Kyle Johnson, a friend from Harding, has written the post for this week. It is a lengthy exploration of an obscure third-generation Lutheran theologian, but I think it has profound implications for the modern Church. First, though, a brief disclaimer from the author:
This blog post is a significantly condensed version of a heavily footnoted and more nuanced paper. Considerable material on Calixtus’s historical context, more technical nuances of his approach, and my own critiques of his approach have been eliminated for brevity and readability. I would be happy to pass on the full paper to anyone interested in the topic or to anyone especially angry at any of the arguments George or I make below.
A Church of Christ minister defends a Lutheran heretic in hopes of uniting Protestant, Catholic, and Orthodox Christians alike. That is the gist of this blog post and likely a solid starting point for a good joke. George Calixtus (1586-1656), the heretical Lutheran of the hour, was born in Germany after a couple of generations had already grown up in post-Reformation Europe—nearly seventy years after the publication of Luther’s Theses. Western Christianity had been transitioning from an era of substantial diversity within a common Catholic tradition toward an era of strict division between rival streams of the Church, with each stream being increasingly defined by internal uniformity and dogmatic orthodoxy. Calixtus “deplored the acrimonious polemic of his day” and ultimately sought better understanding and mutual appreciation between Christians of the Catholic, Reformed, and Lutheran confessions in his native Germany. He believed that if the various confessions could rally around a shared ancient heritage, they could reunite as one Church and avoid further fragmentation before it was too late (21st century narrator voice: it was too late). Though Calixtus remained firmly Lutheran in his personal theology, his witty open-mindedness produced such remarks as, “The outpouring of the Spirit upon all flesh would be but meagre if the Church existed only in the stringent Lutherans.” I encourage readers to insert their ecclesiastical or denominational affiliation into the above sentiment.
Nevertheless, as Calixtus’s premier biographer ominously concludes, “The time was not ripe for a Calixtus to appear on the scene.” Reformed leaders accused him of being too Catholic and Catholic leaders accused him of being too Reformed. Does this surprise anyone? Fellow Lutherans slandered him, ironically, as being both a crypto-Romanist and a crypto-Calvinist. Accusations eventually formalized into Calixtus being guilty of a “Syncretism” that allegedly resulted in a false sense of unity and the destruction of scripture’s true teachings. While today’s more ecumenical zeitgeist allows for some to portray Calixtus as “a forerunner of the ecumenical movement,” Calixtus’s supposed Syncretism was condemned by the overwhelming consensus of his theological contemporaries and his teachings even remain errant by modern-day Lutheran standards. I hope to argue that Calixtus’s theological, historical, ecclesiological, and biblical teachings amounted to one valid approach to ecumenism among the divided streams of the One Church in his own time and place, rather than a form of syncretism; and that the essential principles of Calixtus’s approach are commendable, adaptable, and fruitful for other Christians who likewise seek further ecumenism in their own times and places.
Calixtus’s attempt to reconcile his Lutheran identity with the emerging reality of a global, non-Lutheran Christian community placed him in a rich history of more ecumenical and irenic strands of Christian theology. Christian thinkers like Vincent of Lerins, Desiderius Erasmus, Philip Melanchthon, George Cassander, George Witzel, and Marcantonio de Dominus all influenced Calixtus’s own thinking. Two other contextual factors further contributed to Calixtus’s intellectual developments toward ecumenism: Calixtus’s international travels for study and the Thirty Years’ War unfolding over the heart of Calixtus’s life. In 1609, Calixtus embarked on a series of travels over a span of four years that exposed him to the theology—and perhaps more importantly, the friendship—of Lutheran, Reformed, and Catholic multidisciplinary intellectuals throughout Europe. There is no doubt that building relationships with genuine, intelligent Christians of other confessions began the process of steering him away from the strict Lutheran orthodoxy of his day. I would expect that many of you have experienced such relationships with non-________ Christians and have been led to reconsider the boundaries of Christian communion. Calixtus’s own process of transformation was cemented by the inter-Christian violence of the Thirty Years’ War during which the already contentious canvas of confessional divisions led Calixtus to work harder than arguably any of his contemporaries at bridging the gaps between Catholics and Protestants.
