Essays in Analytic Theology Michael

Rea
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OXFORD STUDIES IN ANALYTIC THEOLOGY

Series Editors
MICHAEL C. REA
and
OLIVER D. CRISP
 OXFORD STUDIES IN ANALYTIC THEOLOGY
Analytic Theology utilizes the tools and methods of contemporary analytic
philosophy for the purposes of constructive Christian theology, paying attention
to the Christian tradition and development of doctrine. This innovative series
of studies showcases high quality, cutting edge research in this area, in monographs
and symposia.

  :

Metaphysics and the Tri-Personal God
William Hasker
The Theological Project of Modernism
Faith and the Conditions of Mineness
Kevin W. Hector
The End of the Timeless God
R. T. Mullins
Ritualized Faith
Essays on the Philosophy of Liturgy
Terence Cuneo
In Defense of Conciliar Christology
A Philosophical Essay
Timothy Pawl
Atonement
Eleonore Stump
Humility and Human Flourishing
A Study in Analytic Moral Theology
Michael W. Austin
Humility, Pride, and Christian Virtue Theory
Kent Dunnington
Essays in Analytic
Theology
Volume 1

MICHAEL C. REA

1
 3
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 Acknowledgements

Except for Chapters 4 and 6 and the postscripts to Chapters 5 and 6, all of the
essays in this volume have been previously published in English. Chapter 4 was
previously published (only) in German translation. I have made no changes to the
previously published material except to correct a few minor errors, add an
occasional editor note, and make some formatting changes for the sake of
uniformity. I am grateful to the following publishers for permission to reprint
the material listed here.

‘Realism in Theology and Metaphysics’, pp. 323–44 in Conor Cunningham and

Peter Candler (eds), Belief and Metaphysics (London: SCM Press, 2007). Used by
permission of Hymns Ancient & Modern Ltd.
‘Theology without Idolatry or Violence’, Scottish Journal of Theology 68 (2015):
61–79. Copyright Cambridge University Press. Reprinted with permission.
‘Authority and Truth’, pp. 872–98 in D. A. Carson (ed.), The Enduring Authority
of the Christian Scriptures (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2016). Reprinted by
permission of the publisher.
‘Die Eigenschaften Gottes als Thema der analytischen Theologie’ (‘Divine
Attributes as a Topic in Analytic Theology), in German; trans. into German by
Martin Blay, Daniela Kaschke, and Thomas Schärtl), pp. 49–68 in Thomas
Marschler and Thomas Schärtl (eds), Eigenschaften Gottes: Ein Gespräch zwischen
systematischer Theologie und analytischer Philosophie (Münster: Aschendorff
Verlag, 2016).
‘Gender as a Divine Attribute’, Religious Studies 52 (2016): 97–115. Copyright
Cambridge University Press. Reprinted with permission.
‘The Trinity’, pp. 403–29 in The Oxford Handbook of Philosophical Theology,
edited by Thomas P. Flint and Michael C. Rea (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2009). Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press.
‘Polytheism and Christian Belief ’, Journal of Theological Studies 57 (2006):
133–48. Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press.
‘Relative Identity and the Doctrine of the Trinity’, Philosophia Christi 5 (2003):
431–46. Philosophia Christi is the journal of the Evangelical Philosophical Society
(http://epsociety.org).
‘Material Constitution and the Trinity’ (with Jeff Brower), Faith and Philosophy 22
(2005): 487–505.
viii 

Thanks are also due to Jeff Brower for his permission to reprint our co-
authored paper, ‘Material Constitution and the Trinity’, to Oliver Crisp, Hud
Hudson, and the anonymous referees for Oxford University Press for very
helpful comments on the introductions and postscripts, and to Callie Phillips
for preparing the index Finally, I would like to thank Oliver Crisp for encour-
aging me to publish these essays here and in the companion volume, for our
ongoing collaboration on all things analytic-theological, and, most of all, for our
many years of friendship. It is in gratitude for all of this that I dedicate the first
volume to him. The second volume I dedicate to my youngest son, Matthias.
 Introduction

The activity of analytic theology—bringing the style, method, and literature of

analytic philosophy to bear on theological topics—has been pursued for quite
some time. One might reasonably see its origins and development in the work of
analytically oriented philosophers like Alvin Plantinga, Richard Swinburne,
Robert Adams, Marilyn McCord Adams, Nicholas Wolterstorff, Eleonore
Stump, and others who, in the latter half of the twentieth century, played a
major role in the revival of philosophy of religion and the growth of philosophical
theology within academic philosophy. But the concept of analytic theology, the
concept of a self-consciously interdisciplinary philosophical-theological activity of
the sort just described that deserves both the label ‘analytic’ and the label ‘the-
ology’, is of more recent origin.
The idea of analytic theology grew out of conversations during the 2004–5
academic year between Oliver Crisp and myself about the puzzling fact that,
despite the recent turn in mainstream philosophy of religion towards traditional
topics in systematic theology (trinity, incarnation, and atonement most notably),
there had been very little by way of genuine and productive interdisciplinary
dialogue between philosophers of religion and their counterparts in theology.
Philosophical theology as practised by analytic philosophers seemed not even to
be recognized as theology; and, with few exceptions, academic theologians and
analytic philosophers of religion seemed generally uninterested in exploring their
intersecting research topics in dialogue with one another. Both states of affairs
seemed problematic and, as we discussed the matter, we thought that perhaps a
volume might be called for—a volume tendentiously entitled Analytic Theology—
that would call attention to and begin some much needed conversation about the
historical, methodological, and epistemological issues lurking in the background
of this disciplinary divide.
Analytic Theology: New Essays in the Philosophy of Theology was published in
2009. The same year marked the founding of a series of annual conferences in
philosophical theology—the Logos Workshop in Philosophical Theology—held
most years at the University of Notre Dame and dedicated to building bridges
between philosophy and theology. Now, just over a decade later, the field of
analytic theology is in full bloom, with a growing body of literature, a dedicated
journal (The Journal of Analytic Theology), a monograph series with Oxford
University Press (Oxford Studies in Analytic Theology), a research centre at the

Essays in Analytic Theology: Volume I. Michael C. Rea, Oxford University Press (2020). © Michael C. Rea.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198866800.003.0001
2    :  

University of St Andrews (the Logos Institute for Analytic and Exegetical

Theology), and much else in addition.
My own work in analytic theology began in earnest just a few years prior to
those early conversations with Oliver; and over the past fifteen years it has come to
occupy a substantial portion of my research time. This book is the first of two
volumes collecting together the most substantial work in analytic theology that
I have done between 2003 and 2019. Broadly speaking, the chapters in this volume
focus on the nature of God whereas those in the companion volume focus on
humanity and the human condition. More specifically, the chapters in Part I deal
with metatheological issues pertaining to discourse about God and the authority
of scripture; the chapters in Part II focus on divine attributes; and the chapters in
Part III discuss the doctrine of the trinity and related issues. The section headings
of this introduction match the part divisions of the book, but it is not my aim here
to summarize the chapters included in each section’s corresponding part. Instead,
this introduction aims to supplement those papers with a more general discussion
of some of my past and current thinking on the various loci covered by the
chapters in the volume.¹

1. Metatheology

Metatheological questions are questions about theology rather than questions

about first-order theological topics. This is not necessarily to say that metatheol-
ogy is a topic outside the discipline of theology; it is just to say that such questions
are about the discipline itself rather than about the discipline’s primary subject
matter, God. Metatheology includes, but is not limited to, questions about the
nature of theology, about the evidential sources for theological claims, and about
how we should interpret theological doctrines (e.g. as statements aiming to tell us
the literal truth about God, or as mere ‘rules of discourse’, or in some other way).²
Chapters 1, 2, and 3 deal with metatheological issues—theological realism and the
authority and veracity of scripture (which is, in my view, the most important
source of evidence for theological claims). Accordingly, I want to begin here with
some remarks about the nature of analytic theology and its bearing on these
topics.

¹ For some of the content of this introduction I have drawn on parts of two other essays not included
here—one which I characterized at the time I wrote it as ‘a miniature sketch of a partial systematic
theology’ (Rea 2017), and another that was contributed to an American Academy of Religion sympo-
sium on Analytic Theology, the volume that Oliver and I co-edited in 2009 (Rea 2013a). I am grateful to
the publishers—Taylor and Francis, and Oxford University Press, respectively—for permission to reuse
this material.
² On the idea of theological doctrines as rules of discourse, see Lindbeck 1984.
  3

Just as there is no uniform party line on what constitutes theology, philosophy

of religion, or analytic philosophy, so too one shouldn’t expect a uniform party
line on the nature of analytic theology. But here is the line I have taken on that
question. I start with a rough characterization of analytic philosophy. As
I understand it, analytic philosophy is an approach to philosophical problems
that is distinguished from other approaches by a particular rhetorical style, some
common ambitions, an evolving technical vocabulary, and a tendency to pursue
projects in dialogue with a certain evolving body of literature—one typically seen
to trace its roots back to G. E. Moore, Bertrand Russell and others in the early
twentieth century who were in philosophical dialogue with them. The ambitions
seem generally to be these: (i) to identify the scope and limits of our powers to
obtain knowledge of the world, and (ii) to provide such true explanatory theories
as we can for non-scientific phenomena. The rhetorical style might roughly be
characterized as paradigmatic, instances of which conform (more or less) to the
following prescriptions:

(1) Write as if philosophical positions and conclusions can be adequately

formulated in sentences that can be formalized and logically manipulated.³
(2) Prioritize precision, clarity, and logical coherence.
(3) Avoid substantive (not merely decorative) use of metaphor and other
tropes whose semantic content outstrips their propositional content.
(4) Work as much as possible with well-understood primitive concepts, and
concepts that can be analysed in terms of those.
(5) Treat conceptual analysis (insofar as it is possible) as a source of evidence.

More might be added, of course. But my ‘official’ list stops at (5) because most
of what else I would add would not really count as prescriptions that divide
analytic from continental philosophers. Prescriptions (1) to (5) do mark a div-
ision, however. They are prescriptions that non-analytic philosophers typically
reject or aim to violate, and for principled reasons.
As I see it, analytic philosophy as such is not wedded to a particular theory of
truth, nor is it committed to any particular epistemological theory. Contrary to
what various critics of analytic philosophy have suggested, there are analytic
philosophers aplenty who reject (for example) the correspondence theory of
truth; there are also analytic philosophers who reject foundationalism. Analytic
philosophers are not, as such, committed to belief in propositions (at least not

³ What exactly is it to write ‘as if ’ positions and conclusions can be formulated in the way described
here? Sometimes writing this way may involve actually trying to produce such formulations; sometimes
it may involve presupposing in what one says about the positions and conclusions one is discussing that
such formulations are possible; and sometimes it may simply be a matter of omitting comments that
suggest that certain views or conclusions cannot be formulated in ways that would allow us to derive
consequences via familiar rules of logic.
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where propositions are considered to be abstract entities that stand in the is

expressed by relation to sentences). Nor are they committed to any brand of
metaphysical realism or moral or metaphysical absolutism.⁴ In fact, so far as
I can tell, there is no philosophical thesis that separates analytic philosophers as
such from their rivals. To be sure, analytic philosophers typically write as if certain
(mostly metaphilosophical) theses are true—in particular, whatever theses under-
lie the prescriptions sketched above. But it is easy enough to imagine an analytic
philosopher objecting to any one of those presuppositions, and doing so more or
less in the analytic style and in the service of what I have called the ambitions of
the analytic philosophical tradition.
Given this characterization of analytic philosophy, I take analytic theology to be,
more or less, theology done with the ambitions of an analytic philosopher, in a
style that conforms to the prescriptions that are distinctive of analytic philosoph-
ical discourse, and in dialogue with the literature of analytic philosophy. I say
‘more or less’ because I am not so much identifying necessary and sufficient
conditions as characteristics that mark a family resemblance; and, to my mind,
it is the ‘in dialogue with the literature of analytic philosophy’ characteristic that is
typically the most salient marker of that resemblance.
How, then, does analytic theology relate to analytic philosophy of religion? The
answer depends on how one draws distinctions between philosophy and theology.
One way of doing so is methodologically. One might say that theology overlaps
philosophy topically in the domain known as ‘philosophy of religion’, but the-
ology is methodologically constrained in a way that philosophy is not. The former,
unlike the latter, is confessional—it is done in a way that is faithful to a particular
tradition, or text, or set of doctrines, or some other authority besides ‘pure reason’.
I do not myself endorse this way of drawing the distinction, but suppose, for the
sake of argument, that one does. Nothing in the characterization thus far pre-
cludes the idea that theology can be done in accord with the style and ambitions of
analytic philosophy and in dialogue with its literature; so the division between
analytic theology and analytic philosophy of religion will simply reduce to the
division between philosophy proper and theology proper. If, on the other hand,
one thinks that philosophy and theology are topically individuated (with a great
deal of overlap between them), then one might say that analytic theology and
analytic philosophy of religion are overlapping subfields of philosophy and the-
ology respectively, but the former includes work on theological topics that would

