Moreover David and the captains of the army separated for the service some of the sons of Asaph, of Heman, and of Jeduthun, who should prophesy with harps, stringed instruments, and cymbals. And the number of the skilled men performing their service was: Of the sons of Asaph: Zaccur, Joseph, Nethaniah, and Asharelah; the sons of Asaph were under the direction of Asaph, who prophesied according to the order of the king. (1 Chronicles 1–2)

Moreover King Hezekiah and the leaders commanded the Levites to sing praise to the Lord with the words of David and of Asaph the seer. So they sang praises with gladness, and they bowed their heads and worshiped. (2 Chronicles 29:30)

If we were to define the role of prophet, most of us would probably think of people like Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, Amos, Hosea, etc., and that is correct, but perhaps not complete. I am in the middle of helping to teach a class on the Psalms in my church, and recently chose one of my favorites, Psalm 73.

The superscription of the psalm attributes it to Asaph. So who was Asaph? Chronicles contains a detailed account of the appointing of the Levites for service in the sanctuary of God. “David built houses for himself in the city of David; and he prepared a place for the ark of God, and pitched a tent for it” (1 Chron 15:1). Asaph, son of Berechiah, is appointed to be one of the “singers who should play loudly on musical instruments, on harps and lyres and cymbals, to raise sounds of joy” (vv. 16–17), in his case, bronze cymbals (v. 19). “So David left Asaph and his brethren there before the ark of the covenant of the Lord to minister continually before the ark as each day required . . .” (v. 37). Then we come to the part that intrigues me the most. In 1 Chron 25:1–2, it says that Asaph and his sons prophesied according to the order of the king.

2 Chronicles, in the time of King Hezekiah’s reign, gives an account of the repair and sanctification of the temple, at which time “Hezekiah the king and the princes commanded the Levites to sing praises to the Lord with the words of David and of Asaph the seer. And they sang praises with gladness, and they bowed down and worshiped” (2 Chron 29:30). Most of us are already aware that many Psalms carry the superscription mentioning David, but there are also attributions to others throughout the Psalter.1 The psalms attributed to Asaph in the Masoretic Hebrew text include 50, and 73–83. In 2 Chron 29:30, Hezekiah could point to songs by David and Asaph that had been preserved.

The designation of Asaph as a seer, who prophesies, suggests that we might expand our understanding of what it means to be a prophet or seer, especially if we have been influenced (as I was) by a political definition, that is, the prophet as “speaking truth to power,” or a solely predictive role. In light of the fact that “prophet” and “seer” are applied to Asaph, a better understanding of the prophet might be “one through whom God speaks,” whose words are inspired by God. In Asaph’s case, according to the biblical text, it is in the context of worship and song that God speaks through him.

Psalm 73 begins with a statement of faith: “Truly God is good to Israel [or upright], to those who are pure in heart” (v. 1). He knows this, and yet,

“But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled, my steps had nearly slipped. For I was envious of the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked” (vv. 2–3).

God is supposedly good to the pure in heart, yet the wicked seem so much better off! How can that be? Something seems off here, and envy (or jealousy) and resentment rear their heads. “Look at all the ways the wicked prosper! Nothing troubles them, and people find no fault with them! They question God’s knowledge, and yet are at ease. They have shalom.”

⁴ For they have no pangs until death;
their bodies are fat and sleek.
⁵ They are not in trouble as others are;
they are not stricken like the rest of mankind.
⁶ Therefore pride is their necklace;
violence covers them as a garment.
⁷ Their eyes swell out through fatness;
their hearts overflow with follies.
⁸ They scoff and speak with malice;
loftily they threaten oppression.
⁹ They set their mouths against the heavens,
and their tongue struts through the earth.
¹⁰ Therefore his people turn back to them,
and find no fault in them.^[a]
11 And they say, “How can God know?
Is there knowledge in the Most High?”
¹² Behold, these are the wicked;
always at ease, they increase in riches.

A common complaint, even to this very day. How is one to react to this? It is here that the psalmist faces his great temptation. “What is the good of being innocent? It is for nothing!” I have had friends who expressed this very sentiment. Why be good, when there is no reward? In fact, doing good often invites suffering. Why not behave like the arrogant and amass for oneself riches and public acclaim?

¹³ All in vain have I kept my heart clean
and washed my hands in innocence.
¹⁴ For all the day long I have been stricken
and rebuked every morning.

But the psalmist catches himself:

¹⁵ If I had said, “I will speak thus,”
I would have betrayed the generation of your children.

To teach that there is no point in following the ways of God would be to betray those around him and lead them into false paths. He cannot do it, however discouraged he is, and he is discouraged. How can you teach others that God is good to his people, to the upright and pure in heart, when the evidence seems so clearly contrary to this?

¹⁶ But when I thought how to understand this,
it seemed to me a wearisome task,

Note that phrase: “a wearisome task.” Feel the heaviness of it. How many priests, pastors, teachers, evangelists have felt this same weariness from time to time? From what direction can refreshment come? For the psalmist, it is when he goes into the sanctuary of God that he receives understanding, and a true view of that way of life he has so much envied.

¹⁷ until I went into the sanctuary of God;
then I discerned their end.

¹⁸ Truly you set them in slippery places;
you make them fall to ruin.
¹⁹ How they are destroyed in a moment,
swept away utterly by terrors!
²⁰ Like a dream when one awakes,
O Lord, when you rouse yourself, you despise them as phantoms.

This insight leads him to confession: his envy, jealousy resentment and misunderstanding led him to being sour, embittered, disturbed. “Brutish,” “ignorant,” “like a beast” all point to his lack of understanding, seeing things the wrong way round. He acknowledges this before God.

²¹ When my soul was embittered,
when I was pricked in heart,
²² I was brutish and ignorant;
I was like a beast toward you.

But even in the midst of his ignorance and envy, God has not abandoned him, and he realizes that God himself is the greatest gift, against which nothing that the arrogant and wicked have can even compare. The psalmist had overvalued the supposed shalom of the wicked, and undervalued his true “portion,” his real inheritance, God’s presence and strength.

²³ Nevertheless, I am continually with you;
you hold my right hand.
²⁴ You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will receive me to glory.
²⁵ Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.
²⁶ My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

The final lines of the Psalm make clear the contrast between the two choices: the fleeting advantage of unfaithfulness in the world, and the permanent good of faithfulness. He will not tell the generation of God’s children that there is no profit in innocence, but rather he will tell of the works of the Lord God.

²⁷ For behold, those who are far from you shall perish;
you put an end to everyone who is unfaithful to you.
²⁸ But for me it is good to be near God;
I have made the Lord God my refuge,
that I may tell of all your works.

Amen.

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Psalter, British (MET, 22.24.1)

Metropolitan Museum of Art, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

This file is made available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.

There is a tendency among Roman Catholic apologists to accuse Protestants of “removing books from the Bible” (an accusation particularly directed at Martin Luther) or “messing up the Canon,” and either stating or implying that the “Deuterocanonical” books were “always” part of the Canon. What I wish to show here is that there is a very long tradition in the church (both east and west) of accepting the shorter Old Testament canon, based upon the ancient Hebrew/Jewish canon.

For we have not an innumerable multitude of books among us, disagreeing from and contradicting one another, [as the Greeks have,] but only twenty-two books, which contain the records of all the past times; which are justly believed to be divine . . . (Josephus [37-100 AD])

Javier Perdomo has very helpfully compiled references to many Fathers and medieval theologians over the millennia who hold to views (in one way or another) that do not correspond to the Roman Catholic canon.

Church Fathers & Medievals on the Biblical Canon

An EXTENSIVE list of 90+ Patristic & Medieval quotes undermining the Roman Catholic position on the Biblical canon

Using Perdomo’s list, I wish to focus on those Fathers and Medievals who specifically reference the “twenty-two book” Canon of the Old Testament. I will show that 1) they conceptually follow the twenty-two book shorter canon, 2) there is some small variation in the books they include, and the way they combine books to fit the number twenty-two, and 3) the Apocryphal books are generally included but have a lesser status, as was the position of the 16th c. Reformers. I want to make it perfectly clear that these are not the only sources that hold to a shorter canon. There is also a tradition of the “twenty-four” book canon of the Old Testament, and other sources which simply list the authoritative books without necessarily counting them. For these sources, see Perdomo’s Substack article.

Note: Rather than using extensive footnotes, I have listed the sources at the end of the article.

What do these sources mean when they refer to twenty-two books? Here is the list published by Rufinus of Aquileia:

• Five books of Moses: 1. Genesis, 2. Exodus, 3. Leviticus, 4. Numbers, 5. Deuteronomy

• Seven: 6. Joshua the son of Nun; 7. the book of Judges together with Ruth; 8.–9. then four books of Kings, which the Hebrews reckon two (Samuel and Kings); 10. Paralipomenon, which is called the book of Days [Chronicles], 11. and two books of Ezra, which the Hebrews reckon one [Ezra-Nehemiah], and 12. Esther

• Five Prophets: 13. Isaiah, 14. Jeremiah, 15. Ezekiel, and 16. Daniel; moreover, of the 17. Twelve [minor] Prophets, one book

• Five: 18. Job also and the 19. Psalms of David, each one book. Solomon gave three books to the churches, 20. Proverbs, 21. Ecclesiastes, and 22. Song of Songs

A later tradition sorts them into three groups: five books of the law (Pentateuch); eight books of the prophets; and nine books of the Hagiographa, as in Hugh of St. Victor:

• Five: 1. Genesis, 2. Exodus, 3. Leviticus, 4. Numbers, and 5. Deuteronomy

• Eight: The first in the book of Joshua . . .; the second the book of Judges [which generally includes Ruth] . . . the third the book of Samuel, which is the first and second book of Kings, the fourth is Malachi, which is understood as of the Kings, which is third and fourth Kings; the fifth Isaiah, the sixth Jeremiah [which includes Lamentations]; the seventh Ezechiel; the eighth the book of the twelve prophets

• Nine: first Job, second the book of Psalms, third the Proverbs of Solomon, which is called ‘Parabolae’ in Greek and ‘Masloth’ in Hebrew, the fourth Ecclesiastes which is translated as ‘coeleth’ in Hebrew and ‘concionator’ [lit.: the lecturer of the people, speechmaker] in Latin; the fifth, ‘syra syrim’, that is the Canticle of Canticles; the sixth Daniel, the seventh Paralipomenon, which in Latin is called the Words of Days [Chronicles] and in Hebrew is called ‘dabreniamin’; the eighth Esdras [Ezra-Nehemiah] and the ninth Esther

There is some variation to be found in the sources, but the principle seems to be: 1) Judges-Ruth are combined, 2) 1–2 Samuel, 1–2 Kings, and 1–2 Chronicles are counted as three, not six, 3) Ezra-Nehemiah are combined, 4) Jeremiah is combined with Lamentations, and 5) the Twelve Minor Prophets are counted as one book. The Hebrew texts were written on scrolls, and thus books we think of as separate would have been combined in one scroll.

“Twenty-two Books”

In the sources I discuss, “twenty-two” appears as the conceptual framework, in which the twenty-two books correspond to the letters of the Hebrew alphabet (Dialogue between Timothy the Christian and Aquila the Jew; Origen; Athanasius; Hilary of Poitiers; Basil of Caesarea; Gregory of Nazianzus; Epiphanius of Salamis; Jerome; Synopsis of Sacred Scripture; John of Damascus; Agobard of Lyons; Adam Scotus; Hugh of St. Victor; John of Salisbury; “On Canonical and Non-Canonical Books” [citing Origen as quoted by Eusebius]; Thomas Netter). This tradition was alive well into the 15th century. Some simply make this equation, but a few describe the connection as pointing to instruction in the ways of God.

As, then, there are twenty-two elementary characters by means of which we write in Hebrew all we say, and the human voice is comprehended within their limits, so we reckon twenty-two books, by which, as by the alphabet of the doctrine of God, a righteous man is instructed in tender infancy, and, as it were, while still at the breast. (Jerome of Stridon [347-420 AD])

. . . altogether this makes twenty-two, which is also the number of letters in the Hebrew alphabet, so that by as many books as just men of holy life are exerted to wisdom by as many letters they are instructed in eloquence from an early age . . . (Adam Scotus [10^th c. AD])

These are all, that is five and eight and nine, making twenty-two, just as do the number of letters in the Hebrew alphabet, so that the life of the just may be instructed in the way of salvation by as many books as letters educate the tongues of the knowledgeable in eloquence. (Hugh of St. Victor [1096-1141 AD])

Just as (he says) there are twenty-two letters through which we write in Hebrew all that we say and human speech is comprehended by their beginnings, so are there considered to be twenty-two volumes, by which, just like letters and beginnings in the doctrine of God, the still tender and nursing infancy of the just man might be nourished. (Thomas Netter [c. 1375–1430 AD])

Variations in Content

Among the twenty-seven sources I list in this article, the conceptual framework of “twenty-two” is consistent, but there are small variations in the books listed. Before I give you those variations, it is necessary to say that because Judges and Ruth are often tied together, as are Ezra and Nehemiah, Jeremiah and Lamentations, it is probably not significant if a source counts Judges without mentioning Ruth, Ezra without mentioning Nehemiah, or Jeremiah without mentioning Lamentations. There are omissions and/or additions that are more interesting.

