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If the reader came to read the author's insights into the details of the topic contained in the title, he will not find it. If the reader wanted to know why there was a dispute, it's not here. If the reader wanted to know why Arminius was wrong, the author does not tell us.
If the reader came to read the author's insights into the details of the topic contained in the title, he will not find it. If the reader wanted to know why there was a dispute, it's not here. If the reader wanted to know why Arminius was wrong, the author does not tell us.
He will not quote any part of the Canons or the Remonstrance. The high points of the story are important to him, but the reasons for these things isn't. The details are completely absent in favor of vague hints.
So, he doesn't tell us anything at all.
He does mention a couple of Bible passages in the context of how they were falsely preached, and quotes one verse, but otherwise he does not quote or reference the Bible.
We must deem this Bad Bible Teaching.
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On May 6, 1619, delegated pastors and professors from across Europe processed through the streets of Dordrecht to the Grote Kerk, the “Great Church.” There the Canons of Dort (Odd that the author does not even supply a link to these canons. The reader can find them here.
On May 6, 1619, delegated pastors and professors from across Europe processed through the streets of Dordrecht to the Grote Kerk, the “Great Church.” There the Canons of Dort (Odd that the author does not even supply a link to these canons. The reader can find them here.
He will now embark on a long background tour. The reader may wish to skip down.)
were read publicly in Dutch for the town and its guests to hear. As each delegate’s name was called, he tipped his hat in assent. Ever since, the Canons have belonged to the confessional heritage of the Dutch Reformed churches.
But how did everyone get there in the first place?
To answer that, we need to go back to the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, when the Netherlands became the scene of a fierce struggle politically and theologically over the grace of God.
The Reformation did not necessarily start on October 31, 1517, with Martin Luther, nor did it arrive in the Netherlands on untilled soil. For generations, reforming movements had been calling the church back to the Word in a series of medieval debates. Groups such as the Waldensians and Lollards had fled there, and movements within the Netherlands, such as the Brethren of the Common Life, encouraged a simple, Scripture-shaped piety. It’s said that on the eve of what we call “the Reformation,” Frisian fishermen living in huts could read, write, and discuss Scripture.
Upon this latest reformation movement in the Netherlands came the weight of empire. The seventeen provinces of the Netherlands were ruled by Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor. Under his son and successor, Philip II of Spain, persecution intensified. While Charles enacted laws outlawing Protestantism, he never strictly applied them. Philip, however, did. He forbade reading and possessing forbidden books, worshipping outside the Roman Church, talking openly or secretly about the Scriptures, and teaching the Scriptures unless one was a graduate of a university. The penalties were severe: the sword for males, being buried alive for females, and fire for those who wouldn’t confess. If you failed to inform the authorities of someone later found to be a heretic, you’d be guilty. Tensions boiled over in 1566 in the beeldenstorm, the wave of public iconoclasm. In the years that followed, resistance to Spanish rule grew under William of Orange, the Netherlands’ leading noble, and the northern provinces eventually united in open revolt. In 1583, the new United Provinces rejected Philip’s rule.
That political upheaval formed the backdrop for the theological controversy that would later produce the Canons of Dort.
At the eye of that storm stood Jakob Harmenszoon, Latinized as Jacobus Arminius. (Finally we get to the meat of the matter, but...)
But how did everyone get there in the first place?
To answer that, we need to go back to the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, when the Netherlands became the scene of a fierce struggle politically and theologically over the grace of God.
The Reformation did not necessarily start on October 31, 1517, with Martin Luther, nor did it arrive in the Netherlands on untilled soil. For generations, reforming movements had been calling the church back to the Word in a series of medieval debates. Groups such as the Waldensians and Lollards had fled there, and movements within the Netherlands, such as the Brethren of the Common Life, encouraged a simple, Scripture-shaped piety. It’s said that on the eve of what we call “the Reformation,” Frisian fishermen living in huts could read, write, and discuss Scripture.
Upon this latest reformation movement in the Netherlands came the weight of empire. The seventeen provinces of the Netherlands were ruled by Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor. Under his son and successor, Philip II of Spain, persecution intensified. While Charles enacted laws outlawing Protestantism, he never strictly applied them. Philip, however, did. He forbade reading and possessing forbidden books, worshipping outside the Roman Church, talking openly or secretly about the Scriptures, and teaching the Scriptures unless one was a graduate of a university. The penalties were severe: the sword for males, being buried alive for females, and fire for those who wouldn’t confess. If you failed to inform the authorities of someone later found to be a heretic, you’d be guilty. Tensions boiled over in 1566 in the beeldenstorm, the wave of public iconoclasm. In the years that followed, resistance to Spanish rule grew under William of Orange, the Netherlands’ leading noble, and the northern provinces eventually united in open revolt. In 1583, the new United Provinces rejected Philip’s rule.
