Fight!

I just got an e-mail linking me to an article containing a "Feisty defense of Rome against Eastern Orthodoxy!" I guess that's pretty exciting to some people, but come on. This whole medieval "Jesus likes my bishop best" thing is kind of pathetic. Arguing over who gets to wear the pointy hat and write canon laws was relevant back when there was a political power vacuum in Europe and despotic popes were attempting to fill it. But today, the Vatican hierarchy is approaching the relevance of the last of the Western Roman emperors. There's all the pomp and splendor along with the promulgation of endless decrees, doctrines, and laws, but the population is as disinterested as ever in actually listening. People like having a pope--it's nice to have a kindly old man around in a golden robe who appears to represent every virtue a human can exhibit, and when he talks about God being love and calls himself our spiritual father, it does appeal. And for the more spirited among us, arguing over his right to absolute power and jurisdiction gives us that same deep-seated feeling of religious superiority (especially as we imagine that arguing vigorously for his universal power in some way makes us sharers in that power) that it did in 1500, but there is something quaintly medieval about the whole exercise.

Blind Ecumenism

Writing a blog for an audience of roughly zero is a different thing. Maybe that's why I feel little or no impetus to write about theology, but whatever. I think my interest in the subject is waning, as closer study of the Scripture has led me to the conclusion that most ecumenical theological discourse is akin to trying to fix a broken-down '73 Mustang with a 3-pound sack of duck feathers. Everyone seems to come to the table with the understanding that discussion of the texts themselves isn't going to get anyone anywhere, since we all have our definite ideas of what they say, and thus we must respectfully disagree and continue on with other things. So instead, we ramble about our mutual respect for the "Fathers," whoever they might have been, our "common mission," whatever that means, our "solidarity in the Gospel," whatever that is, or whatever. It's all a giant political spectacle. Protestants fall all over themselves trying to show that we really do have the utmost respect for pointy hats, extravagant processions, ancient basilicas, and paintings of folks with halos and spooky eyes, while Catholics throw us the occasional bone to show they really do, like, care about Jesus and prayer and reading the Bible stuff, the Orthodox try to show that they don't really think that everyone is going to hell, the Anglicans continue to be the incoherent crowd-pleasers they've been for the last 100 years or so, and the Lutherans...what the heck do Lutherans do, anyway?

I don't really see the point, because no one's really backed off any claims except "everyone who isn't just like us will burn in hell." I mean, gee, that's fantastic and all, and I'm happy that the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith is no longer in the business of handing us over to be tortured or burned alive, I'm glad the 30 Years' War is over, and I'm glad that guys like John Bunyan no longer go to prison. Gosh, it only took 15 centuries. Thanks, Augustine! Maybe in another 15 centuries, we'll start listening to Scripture instead of being just so incredibly impressed at what our own religious philosophers say and so unbelievably devoted to our own theological histories.

But that's highly unlikely. I seem to recall this movement starting about 500 centuries ago on the basic premise that perhaps, just perhaps, someone saying something in the past with fancy Aristotelean language does not necessarily mean he was correct, that just because you have a painting of someone on a golden background with a halo and spooky eyes does not necessarily imply that everything he said was correct, and that just because a fellow has a pointy hat and sits on an imposing throne in a magnificent basilica does not mean that everything he says is correct, either...and that there is some probability that if you take a good hard look at what the apostles wrote and what Jesus said, you might come to some correct ideas. That premise, of course, was beaten to a bloody pulp and discarded by most of Christendom in favor of the obvious clarity of murky encyclicals and opaque 5th-century philosophers. But the irony is that those who proposed this were followed by men who turned their founders' writings into exactly the sort of Tradition that they were so critical of to begin with. So now the arguments are no longer about what Scripture says and the proper way to interpret it (e.g. the proper place of reason, the material principle of Scripture, how we should appropriate exegesis of our forebears, etc), but about whose relics are holiest.

Early Fathers

As some folks start to learn about church history and things, they get pretty excited about traditions and liturgies and icons and all that stuff. This often makes them prone to uncritically embrace anything someone bearing the name of Church Father, much to their detriment. But let's roll back for a moment:

When you dig into early Christian writings, you do find a lot of weird stuff. By golly, it looks like Christians in those days were a pretty diverse bunch of people who could really go all over the map theologically! Something I have found particularly notable is the rather rapid decline of Pauline theology. Some would say "How dare you say that the theology of the Holy Fathers is anything other than that of Paul?" But to them I would say that theology also involves a certain manner of speaking. For the most part, the early Christian writings we still have today show little influence of Pauline language. You'll find good amounts of John and more than a shade of Plotinus, though. We do see Pauline language in I Clement, but this epistle also demonstrates some flexibility in the way dikaioo and its related vocabulary was used by Christians--compare 30:7 with 32:4, for example. But we must also remember how little survived to our day. Much was destroyed as the Roman empire was dismantled, and later monks preserved those writings that they thought worth preserving. What did Christians in those times say that we don't know about?

Anyway, we do see diversity and change. The era of holy theological inerrancy just plain didn't happen. The second and third centuries are eras like any other--unfortunately full of ordinary humans living their lives. They could be legalistic, petty, moralistic, arrogant, shortsighted, prejudiced, and uncritical.

Just like us.

Anathema!

The question of the Council of Trent and the status of various Reformed symbols frequently comes up in our circles. These are just a few sketchy thoughts about confessional subscription:

1. Do you subscribe to a confessional document if you contradict it with other teachings? For example, in Reformed vs Lutheran debates, the claim is typically ventured by the one that the other's doctrine of the Lord's Supper contradicts Chalcedon, despite the equal assertion by both to subscribe to the definition laid down by the Council. So can we really say that both of us subscribe to CoC, or do we necessarily have to conclude that one of us does not actually subscribe?
2. Do you subscribe to a confessional document if you take the liberty of fundamentally changing what the terms used in it means? For example, the word "tradition" in Trent was understood by its authors to refer to an uncorrupted corpus of doctrine and practice (right down the manifold ceremonies surrounding baptism) handed down orally by Jesus to the apostles and transmitted in unbroken succession until that time. If you don't believe me, check out what the theologians of the time were actually saying. Primary sources, people! But as we know, after Newman and especially Vatican II, "tradition" has been redefined as unfolding, developing, and evolving under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. This view of Tradition has been projected back onto Trent, and the document has been reinterpreted accordingly. So does the Vatican really subscribe to Trent?
3. Do you subscribe to a document that isn't enforced? And at what level? The PCA doesn't require confessional subscription of its members...not even on baptism. Clergy can take a few exceptions, too. The Vatican seems to take almost an "anything-goes" policy toward its vast array of dogma and canon law. It seems less than adamant that anyone actually believe what it teaches or do what it says, as long as you're showing up in the right building and take your kids there. Jesuits seem to get away with saying all kinds of stuff.

All of this is just part of my generally feeling that boldly-worded, stern statements of doctrine and policy are often little more than paper tigers.

Exegesis

I've run across some long, boring papers from professional apologists for the One True Church that dikaioo, translated as "justify," cannot possibly mean anything other than "gradually transformed into a state of moral perfection."

Problem. Luke 7:29.

I feel sorry for guys who have to make exegesis conform to dogmas proclaimed by fellows who openly had no interest in what Scripture said. How do they deal with it?

Restarting

Hi, I'm Stewart. This my blog. I'm Reformed. What else do you want to know?