Nature and Scripture in The Abrahamic Religions
Nature and Scripture in The Abrahamic Religions
Volume 1
In cooperation with
Theo Clemens, Utrecht/Antwerpen
Olivier Fatio, Genève
Alastair Hamilton, London
Scott Mandelbrote, Cambridge
Andrew Pettegree, St. Andrews
VOLUME 36
Edited by
Jitse M. van der Meer
Scott Mandelbrote
LEIDEN • BOSTON
2008
ISSN 1572-4107
ISBN 978 90 04 17187 9 (volume 1)
ISBN 978 90 04 17189 3 (volume 2)
ISBN 978 90 04 17191 6 (set)
Brill has made all reasonable efforts to trace all rights holders to any copyrighted
material used in this work. In cases where these efforts have not been successful the
publisher welcomes communications from copyright holders, so that the appropriate
acknowledgements can be made in future editions, and to settle other permission
matters.
VOLUME 1
Acknowledgements ..................................................................... xi
Notes on Contributors ................................................................ xiii
List of Illustrations ...................................................................... xvii
INTRODUCTORY ESSAYS
PART I
100–800
PART II
800–1450
PART III
1450–1700
VOLUME 2
PART IV
centuries. Her principal research has been on how the Bible has been
understood in the Roman Province of Africa (today, Tunisia, Algeria,
and Morocco). Her publications focus on questions of hermeneutics,
on asceticism (principles of spiritual life), and ecclesiology (the church
as Gospel community).
Eric Jorink, researcher at the Huygens Instituut, The Hague, The Neth-
erlands. He is engaged in research on scientific culture in early modern
times as well as on a biography of the Amsterdam natural scientist Jan
Swammerdam (1637–1680). He is the editor of De Achttiende Eeuw.
Jitse M. van der Meer, professor of biology and history and philosophy
of science, Redeemer University College, Ancaster, Ontario, Canada.
Areas of expertise include embryonic pattern formation, the history of
nineteenth- and twentieth-century biology, and cognitive interactions
between scientific and religious knowledge. Current research interests:
engagement of religion and science, history and philosophy of nine-
teenth- and twentieth-century biology (G. Cuvier, T. Dobzhansky),
theoretical biology.
INTRODUCTION
Background
One of the most important factors infl uencing the reception of all ideas
in the cultures of Europe and the Middle East has been the intellectual
context of the religions of the book, and within that, of the framework
provided by the understanding and interpretation of privileged religious
texts (the Tanakh, the Christian Bible, the Qur’an). Surprisingly, while
the history of the interpretation of Scripture is currently undergoing
a revival, historians of exegesis have so far overlooked its interaction
with another major cultural force, namely natural philosophy and the
natural sciences. Further, historians of science have only recently begun
to notice the importance of the interaction between the subjects of their
discipline and those of the history of exegesis. The rationale for these
two edited volumes is to contribute to filling these gaps.
Objective
The goal of this project is to explore how the development of different
styles of interpretation found in reading scripture (the Tanakh, the
Christian Bible, the Qur’an) and nature, helped to transform ideas of
both the written word and the created world over several centuries,
and how this engagement was affected by the larger cultural context.
The approach is historical. The period of interest covers the last two
millennia up to the present.
Focus
Our focus is not on theology and science, but on specific strategies of
interpretation and on hermeneutical principles that shape knowledge of
God and nature in interaction with contextual infl uences. The goal is
to describe what happened in the dialogue between the interpretation
1
See Harrison 1998, 11–63.
2
See Kidd 2006; on the New World, see also Haynes 2002; on South Africa, see
also Dubow 1995; for a discussion of the origins of the linkage between race, color,
and slavery in postbiblical Jewish and Islamic thought, see Goldenberg 2003.
3
See Trautmann 1997, 37–61.
of the story of Noah, namely the deluge and its interpretation in scien-
tific creationism is interwoven with recent social and religious history
of the USA.
Finally, taking the historical approach still leaves us with the consid-
erable challenge of encouraging meaningful communication between
historians of science and historians of biblical interpretation. We identify
two potential obstacles to a fruitful exchange.
4
See Finocchiaro 2005, 338–65. For recent refl ections and reinterpretations of the
evidence presented by Redondi and by the study commission, see the essays of Beretta;
Artigas, Martínez, and Shea; Sharratt; and Coyne in McMullin 2005.
5
Cartwright 1983.
6
For Christian atomism see Osler 1994; for Muslim atomism see Dhanani 1994; for
teleomechanism see Lenoir 1982; for psychologism see Whitehead 1925; for cyberneti-
cism see Bateson 1979, Laszlo 1996, Wiener 1950.
7
For a description of the reformation of visions of nature and the implications for
natural philosophies emerging from different visions, see Klaaren 1977: 72–76.
8
Hesse 1988.
9
For an introduction to the hermeneutical philosophy of science see: Crease 1997;
Eger 1993a; Eger 1993b; Heelan 1989; Heelan 1997; Heelan 1998; Kuhn 1962; Kuhn
1977; Polanyi 1958.
10
See Daston 2004.
Methodological Issues
Case studies on the interaction of the books of nature and scripture
require individuals with reasonable expertise in the interpretation of
both. It has been a challenge to find such interpreters. They are not
so difficult to locate in the early modern era. Reformers in theology,
notably Philip Melanchthon, also sought the reformation of the study
11
Heelan 1988.
12
Polanyi 1958, 55, 59.
13
See Kusukawa 1995.
14
Sprat 1667, e.g., 327–9, 372–3.
15
Matthews 2007; Hunter 2000; Shapiro 1969.
16
England (these volumes); for the relatively common linkage between missionary
medicine and the interpretation of Scripture (of which perhaps the most startling
example was the career of Albert Schweitzer), see Vaughan 1991, 55–76, 155–79.
17
Dobzhansky 1962: 2.
Objective
The question is how biblical interpretation and the interpretation of
nature have infl uenced each other, and how this engagement was
affected by the larger cultural context. Restated, our aim is to contrib-
ute to a description and evaluation of the mutual infl uences between
scriptural exegesis and hermeneutics on the one hand and practices
or techniques of interpretation in natural philosophy and the natural
sciences on the other.
Rationale
The primary rationale for this project is that this theme has had such a
low profile both in the history of science and in the history of biblical
interpretation. This is surprising given the fundamental role of religious
texts in Christian, Islamic, and Judaic cultures. Moreover, for the last
two decades, in which studies of science and religion have burgeoned
in each of the traditions of the Book, the focus normally has been on
the relationship of theology and science.19 Relatively little attention
has been paid to questions of biblical interpretation, perhaps because
this was seen as subjective and prone to interminable disagreements.
Such an interpretation appears to be strengthened by consideration
18
van der Meer 2007.
19
For discussion of the problems generated by this and some suggestions for a
historical way out, see Brooke and Cantor 1998, 43–72.
of the most infl uential attempt to argue both for the importance of
the Bible in shaping a modern scientific view of the world and for the
role of a particular kind of biblical exegesis in the later development of
scientific ideas. Reijer Hooykaas’s Religion and the Rise of Modern Science
claimed that both a biblical conception of the role of God in nature
and a specifically Calvinist or Puritan attitude to biblical interpreta-
tion had played a formative role in the creation of modern science.
Neither Hooykaas’s rather jaundiced view of Greek science and its
legacy in the Arabic world and the medieval West, nor his partisan
dismissal of Catholic and Lutheran natural philosophy, has stood up
well to the passage of time.20 Yet theology would be empty without
the interpretation of religious texts: their meaning in the relationship
between science and religion requires further elucidation. Moreover,
as we have seen, it is now acknowledged that natural philosophy and
the natural sciences would not exist without the interpretation of
perceptions, concepts and theories, whose hermeneutical implications
may have resonance with those of exegesis. The interpretative nature
of the natural sciences levels the playing field between interpretation
of scripture and interpretation of nature. History of science is incom-
plete without considering the infl uence, methods, and styles of biblical
interpretation. This project focuses on these two interpretive endeavors
because they have been neglected.
There are two secondary reasons that moved us to undertake this
project. Until very recently the history of the two interpretative endeav-
ors could be compared with two parallel lines—they contain two differ-
ent sets of points and never intersect. Thus a secondary rationale for
this work is to encourage engagement between these disciplines.
Further, questions for the interpretation of Scripture continue to
be raised by current theological refl ection on scientific theories. For
instance, refl ection on cosmological theories raises questions of inter-
pretation of biblical passages associated with the doctrine of creation
ex nihilo. If the mind emerges from the body how does one interpret
biblical texts that imply a nonbodily existence after death? If the uni-
verse has an end, how does one interpret eschatological passages? If
our everyday macroscopic reality emerges from a quantum world, and
were theological attempts to locate divine action in quantum phenomena
to prove warranted, how might one interpret Scripture on such issues
20
Cf. Hooykaas 1972.
Strategy
We have chosen for a format that surveys the questions rather than one
that claims to offer complete solutions. Such a format was dictated by
the current embryonic state of this interdisciplinary field of studies. It
is too early to aim for solutions when we are scratching the surface of
very complex interactions that involve many disciplines in addition to
the two we have focused on. These considerations made an historical
approach the natural one. Within this approach we have accommodated
case studies in order to create the depth necessary for identifying what
the important questions might be. While this strategy excludes a the-
matic approach, the development of broad themes may be found in the
introductions and responses to sections that were designed to facilitate
interaction between historians of science and historians of exegesis, and
in the correspondences that emerge between chapters.21
We include material that refers to developments across much of the
last two millennia, that is the period in which the three contemporary
religions of the book have emerged. Within this time frame we have
largely concentrated on interactions that have occurred in the last five
hundred years or so, partly because this represents the period of devel-
opment of increasingly modern forms of scientific understanding. Our
long timescales may make it possible to correlate or contrast develop-
ments in the history of the interpretation of nature and the history of
the interpretation of scripture. Both histories will be read in parallel
without focussing exclusively on the priority of one or the other. In this
way we hope not only to make room for mutuality in the engagement
of the two interpretive endeavors, but also to discover what factors in
the cultural context have acted to shape them both.
21
Chapters designated as Introduction or Response are identified in a footnote to
the chapter title.
Organization
The two volumes follow a roughly chronological order for two reasons.
Firstly, this allows different phases in the development of interpretive
strategies to be seen more coherently within their historical context.
In a thematic approach contextual information would have had to be
repeated in the treatment of each theme. Secondly, most scholars spe-
cialize in the movements and individuals of a specific period. It would
have been counterproductive to ask contributors to stretch beyond their
expertise for the sake of sticking to a theme.
Sectional Introductions and Responses also serve to encourage
meaningful communication between members of two disciplines who
had not talked much before: historians of science and historians of
scripture interpretation. Historians of scripture interpretation and
church historians have contributed Introductions and Responses for
Parts composed primarily of history of science and vice versa. These
have been written at a level aimed to be of benefit across disciplinary
boundaries. Given the Parts introductions this general introduction
does not enter into the substance of the project.
The first volume covers early Christianity up to the seventeenth
century with a separate Part offering case studies on the Copernican
debates. Further, there are chapters featuring the church fathers, the
role of Renaissance theories of language, the contribution of Scripture
interpretation by the Protestant reformers to the development of modern
science, and the infl uence of religious perspectives on scripture inter-
pretation in its engagement of the interpretation of nature including
Eastern Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. Special topics include ‘Mosaic
philosophy,’ Isaac Newton and ‘Theories of the Earth.’
Volume two spans the eighteenth to the twentieth century with a
separate Part on theories of biological evolution treated geographically.
In addition to biology its disciplinary scope includes physics, geology,
and ethnology. Religious perspectives include Christianity with a special
chapter on Eastern Orthodoxy as well as Islam and Judaism. Special
topics include the problem of evil, creationist hermeneutics, the par-
ticular relationship between biblical hermeneutics and scientific practice
in the reformed communities of the Netherlands, ‘scientific exegesis’
of the Qur’an from the late nineteenth to the mid-twentieth century,
and a comparison of Hebrew and Christian practices of interpreting
nature and scripture in response to the religious crisis of modernity in
Judaism and Christianity. The topic often referred to as: “Body, soul,
22
See Harrison 1998; Howell 2002; see also Bennett and Mandelbrote 1998.
23
See Howell 2002, Vermij 2002, 241–71; see also Blackwell 1991, 1–110; Pedersen
1983; Reeves 1991. For the broader infl uence of Augustine on ideas of natural knowl-
edge, see Harrison 2007.
24
See Kusukawa 1995, 124–73; cf. Methuen 1998, 107–204. Westman 1975. For
27
For Whewell, see Vidal and Kleeberg 2007, 395; Brooke 1991; for Wilkins and
Ray, see Mandelbrote 2007 and Ray 1713.
28
Feldhay 1995, especially 73–198.
29
Ashley (these volumes).
30
The canonical example of such a reader and interpreter remains that of Domenico
Scandella (Menocchio), as described by Ginzburg 1980. A similarly remarkable case is
that of Evert Willemsz, discussed by Frijhoff 1995 and Frijhoff 2002, 67–91, although
Willemsz admitted that he did not have extensive knowledge of Scripture. The prophetic
nature of Willemsz’s peculiar attitude to Scripture and nature is widely echoed in other
circumstances. It often helped to generate hostility from contemporary (male) priests,
philosophers, and doctors, who were authorized to interpret natural and biblical signs.
See Mack 1992, 127–235; Schaffer 1996; Shaw 2006.
Regional Studies
In one area it has proved easier to address questions of local dif-
ferences and similarities—that of biological evolution and Scripture
interpretation. This section confirms the need for regional studies, but
also reveals their limitations. In the seventeenth century, writers from
the Dutch Republic stand out for their extraordinary infl uence on a
Europe-wide scale, a product as much of the Republic’s importance
in the European publishing trade, perhaps, as of any other factor. For
instance, the Dutch theologian Voetius was respected for his challenge
to Cartesianism among both Calvinists and Lutherans across Europe
(Vermij, these volumes). Yet his infl uence was paralleled by the emer-
gence of a radical biblical criticism in the Dutch Republic during the
seventeenth century, which itself drew on materialist interpretations of
nature that owed much to the reading of Descartes.31 In the nineteenth
and twentieth centuries, the Dutch example again appears unique, but
it is now marked out by the extraordinary insensitivity of theologians to
overtures from scientists who asked for help in questions about Scripture
interpretation (Visser, in these volumes), as well as by the way in which
neo-Calvinists faced the challenge of higher biblical criticism (Harinck,
de Knijff, these volumes).32 On the other hand, few regional differences
show in the way in which Christian theologians and scientists insisted
on attributing meaning to an evolving world as seen through Darwinian
eyes. In Germany, as well as in the Netherlands and the USA, the
response occurred at the level of metaphysics rather than that of textual
interpretation. Kleeberg, Visser, and England describe how the matter
that was insisted on was divine guidance of the evolutionary process
toward a goal. Even compared with the Copernican debates, this is a
sea change that needs further analysis.
Galileo’s Shadow
An enduring legacy of the Galileo myth is the popular perception that
the church has attempted to impose interpretations of Scripture on the
31
See Israel 2001, 159–327; Jorink (these volumes). This is not the place to contest
Israel’s tendency to overemphasize the extent to which Spinoza’s writings were directly
responsible for these developments.
32
An explanation for such a change in emphasis may lie in relative economic decline,
at least in the period 1675 to 1815, but probably owes more to the growing intellectual,
cultural, and social isolation from one another of the various confessional groupings
within Dutch society, particularly during the nineteenth century. See Wintle 2000.
study of nature, that this has inhibited the progress of science, and that
science has won this battle. Nelson (these volumes) draws attention
to Josiah Nott (1804–1873) for attempting to include ethnology with
astronomy and geology in this mythology, stating that:
Astronomy and geology, so long kept down by bigotry and ignorance,
have triumphed, and the day is at hand when the natural history of man
will burst the trammels which have so long held it captive. The unity of
the races can only be deduced from forced constructions of the Old and
New Testaments, and persistence in this error is calculated to subvert
and not to uphold our religion.33
This stereotype is informed by undue focus on Galileo’s reading of
Joshua in his letter to the Grand Duchess Christina of 1615 and its
role in Galileo’s initial debate with Bellarmine, which established the
parameters for interpretation that Galileo subsequently broke. It has
been repeatedly exposed, in studies which have highlighted the rhetori-
cal nature of Galileo’s use of exegesis; the variety of opinion within the
church; the importance of the style and force of Galileo’s advocacy of
realist Copernicanism in provoking the trial of 1633, and the continu-
ing role of Augustinian patterns of thinking in Galileo’s natural theol-
ogy.34 Studies such as ours show that in fact during any particular era
interpretations of nature that were common have been read into the
meaning of Scripture. Apparent confl icts between scripture and sci-
ence, therefore, have to be reassessed as struggles between competing
interpretations of nature in which readings of scripture have become
implicated. The essays in these volumes also show that when nature
is read in terms of scripture the results have not always been negative
for knowledge and understanding. There are instances of the interpre-
tation of Scripture that have stimulated natural knowledge, as it was
understood at a particular time.35 Bono describes how speculations
about the cognitive powers of Adam in the Book of Genesis stimu-
lated attempts to recapture this privileged knowledge by reforming the
study of nature. Crowther offers two case studies on Mosaic physics.
Magruder shows how a scriptural idiom was incorporated in Burnet’s
theory of the Earth. The idiom of original chaos, paradise, fl ood, and
33
Nott 1849, 92 [drapery]; 7 [Astronomy].
34
The literature here is vast: the issues at stake are however well summarized in the
chapters of Redondi, McMullin, Blackwell, Pera, and Segre in Machamer 1998.
35
These comments are intended to be compatible with the complexity thesis
advanced by Brooke 1991.
final confl agration helped shape a discourse about the history of the
Earth which featured in scientific writing for over a century. Nelson
describes the role of the creation of Adam and Eve in nineteenth-century
American monogenetic and polygenetic theories of ethnology. Finally,
Harrison argues that modern natural science began once the medieval
symbolic order of nature collapsed when it was rejected by Protestant
reformers for reasons of biblical interpretation. Van der Meer and
Oosterhoff question the rejection of nature symbolism as well as the
role of Protestantism.
The claim that passages from sacred texts are compatible with the
development of the natural sciences has sometimes been used for
popular apologetic purposes in both Christianity and Islam. Attempts
to bolster the authority of the Bible and the Qur’an with the reputation
of the natural sciences are present in the interpretations of nineteenth-
century Protestant biblical geologists as well as nineteenth-century
Muslim reforming theologians.36 It is important, however, to recognize
that the constructive working together of interpretations of sacred texts
and of natural knowledge is not a unique example of the way in which
authoritative texts may drive understandings of nature. The sacred texts
of the Abrahamic religions do not have the unique role in this respect
that has sometimes been assigned to them by scientific materialists and
others. Other examples of a process in which hermeneutical authority
has shaped the interpretation of nature range from the infl uence of
schools in ancient Greek and Chinese science to the role of the writings
of Aristotle in early modern theories of nature, to the role of canonical
texts in modern-day psychoanalysis.37
Hermeneutical Circle
The relationship between the two interpretative endeavors that we are
considering is essentially circular. The apparent meaning of scripture
passages is shaped by interpretations of nature in all three religions of
the book. This is a natural consequence of attempts to use contempo-
rary natural knowledge to understand references to nature in scripture.
Aristotelian readings of scripture were offered in Judaism (Maimonides),
in Christianity (Aquinas) and Islam (Ibn Sina). In each case, alternative
readings of nature and of scripture existed within the interpretative
36
See Young 1995 and Elshakry (these volumes).
37
See Lloyd 1996, especially 20–46; Gellner 1993.
38
See Rappaport 1997; the pre-eminent exponent of this argument was Johann
Jakob Scheuchzer (1672–1733) on whom see Kempe 2003, especially 110–87.
39
See Schechner Genuth 1997, especially 27–50; Cadden 1993, especially 188–95;
Atran 1990, especially 127–81.
40
For such movements in Christianity and their attitudes, see, for example, Barkun
1994, Boyer 1992, and Katz and Popkin 1998. For Jewish approaches to the literal
sense, see Halbertal 1997, 90–134; for an example of the sectarian appeal of literalism
in both Judaism and Islam, see Friedland and Hecht 1996, especially 143–62, 346–84.
For discussion of interpretations of the Genesis story, as presented over time according
to all three traditions, see Kvam, Schearing, and Ziegler 1999.
41
See Harrison 1998.
42
For some examples, see Davis and Chmielewski (these volumes).
43
Noll 1986, especially 15–27.
44
For discussion of this issue, see Hiebert 1986; Schlegel 1981.
45
See Daecke 1981.
Methodological Issues
One conclusion that we may draw is that theology and science or reli-
gion and science are inadequate as categories of description not only
because they are too general, but also because interpretations of scrip-
ture as well as interpretations of nature remain as additional categories
of description, which are otherwise being taken for granted.
There is a need for more in-depth case studies. Natural philosophers
who refer to religious texts do so usually without giving a full explana-
tion of their exegetical strategies and hermeneutical principles. The
religious text is used, but there is little interest in justifying this use. For
instance, it was difficult to find practicing scientists who called themselves
Christian, and who had considered questions about the engagement of
Scripture and science, while refl ecting on their interpretative principles
(see England, vol. 2, ch. 6). This may limit the number of case studies
that prove to be possible.
Principle of Accommodation
A further conclusion that we may draw with confidence is that the
meaning of the principle of accommodation has changed over time. For
instance, in Augustine, God’s condescension to humanity is manifest
in commonsense language used to describe natural phenomena. This
linguistic principle is the one in use during the Copernican debates.
For Eichhorn, by contrast, God accommodated his meaning to the
psychological or spiritual level of maturity of his audience, an idea
applied by among others the Baptist Rev. George Dana Boardman
(1828–1903) in the American debates about race. “To understand the
Genesis account, the reader must identify with the point of view of the
ancient Hebrew, which Boardman described as ‘childlike.’ ” (Nelson,
these volumes.) The difference between the linguistic and the psycho-
logical forms of the principle lies in the reason being given for divine
accommodation: human ability to understand God in the case of the
46
Lazarus-Yafeh 2002, 367.
47
See Dallal 2008.
48
Fraenkel (these volumes).
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Carlos Fraenkel
Introduction1
1
I will refer to both primary and secondary sources by author and date of publica-
tion. If a translation is my own I give the full original text in a footnote. Where I rely
on existing translations I provide references to both the original and the translation,
except when references are standardized (e.g., references to Plato, Aristotle, Philo
etc.). In the latter case, I will only list the translation in the bibliography. I will often
modify existing translations.
2
Averroes 2001, Arabic and English 8–9 (in the edition I use the pagination of the
Arabic text corresponds to that of the English translation).
3
This, at any rate, is Averroes’s intention. Strictly speaking, the view that the truth of
philosophy does not contradict the truth of religion is also compatible with the weaker
claim, proposed for instance by Thomas Aquinas, that revelation contains truths that
do not contradict philosophy, but are also not accessible to it.
4
d’Holbach 1776, 87–89: “[ D]ès l’entrée de la Bible, nous ne voyons que de l’ignorance
et des contradictions. Tout nous prouve que la Cosmogonie des Hébreux n’est qu’un tissu
de fables et d’allegories, incapable de nous donner aucune idée des choses, et qui n’est
propre qu’à contenter un peuple sauvage, ignorant et grossier, étranger aux sciences,
From the outset of the Bible we see nothing but ignorance and contradic-
tions. Everything proves to us that the cosmogony of the Hebrews is no
more than a composition of fables and allegories, incapable of giving us
any [true] idea of things, appropriate only for a savage, ignorant, and
vulgar people, unfamiliar with the sciences and with reasoning. In the
remaining works attributed to Moses, we find countless improbable and
fantastic stories and a pile of ridiculous and arbitrary laws. At the end
the author describes his own death. The books following Moses are no
less filled with ignorance. . . . One would never come to an end if one
attempted to note all the blunders and fables, shown in every passage of a
work which people have the audacity to attribute to the Holy Spirit. . . . In
one word: In the Old Testament everything breathes enthusiasm, fanati-
cism, and raving, often ornamented by a pompous language. Nothing is
missing from it, except for reasonableness, sound logic, and rationality
which seem to have been excluded stubbornly from the book that serves
as guide to Hebrews and Christians.
To be sure, the Enlightenment’s attitude to religion is not monolithic.
Materialists like Julien de La Mettrie and d’Holbach who reject religion
altogether represent only one side of the spectrum.5 On the opposite
side intellectuals like Mendelssohn and Lessing try in different ways to
reconcile their Enlightenment commitments with traditional forms of
Judaism and Christianity.6 In between are Deists like Voltaire, Her-
mann Samuel Reimarus, and Thomas Paine who can be as acerbic
as d’Holbach when it comes to the “fabulous theology” of traditional
religion, “whether Jewish, Christian, or Turkish,” while espousing what
they consider the “true theology” of reason.7
au raisonnement. Dans le reste des ouvrages, attribués à Moïse, nous verrons une
foule d’histoires improbables et merveilleuses, un amas de loix ridicules et arbitraires,
enfin, l’auteur conclut par y rapporter sa propre mort. Les livres postérieurs à Moïse
ne sont pas moins remplis d’ignorance. . . . On ne finiroit point si on vouloit relever
toutes les bévues et les fables, que montrent tous les pafl ages d’un ouvrage qu’on a
le front d’attribuer à l’esprit saint. . . . En un mot: dans l’ancien testament tout respire
l’enthousiasme, le fanatisme, le délire, souvent ornés d’un langage pompeux; tout s’y
trouve, à l’exception du bon sens, de la bonne logique, de la raison, qui semblent être
exclus opiniâtrement du livre qui sert de guide aux Hébreux et aux chrétiens.” Inter-
estingly d’Holbach is aware of the fact that what he describes as the irrational content
of the Bible can be reconciled with philosophy by means of allegorical interpretation.
See his reference to Origen’s and Augustine’s allegorical reading of Genesis in the
note on p. 88. This is Averroes’s solution as well for contradictions occurring between
philosophy and the sharî ah. See e.g., Averroes 2001, Arabic and English 9–10.
5
For his materialism, see in particular de la Mettrie 1996. On the different trends
in the Enlightenment, see Israel 2001 and 2006.
6
See Mendelssohn 1983; Lessing 1886–1924.
7
Paine 1794, 6. For the opposition of “true and fabulous theology,” see the title
page of the first edition 1794. See Reimarus 1972; Voltaire 1980 (e.g., articles “Église,”
“Fanatisme,” “Religion,” “Superstition,” etc.).
8
Feuerbach 1957 and 1967. See, among others, Das Wesen des Christentums (The
Essence of Christianity) and Vorlesungen über das Wesen der Religion (Lectures on the
Essence of Religion); for Marx, see 1976, for Nietzsche, see, among others, 1974, in
particular paragraphs 125, 158–160, and 1968.
9
See in particular Draper 1874 and White 1896. Note that White, other than
Draper, distinguishes between theology and religion. His criticism is mainly directed
against the former.
10
See e.g., Dawkins 2006. Among historians of science, the “warfare” thesis is no
longer taken seriously. For a recent assessment, see the contributions to Ferngren 2002.
11
The close connection between Philo of Alexandria and the Christian Platonists
Clement and Origen has been well established. See van den Hoek 1988 and 2000,
Runia 1993 and the special section in Studia Philonica 1994. Al-Fârâbî was the founder
of the philosophical school, of which Averroes and Maimonides were the last two
important representatives in Muslim Spain. The model he proposed for describing the
relationship between philosophy and religion was applied by Averroes to Islam and
by Maimonides to Judaism. In addition to being good examples for illustrating this
Finally, I examine Spinoza, who is well known for his astute critique
of the medieval interpretation of Judaism as a philosophical religion.
While some scholars noted that elements of a philosophical religion
are present in Spinoza’s thought—prominently in his portrait of Christ
for example—they usually dismissed them as the strategic maneuver
of a radical philosopher who in his youth had been ostracized by the
Jewish community and wished to avoid suffering the same fate by
Christians. I suggest turning this interpretation on its head: Although
astute, Spinoza’s criticisms are an incidental by-product of his critique
of Christian orthodoxy which he perceived as a threat to the “freedom
to philosophize.” His systematic commitments, I contend, are not
only compatible with the concept of a philosophical religion but often
require it. As a critic, however, Spinoza arguably puts an end to this
intellectual tradition as a viable approach to religion.12
* * *
After having said what I will do in this chapter, let me briefl y say some-
thing about what I will not do and why. As I already stressed: my goal
is not to present an exhaustive account of the interpretation in question,
but to provide a foundation that I hope will give rise to further studies.
These should include the relation of later patristic developments to the
Alexandrian philosophers, a comparative study of Neoplatonic interpre-
tations of pagan religious traditions which are often strikingly similar
to the interpretations here examined, and a comprehensive account of
medieval Muslim and Jewish proponents of a philosophical religion.
Also various traditions of Christian thought remain to be investigated
in this context, ranging from Byzantine Christianity to Arabic-Christian
philosophers in the Islamic world. Moreover, when Plethon (d. 1452)
and other Byzantine scholars introduced the works of Plato and later
Platonists into Renaissance Italy, some of the interpretative strategies
that I analyze in this chapter were used to integrate Platonism and
interpretation, Averroes and Maimonides also shaped the medieval tradition leading
to Spinoza.
12
To be sure, elements of this interpretation of religion can still be found in authors
after Spinoza. The most interesting example is perhaps the German Enlightenment
intellectual Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (d. 1781). See in particular Lessing 1886–1924.
But the last sustained attempt to interpret a religion in philosophical terms was made
by the medieval Jewish intellectual tradition whose fundamental assumptions Spinoza
criticizes in the TTP.
13
Thus the “allegorical sense” is one of the four senses of Scripture assumed by
medieval Christian exegetes. See e.g., Hugo of St. Cher (d. 1263): Postillae in universa
biblia secundum quadruplicem sensum: historicum, allegoricum, moralem et anagogicum (Glosses
on the entire Bible according to the fourfold sense: historical, allegorical, moral, and
anagogical). But as far as I can see, this exegetical program has little in common with
the approach adopted by proponents of a philosophical religion. The important differ-
ence does not concern the number of levels of meaning. While I will normally speak of
only two levels—the allegorical and the literal—this is to some extent a simplification.
Origen 1913, for instance, distinguishes between three levels of meaning (Book 4) and
so does Averroes 2001 (see e.g., Arabic and English 8). Al-Fârâbî suggests a scale of
meanings that gradually approach scientific knowledge (see al-Fârâbî 1985, ch. 17,
sec. 3. Section numbers refer to both the Arabic and the English trans.). The crucial
distinction, however, is the one between the philosophical and the nonphilosophical
understanding of religion, whereby the nonphilosophical understanding is often further
subdivided into levels that gradually approach the philosophical understanding. The
assumption governing this approach is that the true core of religion coincides with
philosophy. As I will argue in what follows, this assumption was not shared by Christian
exegetes in medieval Europe.
14
See e.g., philosophers like Boethius of Dacia (fl . ca. 1275) or Siger of Brabant
(d. ca. 1284). See Boethius 1987 and van Steenberghen 1977, respectively.
15
For a recent edition with commentary, see Tempier 1999.
16
See Benin 1993, 10–13; 13–22; 147–162.
17
Ibid., xiv.
18
Medieval Arabic philosophers usually adopt a strong version of the late ancient
view of the harmony of Plato and Aristotle. For a comprehensive statement of this
position, see al-Fârâbî 1999.
19
Aristotle 1952, 1249 b20–21.
20
Averroes 2001, Arabic and English 8.
21
Maimonides 1963–68 5, Arabic 164; English 75–76.
22
Maimonides 1931 3.28, Arabic 373; English 512.
23
Maimonides 1931 1.34, Arabic 50; English 75.
who as the unmoved mover is the first cause of nature’s rational order.24
The same idea is encapsulated in Averroes’ definition of “philosophy
( falsafah)” which in his view Islam calls to pursue: “the rational inquiry
(al-na ar) into the existing things and their contemplation (i tibâruhâ)
insofar as they are proof (dalâlah) of the Maker (al- âni ).”25 This in turn
requires the study of logic whose relation to philosophy is like the rela-
tion “of tools (âlât) to work.”26 Both Aristotle’s writings and Averroes’
commentaries can be seen as the implementation of this program and
thus as an expression of divine worship in the sense of the passage
from the Eudemian Ethics. But in Averroes’ case they are also his main
contribution to Islam and the fulfillment of his duty as a Muslim.27
Maimonides for his part not only claims that the intellectual love
of God is the goal of the Law of Moses, but he also portrays Moses
as the exemplar of a person whose life was devoted to intellectually
loving God. According to the Talmud, Deut. 34:5—“And Moses the
servant of the Lord died . . . by the mouth of the Lord”—means that
Moses “died by a kiss” which Maimonides in turn interprets as the
intellectual union with God at the end of a life consumed by intel-
lectual love.28 Intellectual love is also more generally a key to under-
standing Maimonides’ concept of prophecy. As we saw, intellectual
love for Maimonides consists in the acquisition of knowledge through
the study of the theoretical sciences. In De anima 3.5 Aristotle had
described the acquisition of knowledge as the transition of the human
intellect from potentially knowing to actually knowing and the agent
causing this transition as the “active intellect (nous poiêtikos).”29 Building
on an exegetical tradition of the relevant passages in the De anima that
combined Aristotelian and Neoplatonic concepts, medieval Islamic
and Jewish philosophers did three things: they identified the ultimate
source of knowledge with God, described God’s agency as “emanation”
and made the transition from potentially knowing to actually knowing
into the foundation of prophecy. Thus for Maimonides, “prophecy
(nubûwwah)” is based on “an emanation ( fay ) emanating from God,
24
Aristotle Physics 8.5–6 and Metaphysics 12.6–7. Maimonides refers to the Aristotelian
proof as “the greatest proof through which one can know the existence of the deity”
in Maimonides 1931 1.70, Arabic 121; English 175.
25
Averroes 2001, Arabic and English 1.
26
Ibid., Arabic and English 3.
27
On the study of philosophy as a religious duty in medieval Islamic and Jewish
philosophy, see Davidson 1974.
28
Maimonides 1931 3.51, Arabic 463; English 628.
29
Aristotle 1957, 430a10–25.
30
Maimonides 1931, 2.36, Arabic 260; English 369.
31
al-Fârâbî 1985 15, sec. 10. The conceptual and historical links that I briefl y
sketched have been well established in the scholarly literature (see e.g., Walzer’s com-
mentary on chapters 13–15 in al-Fârâbî 1985). Note that this integration of philosophy
into the concept of prophecy presented a particular problem to Islamic philosophers
because of the Muslim doctrine that Muhammad was “ummî,” i.e., “illiterate” or
“uneducated.” This led to some deviations from what I take to be the standard posi-
tion of advocates of a philosophical religion.
32
I do, of course, not wish to minimize the profound changes that occurred in the his-
tory of science. No direct line connects Aristotle’s teleological explanation of the parts
of animals to the research program of contemporary genetics. But in my understand-
ing a philosophical religion does not depend on a specific scientific world view. The
scientific world views of Philo, Maimonides, and Spinoza for instance differ considerably.
33
See Pines 1996 and Fraenkel 2006, 179–193. For a detailed discussion of the
scholarly controversy concerning Maimonides’ concept of God, see Fraenkel 2006,
Appen. 1.
* * *
Aristotle’s description of the highest good at the end of the Eudemian
Ethics is only one striking example for the attitude to the divine that
Greek philosophers shared with medieval philosophers like Averroes
and Maimonides. A visitor to Hellenistic Athens would, in fact, find that
most major philosophical schools of the period—Platonists, Aristotelians,
Epicureans, and Stoics—take “Godlikeness” to be the highest human
perfection and promote their philosophy as the path to attain it.34 The
second main intellectual context that I will examine in this chapter is
the philosophical interpretation of Judaism and Christianity in ancient
Alexandria. For this context, the most important Greek philosopher is
Plato. It is clear that for Plato philosophy in some form is a religious
practice. Let me only note that from the middle dialogues onwards
the incorporeal forms which the philosopher studies and according to
which he orders his life are the highest constituent of the realm of the
divine. In the Republic the philosopher consorts “with what is divine and
well ordered” and consequently “becomes himself as divine and well
ordered as a human being can be.”35 In the Timaeus Plato asserts that
“if a man has seriously devoted himself to the love of learning and to
true wisdom . . ., then there is absolutely no way that his thoughts can
fail to be immortal and divine, should truth come within his grasp.”36
According to the Timaeus the realm of forms can be described as the
intelligible order of nature. Plato assumes the existence of such an order
to explain nature’s recurrent patterns. The form e.g., of an animal spe-
cies serves to explain the recurrent physical instantiation of that species.
On this account the formula of the Theaetetus—“to become like God as
much as possible”—which was adopted as the definition of the goal of
human perfection by the entire later Platonic tradition, must be taken
to include establishing the generic features of trees, fish, birds etc. and
the systematic connections between them.37 When we turn from Athens
34
That this holds for Epicureans too, may surprise some. But see e.g., Diogenes of
Oenoanda 1993 fr. 56 and 125. On this issue, see in general O’Meara 2003, 32–34.
35
Plato 1900–1907, Republic 500c; cf. 540a–b. English translations are based on Cooper
1997.
36
Ibid., Timaeus 90b–c.
37
Ibid., Theaetetus 176a–b. Plato explains that becoming like God means becom-
ing “just and pure (hosios), with wisdom ( phronêsis).” Being “just” in the Republic can
certainly be interpreted as devoting one’s life to the pursuit of knowledge. For a per-
son is just if each of the soul’s three faculties performs the task appropriate to it (see
435b–441c). Since “the intellectual faculty (to logistikon)” is the soul’s highest faculty,
its task is to govern the lower faculties, as well as to carry out its natural activity, that
is, the apprehension of what exists (see 582c). For the scope of the world of forms,
see Parmenides 130a–e where Plato suggests that the forms include general ontological
categories (e.g., likeness, one, and many), moral and esthetic norms (e.g., the just itself
and the beautiful itself ), and forms of physical objects (e.g., human being, fire, water).
The last group seems to extend to things that at first seem “undignified and worthless”
(e.g., hair, mud, and dirt). For Godlikeness in Plato, see Sedley 2000; on the adop-
tion of Godlikeness as the goal of human perfection in the early Platonic tradition,
see Dillon 1977, 44. For the Neoplatonic ideal of “divinization,” see O’Meara 2003,
in particular part 1.
38
See Philo 1929–1962, De specialibus legibus (On the Special Laws) 1.45–50; 327–329.
References are to the Greek and English translation in the Loeb edition of Philo’s
Complete Works.
39
See the account in Menn 1995.
40
Note that the Septuagint uses “eipein” and not “legein” in Genesis 1. But see Sapientia
Salomonis (Wisdom of Solomon) 9:1–2.
41
See Philo 1929–1962, De ebrietate (On Drunkenness) 31 and Legum allegoriae (Alle-
gorical Interpretation) 1.43.
Similarly must we think about God. When he was minded to found the
Great City, he first conceived the forms of its parts, out of which he put
together the intelligible world (kosmos noêtos), and, using that as a model,
he also brought to completion the sensible world (kosmos aisthetos).42
The “intelligible world,” Philo stresses, contains the forms of all things
whose creation is described in Genesis 1, including, of course, trees,
fish, and birds.43
For Philo, like for Averroes and Maimonides, “the first and high-
est good” is “to know Him who truly is,” i.e., God.44 Moses’ dialogue
with God in Ex. 33:13–23 is interpreted by Philo as the paradigmatic
expression of the intellectual love informing the “search for the true
God.”45 But before Moses embarks on his philosophical quest, he first
receives a solid scientific education by a group of teachers coming from
different parts of the world. Among others he is instructed in arithmetic,
geometry, and music by the Egyptians, in astronomy by the Chaldeans,
and in “the rest of the encyclical studies” by the Greeks. Moses, there-
fore, first studies with teachers from the nations credited with ancient
wisdom in Hellenistic Alexandria.46 But next and more importantly, he
greatly surpasses his teachers, opening up “new spheres of knowledge”
thanks to his outstanding intellect until he has “reached the summit
of philosophy.” Not unlike al-Fârâbî and Maimonides, Philo equates
reaching “the summit of philosophy” with divine revelation by adding
that Moses “was divinely taught (anadidachtheis) the greater and most
essential truths of nature.”47 Elsewhere Philo interprets Moses’ entering
“the darkness where God was” in Ex. 20:21 as Moses’ entering “the
unseen, invisible, incorporeal, and paradigmatic essence of existing
things.”48 In other words: Having reached “the summit of philosophy,”
Moses apprehends the incorporeal forms constituting the intelligible
world in God’s mind which, as we saw, is the model of the physical
world and accounts for its recurrent patterns and order, for example
42
Philo 1929–1962, De opificio mundi (On the Creation of the World) 19.
43
Ibid., Opificio 129–130. See also Runia 1999.
44
Ibid., De decalogo (On the Decalogue) 81.
45
Ibid., Specialibus legibus 1.41–50. But note that in this passage Philo denies that
Moses is able to apprehend the forms whereas he affirms it in the passages discussed
below.
46
Ibid., De vita Mosis (On the Life of Moses) 1.21–24.
47
Ibid., Opificio 8; cf. Winston 2001, 156. See also the identification of “true and
authentic philosophy” with the “utterance and word of God” in De posteritate Caini (On
the Posterity of Cain) 101–102.
48
Ibid., Mosis 1.158.
49
For a similar allegorical interpretation of Penelope and her handmaids in pagan
contexts, see e.g., Diogenes Laertius 1925, 2.79–80 and Aristo of Chion apud Stobaeus
1884–1923, 4.140.
50
Philo 1929–1962, De congressu eruditionis gratia (On the Preliminary Studies) 79.
51
Cf. Seneca 1917–25, Letter 89, 4. And see Diotima’s speech on “desire (erôs)” and
“philosophy” as motive forces of the ascent from the human level to divine wisdom in
Symposium, 201d–212c, Plato 1900–1907.
52
Philo 1929–1962, Opificio 69–71.
53
Ibid., Posteritate 101–102.
music, Philo proceeds, like Abraham and Moses, to court the “lawful
wife,” i.e., philosophy itself.54 This courtship he describes as follows:
There was a time when I devoted myself (scholazôn) to philosophy and the
contemplation of the world and its contents, when I enjoyed the beauty,
exceeding loveliness and true blessedness of its Reason (Nous), when I
consorted always with divine principles (logoi ) and doctrines (dogmata)
wherein I rejoiced with a joy that was insatiate and unceasing.55
It is plausible to take the world’s “Reason” in this passage to refer to
the same entity that Philo elsewhere calls “Logos” or “Sophia,” i.e., the
realm of incorporeal forms which later Platonists had identified with
the content of God’s thinking and which Philo had interpreted as the
intelligible pattern of the creation of the world. This pattern, as we
saw, accounts for the recurrent instantiation of things like trees, fish,
and birds, as well as for the orderly relations between them.
In the context of the philosophical interpretation of Christianity in
Alexandria on which Philo had a formative infl uence the same pat-
tern received a new name. While being Nous for pagan Platonists, and
Logos and Sophia for Philo, Clement and Origen of Alexandria, the
main proponents of this interpretation, identify the intelligible order
of nature with Christ as well.56 Exegetically this step was, of course,
facilitated by a number of biblical texts, for example the Prologue to
John where Christ is identified with the Logos by which God created
the world.57 Without having to abandon the fundamental metaphysical
commitments of the pagan and Jewish Platonic tradition, Clement and
Origen can thus present Christianity as the source of both. Whereas
Plato and Moses where accomplished lovers of wisdom, Christ is Sophia
itself. Whereas Plato and Moses strove to understand the incorporeal
forms of trees, fish, birds, and other things making up the world, Christ
is these forms themselves. Identifying Christ with the Wisdom which
God according to Prov. 8:22 created at the “beginning of his work,”
Origen writes, for instance, that “she preformed and contained within
54
Ibid., Congressu 74–76.
55
Ibid., Specialibus legibus 3.1.
56
See Origen 1913 2.6, 1, Greek and Latin 140; English 108 where Christ is identi-
fied with Verbum, Ratio, and Sapientia to which Origen adds Veritas.
57
See in general Origen 1989, chap. 1 and 2. These passages in the New Testa-
ment as well as in other texts included in the Christian Bible—e.g., the Sapientia
Salomonis—in part stem from the same intellectual milieu to which Philo belongs. See
Runia 1993, chap. 4.
58
Origen 1913 1.2, 3, Greek and Latin 30; English 16; cf. also the end of 1.2, 2.
59
See the discussion of archê in Origen 1989 1.23.
60
Origen 1913 2.6, 1, Greek and Latin 140; English 108–109; 2.6, 2, Greek and
Latin 141; English 109–110. See also the expression of uncertainty concerning the
doctrine in ibid. and the suggestion of its preliminary character in 2.6, 7, Greek and
Latin 147; English 114–115.
61
Ibid. 2.6, 4, Greek and Latin 144–145; English 112–113.
62
Ibid. 2.6, 3, Greek and Latin 141–142; English 110.
63
Ibid. 2.6, 4, Greek and Latin 143; English 111–112.
64
This is, of course, a controversial reading. Origen’s Christology was and continues
to be a battlefield. See e.g., the first five accusations to which Pamphilus of Caesarea
responds in 2002, 88–121, in particular the third. But I cannot find strong textual
evidence in 2.6 that for Origen the unity of Christ’s soul with Christ as the Logos
means identity. As we saw above, he claims that Christ’s soul contains a “pure and
genuine image” of the Logos. Elsewhere he describes their relation as that of a shadow
to a body, or of iron heated in fire to fire, or of a vessel to oil. Concerning the union
of Christ’s soul with the Logos he says that they “are more in one fl esh than man and
woman” (Origen 1913 2.6, 3, Greek and Latin 143; English 111); cf. Matt. 19:5–6.
With reference to 1 Cor. 6:17, moreover, he compares this union to the union attained
with Christ by those who “imitate” him. All this suggests that Christ’s soul and the Logos
the superior virtue of Christ’s soul, Origen accepts the claim that Christ
was incapable of sin, but rejects that this implies that his soul was not
human. Instead he offers an Aristotelian explanation for the claim:
The readiness to do good which at first “depended upon the will, was
changed by the effect of long custom into nature.”65 Like every other
human being, Christ, according to Origen, had to choose between good
and evil. On account of his devotion to the intellectual love of God
he invariably chose good until doing good became a stable character
disposition through habituation.
As in the case of Judaism for Philo, Christianity for Clement and
Origen is not only grounded on wisdom but also has wisdom as its
goal. Both Clement and Origen adopt the structure of the intellec-
tual curriculum that Philo set out in his allegorical interpretation of
Abraham’s relation to Hagar and Sarah: the preliminary studies which
are subservient to philosophy and philosophy which is subservient
to wisdom. Clement, in fact, quotes and discusses the entire passage
in Stromateis 1.5. At the end of the chapter he returns to the theme,
characterizing the preliminary studies as “exercising the mind” and
“rousing the intellect” and philosophy as an “investigation into truth
and the nature of things.” Wisdom, however, as the end of philosophy,
is replaced through “rest in Christ” in this passage. The same replace-
ment is made by Origen:
But I would like that you use all the power of your natural dispositions
having as the goal Christianity (telikôs eis ton christianismon). The means that
I wish you to use is to take from the philosophy of the Greeks everything
that can serve as encyclical or propedeutical instruction for introducing
into Christianity. . . . And in this way, what the philosophers say about
are united in a way that does not entail identity. That this union differs in degree and
not in essence from the union of other souls with the Logos is equally suggested by the
metaphors that Origen uses. Thus the heat transmitted by the fiery iron to other souls
is not essentially different from the heat caused by the fire in the iron itself. Likewise the
odor reaching other souls is not essentially different from the perfumed oil contained
in Christ’s soul. While other passages may support a more orthodox interpretation of
Origen, it can often not be ruled out that they refl ect dogmatic corrections in light of
the Nicene Creed made by Rufinus in his Latin translation of Origen’s work. See the
observations of Studer 1972. In my opinion, the issue cannot be conclusively settled
on textual grounds. If the choice is between philosophical consistency and orthodoxy,
preference must, in my view, be given to the former. Someone who takes Christ as
the Logos to be the intelligible order of nature will hardly concede that the doctrine at
the heart of Christianity is not accessible to reason.
65
Origen 1913 2.6, 5, Greek and Latin 145; English 112.
66
Origen 1969, Greek 1; English 211.
67
Spinoza 1925 EIVP68 (= Ethics, part 4, proposition 68) scholium; Gebhardt edition
vol. 2, 262. The English translation indicates the Gebhardt pagination on the margin.
On the context of this portrait of Christ, see Fraenkel 2008a.
68
Spinoza 1925 EIIP4 demonstratio; vol. 2, 88.
69
Spinoza 1925 EIIP3; vol. 2, 87.
70
Spinoza 1925 KV (= Korte Verhandeling [Short Treatise]) 1, 9; Gebhardt edition
vol. 1, 48.
One may, of course, ask what this religion of the philosophers has to
do with traditional religion—with the narratives of Scripture, its pious
exhortations, the codes of religious law, or the prayers and services of
the religious community. And how do the philosophers explain that the
epics of Homer, for example, or the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament,
and the Koran teach so many things that appear to be at odds with
philosophical doctrines? If the founders of the traditional religions were
71
Spinoza 1925 EIIP7; vol. 2, 89.
72
See Fraenkel 2006.
73
See Spinoza 1925 EIIP40 scholium 1.
74
Spinoza 1925 EVP32 corrolarium; vol. 2, 300.
75
See Diels and Kranz 1960, 21 B10–17.
76
Ibid., 8.2. Note that the earliest allegorical reading of Homer was probably not
defensive. See Lamberton 1986, 15; 31–43.
77
See Aristotle, Metaphysics 12.8.
78
On the history of the allegorical interpretation of Homer, see in general Lamberton
1986. Note, however, the distinction between the Stoic and the Platonic interpretation
of Homer suggested by Long 1992 and 1997.
79
I will discuss this issue at greater length below.
80
See the extant fragments of Chaeremon in Chaeremon 1984; Plutarch 1936;
Iamblichus 1989; Cicero 1928. Cf. also the attempts, documented in Jeck 2004, to
link Plato’s wisdom to a wide range of oriental sources.
81
This development and its consequences for Plato’s ethics have been the object of
a considerable amount of scholarship. See e.g., Price 1995 and Irwin 1995. My main
interest, however, is in the political implications.
82
For a number of characteristic passages, see Plato 1900–1907: Apology 25a–c;
Protagoras 318c–d; ibidem 319e–320b; Gorgias 464b–465a; ibid. 515b–521d; Republic
420b–421c; Statesman 296e–297b; Laws 630a–631d; ibid. 650b.
83
Plato 1900–1907, Gorgias 521d.
84
See Plato’s argument in the last part of the Protagoras, Plato 1900–1907.
85
Ibid., Apology 30e.
politics is the elenchos: for the “greatest good (megiston agathon) for man
is to discuss virtue every day and those other things about which you
hear me conversing and testing myself and others.”86
In the middle and late dialogues, however, Plato partly modifies and
partly abandons the premises informing the Socratic project. At the
same time there are points of continuity: The best life continues to be
the philosophical life: it is not only the most pleasant, but also the most
divine, a form of imitatio Dei, since the philosopher acquires knowledge
of the forms, the realm of the divine, and the soul becomes like the
objects it apprehends.87 Likewise the perfection of the city continues
to depend on the rule of the philosopher who as philosopher acquires
knowledge of the divine and becomes like it, and who as ruler is a
“craftsman” of virtue, i.e., leads the citizens as close as possible to the
same goal by shaping them according to the divine as his model.88
Philosophical instruction in the Republic, however, constitutes the last
stage of the educational curriculum that only very few and rigorously
selected citizens reach. This gives rise to three questions: What is the
function of pre-philosophical education in Plato’s curriculum? Why are
most citizens excluded from philosophical instruction? And finally, how
can they still have a share in the best life? To begin with, knowledge
is no longer considered a sufficient condition for goodness by Plato.
He now recognizes a twofold irrational part of the soul, as well as
two conditions under which it cannot be governed by reason. First,
our rational faculty develops at a relatively late stage in life, for “no
animal to which it belongs to have intellect (nous echein) after reaching
perfection, has this faculty, or has it in the same measure, when it is
born.”89 One purpose of the prephilosophical educational program is,
therefore, to prepare the citizens for a philosophical life. This is achieved
by habituating the irrational part of the soul in such a way that it
acts and reacts as if it were guided by reason, so that a person “will
welcome reason when it comes and recognize it easily because of its
kinship with himself.”90 Since, however, only very few citizens actually
reach the level of philosophical instruction, preparation for it cannot
be the program’s only purpose. Although for Plato all human beings
86
Ibid., Apology 38a.
87
Ibid., for the former, see Republic 9; for the latter, see ibid. 500b–d.
88
Cf. Plato 1900–1907, Republic 500d–501c.
89
Ibid., Laws 672b–c.
90
Cf. Plato 1900–1907, Republic 402a; Laws 653b–c.
share the basic structure of the soul, the dominating part of the soul
varies from one to another. The rational part “rules in some people’s
souls, while one of the other parts—whichever it happens to be—rules
in other people’s.”91 Accordingly, Plato distinguishes between “three
primary kinds of people: wisdom-loving, victory-loving, and profit-lov-
ing.”92 Thus human beings for Plato are in an important sense unequal,
which explains why in his view most citizens will not reach the level of
philosophical instruction at all: they simply are not capable by nature.
In this sense Plato abandons the goal of Socratic politics of leading all
citizens to virtue through knowledge. Prephilosophical education has,
therefore, not only a pedagogical, but also a political purpose: it func-
tions as a replacement of philosophy for all those who by nature have no
access to it. As either a preparation for or a replacement of philosophy,
the pedagogical-political program thus plays an important role in the life
of all citizens of the virtuous state. This explains the elaborate discus-
sion that Plato devotes to nonphilosophical devices—most prominently
in the Laws. The program’s main components are religious stories,
persuasive speeches, laws, and religious practices. Later philosophers
describe them as constituents of an “imitation” of philosophy, perhaps
on account of Plato’s claim that the “entire politeia” set out in the Laws is
an “imitation (mimêsis) of the finest and noblest life.” By this he arguably
means the life of the philosopher.93 The religious stories about gods,
demons, and heroes, for example, can be interpreted as imitating the
forms of justice and of the good known by the philosopher who sets up
the “norms (typoi )” to which these stories must conform.94 Laws in turn
prescribe actions that imitate the philosopher who acts on the basis of
rational insight.95 In this way the not-yet-philosopher is prepared for
the philosophical life and the nonphilosopher is led as close as possible
to it: to a second-degree likeness of the divine, as it were, achieved by
means of an imitation of the philosopher’s first-degree likeness of the
divine. Thus Plato’s educational-political program, while not philosophi-
cal itself, is integrated into the over-all project underlying his political
philosophy, i.e., the project of making the citizens better.
91
Plato 1900–1907, Republic 581b.
92
Ibid., 581c.
93
Ibid., Laws 817b.
94
Ibid., Republic 379a.
95
Cf. Plato 1900–1907, Republic 590d.
96
See the entire passage in Plato 1900–1907, Republic 538c–539a.
97
See Maimonides 1931, 1.71.
98
Nightingale 1993.
99
Laks 2005, 22.
100
Plato 1900–1907, Laws 630b–c.
101
Ibid., 631b–d.
102
See Menn 1995.
103
Morrow 1960, 591. But Morrow argued that the politeia of Magnesia is the
idealized politeia of ancient Athens which is much less plausible than Stephen Menn’s
suggestion that Plato’s reconstruction is a critical response to the literature written in
praise of the Spartan politeia, e.g., Xenophon’s Politeia of the Spartans. See Menn 2005.
104
See e.g., Josephus 1926 2.170–171; Sapientia Solomonis 8:7; 4 Macc. 1:2–4 and 1:17–18.
105
See in particular the definition of “divine Law” in Maimonides 1931, 2.40 and
the account of Moses’ Law as divine Law in 3.27–28. The ultimate purpose of the
divine Law is leading to intellectual perfection and much of Maimonides’ work consists
in showing that this is what the Law of Moses does.
106
See in particular the account of Philo’s writings in Eusebius 1926 2.18; the
chapter on Pantaenus “the philosopher,” described as the founder of the catechetical
school in Alexandria and as the teacher of Clement in 5.10; the chapter on Clement
of Alexandria in 5.11 (cf. 6.6), as well as the list of his writings in 6.13. Much of 6 is
devoted to Origen.
107
Eusebius 1982 12.16; English vol. 2, 637.
108
For references, see my account in the second section, Philosophy as the Founda-
tion and Goal of Religion.
109
Philo 1929–62, Mosis 2.2.
110
See e.g., Philo 1929–62, Quod Deus sit immutabilis (On the Unchangeableness of
God) 51–69.
111
See Philo 1929–62, De confusione linguarum (On the Confusion of Tongues) 190;
cf. De vita contemplativa (On the Contemplative Life) 78.
112
See Philo 1929–62 Posteritate 1.1; De agricultura (On Agriculture) 96–97.
113
See e.g., the description of the Patriarchs as “living laws” in Philo 1929–62 De
Abrahamo (On Abraham) 2–6.
114
See Philo 1929–62 Opificio 23 with Posteritate 143–145.
115
See Origen 1989 1:1.
116
See e.g., Origen 1965 1.9.
117
For the education of nonphilosophers through the Logos, see Origen 1965
4.71–72.
118
This paragraph summarizes what I take to be the main line of argument of Origen
1913 1.4–3.6. See in particular 3.6 where Origen stresses the circular character of the
development of the rational souls.
119
See in particular Strauss 1935, Strauss 1952, 7–21, and Strauss 1967.
120
The question whether al-Fârâbî had access to Plato’s text or relied on a sum-
mary by Galen has not yet been settled. For the latest contribution to the debate, see
S. Harvey 2003.
121
A number of important contributions have been made to the interpretation of
al-Fârâbî’s political thought outside Strauss’s conceptual framework. See e.g., Walzer
1957, O’Meara 2003, and Vallat 2004. For a more detailed discussion, see Fraenkel
2008b.
122
For the former, see al-Fârâbî 1964, Arabic 44; English 35; for the latter, see
al-Fârâbî 1992, Arabic 36–37; English 41.
123
al-Fârâbî is of course not led by considerations of Platonic chronology to make
this distinction.
124
al-Fârâbî 1943, Arabic 21–22; English 66–67. Cf. Aristotle’s characterization of
Socrates in the Eudemian Ethics 1.5 (Aristotle 1952).
125
al-Fârâbî 1969, sec. 143 (section numbers refer to both the Arabic and the
English trans.).
126
al-Fârâbî 1992, Arabic 185; English 44. al-Fârâbî 1968 is his most elaborate
discussion of religion.
127
al-Fârâbî 1969, sec. 144.
128
Ibid., sec. 108.
129
Ibid., sec. 110.
130
See e.g., al-Fârâbî 1992, Arabic 185; English 45, quoted by Averroes (1969) in his
Commentary on Plato’s Republic, Hebrew 30; English 18–19; cf. Maimonides 1931 1.8–9.
131
See in particular chapter 15 of al-Fârâbî 1985; see also Walzer 1957.
132
al-Fârâbî 1985, 14, sec. 2.
133
al-Fârâbî 1961, Arabic 61; English 73.
134
This section summarizes Fraenkel 2008a where I discuss the issue in greater
detail and give an outline of the scholarly context.
135
See Israel 2001 and 2006.
136
Spinoza 1925 TTP Gebhardt edition vol. 1, 264–265.
Spinoza here makes the exact same claim that defines Averroes’ stance
on the relationship of philosophy and Islam: “veritas veritati non repug-
nat.” The problem I am interested in is this: In his critique of religion
Spinoza develops an exegetical method by which he intends to show
that Scripture contains no truth and, therefore, cannot interfere with
philosophy.137 Whereas philosophy determines what is true and false,
religion based on Scripture secures obedience to the law.138 On the other
hand, there are a significant number of passages throughout Spinoza’s
work—from the Metaphysical Thoughts to the Ethics and the late correspon-
dence with Oldenburg—in which he attributes a true core to Scripture,
often presented as its allegorical content. The main thesis for which I
will argue is that this inconsistency is best explained by assuming that
Spinoza is committed to two projects that he ultimately was unable to
reconcile: he wants to use religion as the handmaid of philosophy that
provides the basis for the best life accessible to nonphilosophers and
he wants to refute religion’s claim to truth in order to defend what he
calls the “freedom to philosophize (libertas philosophandi ).”139 Spinoza’s
critique of religion was, of course, momentous. He argued that we have
no good reason to take for granted what everyone committed to a reli-
gion based on Scripture must assume: that the content of Scripture is
true—whether this truth is taken to coincide with scientific knowledge
and derived from the intellectual perfection of the religion’s founder or
whether it is taken to be above scientific knowledge and derived from a
miraculous act of divine revelation. Both positions stand and fall with
the assumption of Scripture’s truth. After suspending this assumption
at the beginning of his examination of Scripture, Spinoza proceeds in
an analogous way to the scientist whose aim is to explain nature. Both
work out a “history,” i.e., a methodical account, of the object of their
study.140 For the Bible scholar this means collecting and ordering the
data contained in Scripture and then interpreting them in light of the
relevant historical and socio-cultural contexts as well as the psychologi-
cal peculiarities of the prophets insofar as these can be reconstructed
from the available sources. This is what Spinoza means by the claim
that “the knowledge of all the contents of Scripture must be sought
137
See in particular Spinoza 1925 TTP 7.
138
See in particular Spinoza 1925 TTP 12–15.
139
Spinoza 1925, see the subtitle of the TTP and Letter 30 in which Spinoza lays
out the project of the TTP.
140
Spinoza 1925 TTP 7 vol. 3, 98; English 89.
141
Ibid., vol. 3, 99; English 90.
142
Ep. 30, written in 1665; Spinoza 1925 TTP vol. 4, 166; English 844.
143
For the general historical setting, see Israel 1995, ch. 30, in particular 785–795
in which the composition of the TTP is situated against the background of the period’s
confl icts and tensions. For a more detailed account of the historical circumstances under
which Spinoza composed the TTP, see Nadler 1999, ch. 10. Note, however, that I do
not share Nadler’s view about the continuity of Spinoza’s stance concerning religion
from the time of his excommunication to the TTP.
144
Spinoza 1925 TTP 7 and 15.
145
See Freudenthal 1899, No. 56 and 161. For a detailed discussion of the relation-
ship between Averroes, Delmedigo, and Spinoza, see Fraenkel (forthcoming).
146
Spinoza 1925, Letter 19.
147
Note that by ‘medieval position’ I mean here and in what follows the position
exemplified by Averroes and Maimonides.
148
Meijer 1666, Epilogus, 10. On Spinoza’s identification of Meijer’s and Maimonides’
position in the TTP, see Walther 1995.
149
Spinoza 1925 TTP, Preface vol. 3, 9; English 5; Spinoza elaborates the method
in TTP 7.
150
For Spinoza’s intellectual elitism, see Spinoza 1925; e.g., EVP42, scholium; for the
role of the passions and intellectual perfection, see in general Ethics IV and V.
151
On the identity of scepticism and “orthodox Calvinism,” see already Gebhardt
1987, 82. For Calvin’s sceptical stance, see for example Calvin 1960 1.5, 11–12 where
Calvin introduces the motive of the “blindness of the human mind (mentis humanae
caecitas)” and describes the irresolvable disputes among philosophers. See also the
argument of 1.6 for the need of Scripture to attain knowledge of God. Spinoza had
the 1597 Spanish translation of the Institutiones; cf. Freudenthal 1899, 160, no. 27.
Although Spinoza’s immediate target was the Calvinist Reformed Church, this was
not the only version of scepticism advocated in this period. For a general account of
the “sceptical hypothesis,” see Harrison 2007, 73–88.
152
See Spinoza 1925 TTP 15 for a characterization of the “sceptical” position. In
the preface to the TTP Spinoza mentions only scepticism as an “obstacle” prevent-
ing potential philosophers from philosophizing (vol. 3, 12; English 8). As I already
mentioned, Spinoza states in Letter 30 that his aim is to defend the “freedom to
philosophize” against the “excessive authority and the impertinence of preachers”
(vol. 4, 166; English 844).
Conclusion
Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, and the Koran. The philosophers
examined in this chapter, I contend, are not only philosophers with
respect to doctrines that fall into the domain of philosophy properly
speaking, for example their psychology, cosmology, metaphysics,
and ethics. They also adopt a philosophical model—more precisely
a Platonic model—when it comes to interpret the historical forms of
their respective religious traditions. With Plato they argue that no one
is born a philosopher and most human beings lack what it takes to
become philosophers. This observation they use to support the claim
that the literal content of religious sources like the Hebrew Bible, the
New Testament, and the Koran is an imitation of philosophy, designed by
accomplished philosophers like Moses, Christ, and Muhammad for the
pedagogical-political guidance of nonphilosophers. As an imitation of
philosophy, religion translates the philosopher’s knowledge and way of
life into a program which prepares not-yet-philosophers for the philo-
sophical life and allows nonphilosophers as much as possible to share
in the philosopher’s perfection. The truth of the religious sources in
turn, on which their validity depends, is secured through the notion
of their allegorical content according to which the doctrines imitated by
their literal content are the doctrines demonstrated in philosophy. The
relationship between the study of nature, culminating in knowledge of
God, and religious sources like the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament,
or the Koran is thus twofold: taken literally these sources serve to either
prepare for a life devoted to scientific study or to replace it. Students
who successfully make the transition from potential philosophers to
actual philosophers in turn gain access to the allegorical content of the
sources in question which coincides with the objects of their studies.
They can thus move up from a literal to an allegorical understanding
of the texts. This is, no doubt, a daring interpretation of traditional
religions. While philosophy is the highest worship of God, religion’s
historical forms, as articulated in the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament,
and the Koran, are no more than philosophy’s handmaid.
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100–800
Pamela Bright
The phrase, “the two witnesses to the Creator” comes from a “teaching
song,” madrashe, of the fourth-century exegete, Ephraem, the Syrian.
Throughout a range of sophisticated hermeneutical practices within the
Christian communities of third and fourth centuries, the Hexaemeron
tradition—a series of Lenten sermons on the “six days” of creation in
Genesis—demonstrates that both nature and Scripture are sources of
revelation of God’s presence and loving purpose throughout Creation.
Long separated from the West by distance, the exigencies of history,
and above all by language, the fourth-century Syrian exegete and litur-
gical song-writer, Ephraem, speaks directly to the topic of the present
chapter in one of his “teaching songs” or madrashe:
In his book Moses
described the creation of the natural world,
so that both Nature and Scripture
might bear witness to the Creator;
Nature, through man’s use of it,
Scripture through his reading of it.
These are the witnesses
which reach everywhere;
they are to be found at all times
present at every hour,
confuting the unbeliever
who defames the Creator.1
1
Brock 1990, 102–3. In his fifth hymn ‘On Paradise’ St.Ephrem speaks of the Bible
and the natural world as the two requisite witnesses to God (see John 8:17). This is
the theme to which Ephrem returns elsewhere: these two witnesses point the way to
the New Covenant, the one providing the Torah for the Jewish ‘People,’ the other the
source of natural law for the Gentile ‘Peoples,’ in both cases in preparation for the
coming of the “Lord of Scripture and of nature”:
Look and see how Nature and Scripture
Are yoked together for the Husbandman; Nature abhors adulterers,
Practices of magic and murderers;
Ephraem was not the first, nor was he the last, to suggest that both
nature and Scripture were “revelatory,” in the sense that they both
spoke to a profundity of human awareness, launching their “readers”2
into a quest as seemingly boundless as the inner and outer cosmos that
invited their contemplation and their interaction. The inner cosmos of
human self-awareness and the outer cosmos—all that was other than self
and yet at the same time inextricably bound with self—defined the very
nature of self. In antiquity the awareness of the immensities of this inner
and outer cosmos is encapsulated in the notion of the human being as a
microcosm, the meeting place of spirit and matter. Readers of Scripture
in the period known as late antiquity faced their own specific challenges
in responding to what Ephraem calls the two “witnesses” to Creation.
Their focus on understanding their own humanity as the summit of the
‘six days’ of Creation in the opening chapter of Genesis, constricted a
broader appreciation of a whole range of cosmological issues in modern
awareness, the immense ‘otherness’ of space and the complexities of
our own biosphere. On the other hand, these ancient writers’ insistence
on the role of nature as witnessing to, and revelatory of God, the Ulti-
macy of otherness, paradoxically challenges any presupposition of the
‘ultimacy’ of either nature or Scripture. The exegetes and theologians
of late antiquity present their own challenge to the twenty-first century
to explore modes of discourse that move beyond a kind of a ‘reading’
of either nature or Scripture as self-enclosed domains with intractable
divides of intelligibility. These modes of discourse would respect what
is distinctive of the immense ‘worlds’ of nature and Scripture and yet
be open to a boundless trajectory impelled by the multidimensionality
of human awareness.
3
Kannengiesser 2004, 426–7. Clement of Alexandria, Origen, and Hyppolytus of
Rome refer to the Physiologus, and it is quoted in the Proto-Gospel of James (10, 2–11,4:
Phys. 35), 427 (Hock, 1996).
4
Otten 1989.
5
Otten 1989, 7.
6
Blackburn 1994, 256–7.
7
Fahlbusch, Lochman, Mbiti, Pelikan, and Vischer 2003, 711.
8
Edwards 1967, 454–8.
9
In the dialogue of the Timaeus, Critias introduces his friend, Timaeus of Locri, to
Socrates and Hermocrates as a notable expert in the field of astronomy and mathemat-
ics. The Timaeus treats of the immense topic, the construction of the universe: “Consider
Socrates, the order of the feast as we have arranged it. Seeing that Timaeus is the best
astronomer and has made it his special task to learn about the nature of the Universe,
it seems good to us, that he should speak first, beginning with the origin of the Cosmos
and ending with the generation of mankind.” Plato 1929, 1975, 47.
10
Fahlbusch, Lochman, Mbiti, Pelikan, and Vischer 2003 vol. 3, 711.
the origin and ‘end’ of the cosmos, but these disagreements, no matter
how intense, reveal a common logic, a kind of shared ‘grammar’ of
debate. This is obvious in the first century of the Common Era when
the Jewish exegete, Philo of Alexandria, is faced with the problem of
commenting on the so-called double creation narratives of chapters one
and two of Genesis. Drawing attention to the difference in the cardinal
and ordinal numbering of the days of creation in the Septuagint text,11
(day one, then second, third, fourth day etc.), Philo argues that in “day
one” the generative forms of the cosmos were created so that what
appears to be parallel, or separate narratives in the following verses of
chapters one and two are logically connected to the biblical account of
“day one.” This argument does not make him a ‘platonizing’ Jew, but
rather an exegete who shares a frame of discourse with his Hellenized
Jewish contemporaries in the cosmopolitan society of Alexandria.
In the same vein one could argue that for both Jews and Christians,
the Stoic concept of an all pervasive Logos/World-Soul, with its implica-
tions for uniting ethics and reason, provided a certain common ground
of understanding with the biblical Logos/Wisdom of God. But in the
opening chapters of John’s gospel, we can see the paradoxes inherent
in the discourse between Jews and Christians, on the one hand, and
with the notions of the philosophical schools on the other: “In the
beginning was the Logos/Word . . . and the Logos/Word became fl esh
and dwelt among us” ( John 1:1,14). The Logos becomes fl esh, assum-
ing the created nature of humankind. The dazzling paradox of the
Incarnate Logos, was greeted with joy in the liturgy and the baptismal
creeds of the early Christian centuries; it was defended in the strictures
of the apologists, and illuminated in the frescos and mosaic arts, but
not until the fourth century did a young bishop compose a lengthy
treatise precisely on the question of the incarnation—the assumption
of ‘fl esh,’ human nature, by the divine Logos. This was Athanasius of
Alexandria in his ground-breaking essay, On the Incarnation of the Word.
While the paradox of the uncreated and the created natures in the one
person of the Savior is never far from the thought of the bishop, his
focus is on the “why” of the incarnation—that the Word became fl esh
so that we, the created, may participate in the life of the uncreated. For
Athanasius, as for Paul, it is the fallenness of our nature, that draws
the Logos/Son to a perishing race:
11
Philo 1929/1971, 15.
. . . through the union of the immortal Son of God with our human nature,
all men were clothed with incorruption in the promise of the resurrec-
tion. For the solidarity of mankind is such that by virtue of the Word’s
indwelling in a single human body, the corruption that goes with death
has lost its power over all. . . . For the human race would have perished
utterly had not the Lord and Savior of all, the Son of God, come among
us to put an end to death.12
While the biblical notion of the fallenness of humanity is one that was
opaque for the ancient philosophers, even if they spoke in terms of a
duality of spirit and matter, for the Gnostics, this concept of fallenness,
as it was elaborated by leading Christian writers like Irenaeus of Lyon,
Clement of Alexandria, Tertullian of Carthage, and Origen of Alex-
andria, in the second and third centuries, was a misreading both of
nature and of Scripture. The radical nature of the Gnostic separation
of spirit and matter finds its precise focus in their refusal of the goodness
of either the Creator god or of created matter. It was their cosmology
and their anthropology that drew fire from both the Christian and
neo-Platonist of late antiquity.
Any exploration of the differences in Christian and Gnostic under-
standing of the relationship between God, human beings and the
cosmos as a whole begs the question of who is to be identified as
Gnostic.” Paul, in the First Letter to the Corinthians declares that the
only saving gnosis is knowing” the Good News concerning the crucified
God/man—a gnosis that is a folly and a scandal to many (1 Cor. 1:23).
Even as late as the closing decades of the second century, Clement of
Alexandria still speaks of true and false Gnostics. According to Clement
some (the false Gnostics) have “elevated themselves above the apostle
[ Paul],” but that the true Gnostic can be recognized by his or her
constant contemplation of the framework of the cosmos (the affinities to
Platonism are obvious); a fulfillment of the commandments of the two
testaments (Gnostics often refused the authority of the Jewish scripture13
12
Athanasius 1953, 35. Sources Chretiennes 199, 296, 298. . . . συνὼν δὲ διὰ τοῦ
ὁμοίου τοῖς πᾶσιν ὁ ἄφθαρτος τοῦ Θεοῦ ‛Υιὸς εἰκότως τοὺς πάντας ἐνέδυσεν ἀφθαρσίαν
έν τῇ περὶ τῆς ἀναστάσεως ἐπαγγελίᾳ. Καὶ αὑτὴ γὰρ ἡ ἐν τῷ θανάτῳ φθορὰ κατὰ
τῶν ἀνθρώπων οὐκέτι χώραν ἔχει διὰ τὸν ἐνοικήσαντα Λόγος ἐν τούτοις διὰ τοῦ ἑνὸς
σώματος . . . Παραπωλώλει γὰρ ἃν τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος, εἰ μὴ ὁ πάντων ∆εσπότης
καὶ Σωτὴρ τοῦ Θεοῦ ‛Υιὸς παρεγεγόνει πρὸς τὸ τοῦ θανάτου τέλος.
13
Pasquier 2004. “Even a cursory reading of the Nag Hammadi treatises and of
the patristic literature dealing with Gnosticism reveals the unmistakable importance of
the First Testament exegesis for the Gnostics. Whole treatises are dedicated to it. It is
for them an inspired book. However, like Marcion, they did not see how they could
ignore the distance existing between the Law and the Gospel. . . . The Jewish Bible is
seen as a provisional revelation, in need of being relativized, and imperfect in some
of its parts (be it in its spirit or its interpretation),” 458–9.
14
Clement of Alexandria, Carpets, II 46.1 (Cox 1995); Quoted in Markschies, 2003, 9.
15
Markschies 2003, 10. Dialogue with Trypho, 35.6.
16
Kannengiesser 2004, vol. 1, 448–506.
17
Markschies 2003, 16.
18
See Pasquier 2004, 461–469.
19
Simonetti 1994, 1.
20
Allenbach, Benoît and Bertrand 1975–1995.
21
Philo 1929/1971, 6–7; De opificio mundi, Τῶν ἄλλων νομοθετῶν, οἱ μὲν ἀκαλλώπιστα
καὶ γυμνὰ τὰ νομιστθέντα παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς εἶναι δίκαια διετάξαντο, οἱ δὲ πολὺν ὄγκον τοῖς
νοήμασι προσπεριβαλόντες ἐξετύφωσαν τὰ πλήθη, μυθικοῖς πλάσμασι τὴν ἀλήθειαν
ἐπικρύψαντες. Μωυσής δ’, ἐκάτερον ὐπερβάς, τὸ μὲν ὡς ἄσκεπτον καὶ ἀταλαίπωρον καὶ
ἀφιλόσοφον, τὸ δ’ ὡς κατεψευσμένον καὶ μεστὸν γοητείας, παγκάλην καὶ σεμνοτάτην
ἀρχὴν ἐποιήσατο τῶν νόμων . . .
22
Philo 1953/1961.
23
Philo 1929/1971. In their analytical introduction the editors note: “The theme
dealt with in a Cosmology is, indeed, too lofty for adequate treatment. In Moses’ treat-
ment of it, two salient points at once meet the eye. The World’s origin is ascribed to a
Maker, who is Himself unoriginate, and who cares for what he has made” (2).
24
Philo 1929/1971, 6–7. κοσμοποιίαν περιέχουσα, ὡς καὶ τοῦ κόσμου τῷ νόμῳ καὶ
τοῦ νόμου τῷ κόσμῳ συνᾁδοντος, καὶ τοῦ νομίμου ἀνδρὸς εὐθὺς ὄντος κοσμοπολίτου,
πρὸς τὸ βούλημα τῆς ςύσεως τὰς πράξεις ἀπευθύνοντος, καθ’ ἣν καὶ ὁ σύμπας κόσμος
διοικεῖται.
25
Philo 1929/1971, 136, 137. ὁ δὴ ταῦτα μὴ ἀκοῇ μᾶλλον ἢ διανοίᾳ προμαθὼν
καὶ ἐν τῇ αὑτοῦ ψυχῇ σφραγισάμενος θαυμάσια καὶ περιμάχητα εἴδη, καὶ ὅτι ἔστι
καὶ ὑπάρχει θεὸς καὶ ὅτι εἷς ὁ ὦν ὅντως ἐστὶ καὶ ὅτι πεποίηκε τὸν κόσμον καὶ
πεποίηκεν ἕνα, ὡς ἐλέχθη, κατὰ τὴν μόνωσιν ἐξομοιώσας ἑαυτῷ, καὶ ὅτι ἀεί προνοεῖ
τοῦ γεγονότος, μακαρίαν καὶ εὐδαίμονα ζωὴν βιώσεται, δόγμασιν εὐσεβείας καὶ
ὁσιότητος χαραχθείς.
26
Augustine 2000 XII 15, 19; 30, 41. Ecce autem alii non reprehensores, sed lau-
datores libri Geneseos. See Bright 2004, 1231.
27
See Böhm 2004, 213–226.
28
Philo 1929, 140–145.
29
“Historical scholarship on early Christian theology and exegetical practice has also
changed in recent decades. First, recent work has undercut many of the fundamental
categories used to describe early Christian exegesis: the distinction between ‘allegory’
and ‘typology’ is increasingly seen as problematic and misleading.” Ayres 2006, 13.
Moses, both because he had attained the very summit of philosophy, and
because he had been divinely instructed in the greater and most essential
part of Nature’s lore, could not fail to recognize that the universal must
consist of two parts, one part active Cause, and the other passive object;
and that the active Cause is the perfectly pure and unsullied Mind, nous,
of the universe, transcending virtue, transcending knowledge, transcending
the good itself and the beautiful itself; while the passive part is in itself
incapable of life and motion, but when set in motion and shaped and
quickened by Mind, changes into the most perfect masterpiece, namely
this world.30
Philo is perfectly clear that Moses at the “summit of philosophy” is
insisting on the goodness of that “most perfect masterpiece, namely the
world.” For some Christian exegetes of the fourth century who led the
attack on allegorism, it was not so much a Gnostic-type rejection of
the fundamental goodness of nature that they feared (although Man-
ichee teachings and infl uences31 were widespread and formidable). It
was an ‘over-spiritualizing’ of the Creation narratives, or rather, a kind
of ‘de-materializing’ tendency that they rejected.
Rather than focussing on the term allegory, it is more helpful to
broaden the context of the discussion to the question of the ‘senses’ of
Scripture.32 The wide-ranging debate over the meaning of the ‘senses’ of
Scripture finds its adversaries and proponents even to postmodernity.33
Especially in the fourth century, this debate raged over the hermeneutics
30
Philo 1929/1971, 9, 11. Μωυσῆς δὲ, καὶ φιλοσοςίας ἐπ’ αὐτὴν φθάσας ἀκρότητα,
καὶ χρησμοῖς τὰ πολλὰ καὶ συνεκτικώτατα τῶν τῆς φύεως ἀναδιδαχθείς, ἔγνω δὴ ὅτι
ἀναγκαιότατόν ἐστιν ἐν τοῖς οὖσι τὸ μὲν εἶναι δπαστήριον αἴτιον, τὸ δὲ παθητόν· καὶ
ὅτι τὸ μὲν δραστήριον ὁ τῶν ὅλων νοῦς ἐστιν εἱλικρινέστατος καὶ ἀκραιφνέστατος,
κρείττων ἣ ἀρετή, καὶ κρείττων ἢ ἐπιστήμη, καὶ κρείττων ἢ αὐτὸ τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ αὐτὸ
τὸ καλόν· τὸ δὲ παθητὸν, ἄψυχον καὶ ἀκίνητον ἑξ ἑαυτοῦ, κινηθὲν δὲ καὶ σχηματισθὲν
καὶ ψυχωθὲν ὑπὸ τοῦ νοῦ, μετέβαλεν εἰς τὸ τελειότατον ἔργον, τόνδε τὸν κόσμον·
31
Viviano 2004, 649–669.
