The concept of sola scriptura in medieval theology
A paper given by Dr James R. Ginther (Department of Theology, University of Leeds) to the Hull & District Theological Society on Wednesday 21 February 2001.
Summary prepared by David Bagchi
The title of my paper reflects a major research question that I have been pursuing for the last ten years and that I suspect will occupy me for a bit longer: what is the role and status of the Bible in the theology of the schools in the Middle Ages? The way I have formulated the question is my attempt, modest as it is, to make an original contribution to the well-established fields of medieval exegesis and scholastic theology, for very few scholars have been interested in integrating the two research areas. My concern is to understand the significance of exegesis inasmuch as it relates to the larger discipline of theology in the medieval schools.
It is here I see the value of pursuing the concept of sola scriptura, but not in the manner that the phrase would first suggest. This is because I have employed a bit of Latin trickery here. I tell my research students that they ought to learn Latin, because you simply come to appreciate the complexity of communicating theological ideas within their historical context. Slight changes of the syntax of a sentence B and suddenly a new concept springs to life right before your eyes. Sometimes it=s almost entirely invisible, as in the case of sola scriptura. As a clarion call of the Reformation, sola scriptura was used as an >ablative of means=: it pointed to how something was done, much like its partner, sola fide. One obtained the truths of Christianity >by Scripture alone=. One came to know who God was by Scripture alone. One gained an insight into the mandates and principles of the Christian life by Scripture alone. Today I have no intention of investigating the functional meaning of sola scriptura in this sense, for I am interested in it more as a predicate. In medieval theology, the phrase is not used as an ablative of means, but rather as a predicate nominative. Scripture alone has specific qualities that are unique to it.
Allow me to provide the text that made me think about this in the first place. As was mentioned, I am currently completing a study of the theology of Robert Grosseteste, who, I think, was a major theologian of the thirteenth century. (That makes me a majority of one, sometimes.) Thanks in part to the elegant prose and insightful researches of the late Sir Richard Southern, who sadly left us just last week, Grosseteste has come to the fore in medieval studies again. You=ll excuse me if I indulge in just a short biography here. He was born probably in a small village in Suffolk, around the year 1170. His early years remain a bit of a mystery. But there is some evidence that he was well-trained in the English scientific tradition of the late twelfth century. His taste for all things natural was hardly questioned in his lifetime. He read widely and carefully, and even made the suggestion that one can use mathematics to describe natural phenomena. As much as the natural world stirred his imagination, the divine science touched his heart even more. He was particularly interested in pastoral theology, writing some very popular manuals and treatises on pastoral care. By the time he had reached his mid-50s he was pursuing theology professionally, that is at some time between the years 1220 and 1230. Whether he was really the first Chancellor of Oxford I am hesitant to say (I think not, actually), but he was certainly one of its most important masters of Theology. His magisterial period was cut short when in 1235 the canons of Lincoln Cathedral elected him bishop (a compromise candidate, actually). He remained in this office until his death in 1253.
I recently published an unedited text of Grosseteste which was his inaugural lecture when he became Master of the Sacred Page at Oxford. These kinds of lectures (or >sermons=, as they were really called) were meant to follow specific rhetorical and topical paths, which included some disclosure of the master=s idea of theological method, what gave him the right B or some would say the audacity B to call himself a >master= of theology, and more often than not it also included some encomium on Scripture. Although these topics were a matter of convention, it did not prevent the master from taking them seriously, nor from presenting his own view on them. In Grosseteste=s case, not surprisingly, we have a long disquisition on the role of the arts and natural philosophy in literal exegesis of the Bible, which is followed by an argument concerning spiritual exegesis, which I have designated as >reflexive=. I use this literary term as it most accurately describes Grossteste=s view of spiritual exegesis. When read tropologically or allegorically, sacred Scripture is inscribed on the mind of the reader, and that reading will then produce external works that can be read by others, and equally important, will affect future forays into the text by the reader. Then Grosseteste concludes with this lovely phrase: >The Scripture alone (sola scriptura) so inscribing the mind, elevates the person beyond himself and all the way to God, calling that person to unite with God, he creates one spirit, and causes that person to live in divine manner.= That is why he says, later on, that >Scripture is the only text that illuminates the mind, and forms the will, whereas all other texts at the disposal of the theologian darken the mind and deform the will=.
