols.
(Braunschweig, 1863–1900), 6:268; 9:533 et passim; see also Ganoczy and Scheld, Hermeneutik, 114–15.
138. OS 1:73.
139. See Iserloh, Johannes Eck; Smolinsky, “Johannes Eck.”
140. See Seifert, Logik.
141. See Greving, Johann Eck.
Unlike Erasmus and the Reformers, Eck was also concerned about
refining and simplifying Scholasticism in theology. Thus in the dog days
[midsummer] of 1542 he was still lecturing: a short explanation of the first
book of the Sentences, in which he discussed the introductory theoretical
questions about science in a few pages.142 In contrast to the existential, an-
thropological approach of Reformation theology, Eck’s definition of theol-
ogy adopts the Scholastic tradition in summary form: “Theology is the sci-
ence that deals with God, His perfections, attributes and relations, and also
with creatures insofar as they are considered in relation to God.”143 Accord-
ing to the methodus definitiva et divisa [method of definition and division],
the individual expressions in the definition are then explained and/or illus-
trated. The relation of creatures to God is inherently twofold: creation and
sanctification [Beseligung]. The subjectum theologiae [subject of theology]
in the primary and perfect sense is therefore God, but secondarily also the
creature, especially man, since he can acquire grace and attain justification.
A clear, concise distinction is made between natural and supernatural the-
ology—the latter based on inspired Scripture—or between acquired and
infused theology. The theology of God, who is the “theologotatos,” in other
words, theology “in se” [“in itself ”] without regard to man’s status in salva-
tion history, is clearly separated from “theologia in nobis” [“theology in or
among us”] or theology as it is believed according to man’s status at a given
time as opposed to the “theologia in se,” which is known. “More philosopho-
rum loquendo” [“speaking in the manner of philosophers”], Eck adopts as
his criterion for the subject of a science the Scotist definition, namely that
it should contain virtually the truths of that science. The object of theology
consists of sacred Scripture and the valid conclusions that are drawn logical-
ly from it. Theology is—in keeping with the via moderna—partly practical,
partly affective, depending on the propositions that it contains. Thus “pater
genuit filium” [“The Father begot the Son”] is a theoretical proposition, even
when something about appropriate divine worship is inferred from it.144
Although Eck’s instructional method in his lectures on the Sentences is
consistently that of definition and division, in his Enchiridion locorum com-
munium adversus Lutherum et alios hostes ecclesiae [“Handbook of common-
142. In Primum Librum Sententiarum Annotatiunculae D. Johanne Eckio Praelectore Anno ab
Christo nato 1542, per dies caniculares, quos alioqui a studiis gravioribus feriari solebat, ed. W. L. More,
Jr. (Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought 13) (Leiden, 1976), 15–17.
143. Ibid., In prol. (15.7–10): “Theologia est scientia quae de Deo, eius perfectionibus, attributis et
relationibus tractat, aut etiam de creaturis secundum quod in Deum referentur.”
144. Eck, I Sent. prol. (15–17).
places contrary to Luther and other enemies of the Church”] (First printing
1525, successively enlarged until 1543) he has recourse to the common rep-
ertoire of Scholasticism as refined by humanism.145 Unlike Melanchthon’s
Loci, Eck does not try to give an overview of theology, but rather a sum-
mary of the main points of controversy between the religious parties, which
are treated according to a scheme of propositio (sometimes called axioma
also) and its probatio [proof] from established passages from Scripture and
the Fathers. The basic scheme is often that of a disputation as well: proposi-
tio—probatio—objectiones—solutiones.146 Even at the methodological level,
therefore, Eck’s loci [citations, passages]—Zwingli’s influential observation
notwithstanding—is not a Catholic imitation of Melanchthon’s;147 rather,
Eck is posing the question as to the order, relative weight, and authoritative
proof of the theological theses that are to be discussed controversially. The
following topics are situated at the head of the loci: Church—Council—pa-
pal primacy—Scripture. Then come: faith and works, the sacraments and
ecclesiastical rites and customs. The probatio of the central propositions
(e.g., the veneration of the saints, chapter 15) follows the pattern: Scrip-
ture—ratio—auctoritates sanctorum (the Fathers)—ecclesiae consuetudo
[custom of the Church] in broadly developed chapters. The practical pur-
pose of this controversial-theological presentation is underscored by refer-
ences to thematically related sermons by Eck.148 The practical significance
of the loci is set forth even more plainly in the foreword to the shorter Ger-
man edition of 1530: in connection with the “simple” humanist theology,
they are meant to serve as an abridgment of Scholastic theology.149 Here
Eck has “briefly drawn up and compiled in this little handbook the founda-
tion and summary idea [of theology], first and foremost the most important
sayings of Holy Divine Scripture, so that everyone—even somebody with
little understanding—might be able to gain insight quickly into any mat-
ter that may arise and to find at hand [i.e., conveniently] the chief passages
from Scripture, and sometimes also the authority of the holy divine doc-
145. Johannes Eck, Enchiridion locorum communium adversus Lutherum et alios hostes ecclesiae
(1525–1543), ed. P. Fraenkel (CCath 34) (Münster, 1979). On the history of its composition, see
Minnich, “Origins.”
146. For example, Enchiridion c. 1 prop. 4 (24–34).
147. See Fraenkel, Einleitung zu Eck, Enchridion 1*–16*; Zwingli’s letter to Vadian dated 22 April
1526: CR 95.574.
148. For example, Enchiridion, c.5 prop.2 (92.3).
149. Johannes Eck, Enchiridion: Handbüchlin gemainer stell unnd Artickel der jetzt schwebenden
Neuwen leeren, Faksimile-Druck der Ausgabe Augsburg 1533, ed. E. Iserloh (CCath 35) (Münster,
1980).
tors, as they have then been accepted by the Christian Churches.”150 The
purely topical arrangement of the material is explained here by the charac-
ter of this small reference work. Of course, because this work is destined for
the “simple” Christian, a coarsening of the style can be observed, especially
in the supplementary material not found in the Latin original.151
Topical, controversial theological debate thus replaces the discovery of
truth through disputation. This is explicitly justified in the last chapter of the
original version: “Non disputandum cum haereticis” [“One should not dispute
with heretics”].152 Earlier, chapter 26 “De haereticis comburendis” [“On burn-
ing heretics”] cites an objection of the heretics (specifically Luther’s), that
one must dispute with them and defeat them with the sword of the Spirit,
that is, with the word of God, and not with fire.153 Relying on papal con-
demnations, Eck adduces proof of heresy in Luther’s case (Zwingli’s also in
the German version) by the tried and true procedure of showing that their
works repeat the teachings of the old condemned heretics: “then they re-
vive the old condemned heresies of Arius, Manes [and the Manichees],
Helvidius, Vigilantius, Jovinian, Aëtius, Eutyches, Felix, Wycliffe, Hus, and
other heretics; therefore one should not dispute with them.”154 The reproach
that disputation was vicious, which Luther had levelled against Scholasti-
cism and his Catholic opponents, is now turned against the heretics: they
lack fundamental docility; instead they just want to defend their tenets unto
death. Moreover they want to dispute, not in the presence of learned, edu-
cated individuals who are well-versed in theology, but rather (as in Zurich,
for example) “coram indoctis, vulgaribus laicis” [“before uneducated, common
lay people”], who are in no way capable of deciding such difficult questions
of faith. Furthermore, Eck has recourse to the condemnations of the new
doctrine by the universities (Paris, Spain, Oxford, Cambridge, Louvain/
Leuven, and Cologne). Disputation, an academic method of finding the
150. Eck, Enchiridion 13.

151. Thus Handbüchlin c.12 (38); Enchridion 149, n. 35: “in allen fleischlichenn wollust, wie Zwingli,
Luter: betten nit, fasten nit, lesen nit mesz, hörend kaiene, kommen weder in vesper noch metten, ist jn
Freytag, Quotember, Fasztag, Fasztnacht als gleich, nemmen weiber jrs gefallens und fressen der kirchen
und clöster güeter. Das ist gut evangelisch. Ja, in der hell!” [“In all carnal pleasures, as Zwingli goes, so
goes Luther: they don’t pray, don’t fast, don’t say Mass or hear (attend) any, don’t come to vespers
or matins, whether it’s Friday, an ember day, a fast day or Shrove Tuesday, they take wives accord-
ing to their fancy and consume the assets of the churches and monasteries. That’s certainly the
Evangelical (Protestant) way. Well, to hell with them!”]
152. Enchiridion c. 27 (280–85); on the biographical background, see also Minnich, “Origins.”
153. Ibid., c.26 (277).
154. Eck, Handbüchlin c.27 (75).
truth, is therefore no longer appropriate with the innovators [Neugläubigen],
especially since the Lutherans allegedly are only trying to win people over to
their doctrine. Moreover Christian doctrine is thereby held up to ridicule by
the heathens, Turks and Jews, whereas it is a major scandal for simple Chris-
tians when age-old ordinances of the Church and of the Fathers are called
into question. Therefore such things should not be debated “coram frigidis et
male sentientibus laicis” [“before dull laymen who do not think aright”].155
Eck regards the question of probative authorities as precisely the crux of the
whole problem: the supporters of the Reformation accept Scripture alone,
in their own interpretation, of course, which is in turn unacceptable for Eck,
with his Scholastic and humanist education:
Besides, by design it is their stiff-necked and blockheaded [verstopffte] method, that
they are unwilling to tolerate any other judge than Scripture; yet they tear it to piec-
es dismissively and find fault with it in their false interpretations and glosses, so that
St. Paul [himself] has to contend with such prohibitions [verbotten].156
Only if suitable judges were present would a disputation still have any
value; otherwise the topical armamentarium of the Loci communes remains
the necessary preparation for the battle that is beginning in the Counter-
Reformation.
3.2 Cajetan and the new Thomism

When the Reformation runs directly up against the living Scholastic
tradition, it is not so much the via moderna from which Luther and Eck
developed, but rather the new Thomism157 that had grown stronger since
the mid-fifteenth century as a result of the debate about the two ways; this
Thomism was represented in particular by Cardinal Thomas de Vio, O.P.
(1469–1534), who served as a professor in Padua, Pavia, and Rome, then
as general of his order and was called Cajetan.158 Cajetan’s work was vo-
luminous (philosophical commentaries on Aristotle and Thomas, Scrip-
tural commentaries, treatises); especially worth noting here is his com-
mentary on the Summa Theologiae of Thomas Aquinas (on the Prima Pars,
1507/08).159 Unlike the influential Defensiones theologiae Divi Thomae Aqui-
155. Eck, Enchiridion c.28 (282).

156. Eck, Handbüchlin c.27 (145/75).
158. Concerning his biography and his controversy with Luther, see Wicks, Cajetan.
159. Published along with the Leonine Edition of the Summa, vols. IV–XII; separately: Thom-
ae de Vio Caietani Commentaria in Summam Theologiam, ed. H. Prosper, vol. 1 (Lyrae, 1892); list
natis by Johannes Capreolus, O.P. († 1444),160 Cajetan’s commentary is in-
formed not so much by intramural Scholastic debates with the Scotists and
Nominalists as by the encounter with the new philological Aristotelianism
and the Averroës renaissance in Padua (Pietro Pomponazzi [† 1524]). Even
stylistically it displays far more humanist elegance than Scholastic “bar-
barity.”161 Another ongoing feature, of course, is the debate with Scotism,
which also was represented in Padua by the Franciscans. Remarkable, too,
for the controversy with the Reformation, which was generally hostile to
metaphysics, is the extensive incorporation of metaphysical questions in
theology, whereby Cajetan deviates from Thomas, however, along the lines
of “more modern” solutions.162
Methodologically Cajetan strives for the “perspicuitas” [clarity] that
was so highly prized by the humanists and at the outset raises the question,
whether it is not perverse to cram a work designed as a beginner’s textbook
(the Summa) with the subtleties of the various schools of thought.163 In a
pedagogically skillful way, the “novitius” [novice] in theology is addressed
directly and alerted to the significance of conceptual distinctions for pur-
poses of disputation, e.g., between theologia in se and theologia in nobis.164
Cajetan’s training in humanistic scholarship is evident when he distinguish-
es with philological precision among the senses of individual terms. The
first comprehensive commentary on the whole Summa proceeds at each
article according to the pattern:
1. expositio formalis: an explanation of the individual terms of the question
or the conclusions, according to their various meanings;
2. e xpositio et diviso textus: a methodically arranged table of contents of
the article;
3. e xpositio magistralis: discussion of Thomas’ teaching (as summarized
in his conclusions), in the form of objections or dubia and the solution
thereof in individual steps of argumentation, along the lines of a quaestio
disputata.165
of his works, x–xiii. The commentary on the Sentences composed in Padua is unpublished: Paris,
Bibliothèque Nationale Cod. lat. 3076.
160. Johannes Capreolus, Defensiones theologiae Divi Thomae Aquinatis, ed. C. Paban—Th.
Pègues, 7 vols. (Tours, 1900–1908); see also Grabmann, “Johannes Capreolus.”
161. See Wicks, Cajetan, 10–19; Grabmann, “Stellung.”
162. See Hegyj, Bedeutung; Hallensleben, Communicatio, 53–220.
163. Cajetan, In I S.Th. prol. (1a).
164. Ibid., q.1 a.1 G (7a). (For the distinction see Cajetan, I S.Th., 5.38.)
165. Grabmann, “Cajetan,” 607–8.
Aquinas’ understanding of theology, in its basic features, is valid for the
commentator as well. Yet the latter distinguishes much more precisely than
Thomas does between theologia dei [God’s knowledge of himself], the sub-
altern theologia in se [knowledge about God in himself] as a real science,
and theologia in nobis [knowledge about God in us, his creatures]—which
depending on one’s status is either the theology of the blessed or theolo-
gia viatorum [. . . of wayfarers, i.e., in salvation history]; in either case it is
only imperfectly a science and is moreover generally subordinated to God’s
knowledge. The discursive technique of our theology is regarded as an im-
perfection that is to be removed, and not as something constitutive for the
intuitive and necessary theological knowledge of God.166 Consequently
the first division of the sciences cannot be into theoretical and practical
sciences, but rather into infinite and finite knowledge. Only finite knowl-
edge is theoretical or practical. Therefore theology, regarded at first in prin-
ciple as the theology of God, can combine theoretical and practical knowl-
edge. What Thomas Aquinas attempted to resolve in terms of the theory
of science is now demonstrated metaphysically as a consequence of God’s
knowledge.167 Our theology, however, is nothing more than an “impressio
et sigillum proprium scientiae divinae” [“an impression and a particular seal
of divine knowledge”]; for both deal with God insofar as he is God (de Deo
inquantum Deus), but our knowledge does so in a derivative way, through
a slight but genuine participation in the light of God’s knowledge.168 This
provides the metaphysical proof for the speculative “theologia gloriae” that
Luther disputed; of course the boundary between acquired and infused the-
ology is less clearly emphasized. Our theology also grasps its formal object
(sub ratione Dei [considered in relation to God]) only in an epistemologi-
cal light that is diminished in comparison to the divine light, and therefore
it does not lead to a comprehensive knowledge of all truths about God.169
Remarkably, for his second proof for God as the subjectum theologiae, Ca-
jetan uses a Scotist argument that has been accommodated to Thomas: the
subject of a science contains the entire science virtually within itself. God,
however, is the subject of the articles of faith, which are the principles of
theology.170 In the question about the argumentative character of theology
(I q.1 a.8), Cajetan explicitly addresses the objection that Scholastic specu-
lative theology spends too much time on philosophical arguments that are
166. Cajetan, In I S.Th. q.1 a.1 F–G (6b–7b). 167. Ibid., q.1 a.4 C (12b–13a).
168. Ibid., E (12a). 169. Ibid., q.1 a.7 E (18ab).
170. Ibid., G (18b–20b); see also Leinsle, “Einheit der Wissenschaft nach Johannes Duns Scotus.”
foreign to theology. Cajetan acknowledges that philosophical arguments
per se are foreign to theology. Yet the theologian may make use of them “ut
ministrae theologiae” [“as maidservants of theology”], and insofar as he does
this, they become genuinely theological arguments, even if only “ministerial-
iter” [“in an ancillary way”]. In particular, arguments from metaphysics and
natural philosophy are needed to refute opposing positions, to resolve ob-
jections and to declare the truths that theology deals with only secondarily,
for example, the existence and metaphysical attributes of God. Replying to
philosophical objections purely in terms of faith, however, makes theology
a laughingstock for philosophers.171
Luther’s meeting with the papal legate, Cajetan, in Augsburg in October
1518172 was thus the meeting of two very different intellectual paradigms and
theologies as well. Cajetan’s Augsburg treatises in the form of quaestiones—
“the first major work of controversial theology against the teachings and de-
mands of the Lutheran Reformation”—show this quite clearly.173 Cajetan’s
approach in countering Luther’s teachings is basically the one foreseen in
his commentary on the Summa: rational analysis within the framework of
natural reason, terminological clarification and the testing of theses against
accepted probative authorities. For Cajetan, however, the latter are of differ-
ent kinds (in contrast to Luther’s retreat to the position of “sola Scriptura”):
1. recta ratio [right reason] as the basis for philosophical-theological
argumentation;
2. the consensus of theologians; it is irresponsible to contradict it, especially
when this is done “sine ratione et sine auctoritate et contra communem
sententiam” [“without reason, without authority, and contrary to com-
mon opinion”];174
3. the sensus ecclesiae [mind of the Church], as a Spirit-wrought, infallible
guiding principle in the transmission of revelation, in questions of faith
and as an element of the Church’s unity;175
4. the official teaching of the Church, above all in papal decisions and bulls.
Luther’s anti-Thomistic stance, from as early as his controversy with
Tetzel (ca. 1465–1519) and Prierias (1456–1523), should be seen also as a con-
171. Cajetan, In I S.Th. q.1 a.8 F (21b–22a).
172. See Hennig, Cajetan und Luther; Wicks, Cajetan, 43–112; Morerod, Cajetan; Hallensleben,
Communicatio, 438–536; Lohse, Theologie, 125–34.
173. Wicks, Cajetan, 80–81; Cajetan, Opuscula omnia (Lyons, 1581), 91a–118b.
174. Cajetan, Opuscula, 108a.60–108b.2; see also Wicks, Cajetan, 86–93.
175. Cajetan, Opuscula, 103a.8; see also Cajetan, in II/II S.Th. q.1 a.1 (Leonine edition 7:8–10).
frontation between the new theological claim that he makes for his asserti-
ones as opposed to Scholasticism, which because of its reliance on human
authority moves in principle solely at the level of opiniones.176 When Tetzel
appeals to Thomas and the latter’s approval by the Pope, this makes no more
impression on Luther than Cajetan’s insistence on the consensus among
theologians. Consensus usually comes about because later scholars are only
“yes-men and followers” of the opinions of our “dear cousins” [vetter, i.e.,
not quite “Fathers” = Väter] (Thomas, Bonaventure, Alexander of Hales).177
Thomas should not be considered an authority when he speaks without the
decisive probative authorities: Scripture, the Fathers, the canons, rationes.178
The decisive debate between Luther and Cajetan in Augsburg (conducted
in terms of the understanding of theology at that time) concerns the doc-
trine of the Church and her role with regard to Scripture: theses based (in
Luther’s view) on Scripture violate the norms of Scriptural interpretation,
ecclesial consensus and ecclesiastical decisions that are promoted by Ca-
jetan.179 Luther, given his understanding of Scripture and theology, could no
longer accept Cajetan’s insistence that in this case the official interpretation
of Scripture by the pope took precedence.180 The discrepancy between two
fundamental theological options was consequently obvious.
176. WA 1.647–48.
177. WA 1.384.
178. See Luther’s polemic against Prierias: WA 1.647–72.
179. WA Br. 1.238–39.
180. See also WA 2.9–16.
6 Scholastic Theology: Early Modern Period
“Baroque Scholasticism” or the “Second Scholasticism” is the name usu-

ally applied to the period of Catholic (and in a qualified sense Protestant)
theology and philosophy between humanism and the Reformation on the
one hand and the Enlightenment on the other.1 This “second” Scholasticism
developed however out of the “first” of the late Middle Ages. Thus the al-
tercations between nominalists and realists in Paris prompted Petrus Crock-
aert, O.P. († 1514) and his student Francisco de Vitoria (1483/93–1546) to
put Thomism on a new foundation—an endeavor that we have already en-
countered in Cajetan. In its method and manner of framing questions, the
Scholasticism of the early modern period nevertheless adopted critically the
issues and solutions of its time.
1 Development and presentational forms

The Scholastic theology of the early modern period had its home in the
educational institutions and universities, which in the age of confessional
absolutism increasingly became “denominational institutions for the train-
ing of the next generation [of clergymen] in a given territory.”2 In addi-
tion, on the Catholic side, there were the houses of studies of the religious
orders, where often only a few professors trained the clerics of their own
monastery or friary.3 In the literature of that time and place, apart from the
great masters and points of debate, a large number of manuals, compendia,
systemata, lexicons, collections of axioms, and treatises [Thesenschriften] of
the various higher institutes and monastic schools are still anxiously await-
ing an evaluation.
1. See Leinsle, Scholastik; Quinto, Scholastica, 221–37; Giacon, Seconda Scholastica.
2. Dreitzel, Protestantischer Aristotelismus, 28.
3. Described by way of a few representatives examples in Leinsle, Studium.
277
1.1 The university as a territorial

and confessional institution for education
Medieval universities were associations utriusque iuris [having legal sta-
tus in both civil and canon law] that were divided according to nationali-
ties but were in principle international. In the post-Reformation period the
territorial principle came to prevail at the universities of the Holy Roman
Empire also, as it had already done in the universities founded during the
fifteenth century. The territorial idea was further complicated by the confes-
sional division: the university became a territorial, state educational institu-
tion influenced directly by the local ruler and at the same time the guarantee
of the creed to which the ruler adhered. As such it was directly responsible
for the training of the clergy, officials, and teachers of the territory.4 Catho-
lic, Lutheran, and Reformed institutions of higher education competed with
each other. A change of confession by the ruler or territorial alterations often
brought about a change in the university landscape. Thus after the assign-
ment of the Reformed University of Marburg to Hessen-Darmstadt (1625),
the Lutheran University of Giessen (founded 1607) was transferred to Mar-
burg; the Calvinists who were driven from Marburg took over the Gymna-
sium illustre [a selective secondary school] in Kassel. After Marburg reverted
to Hessen-Kassel (1645), another university affiliated with Reformed Chris-
tianity was founded there in 1653.5
The universities in France and Italy had a stronger international charac-
ter while maintaining their old structures. Records from the period show
that Bologna, Padua, and Perugia in particular had a significant presence
[natio] of German students. Besides the amenities of studying south of the
Alps, the more modest financial and doctrinal demands may sometimes
have proved attractive. Within confessional boundaries, nevertheless, we
sometimes find a remarkably international community of students and
professors. Hungarian Calvinists and Bohemian or Moravian Brothers tra-
ditionally studied in Herborn, Heidelberg, and the universities in Holland,
among them Johann Amos Comenius (1592–1670, 1611–1613 in Herborn).
Gabriel Bethlen brought professors from Herborn to his school in Weissen-
burg (Alba Julia) in Transylvania.6 The Catholic universities in the imperial
4. See Hammerstein, “Universitäten,” 248.

5. See Benrath, “Universität,” 71–72.
6. See Wolf, “Niederländischer Einfluss”; Schöffler, Deutsches Geistesleben (on Jena); Leinsle,
Scholastic Theology: Early Modern Period 279
realm were likewise attended by “foreigners,” and not just from adjoining
territories—which in splintered Swabia, for example, could often mean in
the very next city; instead in Dillingen we meet students from the Rhine-
land, from North Germany, Bohemia, Moravia, Poland, Lithuania, Italy,
France, the Netherlands, and Scotland.7 There was naturally the danger of
a certain provincialism at the universities; nevertheless it was diminished
by the extensive contacts with colleagues at other universities, as well as by
the peregrinatio academica [traveling] of the students and the confessional
connections of the rulers.8 Then too, in the Catholic sphere there was the
transnational organization of the Jesuit Order, which until its dissolution
(1773) occupied the most professorial chairs in theology. On the other
hand, the ritualized academic life led by scholars and students in the “Eu-
ropean republic of the learned” made up the real-world background against
which theology, too, could become institutionalized in its modern form as a
university discipline. On the Protestant side, supervision of the universities
was up to the territorial ruler or his consistory [Lutheran Church Coun-
cil]. Yet the theological faculty itself became an instrument of ecclesiastical
supervision in doctrinal questions—in Wittenberg as early as the 1533 stat-
utes.9 At the Catholic universities, questions of university supervision not
infrequently led to conflicts between the local rulers (duke, prince, bishop)
and the superiors of the Society of Jesus.10
The institutions of higher learning of the three confessions in question
not only had institutional and structural features in common; they also saw
the further development of the “Scholastic” instructional methods of lec-
tio and disputatio. In this regard we must not underestimate the importance
of the alignment of the Jesuit Ratio Studiorum [plan of studies] with the
“modus Parisiensis” [“Parisian manner”], which compared with the “modus
Italicus” lay greater stress on disputation.11 Lectio was still the reading of a
textbook, that is, Scripture, the Loci communes or Luther’s Catechism, or
in Catholic curricula the Sentences of Peter Lombard, or the Summa Theo-
Ding, 369–70 (on Johann Heinrich Alsted [1588–1638]); Leinsle, Reformversuche, 27–28 ( Johann
Heinrich Bisterfeld [ca. 1605–1655]); 40–42 ( Johann Amos Comenius [1592–1670]).
7. See Leinsle, Dilinganae Disputationes, 17.
8. See Trunz, “Späthumanismus.”
9. See Paulsen, Geschichte, 1:219.
10. For example, the dispute about the “foundation candle” that was supposed to be handed
over to the bishop by the rector of the University of Dillingen: Specht, Geschichte, 140–43. On the
various sorts of Jesuit participation at or administration of universities, see also Hengst, Jesuiten.
11. See Codina Mír, Aux Sources; Leinsle, Dilinganae Disputationes, 27–48.
logiae of Aquinas. The decisive element, however, now became the profes-
sor’s dictation, although dictating lessons per se was prohibited—and not
only among the Jesuits.12 The lecture was accompanied by repetition as the
“sinew of instruction,” sometimes at the end of the lecture, at the beginning
of the next one, or at home at the residential college with “repetitors” who
were specially appointed for that purpose.13
Disputation was considered very important in all the confessions, de-
spite repeated objections from humanist and Reformation circles even at
Lutheran universities. Disputations were conducted in Greek and Hebrew
as well.14 Disputations were just the place to discuss current interreligious
questions or controversial issues within a confession. Above and beyond
the daily repetitions, we should distinguish at least the following:
eekly disputations in a smaller circle (disputationes circulares), in which
1. w
the students disputed publicly while a professor presided,15
2. m onthly disputations (disputationes menstruae), sometimes reduced to
four per year. In Dillingen, for example, they consisted of two two-hour
sessions in the morning and the afternoon and were supposed to cover
no more than twelve to fifteen theses. Seven argumentatores (opponents)
competed with five defendants.
3. ceremonial disputations (disputationes solemnes) pro gradu (leading to
the conferral of the baccalaureate, licentiate, master’s or doctor’s degree),
at the conclusion of a course (disputatio finalis) or on other important
occasions.16 At institutions of higher learning that were not authorized to
confer degrees (gymnasium illustre, lyceum) and at monastery schools the
degree disputations were omitted; graduation and occasional disputa-
tions were celebrated with eminent guests and considerable expense.17
1.2 Catholic theology after the Council of Trent

The Council of Trent (1546–1563) was the standard, both institution-
ally and thematically, for the Catholic theology of the following period.
Thematically the most important decisions proved to be those concerning
questions about the sources of revelation, justification, sacramental doc-
12. See Tholuck, Das akademische Leben, 1:88–95.

