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.

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.

Total depravity and my bad gardening skills

“We are completely sinful,” says the Calvinist. “In our natural state, even our best intentions are corrupted by the basic selfishness that poisons and perverts our most core impulses. There is nothing good in us.”

The problem with the Calvinist doctrine of the Total Depravity of Man is that there is nothing in a totally sinful soul for God to save. It is not merely unworthy of heaven, but worthless. For when we talk about depravity or sinfulness, we are talking about the corruption and ruin of the soul. If the whole soul is corrupt, then what part of it does God want to save? Does God love to rescue wickedness from punishment, or delight to bring blackness into his heavenly light?

A few months ago I planted some flowers in our mulch patch–a fledgling attempt at gardening. One Friday as we were about to leave town for a few days, I decided that, instead of diluting the Miracle Grow in water and watering the flowers, I would just sprinkle a little of the powder onto their bases and let the rain that was forecast that night dissolve it into the soil. #dumbo #thegreenthumbgeneskippedme

When I came back a few days later, I found to my horror that it hadn’t rained, or rained enough, and instead of fertilizing my plants, the chemicals had scourged my plants with burns that had turned them into dry, brown plant-corpses. I decided to dig them up and replace them with new plants from the store, swallowing the extra cost as a learning-the-hard-way tuition fee.

Two of them seemed to have retained some life. While one looked like it would definitely survive, the other had just one thin little twig of green peaking out on the side under the dead mass. (Presumably I had missed a spot with my fertilizer.) I decided to let it live and see if it could be nursed back to health. I replaced the dead ones but let it and its healthier brother remain. Since then, I have been overjoyed to see that, growing out of the center through the dead scrubbiness, new green has returned to it! I am confident now that this little shrub will live to bloom another day.

My point is that I did not save the plants that were totally dead, but the plants that had life left in them. The plants that showed no green I threw away. Is God, the wise gardener of souls, more a fool than I, a foolish gardener of flowers? Does he not see a shred of hope, a shred of beauty and value in the soul of those whom he saves? Does he not see the glorious figure of the unfallen Adam in the shriveled and reduced form of his offspring? Does he not remember that we are his blood, though we have forgotten it, and that, like Darth Vader, there is still good in us? Does he not deem valuable those for whom he exchanges his own Son?

The heart of Jesus at the moment of his death, a heart broken and bleeding with desperate, fiery love, charging into death for us as a lion and a lamb–is this heart one that takes pity on worthless refuse, or one that bursts with passion for a worthy beloved?

In what sense, then, is it helpful to speak of total depravity? It is one thing to say that we cannot earn our way to heaven by mere good works. It is another thing to say that the human soul has nothing good until God causes it to partake in the new birth. The very fact that it is a human soul means that it has been bestowed by God with a great and sacred value that demands respect in our thinking and our theology.

On neurological descriptions of faith

Some humanists (typically atheists and agnostics, sometimes self-proclaimed Christians) account for faith in merely neurological terms. They describe the neurological phenomena that correlate with religious and ecstatic experiences (the active areas of the brain, the chemicals released and their effects on perception and emotion, the psychological benefits of faith, etc.),  and believe that they have proved that religious belief is merely a natural phenomenon. However, to demonstrate the natural causes of faith does not preclude the existence of supernatural causes. It’s logical nonsense. It’s like a crime scene investigator deciphering precisely which angle the bullet hit the victim, and how it caused death by hemorrhaging, and thereby concluding triumphantly that he had solved the murder. Humanists convince themselves that the neurological causes of religious experience entirely account for it because they hold the inherently non-scientific presupposition that no supernatural causes can exist. It is absurd to enter a dialog whose purpose is to investigate whether supernatural causes exist with the presupposition that all phenomena must be natural. When such presuppositions are suspended, we can finally examine the facts of the phenomenon of religion without bias. We will find a great number of human behaviors that don’t seem to be easily accounted for by explanations of natural human behavior–chief among which were a wise and gentle moral teacher who claimed to be the One True God in the flesh, and a group of men who, after his death, themselves went to execution because they swore that he was, and a sect that has survived for 2000 years teaching that God died, that three are one, that a woman gave birth to a child without a man being involved, and that the path to life is not the survival of the fittest, but of the least fit.