⁴ Some seem to think that the grand explanatory ambitions of analytic philosophy commit it to a
brand of realism, or at least to ‘absolute metaphysical truth’. But this is manifestly false. If metaphysical
realism is false, then that fact will be part of the grand explanation for which we all are striving. If there
is no absolute truth (whatever exactly that means), then there would not be a unique grand explanatory
theory, but analytic philosophy can proceed from different perspectives and starting points just as it
always has. These two points seem not to be sufficiently appreciated by those who would criticize
analytic philosophy.
  5

typically be seen to fall outside the domain of philosophy (e.g. the development of
a distinctively and self-consciously Reformed ecclesiology) whereas the latter
includes work on religious topics (e.g. the nature of religion itself) that would
typically be seen as having little to do with theology.⁵
As I noted earlier, the decade following the publication of Analytic Theology
witnessed significant growth and activity in the field; but the idea of analytic
theology has also faced both resistance and misunderstanding.⁶ This is not the
place for an exhaustive survey of the objections to and misconceptions about
analytic theology; but three in particular are worth mentioning here. First, analytic
theology has been confused by some critics with what I have called its style.
Second, it has been misunderstood as embodying a commitment to theological
realism—a position I happily endorse, but do not take to be part and parcel of
analytic theology. Third, it has been objected to on the grounds that it is overly
rationalistic, elevating reason over scripture as the primary data source for
scripture. I will discuss each in turn.
In a recent essay, Martin Westerholm (2019) subjects the enterprise of analytic
theology to sustained criticism, arguing ultimately that it ‘may be poorly suited to
functioning as a free-standing enterprise in a way that would warrant the per-
petuation of a distinctively analytic approach to theology as a whole . . . because it
appears to rest on presuppositions that generate a drift into abstraction through
which ideal objects of inquiry are substituted for real’ (232). There is a great deal to
object to in Westerholm’s essay,⁷ but I will leave most of that aside for now and
focus simply on the characterization of analytic theology that he offers en route to
developing his objections.
In laying out his characterization of analytic theology, Westerholm turns to my
own work. He writes:

The point [made in an earlier sentence about potential inconsistency in the

enterprise of analytic theology] might be made by considering the account of
analytic thought that is developed by Michael Rae [sic]. In a widely cited set of
comments, Rae [sic] proposes that analytic theology is best taken to be charac-
terized by its ‘rhetorical style’ because concrete definitions fail. [note omitted] He
goes on to point to five features that mark this style; these features include

⁵ On the distinction between analytic theology and analytic philosophy of religion, see also Baker-
Hytch 2016.
⁶ For recent critical discussion of analytic theology and replies to some of the criticisms, see (as a
starting point) Bitar 2013; Couenhoven 2013; McCall 2015; McCall and Pawl 2018; Macdonald 2014;
Oliver 2010; Rea 2013b; Sarrisky 2018; Vanhoozer 2017a, 2017b; Wessling 2017; Westerholm 2019; and
Wood 2009, 2013a, 2013b, 2014.
⁷ Not least objectionable is the fact that Westerholm draws sweeping conclusions about the entire
enterprise of analytic theology on the basis of features he claims to find in the work of just a couple of
analytic philosophers. To my mind, this approach is a bit like drawing conclusions about the entire field
of systematic theology on the basis of claims about the work of Barth and von Balthasaar. See Panchuk
and Rea (2020) for further critique of Westerholm’s essay.
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emphasis on precision and clarity, on the priority of primitive concepts and of

notions that can be formalized, and rejection of rhetorical and stylistic tropes
whose semantic content outstrips their propositional content. This characteriza-
tion has been formative for other work [note omitted]; but it appears in some
ways to struggle to balance its accounts. It deflates the value of the rhetorical and
presents clear definitions as the currency in which good work trades; but when it
comes to discharge its debts in giving an account of itself, it suggests that is
unable to pay in the currency of clear definition, and proposes instead to settle
accounts in the deflated coin of the rhetorical . . . . We might note for now that
critics have pointed out that inability to define oneself is a philosophical mark of
shame, and the embarrassment would seem particularly acute where insistence
on clear definition is a hallmark of the school in question. (232–3)

I note in passing that it is one thing to say that ‘inability to define oneself is a
philosophical mark of shame’, but quite another thing to show that it is.
Westerholm does not show that it is; and I do not believe that he can. As pretty
much everybody recognizes, not nearly everything admits of precise definition;
and fields and modes of inquiry are notoriously intractable in this regard. (Just
witness the vast and ultimately inconclusive literature aiming to define the nature
of science.) It is no part of analytic theology to suggest otherwise, and so it is no
particular embarrassment for analytic theologians to find themselves in exactly the
same boat as the practitioners of just about every other academic discipline when
it comes to drawing neat boundaries between what they do and what other people
do. Contrary to what Westerholm suggests, I think in fact that we should expect
analytic theology to elude precise characterization; for, as some of my earlier
remarks suggest, I think the most plausible characterizations of it (as with most
fields and modes of inquiry) will deny that there are necessary and sufficient
conditions for being a work of analytic theology and insist rather that something
counts as such simply by virtue of a kind of family resemblance to paradigm cases.
But the more important problem with the passage I have just quoted from
Westerholm is that he gets my characterization of analytic theology absolutely
wrong. Setting aside minor quibbles about his glosses on the five prescriptions
I have used to identify the analytic style, it is incorrect to say, as he does, that my
proposal is that ‘analytic theology is best taken to be characterized by its “rhet-
orical style” because concrete definitions fail’ (232). Of course, style is part of it;
but, as I noted earlier, ambitions and philosophical-theological interlocutors are
also—and equally—part of it. Moreover, I think that careful attention to these
latter aspects of my characterization of analytic theology helps to defuse one of
the key presuppositions that drives Westerholm’s essay—namely, that analytic
theology somehow purports to be a free-standing enterprise that aims to encom-
pass the whole of theology. Analytic theology was not born out of the idea that the
only good theology is analytic in its approach. I cannot speak for others, but for my
  7

own part I reject any such claim. In contrast to what Westerholm seems to assume,
the impetus to do theology in the analytic mode comes (for many of us, anyway)
simply from the idea that the style, methods, and literature of analytic philosophy
offer resources that will help serve important theoretical aims. Not all worthwhile
theoretical aims are best served by these resources (nor, I might add, does all good
theology aim in the first instance to even to serve theoretical aims). Accordingly, it is
no part of analytic theology as such to assume that these resources are exhaustive,
that other ways of doing theology are without merit, that all non-analytic theological
work can profitably be ignored, or anything else of the sort.
Leaving this first misunderstanding of analytic theology aside, then, I now turn
to the question whether analytic theology is committed to theological realism. As
I understand it, theological realism has two components: first, the view that
theological theories and doctrines have objective truth-values, and, second, the
view that theological theories and doctrines are true only if the objects they
apparently refer to genuinely exist, and the apparent kind-terms that they contain
are genuine kinds with genuine instances.⁸ Can one pursue the ambitions of
analytic theology in the style distinctive of that mode of theorizing without
endorsing both components of theological realism? I think that the answer is
clearly ‘yes’; but the reasons I would give for saying so depend to some extent on
whether metatheological questions are properly thought to fall within the scope of
analytic theology.
Suppose they do. This is certainly a plausible supposition. Taking the contents
of standard textbooks and course syllabi as guides, and noticing who mostly tends
to participate in various other metadisciplinary debates, metametaphysics would
seem to be part of the field of metaphysics, metaethics would seem to belong to the
field of ethics, metaepistemology would seem to be part of epistemology, and so
on. So it seems reasonable to think that metatheology belongs to the field of
theology, even though its distinctive questions are about theology rather than
about God. (Chapter 2 in this volume seems to me to illustrate this point: it
strikes me as being a clear instance of analytic theology, despite some discussion
of Levinas and other ‘continental’ and postmodern thinkers, while at the same
time dealing mostly with metatheological issues.) In that case, it is easy to imagine
an analytic theologian providing, in the requisite style, and in accord with
the requisite ambitions, an argument against either component of theological
realism. Thus, analytic theology as such is not committed to either component.
But suppose metatheological questions do not fall within the scope of analytic
theology. In that case, reasons for rejecting the first component of theological
realism would not belong to analytic theology, since that is a purely metatheolo-
gical thesis. Moreover, one who denies across the board the objective truth of

⁸ Cf. Chapter 1 in this volume, pp. 19–20.

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theological theories would be committed to saying that none of the theories that
analytic theology properly aims to produce are objectively true. Still, strictly
speaking, the distinctive ambitions of analytic theology aim only at truth, not
(necessarily) objectivity; and nothing in the distinctive style of analytic theology
commits the analytic theologian to the pursuit of objectivity. More importantly,
however, an analytic theologian might well reject theological realism not by
denying the first component, but rather by denying the second—insisting (for
example) that many of the objects putatively referred to in theological doctrines
do not exist, or that many of the kinds referred to in such doctrines are not
genuine. A theologian with broadly Bultmannian views about miracles, angels,
demons, heaven, hell, and the like, or with John Hick’s views about the incarna-
tion and about God more generally, would hardly count as a theological realist;
but such a person might nonetheless arrive at these views in the course of doing
analytic theology.
So much for the idea that analytic theology is committed to theological realism.
What of the third concern, that it is committed more to the authority of reason
than to the authority of scripture as a source of evidence in theology? In response
to this, I will simply lay out some of my own views about scripture and invite
readers to consider whether these views either prioritize reason over scripture or
put me at odds with the distinctives of analytic theology. My own view is that they
obviously do not.
One of the major distinctives of Protestantism is the ‘sola scriptura’ slogan,
which has implications for how theology is to be done both individually and
corporately. As I understand it, the slogan expresses at least three attributes that
the Reformers held to be true of scripture: authority, clarity, and sufficiency.
Concerning the authority of scripture, I take the traditional position to be that
scripture is what we might call foundationally authoritative—i.e. more authorita-
tive than any other source of information or advice—within the domain of all
topics about which it aims to teach us something.⁹ (For convenience, let us refer to
the topics in question together as matters of faith and practice.¹⁰) The claim that
scripture is clear and sufficient amounts, roughly, to the claim that all doctrines
and prescriptions necessary for salvation can easily be derived from scripture by
persons concerned about the salvation of their souls without the help of the
Church or Church tradition.¹¹ Together, these claims about authority, clarity,

⁹ For discussion of what it means to say that one source is ‘more authoritative’ than another, and
for fuller discussion of what it means to say that scripture is authoritative, see Chapter 3 in this volume.
¹⁰ It is a matter of interpretive dispute—and hardly a trivial one!—exactly what topics fall within this
domain.
¹¹ My gloss closely follows Bavinck 2003: 477, 488. Cf. Berkhof 1992: 167–8. Note that the clarity
doctrine does not imply that it is easy to see that anything in particular is necessary for salvation—as if
adherents of other religions are simply failing to understand scripture if they doubt (say) that faith in
Christ is necessary for their own salvation.
  9

and sufficiency provide what I take to be the core idea underlying the sola
scriptura slogan.
I affirm sola scriptura as I have just glossed it, and I want now to highlight three
points in connection with it that pertain specifically to the question of how
scripture, reason, and tradition ought to interact in our theologizing.
First, sola scriptura carries no substantive interpretive commitments. It is
consistent with the most wooden literalist approach to biblical texts; it is also
consistent with rampant allegorical interpretations, and all manner of others.
To this extent, it permits a great deal of theological diversity. Its import is simply
to provide a loose but significant constraint on the development of theology. It
implies that when we do theology, what we ultimately say must be consistent with
our best judgment about what the text of scripture teaches. Proponents of sola
scriptura cannot sensibly think ‘scripture teaches X, but it is more reasonable for
me to believe not-X’; but they are free to use any and all tools at their disposal to
determine for themselves what exactly it is that scripture teaches.
Second, sola scriptura is plausible only on the assumption that scripture asserts
and advises only what God, as divine author, asserts and advises. Absent that
assumption, it assigns far too much authority to scripture alone. Surely if the
assumption were false there would be no reason to regard scripture as a greater
authority in the domain of faith and practice than every other human experience
or testimonial report. For those who make the assumption, however, it is no light
matter to pronounce either on what scripture teaches or on what topics fall within
the domain of ‘matters of faith and practice’. For the doctrine implies that once we
have reached a settled judgment about what the text of scripture teaches, we have
in the content of that teaching reasons for belief and action that are at least as
authoritative as reasons from any other source.
Third, a consequence of my first two points is that proponents of sola scriptura
have good reason to make careful and judicious use of all available tools for
determining what the text of scripture might be saying. These tools include
science, moral and other rational intuitions, the techniques of historical biblical
criticism and literary analysis, and so on. Moreover, the assumption that scripture
has a divine author licences a particular way of using these tools. We know in
general that it is perfectly legitimate to interpret texts in light of what we
reasonably believe about their authors. Historians of philosophy, for example,
often allow their interpretations of great thinkers to be constrained by assump-
tions about the sorts of errors to which these thinkers may or may not be
susceptible. If interpretation X implies that Aristotle was not very bright or well-
informed with respect to the science of his day, that by itself is a reason not to
favour interpretation X. So likewise, it seems, with a divinely authored text. If our
best science tells us that the sun, moon, and stars existed long before terrestrial
plant life, that fact by itself constitutes good reason—as good as the science itself—
to believe that a divine author would not teach anything to the contrary. If moral
10    :  

intuition tells us that slavery is wrong, or that conquering armies should not seek
to annihilate their enemies, or that men and women are equally suited for
positions of ecclesial authority, these facts by themselves constitute good
reason—as good as the intuitions involved—to believe that a divine author
would not teach anything to the contrary. And these considerations will appro-
priately guide our interpretation of the relevant texts.
Of course, the reasons just mentioned can be defeated. It is possible, for
example, to acquire evidence that scripture really does contradict some of our
moral views or some of our scientific views. But the only condition under which
sola scriptura would bind someone to revise her intuitions or scientific beliefs in
light of scripture (instead of revising her understanding of scripture in light of her
intuitions or scientific beliefs) would be one in which her reasons for believing that
scripture teaches something contrary to reason are evidentially stronger than the
intuitions themselves.