13. Ibid., 95; see also Specht, Geschichte, 207.
14. See Tholuck, Akademisches Leben, 241–46.
15. See Horn, Disputationen, 30–38; Marti, “Disputation.”
16. See Horn, Disputationen, 13–30; Leinsle, Dilinganae Disputationes, 27–34.
17. See Leinsle, “Festdisputationen.”
trine and ecclesiology.18 They proposed, so to speak, a research program for
theology, while also leaving room for it to fill out the definitions through
speculation and to develop theories independently in undecided questions.
Institutionally the documents that became especially important were the
decree De Reformatione (session V, June 17, 1546) and the decree on semi-
naries (session XXIII, July 15, 1563). The first foresees in suitably endowed
local Churches the establishment of professorial chairs of sacred Scripture
or at least the appointment of a grammar teacher to instruct poor students
gratis. The “lectio sacrae scripturae” is likewise prescribed, when possible, for
the independent monasteries and the convents of the other religious orders.
The decree on seminaries institutionalizes the education of the diocesan
clergy and at the same time specifies the basic curriculum: grammar, sing-
ing, ecclesiastical chronology, and other “bonae artes” [“fine arts”]; then sa-
cred Scripture, ecclesiastical books, patristic homilies, and everything per-
taining to the administration of the sacraments (above all Penance) and to
the celebration of the liturgy.19 In these minimum requirements the educa-
tional program of the Middle Ages was clearly readopted, but also modified
for practical and pastoral purposes.
In the years that followed, educational institutions slowly developed ac-
cording to this pattern. Theology is clearly subdivided here into the study
of sacred Scripture and moral theology with a view to hearing confessions.
We find an application in the first lesson plans for the year 1550–1551 at the
Collegium Sancti Hieronymi [College of St. Jerome] in Dillingen that had
been founded in 1549 by Cardinal Otto Truchsess von Waldburg (1514–1573,
one of the Council Fathers). The plans provide for two theology professors,
one of whom explains the pastoral letters and then “Gospel history” (“Evan-
gelica historia”), and then in 1551–1552 the first chapters of Genesis and Dan-
iel, while the other lectures on the Sentences and then in the second year
of the Letters of Paul. For the practical and pastoral training of those who
cannot study as long on account of their age or “per ingenium” [“because of
their natural character”], the briefest possible individual instruction (“seor-
sim quam brevissime”) is offered in all that is necessary and sufficient for the
18. See the pertinent sections of the HDG; for a summary from the Lutheran perspective:
W. Dantine, “Das Dogma im tridentinischen Katholizismus,” HDThG 2:411–98.
19. Fr. Diego Lainez (1512–1565) testified at the Council of Trent that the following were re-
quired in order to hear confessions: acquaintance with Latin, theological knowledge (mortal, ve-
nial sins, circumstances), canonical knowledge (reserved sins, ecclesiastical punishments): see also
H. Grisar, Iacobi Lainez secundi praepositi generalis Societatis Iesu Disputationes Tridentinae (Inns-
bruck, 1886), 2:440–41.
care of souls and the administration of the sacraments. The lecturer on the
Sentences is explicitly ordered to omit all useless questions that do not serve
to edify. In this program of instruction, which is basically still humanistic,
sacred Scripture and the Church Fathers are mentioned as the probative
authorities in explaining the Sentences. There is a strong warning against
quarreling, shouting, and useless questions during theological disputations,
which in 1550 were scheduled for the fifteenth of each month. Instead one
should modestly inquire about “veritas Catholicae et sanae doctrinae” [“the
truth of sound, Catholic doctrine”] and accept it charitably.20 In the initial
statutes from 1557 the lectures on the Sentences are expressly broadened to
include both Summas by Thomas Aquinas; Bonaventure and Alexander of
Hales are likewise recommended. This acknowledgment of Scholastic the-
ology still turns out to be critical, however: it must not be rejected, but any-
thing in it that does not pertain “ad rem,” that is, to edification in faith, hope,
and charity, should not be taught.21
Of far-reaching importance for the institutional theology of the post-
Tridentine era was the position accorded to it in the Ratio Studiorum of the
Jesuit Order. Ever since it took charge of the University of Coimbra (1542),
followed by the founding of Messina in 1548 and the takeover of Gandia in
1547 and of the Collegium Romanum in 1549, the Jesuits increasingly set
the tone for theological life in the early modern period.22 The Constitutions
from 1540 on already speak about Scholastic theology as the form of edu-
cation for members of the Society of Jesus, as distinguished from positive
theology.23 The latter comprises “conciliar decisions, works of ecclesiastical
writers, sections of canon law—excluding trial law—and moral themes or
writings.”24 Thus theology is arranged in three parts:
1. Sacred Scripture,
2. Scholastic theology,
3. positive theology.
Scholastic theology is bound up with the “doctrina Scholastica Divi
Thomae” [“Scholastic teaching of St. Thomas”], yet one should continue to
20. Specht, Geschichte, 606–7.

21. Ibid., 630.
22. For German-speaking lands, see Duhr, Geschichte der Jesuiten, 1:237–94; 2:1, 494–606.
23. Constitutiones Societatis Iesu IV, 6, ed. G. M. Pachtler, in Ratio Studiorum et Institutiones
Scholasticae Societatis Jesu per Germaniam olim vigentes (reprinted Osnabrück, 1968), 1:28–29.
24. See Theiner, Entwicklung 106–7.; on the previous history of the distinction since Johannes
Major (1469–1550) and Melchior Cano (1509.1560), see Quinto, Scholastica, 238–55.
read the Sentences also, until a special Jesuit textbook or a summa of Scholas-
tic theology approved by the general superior is introduced as a basis for lec-
tures.25 At the same time the purpose of education as a whole is defined: it is
to benefit the salvation of one’s own soul and the souls of others.26 Moreover
“scholasticus” acquires an additional, special meaning in the Jesuit Order: It
designates the Jesuit who is being trained in philosophy and theology.
Unlike the existing traditions of the Franciscans (Scotists) and Do-
minicans (Thomists), the new order brought with it no particular theology.
Selecting theological opinions and orientations from tradition therefore
posed a considerable problem. The selection was made in principle accord-
ing to their probability (justifiability).27 The adherence to Thomas Aquinas
was not servile. Not everything that he taught was to be adopted, nor were
all other opinions to be rejected: in 1578 the Jesuits in Cologne defined their
position with regard to Thomas as “neque omnia, neque sola.”28 Furthermore
every age has its current problems which not only broaden theology but
also lend it a new form, so to speak. The methodological consciousness of
the modern era therefore prompted the streamlining and systematization of
Scholastic theology: The Jesuits in Cologne classified the material in Thom-
as’ works under eight headings after the pattern of the Loci theologici:
1. Principles of theology,
2. Doctrine about God,
3. De homine (On man: creation and anthropology),
4. De justitia (morality),
5. Christology,
6. Sacramental theology,
7. De Caeremoniis [concerning rituals],
8. De consummatione (eschatology).
The drafts and proposals leading up to the Ratio Studiorum of 1599 list—
sometimes in long catalogues—those questions from the Summa Theologiae
that are to be treated elsewhere or not at all.29 With regard to the selection
of opiniones, we find similar lists with binding and nonbinding sententiae by
Thomas.30 The definitive Ratio Studiorum of 1599 immediately underscores
25. Const. SJ IV, 14 (Pachtler 1:58–59).
26. Ibid. IV, 5 (Pachtler 1:25).
27. See Leinsle, Delectus opinionum; collection of sources: MPSI.
28. Synopsis locorum theologicorum in certas classes distributa (Pachtler 1:244–47).
29. MPSI 5:275–77.
30. MPSI 5:2–40.
in the Regulae Professoris Scholasticae Theologiae the requirements for a the-
ology professor: “orthodoxa fides” and “pietas,” whereby orthodox belief is
viewed as serving religious piety. Thomas Aquinas is to be regarded as the
“Doctor proprius” [“special Doctor”] of Scholastic theology, and he should
be followed, but not as the Thomists do or even more slavishly, but rather
with a free and judicious reliance [Anschluss], which also allows deviations
in favor of a “sententia magis communis” or “magis recepta” [a more common
or more generally accepted opinion], as is explicitly prescribed for the ques-
tion of the Immaculate Conception. In controversial questions that Thomas
did not decide or discuss, one may choose a position freely. As a matter of
principle, however, even here one’s teaching must be aligned with the faith
of the Church and the “receptae traditiones” [“generally accepted traditions”]
and one should avoid everything that is detrimental to genuine piety. The
document explicitly warns against discarding traditional reasons of fitting-
ness or suitability [convenientia] and devising new “proofs,” unless these
are based on sure and solid principles. It also emphasizes conformity to lo-
cal doctrinal traditions, even if that means renouncing many opinions, as
a demand of prudent love of neighbor. It foresees that two or three profes-
sors will teach Scholastic theology. After a three-year preparatory study of
(Aristotelian) philosophy, the study of theology lasts four more years. Ex-
cluded from this purely Scholastic, speculative theology are all questions
of exegesis, apologetics, philosophy, and casuistry (casus conscientiae). After
1599, therefore the business of the Scholastic theologian is to comment on
Thomas. The method follows that of the thirteenth-century commentaries
on the Sententiae: explanation of the text while indicating the ratio [rationale,
reason for proceeding in a certain order] and then after each article, as need-
ed, a more precise explanation of the matter through quaestiones. Under no
circumstances should the professor merely present different sententiae; in-
stead, where applicable, he should defend Aquinas’ teaching.31 The freedom
of opinion that was thereby guaranteed led to various currents of thought
within the Jesuit Order itself. Faced with new difficulties, the General Supe-
rior Claudius Aquaviva (1543–1615) had to insist emphatically in 1611 and 1613
on the solidity and uniformity of doctrine in its central points.32 After the
9th General Congregation in 1649/50, General Superior Francesco Piccolo-
mini (1582–1651) presented once again, as guidelines for theology professors,
31. MPSI 5:380.

32. MPSI 7:657–64; see also Leinsle, Dilinganae Disputationes, 59–60.
an extensive list of required questions “juxta ordinem Summae Angelici Doc-
toris” [“according to the plan of the Angelic Doctor’s Summa”], and likewise
a series of forbidden sententiae.33
The new regulations by the Council of Trent for the study of theology
were implemented by the other religious orders also to the best of their abil-
ity. Whereas the mendicant orders already had their general and provincial
houses of studies, now the abbeys were called to institute courses of study.
Sometimes a monastic congregation chose to have a studium commune,
which could be hosted by different houses in turn, as, for example, in the
Bavarian Benedictine Congregation (1687–1769). Residential colleges for
religious orders were established in university cities, for instance the Col-
legium Norbertinum of the Premonstratensians, founded 1628 in Prague.34
The University of Salzburg, which was run by the Benedictines (1622),35
became the most important non-Jesuit institution of higher learning in the
Catholic territories of the Holy Roman Empire. Usually the only religious
sent to the universities and central colleges were those who had been as-
signed to serve afterward in the administration of their community or to
teach at their own house of studies. Generally they brought back to their
own monastery the philosophical or theological current that they had stud-
ied at the university.36 In the monastic schools, too, courses in Scholastic
theology (usually three years) could be clearly distinguished from courses
in positive theology (moral theology, casuistry, usually two years). Often
the entire community was included in a course on positive theology, which
also served as continuing education for the priests who had pastoral duties,
whereas Scholastic theology had an influence on the clergy in the surround-
ing areas through the major disputations.37 The immediate basis for the lec-
tures, which were usually dictated in this setting too, was not so much the
works of Aquinas as the current textbooks or cursus that were being used
more and more often at the universities. Of course abridgment often leads
also to a certain coarsening or simplification of what is taught; on the other
hand, the meeting of the various teaching traditions in one place helped to
guarantee a lively exchange among the schools of thought. These expanded
courses of study in the monasteries (which were conscious of their own lo-
cality and state in life) were precisely what made Scholastic theology ap-
33. Pachtler 3:77–101; on the development see: Hellyer, “Construction,” 24–30.

34. See Kuchařova, “Kolej.” 35. See Bauer, Metaphysik, 1–30.
36. See Leinsle, Studium, 146–57. 37. Ibid., 95–97; Leinsle, Disputationen.
pear to be not just an academic affair but a fundamental element in Catholic
education and culture during the early modern period, more so than during
the Middle Ages.
1.3 Scholastic and positive theology

The Jesuit plan of studies institutionalized for the following period the
divergence of speculative (= Scholastic) and positive theology that had al-
ready been clear in the petitions and draft versions that led up to it.38 Then
too there was the division into cursus major (academicus) and cursus minor
(seminaristicus). Only the former, which consists essentially of Scholastic
theology, qualifies the student for academic degrees; the latter serves as
practical training for future pastors. It does without Scholastic theology and
instead teaches the casus conscientiae [casuistry for the confessional]. Those
who attended lectures in the cursus minor were therefore described as “casis-
tae” (also as “casuists”) or “positivists.” Whereas in the cursus major moral
theology was expounded in a speculative manner following the Secunda
pars of the Summa by Thomas Aquinas, the practical course was concerned
with solving cases of conscience on the basis of general principles by apply-
ing them to the individual case. In the Jesuit Order, too, the casus were read
at first outside the course of academic studies. Those who attended the lec-
tures were clerics, sometimes laymen also, so that in Barcelona in 1557 the
course had to be relocated to the principal church in the city because of the
large crowd.39 Even here, besides the lectures, the courses offered practical
exercises in solving hypothetical “cases,” which were often quite complicat-
ed. Finally, in the 1586 draft version of the plan of studies, the cursus minor
was supplemented with lectures on apologetics and sacred Scripture which
were to be attended by those enrolled in the cursus major as well. In addi-
tion, on many days the [conciliar] Catechismus Romanus was explained. The
education provided by the cursus minor as a whole was described in these
terms in Dillingen from 1609 on: “Institutio sacerdotum ex Divinis et Eccle-
siasticis Canonibus deprompta” [“The Instruction of priests, derived from
Divine Laws and Ecclesiastical Canons”], which already indicates the close
connection between moral-theological and canonical casuistry.40 Apologet-
38. See Theiner, Entwicklung, 57–250; Quinto, Scholastica, 238–95; little attention is paid to
the development during the early modern period in Tshibanghu, Théologie positive (only Melchior
Cano is mentioned: 186–210).
39. Theiner, Entwicklung, 121.
40. On casuistry see Leites, ed., Conscience.
ics was understood as controversy with heretics (usually Protestants) over
those points of Catholic doctrine that they attacked. Here, too, the meth-
od was no longer that of Scholastic commentary but rather of the positive
presentation and apologetic refutation of false doctrines, often in connec-
tion with an explanation of the catechism.41 Often the professor of sacred
Scripture or a professor of Scholastic theology was one of the dignitaries in
charge of the debates.42
The decision as to which of the two courses a student should attend
was connected with the results of his philosophy examinations. If a student
did not display above-average speculative talent, he could not be admitted
to the cursus major. Merely average capacity was described as understand-
ing what was heard and read, and the ability to answer, although without
any special distinction in debating.43 This could easily give the impression
that the less gifted students were better suited (or good enough) for pasto-
ral ministry, while the Scholastic theologians lacked the requisite practical
skills. In order to prevent that misfortune, the 1591 plan of studies provides
for the establishment of a chair of moral theology in the cursus major also; in
1599, however, this was modified according to the custom in each individual
province.
The 1599 “Regulae Professoris Casuum Conscientiae” [“Rules for a Pro-
fessor of Casuistry”] immediately focus on educating “capable pastors or
ministers of the Sacraments.” Therefore the subjects taught are: sacraments,
ecclesiastical punishments, the duties of various states of life, and the Deca-
logue, whereby contracts are to be treated also under the seventh command-
ment. Less important matters are only to be discussed briefly: depositions,
demotions, magic, etc. Theological matters that have nothing to do with ca-
suistry should be omitted entirely; those that offer something of a founda-
tion for cases in moral theology should be noted briefly as definitions: for
example, what a sacramental character is, the difference between mortal sin
and venial sin, consent, etc. Expressly forbidden is the “apparatus scholasti-
cus,” that is, the usual method of disputation while quoting as many opinions
and arguments as possible. Moral theology works instead with dubitationes
[moral uncertainties] and conclusiones. Authorities should be cited sparingly;
general laws or rules should be illustrated by a few particular cases (around
three). Casuistic conferences, which serve as practical exercises, should be
41. A still indispensable study of the history of apologetics is, Werner, Apologetische Literatur.
42. This was the custom in Dillingen: Specht, Geschichte, 203.
43. See Theiner, Entwicklung, 212, 417.
clearly distinguished from Scholastic disputations. The “proof ” of one’s own
solution is carried out according to the principle of probability: one should
recognize also a certain probability in the rejected sententia according to the
reasons and authorities adduced in its favor.44
Out of this principle of probability developed “the most Jesuitical of
moral systems,” probabilism.45 In its simplest form this approach, which goes
back to Bartholomew Medina, O.P., is intended to facilitate moral judgment
of the individual specific act, and therefore it works to a great extent casu-
istically. In the individual case, however, one is often in doubt as to which
opinion to take as the basis for one’s action. The more certain or safer (tu-
tior) opinion then is the one which, if followed, enables the individual with
greater certainty to avoid breaking a law. On the other hand, the degree of
probability of an opinion depends on intrinsic reasons and on the authority
of the expert in the matter. The certainty and the probability of an opinion
can therefore differ in degree. For example, if there is doubt as to whether a
particular act is commanded or optional, or whether it is forbidden or per-
missible, according to probabilism one may morally follow the less certain
opinion, even if it is less probable (justifiable) [provided that there are solid
probable reasons for that opinion]. Probabilism with its subdivisions, which
have often been opposed and condemned as “laxism,” dominated moral
theology—not just of the Jesuits—and practical decision-making against
the opposition of tutiorism (one should follow the more certain opinion in
every case, even if a less certain opinion is more probable) and probabilior-
ism (one may follow a less certain opinion only if it is more probable than
the contrary opinion).46 Sometimes probabilists reply to the accusation of
laxism by painting probabiliorism as a form of Jansenism. The political con-
sequences of the moral system are displayed, not least, in its justification
of the alliance between France and the Turks. Within the Jesuit Order it-
self the Superior General Thyrsus Gonzalez (1624–1705) took steps against
radical, vulgarized probabilism, which caused a reaction that went so far as a
plan to depose him.47 Since the students of casuistry must have seemed less
gifted than the “Scholastics” anyway, the spread of a practical probabilism
or laxism was quite possible. Thus many considered as probable anything
that could be found in a book with an ecclesiastical imprimatur.
44. Pachtler, 2:322–29.

45. See Otte, “Probabilismus”; Schmitz, “Probabilismus.”
46. See Döllinger and Reusch, Moralstreitigkeiten, 1:23–25; Otte, “Probabilismus,” 284–92.
47. Döllinger and Reusch, Moralstreitigkeiten, 1:28–60, 120–272; de Francescini, “Thomisme.”
In the systems of tutiorism, probabiliorism, equiprobabilism (if two
opinions have the same probability, one may follow the less certain), and
probabilism, moral theology gave rise to its own subtleties and vehement
controversies. The systematic organization of moral theology in textbooks
usually displayed the elements present in the Ratio studiorum or its precur-
sors in varying arrangements.48 Because of the exclusion of the speculative
parts of theology, all that remained was a set of principles of human action
as the foundation for a practical treatment of the virtues, commandments,
sins, sacraments, and ecclesiastical punishments. While the great textbooks
by Enrique Henriquez (1536–1608; Summa theologiae moralis, Salamanca
1591), Johannes Azor (1536–1603; Institutiones morales, Rome 1600–1611),
Thomas Sanchez (1550–1610), or Paul Laymann (1574–1635; Theologia mora-
lis, Munich 1625) display considerable theological depth, in the Medulla
theologiae moralis (1650) by Hermann Busenbaum, S.J. (1600–1668), which
by 1776 had run to more than 200 editions, theological thinking degener-
ates into Decalogue morality and casuistry for confessors listing individual
doubtful cases—a manual that can be used as a pastoral reference work. But
this was the work that became the standard equipment for the pastoral cler-
gy who were often educated exclusively in moral theology.49 In seven books
Busenbaum discusses:
1. Basic principles (rules of human action: conscience and law),
2. Precepts of the theological virtues (faith, hope, charity),
3. The Ten Commandments and the precepts of the Church,
4. Duties of one’ state of life,
5. Sins,
6. Sacraments,
7. Ecclesiastical punishments and irregularities.
Within and outside of the Jesuit Order, however, there were also at-
tempts to develop a speculative, more in-depth moral theology and thus
to overcome the rigid separation of Scholastic and positive theology. The
distinguished Jesuit Cardinal Juan de Lugo (1583–1660), for example, was
at home in both fields.50 On the Thomistic side we should mention above
all the Ethica Supernaturalis Salisburgensis (1718) by the Salzburg profes-
48. See Theiner, Entwicklung, 130–39, 251–325.

49. See Leinsle, article “Medulla theologiae moralis,” HThW, 949.
50. See Olivares, “Juan de Lugo” and other essays in ATG 47 (1984); Knebel, Wille.
sor, Fr. Ludwig Babenstuber (1660–1727), a Benedictine from Ettal.51 As
indicated by the title, Babenstuber intends to follow the arrangement and
method that is customary at the University of Salzburg. He expounds moral
theology in eight treatises: conscience, human acts, laws, ecclesiastical pun-
ishments and irregularities, Ten Commandments, ecclesiastical command-
ments (fasting and tithing), civil law and justice (property, restitution and
contracts), sacraments. At that time a real connection between Scholastic
and positive theology of the kind that Eusebius Amort would later cre-
ate with his Theologia eclectica moralis et scholastica (Augsburg-Würzburg
1752),52 did not yet seem to be considered desirable.
1.4 The development of schools of Catholic theology

One characteristic of the “Second Scholasticism” also in Catholic the-
ology was the continuation or new development of philosophical-theolog-
ical orientations in connection with important theologians of the Middle
Ages.53 The parting of the “ways” in philosophy still occurs sometimes, as in
late Scholasticism, but not so much between realists and nominalists as be-
tween Thomists and Scotists, which proved to be the most viable medieval
schools.54 Now individual philosophical and theological teachings were de-
veloped much more vigorously as “hallmarks” of the individual schools and
were debated controversially. Exclusive federations of religious orders and
the traditions of a given monastic house or university faculty reinforced the
impression of rigid theological “schools,” which often had unmistakable lo-
cal coloring. The honor shown to these medieval “forefathers” sometimes
took on characteristics of the Baroque veneration of the “domestic saints”
of a monastery, city, or country.
Of the medieval schools, Thomism was the first to experience a revival.55
The declaration of Thomas Aquinas as Doctor of the Church in 1567 by the
Dominican Pope Pius V (1566–1572) and the dominant role of Thomistic
thought at the Council of Trent did more than was necessary to assure for
51. L. Babenstuber, Ethica Supernaturalis Salisburgensis sive Cursus Theologiae Moralis (Augs-
burg, 1718). Babenstuber explicitly describes himself as a “Theologiae, tum moralis, tum scholasticae,
necnon Sacrae Scripturae Professor” [“professor of both moral and Scholastic theology, as well as
Sacred Scripture”].
52. See below, 6.4.3.
53. In general, see Grabmann, Geschichte der katholischen Theologie, 147–205. Werner, Geschich-
te der katholischen Theologie.
54. See Jansen, “Scholastische Philosophie.”
55. See Jansen, “Thomisten.”
him the recognition of theologians. Besides the Dominican Order, which
was traditionally oriented to Thomas, the Discalced Carmelites (O.C.D.)
became especially zealous defenders of the teachings of the “Angelic Doc-
tor,” whom they were obliged to study by the statutes of their order.56 The
Universities of Salamanca and Alcalà became the center of Thomism in
Spain, which we can see in the great work of philosophical commentary
(on Aristotle) of the Complutenses (Alcalà) and in the Cursus theologicus
Salmanticensis (1631–1704). Francisco de Vitoria, O.P. († 1546) had already
brought the renewed Thomism to Salamanca from Paris. From there it went
into the Old and the New World through his students, the Tridentine con-
ciliar theologian Domingo de Soto, O.P. († 1560), the Oxford professor
Pedro de Soto († 1563), who also taught in Dillingen, and Melchior Cano
(† 1560, consecrated bishop of the Canary Islands 1552). The Superior Gen-
eral Philippus a SS. Trinitate, O.C.D. (Esprit Julien, 1603–1671), author of an
influential Summa theologiae thomisticae (5 vols., 1653) and a Summa theolo-
giae mysticae (1656), was for a time professor at his order’s house of studies
in Goa. The figures of Dominicus Báñez († 1604) and Bartholomaeus Me-
dina († 1581) lent particular weight to Salamancan Thomism in the contro-
versy de auxiliis, concerning the action of grace in conjunction with human
freedom [Gnadenhilfen]. The Cursus theologicus by the Portuguese Johannes
a S. Thoma ( Juan Poinsot, † 1644) acquired downright canonical impor-
tance. Thomism (initially of an Italian but later of a Spanish cast) found a
permanent home north of the Alps in the Benedictine University of Salz-
burg, which in turn radiated it to the monasteries and houses of studies of
the Benedictines, Cistercians, Augustinian Canons Regular, and Premon-
stratensians.57
The theology of the Scotists flourished a second time in the various
branches of the Franciscan family.58 Here too there was a tendency toward
a common discipline for the order. The 1633 General Chapter of the Friars
Minor in Toledo prescribed Scotism, as opposed to the earlier possibility
of choosing between the great friar-theologians, and commissioned a new
edition of the works of the Doctor subtilis. This was organized by the his-
torian of the order, Luke Wadding († 1657), at the Irish Franciscan Col-
lege of Saint Isidore in Rome (1639). Immediately the various branches of
56. See Merl, Theologia Salmanticensis, 23–25.

57. See Bauer, Metaphysik; Leinsle, “Thomismus.”
58. Concerning their philosophy see B. Jansen, “Skotisten.”
Franciscans (especially the Fratres de Observantia and the Conventuals)
set about commenting on the works of Scotus and developing courses in
philosophy and theology “ad mentem Doctoris subtilis” [“according to the
mind of the Subtle Doctor”], while the Capuchins adhered more closely to
Bonaventure. Particularly influential would be the philosophical and theo-
logical course of the Irishman John Punch (Poncius, † 1660), Wadding’s
collaborator at S. Isodoro, and the theological works of Bartolomeo Mas-
tri (1602–1678), who together with Bonaventura Belluti (1603–1676) was
in charge of the standard course in philosophy “ad mentem Scoti” (which
sometimes diverged from that of Friar Punch).59 In France, where Thomists
(e.g., Jean-Baptiste Gonet [1616–1681]) and Scotists (e.g., Bartholomeus
Durandus [† 1720]) protected themselves in their battle against each oth-
er with theological shields (clypeus theologiae thomisticae or scotisticae), we
should mention the Conventual Franciscan Sebastian Dupasquier with his
Summa theologiae scotisticae, which he followed up with a summa on Scotist
philosophy. Prague became an important center of Scotist theology, since
the “subtle doctrine” was taught in three places there: the Collegium Ferdi-
nandeum (1621) in St. James, the ancient convent of the Friars Minor in the
old city, the general house of studies of the Observant Friars at St. Mary of
the Snows (1627) and the College of the Irish (Hibernian) Observant Friars
(1629). Furthermore the Hibernians and the Observants taught at the Arch-
diocesan Seminary (1635).60 One theologically important work of Prague
Scotism was the four-part Schola theologica Scotistarum seu Cursus theologiae
completus ad mentem J. D. Scoti (Prague, 1675–1681) by the Observant Friar
Bernhard Sannig (1634–1704), to whom we are indebted also for the Scho-
lae Philosophiae Scotistarum (Prague, 1684/85).61 Blasius Antonius de Co-
mitibus a Mediolano (1634–1685) of the Friars Minor published in 1686/88
a Scotist commentary on the first book of Sentences.62 In 1740 the conserva-
tive Scotist Narcissus Lang edited what was probably the last commentary
on the Sentences to be written in Bohemia.63
Nevertheless, as with the regional situation, the major schools of thought
were joined by smaller schools promoted by the religious orders. Besides Au-
59. See Forlivesi, Scotistarum Princeps.

60. Sousedík, “Scotismus”; Sousedík, Filosofie, 216–26; Pařez and Kuchařová, Hyberni.
61. See Jansen, “Scotisten,” 152–54.
62. Blasius Antonius de Comitibus a Mediolano, Theologiae scholasticae in primum librum Sen-
tentiarum ad mentem J. D. Scoti pars prima (Vetero-Pragae, 1686); pars secunda (Vetero-Pragae, 1688).
63. Narcissus Lang, Liber primus Sententiarum . . . per quaestiones proponi solitas ad mentem J. D.
Scoti (Prague, 1740).
gustine, Ægidius Romanus continued to be the leading figure of the schools
of the Augustine Recollects, whereas the Italian Servites discovered a patron
in Henry of Ghent with his form of Augustinianism, while some of the Car-
melites (O. Carm.) adopted the approach of John Baconthorp († 1346).64
The new orders and Congregations had the advantage of not being re-
strained by Scholastic traditions. The Jesuits in particular managed to profit
from this in their free, eclectic and critical adoption of Thomas.65 The con-
trast to the strict Thomism of the Spaniards became an almost irreconcilable
ideological opposition, partly through the debate de auxiliis, about the man-
ner in which grace helps human freedom [Gnadenhilfen] (Molina’s scientia
media or the Thomistic praedeterminatio physica). Moreover a series of im-
portant Jesuit theologians of the early period (Franciscus Toletus [1532/33–
1555], Gregory of Valencia [1549–1603], Francisco Suárez [1548–1617], Ga-
briel Vázquez [1549–1607], and Diego Ruiz de Montoya [1562–1632]) had
studied in Salamanca. One can speak of a separate “Jesuit school,” however,
only with respect to certain standard teachings; in other teachings the mem-
bers of the Society of Jesus differed widely, despite the influence of the “Doc-
tor eximius” Francisco Suárez, so that repeated decrees and prohibitions were
required in order to produce a unified doctrine in the order.66 Sometimes
in the Jesuit Order we also observe nominalist thinking, for example, in Pe-
dro Hurtado de Mendoza (1592–1651) and Francisco de Oviedo (1602–1651),
but above all in the works of the Prague professor Rodrigo de Arriaga (1592–
1667).67 For the German Jesuit schools the most important Scholastics
were Gregory of Valencia, a professor in Ingolstadt and Dillingen, with his
Theologicorum Commentariorum libri IV (Dillingen 1602/03) and his student
Adam Tanner (1572–1632) with his four-volume Theologia scholastica. Influ-
ential for both moral theology and Scholastic (speculative) theology were
Christoph Haunold (1610–1689) and Paul Laymann (1574–1635).
The opposition and rivalry of the various schools of thought contributed
on the one hand to the liveliness of Catholic theology in the early modern
period, but on the other hand they also led to a “Scholastic” self-sufficiency,
in which the great figures of the past were almost invested with the nimbus of
infallibility; not infrequently it led also to sterile polemics in which one often
finds the same arguments over the course of a hundred years. The question
64. See Jansen, “Scholastische Philosophie”; Leinsle, Scholastik, 55.

65. Leinsle, Delectus opinionum; Leinsle, Dilinganae Disputationes, 48–63.
66. See esp. the Ordinationes collected in Pachtler, Ratio studiorum, vol. III.
67. See Caruso, Hurtado de Mendoza; Saxlová and Sousedík, eds., Arriaga.
as to what authority one should follow in doctrine, but especially in practical
life, led directly to the debate over probabilism, but also to a theologically
reasoned skepticism of the type advocated by Premonstratensian Abbot of
Strahov, Hieronymus Hirnhaim (1637–1679) in his work, De typho generis hu-
mani (Prague 1676), which was placed on the Index.68
1.5 Presentational forms

In keeping with the narrower concept of Scholastic theology in the Cath-
olic world in this period, as opposed to the Middle Ages, we will discuss only
those presentational forms that developed directly from doctrine and dis-
putation. The explication of the Sentences [Sentenzenlesung] (usually in the
form of a commentary with quaestiones) continues in the early modern pe-
riod, especially at the non-Thomistic schools, whereas the Jesuits very early
on (in 1571 in Dillingen) went over to commenting on the Summa Theologiae
of Aquinas.69 We distinguish complete commentaries on all the parts of the
Summa from the more common works on individual parts, especially on the
Secunda (which serves as a basis for speculative moral theology).70
In keeping with the instructions from the order about teaching method,
the most voluminous Jesuit commentaries on the Summa are often miscel-
laneous in character. Thus Suárez offers a remarkably short commentary on
the individual articles from Aquinas, only to follow up the quaestio with an
extremely broad discussion of the debatable matters in the form of a dispu-
tatio. This is subdivided into several sections. The commentary and twenty-
five disputations on the first nine questions of part 3, for example, make up
an entire volume in the edition by Vivès.71 Disputation 4 alone on the suit-
ability and necessity of the Incarnation is discussed in twelve sections on
145 pages in terminology that is more precise at each step according to the
restricted status quaestionis:
Sect. 1. Whether it was necessary or fitting that God should restore fallen man.
Sect. 2. Whether it was necessary or fitting that God should become man in order
to restore the human race.
Sect. 3. Whether Christ’s works had sufficient value and efficacy to atone de con-
digno for the sins of men.
68. See Leinsle, “Hieronymus Hirnhaim”; Sousedík, Filosofie, 235–42.

