Look, the "unity" argument just doesn't work

Let me try to give a fuller explanation of the point of my last post with respect to what David B has said starting here.

First and foremost, nothing in this post is intended to put forward a Sola Scripturist position.  The point is to rebut a very common Sola Ecclesia-ist argument, and nothing more.  SEists like to rip Sola Scr b/c it produces all these denominations.  I'm just showing another way (to say nothing of what's already been said that this is a terribly stupid argument to use.

David B says that the GOC have excommunicated themselves.
This is not excommunication, at least not biblically.  Biblical excommunication/church discipline is an action taken by the church.  Of course there's room biblically for them to go "out from us" (1 John 2), but that's not the same thing.  So when I said "So excommunicate them" and David B said "Already done", this is not precise.  It would have been far more precise and informative, apparently, to say "We can't; they already left", although apparently some of these GOC-ers, the priest in question included, see themselves as "resisting from within".  Within what, if not EOC?
Along those lines, I'd asked for an "authoritative church statement", and didn't get one.  I'd still like to know whether that exists, or whether this is David B's private, fallible interpretation of history.  (Not that this is a big deal to me, but I say that to mock still others who use the "private fallible interpretation" argument, which is, if possible, even stupider.) (I do not recall David B ever using said argument, fortunately.)

Now, we turn to this comment:
the main reason I see the calendar as NOT part of tradition and NOT reason for schism is that it was simply the civil (and pagan!) calendar of Julian's day...

That sounds an awful lot like "the main reason I see the question of Presbyterian infant baptism as NOT part of the essentials and NOT reason for schism is that it is simply the outworking of Presby covenant theology and has nothing to do with the question of the Gospel", doesn't it?  Yet do we Sola Scripturists ever get a pass from our Sola Ecclesia friends when we say that?  Nope.
So when we see "The Orthodox Church is internally divided over the issue of the Church calendar. A minority of Orthodox churches worldwide, beginning in 1923, decided to follow the so-called 'New' (Gregorian) Calendar." (Source), I don't see a good reason not to doubt this kind of "we have unity, and you don't, so haha" argument.  David B's church is in the minority.

He or other EOx might respond:
But we are in communion with most of the Old Calendarists who aren't schismatics!

I'm a Reformed Baptist, and I'm in communion with all sortsa people - Presbyterians, not-Reformed Baptists, Assemblies of God, charismatics, Pentecostals...


But y'all don't go to the same church!

Neither do y'all.
And you don't earn any points for fudging on the definition of "denomination" either.  Your not-denomination denominations, in which you disagree with each other about certain things, are the same situation as the one in which I find myself today among Sola Scripturists.


But we have the same name!

No, you don't.  ROCOR, Russian Orthodox, OCA, GOA...


Those are just ethnic divisions for convenience' sake!

1) Then why do some of you differ on, for example, the calendar?
2) So it's better that y'all hold to the same doctrine and just squabble amongst yourselves like you do on the basis of racial dislikes?  Nice.


But you're not in communion at all with other Protestants!

You mean so-called Protestants?  Those with whom I'm not in communion have excommunicated themselves by denying the Gospel or another essential of the faith.
And you're not in communion with other Orthodox.


You mean so-called Orthodox?

Yep, that's precisely what I mean.  Why do you get to play the "they've schismed" game while I don't?  Where's your consistency?
It would appear that this is a case of "they're in communion with us unless they're not".  I shouldn't have to remind anyone that this is a tautology, and yet that is what's behind any appeal to this "unity" argument.


But we have a way to tell which tradition is right!

So do we - the Scripture.  Which doesn't keep writing itself with every new church pronouncement, BTW.  And which is far less question-begging.

Having said all that, one has to ask how David B knows that OCA is part of The True Orthodox Church, whereas those who've kept to the ostensibly older tradition of the Old Calendar aren't the ones holding firm in the face of innovation, a new calendar, ecumenism, getting all liberal-soft on baby murder, but by God making sure that everyone knows that the EOC is really serious about being green.  Nnnoooo, none of that is suspicious!
You know, for a while it sure seemed like the Arians were going to win the struggle in the 4th century, and anathemas had been flung about.  If David B had been alive that day, how would he know that the party of Athanasius was correct?  Appeal to "the Fathers"?  Each side had their own "Fathers".  Besides, a mere individual man like David doesn't get to define who is a Father and who isn't.  And since the typical Sola Ecclesia interp of Matthew 16:18 tells us that the church will never go largely down into heresy, the only way to be sure would be to wait and see who'd win the struggle.
How is that helpful for the believer at the time whose very soul is at stake?
How is that a good guide for the believer who wants to further the cause of good and of God?  How can he know where to direct his efforts?
Easy - he can't know, b/c individual interpretation of the Scripture is not available to him, and Apostolic Tradition hasn't been defined yet, and can't be by any one man.

The Violent Tendency of Western Christianity

Part 1: Augustine as Conduit to the Inquisition
Part 2: How Confession became a Divinely Instituted Sacrament
Part 3: The Origins of Payment for Penance
Part 4: Crusading and Other Indulgences
Part 5: The Great Schism of the Fifth Century

More from Paul Johnson and others:

What must strike the historian as Curious is that neither western nor eastern Christianity developed missionary orders. Until the sixteenth century, Christian enthusiasm, which took so many other forms, was never institutionally directed into this channel. Christianity remained a universalist religion. But its proselytizing spirit expressed itself throughout the Middle Ages in various forms of violence. The crusades were not missionary ventures but wars of conquest and primitive experiments in colonization; and the only specific Christian institutions they produced, three knightly orders, were military.

This stress on violence was particularly marked in the West. Eastern Christians tended to follow the teachings of St Basil, who regarded war as shameful. This was in the original Christian tradition: violence was abhorrent to the early Christians, who preferred death to resistance; and Paul, attempting to interpret Christ, did not even try to construct a case for the legitimate use of force. Again, it was St Augustine who gave Western Christianity the fatal twist in this direction [though violence seemed to be part of the fabric of “the Western tradition” – see here and here.]

As always, in his deep pessimism, he was concerned to take society as he found it and attempt to reconcile its vices with Christian endeavour. Men fought; had always fought; therefore war had a place in the Christian pattern of behavior, to be determined by the moral theologians. In Augustine’s view, war might always be waged, provided it was done so by the command of God. This formulation of the problem was doubly dangerous … What made the Augustinian teaching even more corrupting was the association in his mind between “war by divine command” and the related effort to convert the heathen and destroy the heretic – his “compel them to come in” syndrome. Not only could violence be justified: it was particularly meritorious when directed against those who held other religious beliefs (or none).

The Dark Age church merely developed Augustine’s teaching. Leo IV said that anyone dying in battle for the defence of the Church would receive a heavenly reward; John VIII thought that such a person would even rank as a martyr. Nicholas I added that even those under sentence of excommunication, or other church punishment, could bear arms if they did so against the infidel. There was, it is true, a pacifist movement in the Church as well. But this, paradoxically, was canalized to reinforce the idea of sanctified violence. The motive behind it was to protect innocent peasants from the aimless brutality of competing lords. … but the popes eventually surrendered to the temptation to divert what they regarded as the incorrigible bellicosity of western society into crusades against the infidel.

The idea of Catholic Christians exercising mass-violence against the infidel hardly squared with scripture. Nor did it make much sense in practical terms. The success of Islam sprang essentially from the failure of Christian theologians to solve the problem of the Trinity and Christ’s nature [“Christology”]. In Arab territories, Christianity had penetrated heathenism, but usually in Monophysite form – and neither eastern nor western Catholicism could find a compromise with the Monophysites in the sixth and seventh centuries. The Arabs, driven by drought, would almost certainly have used force to expand anyway.

As it was, Mohammed, a Monophysite, conflated the theological and economic problems to evolve a form of Monophysite religion which was simple, remarkably impervious to heresy, and included the doctrine of the sword to accommodate the Arab’s practical needs. It appealed strongly to a huge element within the Christian community. The first big Islamic victory, at the River Yarmuk in 636, was achieved because 12,000 Christian Arabs went over to the enemy. The Christian Monophysites – Copts, Jacobites and so forth – nearly always preferred Moslems to Catholics. Five centuries after the Islamic conquest, the Jacobite Patriarch of Antioch, Michael the Syrian, faithfully produced the tradition of his people when he wrote: “The God of Vengeance, who alone is the Almighty … raised from the south the children of Ishmael to deliver us by them from the hands of the Romans. And at the time, a Nestorian chronicler wrote: “The hearts of Christians rejoiced at the domination of the Arabs – may God strengthen it and prosper it.”

Paul Johnson, History of Christianity, © 1976 Athenium, pgs. 241-243.

* * *

Before everyone gets in an uproar over Johnson’s characterization of Mohammed having been a Monophysite, And Islam being “a form of Monophysite religion,” I want to note that, whatever sources led Johnson to write this, whether he is mistaken or not, (a) it seems clear that the young Mohammed did fall under some type of Monphysite Christian influence, and (b) the important facts of violence by Roman Christians at this time should not be in doubt.

As Samuel Hugh Moffett, “A History of Christianity in Asia” explains:

The earliest and most trustworthy of the Muslim biographers of the Prophet, the eight-century writer ibn-Ishaq, relates that at the age of twelve, on a caravan trip to Syria with his uncle, the young Muhammad met a Christian monk named Bahira at Bostra, which was the seat of the Monophysite bishop of the desert Arabs. The old monk recognized signs of greatness in the boy and protected him from some who would have harmed him. The same biographer names another Christian, Jabr, who was perhaps an Ethiopian, as exerting great influence on the Prophet:

According to my information the apostle used often to sit at al-Marwa [a hill overlooking Mecca] at the booth of a young Christian called Jabr, a slave of the B. al-Hadrami [tribe], and they used to say, “The old one who teaches Muhammed most of what he brings is Jabr the Christian. (Moffett, pg 326, citing ibn-Ishaq (707-773), Sirat Rasul Allah (as edited in the ninth century by ibn-Hisham), trans. Guillaume as The Life of Muhammed,, 79-81.

