Per Caritatem

Oberman begins section three by distinguishing between “Tradition I” (T1) and “Tradition II” (T2). T1 stands for what has been described as the “exegetical tradition of interpreted scripture,” whereas T2 represents the “two-sources theory which allows for an extra-biblical oral tradition” (p. 280). As we have seen, both T1 and T2 have their medieval supporters. Moreover, as was mentioned previously, the canon lawyers in the Basilean line follow the two-sources theory with both sources requiring equal respect. The doctors, in contrast, begin to develop the oral tradition in a more subtle fashion. “In theory the material sufficiency of Holy Scripture is upheld long after it has been given up in actuality. The key term of this development is the word ‘implicit’ and the history of this term is one of increasing loss in content. When then finally the two propositions—‘Holy Scripture implicitly says’ and ‘Holy Scripture silently says’—are equated, the exegetical concept of Tradition I has fully developed into what we called Tradition II” (pp. 281-282).

With this history in mind, Oberman suggests that we will better understand the Council of Trent and later Roman Catholic theology [pre-Vatican II]. In light of everything that has been said up to this point, we see the difficulty of tracing T1 to the early part of the Middle Ages because in this period T1 and T2 cannot be sharply separated. This conflation or blurring of lines between the two has to do with the fact that those adhering de facto to T2 continue to claim to support the material sufficiency of scripture. Yet, according to Oberman, after the nominalists (e.g., Ockham, Gerson, d’Ailly and Biel) pave the way for Trent’s reception of T2, the historian can begin to gain a clearer understanding of the differences on both sides of the argument—an argument which is not one of Scripture verses tradition (p. 282). For example, Wyclif, Hus, and Gansfort do not oppose Scripture to tradition, rather they argue for T1 over T2. “True to Vincent’s five restrictive requirements for an authoritative tradition, they defend along with the material sufficiency of Holy Scripture the authority of the exegetical tradition whenever there is a common and explicit witness of the Fathers, in particular of the four great doctors of the Church: Augustine, Jerome, Ambrose and Gregory” (p. 282). Nor do the adherents of T1 deny the importance of episcopal succession for the purpose of preserving the truth. “They indeed regard tradition as the execution of the custodian’s task of the Church. But in contrast to those holding to Tradition II, the emphasis falls rather on the successio doctorum than on the successio episcoporum” (pp. 282-283).

As Oberman argues, Trent represents T2, and the Reformers represent T1. Oberman again reiterates that just as was the case in the later Middle Ages, so too is it the case in the period of Reformation and Counter-Reformation that the conflict is one of a clash of between two concepts of tradition (T1 and T2). Luther of course taught what is known as the sola scriptura principle. However, one should not understand this principle as denying the coinherence of Church and Scripture, but rather as operating within the context of T1, not T2. Throughout the many theological changes that Luther underwent, he never denied the importance of and need for T1.

With regard to the historical details of Trent, Oberman states that in its fourth session, the Council of Trent endorsed T2. In other words, by sanctioning the two-source theory, the extra-scriptural apostolic tradition is to be esteemed on the same level as Holy Scripture. “This implies not only that the successio fidei coincides with the successio episcoporum, but also an elevation of the authority of the Church above the authority of the canonized apostolic kerygma. Due to the restrictive localization of the testimonium internum of the Holy Spirit in the teaching office of the Church, Holy Scripture can only have a mute authority” (p. 286).

Oberman next cites two scholars, Joseph Geiselmann and Father George Tavard who have argued that the main post-Tridentine theologians have misinterpreted Trent as promoting a two-sources theory. Geiselmann and Tavard claim that the Council implicitly accepted the sufficiency of Scripture, and that they viewed tradition as the viva vox evangelii—which would in effect reflect a T1 position. Oberman, however, disagrees with Geiselmann’s thesis (which implicates Tavard as well) for the following reasons, which I will quote in toto:

(a) “The partly-partly (partim-partim) formula of the original draft of the Tridentine decree on the respective authorities of Scripture and tradition cannot be explained away as a product of nominalistic philosophy as Geiselmann suggests. Though one has to cede to the nominalistic theologians the honour of having made the two-sources theory ripe for its official reception at Trent, the formulation ‘partly-partly’ as such is rare and has not yet been traced to a nominalist theologian. The more current translation of the Basilean passage, ‘some—and others’ (quasdam-quasdam), is used by Gabriel Biel but can be traced back to the early medieval canonists. In view of such textual history, one would be well advised not to give too much weight to the change of the initial ‘partly-partly’ to the copulative ‘and’ (et). All three formulations render satisfactory St. Basil’s own choice of words (ta men, ta de).”

(b) “This conclusion is borne out by the statement of the cardinal legate Cervini who announces on 6th April 1546 after a night spent on the revision of the original draft that the final version is ‘in substance’ the same. This would hardly seem compatible with the idea that the Council changed its mind.”

