Human reasoning and feeling influence what one takes to be revelation.

Barth thinks that revelation is purely God-given, but revelation calls for a mutual interplay of human and divine

Contra Barth, divine forgiveness is not unmerited, but requires repentance and obedience.

Barth is a compatibilist, holding that predestination and human freedom co-exist. This is a metaphysical, not a clear Biblical, thesis.

For Barth, freedom is not a choice between alternatives. This makes the existence of evil hard to explain.

Three Barthian incoherences - God determines all and condemns all; all religions are faithless and one is true; only Jesus gives divine grace and Torah did so.

Barth says all attempts to know God are futile, but also that some other religions know God.

If God reveals Godself, then God is not ‘wholly other’.

This chapter provides essential historical and theological background for the emergence of Cambridge Platonism. It traces the fortunes of the Calvinist or Reformed (or less accurately ‘Puritan’) theological community in England, of which the Cambridge Platonists were members, through the civil wars and Interregnum, with a particular focus on controversy about predestination. It presents the major outlines of the Reformed doctrines of double predestination, election and reprobation, along with the rise of anti-Calvinist currents of thought like Arminianism and Laudianism, with a view to exploring the ways in which these theological disputes contributed to political tensions that gave rise to the civil wars. Finally, it explores the central role played by the Cambridge Platonists’ colleges of Emmanuel and Christ’s in the training of Reformed preachers and the dissemination of Reformed doctrine, with particular attention paid to Reformed attitudes to the study of philosophy and pagan thinkers such as Plato and Aristotle.

For many anti-Calvinists, including the Cambridge Platonists, the Calvinist doctrine of double predestination entailed unacceptable conclusions about the character of God. Inspired by the fractious political climate, seventeenth-century English anti-Calvinists frequently accused the Calvinists of making God into an ‘arbitrary tyrant’, one who imposed his arbitrary will upon a hapless creation, unbound by any principles of justice or goodness. After considering the political and theological background from which this anti-tyrannical discourse emerges, this chapter examines the ways in which, in their attacks on the doctrine of double predestination, Benjamin Whichcote, Henry More, Ralph Cudworth and John Smith all appeal to an explicitly Platonic notion of God’s unwavering intention to communicate his goodness to creatures as far as they are able to receive it.

Chapter 5 considers the ways in which Piers Plowman attempts to translate a Franciscan form-of-life into vernacular, worldly terms. While the Franciscan forma vitae details the way of living for each brother, from his clothing to his daily activities to the correction of his faults, Piers Plowman details the means of making a living in an inappropriable world. I argue that the poem asks these questions by way of its sustained meditation on the meaning and nature of labour as the continual payment of an unpayable debt. Langland explores the value and meaning of labour most explicitly in and through the three figures in the poem who are most closely linked with Franciscanism, and who court most dangerously the charges of idleness and default: Rechelesnesse, Nede, and the Dreamer himself. As this chapter shows, the irreducibly ambiguous nature of these three figures, who mix truth with half-truth and misunderstanding, who aspire to the ideals taught by Holy Church, Patience, Kynde, and Conscience, but who embody an all-too-human failure to attain them, encapsulates the poem’s interpretive inappropriability.

This chapter examines Augustine’s account of the eternal God’s creation of, ordering of, and presence within creaturely temporality, a presence perfected in the Incarnation.

This chapter explicates the language of mystery, which was one of the Laudians’ preferred modes for treating the topic of predestination. The workings of the divine will were held to be so far above the puny categories of human reason that the process of subjecting the former to the demands of the latter was taken to be in itself a form of the presumption, perhaps even the sacrilege, of which the Laudians so frequently accused the puritans. The fine print of predestination was thus far better left wreathed in the language of mystery, a language that wise divines also used to deal with topics like the Trinity or Christology. There were, the Laudians maintained, central features of the Christian faith which were best simply believed rather than reduced to a list of numbered doctrinal propositions, to be then defended through entirely human procedures of syllogistic reasoning. In some circumstances, and certain moods, the Laudians held predestination to be one of those areas of difficulty, presented by God for human belief, rather than for theological enquiry.