32
See Kannengiesser 2004, vol. 1, 208–209: “A typically hierarchical mode of
thought inclined ancient interpreters of the “senses” of Scripture toward metaphors
of spatiality more than to metaphors of chronology. A scriptural “sense” was always
placed in its spatial relevance, for instance, the literal sense was said to be “lower”
or “closer,” and immediately available to the reader, whereas the spiritual sense was
thought to be “higher” or “deeper” or “more remote.”. Kannengiesser draws atten-
tion to the long debate about Alexandria-Antiochene hermeneutics in emphasizing
the commonalities beyond differences; “This is why common to all of them beyond
their different languages and cultures or their local school traditions, Greek or Syriac
or Latin alike, belonging to the so-called schools of Alexandria or of Antioch, reaching
fame in second-century Roman Africa or in sixth century Constantinople, was a shared
‘spiritual sense’ of Scripture, at once rooted in Scripture itself, and in a millenium-old
trend of poetic imagination.”
33
Loughlan 2006, 300–322.
34
Dively Lauro 2005, 2–3.
35
Simonetti 1994, 44.
36
Simonetti 1994, 45. Sources Chrétiennes 268, 362. ∆ιακείμεθα γὰρ ἡμεῖς περὶ
πάσης τῆς θείας γραφῆς, ὅτι πᾶσα μὲν ἔχει τὸ πνευματικόν, οὐ πᾶσα δὲ τὸ σωματικὸν·
πολλαχοῦ γὰρ ἐλέγχεται ἀδύνατον ὂν τὸ σωματικόν.
In the beginning God made heaven and earth. What is the beginning of
all things except our Lord and “Savior of all,” Jesus Christ, “the firstborn
of every creature?” . . . Scripture is not speaking here of any temporal
beginning, but it says that the heaven and the earth and all things which
were made were made “in the beginning” that is “in the Savior.”37
Of course, one must take into account, the homiletic context and sub-
limity of the language of the opening passage of Genesis, which calls
forth a sublime response from a preacher of such eloquence. How-
ever, while the literal, (or historical) ‘sense’ is not ignored throughout
the homily, there is a muting of interest in nature and its forms that
contrast strongly with the sermons on the six days of Creation of the
fourth century which we will consider in some detail in Section III of
this chapter.
The vivid portrayal of nature in the homilies of the fourth-century
bishop, theologian and exegete, Basil of Caesarea in Cappadocia, raises
the question whether this shift of focus is related to a very different way
of approaching scriptural exegesis:
I know the laws of allegory, although I did not invent them of myself
but have met them in the works of others. Those who do not admit the
common meaning of the Scriptures say that water is not water, but some
other nature and they explain a plant or a fish according to their opinion.
They describe also the production of reptiles and wild animals, changing
it according to their own notions, just like the dream interpreters, who
interpret for their own ends the appearances seen in their dreams. When
I hear ‘grass,’ I think of grass, and in the same manner, I understand
everything as it is said, a plant, a fish, a wild animal, and an ox. ‘Indeed
I am not ashamed of the Gospel’ (Romans 1:16).38
37
Origen 1981, 47. Sources Chrétiennes 7 bis, 24.
In principio fecit Deus caelum et terram. Quod est omnium principium nisi Dominus
noster et Saluator omnium, Iesus Christus, primogenitus omnis creaturae . . . Non ergo
hic temporale aliquod principium dicit, sed in principio, id est in Saluatore, factum
esse dicit caelum et terra et omnia quae facta sunt.
38
Basil of Caesarea 1963, 135. Sources Chrétiennes 26, 478, 480. Οἶδα νόμους
ἀλληγορίας, εἰ καὶ μὴ παρ’ ἐμαυτοῦ ἐξευρὼν, ἀλλὰ τοῖς παρ’ ἑτέρων πεπονημένοις
περιτυχών. ῝Ας οἱ μὴ καταδεχὸμενοι τὰς κοινὰς τῶν γεγραμμένων ἐννοίας, τὸ ὕδωρ οὐχ
ὕδωρ λέγουσιν, ἀλλά τινα ἄλλην φύσιν, καὶ φυτὸν καὶ ἰχθὺν πρὸς τὸ ἑαυτοῖς δοκοῦν
ἑρμηνεύουσι, καὶ ἑρπετῶν γένεσιν καὶ θηρίων ἐπὶ τάς οἰκείας ὑπονοίας παρατρέψαντες
ἐξηγοῦνται, ὥσπερ οἱ ὀνειροκρίται τῶν φανέντων ἐν ταῖς καθ’ ὕπνον φαντασίαις πρὸς
τὸν οἰκεῖον σκοπὸν τὰς ἐξηγήσεις ποιούμενοι. ’Εγὼ δὲ χόρτον ἀκούσας, χόρτον νοῶ,
καὶ φυτὸν, καὶ ἰχθὺν, καὶ θηρίον, καὶ κτῆνος, πάντα ὡς εἴρηται οὕτως ἐκδέχομαι. Καὶ
γὰρ οὐκ ἐπαισχύνομαι τὸ εὐαγγέλιον.
39
Simonetti 1994, 62. Eusebius’s comments are in Scaff 1890, 6.19.8.
40
“From antiquity to the present, Theodore has been and is considered the most
significant representative of the Antiochene School, especially in its exegetical but also
in its doctrinal aspect. It is advisable to make clear at this point that the so-called School
of Antioch is not to be considered as an institution with teachers and administrators,
such as was the School of Alexandria. Rather it must be conceptualized as only a
group of exegetes and theologians, some of whom, such as Diodore, were active in
their own right as teachers, bound together by teacher-pupil relationships and by a
common theological and exegetical outlook,” Simonetti 1994, 803.
41
Kannengiesser 2004, vol. 2, 781.
42
Simonetti 1994, 822.
43
Ambrose of Milan, 1963.
44
The New English Bible 1976.
45
Basil of Caesarea 1953, 120. Sources Chretiennes 26, pp. 436, 438. Τίνος ἕνεκεν,
τοῦ λόγου τρέχοντος ἀθρόως, ἀπεσιώπησα χρόνον οὐκ ὀλιγον, ἴσως θαυμάζουσιν οἱ
πολλοί· ἀλλ’ οὐχί οἵγε φιλοπονώτεροι τῶν ἀκροατῶν ἀγνοοῦσι τὴν αἰτίαν τῆς ἀφασἰας.
Πῶς γὰρ; οἱ διὰ τοῦ πρὸς ἀλλήλους ὁρᾶν καὶ ἐννεύειν ἐπιστρέψαντές με πρὸς ἑαυτούς,
καὶ εἰς ἔννοιαν ἀγαγόντες τῶν παρεθέντων.
like bees, and storks and cranes. He adds comments on the care of
offspring in winged creatures of all kinds, references to which, section
after section, can be identified in Aristotle’s History of Animals.46
By that evening, in Homily 9, the last of the series, Basil is well
focused on the commentary on the “living creatures,” this time the land
animals. First he considers the “one command”: “Let the earth bring
forth living creatures” and its implication for the on-going generation
of each species:
As a ball, when pushed by someone, and then meeting with a slope, is
borne downward by its own shape and the inclination of the ground and
does not stop before some level surface receives it, so too, the nature of
existing objects set in motion by one command passes through creation
without change by generation or destruction, preserving the succession
of the species through resemblance, until it reaches the very end.47
While it is obvious that lions beget lions, and horses, horses, Basil turns
to Aristotle again in a brief discussion about the generation of eels where
the emergence of their young was not so obvious to naturalists of the
time.48 Twice more Basil repeats the verse of Genesis: “Let the earth
bring forth living creatures” (Gen. 1:24). First, he turns the attention
of his hearers to noting that the herds while grazing are turned to the
earth, and uses this observation to contrast the upright posture of the
human being. He follows with a short exhortation to his hearers to
listen to their own body language: “Your head stands erect towards the
heavens . . . As you have been moulded, so dispose your own life. Keep
your citizenship in Heaven.”49 It is easy to dismiss this comment as a
moral injunction of no particular originality. But what is significant is the
insistence: “As you have been moulded, so dispose your life.” The one
command (Gen. 1:24) that set in motion the generation of the species
and all their characteristics and structural features is worthy of profound
46
There are more than fifty citations or allusions to Aristotle’s History of Animals in
the nine homilies.
47
Basil of Caesarea 1953, 187. Sources Chrétiennes 26, p. 484. (Ως γὰρ ἡ σφαῖρα,
ἐπειδὰν ὑπό τινος ἀπωσθῇ, εῖτα πρανοῦς τινος λάβηται, ὑπό τε τῆς οἰκίας κατασκευῆς
καὶ τῆς ἐπιτηδειότητος τοῦ χωρίου φέρεται πρὸς τὸ κάταντες, οὐ πρότερον ἱσταμένη
πρὶν ἄν τι τῶν ἰσοπέδων αὐτὴν ὑποδέξηται· οὕτως ἡ φύσις τῶν ὄντων ἑνὶ προστάγματι
κινηθεῖσα, τὴν ἐν τῆ γενέσει καὶ φθορᾷ κτίσιν ὁμαλῶς διεξέρχεται, τὰς τῶν γενῶν
ἀκολουθίας δι’ ὁμοιότητος ἀποσώζουσα, ἕως ἂν πρὸς αὐτὸ καταντήση τὸ τέλος.
48
Basil of Caesarea 1953, 137 n 4.
49
Cf. Phil. 3:20. Basil of Caesarea 1953, 138. Sources Chrétiennes 26, p. 488. (Ως
διεσχηματίσθης, οὕτω διάθου σεαυτοῦ καὶ τὸν βίον. Τὸ πολίτευμα ἔχε ἐν οὐρανοῖς.
50
Basil of Caesarea 1953, 138. Sources Chrétiennes 26, p. 488. Οὐ τοίνυν
ἐναποκειμένη τῆ γῆ ἡ φυχὴ τῶν ἀλόγων ἐξεφάνη, ἀλλ’ ὁμοῦ τῷ προστάγματι
συνυπέστη.
51
Basil of Caesarea 1953, 139. Sources Chrétiennes 26, 490.
52
Basil of Caesarea 1953, 141. Sources Chrétiennes 26, 495.
53
Basil of Caesarea 1953, 147. Sources Chrétiennes 26, 498.
Then God said, “Let us make man in our own image and likeness to rule
the fish in the sea, the birds in the heaven, the cattle, all wild animals on
the earth, and all reptiles that crawl upon the earth.” So God created
man in his own image; in the image of God he created him; male and
female he created them. God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful
and increase, fill the earth and subdue it, rule over the fish in the sea, the
birds in the air, and every living thing that moves upon the earth.” God
also said, “I give you all plants that bear seed everywhere on earth, and
every tree bearing fruit which yields seed; they shall be yours for food.
All green plants I give to wild animals, to all the birds of heaven, and to
all reptiles on earth, every living creature.” And so it was; And God saw
all that he had made and it was very good. Evening came, and morning
came, a sixth day.54
He never completed his Hexaemeron. He died in his late forties, leaving
an extraordinary literary legacy of theological works, biblical exegesis,
and ascetical works, including the monastic Rules which bear his name.
His brother, Gregory of Nyssa, himself still celebrated for his profound
writings, decided to address the verses of Genesis concerning the
creation of the human being that Basil had not commented on, in a
work of his own, Apologia in Hexaemeron. In a recent study of the biblical
hermeneutics of Gregory of Nyssa, Lucian Turcescu has noted that
whereas Basil was critical of allegorism, his younger brother was more
attracted to a mystic and allegorical style of biblical interpretation.55
Again and again, Gregory embraces Origen’s methodology about the
“senses” of Scripture. In his work, Against Eunomius, Gregory argues that
one must seek the spiritual rather than the literal sense of Scripture
if the text represents a theological impropriety, a physical or logical
impossibility, or immoral acts.56
Rather than focus on the differences in the literal and allegorical
methods of the interpretation in the writings of Basil and Gregory, I
would prefer to try to single out what is distinctive in their understand-
ing of nature. In Gregory’s work, On the Making of Humans (De opificio
hominis), Turcescu points to the significance of Gregory’s use of the term
‘sequence,’ in relation to the proper order of salvation:
54
Basil does not proceed beyond verse 25. “We have at present employed our
speech to arouse your zeal as much as possible, but, with the help of the Spirit, we
shall later add a more perfect examination of the facts lying before us. Depart, I beg
of you, rejoicing, O Christ-loving assembly, and arrange your modest tables with a
remembrance of what I have said, instead of with expensive foods and varied delica-
cies.” 1953, 150.
55
Turcescu 2008, 511–526.
56
Turcescu 2008, 3–469.
The lawgiver [ Moses] says that after inanimate matter (as a sort of
foundation for the form of animate things), this vegetative life was made,
that had earlier existence in the growth of plants; then he proceeds to
introduce the genesis of those creatures which are regulated by sense;
and, since following the same order, of those things which have attained
life in the fl esh, those which have sense can exist in themselves even
apart from the intellectual nature, while the rational principle could not
be embodied save as blended with the sensitive—for this reason man was
made last after the animals, as nature advanced to an orderly course to
perfection.57
Therefore both nature and Scripture witness to the divine ordering or
sequencing of Creation. In the final section of the De opificio hominis,
Gregory deepens the implications of his argumentation about sequenc-
ing. Here, commenting on the creation of the human being in the
divine image, Gregory claims:
[ The form of our soul created in the divine image] indeed would have
been perfect from the beginning had our nature not been maimed by
evil. Thus our community in that generation, which is subject to passion
and of animal nature, brings it about that the divine image does not at
once shine forth at our formation, but brings man to perfection by a
certain method and sequence, through those attributes of the soul which
are material, and belong rather to the animal creation.58
To consider the implication of the animal soul in the “sequencing”
of the human being toward “perfection” would bring us into deep
waters indeed, but for the present study it is significant that this fourth-
century thinker would insist that an understanding of nature and an
understanding of Scripture are complementary. In this respect Basil’s
delight in, and insistence on, contemplating nature and Gregory’s more
philosophical and speculative approach to natural science may have
more in common than appears at a first reading.
Using Basil’s Hexaemeron as his guide,59 Bishop Ambrose of Milan
delivered nine sermons around the year 387. The sermons are marked
by Ciceronian elegance of the Latin prose and the lyric quality of his
descriptions of nature:
57
Turcescu 2008, 515. ὁδῷ τινι πρὸς τὸ τέλειον ἀκολούθως προϊούσησ τῆς φύσεως,
De opif. hom. 145.25–31, Nicene and Post Nicene Fathers (NPNF) 2.5:394.
58
Turcescu 2008, 516.
59
Savage 1963, vi: “For the homilies on creation Ambrose is much indebted to the
celebrated work on the same subject by his Greek contemporary, St. Basil . . . It would
be a mistake to assume that Ambrose’s work is merely a translation. It is in fact a free
adaptation in a Latin dress, filled with reminiscences from Ambrose’s reading in the
Latin classics . . .”
How can I describe the violets with their shades of purple, the lilies of
brilliant white, and the roses with their shades of red? How describe the
landscape painted with fl owers, sometimes of a golden hue, or of varied
colors or of bright yellow, among which you cannot decide whether
their beauty or their fragrant scent gives more delight. Our eyes revel in
this pleasant spectacle as that fragrance which fills us with its sweetness
is spread far and wide. Whence the Lord had justly said: ‘And with me
is the beauty of the field’. (Ps. 49:11) This beauty is with him because
he created it. What other artist could depict such charm in each and
every object?60
It is not enough for him to recall such delightful impressions of nature
to his congregation. He goes on to invite them to consider in detail
the divine craftsmanship within a single fl ower:
Consider the lilies of the field, what brilliance in their petals, how they
appear to rise in packed rows all the way to the top so as to form a goblet!
Note how within it gleams like gold, and furthermore how around its edge,
as a defence against any injury, a kind of rampart is constructed! If anyone
were to pluck this fl ower and take each petal apart, what craftsman’s hand
is so expert so as to be able to restore the form of the lily? Who is such
an effective imitator of nature as to presume to reconstruct this fl ower
to which the Lord has so borne testimony as to say: ‘Not even Solomon
in all his glory was so arrayed as one of these?’61
In Homily 4, one can see further evidence of the poetic vein in which
Ambrose delivers his sermon, the second of his commentaries on Day
Three, “Let the waters that are under the heaven be gathered together
in one place” (Gen. 1:6). He concludes his sermon, not with an allegory,
relating the sea to the Church, but, rather with an extended image of
the congregation surging in and out of the basilica in Milan:
60
Ambrose 1963, 94. Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (CSEL), vol. 32 Part
1, 83, 5–10. quid igitur describam purpurescentes uiolas,candida lilas, rutilantes rosas,
depicta rura nunc aureis,nunc uariis, nunc luteis fl oribus,in quibus nescias utrum spe-
cies amplius fl orum an uis odera delectant? pascuntur oculi grato spectaculo.longe
ataque odor spargitur, cuius suauitate complemur. unde digne dominus ait:et species
agri mecum est. cum ipso est enim quam ipse formauit; quis enim alius artifex posset
tantum rerum singularum exprimere uenustatem?
61
Ambrose 1963, 95. CSEL 1864, vol. 32 Part 1, 83, 12–22. considerate lilia agri,
quanus sir candor in filiis, quemadmodum stipata ipsa ab imo ad summum uideantur
adsurgere, ut scyphi exprimant foram, ut auri quaedam species intus effulgeat, quae
tamen uallo in circuitu fl oris obsaepta nulli pateat inuriae. si quis hunc fl orem decerpat
et sua soluat in folia, quae tanti est artificis manus, quae posit lilii speciem reformare?
quis tantus imitator naturae, ut fl orum hunc redintegare praesumat, cui dominus
tantum testimonium tulit, ut diceret: nec Solomon in omni gloria sic uestiebatur sicut
unum ex istis?
62
Ambrose 1963, 84. CSEL 1864, vol. 32 Part 1, 75, 1–10. unde mihi ut omnem
pelagi puchritudinem conprehendam, quam uidit operator? et quid plura? quid aliud
ille concentus undarum nisi quidam concentus est plebis? unde bene mari plerumque
comparator ecclesia, quae primo ingredientis populi agmine totis uestibulis undas
refl entibus stridit, cum responsoriis psalmorum cantus uirorum mulierum uirginum
paruulorum consonus undarum fragor resultat. nam illud quid dicam, quod unda
peccatum abluit et sancti spiritus aura salutaris aspirat?
63
Whereas Basil cites Aristotle abundantly, Ambrose turns more to the observations
of Virgil in the Georgics (more than fifty), to Cicero De senectute, and popular phrases
from Lucretius. See comments of Savage 1963, viii.
64
Ambrose 1963, 263. CSEL, 1864 vol. 32 Part 1, 241, 14–20. cognosce ergo te,
decora anima, quai imago dei . . . propheta dicit: mirabilis facta est cognition tua ex
me, hoc est: in me opera tua mirabilor est maiestas . . . quem tu in ipsis cogitationibus
occultis et internis affectibus deprehendis, scientiae tuae agnosco mysteria.
65
Ambrose 1963, 268. CSEL 1864, vol. 32 Part 1, 246, 7–15. sed iam de ipso
aliqua dicenda sunt corpore hominis, quod praestantius ceteris decore et gratia esse
quis abnuat? nam etsi una atque eadem omnium terrenorum corporum uideatur esse
substantia, firmitudo et proceritas quibusdam maior in bestiis, forma tamen humani
corporis est uenustior, status erectus et celsus, ut neque ernormis proceritas sit neque
uilis et abiecta pauxillitas. tum ipsa habitude corporis suauis et grata, ut neque beluina
uastitas horrori sit nec gracilitas tenuis infirmitati.
66
“The hair with its tree-top like foliage, the two-fold hedge of the eyebrows, the
positioning of the eyes (providentially not on top of the head like a crab’s), the wonder
of the natural windings of the ear, as well as the usefulness of the wax—it helps to keep
the voice intact, a result which at the same time aids the memory and is a source of
pleasure.” Ambrose 1963, 271–274.
67
Ambrose 1963, 279, 9. CSEL 1864 vol. 32 Part 1, 258, 9–12. intestinorum uero
circumplexi orbes et sine aliquot licit nodo sibi tamen inuicem nexi qid aliud nisi
diuinam prospicientiam creatoris ostendunt, ut non cito esca pertranseat et statim ab
stomacho decurrat?
68
Turcescu 2008, 521. Like a good host, God invites his guests when everything
is ready.
69
Ambrose 1963, 229. CSEL 1864 32 Part 1, 205, 14–21. nunc age naturas bes-
tiarum dicamus et hominis generationem. audio enim iamdudem aliquos insusurrare
dicentes: “quamdiu aliena discimus et nostra nescimus, quamdiu de reliquis animan-
tibus docemur scientiam et nosmet ipsos ignoramus? illud dicat quodmihi prosit, ut
me nouerim ipsum.” et iustaest conquestio,sed ordo seruandus est, quem scriptura
contextuit, simil quia non possumus plenius nos cognoscere, nisi prius quae sit omnium
natura animantium cognouerimus.
70
Ferris 2007, 148.
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Kenneth J. Howell
1
On Foscarini see Finocchiaro 2008. My own views of Foscarini’s and Bellarmine’s
exchange are discussed in Howell 2002, 196–199.
claim Augustine as their forerunner. And when these theologies met with
new questions posed by the emerging natural sciences in the sixteenth-
and seventeenth centuries, Augustine’s infl uence was still discernible.
Considering his extensive infl uence in western intellectual history, it
seems valuable to have a clearer understanding of Augustine’s thought
regarding the interface of scriptural authority and natural philosophy in
the context of his own times and writings.2 The Augustinian corpus is
one of the largest to have survived Christian antiquity and none other
has exercised such an extensive infl uence on all subsequent philosophy
and theology.3
In this paper, I explore Augustine’s commentaries on Genesis to
elucidate the fundamental structures of his thought in interpreting the
creation story. By returning to the sources of his hermeneutical endeav-
ors, we may be in a better position to discern why his infl uence on
matters of faith and science became so pervasive. My focus here is on
Augustine in the fifth century rather than on how he was interpreted
later, but such a historical limitation may nevertheless afford a sharper
picture of his hermeneutics for future comparison with the use made
of him in the context of scientific debate. No use of Augustine would
have been possible had he not attempted in his largest commentary,
A Literal Commentary on Genesis, to interpret literally the Genesis creation
narrative. However, we shall see that what Augustine meant by ‘literal’
was in fact far from what is usually meant by that term today. With
ad litteram interpretation Augustine shows a greater fl exibility and open-
ness than we might be inclined to attribute to the term literal. At times,
we might be surprised by how unliteral Augustine’s literal interpreta-
tion can be.4
2
Evidence of how easy it is to misconstrue Augustine’s views on the interaction of
scriptural authority and scientific inquiry can be found in Jaki 1992. Jaki claims that
Augustine saw the Bible as a “scientific textbook” (88) because he imprudently occupied
himself with the “how” of creation. For Jaki, such an approach falls prey to literalist
concordism which he roundly condemns elsewhere in his book. Jaki’s preconception
as to what a proper exegesis of Genesis 1 ought to be prevents him from seeing the
subtleties and complexities in Augustine’s approach. This is especially egregious when
he ascribes the view Augustine is promoting to his opponents (89).
3
In terms of size, the only other patristic literary corpus comparable to Augustine’s
to have survived antiquity are Jerome’s biblical commentaries and John Chrysostom’s
extensive writings. Neither of them, however, addressed questions relevant to natural
philosophy like Augustine.
4
The most recent translator of De Genesi ad litteram into English notes the wide
meaning of ad litteram as used by Augustine (Hill 2002, 202, note 24).
5
Harrison 1998, 11–33, has emphasized another aspect of Augustine’s interpreta-
tive labors, namely, his use of the higher or spiritual senses of Scripture, especially as
seen in the Confessions. The diversity of approaches used by Augustine should caution
us against seeing him as having one model of hermeneutics. Augustine could engage
in different types of exegesis necessitated by the occasion facing him.
6
On Augustine’s repeated attempts to understand Genesis see TeSelle 1970, 198.
Some aspects of this relation are treated in O’Meara 1980. More generally on Augustine
as New Testament interpreter see also Comeau 1930, Bonner 1970, 541–597.
7
We tend to regard Manichaeism as a separate religion today but Augustine viewed
it as an alternative form of Christianity and later of course as heresy. For a brief dis-
cussion of this point see Teske 1999a, 210–211.
8
Augustine continued to fight against the Manichean notion of evil inherent in
things in De Genesi ad litteram imperfectus liber 1.3. Unless otherwise noted, all quotations
from the first two Genesis commentaries will come from the translation of Teske 1991.
Teske is one of the most knowledgeable scholars on Augustine’s Genesis interpretation.
See his short but insightful articles 1999b, c, d.
9
For a valuable translation of De Genesi ad litteram see Taylor 1983. Now we have
all three commentaries in one volume in the excellent translation of Hill. Unless oth-
erwise noted, quotations from De Genesi ad litteram and all of Augustine’s writings are
my own translations. Where applicable, I will cite other translations by the translator’s
last name.
10
See Augustine’s reference to Cicero’s Hortensius as exposing the dangers of phi-
losophy in fulfillment of Paul’s words in Col. 2:8, 9 in Confessions 3.4.7. We now have a
new translation of Augustine’s great autobiography by Maria Boulding. (Cf. Augustine
1997). I will cite this translation as Boulding.
11
For example, the kind of technical language he surely encountered in reading
Plotinus. However, as we will see below in the case of the rationes seminales, Augustine
did not completely eschew all technical terms.
12
Augustine explicitly says that his commentary De Genesi contra Manichaeos was
written for both the educated and the uneducated (1.1). For a discussion of the “Little
Ones” and Augustine’s pastoral concerns predating his ordination (391) see Teske
1991, 12–15.
13
For an overview of Augustine’s hermeneutics see Pollman 1999, 426–429.
14
For insightful essays on De Doctrina Christiana see Arnold and Bright 1995. On
Augustine’s hermeneutical theory, especially as it affected medieval theory, see de
Lubac 1959, 177–187.
15
De Doctrina Christiana 2.40.60. Philosophi autem qui vocantur, si qua forte vera et
fidei nostrae accommodata dixerunt, maxime Platonici, non solum formidanda non
sunt, sed ab eis etiam tanquam injustis possessoribus in usum nostrum vindicanda.
Sicut enim Aegyptii non solum idola habebant et onera gravia, quae populus Israel
detestaretur et fugeret, sed etiam vasa atque ornamenta de auro et argento, et vestem,
quae ille populus exiens de Aegypto, sibi potius tanquam ad usum meliorem clanculo
vindicavit; non auctoritate propria, sed praecepto Dei, ipsis Aegyptiis nescienter com-
modantibus ea, quibus non bene utebantur (Exod. III, 22, et XII, 35): sic doctrinae omnes
Gentilium non solum simulata et superstitiosa figmenta gravesque sarcinas supervacanei
laboris habent, quae unusquisque nostrum duce Christo de societate Gentilium exiens,
debet abominari atque devitare; sed etiam liberales disciplinas usui veritatis aptiores,
et quaedam morum praecepta utilissima continent, deque ipso uno Deo colendo non-
nulla vera inveniuntur apud eos; quod eorum tanquam aurum et argentum, quod non
ipsi instituerunt, sed de quibusdam quasi metallis divinae providentiae, quae ubique
infusa est, eruerunt, et quo perverse atque injuriose ad obsequia daemonum abutuntur,
cum ab eorum misera societate sese animo separat, debet ab eis auferre christianus ad
usum justum praedicandi Evangelii. Vestem quoque illorum, id est, hominum quidem
instituta, sed tamen accommodata humanae societati, qua in hac vita carere non pos-
sumus, accipere atque habere licuerit in usum convertenda christianum.
16
Confessions 7.9–10. The realization of God being a spiritual substance freed Augus-
tine from the Manichean materialism to which he had been attached. See Confessions
5.14.25 and the discussion by Teske 1999, 209.
17
Bonner rightly observed, “Indeed, Augustine takes this for granted [discrepancies
between biblical authors]; but he rejects any attempt to avoid exegetical difficulties by
the sacrifice of intellectual integrity.” Bonner op. cit., 556.
18
Among the older literature one may consult Maher 1945, 76–90 and Robbins
1912, 64–72. Other relevant studies include Tarabochia Canavero 1981. Some helpful
essays can be found in the heterogeneous collection of de la Bonnardière 1986.
19
Confessions 12.23. Cf. Also Epistles 28 (ca. 394), 40 and 82 (ca. 405) to Jerome. In
this last Epistle Augustine says, “I firmly believe that no author of these books com-
mitted any error in writing.”
20
Confessions 12.25.34 “Indeed, once it is true, it is no longer their property” (Bould-
ing 333).
21
See De Doctrina Christiana 3.26–28. 37–39 for a statement of his rule of interpreting
obscure passages by the clearer ones. A similar appeal is made to refute misunderstand-
ings of I Cor 3:15 in De Fide, Spe et Caritate ch. 57 and De Fide and Operibus ch. 15. It
should be stressed that Augustine recognized significant differences between biblical
authors involving order of narratives and quotations. See De Consensu Evangelistarum
2.12:29.
22
For those working in the Augustinian tradition, Harrison correctly emphasizes the
integral unity of scripture, “For those schooled in this tradition of exegesis, the meaning
of a particular passage lay in its interconnectedness with many apparently disparate
passages of scripture. The whole exegetical enterprise assumed that the sacred page
constituted a coherent unity.” Harrison 1998, 46.
23
De Genesi ad litteram 4.26.43.
24
De Genesi ad litteram 1.21. 41. Et cum divinos Libros legimus in tanta multitudine
verorum intellectuum, qui de paucis verbis eruuntur, et sanitate catholicae fidei muni-
untur, id potissimum deligamus, quod certum apparuerit eum sensisse quem legimus; si
autem hoc latet, id certe quod circumstantia Scripturae non impedit, et cum sana fide
concordat: si autem et Scripturae circumstantia pertractari ac discuti non potest, saltem
id solum quod fides sana praescribit. Aliud est enim quid potissimum scriptor senserit
non dignoscere, aliud autem a regula pietatis errare. Si utrumque vitetur, perfecte se
habet fructus legentis: si vero utrumque vitari non potest, etiam si voluntas scriptoris
incerta sit sanae fidei congruam non inutile est eruisse.
25
“The presumption of man ought to restrain itself whenever a question arises on an
unusual obscure subject on which no assistance can be rendered by clear and certain
proofs of the Holy Scripture . . . In this, I believe that the Holy Scriptures possess a most
clear authority, whenever a point arises, which no man can be ignorant of, without
imperilling the salvation which has been promised him.” De peccatorum meritis et remissione
2:59. See also De Doctrina Christiana 2.12.17 for the aid that diversity of interpretation
can be. Also “What evil is it if an exegesis he gives is one shown to be true by you,
light of all sincere souls, even if the author whom he is reading did not have that idea
and, though he had grasped a truth, had not discerned that seen by the interpreter?”
Confessions 13.18.27 (Chadwick 1991).
26
Confessions 12.30.41 and 12.31.42.
27
“When we read about obscure matters that are remote from our sight in the
divine writings where the faith we are instructed in is preserved, several opinions may
appear. Now we should not jump in one of them by some precipitous affirmation so
that we are destroyed if the truth, once it is discussed more diligently, should rightly
show us wrong. In that case, we would be fighting not for the meaning of the divine
did not mean, however, that there were no boundaries. The quotation
above suggests that for Augustine the catholic faith provides the proper
boundary conditions. As long as an interpreter remained within those
boundaries there was no reason to reject variant interpretations.28
Scriptures but for our opinion that we want whereas our goal should be to have what
is in the Scriptures for our opinion.” De Genesi ad litteram 1.18.37. See also the discus-
sion by McMullin 1998, 292–293. Citing this very passage of De Genesi ad litteram,
McMullin sees a “principle of prudence” in Augustine which was relevant for the
resolution the issue of geokineticism in the seventeenth century. This principle simply
represents the caution that Augustine urged throughout his commentary.
28
See Contra Faustum 28:2 and Epistulae contra Manicheos 5:6 and Contra Academicos
3:20, 43 and on apostolic tradition De Baptismo 4:24, 31.
29
De Genesi ad litteram 1.19.39. Plerumque enim accidit ut aliquid de terra, de coelo,
de caeteris mundi hujus elementis, de motu et conversione vel etiam magnitudine
et intervallis siderum, de certis defectibus solis ac lunae, de circuitibus annorum et
temporum, de naturis animalium, fruticum, lapidum, atque hujusmodi caeteris, etiam
non christianus ita noverit, ut certissima ratione vel experientia teneat. Turpe est
34
In this paragraph I have retained the Latin phrase ad litteram because it does not
correspond to the modern meaning of literal. The usual meaning of the English “literal”
excludes metaphorical and indirect reference which would have been considered still
ad litteram by Augustine. Many commentators have seen this wider usage in Augustine
including McMullin 1998, 337 note 68.
35
Cf. “Basil and Augustine tell us already that the Bible is not a book about natural
science, but nourishment for the human heart.” van Bavel 1990, 1–33.
36
De Genesi ad litteram 2.9.20. Quaeri etiam solet quae forma et figura coeli esse cre-
denda sit secundum Scripturas nostras. Multi enim multum disputant de iis rebus, quas
majore prudentia nostri auctores omiserunt, ad beatam vitam non profuturas discenti-
bus; et occupantes, quod pejus est, multum pretiosa, et rebus salubribus impendenda
temporum spatia. Quid enim ad me pertinet, utrum coelum sicut sphaera undique
concludat terram in media mundi mole libratam, an eam ex una parte desuper velut
discus operiat? Sed quia de fide agitur Scripturarum, propter illam causam, quam non
semel commemoravi, ne quisquam eloquia divina non intelligens, cum de his rebus tale
aliquid vel invenerit in Libris nostris, vel ex illis audierit, quod perceptis a se rationibus
Augustine tells us in the Confessions (5. 11.21) that when he was a Man-
ichee he did not think the Old Testament could be defended against
the Manichean criticisms. Perhaps more significantly, he even then
longed to discuss the meaning of scriptural texts with those who had
studied them thoroughly. When he returned to Genesis as a baptized
Christian, he sought to become a wise interpreter whose responsibility
was to defend the teaching of Scripture against its gainsayers. In De
Genesi contra Manichaeos Augustine attempted to answer denigrations
and to refute criticisms of the Genesis creation account. His attempts
to clarify the meaning of Genesis necessarily involved him in refuting
adversari videatur, nullo modo eis caetera utilia monentibus, vel narrantibus, vel pro-
nuntiantibus credat; breviter dicendum est de figura coeli hoc scisse auctores nostros
quod veritas habet; sed Spiritum Dei, qui per ipsos loquebatur, noluisse ista docere
homines nulli saluti profutura.
37
De Genesi contra Manichaeos 1.4. Teske’s translation.
38
In contradistinction from the polemical writings against the Donatists and the
Pelagians where he attempts fuller refutations of positions he deemed heretical.
39
Among the many descriptions of Manichaeism see Teske 1991, 7–9.
40
De Genesi contra Manichaeos 1.3. This of course is similar to Augustine’s treatment
of sin as privation of good. See De Genesi ad litteram liber imperfectus 1.1. (See Teske
translation 1999c, 146).
41
These same objections are treated also in Confessions 11.10.12 and 11.12.14.
42
De Genesi contra Manichaeos 1.2.3 “His (Manichaeos) respondemus, Deum, in prin-
cipio fecisse coelum et terram, non in principio temporis, sed in Christo, cum Verbum
esset apud Patrem, per quod facta et in quo facta sunt omnia ( Jo. 1:1–3).”
43
De Genesi ad litteram 5.5.13 For a discussion see Gilson 1998, 253, 254.
are causes of events taking place after the original creation.44 Augustine
can take principium as referring to both Christ and a causal foundation;
in the former case, the cause in the intelligible world is denoted while
in the latter case the cause in the material world is indicated. The
Manichees read “the beginning” in too narrow a sense.
A second example of excessively literal reading is the verb superfere-
batur of Gen. 1:2 (And the Spirit of God was borne over the waters).
This was taken by the Manichees to imply that God is contained in
something material, an idea which contradicted the view of catholic
Christianity. Through a careful analysis of language, Augustine shows
that the use of superferebatur with respect to the physical universe (the
Sun is borne over the earth) does not imply that one is contained in
the other. Why should it be interpreted so literally with respect to
the Spirit’s relation to the universe? One must show the greatest care
when applying physical language to nonphysical entities. The divine
Spirit’s “being borne over the waters” is not a statement of physical
truth but rather expresses the infinite power of God (“by the power of
its invisible grandeur”).45
Augustine saw a pattern to the Manichees’ misunderstandings of
the Genesis text which consisted of two factors. False natural philoso-
phy conjoined with a perverse desire to misconstrue biblical language
resulted in readings of the text which were absurd. These misreadings
became the basis of criticisms of a putative biblical cosmology which
was either nonexistent or profoundly misrepresented. The Manichees’
insistence on an excessively literal reading of the Genesis text acted as
a caution for Augustine to refrain from too quickly delivering on the
sacred author’s meaning. He realized that any putative meaning must
be tested against several criteria, one of which was its agreement with
known truths of the world. In the Confessions Augustine recounts how
hearing Ambrose expound a spiritual interpretation of the Old Testa-
ment made him realize that the Genesis text need not be viewed as
literally as he had thought when he was under the spell of the Mani-
chean philosophy. His growing appreciation of neoplatonic ideas had
led him to abandon Manichean materialism and embrace the spiritual
(nonphysical) content of Scripture. This in turn helped him see the
errors implicit in the Manichean reading of Genesis; their criticism
44
See the discussion of Markus 1991, 397–400.
45
De Genesi contra Manichaeos 1.5.8–9.
of the sacred text was mistaken because they could not understand
the proper meaning of physical language when used with respect to
nonphysical things.
46
See “True reasoning (vera ratio) convinced me that I should wholly subtract all
remnants of every kind of form if I wished to conceive the absolutely formless.” Confes-
sions 12.6.6 (Boulding 314).
47
De Genesi ad Litteram 2.9.21. Hill translates veris illis rationibus as “shown by rational
arguments to be true.” (Hill 2002). See also Confessions 12. xviii (Chadwick 1991, 259).
Sed, ait aliquis, quomodo non est contrarium iis qui figuram sphaerae coelo tribuunt,
quod scriptum est in Litteris nostris, Qui extendit coelum sicut pellem (Psal. CIII, 2)?
Sit sane contrarium, si falsum est quod illi dicunt: hoc enim verum est quod divina
dicit auctoritas, potius quam illud quod humana infirmitas conjicit. Sed si forte illud
talibus illi documentis probare potuerint, ut dubitari inde non debeat; demonstrandum
est hoc quod apud nos de pelle dictum est, veris illis rationibus non esse contrarium:
alioquin contrarium erit etiam ipsis in alio loco Scripturis nostris, ubi coelum dicitur
velut camera esse suspensum (Isai. XL, 22, sec. LXX). Quid enim tam diversum et
sibimet adversum, quam plana pellis extensio, et camerae curva convexio? Quod si
oportet, sicuti oportet, haec duo sic intelligere, ut concordare utrumque, nec sibimet
repugnare inveniatur; ita oportet etiam utrumlibet horum illis non adversari dispu-
tationibus, si eas forte veras certa ratio declaraverit, quibus docetur coelum sphaerae
figura undique esse convexum, si tamen probatur.
48
On the reconciliation of biblical passages with one another, see De Doctrina
Christiana 3.27.38.
49
McMullin formulates Augustine’s view as the Principle of Priority of Demonstration and
cites De Genesi ad litteram 1.21 as evidence. See McMullin 1998, 294 and 337 note 76.
McMullin rightly stresses that for Augustine, as for Galileo, confl icts between Scripture
and natural truths can only be apparent, not real (1998, 294).
50
The question as to what constitutes a demonstrated truth would become a major
issue in the Galileo affair. In the Letter to Grand Duchess Christina Galileo claims that he
54
De Genesi ad litteram imperfectus liber 6.27–7.28 (Hill 2002, 129–130).
55
De Genesi ad litteram imperfectus liber 3.8 (Hill 2002, 117–118.)
56
De Genesi ad litteram 6.18.29 where Augustine discusses the creation of Adam.
Quapropter, si omnium futurorum causae mundo sunt insitae, cum ille factus est dies,
quando Deus creavit omnia simul; non aliter Adam factus est, cum de limo formatus est,
sicut est credibilius jam perfectae virilitatis, quam erat in illis causis, ubi Deus hominem
in sex dierum operibus fecit. Ibi enim erat non solum ut ita fieri posset, verum etiam
ut ita eum fieri necesse esset. Tam enim non fecit Deus contra causam, quam sine
dubio volens praestituit, quam contra voluntatem suam non facit. Si autem non omnes
causas in creatura primitus condita praefixit, sed aliquas in sua voluntate servavit; non
sunt quidem illae quas in sua voluntate servavit, ex istarum quas creavit necessitate
pendentes: non tamen possunt esse contrariae quas in sua voluntate servavit, illis quas
sua voluntate instituit; quia Dei voluntas non potest sibi esse contraria. Istas ergo sic
condidit, ut ex illis esse illud, cujus causae sunt, possit; sed non necesse sit: illas autem
sic abscondit, ut ex eis esse necesse sit hoc, quod ex istis fecit ut esse possit.
57
On Augustine’s use of rationes aeternae see Clarke 1982.
58
De Genesi ad litteram 5.23.44–45 (Hill 2002, 299–300) see also 2.15.30 (Hill 2002,
209–210) where Augustine discusses whether the Moon was created half or full, and
states that if an object develops into perfection, this was hidden within it because no
work created by God is perfected outside of God.
itself.”59 The rationes seminales, though not visible, are nevertheless physi-
cal causal mechanisms latent in all undeveloped forms.60 What triggers
the actual development of the organism from seed form to perfected
form? The specific timetable for the emergence of perfected forms is
already given in the rationes seminales always subject of course to God’s
inscrutable will.61 This concept of the rationes seminales is clearly built
on a notion of natural law:
God has so established fixed laws (certas temporum leges) governing the
temporal development of the types and characteristics of things in nature
which develop from a hidden to an open state that His will might reign
supreme. Indeed, He gave numbers to his creation by his own power
but he did not bind that power by those numbers.62
Later in book nine Augustine states the idea of natural law even more
clearly:
The whole course of nature that we are so familiar with has certain
natural laws of its own, according to which both the spirit of life which
is a creature has drives and urges that are somehow predetermined and
which even a bad will cannot bypass, and also the elements of this material
world have their distinct energies and qualities, which determine what
each is or is not capable of, what can or cannot be made from which. It
is from these base-lines of things, so to say, that whatever comes to be
takes in its own particular time span, its risings and continued progress,
its ends and its settings, according to the kind of thing it is.63
This notion of natural law must not be confused with modern notions
such as we find in the philosophy of the Renaissance and later thought
because Augustine’s notion is much broader. Modern conceptions of
59
De Genesi ad litteram 6.16.27.
60
On the invisibility of the rationes seminales see De Genesi ad litteram 5.4.8–11 and
6.6.10–11 and 6.16.27.
61
Cf. “So it remains the case that creatures live in both modes, whether they go
through time in the usual manner or in that rare and miraculous manner, as it pleases
God to do what is agreeable to a specific time.” De Genesi ad litteram 6.14.25 (translation
mine). (See also Hill 2002, 315).
62
De Genesi ad litteram 6.13.23. Hill translates numerus as “numerical rhythms” (Hill
2002, 314). Ita enim certas temporum leges generibus qualitatibusque rerum in mani-
festum ex abdito producendis attribuit, ut ejus voluntas sit super omnia. [col. 349]
Potentia quippe sua numeros creaturae dedit, non ipsam potentiam eisdem numeris
alligavit.
63
See also a similar statement in 9.17.32 (Hill translation). In the next paragraph
Augustine says, “the formulae (rationes) for these and suchlike standards are not only
in God, but have also been inserted by him in created things and set fermenting in
them.” 9.17.32 (Hill translation).
natural law would not include the possibility of miracles whereas for
Augustine the observed regularities of nature and those rapid changes of
nature called miracles (e.g., water becoming wine) are all encompassed
in the potentialities which God has placed in the world through the
rationes seminales. Augustine tends to see miracles as something remark-
able only to humans but not to God.64 In the first creation, God placed
everything that was necessary for both the ongoing development of the
world and the miraculous. Both are governed by law but in different
ways. The work of creation described in Genesis is complete because
God has placed into the world everything necessary and sufficient for
its subsequent development. In another sense, God’s creative work is
continuing since all the observable changes in the world are actualities
which have their origin in the creative potentialities placed in the world
in the first creative act of God.65
Why does Augustine invoke this concept? One of Augustine’s major
concerns seems to be that the rationes seminales are necessary to explain
how God is still actively involved in the perfection of new forms which
have emerged after the original creation. The concept allows him to
maintain divine providence without the necessity of posting ongoing
creative activity. God’s work is perfect and complete, but the rationes
seminales explain how it can be both complete and still emerging. The
principles instilled in the original creation explain the actual develop-
ment of the forms.
How does the concept rationes seminales function in exegesis? It allows
the interpreter to reconcile apparent contradictions in the text. This is
how Augustine explains the seeming contradiction between the words
“God finished his work” and the evident fact that new life forms did and
continue to emerge after the original creative week.66 It also allows him
to reconcile the differences evident between the two creation accounts.
64
De Genesi ad litteram 6.13.24 “When events like this happen, they do not happen
against nature except for us, who have a limited knowledge of nature, but not for God,
for whom nature is what He made” (Taylor 1983).
65
De Genesi ad litteram 6.14.25 “It can be rightly asked in what manner (quomodo) the
causal reasons were placed into the world when He first created it.” Augustine proceeds
to consider two possible answers and sees problems with both. Then he concludes “So
it remains the case that God used both means to create his creatures, whether following
the customary course of nature or by those rare and miraculous means which God
was pleased to conform to time.”
66
De Genesi ad litteram 5.23.46 “God, then, creates no new creatures, but He directs
and rules by His governance of the world all the things He made together, and thus He
works without ceasing, resting and working at the same time.” See also 5.20.40–41.
67
De Genesi ad litteram 5.11.27–28.
68
See De Genesi ad litteram 1.17.35.
69
See De Genesi ad litteram 6.14.25.
70
See Bonner 1970 and 1968, 242–247.
71
See, for example, the comments of Pollmann 1999, 427.
72
Aquinas called the sensus historicus or litteralis the “first or primary sense” ( primum
sensum). See Summa Theologica Part 1, Question 1, Article 9 (Aquinas 1978).
73
Even though Augustine viewed Manicheanism as an aberrant form of Christianity,
my scope has not been to address questions of defining orthodoxy and heterodoxy in the
fifth century. I have had to place such concerns as might interest church historians in
the background in order to focus on Augustine’s engagement with the Genesis text.
74
Mauro Pesce has suggested that a more thorough knowledge of the use of
Augustinian hermeneutics (and exegesis) in post-Augustinian interpretation would be
extremely useful in placing Galileo’s reliance on Augustine in context. See Pesce 2005,
110 and note 30.
75
Recently, Ponzio (2005, 131–143) has suggested that Galileo’s use of Augustine
may derive from the Barnabite priest of Pisa Pomponio Tartaglia who sent Benedetto
Castelli quotations for Galileo’s use which he could use in his defense of his Coper-
nican opinion.
76
“I say that if there were a true demonstration that the sun was in the center
of the universe and the earth in the third sphere, and that the sun did not travel
around the earth, but the earth circled around the sun, then it would be necessary
to proceed with great caution in explaining the passages of Scripture which seemed
contrary, and we would rather have to say that we did not understand them than to
say that something was false which had been demonstrated. But I do not believe that
there is any such demonstration; none has been shown to me.” Cardinal Bellarmine to
Paolo Foscarini April 12, 1615 in Favaro 1890–1909, 12:160. See the English trans. in
Finocchiaro 1989, 67–69.
77
Reijer Hooykaas claimed to have discovered Rheticus’s long lost treatise reconcil-
ing Scripture and Copernicanism though the document does not bear his name. In
view of the lack of contrary arguments, I have accepted Hooykaas’s attribution and
discuss Augustine’s infl uence on Rheticus in Howell 2002, 57–67.
to come from within natural inquiry since the sacred authors did not
have the construction of a natural philosophy as their aim, even when
they spoke about nature. This meant that true knowledge of nature
could act as a stimulant to investigate meanings of the biblical text
compatible with that knowledge. It was not only wrong but sacrilegious
to claim one’s interpretation of the Bible against manifest reason to
the contrary. When the Bible spoke about nature, it did not intend to
give the specific information that one might discover through natural
inquiry. In this way, Augustine thought that natural philosophy might
sometimes be properly used to fill in where Scripture had spoken in
generalities. For Augustine, the Bible was a source of truth but not
in competition with nature because the God of nature and the God
revealed in the Bible is one and the same Author of all Truth.
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1. Trans. Maria Boulding, O.S.B. Hyde Park, NY: New City Press & Villanova,
PA: Augustinian Heritage Institute.
Blackwell, Richard J. 1991. Galileo, Bellarmine and the Bible. South Bend: University of
Notre Dame Press.
Bonner, Gerald. 1970. Augustine as a Biblical Scholar. In The Cambridge History of the
Bible, Ed. P.R. Ackroyd and C.F. Evans. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
——. 1968. Augustine on Romans V.12. Studia Evangelica V (Texte und Untersuchungen)
103, 242–247.
Chadwick, Henry, trans. 1991. Confessions, Augustine. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Clarke, W. Norris. 1982. The Problem of Reality and Multiplicity of Divine Ideas in
Christian Neoplatonism. In Neoplatonism and Christian Thought, Ed. Dominic J. O’Meara.
Albany: State University of New York Press.
Comeau, Marie. 1930. Saint Augustin exégète du quaterieme evangelie 3d ed. Paris: Gabriel
Beauchesne.
de la Bonnardière, Anne-Marie, ed. 1986. Saint Augustin et la Bible. Paris: Beauchesne.
de Lubac, Henri. 1959. Exégèse medievale Pt. I. Paris: Aubier.
Favaro, Antonio, ed. 1890–1909. Le Opere di Galileo Galilei. 20 vols. Florence, Giunti
Barbera.
Finocchiaro, Maurice A., trans. and ed. 1989. The Galileo Affair: A Documentary His-
tory. California Studies in the History of Science, vol. 1. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
Gilson, Etienne. 1943. Introduction à L’Etude de St. Augustin. Paris: Libraire Philosophique
J. Vrin.
Harrison, Peter. 1998. The Bible, Protestantism, and the Rise of Natural Science. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Hill, Edmund O.P. 2002. On Genesis. New York: Augustinian Heritage Institute and
New City Press.
Howell, Kenneth J. 2002. God’s Two Books: Copernican Cosmology and Biblical Interpretation
in Early Modern Science. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press.
Jaki, Stanley L. 2002. Genesis 1 Through the Ages, 2d ed. Royal Oak, MI: Real View Books.
Maher, John P. 1945. Defense of the Hexaemeron. Catholic Biblical Quarterly Pt. III
vol. 7: 76–90.
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and Early Medieval Philosophy, Ed. A.H. Armstrong. London: Cambridge University
Press.
McMullin, Ernan. 1998. Galileo on Science and Scripture. In The Cambridge Companion to
Galileo, Ed. Peter Machamer. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 271–347.
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Augustine Lecture 1977 Villanova University. Villanova, PA: Villanova University Press.
Pesce, Mauro. 2005. L’ermeneutica biblica di Galileo e le strade della teologia christiana. Rome:
Edizioni di storia e letteratura.
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An Encyclopedia, Ed. Allan D. Fitzgerald. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans Publishing
Co., 426–429.
Ponzio, Paolo. 2005. Patristic Theology in the Copernican Letters of Galileo. In Religious
Values and the Rise of Science in Europe, Ed. John Brooke and Ekmeleddin Ihsanoglu.
Istanbul: Research Centre for Islamic History, Art, and Culture, 131–143.
Robbins, Frank. 1912. The Hexaemeral Literature (Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago).
Tarabochia Canavero, Alessandra. 1981. Esegesi biblica e cosmologia Note sull’ interpre-
tazione patristica e mediovale di Genesi, 1,2 Vita e Pensiero. Milano: Pubblicazioni
della Universita Cattolica del Cuore.
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Christian Writers vols. 41, 42. New York: Newman Press.
TeSelle, Eugene. 1970. Augustine the Theologian. London: Herder & Herder.
Teske, Roland J.S.J. 1991. Saint Augustine on Genesis: Two Books on Genesis Against the Man-
ichees and On the Literal Interpretation of Genesis: an Unfinished Book, Fathers of the Church
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Teske, Roland J.S.J. 1999a. Augustine, the Manichees and the Bible. In Augustine and
the Bible, Ed. Pamela Bright. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press,
210–211.
——. 1999b. Genesi ad litteram, De. In Augustine Through the Centuries: An Encyclopedia,
Ed. Allan D. Fitzgerald. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans Publishing Co., 376–377.
——. 1999c. Genesi ad litteram liber imperfectus, De. In Augustine Through the Centuries:
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——. 1999d. The Genesis Accounts of Creation. In Augustine Through the Centuries: An
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Augustinian Studies 2: 1–33.
Paul M. Blowers
1
Response to Part 1.
2
Basil of Caesarea 2006, 324–6 (Hom. in hex. 6.1). Cf. ibid., 245 (Hom. in hex.
4.1), where Basil speaks on the opposite hand of the “theatre abounding in impure
spectacles” that captivates those who are infatuated simply with the pleasurable aspects
of the world. (Translations are my own unless otherwise noted.)
true nature and vocation, and the foretastes of eternal beauty. And
yet the true starting point of this exploration and contemplation will
not be the tenets of human wisdom about the cosmos but the creation
narratives in Genesis—“what God taught his servant [Moses] when he
spoke with him in person, without enigmas.”3
Although writing in the fourth century, Basil’s perspective signals
much about the interface between the contemplation of nature and the
interpretation of the Bible in the broader patristic age. This chapter will
focus on four concurrent themes that elucidate that interrelation in some
representative early Christian thinkers: (1) the epistemic, interpretive,
and ascetical conditions of reading Scripture and nature in the mode
of spiritual contemplation (theôria); (2) the articulation of the analogy
of the “two books”—Bible and creation—in patristic hermeneutics; (3)
the mutual insinuation of the logoi of cosmos and Scripture in elicit-
ing a common metanarrative of creation and redemption; and (4) the
assumption of natural-philosophical issues and considerations into the
essentially contemplative reading of scriptural creation texts.
Basil’s claim, noted above, that the first principles (archai ) for exploring
creation lie in God’s revelation to the prophet Moses, not in worldly
wisdom (i.e., metaphysics or natural philosophy), is of more than pass-
ing significance. Looking back to the text sometimes called the premier
Christian treatise of physics, Origen’s De principiis (Peri Archôn, ca. 225),
a work certainly known by Basil, much debate has surrounded the
identification of the archai. Did Origen understand the archai according
to the Middle Platonism of his time, as the agreed-upon ontological
foundations of the cosmos? Numerous scholars have argued so, since
Origen’s treatise takes the form (in Books I–III) of a progressive analysis
of rudimentary truths concerning God, spiritual and material creation,
the embodiment of souls, providence and free will, the destiny of the
universe, and so on. Brian Daley has cogently argued, however, that
such is a premature explanation of the archai in the De principiis, a work
that culminates in a tour de force on the interpretation of the Bible
(Book 4). According to Daley, Origen looks to develop an integrated
body of Christian doctrine wherein the accepted philosophical axioms
concerning God and creation are actually preliminary to the archai
of biblical revelation, which are not interpretive methods per se but
principles concerning the intrinsic economy of Scripture and its overall
3
Ibid., 324–6 (Hom. in hex. 6.1).
4
Daley 1998.
5
The “canon of truth” here is simply another designation of the Rule of Faith
(regula fidei ), which appears in various forms in Irenaeus, Tertullian, and Origen as a
digest of apostolic teaching in Scripture.
6
Clement of Alexandria 2001, 58–60 (Stromateis 4.1.3). Immediately beforehand
(ibid. 4.1.2), Clement states his intention of considering Greek and Barbarian physical
theories of the archai as a cursory foray into “theology” before moving on to matters
of prophecy, that is, the authoritative testimony of Scripture.
7
Ibid., 60.
8
On Clement’s precise understanding of physiologia and its transmission within a
“Gnostic tradition” of interpretation, see Rizzerio 1996, 39–99.
9
Clement of Alexandria 1954, 73–4, 94–5 (Strom. 2.11.48–49; 2.17.76–77); Origen
1980 304–8, 422–6 (De princ. 4.2.3; 4.4.9–10). For Clement’s grounding of the whole
epistemic quest in faith ( pistis), see Clement of Alexandria 1954, esp. 42–7, 73–6 (Strom.
2.4.12–19; 2.11.48–52).
10
Clement of Alexandria 2002, 1–64 (Paedagogus, Bk. 1).
11
Origen 1991, 176. (Comm. on the Song of Songs 1.1).
12
For an excellent comprehensive analysis of the many dimensions of contemplation
(theôria) in patristic thought, see Lamaître et al. 1953; Olphe-Galliard, 1953.
13
E.g., Gregory of Nyssa 1991, 33 (De vita Moysis, Bk. 2).
14
On this patristic focus on the ‘mind’ or scope of the Bible as a whole, see Young
1997, 29–45; also O’Keefe and Reno 2005, 24–44.
15
E.g., Diodore of Tarsus 1980, 7 (Comm. on Psalms, prol.).
16
See Young 1997, 161–85; cf. also Böhm 2004.
17
Origen 1980, 320–2 (De princ. 4.2.6). Cf. Maximus the Confessor 1980, 355 (Qu.
Thal. 49): “For the historical past always stands as present fact mystically, through
spiritual interpretation (theôria).”
18
Origen (1903, 12) in fact speaks of three phases of revelation: “Law” (indicating
the Hebrew scriptural tradition in general), “Gospel” (the Christian fulfillment regis-
tered in the New Testament’s testimony to Christ), and “Spiritual Gospel,” indicating
the fullness of the revelation as an eschatological reality (Comm. on John 1:9). For all
of Scripture, Maximus the Confessor (1980, 111) speaks of “the power of the literal
meaning (historia) in the Spirit, which is constantly being realized and abounding into
its fullness” (Qu. ad Thal. 17). John Breck (1986, 102–4) has appropriately related theôria
to what the Christian tradition eventually called the sensus plenior, the fuller meaning of
Scripture unfolded under the guidance of the Holy Spirit in the church’s experience.
19
de Lubac 1968, 164.
20
Young 1997, 186–213.
21
See Melito of Sardis 1979.
22
See de Lubac 1950, esp. 113–25; cf. Origen 1983, 147–151.
23
Origen 1976, 94–112 (Hom. in Gen. 2.4–6). Origen begins with square planks of
the ark’s exterior as a symbol of the church’s leadership, which protects it from heresy.
The “length and breadth and height” of the ark recall the “length and breadth and
height” of the cross (cf. Eph. 3:18). The multiple decks indicate, in one moral-spiri-
tual interpretation, the different ranks of beings in the cosmos from the lowest to the
highest.
24
For a helpful review of Antiochene theôria, see Breck 1986, 49–92, esp. 64–92.
25
Diodore of Tarsus 1980, 7 (Comm. on Psalms, prol.); cf. Theodore of Mopsuestia
1880, 72–87 (Comm. in Gal. 4:22–31).
26
Irenaeus of Lyons 1979, 112–52 (Against Heresies 1.8.1–1.9.5).
27
Origen 1903, 267–9 (Comm. on John 13.42).
For once one admits that these scriptures are from the Creator of the
world, one must also be convinced that whatever they discover, who
search for the meaning of creation, must also be true of the meaning
of scripture.28
In the fourth century, Athanasius declares that creation, “as it were in
writing, indicates and proclaims its master and maker.”29 Ephrem the
Syrian similarly declares that “the keys of doctrine, which unlock all
of Scripture’s books, have opened up before my eyes the book of cre-
ation.”30 Likewise Evagrius Ponticus, the prolific Origenist and monastic
theologian, evidences the two books analogy in monastic piety, quoting
a dictum of St. Antony: “My book, philosopher, is the nature of [cre-
ated] beings, and it is there when I want to read the words (logoi) of
God.”31 Elsewhere, in a scholion on Ps. 138:16 (LXX), Evagrius expands
this analogy for his monastic audience, indicating that the logoi of God
must, through contemplation, also be imprinted on the vigilant mind
as though it were itself a third kind of book:
The book of God is the contemplation (theôria) of bodies and incorpo-
real beings in which a purified mind (nous) comes to be written through
knowledge ( gnôsis). For in this book are written the logoi of providence and
judgment, through which book God is known as Creator, wise, provident,
and judging: Creator through the things that have come from non-being
into being; wise through his concealed logoi; provident through those logoi
contributing to our virtue and knowledge; and furthermore judge, through
the variety of bodies of the reasoning beings, and through the multiform
worlds and the beings who comprise those ages.32
This analogy of three parallel books is later expounded even more
vividly by another Greek monastic theologian, Maximus the Confessor,
in the seventh century.
He who “gropes after God” (Acts 17:27) properly has discretion. Therefore
he who comes upon the law’s symbols intellectually, and who contemplates
the phenomenal nature of created beings scientifically, discriminates within
28
Origen, Comm. on Psalms 1.3, Migne 1857–86, 12: 1081A–B), excerpted in Balthasar
1984, 90. All Greek patristic texts from the Patrologia Graeca series (see Migne 1857–86)
are cited by volume number, column(s), and section(s).
29
Athanasius 1971, 94–95 (Contra gentes 34).
30
Ephrem the Syrian 1989, 108 (Hymns on Paradise 6.1).
31
Evagrius 1971, 694 (Praktikos 92); trans. in Evagrius of Pontus 2003b, 112.
32
Evagrius, Scholia in Psalmos 138.16 (Migne 1857–86, 12: 1662), trans. in Dysinger
2005, 171–2 (slightly altered). The extension of the analogy to Scripture, world, and
soul also had precedent in Origen: de Lubac 1950, 346–55.
scripture, creation, and himself. He distinguishes, that is, between the let-
ter ( gramma) and the spirit ( pneuma) in scripture, between inner principle
(logos) and outward appearance (epiphaneia) in creation, and between the
intellect (nous) and sense (aisthêsis) in himself, and in turn unites his own
intellect indissolubly with the spirit of scripture and the inner principle
of creation. Having done this, he “discovers God.” For he recognizes,
as is necessary and possible, that God is in the mind, and in the inner
principle, and in the spirit; yet he is fully removed from everything mis-
leading, everything that drags the mind down into countless opinions, in
other words, the letter, the appearance, and his own sense experience . . .
If someone mingles and confuses the letter of the law, the outward
appearance of visible things, and his own sense with each other, he is
“blind and short-sighted” (2 Pet. 1:9) and suffers from ignorance of the
true Cause of created beings.33
Origen, Evagrius, and Maximus alike employ the image of the Logos
incarnating or inscribing himself in the three books, making himself
available through the logoi, a term simultaneously applicable to the
constitutive principles of all created things, the words or meanings of
Scripture, and by epistemological extension the reason (logos) implanted
in all rational beings (logikoi). The unifying strand in the various nuances
of the logoi, whether in cosmological, scriptural, or anthropological
contexts, is the immanence of the divine Logos, the Word who indwells
every medium of revelation.34 The sacramentality of the text of Scrip-
ture or the text of creation is such that the divine presence itself is
communicated, the Logos penetrating not only these material texts but
the subjective exercises of human contemplation and interpretation.
The personal presence of the Logos in the logoi, understood by some
writers as the very intentions (thelêmata) of God for the world,35 secures
the integrity and coherence of God’s revelatory plan in the economies
of creation and Scripture. The Logos mutually insinuates these two
economies such that they tell the same truth, as it were, though that
truth is arrived at only through intensive contemplation accompanied by
rigorous ascetical discipline.36 Maximus the Confessor vividly describes
the interchangeable relation of natural law (creation) and written law
33
Maximus the Confessor 1980, 225 (Qu. Thal. 32); cf. also Maximus, Ambiguorum
liber 33 (Migne 1857–86, 91: 1285C–1288A). Maximus’s critical appropriation of the
work of Evagrius has been abundantly documented.
34
See Blowers 1991, 117–30.
35
Cf. Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, De divinis nominibus 5.8 (Migne 1857–86, 3:
824C); Maximus the Confessor 1980, 95 (Qu. Thal. 13).
36
See Dysinger 2005, 34–44.
37
Ambiguorum liber 10 (Migne 1857–86, 91: 1128D–1129C). On this text, see also
Blowers 1993, 145–9.
38
Augustine 1995, 12–16 (De doctrina Christiana 1.1.1–5.12). See also Otten 1995,
261–3.
39
E.g., Tertullian 1957, 99–101, 107–8 (On the Prescription of Heretics 8, 14). Tertul-
lian explicitly mentions the heretics’ misappropriation of Jesus’s statement “Seek and
you shall find” (Matt. 7:7). Cf. Augustine 1992, 42–4 (De moribus ecclesiae catholicae et de
moribus Manichaeorum 1.21.38), who lambastes the Manichaeans’ “inquisitiveness and
eagerness” and “desire for vain knowledge” as tantamount to idolatry. On the patristic
assessment of curiosity, see Groh 2003, 77–8, 93–5. Specifically on Augustine’s view
of it, see Torchia 1999 and Blumenberg 1961.
40
See Augustine 1981, 182, 184–5 (Confessions 10.34.51; 10.35.54–55).
41
See Basil of Caesarea 2006, 284 (Hom. in hex. 5.2).
42
Basil of Caesarea 2006, 478–80 (Hom. in hex. 9.1).
43
Gregory of Nyssa 1986, 281–5 (Hom. in Eccl. 1.2). Here we have, in effect, a
cosmological counterpart of Origen’s view (see Origen 1980, 334–4) that Scripture is
replete with obstacles (skandala)—difficulties, obscurities, complexities, apparent falsi-
ties—that the Holy Spirit has intentionally implanted in the biblical text to cajole the
interpreter and encourage deeper research into its meaning (De princ. 4.2.9).
44
Gregory of Nyssa, Apologia in hexaemeron (Migne 1857–86, 44: 61–124).
45
See the interpretation of this text by John Chrysostom, Hom. in Acts 22 (Migne
1857–86, 60: 171–178). Chrysostom specifically mentions that Peter in this story has
been granted a spiritual vision (theôria).
46
On these typological connections see McDonnell 1996, esp. 101–10, 145–55,
209–17.
47
See Tertullian 1952, 67–79 (On Baptism 3–9).
48
Cf. Clement of Rome 2000, 142–4 (1 Clement 25.1–26.1); Ambrose of Milan
1897, 197 (Hexaemeron 5.23).
49
Cf. Basil 2006, 472 (Hom. in hex. 8.8); Ambrose of Milan 1897, 195–6 (Hex.
5.23).
50
See Ambrose of Milan 1897, 140–228 (Hex. 5.1–6.5). The Physiologus and Ambrose
provided precedent for later philosophers and intellectuals in the Western Christian
tradition; see Harrison 1998.
51
Ambrose of Milan 1897, 108–9 (Hex. 3.17); trans. in Ambrose of Milan 1961,
121–2 (slightly altered).
52
See e.g., Evagrius of Pontus 1998, 208–16 (On Thoughts 17–18).
53
E.g., Evagrius of Pontus 1971, 684 (Praktikos 92).
54
Cf. John Cassian 1886, 289 (Conference 10.3), where the issue is the fact that
Scripture itself calls the human creature the “image of God” (Gen. 1:26); Evagrius
of Pontus 2003b, 199–201, 205–6 (On Prayer 66–73, 113–120).
55
This rigorous process is a pervasive theme in Evagrius’s treatises On the Eight
Thoughts (De octo spiritibus malitiae), On Thoughts (Peri logismôn), Reflections (Skemmata), and
On Prayer (De oratione). See the excellent translations by Sinkewicz, with introductions,
in Evagrius of Pontus 2003b, 66–90, 136–216.
56
Evagrius of Pontus 2003b, 80 (On the Eight Thoughts 4.2–6). Cf. Maximus the
Confessor 1980, 399–403 (Qu. Thal. 51).
holy powers, which is suitable to the more irrational state of souls.57 For
scripture customarily calls mountains holy. David in this same way lifts
his soul “to the mountains, whence his help comes” (Ps. 120:1 LXX),
and furthermore says, “The mountains skipped like rams, and the hills
like ewe-lambs” (Ps. 113:4 LXX) for the salvation of Israel. If the angels
rejoice over a single soul who repents (Luke 15:7), how much more do they
rejoice over a multitude who pass from wickedness to virtue. Wherefore
only knowledge of the holy angels feeds the virtues in us, whence the soul
puts on compassion, goodness, patience, humility (cf. Col. 3:12), faith,
self-control, love (cf. Col. 3:14) along with the good things they gener-
ate. That David too calls rational souls “plains” can be learned from the
following texts: “and your plains shall be filled with fatness” (Ps. 64:12
LXX), and a little further on, “the valleys shall abound with corn, they
shall cry out and indeed sing hymns” (Ps. 64:14 LXX). A “hymn” and
a “cry” can only be produced by a rational nature.58
This kind of symbolism, as Evagrius well knows, only modestly begins to
dig below the surface of the created order. Ascetics are called to a kind
of contemplation of the logoi of created things that the angels themselves
enjoy and exemplify. In one passage, he distinguishes between angelic,
demonic, and human thoughts concerning the logos of gold:
First, angelic thoughts are concerned with the investigation of the natures
of things and search out their spiritual principles (logoi ). For example, the
reason why gold was made and why it is sand-like and scattered through
the lower regions of the earth, and is discovered with much labour and
toil; how when it is discovered it is washed and delivered to the taber-
nacle, the incense burner, the censers, and the vessels (cf. Exod. 25:29,
31; 27:1–3) from which by the grace of the Saviour the king of Babylon
no longer drinks (cf. Dan. 5:1–30), but it is Cleopas who brings a heart
burning with these mysteries (Luke 24:32). The demonic thought neither
knows nor understands these things, but without shame it suggests only
the acquisition of sensible gold and predicts the enjoyment and esteem
that will come from this. The human thought neither seeks the acquisition
of gold nor is concerned with investigating what gold symbolizes; rather,
it merely introduces in the intellect the simple form of gold separate
from any passion of greed. The same reasoning can be applied to other
matters by mentally engaging the exercise of this rule.59
57
Evagrius means by this that the knowledge of the holy powers, or angels, is a
necessary food for the “more irrational” (i.e., “less rational”) state of souls. Souls need
to be instructed first by the angels in order to advance to that greater “rationality” in
which they can enjoy the more sublime knowledge of God.
58
Evagrius of Pontus 1987, 430 (Schol. in Prov. 341).
59
Evagrius of Pontus 2003b, 158 (On Thoughts 8). As Géhin and Guillaumont
(Evagrius of Pontus 1998, 179n.) and Sinkewicz (Evagrius of Pontus 2003b, 268n.) all
comment, gold is for Evagrius, in its dissemination throughout the earth and its potential
for refinement and purification, a subtle symbol of fallen, embodied spiritual beings
who are capable of transformation and restoration to their original perfection.
60
Clement of Alexandria 1951, 173 (Strom. 1.28.1); cf. Origen 1991, 128 (Comm. on
the Song of Songs, Prol. 3), where Origen applies a threefold distinction to the Wisdom
literature: ethics in Proverbs, physics in Ecclesiastes, and enoptics (invisible theologi-
cal mysteries) in the Song of Songs. See also Evagrius of Pontus 1987, 90 (Schol. in
Prov. 2).
61
Evagrius of Pontus 1989, 92 (Gnostikos 4); cf. Schol. in Ps. 118.85 (Migne 1857–86,
12: 1604A).
62
Evagrius of Pontus 1912, 548–9 (Gnostikos 20); see also Evagrius of Pontus 1989,
118–121.
63
Evagrius of Pontus 1912, 550–1 (Gnostikos 40); see also Evagrius of Pontus 1989,
164–5).
when rightly used, to help stabilize and orient the soul.64 Still, natural
contemplation admits of internal developmental levels or dimensions,
of which Evagrius gives differing accounts. On the one hand, he notes
five contemplations (theôriai ) in descending order of sublimity but in
reverse (ascending) order with respect to progressive exercise. First is
the contemplation of the Trinity. Next are the paired contemplations
of incorporeal and corporeal beings, which, as we saw earlier, Evagrius
calls the “book of God.” Lastly are the paired contemplations of divine
providence and judgment in the world.65 Elsewhere Evagrius distin-
guishes more succinctly between the second natural contemplation of
the diversity of creation, and the first natural contemplation, which
looks toward the ultimate unity of all beings in God.66
Much of Evagrius’s instruction on natural contemplation centers
on the logoi, and especially the logoi of rational beings (logikoi ), whose
movements are the special object of God’s creative and redemptive
powers. Theôria physikê aims not just at creatures’ own natural logoi,
which hold the key to their constitution and teleology in the divine
plan, but the “logoi of providence and judgment,” the principles that
evidence God’s action in sustaining, reforming, and transforming his
creatures.67 The logoi provide a kind of map or grid to disclose (albeit
only gradually, and only to the worthy) God’s purposes and strategies
in the world. In the cosmic metanarrative that Evagrius shares with his
predecessor Origen, preexistent logikoi fell from their primordial unity
with God, who in turn created material bodies for their rehabilitation
64
Evagrius of Pontus 1971, 556, 676, 680 (Praktikos 24, 86, 88); Evagrius of Pontus
1931, 374 (Skemmata 8). Cf. Maximus the Confessor 1980, 47–9, 499 (Qu. Thal. 1; ibid.
55); also Maximus, Ambiguorum liber 6 (Migne 1857–86, 91: 1068A).
65
Evagrius of Pontus 1958, 28 (Kephalaia gnostica 1.27); cf. Schol. in Ps. 138.16 (Migne
1857–86, 12: 1662). By “incorporeal” beings Evagrius is thinking principally of the
angels, whose bodies are less dense (they did not fall so far from God!) and who are
important mediators, to lower corporeal beings, of the knowledge of God.
66
Evagrius of Pontus 1958, 122, 124, 133 (Keph. gnost. 3.61; 3.67; 3.87). On the
implications of these various natural contemplations, see Dysinger 2005, 37–43; also
Thunberg 1995, 343–47.
67
Evagrius of Pontus, Schol. in Ps. 8:16 (Migne 1857–86, 12: 1662); Evagrius of
Pontus 1993, 58 (Schol. in Eccl. 1); Evagrius of Pontus 1987, 90 (Schol. in Prov. 1). See
also Dysinger 2005, 171–95, for a full examination of the meaning of the “logoi of
providence and judgment.” “Providence,” for Evagrius, pertains mainly to God’s
provision of the remedial means for fallen rational beings (logikoi ) to return to unity
with him, while “judgment” bespeaks the divine healing and conversion of bodies
commensurate with that return.
68
Of particular importance here are the Kephalaia Gnostica of Evagrius (Evagrius of
Pontus 1958). See also Guillaumont 1962.
69
Evagrius of Pontus 1987, 92 (Schol. in Prov. 3).
70
Gregory of Nyssa 1986, 279–80 (Hom. in Eccl. 1); Evagrius of Pontus 1993, 58
(Schol. in Eccl. 1).
71
For exemplary texts from the Scholia on Psalms with discussion, see Dysinger 2005,
152–71; cf. also Driscoll, introduction to Evagrius of Pontus 2003a, 17–22.
72
Evagrius of Pontus 1931, 374 (Skemmata 1); cf. Evagrius of Pontus 1912, 550–1;
and Evagrius of Pontus 1989, 164–5 (Gnostikos 40), where Evagrius notes that of the
multiple logoi of a created thing, the primary logos of each is known solely by Christ.
has been initiated in the ineffable power of the resurrection knows the
purpose (logos) for which God originally made all things.73
Thus for Maximus the metanarrative to which creation and Scripture
give testimony with their thoroughly integrated logoi, is the eschatologi-
cal outworking of God’s incarnate presence for, with, and in the world
in order to redeem and deify his creation. “Always and in all things,”
he writes, “the Logos of God, who is also God, wills to fulfill the
mystery of his embodiment.”74 Because Christ the Logos perennially
indwells the logoi, they all converge in this cosmic mystery.75 Maximus
proposes his own sophisticated outlines for theôria physikê and theoria
graphikê, which he regularly considers in tandem. In one discussion he
speaks of contemplating created being in terms of (1) “essence,” or
basic ontological integrity; (2) “motion,” relative to God as their tran-
scendent Cause and End; (3) “difference,” respecting their variegation
according to their proper constitutive principles (logoi ); (4) “mixture,”
having to do with the fusion of their wills with the virtues; and (5)
“position,” meaning their moral disposition vis-à-vis the divine Good.
Maximus recommends this as a disciplined means of inquiry into
the “providence and judgment” operative in the cosmos. Elsewhere,
he introduces ten modes of contemplation of the world of beings
mirrored within Scripture. They are to be envisioned in terms of (1)
place; (2) time; (3) genus, or kind; (4) individual person; (5) dignity or
occupation. These in turn contract into (6) practical, (7) natural, and
(8) theological philosophy. These further contract into (9) present and
(10) future, or type (typos) and fulfilling truth (alêtheia).76 Maximus sees
this as a way to move the contemplative vision progressively from the
profound diversity of beings in the grand theater of universal history to
the eschatological unity of all creation. Every particular created being
is understood to stand in a complex ontological and moral relation to
the one unifying logos/Logos of all things. Within this tenfold scheme,
Maximus has incorporated not only some of the Aristotelian categories
(the primary predicables of every being) but the Alexandrian pedagogic
triad of practical (ethical), natural, and theological philosophy, and the
73
Maximus the Confessor, Capita theologica et oeconomica 1.66 (Migne 1857–86, 90:
1108A–B).
74
Maximus the Confessor Ambiguorum liber 7 (Migne 1857–86, 91: 1084D).
75
On Maximus’s highly developed doctrine of the logoi, see Tollefsen 2008, 64–137,
also Dalmais 1952.
76
Maximus the Confessor, Ambiguorum liber 37 (Migne 1857–86, 91: 1293A–
1296D).
77
For a thorough study of Maximus’s tenfold scheme of contemplation, see Blowers
2003, 408–26; also Blowers 1991, 137–45. Specifically on natural contemplation in
Maximus, see Harrington 2007, 191–212.
78
Among the more helpful and comprehensive studies in this regard, see Sorabji
1983; Winden 1997; May 1994; Callahan 1958, Osborn 1981; Crouzel 1962. For a
concise summary, see Lindberg 1986.
79
Cf. Theophilus of Antioch 1970, 38–40 (Ad Autolycum 2.10); Tertullian 1999,
132–4 (Against Hermogenes. 20.1–4); Origen 1976, 24 (Hom. in Gen. 1.1); Origen 1903,
20–5 (Comm. on John 1.16–20); Ambrose of Milan 1897, 13 (Hex. 1.4).
80
Methodius of Olympus, De creatis 9, 11 (apud Photius, Bibliotheca, Cod. 235, Migne
1857–86, 103: 1138C–1148C).
81
Basil of Caesarea 2006, 110–12 (Hom. in hex. 1.6); Gregory of Nyssa, Apologia in
Hexaemeron. (Migne 1857–86, 44: 69A); cf. Augustine 1894, 131–6, 140–1, 145–7, 183–4,
189–92 (De genesi ad litteram 4.33.51–34.55; 5.3.5–6; 5.5.12; 6.11.18; 6.14.25–18.29).
Augustine consistently cites the text of Sirach 18:1: “He created all things simultane-
ously (simul ) . . . ”
82
See Sorabji 1983, 245–7.
83
Tertullian 1999, 94–6 (Against Hermogenes 6.1–3).
84
Irenaeus of Lyons 1982, 91 (Against Heresies 2.10.4).
85
Athanasius 1971, 140–6 (De incarnatione 3–5).
86
Augustine 1981, 218–19, 270–1 (Confessions 12.6.6; 13.33.48). cf. Augustine 1894,
56–8, 146 (De Genesi ad litteram 1.15.29–30; 5.5.13).
87
Augustine 1894, 13, 131–6, 183–5, 189–92 (Gen. litt. 1.9.17; 4.33.51–34.53;
6.11.18–19; 6.14.25–18.29).
88
Gregory of Nyssa, De hominis opificio 23–24 (Migne 1857–86, 44: 209B–213C).
89
So argues Alexandre 1976.
90
For further discussion of Augustine’s confuting of Manichaeism, see Howell
2008.
91
Augustine 1894, 10, 131–6, 145–7, 183–5, 189–92 (De Genesi ad litteram 1.6.12;
4.33.51–34.53; 5.5.12–16; 6.11.18–19; 6.14.25–18.29).
Conclusion
92
On the patristic theme of the divine reformatio in melius in the cosmos, see Groh
2003, 60–88, 156–167, 175, 178, 200, 207.
93
For the legacy of this analogy in the Western tradition, see Otten 1995, 261–3,
267–84; van Berkel and Vanderjagt 2005; van Berkel and Vanderjagt 2006; and the
excellent monograph of Bono 1995. In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, see Chryssavgis
2004, chap. 7 (“The Book of Nature,” 108–26).
94
Davies 2004, 43.
95
Ibid., 98–9.
96
Ibid., 104–17, 117–19.
97
On this point, see the admonition in Augustine 1894, 30–1 (De Genesi ad litteram
1.21.41).
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800–1450
Charlotte Methuen
Introduction
* This article has benefited enormously from the comments of Jon Balserak, Jitse
van der Meer, Scott Mandelbrote and two anonymous readers, to whom I express
my thanks.
1
Introduction to Parts 2–4.