Culpability and authority

It was suggested to me today by a colleague that the Church is hardly a reliable authority upon which to base our faith in the Bible or Christianity, because of the many atrocities committed throughout the history of the Church (Inquisition, Crusades, and the like). It is quite impossible to argue that the Church has been lily white in its history–indeed it has been marred repeatedly by corruption and scandal, from popes to parish priests (Just read up on Pope Alexander VI as a starting point). No sort of defense of the Church can stand that starts with the assumption that its authority depends on its blamelessness. The only defense that comes, and it is the only one needed, is that the Church has never pretended to be blameless; in fact, her mantra, the very essence of her message, has always been the acknowledgement of her (and everyone else’s) blame. The Church claims more blood on her hands than her opponents could ever catch her with.

The remarkable claim of the church is that she is authoritative not on the basis of her own merit but on the basis of Jesus’ anointing. She claims that Jesus promised that she would never fundamentally stray or err in doctrine; in other words, that she would preserve the true faith. It is no more necessary for her to be blameless in order to do this than it is necessary to be bald in order to be a barber, or to be a billionaire in order to be a banker. In fact I am the most suspicious of barbers who are bald, and of bankers who are billionaires, and of priests who are perfect.

The real question in examining the Church’s authority is whether Jesus really gave her this charge and whether she has ever fundamentally shifted in her teaching. We will find that, emerging from first century Palestine like an unflinching stallion, the Church has always defended the same message, God’s grace through the blood of Jesus, prevailing over sin and granting those who believe in his name the right to be called the sons and daughters of God, imbued with all the divine authority befitting such a bloodline.

ex opere operato Christi

On conversions between Catholicism and Protestantism

Having grown up as a Protestant, I have heard countless testimonies of people who were “raised in the Catholic church,” but never had a real, personal faith until they found Jesus at a Protestant church later in life. It is almost a cliche in churches like mine. All the Catholic church seemed to be able to produce were spiritually dead Christmas-and-Easter Pseudo-Christians. This evidence formed the impression in me and most of my churchmates that the Catholic church was itself spiritually dead.

Recently, I have become aware of the existence of active, practicing Catholics. Their existence creates a rather interesting observation: not once in my years as a Southern Baptist did I ever meet a former Catholic who was an active, practicing Catholic at the time of their conversion to Protestantism. It seems that the only way these once-Catholics entered Protestant churches was by a decay or regression in their faith (or in the facade of supposed faith), passing through a period of non-religion or spiritual inactivity. In other words, these former Catholics became Protestant after a progression in which they became less Christian. I have never met a convert from Catholicism who experienced the opposite path–that of increasing devotion to his Catholic form of the Christian faith leading to the discovering of Protestantism as a purer, better way to practice his faith. Someone may come forward to testify against it, but it seems to me that Catholics who become Protestants are Catholics who have become less Christian, never those who have become more Christian and embraced Protestantism as a higher form of Christianity.

I have far less evidence for the case of Protestants who become Catholics, but the limited cases I have heard would lead me to tentatively suggest that the trend goes in quite the opposite direction: Protestants who become Catholics are almost always active, practicing Protestants at the time of their conversion, and they embrace Catholicism as a higher form of Christianity. Protestants do not experience a period of doubt about the whole foundation of Christianity, a loss of love for or faith in Christ and the gospel and the essence of our faith, and then, at the end of this process, discover Catholicism. Perhaps there are cases to the contrary, but I sense that generally it holds true.

To show another angle of what I mean, the folks at Called to Communion have pointed out that former-Catholic Protestants tend to be hostile towards the Catholicism of their upbringing, rejecting Catholicism as a body that has lost its Christian soul, whereas former-Protestant Catholics tend to extend mercy towards the Protestantism of their upbringing, accepting it as a Christian soul that has lost her body. The attitude of the Catholic who used to be Protestant is towards pity and reconciliation, whereas the attitude of the Protestant who used to be Catholic is towards resentment and refutation.