In Calixtus’s eyes, Vincent of Lérins, a fifth century Catholic monk, adequately described the essential challenge to unity as well as the beginning point of a solution. Vincent, who had never even attended a 21st century Protestant small group, writes: “The same (biblical) statements are interpreted in one way by one person, in another by someone else, with the result that there seem to be as many opinions as there are people.” Calixtus essentially affirmed the Reformation principle of sola scriptura yet acknowledged that the potential for an endless range of differing biblical interpretations, as prophetically pointed out by Vincent, was a primary contributor to the divided confessionalism of seventeenth century Europe. Thus, Calixtus favored a moderate position of the role tradition could play in the interpretation of scripture between the typical Catholic and Protestant positions of his day. Naturally, the Catholic assessment of Calixtus’s role for tradition was that he did not go far enough, and the Lutheran and Reformed assessments were that he went too far. Looking again to Vincent, Calixtus viewed the catholic faith as “what has been believed everywhere, always, by all.” More specifically, Calixtus “taught that the ‘ancient and undivided Church’ possesses a ‘consistent teaching’ at least in the first five centuries that could serve as a normative expression of Christianity.” Though many of Calixtus’s nuanced teachings on scripture, tradition, ecumenical councils, and the Apostles’ Creed require further development, the heart of Calixtus’s approach was to rally the Lutheran, Reformed, and Catholic branches of European Christianity around the ancient consensus of the first five hundred years of their shared Christian heritage. (Side note: Scholars all agree Calixtus would have included Orthodox Christians, too, they were simply not on his radar due to geography.)
Calixtus argued that all of the articles of faith necessary for salvation—and by extension, necessary for Christian fellowship—fell within the “consensus antiquitatis” of the first five hundred years of the Church. Tradition as a secondary, confirming principle of faith did not threaten the primary principle of sola scriptura, but actually guarded scripture from endless doctrinal innovations. Nevertheless, Calixtus’s evaluation of the role of tradition was simply an act of Romanizing in the eyes of his Protestant counterparts, with orthodox Lutherans not allowing for much tradition beyond that which was accommodated in their own confession, the Book of Concord. The Reformed groups likewise accommodated tradition primarily within their own confession, the Westminster Confession of Faith. Roman Catholics essentially agreed with the logistics of Calixtus’s approach yet remained unwilling to limit the role of tradition to only the first five hundred years of the Church. Calixtus argued for a compromise from both sides for the sake of unity, but this era of strict Lutheran, Reformed, and Catholic orthodoxy was not known for meeting in the middle.
Were the impulses underlying the Catholic and Protestant rejections of Calixtus’s proposal altogether very different? Catholics did not want to relinquish their control over the ongoing interpretation of scripture and were to accomplish this through maintaining a high view of the tradition of the Church. Protestants did not want to relinquish their control over their own interpretation of scripture and were to accomplish this through claiming there was no need or place for tradition (except, of course, for the recent tradition found in each of their confessions). From opposite ends of the spectrum on the role tradition should play, Catholics and Protestants were in agreement on at least one matter: Their stream of the Church possessed the essential understanding of Christianity, and other streams needed to conform to their understanding if ecclesiastical unity (and at the very least, peace) were to be realized. This mutual conviction ran deep enough for all parties to defend, rationalize, and participate in the fragmentation of the Church and even the violent atrocities of the Thirty Years’ War. Their mutual conviction that only their stream of the Church possessed the essential understanding of Christianity—even if their convictions varied in historical legitimacy—set a trajectory that has continued to the present century, though we have at least progressed from much of the physical aggression.