2
The a r t e s l i b e r a l e s were traditionally taken to comprise the t r i v i u m (grammar, rhetoric,
and dialectics or logic) and the q u a d r i v i u m (arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy).
3
There are many discussions of the establishment of theology as a discipline: see
for instance, Evans 1980; Southern 2001, 1–147; Otten 2004a, 1–44, 129–181. How-
ever, the suggestion that there is a radical break between the grammatical interests of
twelfth-century ‘humanism’ and the logical interests of thirteenth century ‘scholasti-
cism’ should not be overstated. See for instance, Minnis 1988, 3; Southern 1995, 21,
and de Lubac, 1998, 33.
4
For the rise and development of the universities in the Middle Ages, see, for instance,
de Ridder-Symoens 2001, Courtenay & Miethke 2000, Cobban 1975.
5
de Lubac 1998, 55.
6
Evans 1980, 65.
7
Lohr 1982, 83.
8
Otten 2004b, 354, 362. Compare also Evans 1980, 79–90.
9
As French and Cunningham argue, this was to some extent a clash between under-
standings of knowledge as s a p i e n t i a and knowledge as s c i e n t i a (French & Cunningham
1996, 55–60). However, the term s a p i e n t i a was also used by some—for instance in the
Y s a go ge i n t h e o l o gi a m —to denote knowledge gained through the arts, that is to describe
a part of s c i e n t i a (Evans 1980, 16). As noted below, a sharper distinction seems to
develop in the context of the discussion of the relationship between speculative and
practical arts.
10
de Lubac 1998, 49, citing Smalley (introduction to first edition).
11
Evans 1980, 90 and compare also her discussion of solutions to the problem
(ibid. 110–119).
12
Evans 1980, 91.
13
For a fascinating discussion of the terminology used to refer to Scripture during
this period, see Duchet-Suchaux & Lefèvre 1984.
14
Minnis 1988, 4, 33.
15
de Lubac 1998, 68.
16
Lombard [ca. 1150] (2007), Sentences, dist. 1, cap. 1–2: summarized by Evans 1980,
92. Lombard explains that the signs of which Scripture consists not only signify some-
thing, as all signs do, but are also capable of conferring something, by implication, grace.
17
de Lubac 1998, 27.
18
Evans 1980, 92.
19
Evans 1980, 92.
20
de Lubac 1998, 51–52, citing Leclercq & Wolter 1956.
21
On the shifting meanings of ‘disputation’ see de Lubac 1998, 52–55.
22
Smalley 1983, viii.
23
Ibid., viii–ix.
24
For instance, Rupert of Deutz developed a system of theology which was clearly
infl uenced by Aristotle and Boethius and by knowledge of contemporary debates, but
structured according to salvation history. Colish 1997, 3–4.
25
de Lubac 1998, I, 34.
26
This is, of course, true as early as the Council of Nicaea (325), which uses the
terms h o m o o u s i o s and h o m o i o u s i o s to explain the mystery of the Trinity. The doctrine of
transubstantiation employs the Aristotelian categories ‘substance’ and ‘accidence’ in
order to offer an explanation of how Christ’s body and blood can be present in the
bread and wine at the Eucharist—which is to say, it offers a philosophical exegesis of
Christ’s words “This is my body.”
27
Augustine of Dacia, a Dominican, cites it in a theological compendium compiled
“for the use of the simple” in ca. 1260, in a chapter D e i n t r o d u t o r i i s s c i e n t i a e t h e o l o gi c a e ,
which offers a summary of the teachings of Thomas Aquinas in the first Q u a e s t i o of
the S u m m a t h e o l o gi c a . de Lubac 1998, 1–2.
28
For a detailed discussion of different lists, see de Lubac 1998, 75–115.
29
Minnis 1988, 14.
30
Smalley 1983, viii, summing up the contribution of Henri de Lubac.
31
S p e c u l u m d e m y s t e r i i s e c c l e s i a e , cited in de Lubac 2000, II, 88.
32
de Lubac 1998, II, 88.
33
Minnis 1988, 13–14.
34
de Lubac 1998, II, 88.
35
This is the fundamental thesis of French & Cunningham 1996, but see especially
157–158, and compare also Evans 1980. Southern points to the intelligibility of nature
as a fundamental assumption of scholastic theology (1995, 30). In affirming the goodness
of nature, the Dominicans in particular drew on the newly rediscovered l i b r i n a t u r a l e s
of Aristotle, as discussed in the next section.
36
Southern 1995, 40.
37
Ibid., 36.
38
Lohr 1982, 89.
39
French & Cunningham 1996, 81–88. For medieval understandings of n a t u r a ,
see Gloy 1995–1996, Schäfer & Ströker 1993, Picht 1989, Hager 1984, Hennemann
1975.
40
The terminology of literal and allegorical reading of nature is drawn from French
& Cunningham, although they do not (as far as I can see) give an adequate defini-
tion of their understanding of a literal reading of nature. See French & Cunningham
1996, e.g., 73–74, 76–79.
41
Thus William of Thierry suggests that the p h y s i c u s looks at the ultimate nature
of things, whilst the p h i l o s o p h u s considers these in the light of creation. French & Cun-
ningham 1996, 77.
42
French & Cunningham 1996, 78.
43
Ibid., 79–80. As proposed by Hugh of St. Victor (1096–1141), here God acts as
the active principle which shapes nature (n a t u r a n a t u r a n s ), whilst the created world is
nature as shaped by that principle (n a t u r a n a t u r a t a ).
44
French & Cunningham 1996, 92.
45
Southern 1995, 38.
46
French & Cunningham 1996, 71–73.
47
Ibid., 77–78 (quote at 78).
48
Otten 2004a, 52.
49
de Lubac 1998, I, 76–77.
50
Otten 2004a, 51.
51
Thomas Aquinas, S u m m a T h e o l o g i c a I, qu. 1, art. 10; cited by Southern 1995,
114.
52
Otten 2004a, 128.
53
See, for instance, Dod 1982, 48, 71.
54
Dod 1982, 71.
55
Lohr 1982, 85.
56
Lohr believes that the 1255 Paris statutes mark an “official adoption” of Aristote-
lianism (1982, 87), but compare the more cautious interpretation of Dod 1982, 73.
57
Lohr 1982, 87.
58
Ibid., 87–88. Compare also Grant 1982, 537–539.
59
Minnis 1988, 28–29.
60
Smalley 1983, 297; compare also Minnis 1988, 39.
61
Verger 1984, 212.
62
Ibid., 213.
63
Lohr 2005.
64
Lohr 1982, 90.
65
Ibid., 91.
66
Harrison 2008, 43–46. Compare also Southern 1995, 42–43.
67
Lohr 1982, 93.
68
Cross 1999, 159n 43.
69
Cited according to Lohr 1982, 94.
70
Lohr 1982, 94.
71
Cross 1998, 6.
72
Lohr 1982, 96.
73
French & Cunningham 1996, 224.
74
Robson 2001, 195, 187.
75
Ibid., 196.
76
French & Cunningham 1996, 247.
77
Robson 2001, 195, 197.
78
Grant 1996, 80.
79
Leff 1959, 88.
80
Leff 1959 88, and compare Leff 1961, 18–19.
81
Grant sees this as the underlying concern of the Paris condemnations of 1270
and 1277 (1982, 537–539).
82
Leff 1961, 21.
83
Ibid., 24.
84
For these discussions, see for instance, Adams 1982, 411–439. Ockham held that
“universals are nothing other than names—naturally significant general concepts pri-
marily, and secondarily the conventional signs corresponding to them” (ibid., 434); that
is, he “[identified] universals primarily with natural significant names (or concepts) and
not with conventional names” (ibid., 438–439). However, he does not clearly explain
the relation of natural signification, nor is he entirely clear about the ontological status
of concepts, and therefore of universals (ibid., 435–439). For the complexity of defin-
ing ‘nominalist’ understandings of universals, see Courtenay 1974, and on the earlier
period, compare also Courtenay, 1995.
85
Courtenay 1987, 7.
86
Ibid., 8.
87
Cross 1999, 10.
88
Ockham argues, for instance, that “the doctrine of the Trinity appears philosophi-
cally incoherent.” Cross 1999, 159 n. 43.
89
Oberman 1994, 28. Compare also Courtenay 1974, 39, and see the discussion
in Funkenstein 1986, 129–135.
90
Oberman 1994, 28.
91
Ibid., 28.
92
This is not to say that all ‘nominalists’ were engaged on the study of the natural
world. Indeed, Harrison (2002) argues that there was no simple causal relationship
between nominalism and empiricism. However, it remains the case that nominalism
left space for an interest in the world for its own sake.
93
Oberman (1994, 24) points out that some German universities might include not
only a vi a T h o m a e (way of Thomas) or a vi a S c o t i (way of Scotus) and a vi a O c c a m i (way
of Ockham), but other ways such as a vi a A l b e r t i (the way of Albert Magnus) or the
vi a G r e go r i i (the way of Gregory of Rimini).
94
Catto 2008, 110. Catto suggests, however, that “in practice the original thinkers
in German universities, above all Nicolas of Cusa and Gabriel Biel . . . ignored the
controversies of the W e ge s t r e i t ” (ibid.).
95
See, for instance, Courtenay 1985, esp. 177–178.
96
Courtenay 1985, 184.
97
Ibid., 185.
98
Ibid., 187.
99
Vasoli 1988, 58.
100
Ibid., 59–60.
101
Otten & Salmink 2004, 24.
102
For this development in Lorenzo Valla and Rudolf Agricola, see Mack 1993.
103
Minnis 1988, x. For examples of the effect of this in late medieval vernacular
translations of Scripture, see ibid., ix. Smith offers facsimile reproductions of the page
layout of medieval manuscripts including the g l o s s a o r d i n a r i a (2001, 43); for a reproduc-
tion of a page of an early printed g l o s s a o r d i n a r i a , see Lobrichon 1984, 102.
104
“Du texte glosé au texte nu”: Bedouelle 1989, 59.
105
For the complexities of the text of Scripture during the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries, and particularly the standardization of the Vulgate text during the thirteenth,
see Light 1984, esp. 88–93.
106
Bedouelle 1999, 210.
107
Vasoli 1988, 65.
108
Grafton 1991, 8.
109
Grafton 1991, 8.
110
Ibid., 26–27.
111
Ibid., 30–32.
“scholars have tended to seize upon only one of the two approaches
I have described as the one really characteristic of humanism,”112
most humanists in fact combined them: “no criticism of allegorical
principles . . . ever did away with allegorical practice—even on the part
of the critic himself.”113
112
Ibid., 32.
113
Ibid., 37.
114
Vasoli 1988, 65.
115
See Vanderjagt 2008, 160–167; Mesguich 2008.
116
For Luther as an example of this, see Raeder 2008, 375.
117
Bedouelle 1999, 210; Backus 1999, 213.
118
Rummel 2008, 218.
119
Bedouelle 1999, 210.
120
Catto 1992, 278.
Indeed, town councils, the members of which were often drawn from
an elite of humanist educated citizens, began to appoint preachers to
do precisely that.
The question of what people could know about the natural world and
the extent to which that knowledge could lead to God remained pressing,
not least because, as disputes about the true interpretation of Scripture
degenerated into violence, the natural world was seen by some as offering
an alternative, perhaps less controversial, route to understanding the
will of God. Mathematical Platonism, with its conviction that number
could represent attributes of the mind of God, seemed to offer a helpful
tool. Although Aristotle continued to be regarded as the philosopher
of the universities until well into the seventeenth century, Platonic
philosophy was an important infl uence on both the philosophy and the
theology of the Renaissance. Nicolas of Cusa (1401–1464) drew on the
writings of Meister Eckhart, Pseudo-Dionysius, and possibly Proclus in
arguing that the power of perception as “derived from a higher power:
it was a gift of God to human minds which were in a state of ‘neces-
sary ignorance’,” which followed from the “absolute disproportion of
the infinity of God to the limited capacity of the human intellect.”121
Human knowledge can therefore never fully comprehend God, and in
particular Aristotelian logic remains a logic of the finite, which must
always and necessarily fail in the contemplation of the infinite.122 The
only exception to this is mathematical concepts, which he thought were
known to the intellect independently of sensory perception: “numbers,
he was tempted to think, were images of the ideas of God.”123
Nicolas of Cusa had appealed to works of Pseudo-Dionysius which
had been translated by John Scotus Eriugena in the ninth century and
had been frequently commented on in the Latin West.124 Methodologi-
cally anchored in the scholastic tradition,125 Marsilio Ficino (1433–1499)
and Giovanni Pico della Mirandola (1463–1494) drew on newly dis-
covered works of Plato, mediated through Plotinus’ E n n e a d s .126 Another
121
Catto 2008, 115, and compare Hopkins 1986.
122
See Cassirer 1927, 11–12.
123
Catto 2008, 116.
124
Allen 1999, 55.
125
Kristeller & Randall, 1948, 7–8.
126
For the dates of the discovery of Plato’s works in Italy, see Allen 1999, 55.
127
Allen 1999, 55–56.
128
Allen 1999, 58.
129
Melanchthon 1535 (1835), 817. For the reception history of this phrase, see
Ohly 1982.
130
Methuen 2008, 77–93.
131
Lohr 1997, 372.
132
Ibid., 372, and compare also Lohr 1988.
ties, arguing that “faith has its own proper procedures, revelation and
scripture,” which “separate faith from his philosophical project and make
it immune from criticisms of miracles, immortality and freedom.”133
Jacopo Zabbarella (1533–1589) sought to clarify Aristotelian methods
of demonstration, and in particular the reciprocal demonstrations ‘of
the fact’ and ‘of the reasoned fact’ which came to be known as the
demonstrative regress.134 His O p e r a L o g i c a was published in Basel in 1594
and became important for German philosophers and theologians; Georg
Calixt (1586–1656) used Zabarella’s method to support a distinction
between natural theology as a theoretical science and revealed theology
as a practical science.135 Like Pompanazzi, Zabarella was also deeply
interested in human nature and the soul, summing up
the best wisdom of the Humanists about human nature, about its natural
destiny and its high estate, combining a sober recognition of its finite
conditions with that lingering sense of immortality which is the charac-
teristic stamp of the humanist.136
In general, sixteenth-century Italian Aristotelians “maintained a secular
rationalism that kept philosophy independent of theology without inter-
fering with its dogmatic teachings.”137 In this context, considerations of
the natural world could be done without reference to God.
In Northern Europe, Rudolf Agricola (1443/44–1485) sought in his
D e i n v e n t i o n e d i a l e c t i c a l i b r i t r e s to simplify Aristotle’s dialectics, bringing
together dialectics and rhetoric in topics, or l o c i , which were organized
so as to provide a comprehensive theory of thinking and reasoning.138
Agricola’s work had wide infl uence on many sixteenth-century scholars,
including Juan Luis Vives (1492–1540), Erasmus and the critic of Aris-
totelian thought, Petrus Ramus (1515–1572). Ramus’s insistence that
the same method of reasoning could be applied both to questions of
logic and of rhetoric resonated with the renewed interest in rhetoric
and led to a revision of the way that logic and rhetoric were taught.
He believed that the first principles of method, stripped of ancient and
modern commentaries, would reveal ‘the truth’; this idea was bolstered
133
South 1999, 118.
134
Wallace 1999; compare also Mikkeli 1992; Mikkeli 1997; Jardine 1997.
135
Lohr 1997, 373–374.
136
Kristeller & Randall 1948, 13.
137
Ibid., 12. Pomponazzi taught a ‘double truth’ although there is some debate
about whether this was merely a formal distinction to aid proof.
138
Poel 1999, 19.
139
At times, particularly after Ramus had been forbidden to teach or publish, his
work appeared under Tallon’s name.
140
For Melanchthon’s use of rhetoric and dialectics and their application in his
theology and natural philosophy, see Kusukawa 1995 and Maurer 1969/1970.
141
Knafl a & Moss 1999.
142
For attitudes to syphilis, see Arrizabalaga, Henderson, & French 1997.
143
See, for instance, Maestlin 1582, 161. Compare also Harrison 1998, 70, 82–84,
and Vogel 1993.
144
Howell 2002, 150.
145
Or bring them into confl ict with one another: for instance, that the tropics were
inhabited had been claimed by Ptolemy and Avicenna but denied by Aristotle.
146
For a range of approaches to the nova, see Weichenhan 2004 and compare
Methuen 1997 and Methuen 2008, 33–47. These may be compared to the responses
to the comet of 1577/78 discussed in Hellman 1944.
147
Maestlin developed these arguments in the preface to his considerations of the
comets of 1577/78 and 1581: see Methuen 1998, 171–77.
148
Methuen 1997, 508–511, and compare also Methuen 1999, 108–111 and now
Methuen 2008, 43–46, 55–60.
149
Methuen 1997, 504–506, 512–513 and compare now also Methuen 2008,
39–46.
150
Ogilvie 2006, 268.
151
Ogilvie 2006, 109–110.
agreed about whether the natural world could offer reliable knowledge
about God as creator, with Melanchthon believing that it could, while
Luther and Calvin were less optimistic.152
In general, the Reformers’ methods of interpreting Scripture are
broadly in line with the humanist interest in establishing the original
meaning of the text. The strand of ‘literal’ interpretation which had
continued throughout the Middle Ages,153 and in particular the exegeti-
cal methods of Nicholas of Lyra,154 now came to the fore. However,
despite Luther’s often vitriolic critique of the interpretative strategies
of his scholastic predecessors, and his ostensible emphasis on the literal
interpretation of Scripture, none of the Reformers in fact abandoned
allegorical or spiritual interpretation. In particular, their interpreta-
tion of the Old Testament was often typological, seeing Old Testa-
ment figures as foreshadowing the Gospels.155 In this there was little
to distinguish between the methods of humanist-infl uenced Catholic
scholars and those of the Protestant Reformers. Similarly, Protestants
and Catholics alike drew on the interpretative methods and conclusions
of the church fathers, such as Origen, Chrysostom, Augustine, and
Jerome, all of whom had taught a spiritual as well as a literal mean-
ing. For Protestants, however, the spiritual understanding of the text, in
the sense of Christological or other typological interpretations, became
subsumed into its ‘literal’ meaning.
The most significant shift during the Reformation had relatively little
to do with methods of interpretation, which remained complex and
multifaceted. Instead, it refl ected the growing need to define particular
interpretative contexts in terms of the theology to which they gave rise.
In 1520, Luther had criticized the papacy’s claim to control the inter-
pretation of Scripture as the second of “three walls erected around the
papacy,” arguing that scriptural authority must be regarded as above
papal authority.156 However, as Erasmus almost immediately recognized,
this opened up the fl oodgates to a range of personal interpretations
152
See e.g., Harrison 2008, 54–66; compare also Methuen 2008, 7–18.
153
As shown by Smalley’s tracing of “the medieval study of the literal historical
sense” (1983, vii).
154
For a collection of studies of Lyra’s exegesis which investigate his emphasis on
a “literal-grammatical sense” and on words and their structure, see Krey & Smith
2000.
155
Backus 1999, 213.
156
Luther 1520 (1971), 18–22.
Conclusion
157
“What am I to do when many bring diverse interpretations, about which each
swears he has the Holy Spirit?” Erasmus 1525 (1969), 46.
158
“Furthermore, in order to restrain petulant spirits, [the Council] decrees that
in matters of faith and morals which are relevant to the building up of Christian
doctrine, no-one should presume to interpret sacred Scripture, by relying on his own
skill and wresting the sacred Scripture to his own senses, in a sense contrary to that
which the holy mother the Church, to whom it falls to judge of the true sense and
interpretation of the holy Scriptures, has held and does hold. [Council of Trent 1546,
92: Second decree concerning the edition and use of the sacred books]. For a more
detailed discussion of Trent’s definition of the status of the Vulgate, see Wicks 2008.
Councils throughout the fifteenth century had sought to define the interpretation of
Scripture: see Skarsaune 2008.
159
This is particularly true of Roman Catholic theology, with its continuing teach-
ing of transubstantiation. For the confessional constraints on the development of
natural philosophy, and particularly the importance of Eucharistic theology, see, for
Protestant developments, Leijenhorst & Lüthy 2002 and Lüthy 2005, and, for Jesuit
natural philosophy, Hellyer 2005.
Bibliography
William E. Carroll
1
In particular, see Van Nieuwenhove and Wawrykow 2005; Dauphinais and Levering
2005; Levering 2004; Ryan 2000; and Candler 2006.
2
I use the word “philosophy” to include what sometimes Thomas will call the “philo-
sophical sciences,” that is, the whole range of knowledge accessible to reason alone.
3
Already in the Muslim world, which came to the texts of Aristotle before these
texts were available to the Latin west, Aristotelian thought was the occasion for new
discussions about the relationship between the heritage of the Koran and that of
ancient Greece. See D’Ancona 1996.
4
Lindberg 1992, 190–197. William of Conches (d. after 1154) is a good example
of the increasing tendency to affirm the importance of the study of nature. In his
translations from Greek and Arabic sources would, by the end of the
twelfth century, provide the impetus for the acceleration of this intel-
lectual revival and would transform it in important ways. Scholars such
as Dominic Gundissalinus and Gerard of Cremona contributed to the
translation of most of the Aristotelian works in the natural sciences.
In the thirteenth century Robert Grosseteste5 and William of Moer-
beke6 helped to produce even better translations of Greek texts. Between
1200 and 1209, Grosseteste (at Oxford) produced the first full exposition
of Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics, a text which John of Salisbury, in the
previous century, described as having as many barriers to understanding
as there were chapters. By 1220 Averroes’s commentary on Aristotle’s
text appeared in Latin. It is difficult to underestimate the importance
of the Posterior Analytics in Western intellectual history since it represents
Aristotle’s systematic understanding of the nature of science and of the
role of demonstration in acquiring knowledge of nature. By the late
1260s and early 1270s, both Albert the Great and Thomas Aquinas
had completed their own commentaries on this work.
The reception of Aristotelian thought in the Latin Middle Ages is a
complex story, and that reception plays a crucial role in Thomas Aqui-
nas’s understanding of the relationship between science and Scripture.
The curricula of the newly established universities, especially at Oxford
and Paris, would eventually be revolutionized by the infl ux of the new
learning. There were various attempts at both universities to prohibit
the teaching of Aristotle, especially his natural philosophy, since there
Philosophy of the World, William attacks those who too readily appeal to direct divine
intervention in the world: “Because they are themselves ignorant of nature’s forces and
wish to have all men as companions in their ignorance, they are unwilling to investigate
them, but prefer that we believe like peasants and not inquire into the [natural] causes
[of things]. However, we say that the cause of everything is to be sought. . . . But these
people . . . if they know of anybody so investigating, proclaim him a heretic.” Andrew of
St. Victor, discussing the interpretation of biblical events, cautioned that “in expounding
Scripture, when the event described admits of no natural explanation, then and then
only should we have recourse to miracles.” Quoted in Lindberg, 200.
5
Grosseteste (ca. 1175–1253) was first chancellor of Oxford University and then
bishop of Lincoln from 1235 until his death in 1253. In addition to his role as trans-
lator of Aristotle, he was a major political, ecclesiastical, scientific, and philosophical
figure in his own right. Lohr 1982, 61. Lohr provides a useful table of all the transla-
tions, 74–79.
6
Moerbeke, a Dominican and friend of Thomas Aquinas, was born in Belgium
around 1215. He travelled extensively in Greece and was likely a member of the
Dominican priory established at Thebes at least since 1253. He served in the papal
court at Viterbo, and in 1278 he was named Archbishop of Corinth in Greece, where
he died in 1286. See Lohr 1982, 62–3.
7
de Libera 2003. A recent work on the Parisian ecclesiastical censures of 1277 is:
Piché 1999.
8
There were several collections of such “sentences” in the early twelfth century,
originating largely from the school of Laon.
9
A modern edition of Peter Lombard’s Sentences has been edited by Ignatius Brady:
Lombard 1971–1981. The most extensive treatment of Peter Lombard is the work of
Colish 1994. See also: Roseman 2004.
10
For a discussion of this transition, see Chenu 1968.
11
Healy 2004, 7. Analyses of the history of exegesis in the Middle Ages can be
found in Smalley 1964; de Lubac 1959–1964; and Dahan 1999.
12
Chenu 1968, 302–3.
13
For a discussion of Thomas’s life and thought, see: Weisheipl 1983; Davies 1992;
Torrell 1993 and 1996; O’Meara 1997; and Stump 2003.
14
See Olszewski 2001. Olszewski points out the differences between Albert’s
emphasis on the literal sense and the views of Franciscan masters, such as Alexander
of Hales, 474.
15
Chenu, who studied the development of theology in the twelfth century, points
out that the new masters of that century employed “Neoplatonic metaphysics based
on Augustine or pseudo-Dionysius, [and] maintained a more spontaneously religious
orientation than their successors [in the thirteenth century], who were equipped with
Aristotle as their guide to reason and eventually also their guide to an understanding
of nature and of man himself.” Chenu 1968, 302–3. Marcia Colish also describes the
development of systematic theology in the twelfth century and the place of scholastic
sentence collections as an innovative genre of theological literature: Colish 1994, vol. 1,
33–90. A similar analysis can be found in Aillet 1993, 3–40.
16
Lamb 1966, 6.
17
Origen (185–254) was famous in this respect. He compared the literal sense to
the human body and the spiritual senses to the soul and the spirit. He thought that
the literal sense contains “stumbling blocks . . . and impossibilities” and obvious errors,
designed to help the reader “move away from the letter” to appreciate the “divine
element.” De principiis 4. 1. 4 and 4. 2. 9. Origen 1936.
was somehow veiled by the literal and which would enhance one’s own
religious experience.
Rather, the aim was to use reason and logic to raise difficulties and ques-
tions that, once resolved, would deepen understanding of the text. Dialec-
tical inquiry—the formulation of objections and their solutions to issues
arising within or prompted by the text—clarified Scripture’s meaning and,
it was believed, would result in better preaching of the gospel.18
Thomas, in his inaugural lecture as a regent master in 1256, referred
to Scripture itself to validate the way in which he was to transmit the
knowledge of God: “Of these three offices, namely, to preach, to lec-
ture, and to dispute, it is said in Titus 1:9, ‘that he may be able both
to exhort in sound doctrine and to confute opponents.’ ”19
As I have already noted, Thomas’s intellectual life has as its focus the
enunciation and elucidation of the truths of Christian faith. Augustine
and Pseudo-Dionysius were important to him in this enterprise, but he
also drew from a wide variety of sources outside the Christian tradi-
tion: from Greek, Hellenistic, and Roman philosophy to the insights of
Muslim and Jewish philosophers and theologians. It is, of course, one
of the great accomplishments of Thomas Aquinas to find common
ground between the “new learning,” derived ultimately from Aristotle
(but informed as well by the commentaries of thinkers such as Avi-
cenna, Averroes, and Maimonides), and the fundamentals of Christian
revelation. As he remarks in many places, reason and faith—and hence
science and theology—have their source in God. Since the Author of
truth is one, there can be no contradiction between the truths which
reason discovers and those which are revealed in faith. In this essay, I
propose to look at two interrelated features of Thomas’s understand-
ing of the relationship between science and Scripture: 1) his claim that
sacra doctrina is a science (understood in terms of his own grasp of what
18
Healy, 9. Peter Chanter, a master of theology in Paris in the last quarter of the
twelfth century, described his task in a way which would refl ect the views of Thomas
Aquinas: “Engaging with Scripture (exercitium sacrae scripturae) requires three elements:
reading (lectio), disputation (disputatio), and preaching ( praedicatio) . . . Reading is, as it
were, the foundation and basement for what follows, for through it the rest is achieved.
Disputation is the wall in this building of study, for nothing is fully understood or
faithfully preached, if it is not first chewed over by the tooth of disputation. Preach-
ing, which is supported by both [of ] the former, is the roof, sheltering the faithful
from the heat and wind of temptation. So we should preach after, not before, the
reading of Scripture and the investigation of doubtful matters by disputation.” Cited
in Smalley 1964, 208.
19
Quoted in McInerny 1998, 15.
20
Thomas poses the topic this way: De sacra doctrina qualis sit et ad quae se extendat.
21
“All the commentaries on St. Thomas’s Summa I, q. 1, including Cajetan, inter-
pret article one in terms of articles two through eight, which seem to be about the
intellectual habit of scholastic theology structured along systematic lines of human
science. All the commentators also agree that article one is somehow about revealed
truth that is necessary for salvation, and that scientific theology is not necessary in the
same way.” Weisheipl 1974, 61.
22
Jean-Pierre Torrell observes: that we should understand “sacra doctrina comme le
‘milieu vital’ dans lequel s’enracine la theologia pratiquée par lui. Reçue par et tenue
dans la foi, cette sacra doctrina comporte une theologia que est elle-même en dependence
étroite de la foi et meme inseparable de la doctrine révélée.” Torrell 1996, 374.
23
Weisheipl 1974, 68–69. An extensive recent analysis of the use of scientia in Thomas’s
discussion of sacra doctrina, which takes issue with some of what Weisheipl argues, is:
Jenkins 1997, especially part one. See also White 1948; Van Ackeren 1952; Persson
1970; Ernst 1974; O’Brien 1977; Patfoort 1977; Patfoort 1985; Sparrow 1992; Rogers
1995; Johnson 1991; Johnson 1999; Donneaud 1998; Shanley 1997; Donohoo 1999;
Torrell 1996; Martin 2001; Te Velde 2003; Baglow 2004; and Berger 2004. Berger,
like Jenkins, differs from Weisheipl and sees the first question of the Summa theologiae
“as a portal to the ‘cathedral’ of the Summa, from which one can survey the complete
ensemble of architectonic motifs which constitute this cathedral.” Berger, 659.
24
Since it seems to deal with both God and creatures.
and poetic (article 9), and it embraces several senses even though the
foundational sense is the literal sense (article 10).
As Thomas sets forth his claims for sacra doctrina’s being a science
he has Aristotle’s understanding of science in mind; but he employs
that understanding analogically to the subject at hand. Thus, in article
two, he uses Aristotle’s distinction between two kinds of science to
locate how sacra doctrina can be correctly understood in Aristotelian
categories. One type of science proceeds from principles “known by the
natural light of intelligence, such as arithmetic, geometry and the like.”
As Aristotle showed in the Posterior Analytics, for there to be scientific
knowledge—the result, that is, of demonstrations—there must be first
principles immediately known (what in Latin, Thomas will call per se
nota) by the human intellect. Hence, a geometer starts with points, lines,
and planes, whose definitions one comes to know immediately (that
is, not mediated by a demonstration), and from such starting points
is able to demonstrate conclusions in the science of geometry. There
are other sciences “which proceed from principles known by the light
of a higher science.” Following Aristotle, Thomas refers to the science
of perspective which finds its principles in geometry, and music which
finds its principles (concerning proportion, for example) in arithmetic.
Thomas then draws the conclusion that, in a way similar to perspec-
tive and music,
sacra doctrina is a science because it proceeds from principles established by
the light of a higher science, namely the science of God and the blessed.
Hence, just as the musician accepts on authority the principles taught
him by the mathematician, so sacred science is established on principles
revealed by God.25
Earlier, in the prologue to his Writings on the Sentences of Peter Lombard,
he writes of this type of subalternation, but refers to theologica scientia
as being quasi subalternata to God’s knowledge (divinae scientiae).26 As
Jean-Pierre Torrell observes, the term “quasi” indicates that Thomas
25
“Et hoc modo sacra doctrina est scientia, quia procedit ex principiis notis lumine
superioris scientiae, quae scilicet est Dei et beatorum. Unde sicut musica credit principia
sibi tradita ab arithmetico ita sacra doctrina credit principia revelata a Deo.” (Aquinas,
Summa theologiae I, q. 1, a. 2.)
26
In I Sent. Prol., a. 3, sol 2. For a recent critical edition of the prologue, with com-
mentary, see Oliva 2006.
was aware of the limitations of the example from Aristotle.27 The phrase
“science of God and the blessed” (scientia Dei et beatorum) often presents
difficulties for readers of the text since they do not recognize the kind
of genitive construction it is. Thomas is not referring to God as the
object of the word science; rather he is referring to the knowledge,
quite literally the “science,” which God possesses and which, to some
degree those who share in the beatific vision also possess. Ultimately, of
course (and elsewhere), Thomas will distinguish between what it means
for God to know and what it means for creatures to know, but here
he is using “science” in a broad sense to include God’s knowing and
human knowing. The very fact that Thomas thinks that he can make
such a comparison is an indication that human reason can provide
some insight about God.28
Thomas recognizes that, by nature, human beings seek to know
God, but such knowledge, based exclusively on man’s natural capaci-
ties, comes only though created things. Man’s true end, however, is to
enjoy the immediate vision of God. In discussing faith, later in the
Summa theologiae, Thomas observes:
The perfection of a rational creature consists not only in what is fitting
for him by his nature, but also in what is attributed by a kind of super-
natural participation in God’s goodness (ex quadam supernaturali participatione
divinae bonatitis). . . . [Thus] man’s ultimate beatitude consists in a certain
vision that surpasses the natural. No one can attain this vision of God
except by being a learner with God as his teacher (non potest nisi per modum
addiscentis a Deo doctore).29
27
Also, the lumen gloriae of the blessed in heaven allows for a vision of the truth dif-
ferent from the lumen fidei which serves as the rule for theologians. Torrell 1996, 388.
28
Thomas makes the same point in his Commentary on Boethius’ ‘De Trinitate’, q. 2, a. 2.
In this earlier work, he mentions this argument of subalternation of the sciences only
in response to objections; in the Summa theologiae it becomes the key point in the second
article of the first question. In the Commentary, Thomas uses the expression scientia divina
instead of sacra doctrina. Armand Maurer, translator of Thomas’s commentary, notes that
“sacred doctrine is the teaching revealed by God in sacred Scripture. More generally,
it embraces ‘whatever pertains to the Christian religion.’ (Summa, prol.)” Maurer 1987,
ix. Corbin 1972 argues for a gradual development in the way Thomas understands
sacra doctrina; see esp. 64–107.
29
“Perfectio ergo rationalis creaturae non solum consistit in eo quod ei competit
secundum suam naturam, sed in eo etiam quod ei attribuiter ex quadam supernatu-
rali participatione divinae bonitatis. . . . [Q ]uod ultima beatitude hominis consistit in
quadam supernaturali Dei visione. Ad quam quidem visionem homo pertingere non
potest nisi per modum addiscentis a Deo doctore.” (Aquinas, Summa theologiae II–II,
q. 2, a. 3.) In De veritate, he writes “From its very beginning human nature was destined
for blessedness; not as though this were an end due to man in terms of his nature, but
As he says in De veritate,
God never proposes through the Apostles and the prophets anything
that is contrary to what reason indicates (aliquid quod sit contrarium his quae
naturalis ratio dictat), although He does propose what exceeds the power of
reason to comprehend (aliquid quod comprehensionem rationis excedit).30
The objections with which article two in the Summa theologiae begins—
that every science proceeds from self-evident principles and that sci-
ence deals with universals and not individual facts (with bumble bees,
for example, not a particular bumble bee)—are drawn from Aristotle’s
conception of science.31 And the replies to the objections do not involve
an abandonment of Aristotelian principles, but rather employ them in
such a way that Thomas can affirm both that sacra doctrina differs from
all human sciences in that it requires faith and that it still can properly
be called scientific. In an important sense, for Thomas, sacra doctrina is a
science not in spite of its being grasped by faith, but precisely because
(as one grasps by faith) its source is God’s knowledge.32
By article eight, when he asks whether sacra doctrina is a matter of
argument (sit argumentativa), he is ready to point out fundamental features
of his understanding of the relation between reason and faith. Thomas
observes that the science of metaphysics “can dispute with one who
denies its principles, if only the opponent will make some concession;
but if he concede nothing, it can have no dispute with him, though it
can answer his objections.” There is no argument without some com-
mon ground between those in disagreement. Similarly,
solely because of God’s liberality. And therefore there was no need that the resources
of nature should themselves suffice to reach that end; but they were enhanced by gifts
given out of God’s liberality.” (Aquinas, Questiones disputate de veritate xiv, 10 ad 2.)
30
“. . . quod per apostolos et prophetas nunquam divinitus dicitur aliquid quod sit
contrarium his quae naturalis ratio dictat. Dicitur tamen aliquid quod comprehensionem
rationis excedit.” (Aquinas, Questiones disputate de veritate q. 14, a. 10, ad 7.)
31
For a sustained analysis of the tension between an Aristotelian science, with its
emphasis on universal and necessary truths and the singularities with which Scripture
and theology are concerned, see Lee 2002. Lee is keen to show the superior insights of
Ockham to Aquinas in this respect. For Lee, Aquinas’ attempt to treat sacra doctrina as
a science is a failure because individuals ultimately have no ground beyond the plan of
God, created and implemented through his inscrutable will. “For the rational ground is
a demand the we place on singulars—it does not belong to their own mode of being. . . .
Once existing singulars are referred to the divine will rather than the divine intellect,
the failure of reason to grasp their ground becomes evident.” Lee, 117.
32
For a discussion of this point, see Te Velde 2006, 26–28.
Sacred Scripture . . . can dispute with one who denies its principles only
if the opponent admits some at least of the truths obtained through
divine revelation; thus we can argue with heretics from texts in Holy
Writ, and against those who deny one article of faith we can argue from
another.33
Such argument is only possible because sacra doctrina is truly a science: it
is an intelligible whole in which one can discover necessary connections
amongst its parts, even though a recognition of the ultimate truth of
revelation depends on faith. Thomas continues drawing the analogy
with metaphysics,
if our opponent believes nothing of divine revelation, there is no longer
any means of proving the articles of faith by reasoning [that is, from one
article of faith proving the truth of another, as following necessarily from
the first], but only of answering his objections—if he has any—against
faith. Since faith rests upon infallible truth, and since the contrary of a
truth can never be demonstrated, it is clear that the arguments brought
against faith cannot be demonstrations, but are difficulties that can be
answered.34
For Thomas faith perfects reason, so sacra doctrina can perfect all other
sciences. Such perfecting is not an elimination or destruction of these
sciences; it is rather a recognition that human reason has limits to its
scope. One of Thomas’s favorite phrases is applicable here: grace does
not destroy nature but perfects it.35 In the sixth article, in discussing
in what sense sacra doctrina is a wisdom, Thomas shows how it is an
ordering wisdom which not only adds supernatural knowledge to what
reason concludes, but also “reorders all that can be known naturally in
light of the triune God as our beginning and supernatural end.”36 Sacra
33
“Unde sacra Scriptura . . . disputat cum negante sua principia, argumentando
quidem si adversarius aliquid concedat corum quae per revelationem divinam haben-
tur, sicut per auctoritates sacrae doctrinae disputamus contra haereticos, et per unum
articulum contra negantes alium.” (Aquinas, Summa theologiae I, q. 1, a. 8.)
34
“Si vero adversarius nihil credit eorum quae divinitus revelantur, non remanet
amplius via ad probandum articulos fidei per rationem; sed ad solvendum rationes,
si quas inducit, contra fidem. Cum enim fides infallibili veritati innitatur, impossibile
autem sit de vero demonstrari contrarium, manifestum est probationes quae contra
fidem inducuntur non esse demonstrationes, sed solubilia argumenta.” Ibid.
35
Marc Aillet summarizes Thomas’s understanding of sacra doctrina, “tant comme
expositio que comme disputatio, trouve sa source dans l’habitus fidei qui reçoit la Révéla-
tion: c’est la foi qui veut saisir son objet conformément aux modes de comprehension
de la raison humaine qu’elle perfectionne.” Aillet 1993, 39.
36
Levering 2004, 31. Levering seeks to describe the interplay between nature and
grace that one finds in the relationship of Scripture and metaphysics in Aquinas’s
40
Aillet observes that “la nouveauté de la question 1 réside dans la definition du
mode argumentatif de la théologie; le saint Docteur a en effet établi la validité d’un
travail de la raison à l’intérieur du donné révélé. . . .” Aillet 1993, 42.
41
For discussions of Thomas’s biblical hermeneutics, see Reyero 1971; Ebeling,
1964; Synave 1923; Synave 1926; Torrance 1962; Froehlich 1977, especially 34–37;
Johnson 1992; Pandolfi 1993; Santi 1994; and Vera 2003.
42
“. . . auctor sacrae Scripturae est Deus, in cuius potestate est ut non solum voces ad
significandum accommodet (quod etiam homo facere potest) sed etiam res ipsas. Et ideo,
cum in omnibus scientiis voces significent, hoc habet proprium ista scientia quod ipsae
res significatae per voces etiam significant aliquid.” Summa theologiae I, q. 1, a. 10.
43
“. . . sensus isti non multiplicantur propter hoc quod una vox multa significet, sed
quia ipsae res significatae per voces aliarum rerum possunt esse signa.” Summa theologiae
I, q. 1, a. 10.
44
Thomas adds an interesting caveat: “Nevertheless, nothing of Holy Scripture
perishes on account of this, since nothing necessary to faith is contained under the
spiritual sense which is not elsewhere put forward by the Scripture in its literal sense.”
Art. 10. Although Thomas attributes the view that arguments can only be based on
the literal sense to Augustine (and elsewhere to Dionysius the Pseudo-Areopagite), Peter
Lombard seems more likely to be the proximate source. In distinction 11 of Book III
of the Sentences, Lombard refutes the Arian use of certain scriptural passages which
appear to argue that Christ was created: “But the correct procession of an argument
is not out of tropical expressions (Sed ex tropicis locutionibus non est recta argumentationis
processio). It is a tropical expression by which Christ is called a creature. . . .” See Rorem
1980, 429–34.
45
Valkenberg 2000, 180 n. 126.
received from the Holy Spirit, as neither can there be any error in the
faith that is taught by the Scriptures. The other is not to force such an
interpretation on Scripture as to exclude any other interpretations that
are actually or possibly true: since it is part of the dignity of Holy Writ
that under the one literal sense many others are contained.46
Sacra doctrina does not depend for its truth on any of the sciences based
on reason because its principles come from God as revealed in Scripture.
Our apprehension of that truth and our need to have a clearer sense
of what is revealed are served by the various sciences (from metaphysics
to the natural sciences) based on reason. As Thomas says in article five:
sacra doctrina in a sense does depend upon the philosophical sciences,
but not as though it stood in need of them, but only in order to make
its teaching clearer (ad maiorem manifestationem). The method Thomas
employs in his various biblical commentaries is an excellent example
of this making clearer what sacra doctrina affirms.
As we have seen, the Bible is the center of theological education in
the new universities. Students attended an early morning course in which
young scholars read through and discussed briefl y the sacred text. Later
in the day a master (magister) would offer an in-depth analysis of a text
from the Bible. In 1257, now as a master of theology in Paris, Thomas
began to teach the Gospel according to Matthew, and in the following
year on one of the books of the Old Testament (mostly likely Isaiah).
Later, in Italy, he wrote his Commentary on the Book of Job.47 He started
his commentaries on the letters of St, Paul, which he continued when
he returned to Paris, where he wrote his commentary on the Gospel of
John. He also composed the Catena aurea, a verse by verse commentary
on the four Gospels, in which he used exegetical passages from Greek
and Latin church fathers. Later, in Naples, he commented on the first
fifty-four psalms. Throughout his analysis of Scripture, Thomas divides
46
“Quorum primum est, ne aliquis id quod patet esse falsum, dicat in verbis Scrip-
turae, quae creationem rerum docet, debere intelligi; Scripturae enim divinae a spiritu
sancto traditae non potest falsum subesse, sicut nec fidei, quae per eam docetur. Aliud
est, ne aliquis ita Scripturam ad unum sensum cogere velit, quod alios sensus qui in se
veritatem continent, et possunt, salva circumstantia litterae, Scripturae aptari, penitus
excludantur; hoc enim ad dignitatem divinae Scripturae pertinet, ut sub una littera
multos sensus contineat.” De potentia Dei, q. 4, a. 1.
47
Idit Dobbs-Weinstein, in comparing Maimonides and Aquinas on their respective
exegeses of Job, writes: “According to both . . ., it is knowledge which guards against
intellectual pride, a wisdom (sapientia) possessed by those who acknowledge the natural
limitations of human reason (scientia) and which manifests man’s provident participation
in divine providence and government.” Dobbs-Weinstein 1989, 120.
and subdivides the text (diviso textus), much as he does in his commen-
taries on Aristotle’s works. Such a method of analysis presupposes
that there is an order and intelligibility to the text which can be made
clear by a proper method of presentation. Once the subdivisions are
in place, the meaning of different passages is set forth, often by appeals
to parallel passages found elsewhere in Scripture.48
Since Thomas thought that all theological refl ection must begin from
the literal sense of Scripture, his task, and often a formidable one, was to
identify that sense in any passage. The sections of his theological works
which concern the interpretation of the opening of Genesis, especially
the hexaemeral analysis in Summa theologiae I (questions 65–74), as well as
his biblical commentaries, incorporate what he would consider the best
science of his day, including the best metaphysics.49 This is especially
apparent in his analysis of creation.
48
The recourse to other biblical texts “is the method of medieval exegetes who
knew many long passages by heart. Their vocabulary, their style, and the images they
use are borrowed quite naturally from the Bible; the vocabulary and imagery of the
Bible form part of their thought.” Spicq 1944, 223.
49
On philosophy and Thomas’s biblical commentaries, see Stump 1993. For a
wide-ranging and incisive discussion of metaphysics in Thomas’s theology, see Levering
2004.
50
In II Sent., dist. 1, q. 1; Summa contra Gentiles II, cc. 6–38; Questiones disputate de potentia
Dei, q. 3; Summa theologiae I, qq. 44–46. Extensive discussions of Thomas’s understanding
of creation can be found in: Aersten 1988; Burrell 1994; and Kretzmann 1999.
51
“. . . supra modum fiendi quo aliquid fit per mutationem vel motum, esse aliquem
modum fiendi sive originis rerum absque omni mutatione vel motu per infl uentiam
essendi.” De substantiis separatis, c. 9.
52
al-Shifa’: al-Ilahiyyat, translated in Georges Anawati, La Métaphysique du Shifa’ (Paris,
1978), VI.1; quoted in Hyman and Walsh 1983, 248.
53
Burrell 2003.
54
Aquinas develops the notion of radical dependency in such a way that creaturely
existence is understood not as something which happens to essence (as it does for
Avicenna) but as a fundamental relation to the Creator as origin. See Burrell 1993,
esp. 69–70.
55
“. . . quod creationem esse non tantum fides tenet, sed etiam ratio demonstrat.”
In II Sent., dist. 1, q. 1, a. 2.
56
Among the places in Thomas which we find such an attribution are: De potentia Dei
3.5; In VIII Phys. 2.4–5; De substantiis separatis (9). As he writes in the last text, Aristotle
does not deviate from the faith by affirming that the world is uncreated, but only in
supposing that it has always existed. See Carroll 1994; Dewan 1994.
57
“We firmly believe and simply confess that there is only on true God, . . . one origin
[ principium] of all things: Creator of all things, visible and invisible, spiritual and corpo-
real; who by His own omnipotent power from the beginning of time [ab initio temporis]
all at once made out of nothing [de nihil condidit] both orders of creation, spiritual and
corporeal, that is, the angelic and the earthly . . .” Denzinger 1932, 199. For a recent
analysis of this text from the Fourth Lateran Council, see Rainini 2007.
58
For most of his career Thomas, following Maimonides, did not think that Aristotle
thought that it was demonstrably true that the world is eternal. It was only when he
came to comment on Aristotle’s Physics that Thomas came to the conclusion, perhaps
reluctantly, that Aristotle did in fact make such a claim.
function of the natural sciences to discover. Aquinas did not think that
one must choose between affirming God’s complete causality of all that
is and the existence of other causes—a dilemma which vexed both the
Muslim kalam theologians and Averroes. Only by understanding divine
transcendence, and that God is a cause in a way radically different from
the way creatures are causes, was Aquinas able to defend the view that
both God and creatures are the complete causes of what occurs in the
world. Aquinas, thus, was able to affirm both a robust notion of divine
agency and a natural order susceptible to scientific understanding in
terms of causes discoverable from within that order. It was precisely
such a perceived dichotomy which led Averroes (in defense of the sci-
ences of nature) to deny the doctrine of creation ex nihilo, and which
led others, like al-Ghazali (in defense of divine omnipotence) to reject
any search for necessary causal connections in nature.59
We can take Thomas’s earliest discussion of creation, in his Writ-
ings on the ‘Sentences’ of Peter Lombard,60 as a particular good example
of how he uses natural philosophy and metaphysics to examine what
is ultimately for him a question in biblical exegesis and theology. He
divides his treatment of creation into six articles. It is a division of the
problem done in typical scholastic fashion (as we have already seen in
the analysis of sacra doctrina in the first question of the Summa theologiae).
The first question, an sit, is whether there is creation, to which he adds
some preliminary proofs of creation (article one); next, the question quid
sit, the definition of creation (article two); and then the question(s) de
modo, how does creation proceed (articles three, four, and five). Article
six, the final article, is the culmination of the entire quaestio: the first
five articles elaborate the philosophy and the theology needed for an
exposition of the first line of Scripture, which exposition is given in
article six. Thus, the entire question may be seen as a good example
of the use of the scholastic method for the exposition of one line of
Scripture: In principio creavit Deus caelum et terram.
The first article is devoted to establishing that there is only one
absolutely first principle ( primum principium simpliciter) of all that is.
Thomas is addressing the old Manichean problem: the fact that there
are both good and evil in the world seems to indicate that there must
be two ultimate principles of things, one supremely good and the other
supremely evil; and the fact that there are contrariety and diversity in
59
See Kogan 1985.
60
My analysis here follows what is laid out in Baldner and Carroll 1997.
61
The details of this argument depend upon a particular understanding of the
cosmos, but, in principle, the argument is not so different from those in the twenty-first
century which proceed from the claim that there is a precise coordination of the laws
of physics which discloses a degree of order, and hence of intelligibility, and which
thus affirms an underlying purpose in the universe.
62
In its abbreviated form in this article—and perhaps in any form—this is a com-
plex argument which depends on the notion of the analogy of being. My purpose in
this essay is not to make (or to defend) the argument, but to show how Thomas uses
metaphysics and natural philosophy to understand biblical and theological truths.
63
Maimonides 1963, Book I, 71, 96a–97b.
64
Such arguments were often based on the impossibility of different actual infinities:
e.g., if the world were eternal there would be an actual infinity of past days and, since
it is impossible to traverse an actual infinity, one could not arrive at the present from a
day infinitely distant in the past. Muslim thinkers such as al-Ghazali also argued that
for creation to be the act of an agent, even a divine agent, it could not be eternal,
it had to have a beginning of its existence. See Davidson 1987; Sorabji 1983; Dales
1990; Bianchi 1984; and Michon 2004.
65
Baldner and Carroll 1997, 27 and 53 n. 95. For Albert’s view on the necessity
of understanding “out of nothing” as “after nothing,” see Albert, Summa theologiae
Pars 2, trans. 1, q. 4 [Opera Omnia, ed. E. Borgnet. Paris: Vives, 1890–99, vol. 32]; for
Bonaventure, see Commentaria in libros Sententiarum P. Lombardi, Book II, dist. 1, pars 1,
a. 3, q. 1 (resp. and ad 7m). See Baldner, 1989.
66
For a translation of De aeternitate mundi, see Baldner and Carroll, Appendix B,
114–122.
Having explained that the created world did have a temporal begin-
ning (known only in faith) and that it is impossible to demonstrate
such a temporal beginning67 (article five), Aquinas observes in the final
article that the opening line of Genesis does indeed affirm a temporal
beginning, and much more. Aquinas takes in principio to mean “in the
beginning of time,” but he also accepts the traditional gloss that it means
in Filio Dei (in or through the Son of God). He explains this gloss by
saying that the notion of efficient causality is appropriated to the Father,
the notion of exemplar causality is appropriated to the Son, and the
notion of conservation is appropriated to the Holy Spirit. Creation,
however, is properly the work of the entire Trinity, and thus in principio
also means in uno principio effectivo. In addition, the fact that God created
both the heavens and the earth in principio means that God did not cre-
ate, as some have thought, material beings through the mediation of
spiritual creatures.68 The revelation of in principio, therefore contradicts
67
In article five he also shows that all arguments which propose to demonstrate
that the world is eternal fail (a good example of reason’s defeating rational objections
to what is believed). When he addresses the subject of demonstrating the temporal
beginning of the world in the Summa theologiae, the reason he advances is that the world
itself offers no grounds for demonstrating that it had an absolute temporal beginning.
“For the principle of demonstration is the essence of a thing;” and every science, since
its subjects are universals and not particulars, “abstracts from here and now. . . . Hence
it cannot be demonstrated that man or the heavens or a stone did not always exist.”
Summa theologiae I, q. 46, a. 2. Or, as he remarks in De potentia Dei, when examining the
question of whether the universe is eternal, time like place is extraneous to things. “It is
clear then that the appointment of a fixed quantity of duration for the universe depends
on the mere will of God . . . [and] we cannot come to a clear conclusion about the dura-
tion of the universe so as to prove demonstratively that the world has always existed.”
De potentia Dei, q. 3, a. 17. We must remember that for Thomas, following Aristotle, a
demonstration, properly speaking, concludes necessarily that such and such is the case.
He thinks that there are two types of demonstrations: a demonstration in terms of why
[ propter quid] what is is the way it is, and a demonstration that [quia] something is the
case. The first type of demonstration starts from the essence or intrinsic nature of a
thing and, as he says, time and place are extrinsic to things and are thus not subject
to demonstrative arguments. Furthermore, nothing in the nature of God necessitates
that He choose to create a world with a particular temporal duration or of an eternal
duration. God is not somehow better off, his goodness or perfection not enhanced, by
his creating anything. Since there is no necessity in God’s creating the universe, there
is no basis for a demonstration as to what or how he must create.
68
In article three of the text I have been discussing, Thomas addresses directly the
question of whether God can communicate the power of creating to creatures. In this
article and a little later in his De veritate (1256–57), he allows that it is philosophically
possible for God to use some creatures as intermediaries or instruments in the cre-
ation of other creatures. Thus, he admits the philosophical possibility of some form
of emanationism, although he recognizes that it is contrary to the faith to hold this
three errors about creation: the error of those holding the eternity of
the world; the error of those holding that there is more than one first
principle of the world (e.g., the error of Manichees); the error of those
holding that material beings were created through the mediation of
spiritual beings (the error of the emanationists). Thus, Thomas’s preced-
ing discussions of the eternity of the world, of Manicheanism, and of
emanationism have prepared the way for the exegesis of in principio. The
first five articles constitute the philosophical and theological preparation
necessary for understanding the first line of Genesis.
The fact, accepted only in faith, that human beings are creatures in
a world that has been brought into being ab initio temporis69 means that
we are beings with a story. For believers, this is not merely a story; it
is sacred history, the history of a relationship to the God who gave us
meaning and destiny from the beginning, who has intervened decisively
in human history. For the believer, the temporal beginning, which is
essential to salvation history, is fundamental to the understanding of
creation. In an important sense, it is true to say that the notion of
“creator” does not mean the same to philosophers and to theologians.
But the fact that philosophers and theologians approach the question
of creation differently does not mean that they are not referring, or
cannot be referring, to the same reality. Reason alone does not allow
us to see that the realities are the same; it is by faith that we know
that they are one and the same. Denys Turner cites an argument from
Giles of Rome who
explained that the God of the philosophers is known as it were by ‘sight,’
and the God of the theologians by ‘touch’ and ‘taste;’ for the philosophers
know God ‘at a distance’ and intellectually across a gap crossed not by
means of direct experience but by means of evidence and inference, and
so through a medium, as sight sees; whereas, through grace and revela-
tion, the theologian is in an immediate and direct contact with God, as
touch and taste are with their objects—touch and taste being analogies
for the immediacy of love’s knowledge.70
position. In later works (Summa contra Gentiles 2.20–21, De potentia Dei 3.4, and Summa
theologiae I. 45.5, for example), Thomas argues that it is philosophically impossible for
God to communicate such power to creatures since, among other reasons, the work of
creation is a work that requires infinite power and since all creatures are, by nature,
finite, they cannot receive, even instrumentally, the infinite creative power.
69
This is the phrase used in the decree of Fourth Lateran Council (1215) to affirm
the temporal beginning of the world.
70
Turner 2004, 18–19.
71
“Quaedam enim sunt per se substantia fidei, ut Deum esse trinum et unum, et
huisimodi: in quibus nulli licet aliter opinari . . . . Quaedam vero per accidens tantum . . .,
et in his etiam sancti diversa senserunt Scripturam divinam diversimode exponentes.
Sic ergo circa mundi principium aliquid est quod ad substantiam fidei pertinet, scilicet
mundum incepisse creatum, et hoc omnes sancti concorditer dicunt. Quo autem modo
et ordine factus sit, non pertinet ad fidem nisi per accidens, inquantum in Scriptura
traditur, cuius veritatem diversa expositione sancti salvantes, diversa tradiderunt.” In
II Sent., dist. 12, q. 1, a. 2.
72
“Hoc enim habet sacrae Scripturae doctrina, quod in ipsa non tantum traduntur
speculanda, sicut in geometria, sed etiam approbanda per affectum. . . . In aliis ergo
scientiis sufficit quod homo sit perfectus secundum intellectum, in istis vero requiritur
quod sit perfectus secundum intellectum et affectum.” In Heb. 5.2.
73
“Nam notitia de Deo quae habetur per alias scientias, illuminat intellectum
solum, ostendens quod Deus est causa prima, quod est unus et sapiens, et cetera. Sed
notitia de Deo quae habetur per fidem et illuminat intellectum et delectat affectum,
quia non solum dicit quod Deus est prima causa, sed quod est salvator noster, quod
est redemptor, et quod diligit nos, quod est incarnatus pro nobis: quae omnia affectum
infl ammant.” Super 2 Cor., cap. 2, l. 3.
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Robert G. Morrison
Introduction
1
Saleh 2004, 1–5. See also Rippin, pp. 83–8. Rippin (83) explained that the word
tafs r refers both to the genre of literature and to the process of commentary.
2
Fudge 2003, 5–8.
3
I borrow my definition of kalām from Sabra 1994, 5–11, and 21. For an account
of the origins of kalām that makes kalām out to be more than just apologetics, see
Frank 1992, 7–37.
4
Arabic: falsafa.
5
These traditions of natural science and philosophy in the Hellenistic tradition
depended on the Translation Movement of the first, second, third, and fourth Islamic
centuries. For an account of the Translation Movement, the rise of Islamic science,
and its later history, see Saliba 2007. For a different perspective on the Translation
Movement and the rise of Islamic science, see Gutas 1998. Gutas discussed the transla-
tion of philosophical texts in particular into Arabic (119–20 and 141–50). Translation
of philosophical texts arose elsewhere in the book, too, due to connections between
science and philosophy. For an older account, one which argued for the intellectual
imperative for the study of philosophy and science from non-Muslim civilizations, see
Rosenthal 1970. Sabra 1996 considered the implications of the terms ‘Arabic science’
and ‘Islamic science’ (654–70).
6
On the attempt to construct a religious cosmology, see Heinen 1982.
7
A recent monograph on N sāb r ’s tafs r has argued (al-Jallād 2000, 25–31) that
the tafs r contained clear evidence of N sāb r ’s Sunn (and not Sh ) leanings. Though
I disagree with this argument, the existence of such an argument shows that science
was far from N sāb r ’s only concern. On the broad concerns of N sāb r ’s tafs r, see
Morrison 2007, 37–62 and 95–145.
8
For a classic work on Qur ān commentaries that categorized Qur ān commentators
and modes of exegesis, see Goldziher 1920. Saleh 2004, 17 has criticized Goldziher’s
classification of modes of exegesis into grammatical, doctrinal, mystical, sectarian,
and modern. Rippin (2000, 84) remarked that even the attempt to categorize tafs rs as
depending upon either the authority of the community or the intellect is insufficient:
“This separation does not, however, provide a sufficient analytical tool by which one
may characterise the wide variety of books and approaches which are contained within
the broadly-defined genre of tafs r, since it concentrates on a superficial understanding
of the form of the works with little attention to their underlying substance.”
9
Arabic: majāz.
10
Arabic: aq qa.
11
Heinrichs 1984, 111–40 at pp. 137–8. “But for the classical theory the opposite
movement occurred. Majāz affected the meaning of its counterpart aq qa. Since majāz
had been used as a term describing the idiomatic use of certain words and construc-
tions, it was all but natural that aq qa, when coupled with majāz, should gradually be
wrested from its ontological moorings and acquire a secondary, linguistic meaning.”
See also Abu-Deeb 2000, 334–5. The commentator to whom Abu-Deeb devoted
most of the article, al-Shar f al-Ra (fifth century A.H.), “goes beyond the general
problems of anthropomorphism and free will and predestination to tackle issues would
would cause serious doubts and create problems for the very notion of a divine order
and purposefully constructed universe if read in a non-metaphorical way.”
Earlier important articles on metaphorical and direct or literal speech in tafs r are
Wansbrough 1970, 247–66 and Almagor 1979, 307–26. Both of these articles have
now been reprinted in Rippin 1999.
12
Heinrichs 1984, 139.
13
See Dallal 2004, 540–58, and Morrison 2007, 95–145.
14
Dallal 2004.
15
For an early Ash ar criticism of the philosophers’ doctrine of causality, see al-
Juwayn 2000, 128–9.
16
Morrison 2005, 201–2. Early Mu tazil mutakallim n also developed a physics to
compete with that derived from natural philosophy in the Hellenistic tradition. See
Frank 1966 and Dhanani 1994. For an early occasionalist critique of causality in Ash ar
kalām, see al-Juwayn 1950, 230–4. For the response of an Islamic philosopher to this
occasionalist critique of causality, as presented in Ghazāl ’s Tahāfut al-falāsifa (The Inco-
herence of the Philosophers; see al-Ghazāl 1997, 166–77), see Kogan 1985.
17
See Q 31:16: “ ‘O my son, if it should be but the weight of one grain of mustard
seed, and though it be in a rock, or in the heavens, or in the earth, God shall bring it
forth.’ ”All translations of passages from the Qur ān are taken from Arberry 1955.
18
On the mingling of natural philosophy, science, and kalām, see Sabra 1994,
1–42.
19
Morrison 2002, 132–6.
hearts and on their hearing, and on their eyes is a covering, and there
awaits them a mighty chastisement.
This was a verse that piqued the curiosity of, among early Qur ān com-
mentators, al- abar (d. 923).20 By examining how several commenta-
tors interpreted this verse, we will gain insight into the debate among
Qur ān commentators over the value of a scientific interpretation for
the interpretation of the Qur ān. And because this verse does not have
to be understood to refer to the natural processes, we will get a better
sense of what was at stake when commentators chose to incorporate
scientific explanations.
This chapter is interested in the way in which certain Qur ān
commentators balanced the prerogative of divine omnipotence with
the extent to which divine justice might be comprehensible. Q2:6/7
challenged readers attuned to the theological questions posed by the
Qur ān. In particular, the verse attributed the infidels’ dismissal of
Mu ammad’s warnings to the seal that God placed on their hearts and
hearing, and the covering that God placed upon their eyes. Readers
attuned to theological issues might ask whether it was just for God to
seal the hearts of the unbelievers, thereby dooming them to eternal
damnation? And did the verse simply mean that God could doom the
unbelievers, or was there some value in investigating the sealing of the
hearts in a physiological sense?
In this chapter, I will contrast two commentators noted for their par-
ticular attention to the concerns of kalām (e.g., why might God inhibit
the unbelievers from saving themselves or why God was not actually
predestining the unbelievers to unbelief ) with two commentators noted
for their attention to matters of science and falsafa (philosophy in the
Hellenistic tradition). Though the two kalām-minded commentators
disagreed with each other, both understood the Qur ān metaphorically;
their commentaries differed over whether God would actually prevent
the unbelievers from saving themselves. The two science-minded com-
mentators, however, considered how God might actually place a seal on
someone’s heart. By accepting the possibility of reading the Qur ān in
its direct sense, the science-minded commentators moved to the issue
of whether the reader might gain further insight into why God would
do such a thing. To our kalām-minded commentators, though, the
20
al-Rāz vol. 2, 55. These motivations had to be due to God (see vol. 2, 52) lest
one deny God’s existence. See also Shihadeh 2006, 34.
question of whether God would seal the infidels’ hearts was more impor-
tant than the question of how God would seal the hearts. I begin with
the kalām-minded commentators because their debate began first.
Al-Zamakhshar
The first kalām-minded tafs r I examine is entitled al-Kashshāf, by Jār
Allāh Ma m d ibn Umar al-Zamakhshar (d. 1144).21 The Kashshāf has
a reputation as a Mu tazil tafs r; Mu tazil kalām held that God and Islam
conformed to the strictures of human reason. While Zamakhshar was
indeed Mu tazil , and while the position Zamakhshar took on Q 2:6/7
was basically Mu tazil , the Kashshāf was much more than a repository
of Mu tazil ideas.22 I have chosen the Kashshāf, as well, because both
of the scientific commentators, Rāz and N sāb r , cited it frequently.
Regarding Q 2:6/7, Zamakhshar wrote that the Qur ān’s expression
of God sealing the hearts of the unbelievers was majāz (speech that the
reader should not take literally).23 One could understand this passage, if
taken as indirect speech, either as a metaphor24 or as a simile,25 but one
was not to conclude that God actually sealed the hearts of unbelievers
in any physiological sense. Zamakhshar adduced linguistic evidence for
taking the passage in its indirect sense. He made a comparison with the
expression ārat bih al- anqā (the griffon carried him off ), to indicate an
extended absence, or sāl bih al-wād (the wadi fl owed excessively with
him), to indicate that one was beset by catastrophe.26
As for understanding the verse as a metaphor, it is that the unbeliev-
ers’ hearts are made27 so that the truth does not reach their consciences
due to the absence of their belief in God, or their opposition to God,
21
I am not alleging that Zamakhshar never drew on scientific material (on that see
Dallal 2004, 543). Rather I am saying only that Zamakhshar ’s commentary on this
passage did not draw on scientific material.
22
As oppposed to the Ash ar school, the earlier Mu tazil school held God’s actions
to be intelligible to human reason. Sin, for example, was the result of humans’ free
choice. On Zamakhshar ’s tafs r, see Lane 2006.
23
al-Zamakhshar vol. 1, 26.
24
Arabic: isti āra.
25
Arabic: tamth l.
26
al-Zamakhshar vol. 1, 28. It is interesting that one of these examples involved a
bird whose existence was only mythical.
27
Arabic: an tuj al qul buhum.
28
al-Zamakhshar vol. 1, 26.
29
al-Zamakhshar vol. 1, 26–7.
30
al-Zamakhshar vol. 1, 27.
31
al-Bay āw 1988, vol. 1, 22–3.
32
al-Zamakhshar vol. 1, 27.
33
Arabic: samāja.
34
Arabic: khilq .
35
Arabic: ara .
36
Another passage from the Qur ān that Zamakhshar cited along with Q7:28 was
Q50:29 (“I wrong not my servants”). Much depends on how one understands ab d;
were the infidels from among the ab d ? Or might their infidelity have excluded them
from being from among the ab d ?
37
Arabic: aqdarah wa-makkanah.
38
Arabic: wajh.
39
Arabic: takl f.
40
al-Zamakhshar vol. 1, 28. Zamakhshar did not address the question of why God
commanded humans, but since God commanded humans, there would be no point in
unconditionally compelling humans to follow the divine will.
41
Arabic: khatm.
42
Arabic: ta m m.
43
Arabic: ikāya.
44
al-Zamakhshar vol. 1, 28. This comment resembled N sāb r ’s interpretation
of the Qur ān Q63:1 passage in which the infidels said that Mu ammad was God’s
apostle.
45
al-Zamakhshar vol. 1, 29. This resembles N sāb r ’s point about why God would
send revelations toward those who are doomed not to believe.
46
Arabic: kunh.
47
Arabic: ghi ā al-ta ām .
48
al-Zamakhshar vol. 1, 29.
49
Arabic: wa-huwa naw min al-agh iya ghayr mā yata ārafuh al-nās.
and punishment) signified by the text of the Qur ān.50 Now, since this
blindness was a feigned blindness, then the blind could be understood
to have some role in their own blindness. But this blindness must not
have been perceivable to those who could perceive God’s signs (e.g.,
perhaps, readers of the Qur ān).51 Even for Zamakhshar , whose desire
to attribute all evil to humans’ free choice rested on his conviction that
God could not be responsible for evil, there were limits to the human
intellect’s ability to understand God’s actions.
Al-Bay āw
Reasoned arguments for the plain sense of the Qur ān were the basis
of the Ash ar school of kalām, a foundation of Abd Allāh ibn Umar
ibn Mu ammad al-Bay āw ’s (d. 1286?)52 Qur ān commentary entitled
Anwār al-tanz l. Bay āw ’s aim in writing was to purge Zamakhshar ’s
Mu tazil views while preserving the rest of the content of his tafs r. In
addition to his Qur ān commentary, Bay āw also wrote on Islamic law,
grammar, and kalām ( awāli al-anwār min ma āli al-an ār).53 With regard
to Q 2:6/7, Bay āw rebutted the Mu tazil s’ seven (the bulk of which
derive from the Kashshāf ) interpretations which advocated a metaphori-
cal interpretation intended to avoid any insinuation that God was the
proximate cause of humans’ sins and infidelity. In Bay āw ’s opinion,
attributing the sealing to Satan or to the infidels simply begged the ques-
tion. If God empowered Satan and/or the infidel to sin via a sealing
of the heart, then the action had to be attributed to God in the end.54
To take the position that God was responsible for the sealing, Bay āw
argued for attributing the effect to the cause;55 if God had wanted to
attribute the action to Satan, the Qur ān could have said that. It is
possible that Bay āw coopted aspects of the philosophers’56 defense of
50
This is distinct from the Mu tazil position on divine attributes. Or, as Lane 2006,
145 has suggested, Zamakhshar was not consistently Mu tazil .
51
al-Zamakhshar , Kashshāf vol. 1, 29. Zamakhshar did explain that this was the
blindness of the hypocrites.
52
For al-Bay āw ’s death date, see Robson 1960.
53
Robson 1960.
54
al-Bay āw vol. 1, 23. Bay āw ’s comment needs to be understood in the context
of the Ash ar occasionalist denial of intermediate causes in favor of, in their view, the
only true cause: God. Al-Ash ar (d. 935) [see McCarthy 1953, 43, 57, and 61] himself
portrayed God as the only cause, but did not provide a full critique of causality.
55
Arabic: isnād al-fi l ilā al-musabbib.
56
Arabic: falāsifa.
57
For the philosophers’ argument that God, despite the existence of intermediate
causes, was the most important causes, see S nā 1992, vol. 2, 91–4.
58
Bay āw ’s own kalām text awāli al-an ār was seen by Ibn Khald n as similar
(Sabra 1994, 13) to A ud al-D n al- j ’s (d. 1355) Kitāb al-mawāqif, the main source
for Sabra’s article, in its mingling of kalām and falsafa. Indeed, amidst Bay āw ’s dis-
cussion of the various types of bodies, he discusses the heavenly bodies (al-Bay āw
1991, 139–41).
59
Arabic: wa-’l-qa d bih ilā al-istidlāl bi-’l-ba r wa-a wālih.
60
Arabic: āda.
61
al-Bay āw , Anwār al-tanz l, vol. 1, 97.
62
For a classic example of such an argument, see al-Ghazāl 1997, 166–77.
63
Arabic: ghishāwa.
64
al-Bay āw 1988 vol. 1, 23. He added that the heart might be the seat of knowl-
edge (ma a l al- ilm), but, again, Bay āw said nothing more.
65
Arabic: a āb al-ar ād.
66
al-Bay āw 1988 vol. 1, 48. Bay āw has elided the distinction between the orbs
and heavens to make a point about science’s lack of credibility. The scientists of
Bay āw ’s time proposed nine orbs. There was an orb for the Sun, the Moon, Venus,
Mercury, Mars, Saturn, Jupiter, the fixed stars (that made up the constellations), and
the daily motion. Bay āw ’s point was, at best, rhetorical. First, there were serious
scientific proposals for a cosmos of only seven orbs (see al-Sh rāz (d. 1311) fol. 168r.)
Second, on a less technical level, one could take the orb of the Moon as the bound-
the five planets plus the Sun and Moon, an orb for the fixed stars (the
stars that form constellations), and one more orb for the cosmos’ daily
motion. The implication of the argument that Bay āw introduced
was that the Qur ān might be interrogated on the basis of science. For
Bay āw , though, such a line of interpretation would be mistaken. He
wrote that there were doubts about what the astronomers said,67 and
that there is nothing in the verse that prevents there being more than
seven celestial orbs. He had little confidence in science, in this case, to
elucidate that verse.68 Hence it is not surprising that Bay āw , in his
eagerness to expunge Zamakhshar ’s Kashshāf of Mu tazil kalām, still
resorted to metaphorical interpretation.69 He had no confidence in the
tools necessary to probe the passage’s direct sense. He was concerned
only with a metaphorical interpretation of Q2:6/7 from a particular
point of view in kalām, that humans were entirely responsible for their
own sins even if God caused the sin. The question of when meta-
phorical interpretation was necessary was a secondary concern. On a
methodological level, both Zamakhshar and Bay āw prioritized the
mutakallim n’s debate over whether God could cause sin over the use of
science to probe how and why God might (or might not) cause sin.
ary between the celestial and terrestrial realms, and count the orb responsible for the
daily motion of the heavens as something other than a ‘heaven’ because there were
no visible celestial bodies embedded in that orb.
67
Arabic: f mā dhakar h shuk k.
68
Although not in his comments on Q2:6/7, where the science of psychology was
part of an argument in favor of an Ash ar interpretation, I have found that Fakhr al-
D n al-Rāz limited the epistemological power of astronomy so as not to confl ict with
Ash ar kalām’s position on causality. See Morrison 2002.
69
On Bay āw ’s position on Zamakhshar ’s Kashshāf, see Robson 1960. See also
Lane 2006, 110: “If the metaphorical interpretation of the Qur ān were something
specifically Mu tazilite, one would hardly be expecting al-Bay āw of all people to
be making use of it.” See also Larkin 1995, 73; the Ash ar al-Jurjān acknowledged
metaphorical interpretations.
Al-Rāz
Given what Zamakhshar wrote, Rāz ’s initial attention to the passage’s
theological implications in al-Tafs r al-kab r is not surprising. The first
lengthy matter76 that Rāz raised was the extent to which the pas-
sage (“God has set a seal on their hearts”; Arabic: khatam Allāh alā
qul bihim . . .) implicated God in humans’ evil deeds.77 But then, in the
twelfth and final matter, Rāz introduced science and natural philosophy
into his consideration of whether punishing the infidels suited God.78
70
Dallal 2004, 543.
71
Morrison 2002, 115–38.
72
Morrison 2007, 54–62 and 105–25.
73
Ibid., 127–8.
74
Ibid., 127–8.
75
Jaffer 2005, 36–7 and 49–52.
76
Arabic: mas ala.
77
al-Rāz vol. 2, 49–52.
78
Arabic: alā annah ya sun min Allāh ta ālā ta dh b al-kuffār.
Rāz wrote that if there was a use79 in punishing the infidels, then it
would be possible for God to send that use without the punishment.
Conceivably, there might be no benefit in God sending that punish-
ment.80 Since a wise81 God does not do something ignoble,82 the truth
must be that God must charge the infidels with the commanded duty83
to believe so that their punishment, when it comes, will be deserved.
But then the command would appear to be the cause of the punish-
ment.84 In order to avoid that consequence, one of two things must be
true. Either the command must not exist, or that the existence of the
command alone did not bring about the punishment.85 In his pursuit
of a better interpretation, Rāz argued forcefully for the use of one’s
intellect in understanding this passage, noting that the intellect was
the origin of the transmitted86 sciences.87 While Rāz had no problem
with the traditionalist position that accepted the literal meaning that
God could seal the hearts of the unbelievers, intellectual evidence for
its own sake (as opposed to intellectual arguments for the transmitted
sources) was best.88 The root cause of certain humans’ disobedience
was, really, the dispositions of humans’ characters.89
Rāz ’s psychological explanation of how God caused sin refl ected
the content and terminology of psychology, part of falsafa.90 God was
the creator of certain motives91 that could lead to disobedience.92 The
emergence of an action depended on the joining93 of a motive94 with
79
Arabic: manfa a.
80
al-Rāz vol. 2, 54–5.
81
Arabic: ak m.
82
Arabic: qab .
83
Arabic: takl f.
84
al-Rāz vol. 2, 55.
85
See also al-Rāz vol. 2, 57. Here, at the end of a number of examples, Rāz
concluded once again that punishment was not simply the result of disobedience.
86
Arabic: manq l.
87
al-Rāz vol. 2, 57.
88
For the traditionalist position, see see al- abar 1987, 105–16
89
al-Rāz vol. 2, 56.
90
For a discussion of voluntary and involuntary motion within the context of medi-
eval Islamic philosophy’s view of the soul, see Ibn S nā 1975, 27ff.
91
Arabic: dawā in.
92
al-Rāz vol. 2, 55. These motivations had to be due to God (see vol. 2, 52) lest
one deny God’s existence. See also Shihadeh 2006, 34.
93
Arabic: in imām.
94
Arabic: dā iya.
95
Arabic: maqdara.
96
See Shihadeh 2006, 21. Shihadeh, drawing on Rāz ’s al-Ma ālib al- āliya, explained
that the recognition of the role of motivation in actions was a departure from Rāz ’s
earlier, more Ash ar position, in which only the power (qudra or maqdara) mattered.
See “Al-Rāz maintains that motivation is not only necessary for action, it necessitates
actions . . . With respect to unconscious action, he argues that the act will not occur
unless the agent intends (qa ada) it.” (27)
97
Arabic: i irār .
98
al-Rāz vol. 2, 44.
99
Shihadeh 2006, 21.
100
al-Rāz vol. 2, 56. Elsewhere (see Shihadeh 2006, 33), Rāz wrote that voluntary
actions were much less predictable than chains of natural causes.
101
al-Rāz vol. 2, 55–6.
102
Cf. his reference to cool-headedness—al-bārid al-ra s.
103
al-Rāz vol. 2, p. 56.
Al-N sāb r
N sāb r , in the introduction to his Gharā ib al-Qur ān, cited Rāz ’s
al-Tafs r al-Kab r as an important source, and in many places N sāb r
reproduced sections of al-Tafs r al-Kab r virtually verbatim.108 N sāb r
104
Rāz ’s style of exegesis throughout al-Tafs r al-Kab r was intimately connected with
questions of kalām. See Jaffer 2005 49–52.
105
al-Rāz vol. 1, 56.
106
al-Rāz vol. 1, 57.
107
al-Rāz vol. 1, 57–8.
108
See, for example, the passages from al-Tafs r al-Kab r and Gharā ib al-Qur ān
discussed in Morrison 2002.
109
Arabic: aql .
110
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 143. Rāz had a physiological definition of the heart in
al-Tafs r al-Kab r ( Jaffer 2005, 210–3), but it did not surface in the course of his com-
ments on this passage.
111
Arabic: bi-tawassu al-awrida wa-’l-sharāy n.
112
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 143.
113
Arabic: r .
114
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 143.
115
Morrison 2007, 141.
116
al-Rāz vol. 2, 52.
117
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 143.
118
The more sophisticated eleventh-century Kitāb al-Manā ir of Ibn al-Hay-
tham came to be fully-known in the Islamic East only in N sāb r ’s lifetime with
Kamāl al-D n al-Fāris ’s (d. 1320) Tanq al-Manā ir (Rectification of the Optics). See
Sabra 2007, esp. 120. There, Sabra noted Rāz ’s citation of Ibn al-Haytham’s
Kitāb al-Manā ir in al-Tafs r al-kab r, but added that there was no evidence of
Rāz ’s acquaintance with the contents. My research on N sāb r (2007 268–9, n.
46; see also n. 35) uncovered no evidence that N sāb r knew of Kamāl al-D n’s
work. For an English text of the Optics and its situation in the history of Islamic
science, see Sabra 1989. On lxxiii–lxxv, Sabra discussed the medieval Latin
translation of The Optics that occurred either at the end of the twelfth or early thirteenth
century (i.e., before Kamāl al-D n al-Fār s wrote).
119
Arabic: quwwa.
120
Arabic: murattaba.
the firm damp air.121 N sāb r mentioned that Ibn S nā’s opponents
advocated an extramission theory of vision, in which rays emerged
from the eye.122 N sāb r seemed to incline against the extramission
position when he wrote that when many people are assembled together,
things do not get any brighter.123 Clearly, humans did not all have equal
powers of perception. He wrote that
attributing vision to the eye is attributing perception to the heart and
belonging to both the heart and the eye is a light. The light of the eye is
impressed in it [ i.e., the eye] because it is from the world of creation and
it is a partial light and that which perceives it is partial. As for the light
of the heart it is separate because it comes from the world of command
and it is a total light and that which perceives it is total. Both perceptions
mean that the perceiver falls in that light.124
While N sāb r ’s scientific information did not claim that God physi-
ologically seals the heart in the same manner in which God places a
covering on their eyes, the scientific information did provide a better
way for understanding of how the passage was direct speech. There
was nothing at all metaphorical about the heart being the locus of one’s
intimate contact with God; he has blurred the biological and religious
definitions of the heart. After all, if the eyes were the locus of the sight,
how appropriate it would be for the more noble heart to be the locus
of the more noble vision.125 The covering of the eyes and the sealing
121
Arabic: al-ru ba al-jal diyya.
122
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 143. al-Zamakhshar (vol. 1, 29) considered definitions
of vision, too. He wrote: “Vision (al-ba ar) is the light of the eye and it is that through
which the viewer sees and perceives ( yudrik) visible things (al-mar iyyāt) just as mental
perception (al-ba ra) is the light of the heart (al-qalb), it being that through which one
ponders and refl ects ( yastab ir wa-yata ammal ) as they [i.e., the light of the eye and the
light of the heart] are two refined essences (jawharān la fān) that God created as instru-
ments for vision and refl ection.”
