With the Archbishop of Canterbury seemingly ready to defer to the Bishop of Rome, Protestant-Catholic relations are back on the agenda. Rome seems to be changing, but by how much and in what direction? The Briefing looks at some of the issues.
It seems that there are few events more delectable to the media than religious (that is to say, Christian) controversy. And the last few weeks have yielded plenty of good material. A defiant Tammy Bakker sang “My hope is built on nothing less” on the steps of the courthouse while Jim was inside copping 120 years for fraud and embezzlement. Fred Nile led a march up Oxford Street amidst scenes of hatred and abuse to tell homosexuals that Jesus loves them.
Against such juicy stories, the visit of the Archbishop of Canterbury to Rome was rather unexciting, but it rated a mention on most of the evening news bulletins. The controversial suggestion by Dr Runcie that the Pope might remain as a kind of spiritual head in a future united church, enraged some Anglicans, and thus provided the ‘news value’. Mr Ian Paisley, who one assumes is paid by an international media conglomerate to stage newsworthy religious protests, gave colourful expression to this.
According to press releases by the Anglican Church in Australia, the visit to Rome is nothing spectacular, and the suggestion of a universal primate nothing new. It is merely part of an ongoing journey towards greater mutual understanding and, one day perhaps, organic unity. At last year’s Lambeth Conference (a worldwide conference of Anglican bishops) a resolution was passed which recognized this long journey and encouraged Anglican theologians to continue talking with Rome, especially on the subject of Authority. The resolution asked them to explore “the concept of a universal primacy, in conjunction with collegiality, as an instrument of unity, the character of such primacy in practice, and to draw upon the experience of other Christian Churches in exercising primacy, collegiality and conciliarity.” An Oz-speak translation of this might be: “The ideal of a universal Pope is a real fly in the ointment for unity between Anglicans and Roman Catholics. See if you can work out a way round it.”
Thirty years ago, this sort of dialogue would have been unthinkable. Before Vatican II, there was a clear divide between Roman Catholics and Protestants.1 From the Roman Catholic point of view, Protestants were outside the true church and needed to be brought in to be saved. For Protestants (the evangelical ones, at least), Catholics were lost in a sea of good works and popery and needed to be evangelized and converted.
The Archbishop’s Roman holiday shows just how things have changed. And much of that change can be traced to Vatican II. The episode is interesting for evangelicals because it highlights the issue of our relationship with Rome, and with individual Roman Catholics. Our traditional responses to Rome, cast as they were in the Reformation, may no longer be adequate. How are we to deal with a changing Rome?
In this article we will take a brief backward look at Vatican II and at how we should react to the changes that it heralded.
Vatican II: aggiornamento
When Pope John XXIII called the Second Vatican Council, many observers saw it as an attempt to give a fairly superficial facelift to an unchanging institution. Pope John hoped for more than this, and coined the Italian word aggiornamento to express this hope. In English, it means something like ‘modernization’ or ‘updating’. The Council itself affirmed this desire for change in an oft-quoted passage:
Christ summons the Church, as she goes her pilgrim way, to the continual reformation of which she always has need, insofar as she is an institution of men here on earth. Therefore, if the influence of events or of the times has led to deficiencies in conduct, in Church discipline, or even in the formulation of doctrine … these should be appropriately rectified at the proper moment.2
And change they did. David Wells, in his book Revolution in Rome, outlines a number of shifts in Roman theology, church order and practice as a result of Vatican II. I am indebted to his work for much of what follows. (For more detailed treatment, read Wells’s book.)
The old motto of Roman Catholicism, Semper Idem—“Always the same”—was swept away at Vatican II. Traditionalists and progressives fought to influence the nature and degree of the reforms, and many of the final documents were ambiguous, reflecting the unresolved tensions between these two broad groups. Much to everyone’s surprise, the progressives won quite a lot of ground.
The nature of authority in the Church was re-defined. The traditional pyramidal structure—with the Pope on top—was not dispensed with, but there was a definite move towards individual or subjective authority in matters of faith and life. Religious experience and personal revelation (via the Holy Spirit) were given a much greater emphasis, and Catholics (both priest and lay) were encouraged to read their Bibles.
In the past, Rome taught that the Church’s Tradition was authoritative, and that the Bible formed only one part of that Tradition. There was a shift away from this at Vatican II but it was not toward the Reformed idea that Scripture alone should be authoritative. The shift was towards inward or subjective authority based on the direct mediation of the Spirit. Scripture and Tradition still had their role, but now there was a third player in the field.
This has been reflected in a growing individualism in Catholic circles in the 25 years since Vatican II. The idea that the Church hierarchy dispenses truth and that the people should simply believe it, is no longer as widely taught. Individual Catholics are seen as having more freedom to hear God speak through Scripture, Tradition and Experience. Indeed, today it is hard to find two Catholics who believe the same thing. Modern Catholicism encompasses a diversity of views—mysticism, liberalism, liberation theology, traditional Catholicism, and mixtures of all of them.
The nature of salvation and the kingdom also underwent change. There was a move towards a more “horizontal” view of salvation—that God’s redemptive activity takes place in this world, not just in some other-worldly heaven. All mankind will be part of God’s kingdom here on earth.