If these observations prove true, then they may suggest which is the truer form of Christianity, for Christianity itself would seem to instruct us that its truest form will attract the truest and most devout of all Christians, and will have the most charity toward the other forms, while its weakest form will attract the most disenchanted Christians, and be the most hostile toward other forms.

The Bible’s sure foundation: A response to John Piper’s ‘A Peculiar Glory’

Dr. John Piper’s new book A Peculiar Glory (available for free PDF download) sets out to provide a basis for a sure knowledgefull_a-peculiar-glory that the Bible is true, one that can be known without scholarship. He says that while he has spent much of his life dealing with the historical and textual/linguistic evidences for establishing the truth and trustworthiness of the Bible, he has realized that these evidences do not provide certainty to the lay person who cannot understand them, nor devote his life to the study of Greek and Hebrew and the history of eastern antiquity, etc. He feels that such certainty should and must be available to the common Christian, and indeed it must.

As the means of getting this certainty about the Bible, Piper points to the evidence of Christ’s glory within it. He quotes heavily from Jonathan Edwards, who explains it this way:

“The mind ascends to the truth of the gospel but by one step, and that is its divine glory…. Unless men may come to a reasonable solid persuasion and conviction of the truth of the gospel, by the internal evidences of it, in the way that has been spoken, viz. by a sight of its glory; ’tis impossible that those who are illiterate, and unacquainted with history, should have any thorough and effectual conviction of it at all. (qtd. p. 138)

It is my aim in this essay to demonstrate that the peculiar glory of the gospel of Christ in the Bible is not in itself a sufficient means of knowing the trueness of the Bible, but to propose another means that can provide assurance without scholarship.

To begin, I address an assertion that Piper seems to make about ascertaining the truth of scripture through the glory of the gospel, namely that it is objective. He says, “It is crucial to emphasize here that this glory of Christ in the gospel is an objective reality. The glory is in Christ and in the gospel. It is not in us. It is not subjective, but objective” (p. 141). I respectfully point out that Piper has confused the glory of Christ in the gospel (which entails no knowledge on our part) with the perception of the glory of Christ in the gospel, which is the means by which we can know the glory of God. It is vital to see that the epistemological instrument Piper is seeking is in fact a mental or spiritual illumination, as evinced by Edwards’, John Calvin’s, and his own descriptions of the nature of this proof-by-glory. According to Piper, “Well-grounded faith is not only reasonable faith (based on real evidence and good grounds), but also spiritual faith, that is, it is enabled by the Holy Spirit and mediated through spiritual perception of divine glory in the truth of the gospel” (emphasis mine). In Edwards’ words above, it is not God’s glory per se but “a sight of [the gospel’s] glory” that convinces the believer. Calvin speaks in a crucial quote from Chapter 11:

“How can we be assured that this has sprung from God unless we have recourse to the decree of the church? It is 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.” (Institutes, I, vvii, 2)6

Thus, according to Calvin, the assurance of the truth of the Bible is a sensation, like taste or sight. Now, the word “objective” means belonging to the object of thought rather than the thinking subject, and “subjective” means belonging to the thinking subject rather than the object of thought. The glory of God may be objective, but the “spiritual perception of divine glory”, the great dawning of this glory in the mind of the believer, the sight of the glory which confirms the truth of the Bible to us, the taste of its sweetness, is what we are talking about. And the apprehension of beauty or glory is an inherently subjective phenomenon. Calling a believer’s comprehension of the peculiar glory of God objective is like calling the beauty of my one-month-old daughter objective, as if anyone who holds my daughter experiences the glory that I experience when I do. The subjectivity of a religious appeal to something like beauty is easier for us to see when it is put forward by Islam instead of Christianity. One of the most prominent lines of reasoning in Islamic apologetics is that the Qur’an can be known to be true because it is a work of literary beauty and moral sublimity that is unparalleled and impossible to imitate. The Qur’an says in one place (among others), “Oh people, if you doubt the heavenly origin of this Book which We have sent down to Our servant, the Prophet, produce one surah like it” (2:23). Can any writing be put forth that will satisfy this challenge in the eyes of Muslims? I suggest that it is impossible, because the claim is subjective. Muslims adore the Qur’an as holy. How could they see something unholy as equally beautiful? Therefore, it is clear as Piper advances his point about the glory of Christ in the gospel as the evidence for the truth of the Bible, that he is talking about a subjective evidence.

