Semiotics and the mystery of the Eucharist

I wrote a draft of this a couple of years ago. I saw it again, and thought it appropriate to post now (a bit updated), to dovetail with my next post.

A major difference between Catholic and Protestant theology is in the way that they believe God communicates to man. Catholics believe that the mysteries of grace that God extends to us are chiefly communicated by tangible signs – the sacraments. The seven sacraments of the Catholic church are Baptism, Confirmation, Reconciliation, the Eucharist (Lord’s Supper), Marriage, Holy Orders (Ordination), and Anointing of the Sick. In the performance of these sacred acts, the heavenly graces of God are communicated into reality. Catholics place immense weight on the value of the sacraments as vehicles of God’s grace. In fact, the catechism states, “The Church affirms that for believers the sacraments of the New Covenant are necessary for salvation” (1129).

Catholic doctrine places supreme importance on the Eucharist, the “Sacrament of Sacraments.” “The Eucharist is the efficacious sign and sublime cause of that communion in the divine life and that unity of the People of God by which the Church is kept in being” (1325). All Christians affirm that Christ is the sole basis of our redemption and salvation; the Catholic doctrine venerates the Eucharist precisely because it equates it with Christ. ‘In the most blessed sacrament of the Eucharist ‘the body and blood, together with the soul and divinity, of our Lord Jesus Christ and, therefore, the whole Christ is truly, really, and substantially contained’” (1374). Simply put, participating in Holy Communion is how to receive Jesus because the Eucharist is such a powerful symbol of Jesus that it actually is Jesus. The sacramental sign is necessary to the reality. You cannot get at the reality without the sacrament as a type and form of it that you can experience in the physical world. Thus, the sign is “efficacious” and “causes” the reality of communion with God.

Evangelicals practice the Lord ’s Supper, but they don’t regard these things the same way. They simply say that the ceremonies are special reminders for believers, special moments when God’s power and person are uniquely present, but in a metaphorical, abstract, symbolic sense. Nothing about the actual words or deeds causes the graces that they signify. In fact, in the view of most Evangelicals, believing salvation to be linked to the performance of sacraments is tantamount to “salvation by works” as opposed to “by grace through faith”—that is, no salvation at all. “You must believe and…” is damnable to many an evangelical ear. Faith is more internal and abstract, and does not require a physical action. Born and raised in an Evangelical church, I long thought the Catholic doctrine corrupt. Like the Galatians, Catholics had forgotten grace and bloated the sacraments into a system of good deeds. Granted, that may be true for many who were “raised Catholic” but have a poor understanding of Christianity; the sacraments are able to distract people from the things that they should signify; just as an unintelligent dog will not follow the signification of your pointing finger to the ball you have thrown, but will run eagerly to examine your finger. However, correctly understood, the Catholic teaching of the sacraments as vital is not incompatible with salvation by grace through faith in Christ.

The Institution of Holy Communion is predicted by Jesus in John 6:22-65, and happens during the Last Supper in Matthew 26:26-29 / Luke 22:14-23 / Mark 14:22-25. Suffice it to say that the meaning of Jesus’ statements, “This is my body,” and “this is my blood” is fiercely debated. I have no place at the round-table of scholars of Greek and Aramaic. However, simply making the assumption that Jesus intended to create some kind of semiotic (sign) relationship between himself and the bread/wine, I think I can speak generally about to the issue. French linguist Ferdinand de Saussur proposed a very helpful model of the sign. Allow me to quote from Chandler’s resource:
Saussure offered a ‘dyadic’ or two-part model of the sign. He defined a sign as being composed of:

      • a ‘signifier’ (signifiant) – the form which the sign takes; and
      • the ‘signified’ (signifié) – the concept it represents.

The sign is the whole that results from the association of the signifier with the signified (Saussure 1983, 67Saussure 1974, 67). The relationship between the signifier and the signified is referred to as ‘signification’, and this is represented in the Saussurean diagram by the arrows. If we take a linguistic example, the word ‘Open’ (when it is invested with meaning by someone who encounters it on a shop doorway) is a sign consisting of:

  • signifier: the word open
  • signified concept: that the shop is open for business

The point is that the signifier and signified are unified in the sign. Thus, to say that taking the bread and wine of Communion is necessary for salvation is to say that you must partake of the sign of Jesus’ body and blood, not to say that there is a different source of salvation.

The question, then, is whether physical signs are the means by which God communicates to us. The Catholic church says that they are. According to the Catechism, “In human life, signs and symbols occupy an important place. As a being at once body and spirit, man expresses and perceives spiritual realities through physical signs and symbols. As a social being, man needs signs and symbols to communicate with others, through language, gestures, and actions. The same holds true for his relationship with God” (1146).

I suggest that the Catholic Church is absolutely right about this, and that Evangelicals need to check their semiotics. For Christ is the center of the Christian life, the ultimate means of God’s communication with us, and he Himself is a sign, the Signifier of God, indeed, the Word of God, a physical and efficacious sign like the serpent of old. “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”

Altar calls

These will not be the most refined thoughts but I think it behooves me to get some of them out of my system in whatever form, and hopefully refine them later.

I believe that God can transform a heart in a single instant. I believe that many people have been changed by the power of the Holy Spirit of Jesus within a worship service. In fact, I believe that worship services are especially fertile environments where God’s spirit works on human hearts. However, I think altar calls are often not a part of that work.

By altar call, I mean the climactic moment where the people are asked to and given the chance to make an individual, subjective response to the truth that has been presented in the service (whether by the sermon or by other means as well). As we discussed when I was on an internal review team at that church, worship is focus + response. The sermon brings the focus, and then there is the opportunity of response. Traditionally, this opportunity includes an invitation to come down to the front and pray with an elder or kneel and pray. In Baptist churches like mine growing up, it begins with “every head bowed, every eye closed” and includes a period where you can silently repeat a prayer after the pastor and then raise your hand to show him that you prayed it, after which point he assures you that your life has been changed today, and to come talk to an elder afterwards. I also include in my definition of altar call the adaptations of many new-generation evangelical churches that are softening these formulations out, just offering an open time to respond with multiple options–you can come down front and pray with an elder, or pray a free-style prayer.

Here’s the thing about altar calls: to the extent that they are overt, they are focused on conversion, and to the extent to which they are not (just “creating a space”), they are subjective and provide no guidance or protection from error.

An overt altar call is always focused on conversion, whether it be new or a “rededication” or some partial rededication of one area or issue in one’s life. The problem with this is that it leaves nothing to do for people who have already converted and devoted their lives to God. I cannot tell you the number of times I have tuned out during the climax of the worship service, saying to myself, “Believer? Check. This doesn’t apply to me.”

Even as many churches move away from such overt altar calls, perhaps sensing the awkwardness of having a gathering comprised mostly of Christians who have already performed the act that is the climax and purpose of the gathering, there are still issues with modified “space for personal response” times. The problem is that they subjectivize the response to God, legitimizing any interpretation of the truth that is presented in the sermon. They turn the whole service into something that is focused on us. It begins with something about God, and then looks at us and asks us to finish off the service by the powers of our own sincerity. The Holy Spirit is beseeched to move on the people, but there is no anchor for the Spirit in Truth. Rather the Truth (the scriptures in the sermon) are a means to the end of an experience in which the Spirit’s movement is located in the unprovable, irrefutable castle of personal conviction. The worship service thus becomes the corporate equivalent of the evangelical private “quiet time” and even the typical small group study: that which is objective truth (the Bible) is subjected to private interpretation and application in each person’s individual mind. Thus Human Reason sits as lord over the Sacred Scriptures.

