The Bible, the Church or the British Constitution?

Though I no longer regard any religion as the exclusive repository and dispenser of universal truth—indeed I have grown quite opposed to the notion of religions as arbiters of human rectitude—I nonetheless remain fascinated by the intellectual tensions within Christianity, probably because this particular belief system has had so much influence on my personal life and on American culture in general.

In my more youthful years, as I was flip-flopping from Protestantism to atheism to Catholicism and finally to agnosticism, the subject I found most critical (so long, of course, as I was in one of my “believing” phases) was the debate about doctrinal authority. Having grown up singing “The Bible Tells Me So,” I wondered who or what within the Christian context should legitimately function as the judge of right and wrong? What authority should tell me so”? The Bible? The Pope? Franklin Graham?

My internal questioning almost always found its expression thusly: do our Christian beliefs and practices derive their legitimacy from directives in the Bible—and the Bible alone (sola scriptura)—or does the truth find its ultimate revelation in something more organic—but also more nebulous—than static, inflexible scripture—viz. the ever-growing corpus of traditions preserved, nurtured and yes, extended, by an evolving church? 

At some point in my “spiritual journey,’ I came to reject the zealous Protestant notion that

scripture alone constituted any sort of “full and sufficient” Dictionary of Truth.  On the contrary! As I learned long ago in religious classes at (Presbyterian!) Macalester College, the New Testament, in particular, can best be described as an untidy, desultory, self-contradicting compendium of narratives recounting only the most “successful” beliefs and practices of the first 200 years of Christianity. 

Scholars tell us that these books were penned by authors representing diverse Christian communities with differing (sometimes conflicting) points of view—from about 50 CE to 100 CE. And, we learn additionally, they were not, as a body, “canonized”—i.e., accepted as “officially” truthful—until the 4th century, and only then because they had managed to survive after other more controversial (therefore “less true”) writings had been gradually (or abruptly) thrown out. 

Finally, it is worth noting that the canonizing authority for these newly “holy” scriptures bore little resemblance to almighty Yahweh issuing commands on Mt. Sinai. Rather, it was a higgledy-piggledy collection of clerics meeting in a series of church councils—Council of Rome 328, Synod of Hippo, 393, Council of Carthage, 397. In short, what fundamentalists regard as an all-encompassing anthology of divine truth might better be described as a ramshackle collection of first-century stories (about a Jesus none of the writers had ever met)—but which were nevertheless still deemed relevant to the fourth-century church. 

So, when I became a Catholic, I accepted the primacy of the Church over these diffuse biblical tales. I acknowledged that the Church MADE the Bible—not vice versa—and that the Bible could only be understood as a a partial, albeit revered, expression of early beliefs and practices, not as an exclusive repository of divine truth. 

It occurred to me then, and it still seems logical to my post-Catholic mind, that the written scriptures adopted in the 4th century were not even an entirely necessary element of the church’s overall teaching. Is it possible that Pope Pius IV was justified when, in 1584 (Council of Trent), he denounced Bible reading in the vernacular as divisive and “not for the people”?

In any event, once I had acknowledged the Bible’s subordination to the church’s magisterium, I could see no reason why evolving church tradition could not “discover” and “canonize” additional strands of ultimate truth.  Hence, legitimacy could be conferred upon such non-biblical doctrines as the Assumption, the Immaculate Conception, Papal Infallibility, etc.  Indeed—here’s a provocative thought—couldn’t the church, in the light of evolving thinking within the community, produce and canonize additional books to be included in an updated, more comprehensive Bible? Or in a sequel? The Holy Bible Too?

Thus, I came to believe, at least for a time, that the Catholics and Orthodox had a better argument than the sola scriptura folks: Christian scripture IS (I concluded) merely an outgrowth and a component part of Christian faith. The Bible IS just a bold, but early, step forward in the development of the faith.

Now, what does all this mean to someone (me) who has in my old age rejected the authority of both the Bible and the Church? Probably only the lesson I have learned (or corroborated) by my investigations: instead of according authority over human affairs to static, archaic writings, we should instead place our trust in entities that are living, evolving, and willing to change in response to reality.

For instance, and in conclusion, I insist once again that the British Constitution—unwritten, tradition-derived, but quickly responsive to circumstances—is more efficient and more worthy of “canonization” than the ossified, archaic scriptures of our American Constitution. The British have a tradition. We have a Bible.

Honni soit qui mal y pense.