69. Lektionskatalog [Course catalogue] Dillingen 1571: Studienbibliothek Dillingen XV γ 134.
70. Listing in Mitschelich, Kommentatoren.
71. F. Suárez, Opera omnia, vol. 17 (Paris, 1877), 675.
Sect. 4. Whether Christ’s works had infinite value and infinite efficacy for atonement.
Sect. 5. Whether Christ’s atonement was a matter of justice in the true and proper
sense.
Sect. 6. Whether all the laws of perfect justice were observed in Christ’s atonement.
Sect. 7. Whether man by his own powers can suffice to redeem other human beings
in terms of perfect justice.
Sect. 8. Whether man solely by his own powers can make satisfaction for his own
mortal sin in such a way that he is sanctified by his actions and freed from sin.
Sect. 9. Whether man solely by his own powers can make perfect satisfaction for
his own mortal sin and reach a settlement, so that according to the laws of perfect
justice he attains the forgiveness of sins and divine favor.
Sect. 10. Whether man can make satisfaction for his own mortal sin at least in an
imperfect manner.
Sect. 11. Whether man solely by his own powers can make satisfaction to God at
least for venial sins.
Sect. 12. Whether man solely by his own powers, at least as a member of Christ, can
make satisfaction to God for his sins according to the rules of perfect justice.
The systematic elaboration and arrangement of the Sentences or of the

commentaries on the Summa led to a systematic presentation in the cursus
theologici [theological courses] that were divided by treatise; these were
sometimes the collaborative work of a local school and codified the theol-
ogy of a school even in the title. They were usually preceded by similar phil-
osophical courses as a propaedeutic.72 We should mention, for example, the
Theologia Universitatis Coloniensis [Theology of the University of Cologne]
(1638), the Thomist Theologia scholastica Salisburgensis [Salzburg] (1695) by
Fr. Paulus Mezger (1637–1702), the Cursus theologicus S. Galli (1670), down
to the Theologia Wirceburgensis [Würzburg] (1766–1771).73
No doubt the Cursus theologicus Salmanticensis of the Discalced Carmel-
ites from San Elia in Salamanca came to be the most important course of a
religious community; work on it continued for almost one hundred years.
In the Parisian edition of 1879/80 it alone comprises twenty volumes. It was
decided to publish it (without indicating the authors) in 1616/17; the first
volume was printed in 1631, while the last volume of the course (which like
the Summa of Aquinas was not completed) appeared in 1712.74 The course
72. Blum, Philosophenphilosophie, 158–81.

73. On the last-mentioned see Lesch, Neuorientierung, 121–36.
74. See Merl, Theologia Salmanticensis.
in theology is related from the very beginning to the philosophy course of
the Complutenses. It goes without saying that such monumental works are
intended primarily for those who teach at other schools of the order, as
is evident from the original plan of Fr. Antonius a Matre Dei (1583–1637).
Originally planned in six volumes, the work was to have a clear structure
which, while omitting many questions, highlights those quaestiones from
the Summa that were in fact treated in theological instruction:
1. De Deo Uno [On the One God],
2. De Deo Trino et Creatore [On God, Triune and Creator],
3. D
e ultimo fine et mediis perveniendi ad eum [On (man’s) final end and the
means of attaining it],
4. De Virtutibus [On Virtues],
5. De Incarnatione [On the Incarnation],
6. De Sacramentis [On the Sacraments].75
As the plan was carried out, however, there was an overriding tendency
to make each of the twenty-four treatises independent. Thus Fr. Antonius
a Matre Dei alone worked for twenty years on the questions dealing with
God and the angels. Furthermore in the moral theology and sacramental
theology a two-track system of theologia scholastica and theologia positiva be-
comes evident. Fr. Johannes ab Annuntiatione (1633–1701) asks whether it
still makes any sense to dispute the sacraments “in the Scholastic manner”
[“scholastice”], since they are treated anyway in the Cursus Moralis in the way
that is necessary for the practical training of the confreres.76 The specific in-
tramural purpose of the work becomes clear in the introduction of a special
treatise De Statu Religioso in a place where Thomas has only one quaestio
(II/II q. 184).
While the major cursus were intended primarily for instructors, we find
alongside them many smaller compendia (often in octavo) and individual
dogmatic treatises, which not infrequently were the immediate subject of
disputation. Despite the bibliographical inclusion of a work under the name
of the praeses [head, director], one should determine in each individual case
whether one is dealing with his work or a student exercise or a collaborative
work.77 Since the individual treatises of a professor were defended several
75. Ibid., 47–48.

76. Cursus Theologicus Salmanticensis, ed. V. Palmé (Paris, 1879), 1:56; see also Merl, Theologia
Salmanticensis, 49.
77. See Horn, Disputationen, 51–72; Leinlse, Dilinganae Disputationes, 39–45.
times a year or over several years, a more or less complete cursus could de-
velop from that, also. Thus, for example, Jakob Bidermann, S.J. (1578–1639),
who is famous more for his dramas than for his philosophy and theology,
has left us from the heyday of the University of Dillingen a series of little
treatises which were submitted for disputation.78 Often a treatise was given
to several defendants, each of whom had to publish it with a different title
page at the expense of the patron to whom it was dedicated.79 Because of
the consequences of the Thirty Years War (troubles, plague, dwindling en-
rollment, poverty) there was a considerable decrease in the number of such
disputations in most places. In Dillingen, for example, there were still eight
in 1622, and in 1623 as many as nine theological disputations with individual
written theses, but in 1641 we find only one; the years 1645, 1647, and 1649–
1655 mark a complete break in the production of this academic literary
genre. At the beginning of the eighteenth century, the number of individual
extensive theses diminished, whereas in Salzburg and in the monasteries,
for example, the students zealously continued to dispute.80
One requirement for obtaining a licentiate in theology was a disputa-
tion ex universa theologia; the theses selected often provided an overview
of the professor’s teaching, for example the Controversiae Scholasticae ex
universa Theologia selecta (1657) of the Salzburg professor and later Abbot
of Einsiedeln, Augustinus Reding (1625–1692).81 In fifty-one controversies
from all three parts of the Summa by Aquinas the main themes of Salzburg
Thomism are set forth, mainly in a polemic against the Jesuits, whereby the
Trinity, for example, is treated very briefly since it offered little occasion
for actual debates. In the sacramental theology, on the other hand, the in-
fluence of the moral theological treatment is noticeable: the quaestio style
is for the most part abandoned. Instead there is a positive presentation of
Thomistic teaching.
Particularly in the case of the theses ex universa theologia for the licenti-
ate, a special literary form developed in the Catholic world: the graphically
78. May 1620: Theses theologicae (24 pp.); May 1621: Sponsalia (51 pp.); June 1621: Matrimonii im-
pedimenta (60 pp.); June 1621: Poenitentiae sacramentum (84 pp.); April 1622: Censurae (91 pp.); June
1622: Irregularitas (54 pp.); Jan. 1623: Suffragia (62 pp.); April 1623: Praedestinatio (38 pp.) June 1623:
Iesu Christi status triplex, mortalis, immortalis, sacramentalis (40 pp.; for his doctorate); June 1624:
Conscientia (78 pp.); Nov. 1624: Prolusiones theologicae (227 pp.); once for his doctorate, a second
time with another defendant for his licentiate); Feb. 1625: Eleemosyna (43 pp.); May 1625: Gratia
(63 pp.); see also Sommervogel, Bibliothèque, 1:1148–50.
79. See Leinsle, Dilinganae Disputationes, 37.
80. See Leinsle, Studium.
81. On Reding: Mittermüller, Beiträge, 19–21.
designed thesis page, which has been of interest mainly to art historians.82
Originally only the theses gathered from the defendant (often from ear-
lier pages) were posted on a display for vespers (on the afternoon before
the graduation).83 Especially when the patrons (“Maecenas”) were very
wealthy, at promotions in the presence of the prince-bishop, duke, or “sub
auspiciis Imperatoris” [“under the Emperor’s auspices”], the thesis pages
were designed as an exercise in Baroque symbolism with increasingly ex-
travagant (often emblematic) copperplate engravings “cum emblemate.”
In Augsburg a thriving business in printing thesis pages developed. These
served initially as a poster to announce the disputation and as a printed
invitation for special guests, but later as the “program” for those in atten-
dance, and finally as “trophies for the defendants and dedication pages for
the patrons”; as early as the seventeenth century, however, they also became
collector’s items.84 Thesis pages, like the frontispieces of published theses,
were also reused with different material. The text, which was only a small
portion anyway, was eliminated, for example, by pasting something else
over it. The philosophical or theological content of the thesis, which could
very well be omitted completely in the presentation copy, was frequently
reduced to a list of propositions that were printed, often in tiny type, in a
box or at the bottom margin of the page, which sometimes was composed
of several sheets of paper. The gift copies for the patrons sometimes had to
be printed on silk.85 When a graphically designed thesis page did not satisfy
the Baroque need for ostentation, the candidates had large thesis pictures
painted, sometimes also as the basis for the engraving. Only the beginning
of the Enlightenment would interfere with the disproportion between the
Baroque packaging and the meager contents of the thesis pages.86
2 The “Scholasticism” of Protestant orthodoxy

In the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century the Protestant in-
stitutions of higher learning, too, were characterized by an academic de-
82. See esp. Appuhn-Radtke, Thesenblatt.

83. See Leinsle, Dilinganae Disputationes, 27–34.
84. See Appuhn-Radtke, Thesenblatt, 28–29.
85. See Leinsle, Studium, 217–18.
86. See Specht, Geschichte, 197–98: Decree of the Prince-Bishop for Dillingen 1745; in a simi-
lar way Prince-Bishop Friedrich Karl von Schönborn (1729–1746) opposed the “Augsburger Bilder”
[“Augsburg-style pictures”] in Würzburg. In Bamberg they were forbidden in 1780 because of the
expense: see also Appuhn-Radtke, Thesenblatt, 18.
velopment of Reformation doctrine, which meanwhile had been defined
as a creed. During the period of so-called Protestant Orthodoxy between
Melanchthon’s or Calvin’s death (1560 or 1564) and the new teaching [“Ne-
ologie”] under the banner of the Enlightenment, theology developed as a
methodical, creedal, systematic doctrine that was to be communicated di-
dactically.87 This Protestant “Scholasticism” nevertheless exhibited a mark-
edly different character from that of medieval and early modern Catholic
Scholasticism.
2.1 From creed to theological system

The development of Protestant systematic theologies is not accidentally
connected with the doctrinal debates within Protestantism.88 The latter
were not immediately resolved in a theological system, but rather in creedal
formulas with a claim to validity (and their acceptance in a territory). With-
in the sphere of the Lutheran Reformation this status belonged to the For-
mula of Concord (1577), which should be regarded on the one hand as a
compromise among the various trends in Swabian and Saxon theology, and
on the other hand as a definition distinguishing Lutheranism from Calvin-
ist and crypto-Calvinist teachings.89 Here the regional “corpora doctrinae”
[“collections of doctrine”] and creedal documents were combined into
a “summary, unanimous understanding and form containing the general
summary teaching professed by the churches that adhere to the true Chris-
tian religion.”90 It was the duty of the civil-ecclesiastical authority, how-
ever, to ensure the acceptance of the Formula of Concord by supervising
schools and censoring printed matter—all this with a view to the salvation
of the subjects’ souls.91 Now, however, the authority of the Reformers and
their theology (especially Luther’s) had less significance than the Formula
of Concord in the central questions of original sin, free will, justification,
87. See HDThG 2:306–52; 3:71–96; older literature: Ritschl, Dogmengeschichte; Althaus, Prinzip-
ien; Heppe, Dogmatik.
88. Overview in HDThG 2:102–38, 272–85.
89. Edition: BSLK 19676, 735–1110; see also HDThG 3:138–64.
90. BSLK 833, 9–16.
91. Ibid., 743, 42–49: “damit in unseren Landen und Gebieten denselben darin eingeführten und
je länger je mehr einschleichenden falschen verführerischen Lehren gesteuret und unsere Untertanen auf
rechter Bahn der einmal erkannten und bekannten göttlichen Wahrheit erhalten und nicht davon abge-
führet werden möchten.” [“so as to curb in our lands and territories those same false and seductive
teachings which have been introduced and which insinuate themselves more with each passing
day, and to keep our subjects on the right path of divine truth once it has been recognized and
professed, so that they may not be led astray from it.”]
works, law and Gospel, the Last Supper, Christology, predestination, and
church customs.
The Formula of Concord aimed at uniformity, even though it was by
no means generally accepted;92 the regional creeds of the Swiss and Calvin-
ist Reformation (e.g., the Confessio Helvetica posterior of Heinrich Bullinger
[1504–1575]) had nothing equivalent to offer.93 Although it was usually al-
lied with the Confessio Augustana [Augsburg Confession] and Melanch-
thon’s theology, Reformed theology came to oppose Lutheranism overtly
as a result of the second debate about the Last Supper and the formation
of regional confessions; it exhibited a more markedly regional character in
the individual schools (Bern, Geneva, Herborn, Heidelberg, Samur, Sedan,
Leiden, Groningen, Franeker, etc.).94
Both the Formula of Concord and the later creedal documents of the
Reformed Christians (and also the Heidelberg Catechism by Zacharias Ur-
sinus [1534–1583]) exhibited pronounced systematic tendencies. Neverthe-
less they still required a systematic theological interpretation. This is not
possible without an appropriate method and philosophy. Unlike Catholic
Scholasticism, Protestant Scholasticism could not have recourse to a ready-
made method but had to derive one—in a more or less deliberate way—
from contemporary philosophizing, which produced a plethora of treatises
De methodo [on methodology].95 The following were offered as such:
1. The relatively simple topical outline of Melanchthon and his school,
which restricted its understanding of philosophy to logic, ethics, and
physics and thus could readily be assimilated to theology. Following Mel-
anchthon’s example, the results were more or less systematically arranged
collections of loci or propositiones (axiomatic theology).
2. The dialectic of Peter Ramus (1515–1572) which was accepted especially
by Reformed Protestants and ran to 103 extant editions between 1581 and
1610 in the imperial realm alone.96 Originally quite antimetaphysical, Ra-
mus placed methodology at the center in the 1572 edition and outlined a
universal method of definition and arrangement based on conceptual logic
92. In Denmark it was forbidden under pain of death to propagate it; it was rejected by Eng-
land and important German territories.
93. See BSRK.
94. On the development of Reformed doctrine: HDThG 2:165–306; see also H. Leube, Kalvin-
ismus und Luthertum im Zeitalter der Orthodoxie (Leipzig, 1928; reprinted Aalen, 1966).
95. See Leinsle, Methodologie, 150–52.
96. See Ong, Ramus, 298; Bruyère, Méthode; Schmidt-Biggemann, Topica universalis, 47–48.
[begriffslogischer Natur]. This often resulted in tabular representations
of theology or of the sciences (e.g., Johann Heinrich Alsted [1588–1638],
Johannes Scharf [1595–1660]). The reception of Ramism in the school of
Melanchthon led to the development of the Philippo-Ramism that was
typical in the German schools before 1600, which was then combined
with Aristotelian elements in the methodus definitiva of Johannes Hülse-
mann (1602–1661) and Johann Adam Scherzer (1628–1683).
e Aristotelian methodology and theory of science in the Posterior
3. Th
Analytics, revived most notably by the Aristotelian movement in Padua
( Jacopo Zabarella [1533–1589], Francesco Piccolomini [1520–1604]).97
Unlike the Ramist arrangement, the methodus here is essentially de-
duction, argumentation, and syllogistic proof according to the rules of
the Posterior Analytics. All theoretical sciences are bound up with the
synthetic-deductive method, while all practical sciences rely on the ana-
lytic method (goal—means for attaining it).
In principle philosophy and theology can be pursued using all three
methods. The choice of one method is therefore often connected with the
local academic tradition (“philosophia recepta”). Continuing the tradition
of Catholic Scholasticism, or arguing with it, could be done most easily, of
course, with Aristotelian methodology and philosophy. Moreover Melanch-
thon and the later Ramus describe their methodologies as Aristotelian. If one
includes Aristotle in the theology curriculum, however, at least as a prepara-
tion, then soon there is one subject that one can no longer exclude: the Meta-
physics.98 Thus, for various reasons (intraconfessional disputes, polemics with
the Catholics, the humanist return to the complete works of Aristotle, the
methodological requirement of a First Philosophy), metaphysics was rein-
troduced around 1600 in Protestant institutions of higher learning.99 Schol-
ars dealt with it at least humanistically and philologically, even though—as in
Altdorf—they refused to accept the Scholastic-Jesuit metaphysics of Suárez
and Benedictus Pereira (1535–1610). The methodical development of meta-
physics, nevertheless, as argued by Lutherans Cornelius Martini (1567/68–
1621) in Helmstedt, Jakob Martini (1570–1649) in Wittenberg and Christoph
Scheibler (1589–1655) in Giessen, and among the Reformers by the contro-
versial Clemens Timpler (1563/4–1626) in Burgsteinfurt and Johann Heinrich
97. See Randall, School of Padua; Poppi, Dottrina della scienza.

98. See Leinsle, Methodologie, 152–61; Sparn, Wiederkehr der Metaphysik, passim.
99. See Leinsle, Ding, passim.
Alsted (1588–1638) in Herborn,100 became a decisive factor in Protestant Or-
thodoxy. The return of metaphysics was accompanied, however, by vehement
polemics from the theologians who were guided by Luther’s rejection of the
discipline, most plainly in the debate of Cornelius Martini with Daniel Hof-
mann (1538–1621).101 A modified and theologically corrected acceptance of
metaphysical theories in theology is evident especially in the teaching about
God, Christology, and the Last Supper.102
The methodical-metaphysical thinking of Protestant Orthodoxy was
articulated in a theology that was forced by its abandonment of medieval
Scholasticism and its new Reformation perspective to discover its own sys-
tematic form of presentation in the first place. “Methodus,” “Syntagma,” or
“Systema” are therefore frequently selected as titles for the academic presen-
tation of theology in the compendia designed for university students (al-
though sometimes they were used for practical training and personal edifi-
cation).103 There was no science without method.
Therefore deliberate methodological considerations were brought to
bear in theology among the Protestants less emphatically than in the cursus
[courses] and commentaries of Catholic Scholasticism—thanks also to the
Philippist or Ramist logic that had prevailed for over a half century instead
of the Metaphysics. The choice of method was decided—to put it in Aris-
totelian terms—by the theoretical or practical character of the theology.
Above and beyond the confessional boundaries between Lutherans and
Reformed Christians, we can observe synthetic and analytic methods of
presentation—often in hybrid forms, which correspond to the theoretical-
practical character of theology.
2.2 Concept of theology in early Lutheran Orthodoxy:

Johann Gerhard
The step from the Reformation to a well-reasoned theological system be-
came especially evident in the masterpiece of Johann Gerhard (1582–1637),
a professor at Jena: the Loci theologici (1610–1625), which was as influential
as it was monumental. Not until he had completed that work, however, did
Gerhard supply a theoretical consideration on the science of theology in
100. See Freedman, European Academic Philosophy.
101. See Petersen, Geschichte, 259–338.
102. See esp. Sparn, Wiederkehr; Althaus, Prinzipien; Bizer, Frühorthodoxie; Ratschow, Lu-
therische Dogmatik, part 2.
103. On the concept of system, see: Ritschl, System; examples in Bizer’s “Introduction” to Hep-
pe, Dogmatik, xli–lxiii.
the Prooemium de Natura Theologiae to his 1625 Exegesis.104 All the more sig-
nificant in view of the avoidance of the word “theologia” in Melanchthon’s
Loci,105 here for the first time in Lutheranism we find a comprehensive re-
flection on theology as such.
The structure of the work follows the usual loci-scheme.106 Citing Julius
Caesar Scaliger (1484–1558), Gerhard adopts the method of humanist Ar-
istotelianism.107 It combines philology and the synthetic technique with a
strongly topical admixture, inasmuch as a nominal definition is sought first
in the Onomatologia, while a real definition is given only at the conclusion of
the whole discussion of the subject of a locus, in the Pragmatologia. The ono-
matology [nomenclature] is stereotypically treated according to etymolo-
gies, homonyms, and synonyms; the pragmatology follows a pattern of top-
ical questions: an sit, quid sit, principia, causae, adjuncta, opposita [whether
it is, what it is, principles, causes, circumstances, opposites]. Subdivisions
are often marked for instructional purposes; occasionally, however, one also
finds a syllogistic treatment of a question, especially in an argument with
opponents and heretics.
This method is applied to define the concept of theology also. In the
onomatology the etymology of the word “theologia” is discussed first, with
direct references to Aquinas and Albert the Great, and the absence of the
expression in Scripture is noted, for there only its concreta [specific truths]
and components are given.108 The Homonymia then notes the breadth of
the linguistic usage (in profane writers, in philosophical theology, and
metaphysics) and restricts it. Most importantly, three areas in which to ap-
ply the word are discussed:
1. t o the Christian faith and religion as a whole. In this sense even simple
believers are theologians on the basis of their knowledge of the faith.
2. t o the service of ecclesiastical preaching. In this way all “servants of the
word” are theologi.
3. t o the more precise knowledge of the divine mysteries for the purpose of
consolidating divine truth and mightily destroying false statements about
104. Johannes Gerhard, Loci theologici, ed. E. Preuss, vol. I (Berlin, 1863); see esp.: Wallmann,
Theologiebegriff; Schröder, Christologie; Kirste, Zeugnis.
105. In contrast to Scholastic theology, Melanchthon usually replaces the term with “doctrina”
or “Ecclesiastica doctrina,” e.g., CR 1:399–400.
106. See “Schema” in Schröder, Christologie, 45.
107. On Scaliger: Leinsle, Ding, 78–87.
108. Gerhard, Loci, prooem. §§1–3 (1:1); see also Wallmann, Theologiebegriff, 30–33.
it. This is the kind of theology that is actually scientific (accentuated here
as being systematic and polemical).109
The Synonymia is developed with the aid of the Rabbis, Scripture, and
the Fathers, from which the most important testimonials for the status and
importance of theology are also taken.110 The Pragmatologia opens with the
question as to the existence of theology (an sit), which is not insignificant
for the Lutheran tradition in view of Melanchthon’s silence and Luther’s re-
jection of Scholastic theology. The fact that there is such a thing as theology
is proved in a typical mixture from Scripture and philosophical (especially
Stoic) views:
1. from revelation as the efficient cause and principle of theology,
2. from the nature of God as “summum bonum communicativum et diffusi-
vum” [“the supreme good which communicates and diffuses itself ”],
which thus makes revelation possible in the first place,
3. from the end of creation: the knowledge of God,
4. f rom the natural endowment of man (a Stoic or Neoplatonic idea), the
natural and universal views of humankind (koinai ennoiai), along with
the obligation to worship God,
5. and consequently from the consensus gentium [consensus of the nations]
(another Stoic idea).111
The question of defining the nature of theology is answered syntheti-
cally by reviewing Scholastic and contemporary opinions.112 As the genus
proximum there is a choice between the Aristotelian habitus of science
(according to Thomas, with his arguments) and wisdom. If one wants to
squeeze theology into that framework, it can most readily be defined as wis-
dom, but more accurately as habitus νέος δότος [newly given habit], that is,
a habit granted by God and not (just) obtained through learning and prac-
tice.113 Gerhard sees clearly that theology can be grasped but inadequately
with the five Aristotelian habitus and has a different source than that of the
natural sciences. With the Franciscan tradition he maintains the at least in-
directly practical character of theology.114
109. Gerhard, Loci, prooem. §4 (1:1–2); see also Wallmann, Theologiebegriff, 33–45.
110. Gerhard, Loci, prooem. §§5–6 (1:2); on the inclusion of the rabbis, see also Steiger,
“Kirchenvater,” 59–61.
111. Ibid., §7 (1:2). 112. Ibid., §§8–31 (1:2–8).
113. From Aristoteles, Eth. Nik. A 10, 1099 b 12; see also Wallmann, Theologiebegriff, 71–75.
114. The practical character is strongly emphasized by Steiger, Johann Gerhard, 27–45.
The “division” of theology takes place whenever possible by way of di-
chotomy, as required by the later tabular presentations.115 Luther’s distinc-
tion between true and false theology is not a division, however, but rather
an equivocal use of language, since false theology (divided into vulgaris and
philosophica) cannot be considered as theology in the proper sense. True
theology can be observed in God (Ἀρχήτυπος), in Christ as the Head of the
Church (ἔκτυπος [the figure stamped out according to the pattern], theo-
logia unionis) and in rational creatures as its members. Here, according to
the subject’s status in salvation history, we should distinguish between the
theology of the saints who have already attained the beatific vision (wheth-
er angels or men, theologia comprehensorum) and that of believers who are
still on the way (theologia viatorum). The latter (theologia revelationis et viae)
is either natural or supernatural. Natural theology, which Gerhard has al-
ready presupposed in his proof of the existence of theology, is either innate
in the form of the κοιναὶ ἔννοιαι of universal human principles, or else ac-
quired. These principles are on the one hand of a theoretical nature, insofar
as they convince man of God’s existence, goodness and justice, but on the
other hand of a practical nature, insofar as they oblige him to worship God.
Acquired natural theology originates in the contemplation of creatures; a
distinction must be made according to its status in salvation history (un-
like innate natural theology, which is the same throughout history). Before
the fall it was substantially more complete than now, when according to the
Lutheran understanding only feeble vestiges of man’s likeness to God re-
main. Supernatural theology is found in an extraordinary manner in those
to whom revelation was entrusted (prophets, apostles), but ordinarily it
is acquired through the Lutheran triad of prayer, careful meditation while
reading and hearing Scripture, and testing by temptation (oratio, meditatio,
tentatio).116 Despite the overall practical orientation it can be divided into
theoretical and practical theology.
Supernatural theology is at all points a theology of revelation, founded
upon the God who reveals himself as the chief efficient cause and upon the
(internal and external) Word of God as the instrumental cause. Its adequate
epistemological principle [or principle of knowledge] is therefore revela-
tion, which is given definitively in sacred Scripture. In contrast, Thomas and
Capreolus notwithstanding, the articles of faith are not principles of theol-
115. See, for example, the division of J. Fr. König in Ratschow, Dogmatik, 1:32–33.
116. Summarized from Luther WA 50, 658, 29–659, 4; see also Wallmann, Theologiebegriff,
74–75.
ogy, but rather are themselves based on Scripture, which is proved in detail
from the attributes of principles according to the Posterior Analytics.117 In
no instance is human reason a second principle alongside revelation. The
recognition or adoption of natural truths in theology takes place purely on
the basis of the principles of revelation theology, which is to say, from Scrip-
ture. Therefore theological conclusions are unassailable, that is, not open to
criticism by philosophical reasoning. The theological truths that make up
the proper subject matter of theological instruction are consequently the
principles and conclusions derived from the revealed Word, their proper
epistemological principle [principle of knowledge]. Since theology ought
to serve the purpose of the glorification of God and the salvation of man,
and since its object, after the glorification of God, is man in need of re-
demption, the method suited to it is actually that of the practical sciences,
after the model of medicine: The first matter to be treated is the original
endowment and the fall of man, then the means to attain the goal. In the
concluding definition the concept of theology is summarized: “Theology
(considered systematically and abstractly) is a doctrine built up from the
Word of God, through which men are instructed in the true faith and in a
pious life unto eternal life. Considered as a habitus and concretely, theol-
ogy is a God-given habit, bestowed on man through the Word by the Holy
Spirit, which enables him, instructed through the illumination of his mind,
to affirm affectively with his heart what he has grasped with his understand-
ing upon recognizing the divine mysteries and to carry it out in deed unto
his salvation, but also to instruct others about these divine mysteries and
the way to salvation and to defend this heavenly truth against corruption
and gainsayers, so that men might be led by the true faith and good works to
the kingdom of heaven.”118
2.3 Anti-Scholastic “Scholasticism”: Abraham Calov

The self-confidence of Lutheran orthodoxy “in Alma Cathedra Lutheri”
[“in the dear professorial chair of Luther”], the battle against all deviant
doctrines, in particular the syncretism of the Helmstadt scholar Georg Ca-
lixt (1586–1656),119 and a thorough systematic development of philosophy,
understood encyclopedically, are combined in the “Lutheran pope,” the
117. Gerhard, Loci §§18–21 (1:4–5).