This chapter defines Andrewes’ position in terms of its opposition to a body of both religious and political opinion labelled puritan. While Andrewes’ anti-puritanism is shown to have been rooted in traditional conformist concerns about conformity and church government, it also, Hooker-like, encompassed wider issues of religious style and modes of being. Crucial here was what Andrewes identified and excoriated as the puritan cult of the sermon and view of faith centred solely on knowledge rather than practice or works. According to Andrewes, the result was hypocrisy on a heroic pharisaical scale and a histrionic, wholly performative, style of both preaching and piety.

This chapter concerns the place of predestination in Andrewes’ own style of divinity. On the one hand, because of the organising role of predestinarian error in Andrewes’ sense of puritanism and of the importance of puritanism as the defining other against which Andrewes constructed his own position, predestination was in some sense central to Andrewes’ thought. But on the other, since presumption was precisely what was wrong with the puritan attitude to predestination, a topic which the puritans thought they could subjugate to their own rationalist cross-questioning, this was an area in which Andrewes affected an extreme reticence. Nevertheless, what looks like an explicitly Arminian account of theology of grace can be teased out of his sermons and assigned a central role in his overall theology, which stressed the collaboration between the grace of God and human effort, the will of God and that of fallen humanity, enabled by Christ’s sacrifice and the ameliorating effects of sacramental grace to help people collaborate actively in their own salvation.

This chapter homes in on the explicitly political, and allegedly anti-monarchical, effects of puritan error. Here what Andrewes presents as the integral connections between puritan presumption, hypocrisy and popularity – the latter defined as an obsession with getting and keeping the good opinion of the people, if necessary by defaming their rulers from the pulpit and in the press. Puritanism is thus presented as wholly inimical to monarchical authority in the state and episcopal authority in the church. Again, Andrewes is shown asserting the broad equivalence of the seditious doctrines and practices of the puritans and the papists. He placed special stress on the predestinarian roots of puritan hypocrisy and presumption and hence on the political consequences of what Andrewes took to be (typically puritan) predestinarian error.

This chapter sets up the problem of the relationship between Arminianism – defined as a set of propositions on the subject of predestination, at odds with Calvinist orthodoxy – and Laudianism as it has emerged in this book. Predestinarian error played a central role in the Laudian analysis of puritanism – it underlay a great deal of puritan presumption and hypocrisy, as well as their most divisive, indeed sectarian, impulses and behaviour. In addition, puritanism was the organising other of the Laudian project. All of which meant that predestination was a topic of great interest to the Laudians. But when it came to the positive case for Laudian reformation, to Laudianism as a style of piety and way of being Christian, the doctrine was far less central. Indeed, the topic tended to fall within the remit of those things best left unaddressed and certainly not subjected to the sort of assertion and counter-assertion that had recently threatened to plunge the Low Countries into chaos. However, the intensity of the Laudians’ repudiation of the puritans’ Calvinist predestinarianism more than implied the presence of a counter-orthodoxy and certainly called down accusations of Arminianism upon the Laudians’ heads.

Chapter 5 considers the theology and moral philosophy of the respected theologian and moral casuist, Robert Sanderson. The divine Sanderson despaired of the unfortunate consequences for practical morality of denying the responsibility and freedom of individuals. In its historical context his doubt amounted to finally rejecting the Calvinist doctrine of predestination. Scholars consider Sanderson’s Several Cases of Conscience Discussed in Ten Lectures in the Divinity School at Oxford a main reference for Locke in the writing of the unpublished Two Tracts of Government and his foundational Essays on the Law of Nature. Sanderson’s work sets out a moral philosophy of free will reinforced by mechanical overtones of necessary causality in reasoning. The chapter briefly analyses this type of ‘mechanical conscience’ and shows how Sanderson was committed to a de facto theory of government.

Divine determinism has been an unpopular topic in recent theology – widely dismissed, habitually avoided. One might wonder, therefore, what a theological contribution to understanding this possibility might look like. Some have proposed that reflection on divine transcendence helps us avoid misunderstandings that put secondary, creaturely agency in competition with God’s. I argue that this “non-competitive” approach offers limited insight into the agential and theodical problems raised by divine determinism. Drawing on doctrines of election, I then explore the possibility that divine love itself might require determinism. If, having imagined specific characters in a particular story, God loves them and desires to bring them to life, God might find it necessary for history to take the directions required for them to come to be. This possibility challenges caricatures of a determining God as tyrannical and suggests that even divine authorship may face constraints in eliminating evil.