• Addition of Judith (Dialogue between Timothy the Christian and Aquila the Jew)

• Inclusion of Baruch and/or the Epistle of Jeremiah with Jeremiah and Lamentations (Origen; Athanasius; Hilary of Poitiers; Council of Laodicea; Cyril of Jerusalem; Epiphanius; Stichometry)

• Omission of the Twelve Minor Prophets (Origen)

• Omission of Esther (Athanasius; Council of Laodicea; Gregory of Nazianzus; Leontius of Jerusalem; Synopsis of Sacred Scripture; Stichometry; Joseppus)

• Omission of Daniel (Denis the Carthusian)

• Addition of Psalm 151 (Synopsis of Sacred Scripture)

The variations most easy to understand are 1) the inclusion of Baruch and the Epistle of Jeremiah as part of Jeremiah, and 2) the omission of Esther.

The inclusion of either or both the epistles of Baruch and Jeremiah seems confined to the first few centuries of the church. It can probably be explained by the fact that the Septuagint was used by much of the church in codex form, and as can be seen in some of the early codices (e.g., Codex Vaticanus and Codex Alexandrinus), the epistles followed Jeremiah and Lamentations. A related possibility is that the works are associated with Jeremiah, “attached,” so to speak, because they belong to the prophet.

Esther is one of the books that is often questioned. In the Hebrew version, God is never mentioned, which may have been a factor. It can be noted that those sources that omit Esther are from the Greek-speaking world, and according to the article on the book of Esther in the Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible, Esther was not accepted by the Eastern Churches until after the eighth century.1

The inclusion of Psalm 151 (Synopsis of Sacred Scripture) may also be a result of the use of the Septuagint. More puzzling are the omissions of the Twelve Minor Prophets by Origen, and Daniel by Denis the Carthusian. The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church edition of The Church History of Eusebius (in which Origen’s canon list is recorded) states that Origen’s omission of the Twelve Minor Prophets must have been an oversight on Eusebius’s (or the transcriber’s) part since Origen wrote a commentary on them (according to Eusebius, VI. 36). In addition, Rufinus of Aquileia, who had translated some of Origen’s work, lists them as one book in his account of Origen’s work.2

The general pattern (among these twenty-seven sources) shows that variations arise 1) in the early centuries of the church, and 2) because of the omission of Esther in the eastern churches until the eighth century. Despite these minor variations, the consistency of the content is remarkable, witnessing to a very strong tradition of conformity to the Hebrew/Jewish canon.

Non-Canonical Books

Not all of the sources talk about the non-canonical books (usually called Apocrypha). Generally, when they do, it is to say that they are valuable, but not canonical.

The Old Testament non-canonical books referred to in the sources include the Wisdom of Solomon, Sirach (Ecclesiasticus), Judith, Tobit, and Maccabbees. Some of the eastern fathers mention Esther as well. One source (“On Canonical”) adds Baruch, Third and Fourth Esdras as being of lesser authority. A few sources (Council of Laodicea, Cyril of Jerusalem, Gregory of Nazianzus) seem to warn against the reading of non-canonical books. One of the sources, “On Canonical and Non-Canonical Books,” specifies that “it should be noted that in the book of Esther, only those parts that extend up to the point where we have marked ‘The book of Esther ends here, as it is in Hebrew’ are included in the canon; what follows after this is not canonical. Similarly, in Daniel, only those sections up to where we have indicated ‘The prophet Daniel ends here’ are considered canonical; anything after that is not in the canon.”

The general consensus of those who value the non-canonical books is that they are not canon, but are to be read: for “instruction in the word of godliness” (Athanasius); are “helpful and useful” (Epiphanius; “On Canonical”); are “virtuous and noble, but are not counted nor were they placed in the ark” (John of Damascus); are truthful (Denis; Hugh of St. Cher).

Athanasius: But for greater exactness I add this also, writing of necessity; that there are other books besides these not indeed included in the Canon, but appointed by the Fathers to be read by those who newly join us, and who wish for instruction in the word of godliness. The Wisdom of Solomon, and the Wisdom of Sirach, and Esther, and Judith, and Tobit, and that which is called the Teaching of the Apostles, and the Shepherd.

Cyril of Jerusalem: And, pray, read none of the apocryphal writings: for why do you, who know not those which are acknowledged among all, trouble yourself in vain about those which are disputed?

Gregory of Nazianzus: Let not your mind be deceived about extraneous books (for many false ascriptions are making the rounds), but you should hold to this legitimate number from me, dear reader.

Epiphanius: For there are two (other) poetical books, that by Solomon called “Most Excellent,” and that by Jesus the son of Sirach and grandson of Jesus—for his grandfather was named Jesus (and was) he who composed Wisdom in Hebrew, which his grandson, translating, wrote in Greek—which also are helpful and useful, but are not included in the number of the recognized; and therefore they were not kept in the chest, that is, in the ark of the covenant.

Jerome: This preface to the Scriptures may serve as a helmeted [i.e. defensive] introduction to all the books which we turn from Hebrew into Latin, so that we may be assured that what is outside of them must be placed aside among the Apocryphal writings. Wisdom, therefore, which generally bears the name of Solomon, and the book of Jesus the Son of Sirach, and Judith, and Tobias, and the Shepherd [of Hermes?] are not in the canon.

Rufinus: But it should be known that there are also other books which our fathers call not ‘Canonical’ but ‘Ecclesiastical:’ that is to say, Wisdom, called the Wisdom of Solomon, and another Wisdom, called the Wisdom of the Son of Syrach, which last-mentioned the Latins called by the general title Ecclesiasticus, designating not the author of the book, but the character of the writing. To the same class belong the Book of Tobit, and the Book of Judith, and the Books of the Maccabees.

Synopsis: But aside from these there are moreover some other books with the Old Testament, which are not considered canonical, but which are only read to catechumens, which are these: The Wisdom of Solomon, . . . The Wisdom of Jesus son of Sirach, . . . Esther, . . . Judith, . . . Tobit.

John of Damascus: There are also the Panaretus, that is the Wisdom of Solomon, and the Wisdom of Jesus, which was published in Hebrew by the father of Sirach, and afterwards translated into Greek by his grandson, Jesus, the Son of Sirach. These are virtuous and noble, but are not counted nor were they placed in the ark.

Stichometry: And the (writings) of the Old Testament which are gainsaid and are not recognized in the Church (canonized) are the following: 3 Books of the Maccabees . . . The Wisdom of Solomon . . . The Wisdom of Jesus Sirach . . . The Psalms and Odes of Solomon . . . Esther . . . Judith . . . Susanna . . . Tobith, also (called Tobias). [Originally written as a list with the number of lines of each book].

Hugh of St. Victor: There are some other books besides these in the Old Testament, which are sometimes read, but they are not written in the body of the text or in the authoritative canon, such as the books of Tobias, Judith, and the Maccabees, and the one called the Wisdom of Solomon and Ecclesiasticus.

John of Salisbury: The book of Wisdom, Ecclesiasticus, Judith, Tobit, and the Shepherd are not reckoned in the canon, as St. Jerome also asserts, nor the Book of Maccabees either, which is divided into two, of which the first has the savour of Hebrew eloquence, the second of Greek, as its style proves.

“On Canonical”: These are the books that are not in the canon, but which the Church nonetheless accepts as good and useful, though not as canonical. Among them, some have greater authority, while others have less. The books of Tobit, Judith, and the Maccabees, along with the books of Wisdom and Ecclesiasticus (Sirach), are highly approved by all.

Hugh of St. Cher: The Apocrypha remain: Jesus, Wisdom, Pastor [Shepherd of Hermas?]; and the Books of the Maccabees, Judith and Tobit. Since these are doubtful they are not numbered in the canon. But since they proclaim true things, the Church accepts them.

Andrew Horne: And besides there are other books in the Old Testament, albeit they are not in the canon, such as Tobit, Judith, Maccabees, and what is therein of Solomon and Ecclesiastes [I think he means Ecclesiasticus, since he lists Ecclesiastes among the canonical books].

A longer explanation can be found in a fifteenth century Spanish scholar and bishop, Alonso Tostado:

Question 2: There are some books that, although they are maintained by the Church, they nevertheless are not placed in the canon, since the Church does not associate the faith with them, nor does it order that they be regularly read or received, and does not judge those who do not accept them as disobedient or faithless. This is on account of two things: first, that the Church is not certain concerning their authors, nay, rather, it does not know, whether [their writers], inspired by the Holy Spirit, composed them... But, since there are doubts surrounding some books, concerning their authors, whether they were moved by the Holy Spirit, their authority is taken away and the Church does not place them in the canon of its books. Secondly, since the Church is not certain about such books, whether heretics added or subtracted something beyond that which they hold from their own authors. But such books the Church accepts, allowing individuals to read them: For it also reads them in its offices on account of the many faithful things that are contained in them. Yet it obligates nobody necessarily to believe what is contained there; as is from the books of Wisdom,...Ecclesiasticus,...Maccabees,...Judith...and Tobias. For, although those are received by Christians, and a demonstration taken from them might sometimes be useful, the Church maintains those books; yet they are not useful against heretics or Jews for proving those things that might come into doubt: Just as Jerome says in his prologue on Judith, namely, among the Hebrews the book of Judith is read as hagiography, whose authority is judged less suitable to strengthen those things that come into dispute.

What is important here is that the non-canonical status of these books is found over a very long period of time, at least from the fourth century AD to the fifteenth century, and among both western (Latin) and eastern (Greek) sources.

Conclusion

As a counter to my argument, Roman Catholic apologists might point to Augustine, the Synod of Hippo, or the canon list of Innocent I to show the canonical status of the Apocrypha.3 And it is quite true that there were those who accepted those books as canonical. However, their view does not seem to have been decisive, nor widely known, since many sources after that time seem not to be aware of any official decision in favor of a larger canon. Of the twenty-seven sources I cover in this article, most date from a time either concurrent with, or after the fourth century when some claim that the Apocrypha were officially declared to be canonical.

Of particular interest is a work called “On Canonical and Non-Canonical Books,” dating to around the 12^th century.

Since many people do not devote much effort to Sacred Scripture, they assume that all the books contained in the Bible should be revered and venerated equally. They do not know how to distinguish between canonical and non-canonical books—those that the Hebrews exclude from the canon and that the Greeks classify among the apocrypha. As a result, they often appear ridiculous in the presence of learned men and become confused and scandalized when they hear someone not giving equal veneration to everything that is read in the Bible.

For this reason, we have here made a distinction and have distinctly listed first the canonical books and afterward the non-canonical books, between which there is as much difference as between certainty and doubt. For the canonical books were written under the dictation of the Holy Spirit, whereas the non-canonical or apocryphal books are of uncertain origin—no one knows at what time or by whom they were composed. However, since they are very good and useful, and nothing in them contradicts the canonical books, the Church reads them and permits the faithful to read them for devotion and moral instruction. Nevertheless, their authority is not considered sufficient for proving matters in doubt or controversy, nor for confirming the authority of ecclesiastical doctrines, as the blessed Jerome states in his prologues to Judith and the books of Solomon.

This position is exactly the same one as was held by the magisterial Reformers (Lutherans, Reform, Anglican). From the Anglican Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion VI:

And the other Books (as Hierome saith) the Church doth read for example of life and instruction of manners; but yet doth it not apply them to establish any doctrine; such are these following:
The Third Book of Esdras
The Fourth Book of Esdras
The Book of Tobias
The Book of Judith
The rest of the Book of Esther
The Book of Wisdom
Jesus the Son of Sirach
Baruch the Prophet
The Song of the Three Children
The Story of Susanna
Of Bel and the Dragon
The Prayer of Manasses
The First Book of Maccabees
The Second Book of Maccabee

It would seem clear that the issue of the Apocryphal (or “Deuterocanonical”) books was not settled at the time of the Reformation, and there was a long and continual tradition of a differentiation between canonical and non-canonical (but useful) books. It was the canonical books alone that were used to determine and guard doctrine.

Athanasius: In these [canonical books] alone is proclaimed the doctrine of godliness. Let no man add to these, neither let him take ought from these.

Basil the Great: For as the twenty-two letters may be regarded as an introduction to the wisdom and the Divine doctrines given to men in those characters, so the twenty-two inspired books are an alphabet of the wisdom of God and an introduction to the knowledge of realities.

Jerome: As, then, there are twenty-two elementary characters by means of which we write in Hebrew all we say, and the human voice is comprehended within their limits, so we reckon twenty-two books, by which, as by the alphabet of the doctrine of God, a righteous man is instructed in tender infancy, and, as it were, while still at the breast.

Rufinus: all of which [Apocryphal books] they would have read in the Churches, but not appealed to for the confirmation of doctrine.

The Reformers were, in fact, in line with the traditions of the church, seeking a renewal of true belief and practice.

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SOURCES:

1. Origen of Alexandria (185– c. 253 AD)

- Eusebius citing Origen, NPNF2-01, The Church History of Eusebius, Chapter XXV.—His Review of the Canonical Scriptures, link: https://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf201.iii.xi.xxv.html#fna_iii.xi.xxv-p2.2

2. Athanasius of Alexandria (c. 296–373 AD)

- St. Athanasius, NPNF2-04, Festal Letter 39, link: https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/2806039.htm

3. Hilary of Poitiers (c. 310–367 AD)

- Hilary of Poitiers, Sancti Hilarii Pictaviensis Episcopi Tractatus Super Psalmos, Prologue 15, Testamenti Veteris libri XXII, aut 24. Tres linguae praecipuae. Patrologia Latina 9:241. Translation by Dr. Michael Woodward, Associate Library Director, Archbishop Vehr Theological Library.

4. Basil the Great - A.K.A: Basil of Caesarea (c. 330–379 AD)

- Basil the Great, Philocalia, Chapter III, Why the inspired books are twenty-two in number. From the same volume on the 1st Psalm. George Lewis, trans., The Philocalia of Origen: A Compilation of Selected Passages from Origen’s Works made by St. Gregory of Nazianzus and St. Basil of Caesarea (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1911), p. 34. See also Origen, Philocalie, ch. 3, edited by Marguerite Harl, Sources Christiennes 302 (Paris: Cerf, 1983), p. 260.