In addition to saying that the glory of Christ in the Bible is “objective,” Piper says that it is “self-authenticating.” (In Calvin’s words above: “Scripture exhibits fully as clear evidence of its own truth”.) In fact this is one of the main claims Piper makes in the book, using the term in the book’s introduction webpage on desiringgod.com, and throughout the text. Now, a truth that is “self-evident” or “self-authenticating” is something that is authenticated by no outside authority, but subjectively, that is, having the proper source of its evidence or authentication in the mind itself. For example, the Founding Fathers held it to be self-evident that all men are created equal, on the basis that any man contemplating the statement has a subjective perception of its truth, based on reason; in other words, it has no other proof but needs no other, since every man’s reason confirms it to him in his mind. By calling the glory of Christ in the scriptures self-authenticating, Piper is saying that one’s mind is the source of the authentication of the Bible. It is important to notice the possible implications of this. If we say that the truth of the Bible is evident to the natural human mind, we make it out to be something ascertainable by the natural mind, in other words, by reason. Now, this reliance on reason is troubling when it comes to the gospel. The comprehension of the divine beauty of the gospel is anything but “natural” in a fallen state of nature, and the glorious paradoxes of the gospel are not “reasonable,” but a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles. Dr. Piper would be the first to admit that reason alone cannot bring one this saving vision of the divine glory. To give him the benefit of the doubt, I think that he uses the term “self-authenticating” with unintentional ambiguity, and doesn’t really mean that the way we are certain of the supernatural truth of the Bible is by natural reason. Instead, he means that the Holy Spirit within our minds confirms the truth of the Bible to our minds, and it is in that sense subjective: it is within our minds. However, although it is a subjective truth, it is not a self-authenticating truth, but a truth authenticated by a divine witness. This is in fact where Piper ends up, especially in Chapter 11: he explains the Spirit as the agent of illumination.

Filtering out the misleading implications that the glory of God is itself a means by which men may ascertain its truth, or that it is evident by man’s natural faculties, we see Piper’s strongest claim, that our certainty comes from the Holy Spirit’s supernatural guidance and illumination of the mind. Piper first introduces this idea of the Holy Spirit’s role via Jonathan Edwards: The “internal evidences” that Edwards mentions are authenticated “by the special influence and enlightenings of the Spirit of God” (qtd. p. 142), which Edwards says accounts for why some otherwise rational men do not seem to notice them in their study of the Bible. The idea is really expounded in Chapter 11, where Piper stakes the heart of his argument on a crucial phrase by Calvin: “We can know the Bible is the word of God by ‘the internal testimony of the Spirit’” (p. 182). Perhaps Calvin recognized the danger of ascribing the illumination that affirms the Bible merely to the human mind. Perhaps he heard the thundering hooves of the Enlightenment coming on the heels of the Reformation. In any case, he ascribes it to the Holy Spirit:

The testimony of the Spirit is more excellent than all reason. For as God alone is a fit witness of himself in his word, the Word will not find acceptance in men’s hearts before it is sealed by the inward testimony of the Spirit. The same Spirit therefore who has spoken through the mouths of the prophets must penetrate into our hearts to persuade us that they faithfully proclaimed what had been divinely commanded . . . because until he illumines their minds, they ever waver among many doubts! (qtd. p. 184)

According to Calvin, it is by the Spirit’s illumination that we transcend our own rational powers to know beyond a shadow of a doubt the trueness of scripture.

