Calvin, neo-Calvinists, and secularity

Paul Helm has now written five volumes on John Calvin, beginning with his seminal 1982 critique of the Calvin-versus-the-Calvinists theory that had gained popularity in the mid-20^th century. His recent volume, Calvin at the Centre, is excellent and provocative material, particularly for anyone interested in the more philosophical debates swirling around the Genevan Reformer. Since Helm has become known (for better or worse) as a defender of more traditional interpretations of the Calvinist tradition, I was surprised to find that he raises a number of serious questions about developments in Reformed theology after Calvin. (For example, see his discussion of the logical relationship between justification and sanctification in chapter seven.)

Helm’s final chapter on nature-grace debates was particularly interesting for my own studies. Taking up the interpretation of Calvin offered by “common grace” theologian Herman Bavinck, Helm suggests that Calvin was far more Augustinian and medieval than some neo-Calvinists allege. Helm argues that Bavinck made the mistake of assuming that neo-scholastic formulations were dominant in the Catholicism of Calvin’s day. If this had been the case, then Calvin’s doctrine of “common grace” would certainly be novel, even theologically revolutionary. However, Helm draws on the mid-20^th century work of Henri de Lubac and ressourcement theologians to point out that while Calvin differs from neo-scholasticism, his view of nature and grace actually had much in common with Augustinian and early Thomistic strands of Catholic thought. Calvin did not “discover” common grace anymore than he “discovered” the doctrine of predestination.

Intriguingly, Helm then pushes his critique one step further, arguing that when Bavinck tries to remove the nature-supernature dualism of scholastic thought, he stumbles back into the parallel dualism of common grace and special grace. As G.C. Berkouwer once noted, these two dichotomies — one Catholic, one Calvinist — face many of the same problems.  Further, Helm alleges that, in his historical exegesis, Bavinck ignores Calvin’s express endorsement of Augustine’s interpretation of nature and grace (i.e. through sin, natural gifts are corrupted and supernatural gifts are removed). Instead, Bavinck maintains that the Reformation charted a radically different theological course. Helm proposes that this is a simple, if rather understandable, case of anachronism. Herman Bavinck was working with a decidedly different form of Catholic theology than was John Calvin.

In following up his critique, Helm suggests that Calvin may indeed be viewed as an “otherworldly” theologian, inasmuch as Augustine was the same. Yet, “Calvin does not neglect culture, he does not fail to praise it, nor to be fascinated by it” (339). Here, as usual, Helm is quite honest about Calvin’s own internal theological tensions. While Calvin was at times strikingly positive about art and culture – especially visual art – he also had a tendency to disparage temporal accomplishments when viewed in the light of eternity. John Bolt has referenced this latter impulse as the “eschatological” Calvin (see Bolt, “‘A Pearl and a Leaven’: John Calvin’s Critical Two-Kingdoms Eschatology”). Calvin’s theology pushes against both sides of the spectrum — yes, the natural world is the stage of providence; yes, our radical depravity makes us despair of final transformation in the present age. Yet, while Helm does give attention to both sides of Calvin’s dialectic, I wondered whether in the conclusion to his chapter he downplays the “graced” aspects of “natural life.” Both components of the dialectic seem equally valid, and Helm himself highlights the positive aspects of Calvin’s evaluation of the natural world in an earlier passage:

So, to use a modern distinction, Calvin is not arguing that the ‘natural’ as it was created is equivalent to the ‘secular’ – a set of powers that are at best neutral as between the claims of theism and atheism, say. No, man’s nature is intrinsically religious, intrinsically orientated to the knowledge of God, possessing the semen religionis, which was ordered in unfallen mankind but became perverted (not extinguished) in fallen mankind…. The ‘ordering’ is not therefore a religious icing on a secular cake, it is the ordering of a nature which, for Calvin, essentially religious….

There was no time when mankind existed in a ‘natural’ form alone, and there could not be such a time, for the simple reason that his essence, left to itself, was liable to immediate disorder. From the start, therefore, it needed the benefit of the supernatural, exceptional, gifts of God (p. 319).

I cannot think of a better summary of Calvin’s theology of “secularity” – to use a necessary anachronism. Calvin’s natural theology has no room for a “dis-graced” world; all the good things which humanity enjoys, even prior to redemption, are “gifts of the Spirit” (Institutes, 2.2.16). God’s grace is so prevalent that Calvin exhorts us to be careful not to reject the good things of the natural world, lest we reject God’s own provision for us. (As an aside, Kathryn Tanner presents a very similar “Calvinian” view of nature-grace in her recent work, Christ the Key.)