(Of this source, Moffett continues, “This is the first and best of the early biographies of the Prophet, well documented for the period after the hegira (hijrah) of 622 but uncritical about the years before. Muslim historians used the legend to indicate recognition of Muhammad’s holiness by a Christian, while Christians referred to it a sproof that Christian teaching was the source of the Prophet’s inspiration.” (Footnote 5, pg 362)

Moffett also characterizes the period:

It was a time of social unrest in the Arabian peninsula. Rome and Persia had been slowly but effectively destroying each other in a hundred years of almost incessant war (540-629). As the war continued into the seventh century the exhausted empires were less and less able to protect their Arab client-states on the desert borders, the Ghassanid kings in the northwest who owed allegiance to Rome, and Lakhmid and Yemen in the east and south who looked to Persia. In those kingdoms Christian Arab communities had been planted by Monophysites on Rome’s southern border and by Nestorians nearer Persia.

Hugh Kennedy, in his preface to “The Great Arab Conquests” notes, “At the time of the Muslim conquests, there were five major churches or sects in the Middle East, each one claiming to be ‘orthodox.’ In North Africa and Spain the church was Latin-speaking and looked to Rome rather than Constantinople for leadership and doctrinal authority. There was no schism between this church and the Greek Orthodox, that would come later, but there was a different ecclesiastical culture. Then there was the Melkite (meaning ‘royal’) Greek Orthodox church supported (usually) by the imperial government in Constantinople. This was also known as the Chalcedonian [Diophysite] church … With in the eastern Empire the main opposition to this established church came from the Jacobite Monophysite communities in Syria and the Monophysite Copts in Egypt, all of whom believed in the single and indivisible nature of Christ … The Nestorian Church … was opposed to both the Monophysites and the Diophysites. Persecution had largely eliminated the Nestorian Church from Byzantine territory … Finally, there was the Monothelite sect supported by the emperor Heraclius and his government.” (pgs 8-9)

Bear in mind that the "Nestorians" now have been cleared of having been guilty of "the Nestorian heresy." But, hey, they are mostly exterminated now, so who cares, right? The "unified," "one true church" of that era got to maintain that facade for another couple of centuries, its "infallible teaching" intact.

Answers for Dozie

In the thread, "How Confession Became a Divinely Instituted Sacrament," Dozie quoted me and then asked some questions. I think these are important questions, not in the least because they show how Catholics and Protestants have key differences in how they define the word "church".

JB: "It tells you that by the second and third century, they were already misunderstanding what the New Testament writers were saying".

Dozie: Then I have a few questions: … I ask the questions because it is the stated position of bloggers here that the Catholic Church of pope Benedict XVI (which they disdainfully call Roman Catholic) has no direct relationship (apostolic succession) with the early Church and I am interested in getting a Protestant to pin down for me where and when the “Roman Catholic Church” got off the trail.

First of all, “Roman Catholic” is an accurate description. In a preface to his 1987 work, “The Catholic Moment, John Richard Neuhaus outlines three reasons why he prefers to use the term Roman Catholic. I’m not going to reproduce those here, but suffice it to say that it has been a historically-preferred attribution (the post-Tridentine Church referring to itself this way in many official documents), and so, if it seems to be a “disdainful” attribution, well, I didn’t make it up.

Second, before you talk about “when the ‘Roman Catholic Church’ got off the trail,” you first have to establish what the early church was in history, and where the “Roman Catholic Church” came from in the first place. Rome was but one of five "patriarchates" -- and "patriarch" itself was not an early development.

It is vitally important to get the definition straight here of the word “church,” and so a lot of my response here will focus on that definition, and other definitions. If we are equivocating on a particular word, without agreeing on the definition of that word [“church”], then we won’t get anywhere.

It is a very “Newmanesque” thing for a Catholic simply to assume [“not a violent assumption”] that “that the Christianity of the second, fourth, seventh, twelfth, sixteenth, and intermediate centuries is in its substance the very religion which Christ and His Apostles taught in the first.” (Newman, “Development of Doctrine,” From the Introduction).

But the facts of history, as we know them now, are simply not such that you can make this assumption unchallenged. Even Newman “concede[s] … that there are to be found, during the 1800 years through which it has lasted, certain apparent inconsistencies and alterations in its doctrine and its worship, such as irresistibly attract the attention of all who inquire into it.” (From the Introduction). One of these assumptions is the early papacy – it simply wasn’t in existence through the fourth century.

But in the intervening 150 years since Newman, we have learned things about church history, especially about the church in early Rome, that simply make it far too much of a stretch to just permit the unchallenged assumption that the church that existed in the first, second, or third or subsequent centuries, is teaching “in its substance, the very religion which Christ and His Apostles taught.”

Jesus warned of wolves who would come appearing as sheep. Paul, speaking to the Ephesian ELDERS ["overseers"] that "fierce wolves will come in among you [that is, among the number of elders], not sparing the flock;" -- that is, they would be on the inside, and teaching, right in and among what you might call the "apostolic succession." The "succession" is not a Scriptural protection against false teaching. There are a number of other citations to this effect. Do you think that Paul is exclusively thinking of someone like Valentinus or Marcion? These were easily "excluded." The danger is false teaching *within*. The important thing to do is to trace it.

But don't suppose it's just a black-and-white, either "good shepherds" or "wolves as shepherds". There are shades of gray promised, as well.

For example, as I mentioned, T.F. Torrance ("The Doctrine of Grace in the Apostolic Fathers") traces the doctrine of "grace" in the New Testament. As Jesus and Paul "the Gospel as Christ proclaims it is directed to the very folk who, it might appear, have the least right to expect it" (23). Grace is, according to the Protestant (Biblical) definition of it, "God's personal attitude of favor to those who deserve his wrath." (John Frame, "The Doctrine of God," 5) But throughout many of the "Apostolic Fathers," the situation is reversed: "The believer had to strive for it, and it was bestowed upon him if he was worthy" (Torrance, 141).

How do you account for that difference?

So in light of the preceding, it would be foolish to, in Newmanesque fashion, simply “assume away” the very “inconsistencies and alterations” that need to be discussed. The doctrine of Grace is only one doctrine that became corrupted, and that, within just a few hundred years of the Apostles.

It does no one a service simply to “assume” that “The Church” (according to Catholic Doctrine) always had the correct teaching.

Dozie: Do you think that this misunderstanding occurred because the Church of the apostles vanished and a false church appeared?

JB: Consider that the New Testament Church was a missionary movement that sought to carry a message – the message of “Christ and Him Crucified” (see 1 Cor 2:2: “For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.”) There is, de facto, more to it. But Paul has given here an excellent summary of the message that he sought to convey, everywhere he went. It’s not like Paul went out and preached, “The Church is now at your doorstep. Join the Church, submit to Peter in Rome, and get access to the sacraments.” There is a fundamental difference between these messages.

And yet, the Roman Catholic Church even today continues to assume that “This is the one Church of Christ which in the Creed is professed as one, holy, catholic and apostolic, which our Saviour, after His Resurrection, commissioned Peter to shepherd, and him and the other apostles to extend and direct with authority, which He erected for all ages as "the pillar and mainstay of the truth". This Church constituted and organized in the world as a society, subsists in the Catholic Church, which is governed by the successor of Peter and by the Bishops in communion with him…”

There are many assumptions made in this very paragraph that need to be, and have been, effectively challenged right on this blog.

You may be familiar with this document:

"In his Message to those attending the symposium, the Holy Father wrote: 'The Catholic Church is conscious of having preserved, in fidelity to the Apostolic Tradition and the faith of the Fathers, the ministry of the Successor of Peter'. In the history of the Church, there is a continuity of doctrinal development on the primacy."

Klaus Schatz, a Catholic, in his 1996 work “Papal Primacy,” places only the “initial phases” of this development “well into the fifth century.” 400 years is a lot of time. In 225 years, the U.S. has grown, but the office of the presidency was outlined very clearly in the original constitution, and it's impossible to say that much "development" has taken place. Organizationally, the office of President is largely what it was in 1800.

On the other hand, I've written extensively, and I hope to be writing more, about what the earliest Roman church was like, the history of how a single leader emerged, in about the year 175, after struggles of "who was greatest." Such an emphasis continued on for the next 1800 years. Rome keeps saying "we're greatest." If Christ was giving a "visible" church -- "Peter and Successors," he sure picked a funny way of showing it -- the "visible head" having been "invisible" for most of the first 200 years.

Dozie: Or, was it the "Apostolic Church" that "were already misunderstanding what the New Testament writers were saying"?

The Apostles certainly did not misunderstand. Paul had a very clear and well-developed set of doctrines – even though they weren’t in some places set out in the systematic form that we would like, it’s clear that he knew what he was talking about. As Peter said, it was the "false teachers" who were twisting the Scriptures (2 Peter 3). But after the age of the Apostles, as Paul said beforehand, and Torrance noted afterward, there were false teachers "within".

Dozie: Would you consider the Church of this period (“the second and third century”) the Church of the "Fathers" and therefore Catholic or simply "Roman Catholic"?