While the term itself, sola scriptura, is rarely found in the writings of scholastics, that does not mean they have no conception of the uniqueness of Scripture. Indeed, Scripture occupied a central place in the hearts and minds of the theologians of the medieval universities, and they had a great deal to say about its status and role in theological discourse. In fact I want to suggest to you that all the discussion about the nature of theology that took place in the thirteenth century was driven by a shared concern about the role and status of the sacred text. In other words, in the attempt to establish theology as a scientific discipline, scholastic theologians did not abandon Scripture, but rather embraced it in a far more robust and intimate manner. This may appear to be a contradiction, to those who know the secondary literature on this topic, where a distinction is often made between exegesis and theology. I hope to demonstrate tonight why this is not a contradiction, but rather that the Bible remained at the heart of scholastic theology. In order to pursue this as a historical phenomenon, let me direct your attention to three individual thinkers who participated in the debate. I shall begin with Grosseteste, because he makes one of the first serious contributions to this whole debate on the nature of theology and on the uniqueness of Scripture. And then we shall shift our focus from Oxford to Paris, to consider what Bonaventure, the great Franciscan theologian, has to say. The shift is important, since Bonaventure appears to draw a great deal on the Franciscan tradition which Grosseteste had himself helped to forge. Finally, we shall cast a brief glance at Thomas Aquinas. We will not, however, be looking at the first question of the Summa, perhaps one of the most famous texts in the Middle Ages about the nature of Theology. Instead, I want us to consider what he had to say about the role of Scripture and theology by looking at his commentary on the Psalms.
In Grosseteste=s inaugural sermon, the pericope of the sermon comes in the second chapter of Ezekiel, in which the prophet reports that a hand appeared before him with a closed scroll. The hand then opened it, and Ezekiel notes that it was written on the inside and on the outside. Grosseteste focusses his sermon on three words of the text: the noun >book= or >scroll= (liber), and the two adverbs intus and foris (>inside= and >outside=). In particular, he considers how one uses these adverbs to describe the book of Scripture. He first of all notes that sacred Scripture enjoys a special place among all books because it is written both internally and externally. It is written externally like all other books, because the mode of communication is the forms of letters and signifying voices. It is also written externally when the historical sense is expressed in these forms. However, sacred Scripture=s superiority is based on the fact that it also has an internal inscription. Grosseteste divided this internal writing into three, not surprisingly: (1) the book is written >within= when history signifies the tropological meaning; (2) the reader progresses even further into the internal inscription when the allegorical sense is signified; and finally (3) the reader >arrives= at the most intimate writing when the book is unfolded in an anagogical reading or supernal contemplation.
The first reaction many have to such a description is that it is the product of self-delusion, for the Bible clearly is not the only text which can have many levels of reading. One could transform any profane text by use of allegory, in order either to bolster a reading of the text that harmonized with Christian morality, or minimize any reading that may threaten to undermine that same morality. Perhaps the best example from the Middle Ages is the racy poetry of Ovid. Under the care and guidance of Christian scholars all the sexual excess and licentious nuance was dredged from Ovid=s Metamorphoses, in order to make an acceptable and safe text for the teaching of grammar in a Christian school. Hence the four senses of Scripture, one of the most admirable features of medieval exegesis, was in fact an implementation of literary theory that was indebted to non-biblical modes and sources.
As similar as the treatment of non-Christian poets, like Ovid, and the Bible may appear, there are fundamental differences from the perspective of the medieval theologians, in which the Bible secured its superior uniqueness. In sum, the theologians argued for three distinctive features of the sacred text, all of which related to the four senses of Scripture.
