Why Protestant Christianity Needs a Theology of Natural Law

Natural law is an idea of perennial importance and controversy in the Western world, and now in other places too. This idea didn’t die in twentieth-century Protestant thought, but it fell on hard times. During the opening decades of the twenty-first century, interest in natural law has suddenly sprung to life again in many Protestant circles. This is an encouraging development—from historical, philosophical, and theological perspective. But it remains controversial.

A Call for a Free Council

As the controversy surrounding Martin Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses intensified, the University of Wittenberg professor’s prince, Frederick III, Elector of Saxony, arranged for him to be interviewed by Cardinal Cajetan at Augsburg during the meeting of the imperial diet there in October 1518. During the meeting the professor and the cardinal discussed indulgences, the treasury of merit, papal authority, the relationship between Scripture and ministry as well as the necessity of faith for the saving reception of the sacraments.

Decades II.7: Of the Magistrate

The whole office of a magistrate seemeth to consist in these three points: to order, to judge, and to punish, of every one whereof I mean to speak severally in order as they lie. The ordinance of the magistrate is a decree made by him for maintaining of religion, honesty, justice, and public peace: and it consisteth on two points: in ordering rightly matters of religion, and making good laws for the preservation of honesty, justice, and common peace.

Martin Luther’s Farewell to Arms: The Two Kingdoms and the Rejection of Crusading

Martin Luther’s political theology has fallen on hard times. While it was once common to give him credit for the emergence of modern political liberties, Luther’s legacy has, especially since the second world war, soured. Many have claimed that he set the stage for an unholy sort of sacred nationalism, while more recent commentators say that Luther had no political theology at all, but was instead content to take a “hands off” approach, ceding everything to an emerging secular state.

Calvin’s Luther: Unity and Continuity in Protestantism



John Calvin: More Lutheran or Zwinglian?

Everybody knows that Calvin was closer to Zurich than to Wittenberg. What this essay presupposes is: Maybe he wasn’t? In fact, Calvin was neither Zwinglian nor Lutheran in the developed sense of those terms, but rather saw himself as one who might mediate between the two sides in their intractable debates, particularly over the nature of the Lord’s Supper.

But what is perhaps most interesting, given contemporary ecclesiastical circumstances, is that Calvin saw himself as unabashedly part of one church—not just invisibly, but visiblywith all magisterial Protestants in Europe, and sought to make that visible unity more concrete through his literary and theological efforts, even if those hopes were in large measure frustrated.

Read more…

Ad Fontes Volume II, Issue 4

Philosophy and the Christian in the Reformation

In this issue, Dr. Hutchinson and Dr. Haines continue this year’s thematic study of how Christians should understand the relationship of philosophy and theology, faith and reason, by examining how the Protestant Reformers and their immediate successors approached this crucial question.


In This Issue

Reason Diabolical, Reason Divine: Melanchthon on Philosophy, Humanism and Scripture


Natural Theology in Reformed Orthodoxy


The Gospel Embodied: Luther’s Theology of the Lord’s Supper

Martin Luther sought above all to understand God’s self-revelation in the gospel, and how men and women are to grasp this revelation. In the gospel Luther discovered a God who comes to us. God condescends to us to meet us in our need as Savior and gives himself for us. Jesus Christ is God for us (Deus pro nobis) and our God (Deus noster).[1] The character of the God revealed to us through the self-offering of Jesus Christ (Deus oblatus) consists in free and unbounded giving. God desires nothing from us in return for the gifts of creation and redemption. Our only appropriate response is thanksgiving; in our expression of thanks we acknowledge that God is the merciful giver of every temporal and spiritual gift.

In this perspective, Luther understood the Lord’s Supper above all as a gift to be received from a gracious God. For this reason, he resolutely opposed the idea of the Mass as sacrifice (sacrificium, bonum opus, meritum), according to which Christ instituted the Mass as a means of atonement for the actual sins (venial and mortal) both of the living and the dead.[2] Luther did not see any basis for this idea in Scripture, which taught him that the suffering of Christ is an adequate sacrifice for all sins, original as well as actual. For Luther, the daily Masses in which the priests offer up the host amounted to an express denial of the sacrifice of Christ on the cross, made once for all as a perfect atonement for sins (Heb. 9:12, 26).[3]

How then did Luther conceive of this gift as one to be received in the Lord’s Supper? Luther insisted that to observe the Lord’s Supper properly and to understand what it offers, one must above all comprehend the meaning of the words by which Christ instituted it. In these words, the very sum and substance of the Lord’s Supper consists:

Take and eat, this is my body, which is given for you. Take and drink of it, all of you, this is the cup of the new and eternal testament in my blood, which is poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.[4]

To explain the meaning of the Lord’s Supper as divine gift, Luther singled out a term from these words of institution, and opposed it to the idea of sacrifice: God’s gift to us is testamentum; our gift to God is sacrificium. In Luther’s conception of the Lord’s Supper as divine gift the two are mutually exclusive. The concept of testamentum is central in Luther’s treatises on the Lord’s Supper, and therefore needs to be clarified.