2. The Attributes of God

The following passage from the Belgic Confession, one of the doctrinal standards
of the Christian Reformed Church, provides what I take to be a decent initial list of
the essential attributes of God:

Article 1: We all believe in our hearts and confess with our mouths that there is a
single and simple spiritual being, whom we call God—eternal, incomprehensible,
invisible, unchangeable, infinite, almighty; completely wise, just, and good, and
the overflowing source of all good. (Christian Reformed Church 1988: 78)

A decent initial list, but not a perfect or complete one. For example, the attributes
of incomprehensibility, simplicity, unchangeability, and infinity are so difficult to
understand that ascribing them to God is apt to mislead without extended
comment (which I shall not provide here). I think that the attributions express
truths; but I do not, for example, think that divine simplicity implies that there are
no distinctions to be made within the Godhead or that incomprehensibility
implies that God cannot be understood or talked about except via analogy or
metaphor, or that divine unchangeability implies that it is false to say that God
became incarnate, and so on. More importantly, the quoted passage leaves out
some attributions that I would want to include (most of which the Confession
itself includes, at least implicitly, elsewhere in its text). For example, I would say
that God is necessarily existent, essentially triune, and omniscient; God is loving
and merciful, and capable of sorrow and anger; God is a perfect person,¹² and the

¹² The Christian tradition maintains that God exists in or as three persons, but it also resoundingly
affirms that God is personal and that God is perfect as a personal being. Not every way of
  11

creator and sustainer of the concrete contingent universe. None of these add-
itional attributes, however, are mentioned in the quoted passage.
For some of these attributions, there is clear scriptural warrant. For others,
however, there is not. What, then, justifies their presence in standard confes-
sions, creeds, and other formal statements of Christian belief? A traditional but
controversial answer is that the attributions not clearly derivable from other
parts of scripture can nonetheless be derived from the scriptural claim that God
is perfect. This answer has methodological implications that deserve further
comment.
In accord with many others in the Christian tradition, I think that our grasp of
perfection can serve as a reliable guide to fleshing out our understanding of the
divine attributes. (This idea makes substantive appearance in Chapters 4 and 5 of
this volume.) It is not an infallible guide, for there is no good reason to think that
any of us has a perfect grasp of it. Nor is it entirely clear exactly how it is a guide.
Jeff Speaks (2018) has compellingly argued that the idea that substantive divine
attributes are derivable from the claim that God is a perfect being, the greatest
possible being, or something similar is fraught with problems; and I am not sure
how or whether the problems can be overcome. Perhaps instead, then, we should
think that the claim that God is perfect merely imposes constraints on our
theorizing about the divine attributes; or perhaps we should think (as I said at
the beginning of this paragraph) that our grasp of perfection simply helps us to
flesh out our understanding of divine attributes that we arrive at via special
revelation or some other route.¹³ In any case, Speaks’s arguments do not undercut
the view that, to the extent that we have warrant for thinking that a perfect being
would have some property p, we also have warrant for the claim that God has p.
The question is simply how we can get such warrant, and (depending on the
answer to that question) what further use the claim that God is perfect might be
for the task of theology.
In addition to whatever help it might give us in arriving at or understanding the
divine attributes, our grasp of perfection also serves as a defeasible guide to
interpreting scripture. For example, scripture describes God as our heavenly
father, and most of the pronouns and other images used to refer to and charac-
terize God are masculine. Now we face an interpretive choice. Ought we to infer
that God is masculine, and prefers to be characterized as masculine? My own view,
which I defend in Chapter 5, is that the answer is ‘no’: a perfect being would either
transcend gender or belong to all genders equally, and would furthermore have no

understanding the trinity can comfortably accommodate the unqualified claim that God is a person;
but (as we shall see) mine can.

¹³ I am also inclined to think that a full response to Speaks’s worries will require a revisionary
understanding of ‘perfection’—one characterized not in terms of maximal greatness but more in terms
of worship-worthiness. I develop this idea in fuller detail in Rea 2019.
12    :  

preference in favour of a metaphysically misleading mode of characterization.

This is one way, then, in which intuitions about perfection serve as an interpretive
guide.
In saying all of this I presuppose that at least some of our concepts apply
univocally to God, and express truths about what God is like. I take perfection to
be one of these concepts. If that presupposition were false, then the belief that God
is perfect and perfect beings are F would not necessarily support the claim that God
is F. This for the same reason that God is a father, and fathers are male does not
support the thesis that God is male: analogies break down, so one must take
special care in drawing inferences from analogical claims. But, of course, in saying
that perfection is predicated univocally of God, I put myself at odds with views
that motivate extremely apophatic and so-called ‘therapeutic’ approaches to
theology.¹⁴
Chapter 6 represents my best attempt to make sense of and do justice to an
extreme form of apophaticism—one according to which God is in some mean-
ingful sense beyond being. As I explain in the postscript to the chapter,
I ultimately decided that I could not endorse the view that I defended there; but
some of the key ideas made their way into the chapters on divine transcendence in
The Hiddenness of God (Rea 2018). In that book, I endorsed a moderate concep-
tion of divine transcendence according to which predications of intrinsic, sub-
stantive divine attributes involving non-revealed concepts (i.e. concepts whose
content is not fully given in divine revelation¹⁵) are at best analogical.¹⁶ One might
reasonably wonder whether the claim that God is perfect is such a predication and,
if so, what that means for inferences from that claim to other divine attributes.
This is a complicated issue, and my thinking on the topic has shifted in recent
years. The short answer is that I think that the bare claim that God is perfect (as
contrasted, say, with claims like ‘God is perfectly loving’) does not attribute an
intrinsic property to God;¹⁷ so I am under no pressure to give up my view that
perfection is univocally predicated of God. Likewise, then, I do not think that the
doctrine of divine transcendence poses any threat to the kinds of inferences that
are central to perfect being theology.

3. The Trinity

The chapters in Part III of this book focus on the doctrine of the trinity. According
to this doctrine, there is exactly one God, but three divine persons—Father, Son,

¹⁴ Cf. Hector 2011 for discussion.

¹⁵ The content of a concept is ‘fully given in divine revelation’ just if the complete content of that
concept is part of or derivable from the content of divine revelation.
¹⁶ Cf. Rea 2018. ¹⁷ For more detail, see Rea 2019.
  13

and Holy Spirit. A little more precisely, the doctrine includes each of the following
claims:¹⁸

(T1) There is exactly one God, the Father almighty.

(T2) Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are not identical.
(T3) Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are consubstantial.

To say that two things are consubstantial is to say that they share a common
nature—i.e. they are members of exactly the same kind. Saying that two or more
divine beings are consubstantial, then, implies that they are identical with respect
to their divinity—they are not divine in different ways, neither is more or less
divine than the other, and if one is a God then the other is a God too.¹⁹
It would be quite an understatement to say that this is a puzzling doctrine. At
first glance (and, many would say, even after a much closer look) it appears to be
incoherent. There are various ways of trying to demonstrate the incoherence. The
one I prefer proceeds as follows: Suppose T1 is true. Then the Father is a God. But,
given what I have just said about consubstantiality, T2 and T3 say that the Son and
the Spirit are distinct from the Father (and from one another) but exactly the same
kind of thing as the Father. So if the Father is a God, then the Son is a God, the
Spirit is a God, and each is distinct from the other two. But then it follows that
there are three Gods, contrary to T1. So the doctrine is incoherent.
Resolving the contradiction means giving up a premise or saying that one of the
inferences is invalid. Chapters 7, 8, 9 and 10 talk at length about what not to say in
response to this problem (if one cares about creedal orthodoxy), about the nature
of monotheism (which is a crucial matter to sort out if one is to understand how
the doctrine of the trinity could be consistent with monotheism), and about the
solution I favour. In short, the solution is to reject the inference from (T4) to (T5):

(T4) The Father is a God, the Son is a God, and the Spirit is a God; and each is
distinct from the other two.
(T5) Therefore: There are three Gods.

The challenge is to explain how this can sensibly be done.

The model I favour begins with the Aristotelian idea that every material object
is a compound of matter and form. The form might be thought of as a complex

¹⁸ This is not the only way of formulating the doctrine. But I choose this formulation because it is
faithful to the creeds, suffices as well as others to raise the problem I wish to discuss, and emphasizes
one central tenet of the doctrine—T3—that is all too often omitted in the contemporary literature. On
the importance of T3, see Rea 2009 or, at length, Ayres 2004.
¹⁹ For purposes here I treat ‘God’ as a kind term rather than a name, obviously in keeping with its
use in T1.
14    :  

organizational property—not a mere shape, but something much richer. For

Aristotle, the form of a thing is its nature. Thus, on this sort of view, St Peter
would be a compound of some matter and the form humanity; St Paul would be a
compound of the same form but different matter. Sharing the same form is what it
means for Peter and Paul to be consubstantial.
Now imagine a case in which some matter has two forms. Suppose, for example,
that being a statue and being a pillar are forms; and suppose an artistic building
contractor fashions a lump of marble that exemplifies both. The contractor has
made a statue. She has also made a pillar. Furthermore, the two compounds are
genuinely distinct: e.g. the pillar could survive erosion that would obliterate the
statue. But surely we don’t want to say that two material objects—a statue and a
pillar—occupy exactly the same place at the same time. What then might we say
about this situation?
What Aristotle would have said is that the statue and the pillar are the same
material object, but not the same thing, or even the same compound. This sounds
odd. How can two things or two compounds count as one material object? Answer:
All there is to being a material object is being some matter that exemplifies at least
one form. So we count one material object wherever we find some matter that
exemplifies at least one form. To say that the statue and the pillar are the same
material object, then, is to say no more or less than that the two things share all of
the same matter in common.
If this view is correct, then the following will be true: The statue is a material
object, the pillar is a material object, the statue is distinct from the pillar but each is
the same material object as the other; so exactly one material object (not two) fills
the region occupied by the statue.
Now let us return to the trinity. God is not material, of course; but we might still
suppose that each divine person has constituents that play the same roles that
matter and form play in material objects.²⁰ If we do, then we can say about the
divine persons something like what we said about the statue and the pillar.
Suppose that the divine nature plays the role of matter in the divine persons;
and suppose that three separate properties (let’s just label them ‘F’, ‘S’, and ‘H’)
play the role of form. Then we can say that all there is to being ‘a God’ is being a
compound of the (one and only) divine nature and some person-making property
(like ‘F’). Furthermore, to say that Father, Son, and Spirit are the same God is just
to say that Father, Son, and Spirit share the same ‘matter’—i.e. the same divine
nature. Father, Son, and Spirit are, on this view, genuinely distinct compounds

²⁰ In fact, I think some of the most important theologians who hammered out the Niceno-
Constantinopolitan formulation of the doctrine of the trinity did think of God in this way. Cf. Rea
2009 for discussion and references.
  15

and genuinely distinct persons; but, precisely by virtue of sharing the same divine
nature, they count as one and the same God.²¹
If all of this is right, then (as in the statue/pillar example) we can say the
following about the divine persons: The Father is a God, the Son is a God, and the
Holy Spirit is a God, but each is the same God as the others; so, since there are no
other Gods, there is exactly one God. The inference from T4 to T5 is therefore
blocked. Furthermore, we can say without qualification that God is a person,
because on any way of resolving the ambiguity of ‘God’, ‘God is a person’ comes
out true. We can even say unqualifiedly that God is triune, so long as we
understand triunity as the attribute (possessed by each divine person) of sharing
one’s ‘matter’ with exactly two other divine persons.