(1) A spiritual reading of the Bible was not an alternative to the literal reading, but rather a movement towards a holistic understanding of the sacred text. By the thirteenth century, the literal sense had been reinvigorated in the reading of the Bible. The main reason was that for the most part of the Middle Ages, biblical exegesis had been governed by the Augustinian maxim, >Anything may be said of Scripture, provided that it furthers charity=. This maxim introduced some clear restrictions on interpretation, but also gave each commentator a great deal of latitude in his exposition. Taken within a monastic context, >furthering charity= had direct links to a real sense of community, and also to a sense of mutual care and nurturing. However, in the cut-and-thrust arena of scholastic disputations, charity was often forgotten and often muddled, in the sense that community can differ greatly from perhaps what St Benedict had envisaged! Hence, whereas the monastic life offered a logical rationale for its charity-based exegesis, the schools did not. In its place, another Augustinian maxim was introduced (drawn from the same book, On Christian Doctrine): >Whatever is said obscurely in one place of Scripture, it is said plainly and openly elsewhere=. This maxim challenged scholastic theologians to make the literal sense the driving force in their exegesis. What modern readers often fail to consider, though, is that this maxim was to be taken in a global perspective. It does not always mean there is direct relationship between the literal and spiritual readings of the story of David and Absalom, for example. Instead, other passages of sacred Scripture could be used to guide the spiritual, the allegorical, or the tropological readings of the story, such as a literal reading of the message of Psalm 2. Ultimately, this new Augustinian maxim underlined the age-old principle that Scripture interprets Scripture, which is one reason why sacred Scripture stood out from any other literary source.
(2) The reading of Scripture differed from profane exegesis because of the Bible=s authorship. During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, medieval thinkers began to consider seriously the notion of authorial intent. (While we have spent a great deal of time in this century killing off the author, during the later Middle Ages they were doing all they could to breathe life into him!) To some theologians, literal exegesis not only embraced the historical and grammatical dimensions of the text, it also contained the original intent of the author, especially when a biblical book was considered to be prophetic in nature. This could work at two levels, either for the human author, who had his own interests and viewpoints which had some impact on how that portion of sacred Scripture was written, or perhaps more commonly for the divine author, who had a clear view of the message he wanted his sacred text to contain. Authorial intent from the divine perspective was another means of strengthening the unity of the four senses. One could not substitute one reading for another, for they must work together. Grosseteste himself employs this motif in his discussion of the fulfilment of the Jewish law in Christian theology. He notes, for example, that the biblical text concerning the sabbath states that it is to be done in perpetuity. One suggestion is that the Christian expositor may simply expound these texts mystically, and therefore avoid the problem of literal obedience. It would seem to be a correct path to take since this was the major thrust of medieval exegesis of the Old Testament. However, Grosseteste considered the implications of this approach, and finds that it was inappropriate on its own. He responds to this line or argument by stating that a good teacher doesn=t say one thing to mean another.
>If something is signified in his words which is other than what he intends to teach, he is not the best teacher, but rather he is either unlearned, or he is a deceiver. In this case, God is the author of Scripture. He is the best teacher, and he means what he says. Moreover, what he intended is exactly what he wishes masters of theology now to teach.=
Grosseteste=s point is clear: spiritual interpretation must be drawn from a proper understanding of the author=s original intent. In other words, to talk about the literal sense was to talk about the theological meaning of Scripture, even if it was also manifested elsewhere allegorically in the Bible.