On this account, I would have been interested to see Helm let this emphasis in Calvin play out a little further. I am convinced by Helm’s critique of Bavinck’s historical exegesis, but I am less convinced that Bavinck’s own common-grace theology was not an inevitable development from Calvin himself. If Calvin can lead to Vermigli and Turretin, why not Kuyper and Bavinck? Helm, among others, has done excellent work demonstrating how the theology of Calvin continued on through the scholasticism of his later followers – despite the methodological differences. Yet, he appears more willing to grant the legitimacy of some developments (e.g. covenant theology) over others (e.g. common grace theology).

Items of note (7/16/10)

• Peter Slade’s new book, Open Friendship in a Closed Society, opens up some unsavory origin stories in the PCA and RTS. In response, Anthony Bradley sparks a discussion over what this history should mean for contemporary black and white Christians associated with those institutions. Did the doctrine of the “spirituality of the church” permit and perhaps even validate segregation? What are conservative Presbyterians doing now to heal the wounds?
• Is natural law “too cruel to bear”? James Matthew Wilson at FPR on the firing of religion professor Kenneth Howell.
• A new issue of American Theological Inquiry is out, with articles by Paul Helm, Gerald O’Collins, and Ben Myers.
• James Poulos tries to reconcile Hamiltonian and Madisonian conservatives.
• At Cardus, Jonathan Chaplin asks, “From Big State to Big Society”: Is British Conservatism becoming Christian Democratic?
• Kyle Strobel asks whether an evangelical theological tradition even exists.

Jon Stewart’s Absence of Mind

Didn’t see this one coming: Marilynne Robinson showed up on The Daily Show last night to discuss her new book on science and religion.

A theology of suburbs

In a recent New York Magazine profile, David Brooks, NYT columnist and erstwhile defender of the Bobo’s paradise, admitted that he now habors skepticism about the suburban ideal. While the explosion of suburbs in the mid-20th century relied on minutely-planned municipal schematics and demarcated retail and residential zones, Brooks now sees more value in certain “communitarian” values. According to Brooks (among others), suburbs are municipal machines perfectly suited for compartmentalized, consumeristic culture. “Good policy” the profile summarizes Brooks, “should understand that people make decisions emotionally, not rationally.”

The Brooks profile is worth the full read (HT: Patrick Deneen at FPR). It also incited a really excellent response from James Poulos, whose postmodern brand of conservatism is one of the few redeeming qualities of the modern movement. Like the latter-day Brooks, Poulos rejects the idealized suburb, but — unlike Brooks — still sees something worthy of defense in suburban life. Poulos suggests that it’s misleading to talk about “The Suburb,” as if every post-interstate exurb were alike. Some suburbs are full of childless professionals who make daily hour-long commutes to their urban offices, while other suburbs are teeming with various ethnic groups and pre-kindergarten programs at the local park district. The civic structure of suburbia can adapt to both types of community; Poulos (like Brooks) would prefer the latter, but (unlike Brooks) doesn’t see the suburbia as the root problem. Rather, the suburb is a uniquely American adaptation to the transitory nature of modern life.

We restless Americans can ruin ourselves with our restlessness. But we know that we are never really at home in the world, at the same time that we know all of America, in the most important way, is our home…. Our suburbs reflect — because they have created, and manage to maintain — a brilliantly American way of pulling strangers constantly in motion out of the narrowness of their individual peregrinations and into a broader public life. If you do not like the suburbs, I suspect it is because you do not like the American propensity, deeper than even custom and habit, to move, and move, and move, and move.

Of course, at this point Brooks, Deneen, and any other self-respecting communitarian would answer quickly, “Of course! That’s precisely the problem!” While I have sympathies with certain communitarian impulses, I found Poulos’ next move to be intriguing. While the transient nature of American life is potentially problematic, Poulos suggests that the increased mobility that the suburbs compensate for is actually a result of re-prioritizing family over land. “Democratic love,” he argues, “rightly places the destiny of our children above any aristocratic love for the soil.” As a result, democratic love, with its orientation toward family comfort over heriditary place, is a more accurate reflection of the Augustinian (or Aristotelian, in Poulos’ paradigm) sense that “we are not… here to stay.”