A testament is a promise made by one about to die. In it the testator expresses how he wishes his property to be disposed after he dies and confirms these wishes by a seal. The property is the inheritance; those appointed by the testator to receive it after his death are the heirs.

Luther maintained that from the beginning of the world God has never dealt with men and women otherwise than through a promise. And all the promises God made from the beginning of the world foreshadow the testament of Christ and derive their value from it. The meaning and content of the promises made to Adam (Gen. 3:15), Noah (Gen. 9:12-17), Abraham (Gen. 22:18), Moses and the people of Israel (Deut. 18:18), and especially to David (II Sam, 7:12-16) are only disclosed in the most perfect promise of all, namely, that contained in the testament of Christ.

But a testament only goes into effect when the testator dies. The language of “promise” and “covenant” (testamentum) therefore implies that God would one day die. But it is impossible for God to die. The use of the idea and language of “testament” therefore comprehends both the incarnation and the death of Christ. In this testament forgiveness of sins and eternal life are freely promised; this is the inheritance bequeathed. The heirs appointed to it are all those who receive the promise in faith. This promise is confirmed by the very death of Christ; Christ gives his body and pours out his blood to certify it and leaves us both as signs under the elements of bread and wine.[5]

For this reason, Luther insisted that stress must be given to the hearing of the words of institution in faith. The words in the strict sense are the testament of Christ; the bread and the wine are the sacrament. Between words and sacrament Luther insisted on a sharp distinction. The sacrament is oriented to the promise given in the testament. In this regard, the words of institution are not merely to be understood as words of consecration; they are at the same time words of promise addressed to the congregation, which is thereby enabled to receive the gift of the Lord’s Supper in faith. Put otherwise, they are the words of proclamation announcing—as summa et compendium evangelii—the entire saving event. This is why Luther and the Reformers demanded that the words of institution be pronounced clearly and distinctly so as to be comprehensible to the people. This stress on the word of proclamation gave impetus to the demand for the use of the vernacular in liturgical practice.

Against Ulrich Zwingli and the radical Reformers, Luther later had to develop more explicitly the relationship between the content and effect of the words of institution. For Luther, the character of the Lord’s Supper as a gift really given and received depends on the affirmation that these words are not only the vehicle of the promise of the forgiveness of sins, but also that of the real presence of the body and blood of Christ. Luther’s insistence on a robust doctrine of real presence was of course epitomized at the Marburg Colloquy (1529). In his famous debate with Zwingli there, Luther wrote in chalk the words hoc est meum corpus (“This is my body”) on the table, which he pounded with his fist. Luther found the words of Christ so clearly and simply  stated that he was incredulous that his adversary could interpret them otherwise.[6] When Christ places before us the bread and says, “Take, eat, this is my body” and offers us the wine with the words, “Drink of it, all of you, this is my blood, which is poured out for you. Do this in remembrance of me,” Christ is truly offering to us his body and blood.

It is open to debate, however, whether Luther’s rejection of Zwingli’s memorialism would have extended to the more nuanced position of John Calvin and of many early Reformed confessions, in which a sacramental realism is unequivocally affirmed. In any event, Luther found it necessary to defend his doctrine of real presence to safeguard what he believed the church must affirm about the gospel: Atonement has once for all been accomplished through the sacrifice of Christ on Calvary for the forgiveness of sins, but it is offered in public proclamation and distributed to the believer again and again in the reception of the sacrament.


Christopher Dorn holds an M.Div from Western Theological Seminary and a Ph.D. in Systematic Theology from Marquette University. He resides in Holland, Michigan. He currently serves as chair of Holland’s Reformation 500 committee, and preaches regularly at First Presbyterian Church in Ionia and Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Holland.



[1] Vilmos Vajta, Luther on Worship (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1958), 10.

[2] Cf. The Augsburg Confession (unaltered), 24.21.

[3] Cf. Luther’s Works, Volume 36, 311-328.

[4] Luther renders the words of institution generally after the manner of the Canon of the Mass, thus incorporating features from the several scriptural accounts: Matt. 26:26-28; Mark 14:22-24; Luke 22:19-20; and 1 Cor. 11:24-25. Cf. Luther’s Works, Volume 35, 82.

[5] Luther’s Works, Volume 36, 38-40

[6] Luther’s Works, Volume 36, 336; Cf. 37, 270


Ad Fontes II.3: Luther & Melanchthon

In this issue, Christopher Dorn presents Luther’s thinking on the Lord’s Supper and Jonathan Tomes introduces Luther’s theology of beauty in his review of Mark Mattes’ recent book on the topic. Bradford Littlejohn presents an introduction to Melanchthon’s Apology of the Augsburg Confession, finally followed by portions of the Apology itself.


The Gospel Embodied: Luther’s Theology of the Lord’s Supper

Christopher Dorn

Introduction to Melanchthon’s Apology of the Augsburg Confession

Bradford Littlejohn


Apology of the Augsburg Confession

Philip Melanchthon


Martin Luther’s Theology of Beauty: A Reappraisal, By Mark Mattes

Review by Jonathan Tomes


Sign up for FREE to receive Ad Fontes in your inbox.