Tertullian probably never broke away from the Catholic church, but carried on his campaign against what he saw as the decreasing rigour in its life from within its bounds (if only on the disaffected periphery). Tertullian clearly did, however, belong to a Montanist ‘ecclesiola-in-ecclesia’ (though Tertullian preferred ‘New Prophecy’ to ‘Montanist’) within the Catholic community. To what extent this ‘ecclesiola’ embraced formal structures of organisation, membership and activity independent of the official Catholic congregation is not clear; it is certain, however, that it involved more than a simple discussion group. Tertullian speaks of particular New Prophecy practices and activities which are clearly distinguishable from the traditional Catholic ones; there is no real suggestion, however, that the New Prophets did not involve themselves in the latter as well. One clear example is that of longer and more rigorous fastings. Another is a measure of ‘internal’ discipline promoted within the Carthaginian New Prophecy group; this included a prohibition on second marriages and the exclusion from the fellowship of adulterers. And this discipline was more than simply the New Prophecy movement's manifesto for the wider church; it appears also to have been implemented within its own fellowship. Such differentiation of practice and activity does not, however, equate with formal schism.

The main issue here is the extent to which either Tertullian's adherence to the New Prophecy affected the development of his theology, or his association with the movement rather reflected previously determined positions; that is, did he adopt a particular position because he was edged towards it through the influence of the New Prophecy, or did he simply find in the New Prophecy a congenial ‘home’ for his increasingly isolated views within the Catholic church?

If Aristotle set out to explain more or less the same phase of intellectual development as Plato, the explanation that he gave was very different. In chapter 3 we remarked on one such difference in Aristotle's theory, namely his total rejection of innateness. In this chapter and the next we shall focus on his strikingly un-Platonic optimism about the continuity between the more knowable to us and the more knowable in nature. We shall do this separately for science and ethics, but it will be clear by the end of the next chapter that there are remarkable similarities between his treatment of the two domains.

In the scientific case, the distinction between the more knowable to us and the more knowable in nature is one between a view of the world as presented to us in sense perception and the perspective in which natural phenomena are set in their true explanatory ordering. That the more knowable to us is associated with perception is clear from Physics I 1, 184a16–25, Topics VI 4, 141b10, and An. Po. I 2, 72a1–5 where Aristotle talks of a continuum beginning with the prior for us and ending with the prior in nature, with perception at one end and, at the other, the grasp of first principles. So the distinction between the more knowable to us and the more knowable in nature overlaps with the other distinctions we have seen at work in the last two chapters: the distinction between the cognitive states of perception (or experience) and scientific understanding (or nous), and distinction between the corresponding objects of those states – between the fact and the explanation (or the essence).

A NOTE ON METHOD

Tertullian is no systematic theologian. He writes to specific issues. In his extant writings he offers no systematic treatment either of the church or of Christian office and ministry. Those writings in which he deals with these questions–for the nature of the church in De Praescriptione, Apologeticum and De Pudicitia, and for that of Christian ministry in De Baptismo and De Exhortatione Castitatis–are primarily concerned with other issues. Those sections which touch on the nature of church and Christian ministry are largely subordinate to these other concerns. None of this leads to the conclusion either that Tertullian has nothing of value to contribute to questions of church and ministry, or that there is not in his writings a rich storehouse of ecclesiological thought; these writings in fact reflect the development of a significant ecclesiological tradition. There is very little on the surface for the casual prospector, nor is there below that surface a hidden seam of gold, which, once struck, might produce a source of valuable insights. The valuable deposits to be found scattered along the shafts of Tertullian's thought processes must be mined by patient excavation. I have done this, in part, by an examination of those images employed by Tertullian with reference both to the church and to Christian ministry.

I have adopted a lexical approach to these questions. Such word studies are common in Tertullian scholarship and have received general, though by no means uncritical approval. The method is problematic and full of potential pitfalls for the unwary.

