We got the Canons of Dort through persecution, political upheaval, ecclesiastical controversy, and a major international synod. The Canons were born in a fight over grace. That is why they still matter.

On May 6, 1619, delegated pastors and professors from across Europe processed through the streets of Dordrecht to the Grote Kerk, the “Great Church.” There the Canons of Dort were read publicly in Dutch for the town and its guests to hear. As each delegate’s name was called, he tipped his hat in assent. Ever since, the Canons have belonged to the confessional heritage of the Dutch Reformed churches.

But how did everyone get there in the first place?

To answer that, we need to go back to the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, when the Netherlands became the scene of a fierce struggle politically and theologically over the grace of God.

The Reformation did not necessarily start on October 31, 1517, with Martin Luther, nor did it arrive in the Netherlands on untilled soil. For generations, reforming movements had been calling the church back to the Word in a series of medieval debates. Groups such as the Waldensians and Lollards had fled there, and movements within the Netherlands, such as the Brethren of the Common Life, encouraged a simple, Scripture-shaped piety. It’s said that on the eve of what we call “the Reformation,” Frisian fishermen living in huts could read, write, and discuss Scripture.

Upon this latest reformation movement in the Netherlands came the weight of empire. The seventeen provinces of the Netherlands were ruled by Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor. Under his son and successor, Philip II of Spain, persecution intensified. While Charles enacted laws outlawing Protestantism, he never strictly applied them. Philip, however, did. He forbade reading and possessing forbidden books, worshipping outside the Roman Church, talking openly or secretly about the Scriptures, and teaching the Scriptures unless one was a graduate of a university. The penalties were severe: the sword for males, being buried alive for females, and fire for those who wouldn’t confess. If you failed to inform the authorities of someone later found to be a heretic, you’d be guilty. Tensions boiled over in 1566 in the beeldenstorm, the wave of public iconoclasm. In the years that followed, resistance to Spanish rule grew under William of Orange, the Netherlands’ leading noble, and the northern provinces eventually united in open revolt. In 1583, the new United Provinces rejected Philip’s rule.

That political upheaval formed the backdrop for the theological controversy that would later produce the Canons of Dort.

At the eye of that storm stood Jakob Harmenszoon, Latinized as Jacobus Arminius. Educated at Leiden and then abroad, Arminius had strong Reformed credentials and even a glowing letter of recommendation from his professor at Geneva, Theodore Beza. In 1588, he became a pastor in Amsterdam. Yet as he preached through Romans, concerns began to grow. While in Romans 2, he said his hearers would have been better off if they had remained in the Roman Church because at least, they would be doing good works in the hope of eternal reward, while now they did none at all. In Romans 5, he said death was inevitable even if Adam had obeyed the Lord’s command. In Romans 7, he moved away from the Augustinian tradition, suggesting that Paul was speaking of the unregenerate man. Especially in Romans 9, he interpreted “Jacob I loved and Esau I hated,” as classes of people rather than individuals.

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