The problem with this is that it leads to all sorts of misguidedness and error on the part of church members. The only way to avoid this is to guide the people objectively through response as we do through focus–to help them respond in truth as they receive truth. But how can a response be objective? It must have a physical reality, an object outside the human mind. Such an object is not available within Evangelical theology. It is, however, available within the theology of  Catholicism, in the Eucharist. This objective act is both receiving and responding to God in a way that is at once both spiritual and physical. This act, and the faith associated with it, roots the faith of the believer in something outside himself and makes the act of worship as Incarnational as the Gospel it professes. The Eucharist is the proper climax of worship and the proper act around which Christians who have already received the waters of Baptism should gather. Instead of being perpetual altar-going converts, plumbing the depths of their personal sincerity for Jesus, they take of his Body and Blood and find his Real Presence before them.

 

Why I am voting for the American Solidarity Party

In the Democratic party lies one half of our bifurcated moral consciousness, a concern for the common good of all humans, but, ironically, a neglect of the sacredness of human life. The party of social justice, equality and acceptance defends the rights of the powerful against the most powerless members of our human race, and stands in fundamental disconnect from the mind of Christ, not recognizing that justice is mercy.

In the Republican party lies the other half of proper moral consciousness, a concern for social morality and a defense of life and family, but a neglect for our moral obligation to the common good of our fellow man. The party of liberty and prosperity excuses the most prosperous and powerful from their obligations to those who, by their human dignity, ought to share in the natural goods which God has given to all men; thus it stands in fundamental disconnect from the mind of Christ, not recognizing that mercy is justice.

The American Solidarity Party acknowledges within its platform and ethos a “whole-life ethic,” the responsibility to take strides as a society to care for the poor with a spirit of solidarity and common good, and also to stalwartly defend human life from conception to natural death. It reintegrates the divided moral consciousness of America into a whole. It unifies mercy and justice; and they are united in the Cross.

I am voting for the American Solidarity Party because it alone vows to protect the sanctity and dignity of human life from conception to natural death and everywhere in between, and that is the essence of Christian morality. I am not at all discouraged by the low probability of large practical effects in the near future. I am willing to be a part of the small beginnings of something I can truly believe in. Even without understanding or necessarily agreeing with every minute point of the ASP platform, I fully endorse the party as a way to express my voice in our democracy without having to compromise my fundamental moral beliefs, and I call all my Christian brothers and sisters to join me in the ASP and provide a way out of the false dilemma into which American politics have sunk.

The purpose of your vote is your vote

Many Americans believe that probabilities of success of political candidates should weigh against their moral value. They vote for a popular candidate they admit is more evil than an unpopular candidate because they are concerned about how likely it will be that the unpopular one succeeds. It’s the truism of third party critics: “Don’t waste your vote.” I am close to someone who insisted vehemently that the Virginia ballot (which had at least five candidates listed, not to mention registered write-in candidates) had “only two candidates.” He meant that only two had a competitive probability of winning, and that such a probability should limit our choice.

The problem with this is that it views the outcome of the election as the purpose of our vote. Probabilities have the outcome in view. Rather, we must view our vote as the purpose of our vote.

According to the Doctrine of Double Effect, it is not permissible to more directly cause a lesser evil in order to less directly avoid a greater evil. The reason is that the bad that I cause by my action is more causally immediate than the good, and is therefore involved by definition as a means to the other outcome which I effect less directly (when I foresee both). I therefore “do evil that good may result,” which is always wrong. Contrary to popular idiom, the ends do not justify the means! Foreseeing both good and bad effects of an action, we may only do it if the good proceeds from our action at least as immediately as the bad. In terms of voting, this means we may only vote for a candidate if the good and bad effects of our vote are equally direct.

In the case of voting for an evil candidate in order to achieve as a good outcome the avoidance of another candidate’s success, the evil effect is our vote, and the good effect is an outcome of the election.  So, when we vote, do we cause the outcome of an election as directly as we cause our vote? Not at all! We do not each cause the outcome of the election. Rather, we each directly, certainly, and completely cause our vote, and all of our votes contribute to the outcome as minuscule partial causes, fragments of probability that together equal the whole. Therefore, a vote that one admits is evil but intends for the avoidance of a worse electoral outcome causes the lesser evil (itself) directly, and avoids the greater evil (the outcome) only partially and indirectly. Such a vote is never permissible according to the Doctrine of Double Effect.

Instead of using my vote as an evil means to a good end, I must vote with my vote itself as its own moral end, because it is only my vote that I fully cause. I must make it the most moral vote in and of itself. In other words, I must not compromise my moral beliefs based on the predicted outcomes of the election or the popularity of candidates; rather I must vote as I would if I alone controlled the outcome of the election. That is what is binding on me as a moral agent with a voice in my democracy.

For what does it profit a man if he gains the oval office and forfeits his soul?

 

Double Effect and equal causality

The Doctrine of Double Effect articulates when it is justified to perform an action that one foresees as having both good and evil effects. This doctrine was first credited to St. Thomas Aquinas, who used it to justify self-defense killing. The doctrine holds that an action that has both a good and a bad effect is justified if and only if the following four conditions are met:

  1. The act itself must be morally good or at least indifferent.
  2. The agent may not positively will the bad effect but may permit it. If he could attain the good effect without the bad effect he should do so. The bad effect is sometimes said to be indirectly voluntary.
  3. The good effect must flow from the action at least as immediately (in the order of causality, though not necessarily in the order of time) as the bad effect. In other words the good effect must be produced directly by the action, not by the bad effect. Otherwise the agent would be using a bad means to a good end, which is never allowed.
  4. The good effect must be sufficiently desirable to compensate for the allowing of the bad effect. (Catholic Encyclopedia, qtd. McIntyre, 2014)

The first condition rules out actions that are intrinsically evil, such as fornication, regardless of their side effects, and the second condition rules out formal cooperation in evil–if you do evil because you want to do it, then it is illicit regardless of its good side effects. That leaves us with material cooperation: doing evil that you don’t want or intend to do, per se, but feel compelled to do for some reason, such as to avoid a greater evil. This is where it gets trickier.

To understand the third and fourth conditions, the distinction must be made between the degree of causality which a person has on the good and evil effects (third condition) and the magnitude of the good and evil effects themselves (fourth condition). While the fourth condition holds that the good and bad effects must be measured against each other, and the good effects themselves (or the evils avoided) must outweigh the bad, the third condition constrains this proportional consideration by stipulating that the degree of causality must also be weighed. The evil effect cannot be a means to the good effect; in other words, they must be caused by your action with equal directness. This rules out immediate (direct) material cooperation, such as assisting in an abortion operation by providing nursing care before or after the operation, but leaves remote (mediate) material cooperation as permissible under certain conditions. Since immediate/direct material cooperation and mediate/remote material cooperation are relative terms, this principle means we must take into account the relative directness with which we will cause the good and bad effect, and never act in such a way as to more directly cause the bad than we cause the good, that is, to use the bad as a means to the good.

The principle of equal causality, though few can articulate it, can be widely felt in people’s natural moral conscience. I offer the example of two ethical thought experiments that are often contrasted with each other.

In the basic version of the “Trolley Dilemma”, there is a runaway train barreling down a track toward five people who are lying helpless in its path. You are standing at a lever that can divert the train onto a second track to miss those people. However, on the second track there is one person lying similarly helplessly. Your hand is on the lever, and you must decide whether to pull the lever and permit the death of the one man, or do nothing and permit the death of the five. What would you do? Why?

Contrast this with a situation in which you are a doctor with four sick patients and one healthy patient, and you know that, unless those four patients receive organ transplants within the next hour, their death is immanent; furthermore, you know that the healthy patient, who is sleeping under anesthesia, has all the organs they need. You must decide whether to harvest his organs, killing him, in order to save them. What would you do then? Why?