5. Council of Laodicea (AD 363)

- Council of Laodicea, translated from the Greek as presented in B.F. Westcott, A General Survey of the History of the Canon of the New Testament (5th ed. Edinburgh, 1881), link: https://www.bible-researcher.com/laodicea.html

6. Cyril of Jerusalem (315–386 AD)

- Cyril of Jerusalem, Catechetical Lecture 4, 33-36, link: https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/310104.htm

7. Gregory of Nazianzus (329–390 AD)

- Gregory of Nazianzus, Carmina Dogmatica, Book I, Section I, Carmen XII. PG 37:471-474. Translation by Dr. Michael Woodward, Associate Library Director, Archbishop Vehr Theological Library. See also William Jurgens, The Faith of the Early Fathers, Volume 2, p. 42.

8. Epiphanius of Salamis - A.K.A: Epiphanius of Constantia (310–403 AD)

- Epiphanius of Salamis, Panarion 8.6.1-4, Edmon L. Gallagher and John D. Meade, The Biblical Canon Lists from Early Christianity: Texts and Analysis (Oxford, 2017), pp. 160-161.

- Epiphanius of Salamis, Panarion 76.22.5, Edmon L. Gallagher and John D. Meade, The Biblical Canon Lists from Early Christianity: Texts and Analysis (Oxford, 2017), pp. 168-169

- Epiphanius of Salamis, (The Treatise) of St. Epiphanius, Bishop of the City of Constantia in Cyprus, on Measures and Weights and Numbers and Other Things That Are in the Divine Scriptures, link: https://www.ccel.org/ccel/pearse/morefathers/files/epiphanius_weights_03_text.htm61

- Epiphanius of Salamis, Of Measures and Weights 22-23, Edmon L. Gallagher and John D. Meade, The Biblical Canon Lists from Early Christianity: Texts and Analysis (Oxford, 2017), pp. 166-167.

9. Jerome of Stridon (347–420 AD)

- Jerome of Stridon, Prologue to the Books of the Kings, this English translation is based upon W. H. Fremantle’s (with just a couple of changes to make the translation more literal), which appeared in A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, second series, vol. 6, St. Jerome; Letters and Select Works (Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1893).

- Jerome of Stridon, Letter 53 “To Paulinus”, (Ad Paulinum, no. 53 § 8), link: https://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf206.v.LIII.html

- Jerome of Stridon, Epistle 107 (“To Laeta”), 12, link: https://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf206.v.CVII.html

- Jerome of Stridon, Prologue to Judith, SACRED BIBLE VULGATE, vol. 1, p. 691.

- Jerome of Stridon, Prologue to the Books of Kings, SACRED BIBLE VULGATE.

10. Rufinus of Aquileia - A.K.A.: Rufinus Tyrannius (340–410 AD)

- Rufinus, NPNF2, Vol. 3, Commentary on the Apostles’ Creed, 36.

11. Leontius of Jerusalem - A.K.A: Leontius Byzantinus (c. 485–543 AD)

- Leontius of Jerusalem, cited by B. F. Westcott, A General Survey of the History of the Canon of the New Testament, 1896, Seventh Edition, Macmillan & Co. Ltd. London, p. 568.

12. Synopsis of Sacred Scripture (approx. 6th c. AD)

- Synopsis Scripturae Sacrae, translated by Michael D. Marlowe, J.P. Migne, Patrologiae Cursus Completus, Series Graeca, vol. 28 (Paris, 1887; volume 4 of the collected works of Athanasius), cols. 284-93 and 432. Link: https://www.bible-researcher.com/sss.html

13. Dialogue between Timothy the Christian and Aquila the Jew (c. 2nd, 3rd, or 6th c. AD)

- Dr. William Warner, A Translation of the Dialogue of Timothy and Aquila, 3.11a-3.18, link: https://www.academia.edu/11087040/Dialogue_of_Timothy_and_Aquila

14. John of Damascus (c. 675-749 AD)

- John of Damascus, NPNF2-09, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith, Book IV, Chapter XVII, link: https://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf209.iii.iv.iv.xvii.html

15. Stichometry of Nicephorus (9th c. AD)

- Patriarch Nikephoros I of Constantinople, The Stichometry of Nicephorus, PG 100.1057, link: http://www.ntcanon.org/Stichometry_of_Nicephorus.shtml

16. Agobard of Lyons (c. 769-840 AD)

- Agobard of Lyons, To Bishop Bernard, concerning the privileges and rights of the priesthood VI, Patrologia Latina 107:133C.

17. Joseppus – A.K.A: Joseph the Christian (10th c. AD)

- Jossepus, Hypomnestikon, cited in Joseph the Christian’s Bible notes: Hypomnestikon, 1996, pages 86-87.

18. Adam Scotus (10th c. AD)

- Adam Scotus, De Tripartito Tabernaculo, Pars Secunda. De Tabernaculo Christi Quod Est In Fide. Caput VIII. Patrologia Latina 198:697B. Translation by Benjamin Panciera, The Medieval Institute, University of Notre Dame.

19. Denis the Carthusian - A.K.A: Dionysius Van Rijkel (1096-1141 AD)

- Denys the Carthusian, Enneration In Genesis, Cap I, Articulus IV, De Multiplici Distinctione Atque Divisione Totius Divinae Scripturae. Translation by Benjamin Penciera, University of Notre Dame.

- Denys the Carthusian, Proemium, Judith and Tobit. Translation by Benjamin Penciera, University of Notre Dame.

- Denys the Carthusian, Prologus, Ecclesiasticus (Sirach). Translation by Benjamin Penciera, University of Notre Dame.

20. Hugh of St. Victor (1096-1141 AD)

- Hugh of St. Victor, De sacramentis. Prologue, Cap. VII. Patrologia Latina 176:185D-186D. Translation by Catherine Kavanaugh, University of Notre Dame.

- Hugh of St. Victor, De Scripturis et Scriptoribus Sacris Praenotatiunculae, Cap. VI, De ordine, numero et auctoritate librorum sacrae Scripturae. Patrologia Latina 175:15D-16. Translation by Benjamin Panciera, The Medieval Institute, University of Notre Dame.

21. Peter Comestor (1100-1179 AD)

- Peter Comestor, Historia Scholastica, Historia Libri Josue. Incipit praefatio in historiam libri Josue. Patrologia Latina 198:1259. Translation by Catherine Kavanaugh, University of Notre Dame. Link: https://books.google.com/books?id=H_UQAAAAYAAJ&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false

- Peter Comestor, Historia Scholastica, Historia Libri Danielis. Cap. I, XIII. Patrologia Latina 198:1447-1448. Translation by Catherine Kavanaugh, University of Notre Dame. Link: https://books.google.com/books?id=H_UQAAAAYAAJ&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false

- Peter Comestor, Historia Scholastica, Historia Libri Tobiae. Incipit praefatio in historiam libri Josue. PL 198:1432. Translation by Catherine Kavanaugh, University of Notre Dame.

22. John of Salisbury (1115-1180 AD)

- John of Salisbury, The Letters of John of Salisbury, W.J. Millor S.J. and C.N.L. Brooke, editors (Oxford: Clarendon, 1979), Letter 209, pp. 317, 319, 321, 323, 325.

23. “On Canonical and Non-Canonical Books” (approx. 12th c. AD)

- De Canonicis Et Non Canonicis Libris, Patrologia latina, vol. 113, 0019D-0023C, J. P. Migne, ed. Parisiis: excudebat Migne, 1852. Link: https://artflsrv04.uchicago.edu/philologic4.7/PLD/navigate/952/2

24. Hugh of St. Cher - A.K.A: Hugo De S. Caro (1200–1263 AD)

- Hugh of St. Cher, In Postillam super Librum Iosue: Prologus. Translation by Benjamin Panciera, The Medieval Institute, University of Notre Dame.

25. Andrew Horne (14th c.)

- Andrew Horne, The Mirror of Justices, LONDON: B. Quaritch (1895), The Publications of the Selden Society: Volume VII, pg. 2-3, link: https://archive.org/details/mirrorofjustices00hornrich/page/2/mode/1up

26. Thomas Waldensis - A.K.A: Thomas Netter (c. 1375–1430 AD)

- Thomae Waldensis, Doctrinale Fidei Catholicae, Tomus Primus, Articulus Secundus, cap. 2, p. col. 353. First published in Venice 1757. Republished in 1967 by Gregg Press Limited. Translation by Benjamin Panciera, The Medieval Institute, University of Notre Dame.

27. Alonso Tostado (1410-1455 AD)

- Alphonsi Tostati, Episcopi Abulensis, Commentariorum in Sanctum Iesu Christi Euangelium secundum Matthaeum, Praefatio, Quaest. 1, 2, 3. Translation by Benjamin Panciera, The Medieval Institute, University of Notre Dame.

Rufinus of Aquileia (or Tyrannius Rufinus) (340–410), Exposition of the Creed (about A.D. 400)1

Rufinus is not, perhaps, one of the better known of the ancient theologians who commented on the Canon of Scripture. He is overshadowed by Jerome, the translator of the Bible into Latin, who was his friend (although the two did have a falling out regarding Rufinus’s translation and reception of Origen). Rufinus was himself an early translator of the Greek church fathers into Latin,2 having spent years traveling and living in the east (i.e., the Greek-speaking world).

Previous to writing this article, I had seen only a passing reference to Rufinus when I taught a class on the Apostles’ Creed. Recently, however, his name caught my attention in an article about an argument he had with Jerome regarding the use of the Septuagint,3 and I became aware that he had published a list of canonical books. I am interested in the fact that Rufinus, in this Commentary,4 lists the canonical books in the context of the creed, and the more I read the work, the more I see that he is interweaving Canon, the rule of faith, and the primacy of scripture as the basis for Christian doctrine. It is notable that Rufinus is not setting himself up as an authority, but as one who has received what has been given. His assumptions about the canon and authority of scripture is persuasive exactly because he is not trying to make a point, but simply setting out what has been received.

The purpose of this essay is modest. I simply wish to show that in matters of Canon, authority of scripture and alignment of the rule of faith with scripture, the Anglican Canon and view of the primacy of scripture is consistent with the beliefs and assumptions of a Christian theologian who traveled extensively (in fact living in the east for many years) in the Christian world of the fourth century, translating and studying the ancient fathers of the church. I do not speak as an expert; I am sure there are others on Substack who know much more about these issues than I. Helpful comments and corrections are welcome.

Apostles’ Creed

According to Rufinus, a summary of the faith (the Creed) was given by the Apostles, as a sign (signum) of the Apostolic Rule, passed down by tradition, and “retained in the hearts of the faithful.” The rule acts as a check and a guide for the preaching of the church (section 2),5 and is recited publicly by those who are being baptized (section 3).

Our forefathers have handed down to us the tradition, that, after the Lord’s ascension, when, through the coming of the Holy Ghost, tongues of flame had settled upon each of the Apostles, that they might speak diverse languages, so that no race however foreign, no tongue however barbarous, might be inaccessible to them and beyond their reach, they were commanded by the Lord to go severally to the several nations to preach the word of God. Being on the eve therefore of departing from one another, they first mutually agreed upon a standard of their future preaching, lest haply, when separated, they might in any instance vary in the statements which they should make to those whom they should invite to believe in Christ. Being all therefore met together, and being filled with the Holy Ghost, they composed, as we have said, this brief formulary of their future preaching, each contributing his several sentence to one common summary: and they ordained that the rule thus framed should be given to those who believe. (Section 2)

When Rufinus wrote his Commentary on the Apostles’ Creed, it had not yet settled into the form most of us are familiar with, and a number of versions are found in the first few centuries of the church. Tertullian (c. 200 AD) presents three different versions (in De Virg. Vel., 1; Against Praxeas 2; De Praecept., 13 and 26). We also have the Interrogatory Creed of Hippolytus (c. 215 AD); the Creed of Marcellus (340 AD); and the Roman “Symbol” (c. 4^th century AD). Similar creedal statements or summaries can also be found in Irenaeus (c. 180 AD), Against Heresies X.1, and Origen (early 3^rd c.), De Principiis, Preface. These creeds, while not uniform, are all similar theologically, and have a Trinitarian shape to them, structured around articles concerning the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

The fact that the versions of the creeds are slightly different gives credence to the view that they are part of the tradition (rather than created by decree), whatever one thinks of Rufinus’s account of how the Creed originated. So does his comment in section 3 that there are some additions to the first article (I believe in God the Father Almighty) in the various churches because of having to address certain heresies.

The version of the creed that Rufinus cites is notable for adding the phrase, “invisible and impassible,” in reference to God the Father.6 It is the version that he himself recited at his baptism in Aquileia.

I believe in God the Father Almighty, invisible and impassible,
And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord,
Who was born from the Holy Ghost, of the Virgin Mary (de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine),
Was crucified under Pontius Pilate, and buried.
He descended to hell; on the third day he rose again from the dead.
He ascended to the heavens; he sits at the right hand of the Father.
Thence he is to come to judge the quick and the dead.
And in the Holy Ghost, the Holy Church, the remission of sins, the resurrection of this flesh.7

What Rufinus calls a “rule,” or “common summary” is the tradition of the Apostles but is not independent from the scriptures, nor does it contain different teaching. The whole point is that the tradition be the same throughout the nations, and the “rule” or “creed” is to ensure that this remains the case. Further, it serves an evangelistic purpose, that all to whom the Apostles and their successors preach receive the same message. He does not suggest that this is an independent source of doctrine.