The reason the debate over divine providence has such a powerful resonance in the lives of ordinary people is that it touches deeply on their relationship with God, and in particular on the attitudes they have toward God: their trust in God, their love for God, their hope in God’s promises, and more. One way to approach the debate over divine providence is to start with an account of appropriate religious attitudes and reason about which accounts of divine providence can make sense of those attitudes. I focus on the religious attitude of trust in God. R. Zachary Manis has argued that theological determinism cannot make sense of certain types of trust in God that religious believers often do and should have: trusting God with their own salvation and the salvation of others whom they love. I argue that theological determinism can in fact make sense of these types of trust in God, drawing heavily on Kierkegaard’s idea that we ought to love others with God as the “middle term.” I go on to argue that views other than theological determinism also struggle to make sense of believers trusting God with their own salvation and the salvation of those whom they love.

The fifth chapter establishes Calvin’s dependence upon tradition in two different manners. First, it does so by examining those theologians upon whom Calvin relied. The chapter considers Calvin’s use of John Chrysostom, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Augustine of Hippo. Each case shows the earlier theologian’s authority for and influence upon Calvin. Then the chapter turns to three different doctrinal loci. These are the establishment of infant baptism, the Trinity, and predestination. In each instance, Calvin had to place his confidence in traditional sources, either to bolster his biblical work, or to replace what was impossible to produce biblically, as in the case of infant baptism.

The most famous subject on which Bayle has been claimed to be either a fideist or an atheist is his discussion of the problem of evil in the ‘Manichean’ articles of the Dictionnaire and in subsequent writings. This chapter contextualises those writings so as to outline Bayle’s sources, and to show that he was engaging in a tripartite polemic about the theological doctrine of predestination. From Gassendi, Bernier, and others Bayle had learnt to argue that the problem of evil had no full solution: a purely rational (pagan) philosophy led to a deterministic fatalism. Gassendi, Bernier and others had used this point to insist on the necessity of adopting a Molinist doctrine of free will. Bayle argued the opposite: while it was indeed impossible to reconcile predestination and free will, history had shown that this did not lead to moral laxness. At the same time, the predestinarian position was more rational than the Molinist one, since it best accorded with the idea of unitary, omnipotent deity (which all sides agreed was rational). It is shown that Bayle adopted this argument from several Reformed theologians with whose writings he was well familiar: his teachers Louis Tronchin and Francis Turretin, and above all Jacques Abbadie and his then-friend Pierre Jurieu. But for Bayle this conclusion also had a political pay-off that put him at odds with Jurieu: that the difficulties of theological doctrine should lead to mutual toleration of differing opinions, rather than to a destabilising odium theologicum.

That papal responses about Pelagianism belong to a specifically legal domain is a secondary conclusion of the chapter. The primary conclusion can be integrated with a central argument about the origins of the first papal jurisprudence, viz., that it was demand-driven, and that the demand was driven by uncertainty. We should not be surprised at uncertainty in late Antiquity about grace and free will when modern scholars write in such different terms about Augustine. Many modern people prefer Pelagius, but Augustine’s understanding of grace won the assent of intellectuals like Gottschalk in the ninth century, Bradwardine in the fourteenth, and Luther and Calvin in the sixteenth, and it continued to have adherents within Catholicism, even after the Council of Trent. Self-evident the solution to the argument was not. Given the violently opposed views, in this apparently purely Western controversy, it is not surprising that the apostolic see was asked for a response. Baffled by the paradox of divine omnipotence and human free will, it did what it would do in subsequent centuries: step back from acceptance of Augustine’s late views, without breathing a word of criticism against him.

Influence of the dualist ‘Encratite’ tradition helps account for the pessimistic colouring of Augustine’s view of human nature, but this is far from being the whole story, in which a turning point was his attempt to explain what it could mean to say that God hated Esau. The sacred books which both Augustine and Pelagius accepted without question could bear either of their probably honest interpretations of grace. Even modern scholars can react strongly in opposite directions to this fifth-century controversy, on a spectrum from barely concealed dislike of Augustine’s idea of grace to apparently heartfelt eloquence in presenting it. While twenty-first-century society is comfortable with pluralism, at least on these topics, fifth-century Christianity was not. Contradictory certainties must have generated both uncertainty and unease among those not committed to either side.