The difference that most people can sense is a difference in the relative directness with which one achieves the good and bad effects. In the Trolley Dilemma, the directness of both effects is pretty much equal. In the doctor scenario, one effect is clearly more direct; in other words, it is involved as a means to the other effect. Such reflections confirm to us that it is not justifiable to make a choice based on the foreseen outcomes without consideration for the degree of causality or agency one has in the evil.

A consequentialist or utilitarian ethic is focused on the foreseen results as the ultimate basis of determining the morality of an action and believes that the end justifies the means. It does not limit this consideration of outcomes by one’s agency in the act. An honest utilitarian would say that the doctor should kill the healthy man to save the sick men, if he was sure that the others would die.

This kind of thinking is prevalent in our society today but is contrary to Christian ethical norms. Pope John Paul II rejected consequentialism and its cousin proportionalism in 1993. Even non-Catholic Christians should realize that a Christian view of man regards his foreknowledge as imperfect and recognizes that ignoring ourselves as subjects of our moral actions is to pretend to have God’s omniscience and his responsibility to direct all eventualities. The humble heart that acknowledges God’s sovereignty in all things remembers that there is a line he must not cross even when he foresees evil, because he trusts in God’s providence. Therefore, he acts according to the Natural and Divine law within his sphere of control, and trusts the Lawgiver to do the same within his own sphere, that is, the whole world.

While the Christian is prudent and shrewd in his dealings, nevertheless he looks to God and never “does evil that good may result.” The Doctrine of Double Effect, including its third condition, is not simply an obscure formulation or an optional stance, but an articulation of the moral law that binds the conscience of the Christian in accordance with the Holy Spirit’s restoration of his mind and reason.

Answers to Protestant claims: A response to James White

James White writes his book Answers to Catholic Claims: A Discussion on Biblical Authority to answer the Catholic who asks, essentially, “We have Tradition as the authority on which we establish and interpret the Bible. Since you reject Tradition as a source of revelation, by what authority do you establish and interpret the Bible?” I read this book in hopes of discovering an answer to what I perceive to be a simply irrefutable train of logic that undermines our ability to reasonably believe that the Bible is trustworthy without recourse to the authority of the Church. White’s response follows the general Protestant rhetoric for affirming the truth of the Bible that I discuss in some of my previous posts, and also adds the claim that Catholic Tradition is anti-biblical. Unfortunately, I believe White fails resoundingly at mounting a cogent argument either for the Bible apart from Tradition or against Tradition from the Bible. I will rehearse and refute his reasoning here with the hope that my Protestant friends and readers will try to come up with some better reasons for trusting the Bible and distrusting the Church (and if you find them, come and tell me also!), or, if they cannot, accept the inevitability that they must believe in both or neither.

PART 1: Reasons to accept the Bible apart from Tradition

What are the alternative bases of authority on which to accept the Bible apart from Tradition? White posits the only alternative that is acceptable to a Protestant: the Bible itself. He attempts to establish the Bible’s own authority on the issue of the reliability of the Bible through several arguments. (1) The Bible witnesses to its own authority, and (2) The Bible’s authority is obvious and self-evident.

(1) The Bible witnesses to its own authority

This is neither scriptural, nor historical, nor logical. White first tries the scriptural approach. He cites 2 Peter 3:16, in which Peter refers to Paul’s writings as scripture. He also mentions a quote in 1 Timothy 5:18 which is sometimes put forward as evidence that Paul ascribes scriptural status to the words of Jesus in Luke, but admits, admirably, that the passage can only be supposed to ascribe to Luke the status of scripture tentatively, at best. Then, on the basis of these two (really one) passages, he says:

“Though these are but a few passages, they give the impression that the writers themselves, though not frequently asserting Scriptural status for their own writings (many of Paul’s commands to the churches partake of an authoritative tone of equal severity to that of Old Testament prophets), did indeed understand that God was about “adding” this new chapter to His revelation of old. This understanding will provide the foundation upon which the later Fathers will build.”

How is the impression that the writers of the New Testament understood that God was adding a new body of scripture to the Old Testament evidence of which scriptures would be a part of it? White uses vague language here as if to conclude that 2 Peter 3:16 enumerates a canon. Is White unaware that other authors than Paul contributed to the New Testament? Which scripture does he put forth to establish the canonicity of 2 Peter, which he uses to canonize Paul (ironically, 2 Peter is one of the most contested and late-canonized books)? Or for that matter, where are any of the four Gospels, the bedrock of the New Testament, declared scripture? Or Hebrews, James, Jude, Revelation, or Acts? Is his proof for these books that Paul uses an “authoritative tone” in his epistles? I do not think anyone would disagree with me that this is preposterous. Ultimately the failure of this argument is not White’s fault; I have researched the scriptures on this topic and can affirm that he has produced all of the scriptures that establish any sort of scriptural status for the writings of the New Testament. The evidence simply isn’t there! We must look to the Church.

White seems to recognize the necessity of dealing with the historical canonization process that occurred within the Church during the first 4 centuries of Christianity. In fact, he gives a good review of the evolving concept of the canon among the Church Fathers leading up to the Council of Nicea, summarizing in conclusion that, “though some books were less widely accepted than others, the vast majority of the material that comprises the 27 books was already in place and functioning as canon Scripture.” So far so good. Unfortunately, he then reverts to his presupposition and blunders, “Long before any ‘church council’ made any decisions about a ‘canon’ of Scripture, the Scriptures themselves were functioning with full and complete authority in matters of doctrine.” If the canon was not completely formed until the Council of Nicea, how could it have been functioning with “full and complete authority” before that? Surely it could not be functioning fully before it was formed fully? By White’s own concept of scripture, its limits, as well as its contents, are holy. Not noticing this inconsistency, White marches onward and denies the role of the Church Fathers’ own authority in the formation of the canon: “There is no discussion [by the early Fathers] of the Church having some kind of ability to ‘create canonical authority.’ Rather, the Fathers attempt to base their arguments upon those very Scriptures, showing clearly their recognition of the inherent (not contingent or transferred) authority of those writings.” White is flatly wrong here! For the sake of brevity permit me to select just one Father, but one whose endorsement both Catholics and Protestants covet: Augustine of Hippo. That great doctor of the church says that the authority of the books of the Bible is confirmed to us by the consensus of the Church.

“The excellence of the canonical authority of the Old and New Testaments is distinct from the books of later writers. This authority was confirmed in the times of the Apostles through the succession of bishops and the propagation of churches, as if it was settled in a heavenly manner in a kind of seat to which every believing and pious mind lives in obedience. (Against Faustus, 11.5)

Elsewhere he says, “I would not believe in the Gospel myself if the authority of the Catholic Church did not influence me to do so.” For a larger discussion of Augustine’s acceptance of Tradition, see this article by Dr. Kenneth Howell. Augustine echoes the consistent expressions of the early Church Fathers on the factors by which they affirmed the authority of the canonical books—they were in accord with the orthodox message of the Gospel preserved through the Church lineage, and were attested by the precedent  of their use and acceptance in the early Church. What is unprecedented is White’s claim that their authority was simply “inherent.” 

(2) The Bible’s authority is obvious and self-evident

White produces another reason by which we can know that the Bible is authentic: it’s obvious! He quotes John Calvin:

“It as if someone asked: Whence will we learn to distinguish light from darkness, white from black, sweet from bitter? Indeed, Scripture exhibits fully as clear evidence of its own truth as white and black things do of their color, or sweet and bitter things do of their taste.”