Canon

Rufinus’s canon list is given in the context of his exposition on the Holy Spirit. He has, throughout his Commentary, cited the scriptures in his discussion of the Creed, especially pointing to the “testimonies of the divine scriptures” regarding Christ’s coming to judge the “quick and the dead” (paragraph 33). Further, he extensively cites the prophets, evangelists and apostles, concerning Christ’s coming (paragraph 34). It is after this that he turns his attention to the Holy Spirit (Holy Ghost), who is the one who inspired the “Law and the Prophets . . . the Gospels and Epistles” that he had cited earlier.

36. [I say] then it was the Holy Spirit8 who in the Old Testament inspired the Law and the Prophets, and in the New the Gospels and the Epistles. For which reason the apostle also says, “All scripture given by inspiration of God is profitable for instruction.” And therefore it seems proper in this place to specify by a distinct enumeration, from the records of the fathers, the books of the New and of the Old Testament, which, in accordance with the tradition of our ancestors, are believed to have been inspired by the Holy Spirit, and handed down to the churches of Christ.

Like Jerome, Rufinus follows the shorter canon of the Old Testament (twenty-two books, according to the Hebrew enumeration).9 Unlike many of the patristic and medieval theologians who also follow the shorter canon, he does not specifically mention twenty-two books, although he assumes it. The reason for the number twenty-two is that what counted as a “book” in the Jewish canon differed from the Christian canon.10 Judges-Ruth counted as one book, 1–2 Samuel as one, 1–2 Kings as one, 1–2 Chronicles as one, Ezra-Nehemiah as one, Jeremiah-Lamentations as one, and the Twelve Minor Prophets as one.

37. Of the Old Testament, therefore, first of all there have been handed down five books of Moses: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy; then Joshua the son of Nun; the book of Judges together with Ruth; then four books of Kings, ² which the Hebrews reckon two; Paralipomenon, ³ which is called the book of Days [Chronicles], and two books of Ezra, ⁴ which the Hebrews reckon one, and Esther; of the Prophets, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel; moreover of the Twelve [minor] Prophets, one book; Job also and the Psalms of David, each one book. Solomon gave three books to the churches, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs. These comprise the books of the Old Testament.

Of the New Testament there are four Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; the Acts of the Apostles, which was written by Luke; fourteen epistles of the apostle Paul, two of the apostle Peter, one of James, the brother of the Lord and an apostle, one of Jude, three of John, and the Revelation of John.

These are the books which the fathers have included in the canon; on which they would have us establish the declarations of our faith.

Old Testament

• Five books of Moses: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy

• Seven: Joshua the son of Nun; the book of Judges together with Ruth; then four books of Kings, which the Hebrews reckon two; Paralipomenon, which is called the book of Days [Chronicles], and two books of Ezra, which the Hebrews reckon one, and Esther

• Five Prophets: Isaiah, Jeremiah,11 Ezekiel, and Daniel12; moreover, of the Twelve [minor] Prophets, one book

• Five: Job also and the Psalms of David, each one book. Solomon gave three books to the churches, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs

New Testament

• Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Acts

• Fourteen epistles of the apostle Paul [including Hebrews]

• Two epistles of Peter, one of James, one of Jude, three of John, Revelation of John

Rufinus lists other books that are not “canonical” (Canonici) but “ecclesiastical” (Ecclesiastici). These are “Wisdom attributed to Solomon,” “Wisdom attributed to the son of Sirach” (Ecclesiasticus—pointing to its character as ecclesiastical), Tobit, Judith, and the books of Maccabees. With the New Testament are the Shepherd of Hermas, the Two Ways (a section of the Epistle of Barnabas), and the “Judgment of Peter” (probably the Apocalypse of Peter). What he calls the “Scripturus Apocryphas” (apocryphal writings) are books that are not to be read in churches, although he does not name them (section 38).13

These are what the fathers have handed down to us, which, as I said, I have thought it opportune to set forth in this place, for the instruction of those who are being taught the first elements of the Church and of the Faith, that they may know from what fountains of the Word of God they should draw for drinking (section 38).

Note the distinction between those books which are canonical—to be used for determining doctrine—and those which are “ecclesiastical”—to be read in the church, but not to be used for “confirmation of doctrine.”

Inspired by the Holy Spirit, through the Prophets and Apostles

Rufinus’s states that the scriptures are inspired by the Holy Spirit (and quotes 2 Timothy 3:16) (section 36). There are similar statements found, for example, in Cyril of Jerusalem (315–386),14 Amphilochius of Iconium (340–403),15 Basil the Great (Basil of Caesarea 330–379,16 Athanasius of Alexandria (296–373),17 the Glossa Ordinaria (12^th c.),18 Synopsis of Sacred Scripture (c. 6^th c.), etc.19 Thus, the canonical books are seen to have a divine quality inherent in them, not imposed from the outside.20 The texts of Scripture are the inspired witness of the Law and the Prophets (the Old Testament), the Gospels and Epistles (the New Testament).21

Received by the Church

The canonical books are received by the church, from the “records of the fathers,” the “tradition of our ancestors.” Thus the Holy Spirit inspired the scriptures which were written by the prophets and apostles, and the fathers/ancestors have preserved and handed down those books as the holy scriptures. The fact that the fathers/ancestors have handed down those books is not said to confer on them a status above the scriptures. It is the scriptures that are to determine doctrine, because they were inspired by the Holy Spirit. The authority structure runs thus:

1. Holy Spirit (inspiration)

2. Writings of the Prophets and Apostles (scripture)

3. Fathers and ancestors (canon)

The assumption seems to be that the scriptures have divine qualities (having been inspired), as well as a context (the church) and a foundation (Holy Spirit to the Prophets and Apostles). They do not need to be externally verified, because they are themselves are part of the foundation.

Relevance to the Sola Scriptura Debate

Rufinus gives us a view of tradition and scripture that is consistent with the Anglican view of Sola Scriptura (or, as some would argue, Prima Scriptura).

• There is a tradition that comes from the Apostles (in the Creed), that was not written down but is consistent with scripture, and, rather than being secret, is out in the open and available to even the person seeking baptism. There is no hint that it is an independent source of doctrine.

• The shorter canon of the Old Testament is the one that is (together with the New Testament) authoritative regarding the “declarations of the faith,” i.e., Christian doctrine.

• The canon is handed down from the fathers/ancestors and received by the church, without the need for an infallible authority that stands above the scriptures.

Anglican Teaching on Sola Scriptura

It is first important to define Sola Scriptura, because this is often confused with what is referred to as Nuda Scriptura. The latter is the view that the Bible is the only source of authority for the believer. This view seems to arise out of various American movements in the nineteenth century and is not what the Reformers meant. Anglicans, for example, believe that tradition has a degree of authority, as do creeds, ecumenical councils, and bishops and priests of the church. But the authority for the establishment of doctrine relating to salvation resides ultimately in Scripture. Given that definition, I am arguing that there is a similar view in Rufinus.

The Old Testament Canon for Anglicans is the shorter canon as laid out by Rufinus (or, more closely, Jerome, and many more in the history of the church).22 Added to this are the New Testament books. The deuterocanonical books are put in a separate category, as “other Bookes (as Hierome [Jerome] saith) the Church doth read for example of life and instruction of manners, but yet doth it not apply them to establish any doctrine” (Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion [1571] of the Anglican Church, Article VII).23

This is emphasized in the Thirty-Nine Articles, VI. Of the Sufficiency of the Holy Scriptures for Salvation:

Holy Scripture containeth all things necessary to salvation: so that whatsoever is not read therein, or may be proved thereby, is not to be required of any man, that it should be believed as an article of the Faith, or be thought requisite or necessary to salvation.

The Anglican tradition also accepts the Three Creeds, because they are consistent with Scripture:

VIII. Of the Three Creeds

The Three Creeds, Nicene Creed, Athanasius’s Creed, and that which is commonly called the Apostles’ Creed, ought thoroughly to be received and believed: for they may be proved by most certain warrants of Holy Scripture.

Further the “general councils” have a certain authority, but are not themselves inerrant:

XXI. Of the Authority of General Councils

General Councils may not be gathered together without the commandment and will of Princes. And when they be gathered together, (forasmuch as they be an assembly of men, whereof all be not governed with the Spirit and Word of God,) they may err, and sometimes have erred, even in things pertaining unto God. Wherefore things ordained by them as necessary to salvation have neither strength nor authority, unless it may be declared that they be taken out of Holy Scripture.

The church also has authority:

XX. Of the Authority of the Church

The Church hath power to decree Rites or Ceremonies, and authority in Controversies of Faith: And yet it is not lawful for the Church to ordain any thing that is contrary to God’s Word written, neither may it so expound one place of Scripture, that it be repugnant to another. Wherefore, although the Church be a witness and a keeper of Holy Writ, yet, as it ought not to decree any thing against the same, so besides the same ought it not to enforce any thing to be believed for necessity of Salvation.

Conclusion

In Rufinus’s Commentary, creed (tradition), and canon (inspired scriptures) work together within the church that receives them. The Holy Spirit inspires the Prophets and Apostles, and their written witness provides the doctrine, the “declarations of the faith,” while the creed provides a sign/symbol of the faith, and a guide for correct teaching. These are received by the church from the fathers/ancestors. This fits with the Anglican sense of Sola Scriptura: scriptures are sufficient for doctrine relating to salvation; the scriptures contain the shorter canon of the Old Testament plus the New Testament; the creeds have authority, because they have been proved by Holy Scripture. The church is the “witness and keeper of the scriptures.” Thus is the church in her proper role.

Image: Detail of Apostles’ Creed from Compost et calendrier des bergers. Each Apostle is shown with an article of the Creed. (Robert Gaguin?, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.)

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3

Apology Against Jerome (Apologia contra Hieronymum) (401) 2.37, CCSL 20:111–112. See Damian Dziedzic, “Did Jerome Change His Mind about the Biblical Canon?” translated by Javier Perdomo, Substack, October 28, 2025,

Javier’s Substack

Did Jerome Change His Mind About the Biblical Canon?

Preface…

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7 months ago · 28 likes · Javier Perdomo

Rufinus’s preference for the Septuagint may mean that when he lists the book of Daniel, he is including the additions to Daniel found in the Greek, but not in the Hebrew. He criticizes Jerome for not including them.

9

I want to acknowledge the excellent work done by Javier Perdomo in compiling an extensive collection of canon lists: Javier Perdomo, “Church Fathers and Medievals on the Biblical Canon,” Substack, April 17, 2025.

Javier’s Substack

Church Fathers & Medievals on the Biblical Canon

Introduction…

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a year ago · 55 likes · 10 comments

Easter Wings by George Herbert

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,

Though foolishly he lost the same,

Decaying more and more,

Till he became

Most poore:

With thee

O let me rise

As larks, harmoniously,

And sing this day thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne

And still with sicknesses and shame.

Thou didst so punish sinne,

That I became

Most thinne.

With thee

Let me combine,

And feel thy victorie:

For, if I imp my wing on thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

From A Selection of Poems by George Herbert, chosen and introduced by Ruth Etchells (Tring, Herts, England: Lion Publishing, 1988).

Image: Common Jezebel Delias eucharis by Jeevan Jose, Kerala, India, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons.

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Love III (by George Herbert)

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.

“A guest,” I answered, “worthy to be here”:
Love said, “You shall be he.”
“I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee.”
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
“Who made the eyes but I?”

“Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.”
“And know you not,” says Love, “who bore the blame?”
“My dear, then I will serve.”
“You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat.”
So I did sit and eat.

George Herbert (1593–1633) is one of the best beloved of the Anglican poets who wrote during the seventeenth century. He was born in Wales into a prominent family, educated at Cambridge, held positions at Trinity College, Cambridge, and was elected as MP for Montgomery, the place of the his birth. Instead of following a public career, however, he sought ordination in the Church of England, and served as parish priest, first near Little Gidding, and later at Bemerton, near Salisbury.1

He wrote during the greatest period of English literature, when works were published by Philip Sidney, Edmund Spenser (both of whom had recently died), John Donne and William Shakespeare (with whom he was a contemporary). He was influenced also by Lancelot Andrews (Dean of Westminster), one of the best writers among the Anglican clergy, and by the King James Version of the Bible (published in 1611).

The poem “Love III” is fitting for both Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. My posting of the poem was inspired by my bishop, who quoted it in his Maundy Thursday service. It has long been my favorite poem, from my favorite poet.

It is appropriate for Maundy Thursday service in its allusion to the Eucharist—partaking at Christ’s table. The poet is at first reluctant to do so, feeling the full weight of his own “dust and sin.” Love’s "bearing the blame” is appropriate for Good Friday, as it was our Lord’s death that allows the repentant sinner to come to the table.

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Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen.

This lovely prayer is one of the Prayers for Mission during evening daily office, and one of the collects for Compline in the 2019 Book of Common Prayer. It is sometimes attributed to St. Augustine of Hippo (354–430 AD). It has been a great source of comfort to me, showing the great loving-kindness of our Lord.

The prayer (with slightly different words) has been set to music by Norwegian composer Ola Gjeilo and features a haunting tenor sax solo and piano improvisation for accompaniment. I would love to sing it with a choir sometime.

I offer this to you as a balm for the soul.

"Evening Prayer" by Ola Gjeilo from Northern Lights: Choral Works by Ola Gjeilo (Chandos 2012) Featuring Ted Belledin (tenor sax), Ola Gjeilo (piano), Phoenix Chorale, and Charles Bruffy, Artistic Director.

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^“All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had. With great power the apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus. And God’s grace was so powerfully at work in them all that there were no needy persons among them. For from time to time those who owned land or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales and put it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to anyone who had need.” (Acts 4:32–35)

From time to time, I read or hear someone using this passage as support for socialism. If one read only the first two sentences, that might make sense. But a deeper reading of the context and the actual practice of the early church requires a different interpretation. This may be quite obvious, but I am going to argue that this passage shows the believers acting not like socialists, but like a family, as we would expect from the wider context of the New Testament texts relating to the church after Pentecost.

