Per Caritatem

 

In writing an email to a friend, the following thought occurred to me that seems worthy of further engagement, viz., might there be a number of interesting parallels between the increasing attempt to logically arrange the major theological loci into a comprehensive systematic whole [e.g., the movement from Lombard's Sentences to St. Thomas' ST and beyond] and the increased sophistication in musical notation which had the effect of diminishing the practice of improvisation and creating an image of improvisation as intellectually substandard, as well as producing sharp dichotomies (at least in the Western way of thinking about music) between our ideas of (1) improvisation and composition, (2) the composer and the performer, and (3) the musical score and the (one correct) interpretation of that score. 

According to Jeremy Begbie in Theology, Music, and Time the majority of academic writings on music have been commentaries on written scores. Though this is understandable given the difficulty of reconstructing music that is not written out prior to the invention of recording devices, it has nonetheless produced an extremely one-sided view of the history of musical practices.^[1] To cite one well-known example, many music scholars have brought to our attention that even following the development of music notation, we find composers such as J.S. Bach, Handel, and Mozart highly skilled in the art of improvisation and expecting those who performed their pieces to possess this skill as well.  Tracing some of the possible reasons why improvisation’s high reputation and regard began to wane, Begbie points to the increasing sophistication of notation, as concerts in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries gained in notoriety.  Even the improvised solos sections purposely crafted by composers to display the talent of highly gifted soloists were with time significantly diminished by written solos.^[2]  Although this increase in notation severely diminished opportunities for improvising in classical music, the improvisatory elements even in meticulously notated music cannot be totally removed so long as human beings are the performers.  Avid music listeners can attest that whether speaking of an individual soloist or a orchestral unit, the personalities, stylistic particularities, and interpretative nuances manifest in the actual performance a musical work all contribute a degree of creative liberty that falls within the sphere of improvisation broadly construed.   With Begbie, I tend to agree that

All this suggests that the customary picture of improvisation as a discrete and relatively frivolous activity on the fringes of music-making might need to be replaced by one which accords it a more serious and central place.  Instead of regarding thoroughly notated and planned music as the norm and improvisation as an unfortunate epiphenomenon or even aberration, it might be wiser to recall the pervasiveness of improvisation and ask whether it might be able to reveal fundamental aspects of musical creativity easily forgotten in traditions bound predominantly to extensive notation and rehearsal.^[3]

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[1] Ibid., p. 181. [2] Ibid., pp. 182-83. [3] Ibid., p. 182. 

This series will be a multi-part presentation of chapters 1-2 of Heiko A. Oberman’s book, The Dawn of the Reformation. Oberman divides chapter one, “Fourteenth-Century Religious Thought: A Premature Profile,” into seven sections. This post will cover sections 1-3. The first section serves an introduction in which Oberman spells out his intentions for this chapter. Desiring both to avoid artificial categories employed by many historians, as well as atomizing tendencies, Oberman intends to show the “pregnant plurality of fourteenth-century thought” (p.1). In order to do this, a new perspective must be opened because our current perspective on fourteenth-century thought has been more or less determined by preceding scholarship (e.g., as a result of the excellent work of Martin Grabmann and Etienne Gilson). Grabmann and Gilson focused their work on the 13th century with St. Thomas Aquinas as the central reference point. Consequently, the tendency was to compare and evaluate the 14th century on the basis of Thomas’ system. In contrast, Oberman contends that St. Bonaventure and the Franciscan tradition (rather than St. Thomas) was the main source of inspiration for the 14th century and that Bonaventure above all “determines the questions asked and the answers given” (p. 3).