I deal with this quote at length in this post in response to John Piper’s book A Peculiar Glory, but suffice it to say that this is obviously a subjective basis. White is uncomfortable with that, though, and disclaims, “Anyone who reads chapters 6-9 in Book 1 of Calvin’s Institutes will see that he does not assert a “subjective” basis for the canon of Scripture, but bases its authority upon the author of the words, the Holy Spirit of God.” However, the appeal to the Holy Spirit–a key move in the Protestant rhetoric–remains subjective! I think it was when I realized this that I saw what deep kimchi we Protestants were in. For if we ask Calvin how a man can be sure that the scriptures are true, and he replies, “The Holy Spirit affirms the scriptures to a man,” then we need to ask one more question, “How can a man be sure that the Holy Spirit has confirmed such to him?” Calvin’s reply can only be that he can approve of an impression in his mind by virtue of the fact that it aligns with scripture. This is begging the question, a logical loop. It should produce in the thinking Christian’s mind a large blinking red alert that he has erred fundamentally in his thinking. 

Calvin does not seem to be aware of, or at least not concerned about, the danger of this loop; he does not expect anyone to challenge the obviousness of the truth of the Scriptures, saying, “While the Church receives and gives its seal of approval to the Scriptures, it does not thereby render authentic what is otherwise doubtful or controversial.” But Calvin did not see the great storm of historical criticism and all the modern heresies that would assay knights of scholarship and legions of opinions to tear the Bible apart with doubt and controversy in the centuries that followed. This is not the place to get into it, but I have suspected that the Reformers themselves, in the great schism that shook the western Church, unwittingly unlocked the doors that would unleash the hordes of the enlightenment to terrorize Christianity. It is these opponents of Christianity, intellectually raping and pillaging those Christians who live today in the defenseless fields of a supposed consensus, that have driven me back into the fortress of the Church. It is from there alone we can mount a counter-attack.

Perhaps perturbed by the idea of being caught red-handed in a logical loop, White blames Catholics for making the same error. Citing Karl Keating, he references the Catholic teaching on how we can know that the Bible is infallible:

  • The Bible can be reasonably be trusted to be historically accurate for external reasons.
  • The Bible claims that the Church will be infallible.
  • This infallible Church claims that the Bible is inspired and inerrant.

White claims that this is circular. He doesn’t explain exactly how, but we can presume he means in a pattern that goes something like: “How do we know the Bible is inspired?”→ “Because the Church says so.”→ “How do we know the Church is right?”→ “Because the Bible says so.” However, this does not accurately represent the Church’s stance; rather it shows that if Catholics believed in sola scriptura it would be circular; but Catholics do not. The Catholic Church claims to be right on the basis of apostolic succession, a historical phenomenon whose reliability is independent of the text of the Bible.  If apostolic succession means a historical chain of witnesses leading all the way back to Jesus, then it’s not circular, but linear. You can attack the links in the chain but you can’t call it circular.

White also says that the Catholic church is circular in its claims to have authority of interpretation:

“Once a group determines that any interpretation that is not in harmony with its own teachings is automatically to be dismissed, on what basis can anyone every say, “you’ve made an error”? There is no way of self-correction left when the one source that could demonstrate the error of the Roman Church’s teachings is placed in absolute submission to the interpretive decisions of the Roman curia” (Loc 618).

This is a straw-man of the Catholic teaching; in reality, the magisterium of the Catholic Church bases its interpretations on the precedent of the Church’s historical tradition, and especially the Scriptures themselves. Yes, contrary to White’s assumption, the decisions of the magisterium are carefully weighed against scripture. Look at any Catholic decree and you will find numerous references to both Church Fathers and to Scripture. The magisterium does not make its decisions independently or capriciously. In the end, despite White’s tu quoque, it is only the Protestant who is left begging the question.

To sum up Part 1, the Protestant appeal to the Bible as the authority upon which to ratify the authority of the Bible is not found in the Bible or the early Church, and it’s a logical error to boot. White fails in his attempt to establish any objective means by which, having rejected Tradition, we can affirm the Bible. I do not think it is his fault—none exist. If we are to affirm the Bible, and if we are discontented with subjective means of doing so that fall apart under the scrutiny of modern questions, then our only recourse is to the Sacred Tradition of the Church.

PART 2: Whether Catholic Tradition and the Bible contradict each other

In addition to attempting to establish an independent basis for the Bible, White’s treatise aims to show that the teachings of the Catholic Church contradict the Bible. White is right that the Church should still be in line with the Bible; God does not contradict himself. Therefore, let us enter into a discussion as fellow Bible-believing Christians to consider this accusation.

At the outset we must make an important distinction between what is unbiblical and what is anti-biblical. Something that is unbiblical is not in the Bible (neither explicitly nor as a clear and logical consequence), but is not contradictory to it; whereas something anti-biblical is both unbiblical and contradictory to the Bible. Examples of merely unbiblical teachings, courtesy of Mark Shea‘s book By What Authority?, include the traditional Christian prohibitions of male polygamy and abortion. These prohibitions are not in the Bible, thus unbiblical, but neither are they contradictory to it (not anti-biblical), since the Bible certainly does not endorse male polygamy or abortion. An example of something anti-biblical would be, say, a belief that God has allowed the Body of Christ to stray fundamentally into error, since this is contrary to the promises of God made in Scripture. 

Now, the question is, is Catholic Tradition not just unbiblical, but anti-biblical? White says several times that it is anti-biblical: “Many doctrinal formulations that Rome claims ‘developed’ over time, that Protestants point out are not only non-Biblical but downright anti-Biblical, came about as…a process of slowly departing from Christian doctrine,” and “The doctrines that Rome teaches that are supposedly based upon these ancient traditions…are themselves often contradictory to the teachings of the Lord and His Apostles contained in the New Testament.” Is he right?

No. White has made a crucial error in common with many Protestants: he has mistaken unbiblical for anti-biblical, on the basis of the presupposition that anything that is unbiblical is anti-biblical; that is, he assumes sola scriptura. His accusation is that, since Catholic Tradition exceeds what is clear from scripture, it therefore contradicts scripture, because scripture forbids anything to exceed itIf we begin with this presupposition, we will be able to fairly easily repudiate numerous Catholic traditions and Tradition itself. However, if we do not begin with this presupposition, I assert that we will not be able to repudiate any Catholic tradition. So let us ask, is sola scriptura itself taught in scripture? Does the Bible exclude Tradition as a source of revelation, asserting its exclusivity as the word of God? White says yes. Let’s look at his arguments.

White’s main argument is that the infallibility and inerrancy of scripture implies its exclusivity of authority. Throughout the book, he firmly establishes that the Bible is infallible and inerrant and God-breathed (as if Catholics disagree with this, which they do not). He then somehow concludes that the Bible is sufficient alone. It is very hard to find any attempt at a coherent logical connection to this effect; the best I can find is: “If God is consistent, then His revelation will be without contradiction; it will speak with one voice, present one truth. Hence, if the Bible is His Word, then the Bible will be sufficient in and of itself for the determination of all those doctrines and truths addressed within its pages” (Loc 582). It seems that he is saying that, since God’s word must be without contradiction and in harmony, it must therefore be from one source. But this is nonsense—certainly my wife and I hold many consistent opinions and are in harmony on various issues, though we are two people.