Principles of Distributive Justice

Let me give some background for my argument. When I was studying for my PhD in Old Testament, I wrote a major paper on the subject of distributive justice, i.e., principles that determine the distribution of goods in traditional societies. That paper is buried in a box somewhere, so these reflections are informal, based on my memories of what I found in my studies.

Broadly speaking, according to the research I read at the time (admittedly some time ago), the major principles by which goods are distributed in traditional societies are, broadly speaking, 1) distribution according to need, or, alternatively, giving more than one receives; 2) equitable exchange; 3) trying to get the better of the other party, or taking more than one gives; and 4) outright raiding or plundering.

The biggest factor that determines which principle applies in a given situation turns out to be the frequency of face-to-face contact. Distribution according to need, therefore, is most likely to operate in family situations or among people that live in close proximity to one another, having a close bond to one another. Equitable exchange is characteristic of the marketplace, where face-to-face contact is less frequent, and bonds looser, but frequent enough to encourage fair exchange. If face-to-face contact is limited and infrequent, however, there might be a tendency to try and strike a hard bargain or try to get the best of someone in an exchange of goods. Plundering or raiding (negative distribution) typically happens when dealing with total outsiders (think Vikings!) or enemies.

Church as Family

Using this framework, the principle of distribution reflected in Acts 4 and other New Testament passages is that of distribution according to need, or giving more than one receives, as is found among households and family groups. Family language is, of course, found all over the New Testament in the context of the community of believers. The head of the family, as Jesus says in John 20:17, is “my Father and your Father . . . my God and your God.” Jesus is the Son and his followers are adopted sons (Galatians 4:4–7), part of the household of God (Ephesians 2:19–22). Followers of Christ are therefore called “brothers” (which sometimes refers to men, sometimes men and women) (Acts 1:15–16; 6:1–3; 11:1, 27–29; Romans 8:29). Paul commands Timothy to treat older men as fathers, young men as brothers, older women as mothers, and young women as sisters (1 Timothy 5:1–2). Goods are thus to be shared in that familial context. This makes sense of the line in Acts 4, “no one claimed that any of their possessions was their own.” This isn’t a statement about legal ownership of property, but about shared resources within a family.

One of the lectures I give when I teach Old Testament Introduction is called, “Men, Women, and Work.” Most of it is a description of household economies in ancient Israel and similar traditional societies. In those households, everyone contributed to its economic wellbeing. Men, women, older children and adolescents all shared in the work of the household. The roles were not identical, but all were necessary. Infants and small children, or the infirm, were exempted from work but still taken care of. Whatever was produced by the household was available for the household.

This household economy existed side-by-side with other means of distribution, such as equitable exchange in the marketplace (Proverbs 31:10–31). We see in Old Testament law commands to use honest scales, weights and measures (Lev 19:26; Deut 25:13; 25:15; Prov 11:1; 16:11; 20:10, 23; Micah 6:11), which implies fair trade. Boundary markers are to be respected and not moved (Deut 19:14; 27:17).

Family, not Socialism

Thus, the practice of the early church differs from socialism in the following ways:

• Private property is not done away with. Ananias and Sapphira do not sin by keeping back some of their property (Acts 5:1–11), but by lying about it: “But Peter said, “Ananias, why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit and to keep back for yourself part of the proceeds of the land? While it remained unsold, did it not remain your own? And after it was sold, was it not at your disposal? Why is it that you have contrived this deed in your heart? You have not lied to man but to God” (vv. 3–4).

• Contribution to the needs of the saints is voluntary and according to ability: “So the disciples determined, every one according to his ability, to send relief to the brothers living in Judea” (Acts 11:29).

• Believers are urged to work with their hands and not be dependent on anyone (1 Thessalonians 4:9–12). They are commanded to work if they want to eat, and to avoid living an idle life, earning their own living (2 Thessalonians 3:6–12). Young widows are encouraged to remarry and manage their own households (see the concept of household above), rather than be dependent on the church and tempted to idleness (1 Timothy 5:14).1

• Believers are instructed to take care of their own relatives rather than depending on the church community. 1 Timothy 5, in its discussion on the enrollment of widows, commands: “But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever” (v. 8), and “If any believing woman has relatives who are widows, let her care for them. Let the church not be burdened, so that it may care for those who are truly widows” (v. 16).

The Didache, or Teaching of the Twelve Apostles, a manual written for new Christians in the first or early second century, is instructive here. As is true with the New Testament, charity, care for the poor, is commanded (ch. 4.1, etc.). However, it also states, “Woe to him who receives. If a needy man receives charity, he is blameless, but anyone is not in need will be called to account for why he accepted it. And being imprisoned, he will be interrogated concerning his actions, and he will not be released until he has repaid every last penny” (ch. 1.5). Hospitality to the stranger is also encouraged, but only for a few days. “If he wishes to settle with you and knows a trade, let him work and earn his bread. If he does not know a trade, use your judgment to decide how he should live as a Christian among you, but not in idleness. If he will not do this, he is trafficking upon Christ. Beware of such men” (ch. 12).

Conclusion

All of this makes sense if the early believers saw themselves as an extended family. They were enjoined to act in ways consistent with the first principle presented above: distribution according to need, or giving without asking for payment. At the same time, everyone is to contribute to the needs of the “household,” not be idle, and not take advantage of others’ generosity. They did this because they were of one heart and mind, and God’s grace was powerfully at work among them. It was not a legal or governmental system—believers continued to own their own property and work in their same professions within a larger social order. The church as extended family also did not do away with normal human kinship, but added to it another level of “kinship,” membership in the household of God, with God the Father, Jesus the elder brother, and the rest of believers adopted sons.

Image of Acts 2: Codex Alexandrinus, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

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On Sunday my church choir is singing Felix Mendelssohn’s lovely setting of Psalm 42:1. It is the first movement of the cantata Psalm 42, Op. 42 (MWV A 15) Wie der Hirsch schreit. Listen and enjoy!

English setting (slightly different translation)

German performance of the entire cantata

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It is worse than useless for Christians to talk about the importance of Christian morality, unless they are prepared to take their stand upon the fundamentals of Christian theology. It is a lie to say that dogma does not matter; it matters enormously. It is fatal to let people suppose that Christianity is only a mode of feeling; it is vitally necessary to insist that it is first and foremost a rational explanation of the universe. It is hopeless to offer Christianity as a vaguely idealistic aspiration of a simple and consoling kind; it is, on the contrary, a hard, tough, exacting, and complex doctrine, steeped in a drastic and uncompromising realism. And it is fatal to imagine that everybody knows quite well what Christianity is and needs only a little encouragement to practice it. The brutal fact is that in this Christian country not one person in a hundred has the faintest notion what the Church teaches about God or man or society or the person of Jesus Christ.... Theologically this country is at present in a state of utter chaos established in the name of religious toleration and rapidly degenerating into flight from reason and the death of hope.1

In the first post, I shared Dorothy Sayers’s essay “Creed or Chaos?” and her call to sound dogma in the face of threats to England in 1940. In the second part I applied her observations to the present day, concentrating on the need for a sound doctrine of God, particularly the identity and work of Jesus Christ. Today I reflect on six other areas to which Sayers directs our attention: man, sin, judgment, matter, work, and society.

2. Man. Sayers calls attention to the reality of the “deep interior dislocation in the very center of human personality,” which I take her to mean original sin, or our alienation from God. Scripture says God created man and woman and called that creation “very good.” And yet, somehow that was not enough for us. Eddie LaRow, in his recent article, “The Counterfeit Self: The Ancient Lie Behind the Modern Identity Crisis”2 points out that when the serpent in the Garden of Eden tells Eve that if she eats the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, “You will be like God,” the serpent is offering her something she already has, because she is made in the Image of God. So what the serpent offers is a counterfeit, a distorted version of what she already has. But she takes the bait, because of the false promise that she will have even more if she is like God apart from God. This is the “interior dislocation” at our center. We do not choose rightly, and the evidence for this is everywhere.

This has two implications. 1) Our feelings or preferences cannot be trusted to tell us the truth about reality. “Lived experience,” the current mantra of morality and identity, is not to be relied upon. We can say that our sexual desire is who we are, or we can say that we were “born in the wrong body,” or many other expressions of our desires, but those subjective feelings may not tell us the truth. This is why the church across the ages has avoided naming personal experience as a source of authority.3 2) The other implication is that no utopian society is possible. Whatever system we create, we will bring disorder into it. We simply cannot build any system, policy or organization that will automatically solve all our problems. That means that the best any government or organization can do is restrain evil and teach virtue. Our only ultimate hope is in the transforming love of Christ.

3. Sin. It is all the rage to talk about our “brokenness” or insist that the church is a “field hospital.” There may be some truth in that, but along with that therapeutic language comes the implication that we are not really responsible for our sin. It is attractive to feel that we really can’t do anything about the plight we are in—we can keep on sinning while the blame is placed elsewhere. But there is no hope of change in that, and no freedom to actually live a holy life, to be like Christ. The recognition that we are culpable, and that God’s grace can forgive us and free us, is much better news than we think. It is good news because our sin is most often willful. We want to do things we know are wrong, and we are very good at rationalizing—finding reasons why it would be perfectly OK for us to do that act that we know is wrong, but really want to do anyway. This is behind every attempt to transgress against boundaries and prohibitions in society and, unfortunately, in the church.

What happens, then, when we find out that we were wrong all along? If we think that God is like us—able to forgive only those sins we find excusable—then once we realize we truly have done something inexcusable, it is easy to fall into despair. But God is not like us, and in him is redemption, if we will only humble ourselves and turn to him.

4. Judgment. At the same time, God’s love for us and mercy towards us does not preclude consequences for sin. Yes, Christ bore the judgment for us, and so we can be reconciled to God, but there are still consequences when we violate what is right. And, unfortunately, those consequences often do great damage to ourselves, to the innocent, and to those who come after us. For example, the single-minded pursuit of one’s own desires and dreams can leave those for whom we are responsible stranded and bereft. It also turns us in on ourselves—what theologians like Augustine and Luther called “incurvatus in se.” The damage this does is not automatically erased, and it is often a painful road back, but the One who suffered and died on the cross is also the one who rose from the dead, the one who brings new life from the wreckage.

5. Matter. Scripture, the Nicene Creed, the Apostles’ Creed, and Christian tradition in general affirm the resurrection of the dead, meaning that our ultimate end is bodily existence. We are created body and soul, and those two things are not ultimately separate. This goes against the idea that we are simply data and can download ourselves onto a computer. It also goes against the idea that we can deny our bodies in order to build a fantasy self. Trying to do so is a kind of treachery against God and creation.

6. Work. Perhaps what we most need to hear today is that it is important to work if you are able to, because it is not fair to others if you make them pay for your idleness or self-indulgence. I don’t necessarily mean working for a paycheck, but rather, contributing to your family and your community by diligent effort and care.

The second thing we need to hear is that we depend on the work of others, past and present, and it is the basest ingratitude to act as if we are the only ones who count. “Autonomy” is a myth, and a dangerous one, particularly for children. Look around you: who built your house? who grows your food, prepares it for market, and works in your grocery store? who built the roads you drive on? who keeps the electricity on? who patrols your streets, protecting you? We live in a web of dependence, and most of the time do not even recognize it. So work for your family and community, and show appreciation to others on whose work you depend.

7. Society. Finally, any society must be built on the doctrines of the nature of man and the nature of God. Sayers’s argument was that law, by itself, cannot create a good society. Law is necessary as a restraint on evil, in the sense that it can bring judgment against the evildoer. But it cannot create the desire and ability to do good. Society can only thrive when it is ordered to the one who created us. We live in a world created by God, the one who is Good. Turning away from God then leaves us with no resources for the good, and it closes us off from the possibility of God’s grace.

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2

After Progress

The Counterfeit Self

When I was a kid, my parents moved us to a small town in Missouri so my mom could complete her dermatology residency. The town wasn’t much: a town square, Hastings (shoutout if anyone remembers this store), Walmart, and not a whole lot else. The only memorable thing about the town square was a massive speed bump caused by an aging brick road that, if yo…

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3 months ago · 18 likes · 9 comments · Eddie LaRow

It is worse than useless for Christians to talk about the importance of Christian morality, unless they are prepared to take their stand upon the fundamentals of Christian theology. It is a lie to say that dogma does not matter; it matters enormously. It is fatal to let people suppose that Christianity is only a mode of feeling; it is vitally necessary to insist that it is first and foremost a rational explanation of the universe. It is hopeless to offer Christianity as a vaguely idealistic aspiration of a simple and consoling kind; it is, on the contrary, a hard, tough, exacting, and complex doctrine, steeped in a drastic and uncompromising realism. And it is fatal to imagine that everybody knows quite well what Christianity is and needs only a little encouragement to practice it. The brutal fact is that in this Christian country not one person in a hundred has the faintest notion what the Church teaches about God or man or society or the person of Jesus Christ.... Theologically this country is at present in a state of utter chaos established in the name of religious toleration and rapidly degenerating into flight from reason and the death of hope.1

In the first post, I shared Dorothy Sayers’s essay “Creed or Chaos?” and her call to sound dogma in the face of threats to England in 1940. Today I will argue that we need a sound doctrine of God, particularly the Incarnate Son, Jesus Christ, to address the threats to the church and our wider society.

