Authors: Marcus Grodi
Tags: #Catholics -- Biography; Coming Home Network International; Conversion, #Catholics -- Biography, #Coming Home Network International, #Conversion
How did the Reformers try to cope with this fundamental weakness
in the logical structure of their own first principles? John Calvin,
usually credited with being the most systematic and coherent thinker
of the Reformation, tried to justify belief in the divine authorship
of the sixty-six books by dogmatically postulating a direct communication
of this knowledge from God to the individual believer. Calvin
said Scripture is "self-authenticated."
When he said that, he made it clear that he did not mean to be
taken literally and absolutely. He did not mean that some Bible
text or other affirms that the sixty-six books, and they alone,
are divinely inspired. As we observed in step 4 above, nobody
ever could claim anything so patently false.
Instead, Calvin simply meant that no extra-biblical human testimony,
such as that of Church tradition, is needed in order for individuals
to know that these books are inspired. We can summarize his view
as Proposition D: "The Holy Spirit teaches Christians individually,
by a direct inward testimony, that the sixty-six books are inspired
by God."
The trouble is that the Holy Spirit Himself is an extra-biblical
authority as much as a pope or council is. The Third Person of
the Trinity is clearly not identical with the truths He has expressed,
through human authors, in the Bible. It follows that even if Calvin's
Proposition D is true, it contradicts Proposition B, for "if all
revealed truth is to be found in the sixty-six books," then that
leaves no room for the Holy Spirit to reveal directly and nonverbally
one truth that cannot be found in any passage of those books,
namely, the fact that each one of them is inspired.
In any case, even if Calvin could somehow show that D did not
itself contradict B, he still would not have succeeded in showing
that B is true. Even if we were to accept the extremely implausible
view represented by Proposition D, this would not prove that no
other writings are inspired. Much less would it prove that there
are no revealed truths that come to us through tradition rather
than through inspired writings.
In short, Calvin's defense of biblical inspiration in no way overthrows
our eight-step disproof of the
sola scriptura
principle. Indeed,
it does not even attempt to establish that principle as a whole
but only one aspect of it -- that is, which books are to be understood
by the term
"scriptura."
The schizoid history of the Protestant tradition itself bears
witness to the original inner contradiction that marked its conception
and birth. Conservative Protestants have maintained the original
insistence on the Bible as the unique infallible source of revealed
truth, but at the price of logical incoherence. Liberals, on the
other hand, have escaped the incoherence while maintaining the
claim to "private interpretation" over and against that of popes
and councils, but at the price of abandoning the Reformers' insistence
on an infallible Bible. They thereby effectively replace revealed
truth by human opinion and faith by an autonomous reason.
Thus, in the liberal/Evangelical split within the Protestant tradition
since the eighteenth century, we see both sides teaching radically
opposed doctrines, even while each claims to be the authentic
heir of the Reformation. The irony is that both sides are right:
Their conflicting beliefs are simply the two horns of a dilemma
that has been tearing at the inner fabric of Protestant faith
ever since its turbulent beginnings.
Reflections such as these from a Catholic onlooker may seem a
little hard or unyielding to some -- ill suited, perhaps, to a
climate of ecumenical dialogue in which gentle suggestion rather
than blunt affirmation is the preferred mode of discourse. But
logic is of its very nature hard and unyielding. Insofar as truth
and honesty are to be the hallmarks of true ecumenism, the claims
of logic will have to be squarely faced, not politely avoided.
Father Brian W. Harrison, O.S., M.A., S.T.D., entered the Catholic
Church in 1972 and was ordained in 1985. He is a priest of the
Society of Oblates of Wisdom and a retired professor of theology at the
Pontifical University of Puerto Rico, Ponce.
Former "Scofield Bible" Baptist minister
THE FRUSTRATION OF A SINCERE CONSCIENCE
BORN ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE OCEAN
"I am a former Protestant minister." The words sounded as if someone
else had spoken them. I was in the office of the pastor of the
local Catholic parish. At that moment, I realized that my whole
life was defined in terms of what I used to be. A silent wave
washed over me: I used to be employed; I used to be a homeowner;
I used to be confident and focused.
Let someone else figure out authenticity. I had given heart, soul,
mind, and strength to trying to make
sola scriptura
work. That
pivotal doctrine of the Reformation proved to be a cruel mistress,
seducing me with the promise of a pure and spotless Bride that
never materialized. The pursuit of this phantom had occupied the
best years of my life and drained the life right out of my family.
Up to this time, no one had ever mentioned the Catholic faith
as a realistic option. The Catholic Church was the one thing that
we always knew was not the true church -- the only concept on
which all Protestants seem to agree. Though I had told only two
or three people, I had canceled my quest for the true church at
the point of acknowledging the immense success of the Catholic
Church as an institution.
History has an air of infallibility to it -- what happened, happened.
I had to admit that one Church had been in existence for two thousand
years, unlike ours. Fifty years would be an old church for us.
Ironically, this recognition of our lack of history had launched
my quest many years earlier. It disturbed me that the longer any
Protestant denomination stayed in existence, the farther it strayed
from my touchstone: the Scriptures. They would all begin at some
point to deny the authority of the Bible, never offering anything
better in its place. So, filled with many admirable good works
but bereft of any moral authority, they all predictably failed
to find moral grounds for opposing abortion, for example.
Among the Protestant denominations that had not lost their bearings,
I could find the same tendencies beginning to crop up in the largest
ones. In addition, we had turned worship into a circus. So I was
consigned to the smaller denominations. There I was shipwrecked
by the principle that if you want to stay pure, you have to keep
splintering. But you can't sail a toothpick. I found denominations
as small as six churches that were splitting.