The “Fathers” were not a monolithic group. Rome was a missionary outpost for the first 200 years. And I don't think it's a stretch to say that they were teaching different things in different places. Compare Irenaeus with Origen with Tertullian, as but three examples. There was some core teaching that was consistent -- "Christ and him crucified," for example was still a part of it. There was a huge effort to remain consistent with the doctrine of God. But consider what happened to the doctrine of grace. You can't assume these guys were all teaching out of the same "Catechism of the Catholic Church". There were many heterodox teachings. ("Pope" Callistus was very sympathetic to the modalists of his day.)

Dozie: Does the Church you describe above have any connection to the Church of pope Leo I (459) mentioned in your blog and therefore connected to the Church of pope Benedict XVI?

By the time of Leo in 459, we are far, far away from the church in 100, 200, or 300. The doctrine of God, the Trinity, Scriptures, yes. But "government" of the church had changed dramatically. Leo was the beneficiary of (a) an empire and (b) the fall of an empire. That changed things dramatically.

Dozie: Would you even say that the Church of pope Benedict XVI has a direct link to the Church of pope Leo I?

By the time of Leo, the papacy had taken on a definite shape, the shape of the now deceased Roman Empire, and that form is still present in Benedict. The Great Schisms of the fifth century had largely been effected, though the Schism of 1054 had not. I'd venture to say that Leo had not heard of "the Assumption of Mary," though. Or if he had, he'd have thought it heretical.

Dozie: If there is no connection, why do you disturb Catholics of this age with the “errors” of unrelated organization(s), especially, of prior periods?

Not sure what you are asking here. I see the whole history of the church as a seamless thing -- there is only one church -- the explanation that best fits all the data is that the church that Christ founded is not simply an organization and a hierarchical structure. It is the people -- "us who believe" (Eph 1:19) -- Calvin's "all the elect," none of whom will be deceived (Matt 24:24), none of whom will be lost (John 6:39).

Dozie: If they are related, do you think we should not challenge not only your assessment of the teachings of the second and third century Church and, more importantly, your qualification (a whole lot more than academics) to have anything meaningful to say about “Church”?

Challenge my assessment all you want. I'm certain that more study is needed on all of these things.

What, without making assumptions, is the early church? Trace the history of the uniquely Roman doctrines. Verify that they are biblical. If you can.

The Great Schisms of the Fifth Century

This is a digression from my series of posts from Paul Johnson’s “A History of Christianity,” but the material is related, and it provides some background information for what I’ll hope to be writing about with regard to the Crusades, and how that crusading spirit was funneled into the Inquisition.

Part 1: Augustine as Conduit to the Inquisition
Part 2: How Confession became a Divinely Instituted Sacrament
Part 3: The Origins of Payment for Penance
Part 4: Crusading and Other Indulgences

The councils of Nicea (325) and Constantinople (381) contended with Arianism and finalized, to a large extent, the doctrine of the Trinity. (There were other battles fought, to be sure, but at this point the doctrine of the Trinity included one God, three persons, and rejected the Arian notions that Christ was a created being and that “there was a time when he was not”.)

These councils affirmed the Scriptural teaching that Christ was the eternal Word of God, and supplied the phrase “homoousious,” “of one substance with the Father,” that is, that Christ was the eternal God made flesh. But once this was determined, there arose questions as to precisely how God and flesh related within the person of Christ. Even at the time of Constantinople, Christological ideas were being posited and rejected. For example, Constantinople also rejected the notion of Apollinarius that in Christ, “the Word of God dwelt in human flesh in lieu and place of the human rational and intellective soul.” (from here).

But other controversies developed. Here I’m following the account of Justo Gonzalez, “The Story of Christianity,” (253-4):

The next episode of the Christological controversies was precipitated by Nestorius, a representative of the Antiochene school who became patriarch of Constantinople in 428. There were always political intrigues surrounding that office, for the patriarchate of Constantinople had become a point of discord between the patriarchs of Antioch and Alexandria. The Council of Constantinople had declared that the bishop of Constantinople should have in the East a precedence similar to that which the bishop of Rome had in the West. This was a simple acknowledgement of political reality, for Constantinople had become the capital of the Eastern empire. But the bishops of the older churches in Antioch and Alexandria were not content with being relegated to a secondary position. They responded, among other things, by turning the bishopric of Constantinople into a prize to be captured for their own supporters. Since Antioch was more successful at this game than Alexandria, most of the patriarchs of Constantinople were Antiochenes, and therefore the patriarchs of Alexandria regarded them as their enemies. … For these reasons, Nestorius’ position was not secure, and the Alexandrines were looking to catch him at his first mistake.

This happened when Nestorius declared that Mary should not be called theotokos – that is, bearer of God – and suggested that she should be called Christotokos – bearer of Christ. It is difficult for Protestants to understand what was at stake here, for we have been taught to reject the notion that Mary is the “Mother of God, and at first glance, this seems to be what is at stake here. But in truth, the debate was not so much about Mary as about Jesus. The question [at this time] was not what honors were due to Mary, but how one was to speak of the birth of Jesus. When Nestorius declared that Mary was the bearer of Christ, but not of God, he was affirming that in speaking of the incarnate Lord one may and must distinguish between his humanity and his divinity, and that some of the things said of him are to be applied to the humanity, and others to the divinity. This was a typically Antiochene position, which sought to preserve the full humanity of Jesus by making a very clear distinction between [his humanity] and his divinity. Nestorius and the rest of the Antiochenes feared that if the two were too closely joined together, the divinity would overwhelm the humanity, and one would no longer be able to speak of a true man Jesus.

Actually, there is yet another concept wrapped up here. “Theotokos” more correctly means “God-bearer,” or as Gonzalez relates, “bearer of God.” But other theologians conflated “bearer of God” into “mother of God” (the Greek “Mater Theou”). In proposing the term “Christotokos,” Nestorius was intending to provide a caution and a mediating position against the very misunderstanding that, as we have seen, has led to all of the later emphasis on Mary throughout church history. So history has shown that Nestorius was correct with his caution.

On the other hand, it is clear that Nestorius’s theology was not as precise and helpful as it could have been. Samuel Hugh Moffett, writing in “A History of Christianity in Asia” (176-177) notes, “As early as [the Council of Ephesus, 431 A.D., Nestorius] struggled to find a way to express the essential unity of the person of the incarnate Christ without denying the essential reality of both the humanity and deity of the Savior without surrendering the all-important truth that there is an ultimate, basic distinction between deity and humanity.” As Nestorius later wrote:

The divine Logos was not one, and another the man in whom he came to be. Rather, one was the prosopon [“person”] of both in dignity and honour, worshipped by all creation, and in no way and no time divided by otherness of purpose and will.

Moffett continues, “This doctrine of the unity of the person (prosopon) of Christ in two natures may have rested on the use of a word too weak to support the theological weight it was required to bear, but it was in no sense heresy.” (177)

Nevertheless, for political reasons and other reasons, Nestorius had attracted an enemy in the “strong-minded, hot-tempered patriarch” of Alexandria, Cyril. (Moffett, 170). Cyril put his emphasis on the unity of the person of Christ. As Moffett explains, “But in order to preserve the oneness it was difficult not to weaken either his deity or his humanity, for ‘complete God’ and ‘complete man’ strongly implies duality of person. Cyril’s explanation of the two natures seemed to Antioch to weaken the humanity of Christ and to stress his deity as of higher significance. The Alexandrian school, strong on the doctrine of redemption, genuinely and naturally defended the deity in Christ’s nature, for only a divine Christ could save sinners. But in doing so, the Alexandrians ran the risk of losing some of the historic authenticity of Christ’s human nature.” (Moffett, 171)

This dispute led to the calling of another council, at Ephesus in 431 A.D.

For a variety of reasons, Cyril won the day, but only the day – not least because of his mischaracterization of Nestorius’s theology (he accused Nestorius of positing two persons in Christ), and the actions of his own bishops (50 in number, plus their entourages) who

acted as if it was a war they were conducting … [and they] went about in the city girt and armed with clubs… with yells of barbarians, snorting fiercely … raging with extravagant arrogance those whom they knew to be opposed to their doings, carrying bells about the city and lighting fires …. They blocked up the streets so that everyone was obliged to flee and hide, while they acted as masters of the situation, lying about, drunk and besotted and shouting obscenities…(Moffet, 174, citing Nestorius’s “accurate description of the proceedings.”)

The decision at Ephesus was “an embarrssement and blot on the history of the church” (174); its legality was “questionable, its conduct was disgraceful. And its theological verdict, if not overturned, was at least radically amended by the Council of Chalcedon (451).” (175) It led to a massive split in the church, “irreversibly … not only east and west but also north and south, and cracked it into so many pieces that it was never the same again.” (Moffett 169)

The controversies continued: in 451, Chalcedon instead used “Theotokos” language (and failed to pick up the “Mater Theou” language), and largely incorporated Nestorius’s “one-person, two-natures” theology into the definition that is held to be orthodox today.

The followers of Cyril of Alexandria, however, rejected Chalcedon, adhering more to a “one-nature” (Monophysite) theology. Monophysites continued to reside largely in Egypt and Syria.

And the Lamest of all Romanist Video Awards Goes to....

....envelope please..... the award goes to.... to Roman Catholic apologist John Martignoni for his YouTube video, "Questions Protestants Can’t Answer".

John sent out an e-mail support letter stating:

I’m going to ask a big favor: Could each of you please click on the video multiple times (maybe 10 times each or more)? You don’t have to watch the whole thing each time, but after you’ve watched it once, click on another page, then click back to that page and watch a few seconds of the video and then repeat that process 10 or more times if you would. It will only take a couple of minutes to do that, but by doing so, you’ll help raise the number of hits (my goal is 100,000 hits – seemingly impossible, but no one has ever accused me of thinking small). The more hits these videos get, the more attention they get from folks who might not otherwise view them. So, if you can help out in this regard, it would be greatly appreciated.

