Herman Witsius on the Inadmissibility of Infant Communion in the Lord’s Supper
Herman Witsius on the Inadmissibility of Infant Communion in the Lord’s Supper
Introduction
The seventeenth century was a rich and turbulent age for Protestant theology. In the Netherlands alone, it was a time when the aftershocks of the Synod of Dort (1618–1619) were still being felt, when the new federal theology was reaching its most refined articulations, and when the constant tug-of-war between scholastic rigor and pastoral accessibility shaped the contours of theological writing. Herman Witsius (1636–1708) stands as one of the finest representatives of this moment. His magisterial Economy of the Covenants Between God and Man was not merely a handbook for pastors, though it became that; nor was it only a dense academic tome, though it bears all the marks of scholastic precision. It was, in a sense, a summation of the Reformed experiment, seeking to bring biblical exegesis, covenantal coherence, and pastoral sensitivity into a unified whole.
Among the many questions he addressed, one stands out for its perennial importance and occasional controversy: the admissibility (or inadmissibility) of infants to the Lord’s Supper. That is, should baptized children—already recognized as covenant members—also be admitted to the Eucharistic table before they can credibly profess faith? The question is not abstract; it was (and remains) a point of practice among the Eastern Orthodox and was not wholly absent in strands of the Western tradition. Witsius, ever careful with both sources and arguments, takes the matter up directly and comes down firmly against what is now commonly called paedocommunion.
Before diving into his arguments, it is worth pausing to notice Witsius’s temperament. Unlike some of his contemporaries, he did not wield theological arguments as bludgeons. His style is measured, often irenic, and deeply conscious of the unity of the church. Yet, he was also uncompromising when the clarity of Scripture was at stake. The balance is instructive. He is neither lax nor unnecessarily combative. If anything, one feels in his pages a certain professorial patience, as if he were guiding students through the thicket of arguments with a calm assurance that Scripture, properly understood, is more than sufficient.
Scriptural Foundations: 1 Corinthians 11 and the Nature of Discernment
At the heart of Witsius’s reasoning lies Paul’s instructions in 1 Corinthians 11:28–29: “But let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of the bread, and drink of the cup. For he that eats and drinks unworthily eats and drinks judgment to himself, not discerning the Lord’s body.” The text has often been at the center of debates about Eucharistic discipline, and for good reason. The apostle makes personal self-examination—not clerical examination, nor parental representation—the prerequisite for participation.
Witsius seizes upon the verbs: dokimazetō (let him test, examine) and diakrinōn (discerning). These are not passive activities. They are cognitive and spiritual acts requiring an awareness of what the bread and wine signify, and a corresponding faith that lays hold of Christ in the Supper. Infants, by their very nature, are incapable of such acts. They cannot scrutinize their hearts for faith and repentance, nor can they recognize the sacramental union between the sign and the thing signified. To insist otherwise, Witsius argues, would be to flatten the sacrament into a bare ritual, a kind of magical act that operates independently of the recipient’s faith.
This is no small matter. For Witsius, the Reformed insistence that sacraments are means of grace only through faith is a bulwark against both superstition and formalism. Baptism and the Supper are not talismans; they are covenantal signs that call for faith’s response. Without faith, the Supper is not merely ineffectual but positively dangerous, bringing judgment instead of blessing. This warning, he insists, applies universally. But since infants cannot exercise faith in the sacramental sense (as distinct from the seed of faith which God may implant), they must be withheld until they come to maturity.
Here Witsius departs sharply from Eastern practice, where communion of infants was long maintained on the grounds of covenantal inclusion. He acknowledges the practice, citing Metrophanes Critopulus (1589–1639), a Greek theologian who defended it in his Confessio Orthodoxa. Critopulus, interestingly enough, had been educated partly under the patronage of the English ambassador in Constantinople and was familiar with both Protestant and Catholic arguments. He argued that children, admitted to baptism, must also be fed with the Eucharist, lest they be deprived of spiritual nourishment. He appealed to Matthew 19:14 (“Let the little children come to me”) and John 6:53 (“Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you”).