Another tack by which White denounces Tradition is an Argument from Silence. (This type of reasoning, common in historical studies, is basically that if the author had known about or believed something, he would have mentioned it, and that, since he is silent, we can conclude he didn’t know or believe it.) Now, Argument from Silence is sometimes fallacious, though it is not necessarily so; it is sometimes a reasonable method of making soft conclusions. For example, if I read all of my grandfather’s letters to my grandmother during his deployment in World War II, and he never mentions engaging in active combat, I can surmise that there is a likelihood he did not do so, since it is not unreasonable to suppose that at some point during his whole deployment, he would have made at least some reference to combat (combat being pretty worth mentioning to most soldiers). However, I cannot definitively conclude that he never engaged in active combat unless I know enough to rule out other factors that could have affected his silence, such as whether he was trying to protect my grandmother from fear, or whether he was protecting classified information. Nevertheless, some sort of theory can be established from an Argument from Silence. The Argument from Silence becomes fallacious, however, when it attempts to make hard claims that a particular text would have mentioned something, or, having mentioned it obliquely, would have defined it more clearly or explicitly. This is to assume a vast knowledge of the historical, contextual, and personal factors that influenced the author in writing that text, and often assumes they align with the arguer’s current agenda. For example, imagine that I, being of a pacifist heritage, am attempting to show that my grandfather did not engage in active combat in World War II, and I produce a letter in which he mentions landing at Normandy in June 1944. I cannot claim from this that he would have mentioned engaging in combat in that letter if he had engaged in combat at all, since Normandy was, as we all know, one of the most important assaults, and that since he didn’t mention it here, he probably didn’t fight at all. Neither can I say that he only said he “landed” in Normandy, and he would have surely clarified that this was during combat if he had wanted us to know he had been in combat. This kind of Argument from Silence doesn’t prove anything, and erroneously shifts the burden of proof away from the person making the claim.

Well, the scriptures are not silent on tradition, and do not permit a valid form of Argument from Silence; White’s arguments, instead, are of the fallacious kind that attempts to decipher too much meaning out of what particular passages don’t say. Let’s look at several of the major often-discussed verses and what White says about them. First, 2 Timothy 3:14-17:

But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it and how from childhood you have been acquainted with the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work. 

White commentates, “Roman Catholics might think this refers to ‘sacred tradition’ that would exist side-by-side with, but contain other ‘revelation’ than, the Holy Scriptures. But this is not borne out by the text, for the message he has received in the Gospel is to be found in the Sacred Scriptures themselves.” How do we know this? White answers with a rhetorical question: “Is there even a hint in Paul’s words that to be ‘thoroughly equipped for every good work’ one needs ‘sacred tradition’?”

Well, the answer to his question is yes. When we are talking about Sacred Tradition, we are talking about what Timothy “had learned and firmly believed” of which “the sacred scriptures” which he had been acquainted with since childhood were a subset or companion. White seems to be implying an argument from silence, as if he expects further elaboration from the author because “it surely would have been specified more clearly.” Or perhaps White means that since Paul only said here that the scriptures were profitable for training in righteousness, he implies that oral teachings he mentioned are not, which is again fallacious argument from silence. Let’s consider another verse, 1 Thessalonians 2:13:

And we also thank God constantly for this, that when you received the word of God, which you heard from us, you accepted it not as the word of men but as what it really is, the word of God, which is at work in you believers.

This indicates that the word of God was an oral tradition delivered to the Thessalonians before the epistle was sent. White challenges:

“There is absolutely no indication whatsoever that there is any difference in content between the message preached to the Thessalonians and the one contained in the written epistle. The Roman Catholic Church has no basis in this passage at all to assert that the content of these ‘traditions’ differs in the slightest from what is contained in the New Testament.”

This is fallaciously shifting the burden of proof! If White claims their content was the same, he should prove that it was so, not argue from the silence of the text that it surely must have been so, and challenge anyone to prove that it wasn’t. Let’s look at one more verse, 2 Timothy 2:2:

And what you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses entrust to faithful men who will be able to teach others also.

While a surface reading of this text clearly implies an oral tradition, White says:

“Now are we to believe that what Paul taught in the presence of many witnesses is different than what is contained in the pages of the New Testament? Are we to believe that the content of this teaching differed from what Paul wrote to the Romans, Galatians, or Ephesians?…Why should we limit what Timothy is to pass on to only those things that are not contained in the Bible?”

No one is limiting it to things not found in the Bible, but on what basis does White suppose that it is limited to things found in the Bible? It is again a shifted burden of proof supported only by White’s indignant incredulity.

Here are some more examples of the pervasiveness of this fallacy in White’s book, one regarding Jesus and one regarding the early Church in Acts:

“Jesus gave absolutely no indication that His acceptance of the sacred writings was based upon the testimony of an “infallible church” that told Him to believe in them. They were to be believed simply because they were the words of God.”

“There is nothing in the fact that the early believers in Jerusalem devoted themselves to the Apostles’ teaching that indicates that this teaching to which they devoted themselves is other than what we have in the New Testament! Is there anything that would suggest that what the Apostles taught was different than what they taught believers later by epistle? Do we not have accounts of the early sermons in the book of Acts that tell us what the Apostles were teaching then? Do we find the Apostles saying ‘what we tell you now we will pass down only by mouth as a separate mode of revelation known as tradition, and later we will write down some other stuff that will become sacred Scripture’?”

Although no evidence is needed against such poor reasoning, the Catholic Church does incidentally have evidence that these traditions are not merely synonymous with the content of the scriptures. Basil the Great, a contemporary of Augustine and revered leader of the Church, says that the early Church by the time of the canonization of Scripture clearly understood that there was more to the deposit of faith than the Scriptures. Here is the larger passage, but this excerpt will drive the point home:

Of the beliefs and practices whether generally accepted or publicly enjoined which are preserved in the Church some we possess derived from written teaching; others we have received delivered to us in a mystery by the tradition of the apostles; and both of these in relation to true religion have the same force. And these no one will gainsay—no one, at all events, who is even moderately versed in the institutions of the Church. For were we to attempt to reject such customs as have no written authority, on the ground that the importance they possess is small, we should unintentionally injure the Gospel in its very vitals.

The danger of White’s argumentation from silence climaxes when he says, “The Gospel is defined in Scripture, not in oral traditions, and when a person’s speaking is no longer based upon what is written in Scripture, his authority is gone.” By White’s reasoning, the Gospel that Paul delivered to the Thessalonians and to Timothy orally, prior to their receiving any of the New Testament writings, had no authority (even though Paul appeals to such authority in Scripture!). White would probably dodge this by saying that the Gospel was based on the Old Testament, but this does no good, since White says that the Gospel is not only “based on” but “defined in” written Scripture; that is, unless one wants to say that the Gospel that Paul and the apostles spread was defined within the writings of the Old Testament, which is not merely an obvious falsehood, but in opposition to the very idea of the New Covenant founded on the blood of Jesus Christ, the fullness of Revelation who came to fulfill the law and the prophets. Instead of such nonsense we should agree with the Bible that The Old Testament served as a witness to the Gospel of the apostles, and that this Gospel was an oral tradition before it was written. Thus we realize that the Catholic idea of Tradition is not unbiblical, and we can conclude from this that sola scriptura is anti-biblical!

As a final aside that I cannot help but mention, I think it should be red flag to all serious-minded Christians that White presumes to oppose early Church fathers including Irenaeus, Tertullian and Origen. He says, “Rather than directing people solely to the Scriptures, some of these early Fathers made the grave error of seeking a source of authority outside of the completed revelation of God,” and “As noted above, many of these early Fathers did not have access to information (linguistic and historical) that we do today.” It is a grave error to oppose historic Christianity based on unfounded and unbiblical presuppositions, and to presume that the nature of the faith once for all delivered to the saints is contained in linguistic and historical scholarship, more than in the living Body of Christ on the earth, in which such Fathers were foremost, being the vessels through which God chose to protect and deliver to us both the Bible and the whole sacred heritage of our faith in Christ.

