Learning from the History of Doctrine (Avoiding Overreactions)
It is a good rule of thumb to keep the following in mind: the cure can be worse than the disease. Or, putting it differently: an over-correction can be worse than no correction at all. Or yet in a different way, when speaking of the history of Christian theology: a heresy does not correct a heresy.
The good ship church is always learning. It is fascinating to look at the history of doctrine and see how the church over the centuries has articulated the faith and insisted on this or that or the other as a vital part of the articulation of that faith. And often – rightly or wrongly – the faith gets affirmed as a point of contention or disagreement – that is, one segment of the church will affirm the faith as over against or in contrast to another sector or denomination within the church. This might be all fine and good as part of the learning process for the church – as part of healthy debate and a deliberative process by which new understanding emerges and the faith is strengthened. However, it becomes tragic when these different understandings lead to schism – to division and the fracturing of the church: whether it is the great schism of 1054 between Rome and Constantinople, between the church of the West and the Eastern Orthodox Churches or whether it is the unfortunate split of the 16th century between Rome and the churches of the Protestant Reformation.
Sometimes, no doubt, these divisions – schisms – are about more than theology or doctrine. There are political factors, for example, that led to the split of the Church of England from Rome. But typically, doctrinal matters are the presenting issue. There is a debate and a disagreement about some important theological question. Thurs, East and West leading up to the schism of 102=54 were debating the filioque clause – “and the Son” – that the West added to the Creed regarding the procession of the Spirit. More may have been at play in this split, but this was the contentious or presenting issue – primary reason for the separation. And similarly with we think Protestant Reformation and the break with Rome: a whole host of doctrinal issues were front and centre, being debated and ultimately leading to a schism. Which, even if you think it was necessary, is nevertheless tragic.
What is noteworthy is that typically what happens is that the matter that is the subject of debate and disagreement is framed in a way that is divisive. Rather than building bridges and expanding understanding, issues are presented and discussed and debated in manner that is both adversarial and polarizing. We see a problem and conclude something is not quite right and we react – or, actually, overreact. And it is to this that I am going to speak in these reflections: the propensity towards overreaction which has been so much a part of the history of doctrine. When we look at the development of theological conviction in the history of the church it is helpful to go back and consider these overreactions and what they mean for us today.
Thus in the debate between East and West regarding the process of the Spirit, the East insisted that the Creed was clear: the procession of the Spirit from the Father. They were incensed when the West sought to nuance this and insert “from the Father and the son.” Many of us today who are part of the church in the West agree that the source of all things and the source of the Spirit is the Father. And we can affirm this as long as we can speak of the Spirit given through Christ. That is, we can affirm that this is not something which we, now, would see as a point of division. We can say the Creed in its original form – without the ‘filioque’ clause – knowing that all things proceed from the Father and are mediated to us by the Son – including the Spirit. And we can believe this while also fully appreciating that nothing in our understanding of the process of the Spirit should take away from the significance of the Spirit in the life and witness of the Church.
Similarly when we come to the themes that were front and centre for the Protestant Reformation – which included an insistence that we are “justified by faith” and not by works. Whether or not this was an accurate in its depiction of Rome – that Rome was about “works” while the Lutherans were about “faith”, the Lutheran church has for her entire history struggled to affirm the essential and legitimate place of works of love and service as an essential expression of authentic faith. One of the premier Lutheran theologians of the 20th century, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, spent much his theological energy attempting to show how an insistence on “faith alone” can be one dimensional if it does not include the very legitimate – the necessary affirmation, affirmed by both Catholics and heirs to the Protestant Reformation – that faith must be complemented with works.
Luther himself got caught up in one other example of an overreaction. The Protestant Reformation included much debate about the meaning of “This is my body” and the significance of the Lord’s Supper. While the Reformers themselves did not fully agree, they did agree there was a problem with the Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation. And yet, Martin Luther was loathe to overreact. He refused to accept the minimalist memorialism of Ulrich Zwingli that virtually dismissed any notion of the presence of Christ at the Table. And in this midst of this debate, he wrote to Zwingli that he would “Rather drink pure blood with the Pope than mere wine with the fanatics”. His point: the correction was no correction at all because it in effect in created a bigger problem.
And then a third example coming out of the Protestant Reformation: the very appropriate re-affirmation of the role of the Scriptures in the life of the church. However, for some heirs to the Protestant Reformation, there has been an insistence on “only the Bible” and this has, in effect, meant that the ancient Creeds were viewed as rather secondary. It is helpful to speak of this perspective as biblicism: the Bible and the Bible alone is the source of truth and authority for Christians. The significance of this for some was to discount any significance to the authority of the church. But is this not yet another example of this overreaction? Can we not affirm the authority of the Scriptures while also recognizing two things: first, that the only Bible we know is the Bible that has been given to us by the church. It is the church that affirmed that this is the canon of Holy Scripture. And second, that the Creed is the essential and necessary perspective through which we read the Scriptures [what you might speak of as a hermenutical lens]. And thus Evangelicals are waking up to something that their Catholic friends have always affirmed: the great tradition – the weight and depth of the historic faith, the faith of the Apostles that has been passed down through the centuries, a faith that has been benchmarked at key points – most notably in the Council of Nicea and what emerged from that Council, the Nicene Creed. Which means, of course, that we are only truly biblical with we affirm the authority of the church and the ancient creeds.
There is yet another debate – both ancient and contemporary – where the same principle applies. The biblicism just referenced is often evident in a discounting of the ministry of the Holy Spirit. Biblicists often have what my mother used to call “a truncated pneumatology.” In response, some press to correct this gap by over-emphasizing the Spirit – with what we might call a pneumo-centred spirituality and worship. Those of this tribe note that there is a neglect of the immediacy of the Spirit in the life of the church that needs to be addressed. They insist that they are correcting an under-emphasis. And our response, of course is to say that an overcorrection is no correction at all. What guides us in our response has to be the ancient Creed and the ancient faith that is unequivocally Trinitarian and Christ-centered. Only from this posture and vision and from this position alone can we affirm the life and ministry of the Spirit in the life of the church.
Often our differences – between Catholic and Evangelical – are but another example of where an over-correction happened. As I write this, I wonder how seeing this propensity might help us constructively speak together about the significance of Mary in the life of the Church. But, the main point remains: recognizing that an overcorrection is no help at all, means we choose learn from one another. To hear one another clearly and refuse to stereo-type the other or pigeon-hole the other. We can come to recognize that we have much to learn through being attentive to one another.
Image Credit: Motoki Tonn via Unsplash