(3) But the author of Scripture was also the Creator, and this leads us to the third unique feature of sacred Scripture. It is the only text that intersects all other forms of learning, because it embraces all of creation. Grosseteste makes this clear in the opening chapter of his commentary on the creation narrative. Here we have his attempt to formulate what he considers theology to be about, by defining the very subject-matter of theology. He draws on his work on the Psalter by arguing that the subject of theology is what he calls >the whole Christ=, that is, the relationship between God and humanity established through the incarnation. However, this >whole Christ= motif envelops all creation, mainly because, as he states elsewhere, the incarnation is humanity=s means of gaining access to all truth. All creation is ordered to God, and thus also ordered towards the subject matter of the whole Christ. In configuring theology in this manner, Grosseteste can make the case that this discipline belongs outside all the other sciences. The secular sciences are concerned, as he says, with the division of created beings, and those subjects are self-evident. In contrast, theology moves beyond the created world, and its subject matter is accepted >by faith alone= (and he actually employs the term sola fide – but that is all I=m going to say!). Considered properly, this means that theology is not about a thing, but rather, he says, about a place, the place of wisdom. For a long time I had no clue what he was talking about. Even the quotation from the Book of Job, that he offers at this point, did not enlighten me. It was not until I began to check Gregory the Great=s commentary on Job that it dawned on me that Grosseteste was recycling an Augustinian idea of talking about God the Father as the locus, or >place=, of wisdom. What I think he meant here is that theology is grounded in the revealed word of God, but is his wisdom as it is manifested both in the incarnation and in the sacred text. The implication is that the discipline of theology ought to begin more appropriately, he says, with things that are to be believed, rather than with things that are to be known through human inquiry and reason. But while theology may be well above any philosophical or scientific discipline, he does not mean that it does not interact with them. Grosseteste himself says very little about how theology interacts with the secular sciences in terms of methodology, but he has much to say about the relationship based on content. Since theology is partly concerned with the term credibilia, >things to be believed=, he has to explain on what basis a >thing= can be considered to be a >believable thing=. The answer lies in the content of Scripture, and he makes three important points here. First, he is clear that Scripture is credible, not because of coincidences of opinion, but rather based on authority. (And this brings us back to our earlier point about divine authorship.) Secondly, because all Scripture is equally divine, one cannot make any epistemological distinction between one passage and another. One might give priority to the words of Christ, but in the end all Scripture, to use the technical term he employs, is >indifferent=, i.e. it has the same status of authority. (I=m not going to go into the gory details here, simply that Grosseteste is making a slight reference to an Aristotelian method of argumentation. It is important to say here that Grosseteste is not rejecting the use of rational argument in theological discourse, but rather he is affirming that all parts of Scripture are the first principles of the discipline of theology.) Thirdly, although all of Scripture bears an equal status of inspiration, it does not mean that humanity can gain access to all of it in the same way. Rather the Bible employs things and ideas that are more easily imaginable than others. The human reader can come to understand certain things better in Scripture, because they capture his mind, his imagination, more easily. And not surprisingly, those things are part of the created world, and that, Grosseteste concludes, is why the Bible begins with the creation narrative.
>Scripture alone= as text speaks not only of the divine but also of the mundane. For medieval theologians this intimate relationship had both a syncretistic and a judicial implication. In one way it meant that theologians were free to adopt the content of the secular sciences, when considering the created world in Scripture. In unlocking the mysteries of creation through the natural sciences, medieval thinkers began to appreciate the paedagogical role of creation, that it played in revealing its Creator. However, there were limits, since no secular science could pre-empt theology as the final authority. And this meant that theologians could consider it legitimate for them to judge for themselves whether a secular science was in fact pursuing the truth. A major example from Grosseteste=s period was Aristotle=s contention that the world was eternal. In terms of Aristotelian philosophy, that assertion certainly makes a whole lot of sense, but it=s a little difficult to square with the creation narrative, and so Grosseteste was one of many who outright rejected Aristotle=s argument: Scripture alone was the guide to what was universally true.
In light of these three features which Scripture alone could claim (namely, that it is the only text that can be read literally and mystically, that had God as its author, and spoke of both the divine and mundane), it is natural to raise the question of the sufficiency of Scripture. After all, this was one of the driving forces behind the rallying cry of >sola scriptura= in the sixteenth century: Scripture must be the final arbiter of all Christian truth. As I stated at the outset, I don=t want to create a portrait of medieval theology based on theological controversies of a later period. Instead I want to consider the sufficiency of Scripture in terms of the paedagogical or institutional context of theology. Let me treat this issue by employing the rhetoric of scholastic method, and pose arguments for and against. So:
Quaeritur (It is asked): Did medieval theologians consider Scripture as sufficient?
Videtur quod non (It would seem that they did not): 1. By the middle of the thirteenth century, a [theology] student first had to complete a course in the liberal arts. 2. One of the major sources for teaching theology was the four books of Sentences of Peter Lombard. It was a useful textbook, since the student could be exposed to the doctrine of God, Trinity, creation, incarnation, sacraments, and the doctrine of the Last Things. By adopting the text as the central focus of the theological curriculum, the theologians were tacitly admitting that the Bible was not a sufficient textbook for teaching theology. 3. Theologians themselves spent a great deal of energy disputing theological points that exploited human reasoning rather than the teaching of sacred Scripture. In sum, medieval theology saw the Bible as insufficient.