That political upheaval formed the backdrop for the theological controversy that would later produce the Canons of Dort.
At the eye of that storm stood Jakob Harmenszoon, Latinized as Jacobus Arminius. (Finally we get to the meat of the matter, but...)
Educated at Leiden and then abroad, Arminius had strong Reformed credentials and even a glowing letter of recommendation from his professor at Geneva, Theodore Beza. In 1588, he became a pastor in Amsterdam. Yet as he preached through Romans, concerns began to grow. While in Romans 2, he said his hearers would have been better off if they had remained in the Roman Church because at least, they would be doing good works in the hope of eternal reward, while now they did none at all. (Nothing particularly anti-reformation here.)
In Romans 5, he said death was inevitable even if Adam had obeyed the Lord’s command. (Speculative, yes, but again, this does not come to bear on the reformation.)
In Romans 7, he moved away from the Augustinian tradition, suggesting that Paul was speaking of the unregenerate man. (Theologians have debated the meaning of this passage for centuries. But yet again, this does not come to bear on the reformation.)
Especially in Romans 9, he interpreted “Jacob I loved and Esau I hated,” as classes of people rather than individuals. (Sigh... Here we thought the author was going to get to meat of the matter. That is, why is Arminius representative of anti-Calvinism, and why is it he has a heresy named after him.)
Arminius’ senior colleague, Petrus Plancius (1552–1622) protested to the consistory (the ruling church council), which investigated Arminius, but nothing came of it. These concerns only intensified after Arminius became professor at Leiden in 1603. His colleague, Franciscus Gomarus, came to believe that Arminius’ theology endangered the church’s doctrine of justification by faith alone. (Our first reference to reformationist theology. But how did Arminius' theology endanger this doctrine? Please explain, sir.)
Arminius’ senior colleague, Petrus Plancius (1552–1622) protested to the consistory (the ruling church council), which investigated Arminius, but nothing came of it. These concerns only intensified after Arminius became professor at Leiden in 1603. His colleague, Franciscus Gomarus, came to believe that Arminius’ theology endangered the church’s doctrine of justification by faith alone. (Our first reference to reformationist theology. But how did Arminius' theology endanger this doctrine? Please explain, sir.)
If election was grounded in foreseen faith, then faith itself seemed to become a kind of work. (This sentence makes no sense, unless perhaps one has an extensive background in theology already. Even then, what exactly does it mean?)
The issue was no mere academic quarrel. It touched the very question of whether salvation is wholly of grace. (What does "wholly of grace" mean? How does grace come to bear? How did Arminius deny this? Is the author going to explain anything?)
Many ministers called for a national synod to settle the matter. But in the Dutch Republic, theology and politics were tightly bound together. Some sided with the church’s right to govern its own doctrine and discipline; others insisted that the civil authorities had the decisive voice. Conferences were held in 1607 and 1609 between Arminius and Gomarus, but nothing was resolved. Arminius died in 1609, remembered even by opponents as a humble and godly man, (But he's a heretic?)
Many ministers called for a national synod to settle the matter. But in the Dutch Republic, theology and politics were tightly bound together. Some sided with the church’s right to govern its own doctrine and discipline; others insisted that the civil authorities had the decisive voice. Conferences were held in 1607 and 1609 between Arminius and Gomarus, but nothing was resolved. Arminius died in 1609, remembered even by opponents as a humble and godly man, (But he's a heretic?)
but the controversy did not die with him.
His death didn’t end the fight. In January 1610, forty-three ministers sympathetic to Arminius met in Gouda and issued a five-point document called The Remonstrance, meaning “public protest.” (Again the author does not supply a link. We posted them in our blog here. Not terribly controversial as we read through it again.)
His death didn’t end the fight. In January 1610, forty-three ministers sympathetic to Arminius met in Gouda and issued a five-point document called The Remonstrance, meaning “public protest.” (Again the author does not supply a link. We posted them in our blog here. Not terribly controversial as we read through it again.)