(c) “The energetic protest against the ‘partly-partly’ formulation which Geislemann cites as the cause for the alleged change proves to be limited to two representatives, Bonacci and Nacchianti, of which the first stands under suspicion of heresy on points related to Scripture and tradition and the second was once called ‘avid for novelties’.”

(d) “The Catechismus Romanus (1566) quite clearly interprets ‘and’ (et) as ‘partly-partly’ (partim-partim) when it states that the Word of God is distributed over scripture and tradition” (pp. 287-288).

The bottom line is that according to Oberman, the Council of Trent clearly teaches a two-sources theory in its admission that all doctrinal truths are not found in Scripture. Tradition is a second source that “by adding its own substance complements Holy Scripture. The gradually eroded connection between explicit and implicit truths has been snapped; the exegetical tradition has been transformed into Tradition II” (p. 288). Oberman ends this section by noting that Geiselmann’s thesis has exercised much influence on a large segment of contemporary Roman Catholic theology. Moreover, though Geiselmann desires to demonstrate the error of the two-sources theory, this does not mean that he moves us to a T1 position.

In contrast with Auriole, for Ockham there is “no necessary relationship between salvation and grace-induced habits of love” (The Age of Reason, p. 37). This view is reflected in Ockham’s statement, “Quidquid Deus producit mediantibus causis secundis potest immediate sine illis producere et conservare,” i.e., “whatever God can produce by means of secondary causes, he can directly produce and preserve without them.” Just as God in his potentia absoluta was able to cause intuitive knowledge in the human mind of something that does not exist, he can also save people without infused habits of grace (Ibid., p. 37).

Ockham is said to have gone overboard in his desire to stress the radical contingency of creation, as well as all things ecclesiastical—churches, sacraments etc. As Ozment points out, Ockham founded his teaching on two traditional sources. First, he appealed to Augustine’s view of the church on earth as permixta, that is made up of both believers and unbelievers. Here what counts is not present grace, but ultimately the gift of perseverance which is given to the elect only (see, City of God, bk. 1, ch. 35). Secondly, Ockham based his teaching on the distinction between the potentia absoluta Dei and the potentia ordinata Dei, the absolute and ordained power of God. Below is a concise summary of Ockham’s understanding of this distinction:

“Sometimes we mean by God’s power those things which he does according to laws he himself has ordained and instituted. These things he is said to do by ordained power [de potentia ordinata]. But sometimes God’s power is taken to mean his ability to do anything that does not involve a contradiction, regardless of whether or not he has ordained that he would do it. For God can do many things that he does not choose to do […] These things he is said to be able to do by his absolute power [de potentia absoluta]” (Quodlibeta VI, q. I, cited by Dettloff, Die Entwicklung der Akzepations— und Verdienslehre, p. 282) [as found in Ozment, p. 38].

Here we should note that Ockham’s view of God’s absolute power does not involve God acting contrary to the law of non-contradiction. Secondly, the contrast between ordained and absolute power seems to be employed by Ockham to stress the radical contingency of everything that is not God, and to show that what God actually did chose to do in time could have been otherwise, as there were infinite possibilities that could have been ordained. As is well known, many have criticized Ockham’s view as overly speculative and ultimately detrimental to the church and faith. Since this view is common, I will discuss another interpretation that views Ockham’s theology within an Augustinian trajectory in its emphasis on the radical finitude of creation.[1] Pointing to recent scholarship on Ockham, Ozment writes, “Rather, than believing that God actually suspended the laws of nature and ignored the priestly sacramental system of salvation, despite his theoretical ability to do so, Ockham too taught that God normally saved people by grace-induced habits of love. Where he drew the line more indelibly than most, however, was at the suggestion that people were necessarily saved by such habits. That, he believed, was an insult to both human and divine freedom.” [For Ockham] … salvation could never finally be dependent upon qualities within individuals or upon assumed real connections between, God, grace, and the soul, even though God had elected to save people by infused habits of grace” (Ibid., p. 39). In the end, salvation depends squarely on the trustworthiness of God’s will and word. Here we have the wedding of Ockham’s philosophy and theology. That is, just as in matters of genuine knowledge, words as verbal conventions connected the human mind with reality, so too in matters soteriological, words expressed as covenants and promises connect the human being to God” (Ibid., pp. 39-40).

Though some claim that Ockham’s position results in a fideism that ultimately destroys the church, Ozment points out that Ockham’s view “was at least as conducive to the conservation of a vibrant ecclesiastical institution and spiritual life as a more generous view of the theological reach of reason and the metaphysical concept of the working of grace. If, as Ockham argued, revelation was the exclusive access to God, then much hinged on the example and credibility of its custodian; in the very contingency of the Christian church lay an urgent mandate to reform it, not to oppose it, and certainly not to seek alternatives to it” (Ibid., p. 40). Ozment ends the section on Ockham observing that in spite of his stated intentions, his position is Peligian. (Because I have discussed the Peligianism of Ockham’s position in a previous post, I won’t rehash it again).

Notes
[1] This is not to say that I accept or follow everything that Ozment says here, yet some points are worth considering.