God. First, if we are going to invoke the name of Jesus, we ought to be clear about who He is. Since today is the beginning of Lent, it is appropriate to start with Anthony Esolen’s reflections on Jesus’ forty-day fast in the wilderness.2 Jesus’ fast is prefigured in the forty days and nights of rain in the Flood, and the forty days and nights Moses spent on Mount Sinai, during which he was given the law.

Jesus, in doing what he did, gave his disciples-to-be an unmistakable sign. He does not bring the New Law, in stone. He is himself the New Law, which is to be written on the human heart. That’s why he says, “You have heard it said to men of old,” and then he cites the Law of Moses, but he follows it with what is higher and holier and apparently impossible for us sinners to attain—it is impossible, without grace. And he says, “But I say to you,” showing us that, unlike Moses, he need not be a spokesman for God. He, the Son, speaks on his own authority.

The doctrine of God is the most important of the dogmas that needs to be reclaimed in the church. A proper understanding starts first with an affirmation of Trinitarian orthodoxy: One God in Three Persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Jesus Christ can do what he did because he is the divine Son who took on human flesh. St. Anthanasius of Alexandria put it like this:

We have, then, now stated in part, as far as it was possible, and as ourselves had been able to understand, the reason of His bodily appearing; that it was in the power of none other to turn the corruptible to incorruption, except the Saviour Himself, that had at the beginning also made all things out of nought and that none other could create anew the likeness of God’s image for men, save the image of the Father; and that none other could render the mortal immortal, save our Lord Jesus Christ, Who is the Very Life; and that none other could teach men of the Father, and destroy the worship of idols, save the Word, that orders all things and is alone the true Only begotten Son of the Father.

But since it was necessary also that the debt owing from all should be paid again: for, as I have already said, it was owing that all should die, for which special cause, indeed, He came among us: to this intent, after the proofs of His Godhead from His works, He next offered up His sacrifice also on behalf of all, yielding His Temple to death in the stead of all, in order firstly to make men quit and free of their old trespass, and further to show Himself more powerful even than death, displaying His own body incorruptible, as first fruits of the resurrection of all.3

This is the doctrine preached by the universal church, as affirmed by the Nicene Creed and the statement of Chalcedon. The One who created us is the One who saves us, and we belong to Him.

In contrast, much of modern Christianity teaches only a hollowed-out Jesus, one who shows compassion, and that is about it. That compassion is defined in support of the cultural assumption that “happiness” is about maximizing pleasure and minimizing pain. Thus suffering (in any way and for whatever reason) must be avoided at all costs, and compassion means taking away the suffering, and almost any action is allowable if it allows you to avoid pain (irrespective of any pain caused to others). Jesus, then, instead of being the one who seeks our redemption, freedom from sin and death, so that we may have fellowship God, becomes the “compassionate” one who wants us to be “happy” by affirming our self-determined identities and feelings and helping us avoid suffering.

I remember noticing this shift (I’m sure it happened long before) in an episode, of all things, of the Golden Girls (yes, I am old). The Bea Arthur character has a son who is being irresponsible with his job and is refusing to commit to his live-in girlfriend. The mother is upset, but in the end says to him, “I only want you to be happy” (regardless of how he makes things difficult for others).

This view has resulted in terrible concessions, all in the name of “compassion.” So, for example, a Presbyterian pastor recently stated that Jesus would celebrate abortion because it is a work of “compassion.” Compassion for whom? Certainly not for the child that is being killed. This view of compassion assumes that the only one who matters is the autonomous self of the mother.4 “Compassion” becomes a manipulative tool wielded against Christians to get them to accept all sorts of terrible practices that would have been unacceptable at any other time in the history of the church.

If you actually sit down and read the New Testament, or even just the Gospels, you will find that Jesus Christ is a lot more demanding that most of us would wish, and does not care about our “autonomy.” Not only are we not to murder, but even the hatred that can lead to murder is condemned. Not only is sexual transgression wrong, but the lust that leads to it. He affirms the Ten Commandments but calls for an even higher obedience. He warns that for the one who causes his little ones to sin, “it would be better for him if a great millstone were hung round his neck and he were thrown into the sea.” And so on. Above all, he makes it clear that our standing before God depends on our acknowledgment of himself, “So every one who acknowledges me before men, I also will acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven; but whoever denies me before men, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven (Matthew 10:32–33). Read the scriptures and the “indulgent Jesus” disappears.

In our current age, we believe that the great tragedy is being unable to fulfill our dreams and desires. For Jesus Christ, the great tragedy is that we are lost, “like sheep without a shepherd.” We do not seem to know that our true happiness is life in Him, a life bought by his death on the cross, by which he has secured us a hope beyond what is possible by the indulgence of the self. We are never promised that this will be an easy path without pain and suffering, and it especially means that we are not justified in doing evil to avoid pain. Jesus Christ himself did not refuse suffering—he went through it to the other side. Because of that, we know that he is with us, and by his creative power, by which he made the world to be, he can bring good out of suffering, new life out of loss.

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It is worse than useless for Christians to talk about the importance of Christian morality, unless they are prepared to take their stand upon the fundamentals of Christian theology. It is a lie to say that dogma does not matter; it matters enormously. It is fatal to let people suppose that Christianity is only a mode of feeling; it is vitally necessary to insist that it is first and foremost a rational explanation of the universe. It is hopeless to offer Christianity as a vaguely idealistic aspiration of a simple and consoling kind; it is, on the contrary, a hard, tough, exacting, and complex doctrine, steeped in a drastic and uncompromising realism. And it is fatal to imagine that everybody knows quite well what Christianity is and needs only a little encouragement to practice it. The brutal fact is that in this Christian country not one person in a hundred has the faintest notion what the Church teaches about God or man or society or the person of Jesus Christ.... Theologically this country is at present in a state of utter chaos established in the name of religious toleration and rapidly degenerating into flight from reason and the death of hope.

Dorothy L. Sayers (June 13, 1893–December 17, 1957) was an English novelist, known for her crime series featuring Lord Peter Wimsey (e.g., Whose Body?, Murder Must Advertise, Strong Poison, Gaudy Night). In addition, she wrote plays, such as The Man Born to Be King—a life of Jesus—and translated works such as Dante’s Divine Comedy, in addition to writing literary criticism and essays. She was a devout Anglican, and a close friend of C. S. Lewis.

One of the things I love about Dorothy Sayers’s writing is her uncompromising forthrightness. That can be seen in this quote from 1940, a cry from the heart of someone who is utterly committed to the Christian faith, and who sees the disaster resulting from the move away from sound doctrine.

At the time Sayers wrote, England was threatened by a Germany and a Russia that had repudiated Christian dogma, and therefore Christian ethics as well. “At bottom [the war] is a violent and irreconcilable quarrel about the nature of God and the nature of man and the ultimate nature of the universe; it is a war of dogma.” She is speaking to an England that is still more or less agreed on what is good and what is evil, but confused as to doctrine. Her address is intended to drive home the point that Christian ethics are inadequate if one does not also accept the Christian dogma on which it is based. She critiques the attitude that thinks differences in fundamental beliefs do not have real consequences and that one can simply “agree to differ.”

She calls attention to seven areas of doctrine that must be preached if the church is to reach the modern mind: “That you cannot have Christian principles without Christ is becoming increasingly clear, because their validity as principles depends on Christ’s authority; and as we have seen, the Totalitarian States, having ceased to believe in Christ’s authority, are logically quite justified in repudiating Christian principles.” The areas under discussion are God, man, sin, judgment, matter, work, and society.

1. God. “I find that the ordinary man simply does not grasp at all the idea that Jesus Christ and God the Creator are held to be literally the same person.” Sayers argues that for the ordinary person there is often a separation between the Father who creates and the Jesus that suffers. Instead, there must be an insistence that “it is only with the confident assertion of the creative divinity of the Son that the doctrine of the Incarnation becomes a real revelation of the structure of the world,” and so “God is alive and at work within the evil and the suffering, perpetually transforming them by the positive energy which He had with the Father before the world was made.” Christ is fully God and fully man, and so both able to sympathize with our weakness, and transform it by his defeat of sin and death through the cross and resurrection.

2. Man. She argues that the strength of Christianity is in its pessimistic view of human nature. Because there is a “deep interior dislocation in the very center of human personality,” humans cannot be made good by laws or mechanical workings of knowledge or evolution. This is the doctrine of original sin. It says that “man is disintegrated and necessarily imperfect in himself and all his works, yet closely related by a real unity of substance with an eternal perfection within and beyond him.” Quoting Lord David Cecil, “[Christianity] is fiercely and even harshly realistic, insisting that the Kingdom of Heaven can never be attained in this world except by unceasing toil and struggle and vigilance: that, in fact, we cannot be good and cannot be happy, but that there are certain eternal achievements that make even happiness look like trash.”

3. Sin. “The final tendency of the modern philosophies—hailed in their day as a release from the burden of sinfulness—has been to bind man hard and fast in the chains of an iron determinism.” This means that whatever is wrong with me must be someone else’s fault, or the fault of the system, or heredity, or economic necessity, or biology. Instead, we need the dogma that the trouble is within us, but “by the grace of God we can do something to put it right.”

4. Judgment. For Sayers, judgment “is the inevitable consequence of man’s attempt to regulate life and society on a system that runs counter to the facts of his own nature.” In other words, if you go against your own nature, and the nature of the cosmos, there will be an accounting. Judgment is not arbitrary, but essential to the structure of the universe.

5. Matter. Here Sayers is addressing the recurring tendency of some in the church to see matter and the body as evil. “[The church] must insist strongly that the whole material universe is an expression of the creative energy of God…. For that reason, all good and creative handling of the material universe is holy and beautiful, and all abuse of the material universe is a crucifixion of the body of Christ.” She has a sacramental view of creation, expressed in the Eucharist and in marriage.

6. Work. Here she argues for the value of work for its own sake. She calls society and the church to task for subordinating man to economics, so that work is identified with “gainful employment,” rather than an “expression of man’s creative energy in the service of society.” In the modern world the work itself is not valued, but becomes simply a way to make money, “to make a living.” She proposes a sacramental attitude toward work, which requires that we turn away from work that is degrading or useless and begin to do work that is actually worth doing.

7. Society. Society must be based on an acceptance of the Christian view of man’s place in the universe in relation to God. Moral law by itself cannot make a good society. Law is necessary as a protection against evil, but as part of the larger redeeming work of God through grace. “If men will not understand the meaning of judgment, they will never come to understand the meaning of grace. If they hear not Moses or the Prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.”

Does this fit our present time? Is there any relevance to our own problems? It is interesting to note that many of the same threats are present, in somewhat different forms. They do not come from different countries, as was true for England in 1940, but from within our own societies and all jumbled together. In some ways that makes them more difficult to combat. The same repudiation of Christian dogma is rampant, and that is why there is no agreement on what is good and what is evil. I will go farther and say that what we are facing now from some quarters is a complete reversal of good and evil. If the church is to maintain any sense of a Christian ethic, we must regain Christian doctrine. There is no other that will do.

In my next post I will discuss the implications of this for our own time.

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This lovely poem may be familiar to those who have listened to Benjamin Britten’s Ceremony of Carols, composed in 1942. It shows us the paradox of the weakness of the incarnate Son of God that leads to His ultimate triumph over the “gates of hell.” What caught my eye in particular were the lines, “For in this weak unarmed wise, The gates of hell he will surprise.” Christ comes as a defenseless child, and thus draws the Enemy’s fire, causing him to defeat himself. It is this theme I would like to explore.

C. S. Lewis speaks of the world as “enemy-occupied territory.”5 This is so obvious as to need no explanation (at least for the Christian). So how would we expect God to fight? To come to the rescue? To deliver his people from the Enemy?

The way of the world, of course, is to meet displays of power with other displays of power. Those who see “might” as the ultimate good cannot really imagine any other way. But because of that, the gates of hell, which include every sinful human heart, are armed and ready for defense. To the Enemy, it is only logical that if God leads an attack, it will be an obvious show of power. Instead, “Christianity is the story of how the rightful king has landed, you might say landed in disguise, and is calling us all to take part in a great campaign of sabotage.”6 Or, again, “the birth of Jesus would have been as it was, a stealth invasion into conquered territory: the Son of God, taking on human flesh, to batter down the walls that sinful man had built about his heart, to keep mortality in and immortal love out.”7

One can imagine Satan looking at the baby “three days old” and thinking he can easily be defeated. He may be fooled into thinking that the Word, the author of life, has fully divested himself of power (as even some twentieth century Christian theologians argued). And so he confidently sets about to destroy him. Perhaps even the temptations in the wilderness (Matthew 4, Mark 1, Luke 4) are a kind of testing of Jesus’s defenses. Satan learns he cannot be seduced, but he may also conclude that Jesus will not come in battle, as he thinks of battle, since Jesus offers as his defense only Word and Worship. So instead, Satan sows opposition, calumny, misunderstanding, and ends up having Jesus Christ killed in a horrible manner and buried in a tomb with (supposedly) no way out. But by doing so the Evil One ends up bringing about the very thing that will defeat him, for the Christ knows how to come back from death, and thus defeats it. Sin and death have lost their hold on men, and, indeed, on all creation (Romans 6:8–9 “Now if we died with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with Him, knowing that Christ, having been raised from the dead, dies no more. Death no longer has dominion over Him”). Evil in a sense defeats itself.

It is not that it is weakness itself that is effective—I have noticed that rather romantic notion running around during my lifetime—but rather it is a strategic taking on of weakness that disarms the Evil One (and, by extension, all those who would resist the love of God), and causes him to bring about what he wanted most to avoid.