123
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 143. I have discussed N sāb r ’s understanding of the
heart’s perception being more powerful than that of the eye, but did not investigate
the value of the scientific information in the context of the entirety of his comments
(Morrison 2007,141–2).
124
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 143. The Arabic reads: “Wa-’l- aqq ind anna nisbat al-
ba ar ilā al- ayn nisbat al-ba ra ilā al-qalb wa-li-kull min al- ayn wa-’l-qalb n r. Amā n r al- ayn
fa-mun aba f hā li- annah min ālam al-khalq fa-huwa n r juz wa-mudrikuh juz . Wa-amā n r
al-qalb fa-mufāraq li-annah min ālam al- amr wa-huwa n r kull wa-mudrikuh kull . Wa-idrāk
kull minhā ibāra an wuq mudrikuh f dhālik al-n r.”
125
Ibid., 143. N sāb r ’s discussion of the heart’s role in perception has, at the least,
nuanced Goldziher’s (1920, 239 n2) characterization of Gharā ib al-Qur ān as a tafs r
that made a distinction between literal and allegorical exegesis.
of the heart are not metaphors for the fact that God could cause sin,
but rather explanations for how God might do so.
Though Bay āw , for example, did not dispute the possibility of the
heart being the locus for knowledge,126 N sāb r ’s much greater atten-
tion to science gave him a new way to reject the Mu tazil position of a
complete refusal to attribute evil to God in any way.127 Solving a problem
that had stumped Rāz , N sāb r used the case of tremors to show that
involuntary sin was possible; thus, involuntary sin was conceivable.128
Humans simply did not control all of their physiological functions. But
N sāb r had to reconcile the fact that, in his opinion, there was no
doubt that God was free from all shameful actions,129 with how such
an understanding of God had, nevertheless, to preserve God’s position
as the starting point for everything on earth.130
N sāb r , as Rāz had, took an empirical look at how God might
actually affect one’s future actions and, thus, one’s future salvation.
During the period of gestation in one’s mother as a clot of blood,131
God sends an angel with four words specifying one’s deeds,132 fixed
term133 and sustenance.134 After this point, God could do nothing that
would merit the further attribution of oppression135 and shameful
actions.136 N sāb r wondered why, when a king made one person a
minister proximate to the king, and others sweepers, people did not
consider that to be an evil action. Alluding to the need for opposites,
N sāb r added that both sweepers and ministers were necessary for
the functioning of the kingdom. Yet, God’s creation of predilections
in humans before birth is seen to be evil. God’s creation of the Sun,
along with blind people, was for N sāb r evidence that God did not
126
al-Bay āw (1988 vol. 1, 23) acknowledged that the heart could be the locus of
knowledge and that ‘sights’ could be a metaphor for the member (i.e., the eye) because
the eye was susceptible to being sealed and covered.
127
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 145.
128
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 147. See also al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 3, 141 and al-N sāb r
1992 vol. 8, 4. Q6:111 (‘We shall turn about their hearts and their eyes, even as they
believed not in it the first time; and We shall leave them in their insolence wandering
blindly.’) was another place where N sāb r argued that God caused unbelief.
129
Arabic: munazzah an kull al-qabā i .
130
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 146.
131
Arabic: mu gha.
132
Arabic: amalah.
133
Arabic: ajalah.
134
Arabic: rizqah.
135
Arabic: ulm.
136
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 146–7.
intend for everyone to have the same fate. God could and did send
revelations to people among whom were those God created the leaning,
at least, towards unbelief.137
In his explanation of how blind people were unable to see the cre-
ated Sun, N sāb r used an instrument of simile,138 meaning that effect
of the loss of the light of revelation on a sealed heart was not exactly
the same thing as the blind person being unable to see the Sun.139
Likewise, the blind, according to N sāb r , might not be aware of what
they are lacking. N sāb r ’s probing of how God would seal the heart
led him to an inductive approach to the question of human free will
and responsibility. N sāb r ’s use of rational sciences, paralleling Rāz ’s
use of psychology, has begun to show that a literal interpretation of
Q2:6/7, an interpretation at first blush offensive to reason, was actu-
ally reasonable.
Then, N sāb r used the relativity of evil to separate the accidents of
qub (ignobility) from its essence. He said that if one derived use140 from
something ignoble,141 then God would certainly be capable of sending
that benefit without the necessary intermediation of the ignoble thing.
What was perceived as ignoble might not really be such; thus, God was
divested of142 anything ignoble, but could still be the origin of all.143
In addition, N sāb r explained that the existence of divine grace144 is
sound145 only through the existence of divine ill-treatment.146 Things
become clear only through their opposites.147 In other words, nothing
could be perceived as ignoble unless it could also be seen as fine148
from another perspective. Metal, for example, could be used for both
horseshoes and for swords, and inasmuch as something is used for a
purpose with no redeeming value, the ignobility should be attributed to
137
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 147.
138
Arabic: ka.
139
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 147. “As for the benefit of the sun for those whose hearts
have been sealed, it is like (ka) the benefit of the sun for the blind.” Arabic: “wa-amā
fā idat al-shams bi-’l-nisba ilā al-makht m alā qul bihim fa-ka-fā idat n r al-shams bi-’l-nisba
ilā al-akmah.”
140
Arabic: manfa a.
141
Arabic: qab .
142
Arabic: munazzah an.
143
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 148.
144
Arabic: lu f.
145
Arabic: ya a .
146
Arabic: qahr.
147
al-N sāb r 1992 vol. 1, 146.
148
Arabic: asan.
the relative distance of that result from God. This is an interesting step
in N sāb r ’s reasoning, because he has implied that while everything
can be attributed to God, humans might be the proximate cause of
certain acts of evil. There is also a difference between human evil and
God’s apparent evil which could actually serve some good.
The advance that N sāb r has made has been to show that while
God could be responsible for what humans perceive to be evil, God’s
responsibility for evil did not entail God’s capriciousness. God’s role
in evil served a purpose. Such a conclusion was both the result of
N sāb r ’s rationalist argument and a general implication of the use
of science. Human science can explain events on earth; so, preserving
the rationality of events on earth, such as sin, did not mean the denial
of the literal sense of the Qur ān. In other words, N sāb r broke new
ground in the interpretation of Q2:6/7 by accepting the validity of
scientific epistemology. Conversely, we have seen that Bay āw was
more skeptical of science. That meant that while kalām had appropri-
ated falsafa and science (cf. Rāz ’s tafs r) by the time Bay āw wrote,
Bay āw did not avail himself of science’s findings in his arguments
in favor of a literal exegesis of the passage. He was a mutakallim who
remained wary of science’s findings; or, he concluded that science’s
methodology threatened his understanding of God.149 Indeed, I would
speculate that the inductive (rather than deductive) nature of N sāb r ’s
conclusions, and of science’s conclusions, was central to why Bay āw
rejected N sāb r ’s approach, and why Bay āw rejected using science to
the extent that N sāb r did to interpret the Qur ān. Bay āw ’s outlook
preferred exegesis on the basis of deductions from the Ash ar principle
of divine omnipotence to inferring God’s omnipotence from empirical
data. Because N sāb r was even more sympathetic to science than Rāz ,
N sāb r was able to do more to answer the questions that Rāz had
posed about how and why God would cause humans to sin.
Conclusion
149
See, again, al-Bay āw 1988 vol. 1, 48.
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’l- ibā a wa-’l-nashr wa-’l-tawz .
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Shihadeh, Ayman. 2006. The Teleological Ethics of Fakhr al-D n al-Rāz . Leiden/Boston:
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1450–1700
Kenneth J. Howell
1
Introduction to Part 3.
2
To my knowledge there is still not a comprehensive study of biblical interpretation
in the major figures of the Protestant and Catholic reformations for these two centuries
though there has been a decided increase in the study of the interpretative methods of
the magisterial Reformers. See Steinmetz 1990 and Muller & Thompson 1996.
3
See Hill 1994.
4
Migne 1844–1905 vol. 210, col. 579. Translation: every creature of the world to
us is a picture or mirror, a faithful sign of our life, our death, our state, our destiny.
5
Zanchius 1591. Hi sunt diuini illi libri, iique duûm generum in quibus Deus Opt.
Max. nos alloqui dignatus est, déque sua tùm aeterna essentia, perfectissimáque natura,
tùm optima voluntate, summoque erga nos amore, certiores facere voluit: quorum
vnum Librum Creaturarum seu Operum: alterum sacrarum literarum, seu verbi Dei,
possumus appellare. Quos si paulùm comparare libeat, videas eos, tametsi diuersos,
egregiè tamen id, de quo quaeritur praestare, siue in finem illum, cognitionis Dei, ac
beatitudinis nostrae conspirare.Translation mine.
6
Grant 1997.
7
Williams 1948.
8
Ibid., 23.
9
Ibid., 174.
10
Harrison 1998.
11
Howell 2002.
12
Aquinas. 1978, part 1 art. 10.
13
See Westman 1975 and 1980.
14
Galilei 1890–1909 vol 6, 232; trans. in Drake 1957, 238.
15
For a description of Newton’s work see Dear 1995, 6–7, 219–220. Dear also
discusses Jesuit anticipations of Newton’s methods.
16
Howell 2002, ch. 3.
17
For a discussion of Melanchthon’s advancement of natural philosophy, including
astronomy, see Kusukawa 1995.
18
See Jardine 1984.
19
See Granada 2008 and Howell 2002, ch. 3.
20
See Howell 2002, 105,106.
21
For years historians of science contented themselves with the citations of Brahe’s
scriptural opposition to terrestrial motion without studying his full-fl edged use of the
Bible in a cosmological context. Historians of astronomy virtually ignored his chemical
researches in the basement of Uraniborg but Jole Schakelford’s work has revealed some
interesting connections in Brahe’s work which deserve to be integrated into a holistic
picture. See Shakelford 1992. See also more recently Mosley 2007.
22
In fact, Brahe never calls the sublunar realm by that term. He always calls it the
“elementary” realm (elementaris) precisely because it contains the four elements, none
of which could exist in the celestial world.
23
Brahe to Rothmann 21 February 1589. Brahe 1913–29, vol. 6, 166. See also
Brahe’s letter 17 August 1588. Ibid., 140.
24
Brahe to Rothmann 21 February 1589. Ibid., 167.
25
It should be noted that the Tychonic system enjoyed great popularity well into
the seventeenth century especially among the Jesuits.
26
Barker and Goldstein 2001.
27
See Howell 2002, ch. 4.
28
Kepler 1938b, 5, lines 18–29.
29
The opening lines of the preface speak of fulfilling his promise to offer something
that is “to be preferred far more than annual prognostications” (longe praeferendum annuis
prognosticis).
30
Kepler is alluding to Acts 17 (Paul’s speech on the Areopagus) or Rom. 1: 18ff.
31
This context needs to be at looked more because there is more in this preface
about the Bible.
32
I use the English translation by Kingsford 1886.
33
See for example Kingsford 1886, 49 and 54.
34
Ibid., 57.
35
Ibid., 58.
theology so that the natural is ruled by the law of grace. Thus astrol-
ogy must be theologized.
Weigel’s interpretation of creation as an alchemical and hermetic
process was further explained in his Fourfold Interpretation of Creation.
The authenticity of this manuscript has been strongly debated, but
Andrew Weeks has recently pointed to strong internal evidence that this
manuscript mostly likely does come Weigel’s hand. Its spirit is certainly
Weigelian.36 As Weeks carefully demonstrates, the author of the Fourfold
Interpretation is seeking to place himself squarely in the Lutheran tradition
both in his extensive translation of Luther’s commentary on Genesis
and in his attempt to summarize past exegetical opinion. Still, Weigel
does not limit himself to standard Lutheran categories. An example of
his method is found in his application of the microcosm-macrocosm to
Gen. 2:7. Forming man (adam) “from the dust of the ground” means
that each human being carries within himself or herself the elements
of the universe and that each is made able to explore and understand
its various parts because of this sameness between the macrocosm and
microcosm.37 For our purposes, we should take note of how Weigel was
simultaneously attempting to stay within the boundaries of Lutheran
orthodoxy (e.g., Formula of Concord in 1580) and to overcome literalistic
tendencies of interpretation which he observed in those who slavishly
followed Luther. These literalistic (buchstablich) theologians miss the
deeper significance of the biblical meanings. Weigel’s program was to
show how thoroughly the biblical truths underlying the literal meaning
are suffused throughout creation and therefore how the truly Christian
philosopher must penetrate into the depths of the created order.
Daniel Czepko von Reigersfeld (1605–1660) showed similar propensi-
ties as Weigel in the seventeenth century when he saw the underlying
unity of nature and redemption in the “Holy Triangle.”38 A symbol
pregnant with meaning for both pagan (e.g., Platonic and Pythago-
rean) and Christian antiquity, the triangle for Czepko was the key to
the structure of all reality.39 As Haas has explained, Czepko sought to
extend the geometric ‘mysticism’ of the Pythagorean tradition which
found abundant expression in the Italian (fifteenth century), Span-
ish (sixteenth century), and French (seventeenth century) mystical
36
Weeks 2005.
37
Ibid., 11.
38
Czepko 1989, vol. 1.
39
See Haas 2005.
40
See Haas 2005, 663.
Toward the end of the seventeenth century there was little or no abate-
ment of interest in the relationship of nature and Scripture among
European intellectuals, especially among the English. As Richard S.
Westfall’s now classic study of science and religion once claimed,
English science moved from the backwater of scientific achievement
at the commencement of the century to being its undisputed leader by
the century’s end.41 And if that same century represented any increas-
ing secularization, one could not detect it from the published writ-
ings of England’s natural philosophers. Perhaps it is true, as Westfall
suggested, that the ground had shifted from the assumed truth of the
Christian religion to a need to defend it against sceptics. William Whiston
(1667–1752), Newton’s successor in the Lucasian chair of mathematics
at Cambridge, sought to vindicate the truth of the Christian religion
by the concordance of astronomy and Scripture. Although Whiston’s
theological views were far less than orthodox, he was just as intent
as his predecessor on marshaling any evidence he could to prove the
truth of Christianity as he conceived it. After rehearsing the system of
the world known from astronomy, Whiston did not hesitate to enter
into a hortatory mode:
Since it has now pleased God, as we have seen, to discover many noble
and important truths to us by the light of nature and the system of the
world, as also he long discovered many more noble and important truths
by revelation in the sacred books, it cannot now be improper to compare
these two divine volumes . . . I mean of revelation as relates to the natural
world and wherein we may be assisted to judge better by the knowledge
of the system of the world about us. For if those things contained in
Scripture be true and really derived from the Author of nature, we shall
find them, in proper cases, confirmed by the system of the world.42
John Ray (1627–1705), Anglican clergyman and keen observer of the
fl ora and fauna of England, shared with Whiston the desire to vindi-
cate God’s glory by use of the natural world even if he differed from
Whiston in his theological orientation. Ray was ejected from Trinity
College, Cambridge during the restoration of the monarchy under
Charles II, and took up residence with the independently wealthy
41
Westfall 1964.
42
Whiston 1725, pt. VII.
but like minded Francis Willugby who left Ray an annuity upon his
death.43 In the last fifteen years of his life, Ray brought together much
of his acquired knowledge to publish The Wisdom of God Manifested in
the Works of Creation in 1692. Ray took Ps. 104:24 (How manifold are
your works, O Lord, in wisdom you made them all) as his point of
departure to show both the variety and precision of the created order.
Ray’s survey of the creation, however, was not a simplistic recounting
of the obvious; he is conversant with the advancements of knowledge
during his century (e.g., Copernicanism) and the various philosophical
accounts of nature (e.g., Cartesianism). Ray explicitly identified Des
Cartes’ exclusion of final causes as tending toward Epicurean atheism
while professing theism.44
From the widest expanse of the heavens to the details of the human
body Ray saw a world trumpeting the existence and wisdom of the
Creator. He is, however, aware of the cavils that may be raised against
his laudatory claims:
There are indeed supernatural demonstrations of this truth but not
common to all persons or times . . . these truths taken from effects and
operations exposed to every man’s view, not to be denied or questioned
by any, are most effectual to convince all that deny or doubt of it.45
Even though no one in the seventeenth century had any possibility of
the knowledge of other planets encircling other fixed stars, Ray con-
fidently asserted, as did his contemporary the Rev. John Wilkins, that
there must be other inhabited worlds. But whether on solid ground or
in speculation, Ray was absolutely convinced that the universe pointed
to the existence and sagacity of its Maker. This confidence explains how
Ray could move so freely between descriptions of the physical world and
the words of Scripture in his Three Physico-Theological Discourses published
after his death.46 The Three Discourses spanned the entire history of the
universe from creation to consummation with an elaborate treatment of
the Noahic deluge along the way. Ray’s interest in how the world will
end (consummation) can only be explained against the background of
millenarian movements among the English in the seventeenth century.
Since the science of his day had so little to say about this subject, Ray
43
Ray’s biography is treated in Mandelbrote 2004. Raven 1942.
44
Ray 1722, Preface, 38.
45
Ibid., x.
46
Ray 1713.
draws upon any and all evidence he can from Scripture and the patristic
tradition to answer this question. What is particularly interesting to us
is his contention that the universe will end in a natural way by fire as
suggested by 2 Pet. 3:7.47 This all-consuming fire must begin from the
surface of Earth rather than from its interior because of the necessity
of air to feed fire. This illustrates the confl uence of natural knowledge
and scriptural teaching that characterized English thinkers like Whiston
and Ray. Theirs was a method of gathering whatever information they
could from whatever source was at their disposal. They desired to show
forth the Creator’s wisdom by referencing scientific knowledge of the
natural world as well as showing the veracity of biblical revelation by
appealing to natural means to accomplish what the Bible predicted. It
seems that John Ray was not at all peculiar in his desire or freedom
to see the confl uence of truth in nature and Scripture. For him, as
for the majority of his contemporaries in England, the two books still
proclaim the praise of the Creator that Zanchius had written of in at
the beginning of the century.
47
Ibid., Discourse III ch. 6, 388.
48
See Ray 1713 above for evidence of Ray’s attempt to answer to Cartesianism.
the case in earlier figures like Brahe and Weigel. They confidently
proclaim that the achievements of the past one hundred and fifty years
signal no less than before the glory and wisdom of the Creator. I am
inclined to think that this shift toward natural apologetics could only
become necessary against the background of an underlying separation
of the two books.
All the thinkers we have surveyed were obliged to wrestle with the
kinds of meaning contained in the biblical texts that described and
referred to nature. Here careful thinking is demanded. Against Peu-
cer, Brahe was not inclined to the see an exhaustive cosmology in the
Bible, and Kepler even less so. This did not mean, however, the com-
plete irrelevance of the Bible. Brahe held the long-standing Christian
assumption that the texts of the scriptural book would not contradict
the truths of the natural book. Kepler certainly realized more than
Brahe that the biblical language contained much accommodation.
But from another angle Kepler’s cosmology owed more to the Bible
than Brahe’s. The truths expressed in the Bible (e.g., Trinity, man as
imago Dei) were for him an essential part of cosmology. The view once
predominate among historians of science that Kepler’s ‘mysticism’ was
an unnecessary overlay on his astronomy or a vestigial inheritance of
his Christian culture that was irrelevant to astronomy fails to recognize
the theological framing of his astronomical labors. Given the textual
evidence adduced earlier, I am convinced that Kepler did not see
his astronomy and his Christian theology as incompatible or even in
tension.49 There is a curious similarity between Kepler and Valentine
Weigel. Both were seeking to show that biblical truths were resident
in the creation but their very different hermeneutics were a result of
very different natural philosophies which they employed. The truths of
creation in Kepler’s hermeneutics and philosophy were presupposed by
the Bible without being taught in the Bible. For Weigel, natural truths
were hidden in the biblical stories which only a hermetic hermeneutics
could discover. Weigel and Kepler were united in their confidence in
the compatibility of the two books but separated by different notions
of how God expressed his glory in the creation.
With the amount of work that has been done on the history of
science and hermeneutics in the last twenty years, one might reach
49
The evidence from Kepler’s writings presented in this chapter may be considered
an extension of the argument in Howell 2002, ch. 4.
Bibliography
50
See the contributions of these authors in this volume along with references to
their own writings in the bibliography. Barker 2008, Granada 2008, Finocchiaro 2008,
Harrison 2008.
Mandelbrote, Scott. 2004. John Ray. In The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Ed.
Colin Matthew and Brian Harrison. 60 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
vol. 46, cols 178–83.
Migne, J.-P., ed. 1844–1905. Patrologia cursus completus, series Latina, 217 vols. Paris:
Garnier.
Mosley, Adam. 2007. Bearing the Heavens: Tycho Brahe and the Astronomical Community of the
Late Sixteenth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Muller, Richard A. & John L. Thompson, eds. 1996. Biblical Interpretation in the Era
of the Reformation: Essays Presented to David C. Steinmetz in Honor of his Sixtieth Birthday.
Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.
Newton, Isaac. 1704. Opticks: Or a Treatise on the Reflexions, Refractions, Inflexions and Colours
of Light. London.
[Osiander, Andreas]. 1543. Preface. In De Revolutionibus, Nicholas Copernicus. Nurem-
berg.
Raven, C.E. 1942. John Ray, His Life and Works. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Ray, John. 1713. Three physico-theological discourses, concerning I. The primitive chaos, . . . II.
The general deluge, . . . III. The dissolution of the world, . . . The third edition,
illustrated . . . and much more enlarged than the former editions, from the author’s
own MSS. London.
——. 1722. The Wisdom of God Manifested in the Works of Creation. Edinburgh.
Shakelford, Jole. 1992. Tycho Brahe, Laboratory Design and the Aim of Science. Isis
84: 211–30.
Steinmetz, David C., ed. 1990. The Bible in the Sixteenth Century. Durham, NC: Duke
University Press.
Weeks, Andrew. 2005. Valentin Weigel and The Fourfold Interpretation of the Cre-
ation: An Obscure Compilation or Weigels’s Crowning Attempt at Reconciliation
of Natural and Spiritual Knowledge? Daphnis 34: 1–22.
Westfall, Richard S. 1964. Science and Religion in Seventeenth Century England. New Haven,
CT: Yale University Press.
Westman, Robert. 1975. The Wittenberg Interpretation of the Copernican Theory. In
The Nature of Scientific Discovery, Ed. Owen Gingrich. Washington, DC: The Smith-
sonian Institution.
——. 1980. The Astronomer’s Role in the Sixteenth Century: A Preliminary Study.
History of Science 23: 105–47.
Whiston, William. 1725. Astronomical principles of religion, natural and reveal’d. In nine parts: . . .
Together with a preface, of the tper of mind necessary for the discovery of divine truth. part VII.
London.
Williams, Arnold. 1948. The Common Expositor. Chapel Hill: University of North Caro-
lina Press.
Zanchi, Girolami. 1591. Prefatory Letter of his De operibus Dei intra Spacium Sex Dierum Creatis.
Reprint, Omnium Operum Theologicorum, vol. 3, Geneva: Samuel Crespin, 1619, 8.
James J. Bono
From Ficino in the late fifteenth century to Newton in the late seven-
teenth, students of nature and the Scriptures generated a variety of
narratives concerning the ‘book of nature’ in the attempt to redefine
the relationship of that book to its divine author. Such thinkers did so
in light of religious beliefs and theological understanding of the effects
of the Fall. In particular, attention to the biblical stories of the expulsion
from the Garden of Eden, the destruction of the Tower of Babel, and
the Pentecost resulted in a variety of claims concerning humankind’s
postlapsarian access to knowledge of God, his Word, and his creation.
Such narrative re-workings of foundational biblical stories prompted
students of nature to construct a variety of hermeneutic principles
for ‘reading’ the book of nature that refl ected shifting and confl icting
religious views of the nature of God, man, nature, and the relation-
ship between words and things. Hence, this essay argues that the early
modern turn to the study of ‘natural particulars’—and ultimately a
related, but not identical, turn to the ‘literal’—was inseparable from
just such biblical narratives. Further, this thesis regarding religion, the
Bible, and the Scientific Revolution suggests that the emergence of
the literal in science was neither conditioned by narrow confessional
commitments, nor the outcome of exclusively Protestant practices of
literal interpretation of the Bible. In turn, such stories and hermeneutic
principles produced an array of different interpretive strategies and
material practices among such figures as Paracelsus, Fernel, Galileo,
Harvey, Bacon, Gassendi, Descartes, Charleton, Boyle, and Newton.1
1
See Bono 1995. Among recent work on the book of nature, see in addition, Berkel
and Vanderjagt 2005; 2006; Bennett and Mandelbrote 1998.
2
Topsell 1607, from the Dedicatory Epistle, no pagination.
3
Ibid.
4
Ibid.
5
Ibid.
6
Ibid.
7
On the effects of the Fall and early modern science, see Bono 1995; Harrison 1998a;
Harrison 2001; other works by Harrison cited elsewhere; now also Harrison 2008.
8
For an account of early modern discussions concerning the original Adamic
language, its survival and/or disappearance, and the claims of Hebrew and other
languages, see Bono 1995, chap. 3, 48–84. See the primary sources cited there as well
for specific evidence and nuances of such views and debates. In addition, on questions
related to the nature of humankind’s fallen intellect, see Harrison 2002.
9
Among those who claimed that the Adamic language survived both the Fall and
Babel, one can count such sixteenth- and seventeenth-century figures as Johannes
Buxtorf, Meric Casaubon, Claude Duret, Benedictus Pererius, and John Webb. See
Bono 1995, esp. 60–64.
Recovering the Adamic Language (2): The Role of the Book of Nature
as Supplement
For such figures as Paracelsus, Conrad Gessner, Ulisse Aldrovandi,
Claude Duret, and Oswald Croll, if not for most of those who dreamed
of uncovering traces of the lost Adamic language, attention to surviving
languages and texts alone was simply inadequate to achieve the lofty
goal of recovering lost Adamic knowledge.11 Instead, we find other
strategies emerging and contending with one another. Among them,
a second strategy for reconstituting lost prelapsarian knowledge—and
very possibly the Adamic language itself—proved notable: one based
10
Bibliander 1548. Gessner 1974. For others mentioned here, see: Sika 1976;
1976–77; Celenza 2001; Dan 1998; Rice 1972; Copenhaver 1977; Allen and Rees
2001; Wirszubski 1989; Victor 1978; Nauert 1965; Lehrich 2003; Bouwsma 1957;
Kuntz 1981; Petry 2004.
11
For these figures, see Bono 1995, 123–24, 177–179, 183 (Aldrovandi), 140–66
(Croll), 61 (Duret), 123–24, 177–79, 183, 186–87, 189–190 (Gessner), 129–140
(Paracelsus).
12
Leigh 1656. More generally on early modern discussions of the Adamic language,
see Bono 1995, 53–79.
13
“Introspicimus nunc penitius creaturas quam olim sub papatu. . . . Nos vero gra-
tia Dei magnalia Dei ve ex fl osculi consideratione incipimus cognoscere . . . . in ipsius
creaturis cognoscimus potentiam verbi ipsius” (Luther 1967, 573–574). The translation
is from Aarsleff unpublished, 23–24. (Quoted from a copy owned by the Library of
The Warburg Institute, London.)
gap between the divine message and its human, material medium—
nonetheless exists, requiring interpretation as the means for grasping
the sensus germanus of Scriptures.14 The book of nature, by contrast, is
not written in a human language. Some argued, instead, that nature
as God’s Work was a direct manifestation of his Word. (Of course,
nature as ‘text’ represented a material instantiation of the immaterial
divine Word and therefore presented that Word in a mediated form
that humans had first to see through, as it were, in order to discern its
meaning clearly and immediately.) Whereas human languages were cor-
rupted by the Fall and by Babel, nature—at least in the view of some
thinkers—remained pristine and pure and was hence an uncorrupted
source of divine Wisdom and scientia.15 Thus, to supplement the study
of human languages—even such a sacred language as Hebrew, not to
mention Greek, Latin, and vernacular tongues—in the quest for traces
of the lost Adamic language, the book of nature could and for some
did provide a means to identify the correct and proper names of things
and to discern their true meanings. Those who were convinced (as
Topsell appears to be) of the need to seek help in understanding the
meaning of Scriptures and in separating the chaff of human artifice
and history from the kernel of divine, Adamic wisdom in the surviving
languages of man, readily and even enthusiastically turned to God’s
second book, nature, and to the creatures and things it contained for
guidance. Nature and texts, in this view, were in their own distinctive
ways complementary and were to be subjected to rigorous exegesis as
parallel sources of scientia and sapientia.
Recovering the Adamic Language ( 3): Prioritizing the Exclusive Role of Nature
However, not all accepted this view of the relationship between language
and the book of nature in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
Some railed against the corrupt, fallen, and even pagan nature of
all human languages and texts—thereby placing the Holy Scriptures
as divine text in a wholly separate category. Adherents of this view
scorned learned fetishization of pagan authors like Aristotle and Plato
14
On the sensus germanus, Erasmus, and interpretation of the Bible, see Cave 1979,
90, 101.
15
An interesting example is discussions of the language of animals in the Renais-
sance. See Dubois 1970; Gray 1990, 149–159; Ormsby-Lennon 1988; Serjeantson 2001.
Among those who, by contrast, spoke of nature as corrupted by the Fall, see the great
English poet of the seventeenth century, John Milton (Milton 2005, X: 641–719).
16
On Paracelsus, see Pagel 1982; Bianchi 1987; Grell 1998; Weeks 1997.
17
For Agrippa, see above, n. 10.
18
Thus, Paracelsus would continually proclaim that the art of reading such signs
stamped by God upon the book of nature puts postlapsarian man in contact with the
kind of knowledge Adam possessed before the Fall, “die kunst signata leret die rechten
namen geben allen dingen,” Paracelsus 1928, 397.
19
Schmitt 1969; Bono 1995.
20
Bono 1995; Findlen 1994; Long 2001; Park and Daston 1998; Smith and Findlen
2002; Smith 2004; Grafton and Siraisi 1999.
21
Ashworth 1990.
22
Bono 1995.
23
Chenu 1968; Walker 1958; Yates 1964. For Lull, see Hillgarth 1971; Rossi 1961;
Yates 1982; for Renaissance Neoplatonism, see above n. 10.
24
See, for example, Courtenay 1984; 1990; Oberman 1963; 1986; Trinkaus and
Oberman 1974.
25
See, for example, Bono 1995; Deason 1986; Dobbs 1991; McGuire 1972; 2000;
Oakley 1984, esp. chap. 3; Osler 1994. For an important critique of claims about vol-
untarism and science, see Harrison 2002a; see my comments below on this article.
26
For the divine Word, Christ, the new Adam, and the light of nature, see Para-
celsus 1929, esp. 395–399.
27
For exegesis, see the discussion of what I call an “exegetical hermeneutics of
nature” and its relationship to “de-in-scriptive hermeneutics of nature” throughout
Bono 1995.
28
See Bono 1995, esp. 64–72. In his commentary on Babel and the confusion
of tongues, Luther notes the survival of the Adamic language in the family of Eber
(Heber), but only in its barest, external form. In effect, it is of no use and consequence
to postlapsarian humanity. Luther 1960, 215.
29
Bono 1995, chap. 4, 85–122. This chapter is a slightly altered version of Bono
1990.
30
Bono 1995, esp. 64–72, 185–192, and chap. 7, 199–246 (the latter on Bacon).
See also Céard 1980.
31
Unlike Harrison 2002a, I argue that the thesis connecting voluntarism and empiri-
cism does not require that voluntarists be radical empiricists: it is simply enough that the
rational order of God’s creation cannot be fully grasped and asserted as true without
some empirical supplement to intellectual knowing. I shall elucidate this argument and
criticism of Harrison in vol. 2 of my Word of God project.
32
See Bono 1995, 199–246, on Bacon. For more on “facts” and “matters of fact”
as emergent categories and preoccupations in the seventeenth century, see Park and
Daston 1998; Shapin and Schaffer 1985; Shapiro 2000.
33
Bacon 1859, 222.
Here Bacon gives notice of his own ambition to set the course of
human knowledge on its proper path. For Bacon the reform or advance-
ment of knowledge constitutes the very instrument through which
humankind can hope to repair the damage suffered by the Fall, which
was in turn further complicated by the confusion of tongues. Hence,
his ambitions to establish a Novum Organum—a “new instrument”—as
centerpiece of the reform of knowledge, as the mechanism that will
constitute the foundation for that Great Instauration: the “restitution” to
humans of those very powers to know, to faithfully “call the creatures
by their true names,” and therefore to “command them” once again.
For Bacon it was the “power” of knowledge that Adam and his prog-
eny lost as a result of the Fall, and only by repairing that power to
“its perfect and original condition”34 could humans set themselves on
a path for salvation.
What Bacon feared, and what he criticized in those who attempted
to understand nature before him, was the universal tendency of pride-
ful humans to ignore the very effects of the Fall by exalting the powers
of the human mind—especially the powers of mere ratiocination and
abstraction—beyond their capacity. Such pride and foolhardy reliance
on those corrupted and weakened faculties of the human intellect
had led, and could only lead, to the propagation and multiplication
of falsehoods, and with them to false and abortive pathways through
the labyrinth of nature. Thus, Bacon’s continual tone of pained, weary
criticism and cajoling in the midst of what is also an astonishing opti-
mism and hope for the future:
For God forbid that we should give out a dream of our own imagination
for a pattern of the world; rather may he graciously grant to us to write
an apocalypse or true vision of the footsteps of the Creator imprinted on
his creatures [ac veram visionem vestigiorum et sigillorum creatoris super creaturas
scribamus].35
How to avoid prideful imposition of a false pattern of the world? For
Bacon the answer was to turn to Adam, to understand the nature of the
knowledge Adam had, its connection to his divinely authorized domin-
ion over God’s creatures, and to seek to reconstitute that knowledge
through full and fundamental awareness of the different state of our
Fallen intellect compared to that of the prelapsarian Adam. While we
34
Bacon 1860a, 7.
35
Bacon 1860b, 32–33.
36
Bacon 1858, 132–133.
37
Bono 1995, 199–246.
38
For more on the emergence and significance of the refiguration of ‘knowing’
as a form of making and doing, and for the tendency toward convergence of scientia
and techn , see Bono 1995; and important recent works by Long 2001; Smith 2004.
On the intersections of learned, artistic, and craft and technical cultures, see also
Grafton 2000.
39
Bacon 1860a, 254. While Bacon eschews the uses of philology for the specific
purpose of the laborious work of repairing the effects of the Fall and of Babel, he
nonetheless retains a role for philology in other spheres. Just as he rails against scho-
lasticism as leading the mind astray with over hasty abstractions when studying nature,
while nonetheless acknowledging its value for training the mind to discriminate dif-
ferences, so, too, he may, without contradiction, reserve a place for philology. Thus,
in his essay, “Of Studies,” Bacon counsels his readers that “If his wit be not apt to
distinguish or find differences, let him study the schoolmen, for they are cymini sectores
[splitters of hairs]” (Bacon 1861, 498).
40
I shall address questions of the literal in early modern science and the Scientific
Revolution in volume 2 of my Word of God project and a related project on “Technolo-
gies of the Literal.” While Bacon accompanied this turn to the literal with rejection
of some traditional misuses and excesses of philology and of rhetoric—for him a
mark of prideful attention to the works of man’s weak and Fallen intellect, rather
than, properly, to God’s Works—philology itself could, and did, still have a place for
subsequent natural historians in pursuit of literal descriptions of nature. On the role
of language in the production of natural history, see recent work by Ratcliff 2004.
For a brief summary of controversies concerning the uses and misuses of language
in natural history and the desire for an accurate and plain descriptive vocabulary, see
Koerner 1999. More generally, on the commingling of natural inquiry and learning,
see Grafton 1991; Pomata and Siraisi 2005. On Sprat and this aspect of the Baconian
In this last section, I want therefore to refl ect on what I see is at stake
for accounts of the ‘Scientific Revolution’ and the refiguration of the
relationship (linguistic and otherwise) between the two books of nature
and Scriptures in this purported ‘turn’ toward the ‘literal.’ At the very
end, I shall remark on what I see as the key and problematic status of
the literal itself, and on how I believe we should, as historians, think
of and with this category. But first, a number of points together with
a brief, if preliminary, history.
The ‘literal,’ as an aspiration, pervades so much of seventeenth-cen-
tury, especially English, natural philosophy from Bacon to Boyle and
the Royal Society. As with Bacon, in certain senses this turn toward
the literal represents a reaction against, and an antidote for, much
that was regarded as the excesses of an imaginative view of nature
as itself poetic: a world where “nature’s fecundity and poetic artifice”
were captured by human efforts to catalogue its variety and complex,
symbolic intertextuality within books and museums. That world was
one in which nature was still a book, and Europeans still sought to
recapture in language the creativity of the original Divine Word and
the perfect knowledge of nature and its web of fecund meanings that
Adam—that true namer of creatures—enjoyed in his prelapsarian
Garden of Eden.41 Language was a tool—for some the tool—of scientia,
of knowledge, and specifically knowledge of nature; and the book of
nature was written in a divine language of things, knowledge of which
depended upon the successful decoding of the alphabet of nature and
interpretation of its hidden, symbolic meanings. Nature was poetic in
its origins (having been created by God through the mysterious agency
of his divine Word); in its fecundity and playfulness;42 and often in its
mode of presentation to and apprehension by humans.43
Much of the explosion of knowledge that we associate with the
sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Scientific Revolution depended,
in part, upon either the exploitation of poetic and symbolic webs of
association linking together natural objects and a whole range of liter-
ary, philosophical, and emblematic resources, or struggles to define new,
legacy, see Hunter 1981; Shapiro 1983, esp. chap. 7; Shapiro 2000, esp. chap. 6; Still-
man 1995; Wood 1980.
41
For this story and for more detail on what follows below, see Bono 1995.
42
See Findlen 1990.
43
See, for example, Freedberg 2002, 2–3, who notes just such poetic forms of pre-
sentation and apprehension of knowledge of nature in Cesi and others.
44
See Bono 1995, 199–246, for Bacon, his reform of language and science, and
for further references. See note 40 above for more on philology, natural history, and
natural inquiry in early modern Europe. While we may take Bacon as symptomatic
of an explicit desire to demarcate the ‘poetic’ from ‘nature,’ this fact does not mean
that philology as such, let alone rhetoric and tropes, were in fact banished from the
discourse and practice of science in this period. More significantly, such symptoms ought
interest us to disclose those cultural and historical processes manifesting themselves in
the very formation of such a desire. On early modern culture and fascination with (or
aversion to) rhetoric, the literal, and related issues, see more generally Struever 1970;
Alpers 1983; Vickers 1985.
45
Bono 1995, 193–198, for Galileo, the book of nature, and further references. See
also Biagioli 2003; and now, Biagioli 2006, esp. chap. 4.
46
Bono 1999.
47
Profound questions were raised about the capacity and limitations of the human
mind in the wake of the revival of philosophical skepticism (see Popkin 2003; Schmitt
1972), changing views of man and of God’s nature, and the Reformation. As attention
hence turned increasingly to “natural particulars,” the ideal of knowledge as knowledge
of ‘universals’ began to lose its appeal. Merging with claims for the dignity and cog-
nitive legitimacy of art and artisanal knowledge and redefinitions of the relationship
between scientia and techn , the stark contrast between nature and art—natural things
and human artifice—became muted. By the seventeenth century, what we have come
to call the ‘new science’ represents less traditional Aristotelian science (scientia) than
what Aristotelians would have considered ‘art,’ as Charles Lohr has repeatedly noted.
See Lohr 1999a; 1999b; 2002.
Conclusion
48
For earlier periods, see Long 2001; Smith 2004; Grafton 2000. For examples of
practices newly adapted to different contexts and purposes, see now the brilliant new
book by Turner 2006.
49
For an appreciation of the related contexts out of which preoccupation with
literal understanding of the book of nature grew, see Bono 1995; Harrison 1998;
Clark 1997.
50
Bono 1995; also volume 2 and my book on “Technologies of the Literal,” both
in progress.
51
See Bono 1995, 193–198.
52
Harrison 1998.
53
I am indebted to Kenneth J. Knoespel for sharing with me drafts of his book in
progress, The Limits of Allegory, including the chapter on “Raphael Regius and Ovid’s
Metamorphoses.” Knoespel’s important work describes the trajectory of allegory and
with it, the “recalibration of the literal,” from Regio in the fifteenth century to Newton.
With Knoespel, I wish to affirm the continuing practice of allegorical reading, even
within a Protestant context, while noting as well its complex transformations, including
the embrace of a larger role for the literal. If one can also speak, in the context of the
study of nature in the seventeenth-century, of a trajectory from allegorical modes of
expression to descriptive ones, such a claim does not entail the demise of allegorical
reading more generally, nor its utter banishment from depictions of nature. For the
complexity of seventeenth-century English poetics, uses of language, and symbols, see
the classic work by Lewalski 1979.
54
Pomata and Siraisi 2005.
55
Newman 2004; 2006; Smith 2004; Moran 2005.
56
See Findlen 1994 Shackelford 1999; Ogilvie 2006.
57
For more on this reorientation toward particulars, including within the arts of
medicine and anatomy, see Bono 1995. See also Harkness 2007; Turner 2006.
58
Céard 1980; also, Ormsby-Lennon 1988.
59
By ‘immanent,’ I refer to the idea that each domain of natural phenomena (e.g.,
the body; the solar system; the system of plants and animals) can be understood as
containing their own principles, rules, and causes without the need for any external
agent, save for the sustaining presence (and in some accounts continuing activity) of
God. Such an immanentist perspective rejects the presence of and need for interme-
diaries between God and natural things: it is compatible with both mechanical and
nonmechanical explanations of natural processes. (Here we may cite William Harvey’s
formulations regarding the operations of living or working matter as paradigmatic of the
latter.) Immanent in this use of the term, need not be incompatible with a voluntarist
understanding of God and God’s Works, the created order of nature.
60
Bono 1995.
ing the Bible, were transferred to the reading of nature: nature was
subjected to elaborate exegesis—to techniques deployed by scholars
(“intensive readers”) steeped in texts and dedicated to tracking down
the most elusive of meanings and intertextual filiations.61 In the turn
toward reading the book of nature literally, habits of reading books
continued to provide models and techniques without, of course, imply-
ing a necessary or frictionless application of such techniques to nature.
Thus, the turn from moral and symbolic allegory to the reading of
classical texts and myths as physical—indeed, literal—allegories (again
see Knoespel’s Regio and his new readings of Ovid) provided one sort
of technology of the literal that, in the hands of a Bacon or a Newton,
contributed to literal readings of the book of nature. Both Bacon’s
advocacy of “natural and experimental histories” and emerging prac-
tices of natural historians drew upon such techniques for reading texts
literally and for describing, arraying, and grouping plots, and languages
themselves, to reveal the literal meanings and interconnections of God’s
book. Lorraine Daston, in her inspiring History of Science Society
Distinguished Lecture, “Reading the Book of Nature in Early Modern
Europe,” noted numerous ways in which students of nature in early
modern Europe cultivated habits and practices of attention—that is,
of attending intensively and minutely to particulars in nature in order
to describe them selectively. For Daston, who elsewhere identifies them
as central to a new early modern “Cult of Attention,” such habits and
practices typically characterize the recently emerged “extensive reader”
of the sixteenth and seventeenth century touted by historians of read-
ing.62 A whole array of such practices—such as the habit of keeping
commonplace books studied by Ann Blair and others—contributed to
what I have called technologies of the literal.63
Such habits and practices of reading books suggested technologies for
observing and recording details of God’s intricate and endlessly various
book of nature. What I have in mind here are first, the arts and artifice
associated with emergent seventeenth-century laboratory practices and
experimentation; the use of instruments; natural history; and related
techniques. Closely linked to these observing practices are technologies
61
Daston 2002.
62
Daston 2002. For “The Cult of Attention,” see Daston 2004; 2004a. More
generally on reading, books, and related matters, see Carruthers 1990; Grafton 1999;
Chartier 1994; Johns 1998.
63
Blair 1992; 2000; 2003; 2004. See also, Andersen and Sauer 2001.
64
Essential here is discussion of the impetus for and implications of such technologies
(in my sense) as the making of tables and lists found in the important book by Campbell
1999, esp. 78–85, “Catalogues and Tables: Iteration.” Campbell’s suggestive account
complements my own insistence on the striking habit of articulating new, multiple spaces
defined by kinds of natural particulars, phenomena, and processes demanding their
own immanent orders and principles. Studying and mastering such proliferating and
immanent spaces require the use of a fl exible and ever expanding toolkit of arts, of
technologies. Campbell stresses Walter Ong’s emphasis on a reorientation of thinking
toward the visual precipitated by what I would point to as a habit of spatializing nature,
things, representation, and knowledge. She intriguingly suggests that “If the objects of
knowledge are most properly visible things, . . . then certain features of the world will be
more salient to educated men than others. The invention of scientific instruments to
reduce other aspects of phenomena to visibility (the thermometer and barometer, for
instance) will increase the diversity of those features. But still the emphasis objectifies,
constructing a ‘theatrum’ of knowledge” (84). See Ong 1958.
65
Sandman 2001; 2002; 2001a; Barrera 2001; Shapiro 2000, 136. Also, see Harris
1998.
66
Comenius 1969; Boyle 1999. Comenius proposes as the art, or technology, suitable
to the plotting of literal knowledge of the world, what he calls “Inventories,” which
prove crucial to his pursuit of pansophic knowledge. In drawing parallels between
reading the books of nature and Scriptures; the use of sophisticated arts or technolo-
gies to uncover, record, and plot salient material and historical details, or particulars;
and seventeenth-century efforts to repair lost knowledges, it is worth thinking about
Comenius’s and Boyle’s respective efforts in light of Miller 2001.
67
Here it is fitting to cite some literature, much of it recent, that points toward the
development and cultivation in the seventeenth century of material-semiotic practices
contributing to at least a few of the technologies of the literal that form the subject of
my own ongoing work as advertised in this essay. Mulligan 1992; 1996; Baffetti 2005;
Hunter 2007; Wilding 2006; Yeo 2007.
68
See Daston 2002, 2004a, 2004b.
69
Bono 2001; see also, Bono 1990a; 1995a; 1999a; 2004.
70
I borrow the term, compression, from Turner and Fauconnier 2000.
71
The allusion to Whitehead, and his notion of concrescence, is deliberate: White-
head 1978. Whitehead is currently experiencing a renaissance, particularly with respect
to science studies. See Stengers 2002; Latour 2004; and Whitehead Now, a special issue
of Configurations 13:1 (2005) devoted to Whitehead and science studies, which includes
my essay, Bono 2005. As a key term for Whitehead, the renowned developmental
and evolutionary biologist C.H. Waddington provides an especially apt and succinct
elucidation of the significance of concrescence: “Definiteness of the Whiteheadian
objects in an event implies that, although the event has some relation to everything
else past or present in the universe, these relations are brought together and tied up
with one another in some particular and specific way characteristic of that event . . . .
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Peter Harrison
1
I am grateful to the two anonymous referees of this chapter for their helpful and
insightful comments.
2
On Melanchthon, and more generally on relations between sixteenth Lutheranism
and the study of nature in the sixteenth century, see Kusukawa 1995; Methuen 1998;
Kessler et al. 1997; Barker and Goldstein 2001.
3
Some elements of this thesis, in more nuanced form, have been set out in Har-
rison 1998. Further elaborations may be found in Harrison 2007b; Harrison 2007a;
Harrison 2005.
4
For overviews of the hermeneutics of the Reformers see Thompson 2004; McKim
2006; McGrath 1987, ch. 6; Pelikan 1996; Muller and Thompson 1996; Kraus 1977;
Hendrix 1983; Parker 1993.
5
Answer to the Hyperchristian Book. Luther 1970, 177.
6
Hazlett 1991; de Greef 2006.
7
Calvin 1964, 84f. Cf. Calvin 1960, vol. 1: 339f.
8
Luther 1970, 146, 241. See McGrath 1987, 186; Thompson 2004, 63, 67f.
9
Smalley 1952, 356–67.
10
Origen 1989, 359; Origen 1990, 89.
11
For the more common four-fold system, see John Cassian, Colationes, xiv.8 (Migne
1844–1905 49, 962–5); Gregory the Great, Homilia in Ezechielem 2.9.8 (Migne
1844–1905 76, 1047B); Eucherius, Liber Formularum spiritualis intelligentiae, preface
(Migne 1844–1905 50, 727f.). On the verse see de Lubac 1959–64, I: 1, 23ff. For gen-
eral references in medieval literature to three- or four-fold interpretation see Guilbert
of Nogent, Quo ordine sermo fieri debet (Migne 1844–1905 156, 25D); Hugh of St.
Victor, Didascalicon V.2; Bonaventure, De Reductione artium ad theologiam, 5 (Hyman
and Walsh 1974, 424f.); Aquinas 1964–76, 1a. 1, 10; 1a. 113, 7; 1a2ae. 102, 2.
12
Markus 1972; Jackson 1972; Williams 1989.
13
Augustine 1958, 8f. Also see Bruns 1992, 141 and passim.
14
Armstrong 1967, 15. See also Crouzel 1962, 215.
15
Aquinas 1964–76, 1a, 1. 10. Cf. Quaestiones Quodlibetales VII.6.15; Hugh of St.
Victor 1961, V.2–3.
16
Hugh of St. Victor 1961, De tribus diebus 4, (Migne 1844–1905 122, 176.814
B–C). Translation mine.
17
Bonaventure, Breviloquium II.12.
life.) Describing this general approach, Brian Stock writes that during
the middle ages allegory was “one of the privileged partners of silence
and contemplation.”18 For this reason, sixteenth-century criticisms of
allegory were not unrelated to new conceptions of the religious life, in
particular those advocated by Luther and Calvin, which emphasized
the importance of mundane activity and the earthly vocation.19
What should by now be abundantly clear is that allegory was not, as
we might imagine, simply a literary device. It had significant ontological
implications and was embedded in a particular ideal of the religious
life. When allegory is censured by Luther and Calvin, their target is
not the figurative and typological language and tropes of Scripture. It
is rather what they regarded as the practice of illegitimate allegoriza-
tion—one that vested religious authority in the imagination of the
individual interpreter or in the natural world—that is rejected. One way
of understanding the reformers’ preference for literal reading, then, is
in terms of what it negated—namely, the possibility of allegorizing in
the sense we have just described. Scripture was no longer thought to
provide a key for interpreting the religious meanings of nature. How-
ever, this denial of allegory did not necessarily rule out other aspects
of the interpretation which, strictly speaking, seem to go beyond pure
literalism. When we read the biblical commentaries of Luther and
Calvin we frequently encounter morals being drawn from the text
and we certainly encounter ‘typological’ readings of Old Testament
narratives that provide future-oriented prophetic references to New
Testament figures or even to contemporary historical events. However,
these readings are now included within the literal sense.
In this respect, the exegetical practices of the reformers resemble
those of Nicolas of Lyra (ca. 1270–1349), who had distinguished
between two kinds of literal sense: the literal-historical sense, which is the
more or less straightforward meaning of the narrative, and the literal-
prophetic sense, which has a future reference. For example, the classic
account of the suffering servant in Isaiah 53 can be read as referring
both to Israel (literal-historical sense) and to Christ (prophetic-historical
sense).20 In a similar fashion, Adam was understood as a type of
Christ. In Protestant readings of Scripture, typological interpretations
18
Stock 2001, 17; cf. 62–70.
19
Harrison 2007a.
20
See, e.g., Steinmetz 1997. Cf. Burnett 2004.
21
Korshin 1982, esp. 31, 68f. For examples of typological readings in England see
Hill 1994, 103, 109–25. On the important differences between allegory and typology
see Harrison 1998, 129–137; Holder 2006, 129f.
22
See Hornig 1971; Benin 1993; Funkenstein 1986, 213–21.
23
It is frequently claimed that for Calvin the Incarnation was the ulitmate instance
of divine accommodation. For a critical survey of the literature on Calvin’s conception
of accommodation in relation to this claim see Balserak 2006, esp. 1–10, 163–84.
24
Calvin 1984, p. 87; cf. 256f; Calvin 1960, 1: 162; Luther 1995, 58.
25
Daneau 1578, fols. 9r–10v.
In order to make the case that the Protestant Reformation made possible
a major hermeneutical shift, more is required than the identification of
specific ways in which Protestant exegesis differed from the interpreta-
tive practices of medieval Catholicism. After all, the kinds of changes
advocated by Luther and Calvin may have been paralleled by similar
developments within Catholicism. For this reason it is worth taking a
brief look at trends in sixteenth-century Catholic hermeneutics. The
first thing that can be said on this point is that in Catholicism, too,
there does seem to be a tendency to move towards a more simple and
literal exegesis of Scripture.26 To some degree this is not surprising. The
sixteenth century was an era of unprecedented theological controversy,
and given that theological debate was to be informed by the literal sense
alone, a renewed focus on the literal meaning of relevant passages of
Scripture is to be expected. Moreover, there is no obvious reason why
the humanist preference for the historical sense of the Bible would
26
Kelter 1995.
27
Bellarmine 1991, 187–193. For Blackwell’s account of Bellarmine’s hermeneutics,
see Blackwell 1991, 33–5.
28
Ibid.
29
Even the biblical text itself, in the Glossa ordinaria, was surrounded with the glosses
and comments of the Fathers and later biblical commentators. These provided an
interpretative web in which the text was physically embedded. Harrison 1998, 92f;
Bruns 1992, 139.
30
Blackwell 1991, 57. Drake 1978, 467.
31
The biblical passages typically used against Galileo were these: Gen. 1:17, Josh.
12:10, 1 Chron. 16:30, Ps. 104:5, Prov. 8:25, 27:3, 30:3, Isa. 40:12, Job 26:7, Eccles. 1:5.
32
Galilei 1957, 175–216. Specifically on accommodation see 182, 199. Also see
McMullin 1998, 271–347; Brooke 1991, 77–81.
33
Galilei, Opere V, 411, quoted in Blackwell 1991, 63; Cf. Brooke, 97f.
34
For specific examples see Heyd 1982, 81–6.
35
McMullin 1998, 274f.
this latter point, we have briefl y seen some of the ways in which the
issue of who has the authority to interpret Scripture has implications
for natural philosophy. In the third and final section of this paper I
want to consider the former question, viz., how the different emphasis
of Protestant hermeneutics, and in particular the rejection of allegory,
indirectly infl uenced the study of nature.
The basic claim to be set out in this section is that the rejection of
allegory necessitated the development of a new understanding of the
relationship between words and things. Given that for Augustine and
Aquinas allegorical meaning resided in things (rather than words), criti-
cism of allegory amounted to a rejection of the idea that the natural
world was to be interpreted, in tandem with the words of Scripture,
as a book that symbolized transcendental theological truths. This point
is directly related to the well-known reformation motto—sola scrip-
tura. For the reformers, the Scriptures provided a sufficient basis for
Christian faith, and thus there was no need to search elsewhere. 36
Allegory, as traditionally understood, actually directed the reader
away from the words of Scripture to the things of nature. Allegorical
interpretation, conducted as the quest for the symbolic meanings of
natural objects, thus contradicted one of the fundamental principles
of the Reformation. The book of nature did not refl ect revealed truths
of Christianity, and knowledge of God could be gleaned from the
study of nature only in an indirect fashion. Thus, nature could not,
as Bonaventure and Ramon Sibuida had thought, bear traces of the
triune nature of God.
Luther and Calvin, as noted earlier, had priorities other than the
study of nature. Nonetheless, the hermeneutical revolution to which
they contributed, in combination with their insistence on the primacy
of scriptural authority, had major implications for natural history and
natural philosophy and made an important contribution to the revo-
lutionary changes that took place over the course of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries. Some indication of the momentous nature of
this change in the conception of the natural order can be gleaned from
the way in which book of nature metaphors begin to change in the
36
On the sufficiency of Scripture for the Protestants, see Frei 1993, 163.
37
For a more detailed account of such changes, see Harrison 2005.
38
Bacon 1857–74, III, 350. Bacon still asserted that there were two books however.
See Bacon 1974, I.vi.16; I.i.3.
39
Thus Michel Foucault on order in the early modern period: “When dealing with
the ordering of simple natures, one has recourse to a mathesis, or which the universal
method is algebra. When dealing with the ordering of complex natures . . . one has to
constitute a taxonomia. . . .” (1987, 72).
40
Kepler 1999, 53f., 123, 125 n. 2; Galilei 1957, 237–238. Cf. Galilei 1962, 3.
41
Ray and Willughby 1678.
42
Boyle 1772, II: 62–63. See also Boyle 2000, xiii.
43
Ibid., 20.
44
Finocchiaro 2005, 7–15.
45
Waddell 2006.
46
Feldhay and Heyd 1989, 133. For the role of symbols and emblems in Jesuit
scholarship see Scaglione 1986, 89.
there could be only one true physical explanation.47 Part of what was
at issue was the status of mathematical astronomy in relation to natural
philosophy, and the related question of the Aristotelian-Thomist orga-
nization of the sciences. Again, the analysis of Feldhay and Michael
Heyd is suggestive. They point to the contrasting approaches of the
Jesuit Franciscus Eschinardus and the Calvinist Jean-Robert Chouet
in their presentation of the rival astronomies of Ptolemy, Tycho, and
Copernicus. It is their contention that:
Unlike Eschinardus, Chouet did not present the three hypotheses as three
alternative and equally plausible meanings of the astronomical ‘signs’ at
our disposal. He was clearly committed to the Copernican hypothesis,
and . . . the term ‘hypothesis’ had a very different meaning for him than
it did for Eschinardus.48
Chouet wished to argue for a single reading of the celestial phenomena,
while his Jesuit counterpart was happy to entertain multiple readings.
Irving Kelter has suggested, along similar lines, that in the early decades
of the seventeenth century the Jesuit commitment “to teach according
to the authority of Aristotle in philosophy and Aquinas in theology”
militated against mathematical astronomy achieving the more elevated
(and realist) status accorded to natural philosophy.49
These developments hint at the intriguing possibility that an unequi-
vocal reading of the book of nature went hand in hand with a new
emphasis on realism in astronomy. There are, of course, other factors
associated with the tendency towards realism in astronomy, but the gen-
eral alignment of a Protestant insistence of the univocality of Scripture
and an insistence of there being one true explanation of astronomical
phenomena is at the very least suggestive.50
47
On instrumentalism in astronomy see Westman 1980. But cf. Barker and Gold-
stein 1998.
48
Feldhay and Heyd 1989, 135f.
49
Kelter 1995, 282. On the relative status and organization of the sciences in the
middle ages, see Weisheipl 1965; McKirahan, Jr. 1978; Lennox 1986.
50
This had been a key issue in the Galileo affair, and in the Dialogue, Galileo had
disingenuously suggested that the heliocentric view was only one possible model. Galilei
1962, 464. See also Shea 1986, esp. 131.
Conclusion
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matters.
VOLUME 1
Acknowledgements ..................................................................... xi
Notes on Contributors ................................................................ xiii
List of Illustrations ...................................................................... xvii
INTRODUCTORY ESSAYS
PART I
100–800
PART II
800–1450
PART III
1450–1700
VOLUME 2
PART IV
Harrison’s Hypothesis
1
Corresponding author <[email protected]>.
2
Huizinga 1924, 204–05. The idea that nature symbolism diverts attention away
from nature for its own sake has also been suggested by Gilson 1944, Ch. 5; Eco 1986,
53 and Eco 1988, 140–41.
3
Harrison 1998, 31, 32.
4
Ibid., 41–42, 43.
5
Ibid., 92.
The problem for the Protestant reformers, Harrison argues, was the
indeterminacy of meaning of texts in Scripture that came with the
symbolic world view. A word in Scripture can refer unequivocally to a
material object (literal sense). But in a symbolic worldview an object in
Scripture refers to another object which may represent a spiritual or a
nonspiritual reality (allegorical or symbolic sense). As a result a word
in Scripture had at least two meanings—a literal meaning as well as
an allegorical or spiritual one.6 There were several kinds of spiritual
meaning corresponding with different kinds of spiritual realities. Applied
to the interpretation of Scripture by the church fathers this eventually
resulted in the so-called Quadriga, the principle that each word or text
in Scripture has a fourfold meaning: the literal sense and three spiritual
senses. For instance, the word Jerusalem is understood literally as the
city of the Jews (literal-historical sense). Spiritually, Jerusalem is under-
stood as the church of Christ (allegorical sense), as the heavenly city
(anagogical sense), and as the individual soul (tropological sense). The
literal sense refers to what exists in nature and history. The spiritual
sense refers to three spiritual realities: what you believe in (allegorical
sense), what you hope for (anagogical sense), and what you ought to
do (tropological or moral sense). The four senses apply to both Scrip-
ture and nature because Scripture as well as nature are interpreted in
terms of vertical similitudes between material and spiritual realities. In
characterizing the medieval Quadriga, Harrison observes:
The medieval assertion that the literal sense was the foundation of all
interpretation was thus consistent with the view that biblical texts were
equivocal. Over all, evidence from medieval commentaries supports
Chenu’s assertion that throughout the Middle Ages systematic allegori-
zation had universally destroyed the literal text of scripture. By way of
contrast, when the reformers championed the literal sense their concern
was to deny the indeterminacy of meaning of canonical texts, and thus to
insist that each passage of scripture had but a single, fixed meaning.7
6
In the literature terminological chaos reigns. In the language of things ‘allegory’
refers to all three spiritual meanings of things together as well as to one of the three
spiritual senses (what you believe in). We define these two as allegory in the broad sense
and allegory in the strict sense. Allegory or spiritual meaning broadly speaking thus
comprises the three spiritual senses that things, events and persons can have. Since
each of the three nonliteral senses is concerned with the spiritual meaning of things a
simple distinction between literal and spiritual sense is frequently used in the literature
and we will follow this usage as much as possible.
7
Harrison 1998, 111.
Thus the problem for the Protestant reformers, as Harrison sees it, lay
in the indeterminacy of meaning of the text of Scripture. But Harrison
notes that the ambiguity of Scripture texts is due to the indeterminacy
of things of nature. In other words, it is not the ambiguity of language,
but the ambiguity of things of nature that is the problem. As Harrison
explains,
According to Augustine, multiplicity of meaning is a function of things,
and not words. There exist different layers of meaning in scripture not
because the words used are equivocal, but because the things to which the
words refer bear multiple meanings. Origen’s scheme of interpretation
was thus recast: the literal sense of scripture is to be found in the univo-
cal meaning of the words; the spiritual sense, in the various meanings
of the objects to which the words refer. This conception of the multiple
meanings of scripture was universally received in the Middle Ages. As
Aquinas was later to express it: ‘These various readings do not set up
ambiguity or any other kind of mixture of meanings, because, as we
have explained, they are many, not because one term may signify many
things, but because the things signified by the terms can themselves be
the signs of other things.’8
Harrison concludes:
Multiple meanings emerge from allegorical readings of texts because
the things to which the words literally refer have themselves further
multiple references. . . . The multiplicity of meanings which arises out of
allegorical readings is thus a function of the reader’s view of the nature
of objects.9
Thus indeterminacy of meaning does not lie in the text, but in the
things the text refers to because these things symbolize other things.
Hence Harrison’s conclusions that a rejection of nature symbolism not
only solved the Protestant reformers’ problem of ambiguous Scripture
texts, but also allowed attention to nature without it being diverted to
God. This attention to nature made room for a nonsymbolic concep-
tion of the order of nature.
Harrison proposes that the Protestant reformers instigated this rejec-
tion of nature symbolism:
when the reformers championed the literal sense their concern was
to deny the indeterminacy of meaning of canonical texts, and thus to
insist that each passage of scripture had but a single, fixed meaning. . . .
8
Ibid., 28.
9
Ibid., 28–29, 114; see also 4, 113, 123; Chenu 1968, 136.
It was always possible that . . . the single sense of some biblical passage
was not, strictly, its literal sense, as for example in the parables of Jesus,
or the prophecies of Revelation. Protestant ‘literalism’ thus needs to be
broadly conceived as an assertion of the determinacy of meaning of
biblical texts, a meaning which usually, though not invariably, lay with
the literal sense.
In contrast, Harrison points out, medieval exegesis used the literal
meaning as the structural basis for other meanings, and the latter
were more important spiritually than the former. Protestant exegetes,
he claims, rejected meanings other than the literal meaning because
they were concerned with denying indeterminacy of meaning. The
literal meaning favored by the Protestant reformers, Harrison indicates,
was the quadrigal literal sense: “the principle adopted by the reform-
ers—that only the literal sense of scripture was of use in matters of
theological disputation—had been a long-standing rule in the Roman
Church. . . .”10
Given that Harrison defines allegory as a symbolic relationship
between things, rejection of allegory entails rejection of the symbolic
view of things in the world. This limited, Harrison believes, the alloca-
tion of meanings to words:
To insist . . . that texts be read literally was to cut short a potentially endless
chain of references in which words referred to things, and things in turn
referred to other things. A literal reading of scripture was one in which
the previously open-ended process of deriving a series of references from
a single word was terminated once a word had performed its basic task
of referring to a thing.11
Harrison argues that this ended the plurality of interpretations of
Scripture sustained by the symbolism of things. He draws out, as
an unintended byproduct of this change, that things in the world no
longer referred to God, which meant that they could be explored for
their own sake. Note that this rejection of allegory does not concern
literary allegory, but applies only to factual allegory.12 Harrison believes
10
Harrison 1998, 110–11.
11
Ibid., 114.
12
Allegory is a category both in the language of words (literary or verbal allegory)
and in the language of things (factual allegory). In a literary allegory a word refers
to an imaginary thing, event or person—it is part of the literal sense. In contrast, in
a factual allegory a real corporeal thing, event, or person refers to or symbolizes a
spiritual reality. Since Harrison’s hypothesis concerns the language of things we do
not refer to literary allegory.
13
Ibid., 4, 53.
14
Ibid., 114–115.
15
Ibid., 114.
16
Ibid., 113.
17
Ibid., 113.
18
Between the twelfth and the sixteenth century several developments encouraged
a literal interpretation of Scripture: Bray 1996, 151–154; Farley 1995, 70; McGrath
1987, 154–55.
19
Augustine explicitly reifies nature as a book: see Confessiones, Book XIII, 15,
16–18; Contra Faustum, XXXII, 20; Enarrationes in Psalmos 45, 7; Sermones, 68,
V, 6. Cited from Mayer 2000.
20
Markus 1996, 16–22.
21
Lubac 1964, 304; Reyero 1971, 76–77, 120; Copeland 1993, 3–11; Smalley
1964, 298–300.
22
Lubac 1964, 273–274, 277, 291; Reyero, ibid.; Funkenstein 1986, 55–56; Cope-
land 1993; Minnis 2000, 231–256. There is disagreement about Aquinas’s grounds
for the unity of literal and spiritual meaning. Some locate the ground in the unity
of body and soul (Bray 1996, 152–54). Others refer to authorial intent. There is also
disagreement about why the literal sense became dominant. Some find the reason in
Aristotle’s theory of interpretation with its emphasis on univocity. Others believe that
precise language was required by the development of a rational theology under the
infl uence of Aristotle.
23
Aquinas. 1949, VII, 6, 3c.
24
van Liere 2000, 73; Patton 2000, 39.
25
Minnis 1975, 4–5.
26
Ibid., 11–13, 19.
27
Steinmetz 2002, 143–155.
28
Ibid., 156–167.
29
Minnis 1975, 8–13, 25; Copeland 1993, 15–16.
30
Minnis 2000, 244–247.
31
Heller 1972, 55.
32
Bedouelle 1978, 133–43.
33
McGrath 1987, 157 (Lefèvre d’Étaples), 159 (Luther); Sick 1959, 25 (Melanchthon);
Davis 1972, 31 (Tyndale); Thompson 2000, 31–53 (Calvin); Thompson 2004, 58–73
(Calvin); Hansen 1998, 235 (Calvin); Blacketer 1999 (Luther, Calvin).
34
McGrath 1987, 169–71.
35
Ibid., 158.
36
Steinmetz 2002, 143–55, 156–67.
37
McGrath 1987, 157; Thompson 2004, 58–73; Schneider 1990, 153, 179; Hansen
1998, 115–83, 307–45.
38
Heller 1972, 54.
39
Luther 1970, vol. 39, 178–179.
40
McGrath 1987, 162, 164.
41
McGrath 1987, 157; Thompson 2004, 58–73; Schneider 1990, 153, 179; Hansen
1998, 115–83, 307–45.
42
Hansen 1998, 227–37.
43
Le Clerc 1696, 143f., cited from Harrison 1998, 109 n. 171.
44
McGrath 1987, 169–71 (Zwingli, Bucer); Davis 1972, 30–31 (Tyndale), 35 (Luther),
40–41 (Calvin); Schneider 1990, 82–83, 154 (Melanchthon’s acceptance of allegory),
32, 46n43, 78, 79, 82–84, 120 (Melanchthon’s scepticism about allegory); Greene-
McCreight 1999, 101–102 (Calvin); Zachman 2007, 167–8 (Calvin);Thompson 2000,
51 (Calvin); Hansen 1998, 1, 197–200, 204–13, 217, 227–37 (Calvin).
45
Greene-McCreight 1999, 98; Thompson 2000, 35, 46; Balke 2003, 119–120.
46
Thompson, 2000: 34–35.
47
Green-McCreight 1999, 98; Also: Thompson 2000, 35; Blacketer 1999, 40.
48
Zachman 2007.
49
Steinmetz 2002, 148.
misses this point when he develops the role of authorial intent.50 Thus,
historically, the strong claim that the allegorical sense was rejected by
the Protestant reformers is incorrect. Rather, allegory was subsumed
under the literal sense. Theologically, the Protestant reformers could not
have rejected allegory because this would have entailed the rejection
of all symbolic relations and anthropomorphic descriptions of God in
Scripture without which Christian theology could not exist. This new
literal sense cannot be equated with the literal meaning in the Quadriga
because the former includes allegory while the latter excludes it.51
To conclude, the Protestant reformers did not reject allegory, but
included it in their literal sense, this inclusion started before the Prot-
estant reformation, and was driven by a passion to understand divine
truth. The gradual absorption of spiritual meanings within a new single
literal meaning parallels the return to authorial intent. In fact, the for-
mer may be seen as a result of the latter because the new literal sense
was authorized by the divine author’s intent. As Jon Whitman states,
In the development of scholastic interpretation from the late Middle Ages
to the Reformation, for example, the repeated emphasis on an underlying
authorial ‘intention’ and the frequent identification of the ‘literal’ sense
with it tends gradually to blur the very distinction between the ‘literal’
sense of a text and its divinely ‘intended’ meaning, its ‘spiritual’ sense;
at times, the ‘letter’ virtually modulates into the ‘spirit.’52
Likewise, Joseph Goering states,
one finds increasingly, after 1300, that the spiritual senses of scripture are
derived from the “letter” (i.e., the text and its context) rather than from
the “things” that the letter signifies, as in the older interpreters. The result
of this shift is a gradual reduction in importance of the spiritual senses,
as they come to be seen as mere rhetorical ornaments rather than as the
bearers of the heart and soul of biblical revelation.53
As a result the new literal sense gained prominence in the pew as well
as in the pulpit and in academic theology. We conclude with Harrison
that indeterminacy of meaning was the problem Scripture interpret-
ers faced, but that it was due to reader-imposed speculation and not
to symbolism-associated indeterminacy. Thus the solution was not the
rejection of nature symbolism.
50
Harrison 1998, 113–14.
51
Steinmetz 1997; 2002, 143–55, 156–67; 2006, 285.
52
Whitman 2000a, 56 with additional references.
53
Goering 2003, 200.
54
Tuggy 1993; Geeraerts 1993; Dušková 1995; Monz 1999; Dunbar 2001.
55
Huizinga 1924, 190.
56
Eco 1986, 55–56.
57
Huizinga 1924, 198.
58
Ibid., 198; Harrison 1998, 4, 28, 113, 123. In the words of Dante Alighieri,
the allegorical significance of the animals was polysemous (Letter to Con Grande,
quoted in Armistead 2001, 11); Other examples of animal and plant symbolism and
polysemy in Crowther-Heyck 2003; on ambiguity see Harrison, 1998: 4, 28, 113, 123
and Chenu 1968, 136.
59
Mermier 1989.
60
Armistead 2001, 5–6.
61
White 1954, 26; Owst 1961, 188, 197–204; Clark and McMunn 1989, 3, 6;
Baxter 1998, 62, 188, 190, 209.
62
Owst 1961, 87.
63
Ibid., 68–70.
64
Ibid., 77–85.
tion of nature because plants did not have symbolic meaning and did
not suffer polysemy. Medieval herbalists described plants in specific
literal-natural terms which included their causal power of healing spe-
cific illnesses. Medieval manuals for hunters, fishermen, farmers, and
veterinary doctors show detailed nonsymbolic knowledge of animals.65
Whether or not such sources were based on direct observation or cop-
ied from ancient authorities, indeterminacy was not the problem. And
while later Renaissance herbals could add a spiritual interpretation to
the natural one this did not introduce ambiguity.66
In sum, Harrison sees the problem for the Protestant reformers in
the indeterminacy of meaning of texts in Scripture that came with
the medieval symbolic worldview. But we found that ambiguity or
indeterminacy of meaning does not characterize nature symbolism in
the contexts in which it manifests itself, that is in the Physiologus, the
bestiaries, and the sermons using them. In the monastic tradition and
among the clergy there was no question about the meaning of animal
symbols and this applied also to the general population who absorbed
animal symbolism from them. The situation among the scholastics is
more complex. Scholars at the universities were exposed to the fixed
meanings of animal symbols by their preachers and teachers in the
cathedral schools because these instructors came from the monaster-
ies. But among these scholars the existing causal mode of thought was
reinforced by the emphasis on logic and causality that came with the
rediscovery of Aristotle. We do not know how the co-existence of the
symbolic and causal modes of thought played out. But in the sixteenth
and seventeenth century there were plenty of scholars who practiced
both side by side, which makes nature symbolism seem less of an
impediment to modern science than suggested by Harrison.67
We conclude that, while in the abstract the meaning of symbols
may be inherently ambiguous, the symbolic meaning of things in
nature is fixed by the context of the Physiologus and the bestiaries. In
our examples, when the symbol is derived from Scripture its meaning
is fixed by divine authority. The meaning intended by God is either
self-evident or derived from the context of Scripture. In other cases it
is fixed by human authority and the context of tradition. Therefore,
65
Stannard 1978, 429–460, esp. 432–443 on animals and 443–449 on plants.
66
Crowther 2008, 21.
67
van der Meer and Oosterhoff 2009.
68
Harrison 1998, 111.
reach no consensus with the Roman Catholics while both could argue
from the Fathers equally well. This was not surprising because there
was no consensus among the patristic writers either. “[G]ood exegesis
produced, as Catholic critics warned it might, competing theologies.”69
In the fourteenth century, appeal to tradition often failed to determine
authorial intent because the saints disagreed.70 The rules of Aquinas
and Calvin for finding authorial intent did exclude extra-scriptural
symbolisms from Scripture interpretation. But they did not eliminate
multiple meanings within the confines of Scripture. The approach to
justifying allegory used by Augustine for the burning bush produced
competing readings in Lyra and again in Calvin.71 Protestants diverged
between as well as within European nations and even within different
national schools of thought.
Europe-wide, there were the controversies about the Lord’s Supper,
notably between Luther, Calvin, and Zwingli. Later, the central theme
of the Protestant Reformation, namely the inability to bring about one’s
own spiritual salvation, gave rise to the controversy between Remon-
strants and Contra-Remonstrants. There were widespread attempts
to restore the prelapsarian state.72 Arminians and Socinians used the
same Scripture as the Reformed Orthodox, but came to very different
conclusions.73 According to Harrison, typology is the only unambiguous
form of symbolism in which Old Testament things, events, and persons
symbolize those in the New Testament. Therefore, he argues, it was
not affected by attempts to reduce speculation and it could continue
to function in Scripture interpretation without creating ambiguity.
But typology was also associated with ambiguity. For instance, interpret-
ers could only speculate on what was foreshadowed by the beasts in
the book of Daniel. Further, Harrison’s view assumes that theologians
had a clear distinction between the symbolism of typology and that
of other spiritual senses. But religious and secular interpreters from
Zwingli to Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758) “habitually confuse typol-
ogy with emblems, parables, signs, symbols, and hieroglyphs in their
terminology.” Moreover, the meaning of scriptural types was routinely
69
Steinmetz 1997; on interpretive disagreement within the Wittenberg reformation,
see McGrath 1987, 166.
70
Minnis 1975, 24.
71
Hansen 1998, 238–48.
72
Harrison 1998, 226.
73
Trueman 2004, 225, 230.
applied beyond the bounds of scriptural history to one’s own time and
to the future. Arbitrary speculation reigned when Protestants said Scrip-
ture foreshadowed contemporary situations, for instance, to denounce
Roman opponents, or foreshadowed the future (millenarianism).74
In the Dutch Republic, disagreement about Copernicanism depended
in part on matters of Scripture interpretation. For instance, Philip Lans-
bergen (1561–1632), Gisbertus Voetius (1589–1676), Johannes Coccejus
(1603–1669), Christopher Wittichius (1625–1687), Balthasar Bekker
(1634–1698), and Bernhardinus de Moor (1709–1780) all accepted that
some Scripture texts required a nonliteral interpretation because they
were accommodated to a limited human understanding. Voetius would
characterize a text as accommodated only on scriptural-theological
grounds while the others also accepted this characterization on scien-
tific grounds. Accordingly, Voetius rejected Copernicanism because it
contradicted Scripture. Other Calvinists accepted Copernicanism, but
for different reasons. For instance, Lansbergen and de Moor argued
Copernicanism could be true astronomically because the Bible presents
things from the perspective of unrefl ected observation. Coccejus was
open to nonliteral interpretation because he acknowledged historical
progression in divine revelation with its associated typological, i.e.,
nonliteral interpretation of texts in the Old Testament. Wittichius
appealed to authorial intent—the Bible is a book of faith, not a source
of science. Voetius did not have these options because to him the Word
of God was timeless, universal and self-explanatory.75 The Cartesian
question also revealed disagreements between leading Calvinists such
as Voetius and Bekker over Scripture interpretation in part because
they assigned different roles to reason and revelation.76 Thus disagree-
ment on Scripture interpretation within Calvinism becomes intelligible
in light of different views of the nature and authority of Scripture as
well as about the scope of the principle of accommodation and the
conditions under which it can be applied. Failures to reach agreement
in the Germanic realm have been attributed to the hermeneutic of
Melanchthon. It features a factionalism that is associated with
74
Sick 1959, 72–74; Frei 1974, 46–50; Korshin 1982, 6, 12, 31–37, 63–66; Low-
ance, Jr., 1972, 222; McDermott 2003, 127–137.
75
Vermij 2002, 247–51; Goudriaan 2006, 133–41; Jorink 2006, 58, 60. For more
examples, see: Vermij 2008.
76
van Asselt, Pleizier, Rouwendal, Wisse 1998, 123–24.
any theory which presumes that ‘theologies’ can be proved both biblical
and true through logical devices, that there is not a deeper epistemic
mystery in interpretation that calls for greater subservience to tradition
and ancient consensus.77
This deeper mystery is that multiple meanings arise not only in lan-
guages of things, but also in languages of words.78
Natural philosophers from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century
understood that disagreement about the meaning of Scripture texts
was to blame for theological divisiveness. In Germany, Johannes Kepler
(1571–1630) experienced it in connection with the Lord’s Supper.79
Copernicans in Protestant and Roman Europe knew about interpretative
disagreements related to the motions of the planetary system.80 In the
Dutch Republic, René Descartes (1596–1650) was familiar with literal
and metaphorical interpretations of the creation story in the book of
Genesis.81 In England, Isaac Newton (1642–1727) kept his theological
studies private to avoid controversy about his anti-Trinitarian interpreta-
tions.82 The failure of the Protestant reformers to impose determinacy
of meaning on the interpretation of Scripture was widely perceived
among natural philosophers.
Many seventeenth-century natural philosophers located the plurality
of interpretations that produced the destructive religious controversies
after the Reformation precisely at the misuse and misunderstanding of
ordinary verbal language.83 Galileo Galilei (1564–1642), arguing that
scriptural language about nature conformed to ordinary spoken use,
also wrote that passages of Scripture “may have some different meaning
beneath their words,” but “Nature, on the other hand, is inexorable
and immutable.”84 He drove this point home by offering two different
literal interpretations of Joshua showing “that the very notion of literal
interpretation is problematic, for verbal language is ambiguous by its
very nature.”85 Robert Hooke (1635–1702), another natural philosopher
with an interest in language, wrote that,
77
Schneider 1990, 108.
78
For contemporary examples, see: Whitman 2000b, 262–63.
79
Hübner 1975.
80
Howell 2002.
81
van Ruler 1995, 255–57.
82
Snobelen 2001, 2008.
83
Coudert 1978, 57–58, 98–99.
84
Galilei 1957, 183. Cf. pp. 187, 199.
85
Palmerino 2006, 32.
Rabbins find out Caballisms, and Enigmas in the figure, and placing of
Letters, where no such thing lies hid; whereas in Natural forms there are
some so small, and so curious, and their design’d business so far removed
from the reach of our sight, that the more we do magnify the object, the
more excellencies and mysteries do appear.86
When Robert Hooke claims that the aim of the natural philosopher is
to read the book of nature, this exercise is not to be performed with
verbal skills.87 A century later Noël Antoine Pluche (1688–1761) wrote
of the book of nature that “we neither find Errors nor different Opin-
ions, nor Controversy, nor Prejudice, not Contentions.”88 As a result,
nature came to be seen as a less ambiguous source of knowledge of
God than Scripture.89
Some theologians agreed with this assessment by the natural phi-
losophers. For instance, John Sparrow (1615–1665) argued in the
introduction to one of Jacob Boehme’s works that the language of
nature “doth show in every ones Mother tongue the Greatest Mysteries”
while the meaning of Scripture is “vayled by Doubtfull Interpretations,
Expositions, Inferences and Conclusions.”90 Natural philosophers and
natural historians expected more clarity in the book of nature than in
the book of Scripture because it was not written in a verbal language.