Therefore illumined by [the Spirit’s] power, we believe neither by our own nor by anyone else’s judgment that Scripture is from God; but above human judgment we affirm with utter certainty (just as if we were gazing upon the majesty of God himself) that it has flowed to us from the very mouth of God by the ministry of men. (qtd. p. 187)

Or, as Piper explains, “beneath a spiritually vital judgment…is a Spirit-given illumination of the majesty of God himself. The sight of God’s glory precedes and grounds the formation of rational judgments about its truth.” Piper is saying that the proof of the Bible by the beauty of Christ is in our minds, yet not merely by the human mind, but by the Holy Spirit who sanctifies our minds through his divine and authoritative light.

Although I too believe that the inward witness of the Holy Spirit affirms to us all that we read in the Bible, this fact, no matter how true, does not provide any more epistemological certainty; rather it merely shifts the question over a bit. Imagine that a man comes to you and says, “I found these scrolls, and they were sent from heaven!” and you ask him, “How do you know they were sent from heaven?” Suppose he were to reply, “Because an angel appeared to me and told me.” Now you are a person who believes that angels and heaven exist. However, even given that, what would your response be? Would it be to say, “Well, since you say that an angel told you they are from God, I suppose they must be”? Isn’t it more likely that you will be inclined to ask, “Well, then how do I know that an angel appeared to you?” And that is the question we must ask of ourselves, suspending for the sake of truth our assumption that we know the truth: How do we know that the Holy Spirit has truly illumined us, and not some lesser power or principality?

Within the greater realm of those who claim Christianity there are some who, in answer to this question, leap off the precipice of absolute subjectivity, saying, “We know it because we know it. There is no explanation, you just know.” But their tautology brings the argument swiftly to an end, and as swiftly their faith, for they have no room for a Christ outside the one in their mind. John Piper–thanks be to God–is not willing to be among them, and so, when he is tacitly faced with this question, he deliberately avoids the precipice, clarifying that the Holy Spirit does not speak to us in just any way, but by and through the words of the Bible.

“The internal testimony of the Spirit is not an added revelation to what we see in Scripture. It is not the voice of the Spirit saying to our mind, ‘What you are now looking at in the Bible is the majesty of God; so start seeing it’” (p. 187).

The Spirit is not an added revelation outside Scripture. Nor does it work apart from Scripture.

God does not hang a lantern on the house of Scripture so that we will know it is his house. He does not certify his masterpiece with a distinguishing, Rembrandt-like signature. He does not give a voice from heaven: “This is my book, listen to it.” That is not what the word  “testimony” or “witness” means in the phrase “testimony [or witness] of the Holy Spirit.” Rather, the testimony of the Spirit is the work of the Spirit to give us new life and, with this life, eyes to see what is really there in the self-attesting divine glories of Scripture—the meaning of Scripture. (p. 190)

We do not know the Spirit’s work by some supernatural sign, but by the fact that he illumines our eyes to the true meaning of Scripture. In other words, Piper’s answer to the question “How do we know the Holy Spirit has truly illumined us?” is “Because it shows us the divine glory in the meaning of scripture.” The means of confirming the work of the Spirit is the Bible.

It is at this point we realize that Piper’s argument utterly fails, that it is an infinite loop. He commits the logical fallacy of begging the question. For if we ask him, “How do we know the scriptures are true?” the answer comes, “By the revelation of the Holy Spirit,” and if we ask him, “How do we know that a revelation is from the Holy Spirit?” the answer comes, “By the scriptures.”

Piper’s main purpose in the book is to establish a means of knowing for certain that the Bible is true–a means that is available to every man without historical-critical scholarship. We see now that the Bible is not its own authentication, and, although the Spirit of God confirms to us the glorious and holy truth contained in the Bible, the Holy Spirit and the Holy Book share the need for an anchor of well-grounded proof, a defense for the hope that is in them. On what reasonable grounds can we base our belief that the Bible is true, or for that matter, that the Holy Spirit speaks to us? I believe there is such a solid ground.