118. Ibid., § 31 (I, 8).
119. See Henke, Georg Calixtus; Merkt, Das patristische Prinzip, 37–85.
Wittenberg professor Abraham Calov (1612–1686).120 Even the dedication
of his Systema Locorum Theologicorum (1655) to Elector Johann Georg of
Saxony (1634–1686) shows the complete self-assurance of Wittenberg theol-
ogy as “Zion Saxonica” [i.e., the Saxon mother of all true believers, see Psalm
87:5]: this theology is founded on the “sacrae institutiones” of Scripture and
is therefore, in biblical terms, “typus doctrinae, forma sanorum verborum, de-
positum sacrum” [“the pattern of doctrine, the formula of sound words, the
sacred deposit”], the treasure of the kingdom of heaven, the pearl of great
price, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, indeed the tree of life, the
spring of salvation, spiritual paradise, and divine beehive.121 Calov situates
his theological work in the tradition of the Church Fathers and humanist
theology (with references to Jakob Faber Stapulensis [ca. 1450–1536] and
Jodok Clichtovaeus [ca. 1472–1543]) and distances himself from medieval
Scholasticism, which is envisaged with its summas and commentaries on
the Sentences. After that darkness, Luther appears as a light-bearer, thanks to
whom theology was subsequently restored again to its genuine and ancient
“modus tractandi” [“method of treating matters”] by Melanchthon, Ægidius
Hunnius (1550–1603), and Leonhard Hutter (1563–1616). Through the influ-
ence of this reform of theology, much was reformed among the Catholics
also, even among the early Jesuits; yet the old Scholasticism, with its defi-
cient knowledge of languages and its useless questions was still prevalent
to a great extent. In contrast to mere allegiance to a school as epitomized
in the Summa Angelica [of Aquinas], Seraphica [of Bonaventure] or Subti-
lis [of Scotus], the Reformation scriptural principle states: “Nobis Summa
plusquam Seraphica est Scriptura sacra, et Doctor unicus Christus” [“Our
more-than-seraphic Summa is Sacred Scripture, and our only Doctor is
Christ”].122 Calov does not reject entirely, however, the Scholastic theology
of the Catholic tradition, but rather recommends a “moderatum Scholastico-
rum Theologorum studium” [“guided study of the Scholastic Theologians”]
with regard to the controversies. He can get along with a definition of Scho-
lastic theology in the sense of systematic theology along the lines of Peter
Lombard and Melchior Cano.123 On the contrary, one should not share
120. See Leinsle, Ding, 411–33; Tholuck, Geist, 185–211; Leube, Kalvinismus, 232–330; on his phi-
losophy, see Sparn, “Schulphilosophie,” 375–78.
121. A. Calov, Systema Locorum Theologicorum e Sacra potissimum Scriptura et antiquitate, nec
non adversariorum confessione, Doctrinam, Praxin et Controversiarum fidei tum veterum tum imprimis
recentiorum pertractationem luculentam exhibens (Wittenberg, 1655), Widmung (vol. I, Wid. 4–7).
122. Ibid. (I, Wid. 7–23).
123. Ibid., Proleg. c.1 s.2 q.15 (1:75–81): Utrum Theologiae scholasticae auctoritas sine fidei dis-
Cano’s praise for those who compiled sentences, summulas and quodlibets.
Together with the humanist critics, to whom Calov refers individually, one
should reject in particular the method of the Scholastics. “Theologia Patris-
tica et Scholastica” in this sense, as an historical discipline, forms only an un-
important addition to Theologia acroamatica (scientific theology).124
In another sense Calov himself professes a theologia scholastica, namely,
as one part of theology as a whole as it was clearly subdivided by Johann
Gerhard. This is defined as a practical habit of knowledge derived from di-
vine revelation; it deals with the true religion through which fallen man is
to be led through faith to eternal salvation.125 It should be subdivided into
theologia catechetica (catechetical instruction) and acroamatica (scientific
theology). The latter is divided into scholastica and ecclesiastica, whereby
Scholastic theology in turn falls under the headings of exegetica and didac-
tica, and the latter is further subdivided into polemic theology (contro-
versies) and systematic theology (loci communes). Ecclesiastical, or in the
special sense, “practical” theology, on the other hand, consists of ascetical
doctrine, homiletics, and casuistry. Theology is therefore at least partially
an academic discipline and therefore precisely in its systematic part requires
an academic method so as to attain its end of σωματοποίησις, the formation
of “unum corpus fidei” [“one body of faith”].126 Calov creates one by alternat-
ing theoremata didactica, doctrines or precepts, which are then explained in
detail (s. 1), and quaestiones (usually current controversies, s. 2), with a very
clear structure in each case (gainsayers or opponents—proofs of the thesis
while citing probative authorities exactly).
If we survey only the questions (seventeen in chapter 1 and twenty-one
in chapter 2) in the theory of theology, which runs to 267 pages, we can
speak at any rate about a certain re-Scholasticizing of Lutheran theology.
Thus, for example, in opposition to all supporters of absolute predestina-
tion there is a discussion of whether the theologia paradisiaca was based
purely on the Law or already on the Gospel, and what headings it con-
sisted of. In the seventeen loci communes of paradise theology, according to
crimine contemni, eiusque accuratiori Theologiae carere non possit? [Can the authority of Scholastic
theology be disregarded without imperilling the faith, and can one do without its more accurate
theology?] According to Cano a “scholasticus theologus” is someone “qui de deo, rebus divinis, apte
prudenter, docte literis institutisque sacris ratiocinetur” [“who reasons fittingly, prudently and learn-
edly about God and divine things by means of Sacred Scriptures and precepts”].
124. Ibid., s.1 (1:12–14). 125. Ibid. (1:1).
126. Ibid. (1:11–13).
Calov, not a trace of the Gospel is to be found.127 The philosopher Calov
pays particular attention, naturally, to the relation between philosophy and
theology.128 Luther’s teaching about the double truth, reiterated by Daniel
Hofmann, applies in Calov’s opinion only to propositions which necessar-
ily seem absurd to pure philosophy, such as “Verbum caro factum est” [“the
Word was made flesh”], and to the misuse of philosophy. Philosophy can by
no means be rejected as contradictory to theology, as beastly, earthly, im-
pure, and demonic (as the fanatics and theosophi claim). This is proved by
Romans 1:19–20; Romans 2:14 and from the common origin of philosophy
and theology in God, whose gifts they are, as even Melanchthon teaches.
Philosophy, moreover, leads us to the knowledge of God; the individual
disciplines thereof (physics, astronomy, music, arithmetic, geometry, ar-
chitecture, and practical philosophy) are praised in Scripture. Augustine
underscores the usefulness of philosophy for theology, especially in logic,
methodology, physics, and ethics, and it is recommended by the Church
Fathers. If, however, philosophy is to be learned from sacred Scripture, as
the “novelli prophetae” [“new prophets”] say, then how can it be carnal and
demonic? The only thing to be rejected is the misuse of philosophy, but by
no means the “notitia naturalis” [“natural knowledge”], which still exists in
man’s sinful state as a small vestige of his likeness to God. Apparent contra-
dictions are easy to resolve by making distinctions. Philosophy, neverthe-
less, should remain within its limits as a matter of principle. Calov strictly
rules out a mixture of philosophical and theological subjects.
Calov, a trained mathematician, was characteristically a systematic
thinker. Now the topical organization of the Loci no longer sufficed; a sys-
tem of loci had to be devised instead. Even more than in his 1655 Systema this
becomes evident in the Theologia positiva129 that he composed for his son
127. Ibid., s.2 q.3 (1:22–26). The loci are: de Deo, de creatione, de imagine Dei, de angelis, de provi-
dentia divina, de revelationibus Dei, de lege, de cultu et invocatione Dei, de sabbati sanctificatione, de pec-
cato et poena peccati, de Ecclesia et omnium hominum sanctorum cognitione, de Ministerio Ecclesiastico
(Adam übertragen mit Ehe- und Zeugungsauftrag), de Magisterio Politico (Herrschaft über Geschöpfe,
Vorrang des Mannes vor der Frau), de Conjugio, de Morte tum corporali, tum aeterna, de Fine huius vi-
tae, de vita aeterna. [on God, on creation, on the image of God, on the angels, on divine providence,
on God’s revelations, on the Law, on the worship and invocation of God, on keeping the Sabbath
holy, on sin and the punishment thereof, on the Church and the knowledge of all holy men, on
ecclesiastical ministry (Adam is charged with the duty of marriage and procreation), on political
authority (dominion over creatures, the precedence of man over woman), on marriage, on death—
both physical and eternal, on the end or goal of this life, on eternal life.]
128. Ibid., q.14 (1:67–75).
129. A. Calov, Theologia positiva, per definitiones, causas, affectiones, et distinctiones, locos Theo-
Abraham († 1685). In the Protestant tradition, as opposed to the Catholic,
“theologia positiva,” a translation of “θεολογία θετική,” designates the simple
presentation of theology in the form of theses with short proofs, dispensing
with quaestiones and controversies.130 Like Ariadne’s thread in the labyrinth,
it serves in the first place as a guide through the bewildering complexity of
Scriptural exegesis and thereby fulfills the original purpose of systematic
theology (e.g., in Peter Lombard). Thus Calov offers here the outline of a
Systema in 1,135 paragraphs printed on 610 octavo pages. The structure in it-
self follows the analytical method that is obligatory for practical sciences:
the end and the means for attaining it. Actually, though, this schema is com-
bined with a model from the theory of science which tries to explain the en-
tire structure of theology in terms of its definition (end—subject—means).
After the prolegomena about theology, religion, revelation, sacred Scripture,
and the articles of faith, the end or goal of theology is presented (part 1): God
and the blessed enjoyment of him (the latter topic, of course, is not treated,
but creation and providence instead). The subject of theology (part 2) is
subdivided into indirect (angels) and direct (man), resulting in angelognosia
and anthropologia (including sin, works, law, and Gospel). Then part 3 deals
with the causes and means of salvation, namely (sect. 1) the divine economy
of salvation (Christology, soteriology), the Church (Ecclesiometria, sect. 2),
the means of salvation from God’s perspective (word and sacrament, sect.
3) and from man’s (soteropoiia, sect. 4, in chapters that are often very short:
call to the Church, illumination, rebirth, conversion, justification, justifying
faith, repentance, mystical union with the faithful and with Christ, anoint-
ing by the Spirit, sanctification, glorification, sin against the Holy Spirit,
election, reprobation, the cross as the identification papers or passport of
the elect), divine legislation (divina nomothesia in the Decalogue, sect. 5),
and eschatology (sect. 6, in eight articles).
This structure clearly shows the intention to proceed reflectively, me-
thodically and systematically, which collides, however, with the theological
material. Whereas most of the third part, “de causis et mediis salutis” can be
explained in terms of the analytical structure, even this arrangement would
allow for alternative ways of including certain individual doctrines, for ex-
logicos universos, succincte, justoque ordine proponens: Ceu Compendium Systematis Theologici (Wit-
tenberg, 1682).
130. Ibid., Dedication: “Theologia positiva, qua thesin et dicta probantia sibi familiarem reddiderit,
solidum fundamentum iacturum universae Theologiae.” [“With positive theology, whereby the reader
will become acquainted with the thesis and the proofs, he will lay the foundation of universal the-
ology.”]
ample, Law and Gospel (nomothesia) and eschatology. The arrangement
of the soteropoiia still clearly betrays the topical origin of the individual
loci. The theologia positiva also shows, however, the tendency of Protestant
“Scholastic” theology, which had again become academic, to produce small-
er and smaller mnemonically organized textbooks for memorization and
reference in school.131
2.4 Theology in one sentence: Johann Adam Scherzer

The trend toward the academic textbook took complete possession of
theology in the writings of Johann Adam Scherzer (1628–1683), a philoso-
pher and theologian from Leipzig.132 Scherzer, like his teacher, Johannes
Hülsemann, was a proponent of the so-called methodus definitiva, whereby
one sets out from a definition and then explains all of its components in
the exegesis. Since the definition in question was real, the hope was to give
thereby a complete explanation of the matter. In his Systema Theologiae133
the “Calov of Leipzig” presents theology as a whole in 29 definitions, still in
the arrangement of the loci, but this is the only possible systematic order, be-
cause it was used even by God in his catechetical instruction of the Jews and
pagans. The definitional method provides familiarity with the matter, leads
to the discovery of truth and moreover greatly aids the memory; it makes
all the lines, so to speak, reach out synthetically from the midpoint and
come back to it again analytically. The exegesis should if at all possible prove
orthodox teaching conclusively from Scripture against all errors; Scherzer
is just as concerned about the purity of this teaching as Calov. The execu-
tion is also stereotypical: The individual phrases of the definitions (which
can run to three quarters of a page)134 are elucidated in paragraphs and the
errores are listed, whereby Scherzer understands error in a broader sense
than heresy. Theology thus becomes at the same time a polemical defense
against all deviant doctrines: “Sententiam orthodoxam plane proponimus, ad-
versam reprobamus.”135 For the task of theology consists also of a three-step
process: “tradere Thesin et Dialysin atque Elenchum” [“to relate the thesis, the
131. For similar trends in Wittenberg philosophy, see: Leinsle, Ding, 288–92 (C. Bartholinus
[1585–1629]), 337–51 ( J. Scharf [1595–1660]).
132. See Leinsle, Reformversuche, 20–26; Sparn, “Schulphilosophie,” 520–22.
133. J. A. Scherzer, Systema Theologiae, XXIX Definitionibus absolutum (1680); edition consulted:
(Leipzig-Frankfurt, 1691), 872 pp. in quarto.
134. For example, the definition of Christ, loc.8 (172–175).
135. Ibid., Praefatio. [“We propose the orthodox opinion plainly and condemn the opposing
one.”]
explication and the refutation”], which is proved from 1 Corinthians 3:11
and 2 Timothy 3:16. Theology is accordingly divided into theologia positiva
seu didactica (considered here as identical, since the theology that employs
theses is the scientific form), the hermeneutica seu exegetica and the polemica
seu elenchtica.136 Metaphysics is now completely incorporated into theol-
ogy, as evident especially in Christology, and also in the treatment of the
status exinanitionis [state of self-emptying, kenosis], in which the manner of
the Logos’ presence and the manner of his dominion over the universe are
discussed thoroughly.137
Scherzer’s polemics were no less formidable than those of his proto-
type in Wittenberg, as is proved by his controversial writings on the occa-
sion of the conversion of Johannes Scheffler (Angelus Silesius [1624–1677])
1664/65,138 his Bibliotheca Pontificia (1677), the Collegium Anti-Socinianum
(1672), the Anti-Bellarminus (1681), and the Disputationes Anti-Calvinianae
(1681). He prefers to debate with the Jesuits (especially those at the Uni-
versity of Dillingen), whereas on the other hand in his very popular Vade
mecum sive Manuale Philosophicum (1654), which was studied by Gottfried
Wilhelm Leibniz (1646–1716) and Christian Wolff (1679–1754), he simply
adopts the distinctiones philosophicae of the Dillingen Jesuit Georg Reeb
(1594–1662).139 In the final locus of the Systema he proves in detail from the
attributes of the Antichrist, contrary to Adam Tanner and Lorenz Forer,
that only the Roman pope should be regarded as the Antichrist.140
This academic contraction of orthodoxy according to the definitional
method reaches its climax, however, in Scherzer’s Breviculus theologicus, in
which he summarizes all of theology in one sentence (with numerous pa-
rentheses and a sprinkling of Greek terms) in eleven duodecimo pages. This
sentence is previously elucidated in 158 paragraphs over the course of 245
pages.141 This method places Scherzer himself in the tradition of the early
Scholastic summas, which tried to present a “verbum abbreviatum” as the
core of sacred Scripture and at the same time to provide a summa of the-
136. Ibid., Proleg. §16 (4). 137. Ibid., loc.8 §25 (221–39).
138. See Reichert, Johannes Scheffler.
139. Johann Adam Scherzer, Vade mecum sive Manuale philosophicum, reprinting of the 1675
Leipzig edition, edited with an introduction by Stephan Meier-Oeser (Stuttgart–Bad Cannstatt,
1996); see also Leinsle, Reformversuche, 21–22; Leinsle, Dilinganae Disputationes, 73–79.
140. Scherzer, Systema Theologiae, loc. 28 (843–72).
141. Scherzer, Breviculus theologicus, Unica Positione generali, Systema Theologiae exhibens (1675).
Edition consulted: (Leipzig, 1687). German edition: Kurzer Weg und Handgriff durch einen Haupt-
satz den Kern Heiliger Schrifft zu fassen (Leipzig, 1677); new edition 1732.
ology. All forty-three loci of theology are supposed to be contained in this
sentence, which is composed as a comprehensive definition of “theologia.”
In the explanations the previously listed opponents are noted only by ab-
breviations in the margins.
The revealed theology of human beings on their pilgrim way (the only
kind of theology treated here) is accordingly the wisdom which hands down,
explains and defends the true religion for the honor of God and the salva-
tion of mankind (loc. 1, de theologia); it does so on the basis of sacred Scrip-
ture. The latter consists of the Law and the Gospel; it is worthy of belief
both in light of God’s truthfulness and also on its own merits; it is one,
true, good and thus catholica (loc. 2, de Scriptura). It is revealed by God.
He is indefinable, pure spirit, everlasting, immortal, immense, omnipres-
ent, uniquely eternal, without temporal duration, omniscient, omnipotent,
supremely good; in accordance with his stern and equally merciful will he
imparts himself to all, but punishes with the necessary severity. He alone
therefore is to be honored in religion (loc. 3, de Deo). He is by nature one in
three Persons (loc. 4, de Trinitate). The Father begets the Son, who is truly
God, of the same nature as the Father; of the ever-Virgin Mary he became
the God-Man, fully God and fully man in the hypostatic union (and he is
consequently the Son of God according to his human nature also) with the
communication of the idiomata. He exercises a threefold ministry; for he
is anointed by the Holy Spirit with immeasurable riches to be the prophet
of the Good News, the sole and sinless priest of the New Testament, and
king. Thus he is mediator between the two natures, and through the obedi-
ence of his life and death he makes satisfaction and is thereby for us the
one universal Savior and Redeemer. He divests himself of everything, even
unto death. Although during the three days of his death the natural bond
between his soul and his body is broken, the latter was not a cadaver, nor
did Christ cease to exist during that time. After the revival of his humanity
by his own power and his exaltation, he is the future judge of the living and
the dead (loc. 5, de Christo). The Holy Spirit proceeds as the Third Divine
Person from the Father and the Son (loc. 6, de Spiritu Sancto). The whole
Trinity, however, is the Creator of the universe, that is, of heaven and earth
(loc. 7, de creatione), of the angels (some of whom were confirmed in their
original goodness after the voluntary fall of the others; loc. 8, de angelis) and
of men, the first of whom was Adam (loc. 9, de homine). Man and woman in
their original state were perfect, immortal, and supremely happy (loc. 10, de
imagine Dei); they fell however through their own fault and are now subject
to sin from conception and without exception (not even Mary; loc. 11, de
lapsu et peccato), completely dead to what is spiritual (loc. 12, de servo arbi-
trio). They can be reborn therefore only through an external cause (loc. 13,
de regeneratione) and restored through the Word and the two salvific sacra-
ments (the efficacy of which depends solely on God’s command and not on
the intention or holiness of the minister; loc. 14, de sacramentis in genere),
namely, Baptism by water (loc. 15, de Baptismo) and the Eucharist (loc. 16,
de Eucharistia), in the Church under Christ as the sole Head, who can have
no substitute or vicar (loc. 17, de Ecclesia). After previously applying the
pedagogy addressed to the natural light of reason through the Word (i.e.,
through gratia sufficiens or efficax, which however is not irresistible), God
calls all men to the Church (loc. 18, de vocatione) as penitents (loc. 19, de
poenitentia) through the forgiveness of sins (loc. 20, de absolutione). Instead
of these sins, the active and passive justice of Christ is imputed to men,
who are justified through faith alone without works (loc. 21, de justifica-
tione); they become holy, however, by living in consideration of God, their
neighbor and themselves (loc. 22, de bonis operibus), without giving scandal
(loc. 23, de scandalo), [and thus] finally are found to be true to that faith
which is the sole object of predestination in man (loc. 25, de praedestina-
tione) and the purpose of providence (loc. 26, de providentia), and after this
earthly life (loc. 26, de termino vitae) die in that faith (loc. 27, de morte). The
reprobate, however, on account of their unbelief, will be punished at the
end of their lives in hell with the devils for eternity, deprived of the vision
of God, and the glory of the blessed (loc. 28, de damnatis et inferno); anyone
who departs with genuine trust in Christ comes immediately to heaven into
the presence of God and will rejoice with the blessed (loc. 29, de statu pio-
rum post mortem). After the resurrection of the numerically [but not quali-
tatively] identical bodies [of the departed], regardless of their sex or state
of life (loc. 30, de resurrectione), and after the Last Judgment of the damned
(without the thousand-year reign of the Chiliasts; loc. 31, de extremo judi-
cio) and the end of the world (loc. 32, de consummation saeculi), they will
receive again, in glorified form, their former bodies and in them they will
behold God in perfect, ineffable, eternal beatitude (loc. 33, de glorificatione
et vita aeterna). According to divine law, all men are equal, notwithstand-
ing their hierarchical position (loc. 34, de tribus Hierarchiis): whether they
are legitimately called and ordained ministers of the Church or their hearers
(loc. 35, de ministerio ecclesiastico), whether they are the political authorities
established by God or their subjects (loc. 36, de magistrate politico), whether
they are tradesmen (loc. 37, de statu oeconomico), single, or married, that is,
united with one another by a humanly indissoluble bond, or their children,
servants or maids (loc. 38, de coelibatu et conjugio), or finally even the uni-
versal enemy, the Antichrist (loc. 39, de Antichristo), all heretics (loc. 40, de
Haeresi), schismatics (loc. 41, de Schismate), apostates (loc. 42, de Aposta-
sia), those who are unwilling to profess allegiance to any religion (neutrales)
or, like the syncretists, those who try to abolish the differences between the
confessions (loc. 43, de Syncretismo).142
With that, in Scherzer’s view, he has completely described theology,
but also the world of God’s creation until Judgment Day and mankind in all
possible ecclesiastical and secular manifestations. Theology thus makes an
encyclopedic claim, which is reminiscent of Johann Amos Comenius’ Orbis
pictus. On the other hand theology itself has become the framework of an
ontologized Bible that is squeezed into the loci of orthodoxy; since there is
no way to amplify it further, all that remains is to defend it.
2.5 Theology within the framework of the encyclopedia:

Johann Heinrich Alsted
Among the Reformed Christians, Johann Heinrich Alsted (1588–1638),
a philosopher and theologian at Herborn and Weissenburg (Alba Julia,
Transylvania), explicitly acknowledges a “theologia scholastica.”143 However
the “methodus scholastica” found in his works, which were esteemed in Eng-
land and Havard, was no longer that of the Middle Ages but rather the aca-
demic, didactic presentation of a discipline in terms of praecepta (theses)
and regulae (rules) with short explanations of each. Alsted, who was con-
siderably influenced by Ramism and Lullism, incorporated theology in this
form into his encyclopedia of all sciences (1630).144
Being a Reformed Christian, Alsted regards sacred Scripture as the
basis of the entire encyclopedia in his “biblical encyclopedia,” Triumphus
Bibliorum Sacrorum (1625). In this work he tries on the one hand—in the
tradition of philosophia sacra—to supply arguments from Scripture in sup-
port of philosophy as a whole (even its foundational disciplines), and on
142. Scherzer, Breviculus L3v–L8v.

143. J. H. Alsted, Theologia scholastica didactica exhibens locos communes theologicos Methodo
scholastica (Hanau, 1618); Alsted, Methodus sacrosanctae theologiae (Hanau, 1623); Alsted, Com-
pendium theologiae (Hanau, 1624); see also Leinsle, Ding, 369–393; Schmidt-Biggemann, Topica,
100–139. On his influence in England see also Clouse, Influence; Klein and Kramer, eds., Alsted.
144. J. H. Alsted, Encyclopaedia (Herborn, 1630), vol. 5 (reprinted Stuttgart–Bad Cannstatt,
1992, vol. 3).
the other hand to bring Scripture itself into the proper order of the loci
communes and thus to create a “systema methodicum.”145 The program itself
shows the intention to devise a method and system, even with regard to sa-
cred Scripture, the importance of which is acknowledged. Indeed, Scripture
supplies factual knowledge, method or at least examples for the individual
sciences in the encyclopedia.146 Theology, too, is situated within this ency-
clopedic framework; for the encyclopedia is understood here as the sum-
mary of the four faculties—which are founded on Scripture.147 Theology
itself is defined as “facultas ad summum bonum perveniendi” [“the means for
attaining the supreme good”]. Its parts are: positive (“biblical” theology in
the form of theses without explanations), natural, catechetical, didactic, po-
lemical theology, casuistry, prophetic theology (= pastoral theology), and
acroamatic theology (= moral theology).148
This whole field of theology is an encyclopedic science and is therefore
treated according to the stereotypical encyclopedic (= scientific) method.
Alsted is not acquainted with a separate theologia scholastica as the Catho-
lics understood it, but rather with a Scholastic encyclopedic discipline as
the final part of practical philosophy (after politics): “de felicitate scholastica
obtinenda,” that is, “On the successful establishment and administration of
schools.”149 The methodical rules of academic instruction and presentation
(if possible in tabular form) that apply to all sciences are provided, though,
by the Ramist-topical methodology of logic.150 The arrangement of the ma-
terial in tables through successive dichotomies, however, presupposes a re-
flection on the intrinsic correlation of the parts of theology and of the loci
with one another.
In the 1630 Encyclopedia Alsted also adopts Bartholomäus Kecker-
mann’s definition of theology as prudentia (a practical habitus) and defines
it as “summa hujus vitae sapientia et prudentia perveniendi ad vitam aeternam”
[“the supreme wisdom of this life and the practical knowledge of how to
attain eternal life”].151 Like all disciplines (even Tabacologia), it is to be di-
145. Alsted, Triumphus Bibliorum Sacrorum Seu Encyclopaedia Biblica (Frankfurt, 1625), “Mens
authoris in hoc opera” (2r); see also Leinsle, “Lehet,” 248–51.
146. Alsted, Triumphus, Praef. (5v).
147. Ibid., Technologia sacra n. 3 (10); with references to 1 Kings 4:29–33; 2 Timothy 3:16; Exo-
dus 21; Genesis 50:2; Colossians 4:14; Ezra 3:2–3.; Sirach 43:2–6.
148. Ibid., n. 7 (13); elaborated on 286–413.
149. Alsted, Encyclopaedia 4:1505–49.
151. Alsted, Encyclopaedia, Theol. s.1 c.1 (5:1555); on Keckermann’s concept of theology, see
also Frank, Vernunft, 186–204.
vided first into general and special parts. The general part teaches what is
necessary for man to know, believe and do in order to reach the goal men-
tioned in the definition. According to the epistemological principle, theol-
ogy is either natural or supernatural. The natural type is based on the natu-
ral light of reason (with innate principles) and, on the other hand, on the
book of nature (world and man). Its goal is the necessary knowledge about
the existence and supremacy of God as well as about the obligation to wor-
ship God and to love one’s fellow man. Now all this can readily be known,
independently of revelation, from the nature of reason, man and the world.
Natural theology therefore remains for Alsted the basis of revelation theol-
ogy also.152
Initially this is conveyed catechetically in the Theologia catechetica as a
compendium of the Christian religion which, modeled on the Hessian Cat-
echism of 1607,153 consists of five chapters: Creed, Ten Commandments,
Our Father, Baptism, and Lord’s Supper. For this theology, too, a special
modus docendi scholasticus [academic method of teaching] with three cat-
echism classes is envisaged besides the modus domesticus and ecclesiasticus
[home and church methods].154 Corresponding exactly to catechetics in its
structure is casuistry, which of course deals with the cases of conscience and
doubts arising from catechesis.155 Besides catechetical instruction there is
the ecclesiastical form in preaching and church institutions [Einrichtungen].
This is the object of theologia prophetica, the teaching of the prophetic, that
is, pastoral ministry in the Church. It consists of instructional preaching
(rhetorica ecclesiastica) and politia ecclesiastica, teaching about church pol-
ity with regard to persons and things.156 Moral theology (in its noncasuistic
form), finally, has the goal of forming morals that are worthy of a Christian.
After the pattern of practical philosophy it is subdivided into individual
ethics, economics [household management] and politics, and it presents
its teaching about the duties of all states of life (including that of the status
scholasticus with the duties of tutors, professors, and students) in the form
of rules that can be memorized easily.157
The really systematic theology, however, is the theologia didactica. This
is the system of forty-six loci theologici which have now been subdivided di-
152. Alsted, Encyclopaedia, Theol. s.1 c.1 (5:1555–65).
153. BSRK 822–33.
154. Alsted, Encyclopaedia, Theol. s.2 c.1 (5:1565–66); Theologia Catechetica: 5:1565–74.
155. Alsted, Encyclopaedia, Theol. s.5 (5:1662–74).
156. Ibid., s.6 (5:1674–84).
157. Ibid., s.7 (5:1684–90).
chotomously.158 Although he had still included it in 1625, Alsted now dis-
penses with the theologia positiva, which contains principles taken directly
out of Scripture. Instead he incorporates the positive theology into the di-
dactic, but distinguishes carefully between regulae positivae, which require
simple assent, and regulae didacticae, which serve to elucidate, to confirm,
or to refute false doctrines.159 Thus in loc. 1 (de sacra scriptura) we find the
following positive rules:
1. Scripture is inspired by God.
2. I t is a light, that is, clear [in itself, perspicuous] and a guiding principle
of faith and living.
3. It is complete.
4. It is to be read by all Christians.
5. It is read with different results, however, by the pious and the godless.
In Alsted’s writings also, didactic theology as a whole can be summarized
dichotomously in a comprehensive definition:160 It deals with sacred Scrip-
ture as the principle of all dogmas (loc. 1) and with the dogmas contained
therein, namely, God (loc. 2) and his works and deeds (loc. 3). The latter are
either eternal—in general his decrees (loc. 4), but in particular his providence
(loc. 5) and predestination (loc. 6)—or else temporal in their fulfillment. The
fulfillment of providence consists of creation (loc. 7) and his governance of
the universe (loc. 8), specifically of non-rational (loc. 9) and of rational na-
ture (loc. 10), that is, of the angels (loc. 11) and of men. Before the fall this
concerns the image and likeness of God (loc. 12) and the natural covenant
(loc. 13); after the fall, however, it concerns free will (loc. 14), sin (loc. 15) and
the limitation thereof through the law in general (loc. 16), but in particular
through marriage (loc. 17), political authority (loc. 18), and school (loc. 19).
In this life predestination is exercised with regard to the angels (loc. 20) and
men under the covenant of grace, which should be considered according to its
form (loc. 21) and its foundation, the mediator Christ (loc. 22). The [practi-
cal] application [Anwendung] of the covenant of grace is proclaimed by the
Gospel (loc. 23) in the Church as an assembly (loc. 24) under a leadership
that consists chiefly and most profoundly of the administration of God’s
gifts of grace, the most important of which is vocation (loc. 25)—with the
operation of repentance (loc. 26), faith (loc. 27) and holiness (loc. 28)—jus-
158. Ibid., s.3 (5:1575–1638). 159. Ibid., s.3 loc.1 (5:1575–76).