CARTHAGE

The origins of the Christian church in North Africa are shrouded in obscurity. The reasons for this are not clear. It cannot be said, for example, that the region was a backwater of the empire, easily by-passed by the movements of the day. Very little indeed has been written on the Carthage of Tertullian's day. B. H. Warmington's Carthage, one of the most comprehensive works on Carthage in recent times, effectively deals only with the history of Carthage up to the time of the city's destruction at the end of the Third Punic War in 146 BC. North Africa was, as the granary of Rome, a significant region of the empire, both militarily and economically; Carthage probably was the second city of the empire after Rome. Herodian, who wrote during the first half of the third century AD, asserted that ‘the city is the next after Rome in wealth, population and size, though there is rivalry for second place between it and Alexandria in Egypt’.

Why is there so little information about the origins of the church in one of the most important regions of the empire? If the thesis of Walter Bauer were in part correct–that ‘in some areas the initial form of Christianity was actually heretical according to later standards, and that orthodoxy as defined by the church councils triumphed at a relatively late date'–one might speculate that the first Christian communities there were later adjudged as less than orthodox. Earlier records may not then have survived the rigorous scrutiny of a later age.

VARIETIES OF INNATISM

Aristotle is often seen as an empiricist and as someone who thought that at birth the mind is like a tabula rasa, a blank slate. That he rejected Plato's theory of recollection is clear enough; whether he rejected all other forms of innateness and likened the mind to a tabula rasa is another question. In this chapter, I shall discuss his reasons for rejecting recollection and attempt to answer this further question. As I suggested in the general introduction, however, we have to prepare the philosophical ground carefully before we can determine his position on the innateness issue. In particular, we need a clearer idea of what forms of innatism there may be other than recollection, and also of how to understand the contrast between innatism and empiricism.

We are now considering what it means to say that something is innate to the mind, whereas in the previous two chapters we discussed what level of cognition might be explained by an appeal to innateness. Another set of distinctions that could be made is between the innateness of ideas (or concepts), beliefs and knowledge. Although in some contexts these distinctions are important, in this chapter I shall focus solely on the question of what it is for an item to be innate to the mind whether the item in question is an idea, a belief or knowledge.

According to Plato's variety of innatism, there are items of knowledge in the mind at birth that have also been there in a precarnate state. I now wish to distinguish two other types of innatism which do not assume the pre-existence of the soul.

The first two parts of this chapter will focus specifically on the question of whether Plato shows any interest in ordinary learning in the Meno, In [1] I shall tackle this question by examining Meno's paradox (8od5–e5), the problem that provokes Socrates into proposing recollection in the first place. Is this a problem about ordinary learning, higher learning or both? In [2] I shall look at the initial statement of the theory and at the examination of the slave boy (81c5–85d1) to see if recollection is actually used to explain ordinary concept formation. In both [1] and [2] I shall argue that there is no evidence that the theory was meant to explain such learning. Finally, in [3], I shall look at the second half of the dialogue and argue that, although it would be unwise to press for a fully determinate version of the Demaratus interpretation in these pages, we can find it in an embryonic form. Recollection is used to account for philosophical discovery that results in knowledge; but Plato also draws our attention to the existence of a certain class of true beliefs which are not formed by recollection, even partial recollection, but derive from a kind of surrogate for perception – hearsay or tradition.

MENO'S PARADOX

The dialogue opens with Meno asking Socrates whether virtue is acquired by teaching, practice or nature. In reply, Socrates professes himself to be unable to answer the question. So far from knowing what virtue is like, he does not even know what it is (71a5–7).

Tertullian consistently acknowledged the tripartite system of ecclesiastical leadership headed by a monarchical bishop as providing an appropriate, historical basis for Christian ministry. He believed that this system was founded by the apostles. This he affirmed in both his early and late periods (De Praescriptione 32,3; Adv. Marcionem IV,5,2). He argued, too, that although there was no theological reason for lay persons not exercising a sacramental ministry, concern for the order of the church demanded that, in normal circumstances, only the ‘priestly’ order should do so (see De Baptismo 17 and De Exhortatione Castitatis 7). Although he appears to some as a confirmed – even zealous – laicist, his particular brand of laicism was concerned mainly to impose upon the laity those disciplinary obligations (e.g. monogamy) which were laid upon the clergy (see De Exhortatione Castitatis 7). The only divergence from this original affirmation of the episcopal system was his later emphasis on the gift of prophecy – the only ‘charismatic’ gift which he explicitly identifies – by which he, inter alia, promoted the rigorous demands of the New Prophecy. His later attacks on the assumed ‘powers’ of the episcopate (see e.g. De Pudicitia 21,5 and De Virginibus Velandis 1,7) were not in fact major deviations from a previously held position. For it was probable that the Catholic clergy had begun in the late second century to assume for themselves new powers and not that Tertullian had repudiated a previous position.