But for Witsius, these appeals were clever rather than convincing. The passage in Matthew, he replies, concerns access to Christ Himself, not to the sacrament. It speaks of mystical communion, not ritual participation. And John 6, in the Reformed reading, refers to faith’s feeding upon Christ, not to sacramental ingestion. If one insists that John 6 is about the Eucharist, then one would have to conclude that the Supper is absolutely necessary for salvation, something neither Scripture nor the church has ever consistently taught. That conclusion would imperil martyrs deprived of the Supper before death, or Christians living in places where access to ministers was rare.
Baptism and the Supper: Different Sacramental Economies
One of the most illuminating features of Witsius’s treatment is his sharp distinction between baptism and the Supper. Baptism, he explains, is the sacrament of initiation. It is given once, without repetition, and signifies God’s regenerating work and incorporation into the covenant community. In baptism, the recipient is entirely passive. He or she is acted upon—washed, named, claimed by God. This passivity is fitting for infants, for it mirrors the divine initiative in salvation.
The Supper, by contrast, is the sacrament of nourishment, repetition, and renewal. It calls upon the communicant not merely to receive but to act, to remember Christ’s death, to proclaim it, to discern His body, and to engage in thanksgiving and communion. It is not that the Supper is less gracious; indeed, it is a profound means of grace. But it requires an active, responsive faith. To place baptism and the Supper on the same plane, as if both should be given indiscriminately to all covenant members regardless of age or maturity, is to blur their distinctive functions.
This distinction had practical consequences in the Reformed churches. It meant that children could be baptized at infancy but were admitted to the table only after catechetical instruction and public profession of faith. Indeed, in many Dutch and Scottish settings, young people underwent rigorous catechism classes, examinations by elders, and solemn admission ceremonies. It was a way of marking the transition from passive reception to active participation, from covenant initiation to covenant renewal. Witsius, himself trained in this environment, saw the wisdom in the practice and gave it theological articulation.
Historical Anecdote: Augustine and Infant Communion
The matter was not, of course, new in Witsius’s day. The early church itself had wrestled with the practice of infant communion. Augustine, for example, seems at times to have assumed it, especially when interpreting John 6 sacramentally. In De peccatorum meritis et remissione (I.24), he argued that infants need to partake of Christ’s body and blood for salvation. And indeed, archaeological evidence suggests that in North Africa and elsewhere, infants were sometimes communicated after baptism.
Yet, even Augustine’s position is not entirely clear, and by the medieval period, the Western church largely abandoned the practice. The Fourth Lateran Council (1215) required annual confession and communion for the faithful beginning at the age of discretion (around seven), effectively excluding infants. The Eastern church, however, retained the custom, and does so to this day. The divergence illustrates how divergent sacramental theologies—particularly on the necessity and efficacy of the Eucharist—shaped practice.
Witsius, while aware of Augustine, refuses to let antiquity dictate doctrine. The fathers may err, he insists, and their testimony is subordinate to Scripture. It is noteworthy that he treats them respectfully but not deferentially. For all his irenic spirit, he is a Protestant through and through, with Scripture as the supreme arbiter.
Theological Concerns: Faith, Superstition, and Covenant Membership
One of Witsius’s deeper concerns is that paedocommunion tends toward superstition. If the Supper is administered without regard to faith, it risks being treated as an automatic conveyor of grace. This, in turn, undermines the Pauline warning against unworthy participation. Worse still, it may lull parents into complacency, as if the mere act of bringing their children to the table guarantees their salvation.
At the same time, Witsius is careful not to deny covenant membership to infants. Baptism remains the sign and seal of their inclusion. They belong to Christ, and the promises are for them as well. What they lack is not covenant standing but sacramental readiness. To withhold the Supper is not to expel them but to protect both them and the sacrament from misuse. In a way, it parallels the practice of fencing the table, wherein elders warn unbelievers or the unrepentant not to partake. It is not exclusion from the church but a safeguard of the sacrament’s dignity.