We have gone through White’s arguments and, with all due respect, found nothing but straw. My conclusion is simply to ask if any of my Protestant brethren have anything better to offer, and if they do not, ask them whether they are really willing to “test everything and hold onto the good.” It was a pivotal moment for me when I realized with dawning wonder and no lack of irony that sola scriptura was unbiblical, while a developing, living tradition among the people of God was biblical, and that, if I was going to hold on to my faith in Christianity and my trust in the Bible at all, I had to relinquish the sort of Christianity I had always assumed, and the iron clamps by which I had resisted anything besides the Bible, and step with Abrahamic faith into a larger world of Christianity.

St. Basil the Great on scripture and tradition

St. Basil the Great (330-379), in De Spiritu Sancto (Ch. 27, §66-67) writes of the importance of sacred tradition as co-equal with that of written revelation. Bold is mine. This a strong authoritative witness against the idea that the early church believed sola scriptura!

66. Of the beliefs and practices whether generally accepted or publicly enjoined which are preserved in the Church some we possess derived from written teaching; others we have received delivered to us in a mystery by the tradition of the apostles; and both of these in relation to true religion have the same force. And these no one will gainsay—no one, at all events, who is even moderately versed in the institutions of the Church. For were we to attempt to reject such customs as have no written authority, on the ground that the importance they possess is small, we should unintentionally injure the Gospel in its very vitals; or, rather, should make our public definition a mere phrase and nothing more. For instance, to take the first and most general example, who is thence who has taught us in writing to sign with the sign of the cross those who have trusted in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ? What writing has taught us to turn to the East at the prayer? Which of the saints has left us in writing the words of the invocation at the displaying of the bread of the Eucharist and the cup of blessing? For we are not, as is well known, content with what the apostle or the Gospel has recorded, but both in preface and conclusion we add other words as being of great importance to the validity of the ministry, and these we derive from unwritten teaching. Moreover we bless the water of baptism and the oil of the chrism, and besides this the catechumen who is being baptized. On what written authority do we do this? Is not our authority silent and mystical tradition? Nay, by what written word is the anointing of oil itself taught? And whence comes the custom of baptizing thrice? And as to the other customs of baptism from what Scripture do we derive the renunciation of Satan and his angels? Does not this come from that unpublished and secret teaching which our fathers guarded in a silence out of the reach of curious meddling and inquisitive investigation? Well had they learned the lesson that the awful dignity of the mysteries is best preserved by silence. What the uninitiated are not even allowed to look at was hardly likely to be publicly paraded about in written documents. What was the meaning of the mighty Moses in not making all the parts of the tabernacle open to every one? The profane he stationed without the sacred barriers; the first courts he conceded to the purer; the Levites alone he judged worthy of being servants of the Deity; sacrifices and burnt offerings and the rest of the priestly functions he allotted to the priests; one chosen out of all he admitted to the shrine, and even this one not always but on only one day in the year, and of this one day a time was fixed for his entry so that he might gaze on the Holy of Holies amazed at the strangeness and novelty of the sight. Moses was wise enough to know that contempt stretches to the trite and to the obvious, while a keen interest is naturally associated with the unusual and the unfamiliar. In the same manner the Apostles and Fathers who laid down laws for the Church from the beginning thus guarded the awful dignity of the mysteries in secrecy and silence, for what is bruited abroad random among the common folk is no mystery at all. This is the reason for our tradition of unwritten precepts and practices, that the knowledge of our dogmas may not become neglected and contemned by the multitude through familiarity. Dogma and Kerugma are two distinct things; the former is observed in silence; the latter is proclaimed to all the world. One form of this silence is the obscurity employed in Scripture, which makes the meaning of dogmas difficult to be understood for the very advantage of the reader: Thus we all look to the East at our prayers, but few of us know that we are seeking our own old country, Paradise, which God planted in Eden in the East. Genesis 2:8 We pray standing, on the first day of the week, but we do not all know the reason. On the day of the resurrection (or standing again Grk. ἀ νάστασις) we remind ourselves of the grace given to us by standing at prayer, not only because we rose with Christ, and are bound to seek those things which are above, Colossians 3:1 but because the day seems to us to be in some sense an image of the age which we expect, wherefore, though it is the beginning of days, it is not called by Moses first, but one. For he says There was evening, and there was morning, one day, as though the same day often recurred. Now one and eighth are the same, in itself distinctly indicating that really one and eighth of which the Psalmist makes mention in certain titles of the Psalms, the state which follows after this present time, the day which knows no waning or eventide, and no successor, that age which ends not or grows old. Of necessity, then, the church teaches her own foster children to offer their prayers on that day standing, to the end that through continual reminder of the endless life we may not neglect to make provision for our removal there. Moreover all Pentecost is a reminder of the resurrection expected in the age to come. For that one and first day, if seven times multiplied by seven, completes the seven weeks of the holy Pentecost; for, beginning at the first, Pentecost ends with the same, making fifty revolutions through the like intervening days. And so it is a likeness of eternity, beginning as it does and ending, as in a circling course, at the same point. On this day the rules of the church have educated us to prefer the upright attitude of prayer, for by their plain reminder they, as it were, make our mind to dwell no longer in the present but in the future. Moreover every time we fall upon our knees and rise from off them we show by the very deed that by our sin we fell down to earth, and by the loving kindness of our Creator were called back to heaven.

67. Time will fail me if I attempt to recount the unwritten mysteries of the Church. Of the rest I say nothing; but of the very confession of our faith in Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, what is the written source? If it be granted that, as we are baptized, so also under the obligation to believe, we make our confession in like terms as our baptism, in accordance with the tradition of our baptism and in conformity with the principles of true religion, let our opponents grant us too the right to be as consistent in our ascription of glory as in our confession of faith. If they deprecate our doxology on the ground that it lacks written authority, let them give us the written evidence for the confession of our faith and the other matters which we have enumerated. While the unwritten traditions are so many, and their bearing on the mystery of godliness (1 Timothy 3:16) is so important, can they refuse to allow us a single word which has come down to us from the Fathers;— which we found, derived from untutored custom, abiding in unperverted churches;— a word for which the arguments are strong, and which contributes in no small degree to the completeness of the force of the mystery?

Augustine on free will and God’s foreknowledge

From City of God, Book V,  Chapters 9 and 10

But, let these perplexing debatings and disputations of the philosophers go on as they may, we, in order that we may confess the most high and true God Himself, do confess His will, supreme power, and prescience. Neither let us be afraid lest, after all, we do not do by will that which we do by will, because He, whose foreknowledge is infallible, foreknew that we would do it. It was this which Cicero was afraid of, and therefore opposed foreknowledge. The Stoics also maintained that all things do not come to pass by necessity, although they contended that all things happen according to destiny. What is it, then, that Cicero feared in the prescience of future things? Doubtless it was this—that if all future things have been foreknown, they will happen in the order in which they have been foreknown; and if they come to pass in this order, there is a certain order of things foreknown by God; and if a certain order of things, then a certain order of causes, for nothing can happen which is not preceded by some efficient cause. But if there is a certain order of causes according to which everything happens which does happen, then by fate, says he, all things happen which do happen. But if this be so, then is there nothing in our own power, and there is no such thing as freedom of will; and if we grant that, says he, the whole economy of human life is subverted. In vain are laws enacted. In vain are reproaches, praises, chidings, exhortations had recourse to; and there is no justice whatever in the appointment of rewards for the good, and punishments for the wicked. And that consequences so disgraceful, and absurd, and pernicious to humanity may not follow, Cicero chooses to reject the foreknowledge of future things, and shuts up the religious mind to this alternative, to make choice between two things, either that something is in our own power, or that there is foreknowledge—both of which cannot be true; but if the one is affirmed, the other is thereby denied. He therefore, like a truly great and wise man, and one who consulted very much and very skillfully for the good of humanity, of those two chose the freedom of the will, to confirm which he denied the foreknowledge of future things; and thus, wishing to make men free he makes them sacrilegious. But the religious mind chooses both, confesses both, and maintains both by the faith of piety. But how so? Says Cicero; for the knowledge of future things being granted, there follows a chain of consequences which ends in this, that there can be nothing depending on our own free wills. And further, if there is anything depending on our wills, we must go backwards by the same steps of reasoning till we arrive at the conclusion that there is no foreknowledge of future things. For we go backwards through all the steps in the following order:— If there is free will, all things do not happen according to fate; if all things do not happen according to fate, there is not a certain order of causes; and if there is not a certain order of causes, neither is there a certain order of things foreknown by God—for things cannot come to pass except they are preceded by efficient causes,— but, if there is no fixed and certain order of causes foreknown by God, all things cannot be said to happen according as He foreknew that they would happen. And further, if it is not true that all things happen just as they have been foreknown by Him, there is not, says he, in God any foreknowledge of future events.