References

Ayres, Lewis. 2004. Nicaea and Its Legacy: An Approach to Fourth-Century Trinitarian
Theology. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Baker-Hytch, Max. 2016. ‘Analytic Theology and Analytic Philosophy of Religion’.
Journal of Analytic Theology 4: 347–61.
Bavinck, Hermann. 2003. Reformed Dogmatics, Vol. 1: Prolegomena. Grand Rapids,
MI: Baker Academic.
Berkhof, Louis. 1992. Systematic Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans
Publishing Co.
Bitar, Ray Paul. 2013. ‘The Wisdom of Clarity and Coherence in Analytic Theology’.
Journal of the American Academy of Religion 81: 578–85.
Christian Reformed Church. 1988. Ecumenical Creeds and Reformed Confessions.
Grand Rapids, MI: CRC Publications.
Couenhoven, Jesse. 2013. ‘Fodge-Ogs and HedgeOxes’. Journal of the American
Academy of Religion 81: 586–91.
Hector, Kevin. 2011. Theology without Metaphysics: God, Language and the Spirit of
Recognition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Lindbeck, George A. 1984. The Nature of Doctrine: Religion and Theology in a
Postliberal Age. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press.
McCall, Thomas H. 2015. An Invitation to Analytic Christian Theology. Downers
Grove, IL: IVP Academic.
McCall, Thomas H. and Timothy Pawl. 2018. ‘Why a Catholic Theologian Can Be an
Analytic Theologian by Tom McCall and Timothy Pawl’. BLOGOS: http://blogos.

²¹ Why do Peter and Paul not count as two persons but one human being? Because, unlike the divine
nature, human nature does not play the role of matter.
16    :  

wp.st-andrews.ac.uk/2018/02/15/why-a-catholic-theologian-can-be-an-analytic-theo
logian/.
Macdonald, Paul A., Jr. 2014. ‘Analytic Theology: A Summary, Evaluation, and
Defense’. Modern Theology 30: 32–65.
Oliver, Simon. 2010. ‘Review of Crisp and Rea, eds., Analytic Theology’. International
Journal of Systematic Theology 12: 464–75.
Rea, Michael. 2009. ‘The Trinity’. In The Oxford Handbook of Philosophical Theology,
403–29. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Rea, Michael. 2013a. ‘Analytic Theology: Précis’. Journal of the American Academy of
Religion 81: 573–7.
Rea, Michael. 2013b. ‘Analytic Theology Roundtable: Replies to Bitar, Couenhoven,
and Wood’. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 81: 614–19. https://doi.
org/10.1093/jaarel/lft044.
Rea, Michael. 2017. ‘(Reformed) Protestantism’. In Inter-Christian Philosophical
Dialogues, edited by Graham Oppy and Nick Trakakis, 4: 67–88. London: Routledge.
Rea, Michael. 2018. The Hiddenness of God. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Rea, Michael. 2019. ‘Deflating Perfect Being Theology’. Unpublished ms.
Sarrisky, Darren. 2018. ‘Biblical Interpretation and Analytic Reflection’. Journal of
Analytic Theology 6: 162–82.
Speaks, Jeff. 2018. The Greatest Possible Being. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Vanhoozer, Kevin J. 2017a. ‘Analytic Theology as Sapiential Theology: A Response to
Jordan Wessling’. Open Theology 3 (1): 539–45. https://doi.org/10.1515/opth-2017-
0041.
Vanhoozer, Kevin. 2017b. ‘Analytics, Poetics, and the Mission of Dogmatic Discourse’.
In The Task of Dogmatics: Explorations in Theological Method, edited by Oliver
D. Crisp and Fred Sanders, 23–48. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan.
Wessling, Jordan. 2017. ‘Analytic Theology as Sapiential Theology: Reflections on a
Concern Raised by Kevin J. Vanhoozer’. Open Theology 3: 380–96. https://doi.org/
10.1515/opth-2017-0030.
Westerholm, Martin. 2019. ‘Analytic Theology and Contemporary Inquiry’.
International Journal of Philosophy and Theology 80: 230–54.
Wood, William. 2009. ‘On the New Analytic Theology: The Road Less Travelled’.
Journal of the American Academy of Religion 77: 941–60.
Wood, William. 2013a. ‘Analytic Theology and the Academic Study of Religion’. Paper
presented at the Logos Workshop in Philosophical Theology, University of Notre Dame.
Wood, William. 2013b. ‘Philosophical Theology in the Religious Studies Academy:
Some Questions for Analytic Theologians’. Journal of the American Academy of
Religion 81: 592–600.
Wood, William. 2014. ‘Analytic Theology as a Way of Life’. Journal of Analytic
Theology 2: 43–60.
 1
Realism in Theology and Metaphysics

Since the early 2000s, increasing attention has been paid in two separate
disciplines to questions about realism and ontological commitment. The discip-
lines are analytic metaphysics on the one hand, and theology on the other. In this
chapter, I shall discuss two arguments for the conclusion that realism in theology
and metaphysics—that is, a realist treatment of doctrines in theology and
metaphysics—is untenable.¹
‘Realism’ is variously defined in the literature. For purposes here, I shall adopt
the following characterizations:

• where ‘x’ is a singular term, realism about x is the view that there is a y such
that x = y
• where ‘F’ is a putative kind-term, realism about Fs is the view that there are
Fs and that F is a genuine kind-term
• where ‘T’ refers to the linguistic expression of some claim, theory, or
doctrine, to interpret or treat T realistically is (a) to interpret T as having
an objective truth-value (and so to interpret it as something other than a
mere evocative metaphor or expression of tastes, attitudes, or values); and (b)
to interpret T in such a way that it has realist truth-conditions—ie., it is true
only if realism about the xs and Fs putatively referred to in the theory is true.
• where ‘D’ refers to a discipline (like metaphysics or theology), realism in D is
or involves interpreting the canonical statements of theories or doctrines in
D realistically.

Thus, one way to be an anti-realist about God, say, is to affirm explicitly that
there is no such being as God; but another way to be an anti-realist about God is to
say, for example, that ‘God exists’ expresses a truth, but that the truth it expresses
isn’t that there is an x such that x = God. Likewise, one way to be an anti-realist
about beliefs, say, is to affirm explicitly that there are no such things as beliefs; but
another way to be an anti-realist about beliefs is to offer paraphrases of belief-talk

¹ By ‘theology’ in the present context I have primarily in mind those sub-disciplines of theology that
go by such labels as ‘systematic theology’, ‘dogmatic theology’, ‘philosophical theology’, and the like.
The arguments of this chapter do not (to my mind, anyway) have any obvious bearing on (say)
historical and biblical theology or the various kinds of biblical criticism that are practised in
contemporary theology departments.

Essays in Analytic Theology: Volume I. Michael C. Rea, Oxford University Press (2020). © Michael C. Rea.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198866800.003.0002
20    :  

according to which ‘there are beliefs’ expresses a truth, but the term ‘belief ’ doesn’t
pick out a genuine kind of mental state. Furthermore, in light of the above
characterizations, theists and atheists alike can interpret the same theological claims
realistically. Indeed, their disagreement will most perspicuously be expressed as a
disagreement over the truth value of the claim ‘God exists’ realistically interpreted.
One motivation for doubting that we should interpret doctrines in metaphysics
or theology realistically is the vague worry that practitioners of both disciplines are
spinning out theories with no reliable way of determining which of the competing
theories is true. The worry is that the practitioners of each discipline are simply
talking past one another, that their ‘debates’ lack substance, and that their theories
don’t tell us anything of interest about the world or its inhabitants. In short,
theorizing in both disciplines is but idle word play; and so it is doubtful that the
theories in either discipline have objective truth values or truth values with realist
truth conditions.
Those caught in the grip of this worry then face the question of what to do with
metaphysics and theology. In the case of metaphysics, the verdict is often that we
should simply view it as a game and either stop playing it or else leave it to
weekends and spend our day jobs on more serious activities—like, perhaps,
philosophy of science. Theology is more complicated because many of the object-
ors still want to maintain that there is some value in religion, and they recognize
that the sentences typically taken to express the core doctrines of religions like
Christianity still have some value even if they can’t be taken with literal serious-
ness. Indeed, whereas the objectors to metaphysical realism tend also to be
objectors to metaphysics in general, the objectors to theological realism often
style themselves as people interested in saving religion from the pernicious
influence of modernism, fundamentalism, ontotheology, or other villains. Still,
for many of us, theology is of far lesser interest and import if the anti-realist
verdict is allowed to stand. If, in the end, the theories produced by theology are not
fitting objects for belief, it is hard to see why we should take the discipline very
seriously.
In this chapter, I want to examine two ways of making the vague worry more
precise. In God and Realism, Peter Byrne (2003) offers an argument against
realism in theology that is readily modified to cut against realism in metaphysics
as well. And in The Empirical Stance, Bas van Fraassen (2002) offers an argument
against the very practice of analytic metaphysics that is both readily seen as an
argument against realism in metaphysics and easily adapted into an argument
against realism in theology. In what follows, I will examine these two arguments
and defend four conclusions: first, that Byrne’s argument is answerable; second,
that van Fraassen’s argument is unanswerable if we adopt what he calls the
‘empirical stance’; third, that there is (and can be) absolutely no reason why
metaphysicians or theologians ought to adopt the empirical stance; and, finally,
      21

that for those who don’t adopt the empirical stance, van Fraassen’s objections can
be answered in precisely the same way as we answer Byrne’s.
The chapter has three sections. In the first, I briefly present and respond to
Byrne’s argument against theological realism. In the second, I present van
Fraassen’s argument against analytic metaphysics and I show how, if sound, it
constitutes a reason to reject both metaphysical and theological realism. Finally,
I show how van Fraassen can be answered. Obviously what I am doing here falls
far short of a full-blown defence of realism in either metaphysics or theology. But
the objections raised by van Fraassen and Byrne are tokens of a type of objection
that I think is rather widely endorsed among those who are suspicious of these two
brands of realism. Thus, responding to those objections constitutes an important
first step in the direction of a defence.

1. Byrne’s Argument

Peter Byrne sums up his argument against theological realism as follows:²

(1) All disciplines of thought that can be interpreted realistically show the
accumulation of reliable belief.
(2) Theology does not show the accumulation of reliable belief.
(3) Therefore, theology cannot be interpreted realistically.

Byrne declares that this argument is ‘simple’ (2003: 162) and ‘decisive’ (2003:
161). As a matter of fact, however, it is no simple matter at all to figure out
precisely what Byrne means by terms like ‘interpreted realistically’ or ‘show the
accumulation of reliable belief ’; nor is it a simple matter to figure out why exactly
he thinks that the two premises of the argument are true. Since time will not
permit the sort of detailed exegetical discussion it would take to sort out the
terminological issues, I will simply offer glosses that I think are faithful to what
Byrne was aiming at. I will then try to reconstruct as best I can his defence of the
premises. Readers who think that the resulting product is not something Byrne
would be happy with are welcome to take the argument of the present section as
one of my own invention (albeit inspired by the work of Byrne and others) and
offered primarily as a prelude to the discussion of van Fraassen.
Byrne seems to think that to interpret a discipline of thought realistically is just
to see it as the sort of discipline whose methods of enquiry are successfully aimed
at truth, whose theories are grounded in and responsive to evidence, and whose

² Byrne 2003: 162.

22    :  

conclusions are intended to tell us the literal, objective truth about the world.³
Thus, those disciplines which we can interpret realistically in Byrne’s sense are
presumably just those disciplines whose theories we can sensibly interpret realis-
tically in my sense.
Byrne also seems to think that a discipline shows the accumulation of reliable
belief just in case it generates an increasing number of statements that we can
rationally expect not to be contradicted by future well-established theories in the
discipline.⁴ Reliable beliefs in a discipline D are just those beliefs that can be
expected to remain permanently sanctioned by D’s theoretical apparatus.⁵ To say
that a belief is reliable, then, is not to say that it is likely to be true (though it might
in fact turn out that the reliable beliefs of a discipline are just the ones that are
likely to be true). Rather, it is just to say that it is unlikely to be overturned by
future evidence or theoretical developments.
Given all of this, Byrne’s argument might be restated as follows: Consider some
discipline D. We can take D’s theories as worthy of belief and as aiming to tell us
the literal truth about the world only if the practice of D over time generates an
increasing number of statements that we can rationally expect not to be contra-
dicted by future well-established theories in D. But we don’t find such an increase
of ‘reliable belief ’ in theology. Thus, we should not treat theological theories as
worthy of belief or as aiming to tell us the literal truth about the world. And, we
might add, what goes for theology also goes for metaphysics: we don’t find
the accumulation of reliable belief in that discipline either. Thus, we should not
be realists about theories in metaphysics either.
So much for the argument. Now, what shall we think of the premises? Let us
begin by observing that neither of the premises is obviously true. A relatively
narrow discipline that hits on the truth right at the outset will show no accumu-
lation of belief at all; but that by itself is not obviously a reason to doubt that it is to
be interpreted realistically. Thus, there is prima facie reason to think that premise