Also, if you could email the link to the folks on your email address list and ask them to watch the video, that, too, would be of tremendous help. If you have Protestants on your list, just tell them you saw this “provocative” video and would love to get their opinion of it. You might be able to get some discussions going that way. And if you have any blogs or regularly visit any Catholic chat rooms, please “chat” up the video and give the link. Thanks!

...About 3,000 views so far- let's help John reach his goal of making people think his video is popular and "provocative".

Called To Communion on Luther's Canon

Over the years I've been fascinated by Roman Catholic evaluations of Luther and the canon. If there's one area in Luther studies in which many Roman Catholics typically drop the historical and factual ball and employ blatant double standards, this is it. After a few years of discussions on this topic with Roman Catholics I put together Luther’s View of the Canon of Scripture. This paper has been up since at least 2005 (previously hosted on NTR.min). Since then I've put together many blog entries on this subject as well.

Luther is simply one person from history who made statements about the canon. He wasn't Marcion or the Protestant pope. Protestants (and even Lutherans) don't follow his opinions on the canon, as if Luther was an infallible authority. There were many people throughout the history of the church that had particular views on the canon. Luther though gains center-stage over most of them because Roman Catholics typically paint him as that personage who tore the church asunder. I've documented the vilification of Luther often on the blog. The canon subject is just one more nugget of propaganda Roman Catholics use to argue for the infallibility of Romanism.

Keep in mind, the argument between Roman Catholics and Protestants isn't really about the canon, it's about authority. The argument typically goes that only an infallible authority can provide canon certainty. Luther is brought up by Romanists to demonstrate that without an infallible authority, the canon is up for grabs. Each Protestant is free, like Luther, to decide which books to keep and which to toss in the Elbe. Such a position ignores history, as well as Romanist paradigms (as I'll explain in conclusion).

Called To Communion
Recently I was sent a link to the blog Called To Communion (Reformation Meets Rome). The writers of this blog were "former Reformed Protestants who have entered into full communion with the Catholic Church." This article, The Canon Question was written by CTC contributor Tom Brown, who "After being challenged by a Catholic friend on ecclesiology and canonics, and following six years of discernment, Tom entered into full communion with the Catholic Church at the 2010 Easter Vigil" (bolded emphasis mine).

While the entire scope of the article deserves a full response, I'd like to take a look at Mr. Brown's The Canon Question as it relates to Luther, and see how this recent convert deals with Luther and history. The Luther material is primarily found in section e. "That Which Preaches Christ: a Canon Within a Canon." I'm going to pull out some of the main points, and offer responses. Mr. Brown's words will be in red. The odd thing about the article is that Mr. Brown begins by saying he wants to argue against Reformed theology and its explanation of canonicity, yet Luther and Lutheranism receive an entire section. While the Reformed and Lutheran communities share similarities and differences, they aren't exactly the same thing. I simply found it amusing that Luther found his way to Geneva, (so to speak) in Mr. Brown's article.

Bibliographic Information
I can appreciate Mr. Brown's use of F.F. Bruce (The Canon of Scripture), and Paul Althaus (The Theology of Martin Luther), as well as number of other Protestant sources throughout his blog article. In regard to his Luther information specifically, it appears he relied on secondary sources, rather than citing Luther directly. The primary use of secondary sources in regard to Luther is a strong tradition of new converts to Romanism. Not being careful to dig a bit deeper into history with Luther can often lead to caricature and distortion.


Luther's Christocentric Hermeneutic in Determining Canonicity

Mr. Brown states,

Luther answers the Canon Question by looking internally at the teachings of candidate books themselves. “‘What preaches and urges Christ’ was for Luther the criterion of apostolicity and canonicity.” That is, Luther started with Christ, the heart of the Gospel (or his own understanding of Him) and then reflected upon various texts to determine whether or not they preached and urged Christ. If so, they were canonical.

This is true, but not the entire picture. Understanding Luther on the canon issue demands approaching him from two equally important perspectives: 1. Luther’s perspective on the canon as a sixteenth century Biblical theologian. 2. Luther’s personal criterion of canonicity expressed in his argued and exegeted theology. The former is rarely addressed by current popular Romanist apologetics. The later is typically caricatured as subjectivism.

In regards to #1, Luther also took historical information into consideration. For instance, when he rejected the canonicty of James, he equally argued that James was not of apostolic origin. Even when provided with the typical Protestant harmonizing solution between James and Paul, for Luther, James was still rejected because he argued it was not of apostolic origin, but from a later period. Luther puts the same type of historical arguments forth for Jude, Hebrews, and Revelation. Luther was also familiar with those throughout church history that either rejected or questioned the canonicty of these books. Of Revelation he says "Many of the fathers also rejected this book a long time ago." Luther begins his treatment of Hebrews by pointing out that throughout Church history it has had a “reputation” of uncertain canonicity. Similar to Luther’s comments on James, we find that his questioning of Jude primarily has to do with its status in Church history and its internal evidence as to its apostolicity.

During Luther's period of history ad fontes took a giant step forward. Recovering earlier sources, applying literary criticism to determine genuineness- these were aspects of Luther's studies as well as some of his educated contemporaries. Roman Catholic contemporaries of Luther also sought to determine once and for all which books truly were canonical by looking at internal and external evidence. Erasmus had a critical attitude to the same four New Testament books Luther did. Cardinal Cajetan questioned the canonical status of Hebrews, James, II Peter, II and III John, and Jude. The apocrypha likewise was under scrutiny. Even at Trent, there was a group of well-educated Roman Catholic scholars that argued against including the apocrypha in the canon. They did so not because the Holy Spirit told them so, but because of historical and exegetical considerations.

In regard to #2, the Christocentric heramanuitic in evaluating canonicity is not so far-fetched, even for a Romanist. In describing the overall theme of both Testaments, The Catholic Encyclopedia says, “Above all, both collection[s] have one and the same religious purpose, one and the same inspired character. They form the two parts of a great organic whole the centre of which is the person and mission of Christ.” The Catholic Catechism says, “Be especially attentive ‘to the content and unity of the whole Scripture’. Different as the books which compose it may be, Scripture is a unity by reason of the unity of God's plan, of which Christ Jesus is the center and heart, open since his Passover.” It further finds Christ to be the essential theme of the Old Testament: “the economy of the Old Testament was deliberately so oriented that it should prepare for and declare in prophecy the coming of Christ, redeemer of all men.”

Mr. Brown states,

But Luther’s canon criterion has problems too. Objectively applied, this test would seem to allow ancient Christian art to be “canonical,” so long as it urges Christ.

Why would Luther's criterion ever be objectively applied in such a way? Luther never argues that God had inspired ancient Christian art, or sought to apply his criterion objectively over all of Christendom. Externally, the Christian church had passed on the Bible as God's word to Luther, and the church testified to its divine nature (and she didn't need to be infallible to do so). Internally, if one is indeed a Christian, the very words of God will ring true in the heart. There is nothing outrageous about the words of Scripture subjectively interacting and appealing to a person's soul. God hasn't breathed his Holy Spirit into art as Theopneustos. He has spoken to his people through the written word.

Mr. Brown states,

However, to give a more familiar shape to the outcome of this test, Luther relies on the Holy Spirit’s movement in his heart to perceive what is ‘preaching Christ.’

Inherent in this statement is the idea that Luther knew the canon only through subjective means and therefore without an infallible interpreter he couldn't know anything with certainty about the canon. Contrarily, Luther actually argued his position. He didn't simply say "the Holy Spirit gave me a warm feeling about a particular set of books." In regard to the New Testament, Luther argued exegetically throughout his writings that a canonical book demonstrated apostolic authority: "Now it is the office of a true apostle to preach of the suffering, resurrection, and office of Christ." He didn't simply leave it at that. The corpus of his writings demonstrate his unpacking this over and over again. He argues and proves the apostolic character of a book. It would be the responsibility of a Romanist to dispute Luther's exegesis in regard to the apostolic character of a particular book.

Paul Althaus (cited by Mr. Brown) notes the following (perhaps Mr. Brown missed this):

“Roman Catholic theology has up until the present day, frequently condemned Luther’s method of approaching and validating the authority of Scripture as subjective and arbitrary. But Luther is as far from heaven is from the earth in determining the center of Scripture by himself and self-confidently presenting his theology as this center” [Althaus, The Theology of Martin Luther, 336 – 337].

Since Mr. Brown has this book, I suggest he revisit the argumentation provided therein. Simply saying Luther relied on some sort of internal testimony of the Holy Spirit neglects his work as an exegete and a Biblical scholar. When Luther determines an author is "preaching Christ" he goes on to demonstrate it indeed does.


Luther's Comments About Particular Biblical Books

Mr. Brown states,

Luther spoke boldly against the value and even reliability of certain books that all Protestants treat as canonical.

Notice the argument presented by Mr. Brown is a comparison of all Protestants to Luther. This is unfair. Luther should be compared to his contemporaries. If this is done, one will see that Luther spoke as boldly as Cajetan and Erasmus, Seripando, and others, and these men were Roman Catholic contemporaries. There were canon issues that carried over into the sixteenth century for both Testaments. M. Reu points out,

How was it that [Luther] came to consider the question of the canon at all? There were a number of factors that almost compelled him to do so. Towards the end of the middle ages uncertainty had arisen in the Church not only concerning the canonicity of the Old Testament Apocrypha but also concerning the extent of the New Testament Canon; an uncertainty that existed in actual usage rather than in the attitude of the official Church. Many medieval Bible manuscripts included a fifth Gospel, the Gospel of Nicodemus; many manuscripts and all the printed German Bibles included an additional epistle of St. Paul, the so-called Epistle to the Laodiceans, which is even to be found as late as 1544 in Dietenberger's Roman Catholic translation of the Bible” [M. Reu, Luther’s German Bible: An Historical Presentation Together with a collection of Sources (Ohio: The Lutheran Book Concern, 1934), 175].