In section two, “The Myth of the Thomist Phalanx,” Oberman de-mythologizes the myth that Thomas unequivocally reigned supreme in the fourteenth century. Though not denying St. Thomas’ stature and the influence of his works in the universities, Oberman claims that the thesis of Thomist supremacy in the 14th century does not stand up under closer scrutiny. In fact, there was a good deal of opposition during this time to Thomas’ teaching. For example, the Dominican General Chapter had to defend Thomas four times in a period of 25 years before the ruling to teach Thomas “singularitur” was put into practice. One result of these decrees was “the lectura thomasina, the commentary on the Sentences of Lombard according the young Thomas” (p. 4). Secondly, in the 1320’s, because the opposition outside the Dominican order had become so strong, a group of early disciplines of Thomas called the defensores arose. When a selection of 230 errors of Aquinas (mainly dealing with metaphysical issues) was drawn up, the defensores in their attempt to address these concerns actually ended up “transmitting a metaphysical Thomas, without paying equal attention to Thomas as the interpreter of the Fathers and of the Scriptures” (p. 5). The emphasis on a metaphysical Thomas enabled a caricature of an Aristotelian, anti-Augustinian Thomas to take hold (p. 5). In addition, “the lectura thomasinaencouraged a stress on the young Thomas of the Sentences commentary [which Oberman claims is more semi-Pelagian] rather than on the mature Thomas of the Summa theologiae” [the mature Thomas sheds the semi-Pelagian aspects and adopts an Augustinian view of justification by grace alone] (p. 5). Oberman ends the section by suggesting that the metaphysical Thomas presented by the defensores perhaps explains in part why Aquinas did not appeal to philosophers and theologians well into the 15th century.

In the third section, “The Franciscan Hegemony,” Oberman discusses some of the effects of the anti-Averroist condemations of 1270 and 1277. First, we might point out that the anti-Averroist condemnations created difficulties for the “organic development of Thomism” and evoked the “Franciscan alternative” (p. 5). A second result of the Parisian condemnations was the appeal to the ruling that no theology should be taught in the philosophical faculty. This in turn allowed for a study of the “pure” Aristotle (i.e., an unbaptized Aristotle) by Duns Scotus and Ockham and the nominalists in contrast to St. Thomas’ synthesizing tendencies (i.e., his presentation of an Aristotle more easily “swallow-able” for Christianity). However, this “pure Aristotle” was significantly less (if even possible at all) harmonizable with the faith. This clear tension then with Christianity then evoked a reaction by the Franciscans and opened up what Oberman calls the “Franciscan Alternative.” The Franciscans viewed Averroism with suspicion and were (1) particularly alert to any association of God and necessity and (2) particularly welcoming of accounts of God as a freewilling Person. One of the main emphases of the Franciscan alternative was the Augustinian concept of promissio. God’s promissio or pactum (or eternal decree)—his “reliable commitment”—which precedes history (taking place in eternity “past”) and which when enacted initiates or underlies creation and redemption (historia salutis). Hence, it is rightly termed a metahistorical conception[1] and is set in contrast to the metaphysical ontology of St. Thomas. Oberman then highlights the total “otherness” of these two conceptions. “Whereas in Thomas’ metaphysical ontology the natural and the supernatural realms are organically joined by the Being of God in whom we participate by reason and faith, the metahistorical alternative retraces nature and supernature, creation and redemption, to the Person of God, and points to God’s will as […] the ‘ceiling’ of theology” (p. 6).

Oberman then goes on to discuss and relate the above findings to the 14th century use of the dialectics of the potentia absoluta (absolute power) and the potentia ordinata (ordained power). Here the potentia ordinata speaks of the domain of theology which finds its subject matter in God’s revealed will,[2] i.e., in what God actually does in time/history (according to his eternal decree) in creation and redemption (p. 7). Going beyond the potentia ordinata is to move into speculative territory and to engage in hubristic activity. In contrast, “[p]otentia absoluta marks the realm where speculative reason is no longer guided by faith. It is the domain of God’s unlimited freedom abstracted from his commitments de potentia ordinata” (p. 7). One should not, however, interpret or equate the anti-speculative affective thrust of the Franciscans with anti-intellectualism or intellectual laziness (p. 8).