Thus, the ambiguities of Scripture interpretation encouraged people
to look towards nature as a less ambiguous source for the knowledge
of God.
In conclusion, when strategies used to determine authorial intent in
Scripture reduced interpreter-imposed speculation, they also uncovered
the ambiguity originating in verbal language. This linguistic ambiguity
manifested itself in many disagreements on the meaning of Scripture
texts. By the seventeenth century many natural philosophers located
the origin of the disagreements in the ambiguity of verbal language.
In response, they turned to the study of nature as a source of knowl-
edge of God superior to the text of Scripture.91 By now most natural
86
Hooke 1665, 8. The same sentiments were expressed by Kepler 1938, Vol. I,
p. 6.
87
Hooke 1705, 338.
88
Pluche 1770, Vol. III, 115.
89
De Grazia 1980.
90
Boehme 1648, Sig. A3r; Mandelbrote 2001; Sir Kenelm Digby, a theologian
and a natural philosopher, based his attempts to heal the religious divide in natural
philosophy: Janacek 2000, 116–17.
91
Buckley 1987 describes the preference for natural philosophy as a way of know-
ing God.
92
Harrison 1998, 5–8, 107, 113, 266.
93
Ibid., 5, 8.
94
Ibid., 113, 114, 116–117, 122, 205, 208 (pursuing literal meaning), 122, 129,
185 (rejecting allegory).
95
Ibid., 111, 113.
96
Obermann 1986, 195; Minnis 2000, 252.
97
Harrison 1998, 103–05.
98
Huizinga 1924, 199, 204–05; Eco 1988, 140–41.
99
Harrison 1998, 263.
100
For a sketch of changing strategies, see Fisch (these volumes).
101
Cf. Blair 2000.
102
Cited in Ormsby-Lennon 1988, 326–7.
103
Wetherbee 2000, 221; on Mersenne: Bono 1995, 263.
104
Cadden 1995, 10.
105
Harrison 1998, 78–81, 137.
106
Minnis 2000, 243 (interpretation of Scripture); Funkenstein 1986 35–37 (inter-
pretation of nature).
107
Singer 1989, 51.
108
Ashworth 1990, 323.
Acknowledgements
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Kathleen M. Crowther
1
The fullest discussion of this new kind of natural philosophy is the recent article
by Blair 2000. The rest of this paragraph follows Blair’s article.
2
Lindberg 1992, 281.
3
On these categories, see Ogilvie 2006, especially the introductory chapter.
was also the case that natural knowledge was used to explicate difficult
passages in the Bible.
As a genre, Mosaic physics fl ourished in the last decades of the six-
teenth century and the first half of the seventeenth. By the eighteenth
century, it had fallen into disrepute and was considered an improper
mingling of science and theology. In the present day it has descended
into almost complete oblivion. Despite the lively and ongoing inter-
est in the relations between religion and science in the early modern
period, historians of science have largely ignored Mosaic physics. In this
paper, I analyze the writings of two sixteenth-century Mosaic physicists,
Levinus Lemnius (1505–1568) and Francisco Valles (1524–1592). Lem-
nius and Valles were among the earliest, the most prominent and the
most widely read Mosaic physicists.4 Both produced hybrid texts that
were at once theological and natural philosophical. In 1566, Lemnius
published a work on plants entitled, Clear Explanation of the Comparisons
and Parables Concerning Herbs and Trees Which Are Selected from the Bible.5
Valles’s contribution to Mosaic physics was first published in 1587: Of
The Things Which Are Written About Natural Philosophy in the Holy Scrip-
tures: or, Of Sacred Philosophy.6 Both of these works were reprinted many
times, and later Mosaic physicists frequently cited Lemnius and Valles
as important predecessors.7 The two books obviously differ in subject
matter: Lemnius’s Concerning Herbs and Trees deals exclusively with plants
whereas Valles’s Sacred Philosophy covers a much wider array of natural
objects and phenomena. Lemnius and Valles also connect natural
knowledge and biblical exegesis in very different ways, demonstrating
that Mosaic physics was by no means a unified project. However, con-
temporaries saw both of these books as exemplars of Christian natural
philosophy. In fact, the two books were often published together.8 My
4
See Blair.
5
Lemnius 1596. Lemnius’s Concerning Herbs and Trees was translated into English in
1587. In this paper, I have followed the English translation, but included references to
the 1596 Latin edition in the notes.
6
Valles 1592. I have used an edition published in Lyon in 1592 with Lemnius’s
Concerning Herbs and Plants.
7
For publication information, see below. On later Mosaic philosophers citing Lem-
nius and Valles, see Blair.
8
When they were published together, a third book was included: Franciscus Rueus’s
De gemmis aliquot, iis praesertim quarum divus Iohannes Apostolus in sue Apocalypsi meminit.
Franciscus Rueus, or François de la Rue, was a French Catholic physician. His book,
whose title could be translated as On a number of gems, especially those which St. John the
Apostle mentioned in Revelation, deals with gems and their divine natures and properties
(divinas . . . naturas & proprietates). Rueus takes as his starting point thirteen gems from Rev.
21:19–21. This passage describes a vision of the heavenly city of Jerusalem. The city
is made of pure gold; it is surrounded by twelve walls, each adorned with a different
kind of gem, and it is entered through gates made of pearl. The thirteen gems referred
to in the title are those on the twelve walls plus the pearls of the gates. The book was
first published in Paris in 1547. It was subsequently published in Conrad Gesner’s De
rerum fossilium genere gemmis lapidibus metallis et huiusmodi libri aliquot plerique nunc primum
editi (Zurich, 1565) and later in combination with the works of Valles and Lemnius
discussed in this essay. Rueus’s book on gems and its publication history are described
in Thorndike 1941, 303–306. There is also a brief mention of Rueus’s account of
creation from De gemmis in Adams 1938, 306. I am grateful to Kerry Magruder for his
assistance in tracking down information on Rueus.
9
The classic statements of this view are Draper 1874 and White 1896. For an
introduction to more recent approaches to the historical relations of science and
Christianity, see Lindberg and Numbers 1986 and Brooke 1991.
10
See for example Barker 2000, 59–88; Bennett and Mandelbrote 1998; Cunning-
ham 1991, 377–392; Harrison, 1998; Howell, 2002; Kusukawa 1995; and Nutton,
1993, 11–32.
11
On this point see, in addition to the authors cited in the previous note, Brooke.
12
Golinski, 1998, 54.
13
Bono 1995, 12.
14
On sixteenth-century biblical exegesis, see Steinmetz 1997.
15
Bono 1995, 20. See also Ashworth 1990.
16
Bono 1995 and Steinmetz 1997. See also the essays in Pomata and Siraisi 2005.
17
On the diversity of exegetical methods in the sixteenth century, see Steinmetz
1990; Muller and Thompson 1996; Kolb 1990, 243–258; and Hagen 1990, 13–38.
18
The phrase “golden age” comes from Steinmetz 1997, 2. See also Williams,
1948.
19
Amos 2003, 39.
20
Ibid., 42–43.
21
Ibid., p. 48. On the humanist infl uence on theology, see also Evans 1985 and
Rummel 1996.
22
Amos 2003, 39. Emphasis in original.
23
Funkenstein, 1986, esp. 3–9.
died out by the eighteenth. It was secular, “in that it was conceived
by laymen for laymen” and “in the sense that it was oriented to the
world, ad seculum.”24 Funkenstein attributes the rise of secular theology
to the erosion of the professional boundaries around theology caused
by the combined onslaught of humanism and Protestantism, the spread
of printing and lay literacy and the rise of courts as alternative intel-
lectual centers rivaling the universities. According to Funkenstein, such
canonical figures of the Scientific Revolution as Galileo Galilei, Isaac
Newton and René Descartes were engaged in writing secular theology.
“Never before or after,” writes Funkenstein, “were science, philosophy,
and theology seen as almost one and the same occupation.”25 In sum,
the Mosaic physics of Lemnius and Valles came out of a period of
profound intellectual, social and religious crisis in which traditional ways
of understanding the Bible and the natural world were challenged on
many grounds. In different ways, each sought to make meaning out of
this crisis and to rethink the relationship between natural knowledge
and religious piety.
24
Ibid., 3.
25
Ibid.
26
The best source of biographical information on Lemnius is van Hoorn 1978. See
also van Hoorn’s earlier article on Levinus Lemnius and his son Willem: 1971. For a
brief biography and partial bibliography in English, see Lindeboom 1984.
27
For a partial bibliography, see Lindeboom 1984.
28
Concerning Herbs and Trees was published by itself in Antwerp in 1566, 1568, and
1569; Erfurt, 1581 and 1584; Frankfurt, 1591, 1596, 1608, and 1626; and Lyon in
1588, 1594, 1622, and 1652. The English translation by Thomas Newton, An Herbal
for the Bible was published in London in 1587. Concerning Herbs and Trees was published
with Valles’s Sacred Philosophy in Turin, 1587; Lyon, 1588, 1592, 1595, 1622, 1652; and
Frankfurt, 1667. All of those editions also included Franciscus Rueus’s De gemmis. In
addition, Concerning Herbs and Trees was published many times with Rueus’s book but
not Valles’s Sacred Philosophy. There were editions of Lemnius and Rueus published in
Frankfurt in 1591, 1596, 1608 and 1626; Lyon, 1594; and Venice in 1772, 1774, and
1785. Many of these versions also include a third work by Lemnius on astrology. I
have used the publication information from Blair 2000, 43, n. 22, and supplemented
it by searching the Karlsruher Virtueller Katalog, which searches the holdings of most
major European libraries. (I am grateful to one of the anonymous referees for sug-
gesting that I check this database, which turned up many more editions than I had
originally identified.) While I make no claim to have found every edition of Lemnius’s
book or to have unraveled its complex publication history, the numbers of editions that
I have found certainly support my argument about the popularity of the book and its
importance for early modern readers.
29
Lemnius’s dedication reads: “D. Thomae Thieldio Divi Bernardi in confiniis
Antuerpianis ad Schaldam, Antisti cum primis reverendo.” Lemnius 1592, 1. On the
abbey, see Shahan, 1907.
30
He refers to himself as “Levinus Lemnius Medicus Zirizaeus sacrarum literarum
studiosus.” Ibid.
31
“ne sutor ultra crepidam,” ibid., 4.
any knowledge of even the most common, well known and familiar
plants.”32 But he does not suggest that the work is only for theologians,
who might need to consult it when explicating sections of the Bible in
which specific plants are mentioned. Instead he proclaims that the study
of nature (naturae investigatio), including the study of plants, can engender
religious piety: “it [the study of nature] arouses one to contemplation
of divine things and kindles knowledge, love and admiration of their
maker.”33 But these benefits to investigating nature can be derived from
reading his book as well, and Lemnius expresses hope that any honest
reader (candidum Lectorem) will receive both enjoyment and profit from
reading his book.
In the introductory chapter he elaborates further on his purpose in
writing. Throughout the Bible, the authors of the Old and New Testa-
ments use similes, metaphors and other figures of speech drawn from
plants. On the one hand, Lemnius asserts that these botanical similes
and metaphors “adorne their sermons, & garnish their matters withall,
to make the same by such familiar meanes the easier to be conceived,
and the readier to be beleeved.”34 In other words, similes, metaphors,
parables, and other figures of speech drawn from plants can be used
to make difficult points clearer and easier to understand. The very
familiarity of plants made them useful pedagogical devices for the
writers of Scripture. However, Lemnius also asserts that the authors
of biblical texts were “most exquisitly also furnished with the entire
knowledge of all things naturall.”35 Their knowledge of the natural
world came directly from God, not through reading or observation.
They were capable of using examples of “things fetched out of the
very secrets and bowells of Nature.”36 In other words, sacred writers
had deeper and more complete knowledge of nature than ordinary
human beings. In some cases, their use of plants was familiar. In
other cases they referred to hidden or obscure virtues of the plants. In
32
“ac vix vulgatas passimque obvias herbas cognitas, perspectasque habeant,”
ibid., 5.
33
“ad contemplandas etiam res divinas erigit, ad Opificis notitiam eiusque amorem
atque admirationem infl ammat.” Ibid.
34
Lemnius 1587, 4. “ex iis Prophetae appositissimas similitudines, scitasque &
concinas comparationes desumant, quibus conciones exornant, ac fidem narrationi
adstruunt.” Lemnius 1596, 2.
35
Lemnius 1587, 6. “in naturae rebus exquisite versatos,” Lemnius 1596, 4.
36
Lemnius 1587, 6–7. “ex intimis atque arcanis naturae similitudines & compara-
tiones desumant,” Lemnius 1596, 4.
37
Lemnius 1587, 1. “studiose olim excoluisse rem Herbariam, ac stirpium cognitione
cum primis fuisse delectatos,” Lemnius 1596, 1.
38
Lemnius 1587, 2. “Hac enim quum animi, tum corporis cultura non minus celebris
facta est illorum memoria, non minus illustratus nominis splendor & magnificentia;
quam rebus aliis praeclare gestis, aut hostibus vel subactis, vel ad internecionem dele-
tis.” Lemnius 1596, 1.
39
Lemnius 1587, 100. Wormwood is one of the shorter chapters. Other entries
include more detailed physical descriptions and more extended discussions of medical
uses. Not all chapters begin with this information. The variant spellings of wormwood
are in the original.
40
Lemnius 1587, 101–105. Jer. 9:15, 23:15, 5:26, 13:15; Am. 5:7 and 6:12; Is. 5:20,
10:1, 51:17; Ez. 22:7 and 25:4; Hos. 10:4; Lam. 3:5 and 3:15; Ps. 60:1; Prov. 5:3 and
7:5; Rev. 8:10.
41
Lemnius 1587, 105.
42
Jer. 9, 15; Lemnius 1587, 101.
43
Prov. 5, 3 and 7, 5; Lemnius 1587, 104–105.
44
Rev. 8,10; Lemnius 1587, 105.
45
For an account of the links between purgation of bodily corruption and exorcism
of demons in the sixteenth century, see Eamon 1994, 189–193.
46
Lemnius 1587, 27–33; Lemnius 1596, 15–18.
47
This is also true in the chapter on wormwood. Several of the passages Lemnius
cites in this chapter do not mention wormwood but are about the wrath of God and
his punishments of the wicked.
48
Lemnius 1587, 29. “cum lactucis silvestribus, sive herbis amaris,” Lemnius 1596, 16.
were typicallie shadowed, but also in the Gospell.”49 God assures men
of his love and forgiveness of their sins “by certain Signes, Tokens,
Seales, or Sacraments, visible to the eie, and apparently subject to
outwarde senses.”50 Baptism is one such sign, and its institution in
the New Testament was prefigured in the Old Testament by the rite
of circumcision and by the passage of the Israelites through the Red
Sea.51 After these preliminaries, Lemnius works his way around to the
passage from Exodus where wild lettuce is mentioned. First he notes
that just as baptism has replaced the rite of circumcision, so “in place
or steede of the eating of the Paschall Lamb, we have now the holy
Communion of the bodie and blood of Christ.”52 The crucifixion of
Christ was prefigured not only by the sacrifice of the Paschal lamb,
but also by Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac.53 Not only
does the Passover meal prefigure the Eucharist, but also the escape of
the Israelites can be read as
most wholesome instruction and comfortable direction, unto us living
in the troublesome wildernesse of this miserable world; to admonish us
of our passage toward our heavenly Countrie, and blessed dwelling of
immortalitie.54
By this point, it may seem that Lemnius has forgotten all about the wild
lettuce, but at length he returns to it. The wild lettuce is not a trivial
detail, but a crucial part of the story. According to Lemnius:
This Lambe was commanded to be eaten with sower Herbs, or wilde
Letuce: for that, in this our wretched life, all things are bitter, trouble-
some, greevous, and full of calamitie, having in it a great deal more Aloe
than Honie, that is, much greater store of miserie and mischiefe, than
of joy and tranquillitie.55
49
Lemnius 1587, 28. “Atque huius rei causa certos ritus ac statas solemnesque
ceremonias instituit, non solum in veteri Lege, in qua omnia de Christi eiusque regno
typis adumbrata sunt, sed etiam in Evangelio . . .” Lemnius 1596, 15.
50
Lemnius 1587, 28. “Sic signis quibusdam, certisque symbolis ac sacramentis quae
sub sensum cadunt ac sunt visibilia,” Lemnius 1596, 15.
51
Lemnius 1587, 28. Lemnius 1596, 15.
52
Lemnius 1587, 28. “In agni vero Paschalis esum surrogata est Synaxis, hoc est,
corporis & sanguinis Christi communio,” Lemnius 1596, 15.
53
Lemnius 1587, 29. Lemnius 1596, 16.
54
Lemnius 1587, 30. “. . . (apto appositoque ad huius aevi decursum vocabulo),
qui nobis in hac mundi impedita ac vasta solitudine, ad immortalitatem ac caelestem
patriam sedesque beatas sit transitus.” Lemnius 1596, 16.
55
Lemnius, 1587. “Praecipitur autem edendus agnus cum lactucis silvestribus, sive
herbis amaris. Siquidem in huius saeculi curriculo omnia amara sunt, acerba, tristia,
calamitosa, & quae plus aloes quam mellis habeant.” Lemnius 1596, 16.
In the second half of the chapter, Lemnius discusses the various kinds
of wild lettuce and their medicinal properties. Wild lettuce is generally
useful in curing obstructions of the liver (hepatis obstructionibus),56 tertian
fevers, and jaundice.57 Wild lettuce is also a nourishing and healthful
food, and especially tasty when cooked with oil, vinegar, and pepper.58
Lemnius cites the classical authors Virgil, Columnella and Cicero on
the benefits of wild lettuce.59
This chapter thus combines scriptural exegesis with an account of
the physical properties and medical and nutritional usefulness of wild
lettuce. Lemnius employs some typical hermeneutical strategies. First,
he interprets events of the Old Testament as prefigurations of events
in the New Testament. Second, he attributes multiple levels of mean-
ing to biblical passages, both literal and spiritual. So, for example, the
Passover is an important episode in Jewish history but it also refers to
the soul’s journey to heaven through the trials and tribulations of this
world. Both of these strategies were well established by the sixteenth
century and were utilized by both Catholics and Protestants. Lemnius’s
interpretation of Exodus 12:5 is not in any way novel either. What
does seem to me interesting and worthy of comment about this chap-
ter is that it suggests that Lemnius saw natural objects—in this case
wild lettuce—as having multiple layers of meaning, both literal and
spiritual. Wild lettuce was healthy and nourishing to the body just as
it was healthy and nourishing to the soul to follow the rites and rituals
laid down in Scripture. The bitterness of wild lettuce symbolized the
pain and misery of earthly existence just as the Passover symbolized
the soul’s journey through this world. The meanings of the plant were
comprehended by understanding the scriptural references but also by
understanding its physical properties. And conversely, the scriptural
passages are rendered more meaningful by understanding the proper-
ties of the plant.
Lemnius’s confidence as an educated lay person to comment on
the meaning of scriptural passages, as well as his interest in the moral
and spiritual meanings of natural objects (in this case plants) are most
likely connected to the infl uence of Erasmus. Concerning Herbs and Trees
is reminiscent of Erasmus’s dialogue, “The Godly Feast,” in which a
group of friends meet at the country home of Eusebius. They wander
56
Lemnius 1587, 30. Lemnius 1596, 17.
57
Lemnius 1587, 31. Lemnius 1596, 17.
58
Lemnius 1587, 33. Lemnius 1596, 18.
59
Lemnius 1587, 31–32. Lemnius 1596, 17.
through the large and attractive garden, discoursing over the moral
and spiritual lessons to be drawn from plants and animals. Over lunch,
the friends discuss selected biblical passages, and one of them explicitly
defends the legitimacy of this activity for laymen:
Eusebius: I wish we had a good theologian here who not only understood
these matters but had prudence as well. I don’t know whether it’s permis-
sible for us simple laymen to discuss these topics.
Timothy: It would be permissible even for sailors, in my opinion, provided
there is no rash attempt at formal definition. And perhaps Christ, who
promised to be present wherever two men are gathered together in his
name, will help us, since we are so many.60
Concerning Herbs and Trees puts these two pious activities-talking about
plants and talking about Scripture-together. Perhaps Lemnius’s text
might be seen as a similar literary walk through a garden in which
every plant has lessons to impart. Understood this way, the lack of
apparent order, the refusal to put the plants in alphabetical order or
to organize them by type, makes sense. The text may be intended to
evoke the pleasure of meandering through a garden, in the same way
that Eusebius’s guests do. It may also be intended to evoke those other
famous biblical gardens, Eden and the hortus conclusus in the Song of
Songs.
The fact that Lemnius dedicated his work to an abbot and that he
explicitly defended his project to this religious leader indicates that he
might have anticipated criticism on grounds that he was trespassing on
theological territory. It is worth noting that the book was published in
1566, the year of the failed Dutch revolt against Hapsburg rule. In the
aftermath of the rebellion more repressive measures, including stricter
censorship, were enacted to combat the threat of political subversion
and ‘heresy’ (defined as any deviation from orthodox Catholicism).61
It is possible that if Lemnius had written this book just a few years
later, in the very different climate of the 1570s, he might have been
more circumspect.
While Lemnius’s Concerning Herbs and Trees hardly seems modern, it
is important to recognize that it differed substantially from medieval
writing on the natural world. Although Lemnius’s understanding of
plants as having multiple meanings, literal as well as symbolic and
60
Erasmus 1997, 184.
61
Israel 1995, 137–168.
62
For examples of medieval bestiaries see Curley 1979 and White 1984. On the
medieval bestiary tradition see Clark and McMunn 1989.
63
For a more extended discussion of the differences between medieval and early mod-
ern writing on animals, see Ashworth 1990 and Kathleen Crowther-Heyck 2003.
64
Stannard 1978, esp. 443–449.
65
Koch 1964.
66
Ogilvie 2005, 87.
67
Biographical information from Chinchilla 1841, 220–233; Morejón 1843, 57–83;
and Ferreira 1995, 58–64. There is a short biobibliographical entry on Valles in
Schmitt et al. 1988, 839. I am grateful to Luis Cortest for drawing this piece to my
attention.
68
For the most complete bibliography of his books see Solana 1941, 298–347. Unfor-
tunately, Solana only lists the first edition of each work. Morejón has a less complete
list of Valles’s books, but for the books he lists, he provides information on the dates
and places of publication of (some but not all) subsequent editions.
69
Siraisi 1997, 55; and Schmitt et al. 1988, 232–33.
70
Valles 1592. I have used an edition printed in Lyon in 1592. The first edition
was printed in Turin in 1587. There is virtually no modern scholarship on this text.
Descriptions of its contents can be found in Chinchilla, Morejón and Zanier 1983,
20–38.
was often published with Lemnius’s Concerning Herbs and Trees.71 Like
Lemnius’s Concerning Herbs and Trees, Valles’s Sacred Philosophy brings
together natural philosophy and biblical exegesis. However, there are
some significant differences between the two books. First, and most
obviously, Lemnius’s Concerning Herbs and Trees deals exclusively with
plants, while Valles’s Sacred Philosophy deals with any and all aspects of
the natural world mentioned in the Bible. Valles covers a truly breath-
taking array of topics. Not surprisingly, many are medical in nature.
He discusses, for example, topics relating to sex and reproduction,
including signs of virginity, the role of semen and menstrual blood in
reproduction, maternal imagination, the formation of the fetus in the
womb, and the infusion of the soul. He devotes attention to various
diseases, including leprosy, ulcers, melancholy, and blindness. But Valles
does not confine himself to medical topics. He also discusses animals
and plants, the composition of the heavens, the infl uences of the stars,
the formation of rainbows, and whether it is possible for demons to
have sex with human beings. In sum, the subject matter covered in
this book includes medicine, botany, zoology, cosmology, meteorology,
astrology, and demonology.
A second difference between Lemnius’s Concerning Herbs and Trees
and Valles’s Sacred Philosophy is the way they explain and justify their
respective projects in their introductions. While Lemnius extols natural
knowledge as both noble and divine, and asserts that natural knowl-
edge can be used to better understand the Bible, Valles is more cau-
tious, even diffident in his claims. According to Valles, many passages
of Scripture deal in some way with the natural world, but the Bible
does not set forth a comprehensive account of natural phenomena or
a fully coherent natural philosophy. Much of what Scripture relates
about nature is obscure and incomplete. In the Bible, God “set forth
all things relevant to the salvation of our souls”72 and He did it in such
a way that those things necessary for salvation could be understood
“by the judgment of both philosophers and even ordinary people.”73
Attaining natural knowledge was irrelevant to attaining eternal life:
71
De sacra philosophia was published in Turin in 1587; in Lyon in 1588, 1592, 1595,
1622, and 1652; and in Frankfurt in 1590, 1600, 1608, 1619, 1667, and 1677. Publica-
tion information from Morejón and the Karlsruhe Virtueller Katalog.
72
“omnia ad salutem animarum referens . . . proposuerit,” Valles 1592, 5.
73
“iuxta humanas sententias, Philosophorum, aut etiam vulgarium hominum,”
ibid.
“For God did not wish to teach us the natural causes and origins of
things, since this would certainly not lead us to eternal salvation.”74
Far from claiming that knowledge of God’s creation could lead to
more profound knowledge of God Himself or to deeper piety, Valles
appears ready to dismiss natural knowledge and curiosity about the
natural world entirely. “And yet,” he adds, “while it is not necessary to
eternal salvation to know the natural causes of things, still it does not
harm anyone.”75 Faint praise indeed! We seem to be a long way from
Lemnius’s claim that the great kings of old spent their leisure time
studying plants and gained renown through this activity no less than
through their military and political exploits.
However, while Valles acknowledges that the Bible does not speak
clearly on natural philosophical matters, he asserts that it does not speak
falsely on such matters: “Nevertheless, when certain things concerning
nature are woven into the very structures of the discourses, I believe
that they are all very true, since they were declared by the truest spirit
of God. . . .”76 God certainly did not intend the Bible as a work of
natural philosophy, “but when He touched on something [about the
natural world] in passing, why should He deceive us?”77 Again, this
seems like a fairly weak justification for a book “on the things that are
written about natural philosophy in the Holy Scriptures” especially
compared with Lemnius’s assertion that natural knowledge can aid in
interpreting the Bible.
At this point, Valles makes a different kind of claim. “All other learn-
ing that is true,” he writes, “including natural learning, is contained in
these divine books.”78 Thus all learned men, whatever their areas of
expertise, could learn more about their disciplines by studying the Bible.
He himself is an expert on natural philosophy, having “now completed
commentaries on the natural works of Aristotle and the medical texts
of Hippocrates and Galen.”79 But he believes that his knowledge of
74
“Noluit enim nos Deus naturales rerum causas, & ortus docere, utpote quas, nos
certo scire non adeo referat ad aeternum salutem.” Ibid., 6.
75
“Atqui naturales rerum causas scire, ut non est ad salutem aeterum necessarium,
ita neque quidquam laedit.” Ibid.
76
“Tamen, cum quaedam in ipso sermonum ductu texantur naturalia ea omnia
verissima esse existimo, utpote quae, a summe vero Dei spiritu, dictata sint. . . .” Ibid.
77
“sed cum obiter aliquid attingit, cur nos decipiat?” Ibid.
78
“Ob haec ego mihi persuadeo atque omnibus persuasum volo, vt omnem aliam
doctrinam, quae vera sit, ita naturalem, in his diuinis libris contineri. . . .” Ibid.
79
“perfectis iam in omnes Auditorios Aristotelis de Natura, & quam plurimos Hip-
pocraris [sic], & Galeni de re medica, libros, commentariis,” ibid., 6–7.
the natural world will be increased by study of the Bible. “Until now,”
he writes, “I have written philosophically, for opinion, but [this book]
is written for truth.”80 Valles in no way repudiates any of his earlier
work and study of ancient natural philosophers. Throughout the Sacred
Philosophy he cites ancient (and some medieval and contemporary) phi-
losophers extensively.
Valles’s introduction seems to refl ect a greater anxiety about crossing
over disciplinary boundaries into the domain of theologians than does
Lemnius’s. Valles concludes by promising that, in his commentary on
biblical passages, “I will depart as little as possible from physical things.
For I greatly approve this saying: let the cobbler stick to his last.”81 Here
Valles uses the same phrase Lemnius used in his dedication, ne sutor ultra
crepidas, to entirely opposite effect. Valles stays away from more purely
theological topics like the sacraments or the relationship between the
Old Testament and the New, areas where Lemnius did not fear to tread.
In addition, Valles takes pains to point to his own religious orthodoxy
in a way that Lemnius does not. Valles refers to himself as “a pious
son of the Catholic Church,”82 and asserts that there is “nothing in
[this book] or in any of my other works that is not approved by the
holy Roman Church, in which truth and wisdom reside.”83
Sacred Philosophy is organized as a biblical commentary. That is, each
chapter takes a verse or verses from the Bible that touch on some aspect
of the natural world and expounds on them. Throughout the text, Valles
brings together natural philosophical knowledge and biblical exegesis in
different ways. Sometimes he uses a natural philosophical author or text
to clarify a particular passage of the Bible. For example, in chapter 12
he comments on Genesis 34:25: “now it came about on the third day,
80
“scripta esse mihi hactenus Philosophica, ad opinionem, haec autem scribi ad
veritatem,” ibid., 7.
81
“vt a physicis quam minimum recedam; mihi enim magnopere probatur illud: ne
sutor vltra crepidas.” Valles 1592, 7.
82
“pius, & catholicae ecclesiae filius,” ibid., 6.
83
“testor ante omnia, nihil me in hoc, aut vllo alio meorum operum asserere, nisi
quatenus probetur a sancta Romana Ecclesia, penes quam veritas est, & sapientia.”
Ibid., 7. Apparently, Valles’s anxiety was not misplaced. According to Solana, the Sacred
Philosophy was corrected and expurgated by the Spanish Inquisition in 1613. In Rome,
the work was prohibited, “donec corrigatur” by a decree of July 3, 1618. It remained
on the Index librorum prohibitorum until 1900. (Solana 1941, 307) The 1587 Turin edition
in the History of Science Collections of the University of Oklahoma has a handwrit-
ten note on the title page: “Et iuxta Indicem Expurgatorium castigatus.” Parts of the
text have been expurgated and corrected.
when the pain of wounds is gravest, that two of Jacob’s sons, Simeon
and Levi, Dinah’s brothers, each took up his sword and came upon the
city.”84 The context of this passage is the rape of Dinah, the daughter
of Jacob, by Shechem. After Shechem rapes Dinah, he asks her father
and brothers for permission to marry her. Jacob and his sons agree to
the marriage, on the condition that Shechem and all the men of his
tribe be circumcised. This, however, is simply a ploy to get revenge.
Once all the men of the city are weakened by their wounds, Dinah’s
brothers Simeon and Levi enter the city, slaughter all the men, steal the
livestock, rape the women, and loot the houses. Valles’s commentary
focuses on the phrase, “on the third day, when the pain of wounds
is gravest.” Why, he asks, would Dinah’s brothers attack Shechem
and his kinsman on the third day after their circumcisions? Why not
immediately after? Why not on the second day or on the fourth day?
Why is it that the pain from a wound is most severe on the third day?
To answer these questions, he turns to one of the Hippocratic surgical
texts. Valles quotes the Hippocratic text Fractures:
For, to speak summarily, the third or fourth day is the very last on which
any lesion should be actively interfered with; and all probings as well as
everything else by which wounds are irritated should be avoided on these
days. For, as a rule, the third or fourth day sees the birth of exacerbations
in the majority of lesions, both where the tendency is to infl ammation
and foulness, and in those which turn to fever.85
Valles explains that, according to Hippocrates, the third day is a crucial
day in the healing of wounds, a time when the patient is particularly
vulnerable. When a person is first wounded, “the pain usually is only
from the division of the fl esh itself,”86 and this pain is relatively quickly
84
“Et ecce die tertio, quando grauissimus vulnerum dolor est, arreptis duo filii
Jacob, Simeon & Leui fratres Dinae, gladiis, ingressi sunt vrbem.” (Valles 1592, 142)
My translation follows that of the New American Standard Bible, with one crucial
exception. The NASB translates the clause “quando grauissimus vulnerum dolor est”
as “when they were in pain.” The King James Version translates this phrase as “when
they were sore.”
85
“tertio & quarto die vulnera omnia minime sunt exagitanda, & vt in summa
dicam specilli quoque omnes admotiones vitandae his diebus sunt, omniaque alia
quibus vulnera irritantur: in totum enim tertius & quartus dies in plerisque vulneribus
exacerbationes parit, & quae in infl ammationes & sordes incitantur, & quaecunque in
febres tendunt.” Valles 1592, 142. Here I use the translation of Fractures by Withington
1978, 304.
86
“prima enim die, qua quis vulneratus est, dolor tantum esse solet ex ipsa carnis
divisione. . . .” Valles 1592, 143.
alleviated. After the first day, the affl icted part begins to attract humors
to itself and “from this [infl ux of humors] infl ammation, or much foul-
ness and sometimes even fever arises.”87 So by the third day, the patient
is weaker and in greater pain than on the first day, and this explains
why Simeon and Levi chose to attack Shechem and his kinsmen on
the third day following their circumcisions.
Thus Valles uses his extensive knowledge of the Hippocratic writ-
ings to clarify a potentially obscure biblical passage. Unlike Lemnius,
he does not explicitly refer to or intervene in any purely theological
or religious issue. Indeed, this chapter is a good example of the way
in which Valles departs “as little as possible from physical things” in
the Sacred Philosophy. By the sixteenth century, the story of the rape of
Dinah had a long and richly developed exegetical literature. Dinah was
usually seen as a cautionary example of what could happen to young
women who roamed around too freely away from parental supervi-
sion. She was almost always seen as complicit in the rape, which was
generally understood as a seduction. For other commentators, Dinah
represented the soul, and her story was about the dangers lurking in
wait for the soul that strays from God. Valles’s commentary on Gen.
34: 25 completely sidesteps this literature.88
However, Valles does something else in this chapter. After reviewing
the argument in Fractures about the dangers of disturbing a wound on
the third day of healing, he expresses dissatisfaction with this text. While
agreeing that it is the infl ux of humors that causes a wound to be more
painful after the first day, he notes that neither Hippocrates, nor Galen
in his commentaries on Hippocrates, actually explain why the third day
is so crucial. Why do the humors not arrive at the affected part sooner
or later than the third day? Valles undertakes to provide this explana-
tion himself. According to Valles, humors move toward wounded or
affl icted parts of the body in a particular order. “On the second day
phlegm fl ows in, [and phlegm is] a mild, moderate, minimally irritat-
ing humor.”89 The infl ux of phlegm does not cause particular pain.
However, on the third day, yellow bile fl ows toward the wound. Yellow
87
“succrescat infl ammatio, aut sordes multa, atque ob haec nonnunquam etiam
febris,” ibid.
88
On medieval and early modern interpretations of Genesis 34, see Schroeder
1997.
89
“infl uet die secundo pituita, succus mitis, moderatus, minimeque irritans,” Valles
1592, 144.
bile is “a sharp, biting, exceedingly hot humor”90 and “it brings pain
and heat.”91 The pain and heat attract blood to the wound, and this
in turn “produces infl ammations and fevers.”92 If the patient is not
disturbed, these humors recede and the pain, fever and infl ammation
subside, but not in less than twenty-four hours.93 And this, finally, is
the reason Shechem and his men were so vulnerable on the third day.
What begins as a commentary on an unclear biblical text becomes a
commentary on an unclear Hippocratic text. Valles makes his exegesis of
Gen. 34:25 the occasion for elucidating an aspect of human physiology
(the healing of wounds) not explicitly discussed by either Hippocrates
or Galen. Unlike Lemnius, who brought known facts about the natural
world to his biblical exegesis, Valles uses biblical commentary as a start-
ing point for questioning and critiquing received natural philosophical
knowledge and for engaging controversial issues. His familiarity with
the Hippocratic corpus, and in particular with Hippocratic surgical
texts, put Valles in the vanguard of late sixteenth-century medical
humanism.94 Valles was one of a number of elite Spanish physicians
interested in Hippocratic surgical texts.95
An even more striking example of the ways in which Valles combines
natural philosophy and biblical exegesis is his commentary on Job 37:18:
“Can you [ Job], with Him [God], spread out the skies, strong as a
molten mirror?”96 In his discussion of this verse, Valles addresses two
main questions: are the heavens solid or fl uid? and of what substance
are the heavens composed? As might be expected, since the verse in
question describes the heavens as solidissimi, Valles presents a series of
arguments about why the heavens must be solid rather than fl uid. The
best (optimis) ancient philosophers, including Pythagoras, Parmenides,
Plato, and Aristotle, held that “the celestial realm is composed of a
certain very firm and solid substance.”97 One set of evidence for this
comes from the motion of the stars. If the stars moved through the
heavens like birds fl ying through the sky, then “by no means could they
90
“succus acer, mordax, & impense calidus,” ibid.
91
“dolorem . . . infert & calorem,” ibid.
92
“paritque phlegmones & febres,” ibid.
93
“sed cum citissime intra viginti quatuor horas,” ibid.
94
Nutton 1989 and Siraisi 1994.
95
Gurlt 1964.
96
“Tu forsitan cum eo fabricatus es coelos, qui solidissimi quasi aere fusi sunt.”
Valles 1592, 395.
97
“coelum substantia quadam constare firmissima & solidissima,” ibid.
be carried always at the same speed, and neither could they always
follow the same path.”98 And yet we see that the movement of the stars
is regular and not random. This demonstrates that, far from moving
through the heavens by some force of their own, they are carried around
on solid orbs. Only in this way could their courses be as orderly and
predictable as observed. These orbs in turn must be “more solid than
adamant,”99 otherwise they could be broken apart by the great speeds
at which they travel.
Just as in his interpretation of Gen. 34:25 Valles displays an aware-
ness of contemporary interest in and debates about the merits of
Hippocratic medicine, in his interpretation of Job 37:18 he displays a
familiarity with contemporary controversies over the nature and com-
position of the celestial realm. He was certainly well aware that many
astronomers of his day had challenged the concept of the solid celestial
orbs. Only a few years before the publication of the Sacred Philosophy,
another Spanish author, Muñoz, had argued that the heavens were
fl uid rather than solid.100 In general, the fact that Valles feels compelled
to refute the notion that the heavens are made of some kind of very
pure, fine liquid substance through which the stars and planets move
demonstrates his awareness of Stoic ideas.101 Even his characterization
of Pythagoras, Parmenides, Plato, and Aristotle as the best ancient
philosophers makes clear that he knew not all ancient philosophers
agreed about the solidity of the heavens.
At this point, it is tempting to view Valles as at best a conservative
thinker, clinging to an essentially Aristotelian cosmology, and at worst
selectively invoking natural philosophical authority to buttress his sim-
plistic and naive reading of the Bible. There are two reasons I think
Valles should not be dismissed so easily. First, most early modern natural
philosophers believed that the Bible was relevant to understanding the
natural world and were at pains to demonstrate that their theories were
98
“haud quaquam possent ferri eadem semper celeritate, neque eidem viae semper
insistere,” ibid., 396.
99
“Constat orbes tanto solidiores esse adamante.” Ibid., 395–396.
100
Granada 1997. I am grateful to Miguel Granada for bringing this essay to my
attention. For further discussion of sixteenth-century debates about the nature of the
heavens, see Granada 2002. On Tycho Brahe’s critical response to this chapter of
Valles’s Sacred Philosophy, see Howell 2002, 97–108.
101
On the pervasiveness and importance of Stoic cosmological ideas in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries, see Barker 1991.
102
Howell 2002 and Blair 2000 both make this point.
103
According to Steneck 1976, the fourteenth-century theologian Henry of Langen-
stein proposed a similar theory of the composition of the heavens in his hexaemeral
commentary. And Steneck notes that, although the Aristotelian idea of the quintessence
was widely accepted by medieval theologians and natural philosophers, it did not go
unchallenged (59–62). Thus, although Valles does not cite specific sources, his theory
of the celestial realm is certainly not completely unique or original.
104
“non videtur esse corpus simplex,” Valles 1592, 397.
105
“Sine igne videri nihil potest, nihil sine solido tangi, solidum sine terra nihil.”
Ibid.
106
“Igitur ut ad soliditatem terra, ita ad continuitatem indiget aqua: aqua vero &
ignis male aptabuntur sine medio aëre, neque sine eo habebit diaphanitatem. Si igitur
coelum est solidum compactum, diaphanum, & aspectabile, constabit terra, aqua aëre,
& igne.” Ibid., 398–398.
more fire and less air and the surrounding heavens are composed of
more air and less fire.
Valles notes a possible objection to this theory of the composition
of the heavens. If the heavens were made of four elements instead of
being one homogeneous substance, this would imply that they were
corruptible, because, as Plato says in the Timaeus, “everything that is
bound together can be unbound.”107 He answers this objection in two
ways. First, he asserts that the elements that compose the celestial realm
are not the same as those that compose the terrestrial realm. Celestial
earth, air, fire, and water are superior to terrestrial earth, air, fire, and
water because “they lack the opposition of active qualities, namely heat,
cold, wetness, and dryness.”108 It is these contrary qualities that bring
about change, and because the elements that make up the heavens lack
these opposing qualities, “they are incorruptible and not dissoluble since
they lack the origins of natural corruption.”109 Second, having argued
that the celestial realm is not naturally corruptible, Valles declares that
the heavens can and will be changed by God:
Though certainly since the celestial realm lacks active qualities it can not
naturally be destroyed, it is nevertheless (since it was brought together)
dissoluble and changeable, by Him, of course, by whom it was made,
namely by God.110
Then he cites several biblical passages that speak of the heavens passing
away at the end of time111 Valles uses these passages to indicate that his
theory is compatible with the Bible, and in particular with the biblical
account of the end of the world. He does not indicate that he derived
his theory of celestial substances simply from reading the Bible.
Valles claims that a heaven made of four elements fits better with
observation than a heaven composed of a single, special substance, the
quintessence. But he also implies that a heaven made of four elements
is in better accord with the Bible than a heaven made of quintessence.
Scripture describes a celestial realm that was created by God and would
107
“Omne siquidem quod vinctum est (ut inquit Timaeus) solui potest.” Ibid., 399.
108
“contrarietate qualitatum activarum, caloris inquam, frigoris, humoris & siccitatis
carent,” Ibid., 398.
109
“Incorruptibile tamen, neque dissolubile, quia caret principiis naturalis cor-
ruptionis,” ibid.
110
“Verum etsi quia actiuis qualitatibus caret, naturaliter corrumpi non potest
coelum, est tamen (compositum cum sit) dissolubile, & commutabile, ab eo videlicet a
quo compactum est, puta a Deo.” Ibid., 399.
111
Mark 13:31, Ps. 102:26–27, 2 Pet. 3:13 and Job 14:12.
Conclusion
112
In characterizing Sacred Philosophy as bold and provocative, I differ from Granada
and Howell, both of who see the book as conservative and even reactionary. But
Granada and Howell are only concerned with Valles’s cosmological views, which were
anti-Copernican. However, as I have indicated, cosmology was only a small part of
Sacred Philosophy and an exclusive focus on these sections of the book is misleading.
113
For example, Valles 1587, 435.
114
Biagioli 1993.
115
On Swammerdam and on the connections between natural history and moral
edification more generally, see Cook 1993, 45–61.
116
“simulacra virtutum & vitiorum . . . ut nos ad virtutem invitarent, & a vitiis dehor-
tarentur,” Chytraeus 1557, 52.
117
Ibid.
118
Ibid., 53.
119
“Sic multis Christi & Prophetarum concionibus lucem adfert consideratio naturae
animantium. . . .” Ibid.
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Grand Rapids, Michigan; Cambridge, UK: Willian B. Eerdmans.
Nutton, Vivian. 1989. Hippocrates in the Renaissance. In Die Hippokratischen Epidemien:
Theorie—Praxis—Tradition, Ed. Gerhard Baader and Rolf Winau. Stuttgart: Franz
Steiner Verlag, 420–439.
——. 1993. Wittenberg Anatomy. In Medicine and the Reformation, Ed. Ole Peter Grell
and Andrew Cunningham. London and New York: Routledge, 11–32.
Ogilvie, Brian W. 2005. Natural History, Ethics, and Physico-Theology. In Historia:
Empiricism and Erudition in Early Modern Europe, Ed. Gianna Pomata and Nancy Siraisi.
Cambridge, MA: MIT Press., 75–103.
——. 2006. The Science of Describing: Natural History in Renaissance Europe. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
Pomata, Gianna and Nancy Siraisi eds. 2005. Historia: Empiricism and Erudition in Early
Modern Europe. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Rueus, Franciscus. 1547. De gemmis aliquot, iis praesertim quarum divus Iohannes Apostolus in
sue Apocalypsi meminit. Parisiis: Ex Officina Christiani Wecheli.
Rummel, Erika. 1996. The Importance of Being Doctor: The Quarrel Over Com-
petency Between Humanists and Theologians in the Renaissance. Catholic Historical
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Schmitt, Charles B. Quentin Skinner, and Eckhard Kessler eds. 1988. The Cambridge
History of Renaissance Philosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Schroeder, Joy A. 1997. The Rape of Dinah: Luther’s Interpretation of a Biblical
Narrative. Sixteenth Century Journal 28:3, 775–791.
Shahan, Thomas J. 1907. Antwerp. In The Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. 1. New York:
Robert Appleton Company.
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Cardano: Philosoph, Naturforscher, Arzt. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Wolfenbütteler Abhan-
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Princeton University Press.
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Renacimiento (Siglo XVI), vol. 2. Madrid: Real Academia de Ciencias Exactas, Físicas
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——. ed. 1990. The Bible in the Sixteenth Century. Durham/London: Duke University
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Eric Jorink
Introduction
1
[ la Peyrère] 1655). I used the 12° edition (see note 6).
2
‘Advis der Theologische faculteijt tot Utrecht, over het tractaet genoemt Praea-
damtiae.’
3
As quoted in Kleerkoper and van Stockum, 1914–16, 216.
recently had visited the Dutch Republic in order to discuss his ideas
“with some learned men in neighboring places.”4 The Utrecht city
magistrate wasted little time, and banned the book from the city the
very next day.5 However, this decision, although unusually vigorous by
contemporary Dutch standards, did not satisfy Voetius. The book, which
he knew was published by the Amsterdam company of Daniel Elsevier
in no less than three different editions (quarto, octavo, and duodecimo),
threatened to damage the whole of Christianity.6 The Utrecht profes-
sor accordingly addressed the highest political authority of the Dutch
Republic, the Staten Generaal, and the highest juridical council, the Hof
van Holland. These institutions, both of which had a justified reputation
for being lax in banning books, reached a decision within three weeks.7
On 16 November the court banned the Praeadamitae on the basis that
the book contained many “dangerous propositions” which were deemed
“in violation of the Word of God and the foundations of Christian
religion.”8 A week later, the Staten Generaal reached the same verdict,
underlining the fact that this “horrible and blasphemous” book could
easily “divert from Christianity both the citizens of this State and all
other people.”9 Both judgments were published as placards, and tacked
on billboards at town halls and other public spaces. Every Dutch citizen
might take notice of the existence and outline of this horrible work,
and the fact that it was forbidden to sell, buy, or circulate copies of it.
As was to be expected, refutations were published by Dutch professors
of theology, and subsequently new editions were printed. A Dutch
translation of the Praeadamitae appeared in 1661.10 By that time every
intellectual in Europe knew its author was Isaac la Peyrère (1596–1676),
a French Calvinist in the service of the prince of Condé.11 Shortly after
the Amsterdam publication of the Praeadamitae, in February 1656, la
Peyrère was arrested in Brussels and brought to Rome. In the presence
4
As quoted in Kleerkoper and van Stockum, 1914–16, 217.
5
Kernkamp 1936–1940, I, 316.
6
In fact, the book was published in five editions: see Doedes 1880, 238–242.
7
Kleerkoper and van Stockum, 1914–16, 303; Groot Placaet-boeck inhoudende de pla-
caten ende ordonantien van de Hoogh-Mog. Heeren Staten Generael der Vereenigde Nederlanden, II,
nrs. 2224, 2225; Resolutiën van de Heeren Staten van Hollant ende West-Friesland in de jaren
1544–1794 [s.l., s.d.], 390, 396. On censorship in the Dutch Republic, see Weekhout
1998.
8
Groot Placaet-boeck, nr. 2224.
9
Resolutien van de Heeren Staten van Hollant ende West-Friesland, 390.
10
[la Peyrère] 1661.
11
Popkin 1987.
of Pope Alexander VII he abjured and recanted his book, went over
to Catholicism, and wrote an apology.
It was Richard Popkin who drew attention to the curious life and
works of la Peyrère, and who, among other things, underlined the
importance of the Praeadamitae for the emergence of radical biblical
criticism in the seventeenth century.12 La Peyrère’s questioning of the
Bible’s authority had a tremendous impact, both on religion and on
science. La Peyrère rejected the traditional Biblical chronology, argued
that there were men before Adam, that the Pentateuch was only the
account of Jewish history, questioned the universality of the Flood, and
asked disturbing questions about the origins of peoples and animals
living in the New World. The result was a monumentally heretical
doctrine. “He was regarded as perhaps the greatest heretic of the age,”
Popkin noted, “even worse than Spinoza, who took over some of his
most challenging ideas.”13 Indeed, Spinoza owned a copy of la Peyrère’s
notorious work. While the infl uence of the Praeadamitae on the Tractatus
Theologico-Politicus (1670) and Spinoza’s other works remains a topic for
further investigation, Popkin is certainly right in comparing the reputa-
tion of the two notorious biblical critics. And, seen from the perspective
of contemporary Dutch intellectual culture, it is rather telling to note
that the Praeadamitae was forbidden within a few weeks after its publica-
tion, while it took the Dutch authorities no less then four years to ban
the Tractatus (prohibited together with Lodewijk Meijer’s Philosophia S.
Scripturae interpres and Thomas Hobbes’s Leviathan, in 1674).14
In this chapter, I intend to describe in some detail the Dutch intel-
lectual context of the publication of the Praeadamitae. The book, which
had been circulating in manuscript form for at least thirteen years, was
issued at the climax of the Dutch controversy on Cartesianism and
Copernicanism. Some of the many pamphlets published in this war
of ideas stated that a remarkable similarity existed between Cartesian
12
See also Popkin 1976, 272–280.
13
Popkin 1987, 1.
14
Cf. Israel 1996, 3–13; Weekhout 1998, 385–386. The story of the publication of
the Tractatus is fascinating, which explains the rather odd citation in the bibliographi-
cal entry. The official imprint on the front page of the book is Hamburg: Künrath.
However, as contemporaries soon discovered, this was a ficticious printer to conceal
the identity of both printer and author, since it was expected that the Tractatus would
infuriate people (interogating printers to reveal the identity of anonymous authors was
not uncommon). Later historians have found evidence that Riewertsz of Amsterdam
printed the book.
and preadamite ideas, and it was suggested that a certain “great Car-
tesian” had been instrumental in the publication of la Peyrère’s book.15
To Voetius, the champion of biblicism, it seemed clear that it was the
new, rationalist philosophy of Descartes that threatened the authority
of Scripture. The orthodox party, as well as many later historians,
viewed the growth of radical biblical criticism in the Dutch Republic
as essentially the result of an external force called philosophy.16 Seen
from this perspective, the authority of the Bible increasingly came
under attack with the advance of a new and very powerful rationalistic
philosophy of nature, of which Descartes and Spinoza were the most
infl uential defenders.
However, in this chapter, I would like to look at this development
from a somewhat different angle. I hope to show that the emergence
of biblical criticism in the seventeenth century Dutch Republic was a
result of many infl uences. Philosophy, in this case Cartesianism, was
just one factor. There was also a rather disturbing tendency, from the
orthodox viewpoint, within the group of intellectuals engaged in biblical
scholarship, which included not only theologians but also philologists.
These scholars were working in the tradition of humanism, and the
object of their scholarship ranged from linguistics to chronology, and
from ancient geography to biblical zoology. They were not interested
in the Bible for dogmatic reasons, but considered it as just one of the
many ancient sources concerning nature—a problematic source to be
sure. Starting with Joseph Scaliger at Leiden University between 1593
and 1609, scholars found it increasingly difficult to reconcile the estab-
lished text of Scripture with other ancient and contemporary sources,
such as Egyptian and Chinese chronologies, non-European accounts of
a fl ood, and descriptions of the peoples and animals from the East and
West Indies. Little research has been done on this theme, since most
accounts on the emergence of radical biblical criticism in the Dutch
Republic take the work of Spinoza and his sympathizers as their point
of departure.17 It could be argued, however, that the publication of la
Peyrère’s Praeadamitae, which incorporated ideas by Scaliger’s successor
in Leiden, Claude Saumaise, and provoked a questionable refutation
15
The pamphlet was published under a pseudonym, the author being a member
of the Voetian camp: Suetonius Tranquilius 1656, 7. I owe this reference to Rienk
Vermij.
16
See Vermij 2008. See also Vermij 2002, Israel 2001.
17
Cf. Jorink 2009.
Isaac la Peyrère certainly was not a great scholar. The French bibli-
cal critic Richard Simon (1638–1712) immediately noted la Peyrère’s
inability to read Hebrew and Greek. More recently, Anthony Grafton
aptly described la Peyrère as a man who, had he lived in the twentieth
century, might have haunted public libraries, combing the plays of
Shakespeare for evidence of Bacon’s authorship.18 Indeed, la Peyrère’s
pioneering and infl uential work was based more on intuition than on
erudition. According to his own testimony, his Praeadamitae was the result
of a question he asked himself in his early childhood. Eve gave birth to
Cain and Abel. Cain rebelled against Abel his brother, and slew him.
And then Cain knew his wife. But where did Cain’s wife come from?
For many years, la Peyrère was fascinated by this intriguing question,
and started to elaborate on the preadamite theory. La Peyrère assumed
that, if there were men before Adam, not only exegetical questions
could be answered, but also some other problems might be solved
which increasingly puzzled early seventeenth-century scholars, such as
the origin of the American peoples. From about 1640, la Peyrère had
been working on a manuscript about the preadamites. It was circulated
and discussed in the lively world of the Parisian académies and had an
almost immediate impact on Dutch intellectual culture. I will focus here
on two scientific themes la Peyrère speculated upon. The first concerns
biblical chronology, the second the status of the peoples, fl ora, and
fauna of the New World.
As is well known, the great innovator in the vast and difficult disci-
pline of chronology was Joseph Scaliger (1540–1609), who worked at
Leiden University from 1593 until his death in 1609.19 Scaliger had no
obligations to teach, although he privately tutored a small but brilliant
circle of students, including the young Hugo Grotius. Scaliger spent
18
Grafton 1991, 204–213.
19
Grafton 1983–1993; de Jonge 1979, 71.
20
Grafton 1975, 169–170.
21
On Saumaise see Leroy 1983, 33–52; Blok 2000.
22
Salmasius 1648.
23
Popkin 1987, 179 n. 44.
24
See, for example, Findlen 1994; Bergvelt and Kistemaker 1992.
25
Jorink 2006, 267–320.
26
Grafton 1992; Schmitt 2001.
27
de Laet 1630, **/r.
28
On de Laet’s orthodoxy, see Florijn 1998.
29
Popkin 1987, 6.
30
Rubies 1991; Schmitt 1998; Nellen 2006, 553–554.
31
Schepelern 1971; Schnapp 2006.
32
[ la Peyrère] 1665, 251–255.
33
Pintard 1943, 399.
34
Knuttel 1910, III, 517.
did not change anything in the world—but only changed how one looked
at things. Needless to say this argument infuriated Voetius, who listed
this comparison among the other offensive points of the Praeadamitae.35
To many contemporary observers, the publication of the Praeadamitae
seemed the next step in the Cartesian crisis, in which the debate on
Copernicanism played such an important role.
However, at a deeper level, Voetius was certainly wrong in identifying
the preadamite theory with Descartes’ philosophy. What both seemed
to have in common was that they challenged Voetius’s ideas on the
authority of Scripture. According to Voetius, the Bible was the alpha
and omega of all knowledge, including natural philosophy and natural
history. Voetius was an heir to the ‘Mosaic physics,’ which took the Bible
literally in matters physical.36 The subject of physics had no other use
than to explain the Mosaic text. In an oration held in 1636, Voetius
called the Bible “the book of all sciences, the sea of all wisdom, the
academy of academies.”37 The word of God was timeless, universal, and
self-explanatory. In exegetical matters, Voetius was extremely reluctant
to use nonscriptural tools such as philosophy. “Scripture was the source
of its own authority” one observer writes,
in the same sense that light was both the principle of visibility and of the
act by which we see illuminated objects. The analogy indicates that Voet
found scriptural interpretation as unproblematic as the act of seeing.38
Voetius’s point is that taking Scripture literally is as much an axiom of
natural philosophy as of natural theology. Indeed, everything Voetius
wrote on nature testifies to his biblical literalism. Voetius vehemently
rejected the idea that the Bible in some instances spoke according to
the understanding of the multitude (ad captum vulgi). If the Bible stated
that the Sun moved, this was simply the truth. According to Voetius,
Scripture was both the source of and the key to science.
Seen from this perspective, it becomes possible to understand why
Voetius saw both Descartes and the author of the preadamite theory
as dangers for the authority of Scripture. As Vermij notes, Voetius
preferred to pose simply as the defender of the Bible. However, he was
entirely wrong in his analyses of the forces at work. Descartes aimed
35
Kleerkooper and van Stockum 1914–16, 216. Cf. Vermij 2008.
36
Cf. Blair 2000.
37
Voetius 1636, 16.
38
McGahagan 1976, 64.
39
Cf. van Ruler 1995; Vermij 2002.
40
Popkin 1987, 73–74.
have been written by Moses, and that the received text was entirely
corrupt. Although this might have looked liked like a philosophical
speculation, this was a problem of a philological nature, with far-
reaching implications.
41
Hilpertus 1656; Hulsius 1656; Maresius 1656.
42
Popkin 1987, 34.
43
van Rooden 1989, 144.
44
On Gerardus Johannes Vossius see Rademaker 1981. On Isaac see Lebram 1975;
Katz 1993; Blok 2000; Jorink and van Miert 2009.
45
Vossius 1659.
46
I owe the importance of this observation to Anthony Grafton.
47
Vossius 1660.
48
Vossius 1660, 12–14.
49
Bakhuizen van den Brink 1976.
50
Vossius 1660, 22.
version came closer to the original text than the received Hebrew one.
“The exhortations and threats of many do not frighten me.”51
Vossius’s apparent intention to undermine the preadamite theory can
certainly be questioned. Throughout his life, Vossius had a reputation for
being a freethinker, and his later patron, King Charles II even remarked
that he would believe anything, if only it were not in the Bible.52 Be
this as it may, with the publication of his Vera aetate Vossius became
one of the pioneers of biblical criticism. In the years after the publica-
tion of his book, he accordingly started to be engaged in a variety of
confl icts that gave him the opportunity to elaborate his arguments in
much more detail.53 The impact of Vossius’s work, however, was much
greater than simply a defense for the Septuagint or a contribution to
the emerging discipline of biblical criticism. It was also instrumental
in altering peoples’ views on the age of Earth, the origin of languages,
and the spread of peoples, fl ora, and fauna with new and erudite data,
contributing to a permanent and dramatic change in people’s views
of these ideas. Imitating la Peyrère, Vossius repeated that the Bible
contained not the history of the world, but only recorded the history
of a certain tribe in the Near East. The chronologies of the Egyptians,
Persians, and Arabs went back in time some 7000 years. Moreover, Vos-
sius introduced a new and very powerful weapon in the battle of the
chronologists: Chinese history.54 Having access to the recently published
writings about Chinese history and geography by the Jesuit Martino
Martini, the Atlas sinensis (1653) and Sinicae historiae (1658), Vossius was
able to buttress his theory on the age of Earth. Despite knowing no
Chinese, Vossius enthusiastically praised the Chinese, Chinese history,
thought, and culture as one of the greatest achievements of humanity.
“The Chinese,” Vossius wrote, “have among their writers some who
are elder then Moses.”55 This claim was in itself startling enough for
orthodox Protestants. But, Vossius continued, since Chinese historians
did not mention the Flood, it was impossible that the universal Deluge
described in Genesis ever took place—it was only a local incident. In
51
Vossius 1660, 17.
52
Katz 1993, 142.
53
Vossius 1661 elaborated on this theme; Vossius 1663.
54
On the importance of China for European intellectual culture see Pinot 1932;
Weststeijn 2007; Israel 2007.
55
Vossius 1660.
the same way, he reasoned that not all languages could originate from
ante Dilivium Hebrew.
As could be expected, Vossius was attacked by theologians.56 In a
manner similar to Grotius’s diatribe against la Peyrère, the German
historian and Leiden professor Georg Hornius (1620–1670) tried to
refute Vossius’s scheme of world history in several pamphlets (1659) and
in a learned book called Arca Noae (1666). Vossius was accused—with
some justice, one is tempted to think—of being a secret follower of
the preadamite theory.57 Vossius vigorously rejected Hornius’s accusa-
tions.58 This was the next stage in a long and fierce debate on the
increasingly pressing problem of the origin of non-European peoples,
fl ora, and fauna.59 The traditional scheme of the Creation, the Flood,
and the dispersion of peoples from the Tower of Babel increasingly
came under attack. While Scaliger’s exercises in chronology were only
known to a small and very learned circle, the works by la Peyrère and
Vossius generated discussion among a more general audience. As Graf-
ton notes in his New Worlds, Ancient Texts: “‘Strong wits’ across Europe
gossiped enjoyably about the origins of Cain’s wife and the authorship
of the report of Moses’ death in Deuteronomy. The most powerful of
texts had tumbled down.”60 The Word of God had lost its undisputed
universality, both with respect to history and to nature.
Conclusion
56
Coccejus 1662; Hulsius 1662; Schotanus 1662.
57
Hornius 1659, sig. 2r. See Bennett and Mandelbrote 1998, 196–8.
58
Vossius 1659b, 1659a.
59
See, for example Rossi 1984, 145–152.
60
Grafton 1992, 242.
61
Israel 2001, 14.
62
Ibid., 449, my italics.
63
See for example, van Bunge 2001 and Cook 2007.
64
Nellen 2008.
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Kerry V. Magruder
Introduction
1
On Theories of the Earth as a contested print tradition see Magruder 2006;
Magruder 2000, 7–8. Other interpretations are Roger 1973; Rudwick 1976. In this
chapter I use “Theory of the Earth” (initial uppercase) to refer to any work published
in the historical tradition. That is, a “Theory” was a book and a “theory” is an idea,
although in actual practice these two meanings may be combined. In addition, lowercase
“earth” refers to a type of mineral, or a small region of land, while “the Earth” is used
for reference to Earth as a whole, with respect to some general aspect such as continents
or mountains which might provide evidence for the manner of its formation.
2
Burnet 1684, “Preface to the Reader,” a1r. The first Latin edition (1681) included
the first two books, as did the first English edition (1684). The last two books appeared
in English in Burnet 1690a. Portions of this description of Burnet are adapted from
Magruder 2000, and Magruder and Taylor 2003. Thomas Burnet the Theorist should
not be confused with his contemporaries Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, or Thomas
Burnett, a friend of John Locke; cf. Magruder 2003.
3
The phrase “hermeneutical conversation” is from Gadamer 1996, 388. Cf.
Gadamer’s comments on the mediating role in understanding played by a linguistic
tradition, particularly 383–405.
Fig. 1. Thomas Burnet, Theory of the Earth (London, 1684). The frontispiece
was prepared for the 1684 English translation. Once created it became a
very durable form of visual rhetoric, and thereafter slightly modified versions
adorned all seventeenth- and eighteenth-century editions. Clockwise, from top
right, the seven globes depict a plurality of worlds over time: Chaos, Paradisia-
cal Globe, Deluge, the present Earth, Confl agration, Millennium, Consum-
mation. Three of these globes show worlds of longer duration: Paradise, the
present Earth, and the Millennium. The other four globes represent relatively
rapid transformations leading to or from the major three. Image courtesy the
History of Science Collections, University of Oklahoma Libraries; copyright
the Board of Regents of the University of Oklahoma.
4
Burnet 1684, “Epistle Dedicatory.” Two extended analyses of the frontispiece are
Gould 1987, ch. 2, and Magruder 2000, ch. 5.
5
Burnet 1684, 312ff. (bk. 2, ch. 11).
6
Burnet 1684, 185 (bk. 2, ch. 2).
7
Aristotle Meteorology 338a27–b5; Aristotle 1952, 5; Descartes 1644, articles 204–206;
Magruder 2006, 244.
8
A classic description of the directionalist synthesis is Rudwick 1971; various tem-
poral sensibilities are discussed in detail in Magruder 2000, 6–43.
9
But even so, the term diluvialist conceals far too many disparate ideas to be gener-
ally helpful; cf. the cautionary warning of Rappaport 1997, 5.
10
Magruder 2006.
11
A complementary essay explores the significance of hexameral idiom for the
exchange of ideas in Theories of the Earth; Magruder 2008.
Burnet’s Theory of the Earth (1684) contained two books devoted, respec-
tively, to Noah’s deluge and to the paradisiacal world. The first book
explained the mountains and seas as the result of catastrophic crustal
collapse during the Mosaic deluge, illustrated in Figure 2.12 The second
book explained how a paradisiacal globe with a uniformly smooth crust
formed naturally from the condensation of vapors and other materials.
The first four global views of the frontispiece (Figure 1) represented
this geogony connecting chaos and paradise (as in book 2), along with
the crustal collapse at the Deluge leading to the present world (as in
book 1). Burnet’s geogony and crustal collapse employed the physi-
cal mechanisms proposed by Descartes in Principia Philosophiae (1644),
reconciled with biblical history and aided by corroborating evidence
from classical texts.
12
Magruder 2006.
13
Walker 1972; Rattansi and McGuire 1966; McKnight 1991.
14
Burnet 1684, 282 (bk. 2, ch. 9): “I have often thought also, that their first and
second Temple represented the first and second Earth or World; and that of Ezekiel’s,
which is the third, is still to be erected, the most beautiful of all, when this second
Temple of the world shall be burnt down.”
15
Cf. More 1662; Cudworth 1678; Stillingfl eet 1662; Hutton 2002; Hutton 1992.
Grafton writes of Bentley and Stillingfl eet (Grafton 1991, 19): “These men used his-
tory and philology to prove the uniqueness of Christianity and the soundness of the
Bible, not to confl ate all texts and dispensations. They disliked More’s dissolution of
historical boundaries as much as Spinoza’s dissolution of Revelation.”
16
Nicolson 1959 remains the best overall account of Burnet and explains the aes-
thetic appeal in England, particularly among Cambridge Platonists, of an originally
smooth surface of the globe.
of the World, as well as they since have been.” Like Burnet, Whiston
also linked the plausibility of the prisca sapientia with the need to prove
that the Deluge was universal, since a global catastrophe neutralized
the force of “the greatest Objection against this Proposition,” viz., “the
Ignorance and Barbarity of the Ages after the Deluge.”17
Burnet’s belief in the prisca sapientia fostered an attention to biblical
idiom in search of a “fuller” meaning of the text, a literal sensus plenior
(as some now call it) that lay hidden, latent in the primary meaning.18
In some ways this belief was analogous to traditional interpretations
of prophetic passages as containing both a short-term meaning, intel-
ligible to the original hearers, and a long-term signification that might
be discerned with hindsight. While the primary meaning was accom-
modated to common capacities, a fuller sense might remain as a riddle
for the educated reader to solve. The encoding of readers’ riddles in
prophetic passages provided precedent to encourage scholars like Burnet
to discern remnants of ancient wisdom encoded in various biblical and
ancient texts, hidden within apparently nonspecific idiom. For example,
with respect to the phrase that “it had not rained upon the earth” in
Gen. 2:5, Augustine had wondered whether “perhaps Sacred Scripture
in its customary style is speaking with the limitations of human lan-
guage in addressing men of limited understanding, while at the same
time teaching a lesson to be understood by the reader who is able.”19
Similarly, Henry More explained in his “fourth rule” governing the
use of reason in defense of religion that if principles of philosophy
were to be adopted in defense of religion, they should receive veiled
17
Whiston 1696, 264. This argument that the prisca sapientia was lost at the Deluge
has an ancient lineage, and echos of it may be found in Josephus (whose works Whiston
edited); cf. Antiquities of the Jews, bk. 1, ch. 2. Advocates of the eternity of human life
on Earth, such as Philo and Seneca, argued analogously, invoking cataclysms of fire
or water to explain the present existence of barbarity and apparent lack of progress
of civilization in historical time.
18
After surveying the history of interpretation, Brown 1955 proposes the term sensus
plenior to refer to any deeper meaning of a text (therefore closer to the literal rather
than to the typological sense) that was fully understood by the divine author but not
by the original hearers. By deepening the literal meaning of a text, the sensus plenior
illumines its hidden potential, rather than creating unrelated multiple meanings. I use
sensus plenior to refer to any hidden or fuller meaning that an actor might discern in
a text and defend as a literal sense. Many actors inferred that if further revelation
could make clear a prophetic sense that was already latent in the biblical text, then in
the same way further discoveries of reason might illumine similarly hidden physical
significations of the text. Belief in a prisca sapientia provided added incentive for seeking
sensus plenior interpretations. See also Howell 2002.
19
Augustine 1982, 1:157 (bk. 5, ch. 6).
but actual approval from Scripture itself, “as being glanced at in some
short passages in the very Letter itself.”20
Burnet affirmed the prisca sapientia, was a millenarian, was concerned
to interpret the Bible in light of the discovery of the inhabitants of
the New World, and was opposed to inter-racial marriage as one of
the offenses that precipitated the Deluge. These views coincided with
positions held by Isaac de la Peyrère, or Pererius (1596–1676), author
of Prae-Adamitae (1655).21 Yet Burnet parted from la Peyrère’s belief in
a geographically-limited deluge. In this respect, la Peyrère has been
identified as the target of Burnet’s Theory of the Earth, but there were
others. Amidst rising suspicions that the Deluge had been only regional
in extent, scholars such as the librarian to the Queen of Sweden, Isaac
Voss (1618–1689) and the Nonconformist commentator Matthew Poole
(1624–1679) represented a vocal minority who argued for a limited
deluge. Largely because of biogeographical evidence from the New
World, they held to an anthropologically-universal catastrophe, assuming
that humans did not spread so far as animals in the antediluvian world.
Among such advocates of a regional deluge, however, Burnet’s chief
opponent was the orthodox Stillingfl eet, who defended the veracity of
the Bible while discrediting the scholarly basis for prisca sapientia.22 For
Burnet, the universal deluge represented a splendid instance of agree-
ment between Scripture and ancient literature, achieved through prisca
sapientia interpretation, that could not easily be let go.23 Stillingfl eet’s case
could be nullified, and evidence for a global deluge from prisca sapientia
defended, by appropriating the weight of arguments from natural phi-
losophy which Burnet found in Cartesian cosmogony. Burnet’s Theory
appropriated the general causes of Cartesian cosmogony, interpreted
as the expression of natural providence, to rehabilitate the testimony of
the prisca sapientia contained within both Scripture and antiquity.24
20
Quoted in Hutton 2006, 198.
21
Cf. Burnet 1690a, 220 (bk. 4, ch. 10); Popkin 1987. Most controversially, La
Peyrère also asserted that Gentiles lived before Adam, who would then have been the
father only of the Jews.
22
Stillingfl eet 1662. Cf. Young 1995, ch. 4; Popkin 1971; Carroll 1975; Browne
1983.
23
Vitaliano 1973, ch. 7, illustrates some of the prisca sapientia evidence for a uni-
versal deluge.
24
Burnet referred to natural regularities as “general causes” rather than as “laws
of nature,” refl ecting a providentialist orientation in which the divine government of
the natural world was effected through both ordinary providence (general causes) and
extraordinary providence (e.g., the preservation of Noah in the Ark). Both kinds of
The universal deluge was not only supported by the prisca sapientia,
but also highly congruent with apocalyptic perspectives. Many Theories
of the Earth written in Britain in the late seventeenth century displayed
explicit apocalyptic concerns, including those of Isaac Newton, John
Ray (1627–1705), and William Whiston.25 Similar interests occupied
the Cambridge Platonists in the years immediately preceding Burnet’s
Telluris Theoria Sacra (1681).26 Likewise, Burnet employed an apocalyptic
approach to Scripture that may be discerned in the upper portion of
the frontispiece.27 Above the scenes of globes a robed figure spans the
beginning and the end of Earth history. Over his head is written “I am
the Alpha and the Omega;” or, to complete the quotation attributed to
Christ in Rev. 22:13, “the beginning and the end, the first and the last.”
The figure is neither inert nor unbalanced, but dynamic and active.
Foreseeing all at the beginning of Earth history, Christ’s left foot rests
upon a ball of chaos, a globe “without form and void,” under the cap-
tion Apo Kataboles Kosmou, “From the Foundation of the World.”28 This
biblical idiom recalls the Creation but also resonates with apocalyptic
overtones, as do similar phrases such as “from the beginning of the
creation.” The latter phrase appears in one of the most quoted pas-
sages in the New Testament regarding the destiny of the Earth, 2 Pet.
occurrences were aspects of providence, although not necessarily of natural law; Burnet
1684, 108 (bk. 1, ch. 9): “But ’tis hard to separate and distinguish an ordinary and
extraordinary Providence in all cases, and to mark just how far one goes, and where
the other begins.” See Vermij 1998.
25
William Whiston envisioned a future cometary confl agration in his New Theory
of the Earth (1696); cf. Whiston 1706. John Ray’s Miscellaneous Discourses Concerning the
Dissolution and Changes of the World (1692) was a revision of a sermon on the millennium
given at Cambridge in the late 1650s concerned exclusively with the future dissolution
of the world and the millennium. See Kubrin 1968, 13–14, 35, 184.
26
More 1680; More 1681; Hutton 1994.
27
Jacob and Lockwood 1972 demonstrate that English scholars still displayed a
great interest in the apocalypse in the late 1680s and 1690s. However, by focusing
exclusively upon the Glorious Revolution of 1688 as the immediate political setting for
the publication of Burnet’s two last books, their analysis does not address the fact that
Burnet had planned to include the two last books from the beginning, as is clear from
the two first books and from the frontispiece. Jacob and Lockwood’s interpretation of
Burnet’s manuscript annotations has also been challenged by Mandelbrote 1994. Bettini
1997 explores the reception of Burnet’s apocalyptic approach in Italy.
28
Ten New Testament references to Apo Kataboles Kosmou or Pro Kataboles Kosmou
include John 17:24 and 1 Pet. 1:20. I thank Mack Roarck, personal communication,
for paleographical assistance with this caption and other lettering on the engraving,
especially with the form of beta in Kataboles and the genitive noun ending of Kosmou
where the upsilon is written above the omega in an omega-upsilon ligature. For similar
examples, see Van Groningen 1963 and Metzger 1981.
29
Translated by Burnet 1690b, 9; italics added.
30
Burnet 1690b, 9.
31
“Standing out of ” was often interpreted as referring to the separation of the
mountains and the sea in the creation week, which was impossible for Burnet’s Theory
to accommodate. Burnet devoted a long paragraph in the first Latin edition to a
grammatical examination of the Greek text supporting the consistens reading; Burnet
1681, 200–201.
32
Burnet 1684, 3 (bk. 1, ch. 1).
33
Burnet 1690b, 8.
34
Note, however, that either idiom could encourage a directionalist sense of the
history of the development of Earth.
35
For identification of Tetelesai as the second person singular perfect tense of teleo
(to complete, perfect, finish), and particularly for help deciphering the script of the
second tau and the alpha-iota ligature of Tetelesai as it is engraved on the frontispiece,
I again thank Mack Roarck, personal communication.
beings: “This translation of the Earth . . . makes it leave its place, and,
with a lofty fl ight, take its seat amongst the Stars.”36
Christendom was traditionally represented by a scepter which had
one end shaped into a ball modeling Earth, topped with a cross sym-
bolizing the dominion of Christian kings. In Burnet’s frontispiece, the
banner of Christendom in Christ’s hand designates him as King of
Kings at the end of time. He stands not merely on one globe, but on a
complete circle of seven globes in the eschatological fulfillment of the
kingdom of God.37 A more explicit visual declaration of Christology in
a theoretical work on Earth history cannot be found. As original Creator
and ultimate Ruler, in full view of cherubim longing to look into these
things, Christ governs all scenes of global history from creation to the
Apocalypse, making the Earth his footstool.38
Thus Burnet’s theories of the Deluge and paradise, so often regarded
as mere copies of Descartes, were expressed through apocalyptic idiom
such as that found in the frontispiece. Believing that this idiom encoded
a prisca sapientia, Burnet developed a specific interpretation of 2 Peter
entailing the three discontinuous forms of the Earth. The presentation
of Burnet’s concordist interpretations of 2 Peter depended upon the
apocalyptic idiom embedded in the work both verbally and in visual
representations.
Just as the Anglican tradition rested upon the three pillars of Scripture,
reason, and tradition, so Burnet’s Theory of the Earth would rest upon
nature, Scripture, and antiquity, in that order—nature or reason taking
the leading role from Scripture because of the obscurity of the latter
when it refers to natural phenomena, and antiquity trailing in the rear
36
Burnet 1690a, 224 (bk. 4, ch. 10).
37
There is a scene in Revelation where Christ stands in his temple among seven
candlesticks; similarly, in the frontispiece, Christ stands in the universe amidst the seven
globes. But the image is not merely spatial, it is temporal, for the seven globes represent
seven stages in history just as, in the Book of Revelation, the seven seals represent the
secret plan of history opened by Christ; Burnet discussed these seals in Burnet 1690a,
bk. 4, ch. 4, passim. The number seven represented completeness, especially for Platonists
from the time of Philo’s commentary on Genesis.
38
Cf. Ps. 45, 110. Citing these and other Scriptures (e.g., Burnet 1690a, bk. 4, ch. 5,
passim), Burnet frequently conveyed his vision of Earth with a wealth of eschatological
biblical idiom.
39
Burnet 1684, 6 (bk. 1, ch. 1): “This Theory being chiefl y Philosophical, Reason
is to be our first Guide; and where that falls short, or any other just occasion offers
itself, we may receive further light and confirmation from the Sacred writings. . . . As
for Antiquity and the Testimonies of the Ancients, we only make general refl ections
upon them, for illustration rather than proof of what we propose; . . . .”
40
Burnet 1684, 70 (bk. 1, ch. 6).
41
Burnet 1684, 180 (bk. 2, ch. 1).
42
Burnet 1684, 94 (bk. 1, ch. 7).
For Burnet the Scriptures offered new opportunities to show the fruit-
fulness of a theory that asks new questions of Scripture passages and
opens up previously hidden meanings and unsuspected interpretations.
In another example, Burnet claimed that his theory of the Earth enabled
one to ascertain the true physical meaning of the reference to the rain-
bow after the Flood, in contrast to previous exegetes whose imaginations
were held captive to their impoverished physical understanding:
Nor ought we to wonder, that Interpreters have commonly gone the
other way, and suppos’d that the Rainbow was before the Flood; This I
say, was no wonder in them, for they had no Theory that could answer
to any other interpretation: And in the interpretation of the Texts of
Scripture that concern natural things, they commonly bring them down
to their own Philosophy and Notions: . . . .43
Therefore, for Burnet, theories provided boundaries for the interpreta-
tion of Scripture, not vice versa.
Burnet’s confidence in the competence of reason to determine the
correct interpretation of Scripture left him vulnerable to changing views
of nature. Ironically, Burnet had berated Augustine for not heeding his
own warning against linking Scripture too tightly with any particular
view of nature lest the latter be shown defective. For other Theorists,
Scripture might claim equal authority with nature when it spoke of
natural phenomena accompanying major historical events. Yet by
adopting Descartes’ conception of a theory as a chain of reasoning
from general causes, Burnet elevated the relative competence of reason,
making reason the arbiter of the language of Scripture. For writers
as varied as Augustine or Steno, the versatility of idiom that allowed
multiple competing literal interpretations of Scripture refl ected an
epistemology of limited certainty; for Burnet, idiom without a definitive
interpretation signaled a deficiency of reason, a lack of a true theory.
Because of his emphasis on the perspicuity and expansive competence
of reason, Burnet subordinated the interpretation of Scripture to natural
philosophy in a detailed concordism, constructing specific interpretations
that went far beyond the implications of the idiom.
For Burnet, natural philosophy explicated the causes underlying great
and wonderful phenomena, whether the phenomena were derived
from Scripture or nature, and thereby served as “the Key that unlocks
43
Burnet 1684, 238 (bk. 2, ch. 6).
44
Burnet 1684, 145 (bk. 1, ch. 11).
45
Burnet 1684, 274–275 (bk. 2, ch. 8).
46
Burnet 1684, 64 (bk. 1, ch. 5), italics added.
47
Burnet 1684, 62–63 (bk. 1, ch. 5).
48
Burnet 1684, 164–165 (bk. 1, ch. 12).
we cannot but repeat what we have partly observ’d before, How necessary
it is to understand Nature, if we would rightly understand those things in
holy Writ that relate to the Natural World. For without this knowledge,
as we are apt to think some things consistent and credible that are really
impossible in Nature; so on the other hand, we are apt to look upon other
things as incredible and impossible that are really founded in Nature.