Much of what Poulos suggests rings true for me. I’ve lived in suburbs my entire life, apart from college, and I’ve seen strikingly different types of suburban life. I was born in Elmhurst, Illinois, which has to be one of the best-preserved products of 1950s suburban expansion (chronicled in Alan Ehrenhalt’s classic The Lost City). On the other hand, I’ve also lived in less successful developments that failed to avoid the plague of ex-urban rot. But in all types of suburbs, certain commonalities emerge which seem to undermine Poulos’ argument. Perhaps the most troubling element of suburban life, in my view, is the severe ethnic and economic segregation that runs to the very heart of the modern suburb.

Poulos and I probably share a democratic preference for social mobility over more static aristocratic virtues. I’m also attracted to the notion that our urban structures should reflect the Augustinian idea that this life is not permanent or perfectly-ordered according to some greater feudal-kingdom-in-the-sky (there are two cities, after all). However, I see Poulos’ argument faltering due to the fact that suburbs themselves propose a certain civic order that undermines democratic love. Take Elmhurst as an example. It continues to be a recession-proof, growing community full of well-to-do families, Chicago commuters, Kiwanis clubs, and white mainline churches. It is also one of the most homogenous cities in one of the most homogenous counties in the nation. As Ehrenhalt describes in his book, the influx of upwardly-mobile urban exiles in the 1950s were immediately at odds with the older community of German laborers. The working-class inhabitants of the “first” Elmhurst were quickly cordoned off into their own township, while the upper-middle class Protestants of Elmhurst proper populated the sprawling new developments of split-level single-family homes.

Poulos implies that “democratic love” will prefer the good of the family over the pride of place, which sounds fine to me. However, there is still the danger that the dimensions of suburbia are by nature designed to exclude the potential for a more diverse civic “family.” This isn’t to say that if I raise my son in suburbia he will never meet a homeless person or make friends with immigrant peers. But suburbs that “work” usually do so because they manage to stake out a demographic and economic niche. In other words, suburbs are not civic societies so much as civic clubs — they exist because of vast similarities in membership.

This seems rather undemocratic to me. Democratic love, as Poulos implies, works best when it reminds us that civil society is not ultimate, nor hide-bound to a particular hierarchy or system. And from my point of view, it is exactly this democratic virtue that suffers most in suburbia.

Some notes + natural law redux

• Reflections on the newly formed World Communion of Reformed Churches from Jason Goroncy and Bruce Hamill. Even Benedict gets in on the fun (poor J. Calvin).
• Jamie Smith briefly reviews Luke Bretherton’s new book.
• A new collaborative blog, Transpositions, from the folks at St. Andrews’ Institute for Theology, Imagination, and the Arts.
• Twelve years after the Presbyterian Church in America’s “Creation Study Committee,” PCA geologists join the discussion.
• Steven Wedgeworth reviews and critiques David VanDrunen’s book on the two kingdoms. Old School stalwart D.G. Hart takes up the defense, and Steven replies in kind. The back-and-forth is great reading. At the same time, it also suggests that the resurgent Reformed interest in natural law from scholars like Hart and VanDrunen may be historically — and programmatically — distorted by anxiety over the Christian Right (including the unique aberration of Christian Reconstructionism). But as Wedgeworth points out, it’s possible to reject politicized religion as well as de-spiritualized politics. The “secular,” or temporal, need not be wholly independent or wholly evil. So a project like VanDrunen’s, while ably pointing out the uses of natural law in the Reformed tradition, cannot conceive of a more nuanced and eschatologically-complicated relationship between church and earthly government. More thoughts on this in the near future…

Trajectories in contemporary Reformed theology

Occasionally, studying “outside” my own confessional tradition is a bit disorienting. It sometimes takes a sharper mind than I can claim to reappraise theological issues from within a different context, one with its own history, paradigms, and terms of engagement. Having to stretch my theological imagination has been a great experience. Even so, my Reformed evangelical roots run deep, and it’s been interesting to observe the shifts in that tradition from the outside.