³ Cf. Byrne 2003: ch. 1, passim and, especially, pp. 155–9. On p. 159, Byrne offers what might appear
as an outright definition of what it is to interpret a discipline of thought realistically. He says: ‘We have
reached the conclusion that to interpret a discipline of thought realistically is to see its evolving
conclusions as the outcome of real-world influences.’ But, of course, this offers us nothing by way of
precision; for, after all, superstitions, prejudices, fears and ambitions, peer pressure and other socio-
logical influences, and so on are all ‘real-world influences’. Every discipline—from biology and
chemistry on the one hand to astrology and iridology on the other—is such that its ‘evolving
conclusions’ are the outcomes of ‘real-world influences’. But, of course, this can’t be what Byrne has
in mind. To find out what he has in mind, however, we have to look elsewhere and then offer a gloss;
and my own view is that if we do this, and if we do it in the most charitable way possible, we arrive at
something like the gloss that I have just offered.
⁴ Cf., especially, Byrne 2003: 159–61.
⁵ Note, however, that this definition of reliable belief leaves open the possibility that reliable beliefs
in one discipline might be contradicted by reliable beliefs in another discipline. If we were looking for
sufficient conditions for the realistic interpretation of a discipline, we would want to rule this out. But
since Byrne is concerned to show that theology fails to meet a necessary condition for being interpreted
realistically, I doubt that this problem will cause much trouble for present purposes.
      23

(1) is false. Moreover, many branches of theology within Christendom seem

clearly to have shown the accumulation of reliable belief (as defined above) over
the centuries. In the Catholic Church, for example, the Nicene Creed and the
Canons and Decrees of the Council of Trent—to name just two of a variety of
doctrinal standards within Catholicism—are not at all likely to be contradicted by
future developments in (official) Catholic theology. The Nicene Creed and the
Canons and Decrees of the Council of Trent are explications of and elaborations
on doctrines that the Catholic Church claims to have found in scripture. They
were needed precisely because their contents were not explicitly part of Christian
belief prior to their formulation—so, in other words, they constitute genuine
theoretical developments rather than being, like the scriptures, mere sources for
theological reflection. Though plenty of Roman Catholics, including Roman
Catholic theologians, disagree with them in part or in their entirety, the Catholic
Church is set up in such a way that we can be virtually certain that they will not be
contradicted by future established theories in official Catholic theology. Likewise,
and for similar reasons, it is highly unlikely that either the Nicene Creed or
the Westminster Confession will be contradicted by future developments in
(traditional, orthodox) Presbyterian theology—here not because the Presbyterian
Church is set up so as to guarantee that those doctrinal standards will be preserved,
but rather because theology as it is practised by those with a traditional, orthodox
bent is not at all revisionary in the way that certain other brands of theology might
be.⁶ And, of course, similar things might be said for various other denominational
theologies. Thus, there is prima facie reason to reject premise (2) as well.⁷ What then
are Byrne’s arguments for these premises?
Premise (2), oddly enough, is offered without any argument at all. Byrne simply
declares that it is obviously true, and then follows that declaration with remarks
that effectively just restate and elaborate on it. Thus, he writes:

Consider this question: do we know anything more about God than we did at the
dawn of Christian theology nearly 2,000 years ago? Answer: No. During that

⁶ Moreover, even the revisionists in the Presbyterian camp will likely agree on permanence of
conditional claims to the effect that, given an appropriately strong view of the inspiration and
infallibility of the Bible, the doctrines expressed in the Nicene Creed, the Westminster Confession,
and various other doctrinal standards are true.
⁷ Is it really fair, though, to treat official Catholic theology, or traditional, orthodox Presbyterian
theology as disciplines in their own right, rather than as branches of a single discipline—theology? It is
hard to see why not; but, in the end, nothing hinges on treating them as such. For surely Byrne would
not countenance this sort of reply to his argument: ‘Granted, we cannot interpret theology realistically.
But that doesn’t matter; for all I claim is that we can interpret the distinct theory-building enterprise of
Catholic theology realistically.’ But so far as I can tell, the only argument he has against this reply is an
adapted version of the argument currently under discussion: i.e. a theory-building enterprise can be
interpreted realistically only if it shows the accumulation of reliable belief; but in these various theory-
building enterprises there has been no accumulation of reliable belief. If this is the argument he would
use, then my reply is as above: these theory-building enterprises have shown the accumulation of
reliable belief after all.
24    :  

period many theological theories have come and gone in Christian thought, but
there has been no accumulation of insight and discovery whatsoever. The stock
of reliable beliefs about the Christian God, about its attributes and plans, has not
increased one iota . . . . Theology has not possessed intellectual traditions and
modes of discovery [analogous to those in science] to enable its practitioners to
be open to influences from divine reality and its practitioners have not been put
in cognitive contact with divine reality. The academic discipline of theology is
simply not productive of reliable beliefs about God—or about anything else for
that matter. It cannot be understood realistically. QED. (2003: 162)

But why should we believe any of this? The stock of reliable beliefs about the
Christian God has not increased one iota? Again, it is hard to take this claim at all
seriously in light of what we know of the histories of Catholic theology, traditional
Presbyterian theology, and any of a number of other denominational theologies
within Christendom. The ‘QED’ at the end of the paragraph seems, to put it
mildly, a bit premature.
Premise (2), then, is a natural target for resistance. But for present purposes
I want to waive worries about premise (2) and focus instead on premise (1). Here
Byrne does want to offer argument; though what the argument amounts to,
exactly, is rather hard to tell. What he says explicitly in favour of (1) is just this:
‘Premise (1) has been established through consideration of the example of science’
(162). What we find, however, upon reviewing his consideration of the example of
science is that, really, he has defended not (1) but (1a):

(1a) Disciplines that show the accumulation of reliable belief are to be inter-
preted realistically.

And what he offers in support of (1a) is just a version of the familiar ‘no miracles’
argument for scientific realism. In his words:

The story of science is a human story, but one which is comprehensible only if we
assume that human theory and practice are being in part, at least, shaped by what
the world is really like. If there is a progressive, cumulative structure to the
development of science, this strongly suggests real-world cognitive contact and
influence; otherwise the accumulation of reliable belief would be the merest
accident. (2003: 156)

A generalization on this argument yields (1a); but it yields nothing close to (1).
Nevertheless, there is an argument for (1) lurking in the neighbourhood.
Suppose we endorse the following premises:

(1b) For any discipline D, there is no initial presumption that D is to be

interpreted realistically.
      25

(1c) There can be no evidence supporting a realistic interpretation of a discipline

apart from the accumulation of reliable belief.
(1d) Absent an initial presumption for interpreting a discipline D realistically,
and absent evidence that D is to be interpreted realistically, D cannot rationally be
interpreted realistically.

If we do endorse (1b)–(1d), and if we are persuaded by Byrne’s argument for (1a),

then we have a ready argument for (1).
The idea, then, is something like this: For any discipline D, the practitioners
of D aren’t entitled simply to adopt, without argument, a realist interpretation of
D. Rather, if we want to interpret D realistically, we need to do so on the basis of
evidence—evidence that D is really putting us in touch with the truth about things.
But what evidence could we possibly acquire? In the case of science, we have
(allegedly) the accumulation of reliable belief. And it is, one might think, very hard
to explain how we could have that if science weren’t putting us in touch with the
truth about things. But absent the accumulation of reliable belief, what other
evidence could we have for interpreting science realistically? What other phenom-
enon would be best explained by the supposition that science, or any other
discipline, is putting us in touch with truth? Apparently none. Thus, the only
disciplines that we are entitled to interpret realistically are those that show the
accumulation of reliable belief—which is just to say that premise (1) is true.
The trouble with this line of reasoning is just that, if it were sound, we would
face the threat of global scepticism. Let D be the discipline of Detecting Reliable
Beliefs (DRB). (If you prefer, you could treat it as the discipline for detecting
success, and then fill in your favorite criterion for success. But since we’re talking
about Byrne, we’ll focus on his.) Practitioners of DRB—all of us, I suppose, to
some extent or another—are engaged in the enterprise of trying to find out which,
if any, of their beliefs count as reliable. Moreover, if Byrne is correct about
the criteria for interpreting a discipline realistically, realism about any other
discipline is predicated in part on a realist interpretation of DRB. That is, unless
we assume that the claims of DRB have objective truth values (and, indeed, that
they tell us the objective truth about things), we will not be entitled to believe that
any discipline has shown the accumulation of reliable belief.⁸ And if we are not

⁸ Suppose you think that some claim of DRB has a truth value, but that the truth value is not
objective. Thus, suppose you think something like this: ‘It is true, but only true-for-me, that B1–Bn are
reliable beliefs in discipline D.’ Given our understanding of reliable belief, this would seem to be
equivalent to the view that you, but not necessarily anyone else, can rationally expect that B1–Bn
will be permanently sanctioned parts of D’s theoretical apparatus. But isn’t this claim self-
undermining? Note that the claim isn’t equivalent to the (perhaps perfectly sensible) claim that you
have evidence E that (for all you know) nobody else has, and that given this, it is objectively rational for
you (but not necessarily for anyone lacking E) to believe that B1–Bn will be permanently sanctioned
parts of D’s theoretical apparatus. Rather, if it is really only true-for-you that B1–Bn are reliable beliefs
in D, the idea is that even people in your same epistemic position might not rationally be able to expect
Another random document with
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Kaikessa tässä kiireessä en jättänyt kuitenkaan mitään
punnitsematta…»

»Miten harkittua ja kuitenkin miten ajattelematonta, isä!» huokasi

poika.

Isä ja poika alkoivat nyt yksissäneuvoin miettiä pelastuskeinoa ja

kuiskailla keskenään. Tähän saakka he eivät olleet
mielenkuohussaan muistaneet hiljentää ääntään viereisessä
huoneessa työskentelevien virkailijain ja oppipoikain korvilta. Mutta
he eivät keksineet mitään keinoa päästä pulasta ja heidän ilmeensä
tulivat yhä huolestuneemmiksi ja tuskaisemmiksi, kun kuului
voimakas alttoääni, joka ulkona käytävässä lauloi Kustaa Aadolfin
lempivirttä:

»Maailma vaikk ois täynnänsä

Pimeyden enkeleitä,
Päällemme käyden päänänsä,
Ei peljätä he meitä…»

ja sisään astui solakka tyttö, hoikka kuin seiväs. Hänen silmänsä

olivat veitikkamaiset, tukka lyhyeksi leikattu, vartalo poikamainen ja
käytös ratsastajan.

»Aiotko puhkaista korvamme, serkku?» toruivat Leubelfingit. Tyttö

alkoi tarkastaa alakuloista paria ja vastasi: »Tulin pyytämään teitä
ruualle. Mutta mitä on tapahtunut, herrat setäni ja serkkuni? Onhan
nenänpäänne ihan valkeana!» Tyttö otti kursailematta kirjeen, joka
oli jäänyt avuttomien miesraukkojen väliin, huomasi kuninkaan
voimakkaasti piirretyn allekirjoituksen, luki ahmien ja sai tietää syyn
sukulaistensa epätoivoon. »Ruualle, arvoisat herrat!» sanoi hän ja
astui heidän edellään ruokasaliin. Mutta nähdessään miten kauan
Leubelfingit liottivat suussaan jokaista ruokapalaa kävi
hyväsydämisen tytön heitä sääli. Hän käski viedä ruuan pois, siirsi
tuolinsa syrjemmäksi, pani käsivartensa ristiin rinnalle ja toisen
hennon jalkansa toisen yli sinisen hameensa alla, jonka vyöstä
riippui tasku ja avainkimppu, ja pyysi heitä kertomaan juurtajaksain
koko pulmallisen jutun. Hän kuunteli tarkkaavana ja miettien. Tyttö
näytti olevan talossa kuin kotonaan ainakin ja saaneen siinä
reippaalla luonteellaan määräämisvallan.

Leubelfingit kertoivat. »Kun oikein ajattelen», sanoi tyttö sitten

rohkeasti, »niin muistan kuka huusi kuninkaalle tuon
eläköönhuudon.»

»Kuka?» kysyivät Leubelfingit, ja tyttö vastasi: »ei kukaan muu

kuin minä.»

»Peijakas sinut vieköön», jymisi vanhus. »Pukeuduit tietysti

siniseen ruotsalaiseen sotilaspukuusi, joka riippuu esiliinojen takana
vaatekaapissasi, ja livahdit ruokasaliin epäjumalasi luo, vaikka sinun
olisi pitänyt pysytellä säädyllisesti naisten seurassa.»

»Minä en olisi päässyt minnekään», puolustelihe tyttö

suutuksissaan. »Kun kaikki naiset, pikku Haller, iso Holzschuher,
ylpeä Ebner, väärä Geuder ja typerä Cresser, tutte quante, jotka
saivat viedä kuninkaalle kaupungin lahjan, molemmat hopeaiset
maljakot, taivaankuvun ja maapallon, olisivat antaneet minulle
perimäisen paikan.»