To find this firm foundation, we have to trace Piper’s argument back to Chapter 7, as Piper is laying the groundwork for his argument in Chapters 8-11. In Chapter 7 he makes some assumptions that doom the following chapters to failure: he claims that the authority that the Twelve Apostles and Paul had as spokesmen for Jesus was not transferable.

Once the Twelve were established for their foundational ministry, there was no plan or provision to be replaced. Paul referred to the new and growing church as “the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone” (Eph. 2:19–20); and John described the church in Revelation as a city coming down from heaven whose wall had “twelve foundations, and on them were the twelve names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb” (Rev. 21:14). The point of Paul and John is that foundations that Christ puts in place are unshakeable and once for all. They are not replaced in every generation. The apostles were once for all. Alfred Plummer clarifies this point on the basis of the intrinsic purpose of the apostolate as Jesus created it: “The absence from Christ’s teaching of any statement respecting the priesthood of the Twelve, or respecting the transmission of the powers of the Twelve to others, is remarkable. As the primary function of the Twelve was to be witnesses of what Christ had taught and done, especially in rising from the dead, no transmission of so exceptional an office was possible.” (p. 122)

Piper says that because the apostles were “foundations,” they could not be “replaced,” which we understand through the quote by Plummer to mean that the transmission of their office was not possible. The implication is that their role as “authorized spokesmen who would teach with [Christ’s] authority” (p. 118)–the authority by which Piper claims the New Testament came into being–ended with The Apostles. But this reasoning is absolutely false. No one lays the foundation of a building and then stops and says, “Well, these bricks are the foundation, therefore I should not put any bricks on top of them.” Indeed, if they are a foundation, then by definition they must be built upon. And God is no foolish builder who leaves his foundations unfinished, but is building on the foundation of the apostles and prophets. As it says in Ephesians 2:19-21, which Piper quotes from, “In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.” Nor does the transmission of an office imply supplantation, but rather succession. No one at the Continental Congress, upon having elected George Washington as the first president of the United States, said, “Well, since we have recognized him as the greatest man in America, we surely must never elect a man to replace him as president.” It is certainly true that the Twelve Apostles have always been accorded unequalled honor above the saints, but it is all the more fitting that there should be successors to their office. The only argument offered by Piper or Plummer that there could not possibly be successors to their office is essentially that Jesus would surely have said something about it, which is a fallacious argumentum ex silentio, an argument from silence.

And here we begin to see our hope, for if the office of “authorized spokesmen who would teach with [Christ’s] authority” is not ended, but alive and well, then we can base our faith in the Bible on their testimony, a testimony that is not entirely in heaven (as the testimony of the Holy Spirit) nor entirely on earth (as the testimony of human reason), but straddling both, like Jacob’s Ladder, like Christ Himself, fully divine and fully human. Behold, here indeed is such a witness, the “holy temple” of which we are bricks and “in which God lives by his Spirit,” the Church, whose head speaks with divine authority handed down from those first authorized spokesmen by unbroken apostolic succession by the laying on of hands.

How can we know that the Bible is true? We can believe on the testimony of the witness who wrote it, who preserved it, who canonized it, and treasured the gospel of God in her bosom from the earliest days of Christianity until today. The Church is with us as a living and authoritative witness so that we do not have to become scholars to have a grounded basis for our faith. Indeed, Piper admits that even if we were to become masters of historical criticism, “the results of such study would not provide a sure foundation for faith that you could stake your life on” (p. 130). By trusting the authority of the Church, which is led by the Holy Spirit and given a spiritual enlightenment, we do not have to subject our trust to the arguments of mere human critics and rationalist skeptics. Yet the Church is also an earthly institution, standing as a physical and historical tether to the objective truths of Christianity, fiercely insistent and perennially consistent in its dogma, keeping us from the pitfalls to which blind subjectivism would leave us vulnerable. The Holy Catholic Church, the Body of the Spirit of Christ, The Protector of the Bible, is the Bible’s one sure foundation, as Christ is hers. All who love the Bible will be drawn to her.