I have seen this theme—evil being brought to defeat itself through seeming weakness—in some other writings. The one that springs to mind first is J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, which makes perfect sense, because Tolkien was himself a Christian. The Dark Lord is gaining power, and the forces of good do not have the power to defeat him in battle. If Sauron regains the ring of power, there is only defeat. A frontal attack will not work, and the only hope of the elves, men, hobbits and dwarves is stealth—doing something Sauron will not expect. A company is appointed to accompany Frodo to Mount Doom in order to destroy the ring altogether. At the last the company is scattered and it is only Frodo and Sam who are left to carry out the mission. The task of the rest of the free peoples can only be to draw attention away from them and put on a show of inadequate force, because it is only force that Sauron understands. Thus they put themselves in danger, and probable death. But it is Sauron’s blindness that will defeat him, plus one more thing. That one more thing is pity, the pity that Frodo has for Gollum, which causes him to refrain from killing the miserable creature. This pity is another thing that Sauron cannot understand, and so he is defeated.

The second book, not surprisingly, is C. S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. In that story, Edmund commits an act of treachery, and the White Witch claims him for her own, according to the “Deep Magic.” Aslan offers to take Edmund’s place, and allows himself to be bound, humiliation, and killed. Unknown to the Witch is the “Deeper Magic,” which is that the offering of an innocent victim in the place of the traitor will undo Death itself, and thus the Witch, in her haste to defeat Aslan, brings about her own destruction.

Lewis’s cosmic trilogy that ends with That Hideous Strength plays upon a similar theme. Earth has remained silent, in quarantine, off limits to the influence of the heavenly powers, the Oyarsae of the other planets. Evil, in a sense, remains safe from opposition. But in their eagerness to dominate everything, the evil forces bring about their own destruction by themselves transgressing the quarantine boundary, freeing the cosmic servants of God to come to the earth and destroy the N.I.C.E. and all its works.

By no means do I intend this as advice for governmental policy. This is the cosmic battle which has already been won by “this little babe.” It is what Christ has already accomplished, and so we are now freed from the power and might of sin and death.

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God made this whole world in such an uniformity, such a correspondency, such a concinnity of parts, as that it was an Instrument, perfectly in tune: we may say, the trebles, the highest strings were disordered first; the best understandings, Angels and Men, put this instrument out of tune. God rectified all again, by putting in a new string, semen mulieris, the seed of the woman, the Messias: And onely by sounding that string in your ears, become we musicum carmen, true musick, true harmony, true peace to you.1

Since I am coming to that Holy roome,
Where, with thy Quire of Saints for evermore,
I shall be made thy Musique; As I come
I tune the Instrument here at the dore,
And what I must doe then, thinke here before.2

The two excerpts from the work of John Donne that I have presented here were brought to my attention through a lecture by the English poet Malcolm Guite,3 and I immediately fell in love with Donne’s musical way of referring to creation, fall, and redemption. His imagery of the world God created is that of an “Instrument, perfectly in tune.” Genesis 1 reflects this “being in tune,” as God calls all that he creates “good.” The imagery probably also reflects the philosophical concept, dating back to Pythagoras, that there was a proportion and harmony in the movements of the sun, moon, and planets that made a kind of music, even if inaudible to the human ear. It reflected a close association between astronomy, mathematics, and music.

In Donne’s words, the world, created perfectly in tune, was put out of tune by the highest creatures, angels and men, who rebelled against God, working against their creator, introducing dissonance. I find it helpful here to recall J. R. R. Tolkien’s creation story in the Silmarillion, the “Ainulindalë.” Eru, Ilúvatar, makes the Ainur, the Holy Ones, and sings to them “themes of music,” to which they respond with their songs, which “increased in unison and harmony,” since they sing in accord with their understanding of the great themes of Ilúvatar. All is well and increasingly beautiful, until Melkor, the greatest of the Ainur, decides to sing according to “his own imaginings that were not in accord with the theme of Ilúvatar; for he sought therein to increase the power and glory of the part assigned to himself.” He creates discord in the music three times, even corrupting others of the Ainur.4

As in Donne’s sermon, Tolkien’s story, and Christian teaching, it is those who have the greatest gifts who are the first to be corrupted, because of pride and a desire to compete with God. And we, made in the image of God for right rule in creation, are among those who have been given great gifts of intelligence, creativity, and power, and have been corrupted. Every single one of us, and it is even built into our current culture that to rebel against order and against God is laudable and heroic. I grew up in the 1960s, and everywhere we were encouraged to “march to the beat of a different drummer.”5 Whatever Thoreau meant by this, the implicit message was, “you are superior to all those around you when you go off on your own.” But too often what resulted was a complete disharmony in relation to the created order and the human community.

The disharmony has been around for a very long time. The world is out of tune. The current tendency to talk of sin as brokenness needing healing, may to some degree be true, but does not come even close to the depth of the problem. The problem at heart is wanting to be in control of the music, apart from the true Maker of music. The result is a world fractured. But there is yet hope: “God rectified all again, by putting in a new string, semen mulieris, the seed of the woman, the Messias,” Jesus Christ. The Incarnate Son, through whom all things were created, the one who was the original tuning, came among us, so that we might tune ourselves to him and become true music. Notice that Donne does not say “so that we may make music,” but so that we may become music.

Being made music is also the theme of the first stanza of Donne’s poem, “Hymne to God My God, in My Sicknesse.” Lying on his sickbed, as he awaits possible death, the poet anticipates being made God’s music, and sees to the tuning of himself, the instrument, so that he may be able to participate in the Choir of Saints. He is like a singer standing in the wings, waiting to join the choir, but knowing that as he waits he must put himself in harmony with the choir and the great Maker of music.

How do we become God’s music? “And onely by sounding that string—Messias—in your ears. . . .” By repentance, study of and obedience to His word, through worship and the sacraments, through prayer and participation in His church. Through singing to the tune of His great themes of music.

G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, ch. III

The modern world is not evil; in some ways the modern world is far too good. It is full of wild and wasted virtues. When a religious scheme is shattered (as Christianity was shattered at the Reformation), it is not merely the vices that are let loose. The vices are, indeed, let loose, and they wander and do damage. But the virtues are let loose also; and the virtues wander more wildly, and the virtues do more terrible damage. The modern world is full of the old Christian virtues gone mad. The virtues have gone mad because they have been isolated from each other and are wandering alone. Thus some scientists care for truth, and their truth is pitiless. Thus some humanitarians only care for pity; and their pity (I am sorry to say) is often untruthful.

C. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce, ch. 13

(Conversation at the threshold of heaven between George MacDonald and the narrator, Lewis, in his vision, or “supposal”)

“Ye must distinguish. The action of Pity will live forever: but the passion of Pity will not. The passion of Pity, the Pity we merely suffer, the ache that draws men to concede what should not be conceded and to flatter when they should speak truth, the pity that has cheated many a woman out of her virginity and many a statesman out of his honesty—that will die. It was used as a weapon by bad men against good ones: their weapon will be broken.” “And what is the other kind—the action?” “It’s a weapon on the other side. It leaps quicker than light from the highest place to the lowest to bring healing and joy, whatever the cost to itself. It changes darkness into light and evil into good. But it will not, at the cunning tears of Hell, impose on good the tyranny of evil. Every disease that submits to a cure shall be cured: but we will not call blue yellow to please those who insist on still having jaundice, nor make a midden of the world’s garden for the sake of some who cannot abide the smell of roses.”

In one of my previous posts I talked about “Rightly Ordered Love,” with quotes by Saint Augustine of Hippo. Chesterton, in his quote, is addressing something similar. The variation is that he is talking about the tendency to choose one particular virtue, to the exclusion of others, taken out of the context of the whole of Christian tradition. And Lewis points to one of the most dangerous of all the virtues when it is thus isolated. It is pity, or compassion.

Pity or compassion is a great good, when properly understood. It comes close to, or can be a part of love, which is commanded by our Lord Jesus Christ, and practiced by him. It can then be hard to see its potential for going wrong. It becomes very easy to pat oneself on the back for being caring and compassionate when in reality you are leading someone astray.

What do I mean about pity or compassion going wrong? Orthodox Christianity understands love to be “willing the good of the other, for the other’s sake.” The good of the other is first of all their relationship to God, the holiness of their life, their practice of virtue, their acts of charity and faith. Other, though lesser, goods, are family and friendships, bodily health, adequate economic resources, and the pleasures of this life. Freedom from pain, whether physical or psychic, is a good. It is this last which I particularly wish to focus on, since it is the basis of what I see as the root of the greatest of harms that are being done because of pity misplaced.

For it is this last good which has been separated from the primary goods of faith in God and the practice of virtue, until almost anything is allowable if someone says that it involves releasing someone from pain. The most serious of these are abortion, euthanasia, and assisted suicide. Over and over again, I see people, even Christians, arguing that these acts are merciful in that they release people from pain.

In the arguments for abortion, it is implied, for example, that if a woman has to carry to term a baby she does not want, it will ruin her life. Or it will cause health problems. Or that it will put her career choices on hold. Or that it will make life more difficult financially. All of these things may be quite true. But behind this is a conception of the good life that is entirely material in nature and ignores one’s responsibility to God and to the child that has been brought into being by the choice of the man and woman who have engaged in the sexual act.

In the case of assisted suicide and euthanasia it is assumed that a life lived in pain and difficulty is not worth living. Again, the view of the good life is entirely material, and worse, functional. If the person cannot completely function as a healthy, contributing member of society, then it is better that they die. This is being extended to the homeless, to the depressed, to young and to old who cannot live the successful life (and I understand that now in Canada their organs are being harvested). What is forgotten is that all of these people can still have a relationship with God, live holy lives, and practice virtue and acts of charity.

Pity can also move, and has moved, much of the church to accept nearly every kind of sexual immorality and even to actively affirm it. Again, it is the desire to alleviate pain that I think motivates this affirmation. We have bought into the idea that happiness requires sexual self-expression, and that it is too painful to live a chaste life. In addition, we feel sorry for those who say they feel left out because they do not conform to Christian morality. And perhaps they do feel that way. But again, what is their highest good? Is it to feel normal? Is it to be affirmed? Or is their greatest good to worship God, live lives of holiness and virtue, and practice acts of faith and charity?

It can be pointed out that “As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him” (Psalm 103:13), or that Jesus had compassion on the crowds “because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36). This is quite true, and this kind of compassion is what we are called to have and act on. But Jesus’s response to the people, as Lewis points out, is to free them from their sins, to heal and to transform, to call them to a new way of life in God.

I realize that none of this is easy. I have not found it easy, and I have sometimes failed. I have suffered great pain, both physical and psychic, and I have sometimes looked for shortcuts that did more harm than good. Part of my motivation in writing this is to remind myself of my own highest good.

It used to be that doing wrong was considered the greatest of misfortunes. You can find this in older Christian writers. But now, we think that the greatest misfortune is to experience pain, or denial of something that we desire. This is easy to fall into if we see this present life as the only one, which we must optimize in any way we please. This is life with “me” at the center. But as Christians we look forward to something more. We hope for and look forward to life everlasting with the Triune God and the communion of saints. And we invite you to do the same.

Image by Donatas Dabravolskas, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0

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On the other hand justice considered as a special virtue regards good as due to one’s neighbor. And in this sense it belongs to special justice to do good considered as due to one’s neighbor, and to avoid the opposite evil, that, namely, which is hurtful to one’s neighbor; while it belongs to general justice to do good in relation to the community or in relation to God, and to avoid the opposite evil. Now these two are said to be quasi-integral parts of general or of special justice, because each is required for the perfect act of justice.

In the Summa Theologica, Thomas Aquinas wrote extensively on justice. The format of the Summa is divided by what he calls disputed questions. He devotes sixty-six questions to issues relating to justice, which in the ancient and medieval worlds was considered one of the most important of the virtues. He was influenced by the work of classical philosophers (whose ideas were much closer to the Bible than modern views are), but most prominently by the scriptures. Most of what he says can be found in Scripture, but he sets the discussion out in great detail and makes clear what the issues are. Using his work as a lens, we can look at the Ten Commandments, about which he also wrote, and notice things we might otherwise miss.

For Aquinas, the human person is by nature a social and political animal. The human person always and everywhere finds him or herself as part of some society. There is no time in someone’s life in which they appear as an isolated or mere individual.

“When Christ was asked which is the greatest commandment, he gave two answers to the one question. The first was ‘You shall love the Lord your God,’ which we have talked about. The second was ‘and your neighbor as yourself.’ At this point we should point out that whoever observes this fulfills the whole law. The Apostle said (Rm 13:10): “The fulfilment of the law is love.’” (Thomas Aquinas, Explanation of the Ten Commandments, Article 2, https://isidore.co/aquinas/english/TenCommandments.htm)

“The third motive is our sharing in the same nature, as it is said (Sir 13:19): ‘Every animal loves its like.’ Since all man are alike in nature, they should love one anther. So to hate one’s neighbor is not only against the divine law, but also against the law of nature.” (Article 2)

This is in accord with biblical anthropology and at odds with much modern political theory. In the sixteenth–eighteenth centuries, theorists such as Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau started with the free, unattached person who must give up some freedom in order to participate in society. By contrast, for Aquinas, human life is inherently relational.

Because humans are relational, every act must be guided by the virtues of justice, fortitude, prudence, and temperance. Justice is the virtue that establishes us in right relation with others. Justice is defined as, “The perpetual and constant will to render each one their due.” The concern of justice is not with the self, but with the other.

What is due to another? Some claims are established by nature, such as the preservation of life, the need of a livelihood that makes it possible to receive nourishment and other goods that support life, and the tendency to bring children into the world through marriage, care for them and educate them. It is also our nature to seek what we perceive to be good, and to seek the truth (however these inclinations may be twisted by sin).