From that point on, they were known as the Remonstrants. Their opponents replied in 1611 with a Counter-Remonstrance. (This is found here.)
The conflict spread from lecture halls and consistories into the pews and the streets. Congregations divided. Worshipers moved from church to church to avoid certain preachers. Riots broke out. By 1617 and 1618, the Dutch Republic itself was nearing civil conflict, just as the threat of renewed war with Spain loomed. (This is no surprise, considering how rigid and exclusionary Reformists/Calvinists are, even to this day.)
Under that pressure, the States General finally called a national synod. At the urging of King James I of England, it became an international synod. Reformed churches from across Europe were invited to send delegates so that the Dutch churches would not settle this matter in isolation. This was no small provincial meeting. It was, as one observer put it, a muster of the forces of Calvinism. (But not Christianity, apparently?)
The Synod of Dort met from November 1618–May 1619. Dutch delegates were joined by representatives from England, the Palatinate, Hesse, the Swiss Republics, Bremen, and Nassau-Wetteravia. Due to political pressures and distance, the French and Brandenburgers were not able to attend.
The Remonstrants were summoned to appear and defend their views. But the proceedings quickly bogged down as their leading spokesman, Simon Episcopius, challenged the synod’s right to judge them and sought to redirect the debate. (Hmm. I like this guy...)
Under that pressure, the States General finally called a national synod. At the urging of King James I of England, it became an international synod. Reformed churches from across Europe were invited to send delegates so that the Dutch churches would not settle this matter in isolation. This was no small provincial meeting. It was, as one observer put it, a muster of the forces of Calvinism. (But not Christianity, apparently?)
The Synod of Dort met from November 1618–May 1619. Dutch delegates were joined by representatives from England, the Palatinate, Hesse, the Swiss Republics, Bremen, and Nassau-Wetteravia. Due to political pressures and distance, the French and Brandenburgers were not able to attend.
The Remonstrants were summoned to appear and defend their views. But the proceedings quickly bogged down as their leading spokesman, Simon Episcopius, challenged the synod’s right to judge them and sought to redirect the debate. (Hmm. I like this guy...)
After weeks of delay and frustration, President Johannes Bogerman finally dismissed them with the famous order: “You are dismissed! Get out!” (I don't like this guy though...)
After that, the synod examined the Remonstrant teachings from their published writings and set to work. A drafting committee, made up of Dutch and foreign delegates, labored intensely to produce what became the Canons of Dort.
The Canons were not written as a detached theological treatise. They were a pastoral and polemical response to a real crisis in the church. They addressed five disputed heads of doctrine, each one tied to the Remonstrant challenge. At every point, they defended the same great truth: Salvation from beginning to end is of the Lord. God’s election is gracious, Christ’s atonement is powerful, the Spirit’s calling is effectual, and God preserves His people to the end. (None of these doctrines make a whit of difference to any Christian obligation or privilege. But this is the hill Calvinists choose to defend, for no one's benefit or edification. Odd indeed.)
That is how we got the Canons of Dort: through persecution, political upheaval, ecclesiastical controversy, and a major international synod. The Canons were born in a fight over grace. That is why they still matter. They are the church’s confession that sinners are saved not by the uncertainty of their own will, but by the free, sovereign, and steadfast mercy of God. (Um, yeah, no. This does not matter.)
After that, the synod examined the Remonstrant teachings from their published writings and set to work. A drafting committee, made up of Dutch and foreign delegates, labored intensely to produce what became the Canons of Dort.
The Canons were not written as a detached theological treatise. They were a pastoral and polemical response to a real crisis in the church. They addressed five disputed heads of doctrine, each one tied to the Remonstrant challenge. At every point, they defended the same great truth: Salvation from beginning to end is of the Lord. God’s election is gracious, Christ’s atonement is powerful, the Spirit’s calling is effectual, and God preserves His people to the end. (None of these doctrines make a whit of difference to any Christian obligation or privilege. But this is the hill Calvinists choose to defend, for no one's benefit or edification. Odd indeed.)
That is how we got the Canons of Dort: through persecution, political upheaval, ecclesiastical controversy, and a major international synod. The Canons were born in a fight over grace. That is why they still matter. They are the church’s confession that sinners are saved not by the uncertainty of their own will, but by the free, sovereign, and steadfast mercy of God. (Um, yeah, no. This does not matter.)
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