160. Ibid., table (5:1636).
tification (loc. 29) and sanctification in general (loc. 30), and in particular
(loc. 31). From these proceed further gifts of grace, namely adoption (loc. 32),
Christian freedom (loc. 33), and perseverance (loc. 34). Loci 35–37, which are
elaborated dichotomously, discuss the further gifts of grace for this life, the
external hierarchy and the enemies of the Church. The covenant of grace is
sealed by the sacraments (loc. 38) of the OT (loc. 39) and the NT, namely,
Baptism (loc. 40) and the Lord’s Supper (loc. 41). The fulfillment [Ausübung]
of predestination after this life consists generally in the Second Coming of
Christ (loc. 42), the resurrection of the body (loc. 43), and the Last Judg-
ment (loc. 44), but in particular in eternal life (loc. 45) or else in eternal death
(loc. 46). In polemical theology (controversial theology), which really ought
to be named irenic theology after its goal, the unity of the churches, this im-
pressive but rather dry system is to be defended against Catholics and Lu-
therans in its relevant points, which are listed according to Johannes Haller
(1523–1575).161
2.6 Reformed “Cartesian Scholasticism”: Christoph Wittich

The turn away from the subjection of Protestant orthodoxy to Aristo-
telian philosophy and toward Cartesian philosophy occurs most clearly in
the Reformed institutions of higher education in the Netherlands. This was
also the place of origin for the form of academic theology that is described
as “Cartesian Scholasticism.”162 One of its most outstanding representatives
is Christoph Wittich (1625–1687), a professor in Nijmegen and Leiden,163
who was influenced both by the covenant theology of Johannes Cocceius
(1603–1669) and by Cartesianism. Strenuously opposed by his teacher in
Groningen, Samuel Maresius (1599–1673), whose textbook he commented
on in his lectures, and by Gisbert Voetius (1589–1676),164 in his Theologia
pacifica he justifies at length the use of Cartesian philosophy in theology.165
Wittich’s Cartesianism is a comprehensive system of philosophy which in-
cludes the foundations of knowledge in the truth-criterion of the clear and
distinct perception, or “idea,” but also the cosmology of the Principia phi-
161. Ibid., s.4 (5:1639–62).
162. See Dibon, L’enseignement; Thijssen-Schoute, Nederlands Cartesianisme; Bohatec, Carte-
sianische Scholastik; Goudriaan, Philosophische Gotteserkenntnis. 
163. See Althaus, Prinzipien, 108–25.
164. See Heppe-Bizer, Dogmatik, lxi–lxiii; Goudriaan, Gotteserkenntnis.
165. J. Wittich, Theologia pacifica in qua varia problemata Theologica inter Reformatos Theologos
agitari solita ventilantur, simul Usus Philosophiae Cartesianae in diversis Theologiae partibus demon-
stratur, et ad Dissertationem Celeberrimi Viri, Samuelis Maresii, De abusu Philosophiae Cartesianae in
rebus Theologicis et fidei, modeste respondetur (Leiden, 1671); edition consulted: Leiden, 1675.
losophiae and the dualistic metaphysics and psychology of Descartes’ Med-
itationes. On the other hand we find here already a markedly ontologized
Cartesianism of the sort that Johannes Clauberg (1622–1665), a colleague of
Wittich in Herborn for a short time, had developed.166
In responding to Maresius’ accusation that he mingles philosophy and
theology, Wittich argues from the basis of the new philosophy. By no means
should creaturely categories be imported into theology, for instance into
the treatise on God, which was precisely the danger of Aristotelian philoso-
phy. Therefore the turn to Cartesianism is “in the first place not a revolu-
tion” in the fundamental relation between philosophy and theology.167
The Aristotelian-Ramist philosophy that is still in vogue in some places is
unusable, however, since it only makes logical concepts available but offers
no factual knowledge, favoring prejudices instead on the basis of senso-
rial experience.168 On the contrary, the Cartesian truth-criterion of clarity
and distinctness must also find an application in theology, specifically with
regard to its foundation: revelation. Whatever is not clearly and distinctly
recognized as being revealed by God cannot be accepted as such. Just as
Descartes ultimately has to have recourse to God’s truthfulness, so too must
Wittich at this juncture.169 At any rate, this makes a philosophical criterion
decide what is to be accepted as revealed truth. This (theologically found-
ed) criterion of revelation, however, is not an autonomous faculty of reason
that accepts only what it can understand independently. Instead Wittich
is explicitly emphasizing that one must also accept in faith that which our
limited reason cannot comprehend, if it is certain as revealed truth. This
acceptance in faith occurs then—occasionally contrary to the Cartesian
truth-criterion of clear, distinct perception—on the basis of divine author-
ity, which is more deserving of faith than our intellect.170 In addition to the
external revelation of Scripture, however, there is also the internal revela-
tion through recta ratio. The degree of certainty is the same in both cases.
We have certainty about our own saving faith not only by indirect but also
by direct knowledge.171 Certified faith in revelation is combined in Wittich’s
writings with a marked emphasis on God’s free will in revealing himself and
bestowing grace. This results in a theological critique of human prejudices,
especially since our errors are dependent on the will, for affirming and de-
166. See Leinsle, Reformversuche, 88–105; Verbeek, ed., Johannes Clauberg.

167. Althaus, Prinzipien, 111; 111–120. 168. Wittich, Theol. pacif. c.1 (1–13).
169. Ibid., c.3 (20–28). 170. Ibid., c.4 (28–31).
171. Ibid., c.11 (93–94).
nying are acts of the will. Voluntarism in his teaching about salvation and
grace allows Wittich here, too, to remain within the framework of his Re-
formed confession and to counter the accusation of Pelagianism or Semi-
pelagianism.172
Clearly Wittich’s Cartesian principles affect the cosmology that he pres-
ents according to the scheme of Descartes’ Principia; for sacred Scripture
does not offer us sufficient evidence for a consistent cosmology. But when
revelation is not unequivocal, philosophy can and must come to its aid.173
Cartesian cosmology, of course, follows natural laws, but these are assumed
at least hypothetically to be ordered by God’s will. Speculations about moon-
dwellers cannot be decided based on Scripture any more than the question
of whether all the works on a given day of creation took place in a single mo-
ment or in succession. Philosophically, in contrast, it can be shown that an
instantaneous creation of all the works of a day is self-contradictory.174 An
indefinite extension of the world according to Cartesian principles contra-
dicts neither reason nor revelation; yet even an infinite world—despite Ma-
resius’ objections—would be within God’s infinite power.175 Cartesian me-
chanics, which dispense with final causes, is interpreted theologically within
the framework of a revealed faith of fallen human reason: we may not inves-
tigate ends and decrees that God has not revealed to us. In Romans 9:20 and
Romans 11:33–36 we are explicitly warned against doing so. A clear distinc-
tion should be made between the usefulness (function) of a thing and God’s
objective.176
Dualist metaphysics and psychology are cited at great length in Wittich’s
teaching about God and anthropology (including the doctrine of the passio-
nes animae).177 The most important ideas that the theologian borrows from
Cartesian philosophy, however, are the true nature of the mind, the priority
of will over reason and the exact relation between knowledge and will in
desire. Wittich considers a disregard for the clear distinction between res
cogitans [the thinking thing] and res extensa [the extended object] as the
root of many heresies and errors. Without this distinction one cannot even
defend rationally the immortality of the soul.178 In contrast to traditional
Scholasticism, however, Cartesianism cannot recognize subsistence that is
172. Ibid., c.5 (31–41).

173. Ibid., c.2 (13–20); see also Althaus, Prinzipien, 120–22.
174. Wittich, Theol. pacif. c.7 (47–59). 175. Ibid., c.8 (59–74).
176. Ibid., c.9 (75–83). 177. Ibid., c.6 (41–47).
178. Ibid., c.10 (83–93).
really distinct. In Wittich’s view, nevertheless, this is an advantage in dem-
onstrating the subsistence of the anima separata [separated soul]. It is more
difficult to harmonize the non-spatial nature of the soul with this idea: one
can attribute a place to it only as an operative principle (in the body or out-
side of it), but not to the soul per se; the same is true of angels, pure spirits
who act purely through their will and are essentially res cogitantes [things
that think].179
Cartesian philosophy, moreover, can counter any sort of empiricism;
for the axiom, “there is nothing in the intellect that was not previously in
the senses,” is just not true, as our knowledge of God sufficiently demon-
strates.180 This knowledge is innate—a theory which can readily be com-
bined with the Philippo-Ramist tradition of the κοιναὶ ἔννοιαι In any case
God is a substance, especially since substance, according to Descartes, is
not combined with accidents but only with modi. Consequently God’s at-
tributes must be pondered anew in regard to their compatibility with Car-
tesian philosophy. As in man, so too in God the will is the predominant fac-
ulty. God’s will is therefore the cause of all that is true and good and of all
reality, of uncreated possibilities also. Thus God is the first truth and the
cause of all truth in the world. On the other hand God’s power is limitless;
hence what is contradictory for our way of thinking and rightly rejected as
absurd is not necessarily so for God. Wittich logically rejects a divine ubiq-
uity in the strict sense, since it contains spatial notions (even with reference
to imaginary spaces) and cannot be predicated before creation; it is better
to speak of God’s presence everywhere (omnipraesentia) with regard to his
operation, his power and his nature.181 The optimal principle dominates
throughout the treatise on God’s decrees: “Deus semper facit id quod est opti-
mum.”182 [“God always does what is best.”]
Finally, in the Christology and the soteriology, the Cartesian denial of
absolute accidents, of the real distinction between essence and potencies,
and between essence and existence, becomes problematic. The Hypostatic
Union is therefore understood along the lines of the human body-soul com-
posite. The Incarnation occurs at the moment when Christ’s soul is united
with his body.183 With remarkable intensity Wittich applies to Christologi-
179. Ibid., c.12–13 (113–163). The manner of their movement is discussed at length.
180. Ibid., c.11 (93–113); see also Goudriaan, Gotteserkenntnis, 202–30.
181. Wittich, Theol. pacif. c.14–15. (163–94).
182. Ibid., c.16 (194–95); see also Knebel, “Necessitas moralis ad optimum”; Ramelow, Gott.
183. Wittich, Theol. pac. c.16 (194–216).
cal and soteriological questions a sort of linguistic criticism and exegetical
procedure that also dominates his interpretation of controversial passages
in the final chapters of his work.184 The “Scholastic” inquiries of Reformed
orthodoxy are rethought here on the basis of a new philosophy, which
certainly does not answer all the questions in the usual way yet despite its
unique character as a dualistic, voluntaristic metaphysics does not shatter
the fundamental theoretical framework of “scholastic” Protestant theology.
3 God and modern man: The debate about grace

No debate within the Catholic world preoccupied Scholastic theology
of the early modern period as long or as intensely as the so-called debate
about grace (more precisely: about the means of grace) between the Jesuits
who followed Luis de Molina (1535–1600), on the one hand, and the strict
Thomists on the other, who belonged chiefly to the ranks of the Domini-
cans (Dominicus Bañez), Discalced Carmelites, and Benedictines.185 From
the theoretical scientific perspective, this is a case of two competing theo-
retical systems, which through a papal decision dated August 28, 1607, both
received at least “the right to hospitality [i.e., a courteous hearing], liberty
of action and the freedom to make propaganda” in the Church.186 Substan-
tially it is a question of nothing less than the status and efficacy of God vis-
à-vis the modern consciousness of man’s freedom. With regard to ecclesi-
astical politics, for a time there was reason to fear a schism, which is why
the leading courts of Europe were involved in the debate also. The debate
acquired interdenominational significance through the fact that Calvinist
orthodoxy adopted the Thomist doctrine of predestination, while Lutheran
orthodoxy took up the Molinist position.187 The decisive theoretical out-
lines will be presented here not in terms of their origin and development
but by way of examples at the level of Scholastic discussion.
3.1 Man as a free instrument of God: Francisco Suárez

To define God’s efficacy vis-à-vis man while acknowledging the nature
and freedom of the latter—as opposed to the Lutheran thesis of “servum ar-
184. Ibid., c.17–21 (217– ff.).
185. See HDG III, 5b, 93–108; Stegmüller, Molinismus; Werner, Scholastik IV/2 (Vienna, 1887),
70–94.
186. Stegmüller, Molinismus, 63*. The Jesuits of Salamanca celebrated the decision with festivi-
ties including a bullfight: HDG III, 5b, 104.
187. See W. Hübener, “Praedeterminatio physica,” HWPh 7:1216–25; crucial corrections in
bitrium” [“servile or slavish will”]—means to find a theory that can explain
the supernatural operation and the natural freedom or at least preserve
them. Such a theory is provided by the “Doctor Eximius” [“Extraordinary
Doctor”], Francisco Suárez (1548–1617) in his assumption that there is a po-
tentia oboedientialis activa188 [active obediential potency], a thesis that he
first published in his 1590 commentary on part III of Thomas’ Summa. This
largely metaphysical theory is discussed within the context of the treatise
on the Incarnation as part of the question: What proper power or poten-
cy enables Christ’s humanity to operate miraculously as the instrument of
the divine Logos (s. 5)? The question is generalized in section 6: Whether
there is in created things some “vis activa oboedientialis” [“active obediential
power”] that enables them to be raised to the status of God’s instruments.
The theory of a “potentia oboedientialis”189 was influential from Augustine
via Thomas down to Karl Rahner; to accept it is to declare that creatures are
created in such a way that they are enabled, above and beyond their natural
operations and their capabilities, to obey the will of God in supernatural
operations [Wirkungen] also. This ability is generally recognized among
theologians as a passive ability to obey, yet this is not sufficient for Suarez,
precisely in the case of human beings who act freely. Since every operation
has to correspond to a like potency, and since supernatural activities (e.g.,
believing) are real activities of a human being, we must assume that there is
not only a purely passive potency but rather a potentia oboedientialis activa
in things, by which they can achieve supernatural operations, not by their
own power, of course (that would be crude Pelagianism), but rather merely
as God’s instruments. The instrumentality of freely acting creatures is nev-
ertheless taken seriously also, insofar as a suitable cooperation on the part
of the instrument—one that surpasses the general constitution of creatures
as God’s instruments in producing natural operations—must correspond to
the effect.190 In principle this active obediential power extends to all pos-
sible supernatural operations of God, that is, to everything that does not
involve a contradiction and is thus possible for God.
Suárez is aware that he is introducing a new theory, which therefore
Sparn, “Subjekte,” 173–79: the connection in Protestantism concerns mainly the doctrine of pre-
destination and not the teaching about grace.
188. F. Suárez, De Incarnatione, disp. 31 s.5–6, in Opera omnia (Paris, 1877), 18:103–152; on the
development of Suárez’ teaching on grace: Stegmüller, Gnadenlehre.
189. See O. Wanke in HWPh 7:1166, where, however, he does not discuss the potentia oboedien-
tialis activa in the writings of Suárez.
190. Suárez, De Incarn. disp.31 s.5 n.7 (18:105–106b).
has to be discussed according to all the criteria for developing a theological
theory:
1. I t is free from contradiction. It is not logically inconsistent that God
designed creatures in that way.
2. I t has a certain degree of probability and credibility based on reasonable
arguments and authorities.
3. It resolves the questions related to the matter without excessive
difficulties.
Being a genuine metaphysician, Suárez regards the active instrumental-
ity of creatures as something already present in the complete concept of cre-
ated being. This instrumentality does not become active, however, without
the agens principale, just as a tool cannot work by itself.191 Furthermore it
does not mean a directly active ability to do something independently, but
rather only a more remote condition which makes the creature not potens
[“able,” in the sense of having both power and mastery] but rather capax
[capable] of being elevated by God to a supernatural mode of operation.192
Like any new theory, this one also faces formidable objections, which
Suárez meticulously lists and ultimately refutes. Particularly weighty is the
accusation that it involves a subtle Pelagianism and a confusion of the natu-
ral and the supernatural orders, since the theory assumes a natural endow-
ment of man to accomplish what is supernatural and thus appears to deny
the absolute necessity of grace for any good work.193 Suárez initially carries
out the positive proof of the new theory starting from metaphysical prin-
ciples that are acknowledged by his opponents also:
1. Action presupposes in its cause a power to act.
2. Th
e power to act as an instrument is not a special, superadded quality in
God’s instruments over and above their ontological endowment.
3. The power to act as God’s instrument is not a movement transferred to
the instrument.194
Based on these premises, Suárez defines what the “elevation” of the
creature to an instrument of God actually involves. It is not purely a matter
of terminology, nor is it a mere subordination to God’s will; rather it signi-
fies the elaboration of a creaturely endowment to a higher or nobler status.
191. Ibid., s.5 n.8 (106b–107a). 192. Ibid., s.5 n.9 (107a).
193. Ibid., s.6 n.4 (108a). 194. Ibid., s.6 n.10–17 (110b–114b).
Therefore it presupposes something that is elevated and an “agens superius”
[“higher agent”] that brings about this elevation with a superior natural
[physischer] efficacy. Here again there are three possibilities:
1. The entire operative power is imparted to the thing through the addition
of an inner form: for example, the warming of water.
2. Th
rough the addition of an inner form a potency, which by itself is insuf-
ficient, is rendered capable of operating (e.g., understanding and will
through grace to perform supernatural works).
3. Th
e operative power is perfected through union with an external cause
and is thus enabled to perform an operation for which the thing by itself
is incapable and unsuited. This is precisely the case with elevation to the
status of an instrument of God; it presupposes however a “vis activa et
intrinseca” [“an active, intrinsic power”] on the part of the thing being
elevated.195
Suárez defends himself vigorously against the suspicion of Pelagianism
yet at the same time admits that his theory includes within the creaturely
endowment of man a causal element which is partially responsible for su-
pernatural operations. By themselves, however, creatures cannot produce
such effects (as instruments), but rather only with a kind of supernatural
help, the nature of which is left unspecified.196 Indeed, the precise manner
of this supernatural help is the subject of the debate “de auxiliis.” The foun-
dation of cooperation with God (fundamentum cooperationis), however,
must exist in nature. For Suárez this is in no way Pelagianism but rather
the safeguarding of human freedom against Luther’s view.197 In order for
a created entity to be capable of being taken up by God as an instrument
in the full sense, therefore, we must assume that there is within it, by virtue
of its ontological endowment, an activity oriented toward this instrumen-
tal operation. Before its elevation to the status of an instrument, neverthe-
less, this is only a fundamental, rather remote disposition to “obedience”
vis-à-vis God’s action.198 The creature is by no means purely passive with
regard to this elevation to instrumental status; this happens, rather, through
195. Ibid., s.6 n.31–32 (121b).

196. Ibid., s.6 n.43 (124a): “ita etiam de fide certum, cum supernaturali auxilio (quicquid illud sit)
posse illos efficere.” [“Thus as an article of faith also it is certain that with supernatural help (what-
ever it may be) they can produce effects” i.e., of a supernatural nature.]
197. Ibid., s.6 n.44 (124a–125a).
198. Ibid., s.6 n.45 (125ab).
a cooperation of superior and subordinate causes, in which the causality of
the instrumental cause is fully preserved as well. Nor can we conclude from
the designation of this potency as an “obediential power” that it is purely
passive; rather we ourselves experience (“veluti experimento”) the capability
(capaces) to perform supernatural acts (e.g., believing, loving, etc.).199
The natural faculties of the soul are in no way sufficient to perform
these supernatural acts; nevertheless, on the basis of their active obedien-
tial power they can be enabled to do so as God’s instruments. Since living
and instrumental action are just as compatible as instrumental and free ac-
tion (for freedom here means only the freedom to omit an act or to choose
the contrary act), Suárez sees the best theological definition of man in his
role as a living, free instrument (instrumentum liberum, vitale) of God. The
best possible way to explain this definition, however (and to ensure his own
theory), is to assume a faculty, in itself free, which on the one hand can ac-
cept the power that is elevated to instrumental status and can thus produce
a corresponding supernatural act (e.g., of faith), but on the other hand can
also refuse it by its own power or place a contrary act (e.g., of disbelief).200
3.2 Natural morality or the effect of grace? Gabriel Vázquez

The tension between Augustinianism and the modern consciousness of
freedom is exemplified in the treatise on grace by Suárez’ opponent and suc-
cessor at the Collegium Romanum, Gabriel Vázquez, S.J. (1549–1607).201
In his commentaries and disputations on the Summa of Thomas Aquinas,
which are very clear and written in good Latin, he poses the question, as
quaestio 190 on the Prima Secundae (I-II, first printing 1605), whether we
require help through the grace of God, mediated by Christ, to perform in-
dividual morally good works.202 In other words, can there be for a human
being in Christ a natural morality? It is valid [Es gilt] to debate this question
ad utramque partem [from either side].
Proponents of late medieval Augustinianism and Luther were not the
only ones to dispute the possibility of independent, naturally moral action.
The question was debated among the Scholastici as well, as Vázquez makes
199. Ibid., s.6 n.55 (129ab).

200. Ibid., s.6 n.98–99 (146b–147b).
201. See HDG III, 5b, 101; on Vázquez generally: Werner, Scholastik, 95–160; Stegmüller,
“Prädestinationslehre”; Knebel, Wille, 573.
202. Edition consulted: G. Vázquez, Commentariorum ac Disputationum in Primam Secundae
Sancti Thomae Tomus secundus (Lyon, 1631), 321b–356b.
clear in his thorough treatment of the status quaestionis with a long list of
authorities. Not at issue here is God’s general concurrence (concursus gene-
ralis) in the work of his creatures. For many theologians (from Bonaven-
ture to Cajetan and Johannes Maior) this is already enough to enable man
to act morally, at least in minor matters, that is, with regard to the ethical-
natural value of the deed, for example, helping the poor, because it is good
for natural-ethical reasons.203 On the other hand an even longer list of Scho-
lastics (from Albert the Great to Pedro de Soto) denies the possibility of nat-
urally perfect moral action without the help of grace. This is the opinion of
Thomas Aquinas as well, whose teaching corresponds to the interpretation of
Capreolus, but not of Cajetan. This understanding of the matter is confirmed
by Scripture, the councils, and papal doctrinal decisions, the testimony of
the Church Fathers before Augustine and the entire “Augustini schola.”204 Fi-
nally four explanations of the arguments of the second sententia are rejected:
“gratia” is meant here, according to Vázquez, not just in the Pelagian sense of
the grace of creation or in the sense of God’s general concurrence (auxilium
generale); the necessity of special helps of grace mediated by Christ is not re-
stricted just to works of love of God or to those that are important for eternal
life. Instead the Fathers of the Church try to show that without the help of
grace we cannot think, will or accomplish anything that is of significance for
true justice and piety, or that relates to God and eternal life.205
Vázques adduces proof for the necessity of special helps of grace for any
individual morally good work from the reasons that he used in his earlier
teaching that not even the smallest temptation can be overcome without
such a special help of grace:
1. It is useful for us to ask (repeatedly) for the help of God’s grace for indi-
vidual good works.
2. We thank God for every good deed that he in his providence allows us to
succeed in doing.
3. Reductio ad absurdum: If man could act morally by his own unaided power,
he could at least incipiently perform works of mercy and thereby induce
God to forgive sin or to grant grace. This position is at least Semipelagian.
203. Ibid., c.1 (321b–23a).

204. Ibid., c.2–6 (323b–28b) with a detailed discussion of Thomas (c.3) and four (not genu-
inely anti-Pelagian) passages from Augustine (c.6). The decision of the Concilium Palaestinum is
reprinted verbatim in the appendix (661).
205. Ibid., c.7–9 (330b–37a).
4. Argument by way of analogy: Since man cannot overcome any tempta-
tion against the moral law by natural morality, he is just as incapable of
acting morally thereby.206
Nevertheless Vázquez, despite his sympathy for Augustinianism, is un-
willing to take up a radical position. He resolves the controversy by asserting
that both positions are probable and by reconciling them. A natural moral
act is possible in the individual case without the special supernatural help
of graces mediated by Christ. Such an act, however, does not attain compre-
hensive, perfect goodness without the special help of a grace mediated by
Christ. The help in this case, however, is not of the supernatural but rather
of the natural order: it consists of God’s protection and guidance of things
through natural causes. Vázquez guarantees his teaching historically as well:
He presented it as early as 1580 in Alcalà in his treatise De gratia and again
in 1586 at the Collegium Romanum in his treatise De praedestinatione, and
finally it was approved by Cardinal Robert Bellarmine. Consequently three
things are to be demonstrated:
1. In every good work we find the help of a grace that is different from the
creaturely endowment and general influence with which God as the First
Cause cooperates with the working of secondary causes.
is help is in some way necessary for the work to be an “opus studiosum”
2. Th
with moral value.
3. This helping grace is mediated by Christ.207
Human freedom, to which Vázquez is thoroughly committed, must not
cancel out this helping grace in the natural order, but what then does that
grace consist of, or what does it accomplish? Again Vázquez in a very clear
train of thought starts with generally acknowledged facts from the theory of
human acts, so as to prove his opinion on the basis of them:
1. We are free (decisional freedom).
2. Our will can freely decide to go either way.
3. In every case the movement of the will presupposes thought.
4. Th
e fact that the will is guided (applied) to this later (good) thought
rather than to that (bad) first thought, must be explained through an
external influence.
206. Ibid., c.10–11 (339b–43a).

207. Ibid., c.12 (343b).
5. Th
erefore every time the will is prompted by thought to choose good
freely, it receives a special helping grace from God, different from the
grace of creation.
Insofar as we are creatures [Schöpfungsmässig] we are not more prone to
think about good than about evil. The application of grace can occur either
directly by God or through secondary causes: yet even in the latter case it
is to be attributed to God. The application of grace in the individual case
thus does not necessarily cancel out the natural course of the world; rather
the causal order of the world is so designed by God that through it an act of
thought that prompts the will to a good work occasionally can occur. But in
this case, too, God is to be acknowledged as the cause of the bona cogitatio
[good thought].208
The helping grace consists therefore precisely in the causation of a good
thought as a proportional occasion for a voluntary decision for the good. In
the subsequent discussion this theorem of Vázquez was then also referred
to under the heading of cogitatio congrua. This cogitatio congrua which is
necessary for a good act does not abolish man’s freedom. For the will does
not necessarily follow the thought, as everyone knows from experience;
the thought is only a conditio sine qua non of willing. Consequently what
God brings about through his helping grace, and what is required from our
perspective for a comprehensive morally good act, is precisely that cogita-
tio congrua about which God already knows that our will is going to follow
it. This connection between thought and voluntary decision is then indeed
necessary, but not in the sense of causally determined dependence (necessi-
tas antecedens), but rather in view of God’s knowledge about the human be-
ing’s ensuing free voluntary decision (necessitas consequens).209 The further
problems concerning God’s knowledge about our free decisions would be
discussed in Jesuit Scholasticism under the rubric of scientia media.210 The
helping grace of the cogitatio congrua, moreover, considered in itself, does
not work infallibly, since it can be obstructed by many other influences. We
ask God precisely for this cogitatio congrua when we pray for the grace to do
a good deed; we thank him for it.
Vázquez adduces the proof that this special helping grace is mediated
by Christ from Augustine and the African Fathers of the Church. The meri-
208. Ibid. (344a).

209. Ibid. (344b).
210. See Knebel, “Scientia media”; Sparn, “Subjekte von Freiheit,” 169–79. See below 6.3.4!
torious character of the morally good act with respect to eternal life (in the
case of the Christian) is also based on its derivation from Christ. Not only
deeds that are informed by infused virtues are meritorious, but also deeds
informed by acquired virtues. According to Augustine, however, a cogita-
tio congrua can be found even among heathens and unbelievers and those
in the state of sin; for it consists precisely in the fact that the natural light
of reason is thereby induced to grasp the thought of that morally good act
which the will by its free decision then intends to perform. The fact that the
help is greater for those in the state of grace is based on new circumstances,
not on a greater helping grace per se. Finally, the last conclusio is again quite
Augustinian and far removed from all suspicion of Pelagianism: every mor-
ally good act that we perform originates from the grace of Christ, that is,
with respect to its meritoriousness: Christ by his sufferings merited for us
all those good works that we have.211
Above and beyond his resolution of the matter, Vázquez offers here a
good example of the development of a theological theory about religious
accomplishments in the everyday world. The solution is found, not through
metaphysics, but through the theory of the human act, in the prerequisite of a
corresponding thought for the act of will. However, this solution makes a clar-
ification of God’s knowledge about man’s free-will decisions indispensable.
3.3 God’s decision and man’s freedom: Bartolomeo Mastri

The question as to the compatibility of God’s free decision (decretum)
with man’s occupied the adherents of all schools of thought. The Scotists,
who usually viewed the innovations of the Jesuits negatively, will be repre-
sented here by the commentary on the Sentences by the Conventual Francis-
can Bartolomeo Mastri (1678).212 “Mastrius” discusses only a few controver-
sial questions and therein exhibits a marked consciousness of his school.213
How can man be free if God always knows his decision already and deter-
mines the outcome himself? This question concerns on the one hand God’s
knowledge about futura contingentia, which had been discussed at such great
211. Vázquez, Comm. II/II q.190 c.12 (344b–47a).