The next four chapters will consider Aristotle's theory of learning. We begin in chapter 3 by determining his attitude to innatism and then, in chapters 4–6, look at his theory specifically in the light of our revised understanding of Platonic recollection. This revised view of Plato's theory raises two particularly relevant questions. The first concerns the distinction between ordinary and higher levels of learning. We have just seen how Plato's theory was directed exclusively at higher learning and that although he did have an empiricist account of ordinary learning he showed no interest in developing it. Now, there can be no doubt that in the post-Aristotelian era, Epicurus and the Stoics had a strong interest in the formation of ordinary concepts. This leaves an important question-mark hanging over Aristotle himself. Was it he who introduced the topic to philosophy, or do we have to wait for Epicurus to put it on the agenda?

We shall tackle this issue in chapter 4. One of the most famous passages in Aristotle's works is the last chapter of the Posterior Analytics, which explains how we grasp the universal by progressing from perception, memory and experience. There is, however, a controversy about the interpretation of this passage, a controversy that shows striking parallels to the debate about Platonic recollection. Is Aristotle here trying to explain ordinary concept formation, or is he talking about the discovery of scientific first principles, or both? Chronologically, Aristotle stands between Plato's indifference to questions about ordinary learning and the Hellenistic fascination with them; this therefore gives the controversy about this passage added importance.

It has been demonstrated at numerous places already that Tertullian for the most part maintained throughout his career consistent doctrines of both church and ministry, both as a Catholic and as a New Prophet. We have seen how he maintained a consistent position on the necessary unity, holiness and apostolicity of the authentic church – the question of catholicity is perhaps another matter – employing a number of images which, inter alia, underlined these notes of the true church. We have seen, too, how he maintained, even through into his New Prophecy period, a fundamental belief in the importance of a lawful, ordered Christian ministry and in the appropriateness and legitimacy of the three ranks of sacerdotal offices. This he did notwithstanding his violent disagreement with several holders of such offices.

He did, of course, lay greater emphasis in his New Prophecy period than he had in the Catholic on the ‘charismata’, both on the ‘charisma’ of Christian prophecy, and consequently on the New Prophecy movement itself. This is true also of his pronouncements concerning the role of the Spirit in the life of the church and the process by which the apostolicity of the true church might be properly authenticated; this is particularly so with reference to the requirements of discipline and the penitential process, with that which Tertullian perceived as the valid demands of sanctification. In none of these matters, however, is there a substantial repudiation of positions he had held in the earlier period. In the later part of Tertullian's career the church was confronted with issues with which it had not had to contend seriously in the earlier.

The relationship between the question of Tertullian's association with the Catholic church of his time and that with the New Prophecy movement is crucial. Neither question can be dealt with adequately without taking the other into account. Thus, while each will be given a separate treatment, there must be some overlap.

INTRODUCTION: THE PROBLEM

It has been a commonplace over the years to assert or simply to accept as given that at some time, probably the middle years of the first decade of the third century, Tertullian defected from the Catholic church and joined a schismatic conventicle comprised of Carthaginian adherents of the Phrygian New Prophecy movement; and further, that from this new base he launched his savage, vitriolic attacks on the Carthaginian Catholic hierarchy. Numerous passages from his writings which would appear, on the surface, to provide evidence of such a separation – along with remarks by Jerome, Augustine and others – are marshalled into line to support such contentions. Alternative interpretations will be suggested here for those passages which bring into question the reliability of Jerome and Augustine in this matter, and other evidence adduced, both from the writings of Tertullian and elsewhere, to support a contrary proposition, to the effect that Tertullian probably never left the Catholic church at all.