Further, when Luther spoke "boldly" on canonicity he often would follow it up noting his words are his opinion. He allows for the possibility of his readers to disagree with his conclusions. Simply read Luther's Prefaces in LW 35. One cannot miss this.

2 Maccabees
Within the Old Testament, Luther found Christ preached with special clarity in Genesis, Psalms, and Isaiah. However, according to Bruce, when challenged by the passage in 2 Maccabees supporting prayers for the dead, “that they might be delivered from their sin,” Luther “found a ready reply in Jerome’s ruling that 2 Maccabees did not belong to the books to be used ‘for establishing the authority of ecclesiastical dogmas.”

This is a popular Romanist argument against Luther. The idea is that Luther only abandoned 2 Maccabees as canonical scripture when cornered by Eck in debate over the issue of purgatory. What's interesting about Luther's debate with Eck is that at this time in history Luther still believed in purgatory. I would argue, Luther rejected 2 Maccabees because he was well aware of the tradition of this book. When Eck cited it, Luther did what any Biblical scholar would do: point out its spurious nature. Luther was heavily schooled with the Glossa ordinaria, so he was well aware of the nature of the apocrypha. There is no positive evidence that Luther accepted the full canonicity of the apocrypha previous to his encounter with Eck. One may find Luther quoting the apocrypha previous to the Eck encounter, but one finds the same method citation of the apocrypha after the encounter with Eck. What one needs to do is actually look at Luther's real reasons for rejecting 2 Maccabees. Rarely will a Romanist do this, and Mr. Brown is no exception.

Esther
Bruce goes on to quote Luther thus: “I hate Esther and 2 Maccabees so much that I wish they did not exist; they contain too much Judaism and no little heathen vice. Notice Luther’s special animus toward Esther; if the Spirit’s movement in his heart to see Christ preached is the measure of canonicity, there would be no principled basis for accepting Esther and rejecting Second Maccabees.”

One thing most telling about Romanist interpreters of Luther is how they make so much of so little. There isn't a lot from Luther on the canonicty of Esther, nor does the quote above even address Luther's opinion of the canonicity of Esther. "Bruce" refers to F.F. Bruce's book, The Canon of Scripture. The Luther quote being used is a Table talk quote (a favorite Romanist source in establishing Luther's opinion). The Tabletalk wasn't written by Luther. It's the recollections of what Luther said recorded by his associates. So for Mr. Brown, a second-hand quote is good enough to establish Luther's view of Esther. For this very Luther quote, Bruce provides this footnote: "too much weight should not be laid on many of the obiter dicta in Luther’s collected Table Talk."

The idea that Luther rejected the canonicty of Esther isn't as clear cut as a stray Table talk infers. Roger Beckwith (author of The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church) has said, “It is sometimes said that Luther, following certain of the Fathers, denied the Canonicity of Esther, but Hans Bardtke has questioned this, as not taking into account of all the evidence (Luther und das Buch Esther, Tubingen Mohr, 1964).” One needs only to pull out Luther's Bible and note where Esther is placed. Luther doesn't place it in the section of apocrypha. He includes it with the canonical Old Testament books. In fact, in his Bible prefaces, Luther distinguishes the particular non-canonical parts of Esther, and place them with the other apocryphal writings.

As to "I hate Esther and 2 Maccabees so much that I wish they did not exist; they contain too much Judaism and no little heathen vice," the quote doesn't end there. It wasn't the Spirit simply speaking to Luther's heart. He actually went on to explain, "The Jews much more esteemed the book of Esther than any of the prophets; though they were forbidden to read it before they had attained the age of thirty, by reason of the mystic matters it contains." Luther's statement has far more to say about Jewish interpretation than about its canonicity. I've only come across one explicit quote from Luther's own writing in which a rejection of the canonicity of Esther can be inferred, and even that quote has interpretive problems.

Revelation
If Luther’s perception of the internal witness of the Holy Spirit about some New Testament texts were the measure of canonicity, the New Testament too would have to be altered. He said of Revelation that it “lacks everything that I hold as apostolic or prophetic.” Further, he said of Revelation, “For myself, I think it approximates the Fourth Book of Esdras; I can in no way detect that the Holy Spirit produced it.”

Here's where a little more digging into the primary sources would've helped Mr. Brown. Luther viewed Revelation more negatively in his 1522 preface, which is what Brown cited. Luther rewrote the preface entirely in 1530. The rewrite is hardly ever referred to within anti-Luther polemics. True, Luther never appears to have explicitly added Revelation to his list of “chief books.” However, his tone of writing in the 1530-revised preface contains only a remnant of the doubt as to its canonicity. Because of Luther's battles with the papacy, and his certainty of living in the last days, the book of Revelation was treated much differently later in his career: “Because its interpretation is uncertain and its meaning hidden, we have also let it alone until now, especially because some of the ancient fathers held that it was not the work of St. John, the Apostle—as is stated in The Ecclesiastical History, Book III, chapter 25.  For our part, we still share this doubt. By that, however, no one should be prevented from regarding this as the work of St. John the Apostle, or of whomever else he chooses.” Indeed, the book did come to have prophetic value for Luther. Nor are Luther's concerns over the authorship of Revelation without precedent. But most of all, notice that again, it wasn't a blatant subjective feeling that provoked Luther's comments, as Brown argues. Luther doesn't simply say, "The Holy Spirit has not internally witnessed to me that this book is canonical." Once again, Luther argues his position.

James
Readers may be familiar with Luther’s description of James as a “right strawy epistle.” Because at some point in his life Luther did not see the Divine character of several books included in the New Testament canon, if his perception of the internal witness of the Holy Spirit were the measure of canonicity, several books have been wrongly included in the New Testament.

First of all, "several books" is misleading. It was four books New Testament books. When one looks at the totality of Luther’s New Testament canon criticism, it is quite minute: four books.

As to the "right strawy epistle," this quote only appears in Luther's original 1522 Preface to the New Testament. After 1522, all the editions of Luther's Bible dropped the "epistle of straw" comment, along with the entire paragraph that placed value judgments on particular biblical books. It was Luther himself who edited these comments out. For anyone to continue to cite Luther's "epistle of straw" comment against him is to do him an injustice. He saw fit to retract the comment. Subsequent citations of this quote should bear this in mind.

Conclusion
For the sake of argument, let's grant hypothetically that the Roman Catholic Church infallibly decreed the contents of the Bible. That is, in 1546 at the Council of Trent, the question of canonicity was put forth before the Council, and they issued a dogmatic pronouncement of which books were "canon." Once the Council declares something, all discussion is over. No longer can anyone question the apocrypha, or the book of Revelation. The Church meeting in a Holy Spirit led Council put forth the absolute truth on the canon, binding the entire Church. The New Catholic Encyclopedia has stated,

“According to Catholic doctrine, the proximate criterion of the Biblical canon is the infallible decision of the Church. This decision was not given until rather late in the history of the Church (at the Council of Trent). Before that time there was some doubt about the canonicity of certain Biblical books, i.e., about their belonging to the canon.”

Let us remember that throughout Church history, many Christians did not hold the apocrypha to be sacred Scripture. In the 16th Century Catholic men like Erasmus, Luther, and the great Catholic scholar Cajetan expressed doubts on some of the New Testament books as well. These men all share one thing in common. They formed their opinions on the canon previous to the council of Trent. The liberty these men had was simply the liberty as allowed by the Roman Catholic Church. If the New Catholic Encyclopedia is correct, Erasmus, Cajetan, and Luther, and a host of others previous to them had every right within the Catholic system to engage in Biblical criticism and debate over the extent of the Canon. In the case of Luther, Cajetan, and Erasmus, theirs was not a radical higher criticism. The books they questioned were books that had been questioned by previous generations. None were so extreme as to engage in Marcion-like canon-destruction. Both Erasmus and Luther translated the entirety of Bible, and published it. to read more about the views of Erasmus and Cajetan (contemporaries of Luther), see my paper, Luther’s View of the Canon of Scripture.

When one looks at the totality of Luther’s New Testament canon criticism, it is quite minute: four books. Of his opinion he allows for the possibility of his readers to disagree with his conclusions. I can show his overall opinion softened later in life by the exclusion of many negative comments in his revised prefaces. Of the four books, it is possible that Luther’s opinion fluctuated on two (Hebrews and Revelation). Even while criticizing James and Jude, he positively quoted from them throughout his career. In the case of Jude he did a complete series of lectures. In the case of James, he occasionally preached from the book. Add up the chapters Luther questioned in James and Jude, and the amount is quite small.

I suggest Catholics follow the criterion put forth by the Roman Catholic Church: Catholic theologians are granted the freedom to hold opinions on matters not settled dogmatically. If they do, well, I'll at least respect them for being a consistent Roman Catholics. If they still maintain criticism of Luther, perhaps they can explain on what basis they do so, for it is certainly not being consistent with the criterion put forth by the Roman Catholic Church and her infallible pronouncements.

Crusading and Other Indulgences

Here are other posts in this Paul Johnson series:

Part 1: Augustine as Conduit to the Inquisition
Part 2: How Confession became a Divinely Instituted Sacrament
Part 3: The Origins of Payment for Penance

This post picks up where the previous post, “The Origins of Payment for Penance” left off. Though Johnson is a Catholic, he’s honest with the history and his sources.