Finding a true expression of the Church was like a puzzle always
before me. It bothered me that I couldn't piece it together. I
am not really a cantankerous or divisive person, but at times
in my life I have been both. Our Lord's prayer in John 17 fueled
my frustration.
I believed that the Church Christ prayed for was a Church of inclusion
and unity founded on truth -- the Word of God. I knew from this
prayer that there was only one Church. But when I faced the multitude
of churches around me, I had no way of identifying any one of
them as more authentic than any other. That was because I had
excluded the Catholic Church and Eastern Orthodox churches from
the list. And mixing them all together was both a practical and
theological impossibility.
I was left with a masochist's delight: a puzzle that couldn't
be solved. Oh, the misery I could have spared myself if I hadn't
been so hardheaded! I concluded that the only way for Christians
to unite was around the Word of God, which I took to mean the
Bible, even though the New Testament wasn't written at the time
Jesus prayed the words of John 17.
I turned this conclusion into a principle that I followed scrupulously:
The only reason for not worshipping with another church was deviation
from the Bible. I never allowed personality, preferences, styles,
or history to be the basis for division in my mind.
We were dealing with the authority of the risen Christ and His
infallible Word. Thus if there were different confessions of faith
that kept churches apart, someone had to be wrong. If I could
not clearly state where another church had denied the Word of
God, it would be sin not to worship with them.
I can say this now, but at the time I could not see what a
perfect recipe for frustration I had concocted for myself. On
the one hand, I had to become an expert on other churches' deviations
from the Word of God; to avoid the sin of schism, I had to make
them be the sinner. But on the other hand, I had to declare at
least tacitly that my church did not deviate. Thus I became condemning
and self-righteous, which I despised in others but could not see
in me.
My frustration grew as I found no one else in ministry willing
to face this dilemma. None of my colleagues seemed to understand
that if we were not the authentic church, then people's souls
were at risk. I was haunted by a thought I kept locked in a closet
in the back of my mind.
I was supposed to be telling people how to get to heaven. If I
didn't have the proper authority, or if I misdirected people,
they would have every reason to blame me for their perdition (or
their increased purgatory, I can say now). This was the Protestant
doctrine of
sola fide
rattling its chains in my soul.
I was ministering in churches that constantly reassured their
congregations that the one time they walked down the aisle of
their church to "accept Jesus" was all they needed to be certain
of heaven. Needless to say, since I didn't teach that doctrine,
those looking for that kind of consolation found other churches
to attend. Mine never grew.
Looking back, I see my life in a simile. I'm like a man born on
the wrong side of the ocean. He senses a deep, unspoken longing
in his soul for a safe harbor on the far side of the sea. Some
distant Irish ancestors had perhaps brought their children to
be baptized by St. Patrick with a prayer that their family might
live forever in the blessings and comfort of Mother Church. My
grandfather left Patrick's church and eventually became a colonel
in the Salvation Army.
But God's faithfulness extends to a thousand generations. In His
providence, He had my parents baptize me in the Methodist Church.
The liturgy of those early years left me with a profound God-consciousness.
And the Father was faithful to His Word when He sent the Spirit
of God to stir my heart during my first years of college.
The Baptists recognized this stirring and led me to an experience
they called "getting saved." They baptized me again because -- they said -- my first one didn't count. Then they put a
Scofield
Bible
in my hands, which I devoured.
The
Scofield Reference Bible
is the largest-selling study Bible
in the history of the world. Its effects are deadening in three
regards.
First, it orients the Christian toward an expectation of Christ's
return very, very soon, and thus there is no long-term outlook.
Second, it relegates the Church to a temporary "parenthesis" in
the plan of God. And third, it associates the Antichrist with
the Catholic Church. Perhaps for this reason, the one Church in
the world big enough to deal with its errors has chosen to be
silent.
Here I must ask a question to all Catholics, in love and friendship.
It is a very pointed question, but it needs to be asked: Where
were you?
I am not pointing fingers or blaming anyone. Forgive me this question;
I mention this merely as a demonstration of the wounds I bear
in following the path of Christ. It would be understandable if
these wounds had come from Christ's enemies. But they came from
His shepherds.
The error of Scofield was taught to me by pastors and Bible scholars.
Where were you? I could have been spared over thirty years of
aimless tacking back and forth across the entire ocean, only to
see my family swept away in the end. All kinds of Evangelical
Christians were there when heaven was awakening me to my need
of salvation. Catholics were there too. But they were silent.
The Spirit of God is ever at work; it is we who are asleep.
I even took a class on Church history at the state university
I attended. A Catholic priest very well known on the campus taught
it. I really thought I knew more than he did. The priest was oblivious
to the spell I was under; we couldn't communicate.
The introduction to the Scofield Bible says that C. I. Scofield
studied arduously all the systems of theology present in the world
and verified that the system of thought contained in his notes
was indeed the historic faith of the Church. That, of course,
was a lie. I have taken comfort recently in Augustine's
Confessions
,
in which he chides himself for the foolish and ignorant doctrines
of the Manicheans he followed so avidly.
Bishop Ambrose understood Augustine's errors, could communicate
with him, and eventually won his heart and his intellect for the
kingdom of Christ. I have found few Catholics today who understand
how extensive and damaging are the errors taught in the bestselling
study Bible in the history of the world. Perhaps one of the reasons
is that Scofield's doctrine has mutated into a thousand different
forms, none of which use Scofield's name. Worse yet, I have found
some Catholics who seek to imitate this teaching and wish to incorporate
some of this error as well. God help us.