Notes
[1] The nominalists of course considered themselves the more consistent advocates of the metaphysical conception of theology.
[2] I.e., in Scripture, the Fathers, and the doctrinal decisions of the Church.

Duns Scotus (ca. 1265-1308) was highly critical of St. Thomas’ position regarding the infused habit of grace. Scotus saw himself continuing the Augustinian tradition and in light of Augustine’s teaching on predestination, Scotus wanted to avoid any doctrine that seemed to suggest that God saved human beings because of something intrinsic within them. For Scotus, God’s freedom and omnipotence must not be compromised; consequently, Thomas’ idea of an accidental form of grace within the human soulsthat might obligate God to save those who, e.g., attempted to love him habitually, was unacceptable (The Age of Reason, p. 33). God’s will and God’s will alone was “primary in the definition of the Christian. What God decreed in man’s regard was far more important to his salvation than any quality of soul he might come to possess; people were saved only because God first willed it, never because they were intrinsically worthy of it” (Ibid., p. 33).

Though Ockham is famously associated with the principle of parsimony (the “razor”), Scotus had a razor of his own that he employed against Thomas’ doctrine of salvation, viz., nihil creatum formaliter est a deo acceptandum (“nothing created must, for reasons intrinsic to it, be accepted by God”). In other words, that which is created and finite can in no way determine that which is uncreated and infinite. “Every relationship God had outside himself was, by definition, absolutely free, contingent, unconditioned, in no way obligatory. From Scotus’ perspective, Aquinas bound God too closely to the church’s system of grace and tended to lose sight of the great distance that obtained between God’s eternal will and its execution in time through created orders and finite agents. Thomist theology seemed to run the danger of entangling the divine will in the secondary causation of the church, priests, sacraments, and accidental forms of grace” (Ibid., p. 33). St. Thomas, of course, did not teach that God was a debtor to human beings or to any other creature; however, he did claim that God was a debtor to himself and to what he had established and set in motion (which of course includes his ordained system of salvation) [pp. 33-34].

According to Scotus, God’ ordinations play only a secondary, not primary role in regard to things soteriological and were thus contingent through and through. For Scotus, we must distinguish between God’s will established from eternity and the means by which he executed his will in time—God will and eternal decree being primary. “Necessary divine relations existed only within the Godhead, there, in eternity, where Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, taking counsel with themselves, decided to create and save a portion of mankind. In eternity God had determined within himself everything that would be, including who would and who would not be saved; having so determined, he then, freely and wisely, but also secondarily, elected agents to execute his will in time. Means other than churches, priests, sacraments, and infused grace could have been chosen, for in eternity an infinite number of possibilities lay before him. Indeed, he was free to save people directly without any intervening agents. The choice of particular means to execute the divine will had nothing to do with any intrinsic value they possessed, and their importance continued to lie in their having been chosen by God. […] What counted first, for Scotus, was God’s pleasure: if God willed in eternity to save a person, it would be done; how it was accomplished remained secondary. To put the issue another way, for Scotus, in distinction from Aquinas and other contemporaries, people were beautiful to God because God first loved them; God did not first love them because they were intrinsically beautiful” (Ibid., pp. 34-35).

This difference between the way Scotus and Thomas understand the nature and role of secondary causes in matters soteriological also manifest (and understandable so) in their respective views of the sacraments. According to St. Thomas, the sacraments were “instrumental causes of grace and salvation” that both “contained and communicated grace”; hence, they were necessary to salvation. One can see the interconnectedness of Thomas’ system here, viz., just as in his epistemology, universals were really in re and in intellectu (as intelligible species), so also grace was really in the sacraments and in the human soul as an accidental form (Ibid., p. 35). Scotus, on the other hand, “identified with a tradition that explained the efficacy of the sacraments in terms of a covenant made by God. Sacraments work not because they intrinsically contain and convey grace, as a cause intrinsically contains and conveys its effects (Aquinas), but because God has agreed to be present with his grace when the sacraments are performed; they are conditiones sine quibus non for the reception of grace. Where Aquinas placed the secondary cause, the sacrament itself, in the foreground, Scotus placed the will of God. Sacraments were efficacious media of grace for both, but for Scotus they were emphatically subordinate to the divine will”[1] (Ibid., p. 35).