I’d be curious to hear other opinions on the trajectory of the contemporary Reformed tradition. For what it’s worth, I sketched out some of the trends and areas of development that I’ve noticed during my readings and various conference-goings. Separated out by theological loci, here are some of the more interesting contemporary scholars working within (or alongside) the Reformed tradition:

1. Systematic theology

Systematics have always been the strong suit for the Reformed. That trend won’t change anytime soon. John Webster has to appear at the top of any list like this. His work is consistently original, while also deeply resonant with the historical tradition. Younger Reformed (and evangelical) scholars draw on Webster regularly, and with good reason. Wheaton’s Kevin Vanhoozer has already produced some excellent and provocative works on metaphysics, theodramatics, and issues of interpretation. Todd Billings at Western Reformed wrote one of the best works on Calvin in recent memory, drawing the reformer into conversation with Milbank, Tanner, and Pickstock, among others. Both Billings and another Wheaton don, Daniel Treier, have made forays into the theological interpretation of Scripture — a move which promises to renew and rearticulate the Reformation doctrine of sola Scriptura. Other promising systematicians might include: Edwin Chr. van Driel, whose work on the incarnation and supralapsarianism makes some fascinating connections in contemporary theology (despite the daunting infra-supra subject matter); Oliver Crisp at Bristol is doing great work in Christology and on Jonathan Edwards; Paul Dafydd Jones‘ recent work on Barth’s Christology has been well-received and opened some interesting lines of thought. Thanks to scholars like James K.A. Smith, Michael Horton, Paul DeHart, and Peter Leithart, the Reformed tradition has ramped up the dialogue with various movements in contemporary theology, including Radical Orthodoxy, postliberalism, and liturgical reform.

2. Historical theology

The temptation toward hagiography isn’t unique to the Reformed tradition, but it’s had a stifling effect. However, there have been some excellent and honest developments in recent scholarship. At the top of the list, Richard Muller’s reappraisal of the Reformed scholastic tradition has opened up countless other possibilities in historical scholarship. While I’m skeptical about some other reclamation projects (which tend to be more partisan and unconcerned with social history), it’s great to uncover the historical connections between the late medieval and early Reformed traditions. Apparently, Calvin can interact politely with Aquinas (see also John Bowlin’s 1999 work on Aquinas). In the past couple years, Bruce Gordon has moved to Yale and released what looks to be the new standard biography of John Calvin (but apparently left some Calvinists dissatisfied). Closer to the heart of the more classical Calvinists is the stellar work of Paul Helm on the 16th century reformer. Shifting continents, Mark Noll’s vast scholarship, while more broadly evangelical and American, also demands the attention of anyone interested in the cross-Atlantic currents of the Reformed tradition.

3. Moral theology

I’ve posed questions before about the prospects for a renewal of moral theology in the Reformed tradition. While I still think that ethics is a significant lacuna in our theology, I do see many reasons for hope. I have reservations about the overall project, but the ressourcement of natural theology by Calvinists like David VanDrunen and Stephen Grabill is very encouraging in the sense that they’ve reopened a vital conversation. On a related note, the resurgence of virtue ethics over the past generation has somehow evaded the broader Calvinist tradition. Some argue that this was inevitable, considering our pedigree, as N.T. Wright asserts (see Horton’s critique; or, for a more persuasive argument, see Jennifer Herdt’s Putting On Virtue). As far as I can tell, virtue is a still a black hole in the Reformed tradition. Calvinists have been more productive in the sub-field of political theology. The soon-to-be-retiring Oliver O’Donovan is still profoundly influential on both historical and constructive work in this field. John Witte and Phillip Benedict have done good historical work on Calvinist social history. Eric Gregory and Peter Leithart both look to offer provocative contributions to political theology. A list of other theologians making forays into moral theology might include Horton, Gerald McKenny, Eric Gregory, John Bowlin (and his forthcoming book on tolerance and forbearance), George Hunsinger, and Philip Ziegler. And there are still, of course, the prolific neo-Calvinists (talk about the Protestant work ethic), who enjoyed a brief pre-9-11 moment of influence through Bush’s faith-based charity initiatives.

Items of Note (6/9/10)