And seeing every one is willing so to expound Scripture, as it may be to
them good sence, and consistent with their Notions in other things, they
are forc’d many times to go against the easie and natural importance of
the words, and to invent other interpretations more compliant with their
principles, and, as they think, with the nature of things.49
It is perhaps ironic for modern readers to observe that the author of
the Theory of the Earth that was most saturated with biblical idiom
actually rejected a “Bible-only” approach to the natural world as not
only wrong-headed but impossible. For Burnet, even a literal interpre-
tation of the Bible could not be achieved without the light of reason.
Burnet read nature, Scripture, and antiquity together in a concordist
fashion, yet not on equal terms: in natural philosophy, reason rather
than Scripture provided definitive resolution of confl icting interpreta-
tions and determined the specific meaning of any idiom.
49
Burnet 1684, 221–222 (bk. 2, ch. 4).
outer boundary of the Sun’s vortex as the firmament, and to the whirl-
ing fl uid of any vortex as the waters above or below the firmament.50
Descartes’ use of biblical idiom shows that at that time he read the two
books of nature and Scripture together. For Theorists like Descartes, the
use of idiom to suggest a compatibility between natural philosophy and
Scripture was necessary to legitimate a new theory, although multiple
interpretations remained possible because the natural philosophy and
biblical idiom were not inextricably joined. In the Prodromus (1669), Steno
introduced a minor role for a third book, the voice of antiquity, whose
possible utility was compromised by obscurity and unreliability.51 Yet for
Burnet, a detailed concordism between all three books was essential.
Indeed, antiquity became as important as Scripture, a point illustrated
by a tabulation of citations from the first English edition of The Theory
of the Earth (1684) in which Burnet cited ancient sources 102 times and
Scripture 101 times.52 Burnet developed the idiom of Scripture and
antiquity in very specific concordist interpretations.
Burnet differed from Descartes by asserting the need for reasoning
from evidence of actual effects rather than from causes alone.53 If so,
from where was that evidence to come? For Burnet as for many early
modern scholars, much relevant evidence came from texts. Anthony
Grafton has shown that the habits of humanist scholarship continued
to impact the new science long after the Renaissance. James Bono has
refuted the Baconian claim that in the seventeenth century an emerg-
ing scientific culture abandoned the bookish culture of exegetical and
commentary traditions and abruptly replaced it with an altogether
different approach.54 Practices and metaphors associated with textual
scholarship were prominent in natural history, as naturalists regarded
evidence obtained or questions formulated from antiquities, philology,
50
Descartes 1644, article 131.
51
Steno 1669. Steno repeatedly commented that nature and Scripture agree, or that
one affirms while the other is silent, occasionally noting the ambiguity of ancient secular
records. For example, Steno 1969, 208–209: “Nature demonstrates . . . while Scripture
does not contradict . . .; . . . Scripture is silent, and the history of nations regarding the
first ages after the deluge is regarded as doubtful by the nations themselves….”
52
For comparison, Burnet cited sources representing reason only five times; Magruder
2003, ch. 3.
53
Magruder 2003, 62–64, 93, 105; Magruder 2006, 245–252. Magruder 2006, 252:
“Burnet opened the door to reasoning from effects, and once opened, knowledge of
these effects might potentially come from any evidential source, whether classical texts,
astronomy, natural history, or local observations.”
54
Cf. Grafton 1991; Bono 1995.
55
Schneer 1954; Hooke 1705, 334–335; Taylor 2001; Rappaport 1982; Rappaport
1997.
outer layer (B) of the interior region. The exterior region included the
watery abyss as the white of the egg (C), and the outer crust as its
shell (D). According to Burnet the globe was not precisely spherical
but egg-shaped, with the polar diameter greater than the diameter at
the equator. Burnet’s global view (Figure 3, top) was depicted with a
greatly exaggerated scale in contrast to the corresponding view of the
paradisiacal globe in the frontispiece, all in order to convey the signifi-
cance he attributed to the idea of Earth as a mundane egg.
The ovoid figure of the Earth, elongated pole to pole, was put to
work in Burnet’s theory of the paradisiacal world. At that gentle time,
he argued, water vapors rose at the equator because of the intense heat
of the Sun.56 Because of the vigorous motion of their heated state the
vapors pushed toward the cooler poles, condensing there in an unin-
terrupted mist.57 In Burnet’s theory the liquid water condensing in the
polar lakes fl owed downhill toward the equatorial zones, which lie closer
to the Earth’s center. If the figure of the Earth were not elongated
at the poles, Burnet’s antediluvian water cycle would be impossible.
Because Burnet’s Theory of the Earth thus entailed an elongated figure
of the Earth, it helped popularize the notion that Descartes’ cosmology
required it as well.
The figure of the Earth as an egg-shaped globe, or prolate spheroid
elongated from pole to pole, was controversial but not essential to the
Cartesian system. Descartes himself seemed to favor it, and it was
endorsed by later vortex theorists such as Johann Bernoulli (1667–1748)
and Dortous de Mairan (1678–1771).58 Jacques Cassini (1677–1756)
and Jean-Dominique Cassini (1748–1825) empirically determined to
their satisfaction, on the basis of geodetic measurements in France, that
the Earth was elongated at the poles. While consistent with Descartes’
56
Burnet argued that the paradisiacal Earth diurnally rotated on its axis perpendicu-
larly to the plane of its revolution around the Sun, so that the equator coincided with
the ecliptic (i.e., the apparent path of the Sun). The present obliquity of the ecliptic
resulted from the crustal collapse at the Deluge. The tilting of Earth destroyed the
former world’s uniform climate, in which antediluvians had enjoyed a perpetual spring
without seasonal variations. Cf. Tuan 1968.
57
Thus there was no rain (or rainbow) before the Deluge, confirming Burnet’s
interpretation of the covenant of the rainbow in Gen. 9:13. In Burnet’s view, his
antediluvian water cycle was corroborated by the “mists” described in Gen. 2:5–6
(interpreted as a subterranean river gushing forth by Steno 1969, 205).
58
There was plausible physical reasoning for this conclusion involving the down-
ward pressure exerted by the vortex matter at the equator; cf. Descartes 1644, articles
23, 27.
Fig. 3. Burnet 1681, 46. Global view (top) and global section (below). The
Earth’s axis is horizontal, with poles on the sides. Image courtesy the History
of Science Collections, University of Oklahoma Libraries; copyright the Board
of Regents of the University of Oklahoma.
59
The Cartesian philosopher Christiaan Huygens predicted that the Earth was
instead an oblate spheroid, fl attened at the poles and bulging around the equator. See
Aiton 1972; Greenberg 1996; Terrall 2006.
60
Kubrin points out that Newton did not object in 1680 to Burnet’s prolate sphe-
roidal figure of the Earth. After learning of Hooke’s arguments for a larger equatorial
than polar diameter, Newton’s views changed. Kubrin documents that Hooke and John
Aubrey believed that after 1680 Newton obtained the idea of the oblate figure of the
Earth from Hooke; Kubrin 1968, 162–165.
61
Newton 1687, 421–422 (bk. 3, proposition 18).
62
Keill 1698, ch. 6. For the analogous effect of Maupertuis’s rhetoric in joining
Cartesian physics and the elongate spheroid in France see the works of Greenberg
and Terrall cited above.
ancient sayings about the world. Once this principle is granted, Burnet
continued, “do but refl ect upon our Theory of the Earth . . . and you
will need no other interpreter to understand this mystery. . . . we have
truly found out the Riddle of the Mundane Egg.”63 In the Latin edition
Burnet put his “general key” to work upon a large collection of classical
texts, showing to his satisfaction that ancient philosophers had regarded
the Earth, rather than the universe, as an oval.64 Even Moses subtly
hinted at the doctrine of the mundane egg, Burnet suggested, with the
description in Genesis 1 of the Spirit hovering over the water-covered
Earth like a brooding bird, as if it were incubating the generation of
the globe from chaos like an egg.65
The ancients wrote in a cryptic mode, as obscure as prophecy, Burnet
believed, and therefore interpretations of them are more prone to err
than either the conclusions of reason or the interpretation of didactic
passages of Scripture. We have seen that, for Burnet, a proper theory
must be obtained before one can make a fuller sense intelligible from
encoded idiom and the fragmented and puzzling statements of the
ancients or the obscure portions of Scripture. Yet a detailed concord-
ism of nature, Scripture, and antiquity should be possible if one has
hit upon the correct theory, and such a happy consilience was achieved
with his solution to the riddle of the mundane egg:
And considering that this notion of the Mundane Egg, or that the World
was Oviform, hath been the sence and Language of all Antiquity, Latins,
Greeks, Persians, Egyptians, and others. . . . Which being prov’d by Rea-
son, the laws of Nature, and the motions of the Chaos; then attested by
Antiquity, both as to the matter and form of it; and confirm’d by Sacred
Writers, we may take it now for a well-established truth, and proceed
upon this supposition. . . .66
The ability of Burnet’s Theory to unlock the secrets of Scripture and
antiquity provided two independent strands of evidence to assure
readers that his interpretation of the paradisiacal globe, which went
63
Burnet 1684, 270 (bk. 2, ch. 8); cf. Burnet 1681, 232.
64
Burnet 1681, 277 (bk. 2, ch. 10); cf. Burnet 1684, 65 (bk. 1, ch. 5). To show that
this was the view of the Orphic philosophers, the Phoenicians, the Egyptians, and the
Persians, Burnet surveyed a collection of ancient writers, including Eusebius, Plutarch,
Bacchicis, Athenagoras, Achilles Tatius, Aratus, Varro, Proclos, Plato, Zoroaster, Leucip-
pus, Anaxagoras, Parmenides, and Diodorus Siculus, repeatedly referring to Phoenician
Theology. Burnet 1681, 283.
65
Burnet 1681, 286.
66
Burnet 1684, 65 (bk. 1, ch. 5); cf. 274 (bk. 2, ch. 8).
67
Whiston 1696, 258–259. For Whiston’s Burnetian-style ovoid-Earth diagrams,
see Magruder 2000, 593ff.
68
Hooke 1705, 413. Kubrin wryly characterizes Hooke’s reliance upon literary
sources as an Omnium in Verba methodology in contrast to the alleged Nullus in Verba
motto of the Royal Society; Kubrin 1968, 152.
69
Whitehurst 1778; on Whitehurst’s use of prisca sapientia see Magruder 2000, 668ff.
Although not as openly, Hooke’s circle also included deists and discussions of deistic
ideas; cf. Poole 2006, 41–57.
70
For example, another argument correlated ancient testimony of climatic zones
and the antipodes with recent observations of the bandedness of Jupiter, which Burnet
reasoned might still persist in an unfallen state. See Magruder 2006, 248–249.
71
For a survey of the lures and perils of concordist explanations of the Noachian
deluge from the seventeenth century to the present see Young 1995.
72
Gadamer 1996, 401 explains: “language forces understanding into schematic
forms which hem us in.”
73
Gadamer 1996, 403. Gadamer notes that in the hermeneutical task “Interpretation
begins with fore-conceptions that are replaced by more suitable ones” (1996, 267).
74
Magruder 2003, 92; Magruder 2008.
75
For example, both interpretations of the firmament are found in Aquinas, who
suspended judgment between multiple possible interpretations on many occasions; cf.
Summa Theologiae 1a. 68, 3; Aquinas 1967, 10:85.
76
Although Burnet did occasionally refer to the starry heavens as the firmament, he
employed the traditional idiom loosely and only in contexts divorced from discussion
of Genesis 1. When discussing the interpretation of Genesis 1, Burnet exclusively used
firmament only to refer to the outer layer of Earth.
77
Nicolson 1959.
78
For example, see the map of the Garden of Eden in the 1560 Geneva Bible.
79
Cf. Magruder 2000, 192–194. One interesting example of diluvial symmetry is
Augustine, The Literal Meaning of Genesis, 1:33–34 and 1:75, in which Augustine employed
the same mechanisms not only for the third day and the Deluge but also for 2 Peter.
80
Burnet 1684, 8 (bk. 1, ch. 2).
81
Burnet 1690b, 45; cf. Burnet’s discussion of Genesis 1 (43–46).
82
See, for example, Kubrin 1968; Macklem 1958.
83
The letter is reprinted as Appendix 6 in Brewster 1855, 2:447–454; cf. 450: “a
sea might be made above ground in your own hypothesis before the fl ood, besides the
subterranean great deep, and thereby all difficulty of explaining rivers and the main
point in wch some may think you and Moses disagree might be avoyded.”
84
Brewster 1855, 451.
six days, Newton took exception to Burnet’s implication that God must
have created whales and other ocean life only after the deluge.85
In a critical work published in 1685, the year following the first
English edition of Burnet’s Theory of the Earth, Herbert Croft, Bishop
of Hereford, railed that Burnet must be affl icted with lunacy, a “grave
and sober madness.”86 Unimpressed with Burnet’s deployment of Car-
tesian natural philosophy and altogether repudiating a prisca sapientia,
Croft was most alarmed by Burnet’s abandonment of Genesis 1: “I
had not meddled with this man’s Theory, unless he had given me great
offence to see the Sacred Scriptures so abused, as to be made props to
support such a rotten tottering building, as his Theory.”87 Turning first
to Burnet’s crucial exposition of 2 Peter, Croft denied that the epistle
taught a major discontinuity between the antediluvian Earth and the
present one. Rather, Croft insisted, “here is nothing mentioning any
such diversity or opposition in the former Earth to the present Earth,
no more than in the former Heavens to the present Heavens.”88 Accord-
ing to Croft, Peter asserted a difference only for the form of judgment
they received: one by water, the other by fire. Indeed, he argued that
Peter glossed Genesis 1 and, taken literally, contradicted Burnet because
according to the epistle the antediluvian globe “stood part out of the
water, and part in the water,” as the Authorized Version stated, rather
than merely “consisting of ” water as Burnet had emended it.89 However,
the purpose of Peter was not to teach natural philosophy, and when
referring to “earth” he probably intended no more than the world of
the ungodly.90 Burnet remained free to try to establish his Petrine theory,
but he should not regard biblical texts as confirming it. Rather, reaf-
firming the relevance of the hexameral account, Croft emphasized that
there was simply no way to reconcile the gathering of the waters on the
85
Newton explained (Brewster 1855, 451): “if before ye fl ood there was no water
but that of rivers, that is, none but fresh water above ground, there could be no fish
but such as live in fresh water, and so one half of ye fift [sic] day’s work will be a non
entity, and God must be put upon a creation after ye fl ood to replenish one half of this
terraqueous globe wth whales, and all those other kinds of sea fish we now have.”
86
Croft 1685.
87
Croft 1685, 1.
88
Croft 1685, 31. Croft devoted his first forty-two pages to dispatching Burnet’s
“principal Text.”
89
Croft 1685, 33–34.
90
Croft 1685, 7, 22. Burnet pleaded for a literal interpretation of 2 Peter, but even
the literal interpretation of “earth” in that passage was ambiguous. Croft’s interpretation
was also literal, and there were others who interpreted “earth” in a figurative sense as
the Church, e.g., Fox 1722, 2: 993.
91
Croft 1685, 114.
92
Croft 1685, 153.
93
Burnet 1692. A partial translation into English, consisting of bk. 2, chs. 7–10,
appeared the same year; complete English translations appeared after his death in
1729 and 1736.
94
Croft 1685, Preface.
95
Blount 1695.
Conclusion
96
Blount 1695, 52.
of Earth history for half a century. Its immense importance to the his-
tory of geology lay not in any specific discoveries it reported but in the
new discourse it established for debating the history of Earth, and in its
embodiment of a directionalist historical sensibility couched in biblical
idiom. In establishing Theories of the Earth as a contested print tradi-
tion, Burnet precipitated a lively public discourse about which kinds of
evidence would turn out to be most relevant or most productive. In that
interdisciplinary debate various writers would appeal to a wide variety
of technical and empirical sources of evidence, and Burnet himself
seemed paramount in his use of evidence from ancient texts.
The abundance of idiom from ancient sacred and secular texts in
Burnet’s Theory of the Earth is a striking linguistic feature for a work of
natural philosophy in which reason provided the chief guide rather
than Scripture, and it refl ects how Burnet developed his arguments
in natural philosophy by means of an integrated reading of the three
books of nature, Scripture, and antiquity. New natural philosophical
theories such as his idea of the paradisiacal Earth were explored and
developed by means of idiom such as the mundane egg which, compel-
lingly presented, created a linguistic commons in which rival theories
could be engaged and comparatively assessed.
In addition to the way idiom provided a cognitive resource for the
development and presentation of theories, this paper has touched upon
how biblical and classical idiom, such as the mundane egg or the fir-
mament and the gathering of the waters, could facilitate intellectual
commerce, the exchange of ideas, across disciplinary contexts. Textual
idiom in Theories of the Earth accommodated the use of diverse
kinds of evidence from a variety of technical fields and philosophical
perspectives, including but not limited to Burnet’s Cartesian natural
philosophy, Cambridge Platonism and apocalyptic theology. While
hexameral idiom predominated in the tradition overall, the case of
Burnet shows that apocalyptic and non-biblical classical idiom were
also significant. The development of a textual tradition featuring a
shared classical and biblical idiom supported a common discourse and
debate despite the diversity of philosophical, cosmological, theological,
and technical orientations and the often heated polemics conducted
within that tradition. Burnet’s literal interpretation of 2 Peter clashed
with multiple contemporaneous literal interpretations of Genesis 1; this
tension shows that the use of Scripture in interpreting nature was not
simply a matter of deciding whether to interpret the Bible literally, but
a question of how to determine which passages to interpret literally
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nology, Ed. Duane H.D. Roller. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 209–227.
——. 1976. The Meaning of Fossils: Episodes in the History of Palaeontology. 2d ed. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
Schneer, Cecil J. 1954. The Rise of Historical Geology in the Seventeenth Century.
Isis 45: 256–268.
Steno, Nicolaus. 1669. De Solido Intra Solidvm Naturaliter Contento Dissertationis Prodromvs.
Florentiae: Ex Typographia sub signo Stellae.
——. 1969. De Solido Intra Solidum Naturaliter Contento Dissertationis Prodromus.
In Steno: Geological Papers, Trans. Alex J. Pollock, Ed. Gustav Sherz. Odense: Odense
University Press, 134–235.
Stillingfl eet, Edward. 1662. Origines Sacræ, Or, a Rational Account of the Grounds of Christian
Faith, as to the Truth and Divine Authority of the Scriptures and the Matters Therein Contained.
London: Pr. R.W. for Henry Mortlock.
Stephen D. Snobelen
1
For permission to quote from manuscripts in their archives, I gratefully acknowledge
the Syndics of the Cambridge University Library; the Jewish National and University
Library, Jerusalem; and the Provost and Fellows of King’s College, Cambridge. In
quotations from Newton’s manuscripts, Newton’s deletions are represented with strike
throughs, his insertions are placed within angle brackets and editorial additions are
placed within square brackets. An ever-increasing number of Newton’s theological
manuscripts, including many of those cited in this paper, can be found on the website
of the Newton Project. I am grateful for the useful advice of the two referees and the
two editors of this volume.
2
Newton scholars are indebted to I. Bernard Cohen for his valuable and ground-
breaking 1969 study of the continuing presence of theology in the three editions of
the Principia published during Newton’s lifetime. This study, which serves as one of
the starting points for my paper, demonstrates not only that theology was present in the
Principia even before the addition of the famous General Scholium in the second
edition of 1713, but also that some of the unpublished manuscript drafts of the first
edition of the Principia reveal that Newton was often thinking about the theological
corollaries of his mathematical physics even when he did not in the end explicitly
articulate them in his published work. See Cohen 1969.
3
Newton 1999, 814, n. cc.
4
Newton 1999, 408.
5
Newton 1999, 408–13.
the Scriptures. And they no less corrupt mathematics and philosophy who
confuse true quantities with their relations and common measures.6
In addition to asserting that a distinction between the absolute and the
relative must be maintained in the interpretation of the Scriptures as
well as physics, this paragraph also implies that a failure to recognize this
distinction in biblical hermeneutics will lead to corrupt interpretations.
What is more, the placement of a sentence on biblical hermeneutics in
a paragraph that otherwise discusses mathematics and physics implies
that Newton saw some sort of relationship between natural philosophy
and the interpretation of the Bible.
When he revised the Principia for the second edition, Newton removed
the word God (Deus) from the discussion of the densities of planets in
Book 3 and replaced the active verb attached to the word Deus (colloca-
vit) with the passive construction “were to be placed” (collocandi erant).7
Newton’s assertion of the need to distinguish between the absolute and
the relative in the interpretation of the Scriptures, on the other hand, is
a consistent feature of all three editions of the Principia. One of the aims
of this chapter is to suggest why Newton thought it important to include
a statement on the interpretation of the Scriptures in his Principia, a work
viewed by most as being exclusively devoted to mathematical physics. In
order to recover Newton’s rationale for doing so, several dynamics of his
thought must be reconstructed. This chapter begins with an outline of
some general principles of scriptural hermeneutics found in Newton’s
writings. After this, I discuss Newton’s strategies for interpreting both
the Genesis Creation and other scriptural texts that speak about the
natural and physical worlds. Particular attention is given to Newton’s
deployment of the hermeneutics of accommodation in his interpreta-
tion of scriptural passages describing astronomical phenomena and his
reconciliation of the Bible with the new knowledge coming from natural
philosophy. I also show how Newton’s use of accommodation relates
6
Newton 1999, 413–14. As Cohen expertly demonstrated in 1969, the 1930 Florian
Cajori revision of Andrew Motte’s 1729 English translation of Newton’s Principia
obscured this clear reference to the Bible (see Cohen 1969). As the above quotation
shows, the recent Cohen-Whitman translation restores this reference to the Bible to
the Principia.
7
For more detail, see Cohen 1969, 529–30. Newton more than compensated
for the removal of the word ‘God’ from this passage with the 1450-word General
Scholium added to the second edition of 1713. Accounts of the natural theology and
theology proper of the General Scholium can be found in Force 1990; Stewart 1996;
and Snobelen 2001.
8
While there is no prior study dedicated to Newton’s use of accommodationist
hermeneutics, shorter discussions are available in Mandelbrote 1994; Dobbs 1991,
57–66 (a section on the hexaemeral tradition); and Brooks 1976, 116–20.
9
See Snobelen 2008, as well as Barker 2008, England 2008a, 2008b, Finocchiaro
2008, Granada 2008, Harrison 2008, Howell 2008a, 2008b, Remmert 2008, van der
Meer & Oosterhoff 2008.
10
With respect to Catholicism, Copernicus’s De revolutionibus and Galileo’s Dialogue
were not removed from the Index of Prohibited Books until 1835, although Catholic
astronomers had been writing in defence of heliocentrism and the motion of Earth
for some time before this.
11
In his notes for a projected biography of Newton, John Conduitt wrote: “Sr I had
the happiness of being born in a land of liberty <& in an age> where he {might} speak
his mind—not afraid of {the} Inquisition as Galileo was for {saying} the sun stood
still & the earth {moved} his works not in danger of being expunged as DesCartes’s
was nor he obliged to go into another country as Descartes was into Holland to vent
his opinions” (Iliffe and Higgitt 2006, 1: 192).
12
One late example is found in Edwards 1697, 23. In this work the fiery Calvinist
theologian attacks the Newtonian William Whiston’s attempt to explain Creation using
Newtonian mechanisms. Roughly two decades later, Whiston and the instrument-maker
Francis Hauksbee, Jr. began advertising in London for a course on astronomy, the sur-
viving syllabus of which shows that the first two lectures were intended to demonstrate
“the Falsity” of the Ptolemaic and Tychonic systems and establish “[t]he Truth and
Certainty of the Copernican system” (Whiston and Hauksbee ca. 1718–1722). More
than three decades after Newton’s death, the Russian astronomer Mikhail Lomonosov,
an adherent of the Orthodox faith, felt it necessary to publish an addendum to his
1761 work on the transit of Venus in which he argues that Copernicanism does not
contradict the Bible when the latter is properly interpreted. See the English translation
by Colin Chant in Oster 2002, 236–40.
in the mid-1670s, Newton set out a series of rules for prophetic inter-
pretation. His ninth rule is “To prefer <choose> those interpretations
<constructions> wch without straining reduce things to the greatest
simplicity.” He goes on to elaborate:
Truth is ever to be found in simplicity, & not in ye multiplicity & confusion
of things. As ye world, wch to ye naked eye exhibits the greatest variety of
objects, appears very simple in its internall constitution when surveyed
by a philosophic understanding, & so much ye simpler by how much the
better it is understood, so it is in these visions. It is ye perfection of all
God’s works that they are all done wth ye greatest simplicity. He is ye God
of order & not confusion. And therefore as they that would understand ye
frame of ye world must indeavour to reduce their knowledg to all possible
simplicity, so it must be in seeking to understand these visions.13
Since God employed rules of simplicity in his writing of both books, so
both the student of nature and the investigator of the Scriptures must
follow the same rule: reduction to simplicity. Harmony exists between
the two books.
While simplicity may be at the core of biblical texts, Newton’s unpub-
lished writings suggest that he believed that only the spiritually astute
are able to arrive at this simple yet profound message. Remaining with
his treatise on the Apocalypse from the 1670s, Newton’s second rule of
prophetic interpretation is “To assigne but one meaning to one place
of scripture . . . unless,” he adds,
it be perhaps by way of conjecture, or where the literal sense is designed
to hide ye more noble mystical sense as a shell ye kernel untill such time
from being tasted either by unworthy persons, or untill such time as God
shall think fit.14
Newton goes on to elaborate on this rule, arguing that
[i]n this case there may be for a blind, a true literal sense, even such as
in its way may be beneficial to ye church. But when we have the principal
meaning: If it be mystical we can insist on a true literal sense no farther
then by history or arguments drawn from circumstances it appea[r]s to
be true.15
A prophetic text certainly may have both a literal and a mystical
meaning, but this must be established with more convincing reasons
13
Newton, Yahuda MS 1.1a, f. 14r.
14
Newton, Yahuda MS 1.1a, ff. 12r–v.
15
Newton, Yahuda MS 1.1a, f. 12v.
16
Newton, Yahuda MS 1.1a, f. 12v.
17
Newton, Yahuda MS 1.1a, f. 12v.
18
Newton, Yahuda MS 1.1a, f. 2v. Newton is paraphrasing Mark 4:11–12, in which
Christ alludes to the words of Isa. 6:9–10 (cf. Matt. 13:13–15 and Luke 8:10). In Acts
28:25–27, the Apostle Paul quotes the passage from Isaiah in his address to the Jewish
leaders of Rome.
19
Newton, Yahuda MS 1.1a, ff. 17r, 18r.
20
Newton, Keynes MS 3, pp. 2–3 (quotations from p. 3; see also pp. 11, 32, 39, 41,
43–44, 46, 51). There were many precedents for this distinction between fundamenta
(fundamentals) and adiaphora (indifferent things) in the thought of early modern Chris-
tian irenicists, including Desiderius Erasmus of Rotterdam. Newton here is basing this
argument on the scriptural precedent of Heb. 5:11–6:3.
21
Newton, “Advertissement au Lecteur,” Draft B (private collection), cited in Koyré
and Cohen 1962, 97. In this and the following quotation, I have adjusted the transcrip-
tion style of Koyré and Cohen to conform with that used elsewhere in this paper.
22
Newton, “Advertissement au Lecteur,” Draft D (Cambridge University Library
[hereinafter CUL], MS. Add. 3965, f. 289), cited in Koyré and Cohen 1962, 99. The
clarification within square brackets is my own.
23
Newton, Classical Scholia, in Schüller 2001, 221. For accounts of Newton’s Clas-
sical Scholia, see McGuire and Rattansi 1966 and Casini 1984.
24
Newton, in Schüller 2001, 235.
25
Newton CUL MS. Add. 3970 (B), f. 619r.
26
Newton 1999, 940–1. Clarification within square brackets added by the translators.
27
Newton 1999, 941.
called ‘God’ in the Scriptures (Ex. 4:16, 7:1), as Newton points out in
a footnote he added to the third (1726) edition.28 Certainly Moses is
not meant to be ‘God’ in an absolute or essential sense and it would
thus be a gross error to mistake the meaning of ‘God’ in these cases
as referring to the Almighty. To clarify his argument, at the point in
the text where he added his footnote on God, Newton suggests that
the word ‘God’ is like the word ‘lord,’ albeit stressing that “every lord
is not a god.”29 As is more immediately obvious with ‘lord,’ this term
is relative and its precise meaning does not emerge from a fixed, native
and universal meaning in the word itself, but must be determined
by context and qualifications in the form of adjectives and the like.
Because this word is fl exible in this way, one can have both a human
lord (something Newton’s argument seems to imply) and a supreme
Lord (that is, the Almighty).30 The term ‘God’ operates in a similar
way. All this demonstrates that Newton believed that the recognition
of a distinction between absolute and relative meanings of words is of
pivotal importance to biblical hermeneutics.31
The fourth category of distinction is accommodation. Like other
exegetes and natural philosophers from his era and before, Newton
believed that the Bible sometimes accommodates its language to the
sensibilities of the vulgar. One example of this comes in his interpre-
tation of the accounts of demon possession in the synoptic Gospels.
The demons that Christ cast out were not in reality evil spirit beings,
but rather “distempers of ye mind,” or, as we would say today, mental
illnesses:
From this figure of putting serpents for spirits & spirits or Dæmons for
distempers of ye mind, came ye vulgar opinion of ye Jews & other east-
ern nations that mad men & lunaticks were possessed with evil spirits or
Dæmons. Whence Christ seems to have used this language not only as
a Prophet but also in compliance wth ye Jews way of speaking: so yt when
he is said to cast out Devils it cannot be known by this phra those Devils
may be nothing but diseases unles it can be proved by the circumstances
that they are sp substantial spirits. For the cure of a Lunatique is called
language of . . . casting out a spirit is used for ye cure of a Lunatique Matt
17. 15, 18, 19.32
28
Newton 1999, 941 n. g.
29
Newton 1999, 941.
30
Newton 1999, 941.
31
For more detail on Newton’s argument about ‘God’ as a relative term, see
Snobelen 2001.
32
Newton, Yahuda MS 9.1, f. 21v.
The use of the term ‘demon’ in these texts does not assert the abso-
lute reality of the demons popularly believed to exist by many Jews
in the time of Christ; instead Christ is merely adjusting his speech to
the language of contemporary vulgar demonology. In other words,
Christ accommodated his speech and actions to conform to folk belief.
As a prophet, Christ was well able to distinguish between this relative
language and the absolute reality (namely, that demons have no onto-
logical existence); it is just that in this case doing so did not serve the
purpose immediately at hand.33 One folio earlier in the same manuscript,
Newton applies this same argument to the symbols of the dragon and
serpent in the Apocalypse:
A Dragon or serpent, if called ye old serpent or ye Devil signifies the
spirit of error delusion & inordinate affections reigning in the world.
ffor spirits good or evil are sometimes put for the tempers dispositions &
persuasions of mens minds <much after ye manner that we often take
death for a substance>.34
Here Newton identifies the propensity in human language to hypostatize,
personify and substantify abstractions. The dragon of the Apocalypse
is a disposition, not a living being. Death is a condition, not something
substantial. To use such language is well and good; after all, no less
an authoritative text than the Bible does. What is wrong is to read
this language mistakenly in an overly literal or absolutist manner. The
language points to personification (the figurative) not real personalities
(the literal). The astute reader and believer will recognize these crucial
distinctions.
Immediately before penning the above-cited passage about demons,
Newton argued against the view that the serpent that deceived Eve in
the Garden of Eden was merely a symbol for a real, personal devil; if
this were true, it would involve the punishing of “one thing for anothers
fault, & <to> make ye signe suffer in a litteral sense for the crime of
the thing signified: wch is absurd & unagreeable to the nature & Designe
of Parables.” Instead, when the ancient sages wanted to represent one
thing by another thing, “they framed a Metamorphosis of the one
into the other.” When Moses wrote the Genesis Creation account he
adopted this mode of discourse. He concludes: “This was their way of
33
For more on Newton’s demonology and diabology, see Snobelen 2004.
34
Newton, Yahuda MS 9.1, ff. 19v–20v.
making Parables, & Moses in this Parable of the Serpent speaks in the
language of ye ancient sages wise men, being skilled in all the learn-
ing of the Egyptians.”35 Thus, the biblical prophets, and preeminently
Moses whom Newton believed had training in philosophy, wrote some
of their texts in such a way that a literal, relative, conventional, or cus-
tomary meaning could be found at the surface even while a spiritual
or absolute meaning might be implied or discovered hidden in the
depths beneath.
One of the pillars of Newton’s accommodationist hermeneutics is his
belief that the Bible is written primarily for unlearned, common people.
In a manuscript in which he argues against infusing metaphysical and
philosophical meanings into the biblical names and titles of Christ,
Newton argues that the Old Testament must be the guide:
So then for understanding these names of Christ, we are to have recourse
unto the old Testament & to beware of vain Philosophy. For Christ sent
his Apostles, not to teach Metaphysicks & Philosophy to the common
people & to their wives & children, but to teach what he had taught them
out of Moses & the Prophets & Psalms concerning himself.36
While Newton’s argument here is related to his belief that Trinitarian-
ism is the result of a corruption of biblical doctrine that involved the
illegitimate intrusion of mainly Greek philosophical distinctions and
categories, it is clear that Newton adhered generally to the belief that
the primary meaning of the Scriptures is the meaning immediately
accessible to the uneducated. In another manuscript Newton repeats
in general terms his argument that the Gospel preached in the New
Testament is directed to the common people, but also adds other ele-
ments. He writes:
The Christian religion was <preached> by Christ & his Apostles to the
meanest of the people & therefore was suited to theire capacity; And
what it now <conteins> above their understanding has been introduced
<since> by men of learning.37
35
Newton, Yahuda MS 9.1, f. 21v. Cf. Newton, Yahuda MS 41, f. 25v.
36
Newton, Sotheby’s Lot 255.8, f. 1r (private collection). I am grateful to Jean-François
Baillon for granting me access to his transcriptions from this manuscript. A close parallel
to this statement can be found in Newton, Keynes MS 3, 32. See also the first “Quære”
of Keynes MS 11, f. 1r: “Whether Christ sent his Apostles to preach Metaphysicks to
the unlearned common people & to their wives & children.” An examination of Keynes
MS 11 demonstrates that Newton intended the answer to be negative.
37
Newton, Yahuda MS 15.5, f. 99r.
38
Newton may be alluding here to his belief that philosophically-trained leaders in
the early post-Apostolic Church ruined the simple truths of Christianity (which included
pure monotheism) with the nice distinctions and abstractions of Hellenic thought (which
in turn helped lead to the rise of the corrupt Trinitarian doctrine).
39
Newton 1983.
40
Newton’s interest in alchemy began in the 1660s, after which time he experimented
in alchemy for at least thirty years.
41
Newton in Dobbs 1991, 305.
42
For an expert analysis of Newton’s correspondence with Burnet, see Mandel-
brote 1994. Mandelbrote places the correspondence within its historical context and
also discusses the different ways in which Newton and Burnet were committed to the
hermeneutics of accommodation.
for advice on their contents around this time.43 Burnet’s work deployed
Cartesian physics to explicate the Mosaic Creation and the Noachic
Flood.44 Unfortunately, the extant record of the correspondence is
defective. What survives is a 13 January 1681 reply from Burnet to a
24 December 1680 letter written by Newton and an undated reply by
Newton to Burnet’s 13 January 1681 letter. Burnet’s letter of 13 Janu-
ary 1681 contains a 139-word quotation from Newton’s 24 December
1680 letter, along with some allusions to it; Newton’s reply to Burnet’s
13 January 1681 also includes some allusions to his 24 December 1680
letter that give some sense of its contents.45
The portion of Newton’s 24 December 1680 letter quoted by Burnet,
albeit short, contains some important illustrative features. Newton speaks
of the effects of the heat of the Sun on the original chaos of Earth,
along with “ye pressure of ye vortex or of ye Moon upon ye Waters,”
and how these might have brought about some of the “inequalities”
in the surface of the earth, with the waters draining to the parts made
low and the areas in the upper regions of the earth around its poles
becoming dry land.46 Aside from the interesting fact that this argument
helps confirm that Newton was at that time still working with some
conceptions derived from Cartesian physics, it is clear that Newton had
begun to think in terms of what natural causes might have brought
about the features of the earth described in the Mosaic account. The
second argument presented in the fragment is that the original diurnal
revolutions of Earth around the time of Creation might “have been very
slow, soe yt ye first 6 revolutions or days might containe time enough
for ye whole Creation” and so that there would be enough time for
43
On this, see Mandelbrote 2006a, 345. Charles II viewed the work with favor and
requested an English edition. The first two books appeared in English guise in 1684
and the final two books, with revised versions of the first two books, were printed in
1689 in Latin and English. Burnet’s Sacred Theory elicited a great deal of controversy,
including a range of literary responses. One of the most significant of these is Whiston’s
New Theory of 1696. Whiston, a convert to Newton’s physics and a one-time admirer
of Burnet’s book, presented in his book a Newtonian counter-theory in part to com-
bat Burnet’s Cartesianism, which had become outmoded with the publication of the
Principia. Whiston argued that his Newtonian accounts of Creation, the Flood, and
the final confl agration were consistent with the biblical record.
44
For background on Burnet’s Sacred Theory and other contemporary accounts of
the origin of Earth, see Mandelbrote 1994, 152–7 and Redwood 1996, 116–32. For
more detail on Whiston’s New Theory, see Force 1985 and Farrell 1981.
45
The entire extant correspondence can be found in Newton 1959–1977, 2: 319,
321–35.
46
Newton 1959–1977, 2: 319.
47
Newton 1959–1977, 2: 319.
48
Burnet to Newton, 13 January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 322.
49
Burnet to Newton, 13 January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 323.
50
Burnet to Newton, 13 January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 323.
51
Burnet to Newton, 13 January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 323.
52
Burnet to Newton, 13 January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 324.
53
Cf. Mandelbrote 1994, 157–8.
54
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 331.
55
If compared to modern Christian interpretation of the Genesis Creation, Burnet’s
approach would stand for an almost complete rejection of concordism (allowing only
Thus where [Moses] speaks of two great lights I suppose he means their
apparent, not real greatness. So when he tells us God placed those lights
in ye firmament, he speaks I suppose of their apparent not of their real
place, his business being not to correct the vulgar notions in matters
philosophical but to adapt a description of ye creation as handsomly as
he could to ye sense & capacity of ye vulgar.56
This example tells us two things. First, for Newton an astute reading
of the Mosaic Creation will allow for the distinction between the abso-
lute (the perspective of philosophy) and the relative (the perspective
of the vulgar). The Sun and the Moon of the fourth day of Creation
are described as to their relative appearance from the perspective of
humans on Earth. While a philosopher will be able to determine their
absolute luminosity and location, this is a mode of meaning with
which Moses did not concern himself, given that he was writing for
farmers and herdsmen, not philosophers. Second, despite the fact that
Newton believes Moses accommodates his language for the sake of the
unlearned, the Genesis Creation nevertheless describes physical real-
ity insofar as it provides—at one level—a true natural history of early
Earth after allowances are made for the phenomenalistic language that
mirrors the appearances of things rather than absolute reality.
Newton goes on to discuss the description of the creation of the Sun,
the Moon, and stars on the fourth day (Gen. 1:14–19) in relation to
the rest of the account. Although the heavenly bodies are described as
made on the fourth day, Newton does not believe “their creation from
beginning to end was done ye fourth day nor in any one day of ye
creation.” Nor is Moses concerned about describing them absolutely as
physical bodies in their own right, some of which are larger than Earth
and “perhaps habitable worlds,” but only relatively as luminaries that
give light to Earth.57 What is more, their creation cannot be assigned
to any one particular day of Creation. Nevertheless, they belong to the
world of appearances:
yet being a part of ye sensible creation wch it was Moses’s design to
describe & it being his design to describe things in order according to
ye succession of days allotting no more then one day to one thing, they
that the Genesis Creation describes the world that now is), while Newton’s stance
would be considered an example of moderate concordism (allowing that there is some
agreement between Genesis 1 and the history of Earth).
56
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 331.
57
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 331.
were to be referred to some day or other & rather to ye 4th day then any
other if the air then first became clear enough for them to shine through
it & so put on ye appearance of lights in ye firmament to enlighten the
earth.58
Newton here hints at some sort of literary framework that helps dictate
where each created thing is mentioned in the text. He also posits that
the Sun, Moon, and stars are assigned to the fourth day because it was
at this time in the history of Earth that they were first visible through
the atmosphere. Until their appearance in the heavens they could not
be described as lights, even though it is possible their creation was not
complete even by the fourth day. Newton finds this argument plausible,
but not Burnet’s completely fictional reading: “for Moses to describe ye
creation of seas [on the third day] when there was no such thing done
neither in reality nor in appearance me thinks is something hard.”59 For
Newton, the Mosaic account must deal either in reality or appearance.
Burnet’s interpretation allows for neither.
Later in his letter, Newton further clarifies his position on the creation
of the Sun, Moon, and stars:
And now while the new planted vegetables grew to be food for Animals,
the heavens becoming clear for ye Sun in ye day & Moon & starrs in ye
night to shine distinctly through them on the earth & so put on ye form
of lights in ye firmament so that had men been now living on ye earth
to view ye process of ye creation they would have judged those lights
created at this time.60
Newton here expresses an interest in teleology in the order of Creation:
vegetation (created on the third day) must come before animals (created
on the sixth day). His concern for realism is evident in his argument that
the account of the fourth day conforms to the hypothetical perspective
of a human observer on Earth. Newton continues:
Moses here sets down their creation as if he had then lived & were now
describing what he saw. Omit them he could not wthout rendering his
description of ye creation imperfect in ye judgment of ye vulgar. To
describe them distinctly as they were in them selves would have made
ye narration tedious & confused, amused ye vulgar & become a Philoso-
pher more then a Prophet. He mentions them therefore only so far as
ye vulgar had a notion of them, that is as they were phænomena in our
58
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 331.
59
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 332.
60
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 333.
firmament, & describes their making only so far & at such a time as they
were made such phænomena. Consider therefore whether any one who
understood the process of ye creation & designed to accommodate to ye
vulgar not an Ideal or poetical but a true description of it as succinctly
& theologically as Moses has done, without omitting any thing material
wch ye vulgar have a notion of or describing any being further then the
vulgar have a notion of it, could mend that description wch Moses has
given us.61
Once again, Newton steers between the Charybdis of philosophical
literalism and the Scylla of idealism to argue for a concise “theologi-
cal” mode of discourse that is attuned to realism and thus satisfies the
vulgar. Key to Newton’s understanding of the text is that Moses’ role
in providing an account of Creation under inspiration is primarily that
of a prophet rather than a philosopher. And, importantly for Newton,
the Genesis Creation is also a “true description” of the “process of
creation.” While Burnet argued that Moses taught the moral truth of
Creation alone, Newton was convinced that the Mosaic cosmogony
conveyed both the theological truths and the physical realia of the acts
of Creation, allowing for the fact that the latter elements were presented
through the filter of common speech.
It is noteworthy that Newton employs the verb “accommodate”
in his discussion of the literary strategy of Moses.62 Newton uses the
verb a second time to affirm accommodation as he continues from the
above-quoted passage to complete the paragraph. In this extension of
his discussion on accommodation, he provides other examples from the
account of the Noachic Flood that help clarify his meaning:
If it be said that ye expression of making & setting two great lights
in ye firmament is more poetical then natural: so also are some other
expressions of Moses, as where he tells us the windows or fl oodgates of
heaven were opened Gen 7 & afterwards stopped again Gen 8 & yet
the things signified by such figurative expressions are not Ideall or moral
but true. For Moses accommodating his words to ye gross conceptions
of ye vulgar, describes things much after ye manner as one of ye vulgar
would have been inclined to do had he lived & seen ye whole series of
wt Moses describes.63
61
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 333.
62
Burnet also uses the term. The verb “accommodate,” along with its cognate
adjectives “inaccommodate” and “accommodate,” is used by Burnet in his 13 Janu-
ary 1681 letter to Newton (Burnet to Newton, 13 January 1681, Newton 1959–1977,
2: 323, 325, 326).
63
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 333.
64
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 329–31.
65
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 334.
66
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 333–4.
67
Newton to Burnet, ca. January 1681, Newton 1959–1977, 2: 334. Newton is
alluding to Ex. 20:8–11; verse 11 describes God making heaven and earth in six days
and resting on the seventh. As Mandelbrote suggests, Newton may reveal an element
of his heterodoxy to Burnet, since his argument seems to imply that Christians kept
the Sabbath rather than Sunday for three hundred years after the time of Christ
(Mandelbrote 1994, 159–60).
68
Newton’s approach is similar to that outlined a decade and a half later by his
disciple William Whiston in Whiston 1696, a Newtonian cosmogony intended in part to
counter the Cartesianism of Burnet’s work. In an introductory essay entitled “A discourse
concerning the nature, stile, and extent of the Mosaick history of the Creation” (1–94),
Whiston argues that the language of the Genesis account of Creation is accommo-
dated to human understanding and thus Genesis 1 must not be read as a philosophical
account. But neither is the account merely parabolic or mythological (Burnet would
have been one of the targets of this declaration). Instead, Whiston argues for a form
of moderate accommodation that upholds a sort of third way in which Genesis 1 is
seen as depicting a true natural history of Creation. This moderate accommodationist
position is based in part on his belief that the Genesis Creation uses phenomenalistic
language and assumes a terrestrial perspective. Whiston states the main thesis of his
introductory essay at the end of its second paragraph: “The Mosaick Creation is not
a Nice and Philosophical account of the Origin of All Things; but an Historical and
True Representation of the formation of our single Earth out of a confused Chaos,
and of the successive and visible changes thereof each day, till it became the habitation
of Mankind” (Whiston 1696, 3). Force 1985 discusses Whiston’s “middle way.”
69
“Systema corporum coelestium in sacris literis minime doceri.” Newton, CUL MS
Add. 3965, f. 542v, in Cohen 1969, 526 (Cohen’s translation).
70
“Nihil obstare quo minus Terra pro lege Planetarum circa solem moveatur.
Diluuntur objectiones ex sacris litteris.” Newton, CUL MS Add. 3965, f. 542v, in Cohen
1969, 526 (Cohen’s translation).
71
“Diluunter objectiones ex mechanica.” Newton, CUL MS Add. 3965, f. 542v, in
Cohen 1969, 527 (Cohen’s translation).
72
Galileo, Letter to the Grand Duchess Christina, in Finocchiaro 1989, 114–18.
73
A full transcription of this manuscript, with brief notes, is published in Cohen
1969, 544–8. I have produced my own transcription of the manuscript from the original,
but include cross-references to Cohen’s published transcription in the notes below.
74
Cohen 1969, 542.
75
Cohen does, however, briefl y refer to the principle in Galileo’s Letter to the Grand
Duchess Christina that the Bible is written for the vulgar when commenting on Newton’s
reference to the Scriptures in the Scholium on the Definitions in the Principia (Cohen
1969, 525–6, 534 n. 13).
the true system of the world the main Question is whether the earth
do rest or be moved.”76
In another manuscript dating from the same period Newton used
the expression “true systeme” to refer to the heliocentric solar system.77
Thus it is clear that he is ultimately thinking in terms of the entire
solar system even though his discussion focuses on the question of the
motion of Earth. Newton continues: “For deciding this some bring
texts of scripture, but in my opinion misinterpreted, the Scriptures
speaking not in the language of Astronomers (as they think) but in that
of ye common people to whom they were written.” Here those aware
of the long history of accommodationist hermeneutics will find them-
selves on familiar terrain: Newton is echoing (perhaps consciously in
some cases) the venerable arguments found in Augustine, Maimonides,
Calvin, Kepler, Galileo, and others.78 One should not expect to find
astronomical discourse in a book written in the idiom of the unlearned
and untrained.
Newton next presents his first category of misinterpreted Scripture,
examples used to support the sphericity and immobility of Earth:
So where tis said that God hath made ye round world so fast that it cannot
be moved, the Prophet intended not to teach Mathematicians the spherical
figure of the whole & immoveableness of the whole earth & sea in the
heavens but to tell the vulgar in their own dialect that God had made
the great continent of Asia Europe & Africa so fast upon its foundations
in the great Ocean that it cannot be moved therein after the manner of
a fl o<a>ting Island. For this Continent was the whole habitable world
anciently known & by ye ancient eastern nations was accounted round
or circular as was also the sea encompassing it.79
Those hoping to find positive sanction in the Scriptures for a spheri-
cal and immovable earth are misguided, for the inspired authors are
not writing for mathematicians or about things absolute in the natural
world. At the same time, the language does have a literal referent: the
round continental mass the ancient eastern people believed constituted
76
Newton, CUL MS. Add. 4005, f. 39r; Cohen 1969, 544.
77
Newton, Yahuda MS 41, f. 7r.
78
On accommodation, see Barker 2008, England 2008a, 2008b, Finocchiaro 2008,
Granada 2008, Harrison 2008, Howell 2008a, 2008b, Remmert 2008, van der Meer
& Oosterhoff 2008.
79
Newton, CUL MS Add. 4005, f. 39r; Cohen 1969, 544. The references Newton
gives for the underlined text are Ps. 93:2 and Psa. 96:10 (the first is a mistake for
Ps. 93:1). Newton is not quoting from the King James Version.
the entire inhabited world. Newton bolsters this argument with a series
of biblical texts that speak about the “foundations” of Earth.80 After
writing out these supporting passages, Newton concludes:
So then the round world spoken of in scriptures is such a world as hath
foundations <& is founded in the waters> & by consequence ’tis not the
whole globe of the Earth & Sea but only the habitable dry land. For the
whole Globe hath no foundations, but this <habitable> world is founded
in the seas. And since this world by reason of the firmness of its founda-
tions is said in scripture to be immoveable this immoveableness cannot be
of ye whole globe together, but only of its parts one amongst another &
signifies nothing more than that those parts are firmly compacted together
so that the dry land or Continent of Europe Asia & Africk cannot be
moved upon the main body of ye globe on wch tis founded.81
Once again, while Newton denies that passages that appear to speak
about the immovableness of Earth can be used to support the geostatic
model, he is nevertheless adamant that the Scriptures are speaking
about physical reality. This conforms to the policy he laid down over
a decade earlier in his correspondence with Burnet. Moreover, he will
admit no confl ict with the findings of astronomy and, in asserting that
the globe is without foundation, relies on knowledge that comes from
astronomy.
The second paragraph of this manuscript deals with the abuse of math-
ematics to prove the immobility of Earth. Newton argues that another
set of arguments against Earth’s mobility is based on our senses. He
insists that “this way of arguing proceeds from want of skill & judgment
in Mathematical things, & therefore is insisted upon only by the com-
mon people & some <such> practical mathematicians <as understand
not so much as the principles of Mechanicks>,” for our senses cannot
tell us if Earth is in motion any more than “a blinded Mariner” can
determine whether a ship is moving “fast or slow or not at all.”82 The
third and final paragraph declares that neither arguments from the
Scriptures nor those based on sensation are sufficient to determine a
question such as the mobility of Earth. For this reason
80
These are, in order of appearance in Newton’s text: 2 Pet. 3:5, Ps. 102:25, Prov.
8:29, Job 38:4, Ps. 24:1,2, Ps. 136:6, Ps. 89:12, Prov. 8:27,29, Ps. 104:5 (Newton, CUL
MS Add. 4005, ff. 39r–40r; Cohen 1969, 545).
81
Newton, CUL MS Add. 4005, f. 40r; Cohen 1969, 545–6.
82
Newton, CUL MS Add. 4005, ff. 40r–41r; Cohen 1969, 546.
’tis fit we should lay aside these & the like vulgar prejudices & have
recourse to some strickt & proper way of reasoning. Now the Question
being about motion is a mathematical one & therefore requires skill in
Mathematicks to decide it.83
The tremendous mathematical skill required helps explain the relative
lack of progress made by the ancients in astronomy, but since the recent
revival and progress of this discipline, “some able Mathematicians as
Galileo & Hugenius have carried it on further then ye Ancients did.”
What is more, he adds:
Mr Newton to advance it fur enough for his purpose has spent the two
first of his three books in demonstrating new Propositions about force &
motion before he begins to consider the systeme from the Propositions
demonstrated in the two first.84
This reference to the Principia mathematica helps establish the authority
of his own work in setting out absolute truths about the workings of
the heavens and Earth.85
83
Newton, CUL MS Add. 4005, f. 41r; Cohen 1969, 546.
84
Newton, CUL MS Add. 4005, f. 41r; Cohen 1969, 547.
85
If Newton’s “Account of the Systeme of the World” was written in the early
1690s, as suggested by Cohen, it would be doubly significant that several of its positions
parallel those found in the prefatory essay to his disciple Whiston’s 1696 New Theory,
especially since Newton read Whiston’s text in manuscript and apparently approved of
it. James Force has argued that the New Theory also refl ects many of Newton’s beliefs,
including those he held privately. See Force 1985. Further evidence for this can be
found in Snobelen 2000, section 2.2. (This is not to say that differences do not exist
between Newton and Whiston, for they do). In his prefatory “Discourse concerning the
Mosaick history of the Creation,” Whiston states in the Scriptures the celestial bodies
“are no otherwise . . . described than with relation to our Earth, and as Members and
Appurtances of our Atmosphere” (Whiston 1696, 18). He goes on to discuss briefl y the
scriptural examples of descriptions of astronomical phenomena in Gen. 1:3–5, 14–17;
Acts 2:20; Matt. 24:29; Josh. 10:12; Ps. 19:4–6; Ps. 104:1ff; and Isa. 40:22 (18–19). After
this he asserts: “All which Expressions, with many others through the whole Bible, plainly
shew, That the Scripture did not intend to teach men Philosophy, or accommodate it
self to the true and Pythagorick System of the World” (Whiston 1696, 19).
86
Cohen was the first to identify this important parallel (Cohen 1969, 527).
87
Newton, CUL MS Add. 3965, in Cohen 1969, 527 (Cohen’s translation from the
original Latin; insertion in square brackets by Cohen).
88
Newton to Henry Oldenburg, 22 August 1676, Newton 1959–1977, 3: 83.
89
See Snobelen 2008.
that when Newton wrote in the Principia about corrupt readings of the
Bible derived from a failure to distinguish between the absolute and
the relative, he was at the very least thinking of biblical passages that
discuss natural phenomena, including those in the Genesis Creation.
The Bible speaks about the sensible world, not the world of absolute
realities. As he wrote in the published version of the Scholium on the
Definitions shortly before the statement on the Scriptures:
Relative quantities, therefore, are not the actual quantities whose names
they bear but are those sensible measures of them (whether true or
erroneous) that are commonly used instead of the quantities being
measured.90
By including this general argument in his Principia, Newton was also
confirming that such considerations were relevant to his great work of
mathematical physics. But this manuscript draft also reveals something
else the published version of the Scholium on the Definitions does not.
By noting that the common people, unlike the wise, “do not know how
to abstract their thoughts from their senses” and thus deal only with
“relative quantities,” Newton was also affirming his belief in the social
corollary to the distinction between the relative and the absolute.
In the discussion above, attention was drawn to the linguistic argu-
ment on the relative nature of the term ‘God’ that Newton included in
the General Scholium. It was his contention that one must take the rela-
tive nature of this word into consideration if one desired an authentic
understanding of its scriptural usage. When used of the Almighty, the
term ‘God’ is used in relation to his dominion, not his essence (although
the reality of the latter is not denied).91 In a manuscript parallel to the
General Scholium, Newton declares: “ffor the word God relates not to
the metaphysical nature of God but to his dominion.”92 One aspect of
the usage of ‘God’ in the Bible that reveals it to be a relative term is
its application to beings other than the one true God. Newton’s anti-
Trinitarianism comes into play here,93 for his understanding of the word
90
Newton 1999, 413.
91
Newton did believe that God had some sort of substantial existence in absolute
reality, for he uses the Latin substantia when speaking about the reality of God’s omni-
presence in the General Scholium (Newton 1999, 941).
92
Newton, Yahuda MS 15.5, f. 154r.
93
In saying this, I am not arguing that Newton’s anti-Trinitarianism arose directly
out of his arguments about the relative nature of the term ‘God’ or, more broadly, his
use of accommodation only that it is tied up with these dynamics.
94
In the General Scholium, Newton gives the example of the Hebrew judges
mentioned in Ps. 82:6 and by citing John 10:35 indirectly alludes to the example of
Christ, who is called “God” a handful of times in the New Testament (Newton 1999,
941 n. g). Unlike Trinitarian exegetes, who consider these applications of “God” to
Christ to be absolute uses of the term in which the word refers to the unique essence
of God (in which case Christ would be God in essence rather than in some titular,
honorary or derived way), Newton’s private belief was that the word ‘God’ is used
of Christ only in a relative and non-essential sense that befitted his status as Messiah
and that such usage does not point to Christ being “true God from true God” in the
orthodox Trinitarian sense (see Snobelen 2001, 180–6). By mistaking a relative sense
of the term ‘God’ when used of Christ for an absolute sense, Trinitarian hermeneutics
resulted in doctrinal error. Newton nevertheless seems to have believed that the term
had an absolute sense when applied exclusively to the Father. Thus, in a list of twelve
statements on God and Christ apparently dating from the 1670s, Newton writes: “The
word God <put absolutly> without particular restriction to ye Son or Holy ghost
doth always signify the Father from one end of the scriptures to ye other” (Newton,
Yahuda MS 14, f. 25r). While we should be cautious in using this much earlier text
to clarify an argument made four decades later, this declaration does not necessarily
contradict the apparently categorical statement he makes in the General Scholium
about the word ‘God’ being a relative term (while Newton never explicitly states in
this text that the term can be absolute as well, this may be implied). Since the term
is defined by its relations it can be rendered absolute by adjectives and qualifications
such as “supreme,” “eternal,” “infinite,” “omnipotent,” and “omniscient,” as he hints
in the same text (Newton 1999, 940–1). As to the reality behind the language, in an
unpublished manuscript draft of the footnote on the word “God” added to the General
Scholium in 1726, Newton quotes from and glosses 1 Cor. 8:4–6 to state that while
there are “gods many and lords many,” the true God (“our God”) is a spiritual being
(“Ens spirituale”) who is One and who Newton identifies as the Father (Newton, New
College Oxford MS 361.2, f. 71r). In other words, there is a Being who is God in an
absolute sense and this is the Father alone. If this had been stated in the published
version of the General Scholium, Newton would have made his anti-Trinitarian explicit.
In sum, it is precisely because the term ‘God’ requires such qualifications to provide
specific meanings that it is shown to be a fundamentally relative word.
95
Newton’s handling of the concept of substance should be seen in the light of his
opposition to the received doctrine of the Trinity (which asserts that the Father, Son,
and Holy Spirit are united in one substance). For Newton, Christ and the Father are not
united in a metaphysical unity of one substance, but a monarchical unity of dominion
(see Snobelen 2001). Again, it is instructive that Newton embraces conceptions of God
and his Son that are based on relations to which humans have some access (e.g., God’s
Providence) rather than realities to which we do not (e.g., God’s divine substance).
96
Newton 1999, 942.
97
Newton 1999, 942.
98
Newton 1999, 942–3. Although this is not made explicit in Newton’s text, every
example of the allegorical language listed here can be found in the Bible.
99
Several significant examples, including some alluded to here, are outlined in
Snobelen 2008. A useful evaluation of Newton’s use of patristic writings, including an
assessment of the presence of these works in his library, can be found in Mandelbrote
2006b.
100
This is not to say that the mere ownership of books and citation of particular
authors implies agreement, for it is evident that Newton did read these sources criti-
cally. For instance, while it is possible that Newton may have benefited from Augustine’s
writings on Genesis, he nevertheless brands him as a papist (Newton, Keynes MS 11, f.
1v). While Newton often used the authors identified here merely as historical sources,
his use of at least some of them likely exposed him to historical examples of accom-
modationist hermeneutics.
101
Harrison 1978, item 1300.
102
See Newton’s notes on Philo (“Ex Philone”) in Yahuda MS 28.1, ff. 3r–v (this
manuscript dates from ca. 1675–1685); Babson College MS 434, ff. 15r, 16r; Yahuda MS
8, f. 2r.
103
Newton 1999, 941–2 n. j.
104
Harrison 1978, item 398; references to Clement (including the Stromata) can
be found in Newton, Yahuda MSS 1, 16 and 41; Keynes MSS 2 and 146; New Col-
lege Oxford MS 361(4) (“The two notable corruptions”), as well as Newton 1728 and
Newton 1733.
105
Harrison 1978, items 1209–1213.
106
Newton, Yahuda MS 1; Keynes MS 2; New College Oxford MS 361(4); William Andrews
Clark Memorial Library (UCLA) MS **N563M3 P222; Sotheby’s Lot 255.9 (private collec-
tion); Newton 1733.
107
Harrison 1978, item 101 (an edition published in 1531–2).
108
Mandelbrote discusses Augustine’s interpretation of Genesis, his use of accom-
modation and his value as a source for late seventeenth-century biblical critics in
England, including Newton and Burnet, in Mandelbrote 1994, 150–2.
109
Newton, Yahuda MS 41; Keynes MS 2, 5 and 11; New College Oxford MS 361(4)
(reference to De Genesi ad litteram on f. 27); Clark MS; Sotheby’s Lot 255.4 (private collec-
tion); Newton 1728; Newton 1733.
110
Harrison 1978, items 1018–22.
111
Extensive excerpts from Maimonides can be found in Newton, Yahuda MS 13.2.
References to Maimonides can also be found in Newton, Keynes MS 5, ff. 9r, 10r and
31r and Andrews University MS, ff. 34 and 39.
112
Newton, Keynes MS 2, f. 11v.
113
Harrison 1978, item 648. Newton’s copy bears a Leiden imprint. Newton was
certainly aware of the Systema cosmicum before the publication of the 1699 edition, how-
ever, as he refers to it in his Classical Scholia of the early 1690s (see Schüller 2001, 222).
114
Several editions of the Systema cosmicum appeared in northern Europe between
1636 and 1699, including a 1663 London printing. When dismissing as trivial “the
several Objections made formerly against either the Diurnal or Annual Revolutions
of the earth, either from Scripture or Nature”, which “few of the truly Learned and
Judicious . . . do now insist upon,” Whiston directs his reader to the Systema cosmicum
and William Derham’s Astro-theology in his Astronomical principles of religion, natural and
reveal’d (Whiston 1717, 39). Although the bulk of the Systema cosmicum comprises
Galileo’s Dialogue, and while Whiston refers to the book as “Galileo’s Syst. Cosmic.” (no
publication date is given), it seems likely that Whiston was referring to the arguments
from Kepler’s Astronomia nova and Foscarini’s Lettera on the reconciliation of heliocentrism
and the Bible as well as the purely astronomical arguments of Galileo’s Dialogue, in
addition to arguments of both types found in Derham’s oft-reprinted early eighteenth-
century work.
115
Thomas Salusbury’s English translation of the Letter to the Grand Duchess Christina
was published in 1661, the year Newton began his undergraduate studies in Cambridge.
This text also includes English translations of Kepler’s discussion of accommodation
from the introduction to his Astronomia nova, extracts from Diego de Zuñiga’s commen-
tary on Job, as well as Foscarini’s Letter on the Motion of the Earth, which also advocates
accommodationist hermeneutics to reconcile the Bible with natural philosophy (for
accounts of these texts, see Snobelen 2008). Salusbury’s English translations are pub-
lished in Salusbury 1661, 1: 427–503.
116
Harrison 1978, item 335.
117
Ross denied both Copernicanism and that the Bible accommodates its language
to human understanding; Wilkins affirmed both and contented that no confl ict existed
between heliocentrism and the Word of God. Although it is marred by a caricatured,
essentialist and Whiggish view of the relationship between science and religion, there
is still some value in the seventy-year-old study of this exchange by Grant McColley.
See McColley 1938.
118
With the former position holding that the accommodation in the Bible is complete
(and thus does not speak at all of physical reality), and the latter position holding that
one can still discern descriptions of physical reality once one made allowances for the
accommodated speech (Westman 1986, 90–1).
Here the distinction between the relative and absolute is not merely a
matter of hermeneutics, but also forms an element of Newton’s under-
standing of God, who has an absolute existence, even though humans
must experience him indirectly through his works. But Newton’s com-
mitment to a distinction between the absolute and relative also has
a heretical application, for his argument about the relative nature of
the term ‘God’ is directly connected with his anti-Trinitarianism. In
his private manuscripts as well as in his published General Scholium,
Newton articulates his belief that it is both necessary to recognize the
existence of relative language in the Bible and to avoiding committing
a fundamental error by mistaking it for absolute language (which is
what he believed Trinitarians do when they mistake the relative title
‘God’ used of Christ for a declaration that Christ is “very God” in a
metaphysical sense). Thus, while Newton on the one hand seems to
want to argue that one layer of the Bible is accessible to both the vulgar
and the philosophers, while another layer is only accessible to the later,
he also makes another social distinction. Some scriptural texts have
a deeper meaning at their core and thus the Word of God serves in
part to challenge believers and to separate between the good and the
bad. Ultimately, then, there were two types of people: those who get
it and those who do not. Herein is seen an important social corollary
to Newton’s epistemological dualism.
The brief epistolary exchange with Burnet in 1680 and 1681 reveals
advanced thinking on Genesis 1 and what it might say about natural
history; while Newton does not opt for a strictly literal reading of the
text, neither is he willing to go as far in the other direction as Burnet,
who contended that the Creation account merely presented ideal or
moral meaning. Instead, Newton preferred a via media that allows for
accommodation and artificial constructs in the text, but still holds that
it is at some level an account of natural history. The advantage of the
middle path is that it allowed him to take the biblical text seriously
without having to reject the discoveries of natural philosophy. Part of
the realism of the account is explained by its phenomenalistic and ter-
restrial perspectives—perspectives that Newton mentions in his exchange
with Burnet. Genesis 1 was written from the viewpoint of an observer
on Earth and thus it is not completely contrived, but relates directly
to the appearances of nature. His correspondence with Burnet also
demonstrates that Newton felt that knowledge from natural philosophy
could assist the interpretation of the Scriptures.
119
This can be compared with Kepler’s view of the standard of knowledge produced
by astronomy as discussed by Barker 2008.
120
Newton, Keynes MS 5, ff. Ir, 1r.
121
This point has been developed from a helpful suggestion made by the editors.
122
Copernicus 1978, 2: 5.
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General Scholium to the Principia,” Osiris 16: 169–208.
——. 2004. Lust, Pride and Ambition: Isaac Newton and the Devil. In Newton and
Newtonianism: New Studies, Ed. James E. Force and Sarah Hutton. Dordrecht: Kluwer,
155–81.
——. 2008. “In the Language of Men”: The Hermeneutics of Accommodation in
the Scientific Revolution. In Nature & Scripture in the Abrahamic Religions: Up to 1700.
Ed. Jitse M. van der Meer and Scott Mandelbrote. Brill’s Series in Church History
Vol. 36.2. Leiden: Brill, 691–732.
Stewart, Larry. 1996. Seeing Through the Scholium: Religion and Reading Newton
in the Eighteenth Century. History of Science 34: 123–65.
van der Meer, Jitse M. and Richard Oosterhoff. 2008. God, Scripture, and the Rise of
Modern Science (1200–1700): Notes in the Margin of Harrison’s Hypothesis. In Nature
& Scripture in the Abrahamic Religions: Up to 1700. Ed. Jitse M. van der Meer and Scott
Mandelbrote. Brill’s Series in Church History Vol. 36.2. Leiden: Brill, 363–396.
Westman, Robert S. 1986. The Copernicans and the Churches. In God and Nature:
Historical Essays on the Encounter Between Christianity and Science, Ed. David C. Lindberg
and Ronald L. Numbers. Berkeley: University of California Press, 89–103.
Whiston, William. 1696. A New Theory of the Earth, From Its Original to the Consummation
of All Things. London.
——. 1717. Astronomical Principles of Religion, Natural and Reveal’d. London.
Whiston, William, and Francis Hauksbee, Jr. c. 1718–1722. An Experimental Course of
Astronomy. [London].
T.M. Rudavsky
Introduction
1
See Maimonides 1963, 5ff for his introductory comments on how to read the Guide.
Maimonides situates the work clearly within the context of hermeneutic interpretation
of Scripture in light of the contemporary sciences of the day.
2
Cf. Neher 1976, 50: “The primordial element is ‘time’ itself. Creation was mani-
fested in the appearance of time. This time is entirely new. That is the significance
of the verb bara .”
While the story of the interaction between Jewish and Scholastic phi-
losophers is incomplete, nevertheless, recent scholars have begun to
3
See Wolfson 1934 for discussions of the infl uence of Jewish philosophers upon
Spinoza’s intellectual development. Spinoza’s Jewish predecessors are discussed in
Rudavsky (forthcoming) as well.
4
For a recent study of the relation of Spinoza to matters pertaining to Judaism and
theology, see Mason 1997; Ravven and Goodman 2002.
5
For an extensive discussion of the importance of the condemnation of 1277 upon
medieval science, see Grant 1982.
6
Proposition 34 reads “That the first cause could not make many worlds.” Proposi-
tion 49 reads “That God could not move the heavens with rectilinear motion, and the
reason is that a vacuum would remain.” See Murdoch 1991.
7
The question of the extent to which the condemnation of 1277 causally affected the
development of late medieval and early modern science is itself problematic, and has
recently been revisited. While Duhem argued for a strong causal relation, recent scholars
have been reluctant to posit a straightforward causal connection. For a discussion and
summary of recent views, see Murdoch 1991, Grant 1994, and Emery 2001.
8
Duhem 1985, 442.
9
Grant 1994, 537–540.
10
Harvey 1998, 23.
11
This discussion occurs in ’Or ’Adonai (The Light of the Lord ), Part I.2.11 and I.1,15
in Wolfson 1929, 282–91. Recent discussions of Crescas’s theory of time and its rela-
tion to Aristotle can be found in the following works: Harvey 1980, Schweid 1972,
and Wolfson 1929.
12
Maimonides 1963, II: 237. This definition is refl ected in two other contexts as
well. In Guide I.52, Maimonides defines time as “an accident attached to motion when
the motion of priority and posteriority is considered in the latter and when motion
becomes numbered.” And in a letter to Ibn Tibbon he defines time as “the measure
of motion according to prior and posterior in motion.”
13
Maimonides 1963, II:13, 281.
14
Ibid.
15
Maimonides 1963, II:13, 282.
16
Ibid.
17
For further discussion of the implications of Maimonides’ theory, see Rudavsky
2000.
18
Crescas 1929, I.1.15, 283.
19
Ibid., 285.
20
Ibid., 287–9.
21
Crescas, ’Or ’Adonai I.2.15 (in Wolfson 1929, 289).
22
Wolfson 1929, 289.
23
Ibid.
24
Crescas’s argument is contained in ’Or ’Adonai III.1.5, 69a. For a critical discussion
of these arguments, see Feldman 1980, 304ff.
25
Gersonides 1866, 6:1:21, 387.
26
Ibid.
27
Crescas, ’Or ’Adonai III.1.5:70a.
28
Crescas, ’Or ’Adonai III.1.4 66a–68b. Commentators have tried to make sense
of Crescas’s apparently contradictory theory. For further discussion of this theory of
creation, see Feldman 1980, 289–320; Schweid 1972, 44.
29
Crescas, ’Or ’Adonai I. II (in Wolfson 1929, 205).
30
Crescas, ’Or ’Adonai I.1.2 (in Wolfson 1929, 213).
31
Crescas, ’Or ’Adonai I.1.2 (in Wolfson 1929, 195).
32
For a detailed analysis of Crescas’s conception of space, see Wolfson 1929, 38–69.
See also Davidson, 1987, 253ff.
33
Crescas 1929, ’Or ’Adonai I.1.2, 199.
34
See Harvey 1998, 6–7 for elaboration of these points.
35
Albo, 1929–30, I.130.
36
Ibid., 30, II.18.108–9.
37
Ibid., 30, II.18.109.
38
Ibid., 30, II.18.110.
39
Albo, 1929–30, III.27.259. Albo draws an analogy between time and the com-
mandments, on the grounds that neither has an independent existence. In this regard,
Albo is presenting a nominalist ontology.
40
Ibid., 30, II.18.111.
41
Ibid., 30, II.18.111.
42
Ibid., 30, II.18.111–112.
43
See Hutton, 1977, 348. For an excellent discussion of the impact of the Con-
demnation of 1277 upon the development of medieval philosophy and science, see
Murdoch, 1991, 253–302, esp. 259ff.
44
Ficino 1576.
45
Pico della Mirandola 1573, vol. 2, 1198, quoted in Hutton 1977, 353.
46
For details of Judah Abrabanel’s work, see Tirosh-Rothschild 1997, 522ff.
47
Leone Ebreo 1937, p. 280.
48
Ruderman mentions the work of Moses Isserles who, writing in Cracow, was
clearly fascinated by astronomy. “Was it merely a coincidence that Isserles lived in the
same city where Copernicus had written his revolutionary work?” Ruderman asks.
See Ruderman 1995, 68ff.
Let us turn finally to Spinoza, whose work on time and duration refl ects
the culmination of the Aristotelian philosophical tradition traced in
this study. Contending with Maimonides for the title of most infl u-
ential Jewish philosopher of all time, Spinoza is also one of the most
unique and important early modern philosophers. Spinoza was born in
Amsterdam and grew up in the Portuguese-Jewish converso community.
He was forced to abandon his studies at the age of seventeen to help
run his family’s importing business. By 1656, however, Spinoza’s life
among the Jewish conversos came to an abrupt end, as he was excom-
municated by Amsterdam’s Sephardic community.
I shall not enter into the details of Spinoza’s personal drama. That
has been documented recently in Nadler’s admirable biography of
Spinoza.52 It is, however, important to recognize the unusual nature of
the Amsterdam Jewish community that, consisting primarily of former
conversos, was actually closer to Catholic sentiment than many other
49
See details in Efron 1995, 17ff.
50
For discussions of David Gans, see Levine 1983, 207; Neher 1986, 216ff.; Ruder-
man 1995, 83. See Gans 1743, 9a.
51
See Efron 1995.
52
See Nadler 1999 for details of Spinoza’s life and thought.
53
Perhaps the best recent discussion of the impact of Marrano existence upon the
Portuguese community in Amsterdam can be found in Yovel 1989.
54
Kasher and Biderman 1990, 98–99. For further discussion of the reasons and
implications of Spinoza’s excommunication, see Nadler 2007; Pines 1987, and Popkin
1997.
55
See Israel 1985 for an economic account of Spinoza’s life and excommunication.
56
See for example Nadler 1999; Yovel 1989; Kasher and Biderman 1990, for
discussion of this issue.
57
This possibility is discussed in Kasher and Biderman 1990; Nadler 1999; Popkin
2002.
58
See Spinoza 1985, 299–348 “Cogitata Metaphysica” 2: “the quantity of dura-
tion applies to modes but not to God. To ascribe duration to God is to render God’s
essence mutable.”
59
McGuire 1978, 27.
60
See Ruderman 1995, 134. Ruderman himself does not offer a study of Sefer Elim,
choosing to concentrate instead upon the Matzref la-Hokhman, a defense of Kabbalah,
and Mikhtav Ahuz, a condemnation of Kabbalistic thought.
61
Delmedigo 1864, 301; See Levine 1983, 208–9. For a survey and discussion of
Delmedigo’s work, see Barzilay 1974; Ruderman 1995, 118–152.
62
See Delmedigo 1864, 301, 417.
63
Delmedigo 1864, 300, 304, 315.
64
Delmedigo 1864, 304; See Neher, 1986.
65
See Levy 1989, 27.
66
See Rudavsky 2001 for an elucidation of these points.
67
See Popkin 2002 for a comparison of Galileo and Spinoza.
68
Spinoza 1985, Ethics I:Appendix, 441.
69
Ibid., Ethics 4. Preface, 492.
70
Ibid., TTP Preface, 74.
71
Spinoza 1985, On Descartes’ Principles 9: 331.
72
In subsequent discussion, I shall refer to this work as TTP.
73
Spinoza 1991, TTP 14: 231.
74
Ibid., 232.
75
See Spinoza 1985 Ethics 2:41.
76
Spinoza 1991, TTP:14
77
Ibid., 76; see also his discussion in chapter 15.
78
Spinoza 1995, Letter to Oldenberg #30, p. 185.
79
Spinoza 1991, TTP Preface: 53.
80
Ibid., 52.
81
Ibid., 53–4.
82
For a description of Philo’s radical theories of biblical exegesis, see Wolfson
1947.
83
Pollock 1880, 93. For an example of this hermeneutical method, see Gersonides
1998.
knowledge: the book of the Law, and the book of nature. But note
Spinoza’s insistence that scientific method should be used exclusively
for understanding both books. In the TTP, Spinoza introduces what I
shall call the Principle of the Priority of Natural Method (PPNM):84
Now to put it briefl y, I hold that the method of interpreting Scripture
is no different from the method of interpreting Nature [dico methodum
interpretandi Scripturam haud differre a methodo interpretandi naturam],
and is in fact in complete accord with it. For the method of interpret-
ing Nature consists essentially in composing a detailed study of Nature
from which, as being the source of our assured data, we can deduce the
definitions of the things of Nature. Now in exactly the same way the
task of Scriptural interpretation required us to make a straightforward
history of Scripture [sic etiam ad Scripturam interpretandam necesse est
ejus sinceram historiam adornare] and from this, as the source of our
fixed data and principles, to deduce by logical inference the meaning of
the authors of Scripture.85
In chapter 6 of the TTP Spinoza reiterates that the Bible must be read
and understood naturalistically, that is in terms of the laws of physical
causation. By nature Spinoza means the causal nexus of the universe
(a view that is amplified in the Ethics), which leaves no room for divine
causation. Just as we use the laws of nature to study and understand
nature itself, so too we use the internal history of Scripture to under-
stand the meaning of Scriptural passages. Spinoza now draws out the
implications with respect to our understanding of miracles, arguing
that inasmuch everything in Scripture must accord with the laws of
nature, it follows that whatever in Scripture contravenes nature must
be rejected.86
Finally, Spinoza introduces what I call the Principle of Intrinsic
Meaning and Truth (PMT), claiming that there must be a good under-
standing of the nature and properties of the language in which the text
was written and in which the authors spoke. Spinoza carefully separates
the meaning of the text from its truth.87 We have seen that according
to Spinoza, truth is defined as residing in the domain of reason, and
must be distinguished from the imaginative faculty. In a move even
more radical than that of Galileo, Spinoza concludes that Scripture
84
See Rudavsky 2001 for further discussion of these principles.
85
Spinoza 1991, TTP 7: 141.
86
Ibid., 6: 134.
87
See Smith 1997, 59.
cannot speak the truth. Scripture can give us moral claims, but we
should be careful not to confuse moral claims, however salutary, with
epistemic truths.88 It is not just that Scripture does not, to paraphrase
Galileo, tell us “how the heavens go,” but that Scripture does not tell
us how “anything at all goes.” The purpose of Scripture is to teach
obedience, not truth; because there are no epistemic claims to be found
in Scripture, there can be no confl ict between what Scripture exhorts
and what we find to be the case in nature.
The implications of Spinoza’s biblical hermeneutics become appar-
ent when we turn now to Josh. 10:12–13.89 Joshua and his men are
worried that there will not be sufficient time to defeat the five Amorite
kings, and so Joshua prays to God to extend the day. The text from
Josh. 10:12 reads as follows:
Joshua addressed the Lord; he said in the presence of the Israelites: ‘Stand
still, oh sun, at Gibeon, Oh moon, in the Valley of Ajalon!’ and the sun
stood still and the moon halted, while a nation wreaked judgment on its
foes . . . thus the sun halted in midheaven, and did not press on to set, for
a whole day. ( Joshua 10:12–13)
For Spinoza, the Joshua example is used not only to bring home his
rejection of supernatural miracles, but also as an example of how
to approach an account in Scripture in light of scientific knowledge.
Within his new mechanistic philosophy, Spinoza argues that every event
falls within a comprehensive system of causal laws (there can be no
random events), and second that these causal laws possess the same
kind of necessity as the laws of mathematics and logic. Construed as
supernatural events that exhibit exceptions to the natural order, miracles
are impossible: nothing, according to Spinoza’s metaphysics, can con-
travene the universal, necessitarian laws of nature. In his chapter on
miracles, Spinoza then shows how biblical miracles can be explained
in naturalistic terms.90
But here, too, Spinoza had historical precedents in Jewish philoso-
phy.91 In the Guide, Maimonides had already eliminated supernaturalistic
interpretations of miracles, and had begun the reductionist process of
88
See Smith 1997, 66.
89
Both Galileo and Spinoza utilize other proof texts as well, notably II Kings. For
further discussion of this passage, see Goldstein 1990, 1–16.
90
For a discussion of Spinoza’s conception of miracle, see Jolley 1998, 386.
91
For recent surveys of treatments of Joshua 10:11–12 in medieval Jewish philosophy,
see Feldman 1986, 77–84; see also Schwarz 1999, 33–62.
92
See Maimonides 1964, 368–9.
93
Gersonides 1999, 492–3. See also Goldstein 1990, 7. Abravanel was so furious
at Gersonides’ elimination of such a famous miracle, that he wrote a commentary on
Joshua 10 in contradistinction to Gersonides. See Touati 1973, 470.
94
Spinoza 1991, TTP ch 2, 79.
95
Ibid., 86.
Conclusion
96
In TTP ch. 6, Spinoza returns to the Joshua example and contrasts the biblical
account of the Sun’s supposed standing still with “what really happened,” but Spinoza
does not venture an astronomical explanation of his own. In this regard his analysis of
the example differs markedly from that of Galileo. See Rudavsky 2001 for comparison
of Galileo and Spinoza.