»Miten sinä, Gustel, kainona tyttönä, sillä kainohan sinä olet, voit
ollenkaan käyttää miehen pukua», nuhteli sovinnaista tapaa tarkoin
noudattava nuorukainen.
 »Oman isäni pukua, jossa povitaskun vieressä vielä näkyy
paikattu reikä, ranskalaisten miekan jälki?» vastasi tyttö vakavana.
»Heti kun katson sivulle» — hän katsoi kuin olisi hänellä nyt ollut
yllään isänsä puku — »näen läven, ja se vaikuttaa saarnan tavoin.
Naisten hameet eivät sitäpaitsi tahdo minulle oikein käydä», sanoi
hän lopuksi, siirtyen äkkiä tapansa mukaan vakavasta mielialasta
iloiseen. »Eikä ihmekään, etteivät ne minulle sovellu, kun olen
neljäntoista ikäiseksi saakka istunut isän ja äidin kanssa hevosen
selässä lyhyessä puvussa.»

»Rakas serkku», valitti nuori Leubelfing puoleksi hellästikin, »isäsi

kuoltua on sinua pidetty tässä talossa kuin lasta ainakin, ja tällaisen
harmin olet nyt minulle tuottanut! Toimitat oman serkkusi kuin
lampaan teurastettavaksi. Utz sai kuulan otsaansa, Götz
kaulaansa…» Hänen ihonsa kurtistui kananlihaksi. »Jospa edes
tietäisit hyvän neuvon, serkku!»

»Hyvänkö neuvon», sanoi tyttö pontevasti, »sen voin kyllä sinulle

antaa: ole nürnbergiläinen ja ole Leubelfing!»

»Leubelfing!» tiuski vanha herra. »Täytyykö jokaisen

nürnbergiläisen ja Leubelfingin olla samanlainen tappelupukari kuin
isäsi Rupert — olkoon Jumala hänelle armollinen — joka
kymmenvuotisena poikaviikarina viekoitti minut häkkivaunuihinsa,
läksi ajamaan, kaatoi vaunut ja säilytti itse nahkansa, mutta minulta
— häntä vanhemmalta — taittui pari kylkiluuta? Oli hänelläkin
elämänjuoksu! Viisitoistavuotiaana karkasi ruotsalaisten leiriin,
seitsemäntoista vanhana nai rummun pärinässä viisitoistavuotiaan
tytön, kolmenkymmenen vanhana jätti mellakassa tämän
maailman.»

»Hän kaatui puolustaessaan äitini kunniaa…», sanoi tyttö.

 »Etkö keksi mitään keinoa, Guste?» ahdisti nuori Leubelfing
häntä. »Sinä tunnet Ruotsin sotapalveluksen ja tiedät mitkä ruumiin
viat vapauttavat siitä. Minkä pätevän syyn voin sanoa kuninkaalle?»

Tyttö purskahti hillittömään nauruun. »Pistämme sinut niinkuin

nuoren Akilleksen uunin kuvassa tyttöjen joukkoon, ja kun viekas
Odysseus levittää heidän eteensä sota-aseita, niin et karkaakaan
kiinni miekkaan.»

»Minä en lähde», sanoi nuori Leubelfing, vihoissaan mokomasta

mytologian tuntemisesta. »En ole sellainen, miksi isäni on minut
kuninkaalle kuvannut.» Samassa hän tunsi laihoja käsivarsiaan
likistettävän. Vanha Leubelfing riuhtoi poikansa vasempaa kättä ja
valitti: »tahdotko tehdä minusta, kunniallisesta miehestä, kuninkaan
silmissä valehtelijan ja vääristelijän?» Ja tyttö taas puristi hänen
oikeata käsivarttaan huudahtaen närkästyneenä: »tahdotko
pelkuruudellasi saattaa isäni mainehikkaan nimen häpeään?»

»Mene itse kuninkaan hovipojaksi», huusi nuorukainen ärtyneenä.

»Olet ulkomuodoltasi ja käytökseltäsi siksi poikamainen, että
kuningas yhtä vähän voisi aavistaa sinua tytöksi kuin tuo uunilla
oleva Odysseus, josta sinä lörpöttelet, olisi voinut otaksua minua
pojaksi. Lähde epäjumalasi luo ja ihaile häntä! Kukapa tietää», jatkoi
hän, »vaikka olisit jo kuinka kauan tällaista mielessäsi hautonutkin.
Sinähän uneksit öin ja päivin Ruotsin kuninkaasta, jota lapsena
seurasit ympäri maailmaa. Kun toissa päivänä menin kamarisi ohi
omaan huoneeseeni, kuulin haaveilevan äänesi jo kaukaa. Minun ei
todellakaan tarvinnut kuunnella avaimenreiästä. 'Kuningas! Aseihin!
Kunniaa!'» Hän matki komentosanoja kimein äänin.

Neitonen käänsi pois kasvonsa. Purppuranpuna syöksyi hänen

otsalleen ja poskilleen. Sitten hän antoi taas lämpimäin,
vaaleanruskeiden silmäinsä näkyä ja sanoi: »ole varuillasi! Voi
lopulta käydä niinkin, vaikkapa vain siksi, etteivät Leubelfing-nimiset
olisi kaikki jäniksiä!»

Ajatus oli lausuttu ja lapsekas haave pukeutunut rohkean mutta ei

kuitenkaan aivan mahdottoman seikkailun muotoon. Isän veri kutsui.
Uljuutta ja uskaliaisuutta oli liiaksikin, mutta naisellinen kainous ja
säädyllisyys — serkku oli ollut oikeassa — ja kunnioitus kuningasta
kohtaan asettuivat tielle. Silloin tempasi hänet tapahtumain pyörre ja
vei mukaansa.

Palvelija tuli ilmoittamaan, että ruotsalainen kornetti, joka oli tuonut

kuninkaan kirjeen ja jonka piti viedä uusi hovipoika mukanaan leiriin,
oli palannut. Hän oli jättänyt rauhaan mestari Albrechtin harmaat
seinämaalaukset, vaikka oli luvannut syventyä niihin, ja valinnut
kultajuomaisen vihreän lasin iloisessa viinituvassa, unohtamatta
kuitenkaan kuunnella kellonlyöntejä. Vanha Leubelfing rupesi,
kuolemanpelossa pojastaan ja liikkeestään, syleilemään
veljensätyttären polvia, kuten vanha Priamos Akilleksen polvia
pyytäessään poikansa ruumista. Nuoren Leubelfingin joka jäsen
alkoi vavista. Tyttö riistihe irti, naurusta pakahtumaisillaan, ja livahti
huoneesta tuskin silmänräpäystä ennen kuin kornetti astui toisesta
ovesta sisään kannukset kilisten. Nuoren ruotsalaisen silmistä säteili
uljuutta ja tulta, vaikka hän olikin kuninkaan ankaran kurin alaisena.

Augusta Leubelfing puuhasi nopeasti, aivan kuin huumaantuneena

huoneessaan, pani tavaransa pieneen matkalaukkuun, heitti kiireesti
ylleen isänsä puvun, joka oli kuin valettu hänen sirolle ja hennolle
vartalolleen, lankesi polvilleen ja rukoili lyhyesti ja palavasti
anteeksiantoa ja menestystä aikeilleen.
 Kun hän tuli takaisin alasaliin, huusi kornetti hänelle: »joutuun,
toveri! On kiire! Hevoset kaapivat! Kuningas odottaa! Sanokaa nyt
vaan jäähyväiset isälle ja serkulle!» ja yhdellä kulauksella meni
kornetin eteen asetettu vihreä viinilasi hänen hienosta
pitsikauluksestaan alas.

Ruotsalaiseen univormuun puettu valenuorukainen kumartui

liikutettuna suutelemaan kahdesti vanhuksen kuihtunutta kättä, ja
vanha Leubelfing siunasi hänet kiitollisena. Hovipoika muuttui
hillittömän iloiseksi tarttuessaan serkkunsa käteen, jota hän heilutti ja
huusi: »jääkää hyvästi, neiti serkkuni!» Kornetti hytki naurusta: »Voi
sentään… mitä leikkiä toverini laskee! Luvalla sanoen, päähäni heti
juolahti: täysi vanhapiika tuo herra serkkunne; joka piirre, joka liike…
niinkuin meillä Suomessa lauletaan:

»Ja luudalla akka se ratsasti…»

»Voi sun peijakas!» Hän otti päähineen palveluksiin valmiin

sisäkön päästä ja työnsi sen nuoren Leubelfingin päälaelle, josta
riippui muutamia harvoja pellavaisia suortuvia. Terävä nenä ja
taaksepäin vetäytyvä leuka täydensivät vanhan ämmän profilia.

Helposti päihtynyt kornetti otti tuttavallisesti hovipoikaa

käsikoukusta. Mutta tämä astui askeleen taaksepäin ja sanoi
miekkansa kahvaan tarttuen: »Kuulkaapas, toveri, minä kannatan
malttia ja paheksun tungettelua!»

»Perhana!» huudahti kornetti, mutta asettui sivuttain oven suuhun

ja antoi kohteliain kädenliikkein hovipojan astua ensin ovesta.
Molemmat huimapäät juoksivat alas rappusia niin että helisi.
 Leubelfingit neuvottelivat keskenään vielä kauan aikaa. Oli selvää,
ettei nuoren Leubelfingin, joka oli luopunut henkilöllisyydestään,
enää ollut jääminen Nürnbergiin. Isä ja poika tulivat lopulta samaan
päätökseen. Pojan tuli perustaa liikkeen haaraosasto nopeasti
edistyvään Leipzigin kaupunkiin, Sachseniin, mutta ei omalla
patriisinimellään, jonka oli menettänyt serkulleen, vaan
poroporvarillisella nimellä »Laubfinger» ja ainoastaan vähäksi aikaa,
kunnes nykyinen August von Leubelfing olisi kuninkaansa rinnalla
suistunut ratsunsa selästä tappotantereelle ja saanut surmansa.
Tätä loppua ei kai tarvinnut kauankaan odottaa.

Kun toiseksi henkilöksi vaihtunut nuorukainen pitkän istunnon

jälkeen nousi ja näki kuvansa peilistä, verhosi hänen vääntyneitä
kasvojaan vielä päähine, jonka ruotsalainen veitikka oli hänen
päähänsä pannut.
II.

»Kuuleppas, nuori Leubelfing! Tule tänne, minulla on vähän asiaa.

Jos pahimmassa tapauksessa ompelisit näppärillä sormillasi jonkun
napin kuninkaani takkiin, tai ratkenneen sauman, ei se
hovipojanarvoasi vähääkään alentaisi. Etkö ole Nürnbergissä
milloinkaan kurkistanut äitisi tai siskosi olan takaa ompelutyynyyn?
Ompeleminen ei ole taito eikä mikään, sitä voi jokainen ruotsalainen
sotilas sinulle opettaa. Rypistätkö otsaasi, veitikka? Tottele ja ole
kohtelias! Tuossa on omat ompeluvehkeeni! Lahjoitan ne sinulle.»

Ja brandenburgilaissyntyinen Ruotsin kuningatar ojensi nuorelle

Leubelfingille englantilaiset ompeluvehkeet rihmoineen,
sormustimineen, neuloineen ja saksineen. Mustasukkaisen
hellyyden ajamana matkusti kuningatar kaikkialle kuninkaan jälestä
ja oli nytkin tullut lyhyellä käynnillään yllättämään häntä lähelle
Nürnbergiä kovaonniseen leiriin, jonka keskellä olevaan, sodan
melkein autioksi hävittämään linnaan kuningas oli asettunut.
Kuningatar avasi hovipojan vastahakoisissa käsissä olevan
ompelukotelon, otti siitä hopeaisen sormustimen ja pisti sen
nuorukaisen sormeen, sanoen lempeästi: »minä jätän sinun
asiaksesi, Leubelfing, pitää tarkkaa huolta siitä, että minun herrani
kuningas tulee aina siististi ja huolellisesti puettuna ihmisten
ilmoille.»

»Mitä vietävää minä ymmärrän saumoista ja napeista», vastasi

Leubelfing punastuen harmista, mutta niin hullunkurisin
kasvonilmein, ettei kuningatar vähääkään loukkautunut, vaan nipisti
häntä poskesta armollisesti nauraen. Nuorukaisen korvissa kuului
nauru ontolta ja typerältä, ja hän tunsi ärtyistä vastenmielisyyttä
ylhäistä ruhtinatarta kohtaan, vaikkei tämä hyväntahtoinen nainen
voinut sitä aavistaa.

Kuningaskin, joka oli kynnykseltä kuullut heidän keskustelunsa,

ratkesi nyt myös vilpittömään nauruun nähdessään hovipoikansa
miekka kupeella ja sormustin sormessa. »Mutta Gust», sai hän
vihdoin sanotuksi, »sinähän kiroilet kuin pakana tai paavilainen!
Sinussa on paljon kasvattamista!»