Now, against the sacrilegious and impious darings of reason, we assert both that God knows all things before they come to pass, and that we do by our free will whatsoever we know and feel to be done by us only because we will it.

But it does not follow that, though there is for God a certain order of all causes, there must therefore be nothing depending on the free exercise of our own wills, for our wills themselves are included in that order of causes which is certain to God, and is embraced by His foreknowledge, for human wills are also causes of human actions; and He who foreknew all the causes of things would certainly among those causes not have been ignorant of our wills. For even that very concession which Cicero himself makes is enough to refute him in this argument. For what does it help him to say that nothing takes place without a cause, but that every cause is not fatal, there being a fortuitous cause, a natural cause, and a voluntary cause? It is sufficient that he confesses that whatever happens must be preceded by a cause. For we say that those causes which are called fortuitous are not a mere name for the absence of causes, but are only latent, and we attribute them either to the will of the true God, or to that of spirits of some kind or other. And as to natural causes, we by no means separate them from the will of Him who is the author and framer of all nature. But now as to voluntary causes. They are referable either to God, or to angels, or to men, or to animals of whatever description, if indeed those instinctive movements of animals devoid of reason, by which, in accordance with their own nature, they seek or shun various things, are to be called wills. And when I speak of the wills of angels, I mean either the wills of good angels, whom we call the angels of God, or of the wicked angels, whom we call the angels of the devil, or demons. Also by the wills of men I mean the wills either of the good or of the wicked. And from this we conclude that there are no efficient causes of all things which come to pass unless voluntary causes, that is, such as belong to that nature which is the spirit of life. For the air or wind is called spirit, but, inasmuch as it is a body, it is not the spirit of life. The spirit of life, therefore, which quickens all things, and is the creator of every body, and of every created spirit, is God Himself, the uncreated spirit. In His supreme will resides the power which acts on the wills of all created spirits, helping the good, judging the evil, controlling all, granting power to some, not granting it to others. For, as He is the creator of all natures, so also is He the bestower of all powers, not of all wills; for wicked wills are not from Him, being contrary to nature, which is from Him. As to bodies, they are more subject to wills: some to our wills, by which I mean the wills of all living mortal creatures, but more to the wills of men than of beasts. But all of them are most of all subject to the will of God, to whom all wills also are subject, since they have no power except what He has bestowed upon them. The cause of things, therefore, which makes but is made, is God; but all other causes both make and are made. Such are all created spirits, and especially the rational. Material causes, therefore, which may rather be said to be made than to make, are not to be reckoned among efficient causes, because they can only do what the wills of spirits do by them. How, then, does an order of causes which is certain to the foreknowledge of God necessitate that there should be nothing which is dependent on our wills, when our wills themselves have a very important place in the order of causes? Cicero, then, contends with those who call this order of causes fatal, or rather designate this order itself by the name of fate; to which we have an abhorrence, especially on account of the word, which men have become accustomed to understand as meaning what is not true. But, whereas he denies that the order of all causes is most certain, and perfectly clear to the prescience of God, we detest his opinion more than the Stoics do. For he either denies that God exists,— which, indeed, in an assumed personage, he has labored to do, in his book De Natura Deorum,— or if he confesses that He exists, but denies that He is prescient of future things, what is that but just the fool saying in his heart there is no God? For one who is not prescient of all future things is not God.

Wherefore our wills also have just so much power as God willed and foreknew that they should have; and therefore whatever power they have, they have it within most certain limits; and whatever they are to do, they are most assuredly to do, for He whose foreknowledge is infallible foreknew that they would have the power to do it, and would do it.

It is not the case, therefore, that because God foreknew what would be in the power of our wills, there is for that reason nothing in the power of our wills. For he who foreknew this did not foreknow nothing. Moreover, if He who foreknew what would be in the power of our wills did not foreknow nothing, but something, assuredly, even though He did foreknow, there is something in the power of our wills. Therefore we are by no means compelled, either, retaining the prescience of God, to take away the freedom of the will, or, retaining the freedom of the will, to deny that He is prescient of future things, which is impious. But we embrace both. We faithfully and sincerely confess both. The former, that we may believe well; the latter, that we may live well. For he lives ill who does not believe well concerning God. Wherefore, be it far from us, in order to maintain our freedom, to deny the prescience of Him by whose help we are or shall be free. Consequently, it is not in vain that laws are enacted, and that reproaches, exhortations, praises, and vituperations are had recourse to; for these also He foreknew, and they are of great avail, even as great as He foreknew that they would be of. Prayers, also, are of avail to procure those things which He foreknew that He would grant to those who offered them; and with justice have rewards been appointed for good deeds, and punishments for sins. For a man does not therefore sin because God foreknew that he would sin. Nay, it cannot be doubted but that it is the man himself who sins when he does sin, because He, whose foreknowledge is infallible, foreknew not that fate, or fortune, or something else would sin, but that the man himself would sin, who, if he wills not, sins not. But if he shall not will to sin, even this did God foreknow.

Augustine on why bad things happen to good people and vice versa

From City of God, Book 1, Chapters 8 and 9:

To the divine providence it has seemed good to prepare in the world to come for the righteous good things, which the unrighteous shall not enjoy; and for the wicked evil things, by which the good shall not be tormented. But as for the good things of this life, and its ills, God has willed that these should be common to both; that we might not too eagerly covet the things which wicked men are seen equally to enjoy, nor shrink with an unseemly fear from the ills which even good men often suffer.

There is, too, a very great difference in the purpose served both by those events which we call adverse and those called prosperous. For the good man is neither uplifted with the good things of time, nor broken by its ills; but the wicked man, because he is corrupted by this world’s happiness, feels himself punished by its unhappiness. Yet often, even in the present distribution of temporal things, does God plainly evince His own interference. For if every sin were now visited with manifest punishment, nothing would seem to be reserved for the final judgment; on the other hand, if no sin received now a plainly divine punishment, it would be concluded that there is no divine providence at all. And so of the good things of this life: if God did not by a very visible liberality confer these on some of those persons who ask for them, we should say that these good things were not at His disposal; and if He gave them to all who sought them, we should suppose that such were the only rewards of His service; and such a service would make us not godly, but greedy rather, and covetous. Wherefore, though good and bad men suffer alike, we must not suppose that there is no difference between the men themselves, because there is no difference in what they both suffer. For even in the likeness of the sufferings, there remains an unlikeness in the sufferers; and though exposed to the same anguish, virtue and vice are not the same thing. For as the same fire causes gold to glow brightly, and chaff to smoke; and under the same flail the straw is beaten small, while the grain is cleansed; and as the lees are not mixed with the oil, though squeezed out of the vat by the same pressure, so the same violence of affliction proves, purges, clarifies the good, but damns, ruins, exterminates the wicked. And thus it is that in the same affliction the wicked detest God and blaspheme, while the good pray and praise. So material a difference does it make, not what ills are suffered, but what kind of man suffers them. For, stirred up with the same movement, mud exhales a horrible stench, and ointment emits a fragrant odor.