Torah. But Spinoza’s more radical move was to deny that Scripture
had any philosophical or scientific veracity. Unlike Maimonides and
Ibn Ezra, both of whom tried to read the Torah in light of modern
philosophical and scientific teachings, Spinoza denied the tenability
of this entire enterprise. According to Spinoza, Scripture cannot be
accommodated to the new sciences. Scripture could not be regarded
as a source of knowledge; and because it is neither a philosophical nor
a scientific work, the rational methods used by these latter disciplines
simply cannot be applied to Scripture. Scripture provides only moral
guidance and piety, not even moral truth, and certainly not scientific or
mathematical truth. Any attempt, for example, to introduce heliocen-
trism into the Joshua story (as did Galileo) is simply to misunderstand
the function of the Law in contradistinction to astronomical theory.
By pushing the views of Maimonides and Ibn Ezra to their logical
extreme, Spinoza thus destroyed the carefully constructed hermeneutic
methodology introduced by his Jewish predecessors. It would now fall to
subsequent Jewish thinkers in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries
to reappropriate the Maimonidean task of accommodating the words
of Scripture to the domain of natural philosophy.
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Miguel A. Granada
1
See Westman 1975a, 165–193.
doctrinae de circulis coelestibus et primo motu;2 in 1571 he did the same for the
‘planetary theories’ in an enormous work entitled Hypotheses astronomicae,
seu theoriae planetarum. Ex Ptolemaei et aliorum veterum doctrina ad observatio-
nes Nicolai Copernici, et canones motuum ab eo conditos acommodatae. As the
title of this work suggests, Peucer followed the Ptolemaic tradition in
astronomy by assuming the reality of geocentric cosmology. However,
according to the Wittenberg interpretation, Peucer paid close attention
to Copernicus’s geometrical devices and observations and converted
them into a geostatic framework, thus rejecting the actual movement of
Earth while retaining the mathematical advantages of heliocentrism.
Before I proceed to Peucer’s criticism of Earth’s movement, however,
it may be of interest to mention some other points in his conception
of astronomy as refl ected in his Elementa of 1551. For Peucer, follow-
ing Melanchthon, astronomy was not a secular, lay enterprise, but a
religious one aiming to achieve, through contemplation of the natural
order and of heavenly infl uences on sublunary events and human affairs,
knowledge of God and of his universal providence concerning nature
and the destiny of man.3 Peucer’s dedicatory letter to August, elector
prince of Saxony, was a typical expression of this dominant theme in
contemporary Protestant Germany.4
As previously stated, Peucer firmly rejected Earth’s movement and
Copernican cosmology: “This omitted, not to offend or confuse students
by the novelty of hypotheses, we attribute to Earth the mid-point of the
world and affirm that it is the centre of the universe.”5 At this point,
it should be no surprise that Peucer’s criticism of the movement of
Earth repeats Melanchthon’s neat refusal of it formulated in 1549 in
the latter’s Initia doctrinae physicae.6 In close structural accordance with
2
Wittenberg 1551; further editions were published in 1553, 1558, 1563, 1569,
1576, 1587.
3
On this point, see Kusukawa 1995, ch. 4 (124–173); Barker 2000, 59–88; Barker
2004a, 157–187.
4
Cf. Peucer 1551 sig. *2r–6v and Barker 2004a, 171f. There is, to my knowledge,
no available monograph on Peucer and his astronomical and cosmological conceptions;
see, however, Hasse and Wartenberg 2004 in particular the contribution by Weichenhan,
91–110. For Peucer’s astrological beliefs, see Brosseder 2004.
5
Peucer ibid. sig. G1v: “Quibus praetermissis ne novitate hypothesium offendan-
tur aut conturbentur Tyrones, terrae mediam mundi sedem attribuimus, & centrum
universi statuimus.” Cf. sig. B1v, E3 r–v. Translations are the author’s own unless
otherwise stated.
6
See Melanchthon 1846 col 216–219. This work was reprinted in 1550, 1559,
1567, 1572, 1575, 1585 and 1587.
7
Peucer 1551. sig. G 3v–4r. Cf. Melanchthon 1846 col 217.
8
Ibid. sig. G 4r–G 5r. Cf. Melanchthon 1846 col 217–218.
9
Ibid. sig. A 1r ff.
10
See Peucer, Hypotheses astronomicae, seu theoriae planetarum, Wittenberg 1571, 37:
“Cum autem terra, de qua nos motus contemplamur, consistat in medio stabilis &
fixa, . . . necesse est planetas ipsos proprio suo motu, tunc conscendere & eniti ad altiora
coeli loca, . . . & rursus ex iisdem praecipitari deorsum ad loca humiliora, cum terrae
propius imminent” [Because Earth, from which we contemplate the movements, remains
in the center, unmoved and fixed, . . . it is necessary that the planets themselves, with their
own movement, now ascend and try to climb to higher places in the heavens, . . . and
now precipitate again downwards from these places to inferior ones, when they come
nearer to Earth]; ibid., dedication to Wilhelm IV, landgrave of Hesse-Kassel, sig.)
There followed in 1574, not long after the publication of the Hypotheses
astronomicae, Peucer’s incarceration on suspicions of crypto-Calvinism.
This lasted until 1586 and brought with it the end of his astronomical
investigations. Only in 1589 did Peucer reappear in a response to a
letter of Brahe; Peucer now found himself in a profoundly renewed
atmosphere of astronomical and cosmological discussion.
(3r: “In Coperniceis absurditas offendit, aliena a vero” [in the Copernican [hypotheses],
their absurdity, very far from truth, offend]. For the spheres see ibid., 11: “artifices stel-
lis per se motum tribuerunt nullum, sed orbes constituerunt, quibus affixae stellae in
orbem circulari motu circumducuntur suo loco singulare” [the astronomers conceded
no motion to the stars themselves, but they established orbs, by which the stars are
carried in orb with circular motion, each in its own place].
11
“Quapropter post Dei veram et competentem cognitionem, nobis in verbo a se
dato reuelatam, nihil hominis naturae magis proprium, et fini, propter quem homo
in Terra, mundi centro, conditus et collocatus sit, magis consentaneum esse iudico,
quam ut inde tanquam e loco medio, ea, quae in tota mundi fabrica, imprimis vero
in coelesti illa et fulgentissima tot perpetuarum stellarum regia elucent, prospectans,
iucundâ hâc et ingeniosâ contemplatione aetatem suam suauiter transigat, Deumque
opificem in his suis sapientissimis et variis operibus agnoscens, merita eum venera-
tione ac laude celebret.” Brahe 1913–29 I, 152. 7–15 (henceforth TBOO, followed
by volume number).
12
Ibid., 153.16–17: “Astrorum negare vires et infl uentiam, est sapientiae et pruden-
tiae diuinae detrahere, ac manifestae experientiae contradicere.” For Brahe’s defense
of astrology and even his eschatological expectations connected with the heavenly
novelties of the time, see Håkanson 2004, 211–236.
13
Ibid., 148 (following Flavius Josephus); cf. Howell 2002, 78. Brahe reiterated this
in his letter to Rothmann of 21 February 1589 against the opposing position of his
correspondent. See TBOO, VI, 178.3.
14
On the individuals involved in this ‘new generation’ and their critical part in
astronomy as proponents of ‘realism,’ see Westman 1975b, 285–345 (285–289).
15
See De mundi aetherei recentioribus phaenomenis, TBOO, IV, 156.19–21: “. . . Authoritati
Sacrarum literarum aliquoties Terrae stabilitatem confirmantium . . . refragari.”
16
Ibid., 159.
17
Ibid., 159.3–10. Concerning this see Granada 2006, 125–145.
18
See his letter of 20 January 1587 in TBOO, VI, 88.13–20.
19
Ibid., letter of 17 August 1588, 140.18–19.
20
Letter to Peucer of 13 September 1588, in TBOO, VII, 133.27.
21
As in a letter to Peucer of 1590, in TBOO, VII, 231.10–11.
22
Despite Rothmann’s intentions, this work remained unpublished until its very
recent edition in 2003; see ch. 1 (De insectatoribus Astronomiae, interimque de eius
excellentia), 57–70.
23
Ibid., 64: “qui igitur, inquam, inexhaustam DEI Opt. Max. sapientiam et poten-
tiam in his stupendis operibus, laudibus extollere et tota mente celebrare voluerit . . .:
is Astronomiam praecipue suscipiet et venerabitur” [therefore he who wants, I say, to
extol with praises and celebrate with all his mind the unexhausted wisdom and power
of God . . ., he shall embrace and worship principally Astronomy].
24
“Etsi primi Patres solertes caeli indagatores ab historicis appellantur: tamen
quemadmodum omnes artes non statim perfectae inventae sunt, sed a parvis initiis
ad suam, qua videntur, perfectionem creverunt: ita Astronomia quoque exigua adhuc
habuit initia, fuitque solummodo in qualicunque annui temporis descriptione occupata,
quemadmodum in genesi videre est”, as cited in Rothmann 2003, 159, note 198. Cf.
also in this edition, ch. 18, 158f. and Granada 2002, 119ff.
authors of its books or in the people of Israel. But what about the
divine inspiration or revelation transmitted through them?
Unexpectedly, Rothmann responded to Brahe’s geoheliocentric
proposal with an adoption of Copernican cosmology. As had been the
case previously with Rheticus, agreement between the literal reading
of Scripture and geocentric cosmology forced Rothmann to endorse a
reading of Scripture founded on the principle of divine accommoda-
tion to common notions. Thus, in his letter to Brahe of 19 September
1588 (13 Calendas Octobris, according to the Roman calendar) Rothmann
declared:
Authority of Sacred Scripture is no obstacle. It is not written solely for me
and for you, but for all men; and it speaks after their capacity of under-
standing, as all Theologians declare in the exposition of the first chapter
of Genesis. Otherwise the moon would be, against all demonstrations
of geometry, greater than all other stars. . . . God speaks accommodating
Himself to the capacity of the Hebrews.25
Sustained by a long line of scholars stretching from Augustine to
Rheticus and Calvin in the sixteenth century, the notion of divine
accommodation to common knowledge also employed by Rothmann
implied that the intention of the Bible was to teach mankind in mat-
ters pertaining to God’s will and his promise of human salvation, not
to impart scientific knowledge on cosmological matters irrelevant to its
principal end.26 Rothmann went much further than Rheticus, however,
in conceiving of accommodation in the most absolute of terms; he
therefore excluded the possibility of any relevance of Scripture what-
soever to cosmological matters. As this position was held in accordance
with the rejection of any sort of scientific astronomy possessed by the
patriarchs, Rothmann concluded that ‘geometrical demonstrations’ are
the only key to the discovery of cosmological truths:
Unless this question [the nature of celestial matter] is decided by us, it
will not be decided by anyone, whether theologian or physicist. For God
25
“Nec etiam obstat authoritas sacrarum literarum. Hae enim non mihi et tibi
solummodo, verum omnibus omnino hominibus scriptae sunt, ad quorum captum
etiam loquuntur, ut etiam omnes Theologi in explicatione capitis 1. Genes. fatentur.
Aliâs Luna contra Geometricas demonstrationes esset maior reliquis Stellis. . . . Ad horum
[Hebraeorum] igitur captum sese accomodans Deus ait . . .,” TBOO VI, 159.19–26.
Cf. ibid., 181.26–36, for a mention of Augustine as forerunner of Rothmann’s herme-
neutics. Concerning Rheticus, see Rheticus 1984.
26
For the earlier history of God’s ‘accommodation’ to human knowledge in the
Bible, see Benin 1993.
has not revealed anything whatever about this in his Word, because it
has nothing to do with our salvation. The Scriptures, which are written
for the unlearned and learned alike, the common and ingenious, do not
contain such disputations which are not even understood by very many
learned. . . . Also, how can the physicists know anything with certainty? For
we know and understand about the heights and the matters discussed by
us only as much as we discover mathematical demonstrations through
trigonometry. Without these those who discuss such matters are completely
worthless and raving mad.27
Needless to say, Rothmann did not deny the divine origin of Scripture,
but he certainly deprived it of any value as a source of cosmological
information. He applied this radical version of the accommodation
theory first to the motion of Earth, for the sake of which he had
introduced divine accommodation in his critical response to Brahe’s
geoheliocentric system. In this case, however, he limited himself simply
to stating that Earth’s movement is compatible with the Scripture as it
was to be truly understood, without further developing the issue. He also
applied divine accommodation to the nature of celestial matter. This
was the question he began discussing with Brahe from the very start of
their correspondence. Both of them agreed that celestial matter was not
made of solid, hard and impenetrable spheres. But they diverged on
the nature of the celestial fl uid: ether for Brahe and simple (pure) air
for Rothmann. In his letters Rothmann affirmed that Scripture was fol-
lowing the common knowledge of the Hebrew people of the time, and
thus it spoke always of a ‘hard’ heaven: “Hebrews were of the opinion
that clouds in the heights could not hang [there] unless there existed
some hard and impenetrable matter which supported water.”28
Until recently, the aforementioned letters to Tycho Brahe were the
only known source of Rothmann’s accommodationist hermeneutics.
27
“Et nisi haec quaestio [sc. materia caeli] a nobis decisa fuerit, a nullo unquam,
siue Theologo siue Physico decidetur. Non enim Deus in verbo suo quicquam de hac
reuelauit, cum nihil ad salutem nostram pertineat nec eiusmodi disputationes, quas
pauci admodum etiam inter Doctos intelligunt, immiscere voluit sacris literis, quae
omnibus omnino hominibus, Indoctis pariter ac Doctis, Rudibus pariter ac Ingeniosis
scriptae sunt. . . . Physici quoque quomodo de hac quicquam certi scire poterunt? Tantum
enim de eiusmodi sublimibus et tam procul a nobis dissitis rebus scimus ac intelligimus,
quantum per Doctrinam Triangulorum et Mathematicas demonstrationes inuenimus.
Sine his qui de eiusmodi rebus disserit, vanissimus est prorsusque delirat” TBOO VI,
149–150, translated in Howell, 2002, 93f.
28
“Putârunt Hebraei, nubes in sublimi pendere non posse, nisi subesset materia
aliqua dura et imperuia, quae Aquam sustineret,” TBOO VI, 159.24–26.
29
See Rothmann 2003, 198–205. Cf. also Granada 2002 ch. 3 and Appendix III,
where ch. 23 is reproduced.
30
“Multo minus, quae in excusandis iis, quibus sacra scriptura contrarium asseuerat,
a te praetenduntur, locum mereri poterint. Maior enim et est et esse debet diuinarum
literarum autoritas ac reuerentia, quam ut sic in modum Cothurni eas trahi deceat.
Licet enim ipsae in rebus Physicis et aliis quibusdam ut plurimum ad captum vulgi
sese attemperent, absit tamen ut ob id statuamus eas ita vulgariter loqui, quin etiam
vera proponere credamus,” TBOO VI, 177.10–16.
31
“Stat itaque adhuc immota Autoritas sacrarum literarum, ut suo loco plenius
videbimus,” ibid., 178.6–7. Brahe never wrote such a full treatment of the problem.
32
See Blair 1990, 355–377. Cf. Granada 2007, 95–119.
33
In his De naturae divinis characterismis (Antwerp 1575) Cornelius Gemma Frisius
(1535–1579) interpreted the nova of 1572 in Cassiopeia as a divine miracle with eschato-
logical significance, adding that the new star formed with other stars in the constellation,
the figure of the cross of Christ, in such a way that the new star “represents the head
of Christ crucified or rather his triumphal title superimposed to his head” [“Christi affixi
verticem, seu potius titulum triumphalem superimpositum capiti repraesentet”] p. 140.
In his criticism of Gemma’s interpretation, Brahe reacted indignantly: “He [Gemma]
does not fear to crucify Christ again between the stars, with utmost superstition, to say
nothing more” [“denuo quasi inter Sidera (Christum) crucifigere non exhorrescat, idque
nimis superstitiose, nequid amplius dicam”]. See Astronomiae Instauratae Progymnasmata,
TBOO III, 80 and Granada 1997, 357–435 (338f.). A similar reaction can be found in
response to implications detected in Peucer’s conception of the ‘divine dwelling place
above the superior waters’ (mentioned below).
34
See Moses Latinus ex hebraeo factus . . . per Sebastianum Castalionem, Basle
1546, p. 1: “Deinde iussit Deus ut existeret liquidum inter aquas, quod aquam ab aqua
disiungeret: fecitque liquidum quod divideret aquam quae super liquidum est, ab ea
quae subter est. Quo facto liquidum coelum nuncupavit,” cited in Granada 2002, 175
[cf. Gen. 1: 6–8: “And God said, Let there be a liquid in the midst of the waters, and
let it divide the waters from the waters. And God made the liquid, and divided the
waters which were under the liquid from the waters which were above the liquid: and
it was so. And God called the liquid Heaven”, King James Version slightly modified
according to Castellion’s innovation]. On Castellion, see Guggisberg 1997 (chapter IV
for the translation of the Bible).
35
Letter to Peucer of 13 September 1588, in TBOO VII, 130.13–21. Concerning
De mundi aetherei recentioribus phaenomenis, see TBOO, IV, 159.3–10.
36
The same opinion is sustained now by Mosley 2007. See particularly p. 158: “These
features of the exchange [the correspondence between Brahe and Rothmann/Peucer]
suggest that, whatever role exegesis may have played in shaping Tycho’s theological and natural
philosophical ideas, it was on these, rather than exegesis per se, that his cosmology and astronomy
were grounded. . . . Though content to reject heliocentrism as contrary to the testimony
of the Bible, his engagement with specific scriptural texts, not to mention his espousal
of exegetical principles, was limited in scope, and can rarely be found in his extant
writings except at another’s instigation” (my italics).
37
King James Version.
38
Brahe mentioned, for example, Francisco Valles in his De sacra philosophia (Lyon
1588); see Howell 2002, 98ff. It should be added that this was Rothmann’s opinion
as well: in his letter of 19 September 1588 he interpreted Is. 40: 22 as conveying the
conception of a solid, hard heavens (see TBOO VI, 159.33–34), and in ch. 23 of
Observationum stellarum fixarum liber primus he added Job 37:18 along with several other
scriptural passages; see Rothmann 2003, 199.
39
“Alter locus, IOB. cap. 37 v. 18, quo contrarium asseverari prima fonte apparet,
quia coelos chalybis instar induratos esse dicit, recte a te [sc. Peucer; Brahe is describing
the content of Peucer’s lost letter] cum priore [Is. 40: 22] conciliatur, dum soliditatem
et firmitatem constantiamque perpetuam naturae revolutionisque coeli et eorum, quae
in eo continentur, corporum potius quam materiae compagem respici illic, erudite et
convenienter exponis,” [The other place, Job 37: 18, where it seems at first sight that
the opposite is affirmed, because it says that the heavens have been made as hard as
steel, is correctly harmonized by you [sc. Peucer; Tycho is describing the content of
Peucer’s lost letter] with the previous text [Isa. 40: 22], when you explain in a learned
and fitting way that in the former it is the solidity, firmness, and eternal constancy of
nature, and of the revolution of heaven and the bodies contained in it, that is in view,
rather than the structure of the material.] Letter to Peucer of 13 September 1588, in
TBOO VII, 133.32–37.
40
“Quod autem meae assertioni de liquidissima et subtilissima coeli materia tam
belle astipularis eamque sacrarum insuper literarum testimonio confirmas, mihi per-
gratum est. . . . Nihil igitur obstabit vel e sacris Bibliis vel Philosophorum decretis, quin
coeli materiam liquidissimam et omni aëre tenuiorem subtilioremque certo statuamus,”
ibid., 133.22–24 and 135.15–18.
41
See TBOO VII, 185f.
42
Ibid., 185.27–29: “. . . eaque [heavenly substance] liquida et fl uida, divinae sapi-
entiae verbo coelesti patefactae testimonia non dubie contra Philosophos demonstrant”
[the testimonies of divine wisdom, revealed by the celestial word, demonstrate beyond
any doubt against the philosophers that (the heavens are made) of a liquid and fl uid
substance].
43
Ibid., 186.2–6.
44
Ibid., 186.22–30.
45
Ibid., 187–188. See Randles 1999, 113ff.
46
“Sed assentior Scripturae, quae induit et cooperit systema mundi aquarum mole . . .,
quae denique aquarum et nubium obscura tenebrositate docet secludi aeternam sedem
Maiestatis divinae aeterna luce plenam, in qua creaturis inaccessa habitat divinitas,
a luce et sede creata inferiorum. Quid enim his est in Bibliis manifestius? . . . nemini
leges et dogmata fero, sed coniecturas recito ex Dei verbo, relinquens expendendum
cuique, his utrum habere fidem an Philosophorum rationibus velit. . . . Nec assentior
Philosophorum somniis, qui illam [sc. Viam lacteam] fingunt esse confusum confer-
tumque lumen multarum et parvarum stellarum, quas propter exilitatem prospectus
oculorum consequi ac discernere nequeat; malo enim cum Scriptura et ex hac ipsa
philosophari, quam cum Philosophis rerum divinarum imperitis hanc contra nugari,”
ibid., 187.30–188.22.
47
Ibid., 189.41–190.4.
48
Ibid., 231.5–10.
49
Ibid., 231.10–11; 232.12–13; cf. ref. 34 above. Contrarily, another contemporary
proponent of a geoheliocentric system, the Alsatian physician Helisaeus Roeslin, wrote
in January 1589 a letter to Michael Maestlin, in which he resolutely rejected Castellion’s
translation as attributing to the celestial ether a liquid quality proper to the sublunary
elements. Roeslin continued to accept solid celestial spheres until 1609; see Granada
2002, 172–177 and 291–293 for the transcription of the pertinent letter.
50
TBOO VII, 231.13–14.
51
Ibid., lines 16–19.
52
Ibid., lines 19–30.
53
Ibid., 233.18–23. This was also Rothmann’s opinion, as he clearly stated it in
Observationum stellarum fixarum liber primus (ref. 22), Rothmann 2003, 200ff.; see Granada
2002, 107.
Conclusion
Along with Howell,56 it can be said that Brahe’s convictions lay between
two extremes. On the one hand, Peucer held an excessive literalism,
which was linked to a rejection of divine accommodation and to a more
or less marked skepticism towards man’s natural capacity for knowledge,
this scepticism becoming more acute in his last years.57 On the other
hand, Rothmann held that God completely accommodates himself to
common human intelligence. Accordingly, Scripture necessarily contains
a primitive and false cosmology, and is of no use to scientific inquiry,
specifically not in the search for an accurate cosmological theory. Clearly,
that does not mean that for Rothmann, Scripture had no bearing on
metascientific or metatheoretical questions, such as the encouragement
or promotion of the quest for a scientific cosmology. But Scripture
does not aim to impart a true description of the universe as science
54
TBOO VII, 233.35–38. See TBOO III, 80.
55
Deus est ordinis atque utilitatis author, ibid., 235.24–30.
56
See Howell 2002, 102.
57
Besides fully and permanently endorsing Aristotle’s views on the centrality and
immobility of Earth and being convinced of man’s ability to achieve certain knowl-
edge on this point as well as on God’s providential rule over nature, Peucer adopted
from the beginning the so called pragmatic compromise, according to which planetary
models represent the true motions of the heavens, whereas eccentrics and epicycles (the
tools used for constructing these models) have no reality. This mistrust of man’s ability
to attain a true knowledge in remote celestial matters (frequent in the astronomical
tradition) apparently became most acute, as we say, after Peucer’s liberation from his
long imprisonment in 1586. Peucer’s skepticism, founded as it was on the astronomical
tradition itself and independent from the contemporary revival of ancient skepticism,
did not extend, however, to his understanding of Scripture. On the pragmatic com-
promise and the presence of skepticism in early modern astronomy, see Jardine 1988,
ch. 7 (The status of astronomy), 239–243, and Jardine 1987, 83–102.
58
For their respective defenses and criticisms concerning both cosmological systems
and on the issue of Earth’s movement, I refer to Granada 2007. I also refer to this
essay for a criticism of Rothmann’s presumed change from Copernican heliocentrism
to the geoheliocentric world system, as alleged by Barker in his 2004b article.
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Peter Barker
1
Mandrou 1978, 82–105; MacCulloch 2003, ch. 4, esp. 154–74; Kusukawa 1995,
27–74.
2
For example the demand to elect their own priests, which MacCulloch 2003, 154
& 160, notes Luther himself dropped in the sequel.
by saying that true moral laws are capable of being derived, by logic
alone, from secure premises, many of which are innate.3
All of this would be unpersuasive if it left us with the same dialectic
from which we began—a variety of different candidate ‘laws’ now sup-
ported by (possibly sophistic) arguments. What Melanchthon needed
was a subject in which the use of demonstrations provided a final
answer in cases of disagreement. The best candidate was mathemat-
ics. However doubtful it may be that it is forbidden to marry a second
cousin, the proposition that a triangle has three sides is unlikely to
be doubted in the same way. Melanchthon appealed to the certainty
of mathematics as persuasive evidence that there were fundamental
truths about the world accessible to human beings, and hence that
demonstrations based on these truths would lead to reliable knowl-
edge, in both mathematics and morals. The two fields are seen by Mel-
anchthon as two aspects of a single divinely ordained structure, the
providential design of the world. The moral laws govern the human
world; the mathematical laws govern the nonhuman world. This, and
the use of mathematics to buttress the plausibility of moral claims,
gave a special status to astronomy.4
The ideal invoked here is also the Aristotelian ideal for causal demon-
stration. There is no very sharp separation between what we would
call pure mathematics (for example arithmetic and geometry) and
what we would consider a mathematical science (especially astronomy,
but also optics, geodesy, and the mathematical theory of music; but
not physics). Melanchthon and his followers routinely invoked the laws
of astronomy as the clearest evidence that the world has a providen-
tial design, and hence that the entire structure including the moral
law is an objective feature of the cosmos.5 It is important to under-
stand what the laws of astronomy—the laws of motion of celestial
objects—are here. They are the mathematical regularities employed to
calculate planetary positions in Claudius Ptolemy’s astronomy. Because
of their importance as evidence for the providential design of the cos-
mos, Melanchthon endorses not only the existence of eccentrics and
3
Kusukawa 1995, 49–74. For examples of Melanchthon’s moral reasoning, and its
application in natural philosophy by Kepler, see Barker and Goldstein 2001, 88–113,
esp. 103–106.
4
Melanchthon, 1834–1860, 12: 689–91, subsequently cited as CR; Barker 2004a,
159–65.
5
Barker 2004a, 165–72.
ably have been expected to comply with his request. When Rheticus
arrived to visit in 1539 he discovered that Copernicus was being per-
secuted by the newly appointed bishop of Danzig, and was threatened
with losing his property and possibly his church position, a situation
not conducive to completing books on astronomy. Rheticus then put
on a performance that ranks as dazzling even by the standards of
Melanchthon’s overachieving students. In a little over three months
he mastered enough of Copernicus’s new ideas to write a short book
advertising them to the learned world, and especially to the only local
aristocrat powerful enough to defl ect the wrath of the bishop of Dan-
zig—Albrecht, first Duke of Prussia. Albrecht was an early convert
to Luther’s faith—indeed the first major nobleman to convert and
establish a Lutheran church within his domain, which surrounded the
see of the bishop of Danzig. The conversion had taken place after
meetings with Luther and Melanchthon, Rheticus’s teachers, but Duke
Albrecht’s first acquaintance with the ideas of the reformers had come
in the sermons of Andreas Osiander, whom Rheticus had just met
in Nuremberg. Rheticus successfully sought the duke’s protection for
Copernicus. To make a long story short, Rheticus brought a com-
pleted book back to Petreius in Nuremberg where it was published in
1543, with an (unsigned) preface by Osiander.6
The Lutherans around Melanchthon eagerly adopted many aspects
of Copernican astronomy.7 They praised Copernicus as a new Ptol-
emy, and as an astronomer quite compatible with their religious view
of the world. “God in his goodness kindled a great light in him,” wrote
Erasmus Reinhold.8 But Lutheran praise was reserved for Copernicus’s
solutions to technical problems; with the sole exception of Rheticus
in his First Account they found it impossible to accept the Sun-centered
cosmology that Copernicus proposed. They used Copernicus as an
advanced text in astronomy courses, and mention of his work crept
into more elementary books, but they consistently rejected the idea
that the Earth moved around the Sun.9 Melanchthon himself wrote
the first canonical set of Lutheran objections to physical Copernican-
ism, and it is to these I now turn. Melanchthon’s objections consist
of a list of scriptural objections followed by a list of objections from
6
The two preceding paragraphs essentially summarize the argument of Barker and
Goldstein 2003, 345–68.
7
Westman 1975, 165–193; Barker and. Goldstein 1998, 232–258.
8
Quoted in Westman 1975, 177.
9
Barker and Goldstein 1998, 232–258; Barker 2000, 59–88.
natural philosophy. In the present paper I will consider only the for-
mer. Both sets of objections are repeated by Caspar Peucer, and the
physical objections are elaborated by Erasmus Reinhold in his com-
mentary on the first book of Ptolemy’s Almagest.
10
Kepler 1609, ***5v. Donahue 1992, 65. Kepler 1937, 3: 33 subsequently cited
as KGW.
11
Melanchthon, CR 13:217a: Soli posuit tabernaculum . . . ad extremum eorum. Cf.
Vulgata Clementina 18:6 and 18:7: soli posuit tabernaculum in eis et ipse quasi sponsus
15
Melanchthon CR 13: 217a: Et inter miracula recensetur, qoud Deus Solem voluit
consistere, Item, regredi.
16
Galilei 1957, 211–215.
17
Peucer, 1551. The second half of the curriculum leading to the study of Ptolemy
and Copernicus would have begun with a theorica. At Wittenberg this would probably
have been one of the many editions of Reinhold’s 1542 book.
18
Leges Academiae Witebergensis A3V (1562) and A3R–V (1572). See next note for
information on reprinting.
Peucer asserts that Earth does not move, again on the basis of Scrip-
ture and natural philosophy and again the Scripture comes first. Peu-
cer mentions the same passages as Melanchthon but in a different
order. Psalm 104 is mentioned first and paired with Ecclesiastes chap-
ter 1. Then comes Psalm 19, and the Joshua miracle, again men-
tioned without naming Joshua. Apart from the order of presentation,
Peucer’s wording is practically identical to Melanchthon’s. Between
them, Melanchthon’s introduction to physics and Peucer’s introduc-
tion to astronomy were widely circulated and would be known to any
university-trained Lutheran in the late sixteenth century.19 It is hardly
surprising, therefore, that Kepler, who initially trained as a theologian
at the Lutheran university of Tübingen, addresses exactly these pas-
sages in his most direct examination of the relationship of biblical
evidence to the ideas of Copernicus.20
Kepler’s examination of the Bible passages used by Melanchthon
and Peucer forms part of the front matter for the Astronomia Nova
published in 1609.21 This Introduction “aimed at those who study the
physical sciences” summarizes the content of the book but also con-
tains a general discussion of physics and Copernicanism as Kepler
understood it. A central section addressed “To objections concerning
the dissent of holy scripture, and its authority” may well have formed
19
Melanchthon’s Initia doctrinae physicae was reprinted in 1550, 1559, 1567, 1572,
1575, 1585, and 1587. Peucer’s Elementa doctrinae de circulis coelestibus et primo motu was
reprinted in 1553, 1558, 1563, and 1569. Tredwell 2005 has recently documented the
previously unrecognized use of Peucer’s work in England.
20
It is important here to separate developments in the discussion of the Bible by
astronomers from developments in Lutheranism itself that may or may not have infl u-
enced these discussions. Between the death of Melanchthon in 1560 and the beginning
of Kepler’s university education in 1589 Lutheranism had divided into factions, the two
most important being the followers of Matthias Flacius (otherwise ‘gnesio-Lutherans’)
and followers of Melancthon (or ‘Philippists’). The former systematically excluded the
latter from positions of power and infl uence; Philip Apian, the predecessor of Kepler’s
astronomy teacher at Tübingen, lost his job, and Casper Peucer lost his position at the
court of Saxony and was actually imprisoned for more than a decade. During the same
period Brahe, Rothmann, and Peucer discussed the Bible through public exchanges
of letters and books (see the very illuminating new account by Mosley 2007, as well
as the discussion in Howell 2002, 97–106), and Brahe and Peucer, at least, are clearly
Philippists. Thus Kepler may have been inclined to Philippism by his early education
in astronomy in addition to the continued availability of Melanchthon’s works. On
Kepler’s religious education see: Caspar 1993, 41–50, Methuen 1998, and Barker and
Goldstein 2001, esp. 96–99. On his religious views and view of the Bible see: Hübner
1975, and Howell 2002, esp. chapter 4.
21
Kepler 1609, ***4v–***6r. Donahue 1992, 59–66. KGW 3:27–34.
part of the opening section of the Kepler’s first book, the Mysterium
cosmographicum of 1596, until it was removed at the request of the
Tübingen authorities.22
Kepler makes two fundamental points at the outset. The first is that
the common idiom is often based on the deception of our senses, and
particularly our sense of sight.23 As Kepler was currently employed
as mathematicus, that is astronomical and astrological advisor, to the
Emperor Rudolf II, and had just written a monumental work on the
theory of optics (the Astronomiae pars optica of 1604), this placed him in
a position to offer expert testimony separating illusion from reality. For
example, the common idiom speaks of stars, and the Sun, ascending
into the sky and descending at the end of the day, as if they were
first getting further away and then returning closer. But regardless of
whether we think the Sun or Earth is stationary we know that the
distance from Earth to the Sun is fixed.24 On a given day there is no
significant approach and recession (although if Kepler had extended
the discussion to a whole year he might have had to mention that the
eccentric path of the Sun carries it to different distances from Earth).
Even technically trained astronomers refer to the positions at which a
planet is motionless compared to the background stars as ‘stationary
points,’ although according to Ptolemaic theory the planet is not sta-
tionary but continuing to move even in this position. Similarly, every-
one refers to two days during the year as ‘solstices’, although from a
technical viewpoint we know that the Sun is also not stationary but
continuing to move.
Having introduced the consideration of things that are called sta-
tionary but known to be moving, Kepler proceeds to things that are
called moving but may be stationary according to Copernicus. If the
relation between language and the world can be so problematic in
ordinary speech, it is only to be expected that Scripture too will speak
“in accordance with human perception when the truth of things is at
odds with the senses, whether or not humans are aware of it.”25
The second initial point that Kepler makes is a classic statement of
accommodationism:
22
Caspar 1993, 68–9.
23
Kepler 1609, ***4V. Donahue 1992, 60. KGW 3: 28–9.
24
For Aristotle, Ptolemy, and Copernicus or Kepler, on any given day, the distance
from Earth to the stars is also fixed.
25
Kepler 1609, ***5r. Donahue 1992, 60. KGW 3:29.
[ T ]he sacred scriptures also speak with humans in the human manner,
in order to be understood by humans, when treating common things
about which it is not their purpose to instruct humanity. They make use
of what is generally accepted, in order to imply other, more sublime and
divine things.26
Having established these two fundamental points, Kepler proceeds
directly to Melanchthon’s first passage, Psalm 19. Who, he asks rhe-
torically, is unaware that the psalm is ‘poetical,’ that it alludes to the
coming of Christ and the spreading of the Gospel. This spiritual mes-
sage is generally agreed to be part of the meaning of the psalm, but
is far from the literal meaning of the words. We should be no more
distressed that the physical reality of Earth and sun is equally far from
the psalmist’s words. All the talk of going forth from tabernacles and
running races is another example of language that makes some kind
of sense as an account of our perceptions of the motion of the Sun
against the skyline, but is no warrant for physical truth. The same
applies to the more fundamental claim that the Sun is moving. That
is what the psalmist sees; that need not be the way it is.
The same set of issues comes up in the passage from Joshua to
which Kepler now turns.27 The very specific language about the val-
leys and rivers over which the Sun and the Moon are moving (or not)
during the story tell us about what the participants can see, not about
the physical structure of the world. Kepler imagines Joshua confronted
by someone who asserts the primacy of the physical description and
points out that to Joshua it is not the physical description that matters.
Joshua was asking for the day to be prolonged from his viewpoint,
however that was to be achieved. The contradictory claims “the sun
stood still” and “the earth stood still” can appear only in the technical
discourse of astronomy or optics, there are no corresponding claims
in common speech.
At this point Kepler displays his expertise in optical illusions to
explain why it is impossible to see the Sun as anything but moving.
The reasoning is essentially that we judge size, distance and speed
from perspective and parallax. We experience mountains, and the rest
of the skyline, as large and unmoving; the usual perspective and paral-
lax considerations that would allow us to correctly judge the size of an
animal on a distant mountain fail in the case of the Sun. While it is in
26
Kepler 1609, ***5r. Donahue 1992, 60. KGW 3:29.
27
Kepler 1609, ***5r. Donahue 1992, 60–1. KGW 3:29–30.
the sky, its visual appearance makes it seem a small thing like a bird.
It is also impossible to see the Sun moving; all we can do is recognize
that it has shifted position after a lapse of time, and the things we use
to judge the shift in position are the large, immobile items making
up the skyline. Hence we see the Sun as small and mobile while the
skyline and the arch of the sky appear as the unmoving background
of its birdlike fl ight.28
Before dealing with the remainder of Melanchthon’s passages,
Kepler briefl y mentions several other Bible readings that may bear on
the physical nature of the world. He suggests that the famous state-
ment of human epistemological impotence from Jer. 31: 34 should be
read as an acknowledgment of our physical limitations, not a prohi-
bition on the mathematical or natural philosophical investigation of
nature. Similarly Job chapter 38 contains many claims incompatible
with current knowledge of astronomy and physics. And again, Psalm
24—which speaks of Earth being founded upon rivers—clearly does
not speak the truth about the physical construction of the world as
it would be understood by science. Kepler then turns to the passage
from Ecclesiastes cited by Melanchthon and makes essentially the same
point. The passages about Earth being “founded on its stability” have
a moral meaning. Their point is the insignificance of human affairs
in comparison to the frame of nature, that is Earth and the heavens,
which are, of course, divine in origin. As the message of the passage
is moral, we should not expect the references to Earth and the heavens
to be made using the language of science or to contain truths when
judged by the standards of natural philosophy.29
Finally Kepler turns to Psalm 104, asking whether the point of the
psalm is to convey knowledge of the physical world. Kepler answers
with a clear negative. The psalm is a glorification of God “treating the
world as it appears to the eyes” and not as it would be described by
natural philosophy. To underline the non-philosophical status of the
passage, Kepler shows that it may be read as a commentary on the
Genesis creation story, and in the longest sustained discussion of any
of the passages, spends several pages laying out the point for point
correspondences between the parts of the psalm and the days of
creation.30 This is one of the places where Kepler refers explicitly to
God as an architect, and throughout this discussion Kepler repeatedly
28
Kepler 1609, ***5r. Donahue 1992, 62. KGW 3: 30.
29
Kepler 1609, ***5v. Donahue 1992, 63. KGW 3: 31.
30
For a sustained analysis see the excellent discussion in Howell 2002, 120–124.
31
Kepler 1609, ***5v. Donahue 1992, 65. KGW 3: 33.
Most historians of science are familiar with that peculiar pattern of the
world proposed by Kepler in his Mysterium Cosmographicum of 1596. It
has become one of the great icons of the Scientific Revolution, along
with Galileo’s telescope and the pictures he made by using it. Kepler’s
cosmos looks like an exercise in geometry. The planets are supported
by concentric spheres with large spaces between them; the spaces are
32
Kepler 1609, ***6r. Donahue 1992, 65–6. KGW 3: 33–4.
filled with the skeletons of the six regular three dimensional solids. A
different solid spans each gap with a cube outermost, a pyramid of
equilateral triangles inside that, and so on. Until recently the only real
interest this construction held for historians was as a defense of Coper-
nicanism. The Mysterium was the first book length defense of physical
Copernicanism since the appearance of De Revolutionibus in 1543. Kepler
was not concerned with the details of Copernicus’s mathematical
techniques that attracted the first generation of Wittenberg astrono-
mers. His attention was explicitly directed to the cosmic scheme, and
the defense of the centrality of the Sun. What has been less generally
recognized is that underlying this set of arguments is the doctrine of
demonstration, and Melanchthon’s view of astronomy as the clearest
evidence of the providential plan the world. It follows that the entire
Mysterium cosmographicum should be read as a religious work first and
a work of science in the modern sense only as a very distant second.
Kepler, quite simply, believes that he has actually uncovered the plan
of the world, and it is not the one Melanchthon thought it was. Hence
he is in a position to accommodate the Bible to a Copernican cosmic
scheme for far stronger reasons than anyone before him.33
To understand Kepler’s proposals we need to remind ourselves of
several features of his historical context. First, the adoption of any
form of Copernican mathematical models unsettled what had become
a nearly universal consensus among mathematical practitioners on the
detailed structure of the heavens.34 Starting from Ptolemy’s eccentrics
carrying epicycles, Puerbach had introduced a standard pattern of
three dimensional orbs that would generate the motions required by
Ptolemy’s Almagest models as they rotated about their diameters. Each
set of orbs fitted within the boundaries referred to as the sphere of a
planet, and an entire cosmic scheme could be constructed by fitting
33
It is not clear that Kepler would have known of Rothmann’s earlier Copernican
attempt at accommodation which is presented most extensively in an unpublished
book-length handwritten script. See Granada, Hamel, and von Mackensen 2003, esp.
ch. 23, 198–205, and Barker 2004b, 41–57.
34
Contemporary Averroists are exceptions to these claims, but it is not clear that they
should be counted as mathematical practitioners in the same sense as astronomers in
the Ptolemaic tradition, although Copernicus generously includes them in his Letter to
Paul III (Barker 1999). There is now evidence that at least one very good mathemati-
cian Regiomontanus was seriously committed to Averroism in the generation before
Copernicus’ education, but this seems to have had no historically discernible result
(Shank 1998). Later Averroists astronomers such as Amico and Fracastoro appear to
be an independent, and equally fruitless, development (di Bono 1995).
them one inside another in a suitable order. This scheme was attractive
because it provided a physical interpretation for Ptolemaic mathemati-
cal astronomy that was at least consistent with Aristotle’s physics, but
the equant device did not fit easily within it. Copernicus provided a
means to bypass the equant, and a scheme of spheres could be gener-
ated from his models that would all rotate cleanly about diameters,
but his scheme led to a completely different pattern of orbs, and com-
pletely different distances between the planetary spheres.
Copernicus also undermined the consensus position on celestial orbs
in another way, by drawing new attention to an awkward result already
presented in Ptolemy. According to a theorem usually attributed to
Apollonius, any eccentric circle can be replaced by a concentric cir-
cle carrying an epicycle. Thus the conventional arrangement for the
motion of the Sun, an eccentric circle, could in principle be replaced
by a circle with Earth at its center, carrying an epicycle. But this would
require a completely different set of orbs. Copernicus discussed several
possible arrangements for the Sun. In principle similar ambiguities
could be introduced in any of the planetary models, and later Witten-
berg astronomers (especially the authors of the Hypotyposes) took note
of these alternatives. Kepler and his teacher Maestlin clearly regarded
Copernican planets as still constrained by orbs, but the requirement
to adjust the internal arrangement of orb clusters suggested by the
alternatives considered between 1543 and 1596 did not itself license
the radical shift of the center of the entire system from Earth to the
Sun.
A further difficulty was that Ptolemy’s model took the greatest and
least distances of planet as the outer and inner radii of its orb cluster,
and assumed that each cluster fitted exactly between its neighbors with
no empty space. Calculating the thickness of Copernicus’s planetary
spheres in the same way revealed large gaps between them, and an
even larger gap between the outmost orbs, those for Saturn, and the
sphere of fixed stars. One of the attractions of Kepler’s geometri-
cal construction is that it explains these gaps—at least between the
spheres of the planets. According to the autobiographical introduction
to the Mysterium Kepler’s attention was caught by the possibility of
using geometrical figures to explain the spacing between the celes-
tial orbs needed in Copernicus’s system. He rapidly realized that no
definitive arrangement could be established using two-dimensional fig-
ures—there were simply too many candidates. But it was well known
that there were exactly five regular three-dimensional solids—just the
number of gaps needed in the Copernican system, taking the Earth-
35
Kepler 1596, esp. ch. 2–8. On reading the Mysterium cosmographicum as a religious
work see Barker 2000, 82–8, Howell 2002, esp. ch. 4, and Barker and Goldstein 2001,
esp. section VI.
36
Barker and Goldstein 2001, 88–113.
37
For an authoritative statement on Melanchthon’s view of the status of mathemati-
cal knowledge and its relation to divine knowledge see Frank 2001, 3–18, esp. p. 14.
For Kepler’s appropriation of Melanchthon’s ideas see Barker 1997, and Barker and
Goldstein 2001.
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of Nature: The Aristotle Commentary Tradition, Eds. Daniel A. Di Liscia, Eckhard Kessler,
and Charlotte Methuen. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 355–68.
——. 1999. Copernicus and the Critics of Ptolemy. Journal for the History of Astronomy
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——. 2000. The Role of Religion in the Lutheran Response to Copernicus. In Rethink-
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——. 2004a. Astronomy, Providence and the Lutheran Contribution to Science. In
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——. 2004b. How Rothmann Changed His Mind. In Astronomy and Astrology from the
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thal, and Tzvi Langermann. Centaurus 46: 41–57.
Barker, Peter and Bernard R. Goldstein. 1998. Realism and Instrumentalism in Six-
teenth Century Astronomy: A Reappraisal. Perspectives on Science 6: 232–258.
——. 2001. Theological Foundations of Kepler’s Astronomy. In Science in Theistic Con-
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——. 2003. Patronage and the Production of De revolutionibus. Journal for the History of
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di Bono, Mario. 1995. Copernicus, Amico, Fracastoro and Tusi’s Device: Observa-
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Caspar, Max. 1993. Kepler. Trans. and ed. C. Doris Hellman; new introduction and ref-
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Donahue, William H. 1992. Johannes Kepler—New Astronomy. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Duncan, A.M. 1981. Johannes Kepler—Mysterium Cosmographicum: The Secret of the Universe.
Norwalk, CT: Abaris Books.
Frank, Günter. 2001. Melanchthon and the Tradition of Neoplatonism. In Religious Con-
fessions and the Sciences in the Sixteenth Century, Eds. Jürgen Helm and Annette Winkel-
mann. Leiden: Brill, 3–18.
Galilei, Galileo. 1957. Letter to Mme. Christina of Lorraine, Grand Duchess of Tus-
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Granada, Miguel A., Jürgen Hamel, and Ludolf von Mackensen. 2003. Christoph Roth-
manns Handbuch der Astronomie von 1589. Frankfurt am Main: Harri Deutsch.
The Holy Bible. 1914. Translated from the Latin Vulgate; Diligently Compared with the Hebrew,
Greek and other Editions in Divers Languages. The Old Testament first published by the English Col-
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Howell, Kenneth, J. 2002. God’s Two Books: Copernican Cosmology and Biblical Interpretation in
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Hübner, Jürgen. 1975. Die Theologie Johannes Keplers zwischen Orthodoxie und Naturwisseschaft.
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graphicum. Tübingen: Gruppenbach.
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Rienk H. Vermij
1
Mulerius 1616, preface.
2
See on Lansbergen, Vermij 2002, 73–97; 248–249. For a discussion of Lansbergen’s
possible heterodoxy in other contexts and its relationship to his biblically inspired
Copernicanism, see van Nouhuys 2005, 147–55.
3
Megerlin 1682, 72–73.
had a momentous impact. But even here, one might doubt whether
it really laid bare a fundamental opposition or divergence between
seventeenth-century science and religion. The Roman condemnation
of the Copernican system was to a large degree due to political circum-
stances rather than the result of widespread opposition. It was a quick,
perhaps even rash, decision of the prelates in power. Personal rancor,
tactlessness on Galileo’s part, and lack of interest in astronomy on the
part of some theologians, all played their part. It is difficult to see the
condemnation of Galileo as the focus for the emergence of new and
fundamental problems in biblical criticism.
Within Protestantism, however, things took a different turn in the
1650s. All of a sudden, in the Netherlands, the Copernican system
became a hotly debated issue in reformed theology. Books, pamphlets,
and academic disputations debated the issue pro and con. In 1656 alone,
when the debate reached its highest pitch, some twenty pamphlets were
devoted to the question and to related topics. Ministers were lecturing
their congregations on it from the pulpit and synods were debating
it. Many theologians and lay people became involved and the Dutch
Reformed Church virtually split in two over the issue. Within Roman
Catholicism, the debate had been brought to a close largely by the papal
decree. The question was simply how to cope with that fact. Within
Protestantism, on the other hand, the matter now became the subject
of a heated, often passionate, debate that lasted for decades.4
Jonathan Israel has presented this debate as one of the main overtures
to what he regards as the Enlightenment.
[I]t was unquestionably the rise of powerful new philosophical systems,
rooted in the scientific advances of the early seventeenth century and
especially the mechanistic views of Galileo, which chiefl y generated the
vast Kulturkampf between traditional, theologically sanctioned ideas about
Man, God and the universe and secular, mechanistic conceptions which
stood independently of any theological sanction.5
According to Israel, the Dutch debate on the system of the world in
the 1650s was one of the opening battles in this cultural war. Whether
or not one endorses Israel’s view of the Enlightenment, clearly some
4
The debate on Copernicanism in the 1650s has been discussed in greater detail in
Vermij 2002, 256–323. The earliest author to deal with it at some length was probably
McGahagan, 1976, 281–289. On the problem as a whole, see Howell 2002, who deals
with the Netherlands as well.
5
Israel 2001, 14, 27–28.
The character of the Dutch Reformed Church was settled at the Synod
of Dort in 1618–1619. The synod had been convened because of a con-
fl ict over the doctrine of predestination, which had brought the country
to the brink of civil war. At Dort, the strict Calvinist doctrine of grace
was officially endorsed. The Remonstrants, who had been defending
a more lenient view, were banned from the Church. In this way, doc-
trinal unity was established, at least in theory. Still, the memory of the
Remonstrant schism continued to haunt the ‘orthodox.’ Theologians
who, later in the century, tried to enforce strict orthodoxy, often justi-
fied their actions by referring to the Remonstrant troubles.
Not all issues were solved by the Synod of Dort and there remained
several bones of contention: the role of the Reformed Church in society,
the exclusive character of the Reformed Church, the strictness of mor-
als to be enforced. In the Dutch Church, as in Protestantism generally,
two major tendencies can be discerned which were at odds with each
other. On the one hand, there was a movement of Further Reforma-
tion (Nadere Reformatie), thus called because its adherents regarded the
Reformation of the sixteenth century as incomplete. This movement
aimed at achieving the sanctification of life and of society and had
close links with the Puritan movement in England. On the other hand,
there was the spread of what one might call Reformed Erasmianism,
a movement which was both antischolastic and irenicist and which
was not averse to calling on secular (e.g., philological) knowledge in
the study of theology.
Every now and then, tensions between the different views within the
church led to theological disputes. Precisitas, or the degree of strictness of
morals which had to be enforced, was a never-ending source of quar-
rels. Differences between a more and a less literal practice of reading
of the Bible also developed similarly. Professor of theology at Utrecht
University, Gijsbert Voet (Gisbertus Voetius), one of the principal
spokesmen of the Further Reformation, was also the main proponent
of the new reformed scholasticism in the Netherlands.6 He defended
a strictly literal exegesis. On the other hand, the leading professor
of theology at Leiden, Abraham Heidanus, felt more at home in the
humanist-philological tradition. This tradition at the time gave rise to
new forms of textual criticism, whereby a distinction was made between
the theological and the grammatical sense of the biblical texts.7
Since the foundation of the Dutch Republic, there had been an
uneasy relation between the government and the Dutch Reformed
Church. Effective power was in the hands of urban oligarchies. Their
members, called regents, manned the city councils and monopolized
state offices. The Reformed Church was not a creation of government,
having established itself in the revolt against Philip II of Spain as one of
the driving forces behind political independence. Formally, it remained
6
Goudriaan 2006. A recent biography of Voetius is lacking. There is a short but
excellent entry in van Bunge et al. 2003, 1030–1039. This dictionary contains further
information on most of the individuals dealt with in this article.
7
On these developments see Laplanche 1986. For a short summary, see ibid.,
1985, 463–388.
8
An excellent introduction to Dutch history is Israel 1995. See 595–609, 660–669,
700–713, 717–719, etc.
The principal, indeed almost the sole issue which made the rupture
manifest, was Cartesian philosophy. Cartesianism had been controversial
for several years before 1656. René Descartes himself had lived in the
Dutch Republic for some twenty years. His Discours de la méthode was
originally published at Leiden, and his Principia philosophiae appeared
from the presses at Amsterdam. In the 1630s and 1640s, Descartes’s
ideas gained a foothold at the Dutch universities. This caused significant
controversy and even led to formal prohibitions. Anti-Cartesianism was
particularly strong at Utrecht University, where Voetius was defining
reformed doctrine in scholastic, neo-Aristotelian terms. To him, over-
throwing Aristotelian philosophy would upset the whole of learning and
threaten the very foundations of theology. After an acerbic struggle,
Voetius succeeded in having Descartes’s philosophy officially banned
from the university.
At Leiden University, the rise of Cartesian philosophy also caused
much turmoil. Here, too, leading theologians condemned Descartes’
philosophy, notably Jacob Trigland and Jacob Revius, the regent of the
College of Theologians. They succeeded in having it officially banned
from Leiden as well. This ban proved only partially effective, however.
Descartes had found many friends and followers at Leiden, even among
theologians—most notably, Heidanus. So, in the end Leiden proved
somewhat more open to Descartes’s ideas.9
The regents who controlled the universities felt rather lukewarm
about supporting Voetius’s program of pure religion. Lacking political
support, the theological opposition could not seriously impede the prog-
ress of Cartesianism in the Dutch Republic. Many students, especially at
Leiden, eagerly accepted Cartesian tenets. By the 1650s, these students
had taken up positions in society and started to spread the Cartesian
gospel outside academia. Voetius, however, was not prepared to take this
lying down. Through his pupils and as a result of his public standing,
he had much infl uence and he built up a veritable party. In the mid-
1650s, the debate on Cartesianism fl ared up again with unprecedented
vehemence. This time, the main issue was Earth’s motion.
Until this time, the Copernican hypothesis was far from universally
acclaimed. The discoveries by Galileo, Kepler, and others had seri-
9
Verbeek 1992; van Bunge 2001, 34–93.
10
du Bois 1653, 252–255.
11
Wittichius 1653, 1656, 1659. The last work was reprinted in 1688 at Amsterdam.
For these titles and the ensuing controversy, see in more detail Vermij 2002, 256–267.
For Wittichius’s problems with the synod of Gelderland, ibid., 299–303.
12
van Velthuysen 1655. On the political background of Velthuysen’s attack cf.
Vermij 2002, 272–280. On Velthuysen’s pamphlets and the reactions they elicited,
ibid., 281–294. The debate between Velthuysen and du Bois is discussed by van
Bunge, 74–83.
While the debate on the motion of Earth was a debate about Cartesian
philosophy, it can be argued that the latter also raised the issue of the
authority of Scripture. Wittichius, it is true, repeatedly stressed that
the debate was not about the status or the authority of the Bible, but
about the correct interpretation of the text.15 However, the fact that
he felt the need to state this so emphatically is telling. To Voetius, in
truth, the issue at stake was the very authority of the Bible.
The question at stake concerned the extent to which biblical exegesis
was affected by the new philosophy. It was Cartesianism that particularly
drove this problem home, and while the motion of Earth was not the
only issue, it was the point where the problem became most mani-
festly clear. By the publication of the 1656 pamphlets, the debate had
already spread to include many other issues where Cartesian philosophy
appeared to disagree with biblical revelation, or where a strictly literal
reading of the Bible could be regarded as unjustified: questions such
as whether animals have understanding; what was the nature of the
Egyptian darkness; whether God could lie, etc. These further points
help one to understand the debate as a whole, but in this section, I
shall limit myself to explaining the arguments as they referred to the
motion of Earth and the Sun.
13
[van Velthuysen 1655], 5.
14
du Bois 1655a, 5.
15
Wittichius 1656, 11–12; ibid. 1659.
16
Voetius 1635, 271, 281. The list of objections and refutations is actually much
longer: 256–283. For Voetius’s dispute with Batelier, see Vermij 2002, 162–164,
249–250.
17
du Bois 1653, preface, 14. He ventured this exegetical principle also in later works,
for instance, du Bois 1655b, 72 (“a proprietate verborum, sine cogente necessitate non
est recedendum”); ibid. 1656, 18.
18
du Bois 1655a, 25.
19
Ibid. 53–54. Because of their anti-Trinitarianism, Socinians were regarded as
rationalists, who rejected the Christian mysteries for being contrary to reason.
20
These opinions are stated most clearly in Wittichius 1656.
21
[van Velthuysen 1655], 10, 26.
To depart from the literal sense every time one felt that it would oth-
erwise result in an absurdity, would really be to subjugate Scripture to
human reason. Van Velthuysen himself clearly stated that wherever
the Bible is engaged in teaching and dogmatising, one should follow it
unconditionally, even if the result might seem absurd. Du Bois indeed
had not much to say in reply to this, except to argue that he had
drawn his exegetical principles from impeccable reformed authors. Van
Velthuysen thereupon not only demonstrated in detail the similarities
between du Bois’s exegesis and that of the Socinians, he also pointed
out that his own principle of looking at what the Bible teaches and
dogmatises had previously been recommended by Voetius himself.22
Defiantly, he stated: “Two eggs are not more similar than my answer
is to that of the theologians. But now that it is said by a Cartesian, it
is a great heresy, a rupture of the authority of Holy Scripture, a devil’s
work, etc.”23
In fact, as far as exegetical principles are concerned, there do not
seem to be any significant differences between the two parties.24 All of
the protagonists clearly stood in the reformed tradition. The Coperni-
cans could and did refer to authorities of impeccable orthodoxy, John
Calvin among them. Wittichius’s detractors had to acknowledge that
they had virtually nothing to say against his basic principles. It was the
case, they agreed, that the Bible used common language, similes, and
manners of speaking; it adapted itself to our understanding and might
well be said to express the truth with respect to man. But then, they
added, none of this was relevant. The question was not “whether the
Bible speaks in general according to the common opinion; but whether
it speaks according to common opinion when it is in error, contrary to
truth.”25 The protagonists in this debate differed not in their theological
methods, but in their idea of what was true.
22
van Velthuysen 1656, 101; du Bois 1656, 10; van Velthuysen 1657, 35–42.
23
Ibid., 32–33.
24
Cf. van Bunge 2001, 52, 78.
25
Niepoort 1656, 149: “an S. Scriptura loquator secundum opinionem vulgi in
genere; sed an loquator secundum opinionem vulgi erroneam, oppositè ad veritatem.”
These disputations had originally been defended at the University of Utrecht under
the presidency of Professor Andreas Essenius.
26
Armogathe 1989, 49–60; Popkin, 1982, 61–81.
27
Henry 2004, 73–114; Gaukroger 1995; see also the contributions in Gaukroger,
2000.
The new view of reality that emerged in the seventeenth century was
there to last. Theologians would have to adapt themselves, in one way
or other, to this new view of the world. The new physics posed problems
28
van Ruler 1995, passim.
for traditional interpretations of the Bible which were not just limited
to the motion of Earth. The establishment of Cartesian philosophy
with its new physics coincided with much debate, in the Netherlands
and elsewhere, on all kinds of topics where new philosophical insights
seemed to contradict traditional theological notions.
The religious meaning of comets, for example, was hotly debated
in the second half of the seventeenth century. Although many of
the arguments in this debate were of respectable antiquity, it seems
plausible that it was the new and contested views about natural phe-
nomena that made the issue so prominent in this period.29 The same
is true for debates about the resurrection in the seventeenth century.
Daily experience tells us that people’s bodies are well-defined entities.
Hence, the resurrection of the body was an unproblematic concept.
The mechanical philosophy, however, taught that those bodies were
accidental assemblages of material particles, which were in constant
fl ux. By the end of the seventeenth century, philosophers were draw-
ing attention to the consequences of such positions for the doctrine of
the resurrection. Given the accidental nature of the assemblage of the
human body, they asked, with what bodies would people appear at
the Last Judgment?30
Some philosophical debates during the second half of the seventeenth
century traced their origin directly to the Dutch pamphlets of the 1650s.
Van Velthuysen and du Bois had quarreled over biblical texts that
attribute understanding to animals. This appears to have prompted
Florentius Schuyl to publish, in 1662, an elaborated defense in Latin
of Descartes’s views on the beast-machine. This put the topic on the
philosophical agenda. After 1662, animal souls became a subject for
international debate.31
However, in conclusion, might all this mean that (as Israel contends)
such debates were merely the introduction to those later debates on
the Bible, together with other Enlightenment topics, which we associate
with the name of Spinoza? In some respects, this cannot be doubted.
One of the main issues in the debates over Spinozism was the relation
29
For the debate on comets in the Dutch Republic, see Jorink 2006, 114–185. Jorink
stresses the significance for this of the tradition of humanist philology.
30
This topic was the subject of a quarrel between the mathematician Johann Ber-
noulli and the theologian Paulus Hulsius at the University of Groningen in the 1690s.
See van Maanen 1995, 53–67.
31
Vermij 1994, 51–63.
32
Schneppen 1960, 75–131; Tholuck 1853–1854 & 1861–1862.
33
Cf. Scholder 1966, 144: “Hier, in der Abwehr des Cartesianismus, beginnt jener
Bund zwischen Fundamentalismus und Konservatismus, der für die Kirchengeschichte
der Neuzeit so überaus characteristisch ist.”
34
On Cocceius’s theology, see van Asselt 2001.
35
For a discussion see van der Wall 1996, 445–455.
36
van Bunge 1995, 659–673, in particular 666–667.
Conclusion
Bibliography
Armogathe, J.-R. 1989. La vérité des Ecritures et la nouvelle physique. In Le grand siècle
et la bible. Ed. J.-R. Armogathe. Paris: Beauchesne.
du Bois, Jacob. 1653. Dialogus theologico-astronomicus. Leiden: Petrus Leffen.
——. 1655a. Naecktheyt van de cartesiaensche philosophie. Utrecht: Johannes van Waesberge.
37
Niepoort 1656 pars prior, thesis 7.
——. 1655b. Veritas et authoritas sacra, in naturalibus & astronomicis asserta & vindicata.
Utrecht: Joh. à Waesberge.
——. 1656. Schadelickheyt van de cartesiaensche philosophie. Utrecht: Johan van Waesberge.
Gaukroger, S. 1995. Descartes. An Intellectual Biography. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
Gaukroger, S., J. Schuster and J. Sutton eds. 2000. Descartes’ Natural Philosophy. London:
Routledge.
Goudriaan, A. 2006. Reformed Orthodoxy and Philosophy, 1625–1750: Gisbertus Voetius, Petrus
van Mastricht, and Anthonius Driessen. Leiden: Brill.
Henry, J. 2004. Metaphysics and the Origins of Modern Science: Descartes and the
Importance of the Laws of Nature. Early Science and Medicine 9: 73–114.
Howell, K.L. 2002. God’s Two Books. Copernican Cosmology and Biblical Interpretation in Early
Modern Science. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press.
Israel, Jonathan 1995. The Dutch Republic. Its Rise, Greatness and Fall 1477–1806. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
——. 2001. Radical Enlightenment. Philosophy and the Making of Modernity 1650–1750.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Jorink, E. 2006. Het boeck der natuere. Nederlandse geleerden en de wonderen van Gods schepping
1575–1715. Leiden: Primavera Press.
Laplanche, F. 1985. Tradition et modernité au XVIIe siècle. L’exegèse biblique des
protestants français. Annales ESC: 463–388.
——. 1986. L’écriture, le sacré et l’histoire. Érudits et politiques protestants devant la Bible en France
au XVIIe siècle. Amsterdam/Maarssen: APA-Holland University Press.
McGahagan, T.A. 1976. Cartesianism in the Netherlands 1639–1676: The New Science
and the Calvinist Counter-reformation (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania).
Megerlin, Petrus. 1682. Systema mundi Copernicanum, argumentis invictis demonstratum &
conciliatum theologiae. Amsterdam: Henr. Wetstenius.
Mulerius, Nicolaus. 1616. Institutionum astronomicarum libri duo. Groningen: Joannes Sassius.
Niepoort, Arnoldus. 1656. De authoritate et veritate Sacrae Scripturae in rebus philo-
sophicis. In Disputationes theologicae quatuor, de usu Sacrae Scripturae in rebus philosophicis,
contra Christophori Wittichii dissertationes. Arnoldus Niepoort, Johannes Beusechum and
Henricus Troy. Utrecht: Joannes à Waesberge.
Popkin, R.H. 1982. Cartesianism and Biblical Criticism. In Problems of Cartesianism.
Ed. Thomas M. Lennon and J.M. Nicholas. Kingston/Montreal: McGill-Queen’s
University Press.
Schneppen, H. 1960. Niederländische Universitäten und deutsches Geistesleben. Von der Gründung
der Universität Leiden bis ins späte 18. Jahrhundert. Münster: Aschendorff.
Scholder, K. 1966. Ursprünge und Probleme der Bibelkritik im 17. Jahrhundert. Ein Beitrag zur
Entstehung der historisch-kritischen Theologie. München: Kaiser.
Tholuck, A. 1853–1854. Vorgeschichte des Rationalismus. Vol. 1, Das akademische Leben des
siebzehnten Jahrhunderts. Halle: Anton.
——. 1861–1862. Vorgeschichte des Rationalismus. Vol. 2, Das kirchliche Leben des siebzehnten
Jahrhunderts. Berlin: Wiegandt and Grieben.
van Asselt, W.J. 2001. The Federal Theology of Johannes Cocceius (1603-1669) Leiden:
Brill.
van Bunge, W. 1995. Balthasar Bekker on Daniel. An Early Enlightenment Critique
of Millenarianism. History of European Ideas 21: 659–673.
——. 2001. From Stevin to Spinoza. An Essay on Philosophy in the Seventeenth-Century Dutch
Republic. Leiden: Brill.
van Bunge, Wiep, Henri Krop, Bart Leeuwenburgh, Han van Ruler and Paul Schuur-
man, ed. 2003. Dictionary of Seventeenth and Eighteenth-century Dutch Philosophers. Bristol:
Thoemmes.
Maurice A. Finocchiaro
Preliminaries
1
“Che le dimostrazioni per la mobilità della Terra sieno molto più gagliarde di quelle
dell’altra parte”: in Favaro 5:354; references to Favaro 1890–1909 will be given by
omitting the years, while retaining Favaro’s name and the volume and page numbers.
Cf. Finocchiaro (1989, 73; 1997, 5); Camerota 2004, 352.
because one could accept the former without the latter, but also because
the scriptural controversy was elicited primarily by the latter.
Second, it is useful to distinguish not only between exegesis and herme-
neutics, but also between them (especially the latter) and what I shall call
metahermeneutics or metascriptural methodology. That is, in accordance with
standard terminology, the label exegesis should be used to refer to the
practice of textual interpretation, namely to particular interpretations of
particular biblical texts; and the label hermeneutics should be taken to
mean the theory of textual interpretation, i.e., principles and methods
of biblical interpretation. However, we also need a label to denote the
study of questions about the role (if any) of Scripture in the search for
truth about nature; I shall call this metahermeneutics or metascriptural
methodology.2 Accordingly, hermeneutics refers to principles like the
following: scriptural statements should be interpreted literally if the
literal interpretation implies no absurdities; scriptural statements should
be interpreted as accommodating themselves to popular language and
beliefs if their literal interpretation implies absurdities, such as con-
tradicting most other relevant scriptural statements (this is a version
of the so-called principle of accommodation and is the converse of the
preceding principle); scriptural statements about natural phenomena
should not be interpreted literally if their literal interpretation contradicts
scientific truths that have been conclusively demonstrated (this has been
called the principle of priority of demonstration);3 scriptural statements
about natural phenomena should be interpreted literally if their literal
interpretation does not contradict any conclusively demonstrated truths
(this is the converse of the last principle and could be called the principle
of the necessity of demonstration). Metascriptural methodology, on the
other hand, refers to maxims that have been given such labels as the
principle of scriptural limitation, or the principle denying the scientific
authority of Scripture;4 for example, Galileo claimed that in Scripture,
“the intention of the Holy Spirit is to teach us how one goes to heaven
and not how heaven goes.”5
2
My concept here is similar, although not identical, to the one advanced by Beretta
(2005, 244) and Mayaud (2005, 18–19); moreover, their terminology is different from
mine.
3
McMullin 1998, 294; 2005b, 93.
4
Respectively, McMullin 2005b, 95; Finocchiaro 2005, 266.
5
Finocchiaro 1989, 96; cf. Favaro 5:319.
6
Garin 1975, 280; Granada 1997; Lerner 2002; Mayaud 2005, 3:84–87.
7
Blackwell 1991, 23; cf. Luther 1912–21, IV, no. 4638.
8
Lerner 2005, 11; cf. Lerner 1999, 69.
9
Cf. Grant 1984, 61–62; Lattis 1994, 106–44; Lerner 1999; 2005; Howell 2002,
39–136; Kelter 1995; 2005; Mayaud 2005.
10
See Wallace 1984, 282–98; Finocchiaro 1980, 3–45; 1988; 1997, 5, 28–38. Cf.
Favaro 5:354; Finocchiaro 1989, 73; Camerota 2004, 352.
11
Brevissima peregrinatio contra nuncium sidereum: in Favaro 3:127–45.
12
“Contro il moto della Terra”: in Favaro 3:12, 251–90.
13
Favaro 3:12, 201–50; cf. Gebler 1879 , 39; Müller 1911, 86–87.
14
De phaenomenis in orbe Lunae nunc iterum suscitatis: in Favaro 3:13, 309–99.
15
Favaro 11:354–55, 376.
16
Favaro 11:427.
17
Dialogo di Fr. Ulisse Albergotti, ecc. nel quale si tiene, contro l’opinione commune de gli astrologi,
matematici e filosofi, la luna esser da sè luminosa e non ricevere il lume dal sole . . .: cf. Favaro
11:598–99; Drake 1957, 190.
18
Favaro 11:605–06, 5:281–88; Finocchiaro 1989, 47–54.
19
Favaro 12:123, 19:307.
20
Fabroni 1773–1775, 1:47 n. 1; for the mythological character of this claim, see
Finocchiaro 2005, 115.
Ingoli
21
Martin 1868, 42–43; Camerota 2004, 338–42.
22
Favaro 19:297–98; Finocchiaro 1989, 134–35.
23
Favaro 19:307–11; Finocchiaro 1989, 136–41.
24
Blackwell 1991, 39–40, 113 n. 4.
25
Cf. Finocchiaro 1989; 2005; Fantoli 1996; McMullin 2005c; 2005a; 2005b.
26
Ingoli 1616. Cf. Ingoli 1618a; 1618b; Favaro 1891a; 1891b; Bucciantini 1995.
27
Cf. Favaro 1891a, 165–72; 5:400. In light of this, the chronology of Howell’s
(2002, 199) discussion should be revised.
two years later Kepler wrote a reply to Ingoli,28 and eight years later
so did Galileo.29
Ingoli was a well connected clergyman. Although it is not certain,
it is probable that he was commissioned by the Inquisition to write an
expert opinion on the controversy;30 that he wrote his essay in January
1616; and that it provided the chief direct basis for the recommendation
by its consultants that Copernicanism was philosophically untenable
and theologically heretical.31 However, it is a well documented fact that
soon after the Index’s anti-Copernican decree of 5 March 1616, on
May 10 Ingoli was formally appointed consultant to the Congregation
of the Index; that on 2 April 1618 he presented to this congregation
a report for the correction of Copernicus’s Revolutions; that his report
was accepted; that the Index’s decree of 15 May 1620 corresponded
essentially to Ingoli’s report; and that he was responsible also for the
banning of Kepler’s Epitome of Copernican Astronomy by the Index in
February 1618.32
What is of interest here is Ingoli’s scriptural objection. First, it is
worth repeating that Ingoli’s biblical arguments occur in the context
of a comprehensive presentation of all available anti-Copernican
arguments. He advances a total of twenty-two arguments: by his own
classification, thirteen are ‘mathematical,’ by which he means that they
involve technical details of astronomy; five are ‘physical,’ by which he
means that they involve principles about the motion, natural places,
or optical properties of bodies. Many of the objections are adapted
from Tycho Brahe’s Epistolarum astronomicarum libri (1596), which Ingoli
explicitly mentions. At least one, involving parallax, is alleged to be
original with himself.
Four of the objections are ‘theological.’ Of these, two involve com-
mon Catholic beliefs not directly traceable to Scripture: the doctrine
that hell is located at the center of Earth and is most distant from
heaven; and the explicit assertion that Earth is motionless in a hymn
sung on Tuesdays as part of the Liturgy of the Hours of the Divine
28
Kepler 1618.
29
Finocchiaro 1989, 154–97.
30
Brandmüller & Greipl 1992, 444–45; Bucciantini 1995, 86ff; Lerner 1999, 87
n. 51.
31
Favaro 19:320–21; Finocchiaro 1989, 146–47.
32
Bucciantini 1995, 87–88; Gingerich 1981; Ingoli 1618a; 1618b; Kepler 1619;
1846; Lerner 2004, 30–35; Mayaud 1997, 56–69.
33
Favaro 5:411; cf. Blackwell 1991, 62; Howell 2002, 200–201. I thank Kenneth
Howell and Father Mariano Artigas for clarifications about the meaning of this refer-
ence by Ingoli.
34
Bucciantini 1995, 89; Favaro 5:407–8.
35
Josh. 10:13–14, King James Version. So far this passage corresponds to Favaro
5:411, lines 14–19, and the translation is my own: “Argumenta theologica ex Sacris
Scripturis et authoritatibus Patrum et theologorum Scholasticorum infinita possunt
contra Terrae motionem proponi: sed duo tantum adducam, quae firmiora mihi esse
videntur. Alterum est ex Iosue, cap. X, ubi ad preces Iosue dicit Scriptura: Stetit itaque
Sol in medio coeli, et non festinavit occumbere spatio unius diei; non fuit antea et
postea tam longa dies, obediente Domino voci hominis.”
36
The second paragraph of this quotation is from Blackwell 1991, 63; cf. Favaro
5:411, lines 19–28; cf. also Bucciantini 1995, 90; Howell 2002, 200.
37
Schroeder 1978, 18–19.
the literal interpretation that the sun is in heaven and turns around the
earth with great speed, and that the earth is very far from heaven and
sits motionless at the center of the world . . . Nor can one answer that this
is not a matter of faith, since if it is not a matter of faith “as regards the
topic,” it is a matter of faith “as regards the speaker”; and so it would
be heretical to say that Abraham did not have two children and Jacob
twelve, as well as to say that Christ was not born of a virgin, because
both are said by the Holy Spirit through the mouth of the prophets and
the apostles.38
At the beginning of this letter, Bellarmine mentions Galileo by name
and makes it clear that the letter is indirectly addressed to him as well
as to Foscarini. Thus, Galileo became acquainted with it and wrote
down a series of notes which he did not publish at the time, but which
were later edited under the title of “Considerations on the Copernican
Opinion.” The logical weakness of Bellarmine’s argument just quoted
may be seen from the answer Galileo gives:
The answer is that everything in Scripture is “an article of faith by reason
of the speaker,” so that in this regard it should be included in the rule
of the Council; but this clearly has not been done because in that case it
would have said that “the interpretation of the Fathers is to be followed
for every word of the Scriptures, etc.,” and not “for matters of faith and
morals”; having thus said “for matters of faith,” we see that its intention
was to mean “for matters of faith by reason of the topic.”39
However, as already mentioned and as it will re-emerge later, here
we have another illustration characteristic of this whole episode where
political power prevailed over logical rationality.
Foscarini
38
Finocchiaro 1989, 67–68. Cf. Favaro 12:172; Mayaud 2005, 6:349–50.
39
Finocchiaro 1989, 84; cf. Favaro 5:367. See also Mayaud 2005, 6:349–50.
40
For more information, see Basile 1983; 1987, Boaga 1990, Caroti 1987.
41
Foscarini 1615a. Cf. Foscarini 1635; 1641; 1661; 1663; 1710; 1811; 1846; 1991b;
1992; 1997; 2001. Many editions lengthen the book’s title by adding the clause “in
which it is shown that the opinion agrees with, and is reconciled with, the passages of
Sacred Scripture and theological propositions which are commonly adduced against
it” (Blackwell 1991, 217). But this was an editorial addition in the 1635 Strasbourg
edition.
42
Foscarini 1615a, 13. In this section, when I am indirectly quoting, further refer-
ences to Foscarini 1615a will be given in parenthesis by citing just the page number
(as done here); but when I am quoting directly and translating, I shall have a footnote
with the original Italian text.
43
Foscarini 1615a, 19: “quando dalla Scrittura sacra viene attribuita a Dio, o
ad alcuna creatura, alcuna cosa, che (per altro) si vede essergli disconveniente, et
improporzionata, allora s’interpreta, e si esplica con una, o più delle seguenti quattro
glosse.”
like anger and regret; also with statements that attribute to Earth ends
and foundations; and with those that speak of light and night and day
having been created before anything else, of the six ‘days’ of creation,
and of the Sun and Moon as the two great luminaries. However,
Foscarini is careful to formulate the conclusion of this argument by
saying that
if the Pythagorean opinion were otherwise true, then it could easily be
reconciled with the passages of Sacred Scripture that appear contrary to
it . . . by saying that there Scripture speaks in accordance with our manner
of understanding, with the appearances, and with our point of view;44
and indeed such a conditional and relatively weak conclusion is all that
follows from the principle of accommodation as stated by Foscarini,
which is contingent on a scriptural attribution that is otherwise known
to be literally incorrect. Thus, from the principle of accommodation
Foscarini does not show, and does not pretend to show, that Coperni-
canism is indeed compatible with Scripture, but only that if we knew
that Copernicanism were true then we could reinterpret geostatic
statements in Scripture.
Another key argument is based on the principle of limited scriptural
authority.45 Paraphrasing various scriptural passages,46 Foscarini claims
that
Sacred Scripture . . . does not instruct men in the truth of the secrets of
nature . . . because [God] has already allowed and decided that the world
be occupied with disputations, quarrels, and controversies and be subject
to uncertainty in everything47 (as stated in Ecclesiastes), and that the
44
Foscarini 1615a, 29–30: “quando per altro l’opinione pittagorica sia vera, facil-
mente si possono conciliare con essa, l’auttorità della Scrittura sacra, che gli paiono
contrarie . . . dicendo, che ivi la Scrittura ragiona, secondo il modo nostro di conoscere,
e secondo l’apparenza, et a rispetto nostro.”
45
Here I am adopting McMullin’s terminology; he uses such labels as “principle of
limitation” (1998, 298) and “principle of scriptural limitation” (2005c, 95). In the past
I have used such longer and clumsier expressions as the principle that Scripture is not
a scientific authority, or the principle denying the scientific authority of Scripture, or
the principle of the nonscientific authority of Scripture.
46
Eccles. 1:13, 3:11, 8, 9; 1 Cor. 4:5.
47
Such expressions have led Howell (2002, 196–98) to attribute to Foscarini a general
skepticism about human knowledge. Instead I take them as an indication at most of
a fallibilist position; but I think Foscarini’s main point is that knowledge about nature
must be acquired by human beings through their efforts.
answer will only come at the end . . . Thus, its intention is now only to
teach us the true road to eternal life.48
The conclusion he reaches is that
so consequently we see how and why from the passages already mentioned
we cannot derive any certain resolutions in such subjects, and how with
this principle we can easily avoid the hits from the first and second group
of passages and from any other allegation derived from Sacred Scripture
against the Pythagorean and Copernican opinion.49
This seems a more direct line of reasoning in support of his claim that
Copernicanism does not contradict Scripture, for Foscarini is saying that
since Scripture is not an authority on the secrets of nature, scriptural
allegations about Earth’s rest and the Sun’s motion do not entitle us
to infer that Earth is motionless and the Sun moves, and so we are in
no position to assert Earth’s rest on scriptural grounds, and hence the
confl ict with the Copernican opinion evaporates. That is, Earth’s motion
is not contrary to Scripture because Scripture is not a philosophical (or
scientific) authority and so scriptural assertions that Earth is motionless
do not entail that Earth is motionless.50
A third argument involves what Foscarini calls the principle of
“extrinsic denomination” and the passage in Josh. 10:12–13. This is
the passage where Joshua prays to God to stop the Sun and prevent
it from setting so that the Israelites can have more time of daylight to
finish winning a battle against the Amorites; God did the miracle and
the Sun stood still for a whole day. The principle states that
48
Foscarini 1615a, 30–31: “la Scrittura sacra . . . non istruisca gli uomini nella verità
de i segreti della natura . . . poiché ha già permesso, e statuito, che stia occupato il mondo
nelle disputationi, nelle liti, nelle controversie, e soggetto alla incertitudine d’ogni cosa
(secondo il detto dell’Ecclesiaste) e non si proferirà la sentenza insino al fine . . . Onde
solo è l’intento suo ora d’insegnarci la vera strada della vita eterna.”
49
Foscarini 1615a, 34: “e così per consequenza si vede in che modo, e per qual
causa dalle autorità già dette non si può cavar certezza alcuna di risolutioni in simili
materie; e come con questo fondamento si riparano facilmente, e schivano i colpi delle
auttorità della prima, e della seconda classe, e di qualsivoglia altra allegatione cavata
dalla Scrittura sacra, contro l’opinione pittagorica, e copernicana.”