212. Edition consulted: B. Mastrius, Disputationes theologicae in Librum Primum Sententia-
rum (Venice, 1698). Concerning his philosophy, see also Jansen, “Skotisten,” 48–51; on his life and
work: Forlivesi, Scotistarum Princeps.
213. Book I: disp.1 de nativitate theologiae [on the origin of theology]; disp.2 de divinis attributis;
disp.3 de divino intellectu; disp.4 de divina voluntate; disp.5 de divina praedestinatione et reprobatione;
disp.6 de visione beatifica; disp.7 de Sanctissima Trinitate; see also Forlivesi, Scotistarum Princeps,
230–52, 393–98.
length in late Scholasticism, and on the other hand the status of God’s deci-
sions with relation to man’s. It is debated by Mastrius chiefly in his treatment
of divine intellect, whereby the discussion of all the opiniones of the other
school takes up considerable space.214 Thus he rejects the following opinions
about divine knowledge of futura contingentia:
1. Cajetan: God knows them through the real presence in eternity.
2. B añez: God knows them in the disposition of their immediate cause, that
is, the created free will, which under the given circumstances will infal-
libly produce a corresponding effect.
3. Capreolus: God knows them in his ideas.
4. M iguel de Palacios: God knows them in the efficacy of his foreknowl-
edge as Universal Cause.215
5. J esuit theory (“schola libera”): He knows them in themselves, presuppos-
ing the infinite perfection of the divine intellect.
6. Arriaga: God knows them through the scientia media. This innovation of
the “Neutrales” (= the Jesuits who are neither Thomists nor Scotists) is
rejected as contradicting the opinion of Scotus, although it is accepted by
other Scotists (Philippus Faber [† 1630], Johannes Poncius [† 1660]).216
omistic theory: God knows them through his decision that precedes
7. Th
the free decision of man (decretum antecedens).217
His rejection of the Thomistic thesis about God’s antecedent decree and
the physical predetermination (praedeterminatio physica) of the human act
of will shows how seriously human freedom is taken in the Scotist school.
At best, God’s decision could be called antecedent in the sense of a priori-
tas a quo [priority from which], inasmuch as God’s decree includes at least
virtually the free decision of the human being; the latter, however, does not
depend causally on the former; instead God decides not before but rather
with the created free will, in such a way that God of his own volition decides
that what will occur is precisely that which the free will of the human be-
ing decides of its own volition. Therefore, in Scotist terms, one should not
speak of an antecedent but rather of an accompanying decree (decretum con-
comitans) of God.218 The relation between the two decisions is not a causal
214. Mastrius, I Sent. disp.3 q.3 f. (126b–187a); see also Anfray, “Prescience,” 556–86.
215. On Palacios (Palatius) see: Hurter, Nomenclator, 3:143.
216. See 6.3.4.; Anfray, “Prescience,” 580–83.
217. Mastrius, I Sent. disp.3 q.3 a.1–7 (126b–52b); see also Anfray, “Prescience,” 583–86.
218. Mastrius, I Sent. disp.3 q.3 a.8 (153ab); see also Anfray, “Prescience,” 586–91.
dependency but rather a mere simultaneity. With his sententia, which is au-
thenticated directly from Duns Scotus, Mastrius intends to take a middle
position between Thomists and “Neutrales,” who in their hypothesis of the
scientia media regard God’s knowledge as being dependent on man’s free de-
cision and therefore advocate a decretum sequens [subsequent decree] rather
than a decretum concomitans. The logical difference between a temporal hu-
man decision and an eternal divine decision should also find linguistic ex-
pression. Therefore we should say: from all eternity God has concomitantly
(thus simultaneously) defined the future free decisions of the created will.
This accompanying decree of God is at the same time the suitable medium
of God’s knowledge about our future free decisions.219
The proof of the Scotist teaching initially proceeds a posteriori from the
assignment of human perfections to God (the simultaneity of identical de-
cisions in two subjects), then a priori from the (typically Scotist) virtual
presence of all things contained in God: God as the First Cause virtually
contains within himself the powers of all secondary causes and can cause all
the effects of the secondary causes with or without them; in the same way
he contains virtually within himself as the “primum intelligens et intelligibile”
[“first intelligent subject and intelligible object”] all possible objects of un-
derstanding; likewise as the primum liberum [first free subject] he contains
within himself virtually all possible free decisions of creatures. Therefore he
can not only determine in advance all his own decisions, but also all those
which he voluntarily allows to occur at a particular future moment through
the action of secondary causes, in such a manner that they agree exactly
with his eternal decree. In this case freedom is not abolished, since the self-
determination of the created will to its corresponding effect continues to
exist.220
God’s foreknowledge is not the cause of the future existence of creature-
ly decisions. It is therefore not antecedent either, but rather logically simul-
taneous with (concomitans) or even logically later than (as the Jesuits main-
tained) the human being’s free decision. Therefore we cannot speak about
an external necessity, but only about an inferential necessity, comparable to
219. Mastrius, I Sent. disp.3 q.3 a.8 (153b): “Dicemus itaque in hoc sensu Deum ab aeterno concom-
itanter determinasse eventus liberos a creata voluntate futuros, et tale decretum esse sufficiens, ac idoneum
medium ad eos certo cognoscendos, etiam quatenus libere eventuros.” [“And so in this sense we will say
that God from all eternity concomitantly determined future free decisions made by a created will,
and that this decree is sufficient and the suitable medium in which to know them with certainty,
even insofar as they will occur freely.”]
220. Ibid. (155b).
the inference from the (natural) sign (smoke) to the object (fire): With this
sort of necessity one could conclude the future occurrence of an event from
an acquaintance with God’s foreknowledge.221 Mastrius advocates this ba-
sic position (along with the Thomists against the Jesuits) also with regard
to future free conditional decisions (futura contingentia conditionata). State-
ments about them acquire their definite truth only through corresponding
conditional decrees of God.222
The Scotist Mastrius explicitly acknowledges his allegiance to a school:
this linguistic usage should be accepted “in schola nostra” because it is rea-
sonable (proof) and at the same time agrees with the teaching of Duns Sco-
tus (authority).223
3.4 God’s knowledge dependent on free human beings:

Rodrigo de Arriaga
This teaching about divine and human decrees, in the opinion of the
Jesuits, did not completely solve the problem of God’s knowledge about fu-
ture contingent developments in the world.224 Moreover it does not guaran-
tee man’s freedom over against divine knowledge to the extent desired. The
“totem of Jesuit Scholasticism” from Molina on, therefore, was the doctrine
of the scientia media, that is, the assumption “that God knows in advance the
‘use’ that would be made by the free will in every imaginable hypothesis.”225
This knowledge was called media originally because, as necessary knowl-
edge about conditional contingent matters, it occupies a middle position
between the scientia simplicis intelligentiae with which God knows himself
and the scientia visionis with which God knows possible and real things and,
in the opinion of many Jesuits, also futura contingentia absoluta [absolute fu-
ture contingencies].226 This theory tries to reconcile three theological facts:
1. the infallibility of divine foreknowledge;
2. the inevitability of the divine predestinating will;
3. the freedom of human will.227
221. Ibid., a.10 (162a–64a). 222. Ibid., q.4 a.3 (170b–71b).

223. Ibid., q.3 a.8 (157b). 224. See Knebel, “Necessitas moralis.”
225. Knebel, “Scientia media,” 281, 264; concerning the discourse, see also Knebel, Wille; Rein-
hardt, Pedro Luis; Lurz, Adam Tanner.
226. See, for example, Georg Hermann, De Deo sciente (Ingolstadt, 1737); the history of the sci-
entia media was recorded quite early by G. de Henao, S.J., Scientia media historice propugnata (Sala-
manca, 1665; also: Dillingen, 1687).
227. Knebel, “Scientia media,” 291.
One resolute and sharp-witted proponent of the comprehensive scientia-
media-discourse was the Prague professor Rodrigo de Arriaga, S.J. (1592–
1667). He immediately makes it clear that the entire doctrine of predesti-
nation and grace depends in practice on this question.228 In the nominalist
thought of Arriaga, the scientia media is the medium by which God knows
the truth of future conditional statements. Arriaga distinguishes, moreover,
four types of conditional statements:
1. necessary implication: When fire is applied to tow, it burns.
2. n on-necessary consequence: If a poor man asks for alms, I will give it
to him.
3. d isparate: If the Turk sleeps [i.e., does not attack our country], then I will
be learned [i.e., will take advantage of peaceful conditions to complete
my education].
4. i mpossible: If the chimera [a mythical she-monster] were endowed with
reason and a poor man asked her for alms, his request would be granted.229
Now the object of the scientia media is precisely case (2), with its free
condition and non-necessary consequence: How does God know whether a
poor man will ever ask me for alms, and how I will react then? As a “Scriptur-
al proof ” for God’s knowledge about such matters, usually 1 Samuel 23:10–12
and Matthew 11:21–23 are cited. Arriaga refers also, however, to the common
idiom which replies to questions that begin, “What would happen if . . .” by
saying “God knows.”230
The scientia media does in fact become theologically relevant in the ques-
tion about helping graces: How does God know whether I at a future point
in time will cooperate with the helping grace once it is granted? The Thomist
and Scotist solutions do not satisfy Arriaga, especially since he interprets the
Scotist decree (volitio efficax) [effective will] as antecedent—thus abolishing
freedom—and not as concomitant. Moreover God would have to know in
turn about these, his conditional decisions. But Arriaga regards as incred-
228. R. de Arriaga, Disputationes theologicae in Primam Partem D. Thomae (Antwerpen, 1643)

l.1 disp.21: De scientia media, seu conditionata (215–224); 215a: “Vix ulla praesenti saeculo celebrior
quaestio in scholis agitur; quam sit haec, utpote a qua pendet tota fere materia de praedestinatione et
gratia Dei.” [“Scarcely any question more famous than this one is discussed academically in the
present age, inasmuch as on it depends almost the entire subject of predestination and the grace
of God.”] On Arriaga see also Sousedík, “Obra filosófica”; Sousedík, Filosofie, 100–38; Saxlová /
Sousedík, Arriaga. On the doctrine of the scientia media see Sparn, “Subjekte von Freiheit.”
229. Arriaga, Disp. theol. l.1 disp. 21 s.1 (215a–16a).
230. Ibid., s.2 (216a–17a).
ible also the theory, favored at the Collegium Romanum and at Ingolstadt,
of a “total decree” of God, that God already has in his knowledge all possible
(counterfactual) courses of world events, in their infinite permutations, de-
pendent upon his will with which he has already decided them once and for
all: “If I had wanted to create a different world, I would at the same time have
wanted exactly the same number of leaves, fleas, and drops of water to exist
in it; nevertheless if the course of world events were different, then I would
want a different exact number of these things to exist.”231 The conjecture in-
volving all hypothetically possible courses of world events results, according
to Arriaga, in a contradiction. Moreover, the inhabitants of Bethsaida (Mat-
thew 11:21) could have said then, “Why don’t you have an effective will (vo-
litio efficax) for our salvation; then we would have converted.” On the other
hand, it is an untenable objection against the scientia media or cogitatio con-
grua to say that God gave them no appropriate helping grace. Arriaga allows
Christ himself to reply to that: “I give to you as I give to everyone. It is within
your power to make this calling into a congrua.” Therefore God knows futura
conditionata also, not as outcomes depending on his free-will decisions, but
rather in a purely logical way in themselves.232
This scientia media directa with which God knows our conditional free
decisions should be distinguished from the scientia media reflexa with which
God knows in advance how he himself would act if he knew that the free
will [of a creature] were to react thus and so (e.g., to a specific helping
grace). A further distinction should be made between affirmative and nega-
tive scientia media reflexa:
a) affirmative: If I saw that Judas would not correspond to helping grace A
(= scientia media directa of the rejection that occurred in fact), I would
still give it to him.
b) negative: If I saw that Peter would not correspond to helping grace A
(= scientia media directa of his acceptance), I would not give it to him.233
God’s knowledge about his own hypothetically possible acts does not
abolish God’s freedom, as Arriaga demonstrates through a thought-exper-
iment which he invites the reader to make: Knowledge at point A in time
does not abolish my freedom at point B, for at point B in time I may have
231. Ibid., s.3 (217a–18b); see also Knebel, “Necessitas,” 16–19; Sparn, “Subjekte von Freiheit,” 181.
232. Arriaga, Disp. theol. l.1 disp. 21 s.4 (218a).
233. See Knebel, “Scientia media,” 288; discussed in detail, e.g., in Hermann, De Deo sciente,
q.7 (283–359).
forgotten what I knew at point A. Thus at any later point in time I act as
though I had forgotten that I already knew at an earlier time how I would act.
That means that I am still free. In retrospect then I can say: I acted exactly in
accordance with my foreknowledge.234
Nor is man’s freedom impaired through this knowledge about future
conditional statements. This is because the actual accomplishment of the
matter in question (e.g., Peter’s conversion) remains within the scope of
man’s freedom. Thus there is no scientia media of the conversion of a specific
man (Peter):
a) if that man does not exist, or
b) if he does not correspond to the helping grace.
According to Arriaga, therefore, the man could say to himself at the mo-
ment when he exercises his freedom: “I can cause God to have no scientia
media of my conversion. If I do not correspond to the helping grace that he
has granted, then I cause God from all eternity to have no knowledge about
my cooperation (as a futuritio absoluta). Therefore God’s knowledge (exclu-
sively in this regard) is in my power.”235
Nevertheless God, too, remains free in bestowing his helping graces
and in his predestinating will. Before predestination, Peter and Judas are in
principle the same. If God knows through his scientia media, for example,
that Peter and Judas will correspond to four helping graces but will reject
four others, then according to his predestinating decision he will give to Pe-
ter one of the four that he corresponds to, but to Judas one that he rejects.
One might object that then there could be a person who would accept or
reject (creatura rebellis) all of them, and therefore would have to be saved
or damned; Arriaga counters by making a simple distinction: that is indeed
metaphysically (logically) possible, but not morally. Besides, God could
then still create only the one who accepts all the helping graces, but not the
other one. A human being is still free with respect to a helping grace insofar
as he makes that help, without which he cannot be saved (auxilium efficax)
effective through his action. A helping grace therefore does not work inde-
pendently of or antecedent to the human being’s actual deed.236
234. Arriaga, Disp. theol. l.1 disp. 21 s.4 (219ab); see also Sparn, “Subjekte von Freiheit,” 182–184.
The fact that the doctrine of scientia media also led to “florida ingeniorum exercitamenta, seu lusus”
[“extravagant exercises or games of ingenuity”] is noted already by, Henao, Scientia media, 396b.
235. Arriaga, Disp. theol. l.1 disp. 21 s.5 (221a).
236. Arriaga, Disp. theol. l.1 disp. 21 s.6 a.2 (222ab); see also Knebel, Wille, 186–87.
The truth or falsity of disparate conditional statements without a causal
connection is also known by God. In contrast, Arriaga (unlike Pedro de Ar-
rúbal [1559–1608]) is cautious about impossible conditional statements: “If
the chimera were free and were prompted by a helping grace of this sort,
she would correspond to it.” Such knowledge has no discernible purpose;
knowledge about individual propositions could be multiplied uselessly in
this way: “If this water atom were an angel, would it then be Michael or
Gabriel or some other one among all possible angels?” Such speculations,
while they show the logical possibilities of the calculus and the ultimate
ramifications of a fruitful theory, bring into disrepute the legitimate con-
cern of the scientia media in the doctrine about creation, predestination and
grace.237
3.5 Thomistic opposition to the scientia media:

Jean-Baptiste Gonet
Well into the New Scholasticism of the nineteenth century, the Clypeus
theologiae Thomisticae (1659–1669) by the Dominican Jean-Baptiste Gonet
(1616–1681)238 was an influential Thomistic defense against theological in-
novations, especially by the Jesuits. In sometimes militant language this
work singles out the scientia media as the chief point of contention and tries
to destroy it root and branch.239 For more than sixty years, he says, the de-
bate has raged over whether the infallible knowledge of futura conditionata
in God is established before and independently of the decree with which
God predetermines conditional-future events (so say the Jesuits) or after
the decree and in it. The differences between the two opinions are clearly
set forth:
1. The scientia media is independent from and prior to God’s actual decree;
in contrast the scientia conditionatorum [knowledge of conditional things]
that is assumed by the Thomists is later than the decree and founded on it.
237. Ibid., s.7 (223a–24a); on the great achievements in the field of probability theory, see also
Knebel, Wille, passim.
238. Edition consulted: J. B. Gonet, Clypeus theologiae Thomisticae contra novos eius impugna-
tores, (Cologne, 1671).
239. Ibid., p.1 tr.3 disp.6 (1:285b–362a); military [sic] terminology, e.g., a.5 “Variis argumentis
[. . .] expungitur scientia media” (296b) [“Scientia media is canceled by various arguments . . .” (the
unlikely emendation expugnatur would mean “overcome, taken by storm”)]; a.5 § 5 “Praecluditur
aditus solitae evasioni Adversariorum” (300b) [“This blocks off access to the usual evasion of our
Adversaries”]; a.6 “Absurdis et inconvenientibus exploditur scientia media” (309a) [“Scientia media is
hissed off the stage / scared away (not ‘exploded’) by absurdities and inconsistencies”]; a.7 “Con-
velluntur fundamenta scientiae mediae” (318a) [“The foundations of scientia media are overthrown”].
2. The scientia media is a natural and necessary knowledge, as far as the
knowing subject (God) is concerned, yet free as far as the object of
knowledge (free will) is concerned, whereas the Thomistic scientia condi-
tionatorum is subjectively free as well, since it is independent from God’s
free decision.
3. The scientia media is speculative and determined by its object; the
Thomistic scientia conditionatorum is “eminenter speculativa et practica”
[“eminently speculative and practical”] at the same time and as such is
itself the measure and guiding principle for the object.240
The innovation of the Jesuits is rejected in the first place according to
the established scheme through a threefold proof from authority: It is not
a new theory but rather in principle an old error which was already cham-
pioned by the Pelagians and Semipelagians. It contradicts the teaching of
Thomas Aquinas and moreover was rejected by Augustine.241 Gonet goes
on to oppose the new doctrine with individual rational arguments (in each
case noting the foundation):
1. G
od knows creatures only in his essence and his omnipotence, conse-
quently only in dependence on his decree.
2. Divine knowledge is never determined by its object, like the scientia
media, but rather is itself the measure and guiding principle of things.
3. The scientia media lacks the epistemological medium necessary for every
sort of knowledge.
4. The definition of the scientia media is contradictory, since before God’s
voluntary decision to transform possible things into reality there are no
hypothetical future events to know even for the divine intellect.
5. The scientia media offers God no guidance in his decisions; it is useless
for the infallible knowledge of the futura absoluta. Moreover it contra-
dicts the absoluteness of God in his decisions. Besides that, its results in
the metaphysical possibility of human beings who cannot be saved de
potentia absoluta and cannot be predestined to salvation (cf. Arriaga).
6. As the decisions of the Universities of Salamanca, Alcalà, Douay, and
Louvain show, the scientia media is not qualified to harmonize human
freedom, divine predestination and actual grace. Augustine did it better
without the hypothesis of the scientia media. The new hypothesis reflects
instead the Semipelagian teaching of Faustus of Milève.
240. Ibid., a.1 n.5 (286b–87a). 241. Ibid., a.2–4 (287a–96a).

7. Further arguments are quoted from Fr. Vincent Baron, O.P. (1604–1674):
The truth of the futura conditionata depends on the transition from pure
possibility to the status of futurity. The latter is dependent solely upon
God’s decree as its ultimate cause. Proponents of the scientia media are
blamed for confusing hypothetical and absolute judgments. It is absurd
to say on a sunny day, “If the sun were shining, I would see it,” or while
praying the breviary, “If I had a breviary, I would pray it.” Finally the
proponents of the new theory destroy it themselves, because they either
dispute the truth of hypothetical future statements or must abolish the
freedom and contingency of human decision-making.242
In his next attack Gonet intends to show that the new theory leads to
absurd consequences that are unacceptable to theologians, whereby he com-
plies at least formally with the papal decision of 1607, which declared that
Molinism must not be disparaged as Pelagianism. In fact, however, he con-
demns the new theory all the more harshly:
1. The theory of the scientia media seems to favor the doctrine of Semipe-
lagianism, that there is in us [human beings] a beginning of faith (initia
fidei) and of good will by our natural powers, not by grace. Since the
Jesuits, unlike the Thomists, assume only a moral but not a physical ef-
ficacy of grace (gratia excitans), it is not possible to know in advance the
occasioning of a supernatural determination of the will as a beginning
of faith and justification. The moral efficacy consists only in showing the
moral goodness, which attracts the will and invites it to consent. This
comes about then, however, by the human being’s own power.
2. S imilarly, the scientia media seems to support the Semipelagian doctrine
of predestination post praevisa merita [after merits have been foreseen],
since the scientia media knows about the human being’s merits before
God’s decree.
e scientia media abolishes the prime causality of God. This can be
3. Th
preserved in the case of futura conditionata only by assuming a decree of
God’s will—which is absolute from God’s perspective and conditional
from the perspective of the object—to grant existence to the futuribles
(futuribilia) upon the occurrence of the appropriate condition. Ac-
cording to Gonet, however, the scientia media excludes precisely such
absolute decrees.
242. Ibid., a.5 (296b–309a).

4. The scientia media furthermore abolishes God’s status as free First Cause.
The created free will—understood along the lines of Thomistic metaphys-
ics—is free only through its participation in the free First Cause (primum
liberum). This is no longer the case in the scientia media theory, since then
the human being’s will is ultimately what first determines the indefinite
decree of God. Therefore God is no longer the “primum eligens et primum
determinans” [the first to choose and the first to determine], either.
5. The scientia media abolishes God’s sovereign authority (supremum do-
minium) over our will. Now this authority is understood as the right to
use and employ it according to his decree. Therefore if God must know
before his own decision the possible free decision of the created will,
he is no longer Lord over our will like a king, but only the master of our
graces, like a mayor or like a husband with respect to his wife.
6. The scientia media thus impairs God’s omnipotence and destroys the
efficacy of grace.
7. I t acknowledges only a blind, unknowing, vague and indefinite coopera-
tion of God with free causes, as when fishermen simply cast their net
without knowing what sort of fish they want in the first place.
8. I t falsely imputes to God a confused and indefinite manner of knowing
our hypothetical future acts of will.
9. I t only appears to preserve freedom; in fact, however, it completely abol-
ishes it. The proponents of the new theory, after all, assume a definite
truth of the futura conditionata. Since they take away God’s freedom with
regard to his decree, they also abolish creaturely freedom—this being
understood again within the framework of metaphysical participation.
By annihilating the primum liberum (first Free Cause), they annihilate
also their own freedom. Moreover they assume a hypothetical future
existence (futuritio) of things independently of a divine decree.
10. It makes God into the author of sin, obscures the glory of God’s holi-
ness and seems to present a danger for the salvation of men. After all,
God’s cooperation (which is per se indifferent) in man’s free decision
extends—when viewed causally—to a good deed and to a bad deed as
well. Thus Judas’ betrayal would be just as much an “opus Dei” [“work of
God”] as the conversion of Paul.243
It becomes clear in these theses, which are followed by the destruc-
tion of the foundations of the scientia media in Scripture and the Church
243. Ibid., a.6 (309a–18a).
Fathers,244 that the battle being waged here is not over terminology, but
rather between a medieval, metaphysical view of the world and man and an
epistemological solution of the question based on the theory of the human
act [handlungstheoretischen Lösung]: Is God still the metaphysical free First
Cause, the Lord of all creation who disposes all things, or is there in a free
human being a realm which is exempt from his immediate intervention, at
least conditionally?
3.6 Causal-metaphysical predetermination of the will:

Ludwig Babenstuber
The Thomistic metaphysical view of the cooperation of free will and
the divine First Cause is labeled “praedeterminatio physica”—according to
Dominicus Bañez and Francisco Zumel, a term supposedly invented by
the Jesuits.245 Its home was initially the Dominican school in Salamanca;
however it was zealously defended also in the Thomism of the Discalced
Carmelites and the Benedictines.246 One center north of the Alps was the
University of Salzburg.247 The theory of praedeterminatio or (in the case
of secondary causes that are not free) praemotio physica was regarded as a
metaphysical theory; this is demonstrated by the fact that it was presented,
for example, by Fr. Ludwig Babenstuber (1660–1727) within the framework
of his Philosophia thomistica Salisburgensis and was also defended in theo-
logical disputations, sometimes as a dialogue between Thomists and Molin-
ists against Jesuit opponents (among others Fr. Johann Christoph Rassler in
Ingolstadt and Fr. Ludwig Simonzin in Dillingen).248
Babenstuber is very precise in analyzing agreement with and dissent
from the “More Recent Thinkers” (Recentiores), a party to which the Sco-
tists also belong in this case. Agreement consists in the position that every
action of a creature must depend somehow upon the First Cause, that any
244. Ibid., a.7 (318a–30b).

245. See W. Hübener, “Praedeterminatio physica,” HWPh 7:1216–25.
246. See Stegmüller, Francisco de Vitoria; Stiglmayr, Verstossung.
247. L. Babenstuber, Vindiciae praedeterminationis physicae recenter impugnatae, P.1 (Salzburg,
1707), Praef. (1): “antiquissima sententia, quam nostra Universitas hactenus constantissime tenuit et
quam iudico verissimam” [“a very ancient opinion which our University has constantly held until
now and which I judge to be quite true”]; see also the detailed discussion in Bauer, Metaphysik,
488–586.
248. L. Babenstuber, Philosophia thomistica Salisburgensis, l.2 Phys. disp.5 (Augsburg, 1706),
234–74; Babenstuber, Vindiciae praed.; Babenstuber, Vindiciae vindiciarum physicae praedetermina-
tionis (Salzburg, 1712); see also J. Chr. Rassler, Controversia theologica de physica praedeterminatione
(Ingolstadt, 1697); L. Simonzin, Libertas creata, (Dillingen, 1711). See Altermatt, Zum Problem der
physischen Prämotion; Bauer, Metaphysik, 502–8.
cooperation of God occurs simultaneously, that at least an antecedent mor-
al assistance of God is required for a morally good act (concursus moralis),
and that the self-determination of the free will to act must be preserved. Be-
yond that, however, the Thomists make additional demands in their maxi-
mal theory (which is disputed by the Jesuits):
1. God’s actual cooperation consists not just of an immediate influence
on the action by means of the secondary cause, but of an immediate
influence on the secondary cause itself. This influence (in the sense in
which the word is used in physics) is really and physically received by the
secondary cause.
2. This influence is a real movement in the sense of Aristotelian physics; by
itself and with metaphysical infallibility it is what brings about in the first
place the necessary or free action of the secondary cause, and therefore it
possesses a natural priority with regard to this action.
3. If God’s cooperation is merely moral, which the Jesuits assume to be the
case, God so to speak places his omnipotence in the hand of his creature.249
While the praedeterminatio moralis of the Jesuits signifies only the prep-
aration of the object, the opportunities or the motives as an invitation to
action, the praemotio or praedeterminatio physica is by definition
1. real physical movement that
2. proceeds from God alone,
3. is transferred to the creaturely cause,
4. possesses natural priority over the operation of the secondary cause,
5. establishes the secondary cause as a real principle of action in the first
place, and
6. effectively applies it to an operation corresponding to its nature.250
This metaphysical theory, therefore, is about nothing less than the ac-
tual (physical) influence of God as the universal First Cause, through which
influence he works with the secondary causes subordinate to him and at the
same time preserves their freedom.251 Besides the authority of Aristotle and
249. Babenstuber, Philosophia l.2 Phys. disp.5 a.2 §1 n.1 (243a); see also Bauer, Metaphysik,
540–49.
250. Babenstuber, Philosophia l.2 Phys. disp.5 a.2 §1 n.2 (243a): “physica et realis motio a solo deo
procedens, causae creatae transeunter impressa, prioritate naturae praecedens ipsius operationem, ean-
demque causam constituens in ratione principii actualis et efficaciter applicans ad operandum conformiter
naturae ipsius”; see also Bauer, Metaphysik, 561–62.
251. Babenstuber, Philosophia l.2 Phys. disp.5 a.2 §1 n.5 (243b).
Thomas, rational arguments in particular are brought to bear here. Baben-
stuber presents five arguments that recur again and again in the Thomistic
teaching tradition, which are connected in part to the argumentation of the
quinque viae [five ways, i.e., of proving the existence of God] and thus un-
derscore the central position of the theory of physical predetermination in
the Thomistic view of God and creation:
1. The Aristotelian subordination of secondary causes to the First Cause
(cf. via II) is inconceivable without praemotio physica.252
2. E very secondary mover is moved by a first mover (cf. via I). The move-
ment of the second by the first is precisely this praemotio physica.253
3. D enial of the praemotio physica makes the secondary cause the first mover:
a consequence which is manifestly false and absurd to a metaphysician.254
4. Th e created free will is indifferent as to whether it will decide this way
or that; for freedom (libertas a necessitate) is plainly defined as indiffer-
ence or the freedom to decide between contrary actions.255 It therefore
requires a determination from outside by the First Cause, which is the
only thing that can move the created will internally. This determination,
which is causally antecedent to the free action, is the praedeterminatio
physica.256
5. I n order to act, the creature must first be so organized by its actus primus
(ontological constitution) as to function as an actus secundus (actual
principle of action). The constitutive factor is the praemotio physica.
Consequently there must be such a thing (i.e., it exists in keeping with
the theory). The praemotio physica is furthermore the causal principle of
action (actus secundus causalis), which immediately enables the second-
ary cause to perform real actions (actus secundus formalis).257
Contrary to the objections of the Jesuits and Scotists that the anteced-
ent determination by God abolishes man’s freedom, Babenstuber sees in it
252. Ibid., §2 n.10 (246b); see also Bauer, Metaphysik, 508–16.