Oikeastaan ei Kustaa Aadolfista ollut mikään rikos pitää kiinni

kunniasta, eikä hän siis myöskään voinut kieltää sitä hyvätapaiselta
ja miellyttävän näköiseltä nuorukaiselta, joka oli aina hänen
läheisyydessään eikä saanut väistyä hänen rinnaltaan, — kohtelihan
kuningas inhimillisellä hyväntahtoisuudella jokaista halvintakin
alamaistaan, pitäen kuitenkin sotilaallisen kurin aina voimassa.
Päälle päätteeksi oli Leubelfing turmeltumaton nuorukainen, joka
pienimmästäkin syystä punastui kuin tyttö, hiusrajaa myöten. Eikä
kuningas myöskään unhottanut, että nuori nürnbergiläinen oli
kohtalokkaissa pidoissa esittänyt eläköön-huudon »Saksan
kuninkaalle», lausuen ehkä siten profetallisen ennustuksen urhoisan
seikkailun mainehikkaasta päättymisestä.

Elämä sankarin läheisyydessä oli hovipojalle ollut vienoa ja hurjaa,

autuasta ja tuskaisaa satua, vilpittömän kuninkaan tietämättä mitään
tästä salaisesta onnesta. Yhdeksästoista ikävuosi oli alkanut
huumaavasti ja oli myös ihanasti sammuva, kuin varjo aurinkoon.
Nuoressa rinnassa temmelsi suloinen, ylpeä onni, kalvava pelko ja
salattu riemu. Suonet sykkivät kiihkeästi, rinta hengitti hätäisesti kuin
olisi se tahtonut koota sisäänsä kaiken nautinnon mitä huimapää-
sydän voi tuntea kuolettavan luodin tai häpeällisen paljastuksen
aattona.

Kun kornetti esitti nürnbergiläisen nuorukaisen August

Leubelfingin kuninkaalle, oli Kustaa Aadolf työn touhussa ja tuskin
ehti vilkaista häneen. Niin pelastui hän julkeasta valheesta. Kustaa
Aadolf istui eräänä päivänä ratsunsa selkään lähteäkseen
valmistamaan toista toivotonta rynnäkköä voittamatonta
friedlantilaista vastaan ja käski hovipojan lähteä mukaan.
Nuorukainen hyppäsi arkailematta raudikkonsa selkään, sillä hän oli
jo pienestä saakka tottunut satulaan ja perinyt isältään, aikoinaan
Ruotsin rohkeimmalta sotilaalta, solakan ja ritarillisen vartalon. Kun
kuningas jonkun ajan kuluttua katsoi taakseen, oli hovipoika
kalmankalpea, mutta se ei johtunut raudikon hurjasta juoksusta eikä
pojan tottumattomuudesta satulaan, vaan siitä, että puolialastonta
naista ajettiin jonkun matkan päässä piiskalla ruotsalaisten leiristä.
Nuorukaista iljetti tämä julkea näky.

Leubelfing ratsasti pelkäämättä kuninkaansa rinnalla kerran

toisensa jälkeen, sillä kuningas teki uuden rynnäkön, kun edellinen
oli torjuttu, pysyen itsepäisempänä kuin mitä hänelle oli ominaista.
Minä hetkenä tahansa saattoi kuningas kuolettavasti haavoittuneena
vaipua ratsultaan hänen syliinsä taikka hän itse kuninkaansa syliin.
Kun he sitten turhan yrityksen perästä ratsastivat takaisin, oli Kustaa
Aadolfin otsa synkkä, mutta hän koetti peittää huolensa ja moitti
uutta hovipoikaansa siitä, että tämä oli hävittänyt jalustimensa ja
tarttunut hevosen harjaan. Taikka hän sanoi nuorta Leubelfingiä
uhkarohkeaksi ja huimapääksi.

Hän ei yleensä kyllästynyt opettamaan isällisesti hovipoikaansa ja

sopivassa tilaisuudessa tutustuttamaan häntä kristinoppiin.

Kuninkaalla oli kiitettävä ja terveellinen tapa päättyneen päivätyön

jälkeen käyttää puoli tuntia ennen maatapanoa virkistyksekseen,
jolloin hän kehitetyllä tahdonlujuudellaan pakoitti itsensä
unhottamaan kaikki huolensa antaakseen niille päivän sarastaessa
taas vallan. Ja tässä tavassaan hän nytkin pysyi ja pysyi sitä
lujemmin mitä enemmän tuloksettomat rynnäköt ja suuri mieshukka
särkivät hänen suunnitelmiaan, loukkasivat hänen ylpeyttään ja
soimasivat hänen kristillistä omaatuntoaan. Näinä myöhäisinä
lomahetkinä lepäsi hän nojaten mukavasti tuoliinsa. Hovipoika istui
jakkaralla hänen vieressään. Pelattiin napupeliä, shakkia tai
lautapeliä, jossa hovipoika sai joskus kuninkaasta voiton. Kun
kuningas oli oikein hyvällä tuulella, kertoi hän kaikenlaisista
tapahtumista, joita hänen mieleensä johtui, kuten esimerkiksi
loistavasta saarnasta, jonka hän oli kuullut häämatkallaan Berlinin
hovikirkossa. Siinä oli elämää verrattu näyttämöön: ihmisiä
näyttelijöihin, enkelejä katsojiin ja esiripun sulkevaa kuolemaa
regissööriin. Tai kertoili uskomatonta juttua, miten hänelle,
kuninkaalle, hänen lapsensa synnyttyä oli ilmoitettu että hän oli
saanut pojan, ja miten hän oli hetkisen antanut pettää itseään.
Välistä hän kuvaili juhlia ja pukuja ja puhui, ihmeellistä kyllä,
enimmäkseen sellaisista asioista, jotka huvittivat ainakin yhtä paljon
ellei enemmän tyttöä kuin poikaa, aivan kuin hän olisi tiedottomasti
tuntenut valepuvussa olevan neitosen vaikutuksen ja huomannut
sävyisässä nuorukaisessa kuuntelevan naisen sulon. Hovipoika
joutui usein pelon valtaan. Hän koetti muuttaa ääntään
karkeammaksi ja uskalsi jonkun miehekkään liikkeen. Mutta
epäilemättömän selvä sana tai likinäköisyyttä todistava ele osoitti
pelästyneelle hovipojalle, että Kustaa Aadolf oli nyt saman
harhaluulon vallassa kuin tyttärensä Christelin syntyessä. Heti kun
nuori Leubelfing taas oli varma petoksensa menestymisestä, tuli hän
niin rohkeaksi ja tuttavalliseksi, että kuninkaan täytyi pitää häntä
kurissa. Niinpä hän kuullessaan Kustaa Aadolfin hellästi kiittävän
puolisoaan kysyi ripeästi: »minkä näköinen oli sitten kreivitär Ebba
Brahe?» Tällä Kustaan nuoruuden lemmityllä, sittemmin De la
Gardien puolisolla — kun hänen täytyi luopua vuosisadan
urhoollisimmasta miehestä, otti hän lähinnä urhoollisimman — oli
tumma tukka, mustat silmät ja terävät kasvonpiirteet. Mutta siihen
utelias hovipoika sai vastaukseksi kuninkaan kädestä aika tuntuvan
lyönnin vasten liian rohkeasti lörpöttelevää suutaan, jonka pielissä
Kustaa oli huomaavinaan vallattoman naurun oireita.

Eräänä päivänä tahtoi kuningas lähettää Christelilleen lahjaksi

ensimäisen sinettisormuksen. Jalokiveen oli kaiverrettava
muodinmukainen mietelause, tunnussana, joksi sitä kutsuttiin, ja sen
tuli — eroitukseksi suvun tunnuslauseesta — mahdollisimman
lyhyesti ilmaista jotain sormuksen omistajalle personallisesti
ominaista, hänen keksimänsä elämänohje tai sydämensä toivomus,
kuten esimerkiksi nuoren Kaarle viidennen kunnianhimoa todistava
»N o n d u m». Kustaa Aadolf olisi kaiketi kyllä itse keksinyt
lapselleen sopivan tunnuslauseen, ellei muoti olisi vaatinut, että sen
tuli olla latinan-, italian- tai ranskankielinen.

Kuningas kumartui syvään suurehkon kirjan yli, ja hänen säteilevät

mutta likinäköiset silmänsä etsivät sen tuhansista, kuuluisien tai
terävien miesten lausumista mietelmistä tunnussanaa, jonka hän
olisi suonut vasta seitsemänvuotiaalle mutta varhain kehittyneelle
tyttärelleen. Nämä lakoniset lauseet huvittivat häntä, sillä ne
ilmaisivat usein oikein ja sattuvasti keksijäinsä — suurimmaksi
osaksi historiallisten henkilöiden — luonteen tai välistä sen suoran
vastakohdan, riippuen kysymyksessä olevien henkilöiden
inhimillisestä turhamaisuudesta ja itsensäpettämisestä.

Hento sormi, joka loi jyrkän varjon kirkkaasti valaistulle lehdelle,

osoitti tuntematonta alkuperää olevaa mietelmää. Se oli kuninkaan
olan yli kurkistavan hovipojan sormi, ja tunnussana oli: »Courte et
bonne!» Se on: jos minun olisi suotu valita elämäni, valitsisin lyhyen
ja nautintorikkaan! Kuningas luki, näkyi hetkisen miettivän, pudisti
epäilevänä päätään ja veti hovipoikaa siroista korvista puoleensa.
Hän painoi Leubelfingin jakkaralle istumaan aikoen pitää hänelle
pienen saarnan. »Gust Leubelfing», aloitti hän miellyttävän
opettavasti, painaen päänsä tuolinsa täytettyyn selkänojaan, niin että
täyteläinen leuka ja kullankeltainen suippoparta tulivat näkyviin, ja
puoli-ummessa olevien silmien veitikkamainen loiste sattui hovipojan
kohotettuihin, tarkasti kuunteleviin kasvoihin. »Gust Leubelfing,
poikani! Tämän epäilyttävän lauseen on luultavasti keksinyt joku
maailmanlapsi, joku epikurolainen, joksi tohtori Luther kutsuu
senkaltaisia ihmisiä. Elämämme on Jumalan kädessä. Emme saa
siis toivoa sitä pitkäksi eikä lyhyeksi, vaan on meidän tyydyttävä
siihen, mitä Hän meille antaa. Entä hyväksi? Niin, hyväksi kyllä
saamme toivoa sen; se on oikein ja luonnollista. Mutta ei pelkkää
huumaa ja hälyä, jota tämä ranskalainen lause epäilemättä
tarkoittaa. Miten olet sinä, rakas poikani, käsittänyt tämän
tunnuslauseen?»

Leubelfing joutui hieman hämilleen ja vastasi ensin arasti, mutta

kävi joka sanalta vapaammaksi ja varmemmaksi: »armollinen herra,
minä käsitän sen näin: tahdon koota kaikki elämäni säteet yhdeksi
liekiksi yhtä ainoata hetkeä varten, että harmaan hämärän sijasta
saisin häikäisevää onnen kirkkautta, joka leimahtaa ja sammuu kuin
salama.» Hän vaikeni. Kuningasta ei näyttänyt miellyttävän tällainen
puhetapa leimahtavine salamoineen, vaikka se olikin vuosisadan
lempimetafori. Hienopiirteiset huulet kaartuivat ivallisesti, mutta ne
eivät vielä ehtineet avautua moitetta lausumaan, kun hovipoika
intohimonsa vallassa huusi: »Niin minä tahtoisin! Courte et bonne!»
Hän vaipui hetkeksi mietteisiin ja lisäsi surumielisenä: »rakas
herrani, mahdollisesti ymmärrän tämän lauseen väärin. Sen voi
käsittää monella eri tavalla kuten useimpia tämän kirjan lauseita.
Sen vain tiedän, ja se on puhdasta totuutta: jos kuula, joka sinua,
minun omaa rakasta herraani, tänään hipaisi, olisi» — viimeistä
sanaa ei kuulunut — »niin elämästäsi olisi sanottu courte et bonne,
sillä sinä olet samalla nuorukainen ja mies… ja elämäsi on ollut
hyvä!»

Kuningas sulki silmänsä ja näytti nukkuvan, väsynyt kun oli päivän

kuormasta ja helteestä. Aluksi hän kuitenkin vain oli nukkuvinaan
ikäänkuin ei olisi kuullut hovipoikansa imartelua ja olisi tahtonut
päästä vastaamasta siihen.

Näin leikitteli leijona koiran kanssa, ja koira leijonan kanssa. Ja

aivan kuin oikullinen tai turmioon vievä kohtalo olisi tahtonut yhä
lujemmin kiinnittää rakastunutta lasta jumaloituun sankariin, näytti se
hänelle yhä uusia puolia sankarissa, paljasti hänen syvimmät
tunteensa ja antoi hovipojan myös ottaa osaa herransa tuskaan,
katkerimpaan mitä on olemassa, isän tuskaan.