From the Protestant perspective, we always hear that Luther’s first shots in the Reformation had to do with “the abuse” of indulgences, but we need to remember where they came from, and how they were an affront to Christ’s blood in the first place.

In this selection, Johnson summarizes the history of indulgences, from the 10th through the 15th centuries. The tie in with “indulgences for crusades” is important for reasons that later lead to the Inquisition.

Continuing here with Paul Johnson, “A History of Christianity.”

Once vicarial penance in any form was admitted, it proved impossible to keep money out of it. Was not alms-giving a form of penance? There, it was argued, the payment was to God, or to God’s servants to perform God’s purposes, and could not, therefore, be reprehensible. The Church at first opposed penitential alms-giving, too, as an easy way to heaven for a rich man. But it soon found justificatory texts: “The ransom of a man’s life are his riches (Proverbs 13:8); and ‘make unto yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness, that when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations.” This last passage was particularly useful; it might almost have been framed by an ingenious canon lawyer for his professional purposes. Thus the penitential system was quite quickly transformed into a means whereby the wealth of the sinful rich could be diverted into ecclesiastical endowments. An early case was that of the Anglo Saxon Wulfin, who slew six priests; he went on a penitential trip to Rome, and was there told to endow a foundation for seven monks to pray for him for ever. Another case, from the tenth century, was Eadqulf, King Edgar’s Chancellor. He loved his little son so much that he had him sleep between himself and his wife; one night, both were drunk and the son was suffocated. Eadwulf proposed to walk to Rome as a barefoot pilgrim; but he was told to repair a church instead.

The idea of ecclesiastical foundations as atonement for grievous sin became a striking feature of the tenth, eleventh and twelfth centuries. It explains why so many abbeys and priories were endowed by wicked men. Thus a period of pillage and lawlessness might also be characterized by a luxuriant crop of new monasteries, like the England of Stephen’s reign. The Cistercians were outstanding beneficiaries of this syndrome. A robber-baron might also, it is true, have to perform a physical penance himself; but we hear less and less of such after the twelfth century. The mechanical processes had taken over. And of course, its forms proliferated.

In 1095, Urban II, propagating the First Crusade, laid it down that a crusade to the Holy Land was a substitute for any other penance, and entailed complete remission of sin. This, of course, involved an actual and hazardous crusade, and the privilege, or indulgence, was hedged about with careful qualifications and terrific penalties if a man reneged. Throughout the twelfth century, crusading was the only source of indulgences, except in rare individual cases. But of course it was always these rare individual cases (that is, the rich, the well placed, the smart cleric) which shipwrecked the principle.

Early in the thirteenth century, Innocent III extended crusader indulgences to those who helped merely with money and advice. Fifty years later, Innocent IV awarded indulgences without any conditions of crusader service, naturally only in special circumstances. By the end of the thirteenth century, indulgences were being granted to secular princes for political reasons. Soon after, individuals were allowed to buy plenary indulgences from their confessors on their death-beds; this meant they could enter Heaven immediately, provided they died in a state of grace, immediately after full confession. In the first six months of 1344, Clement VI granted this privilege to two hundred people in England alone; it cost them less than ten shillings each. The Pope justified this by saying: “A pontiff should make his subjects happy.” By this time, the idea had already been extended to boost the pilgrimage trade to Rome. Boniface VIII gave a plenary indulgence to all confessed sinners who, in the course of the jubilee year 1300, and every hundredth year in the future, visited the churches o the Holy Apostles in Rome. In 1343, Clement VI reduced the period to every fifty years, remarking: “One drop of Christ’s blood would have sufficed for the redemption of the whole human race. Out of the abundant superfluity of Christ’s sacrifice, there has come a treasure which is not to be hidden in a napkin or buried on a field, but to be used. This treasure has been committed by God to his vicars on earth.” The period was reduced to a third of a century in 1389, to a quarter in 1470, and, from about 1400, extended to many local churches on special occasions. At this point the dam burst, and indulgences were sold on almost any ecclesiastical occasion for quite trivial sums; or, indeed, given away by indulgent or emotional popes. We have an eye-witness account of an occasion in 1476, when Sixtus IV, on the spur of the moment, gave plenaries to the Franciscan nuns of Foligno every time they confessed their sins. This, of course, was to destroy the idea of physical penance absolutely, and for ever. The cardinals who were with the Pope clamoured for the privilege too; and he generously awarded it. By this time, inflation was bringing the system into disrepute.


Paul Johnson, History of Christianity, © 1976 Athenium, pgs. 232-233, emphasis added.

The Origins of Payment for Penance

Again, I’m following up with selections from Paul Johnson’s “History of Christianity”.
Part 1: Augustine as Conduit to the Inquisition
Part 2: How Confession became a Divinely Instituted Sacrament

It is fascinating how this all leads to the development of the Inquisition. More from Johnson:

Innocent III’s insistence on confession to a priest, in private, undoubtedly sprang from his resolve to fight deviation and heresy by all means available. It enabled the Church to be far more flexible in its tactics, and to adapt them to particular problems, places and men. And, whereas public confession was a form of rude democracy, the carefully selected confessor underpinned the hierarchy of society. Confessing a king, a duke or an archbishop [that is, hearing their confession] was a highly skilled clerical trade, as many manuals survive to testify – they give us, among other things, revealing insights into medieval political theory. The development of the “private confessor” was yet one more indication that, in the eyes of the Church, Christians were not necessarily equal even in spiritual matters.

The principle tended to be extended to penance also; or, more particularly, to methods of performing it. The Christian promise of salvation, so hugely attractive to the Mediterranean world and, later, to the northern barbarians, was balanced by a horrifying theory for the alternative for sinners. The existence of Hell, as some of the early Fathers had argued, helped to justify Heaven; at any rate, it seemed to unsophisticated minds to make salvation seem more credible. There was never absolute agreement about how many would be saved. Origen had thought it possible all might, in the end, be redeemed; but this opinion was condemned by a sixth-century council and the tendency in the Dark Ages was to reduce the possibilities sharply. By the thirteenth century, official opinion had stabilized: “few”, thought Aquinas, would be saved, and “very many” damned; most later medieval preachers put the saved as one in 1,000 or even one in 10,000. Hence, with the development of Hell-theory the paucity of the saved, the difficulty of obtaining full remission for sin naturally increased. Dark Age penances were almost incredibly arduous. Like secular crimes, they were based on the principle of compensation – not to the victim, however, but to God. And how could an outraged God be compensated in full?

I’ll pause here simply to ask, why didn’t “The Church” know this?

The only way to do it was to inflate the idea of self-denial. Thus most early penances centred on endless periods of fasting. Wulfstan of York refers to one man who was sentenced to fast, barefoot, on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, for the rest of his life, to wear only a woolen garment, and to have only three haircuts a year. Fasting was often accompanied by compulsory pilgrimages, or visits to large numbers of shrines. Thus parricide – quite a common crime in the Dark Ages – was punished by exile: the penitent, bound in chains, had to go on pilgrimage until the chains were so worn that they fell off.

There were many practical problems connected with penance. Custom varied enormously. Written penitentiaries disagreed wildly, and rival experts heaped abuse on each other. Peter Damian was particularly violent in his criticism of confessors who took sodomy lightly; he thought the eighth century penitentiary of Archbishop Egbert of York, standard in England, composed of “theatrical ravings”, “the incantations of the devil”, and “a monster created by a man, with the head of a horse and hooves of a goat”. Then, too, many penances were almost impossible to perform. The more sincere the repentance, the more seriously the penitent would take the task imposed on him; often a man might spend the rest of his life in terror at failure. And what if he died before the penance was over? The Church only slowly adopted the theory of purgatory to meet this difficulty.

The harsh, even cruel, Dark Age practice of inordinate penance not only gave credibility to the idea of salvation; in a way, it gave credibility to the whole of Christian society. The brutal scourging of a naked king or archbishop was exciting evidence of spiritual equality before God, and man. But once the clerical experts found mechanical means to erode the full penitential rigours, a yawning hole began to appear in the fabric of Christian conviction. Such means were all too easily discovered: the real evil of canon law was that it was constantly chipped away – rather like modern tax-lawyers – at the egalitarian provisions in Christianity. It rebuilt hierarchies and pyramids on democratic spiritual foundations, and introduced the cash nexus into the supposed world to come. The canon lawyer was always engaged in a struggle with Death the Leveller, and always beat him – at least to the satisfaction of the papal curia.

It is in the seventh century that we first hear of men undertaking to perform the penances of others, in return for payment. This was forbidden; indeed, at first the Church opposed any form of commutation. The first loop-hole allowed was vicarious penance without pay. A man might perform another’s penance from motives of love (or fear; or hope of future favour). Thus we find an early case where a powerful man got through a seven-year fasting penance in three days with the help of 840 followers. And once vicarial penance in any form was admitted, it proved impossible to keep money out of it.

Paul Johnson, History of Christianity, © 1976 Athenium, pgs. 230-232.

How Confession became a Divinely Instituted Sacrament

More Paul Johnson today. I’m headed into the Inquisition from Augustine, but as I look through Johnson to pick up a place to make the connection, I’m coming across all sorts of, uh, interesting facts. I’ve been looking at forgeries about Peter in the early church, and this one ties in nicely – forgeries about Peter lead to overblown theories about “the Power of the Keys” which “develop” directly into the sacrament of Penance (Confession), which is then used in a cynical way to control “the masses” – through a misuse of this mutant “sacrament”; the use of indulgences then first fueled the crusades, which, in time, were then co-opted to fight (and in Augustinian style, destroy) heresy. This proved too vulgar for the “conscience” of the Church, and these practices were later channeled into the Inquisition.