This is where Witsius’s pastoral sensitivity is evident. He does not thunder against parents who desire their children’s communion; he understands the impulse. Who would not want one’s child to share in the richest feast of grace? Yet he reminds them that God’s timing is wise. Children must first grow into discernment and faith, so that when they come, they come not as mere participants in a rite but as living members of Christ, able to proclaim His death with their lips and hearts.
A Brief Digression: Calvin on the Supper
It is worth pausing to note Calvin’s position, for it provides a helpful backdrop. Calvin himself rejected infant communion, though he acknowledged its practice in the early church. In Institutes IV.16.30, he writes that while infants are suitable for baptism, the Supper requires “the capacity of discerning the mystery of Christ’s body.” He draws the same distinction Witsius later elaborates: baptism as initiation, the Supper as nourishment. Calvin even compares the two to birth and solid food—one suited for infants, the other for those who have grown.
This is a striking image. An infant may receive milk but not meat; likewise, a Christian may be baptized in infancy but must wait until maturity to partake of the Supper. Witsius is, in a sense, developing Calvin’s analogy with greater scholastic precision, but the substance is the same.
Rebutting Metrophanes Critopulus
Returning to Critopulus, Witsius demonstrates a careful polemical method. He does not caricature the Eastern theologian’s arguments but lays them out fully. Critopulus, as mentioned, appeals to Matthew 19 and John 6, as well as to the Old Testament dedication of children (Samuel, the firstborn of Israel). He even notes that paedobaptists often argue against Anabaptists that children, being included in the covenant, must not be excluded from baptism; by analogy, they should not be excluded from the Supper.
Witsius answers on several fronts. First, as already noted, he insists that John 6 refers to faith, not the sacrament. Second, he argues that the Old Testament dedications are typological, not prescriptive. Samuel’s consecration, for instance, was an act of parental vow, not sacramental ordinance. Third, he exposes the flaw in the paedobaptism analogy: baptism signifies God’s act, not ours, whereas the Supper demands our active response. The two cannot be collapsed into one.
Interestingly, Witsius does not deny that children can have faith. Reformed theology often acknowledged the possibility of infant faith, citing examples like John the Baptist leaping in the womb. But he distinguishes between the seed of faith implanted by God and the active exercise of faith required for the Supper. Infants may indeed belong to Christ, but until they can consciously discern and proclaim, they are not fit for the table.
Conclusion: Guarding the Supper’s Integrity
In the end, Witsius’s position is not motivated by a desire to restrict grace but to honor the Supper as Christ instituted it. To admit infants would be, in his view, to rob the sacrament of its character as a meal of faith, memory, and proclamation. It would reduce it to a mechanical act, indistinguishable from superstition.
The Lord’s Supper, he insists, is a means of grace—but only to those who receive it in faith and understanding. Infants, though included in the covenant, must wait until they can participate knowingly. This is not exclusion from Christ but a recognition of divine wisdom in distinguishing between the sacraments. Baptism marks their initiation; the Supper awaits their maturity. By maintaining this order, the church both safeguards the dignity of the Supper and nurtures children toward a faith that will one day enable them to partake joyfully and rightly.
Witsius’s voice, calm and balanced, still speaks to modern debates. In an age where some Reformed communities are reconsidering paedocommunion, his arguments remind us that covenant theology, rightly understood, distinguishes between the sacraments without dividing the covenant. And perhaps more importantly, his pastoral tone reminds us that theology is never merely about winning arguments but about shepherding souls.
Bibliography
Critopulus, Metrophanes. Confessio Orthodoxa. c. IX.
Witsius, Herman. The Economy of the Covenants Between God and Man. Vol. 2. Translated by William Crookshank. Grand Rapids, MI: Reformation Heritage Books, 2010. Originally published 1677.
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