Ending this section, Ozment notes that though Scotus stressed the contingency of creation and the transcendence of God (both motivated by theological reasons that he felt needed to be addressed given his historical context), his intention had not been to debase or devalue the created order, but to define the nature of created things more accurately in light of eternity (Ibid., p. 36).

A question for Calvin scholars, are there not serious similarities between Scotus’ and Calvin’s view of the sacraments? Are there any scholarly works (in English or German) of which you are aware that trace Reformed covenant theology back to Scotus and the Franscican tradition? Perhaps Oberman does this to some extent; however, I have not read enough of his works to know whether that is the case or not.

Notes
[1] Interestingly, Ozment cites a passage from Thomas that again brings Peter Lombard into the picture—here in connection with a certain view of the sacraments that Scotus seems to adopt. Quoting the passage from St. Thomas as cited in Ozment in which Thomas states that not all theologians are agreed as to the nature and working of the sacraments and then describes a position differing from his own [Lombard’s view], we read, “God has covenanted that whoever takes a genuine sacrament will receive grace, not from the outward sign [i.e., not from the sacramental ritual and elements themselves], but from God. This opinion, which appears to have been held by the Master of the Sentences …”, p. 35.

As we observed in the last post, Lombard believed that it was the indwelling Holy Spirit—an uncreated love and habit not our own—who works in us without our aid or volition to produce our love for God. Luther sided with Lombard on this point and was a minority voice among the scholastics. St. Thomas comes along and strongly opposes Lombard’s position, “arguing that saving charity must be a voluntary act arising from a disposition man could call his own” (The Age of Reform, p. 32). Thus, for Aquinas, Lombard’s position makes human beings entirely passive, which does violence to a voluntary act—our acts of love must be our acts. “According to Aquinas, grace is in the soul as a reality connatural to man; […] Although its ultimate origin is divine, the love by which people love God and their fellow man in a saving way is created love, a truly human habit” (Ibid., p. 32).

Pulling from Aristotelian philosophy, Aquinas devised the following solution: grace is in the soul as an accidental, not a substantial form. According to Aristotelian philosophy, a substantial form is primary and speaks of that which makes a thing to be what it is. E.g., the substantial form of a human being is reason; hence, the definition, a human being is a rational animal. To be a human being entails rationality, as it is reason that differentiates humans from other animals. An accidental form, on the other hand, does not define what a thing is, though it accurately describes it. E.g., that a person is musical, though accurately describing an aspect of that individual, is nonessential to what that person is as a human being, viz., a rational animal.

How does all this relate to St. Thomas’ solution? Utilizing the example above, in order to become a musical person, I would need to acquire the habit of becoming musical through instruction, practice, etc. Yet, whether or not I do in fact become musical, I am still a human being because my becoming musical is nonessential (and hence accidental) to my being a human being. Similarly, grace exists in the human soul just as the habit of becoming musical exists in person (accidentally). “With the infusion of supernatural grace an individual receives the essential foundation, an initial disposition, basic instruction, as it were, in how to order his life in obedience to God. He must still exercise the grace he has received in order to become ‘expert’ in the art of loving God and man. For Aquinas, the infused habit of grace is that without which one could never become a Christian and enter heaven; one may be without grace, but not a ‘Christian man.’ Aquinas further believed that once the habit of grace had been inculcated it could never be completely lost, even though it might for long periods of time go unexercised” (Ibid., pp. 32-33). Again, Thomas being the master of the via media offers his solution, viz., grace is an accidental, not a substantial form of the soul which is “really, but accidentally” present.

In the next post, we shall discuss Scotus’ reaction to Thomas’ view of the infused habit of grace.