254. Ibid., §2 n.19 (250b).
255. Ibid., §4 n.35 (257b): “libertas a necessitate, quae sola huc pertinet, definitur a Thomistis, quod
sit dominium sui actus ad opposita; vel, facultas voluntatis et rationis ad utrumlibet.” [“Freedom from
necessity, which is the only kind that pertains to this matter, is defined by the Thomists as pow-
er over one’s act with regard to opposing alternatives; or the ability of will and reason to choose
whichever one wants.”]
256. Ibid., §2 n.22 (252a).
257. Ibid., §2 n.26–27 (253a–54a).
with Thomas the very thing that makes freedom possible.258 The decisive
argument reads:
Every free action of a created will depends immediately on God with regard to all
its perfection, formal constitution and mode of action. Consequently God causes
every free action of a created will with regard to all its perfection, formal constitu-
tion and mode of action. He can cause these, however, only through physical prede-
termination of the created will to this free action; for only in the physical predeter-
mination can . . . the influence of the First Cause and also the application of the free
second cause to the action be preserved at the same time as its essential subordina-
tion to and dependence on the First Cause.259
The praedeterminatio is constitutive not only for the ability but also for
the action itself. Without it, man does not possess the full capacity to place
an act; for this is precisely what empowers him to act in the first place and
thereby frees him to exercise freedom. The mere capability (potentia proxima
expedita) to place the contrary act, however, is not abolished by the physical
predetermination, for example, to love God or hate him. For the contrary
act, however, God gives only the ontological capacity in the sphere of the ac-
tus primus (mere ability), whereas for the predetermined act he gives the real
action (actus secundus) along with the ability.260 The freedom imparted in the
praedeterminatio physica is real, positive liberation to act and is not compa-
rable with the simple application of fire to combustible material (physical
applicatio) or the mere lack of chains as freedom to go.261 Creaturely free-
dom in this Thomistic sense is always a freedom that is granted and caused,
not just man’s self-determination in his actions. A self-determination of man
(as a secondary cause) presupposes, rather, the determination by the First
Cause and is made possible by it. The necessity with which the praedetermi-
natio physica works is only the conditional necessity of a consequence that
is subsequently observed [festgestellte]; this is of course infallible. The fun-
damental ontological freedom to act otherwise does continue to exist; the
contrary act, however, is not compatible with the circumstances of the agent
that were created by the praemotio physica. Consequently for the contrary act
a corresponding praemotio would again be required.262 This theory does not
258. Ibid., §4 n.40 (259b) citing Summa Th. I q.38 a1 ad3 and I-II q.10 a.4. i.c; see also Bauer,
Metaphysik, 573–83.
260. Babenstuber, Vindiciae praed. p.1 §2 n.20 (14ab).
261. Ibid., §3 n.38 (28b–29a).
262. Ibid., §4 n.64 (45a): “a quo determinetur, ut determinet etiam se ipsum” [“by which it is
determined, so that it might determine itself also”]. Ibid., §5 (73b).
make God the author of sin, as is repeatedly objected, since God causes only
the material action but not the formal wickedness.263
The Thomistic theory of the praedeterminatio physica—a defense against
modern Deism and an autonomous self-determination of man—is the logi-
cally consistent attempt to join God and creature to each other once again
through the metaphysical clamps of participation, dependence and the es-
sential ordering of causes. It can convince people, however, only as long as
the world view of Aristotelian-Thomistic metaphysics remains alive.
4 The difficult assimilation of the new

The Scholastic theology of the early modern period was by no means
unaffected by the revolutionary changes and new theories in the natural sci-
ences and philosophy. It assimilated the new ideas, nevertheless, in its own
characteristic way. On the other hand, the inventions and discoveries of the
early modern period, most of which were made outside of the universities,
were either accepted or rejected within the framework of academic training
and became widely influential, or not, accordingly.264 We will illustrate this
acceptance and rejection of new findings with several individual examples.
4.1 Caramuel and the Galileo case

One of the most independent theologians and philosophers on the
fringe of Scholasticism was the Cistercian Abbot of Emmaus, General Vicar
of Prague and later Bishop of Vigevano, Juan Caramuel Lobkowitz (1606–
1682).265 Besides his logical and philosophical works we should mention
here in particular his Theologia moralis fundamentalis.266 Even in its structure
it departs from the well-known presentations, and in many places, especial-
ly in the chapters on terminology, it shows the strong Lullist and topical
influences on this theologian, who was dubbed “princeps laxistarum” [“the
leader of the laxists”] by Alphonsus Liguori.267 Book 1 presents in axiomatic
263. Babenstuber, Philosophia l.2 Phys. disp.5 a.2 §5 (272a–273a); see also Bauer, Metaphysik,
583–86.
265. On his life and work see, Pastine, Juan Caramuel; Velarde Lombraña, Juan Caramuel;
Sousedík, Filosofie, 185–210; Jacob Schmutz, art. “Caramuel y Lobkowitz, Juan,” in BBKL 17:224–32.
266. Caramuel, Theologia moralis fundamentalis, (Frankfurt, 1651); this discussion cites the cor-
rected four-volume 4th edition (Lyon, 1675/6); on this subject see Fleming, Defending probabilism.
267. Caramuel, Theologia moralis fundamentalis, Prologus De mente Authoris, Moralium
Opinionum nexu et Theologicorum nominum significatione [Prologue on the Author’s intention,
the center of moral opinions and the significance of theological terms] (1:1–5), with its explana-
form the universal principles of moral theology, of both a speculative and a
practical sort. The speculative foundations are those that refer to the human
mind and are said to provide it with certainty (ch. 1): grace and freedom,
whereby Caramuel rejects both the scientia media and the praedeterminatio
physica in the strict sense;268 first truth and first truthfulness, that is, God
and his revelation; the certainty and infallibility of the Roman Church; the
veracity of the pope; the College of Cardinals and the Rota; the definitions
of the universities;269 the alleged and actual authority of scholars;270 the
opinions of contemporaries; the authority of demons (with a reference to
the Daemonis Logica or his course on philosophy), sensory experience, and
probable opinions. The practical foundations are based on divine or human
authority and legislation, and laws are treated according to the Aristotelian
scheme of categories. Book 2 then presents the Decalogue, book 3—sac-
ramental doctrine, based on a sacramental grammar (with its own chapter
De Orthographia divina), mathematics, dialectic and physics. Finally, book 4
presents a Dialexis de non certitudine.
The struggle for certainty and the binding character of ecclesiastical
theological decisions acquire downright explosive force in light of the Co-
pernican worldview. Caramuel discusses the question in connection with
the authority of the College of Cardinals, for hitherto only they had rejected
the cosmology of Copernicus and Galileo. Their decision has a solely prac-
tical significance; they cannot declare a formal heresy if it was not previ-
ously determined to be one.271 The teaching that the earth moves about the
sun was a probable opinion before the condemnation, but no longer is now.
In fact, however, what is at issue according to Caramuel is not a question of
astronomy but rather the admissibility of a metaphorical interpretation of
Scripture. Once this is admitted in the case of astronomy, it can also gain a
foothold in sacramental doctrine (as the heretics claim). We should there-
tions of: Deus, Trinitas, homoousios, ens secundum dici, ens morale, ens virtuale, libertas, dubium nega-
tivum, probabilitas.
268. Ibid., l.1 c.1 fund.1 (1:55–56). Concerning Caramuel’s position in the debate on grace,
which in itself is Molinist, see also Armogathe, “Probabilisme,” 36, 39; on his hypothesis of a prae-
determinatio infallibilitans see Velarde Lombraña, Juan Caramuel, 41–42.
269. He considers the most important ones to be Salamanca, Alcalà, Paris, Louvain/Leuven,
Douay, Cologne, Ingolstadt, Mainz, Würzburg, and Prague. Whatever they teach that has not been
condemned has a claim to probability.
270. With a harsh polemic aimed at worthless or purchased academic degrees, according to
the proverb: “Maneat eius argentum apud nos, asinusque Laureatus revertatur ad patriam” [“Let his
money stay with us, and let the ass with the Degree return to his fatherland”] (1:120a); on the au-
thorities of extrinsic probability see also Leinsle, “Servatius de Lairuelz,” 288–92.
271. Caramuel, Theologia moralis fundamentalis l.1 c.1 fund.5 (1:104b).
fore, says Caramuel, be grateful to the cardinals that they warded off this
possible misuse of Scripture by their condemnation of Copernicus. For in
interpreting Scripture there is a general obligation to follow the literal sense,
as long as this is not contradictory, thus forcing us to seek a metaphorical
or moral interpretation.272 This new theory, nevertheless, is not formally
heretical, since it has not been condemned as such by the pope.273 Noth-
ing about this has changed even through the Galileo affair: There is no per-
mission to defend the heliocentric system.274 On purely rational grounds
the Copernican system is at least possible, since one cannot demonstrate
that God could not have created a world in which this system is valid. Car-
amuel himself simply wishes to abide by the Church’s decision, especially
since both systems have their difficulties, and so he affirms that the earth is
motionless and rejects the contrary opinion as heretical and condemned by
sacred Scripture.275
With the condemnation of Galileo, Caramuel considers the systems
of David Origanus (1558–1628; professor in Frankfurt an der Oder) and
Christian Longomontanus (1562–1647, professor in Copenhagen) as being
repudiated also.276 A physical proof of heliocentrism is impossible. All the
ingenious endeavors by the mathematicians to find one are therefore fruit-
less effort and useless torment for the reader. Yet even if—per impossibile—
a proof were someday found, Caramuel could reject it as the impossible and
absurd consequence of an impossible premise, especially since the earth’s
rest and the sun’s movement have been proved through the discovery of
sunspots by the Jesuit Christoph Scheiner (1573–1650). For Caramuel a
contrary proof against a valid proof is impossible as a matter of pure log-
ic.277 Fidelity to the positive ecclesiastical decision is thus legitimized theo-
logically, scientifically, and logically.
4.2 Cartesian teaching on the Eucharist: Robert Desgabets

The limits of conventional theological system-building became clear to
many seventeenth- and eighteenth-century authors in the case of the Thomis-
272. Ibid. (109b).

273. Ibid. (105b–6a).
274. Ibid., Caramuel addressed an inquiry to Rome in this regard and received from Cardinal
Chigi (later Alexander VII) the reply: “Imo hac de causa, et ob hunc librum Galilaeus carceratus fuit,
et coactus retractare suam sententiam.” [“Indeed, for this reason and on account of this book Galileo
was imprisoned and compelled to retract his opinion.”]
275. Ibid. (107a).
276. Ibid. (108ab).
277. Ibid. (110a); on the discussion see also Leinsle, Dilinganae Disputationes, 265–69.
tic doctrine of transubstantiation. Already in trying to apply Aristotelian
physics consistently, difficulties arise as to how accidents are supposed to ex-
ist without their substance. No wonder Caramuel cites a theologian friend of
his who compares his difficulties with the old cosmology to those involved
in the teaching on the Eucharist.278 From Descartes to Leibniz we find vari-
ous attempts to apply a new scientific paradigm to the Eucharist.279 Thus
Emmanuel Maignan (1601–1676) and the Salzburg professor Fr. Fructuosus
Scheidsach († 1749) try to do so by applying the atomist or corpuscular theo-
ry.280 Dom Robert Desgabets (1610–1678), a Benedictine of the Congregation
of Saint-Vanne, was a relatively consistent Cartesian and at the same time a
theologian, although the publication of his theological works was banned.281
Desgabets’ fundamental concern is to establish a new “harmony [i.e., a
systematic reconciliation] of the divine and human sciences” on the basis
of Cartesian philosophy.282 It is constructed out of several “vérités plus sim-
ples qui sont comme les fondaments de notre harmonie” [“more simple truths
which are so to speak the foundations of our harmony”].283 These pertain
on the one hand to the divine perfections, and on the other hand to the
three simple created substances: body (= matter), angel, and spiritual soul.
These simple substances are imperishable.284 Everything else besides these
simple substances is only a modification of these simple substances (êtres
modaux, modal beings).285 The world is infinite in its extension; there is no
vacuum or empty space in the strict sense (vide philosophique); such a thing
would be a contradiction in terms.286
The application of these Cartesian principles to the doctrine of the Eucha-
rist, intended originally only as a supplement to the Thomistic or nominalist
understanding, came about over the course of a long, lively debate with his
contemporaries, principally Claude Clerselier (1614–1684), but also Antoine
278. Caramuel, Theologia moralis fundamentalis l.1 c.1 fund.5 (106b).
279. See Armogathe, Theologia Cartesiana.
280. See Bauer, Metaphysik, 347–48; Scheidsach published under a pseudonym as Carpopho-
rus del Giudice, Tractatus de accidentibus absolutis sive Sacro-Sanctum Eucharistiae Sacramentum in
principiis Philosophiae Peripateticae impugnatum, et ex placitis Philosophiae Corpusculariae propugna-
tum (Paderborn, 1718).
281. His philosophical works were edited by G. Rodis-Lewis and J. Beaude: Robert Desgabets,
Œuvres philosophiques inédits (Analecta Cartesiana) (Amsterdam, 1983– ). See Beaude, “Desgabets”;
Beaude, “Cartésianisme”; concerning his influence on German Protestant Scholastic philosophy via
his former confrere Johannes Sperlette (1661–1740), see: Leinsle, Reformversuche, 113–26.
282. Desgabets, “Préface particulière,” Œuvres phil. I, 1–14.
283. Ibid. (I, 1.26–27).
284. Ibid. (I, 6.14–23); see also Rodis-Lewis, “Quelques échos.”
285. Desgabets, “Préface particulière”: (I, 7.37–8.32).
286. Ibid. (I, 9.22–50).
Arnauld (1612–1694) and Pierre Nicole (1625–1695) of Port Royal, through
which Desgabets was drawn by Port Royal into the debate about Jansen-
ism.287 Desgabets maintains that the Thomistic theory of transubstantiation
cannot be reconciled with the principle that substances are imperishable; the
existence of a body at two places (natural and sacramental existence), another
“invention of the Scholastics,” causes considerable difficulties for natural rea-
son. If one starts from the Cartesian axiom that God does not want to deceive
us, either in revelation or in the realm of reason, then another solution must
be found.288 Desgabets sees this in Cartesian physics, according to which ev-
ery body is extended and consequently impenetrable. The same particle of
matter, moreover, can be in only one place at a particular point in time.
According to this theory, no transformation of substance occurs in the
Eucharist, but only a new combination of substances. Since the spiritual
soul and body are separate simple substances in man and thus in Christ
also, the Eucharist can be explained initially by a “conjonction substanti-
elle perfective” between what is really substantial in the substance of bread
and Christ’s soul. The substance of bread vanishes, but what is substantial
in it informs the substance of the Body of Christ through union with his
soul. There is also, as a second line of union, the hypostatic union between
Christ’s humanity (with body and soul) and the Second Person of the Trin-
ity. Just as the union of embryo and spiritual soul make a human being out
of the “animal merum” [“mere (i.e., purely irrational) animal”], so, too, the
union of the bread’s substantiality with the soul of Christ is what makes the
sacramental Body of Christ.289 Desgabets confirms his first attempt through
his reading of John Damascene and Durandus of Troarn (1005/20–1088)
and describes his theory as “transélémentation,” or more precisely as “trans-
subsistentiation” and defines it as
a perfective substantial change by which the bread, as a thing with extension, be-
comes the body of a God-man as a result of its miraculous union to his soul and di-
vinity, in keeping with the fundamental and general maxim: forma dat esse rei [form
gives being to a thing].290
Desgabets is aware that he has thus preserved the mystery of the Eucharist
with regard to the efficacy of the sacrament, but that he has removed the dif-
287. See Lemaire, Cartésianisme, 99–133.
288. See Armogathe, Theologia cartesiana, 91–92.
289. Ibid., 94–96 with newly compiled documentation.
290. Desgabets, Explication familière, MS Epinal 43, 69; cited in Arbogathe, Theologia Cartesi-
ana, 98.
ficulty of separated, absolute accidents with his new theory. With logical con-
sistency, Desgabets answers in the negative the classical question of whether
during the time between Christ’s death and his resurrection a transubstantia-
tion would have resulted from an attempted consecration, claiming that his
answer is probable, because during that time Christ’s soul did not inform a
body. The Blood of Christ, on the other hand, is not immediately informed by
the soul but rather by an inner movement.291 Desgabets explicitly submits to
the teaching of the Council of Trent, which remains open with regard to the
interpretive paradigm. Nevertheless his theory was exposed to vehement at-
tacks from theologians and was denounced to the king and the archbishop of
Paris as a teaching that was harmful to the “Respublica Scholastica.”292
4.3 Eclectic theology: Eusebius Amort

The very title of the comprehensive presentation of theology published
in 1752 by a canon from Pollingen, Eusebius Amort (1692–1775),293 for the
new seminary of the Diocese of Augsburg in Pfaffenhausen offers a striking
innovation: Theologia eclectica, moralis et scholastica.294 Not only are casuis-
tic moral theology and speculative (= Scholastic) theology combined here;
even in the title, as is often the case, an allusion is made to the eclecticism of
Enlightenment philosophy (albeit around forty to sixty years late). Amort
intends to defend a theology that “is free from the ready-made opinions of
the individual schools, takes a middle position between rigidity and laxity,
and is purged of useless questions.”295 The fact that Amort harks back to the
Church Fathers via the Scholastics allows him to reestablish communica-
tion with humanistic theology.296
In his dedication to Pope Benedict XIV (1740–1758), to whom he sub-
mitted the work for revision and then dedicated it,297 Amort makes his in-
291. See Arbogathe, Theologia Cartesiana, 100–3.

292. See Lemaire, Cartésiansme, 99–100, 127–33.
293. On his life and work see also Precht-Nussbaum, Zwischen Augsburg und Rom; Schaffner,
Eusebius Amort, 9–67; Rückert, Eusebius Amort.
294. E. Amort, Theologia eclectica, moralis et scholastica, Sub Auspiciis SS. D. N. Benedicti XIV. ad
mentem SS. Patrum et Theologorum insignium, praesertim veterum conscripta (Augsburg-Würzburg,
1752). The octavo edition was consulted; see also Precht-Nussbaum, Zwischen Augsburg und Rom,
505–10.
295. See Albrecht, Eklektik, 583: “Amort is therefore not thinking about a selection”; for a con-
trary view see Precht-Nussbaum, Zwischen Augsburg und Rom, 631–38.
296. For a detailed discussion of Amort’s sources, see: Schaffner, Amort, 178–86. The patristic
orientation can be found already in the commission from the bishop; see also Precht-Nussbaum,
Zwischen Augsburg und Rom, 503–5.
297. The revisions are printed before the work but not made in the text itself. Most of them
tention clear: speculative theology should be taught in a lasting connection
with practical theology. Superfluous controversies and quaestiones should
be removed and only those questions retained which are necessary to eluci-
date the truths of the faith and to provide a new foundation for moral theol-
ogy, given the prevailing laxism.298 In the Praefatio he defines theologia eclec-
tica as a theology that follows the Enlightenment critique of prejudice, free
from outmoded reliance on the opiniones of individual theological schools
or religious orders, midway between ( Jansenist) rigorism and (probabilis-
tic) laxism, purged of useless questions, with a thoroughly practical (moral-
theological) orientation, apart from a few speculative-dogmatic treatises.299
Amort draws his historical justification from the “golden rule” that Cardinal
Otto Truchsess von Waldburg had established in 1557 in the humanist spirit
in the first Statutes of the University of Dillingen.300 Medieval and early
modern theology derives its legitimacy essentially insofar as it transmits the
principles of the Church Fathers.
Methodologically, as in his earlier Philosophia Pollingana, Amort pro-
fesses a refined “methodus scholastica.”301 Its advantage lies essentially in
precise terminology and expositional brevity. It manages to impress the in-
dividual controversies on the memory clearly and distinctly through defi-
nition, division, axioms, postulates, conclusions and proofs and offers the
reader the greatest possible assurance, since it draws the individual conclu-
sion directly from a few premises. However Amort clearly resists the geo-
metric method and also the long argumentation of the Wolffian school.302
Then, too, the individual questions have a very clear structure: notanda
(presuppositions)—dico (conclusion)—probatur (proof through authority
and reason)—solvuntur objectiones (objections and their solution).
In its plan, the Theologia eclectica does show an effort to combine posi-
tive and Scholastic theology, but also certain fissures.303 The teaching on
God and the angels is followed by the moral theological treatises on human
involve only elaboration in Scholastic terminology for the sake of precision and clarity. On the
objections see also Precht-Nussbaum, Zwischen Augsburg und Rom, 408–510.
298. Amort, Theol. ecl., Dedication (I, a4v–a5r).
299. Ibid., Praef. (I, b2r): “Theologiam Eclecticam, a praejudicatis Scholarum particularium opi-
nationibus liberam, inter rigores et laxitatem mediam; ab inutilibus quaestionibus emundatam, et si in
paucos Tractatus Speculativos vel Dogmaticos, ad explananda mysteria fidei necessarios, excipias, per
omnia Moralem ac Practicam”; see also Albrecht, Eklektik, 583.
300. Amort, Theol. ecl. Praef. (I, b2r); see also Specht, Geschichte, 630.
301. Amort, Philosophia Pollingana (Augsburg, 1730), 8–10; see also Schaffner, Amort, 168–77;
Precht-Nussbaum, Zwischen Augsburg und Rom, 167–77.
302. Amort, Theol. ecl., Praef. (I, b2r).
303. See Schaffner, Amort, 186–207.
acts, virtues, law and justice, sins, and only then the doctrine of original sin
and grace, the Incarnation and the sacraments, and after that, in connec-
tion with the sacrament of Penance, the teaching about the laws (Com-
mandments and Precepts of the Church), contracts and the seven capital
sins. In an appendix Amort presents constitutions and declarations by
Benedict XIV and a systematic listing of condemned propositions. Thus the
remnants of Scholastic (= speculative) theology in this work are essentially
the dogmatic treatises on God, angels, original sin, grace, and Incarnation,
while the teaching on the sacraments belongs both to speculative and to
positive theology.
If we look, for example, at the teaching about God’s knowledge and will,
then Amort’s eclecticism is plainly evident in the elements from the Jesuit
theory of the scientia media, which was familiar to him from his studies in
Ingolstadt, and from the praedeterminatio physica of the Thomists.304 A de-
cree that predetermines free future action is rejected as well as the Scotist
decretum condeterminans. Instead a good meaning is attributed to the praede-
terminatio physica as Gonet and the doctors from Salamanca interpreted it,
which results in a reciprocal priority of decree and free action. On the other
hand Amort recognizes also the scientia media, provided that it is explained
correctly: “Datus scientia media, si recte explicetur.”305
Remarkable also is the extensive discussion of demonology within the
context of the treatise on the angels.306 A separate realm of demons is re-
jected, as is the efficacy of stones, plants, and others against demons. At best
their realm has a democratic structure, in which the power of the superiors
consists only of persuasion. The influence of demons on men always de-
pends on a special permission by God. The generation of insects and other
complete living things by demons is impossible, but on the other hand they
can, according to Amort, exercise an indirect influence, for example, on
hens’ eggs. The enlightened canon from Pollingen and court theologian of
the Prince-Bishop of Augsburg, in his battle against Baroque superstition
and the craving for miracles, was obviously trying to maintain here too a
theological middle way between rationalistic Enlightenment and the popu-
lar faith with which he had to deal on a daily basis.307
304. Amort, Theol. ecl., Tr. de Deo disp.5 De scientia Dei (I, 341–445).
305. Ibid., disp.5 q.3–4 (I, 368–425).
306. Theol. ecl., De Angelis disp.4: De imperio. Potestate et operationibus Daemonum (II,
357–414).
307. See Precht-Nussbaum, Zwischen Augsburg und Rom, 520–88.
7 Prospect: Enlightenment and New Scholasticism
Many factors contributed to the abandonment of the research and teach-

ing program of Scholastic theology in the eighteenth century. The most im-
portant ones with respect to the history of theology were the following:
1. Already in the seventeenth century we note a critique of Scholastic theol-
ogy within the Church, chiefly in Protestantism where, after all, it had to
be established on a new basis. In the name of Christian life and piety
this critique was aimed at a pursuit of theology that had been reduced to
Scholastic quaestiones, the defense of orthodoxy, and interconfessional
polemics, all of which was then carried over into preaching. This critique
was developed further in Pietism.1 In addition there were forms of irenic
theology (syncretism) and efforts to unite the churches, in which the
fixed doctrinal distinctions in the Scholastic tradition receded into the
background. In the Catholic world, especially in France, an independent
existential-spiritual theology developed alongside the Scholastic tradi-
tion, both within and outside of Jansenism, which was articulated in
treatises, sermons, and ascetical writings (Francis de Sales [1572–1622],
Port Royal, Jean-Baptiste Bossuet [1664–1743], Fénélon [1651–1715]).
2. The historical criticism of Scholastic philosophy and theology likewise goes
back to the seventeenth century (Christian Dreier [1610–1688], Jakob
Thomasius [1622–1684]).2 The application of historical-philological meth-
ods to Scripture and dogma became theologically important in biblical
criticism (Hermann Samuel Reimarus [1694–1768], Johann Salomo Sem-
ler [1725–1791]), Church history, and the history of dogma. In contrast, the
program of Scholastic theology was essentially ahistorical and metaphysi-
cally oriented. Historical scholarship was incorporated into the Protestant
1. See Schleiff, Selbstkritik, 12–44.

2. See Leinsle, Reformversuche, 127–49.
354
Prospect: Enlightenment and New Scholasticism 355
Neologie [new doctrine] and also, in the Catholic world, into the research of
the Maurists and the Bollandists into the primary sources, although among
Catholics it did not drive out the Scholastic paradigm of theology.3
3. Another decisive factor was the philosophical critique by the secular,
usually antimetaphysical and sometimes materialistic Enlightenment
philosophy, especially in France. It was relatively easy to adapt Christian
Wolff ’s Scholastic system [of philosophy], which had a new methodol-
ogy but was traditional in its metaphysical orientation, for the purposes
of theology.4 Institutionally, the philosophical cursus used previously was
replaced—definitively after the Jesuit Order was dissolved in 1773—by
the textbooks of Enlightenment philosophy.5 The philosophy of Kant,
German Idealism and early Romanticism, when adapted theologically,
produced another kind of theology of the sort that would appear in the
nineteenth century (Anton Günther [1783–1863], the Tübingen School).6
The justification of such theology was radically called into question by
the Church in the so-called crisis of Modernism.7
The abandonment of the old program did not take place abruptly, how-
ever. Nor were defenders of the old method lacking, and many suggestions
for reform were eventually realized in the eighteenth-century university
reforms.8 Thus the Viennese professor Petrus Gazzaniga, O.P. (1723–1799),
whose works were sometimes obligatory in the realm of the Habsburg do-
minions during the period of Josephism, defended a moderate use of the
Scholastic method in systematic theology.9 It had to be supplemented,
however, by philological and historical studies. In this he showed himself
to be the disciple of Abbot Stephan Rautenstrauch (1734–1785), who led
the Maria-Theresian and Josephist reform of theological studies.10 Both
scholars relied on the small but fundamental treatise De recto et perverso usu
Theologiae scholasticae by the later Prince-Abbot of Sankt Blasien, Martin
Gerbert (1720–1793).11
3. See Merkt, Das patristische Prinzip, 196–213.
4. See Schäfer, Kirche und Vernunft, 103–51.
5. In Ingolstadt, for example, the works of the (Protestant) professor from Göttingen, Johann
Heinrich Georg Feder (1740–1821).
6. See the essays in Coreth, Neidl, and Pfligersdorffer, eds., Christliche Philosophie, 1:86–419.
7. See esp. Weiss, Modernismus.
8. Concerning Würzburg, see, for example, Lesch, Neuorientierung.
9. See Wehofer, “Gazzaniga.”
10. See Menzel, Abt Stephan Rautenstrauch.
11. M. Gerbert, De recto et perverso usu Theologiae scholasticae (Sankt Blasien, 1758); see also
Deissler, Fürstabt Martin Gerbert.
Harking back to the critique of Scholasticism by John Gerson and the
humanists, while employing also the methodology of Francis Bacon (1561–
1626), Gerbert tried again—following in Mabillon’s footsteps—to combine
theological reform with monastic life. Although Fr. François Vavasseur, S.J.
(1605–1681) cited as advantages of the Scholastic method its orderliness,
concision and clarity, the ecclesiastical reliability and certainty of its opin-
ions and sententiae, as well as the penetration and force of its arguments,
in Gerbert’s opinion this was only partially true.12 They are outweighed by
disadvantages: repugnant, artificial terminology (he points to Caramuel’s
leptotatos as the prime example), unnecessary controversies over mere
words in matters about which we know nothing in the first place (e.g., about
the beatific vision and the nature of the light of glory), the multiplication
of useless questions, excessive use of reason while neglecting study of the
sources, too much philosophy and logic while neglecting the auxiliary sci-
ences, but above all the mere insistence on the dictated text of the teacher.
Useless Scholastic questions are detrimental to monastic life, according
to the Spanish Thomist and Benedictine Cardinal Joseph Saënz d’Aguirre
(1630–1699). They deal with matters that are either clear anyway or else
entirely incomprehensible; they not infrequently offend against piety and
good morals. They treat subjects in the wrong place (e.g., the introductory
questions about the theory of science) or are humanly insoluble.13 Not only
does this Scholasticism fail to promote morality as it should; Gerbert sees
harmful consequences also and especially for theology and the Church as
well as for the theologian himself. As a result of the obscurity of Scholastic
terminology, most mysteries of the faith cannot be explained correctly to
the faithful. They are consequently deprived of the fruits of faith and knowl-
edge. The most talented, however, are frightened off from the study of the-
ology; on the other hand, the only ones who do put on the harness are the
ones who debate the best and can shout the loudest. Moreover, because of
the poor organization of the courses, after completing their studies theolo-
gians, priests, and religious have no interest whatsoever in continuing edu-
cation in theology, since “it always deals with the same subjects.”14
Now the reform of theology, which Gerbert views in biblical terms as
the restoration of the Lord’s vineyard, is not to be achieved by discarding
Scholastic theology as a whole, but rather by making its alleged advantages
12. Gerbert, De usu c.2 §1 (12). 13. Ibid., c.3–11 (24–103).