[Sed contra] (But on the other hand): Scholastic theologians produced a large number of commentaries on Scripture. How are we to reconcile this? (If you=re interested, the commentaries produced in the Middle Ages are listed in the ten-volume work put together by the great German scholar Friedrich Stegmüller, who had a penchant for compiling exhaustive lists.)
[Respondeo]: So allow me to respond to the question by turning our attention to Bonaventure.
Bonaventure
Born under the name Giovanni di Fidanza around the year 1217, Bonaventure entered the brotherhood of Francis after completing his liberal arts degree in Paris. For ten years, he laboured on his theology degree (it makes three years seem so short!) and became a master of theology in 1253. Like Grosseteste, his magisterial career was cut short by ecclesiastical demands, this time not for a bishopric, but rather his election as Minister General of the Franciscan Order in 1257. He never abandoned his teaching responsibilities completely, and near the end of his life he returned to Paris to present a series of lectures on the creation narrative that would have a lasting impact on Franciscan theology. (It contains more than just the creation narrative B it presents a whole view of Franciscan eschatology, and is a text of incredible complexity.)
Prior to leaving the magisterial chair in 1257, Bonaventure produced a short textbook of theology, which he called the Breviloquium. It=s a fascinating piece of theological writing. I don=t know if anyone here has had the opportunity of reading any Bonaventure, but he has this knack of summarizing complex theological ideas in the most elegant fashion B it=s actually quite beautiful writing. But what is even more interesting is that the prologue to the work is one of the longest prologues in scholastic literature. The reason for the length is that this is where Bonaventure speaks of the centrality of the centrality of Scripture to theological discourse. Like Grosseteste, Bonaventure makes similar claims about the uniqueness of Scripture: that it can be read literally and spiritually, that it is authored by God, and that all other branches of learning lead to the sacred sciences. (He actually wrote a separate text, On the Reduction of the Arts to Theology, which says that even if you study mechanics, somehow you=ll end up with the Trinity. An extraordinary text.) However, it is instructive for our purposes to outline what he says in addition. In describing the status of Scripture, Bonaventure asserts that Scripture is sufficient because it contains the fulness of eternal happiness. This is because one discovers in Scripture the words of eternal life. Or to quote him specifically:
>Divine Scripture undertakes to meet us in the fulness of happiness according to the truth of stated apostolic meaning.=
Lest you think that last part of the quotation is some oblique reference to a non-scriptural tradition, Bonaventure is in fact referring to a citation of Ephesians 3:14 with which he had begun the prologue. In other words, one finds eternal happiness in Scripture because it leads the reader to Christ, to whom all will bow who confess his universal lordship. Our Franciscan theologian concludes the section by stating that, in light of this aim and intention, sacred Scripture ought to be investigated, taught and even heard. As laudable as this is, the very kind of work in which we find these sentiments only appears to strengthen our initial arguments >against=. Bonaventure does argue that Scripture is sufficient, then goes on to provide his own summary of Christian doctrine. If he is really convinced of Scripture=s sufficiency, then why doesn=t he simply write commentaries? Why write another textbook whose aim, it would appear, is to displace Scripture as a theological resource? It is near the end of the prologue that Bonaventure reveals why he has written this little book. It was at the request of his order, because young theologians were finding it difficult to understand the role of Scripture in theological work. They found the sacred text >confusing, unordered and uncharted as impenetrable forests=. The Breviloquium, then, was to act as a guide to the teaching of the Bible.