I’ve broken up long paragraphs and added some bolding to facilitate reading, but from here on, (except for my comments in [square brackets]), you’re reading Johnson:

Above all, however, what the peasant wanted from the Church was some hope of salvation. This was the overwhelming reason why Christianity replaced paganism: it had a very clear-cut theory of what happened after death, and of how eternal happiness could be gained. The appeal was to all classes: it was the one thing which enabled the Church to hold society together.

Yet this aspect of Christianity, too, was subtly changed over the centuries, and balanced in favour of the possessing classes: indeed, it became the central feature of mechanical religion. As we have seen, baptism was originally regarded as the prelude to an imminent parousia. Only gradually, as the parousia receded, did the Church have to grapple with the problem of sin after baptism, and the second (or third and subsequent) repentance.

Moreover, it is fair to say that the problem was never satisfactorily resolved. It was agreed that a post-baptismal sin had to be confessed in some form. Ambrose thought it might be done publicly, to a priest, or privately to oneself. If confession took place to a priest, he would try to intercede with God; but the confessors [priests to whom confessions might be said] (here Ambrose quoted Origen) had no power to do anything except pray and advise. The Church’s actual formularies were framed only for public confession, and penance. But an exception was introduced in the case of adulteresses, who might risk their lives if they confessed publicly; and these exceptions, or concessions, multiplied.

In 459, Leo 1 forbade reading confessions in public; he said it sufficed to confess to God, and then to a priest or bishop, who would pray for the sinner. By the time of Gregory the Great it was accepted that confession was necessary for the forgiveness of sin, and that it was in sacerdotal hands; but it was apparently accompanied by a public ceremony. Auricular confession, in its mature form, was probably a byproduct of the conversion of the Germanic tribes; it was established much more slowly in southern Europe.

Of course most people preferred it to public humiliation; the chief brake on its expansion was the shortage of priests. The Council of Chalons, 813, laid down that confessions in private to God or to a priest were equally effective; and delayed, or death-bed confessions were popular – as [deathbed] baptism had once been. Auricular confession as a standard, and as a sacrament, developed pari passu with papal and clericalist theory in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries, and it was clearly connected with them. The first formulation of the sacramental basis was by the Paris schoolmen, especially by Peter Lombard, who relied on a forged Augustinian tract (Augustine did not in fact deal with the problem). Pseudo-Isidorian forgeries played a major role in the evolution of the related “Power of the Keys” theory. The salient forgery was in the Capitularies of Benedict the Levite, a supposed document of Clement 1, reciting his ordination as Bishop of Rome, in which Peter formally transmitted to him the power of the keys; Peter was made to say that bishops were the keys of the Church since they have the power to open and close the gates of Heaven.

Hence, in the twelfth century, confession to a priest in private was the only form still used in the West, except in certain monasteries where the earlier tradition of public confession lingered on for a time. The Council of Paris, 1198, published the first synodical code of instructions for confessors; and at the Lateran Council in 1216 Innocent III made auricular confession compulsory for all adult Christians. There remained an unresolved argument through the Middle Ages whether confession was a human or divine institution; then, in the sixteenth century, the denial of the Reformers that it was a sacrament at all hardened opinion among the papalists, and the council of Trent declared it divine.

Paul Johnson, History of Christianity, © 1976 Athenium, pgs. 229-230.

The rich, rich irony

Following in the spirit of this older post pointing out the gross and obvious chasm between how Eastern Orthodox talk up their church's unity and the actual exercise of that "unity", I pause to note the just-published article "Why the True Orthodox are Truly Orthodox" from The Holy Metropolis of the COC of America.  As the first link should make clear, it's not as if this is a recent development, hot off the presses, and I just couldn't wait to crow about how the Eastern Orthodox Church's long-invulnerable armor of unity has just now been cracked.  I'm writing about it because it activated my brain.  Yes, it hurt.

Anyway, let's consider this irony.

Eastern Orthodox (like their partners on the other side of the Sola Ecclesia coin, Romanists) love to rip "Protestants" for their disunity, for fragmenting into 59 gazillion (and growing) denominations.  The answers we've given to that are manifold (and not well dealt with by EOx and RCs) but what do we see here if not a break within the Eastern Orthodox Church itself?
It's pretty funny how it's gone down, too.  Often I have to explain to our EO and RC friends that we are biblically commanded to break fellowship with those who have fallen into heresy.  They want to count towards the 59 gazillion, say, Oneness Pentecostals among the ranks of "Protestants", or liberal types who deny virtually everything supernatural in the Bible but still go to a "Presbyterian" or "Lutheran" or "Methodist" church.  When we respond, "Um, no, those guys are called 'heretics' and are not Christian in any meaningful sense", they often choose to ignore the obvious and settle for the pejorative quip that, see? we even call each other non-Christians and heretics!
And that's for major differences in doctrine - the Trinity, the Resurrection of Christ, the virgin birth, etc.
Now, they'll say, you also break fellowship with others over minor matters, such as the music you use during worship, women pastors, who gets to head the Agape Meal Planning Committee, etc.  That can be true, and sometimes it's sad and a bad thing, sometimes not so sad or bad.
But lookie here - I don't guess the Eastern Orthodox have room to talk noise about that.  These guys are throwing the Heretic Card for people who hold to a different calendar.  In terms of pettiness, that's sandwiched riiiigggghhhhttt between the music-during-worship schism and the Meal-Planning-Committee schism.


But Rhology!  The Calendar is a big deal!
||Nodding skeptically||  Um, OK, if you say so.  Then so's the Meal Planning Committee, yo. 


To wit, from the article:  

In our day a new heresy has appeared which seeks to bring all these together and for this reason is aptly referred to as a "pan-heresy." This is Ecumenism, which we may briefly define as the belief that sects which the Church had previously considered heretical and cut off from her are in fact in some way still part of her. The threat Ecumenism poses to the Church is perhaps greater than that of any heresy of the past, for two reasons. First, by far the larger part of the Church has succumbed to its temptation.

Get that?  Most of the EOC has engaged in heresy.  Is that "the gates of Hades" overcoming the church (Matt 16:18)?  So, since this is the church that believes the true meaning of the Bible, I presume they'll be excommunicating over half their members pretty soon?  No?  Hmmm.  But, wouldn't just keeping those people around in the churches imply that they prefer more butts in pews feet on the floor (they don't sit at most Divine Liturgies) and more rubles in the offering plate than to be consistent and cease fellowship with heretics?  Wouldn't that put them in the same position as the Sola Scripturist, who appeals to the remnant paradigm from the Old Testament people of God to rebut the challenge that believers in the slightly-later-than-early church were not Sola Scripturists or Sola Fide-ists (which we don't necessarily grant, but just for the sake of argument)?
Or could it be that Matt 16:18 doesn't say what our EO and RC friends like to say it says?

One thing I've learned over the years is that RCs and EOx like to make attractive and impressive claims about how their church is this and that, and how bad my church is, and it can be tempting.  But just take a hard look at the alternative they're offering you, and it becomes clear it's really poison and fake.

Here's the punchline - I don't see a good reason to think that a lack of unity within a certain faith group has a whole lot to do with the truth value of the system the group is proposing.  In this way I am unlike our EO and RC friends, but unfortunately since neither EOC nor RCC can live up to the standard that they brag they fulfill, this makes me more intellectually honest than they.  Further, since each bills itself as "The Church Christ Founded®", thus entailing some great unbroken unity, which turns out to be a product of wishful imagination, this becomes an argument against the truth of EOC and RCC because of the claims each makes.  Sola Scripturist churches do not make that kind of claim; why would we think that disunity in our ranks is evidence of our beliefs' untruth?  So, at best, this internal squabbling and tossing around of "Heretic"s shows that EOC and RCC are false churches.  At minimum, it destroys a very common argument that EOx and RCs use against Sola Scripturists.

"It's the end of the world as we know it..."

Here's a video clip of Mr. Camping explaining what the end of the world will be like. Mr. Camping explains exactly what will happen on the last day. This video clip is from an interview in Camping's Oakland office. From the article which accompanies this video:

"He's also unafraid to talk about the toll his evangelical beliefs have taken on his personal life. Camping has seven children and grandchildren into the double digits, yet only his daughter Susan, who works as his executive secretary, shares his take on the Bible. 'She's the only one who's with me on this,' he told me."

Also from the article is this statement, which is supposed to be a joke, I think a bit more context would've been helpful:

"It may not come across in this first conversation, but Camping owns a dry, grandfatherly sense of humor. "Think of all the depravity that's going on in the world right now," he told me. 'All the sin, all the hypocrisy, all the sexual immorality -- and I'm only talking about the Roman Catholic church!' "

Tim Prussic on Presbyterian Polity in the New Testament

Tim Prussic has been responding to a rather long posting by Tim Troutman which attempts to find the Roman Catholic notion of "Holy Orders" in the Old Testament, while attempting at the same time to find some scriptural justification for the relapse into a "sacrificial priesthood" as a foundation for "the critical issue of apostolic succession." This is worth the read.

Scott Windsor, distracted

It is entirely possible Scott Windsor, while typing out his latest comment to me, was watching a World Cup footsoccerball match and could not think clearly through the buzz of those insanity-inducing vuvuzelas from the crowd.  Had to be something, b/c his comment is a mess, as if he forgot where he was.  It's bizarre; I encourage you to read it for yourself.

Your asking ME a question is not YOU documenting YOUR case.

Oh, I get it - you're less interested in a substantial case made than you are in rapidity of reply.  You could stand to cultivate a bit of patience in your life.
Now, my question?


OK. Then that's my answer for those who ask for an infallible Canon of Scr from Sola Scriptura.
sw: That question has not been asked of you in this particular discussion.