• Kingdom-World-Church: Some Provisional Theses
  Nate Kerr, Ry Siggelkow, and Halden Doerge ask the “ecclesiocentrists,” Where in the world is the church?
• Which Kingdom? What World? Whose Church?
  Jamie Smith undertakes a quick response. Choice quote, sure to raise apocalyptic hackles: “No one will accuse you of light prose. Seriously, this sentence is positively Milbankian.” (Update – 6/9/10: See also Marquette theologian Stephen Long’s response.)
• Actions Now Have Consequences
  Ephraim Radner analyzes Rowan Williams’ Pentecost letter, which for all its gentility must be the Anglican version of a nuclear option.
• Symposium: Charles Taylor, A Secular Age
  The newest Modern Theology hosts pieces on Taylor’s weighty tome by Stanley Hauerwas, Fergus Kerr, Graham Ward, Gregory Baum, et al. Plus: Taylor’s response.
• Living God’s Ongoing Story
  Michael Horton reviews N.T. Wright’s After You Believe in Christianity Today, suggesting that Wright misreads the reformers on virtue. Wright responds briefly here.
• Are You a Christian Hipster?
  In advance of Brett McCracken’s new book, take the Hipster IQ test. Try and beat out the score of this very square Calvinist: 91/120.
• Vanhoozer II – Anything of Substance?
  Calvin scholar Paul Helm continues (see part one) to go after the metaphysics of Kevin Vanhoozer’s new volume Remythologizing Theology.
• Two Kingdoms and Cultural Obedience
  Neo-Calvinist (but not New Calvinist) David Koyzis strikes at the Reformed subset of two-kingdoms theology.

More 2010 books

Seems it’s easier to plan ahead during the summer months. While other reviews, snippets, and blogalia should be coming soon, I’ve been anticipating a number of forthcoming books (consider this an unpaid advertisement, if you want):

June –

July –

August –

September –

October –

November –

Billings on the theological hermeneutic

I recently had the chance to review Todd Billings’ new book, The Word of God for the People of God: An Entryway to the Theological Interpretation of Scripture. Quite impressive stuff, and if you’re looking for a good introduction to the discussion, Billings might be the place to start. Due to my own theological background, I found Billings’ argument very sensitive to evangelical and Reformed concerns. In a relatively brief treatment, he was able to namedrop Protestant figures like Jonathan Edwards, Kevin Vanhoozer, John Webster, Herman Bavinck, Jamie Smith, Richard Muller, Daniel Treier, N.T. Wright — and of course John Calvin.

Billings covers a lot of ground along the way, delving into topics as diverse as the exegetical quadriga, “indigenized” creeds, natural law, and the Protestant preference for lectio continua. I’m also very encouraged to see more Reformed reflection on canon formation and the place of sola Scriptura in the postmodern (and post-evangelical?) context. Along with Vanhoozer’s massive burnt-orange contribution, Billings is well-positioned to bring an ecumenical sensibility to confessional Reformed-evangelical theology (his next book seems to continue this trajectory).

Summer reading 2010

• Todd Billings, The Word of God for the People of God
  Billings’ previous work really impressed me, particularly for the way it approached the Reformed tradition respectfully (Protestant ressourcement?), but not as if it were cryogenically frozen. So far, this new book has been excellent. More introductory and less original, but one of the best treatments of theological interpretation I’ve found.
• Roland Boer, Political Grace: The Revolutionary Theology of John Calvin
  I wanted to enjoy this one more than I did. Plenty of interesting nuggets, and I’m all for making Calvin and Marx blood brothers. But the overall narrative (and its inability to reckon with Calvin’s Augustinianism) left me unsatisfied.
• Paul Harding, Tinkers
  Very excited for this one. Harding studied under Marilynne Robinson at Iowa. And he likes Barth. Even without the Pulitzer, that’s enough for me.
• Bruce Ward, Redeeming the Enlightenment
  Coming to this one with less background information. Wondering if the anti-Enlightenment narrative hegemony is finished.
• Gerald McKenny, The Analogy of Grace: Karl Barth’s Moral Theology
  This one will likely have to wait until the Hesburgh gets a copy, thanks to the OUP price tag.

Competing humanisms in Reformed theology

Horton’s critique of Tanner (or at least her earlier work) is particularly fascinating as it reveals certain underlying differences between a dominant strand of Reformed thought and the alternative vision of Protestant theology offered by Tanner herself. I think there may be more here than meets the eye. Horton recognizes that Tanner’s Christology carries implications for a Reformed doctrine of human nature. Perhaps most foundationally, Horton suggests that Tanner’s emphasis on the ascension of humanity requires a de-emphasis on the descent of God and the human work of Christ. But why this assumption and concern?