Chapter 9

What, then, have the Christians suffered in that calamitous period, which would not profit every one who duly and faithfully considered the following circumstances? First of all, they must humbly consider those very sins which have provoked God to fill the world with such terrible disasters; for although they be far from the excesses of wicked, immoral, and ungodly men, yet they do not judge themselves so clean removed from all faults as to be too good to suffer for these even temporal ills. For every man, however laudably he lives, yet yields in some points to the lust of the flesh. Though he do not fall into gross enormity of wickedness, and abandoned viciousness, and abominable profanity, yet he slips into some sins, either rarely or so much the more frequently as the sins seem of less account. But not to mention this, where can we readily find a man who holds in fit and just estimation those persons on account of whose revolting pride, luxury, and avarice, and cursed iniquities and impiety, God now smites the earth as His predictions threatened? Where is the man who lives with them in the style in which it becomes us to live with them? For often we wickedly blind ourselves to the occasions of teaching and admonishing them, sometimes even of reprimanding and chiding them, either because we shrink from the labor or are ashamed to offend them, or because we fear to lose good friendships, lest this should stand in the way of our advancement, or injure us in some worldly matter, which either our covetous disposition desires to obtain, or our weakness shrinks from losing. So that, although the conduct of wicked men is distasteful to the good, and therefore they do not fall with them into that damnation which in the next life awaits such persons, yet, because they spare their damnable sins through fear, therefore, even though their own sins be slight and venial, they are justly scourged with the wicked in this world, though in eternity they quite escape punishment. Justly, when God afflicts them in common with the wicked, do they find this life bitter, through love of whose sweetness they declined to be bitter to these sinners.

If any one forbears to reprove and find fault with those who are doing wrong, because he seeks a more seasonable opportunity, or because he fears they may be made worse by his rebuke, or that other weak persons may be disheartened from endeavoring to lead a good and pious life, and may be driven from the faith; this man’s omission seems to be occasioned not by covetousness, but by a charitable consideration. But what is blame-worthy is, that they who themselves revolt from the conduct of the wicked, and live in quite another fashion, yet spare those faults in other men which they ought to reprehend and wean them from; and spare them because they fear to give offense, lest they should injure their interests in those things which good men may innocently and legitimately use—though they use them more greedily than becomes persons who are strangers in this world, and profess the hope of a heavenly country. For not only the weaker brethren who enjoy married life, and have children (or desire to have them), and own houses and establishments, whom the apostle addresses in the churches, warning and instructing them how they should live, both the wives with their husbands, and the husbands with their wives, the children with their parents, and parents with their children, and servants with their masters, and masters with their servants—not only do these weaker brethren gladly obtain and grudgingly lose many earthly and temporal things on account of which they dare not offend men whose polluted and wicked life greatly displeases them; but those also who live at a higher level, who are not entangled in the meshes of married life, but use meagre food and raiment, do often take thought of their own safety and good name, and abstain from finding fault with the wicked, because they fear their wiles and violence. And although they do not fear them to such an extent as to be drawn to the commission of like iniquities, nay, not by any threats or violence soever; yet those very deeds which they refuse to share in the commission of they often decline to find fault with, when possibly they might by finding fault prevent their commission. They abstain from interference, because they fear that, if it fail of good effect, their own safety or reputation may be damaged or destroyed; not because they see that their preservation and good name are needful, that they may be able to influence those who need their instruction, but rather because they weakly relish the flattery and respect of men, and fear the judgments of the people, and the pain or death of the body; that is to say, their non-intervention is the result of selfishness, and not of love.

Accordingly this seems to me to be one principal reason why the good are chastised along with the wicked, when God is pleased to visit with temporal punishments the profligate manners of a community. They are punished together, not because they have spent an equally corrupt life, but because the good as well as the wicked, though not equally with them, love this present life; while they ought to hold it cheap, that the wicked, being admonished and reformed by their example, might lay hold of life eternal. And if they will not be the companions of the good in seeking life everlasting, they should be loved as enemies, and be dealt with patiently. For so long as they live, it remains uncertain whether they may not come to a better mind. These selfish persons have more cause to fear than those to whom it was said through the prophet, He is taken away in his iniquity, but his blood will I require at the watchman’s hand. Ezekiel 33:6 For watchmen or overseers of the people are appointed in churches, that they may unsparingly rebuke sin. Nor is that man guiltless of the sin we speak of, who, though he be not a watchman, yet sees in the conduct of those with whom the relationships of this life bring him into contact, many things that should be blamed, and yet overlooks them, fearing to give offense, and lose such worldly blessings as may legitimately be desired, but which he too eagerly grasps. Then, lastly, there is another reason why the good are afflicted with temporal calamities— the reason which Job’s case exemplifies: that the human spirit may be proved, and that it may be manifested with what fortitude of pious trust, and with how unmercenary a love, it cleaves to God.

The self-contradiction of sola scriptura

Here is a plain and incontrovertible fact that knocked me flat on the floor: Nowhere in the Bible does it teach the doctrine of Sola Scriptura, and in no way does the doctrine follow as a logical consequence from what is taught therein.

Once I realized this, it dealt a death blow to the foundation of my Protestant system of theological epistemology. Strike sola scriptura,  and everything that rests on top of it begins to shake.  

Sola Scriptura, “by Scripture alone”, is one of the five solas that defined the key beliefs of the Reformation. It means that “all truth necessary for our salvation and spiritual life is taught either explicitly or implicitly in Scripture” (Ligonier Ministries). In the words of the Westminster Confession of Faith, “The whole counsel of God, concerning all things necessary for his own glory, man’s salvation, faith, and life, is either expressly set down in scripture, or by good and necessary consequence may be deduced from scripture: unto which nothing at any time is to be added, whether by new revelations of the Spirit, or traditions of men.”

It follows that a doctrine is acceptable if and only if it can be found in the Bible or logically inferred from what can be found there. However, since the doctrine of Sola Scriptura cannot be found in the Bible, nor logically inferred from it, then by its own rule we must reject it. If it is a true doctrine, then it is a false doctrine. It’s a self-contradiction!

Indeed, why did I always think the New Testament books set themselves as the limit of necessary truth, when they rarely refer to themselves at all, and never in such overtures? In only one case does the New Testament clearly confer scriptural status to itself (2 Peter 3:16), and then only the writings of Paul are affirmed, leaving the Four Gospels and all non-pauline books without even any affirmation of their scripturality, much less that they are the only repository of truth necessary for our salvation and spiritual life. 

The Protestant error is engendered deep in the understanding of the nature of scripture and its role in the salvation and life of the church. For we were never made to be saved merely by our knowledge of a book or a message, but by our membership in a living body which lives on that message. Thus the Bible is sufficient in that it lacks nothing, and yet it is insufficient in that it is not the limit and exhaustion of the means God has ordained by which we are nurtured into truth and life. (I once heard John Piper make a similar distinction referring to the verse where Paul says we “fill up what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions”.) For we are a living tree, not an academy, and it makes no more sense to exclude the evolving tradition of the Church from the deposit of faith than it does to cut off the branches of an oak tree because they are guilty of adding to the acorn.