14. Ibid., c.12–14 (104–22).
useful as features of a systematic theology. Instead of quibbles over termi-
nology and introductory questions, an appropriate lexicon should be made
available. Jean Mabillon (1632–1707) and Johannes Maldonato, S.J. (1534–
1583) recommend the elimination of all questions that are unrelated to
progress in the spiritual and moral life, proceed from mere curiosity and the
endeavor to prove even the most obscure points of theology, or are utterly
superfluous. Nevertheless such questions—and here Augustine is cited as
an authority—can be allowed occasionally as an exercise.15 In contrast to
the Scholastic but also rationalist optimism about reason, Gerbert would
like to see a more modest, self-critical approach to theology by fallen hu-
man reason. A moderate employment of logic is certainly required, but not
the thoroughgoing syllogistic organization of theology (for instance the
Wolffian method). Above all, when just beginning the course of studies one
should not debate and imagine that one can settle everything. One should
be just as cautious in dealing with philosophy as a whole, even though the-
ology cannot do without its concepts. Mabillon considers logic, parts of
physics, and metaphysics to be necessary; yet the faith of the simple people
(fides popularis) manages without metaphysics and is no less pure on that
account. Instead of the restriction to a single author in most schools, “poly-
mathia” is required; should the occasion arise, one should also refrain from
making one’s own judgment. Theology, moreover, should be combined
with monastic training and should not be attempted in a “proletarian” fash-
ion (“proletarie”).16
Within theology itself, the most important thing is to abolish the sepa-
ration of Scholastic and positive theology (in the Catholic sense). Gerbert
blames this separation for the increasing idleness of Scholastic theology,
since all the important subjects are already treated more simply in positive
theology: loci, controversies, dogmas and Scripture. Moreover moral theol-
ogy, freed from mere casuistry, should be joined with spiritual or mystical
theology. The latter, however, is related to dogmatic theology as well: “devo-
tional duties” (“officia pietatis”) cannot be separated from Church doctrine,
as has happened sometimes in Pietism. The lecture on systematic theology,
furthermore, must be accompanied by information about historical sources,
yet should not be replaced by it. (Gerbert sometimes appears to be prone
to this danger in his own textbooks.) What is required instead is solid sys-
15. Ibid., c.15–17 (123–44).

16. Ibid., c.18–21 (144–76).
tematic theology, in which the best parts of the Scholastic method should
be employed. To that end the preparatory study of languages, philosophy,
and historical criticism is indispensable. Gerbert thinks that this is best ac-
complished in monastic schools, since the dispute over legal ownership be-
tween systematic and positive theology continues at the universities.17
The reaction to the Enlightenment agenda, nevertheless, led also to a
hardening of the Scholasticism that was still in existence and to a new reli-
ance on its authors. Thus it was no accident that the incipient Neoscholas-
ticism in Italy, represented by Salvatore Roselli (1772–1847) and Vincenzo
Buzzetti (1777–1824) harked back to the Philosophia juxta inconcussa tutissi-
maque D. Thomae dogmata by the Dominican Antoine Goudin (1639–1695),
which was already apologetic and conservative in its approach, and the
theological works of Gonet.18 The transition from post-Tridentine Scho-
lasticism to Neoscholasticism was thus made more smoothly in the Italian
Thomistic tradition than north of the Alps.
In Germany, on the other hand, most theologians reacted negatively to
the “new” or “repristinated” Scholasticism that was invading from Italy and
France. Characteristic of this was the 1823 study by Tübingen professor Jo-
hann Baptist Hirscher (1788–1865), Über das Verhältniss des Evangeliums zu
der theologischen Scholastik der neuesten Zeit im katholischen Deutschland [On
the relation of the Gospel to recent theological Scholasticism in Catholic Germa-
ny]. With a view to catechesis, in responding to a catechetical work from
France that was inspired by Scholasticism, Hirscher developed a fundamen-
tal discussion of the theological justification of “Scholasticism in the broad-
er sense.” The latter is accused of failing to set forth Christian doctrine as
an organically ordered whole; “instead of depicting the economy of God’s
institutions for the building of his kingdom as a great, coherent, wise, and
grace-filled work, it arranges a set of dogmas alongside one another without
connecting them to the whole of a salvific order.”19 It therefore lacks the ap-
propriate system and—given the identification of Scholastic with system-
atic theology—it is a contradiction in terms. Yet the system presupposed
by Hirscher is precisely that of the economy of salvation, not the system
of metaphysically interconnected propositions. The Scholastic theologian
17. Ibid., c.22–23 (176–204).

18. Goudin’s work was reprinted four times between 1851 and 1886. See Schmidinger, “Über-
blick zur Neuscholastik,” 196; Schmidinger, “Streit um die Anfänge,” 72–82.
19. J. B. Hirscher, Über das Verhältniss des Evangeliums zu der theologischen Scholastik der
neuesten Zeit im katholischen Deutschland (Tübingen, 1823; reprinted Frankfurt am Main, 1967), 2.
is likewise reproached for disregarding the economy of salvation and over-
loading and distorting “his lectures with useless questions, human reveries,
arbitrary speculations, and strange, unfounded statements.” From the cat-
echetical perspective, Christianity is thereby restricted to a mere collection
of dogmas, commandments, and prohibitions. At the same time this Neos-
cholasticism is trying “emphatically in Catholic Germany to retake posses-
sion of its place, which for a time has been rather deserted.” Therefore it is
“an indisputable and holy duty to oppose it quite earnestly”; for it claims
“to present the Catholic concept of doctrine, if not exclusively, then at least
eminently” and therefore demands “that one should make use of it when
instructing Catholic youth in the Christian faith.”20
The battle lines delineated here became fixed as a result of Church poli-
tics: the term “Neoscholasticism” was used pointedly in Ultramontane circles
and by those associated with papal interests in Germany and in the “Third
Scholasticism” in France.21 Unlike the lively Scholasticism of the early mod-
ern period, the early Neoscholasticism characteristically understood its ob-
ject to be not so much Scholastic education [Schulbetrieb] as an idealized or
ideological return to the Middle Ages, especially to the Thomistic tradition,
with an emphasis on ecclesiality and a clear rejection of modern philosophy:
1. “True” Catholic theology can be developed only by returning to the form
of theology that is considered classic, especially that of the thirteenth
century. The interpretation of early Scholasticism as the preparation,
and late Scholasticism as the abolition of the high Scholastic synthesis
of faith and knowledge, theology, and philosophy in Thomas Aquinas
depends on this judgment.
2. N ot only theology but also philosophy as its mere handmaid is subject to
the Magisterium of the Church in everything. The philosophy that agrees
with the Magisterium, being the “perennial philosophy” (“philosophia
perennis”), becomes the ahistorical norm of philosophy and the only
permissible auxiliary of theology.
3. S ecular or Protestant modern theology does not satisfy this requirement
and is therefore rejected as an “anti-Christian revolution” ( J. Maritain).
4. A mistrust of nature (including natural science) prevails theologically.
The natural and the supernatural orders (“nature” and grace) are strictly
separated.22
20. Ibid., 5. 21. See Gilbert, “Die dritte Scholastik.”

22. See Schmidinger, “Scholastik,” 48–50.
As a result of the adjustment to the dogma of papal infallibility and the
encyclical Aeterni Patris by Leo XIII (1878–1903), on August 4, 1879, Neo-
scholasticism, too, became a firm Church doctrine.23 Deviations from it
were condemned under suspicion of “Modernism.”24 Catholic education in
philosophy and theology was often uncoupled from scientific development
or else noted the findings of the [natural and historical] sciences only as in-
novations to be rejected. Both the reputation and the pursuit of Scholastic
philosophy and theology have suffered well into the twentieth century as
a result of the narrowing of Scholasticism in practice to Neoscholasticism.
On the other hand we cannot overlook the accomplishments of research,
inspired by Neoscholasticism, into the sources of medieval philosophy and
theology, specifically in the standard editions of Thomas Aquinas, Bonaven-
ture, and Duns Scotus that were begun (even though they were in need of
revision).25 Unlike Scholastic and Neoscholastic theology, which to a large
extent is ahistorical in its thinking, historical research into Scholastic theol-
ogy sees in it a program—which gradually gained acceptance through many
ruptures and conflicts—of academically imparted systematic theology that
is closely connected with philosophy; it sees its advantages and disadvan-
tages, its expressions that reflect former times, but also what it has to offer
by way of methods and inquiries that should be taken seriously.
23. See Aubert, “Die Enzyklika ‘Aeterni Patris’”; Quinto, Scholastica, 408–11.
24. See Weiss, Modernismus.
25. See Kluxen, “Die geschichtliche Erforschung.”
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Index of Names
Abelard, Peter, 10–11, 35, 41, 47, 55, 56, 61–65, 67, 181, 187, 209, 211, 244, 246, 255–60, 263–64,
72, 91–94, 96, 98–100, 102, 107, 112, 116–19 272, 291, 301, 343
Adam of Marsh, 128 Arius, 148, 271
Adam of Dryburgh (Adamus Scotus), 113–14 Arnauld, Antoine, 350
Adam of Parvipontanus (Petit Pont), 82 Arriaga, Rodrigo de, 293, 332, 334–39
Adam Woodham/Goddam, 185, 191, 194, 231, Athanasius, 19
235 Augustine, 21–28, 31, 33–35, 37–38, 41, 50, 52, 54,
Adelmann of Lüttich, 66 56, 59, 61, 66, 68, 75–76, 78, 80–81, 83, 90, 95,
Aegidius of Rome (Ægidius Romanus), 145, 100–101, 127, 131, 135, 137, 148, 158, 163–66, 175,
179, 180–81, 187, 190–91, 293 178–80, 184, 187, 190, 192–94, 199, 206, 209,
Aelred of Rievaulx, 65 231, 233–34, 244, 249, 255–56, 265, 293, 309,
Agnellus of Pisa, 125 324, 328, 330–31, 339, 357
Alan of Lille (Alanus ab Insulis), 29, 68, 102–3, Augustine de Dacia, 49
106, 109, 111–13 Averroës (Ibn Rushd), 136–39, 141–42, 187,
Alberic of Rheims, 82 191, 273
Albert the Great (Albertus Magnus), 53, 136, Avicenna (Ibn Sina), 135–37, 139, 146, 177, 187
141, 158–62, 167, 170–71, 178, 181, 191, 303, Azor, Johannes, 289
328
Alcuin, 35–36 Babenstuber, Ludwig, 290, 342–46
Alexander IV, Pope, 126 Bacon, Francis, 356
Alexander of Hales, 99, 122, 125, 128, 134, 142, Baconthorp, John, 293
154, 191, 240, 276, 282 Baeumker, Clemens, 6
Alphons Vargas Toletanus, 190 Báñez, Dominicus, 291, 323, 332, 342
Alsted, Johann Heinrich, 301–2, 315–18 Baron, Vincent, 340
Altenstaig, Johannes, 208 Bede (the Venerable), 44, 52, 59
Amaury of Bène, 139 Bellarmine, Robert, 329
Ambrose, 59, 78 Belluti, Bonaventura, 292
Amerbach, Johannes, 193 Benedict XIV, Pope, 351, 353
Amort, Eusebius, 290, 351–53 Berengar of Tours, 44, 66, 78–79, 83, 96, 115, 118
Andrew of St. Victor, 48, 51, 90, 137 Bernard of Chartres, 89
Anselm of Canterbury, 10, 13, 65, 78–86, 94, 105, Bernard of Clairvaux, 65, 67, 112–15, 117–19
112, 148, 176, 218, 228 Bernard of Trilia, 188
Anselm of Laon, 41, 44, 58–60 Bernold of Constance, 11
Antonius a Matre Dei, 296 Bertola, Eremengildo, 44
Anthony of Egypt, 19 Bidermann, Jakob, S.J., 297
Aquaviva, Claudius, 284 Biel, Gabriel. See Gabriel Biel
Aristotle, 2–4, 7, 9–10, 19, 28, 37, 71, 73, 95, Bliemetzrieder, Franz, 82
131–42, 145, 148–49, 154, 166–67, 174, 177, 179, Boethius of Dacia, 135, 142–43, 145
387
388 Index of Names
Boethius, Anicius Manlius Severinus, 12, Duns Scotus, Johannes, 14, 137, 183, 188–89, 191,
28–30, 34, 37, 39, 43–44, 81, 92, 95, 97–98, 209–16, 218, 219, 222, 231, 240, 250, 255, 292,
102–3, 106, 131, 134, 154, 157, 169, 178 307, 332–34, 360
Bonaventure, 14, 19, 53–54, 71, 126, 129, 135, 141, Dupasquier, Sebastian, 292
144, 162–67, 176, 178, 191, 276, 282, 292, 307, Durand of Saint Pourçain, 227
328, 360 Durandus of Troarn, 350
Bossuet, Jean-Baptiste, 354 Durandus, Bartholomäus, 292
Braun, Peter, 208
Bruno the Carthusian, 44 Eck, Johannes (Maier von Egg an der Günz),
Bullinger, Heinrich, 300 268–72
Burgundio of Pisa, 100 Eckhart, Meister, 218–22
Buridan, John, 192 Erasmus von Rotterdam, Desiderius, 3,
Busenbaum, Hermann, S.J., 289 246–50, 257, 259, 265–66, 269
Buzzetti, Vincenzo, 358 Eriugena, John Scotus, 10, 36, 44, 74–78
Euclid, 29, 102, 104, 106
Cajetan (Thomas de Vio, OP), 186, 268, Eugene III, Pope, 100
272–77, 328, 332 Eusebius of Caesarea, 18
Calcidius, 134
Calixt, Georg, 306 Faber, Philippus, 332
Calov, Abraham, 306–11 Faber Stapulensis, Jakob, 307
Calvin, John, 247, 264–68, 299 Fabri, Johannes, 253
Cano, Melchior, 291, 307 Faustus of Milève, 339
Capreolus, Johannes, OP, 255, 273, 305, 328, 332 Fénélon, François, 354
Caramuel Lobkowitz, Juan, 346–51, 356 Flasch, Kurt, 7
Cassiodorus, Flavius Magnus Aurelius, 34, 37 Florus of Lyons, 78
Celsus, 18 Forer, Lorenz, 312
Charlemagne, 34 Francis I, King of France, 266
Charles the Bald, 75 Francis de Sales, 354
Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 2, 39, 66, 68, 244, 263 Francis of Assisi, 45
Clauberg, Johannes, 320 Francis of Meyronnes, 189, 214–16, 227
Clement of Alexandria, 17 Francis of Retz, 186
Clerselier, Claude, 349 Frederick II, Emperor, 136
Clichtovaeus, Jodok, 307 Fulgentius of Ruspe, 31, 33, 101
Cloes, Henri, 59
Cocceius, Johannes, 319 Gabriel Biel, 185–87, 192, 208, 238–40, 242,
Comenius, Johann Amos, 278, 315 255–56
Comitibus a Mediolano, Blasius Antonius de, Gaetani, Cardinal Benedetto (Pope Boniface
292 VIII), 126
Copernicus, Nicolaus, 320 Galilei, Galileo, 346–48
Crathorn, 188, 227–29 Gansfort, Wessel, 208
Crockaert, Peter, OP, 186, 277 Gazzaniga, Petrus, 355
Cuno of Preneste, 118 Gennadius of Marseille, 33
Cyprian of Carthage, 20–21 Gerard of Abbeville, 126
Gerard of Cremona, 133
David of Dinant, 139 Gerard of Csanád, 46
Davy, Marie-Magdelaine, 71 Gerard of St. Quentin, 67
Descartes, René, 320–22, 349 Gerbert, Martin, 355
Desgabets, Robert, 348–51 Gerhard, Johann, 302–6, 308
Donatus, 39, 43 Gerhoh of Reichersberg, 14, 112, 116
Dreier, Christian, 4, 354 Gerson, John, 183, 192, 199–203, 208, 240, 243,
Drogo of St. Nikasius in Rheims, 82 356
Index of Names 389
Geyer, Bernhard, 7, 11 Hugolin of Orvieto, 190
Gilbert Porreta (de la Porrée, of Poitiers), 29, Hülsemann, Johannes, 301, 311
94–99, 102–3, 115–17, 119 Hunnius, Ægidius, 307
Gilbertus Universalis, 44, 82 Huntpichler, Leonhard, 186
Gilson, Étienne, 137 Hurtado de Mendoza, Pedro, 293
Goclenius, Rudolf, 3 Hus, Jan, 193–97
Godfrey of Fontaines, 123 Hutter, Leonhard, 307
Gonet, Jean-Baptiste, 292, 338–40, 353, 358
Gonzalez de Santalla, Thyrsus, 288 Innocent II, Pope, 117–18
Gottschalk of Fulda (of Orbeil), 74–75, 77, Innocent III, Pope, 116, 121
115, 118 Innocent IV, Pope, 141
Goudin, Antoine, 358 Isidore of Seville, 31–33, 54, 59
Grabmann, Martin, 5–6, 10 Ivo of Chartres, 11, 59, 100
Gregory the Great, Pope, 33, 50, 59, 68, 127
Gregory VII, Pope, 116 James of Viterbo, 190
Gregory IX, Pope, 140–41, 149,151 James of Vitry, 140
Gregory of Rimini, 190–93, 205, 228, 231–39, Jerome, 44, 51–52, 59, 66, 114, 140, 208–9, 244
241 Jerome of Prague, 197
Gregory of Valencia, 293 Joachim of Fiore, 130, 183
Groote, Geert, 207, 235 Johann Georg, Duke of Sachsen, 307
Guibert of Nogent, 66, 68 Johannes a S. Thoma ( Juan Poinsot), 291
Günther, Anton, 355 Johannes ab Annuntiatione, 296
Johannes Pupper of Goch, 208
Haimo of Auxerre, 2 Johannes Ruchrath of Wesel, 208
Haimo of Halberstadt, 41, 44 Johannes Tinctoris, 186
Haller, Johannes, 319 Johannes Werd, 186
Hannibaldus de Hannibaldis, 188 Johannes Wessel Gansfort, 208
Haunold, Christoph, 293 John XXI, Pope, 145
Haymo of Faversham, 125 John XXII, Pope, 222
Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 7 John XXIII, anti-Pope, 197
Heinrich of Gorkum, 186 John Damascene, 100, 260, 350
Heinrich of Langenstein (Hainbuch), 186, John of Barastre, 124
203–4 John of Bassoles, 189
Heinrich Totting of Oyta, 185–87, 203–5, 235 John of Kelso, 114
Henríquez, Enrique, 289 John of Mirecourt, 191
Henry of Ghent, 123, 137, 175–81, 185, 187, 189, John of Saint Gilles, 125
211, 213–14, 293 John of Salisbury, 41
Herbert of Bosham, 51 John of Sterngassen, 188
Heribrand, Abbot of St. Laurentius, Lüttich, 85 John of Tours, 82
Hermann of Schildesche, 190
Hilary of Poitiers, 59 Kant, Immanuel, 355
Hinkmar of Rheims, 75 Karlstadt, Andreas Bodenstein von, 255, 258
Hirnhaim, Hieronymus, 294 Keckermann, Bartholomäus, 316
Hirscher, Johann Baptist, 358 Kempf, Nikolaus, 203
Hofmann, Daniel, 302, 309 Kluxen, Wolfgang, 7–8, 10
Honorius of Autun (H. Augustodunensis), Konrad of Waldhausen, 197
55, 59
Hrabanus Maurus, 44, 75 Lanfranc of Bec, 44, 79–80, 83
Hugh of St. Cher, 53, 125, 129 Lang, Narcissus, 292
Hugh of St. Victor, 48–49, 53, 55–57, 59–60, 63, Laymann, Paul, 289, 293
65, 67, 86–90, 100, 112–13, 127, 149, 156, 164 Leclercq, Jean, 9, 111
390 Index of Names
Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 312, 349 Palacios, Miguel de, 332
Leo XIII, Pope, 360 Páleč, Stephan, 197–98
Longomontanus, Christian, 348 Paschasius Radbertus, 44
Lottin, Odon, 82 Peckham, John, 187
Louis of Bavaria (IV), Emperor, 189 Pelagius, 231
Louis XI, King of France, 191 Pereira, Benedictus, 301
Lugo, Juan de, 289 Peter Aureol, 215
Lupus of Ferrières, 36, 75 Peter Damian, 39, 112, 116
Luther, Martin, 3, 183, 190, 199, 209, 234, 239, Peter Lombard (Magister Sententiarum), 12,
246, 251–52, 254–60, 263–64, 268, 270–72, 44, 52, 54, 59–61, 63, 72, 98–102, 107, 115,
274–76, 279–80, 302, 304–7, 309, 326–27 121–22, 128, 148, 152, 158, 185, 260, 279, 307,
Lutterell, John, 225 310
Peter of Ailly, 183, 191, 199, 240, 242, 255–56
Mabillon, Jean, 356–57 Peter of Corbeil, 139–40
Macrobius, 92 Peter of Poitiers, 52, 107, 109
Maignan, Emmanuel, 349 Petrus Cantor (Peter Cantor), 48–50, 53, 55, 68
Maior, Johannes, 265, 328 Petrus Comestor, 3, 48, 51–52, 112, 128, 139
Maldonato, Johannes, 357 Petrus Rogerii (Pope Clement VI), 215
Manser, Gallus, 6 Petrus Venerabilis, 114, 119
Maresius, Samuel, 319–21 Peuntner, Thomas, 203
Marsilius of Inghen, 234–38 Philip the Chancellor, 53, 134
Maritain, Jacques, 359 Philip II, King of France, 121
Martianus Capella, 37, 39, 43 Philipp of Harvengt, 112
Martin of Léon, 72 Philippus a SS. Trinitate, 291
Martini, Cornelius, 301–2 Photius, 11
Martini, Jakob, 301 Piccolomini, Francesco, SJ, 284
Mastri, Bartolomeo (Mastrius), 292, 331–34 Piccolomini, Francesco, 301
Maurice of Spain (Mauritius Hispanus), 139 Pico della Mirandola, Giovanni, 244
Medina, Bartholomew, OP, 288, 291 Pieper, Josef, 7
Melanchthon, Philipp, 192, 245–47, 257, Pius V, Pope, 290
259–66, 270, 299–301, 303–4, 307, 309 Plato, 19, 92, 106, 134, 166, 214, 230, 244
Mezger, Paulus, 295 Pliny the Elder, 259
Milič, Jan, of Kremsier, 197 Pomponazzi, Pietro, 273
Molina, Luis de, 293, 323, 334 Poncius, Johannes ( John Punch), 292, 332
Moses Maimonides, 138, 142 Porphyry, 37, 256
Praepositinus of Cremona, 38, 107–11, 131, 139,
Nicole, Pierre, 350 148
Nicholas Cusanus, 220 Prierias, Silvester, 275
Nicholas Manjacoria, 47 Priscianus, 43
Nicholas of Amiens, 102, 104, 106, 111 Prosper of Aquitaine, 31, 54
Nicholas of Dinkelsbühl, 203 Prudentius of Troyes, 75, 78
Nicholas of Lyra, 53 Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, 12, 39, 202
Norbert of Xanten, 82
Quintilian, 259
Odo of Ourscamp, 40–41
Omnebene, Magister, 62 Radulphus Ardens, 72
Origanus, David, 348 Radulfus of Laon, 44, 59, 82–83
Origen, 16, 18–19, 250 Rahner, Karl, 324
Ott, Ludwig, 67 Ramus, Peter (Pierre de la Ramée), 300–301
Otto of Freising, 114 Rassler, Johann Christoph, 342
Oviedo, Francisco de, 293 Ratramnus of Corbie, 75
Index of Names 391
Rautenstrauch, Stephan, 355 Stanislaus of Znaim, 196, 198
Reding, Augustinus, 297 Staupitz, Johannes von, 190, 193
Reeb, Georg, 312 Steinbach, Wendelin, 208
Reimarus, Hermann Samuel, 354 Stephen Harding, 47
Remigius of Auxerre, 59 Stephen Langton, 48, 50, 52, 127
Remigius of Florence, 188 Stephen of Tournai, 115–16
Reuchlin, Johannes, 192 Sturlese, Loris, 137
Richard Fishacre, 129–30, 150–52 Suárez, Francisco, 293–94, 301, 323–27
Richard of Knapwell, 188
Richard of St. Victor, 41, 48, 67, 113 Tanner, Adam, 293, 312
Richter, Vladimír, 189 Tempier, Étienne, 144, 146
Rijk, Lambert Marie de, 8 Tertullian, 17–20
Robert Grosseteste, 125, 127–29, 134, 139 Tetzel, Johannes, 275–76
Robert Holcot, 188, 227–30, 236 Theophrast, 2
Robert Kilwardby, 152–53, 187 Thierry of Chartres, 118
Robert of Basevorn, 71 Thomas Aquinas, 4, 11–13, 42–43, 45, 51, 54–55,
Robert of Courson/Courçon, 121, 139, 140 123, 126, 129–30, 134–37, 141, 145, 167–71,
Robert of Melun, 41, 45–46, 55–56 173–75, 177–81, 185–88, 191, 208–9, 211,
Robert of Oxford, 188 219–20, 265, 272–74, 276, 282–84, 286, 290,
Roger Bacon, 127–30, 137, 141, 187, 200 293, 296, 304–5, 324, 327–28, 339, 344–45,
Roland, Magister (Bandinelli), 62, 64–65 359, 360
Roland of Cremona, 125, 149–51, 156 Thomas Bradwardine, 193–94, 230–31, 237
Roselli, Salvatore, 358 Thomas Docking, 129
Ruiz de Montoya, Diego, 293 Thomas Eccleston, 127
Rupert of Deutz, 112 Thomas Gascoigne, 45
Thomas of York, 126
Sabellius, 148 Thomasius, Christian, 4
Saënz d’Aguirre, Joseph, 356 Thomasius, Jakob, 354
Sanchez, Thomas, 289 Timpler, Clemens, 301
Sannig, Bernhard, 292 Toletus, Franciscus, 293
Scaliger, Julius Caesar, 303 Trutfetter, Jodok, 258–59
Scharf, Johannes, 301 Tyconius, 27, 31
Scheffler, Johannes, 312
Scheibler, Christoph, 3, 301 Urban IV, Pope, 141
Scheidsach, Fructuosus, 349 Ursinus, Zacharias, 300
Scheiner, Christoph, 348
Scherzer, Johann Adam, 301, 311–15 Valla, Lorenzo, 244
Schneyer, Johannes Baptist, 69 Van Steenberghen, Fernand, 6
Schönberger, Rolf, 8 Vavasseur, François, 356
Schrimpf, Gangolf, 10 Vázquez, Gabriel, 293, 327–31
Semler, Johann Salomo, 354 Vitoria, Francisco de, OP, 186, 277, 291
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus, 66, 127 Vivianus of Prémontré, 57, 67, 85
Siard of Mariengaarde, 72 Voetius, Gisbert, 319
Siger of Brabant, 135, 142, 144–45
Silesius, Angelus. See Scheffler, Johannes Wadding, Luke, 291–92
Simon of Tournai, 148 Walafried Strabo, 44
Simonzin, Ludwig, 342 Waldburg, Otto Truchsess von, 281, 352
Socrates, 214, 230 Walter of Chatton, 227
Soto, Domingo de, OP, 291 Walter of Mortaigne, 67
Soto, Pedro de, 238, 291 Weisweiler, Heinrich, 82, 84
Spengler, Lazarus, 253 Werner of St. Blasien, 59
392 Index of Names
William de la Mare, 171–75, 178, 187–88, 210 Wolff, Christian, 312, 355
William of Auvergne, 135–38, 140, 205–7 Wulf, Maurice de, 6
William of Auxerre, 140–41, 147–49 Wycliffe, John, 183, 193–96, 271
William of Champeaux, 59, 86
William of Ockham, 43, 164, 183, 188–89, Zabarella, Jacopo, 301
222–27, 231, 235–36, 238–40, 255, 266 Zacharias Chrysopolitanus, 47–48, 59, 300
William of Saint Amour, 126 Zumel, Francisco, 342
William of St. Thierry, 118 Zwingli, Huldrych, 253, 270–71
Wittich, Christoph, 319–23
•
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Introduction: What Is Scholastic Theology? 1

1 How Did Scholastic Theology Come About? 16

2 The Self-Concept of Early Scholastic Theologies 74

2 Faith seeking understanding: Anselm of Canterbury 78

3 Theology as a Science at the University 120

4 Theological Controversy and Church Reform 182

5 Humanist and Reformation Theology 243

6 Scholastic Theology: Early Modern Period 277

7 Prospect: Enlightenment and New Scholasticism 354

Abbreviations for editions of complete works are noted during the

Periodicals and Series

HPBL Historisch-politische Blätter für das katholische

An introduction to Scholastic theology is in the first place an ambiguous

1 On the history of the concept “Scholasticism”

1. The question is framed in a similar way in Schönberger, Scholastik, 15–19.

22. See Schmidinger, “‘Scholastik’ und ‘Neuscholastik,’” 48–52.

26. Thus, Manser, “Scholastik,” 321–28.

31. Manser, “Scholastik,” 321–23.

47. See Leclercq, Wissenschaft; Koch, Artes liberales.

60. Geyer, “Begriff,” 113.

68. For examples, ibid., 141–43.

Since an unequivocal definition of “Scholasticism” does not seem possi-

1 Patristic themes and methods

1.1 Philosophy and theology

2. Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis I 35, 2.

5. Origen, Contra Celsum I, 9, 11–13 (SChr 132,98).

9. Eusebius, Church History VI, 3, 9.

1.2 Auctoritas and ratio

15. Tertullian, Praescriptio haereticorum 14, 2 (CCh SL 1, 198, 6–7).

1.3 Augustine’s program of Christian education and theology

The task of this theological knowledge, therefore, according to Augus-

49. Augustinus, doct.chr. 2, 7, 10 (CCh SL 32, 37, 15).

54. Ibid., 2, 39, 59 (73, 30–31).

1.4 Systematic and axiomatic theology: Boethius

63. Boethius, de trin. c.1 (ed. Elsässer 4, 6–7).

1.5 Collections of sentences: Isidore of Seville

2 Scholastic theology: Methods and presentation

79. For illustrations, see Fontaine, Isidore de Séville, 780.

2.1 Development of the schools, curriculum, and the liberal arts

82. See Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin.

85. Concerning the German schools, see Sturlese, Deutsche Philosophie.

93. Ibid., 37–48.

2.2 Instructional procedure

101. Petrus Damiani, De divina omnipotentia, c.5 (PL 145, 595–622).

107. See Studer, Schola Christiana, 128–29.

112. See Van Steenberghen, Philosophie, 83.

2.3 The Bible and Scholastic theology

114. The schema is described in Rentsch, “Kultur,” 88–89.

121. See, for example, Schrimpf, Eriugena, 85–86.

130. See Smalley, Study, 75–81.

156. See Moore, Peter of Poitiers, 118–22.

2.4 Collections of sentences and Summas

161. Smalley, Study, 271–77.

171. See de Ghellinck, Mouvement, 481–82, 517–23.

183. For examples, see Leinsle, Vivianus, 61–62.

HPBL Historisch-politische Blätter für das katholische

110. Ibid. (4.15–20). 111. Ibid., Prolegomenon (1.1.118–122).