There was a corresponding broadening of the definition of “Christianity”. In the old order, there was a water-tight connection between Christ and the Roman Church—salvation was to be found nowhere else. At Vatican II, however, it was acknowledged from the start that “at all times and among every people, God has given welcome to whosoever fears Him and does what is right”.3 Salvation, or union with Christ, depends more on internal attitude than on external allegiance. These ideas culminated in a kind of universalism that has become known, somewhat derogatorily, as “invincible ignorance”. Even those who are explicit Atheists (or belong to some other religion like Islam) can be saved through their good intentions.
“All this [sharing in Christ’s resurrection] holds true not only for Christians, but for all men of good will in whose hearts grace works in an unseen way”.4 In this schema, the Roman Church is no longer a necessary mediator of God’s grace, and salvation is more than possible for all men, regardless of whether they confess allegiance to Christ.
In summary, we can say that Vatican II marked a turning point for Roman Catholicism. But the new direction was by no means towards evangelical Protestantism. Certainly, there was an acknowledgement of the need for a greater study of Scripture and of the importance of individual relationship with God, rather than mere institutional allegiance.
However, to many evangelicals, the New Catholicism looks very much like 19th century liberalism in disguise. Many of the old battlegrounds are there—universalism, subjective authority, an earthly kingdom, a Bible subject to the censure of reason and experience, and so on. These liberal or progressive ideas were certainly present amongst Catholics before Vatican II. But at Vatican II they received ‘official’ recognition, and gained a degree of respectability.
It should be noted, as well, that this is by no means a clearly defined, unified shift. The issues are complex and we have dealt with them in a fairly brief and simplistic fashion here. To add to this, it is hard to know who speaks for Rome today. Officially, it is still the Pope. In reality, there are many competing voices.
Mary: a revealing case study
It is also interesting to note the place of Mary in all this. Her role in Catholic teaching and practice is largely undiminished. She remains a dominant figure in Catholic devotion.
Wells sees the continued prominence of Mary as a key indicator of the direction of Roman reform and, in particular, an unwillingness to allow Scripture to shape that reform. Clearly, a return to the values of Scripture would involve a downgrading of the place of Mary. Vatican II reaffirmed the traditional Marian doctrines, all of which are either additional to, or in contradiction of, Scripture:
- her sinlessness (and hence immaculate conception and assumption to heaven);
- her perpetual virginity;
- her cooperative role in redemption (whereby her consent to bear Jesus was a necessary step in God’s plan);
- her role as mediator between believers and her Son;
- her status as the Queen of Heaven, dispensing grace to those who fly to her for help.
Wells quotes Karl Barth:
In the doctrine and worship of Mary there is disclosed the one heresy of the Roman Catholic Church which explains all the rest. The “mother of God” of Roman Catholic Marian dogma is quite simply the principle, type and essence of the human creature participating servantlike in its own redemption on the basis of prevenient grace …5
This penetrating quote is worth some consideration. Barth is saying that at the heart of all Roman error is the participation of man in his own redemption. Whereas the Bible emphasizes the inability of man to fashion a salvation for himself, and the resultant necessity for God’s sufficient grace, Rome has consistently elevated the place of mankind in its theology. And the exaltation of Mary, says Barth, is a classic example.
We can see this trend in many traditional Roman doctrines: the authoritative place given to a human Pope and human tradition in determining truth for the church; the mediatorial role given to human priests in securing propitiation and forgiveness for the believer; the exalted role of the Saints in standing between believers and God; and of course the role of good works in procuring salvation.
If traditional Roman dogma exalts the place of the creature instead of acknowledging the infinite glory and grace of the Creator, then the direction of the New Catholicism becomes clear. It is, in fact, no real break with the past. It is simply a channelling of the same error in a modern direction.
The reforms of Vatican II have a very man-centred look about them: the universalism and this-worldly approach to salvation; the emphasis on subjective revelation and individual truth; the broadening of the definition of Christianity to include anyone who has ‘good intentions’.
For the Roman Church to be truly reformed, it must take the agonizingly difficult step of submitting its doctrine and practice to Scripture—in other words, to allow God to rule in doctrine and practice. It seems that whatever else Vatican II achieved, it did not achieve this.
Not many of us are overly concerned about the Archbishop of Canterbury’s visit to Rome or his willingness to submit to a Roman private. The ecclesiastical manoeuvrings of liberal English churchmen are, in one sense, far removed from us.
However, what does concern us is how to relate to individual Roman Catholics whom we meet from day to day. How do the changes in Rome affect them? How should we treat them? If we perceive them to be Christians, should we encourage them to leave the Roman Catholic Church? What fellowship should we have with Roman Catholic churches and with individual Catholics?
It is to these issues that we will turn in a future article.
Endnotes
1 The Second Vatican Council or “Vatican II” was held between 1962 and 1965. Called by Pope John XXIII, the Council consisted of over 2500 cardinals, bishops, priests and religious from all over the world. It was seen by many as an opportunity to probe the Church’s deficiencies and set new directions for the Church in the modern world.
2 From the documents of Vatican II, quoted in D. Wells, Revolution in Rome (Tyndale, 1973), p. 21.
3ibid., p. 77.
4ibid., p. 81.
5ibid., p. 118.