The context in which Bonaventure admits the failing of his own confreres cannot be ignored. Not only did medieval theologians find the Bible confusing, but the clutter of supporting sources, such as the writings of the Fathers and the church doctors are equally confused. Bonaventure=s aim is to provide a snapshot of theological discourse, but a discourse which is intimately connected with the biblical foundation of Christianity. Bonaventure in fact was simply reinforcing the paedagogical principles of theological education in the medieval university. The student began with a liberal arts education because this provided him with the knowledge-base and skills with which he could begin to read and understand the Bible. Scripture may have been sufficient, but human beings were not, and their minds had to be prepared for theological learning. A student then took up to ten years to complete the course in theology, as I mentioned earlier. Many students only remained there for four years, beginning as an >auditor= who heard lectures on the Bible. If they started a career as a master in theology, they then moved on to lecturing on the Bible themselves, but they were permitted to lecture only on the literal sense in a cursory way. Their course continued as they lectured on the Sentences, and then moved on to participating in disputations. Finally, a student could move on to become master after proving himself in terms of knowledge and a lifestyle appropriate to a theologian. (Not sure what that is!) While this educational process is well known, what is rarely noted is that the primary role of the master is to lecture on Scripture. As a master he was devoted to providing a full and complete exposition of the sacred text, that is, to render both a literal and a spiritual meaning. He was considered capable of this task because of his training. He began as an auditor of Scripture, and his own experience as a cursory lecturer, a reader of the Sentences, and finally a disputant, prepared him for this august task. In this light B and this is my great pet peeve – I feel the Sentences of Peter Lombard were not the central textbook of theology in the medieval schools. No master was ever called upon to lecture on the Sentences. And when one did so, in the 1240s in Oxford, he was quickly accused of contravening theological tradition and misunderstanding the very nature of theological education. That master, in the end, was given a papal dispensation, and the event was never repeated by another. To expound the Bible was the highest calling. Scripture alone was his text, and he could not displace it for any reason.
Thomas Aquinas
As we all know, how an educational institution or an academic department structures its curriculum reflects certain commitments to a discipline, and medieval theologians were no exception. So allow me to conclude here with one major example which underlines this commitment to the priority of the Bible in medieval theology. The Dominican master, Thomas Aquinas, is often seen as a scholastic=s scholastic. He did more than anyone to advance the role of reason in theological discourse, and played a principal role in integrating Aristotelian philosophy into Christian theology. It is so tempting to view him as one who presented an alternative path to theological education: he produced one of the most famous theological texts in the Middle Ages, the Summa Theologiae. However, it is instructive to examine how Thomas himself taught. In the autumn of 1272, towards the end of his life, Thomas began to teach theology at the Dominican studium of Naples. The intention was to transform this middle school of Dominican education into a general studium for the Italian province, where anybody could come and be educated in theology. Thomas=s reputation would have added the necessary gravitas to the appeal. (In fact, it is interesting to note that the Dominican General Chapter of 1274 failed to give the final necessary third approval to this new school, perhaps because Thomas was dead by this time and few were convinced that the school would succeed.) Nonetheless, in 1272, Thomas provided the studium=s paedagogical focus by leading his students through the exposition of Paul=s epistles. And the following year he began to lecture on the Psalms, but, as anyone who knows his biography [will know], by December of 1273, Thomas had ceased writing, and it appeared that by January of 1274 he had also ceased teaching. It was during the very same period that Thomas was completing the third part of his Summa, and yet he chose for his course of teaching the Pauline epistles and the Psalms. For all his interest in rational thought and theology, he retained a deep and abiding passion for expounding the sacred text. Indeed, almost 30% of his literary output was biblical commentaries. Contrast that with only 10% devoted to the writings of Aristotle. More importantly, listen to what he says about the content of the Psalter:
>The subject matter of the Psalms is universal, because although all books of the scriptural canon have their own specific subject matter, the Psalter has the general subject matter of the whole of theology.=
Indeed, I am about to argue in print, in a Festschrift in memory of the late Leonard Boyle, that the Thomas Psalms commentary was in fact his real Summa. Like his contemporaries, Thomas had a commitment to the concept of sola scriptura. Scripture stood alone as the authoritative source for theological work. All his texts, including his own Summa, were simply read and studied in preparation for exegesis. The Bible remained at the heart of theology. No other text could be read literally and spiritually in unison, no other text could claim divine authorship, and no other text brought together the divine and the mundane in such an intimate manner. It remained a sufficient source for theological reflection and a guide to human salvation.
In the following two centuries after the death of Thomas, this view would remain in place, and yet the medieval view of sola scriptura would also undergo a tremendous change of perception. That change would be based on the idea that the Word of God, his truth, could not simply be contained within a written text but could easily expand well beyond it. This theoretical dimension would also be fuelled by the theological controversies caused initially by the Franciscans, particularly in their relationship with Pope John XXII. But that story, I simply have no time to tell.