While Horton carefully articulates the way in which God’s presence is “over, for, and within the world,” he offers another affirmation which appears to qualify this view: “God is involved in every facet, and yet he also gives to creation its own relative independence and freedom…. The fruitfulness of creation is not always the result of God’s direct action in the world.” Horton subsequently emphasizes that “God was not interested in creating a world without its own inherent, generative capacities – its own space.” Here we find a significant difference in language from the theological grammar employed by Tanner. While Horton’s notion of the “relative independence” is somewhat vague, it complements his emphasis on divine descent over human ascent. Just as the human work of Jesus must be marked out as distinct (this seems relevant to Horton’s emphasis on the doctrine of the active obedience of Christ), so Horton also wishes to maintain some sense of distinct “space” for creation – apparently with some generative potential apart from any directive grace. While God is “present” everywhere in some way, there almost seems to be a desire for humanity to have at least some extensively natural, human ends; an emphasis on the (already and not-yet) ascent through Christ would threaten that “independence.” Horton understandably wants to affirm that “Jesus is therefore not only God turned toward God, but humanity turned toward God.” With this, Tanner (and Barth) would wholeheartedly agree. At the same time, however, Horton alleges that an emphasis on divine transcendence, as found in Barth and Tanner, will be unable to account for the other side – the truly human (Paul Dafydd Jones complicates the accusation in his recent work, The Humanity of Christ). However, while such neglect may be entirely possible, this is also a somewhat ironic accusation, considering that Horton’s own emphasis is on the necessity for the distinct and “relatively independent” function of the human apart from any direct unity with the divine. On this point, it rather seems that Tanner (leaving Barth aside) is the one whose paradigm relies most strenuously on understanding Jesus’ divinity and humanity “in the closest possible relationship of unity,” such that the humanity of Christ is the “very condition” of the existence of the incarnate Word. The human ascent of Jesus to the Father is precisely the grounds for Tanner’s view of the rest of humanity’s transformation. It is odd that on this point Horton seems to imply that descent and ascent are mutually contrastive; the overall structure of his theological project need not rely on such a dichotomy. Yet, perhaps this brief relapse into oppositional language reveals a lacuna within some strands of contemporary Reformed thought: an absence of ascent and the telos of the human.

Tanner, Horton, and Reformed theology

The trajectory of Kathryn Tanner’s theological plotline in Christ the Key intersects at an intriguing point with some current Reformed discussions of the doctrine of creation and humanity. To those outside the tradition, Calvinistcan appear eager to talk about divine revelation, but perhaps less so about the theology of nature or creation. It’s been somewhat problematic for the Reformed and more broadly Protestant community to articulate the means by which God breaks through our finitude and the sinful barriers we naturally defend against the goodness of the divine offer.

Interestingly, a recurring approach to the dilemma of transcendence has been to emphasize the condescension of God over and against both 20^th century correlational theologies as well as Barthian thought. In Lord and Servant (a really worthwhile prologue to the forthcoming systematic theology), Michael Horton argues for a delineated “covenantal” approach to transcendence and immanence. Horton wishes to avoid the dual temptations of Tillichian hyper-immanence (an ontological model of “overcoming estrangement” with God) and postmodern hyper-transcendence (in which God is a “stranger we never meet”). Hyper-transcendence introduces an unbridgeable dualism between Creator and creature, while hyper-immanence reverts to a Hegelian form “according to which we come to ourselves when we come to God.” In Horton’s covenantal model, however, God’s condescension to our human frailty is a central theme; humanity relates to God in a way akin to “meeting a stranger.” On this account, he contrasts the “ontological model” of reconcilement with his own “covenantal-ethical” approach. While guarding against double-sided temptations, Horton helpfully articulates a way to maintain both divine transcendence and immanence, and to recognize that God, “who is in no way a part of the world or dependent on the world nevertheless created and inhabits it, filling every nook and cranny with his presence.”

This account is particularly intriguing for the ways in which it approaches aspects of Tanner’s own theological project. However, despite the initial similarities, Horton directly objects to some of Tanner’s earlier Christological proposals as “verging on an implicit Apollinarianism/Monophysitism.” The grounds for this charge lie in what Horton perceives as Tanner’s argument that “the Word’s assumption of [Jesus’] humanity is the immediate source of his whole human life.” While he later qualifies his allegation to some extent, Horton makes a fairly common Reformed objection to any perceived primacy for the divine nature in Jesus’ human work when he pointedly asks, “And what about [Jesus’] own faithful humanity as a true covenant partner? Is it just God’s faithfulness acting in and through the humanity?” For Horton’s covenantal model to function properly, humanity must be affirmed as human, “and not as deified or elevated humanity.” While acknowledging the need to avoid the opposite temptation toward Nestorianism, Horton critically rejects “Tanner’s emphasis on the incarnation as the elevation of humanity rather than on the condescension of God.”