Nowhere in his extant writings, except in the most vague terms, does Tertullian give a description of the nature or the inner workings of the sort of conventicle or Montanist ‘church’ to which he is alleged to have belonged; that is, unless the reference to the expulsion of a person from the church for adultery at De Pudicitia 7,22 is to a formally constituted New Prophecy group.

As with his doctrine of church, Tertullian offers no systematised theology of ministry. His writings, however, provide indicators to prevailing ecclesiastical structures and practices, as well as evidence of his own preferences and prejudices. Tertullian offers a view of what had by then become the normative three-tier structure of ecclesiastical office–bishop, presbyters and deacons; this structure he never repudiated, notwithstanding the seemingly endless conflict in which he became engaged with some members of the Catholic hierarchy. Throughout his career, and despite the perennial tension between himself and some Catholic leaders, Tertullian consistently reaffirmed this structure. By ‘office’ I mean not to convey the rather broad sense of the Latin ‘officium’, which can bear a varied range of meanings, but rather the narrower sense of a formally (institutionally) recognised function, position or rank within an organisation bearing some measure of administrative oversight, duty or authority.

Apart from the three traditional offices, Tertullian also provides useful information on the existence and function of at least six others–widow, virgin, doctor, lector, prophet and martyr. The extent to which any or all of these–particularly with regard to the last two listed–were considered, either by Tertullian or by the church, as ‘offices’ in any formal sense is not clear. Over against his recognition of an ‘official’ Christian ministry, we can sense Tertullian's personal leaning towards prophetic ‘charismata’ and ‘men of the Spirit’. This is especially discernible in his days as a New Prophet, though by no means exclusively so.

The perennial tension between the claims of ‘office’ and the demands of the Spirit2 is reflected in Tertullian. Other questions also need attention in any discussion of Tertullian‘s understanding of ministry.

One of the results of the preceding chapters has been the distinction between two theories of innateness in antiquity, Platonic recollection and Stoic dispositionalism. Some of the differences between these two theories are obvious: for instance, Plato has the soul endowed with memories, the Stoics with dispositions. But a further difference is that, unlike Plato, the Stoics used innateness to account for the formation of common ethical conceptions. In doing so they also gave those notions an enhanced status that they never enjoyed in Plato's theory. It is this difference that will give us the momentum for the next two chapters, where we shall find the Stoic theory to have been the true ancestor of the seventeenth-century theory of innate ideas. However, the distinction between these two theories is not the only conclusion that we have reached so far; and before going on, we need to draw together some of the other strands of the argument as well. This will also be an opportunity to look across the different theories we have discussed and make some comparisons that have so far been left implicit.

INNATISM AND EMPIRICISM

In the general introduction, I set out three issues around which the study would be structured, the first of them being the distinction between innatism and empiricism (pp. 4–5). At the beginning of section I, I argued that the theory of recollection should be seen as a variety of innatism. When it came to locating the positions of the other philosophers on this issue I had to prepare the ground more carefully.

From our perspective, there are two especially important developments in the Hellenistic era. The first concerns the issue of ordinary concept formation. As we have seen, this subject had held little interest for either Plato or Aristotle, but with Epicurus and the Stoics things are very different. Epicurus showed a strong interest in explaining the formation of primary concepts – ‘prolepses’, as he called them – especially the prolepsis of the gods. As for the Stoics, we have already anticipated their interest in ordinary learning when we saw how they developed a stage-by-stage account of how we form concepts in the first seven years of life. That the Hellenistic philosophers were interested in ordinary learning is uncontroversial and not something that needs to be laboured; it can instead be allowed it to speak for itself over the next two chapters. But when set against the Platonic and Aristotelian indifference to the subject, it gives rise to a new question: why was it the Hellenistic period in which the issue was placed on the agenda for the first time? We shall turn to this question on pp. 217–18 below after we have examined the Hellenistic theories in more detail.

The other thing that happened in the Hellenistic era was the emergence of a new theory of innateness. The burden of section I was that Plato's theory of recollection is not be be seen as a theory of ‘innate ideas’ in the seventeenth-century sense, a theory in which nature, or God, has endowed us at birth with concepts that help to form ‘the inner core and mortar of our thoughts’, as Leibniz was to put it.