Osoittaen Leubelfingille ehdotonta luottamusta, antoi kuningas

hänen lukea itselleen ääneen prinsessansa hovinhoitajattaren
Tukholmasta säännöllisesti kirjoittamat kirjeet, ja hän sai niihin myös
vastata. Tämän ylhäisen naisen käsiala oli niin pientä ja epäselvää ja
hänen tyylinsä niin monisanaista ja perinpohjaista, että Kustaa
tavallisesti heti työnsi hänen seikkaperäiset kirjeensä hovipojalle,
jonka vilkkaat silmät ja liikkuvat huulet yhtä nopeasti kiitivät pitkin
rivejä kuin hänen nuoret jalkansa hyppelivät kiertoportaiden
lukemattomia astimia. Eräänä päivänä huomasi Leubelfing
kirjekuoren nurkassa ison S kirjaimen, jolla siihen aikaan merkittiin
tärkeitä ja salaisia kirjeitä. Ne tuli vastaanottajan personallisesti
avata ja lukea. Hovipojanominaisuudet, uteliaisuus ja rohkeus saivat
ylivallan. Leubelfing mursi sinetin ja sai lukea ihmeellisen jutun.
Prinsessan hovinhoitajatar oli — kuninkaan itsensä laatiman ja
kielten varhaista oppimista tarkoittavan opetussuunnitelman mukaan
— hankkinut Christelille italiankielen opettajan. Huolella tehty valinta
näytti onnistuneen. Nuorella miehellä, joka oli ruotsalainen ja ylhäistä
syntyperää ja joka pitkillä matkoillaan oli nähnyt paljon maailmaa, oli
sekä ulkonaisesti että sisäisesti kaikki hyvät edellytykset: ylhäisen
siro vartalo, miellyttävät kasvonpiirteet, hienosti kaartuva otsa,
sulava käytös, ehdoton siveys — samalla kuitenkin kaukana
synkästä ankaruudesta tai naurettavasta pikkumaisuudesta —
aatelinen kunniantunto ja kristillinen nöyryys. Sitäpaitsi hän täytti
vielä pääehdon: hänessä oli tosi-luterilaisuutta, joka, kuten hän itse
oli tunnustanut, oli muuttunut hänessä opituista dogmeista
itsenäiseksi, lujaksi vakaumukseksi vasta sitten kun hän uuden ajan
Babyloniassa oli nähnyt roomalaisten hirmutyöt. Kylmä ja järkevä
hovinhoitajatar toisti joka kirjeessä, että nuori mies oli hänet
lumonnut. Nuori prinsessa, hyväpäinen kun oli, oppi myös vinhaa
vauhtia tällaisen opettajan johdolla. Ja eräänä päivänä yllätti
hovinhoitajatar hyväpäisen Christelin, jolla oli vilkas mielikuvitus,
nurkkaan kyyristyneenä sormeilemassa hyvänhajuisesta
seeteripuusta tehdyn rukousnauhan helmiä, joita hän silloin tällöin
nenä soristen haisteli. »Ulvova susi lammasten vaatteissa!» kirjoitti
kelpo hovinhoitajatar liittäen loppuun viisi huutomerkkiä. »Minä löin
käteni yhteen pääni päällä ja muutuin valkeaksi kuvapatsaaksi.»

Kustaa Aadolf kalpeni, järkytettynä sielunsa syvimpään ja hänen

suuret siniset silmänsä tuijottivat kaukaisuuteen. Hän tunsi jesuitat.

Jesuitta oli vangittu, ja ankarain Ruotsin lakien mukaan häntä

odotti kuolemanrangaistus, ellei kuningas armahtaisi. Kustaa Aadolf
käski hovipojan viipymättä kirjoittaa hovinhoitajattarelle, että »tytön
suhteen ei tarvinnut ryhtyä erikoisiin toimenpiteisiin, asia oli pidettävä
lapsellisuutena; jesuitta oli huomiota ja hälinää nostamatta
toimitettava rajan yli, sillä» — saneli hän Leubelfingille — »en tahdo
tehdä kenestäkään marttyria. Sokaistu, harhaan johdettu
nuorukainen astuisi kevyesti mestauslavalle toivossa pääsevänsä
marttyrien purppurapilvessä taivaaseen häijysti mielissään siitä, että
on saanut turmella lapseni helposti muovailtavia aivoja.»

»Onnettomuus ja rikos» — niin kutsui hän murhayritystä lapsensa

sielua vastaan — ei antanut hänelle rauhaa moneen päivään. Hän
kulki väsymättä edestakaisin huoneessaan, kunnes hänen
lamppunsa sammui paljon yli keskiyön, ja puheli pikemmin itsekseen
kuin lemmikilleen hurskaitten isäin valheista, viisasteluista ja
kavaluudesta. Hovipoika pusersi puolihämärässä käsiään rintaansa
vasten kauhuissaan ja masentuneena ja tuomitsi itseään hiljaa:
»Sinäkin olet valhettelija, viisastelija ja teeskentelijä.»

Näiden öisten hetkien jälkeen oli hovipoika suunnattomasti jopa

mielettömästikin peloissaan sukupuolestaan ja teeskentelystään.
Pieninkin seikka saattoi paljastaa hänet. Välttääkseen sitä häpeää
päätti poikaraukka ainakin kymmenen kertaa joko iltahämärässä tai
aamunkoitossa satuloida hevosensa, ratsastaakseen maailman
ääreen, mutta kuninkaan viaton hyväily sai hänet aina jäämään. Eikä
Kustaa Aadolf ollenkaan aavistanut, että hänen läheisyydessään oli
nainen. Nuori Leubelfing tunsi mielensä kevyeksi ainoastaan ruudin
savussa. Silloin hänen silmänsä säihkyivät ja hän ratsasti ilomielin
kuulasateeseen, melkein toivoen kuulien lopettavan hänen
pelokkaan unelmansa. Ja kun kuningas senjälkeen jonain
iltahetkenä lampun tuttavallisessa valossa sai hovipoikansa kiinni
jostain tyhmyydestä tai tietämättömyydestä, ja sydämellisesti
nauraen tarttui hänen kiharoihinsa, ajatteli hovipoika sydän täynnä
onnea ja tuskaa: »tämä on viimeinen kerta!»

Näin viivytti hän onnensa surmaamista ja pysytteli elämänsä

huippukohdassa kuoleman turvissa.

Ihmeellistä kyllä Leubelfing tunsi että myöskin kuninkaalle oli

kuoleman ajatus tuttu. Friedlantilainen oli nyt vuorostaan ruvennut
hyökkäämään ja saattanut voittajan väistymään, melkeinpä
pakenemaan. Ja niin pani kristillisyyden sankari kohtalonsa joka
päivä ja joka hetki melkein kuin uhkamielin Jumalan käsiin.
Rintahaarniskaa, jota hovipojan oli tapana hänelle tarjota, kieltäytyi
hän itsepintaisesti ottamasta, koska se muka hieroisi hänen
olkapäässään olevaa haavaa. Eräänä päivänä lähetti kuningatar
hänelle pehmeän, hienon panssaripaidan, alankomaalaisen
takomataidon mestarituotteen, joita järkevien ja varovaisten soturien
oli tapana käyttää, ja kirjoitti kuulleensa friedlantilaisen käyttävän
sellaista ja toivovansa ettei hänenkään herransa ja puolisonsa
huonommin suojeltuna lähtisi taisteluun. Tämän hienon sepäntyön
Kustaa heitti halveksien nurkkaan, sanoen sen todistavan
pelkuruutta.
 Kerran yön hiljaisuudessa kuuli Leubelfing, jonka päätä eroitti vain
seinä kuninkaasta, miten Kustaa hartaasti rukoili Jumalaansa
ottamaan hänen elämänsä niinkauan kuin hän vielä oli täysissä
ruumiin ja hengen voimissa, ennenkuin hän tulisi hyödyttömäksi ja
kelpaamattomaksi. Kuulijan silmiin tulvehtivat ensin kyyneleet, sitten
valtasi hänet kiireestä kantapäähän itsekäs ilo, salainen onni, riemu
ja hurma siitä, että kuninkaan suuri kohtalo ja hänen oma pieni
elämänosansa olivat niin samanlaiset. Ja lapsellisen yksinkertaisesti
iloiten siitä, että kuninkaan ristimänimi alkoi ja hänen oma nimensä
loppui samaan tavuuseen, nukahti hän vihdoin.

Mutta hovipoika näki pahoja unia, sillä hän kuuli unessakin

omantunnon äänen. Hänen uneksija-silmänsä näkivät tuomitsevia
näkyjä: milloin oli asia paljastunut ja kuningas karkotti hänet luotaan
säihkyvin katsein ja armottomin elein, milloin taas kuningatar ajoi
häntä takaa luudanvarrella, huutaen mitä karkeimpia sanoja, jollaisia
tämä sivistynyt nainen ei milloinkaan päivällä olisi päästänyt
huuliltaan ja joita hän tuskin tiesi olevankaan.

Kerran näki hovipoika unessa raudikon kiidättävän häntä vihaisen

iltaruskon punaaman maiseman halki kuilua kohti. Kuningas ajoi
hänen jälessään, mutta hän syöksyi pelastajansa, tai kiinniottajansa,
silmäin edessä murskaavaan syvyyteen helvetillisen naurun
kaikuessa.
III.

Leubelfing heräsi omaan hätähuutoonsa. Aamu sarasti, ja hän

huomasi kuninkaansa, joka sikeästi nukuttuaan taas tunsi mielensä
raikkaaksi ja valoisaksi, olevan mitä hilpeimmällä ja ystävällisimmällä
tuulella. Kuningattarelta saapui kirje. Siinä oli tärkeätä ainoastaan
lisäys, jossa hän pyysi puolisoaan selvittämään erästä tämän
avuliaan naisen sydäntä painavaa asiaa. Lauenburgin herttua,
siveetön mies, joka tuskin kaksi kuukautta sitten oli valtiollisista
syistä nainut erään kuningattaren monista serkuista, oli jo ennen
kuherruskuukauden päättymistä ikävystynyt vaimonsa vaaleisiin
palmikkoihin ja veden värisiin silmiin ja rientänyt takaisin
ruotsalaisten leiriin, missä hän piti luonaan nuorta slovenitarta. Hänet
oli herttua sissinä ollessaan ryöstänyt hajoitetusta friedlantilaisesta
joukkueesta. Kuningatar pyysi nyt puolisoaan tekemään pikaisen
lopun tästä räikeästä aviorikoksesta, joka oli herättänyt yleistä
paheksumista, sillä lauenburgilainen ylpeili kauniista saaliistaan
säätyläistensä nähden ja, koettaen välttää ainoastaan kuninkaan
katseita, antautui rohkeasti tähän syntiin ja häpeään. Kustaa
Aadolfille merkitsi asia vain yksinkertaista velvollisuuden täyttämistä,
ja hän käski lyhyesti tuoda slovenittaren, jota kutsuttiin Corinnaksi,
luokseen illalla kahdeksannella tunnilla, arvellen silloin palaavansa
lyhyeltä vakoilemisretkeltään. Ankara mutta inhimillinen kun oli, aikoi
hän nuhdella tyttöä ja lähettää hänet hänen isänsä luo Wallensteinin
leiriin, sillä hän tunsi Lauenburgin herttuan ja tiesi, että tytön
osallisuus rikokseen oli pienempi. Annettuaan Leubelfingille
määräyksen rauhoittaa kirjeessä kuningatarta ja luvattuaan itse
myöhemmin lisätä pari riviä ratsasti kuningas omille asioilleen.
Kahdeksas tunti oli kulunut, mutta kuningasta ei vielä kuulunut. Sen
sijaan saapui Corinna kahden peloittavan näköisen ruotsalaisen
pikenieerin seuraamana, jotka jättivät hänet eteiseen kirjeen ääressä
istuvan hovipojan huostaan. Leubelfingillä oli miekka ja pistolit
vieressään pöydällä. Sitäpaitsi oli linnanportilla vahti.

Hovipoika nosti silmänsä kirjeestä, katseli uteliaasti vangittua

naista, hämmästyi hänen kauneuttaan ja käski hänen istuutua.
Nainen oli keskikokoinen, ja siro kaula, joka kohosi pyöreistä
olkapäistä, kannatti viehättävää pientä päätä. Paljoa ei puuttunut:
hieman tyynempi katse, vapaampi otsa, rauhallisemmat sieraimet ja
suupielet, ja tämä herttainen pää olisi muistuttanut runotarta. Mutta
nainen oli kaikesta päättäen Corinna ja siis kaukana runottaresta.
Pikimustat palmikot ja tummasti uhkaavat silmät loivat kalpeutta
ihastuttaviin kasvoihin. Kirjava puku oli joutunut epäjärjestykseen.
Sen värejä ei etelän kirkas aurinko hillinnyt ja se näytti täällä
pohjoisen taivaan alla räikeältä ja silmiin pistävältä. Hänen rintansa
näkyi kiivaasti sykkivän.

Äänettömyys kävi tytölle sietämättömäksi. »Nuori herra, missä on

kuningas?» kysyi hän mielenliikutuksesta melkein huutaen.
»Ratsastanut pois. Tulee kohta!» vastasi Leubelfing mahdollisimman
alavalla äänellä.

»Älköön kuningas kuvitelkokaan, että jättäisin herttuaa», jatkoi

intohimoinen tyttö hillittömän kiivaasti. »Olen menehtyä rakkaudesta