Calixtus by no means sought to discourage well-intentioned biblical and theological study and debate after the first five hundred years of the church. Any later beliefs—what he deems “consequent articles”—can hold significant value as byproducts of God’s eschatological revelation, however, they cannot be essential for salvation. To demonstrate this distinction, two short excursuses on justification by faith and the presence of Christ in the Eucharist are in order. These two choices are far from random. One could argue that a foremost reason for the Catholic-Protestant division was the nature of the atonement and one could argue that a foremost reason for the subsequent (and exceptionally quick) Lutheran-Reformed division was the nature of the presence of Christ in the Eucharist. Catholics and Protestants both agreed on the central tenet of Jesus Christ’s atonement yet disagreed over the particulars of how Jesus rendered this atonement. Their mutual agreement, within Calixtus’s approach, would be seen as an ancient article of faith upon which they could be united, while their particular understandings of the atonement would represent their respective consequent articles of faith. Calixtus specifically discouraged neutrality on consequent articles and genuinely wanted Christians to pursue and argue for their own particular convictions—this is how he remained genuinely Lutheran throughout his life’s work. He once described a Christian not developing their opinions just because they were unnecessary for salvation as “the most insolent madness.” This freedom to disagree regarding consequent articles simply cannot lead to ignoring or denying the ancient and common heritage which binds all fellow Christians together. To do so would be another form of “insolent madness” altogether. Calixtus commended the Protestant effort to advocate for justification by faith yet completely condemned the notion that this 16th century distinction provided an acceptable basis for schism. The same thought process could be applied to the presence of Christ in the Eucharist. Lutherans took a moderate view between the Catholic and Reformed positions, but the difference between the Lutheran and Reformed positions remained significant enough for Martin Luther and John Calvin, the two foremost leaders of the European Reformations, to quickly break fellowship. Calixtus would have all three traditions unite on the common ground of the remembrance of Jesus Christ through the Eucharist, while allowing for differences on which prepositions best described Christ’s presence. The following is an anachronistic application of Calixtus’s thought process, but one could argue that Calixtus would have even allowed for present-day “denominationalism” to a certain extent. If the denominations truly operated as one part of the One Church, rather than as sects viewing only themselves as the One Church, they could maintain their distinctive emphases yet be bonded by the essential articles of salvation. The reality, however, is that most denominations in Calixtus’s day—how much more so today?—operate more as sects with the distinctiveness of each of their confessions triumphing over the existence of ecumenical communion.
While Calixtus’s approach inevitably had its flaws—as any bold undertaking of ecumenism then or now would have—his efforts and approach during a dark, violent era of European Christianity could have seriously altered the trajectory of the increasing fragmentation of the body of Christ. The Apostles’ Creed includes belief in “the holy catholic Church”, and Calixtus was one of only a few Christian leaders in his day who prioritized this ancient article of faith over the many consequent articles of faith being cited as reasons for division and war. Are we to condemn a man who fought with careful nuance for the peace and unity of the Church, while simultaneously condoning his contemporaries who supported the killing of those with divergent understandings of the eternal mysteries of the atonement and the Eucharist? Calixtus’s life was commendable and the essentials of his approach, in my reckoning, could remain viable, adaptable, and fruitful for all Christians who seek further ecumenism in their own times and places.
The dual benefits of Calixtus’s approach are the internal unity of the One Church and the external witness of the One Church to the world. Calixtus assesses his Christian identity as “catholic, evangelical, and Lutheran in that descending order of priority.” The universal Church in 2019 is too populous and multicultural, thankfully, as well as too fragmented, regrettably, to even practically imagine abolishing confessional or denominational identities. Yet Calixtus modeled for all a foremost commitment to the “holy catholic church” of the Apostles’ Creed before any further commitments to sub-streams of the Church he more closely identified with on non-essential matters. Calixtus once wrote, “If I may but help towards the healing of our schisms…nay, I will never spare either my life or my blood, if so be I may purchase the peace of the Church.” Calixtus could surely contribute to the healing of our schisms, if we would only let him. Further, the way the Church operates internally will always function as a witness to the external non-Christian world. The rigid confessionalism of Lutheran, Reformed, and Catholic orthodoxy in Calixtus’s day created divisions with trenches being dug deeper by all parties. “Once division takes place,” one historian cautions, “everything is structured to affirm, protect, and extend the division. Division often stretches beyond the initial reasons that led to it.”
One need only study the brief history of my own ecclesiastical tradition, Churches of Christ, to validate the truth of this caution. The development of internal divisions functioned as a negative witness to the appeal of the church in Calixtus’s day, causing an increase in doubts over Christianity, or at least over the value of Christian theology and doctrine. Calixtus’s approach sought to change the course of disunity the Church was modeling for the world, and an adaptation of Calixtus’s approach to today’s even more fragmented Church could be abundantly fruitful in providing the world a window through which to see the unity and peace that only belief in Christ can render. Even more important than mourning divisions that have taken place in the past “is looking forward to an ecumenical future in which our service to God will not be hampered by the sin of division.” May God forgive and heal our sinful tendencies to divide and may the Holy Spirit guide our efforts to unite the body of Christ. And maybe, just maybe, my heretical, Syncretist, quasi-Catholic, quasi- Reformed, Lutheran brother George can help us out along the way.