???? That's the very question I explicitly identified as the challenge I'm responding to when I make these "you're in just as 'bad' shape as we are" arguments!  Someone's not paying attention...


That's #3 on my Top Ten List. The "you're in no better shape" argument does not defend YOUR position, it is an invalid red herring argument.


Yup, you're not paying attention.
The astute reader, who actually attempts to use his memory and fairly represent the other side, will recall that I entered this combox for the explicit and express purpose of disputing #3.  And now Mr Windsor crows: "Heh heh!  You violated #3!!!!"   Um, yes, I know that.  I think #3 is stupid.
What's really funny is that Windsor linked to the very same post in whose combox we're having this discussion!  Sir, may I suggest with the most kindness I possibly can - you are embarrassing yourself.  Pay attention, or don't comment.


1) Is it complete? (2)Not missing one single item?
sw: That's TWO questions.

Um, yes.  It sure is.


1) It doesn't claim to be, nor did I claim it was.

So it's not a fallible list of infallible doctrines of the RCC.
Even though before, I'd said:
Rhology: (The RCC can't provide) failing that, a fallible list of RCC's infallible teachings
and then you answered:
SW: There are PLENTY of fallible lists! Dr. Ott's book Fundamentals of Catholic Dogma being one of the most notable!


sw: That's really #3, for those who can count.

Yes, that's right too!  2+1=3!  Gold star!


How do I know? Um, I just answered that, the TITLE tells us what it IS.

Oh, OK.  Well, my Bible says "The Holy Bible" on the title.  What?  You want an infallible canon?  Hey, get off my back!  I just answered that, the TITLE tells us what it IS.


The Canon which was defined is that of "The Old Latin Vulgate" - the canon used by St. Jerome. In the DEFINITION there is no silence.

Sorry, but you're simply wrong about that.
Next time, pay attention.  You'll get better work done.

Augustine as Conduit to the Inquisition

I want to change gears here for a minute, and provide some selections on the topic of "a total Christian society." This has roots in Augustine, and his reflections on the fall of Rome. But some of these ideas were picked up during the middle ages (as I've recently been reminded, listening to some Carl Trueman lectures on the Medieval Church), as well as some discussions that I've been involved with on the topic of "Persecutors and their Victims."

What follows is from Paul Johnson's "History of Christianity":

What Augustine absorbed in Ambrosian Milan, what he brought back to Africa, and what he opposed to Donatist particularism, was the new sense of the universality of the Church which the Constantine revolution had made possible. In Milan, Augustine had seen the Church, through the person of a shrewd and magisterial prelate, helping to run an empire. His creative mind leapt ahead to draw conclusions and outline possibilities. In Milan the Church was already behaving like an international organization; it would soon be universal. It was already coextensive with the empire; it would ultimately be coextensive with humanity, and thus impervious to political change and the vicissitudes of fortune. This was God's plan. Augustine had a historical view of human development. There were six ages: man was now living in the last, between the first and second comings of Christ, when Christianity would gradually envelop the world, as preparation for the final and seventh age. Against the background of this concept, the Donatists seemed ridiculously petty. They had grasped the seriousness of Christianity. But, by worrying about what particular bishops had done at a particular time and in a particular place, they had lost sight of the enormous, objective scale of the faith, its application to all places, times, situations. "The clouds roll with thunder," Augustine wrote, "that the House of the Lord shall be built throughout the earth; and these frogs sit in their marsh and croak -- 'We are the only Christians!'" Moreover, the Donatists had got the wrong notion of the world. Because of their obsession with their own limited local predicament and history, they saw the world as hostile and themselves as an alternative to society. But the world was there to be captured; and Christianity was not the anti-society -- it was society. Led by the elect, its duty was to transform, absorb and perfect all existing bonds of human relations, all human activities and institutions, to regularize and codify and elevate every aspect of life. Here was the germ of the medieval idea of a total society, with the church permeating everything. Was she not the Mother of All? "It is You," he wrote, "Who make wives subject to their husbands ... you set husbands over their wives; join sons to their parents by a freely-granted slavery, and set parents above their sons in a pious domination. You link brothers to each other by religious bonds tighter than blood …. You teach slaves to be loyal to their masters, masters to be more inclined to persuade than to punish. You link citizens to citizen, nation to nation, you bind all men together in remembrance of their first parents, not just by social bonds but by common kinship. You teach kings to rule for the benefit of their people, and warn the peoples to be subservient to their kings."

But the idea of a total Christian society necessarily included the idea of a compulsory society. People could not choose to belong or not to belong. That included the Donatists. Augustine did not shrink from the logic of his position. Indeed, to the problem of coercing the Donatists he brought much of their own steely resolution and certitude, the fanaticism they themselves displayed, and the willingness to use violence in a spiritual cause. To internationalize Africa, he employed African methods -- plus, of course, imperial military technology. When Augustine became a bishop in the mid-390's, the Donatist church was huge, flourishing wealthy and deeply rooted. Even after a long bout of imperial persecution, inspired by Augustine, the Donatists were still able to produce nearly 300 bishops for the final attempt at compromise at Carthage in 411. Thereafter, in the course of the two decades before Vandals overran the littoral, the back of the Donatist church was broken by force. Its upper-class supporters joined the establishment. Many of its rank and file were driven into outlawry and brigandage. There were many cases of mass suicide.

Augustine watched the process dry-eyed. Of course the times were horrific. The late empire was a totalitarian state, in some ways an oriental despotism. Antinomial elements were punished with massive force. State torture, supposedly used only in serious cases such as treason, was in fact employed whenever the State willed. Jerome describes horrible tortures inflicted on a woman accused of adultery. A vestal virgin who broke her vows might be flogged, then buried alive. The state prisons were equipped with the emulous, or rack; and a variety of devices including unci, for laceration, red-hot plates and whips loaded with lead. Ammianus gives many instances. And the State, to enforce uniformity, employed a large and venal force of secret policemen dressed as civilians, and informers, or delators. Much of the terminology of the late-imperial police system passed into the language of European enforcement, through the Latin phrases of the Inquisition. Augustine was the conduit from the ancient world. Why not? he would ask. If the State used such methods for its own miserable purposes, was not the Church entitled to do the same and more for its own far greater ones? He not only accepted, he became the theorist of, persecution; and his defences were later to be those on which all defences of the Inquisition rested.

We must not imagine that Augustine was necessarily a cruel man. Like many later inquisitors, he disliked unnecessary violence and refinements of torture. He thought heretics should be examined "not by stretching them on the rack, not by scorching them with flames or furrowing their flesh within claws, but by beating them with rods". He deplored, too, the dishonesty of using paid informers and agents provocateurs. But he insisted that the use of force in the pursuit of Christian unity, and indeed the total religious conformity, was necessary, efficacious, and wholly justified. He admitted he had changed his mind on this point. He wrote to a Donatist friend that he had seen his own town, originally Donatist, "brought over to the Catholic unity by fear of the imperial edicts". That had convinced him. In fact heretics in their hearts welcomed persecution: they would say "fear made us become earnest to examine the truth…the stimulus of fear startled us from our negligence". And then, this was Christ's own way. Had not he, "by great violence", "coerced" Paul into Christianity? Was not this the meaning from the text of Luke, 14:23: "Compel them to come in"? It was Augustine who first drew attention to this, and a number of other convenient texts, to be paraded through the centuries by the Christian apologists of force. He also had the inquisitorial emphasis: "The necessity for harshness is greater in the investigation, than in the infliction, of punishment"; and again: "…it is generally necessary to use more rigor in making inquisition, so that when the crime has been brought to light, there may be scope for displaying clemency." For the first time, too, he used the analogy with the state, indeed appealed to the orthodoxy of the State, in necessary and perpetual alliance with the Church in the extirpation of dissidents. The Church unearthed, the State castigated. The key word was disciplina -- very frequent in his writings. If discipline were removed, there would be chaos: "Take away the barriers created by the laws, and men's brazen capacity to do harm, their urge to self-indulgence, would rage to the full. No king in his kingdom, no general with his troops, no husband with his wife, no father with his son, could attempt to put a stop, by any threats or punishments, to the freedom and the sheer, sweet taste of sinning."

Here, first articulated, is the appeal of the persecuting Church to all the authoritarian elements in society, indeed in human nature. Nor did Augustine operate solely at the intellectual level. He was a leading bishop, working actively with the state in the enforcement of imperial uniformity. We have a vignette of him Carthage in 399, when imperial agents arrived to close down pagan shrines, preaching to excited mobs: "Down with the Roman gods!" Perhaps more sinister is Augustine's contact with authoritarian elements in Spain, already a centre of Christian rigorism and orthodox violence. There, in 385, the Bishop of Avila, Priscillian, a notable ascetic and preacher, had been accused of gnosticism, Manicheism and moral depravity, had been indicted under the imperial law of witchcraft, tried at Bordeaux, and brought to the imperial court at Trier. There, under torture, he and his companions confessed they had studied obscene doctrines, held meetings with depraved women at night, and prayed naked. Despite the protests of a leading Gaulish bishop, Martin of Tours, they were executed -- the first instance we have both of the slaughter of "heretics" and of witch-hunting under the Christian auspices. The episode aroused indignation, notably that of Ambrose, and provoked a reaction. But it did not end religious persecution in Spain; on the contrary, it was the beginning. Spain was already staging pogroms of Jews by the time Augustine became a bishop. And twenty years later we find him in correspondence with ferocious Spanish heresy-hunter, Paul Orosius, about the met means of winkling out heretics not only in Spain but at the other end of the Mediterranean in Palestine.

Paul Johnson, History of Christianity, © 1976 Athenium, pgs. 114-117.