50
Some scholars (Boaga 1990, 186) ignore this line of reasoning in Foscarini (1615a,
30–34) and portray him as accepting the philosophical primacy and authority of Scrip-
ture; they do so based on a passage (Foscarini 1615a, 7–8) that seems to say that if
there is a contradiction between Scripture and human reason or sense, Scripture ought
to have priority; but such an interpretation neglects a qualification which Foscarini
adds to the alleged contradiction, namely that the scriptural passage is so expressed
that its interpretation is not subject to argument.
many times one says commonly and most properly that a motionless
agent moves not because it really moves but by extrinsic denomination,
namely because with the motion of the subject that receives its infl uence
and action, what also moves is some property which the agent causes
in the subject.51
Applied to the Joshua miracle, we get: if Earth moves and the Sun
stands still, sunlight would still move over Earth’s surface, and so
it would be proper to say, by extrinsic denomination, that the cause
of this moving sunlight itself moves. Earth’s motion can thus be rec-
onciled with the Joshua passage. Most of the rest of Foscarini’s Letter
consists of reasoning arguing that various specific scriptural passages
alleged to be contrary to Copernicanism can be reconciled with it in
various ways.
Foscarini’s Letter attracted the attention of the Inquisition. By March
1615 the Inquisition had ordered an evaluation, and the consultant had
written a very critical opinion.52 Foscarini must have learned something
about this censure, and so he wrote a defense of his Letter and sent both
to Cardinal Bellarmine.53 Bellarmine replied with his famous letter of
12 April 1615, containing gracious but firm criticism.54 Soon thereafter,
Foscarini left Rome and returned home, intending to revise his Letter to
take such criticism into account. This revision never materialized, partly
because not long after the Index’s anti-Copernican decree (5 March
1616), Foscarini died on 10 June 1616 “perhaps from a heartbreak,”
according to one scholar’s speculation.55
Galileo
51
Foscarini 1615a, 35: “molte volte si suol dire communemente, è benissimo muo-
versi uno agente, il quale stia fermo, non perché si muova esso, ma per denominatione
estrinseca, perché al moto del soggetto, che riceve l’infl usso suo, e la sua attione, si muove
anche la forma, e la qualità, che in quel soggetto s’induce dall’agente.”
52
Judicium de epistola F. Pauli Foscarini de mobilitate Terrae (1615; 1882); An
Unidentified Theologian’s Censure of Foscarini’s Letter (1991); Blackwell 1991, 253–54;
Boaga 1990, 188; Kelter 1997; McMullin 2005b, 104–5.
53
Boaga 1990, 188–89, 204–14; Foscarini (1615b; 1615c; 1615d; 1882; 1911–1913;
1991a); Nardi 1970, 85–110.
54
Cf. Favaro 12:171–72; Finocchiaro 1989, 67–69.
55
Boaga 1990, 194: “forse di crepacuore.”
56
I would thus hesitate to speak of it as a “treatise” (McMullin 1998, 302; 2005c, 3);
this tends to distract one away from the key purpose of refuting the scriptural objection
and into searching (e.g., Carroll 1997; 1999; 2001) for a generality and systematicity in
Galileo’s hermeneutical views which would be at odds with this main purpose.
57
Finocchiaro 1989, 92; cf. Favaro 5:315.
58
Favaro 5:315–23, 323–30, 330–35, 335–39, 339–43, respectively.
59
Favaro 5:343–48. In this section, simple references to Favaro 1890–1909, vol. 5,
will be given in parenthesis by citing just the page number, as done here.
60
I believe this interpretation offers a simple and elegant solution to the problem
that here Galileo apparently does what elsewhere he claims one is not supposed to,
namely to use Scripture to support an astronomical theory. This is a problem with
which many scholars have struggled: Biagioli (2003; 2006, 219–59); Lerner (1999,
81–82; 2005, 20–21); Mayaud 2005, 1:259–62; McMullin 2005b, 101–2, 110–11;
Pesce (2000, 48–50; 2005, 1–2, 226–29).
61
My interpretation is reminiscent of, but different from, the accounts given by
Howell (2002, 186–96) and McMullin (2005b).
how heaven goes,”62 the physical universe and the human senses and
mind are the work of God, and so one cannot doubt the truth of physical
conclusions grounded on sense-experience and conclusive arguments
(316–17). From these three claims, Galileo thinks it plausibly follows
that the literal interpretation of Scripture is not relevant when we are
dealing with physical propositions that are capable of being conclusively
proved (even if not proved yet), because this would be the more prudent
policy and because what we know is a minute part of what we do not
know (320–21). Galileo’s own words make clear the tentativeness and
prudential character of his conclusion:
I should think it would be very prudent not to allow anyone to commit
and in a way oblige scriptural passages to have to maintain the truth of
any physical conclusions whose contrary could ever be proved to us by
the senses and demonstrative and necessary reasons.63
Next, Galileo undertakes an explicit criticism of theological authority.
He argues that theology is not the queen of the sciences because its
principles do not provide the logical foundations of the knowledge
formulated in other sciences, the way that, for example, geometry does
for surveying (324–25). Moreover, theologians cannot dictate physi-
cal conclusions from above (i.e., without actually getting involved in
physical investigations), any more than a king who is not a physician
can prescribe cures for the sick. Nor can theologians tell scientists to
undo their own observations and proofs because this is an inherently
impossible task (325–27). Rather, theologians can and should follow two
courses. The first corresponds to already established practice: apropos of
conclusively established physical truths they should strive to show that
they are not contrary to Scripture by an appropriate interpretation of
the latter. The second would be a rule of interdisciplinary communi-
cation. Regarding scientific ideas that are not conclusively proved but
are contrary to Scripture, theologians should presume them to be false
and accordingly should try to give a scientific disproof of them; this is
desirable because the inadequacies of an idea can be discovered more
easily by those who reject it. This ingenious but plausible rule is this
section’s main conclusion (327).
Galileo then questions the traditional principle that used scriptural
consensus combined with the unanimity of the church fathers to require
62
Finocchiaro 1989, 96; cf. Favaro 5:319.
63
Finocchiaro 1989, 96; cf. Favaro 5:320.
64
Finocchiaro 1989, 110; cf. Favaro 5:338.
65
Finocchiaro 1989, 114; cf. Favaro 5:343.
66
Finocchiaro 1989, 114; cf. Favaro 5:342.
67
Howell (2002, 195) is one of the few scholars who also stress this.
68
See Finocchiaro 1980; 1986; 1988.
69
Galilei 1636; cf. Finocchiaro 2005, 72–79; Garcia (2000; 2005); Motta 2000.
70
My earlier accounts (Finocchiaro 1986; 1995) did not contain this supplement.
71
The Augustinian aspect of Galileo’s Letter to Christina has also been discussed by
McMullin (1998; 1999; 2005b) and Howell (2002, 188–89; cf. 2005), but they advance
theses different from mine.
72
I believe McMullin (1998, 299) and Howell (2002, 197) go too far in denying
historical novelty to Galileo’s hermeneutics, just as other scholars go too far in the
opposite direction of attributing to him novelty.
73
Galilei 1636; Motta 2000; Finocchiaro 2005, 72–79.
74
See Finocchiaro 2005, 263–66.
75
Finocchiaro 1989, 95; cf. Augustine, De Genesi ad Litteram, ii, 9, 20; Favaro 5:318;
Leo XIII 1893, paragraph 18, p. 334.
76
Finocchiaro 1989, 101; cf. Augustine, De Genesi ad Litteram, i, 21, 41; Favaro 5:327;
Leo XIII 1893, paragraph 18, p. 334.
77
McMullin 1998, 308–11; 2005b, 107–10.
78
Finocchiaro 1989, 95; cf. Favaro 5:317; McMullin (1998, 308; 2005b, 109).
79
Finocchiaro 1989, 104; cf. Favaro 5:330; McMullin 1998, 309–10.
contrary to the Holy Writ, then they must be considered indubitably false
and must be demonstrated such by every possible means.80
Clearly, if such assertions were expressions of the principle of scriptural
priority, they would undermine the apologetic purpose of the Letter,
namely the plan to refute the scriptural objection to Copernicanism
by arguing (among other criticisms) that the objection is a nonsequitur
because scriptural statements about Earth’s rest and the Sun’s motion
do not entail that Earth really rests and the Sun really moves. However,
if these passages were regarded essentially as attempts to define more
precisely the proper scope of the principle of non-scientific author-
ity of Scripture, then such an interpretation would conform with the
apologetic purpose of the Letter, and so would be preferable to the
alternatives that undermine that purpose. I believe such an interpreta-
tion would be along the following lines.
That is, the first passage asserts that scriptural assertions have pri-
ority over other assertions in regard to historical questions; and here
Galileo’s talk of “pure narration” provides a crucial clue.81 The second
states that Scripture has priority over unprovable assertions in regard to
natural phenomena. The third claims that for theologians scriptural
assertions have priority over unsupported assertions in all other writings.
In other words, Scripture is a superior authority regarding (1) histori-
cal questions that depend on balancing probabilities of testimony; (2)
undecidable questions about physical reality; and (3) unsupported
assertions on any topic in any book. Thus, although Galileo denies the
astronomical authority of Scripture, he accepts its authority not only
for questions of faith and morals, but also for the weighing of probable
testimony in history, for undecidable questions in natural philosophy,
and for questions of presumption of truth for unsupported claims. These
are important nuances, complications, and qualifications in Galileo’s
position, but none of them undermine his criticism of the scriptural
objection to Copernicanism.
80
Finocchiaro 1989, 101–2; cf. Favaro 5:327; McMullin (1998, 310; 2005b, 109).
81
Additionally, Galileo explicitly suggests this in his reply to Bellarmine, in “Consid-
erations on the Copernican Opinion” (in Favaro 5: 367–68; Finocchiaro 1989, 84).
Campanella
82
Campanella 1622; cf. Campanella 1821; 1846; 1911; 1937; 1968; 1971; 1992;
1994; 1997; 1999; 2001a; 2001b; 2006.
83
Femiano 1971, 21–30; Headley 1997, 97, 169–70; Lerner (2001a; 2001b, xix–liv;
2006, ix–xxx). For other views, see Blackwell 1994, 19–24; Ditadi 1992; Firpo 1968,
21; Ponzio (1998; 2001, 5–7).
84
Lerner 2001b, xcv–c, 1–2; 2006, xxxiii–xxxv. Also correct, of course, is Germana
Ernst’s Italian translation of this phrase in the book’s title as modo di filosofare, in Cam-
panella (1999; 2006); but it is puzzling that in the middle of ch. 3 (Campanella 2006,
98–99) she should translate modum philosophandi as filosofia.
85
See respectively, Blackwell 1994, iii; Ponzio 2001, 45; Femiano 1971, 35, 43;
Ditadi 1992, 117; Firpo 1968, 27. Slightly better is “kind of philosophy” (McColley
1937, 1).
he really was;86 and it would imply that he was trying to do the same
thing Foscarini had done. On the other hand, ratio philosophandi suggests
some principle of reasoning or procedure, and so Campanella is trying
to do something more general or methodological.
Campanella’s general, methodological aim is also evident from other
documents and passages.87 For example, in the Apologia when in the
course of a main argument he states his conclusion, he says, “therefore
I think that this manner of philosophizing should not be prohibited,”
using a phrase ( philosophandi modum) that leaves no doubt.88 And in a
letter to Galileo dated 3 November 1616, Campanella states that he
has sent to Rome and to him a manuscript copy of his Apologia, which
he describes in Italian as “a discussion where it is proved theologically
that the manner of philosophizing [modo di filosofare] you use is more in
conformity with Divine Scripture than the contrary one is.”89 This letter
also gives a clue that Campanella’s argument is primarily theological.
Regarding the description of Galileo’s manner of philosophizing, this
must be an aspect of the manner of reasoning which Galileo uses in his
discussions of astronomical topics, e.g., in the Sidereal Messenger (1610) and
Sunspot Letters (1613), and which he justifies in his critique of the scrip-
tural objection, e.g., in the Letters to Castelli and Christina. The most
pertinent and general description is that Galileo advocates disregarding
scriptural assertions in astronomical investigation. Stated as a meth-
odological principle, this is the claim that scriptural statements about
Earth’s rest and the Sun’s motion do not entail that Earth rests and
the Sun moves; that is, Scripture is not an authority in natural phi-
losophy; or again, this is the principle of limited scriptural authority.90
86
See, for example, Campanella to Pope Urban VIII (10 June 1628), in Campanella
1927, 218–25; Headley 1997, 176.
87
Besides the passages to be mentioned below, also revealing, although indirectly
relevant, is Campanella’s (n.d.) poem “Modo di filosofare”; see also Failla to Galileo,
6 September 1616, in Favaro 12: 277.
88
Campanella 1622, 30: “Quapropter arbitror, non debere hunc philosophandi
modum vetari.” Cf. Blackwell 1991, 79; Firpo 1968, 83; Lerner 2001b, 78–79.
89
In Ditadi 1992, 238: “una quistione dove si prova teologicamente ch’il modo di
filosofare da lei tenuto è più conforme a la divina scrittura che non lo contrario.”
90
I believe my interpretation is in essential agreement with Headley’s (1997,
172–77), although he speaks of the principle of libertas philosophandi, which is even more
general that the principle of limited scriptural authority. On the other had, here I am
disagreeing with Lerner’s (2001b, xcv–c) description of the manner of philosophizing
attributed to Galileo in the Apologia. Lerner says that there Campanella attributes to
Galileo a naïve empiricism à la Bernardino Telesio, although elsewhere Lerner (1995)
argues that in other writings Campanella’s interpretation was more nuanced. Lerner
Conclusions
94
Favaro 19:322–23; Finocchiaro (1989, 148–50; 2005, 16–24).
95
For some clarifications, see Finocchiaro 1989, 14–15, 363 n. 86; 2005, 11–12,
271–74.
96
Cf. Favaro 18:379: “uno scandalo tanto universale al Cristianesimo.”
97
Koestler 1959; cf. Finocchiaro 2005, 306–17.
98
E.g., Soccorsi 1947 (cf. Finocchiaro 2005, 284–94) and McMullin 2005a.
99
See Duhem (1908; 1969, 104–17); Koestler 1959, 425–63; Feyerabend 1985; cf.
respectively Finocchiaro (2005, 266–69, 308–13; 2001, 124–25),
100
Soccorsi 1947 (cf. Finocchiaro 2005, 284–94); McMullin 2005a.
101
Just to cite two leading scholars: the first mentioned explanation was advocated
by Drake 1980; the last by Koyré (1966; 1978, 136, 211 n. 30). Cf., respectively,
Finocchiaro (2001, 116–17; 2005, 242) and 2002.
102
Here one might also add the factor involving the principle that theology is the
queen of the sciences and the unwillingness on the part of theologians to relinquish
the power resulting from this principle. But I am not sure this is a distinct third major
factor because it may be regarded as a part of the other two factors.
causes in the sense that they made the outcome inevitable, and the
cogent arguments of Catholics like Galileo, Foscarini, and Campanella
indicate that the controversy could have been resolved the other way
and that the actual result was contingent and circumstantial.103
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——. 2005. Galileo’s Relapse: On the Publication of the Letter to the Grand Duchess
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Volker R. Remmert
1
See Barker 2000, Howell 1996, Howell 1998.
2
Armogathe 1989, Goldstein 1990, Ponzio 1998, Russo 1983.
3
See Dollo 1997, esp. 102–21, Fabris 1986, Kelter 2005, Ponzio 1998.
4
On this, see Remmert 1998, 79–90; cf. Damerow 1996, 128 that up to the early
eighteenth century “mathematics as a discipline did exist, the mathematician special-
ized in mathematics did not.”
David he has looked upon “the heavens, the works of his fingers, and
the sun and moon that he has created”?5 Indeed, who looking at these
bodies shall have found occasion with the same bard to exclaim: “O Lord
our sovereign, how glorious is thy name in all the earth!”6 unless he has
received from the mathematical sciences the motions, orders and vast
size of these bodies, and ascended from these in his mind to the infinite
power of God? . . . No less is their advantage in explicating very many
passages of Holy Scripture, out of which I will only touch on a few. . . .
There are traces of geometry in Noah’s ark, the Temple of Solomon,
the city shown to Ezekiel in a vision,7 and the New Jerusalem seen by
the apostle John.8 There are traces of arithmetic in Daniel’s prophecy
of the seventy weeks9 and in the number of the chosen from the tribes
of Israel in the Apocalypse,10 and everywhere else.11
Among the sources Hortensius drew on for his legitimization of the
mathematical sciences was the work of Christoph Clavius (1538–1612),
who was the most important Jesuit mathematician and astronomer of
his age, and highly respected all over Europe. It was largely due to
Clavius’s infl uence that interest in the mathematical sciences blossomed
among the Jesuits in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries.12
In the preface to his Sacrobosco Commentary, Clavius included a passage
on the Utility of Astronomy for Theology (Astronomiae utilitas ad Theologiam).
According to Clavius, the mathematical sciences had not only a pro-
paedeutic value for theological studies, but were also important to
theology as an auxiliary science, an idea that was increasingly taken
up after the reform of the calendar of 1582. Clavius, who had played
an essential role in this reform declared that “astronomy is necessary
for ecclesiastics” (Astronomia necessaria est personis ecclesiasticis).13
Exegetes for their part often included the mathematical sciences
among the auxiliary disciplines of theology. For example the Jesuit
José de Acosta (1540–1600), famous for his Historia Natural y Moral de
5
Ps. 8:4.
6
Ps. 8:1.
7
Ezek. 40–48.
8
Rev. 21:9–21.
9
Dan. 9:24–27.
10
Rev. 7:1–8.
11
Quoted from Imhausen & Remmert 2006, 109–111; on the background of
Hortensius see 71–78.
12
On Clavius see Knobloch 1988, Knobloch 1995, Lattis 1994, Lerner 1995,
Romano 1999, 85–180, Baldini & Napolitani 1992, 33–58.
13
Clavius 1611/12, vols. 3, 4; on the reform of the calendar see Coyne, Hoskin,
& Pedersen 1983; on the function as an auxiliary science see, for instance, Possevino
1607, 214–261.
las Indias, stressed in his short treatise Of the True Way to Interpret Scrip-
ture (De vera Scripturas interpretandi ratione) that “one should not think that
philosophy and the other secular arts [seculares artes] did not contribute
to the holy science.” Rather
knowledge of animals, plants, stones, stars, elements and regions is very
useful to understand very many passages of Scripture. . . . Neither are the
arts of numbers and magnitudes to be condemned.14
Probably the most explicit declaration to this effect was made by the
theologian Jéronimo de Prado and the architect and mathematician
Juan Bautista Villalpando in their Commentary on Ezekiel (1595/1604).15
The statement in the margin of the commentary on Ezek. 3:1, “for
those who interpret Scripture it is necessary to learn the mathematical
sciences,” was reinforced in the accompanying text:
the commentary on Ezekiel will show that it is not only reasonable for
those who teach Scripture that they are instructed in the mathematical
sciences, but also that it is necessary for professors that they are well
versed in them. For ignorance in the mathematical sciences has made
the book of Ezekiel inaccessible throughout the ages.16
Such strong views on the importance of the mathematical sciences
for exegetical and theological studies were not generally shared in the
Society of Jesus, and the extent to which the mathematical sciences
should be studied was hotly debated in the Society in the sixteenth
century.17 However, it had been clear since the discussions on the Jesuit
constitutions in the 1550s that the mathematical sciences were to be
14
de Acosta 1719, 107: “Neque putandum est philosophiam caeterasque saeculares
artes ad sacram scientiam parum conferre, si ministrent & serviant, non dominentur
atque imperent. Itaque animalium, herbarum, lapidum, astrorum, elementorum,
regionum perutilis est notitia ad intelligenda permulta Scriptura loca, atque ad ea spiri-
tualiter examinanda, qui est maximus divini sermonis fructus. Nec contemnendae sunt
numerorum, & magnitudinum artes, neque dialecticae argutiae, & exquisitae primae
philosophiae rationes.” The text was first published in 1590 as part of Acosta’s De Christo
revelato libri novem and had been written before 1588. On this cf. Reinhardt 1990, 6.
15
On the details of their collaboration see Taylor 1972; cf. Lara 2000.
16
de Prado & Villalpando 1596/1604, I, 77: “Necessarium est ijs, qui sacras Scrip-
turas versant, mathematicas disciplinas addiscere.” “. . . nam Ezechielis commentarius
monstrabit non solum non absurdum esse legentibus Scripturam, vt mathesi instructi
sint; sed etiam necessarium esse professoribus non mediocriter in illa versatos. nam
matheseos ignorantia inaccessum fecit Ezechielem per tot saecula.” Cf. II, 20 on the
necessity of mechanics.
17
See, for example, Cosentio 1999, 47–79; Romano 1999.
18
I refer to the constitutions of 1556: Moell 1996, 179f: Chapter 12: The subjects
which should be taught in the universities of the Society; cf. Diego de Ledesma, De
artium liberalium studiis.
19
On Cano and his doctrine of loci see above all Lohr 1988b, 148f; cf. Blackwell
1991, 15–19.
20
On Pereira see Blackwell 1991, passim; Blum 2006, 279–304; Lohr 1988a,
313–320; Reinhardt 1999, 176–183; Williams 1948, passim.
Genesis commentary, he set down four basic rules for exegesis, which
were often cited and which Galileo explicitly referred to in his letter to
Christina. In particular, Pereira considered the meaning of nontheo-
logical disciplines for biblical exegesis, especially those of philosophy
and natural philosophy:
This also must be carefully observed and completely avoided: in dealing
with the teachings of Moses, do not think or say anything affirmatively
and assertively which is contrary to the manifest evidence and arguments
of philosophy or the other disciplines. For since every truth agrees with
every other truth, the truth of Sacred Scripture cannot be contrary to
the true arguments and evidence of the human sciences.21
Here Pereira, invoking Augustine, elaborated an exegetic position
that Cano had sketched out in De locis theologicis. Cano had expressly
given the arguments of reason a subordinate status, but had allowed
for exceptions as long as the issues involved had little or nothing to
do with faith. Pereira provided concrete examples of how insisting
on the literal sense of the Bible could contradict “manifest truths and
necessary arguments” (manifestis experimentis, necessariisque rationibus), for
example, if one concluded from the wording that the “stars [actually]
move through the heavens in the same way as fish move through the
water and birds through the air.”22
21
Pereira 1590, 27: “Illud etiam diligenter cavendum, & omnino fugiendum est,
ne in tractanda Mosis doctrina quicquam affirmate & asseveranter sentiamus, & dica-
mus, quod repugnet manifestis experimentis, & rationibus philosophiae, vel aliarum
disciplinarum: namque, cum verum omne semper cum vero congruat, non potest
veritas sacrarum litterarum, veris rationibus & experimentis humanarum doctrinarum
esse contraria.”; cf. Mayaud 2005, II, 15–21: A2, 18. Cf. Letter to Christina: V, 320;
Blackwell 1991, 22.
22
Pereira 1590, 27f: “Ad hanc regulam si exigamus, & expendamus nonnullas quo-
rundam interpretum opiniones, plane respuendas atque reiiciendas esse intelligemus.
Exempli causa: Origenes, Lactantius, Procopius Gazaeus, Chrysostomus, & quidam
alii censent secundam scripturam caelum non esse rotundum; esse immobile; moveri
stellas per caelum, ut pisces per aquam, & aves per aërem; non esse Antipodas; aquam
maris esse multis partibus sublimiorem, celsissimis etiam terrae montibus: quae tamen
falsa esse omnia, manifestis experimentis, necessariisque rationibus nunc constat.”
It is beyond the scope of this paper to compare Pereira’s position to Bellarmine’s.
In his multi-volume Disputationes de controversiis christianae fidei (1586–1593) Bellarmine
had left no doubt that Scripture was obscure and that it was therefore vital to name
a final arbiter in matters of scriptural interpretation. His comments made possible
a crucial distinction between academic exegesis, which applied the tools of scholar-
ship to analyzing the Bible line by line, and official exegesis, which, while based on
academic interpretation, was finally up to the Pope and his advisors, leaving a very
narrow space in which the interpretation of the Bible was open to debate. On this see
Remmert 2006b, 300f.
23
Pereira 1576, 73f; cf. Homann 1983, 239; Feldhay, 1998, 91ff; Gorman 1998,
49f & 56.
24
Pereira 1590, 66f.
25
On this see Wallace 1988, 228f.
26
Bonfrère 1625, 72f.
27
Menochio 1678: Cap. XXI, Quomodo sensus literalis inuestigandus sit: “Ad asse-
quendum sacrae Scripturae sensum literalem iuuant primò alia loca similia Scripturae,
quibus idem clarius dicatur, vel ex quorum collatione lux aliqua obscuriori accedat.
2. traditiones Ecclesiae. 3. Conciliorum definitiones. 4. Interpretationes Patrum.
5. Theologia scholastica. 6. Linguarum peritia. 7. Cognitio aliarum scientiarum Phi-
losophiae, Astrologiae &c. 8. Diligens consideratio antecedentium, & consequentium,
& adiunctorum; . . . .”
28
Menochio 1653, 18–21: Della difficoltà della sacra Scrittura, e di dove ella nasca.
Cap. 8, on 19: “. . . ; la varietà e moltiplicità delle scienze, & arti, l’ignoranza delle quali
fa che molti passi della Scrittura, che le suppongono non siano facili da intendersi.”
29
Clavius 1570, 244–250: Terram esse immobilem, on 247f.
30
Pereira 1590, 294; de Pineda 1600, 339; Lorin 1605, 215; Serarius 1609/10,
II, 237.
31
On this see Remmert 2003; Remmert 2006b.
32
Remmert 2006a.
33
On this see van de Vyver1980, 265f.
34
See the discussion by Williams 1948, passim.
35
Pereira 1590, 251–358: Liber secundus, Qui est de Caelis & astris secundum
sacram Scripturam, & de Diuinatione astrologica, 251–253: Praefatio, 252: “Nec est
profecto quicquam in syderali disciplina, aut necessariis rationibus conclusum, aut
manifestis exploratum & compertum experimentis, quod diuinae Scripturae contrarium
vel dissonum sit.”
36
Ibid., 270–273: Quaestio quarta, De numero caelorum, 273.
37
Ibid., 273–276: Quaestio quinta, A quo mouenatur caeli, ab Angelisne, an à
seipsis, 273. Mayaud 2005, II, 311–327: A101, 321 omits this chapter.
38
Ibid., 288–291: Quaestio octava, An stellae sint nobis innumerabiles.
39
Grant 1996, 438–446.
40
Pereira 1590, 289: “Nec verò tantum omnium stellarum quae sunt in caelo
numerum Mathematici compertum esse volunt; sed ausi maiora & pene incredibilia,
demonstrant, si universa firmamenti facies concava plena esset usquequaque stellis
primae magnitudinis, sciri posse, earum numerus quantus esset; necessaria enim ratione
concludi, eas fore 71209600. hoc est, unum & septuaginta, ut vulgo apellant, & ducenties
& novies mille superque sexcentas.” Cf. Mayaud 2005, II, 311–327: A101, 323.
41
Ibid., 290: “Nec modo Sacrae literae contradicere videntur astrologis, sed etiam
Philosophi.” Cf. Mayaud 2005, II, 311–327: A101, 324 omits this crucial passage.
42
Pereira 1590, 291: “Posset fortasse dici pro Astrologis, Augustinum non loqui
de stellis visu insignibus & notabilibus, quarum duntaxat numerum tradunt Astrologi;
sed universe de omnibus stellis quae in caelo sunt, sive aspectibiles sint hominibus,
sive inaspectibiles, quarum omnium numerum teneri non posse ab hominibus, non
ibunt inficias Astrologi. qui enim nosse possunt earum numerum, quas nec visu nec
alia ratione ceto cognoscunt? Illud quoque pro Astrologis dici posset, numerum iner-
rantium stellarum non fuisse curiose investigatum aut compertum ante Hyparchi &
Arati aetatem; nempe quosque Astrologi stellas omnes miro artificio in certas quas-
dam imagines & effigies digesserunt: ut non sit mirum, ante istam tam diligentem &
artificiosam Astrologorum observationem, incognitum fuisse hominibus, vel etiam
incomprehensibilem existimatum stellarum numerum. Atque ob eam causam Scrip-
tura veteris testamentis de stellis tanquam innumerabilibus multifariam loquitur.” Cf.
Mayaud 2005, II, 311–327: A101, 324.
43
Mayaud 2005, IV/V, 82, footnote 64, too, identifies Clavius 1611/12 III, 103
as the source.
44
Clavius 1581, 185–191: De quantitate stellarum (last edition in Clavius 1611/12,
III, 100–105).
45
Clavius 1570, 238–244; cf. van Helden 1985, 53.
46
Clavius 1581, 189: “Quod si curiosus quispiam scire desideret, quotnam stellae
requirantur in quacunque differentia magnitudinem, ut totam superficiem concavam
Firmamenti explere possint, ita ut sese mutuo contingant, id facile assequetur partim ex
his, quae hoc loco de proportionibus diametrorum stellarum, & terrae diximus, partim
vero ex ijs, quae ad finem huius cap. scribemus. Cum enim diameter concavi firmamenti
contineat 22612 ½. semidiametros terrae, diameter autem cuiusuis stellae magnitudinis
primae contineat 4 ¾ semidiametros terrae; Si fiat, ut 4 ¾. ad 1. ita 22612 ½. ad
aliud, invenientur in diametro concavi Firmamenti diametri unius stellae magnitudinis
4760. & paulo amplius. Et si hanc diametrum multiplicemus per 3 1/7. continebit
circumferentia circuli maximi in concavo Firmamenti 14960. diametros unius stellae
magnitudinis primae, & paulo amplius. Quam circumferentiam si multiplicemus per
diametrum, nempe per 4760. reperiemus superficiem concavam Firmamenti continere
71209600. diametros quadratas unius stellae magnitudinis primae.”
47
On Clavius and his astronomy see Lattis 1994.
48
Ibid., 149f; III, 74; cf. Grant 1996, 445/77.
49
Ibid., 189: “Ex quo etiam apparet, illos decipi, qui putant, plures stellas esse re
ipsa in Firmamento, quàm filios Israel, propter verba scripturae supra allata. Cum enim
in egressu ex Aegypto numerata sint 600003. [sic!] filiorum Israel supra 21. annos,
qui nimirum ad bella procedebant, ut patet cap. I. Numer. recte colligunt nonulli
Doctores, si numerentur etiam pueri, & mulieres, numerum eorum maiorem fuisse,
quàm 2000000. Quis igitur dubitat, in tot seculis annorum multo plures fuisse, quàm
71209600?” In later editions he gives the correct number 603.550 instead of 600.003:
In Sphaeram Ioannis de Sacro Bosco Commentarius. Nunc tertium ab ipso Auctore
recognitus, & plerisque in locis locupletatus.” Clavius 1611/12, III, 102.
50
Galilei 1610, 5r; translation quoted from Galilei 1957, 27.
51
Krayer 1991, 290.
that man cannot find out the work which God hath made from the
beginning to the end”).52 Maelcote also unmistakably emphasized the
authority of astronomy:
This excellent Nuncius added almost innumerable fixed stars, detected with
the help of this instrument [i.e. the telescope], that in the memory of man
had never before been seen nor known: this is the way things really are,
listeners; none of you may hesitate about it or doubt it.53
It is well known that Maelcote’s speech was received “not without
murmur of the philosophers“ (non absque philosophorum murmure), who
claimed cosmology as their exclusive territory and were particularly
annoyed that Venus was considered to move around the Sun.54 Cer-
tainly Maelcote’s exhortation (ita profecto est, auditores; nemo vestrum ambigat
aut dubitet) did not soften their misgivings. Nothing, however, seems to
be known about the theologians’ reaction. Considering Gen. 15:5 the
question of the number of fixed stars is of a certain relevance as a topic
between exegesis and astronomy.
The French Jesuit theologian Jean Lorin (1559–1634) was present at
the festa Galileana. Lorin, who had taught Scripture at the Collegio Romano
from 1600 to 1606 and had then been censor there and an adviser
to general Claudio Acquaviva (1543–1615), wrote several exegetical
tomes. The first of his biblical commentaries, the Commentary on Acts,55
in which he based his rejection of terrestrial motion on Pineda’s argu-
ments, was published in 1605. Lorin rejected the theory summarily
and invoked the authority of “our Clavius” and Pineda to confirm its
“falseness and recklessness” ( falsitatis ac temeritatis).56 The Commentary on
Acts was followed by a long list of further works: Commentary on Ecclesiastes,
52
Maelcote 1890–1909), III(1), 296; quotation from Galileo’s letter to Christina
(Finocchiaro 1989, 97); on the festa Galileana see Lattis, 1994, 187–195.
53
Ibid., 295: “Asserebat prior Nuncius, detectas hoc instrumento stellas fixas pene
innumeras, ab hominum memoria nec visas nec cognitas: ita profecto est, auditores;
nemo vestrum ambigat aut dubitet.”
54
Reported by Grégoire de St. Vincent to Christiaan Huygens in October 1657:
“Et venerem circa Solem volvi manifeste demonstravimus non absque philosophorum
murmure . . . ” Huygens 1889, 490.
55
See Sommervogel 1890–1911, V: 1–6.
56
Lorin 1605, 215: “Ubi Didacus Stunica illi opinioni adhaeresit, quae auctores
habent Pythagoricos, & sectatores, Copernicum [In suis resolut. (sic!)], & Coelium Cal-
cagninum, terram naturali perenni motu moveri. Eam opionem falsitatis, ac temeritatis
convincit inter alios Clavius noster, & Pineda in Iob, c. 9.” On this and Pineda’s stance
see Remmert 2001, 559f; on Lorin see Diccionario Histórico de la Compañía de Jesús, 4 vols.
(Rome/Madrid 2001), III, 2422; Sommervogel 1890–1911, V, 1–6.
57
Lorin 1612–1616, III, 1144–1147: Ps. 146:4. Qui numerat multitudinem stellarum,
& omnibus eis nomina vocat.
58
Galilei 1610.
59
Ibid., III, 1145: “. . . atque ego idem, & peritiores Mathematici nostri Christophorus
Clavius tunc adhunc superstes, & Christophorus Gramberger, & Odo Malcotus, qui
omnes disciplinas mathematicas in scholis nostris Romanis professi sunt, experti sumus,
praeter quatuor planetas circa Jovem primus deprehendit stellarum aliarum infra illas,
quae dicuntur sextae magnitudinis, numerum ingentem, quae majores, clarioresque
appaverunt, quam secundae magnitudinis stellae naturali acie visae. Affert exempli causa
in cinguli & ensis Orionis asterismo octoginta, omissis, quae in tota constellatione sunt
plus quingentis: praeterea trigenta sex in ea, quae est Plejadum: deinde conspicias &
satis magnas plurimas in Galaxia, seu lacteo circulo: adhaec viginti & unam in aste-
rismo Nebulosae, capitis Orionis: atque triginta sex in Nebulosa Praesepis. Sic novo
experimento comprobatum, quod scripsisse Augustinum retuli, quanto quisque acutius
intuetur, tanto plures videre stellas, atque acerrime cernentibus aliquas occultas esse
merito existimari. Jam vero quod attinet ad nomina, quibus Deus vocat stellas, aeque
Lorin clearly accepted the truth of Galileo’s observations and the larger,
and increasing, number of fixed stars on the authority of the astronomers
and mathematicians. This was “learned and verified” and no longer
open to debate, as stated by Maelcote in his exhortation at the festa
Galileana. Obviously this did not imply that Lorin subscribed to Galileo’s
deductions in favor of the Copernican system, which had been banned
by the majority of Jesuit exegetes, including Lorin himself and which
had been refuted by “their Clavius” on astronomical grounds.
However, what is decisive, is that apparently for Lorin and many
of his colleagues in theology in the early years of the seventeenth
century, the reliability of astronomy and the mathematical sciences
was incontestable. In this they differed from the natural philosophers,
who generally were much more reluctant to accept the results and the
authority of their colleagues from the mathematical sciences, as Marcus
Hellyer has recently reminded us in his study of early modern Jesuit
natural philosophy. Clearly, natural philosophers had more to lose than
theologians, as the mathematical sciences were a significant challenge
to their traditional monopoly to exclusively deal with physics and cos-
mology. In the Society of Jesus the tension between natural philosophy
and the mathematical sciences continued well into the second half of
the seventeenth century.60
ignota nobis, ac earundem numerus.” This passage is not in the collection of Mayaud
2005, II, 350–370: A103.
60
Hellyer 2005, 126f; on the relationship between philosophy and the mathematical
sciences among the Jesuits see Baldini 1998. Pereira’s De communibus rerum naturalium
principiis et affectionibus libri quindecem of 1576 mentioned above is a prominent example
for the anti-mathematical stance of natural philosophers.
of standard Jesuit opinions and doctrines were formed.61 Thus the treat-
ment of the Copernican question among Jesuits was not controversial
but typified the interplay between exegesis and the mathematical sci-
ences, which was characterized by mutual respect and exchange of
ideas, always given that theology had primacy over the mathematical
sciences. A similar case of interchange between the mathematical sci-
ences and astronomy and biblical exegesis can be seen in the hotly
debated issue of the corruptibility of the heavens, which did not turn
into a delicate theological problem as Edward Grant shows in his book
on the Medieval Cosmos.62
It is clear however, that further study is needed to substantiate that
among Jesuits, at least up to the mid-seventeenth century, the math-
ematical sciences and biblical exegesis were engaged in fruitful dialogue.
In my view, two central aspects require further attention, namely the
exegetical principles and practices in the Society of Jesus and the way
Jesuit mathematicians treated and used the Bible in their works.
Biblical exegesis played a central role in the Jesuit order. Aware that
precise knowledge of the Bible and its interpretation were important in
the debate with the Protestants, the Jesuit syllabus of 1599 prescribed
daily lectures on exegesis for second and third year students. It was
expressly laid down that interpretation according to the literal meaning
(sensus literalis) should be emphasized.63
The Jesuit theologians were regarded as among the leading exegetes
of the Catholic world, and their opinion carried particular weight in
the “saeculum aureum exegeseos catholicae,”64 but the exegetical principles
and practices in the Society of Jesus have not yet been fully investigated
(with the possible exception of problems related to the Copernican ques-
tion). José de Acosta, Jacques Bonfrère, Jean Lorin, Antonio Escobar y
Mendoza, Benito Pereira, Juan de Pineda, Gaspar Sánchez, Nicolaus
Serarius, and many of their fellow Jesuits not only left dozens of biblical
commentaries, but many of them also produced clear expositions of
their exegetical principles, in both print and manuscript form, which
have never been systematically studied.
The extraordinary output of Jesuit mathematicians has frequently
been considered a marvel, and the historical study of “Jesuit science” is
61
On this see Remmert 2006a.
62
Grant 1996, 205.
63
Cf. Lukàcs 1986, 383–385, cf. Remmert 2006b, 291–313.
64
Quoted from Grabmann 1933, 155.
65
Riccioli is a case in point; cf. Grant 1984, 14. Dinis 2003 has convincingly argued
against this misconception.
66
On this see Baldini 1992, 75–119; Harris 1988, 109–128; Hellyer 2005, 36f and
240.
67
Kircher 1679, 36–40; cf. Johnson 2004, 79–83; Taylor 1972, 86f.
nothing less than the penetration into the Divine Mind, an enterprise
justified by the hermetic teachings.68
I would like to extend this argument further, and shift its focus to stress
the common ground that biblical exegetes and mathematicians occupied
and cultivated in the Society of Jesus (at least at the Collegio Romano).
Among the gains of this development was an openness on both sides
to discuss exegetical questions related to the mathematical sciences,
and the enhancement of the status of the mathematical sciences within
the Society. When Maelcote praised Galileo in 1611, the “murmur of
the philosophers” was heard, but the theologians, apparently, did not
complain.
The thesis I propose runs contrary to the view propounded by Irving
A. Kelter in his excellent paper on Jesuit exegetes and the Coperni-
can question.69 The way Kelter sees it, “none of the exegetes under
examination [Lorin, Pereira, Serarius] had any close connection to
the mathematical sciences.” He further suggests that “the refusal to
accept the new worldview” may have also been based “on Clavius’s
inability to raise the status of the mathematical disciplines to that of a
‘true sciences’ that could claim certain knowledge.”70 But the records of
Pereira-Clavius and Lorin-Maelcote/Galileo as described earlier show a
different picture and illustrate the Jesuit exegetes’ willingness to engage
the findings of their colleagues from the mathematical sciences.
These examples confirm Kenneth Howell’s conclusion that the role
of the Bible in early modern cosmology is not to be understood by a
simple Copernican/non-Copernican dichotomy.71 The interpretation
and reinterpretation of the Bible was a complex process within the
Society of Jesus, if not far beyond, during the late sixteenth and early
seventeenth centuries. As we have seen, this process was as symptom-
atic and important for the transformations within the mathematical
sciences, their changing position in the hierarchy of the sciences and,
in particular, the growing acceptance of their epistemological certainty,
as it was for the development of biblical exegesis into a discipline that
opened as never before to non-theological loci and the incorporation
of knowledge they contained, especially that from the mathematical
68
Feldhay 1995, 160.
69
Kelter 2005, 38–53.
70
Ibid., 47.
71
Howell 2002, 11f.
From the late sixteenth through the seventeenth century the mathemati-
cal sciences were at the core of what is commonly called the Scientific
Revolution. While much light has been shed in the last two decades on
the important roles that other disciplines, such as natural history and
biology, played in this great upheaval, the mathematical sciences are of
particular interest if the historical development of the modern world,
characterized by ongoing and accelerating processes of scientification,
is to be understood.
One of the essential problems in the late sixteenth and the first
half of the seventeenth century was the relationship between science
and religion. Quite a few of the theories that either resurfaced from
antiquity, such as heliocentrism and atomism, or were based on new
results, such as telescopic observations of the heavens and microscopic
observations of plants and animals, challenged the worldview that had
been developed over centuries in the Latin world. What was the exact
relationship between God’s two books—the book of nature and the
Bible? And how were apparent inconsistencies to be dealt with?
One of the most prominent answers to these questions was given
by the theory of accommodation that Galileo propounded in his letter
to Christina of 1615. Galileo explained that in the Bible observations
about the natural world were subordinate to spiritual purposes. Thus
the Bible should not be taken as a judge in matters of natural philoso-
phy and astronomy. Moreover, the biblical authors inspired by God
naturally knew the structure of the world, but accommodated their
language and exposition to the understanding of the common people.
Applied to biblical exegesis, this meant that it would be mistaken to
insist on the literal interpretation of the Bible.73
The Jesuits, as I proposed above, worked with a less spectacular
solution in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, which,
72
Cf. Williams 1948, 174 and 257f.
73
For an excellent recent discussion of this context see Bieri 2007.
Bibliography
74
Cf. Finocchiaro 1989, 96.
——. 1998. The Role of Biblical Interpretation in the Cosmology of Tycho Brahe.
Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 29: 515–37.
——. 2002. God’s Two Books: Copernican Cosmology and Biblical Interpretation in Early Modern
Sciences. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press.
Huygens, Christiaan. 1889. Oeuvres complètes. Tome deuxième: Correspondance 1657–1659.
The Hague (Den Haag): Martinus Nijhoff, 489–491.
Imhausen, Annette and Volker R. Remmert, trans. 2006. The ‘Oratio de dignitate
et utilitate Matheseos’ of Martinus Hortensius (1634). Text, Translation and Com-
mentary. History of Universities 21, 71–150.
Johnson, Christopher. 2004. Clavius’s Number and Its Early Modern Afterlife. In Arts
of Calculation: Quantifying Thought in Early Modern Europe, Ed. David Glimp and Michelle
R. Warren. New York/Basingstoke: Palgrave, 67–91.
Kelter, Irving A. 2005. The Refusal to Accomodate: Jesuit Exegetes and the Copernican
System. In The Church and Galileo, Ed. Ernan McMullin. Notre Dame: University
of Notre Dame Press, 38–53 (first published in Sixteenth Century Journal 26 (1995):
273–283).
Kircher, Athanasius. 1679. Turris Babel. Amsterdam: Janssonio Waesbergiana.
Knobloch, Eberhard. 1988. Sur la vie et l’oeuvre de Christophore Clavius. Revue
d’Histoire des Sciences 41: 331–356.
——. 1995. L’oeuvre de Clavius et ses sources scientifiques. In Les jésuites à la Renaissance.
Système éducatif et production du savoir, Ed. Luce Giard. Paris: Presses Universitaires de
France, 263–283.
Krayer, Albert. 1991. Mathematik im Studienplan der Jesuiten: Die Vorlesung von Otto Cattenius
an der Universität Maint (1610/11). Stuttgart: Steiner Verlag.
Lara, Jaime. 2000. God’s Good Taste: The Jesuit Aesthetics of Juan Bautista Villal-
pando in the Sixth and Tenth Centuries B.C.E. In The Jesuits: Cultures, Sciences, and
the Arts 1540–1773, Ed. John W. O’Malley, S.J., Gauvin Alexander Bailey, Steven
J. Harris, and T. Frank Kennedy, S.J. Toronto/Buffalo/London: University of
Toronto Press, 505–521.
Lattis, James M. 1994. Between Copernicus and Galileo: Christoph Clavius and the Collapse of
Ptolemaic Cosmology. Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press.
Lerner, Michel-Pierre. 1995. L’entrée de Tycho Brahe chez les jésuites ou le chant du
cygne de Clavius. In Les jésuites à la Renaissance. Système éducatif et production du savoir,
Ed. Luce Giard. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 145–185.
Lohr, Charles H. 1988a. Latin Aristotle Commentaries II. Renaissance Authors. Florence:
Olschki.
——. 1988b. Modelle für die Überlieferung theologischer Doktrin: Von Thomas von
Aquin bis Melchior Cano. In Dogmengeschichte und katholische Theologie, Ed. Werner Löser,
Karl Lehmann and Matthias Lutz-Bachmann. Würzburg: Echter, 148–167.
Lorin, Jean. 1605. In Acta Apostolorum commentaria. Lyons.
——. 1612–1616. Commentarii in librum Psalmorum, 3 vols. Lyons.
Maelcote, Odo. 1890–1909. Nuntius Sidereus Collegii Romani (1611). In Le opere di
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di G. Barbèra III(1), 291–298.
Mayaud, Pierre-Noël. 2005. Le conflit entre l’Astronomie Nouvelle et l’Écriture Sainte aux XVIe
et XVIIe siècles, 6 vols. Paris: Champion.
Menochio, Giovanni Stefano. 1653. Delle stuore tessute di varia eruditione sacra, morale, e
profana. Seconda Editione riueduta, e corretta. Rome: n.p.
——. 1678. Commentaria sive explanationes sensus litteralis totius S. Scripturae. Antwerp:
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tary Norms. A Complete English Translation of the Official Latin Texts Number 15 in Series
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Jesuit Sources.
Stephen D. Snobelen2
Part I: Introduction
1
Response to Parts 3–4.
2
For much valuable advice, I am grateful to the two anonymous referees for this
paper as well as the two editors of this volume.
3
A full-length study of the use of accommodation in Judaism and Christianity
(including many examples more purely theological and less relevant to the history of
science) up to the eighteenth century is available in Benin 1993. See also Benin 1983.
An account of several varieties of accommodation in Jewish and Christian thought
can be found in Funkenstein 1986, 213–71. Peter Harrison offers useful examples,
including some from the early modern period, in Harrison 1998, 133–8. Also from
the early modern period are the examples discussed in Westman 1986, 89–103 and
Hooykaas 1972, 114–35. A recent survey and analysis of a wide range of hermeneuti-
cal matters relating to the rise of heliocentrism in the early modern period, including
accommodation, is provided in Howell 2002. See also Howell 1996.
4
“Dibra tora kileshon bne ’adam” (Berakhot 31b, Ketubot 67b and Yebamot 71a).
5
On the use of accommodation to provide a rationale for the Law of Moses, see
Funkenstein 1986, 222–43 and Benin 1993, 1–30.
6
Thus, for example, Augustine’s use of accommodation can be compared to that
of the sixteenth-century Reformer John Calvin in his commentaries on Genesis.
Augustine of Hippo
Without question, the most infl uential theologian of the early medieval
western church is Augustine of Hippo (354–430). Augustine is famous,
inter alia, for his Platonization of aspects of Christian theology. Although
his respect for Platonism had its limits, it is nonetheless a significant
feature of his thought that Hellenic philosophy was an entity to be
contended with and, in some cases, reconciled with Christianity. The
enthusiasm for the Greek legacy amongst some Christian theologians
emerged in the second century, with one notable Christian Platonist
being Clement of Alexandria. But part of the Greek legacy was
7
McGrath 1999, 1.
8
Teske in Augustine 1991, 3–4.
9
For a valuable outline of the exegetical principles of Augustine as they relate
to the interpretation of such texts as the Genesis creation, including the principle of
accommodation, see McMullin 2005, 90–9. See also the study by Howell 2008.
10
Augustine 1991, 147.
with obscure and difficult topics, including those found in the Bible, it is
sometimes possible for believers to hold different views without damage
to the Christian faith. In these cases it is unwise to jump to conclusions
and to assert these dogmatically, for further advances in knowledge
may disprove cherished views and cause those who hold these views
to stumble. “This,” Augustine asserts, “would be to battle not for the
teaching of Holy Scripture but for our own, wishing its teaching to
conform to ours, whereas we ought to wish ours to conform to that of
Sacred Scripture.”11 In chapter 19 Augustine warns against Christians
with little or no knowledge of astronomy or nature who attempt to
assign philosophical meanings to the scriptural text. The problem here
is not so much that an unlearned person is made to look foolish, but
that God’s Word is made to look foolish. Such a state of affairs does
great harm to Christian apologetics, as the unbeliever may mistake the
ravings of a fool for the teachings of the Scriptures. The actions of
impetuous and inexperienced exegetes also cause headaches for their
more astute confreres:
Reckless and incompetent expounders of Holy Scripture bring untold
trouble and sorrow on their wiser brethren when they are caught in one
of their mischievous false opinions and are taken to task by those who
are not bound by the authority of our sacred books. For then, to defend
their utterly foolish and obviously untrue statements, they will try to call
upon Holy Scripture for proof and even recite from memory many pas-
sages which they think support their position, although they understand
neither what they say nor the things about which they make assertion.12
In the next chapter, Augustine warns of yet another danger. Those
weak in their faith, who fail to appreciate that the Bible is directed
toward spiritual ends, “faint away” when they hear “irreligious critics
learnedly and eloquently discoursing on the theories of astronomy
or on any of the questions relating to the elements of this universe.”
Then, Augustine comments,
[w]ith a sigh, they esteem these teachers as superior to themselves, looking
upon them as great men; and they return with disdain to the books which
were written for the good of their souls; and, although they ought to drink
from these books with relish, they can scarcely bear to take them up.
11
Augustine 1982, 1: 41.
12
Ibid., 1: 43. Italics in original.
This ought not to be, for, Augustine stresses, the Bible has a spiritual
rather than a philosophical purpose.13
Despite these notes of caution, Augustine was in the second book
of De Genesi ad litteram aware of both the claims of astronomy and
attempts to reconcile the Scriptures with some of them. In chapter
9 of Book Two he considers the theory proposed by astronomy that
the shape of the heaven is spherical. Some might feel that this theory
contradicts the Bible, which speaks of heaven as a vault. Even if one
were to take the expression “vault” literally, however, there need not
be a contradiction, as in the limited context of human perspective,
heaven may be a vault, whereas in totality it is a sphere. What then
of the scriptural language of God stretching out the heavens like a
“skin”?14 As to its agreement with the scriptural conception of the vault,
Augustine suggests that “skin” could be interpreted allegorically. Nor
need it be opposed to the astronomical theory of the spherical shape
of heaven, as leather bottles and infl ated balls are both spherical and
made of skins. In any case, the heavens may not be spherical—after
all, this is but a “man-made theory.” Finally, Augustine also argues in
this passage that both the expressions ‘skin’ and ‘vault’ may be meant
to be taken figuratively.15
And what of the theories of astronomers that postulate some of
the stars are as large or larger than the Sun and only appear less
luminous than the Sun because of their much greater distance from
Earth? Augustine discusses this matter in chapter 16 of Book Two
of De Genesi ad litteram. This knowledge from astronomy could cause
problems for a narrow and over-literal interpretation of the account of
creation’s fourth day, where it says that God made “two great lights,” a
greater one to rule the day (the Sun) and a lesser one to rule the night
(the Moon) (Gen. 1:16). Augustine dismisses this potential difficulty by
pointing out that the two lights are described as they appear to human
eyes on Earth. From this perspective, it is indeed true that the Sun is
the greatest luminary and that the Moon is the brightest object in the
night time sky.16 When one recognizes the distinction between relative
and absolute brightness, the difficulty evaporates.
13
Augustine 1982, 1: 44.
14
Augustine is referring to Psalm 104:2. The original Hebrew actually speaks of a
tent (cf. Holy Bible: English Standard Version 2001).
15
Augustine 1982, 1: 60.
16
Ibid., 1: 69–71.
17
Accounts of the various Christian strategies for reconciling the Scriptures with
heliocentrism can be found in Westman 1986; Russell 1985, 46–9; Hooykaas in Rhe-
ticus 1984, 28–38 (Hooykaas here outlines three strategies for relating biblical texts to
natural philosophy: literalism, allegory, and accommodation).
18
Copernicus 1978, 2: 5.
19
Ibid. It is important to note that Lactantius (ca. 250–ca. 325) does not openly
appeal to scriptural support for his denial of the antipodes and his mocking of the
belief that Earth is a globe, but instead appeals to reason. The infamous passage is
found in Lactantius 1964, 228–30 (Book III, chapter 25). Also, as Hooykaas points out,
others before Lactantius had ridiculed the idea that Earth is spherical and that there
are antipodes, including the learned pagan Greek Plutarch (ca. 50–ca. 125) in his De
facie in orbe lunae, ch. 7 (cited in Hooykaas in Rheticus 1984, 29 n. 53).
20
Rosen renders this statement as “Astronomy is written for astronomers” (Coper-
nicus 1978, 2: 5). Although mathematics and astronomy were closely associated at the
time, it seems best to translate the original Latin (“Mathemata mathematicis scribuntur”)
literally here.
21
Copernicus 1978, 2: 5–6.
22
Rheticus’s Narratio prima is conveniently accessible in the recently-reprinted
translation of Rosen 2004, 107–96. Unlike the De revolutionibus of his master, which
shipped. For since these people were by nature superstitious, and idolaters
dwelt all around them, he thought it necessary to provide in this way,
that they should not depart from the Maker of the world and Creator
of nature, and turn to worship the sun, the stars, or some other created
things, instead of God, as Moses testifies.26
Moses’ campaign against polytheistic idolatry and his affirmation of
God as the Creator of all things are examples of the higher theological
purposes of the Genesis creation that demonstrate that Moses was not
composing a physics textbook when he wrote this account. Rheticus
returns to the principle of accommodation three pages later:
St. Augustine has the prudent insight that Scripture has deliberately
foregone an exact description of the nature of things since, as he says
elsewhere, the Spirit of God did not wish to teach men things which
would not be an aid to anybody’s salvation. For who would maintain
that knowledge of physics is necessary to salvation? Further he takes also
into account how Scripture borrows a style of discourse, and an idiom of
speech or a method of teaching from popular usage, so that it may also
fully accommodate itself to the people’s understanding, and not conform
to the wisdom of this world.27
Relying heavily on Augustine, Rheticus argues that the Holy Scriptures
must not be approached as if they constitute “a philosophical textbook,”
but as a collection of books “in which the Holy Spirit desired to teach
us something necessary for our salvation.”28 Like Copernicus, Rheticus
also gently chides Lactantius for mocking the proposition that Earth
is spherical.29
Much of the latter part of Rheticus’s treatise is devoted to the exegesis
of biblical passages that could be used to support the new Copernican
theory and those commonly deployed to sanction Aristotelian-Ptolemaic
astronomy and physics. An example of the first category is seen in
his exposition of Job 9:6: “Which shaketh the earth out of her place,
and the pillars thereof tremble.” He writes: “This may be understood
in this way: ‘who leadest the earth about from one place to another
under heaven’.”30 An example of the second category is Psalm 104:5,
which reads: “Who laid the foundations of the earth, that it should not
26
Rheticus 1984, 67. Rheticus alludes to Deut. 4:19 in the last quoted sentence.
Italics in original.
27
Ibid., 68–9.
28
Ibid., 71.
29
Ibid., 84.
30
Ibid., 76.
be removed for ever.”31 How does one answer the argument that this
passage is meant to teach the immobility of Earth? For Rheticus, the
answer is simple: first, by mathematics (which would include astronomy)
and, second, by other testimony from the Bible. Thus Rheticus is able
to conclude that Ps. 104:5 speaks not of the immobility of Earth, but
“its stability, from which it will never decline.”32 Rheticus also deals
with scriptural passages that speak of the motion of the Sun across
the sky, passages that had long been used to support geocentrism and
heliokinesis. These passages, including those found in Joshua 10 and
Psalm 19, speak of the apparent motion of the Sun, not its absolute
state of being.33 Thus for Rheticus phenomenalism is one of the tools
of his accommodationist hermeneutics.
Using Augustine as his starting point, Rheticus contends that the
Bible is not a philosophical book meant to teach philosophical truths,
but rather a spiritual book meant to teach the way of salvation. Rheti-
cus affirms a twin respect for the Bible and philosophy: spiritual truths
should be sought from the Scriptures, while knowledge about nature
should be taken from philosophy. Scriptural passages dealing with
astronomical phenomena are accommodated to the sensibilities of the
common people and thus cannot be read literally in support of the
older Aristotelian-Ptolemaic system. He also argues that the Scriptures
sometimes use phenomenalist language when describing things astro-
nomical and urges the need to distinguish between apparent and real
motion, as in the case of the Sun. On the other hand, Rheticus hints
that certain biblical texts may point to geokinesis, confirming that he
did believe the Bible had something to say about physical reality after
all—just so long as this was in conformity with heliocentrism, which
had been established as true by astronomy. It is worth noting that
after receiving printed copies of the newly-published De revolutionibus,
Tiedemann Giese sent a letter to Rheticus in which he stated his desire
that Rheticus’s treatise reconciling heliocentrism with the Scriptures be
inserted into Copernicus’s work.34 One wonders how the early recep-
tion of Copernican astronomy would have been different if Giese’s
wish had been fulfilled.
31
Rheticus 1984, 93.
32
Ibid., 94.
33
Ibid., 98.
34
Hooykaas in Rheticus 1984, 14.
Johannes Kepler
Thus far we have encountered attempts to reconcile readings of the
Bible with heliocentrism presented by supporters of Copernican-
ism who were not themselves eminent astronomers. In the German
Johannes Kepler (1571–1630) we see the first significant attempt by a
major Copernican astronomer to reconcile the heliocentric model with
scriptural testimonies.35 Significantly, Kepler’s predecessor Tycho Brahe,
who, like Kepler, was a Lutheran, had developed a model of the solar
system that retained a static, central Earth in part because he believed
the Bible teaches a motionless Earth at the center of the system.36
Kepler’s reconciliation of heliocentrism with the Scriptures is presented
in the introduction to his Astronomia nova (New astronomy) of 1609.
After briefl y considering philosophical objections to Copernicanism,
Kepler begins a section of his introduction to the Astronomia nova on
“objections concerning the dissent of holy scripture, and its authority”
with the following statement:
There are, however, many more people who are moved by piety to with-
hold assent from Copernicus, fearing that falsehood might be charged
against the Holy Spirit speaking in the scriptures if we say that the earth
is moved and the sun stands still.37
Those thus ill at ease with heliocentrism fail to appreciate the intimate
way language is tied to visual perception. Kepler reasons:
But let them consider that since we acquire most of our information,
both in quality and quantity, through the sense of sight, it is impossible
for us to abstract our speech from this ocular sense. Thus, many times
each day we speak in accordance with the sense of sight, although we
are quite certain that the truth of the matter is otherwise.38
35
See the account of Kepler’s scriptural hermeneutics in Howell 2002, 116–25.
36
Tycho was convinced that the doctrine of Earth’s mobility (and thus the Coper-
nican theory) was opposed both by physics and the Scriptures. See Tycho Brahe’s “Of
the discovery of the place of space between the celestial revolutions of the planets
where the comet may fitly run its course and of the construction of an hypothesis by
which its apparent motion is approximately represented,” in Boas Hall 1970, 59–60 (a
translation of an excerpt from Tycho Brahe, De mundi aetherei recentoribus phaenomenis [1588]
by A. Rupert Hall and Marie Boas Hall). Tycho’s views on scriptural hermeneutics are
discussed in Howell 2002, 78–83, 92–7, 100–6. See also Granada 2008.
37
Kepler 1992, 59.
38
Ibid., 59.
39
Kepler 1992, 59. This line is also cited in Copernicus’s De revolutionibus (I.8).
40
Ibid., 60.
41
Ibid., 60.
42
Ibid., 60.
43
Ibid., 61.
44
Ibid., 63.
that the Scriptures are primarily concerned with spiritual and moral
matters. As Kenneth Howell puts it, Kepler did not believe that God
had intended the Bible to be “the kind of genre [he] knew as physica.”45
These arguments were necessary for a Christian Copernican writing for
a Christian audience. Near the end of his defense of Copernicanism
from the aspersions of those who claim it contradicts the Bible, Kepler
offers some “advice for idiots”:
But whoever is too stupid to understand astronomical science, or too
weak to believe Copernicus without affecting his faith, I would advise
him that, having dismissed astronomical studies and having damned
whatever philosophical opinions he pleases, he mind his own business
and betake himself home to scratch in his own dirt patch, abandoning
this wandering about the world.46
Once again, the message is this: astronomy is not for hoi polloi; nor
should it detract from faith. Those who lack the requisite learning to
understand astronomy venture into this magisterium at their peril.
45
Howell 2002, 222.
46
Kepler 1992, 65–6.
47
Blackwell 1991b, 88 n. 3.
a “bombshell” and that it was.48 It was made all the bolder by its
print publication in vernacular Italian. Foscarini’s Lettera attempts to
do two things: to demonstrate that heliocentrism does not contradict
the Scriptures and that it is not opposed to contemporary theology.
What is more, Foscarini suggested that his heliocentric readings of the
Scriptures could one day prove useful to the church if Copernicanism
were to be established as truth, something that could help the church
to save face. What helped make the Lettera so potentially dangerous
was that it undertook to reinterpret a range of key texts to conform
to Copernicanism.49
Foscarini begins his Lettera by defending the superiority of the
Pythagorean or Copernican system, a system he believes to be sup-
ported by the recent discoveries of the telescope.50 Yet a Sun-centered
solar system appears to confl ict with the Word of God. At this point,
Foscarini states that the “Pythagorean” view is either true or false. If
the latter, it need not be regarded. If the former, then a new philosophy
and astronomy is called for based on its principles. And if it is true,
he reasons, it cannot be contrary to the Bible, “because one truth is
not contrary to another.”51 Furthermore, if the Pythagorean system
is true, “then without a doubt God has dictated the words of Sacred
Scripture in such a way that they can be given a meaning which agrees
with, and is reconciled with, that opinion.”52 It is this motive, Foscarini
declares, that has led him
to look and search for ways and means to accommodate many passages
of Sacred Scripture to it, and to interpret these passages, with the aid
of theological and physical principles, in such a way that they are not
openly contradictory.53
48
For an account of Foscarini’s Lettera and the controversy it engendered, see
Blackwell 1991b, 87–110. Blackwell’s English translation of the Lettera can be found
on 217–51. See also Blackwell 1991a, 199–210 and the comments on Foscarini in
Howell 2002, 196–9. A brief treatment of the defenses of heliocentrism by Foscarini
and Campanella can be found in Lerner 2005, 21–5.
49
Blackwell 1991b, 89. Blackwell argues that the Lettera was open to the charge that
it contravened the limitation of the interpretation of the Bible outside the confines of
the church represented in the pope and bishops, as laid down in the dictates of the
Council of Trent. This, Blackwell believes, is the principle cause of the Lettera’s eventual
placement on the Index (89–90).
50
Blackwell 1991b, 220–2. It is not clear whether Foscarini did not know that the
Pythagorean cosmology was not isomorphic with Copernicanism or if he did know but
nevertheless uses it rhetorically to help establish the antiquity of heliocentrism.
51
Ibid., 222.
52
Ibid., 222–3.
53
Ibid., 223.
54
Ibid., 223. Evidently Foscarini was unaware of Rheticus’s decades-old defense,
nor does he mention Kepler’s more recent reconciliation.
55
Ibid., 223–6.
56
Foscarini in Blackwell 1991b, 226–7. Insertion within square brackets added by
the translator.
57
Foscarini in Blackwell 1991b, 227.
58
Ibid., 230.
59
Ibid., 231.
60
Ibid., 232.
61
Foscarini in Blackwell 1991b, 233. The use of the term “scientists” in the English
translation is of course an anachronism.
62
Foscarini in Blackwell 1991b, 233 (“absolute wisdom” is Foscarini’s term; the
Vulgate has only “sapientia salutaris”).
63
Blackwell’s translation of the Defensio is published in Blackwell 1991b, 255–63.
64
Foscarini in Blackwell 1991b, 259–61.
65
Ibid., 261.
Galileo Galilei
When we left our discussion of Kepler, we considered his recommenda-
tion that those ill-informed in matters astronomical refrain from med-
dling in the affairs of this discipline. A confl ict between the magisteria of
theology and astronomy was precisely what Galileo Galilei (1564–1642)
claimed he wanted to avoid in the years immediately subsequent to the
publication of Kepler’s Astronomia nova. Although Galileo’s “Letter to the
Grand Duchess Christina” is the most celebrated example of the use
of accommodationist hermeneutics to reconcile Copernicanism with
the Holy Scriptures, as the foregoing survey attests, much had already
been written on this interpretative mode by the time Galileo wrote his
letter in 1615.67 Nevertheless, nothing written before or since equals
the condensed wit and rhetorical power of Galileo’s contribution to the
genre—not to mention its celebrated and colorful historical backdrop.
It must be remembered that the Galileo Affair was not only about the
potential confl ict between heliocentrism and the Bible, although cover-
66
A translation of the 5 March 1616 Decree appears in Finocchiaro 1989,
148–50.
67
It is important to understand that not everyone in Galileo’s time accepted the
use of accommodation to support heliocentrism. In a recently-published study, Irving
A. Kelter has outlined the general tendency of late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-
century Jesuit and other Catholic exegetes to favor literal readings of the Scriptures.
Irving notes that while Jesuit exegetes did not disclaim accommodationist hermeneutics,
they did reject the use of accommodation by those in favor of Copernican astronomy.
These dynamics serve as an important backdrop to the Galileo Affair. Irving also refers
to Benedictus Pererius, a Jesuit exegete whose Commentariorum et disputationum in Genesim,
tomi quatuor (1589–98) has been identified as the most popular work of exegesis on
Genesis by a Christian in the early modern period. While Pererius used accommoda-
tion to harmonize the Bible with Aristotelian rather than Copernican astronomy, it is
noteworthy that Pererius had a formative impact on Galileo (Kelter 2005, 38–53).
68
Sentence (22 June 1633) cited in Finocchiaro 1989, 287–91.
69
Galileo’s Abjuration (22 June 1633) cited in Finocchiaro 1989, 292–3.
70
Finocchiaro 1989, 27.
71
Castelli to Galileo, 14 December 1613 cited in Finocchiaro 1989, 47–8.
72
On this, see Finocchiaro 1989, 27–8.
73
Galileo to Castelli, 21 December 1613, Finocchiaro 1989, 49–54. See also
Blackwell’s translation of this letter in Blackwell 1991b, 195–201.
additional pieces on the matter for private circulation.74 The text now
referred to as “Galileo’s Considerations of the Copernican Opinion”
paid special attention to the epistemological and philosophical concerns
of his opponents, but also treated the scriptural issues. The other text
is the famous “Letter to the Grand Duchess Christina,” a significant
expansion of his original letter to Castelli that dealt squarely with the
scriptural objections.
Galileo’s writings on heliocentrism and the Scriptures—including his
arguments for the partial autonomy of the magisteria of natural philoso-
phy and theology—are well known and thus do not require detailed
elaboration here.75 Instead, I will limit myself to a summary of several
points that relate to the main purpose of this chapter. It is in his letter
to Castelli that Galileo begins to sharpen the sword of his arguments on
accommodation. One of his chief contentions is that if geokinesis and
heliostasis are “proved to be physically true by philosophers, astrono-
mers and mathematicians, with the help of sense experiences, accurate
observations, and necessary demonstrations,” then we must have failed
through “the weakness of our mind” to understand “the true meaning”
of any texts in the Bible that appear to say something different, “since
one truth cannot contradict another truth.”76 This position reveals his
unwavering confidence in the authority of natural philosophy and frees
the Word of God itself from blame. Galileo goes further than this,
however, and asserts that sound knowledge coming from astronomy
and physics can determine the true meaning of scriptural descriptions
of natural phenomena in cases where they are unclear.77 Natural phi-
losophy, then, can be used as a clarifying tool in biblical hermeneutics.
As for the view that the authority of the Fathers’ teachings on physical
truth must be adhered to, Galileo reasons that they were unanimous in
support for geostasis because in their day “the opinion of the earth’s
motion was totally buried and no one even talked about it, let alone
wrote about it or maintained it.”78 When there is confl ict between the
testimony of the Fathers and unassailable physical truths demonstrated
by the observation of nature, then it is better to accept the latter and
modify our views on the absolute authority of the Fathers. Besides,
74
Finocchiaro 1989, 29.
75
See Finocchiaro 2008.
76
Galileo, in Finocchiaro 1989, 80–1.
77
Ibid., 81–2.
78
Ibid., 82.
79
Galileo, in Finocchiaro 1989, 83.
80
Ibid., 84–5.
81
Ibid., 85–6.
82
Ibid., 86.
83
On Galileo’s use of Augustine, see McMullin 2005; Reeves 1991, 563–79; and
Howell 2008.
84
Galileo, in Finocchiaro 1989, 92. Stillman Drake’s earlier English translation of
the “Letter to Christina” is available in Drake 1957, 173–216.
85
Galileo, in Finocchiaro 1989, 93.
86
Ibid., 95.
87
Ibid., 96.
88
Ibid., 96.
89
Ibid., 114–18.
90
Ibid., 114–15.
Tommaso Campanella
Sometime in 1616, the fateful year that saw not only the Inquisition’s
censure of Galileo, but also the placement of Copernicus’s De revolu-
tionibus and Foscarini’s Lettera on the Index, a defense of Galileo and
Copernicanism was crafted by a radical Dominican priest and phi-
losopher who had by that time been languishing as a prisoner of the
Inquisition for seventeen years. The radical priest was Tommaso Cam-
panella (1568–1639) and his alleged crimes heresy and conspiracy. Not
completely convinced of the certainty of Copernicanism (although he
believed it increasingly likely to be true), in his pamphlet Campanella
championed freedom of thought and in particular Galileo’s right to
91
Galileo, in Finocchiaro 1989, 116–17. See also Finocchiaro 2008.
92
Ibid., 117–18.
93
Ibid., 118.
94
The first is based on unproven astronomical speculation, while the second departs
from Galileo’s own principle of accommodation, according to which the description
of the Sun “in the midst of heaven” would surely refer to its apparent position in the
daytime sky.
95
Galileo’s “Letter to Christina” was first published in 1636 in Strasbourg.
96
For background on Campanella and his Apologia pro Galileo, see Blackwell’s intro-
duction to Campanella 1994, 1–34. See also the short discussion of Campanella in
Howell 2002, 201–3, 205–6. At first a scribal publication, the Apologia pro Galileo saw
print publication in 1622.
97
Blackwell cites both the lack of inclusion of Campanella’s work in Favaro’s Le
Opere di Galileo Galilei (1890–1909) and the inadequacies of the only prior English
translation of the Apologia pro Galileo, that of Grant McColley in 1937 (Blackwell in
Campanella 1994, ix).
98
Campanella 1994, 41.
99
Ibid., 65.
100
Ibid., 65–6.
101
Campanella 1994, 66. I have used the word “philosopher” to avoid the anach-
ronism of Blackwell’s “scientist.”
102
Ibid., 67. Insertion in square brackets added by the translator.
103
Ibid., 67.
does not mention air, since this was unknown to the people, even though
the existence of air is implied in Gen. 1:2.104
After stressing that “all the Fathers who have examined the text of
Moses philosophically agree unanimously that his mode of speech is
directed to the capacities of the common man,” Campanella offers
another example, that of the two lights of Gen. 1:16. The Moon is
called a great light “because of its effect on us and because it appears
to be larger to the senses, even though it is smaller than the earth and
many stars.” Referring to Aquinas’s Summa theologia, he notes that this
eminent theologian demonstrated “that Moses spoke here and elsewhere
according to the experience of the common man, and not according to
reason, which knows that the moon is smaller.”105 Campanella revisits
the description of Gen. 1:16 at other junctures in his pamphlet. In one
case he offers a more realist interpretation, arguing that the Bible affirms
that the Sun “is most hot and most luminous” by referring to it as “the
greater light” in Gen. 1:16, along with speaking of the heat of the Sun
in other passages.106 In another place, he contends that Copernicanism
can be accommodated to the Bible, since the Sun “appears to move
relative to our senses.”107 Once again he turns to Aquinas’s Summa for
support, noting that Aquinas believed “that Moses spoke of these mat-
ters according to sensible appearances, using the popular and not the
philosophical meaning.” Aquinas also agrees with Chrysostom who says
“that Moses calls the moon a ‘great light’ because of its effect relative
to us and to our senses, for many stars are larger than the moon.” At
this point Campanella offers the interesting analogy of an assumed
Jovian perspective:
Indeed someone living on Jupiter would say, ‘God created five great
lights: i.e., the sun which is the great light, and four smaller lights, i.e.,
the Medicean stars.’ For these moons of Jupiter would appear as large
to an inhabitant of Jupiter as our moon appears to us who live on the
earth.108
104
Campanella 1994, 67.
105
Ibid., 68.
106
Ibid., 87.
107
Ibid., 96–7.
108
Ibid., 97.
109
Campanella 1994, 97.
110
Ibid., 99.
111
Ibid., 55.
112
Ibid., 80.
113
Campanella 1994, 80–1.
114
Ibid., 97.
115
The shift from allegorical modes of exegesis to a literal-historical approach to
the interpretation of the Bible among Protestants is a major theme of Harrison 1998.
See also Harrison 2008. This is not to say that allegory disappeared, even amongst
the Reformers. Qualifications to Harrison’s thesis about the decline of allegory in
scriptural hermeneutics are offered by Methuen 2008 and by van der Meer and
Oosterhoff 2008.
116
Harrison 1998, 133.
117
Here it is worth noting that the core meaning of the Greek word phenomenon is
“appearance.”
118
See the discussion of Kepler’s use of astronomical knowledge in Barker 2008.
Earth. Thus, the distinction between the relative and the absolute is a
principle ancillary to accommodation.
Related to this distinction is the position that there is also a social
corollary, namely, that there are two kinds of people who engage with
the Scriptures, the common people and the philosophically-minded
reader. Those who held to this social corollary believed that the Bible
is adjusted to these social realities and thus has both a surface meaning
designed for the vulgar and a deeper spiritual or philosophical meaning
discernible by the intellectual elite (who also understand the surface
meaning of course) that is alluded to or embedded in the biblical text
or discernible when comparing the two books. This belief in a differ-
ently-accessible Bible is widespread and exists independently of accom-
modation as well as allegory, which it also allows. It does not necessarily
correspond to the difference between literal and spiritual meaning.
This can be seen in the Copernican debates that are about two literal-
natural meanings: the geocentric surface meaning of appearances and
the heliocentric deeper meaning of realities. Both the geocentric and
heliocentric interpretations were literal-natural interpretations of the
relevant texts. Those who espoused accommodation believed it forms
an integral part of the intentio auctoris (God himself or, say, God and
Moses) and is thus not simply read into the text. The desire to see in
the Bible philosophical content goes back at least as far as Philo Judaeus.
With this we also see the desire to portray Moses as a philosopher of
the highest order. While the belief that the Bible in some instances con-
tains a philosophical substratum (or implied superstratum) may appear
to contradict the central premise of accommodation (that the Bible is
written ad populum), the proposal that the Scriptures can contain multiple
levels of meaning allowed some advocates of more moderate forms of
accommodation to accept that the Bible was written both ad populum
and ad philosophos. It is not hard to see why this argument was not only
plausible, but also compelling. After all, those exegetes and astronomers
discussed in this survey believed the Bible to be not merely a human
document but a divine revelation given to humans. They accepted the
common view that the Bible is written ad populum yet also realized that
a fraction of recipients of the Word of God are philosophically learned
or, alternatively, exceptionally astute spiritually. Was there nothing in
the Scriptures for this latter group, however small they might be? And
would not the inspired Scriptures not point in some way to the physical
realities of nature? While a cynic may wish to observe that the belief
that there is some sort of exoteric—esoteric divide in the Scriptures
119
See Isa. 6:8–10; Matt. 13:10–17; Mark 4:10–12; Luke 8:9–10.
120
One example from late antiquity is Origen. See Benin 1993, 12.
121
Howell 2002, 224.
122
Benin 1993, 192.
123
Several examples are also found in Howell 2002, 34, 101, 141, 163, 177, 221–2.
Later, Isaac Newton also developed an accommodationist reading of Gen. 1:16. See
Snobelen 2008.
124
This argument can be found in Clement 1991, 48–50, 64–65, 92–96.
125
Cf. Vermij 2002, 244.
126
Yet another Italian Catholic from this period who advocated accommodation
in support of Copernicanism is the radical Neapolitan Dominican priest Giordano
Bruno (see Westman 1986, 91–2).
127
Blackwell has recently published the first English translation of Melchior Inchofer’s
Tractatus syllepticus (1633), a theological response to Galileo that had been commissioned
by the Holy Office. See Blackwell 2006.
Bibliography
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——. 1984. Concerning the City of God Against the Pagans. Trans. Henry Bettenson. Har-
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——. 1991. On Genesis: Two Books on Genesis Against the Manichees and On the Literal Inter-
pretation of Genesis: An Unfinished Book. Trans. Roland J. Teske. Washington DC: The
Catholic University of America Press.
——. 1998. Confessions. Trans. Henry Chadwick. New York: Oxford University Press.
Barker, Peter. 2008. Kepler and Melanchthon on the Biblical Arguments Against
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M. van der Meer and Scott Mandelbrote. Brill’s Series in Church History Vol. 36.2.
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Benin, Stephen D. 1993. The Footprints of God: Divine Accommodation in Jewish and Christian
Thought. Albany: State University of New York.
Benin, Stephen D. 1983. The ‘Cunning of God’ and Divine Accommodation. Journal
of the History of Ideas 45: 179–91.
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entific Method, Ed. Daniel O. Dahlstrom. Washington DC: The Catholic University
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——. 1991b. Galileo, Bellarmine, and the Bible: Including a Translation of Foscarini’s Letter on
the Motion of the Earth. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press.
——. 2006. Behind the Scenes at Galileo’s trial: Including the First English Translation of Melchior
Inchofer’s Tractatus syllepticus. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press.
Campanella, Tommaso. 1994. A Defense of Galileo, the Mathematician from Florence, Which
is an inquiry as to whether the philosophical view advocated by Galileo is in agreement with, or is
opposed to, the Sacred Scriptures. Trans. Richard J. Blackwell. Notre Dame: University
of Notre Dame Press.
Clement of Alexandria. 1991. Stromateis: Books One to Three. Trans. John Ferguson.
Washington DC: The Catholic University of America Press.
Copernicus, Nicolaus. 1978. On the Revolutions. Ed. Jerzy Dobrzycki. Trans. Edward
Rosen. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Drake, Stillman. 1957. Discoveries and Opinions of Galileo. New York: Doubleday.
Finocchiaro, Maurice A. 2008. The Biblical Argument Against Copernicanism and
the Limitation of Biblical Authority: Ingoli, Foscarini, Galileo, Campanella. In Nature
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Mandelbrote. Brill’s Series in Church History Vol. 36.2. Leiden: Brill, 627–664.
Finocchiaro, Maurice A., ed. 1989. The Galileo Affair: A Documentary History. Berkeley:
University of Californian Press.
Funkenstein, Amos. 1986. Theology and the Scientific Imagination from the Middle Ages to the
Seventeenth Century. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Galilei, Galileo. 1989. Sidereus Nuncius, or The Sidereal Messenger. Trans. Albert van Helden.
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Granada, Miguel. 2008. Tycho Brahe, Caspar Peucer, and Christoph Rothmann on
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The cover illustrations for the four volumes entitled: Nature and Scripture in
the Abrahamic Religions have been chosen from a series of fifteen paintings
by the contemporary Dutch-Canadian artist Wilhelmina Kennedy. The
series came out of a struggle of the artist with God’s action in the world,
and in particular with the realities of creation and providence and how
they are related. She, therefore, gave it the title Ultimate Realities. There
are several layers of meaning. While the paintings are about God &
Nature, they are also about knowing God and Nature, that is about
the Book of Scripture and the Book of Nature. The cover illustrations
thus are a visual interpretation of the theme of the volumes.
Ultimate Realities are Christian works of art. But their emotional
power reaches across cultures. Some of the images used in the paintings
contain elements associated with medieval cathedrals. They include
doors, carved pillars, windows and ancient hand-written manuscripts
of the Bible. These images refer to the ultimate reality of the Creator,
to what can be known about God in the Book of Scripture and to his
providential action in the world. The colors are the rich dark red of
wine, gold and green—symbols in Western Christianity of the absence
of distance. This may be interpreted as ‘God with us.’
Other images originate in the Canadian landscape and these refer
to nature as well as to the Book of Nature. The cool colors symbolize
the reality that the Book of Nature has remained a distant source of
knowledge of God for many. They allude to the role of science in
creating the distance. This is intended as a contrast to the warm colors
of ‘God with us.’
Different forms and patterns symbolize different ways the relationship
of the two books can be conceived. Some patterns symbolize the Book
of Nature in the context of the Book of Scripture and vice versa. Others
symbolize the two books existing in separation, in opposition and in
mutual engagement. Not one painting suggests that the artist has
resolved her struggle with this theme.