At this point we must state that “giving to another his due” is not quite the same thing as what we mean when we say “giving people what they deserve.” By the latter we often mean what reward or punishment an individual deserves according to his or her actions. What Thomas means is much broader, and has more to do with our relation to others by virtue of being in community. Thus, for example, as individuals we respect the life of another, or the property of another, simply because they are part of the community to which we are bound. It is not that there is no room for just reward or punishment, but that is a specific subset of justice.

Aquinas describes three types of justice:

• General or legal justice—what an individual owes to the political community.

• Distributive justice—what the political community owes to the individual.

• Commutative justice—what an individual owes to another individual.

All of the Ten Commandments presuppose living in society, and biblical law in general deals with all three of these types of justice. A number of the Ten Commandments involve commutative justice, and deal with those rights or claims that are based on the nature of what it means to be human.

The command “You shall not kill” (Exodus 20:13; Deuteronomy 5:17) addresses the preservation of life.

“In the divine law which tells us we must love God and our neighbor, it is commanded that we not only do good but also avoid evil. The greatest evil that can be done to one’s neighbor is to take his life. This is prohibited in the Commandment: ‘You shall not kill.’” (Article 7)

“You shall not steal” (Exodus 20:15; Deuteronomy 5:19) and “You shall not covet your neighbor’s house . . . or his male or female servant, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor” (Exodus 20:13; Deuteronomy 5:21b) addresses the need to have access to those goods which sustain life.

“and now the Commandment, “You shall not steal,” forbids us to injure our neighbor in his goods. This Commandment forbids any worldly goods whatsoever to be taken away wrongfully.” (Article 9)

“Finally, covetousness produces all kinds of wickedness. It is “the root of all evil,” says St. Paul, and when this root is implanted in the heart it brings forth murder and theft and all kinds of evil.” (Article 11)

“You shall not commit adultery” (Exodus 20:14; Deuteronomy 5:18) and “you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife” (Exodus 20:14; Deuteronomy 5:21a) address marriage and having children by that marriage. Committing adultery threatens the marriage bond and the integrity of the family.

“After the prohibition of murder, adultery is forbidden. This is fitting, since husband and wife are as one body. “They shall be,” says the Lord, “two in one flesh” [Gen 2:24]. Therefore, after an injury inflicted upon a man in his own person, none is so grave as that which is inflicted upon a person with whom one is joined.” (Article 8)

“First of all, sin rules in the flesh when, by giving consent to it, concupiscence reigns in the heart. And, therefore, St. Paul adds “so as to obey the lusts thereof” to the words: “Do not let sin reign in your mortal body” [Rm 6:12]. Accordingly the Lord says: “Whoever looks on a woman to lust after her, has already committed adultery with her in his heart” [Mt 5:28]. For with God the intention is taken for the act.” (Article 12)

“You shall not bear false witness” (Exodus 20:16; Deuteronomy 5:20) addresses the human tendency to search for truth, and the harm that is done by the denial or twisting of the truth. False witness, and lying in general, destroys trust and introduces enmity between members of a community.

“The second reason is that lying induces the ruin of society. Men live together in society, and this is soon rendered impossible if they do not speak the truth to one another. ‘Therefore put away lying, speak the truth, every man with his neighbor; for we are members one of another’ [Eph 4:25].” (Article 10)

Following those commandments, then, leads to an order in which giving the other his or her due leads to a certain kind of equality. However, there are those to whom we owe more than can be repaid. In those cases, we practice the “virtues of veneration”: religion, piety, and observance.

• Religion (interior and exterior acts of worship) renders God his due. We owe our life to God, and therefore we offer our worship and praise because of his great goodness.

• Piety renders parents and country (or community) their due. After God, parents and country have given us an abundance of riches that we could not have provided for ourselves. While we may disagree with our parents or our country, we cannot opt out from the love and gratitude we owe them.

• Observance, or respect, gives to our superiors what is due them. These superiors would be people like a boss or employer, or the leader of an organization to which one belongs.

In the Ten Commandments, “religion” is expressed in the command “You shall have no other gods before me,” “You shall not make for yourself an image . . . ,” “You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God . . . ,” “Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy” (Exodus 20:3–8; Deuteronomy 5:7–12). All of these are ways of honoring and worshiping God and putting him first in the ordering of one’s life.

“But to fulfill this commandment of love perfectly, four things are required. The first is the recollection of the divine benefits, because all that we have, whether our soul or body or exterior things, we have them all from God. Therefore we must serve him with all this and love him with a perfect heart. A man would be extremely ungrateful if, after thinking of all the benefits he received from someone, he did not love him. With this in mind, David said (1 Chron 29:14): ‘All belongs to you. What we received from you we give to you.’ Therefore in his praise it is said (Sir 47:10): ‘With all his heart he praised the Lord, and loved the God who made him.’” (Article 1)

“Piety” is shown in the commandment to “honor your father and your mother” (Exodus 20:12; Deuteronomy 5:16). By extension, this can be applied to all those who take part in bringing us up and caring for us.

“‘We ought to love God first,’ says St. Ambrose, ‘then our father and mother.’ Hence, God has given us the Commandment: ‘Honor your father and your mother.’ (Article 6)

The Philosopher [Aristotle] also gives another reason for this honor to parents, in that we cannot make an equal return to our parents for the great benefits they have granted to us...” (Article 6)

There is, of course, much more to the teaching of Thomas Aquinas, and to the Ten Commandments than this very brief description and comparison. There are the questions about what to do when justice fails and we see this in much of the text of Exodus through Deuteronomy, as well as in the prophets. Aquinas addresses this in his questions on “vindication.” What does one do when a wrong has been committed? How is restoration brought about? How is the social order renewed so that it is good and healthy?

What I especially want to emphasize, however, is that one cannot speak of “justice” and ignore the Ten Commandments.

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Bernard of Clairvaux, “On Loving God,” ch. 12

To love our neighbor’s welfare as much as our own: that is true and sincere charity out of a pure heart, and of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned (1 Timothy 1:5). Whosoever loves his own prosperity only is proved thereby not to love good for its own sake, since he loves it on his own account. And so he cannot sing with the psalmist, “O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is gracious” (Psalm 118:1).

St. Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153) joined the monastic community of Citeaux (Cistercian community based on the Rule of Saint Benedict) when he was 20 years of age, and was sent to establish a related house in Clairvaux. He was a leader in the monastic reform taking place at that time. He is especially known for his emphasis on contemplation and the soul’s union with God. “On Loving God” is one of his best-known works.

Recently I started reading a book review and came across this question: “who decides what is good?” I must confess that I didn’t continue reading the review, because the question itself caught my attention. It seemed to assume that good is arbitrary, decided by a group of powerful people, or a culture. It follows on a long history of postmodern commentators who say that the definition of good is that which the people in power have decided, nothing more.

In this essay I would like to demonstrate that one can go a long way in finding out what is good from what we know about being human. Some of those realities are: one, we have a long gestation period; two, we can’t do anything for ourselves when we are born; and three, we learn sequentially. To put it more personally, you who are reading this post spent roughly nine months in the womb and were born without being able to do anything for yourself. You survived because of others. Everything you learned, you learned by experience and from others. I choose this point of departure because most of the advocates of the hot button moral issues before us assume that the starting point for determining good is a healthy, autonomous adult individual. They ignore the fact that they themselves were a baby with a mother, a father, and other individuals who made their life possible, and that even as an adult they are dependent upon a myriad of factors, and people, for their thriving, and even for their existence.

I am going to assume that it is good for humans to thrive. More specifically, that for you, the reader, it was good to thrive. By thrive, I use the common definition “to grow or develop vigorously; flourish.” I do not intend to argue that this means having your best possible life as you would desire it, but that all the basics for a healthy life are there—food, water, adequate safety, care and love.

The first question is, what were the conditions that were necessary for you to develop in the womb so that you stayed alive? First, of course, is the condition that you were not killed. Second, through your mother you received nutrition that was adequate for the development of your cells and organs so that you experienced health. Third, you were not exposed to toxic substances such as alcohol, narcotics, or toxic chemicals of other sorts. That first requirement, of course, is a challenge to abortion, because abortion immediately makes it impossible for the human to thrive. Questions about when life, or when personhood, begins, are irrelevant. In order for you to have lived to adulthood, you had to go through all of the stages preceding it. Being killed at any stage shuts off any possibility of thriving.

The second question is, what were the conditions that allowed you to live and grow as a child? You needed someone to feed you nutritious food. You needed someone to keep you clean, give you medicine when you were sick, hold you, keep you at the right temperature—not too warm, not too cold. You needed adults to keep you from danger, pay attention to you, offer you the right amount of stimulation. As you began to grow you needed to have people talking to you, you needed to be able to exercise your muscles. You needed to learn and practice various skills. You needed people who would be consistent in their care, and consistent in letting you know what was expected of you. You needed a stable environment, and people whom you could trust, and depend upon to stay around over the long haul.

As you grew older, you needed to learn how to do various things for yourself, how to develop skills that could be the basis of other skills to help you thrive throughout your life. You needed to have an education appropriate to your context, that would help you contribute to the community, and the thriving of those around you. You needed limits that were not simply arbitrary. As a child you may not have recognized that those limits were not arbitrary, but those around you needed to know they were not arbitrary. You needed to know how to get along with others, to share, to resolve conflict, to regulate your behavior, to calm yourself down when you were upset in a way that did not cause harm.

So let us now switch to a discussion of what behaviors are good in that they allow all of these conditions to exist.

When you were in the womb, what was required of the other people around you so that you could thrive? First, they had to be people who did not kill you. Your mother needed to take in good nutrition and avoid the consumption of toxic substances. Your father needed to be someone who did not put the whole burden of the pregnancy upon your mother, but took responsibility to care for her and you, and assist in providing provision and protection. Your parents needed to have others in their lives, for emotional support, and help in obtaining food and shelter. These adults needed to be consistent, committed, and trustworthy.

When you were born, the adults around you needed to be willing to stay with you, feed you, protect you, teach you, over the long term. They needed to be willing to be tired, and to put aside their own search for pleasure to make sure that you thrived. Those around you needed to be able to resolve conflicts so that your environment did not become hostile or unsafe. They needed to tell you stories of your larger family and community so that you would know your place within them. They needed to pass along traditions, a sense of continuity with the past, so that you could appreciate the gifts that surrounded you and supported you as you grew.

Can you begin to see that the whole tradition of virtue and morality is demanded if one begins to think of what it takes to raise a child and help it thrive? What it took for you to thrive? And, to the extent that virtue was neglected, and morality rejected, thriving was hindered? Would you then deny that you have a responsibility to be the kind of person who can help a child thrive? Would you then deny that there really is something that is objectively good?

St. Bernard gets right to the point. Love, the good, cannot be just to love our own welfare. It must be to love our neighbor’s welfare as much as our own. And if our neighbor, how much more the offspring of our own bodies? If we have thrived as an embryo, a baby, a child, an adolescent, it is because others chose our welfare. To the extent we have been harmed, it is because some did not. Autonomy is a destructive myth, and a deadly goal. We live in an interactive world, in a web of interdependence and mutuality.

But I believe, with St. Bernard, that we can go even further in knowing what is good. Let us consider the fact that the very things that we need to survive and thrive are given to us. We have not made anything that is necessary for our welfare—neither sunlight, or air, nor soil in which to grow food, not gravity nor nutrients, not water nor light. These things are good, in the sense that they are to be desired, and make life possible. And, again, they are given. But does that not mean that we owe someone, or something, gratitude? For the conditions of our life and our thriving do not come from ourselves, and we would be churlish, indeed, if we did not offer thanks and praise. This, too, is good.

“For the Lord is gracious.” And from him comes all that is good. That is what I want you to see (and what I want to grasp more fully).

Image: Nheyob, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons.

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G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

Let us suppose we are confronted with a desperate thing—say Pimlico. If we think what is really best for Pimlico we shall find the thread of thought that leads to the throne or the mystic and the arbitrary. It is not enough for a man to disapprove of Pimlico: in that case he will merely cut his throat or move to Chelsea. Nor, certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of Pimlico: for then it will remain Pimlico, which would be awful. The only way out of it seems to be for somebody to love Pimlico: to love it with a transcendent tie and without any earthly reason. If there arose a man who loved Pimlico, then Pimlico would rise into ivory towers and golden pinnacles; Pimlico would attire herself as a woman does when she is loved.

Gilbert Keith Chesterton lived from 1874–1936, and is often called the “apostle of common sense.” He was a devout Christian, faithful husband, popular journalist, and influential Christian thinker. Among his many works are the Father Brown Mysteries, The Man Who Was Thursday, and The Man Who Knew Too Much. His most popular Christian works are Orthodoxy, and The Everlasting Man. He also wrote biographies of Thomas Aquinas and St. Francis of Assisi. He was witty, generous, engaging and prophetic. He influenced C. S. Lewis in his Christian conversion, although they never actually met. “He defended ‘the common man’ and common sense. He defended the poor. He defended the family. He defended beauty. And he defended Christianity and the Catholic Faith” (Society of G. K. Chesterton, chesterton.org).

The quote above is to be found in the chapter called “The Flag of the World.” He is arguing for a basic stance of cosmic loyalty, as against a cynical or pessimistic view. For Chesterton, both the optimist and the pessimist treat the world as if they were house hunting, which might make sense if they had somewhere else to go, but in fact, “no man is in that position. A man belongs to this world before he begins to ask if it is nice to belong to it.” For him the best attitude toward the universe is a kind of “primary loyalty.” And love.

Let us suppose you live on a property with an extensive garden that has been neglected—weeds are choking the vegetables and flowers, the plants have not had enough water, the soil is depleted (or whatever happens to soil), dead branches are mixed with those still living—it’s a mess. Now you could just send in the bulldozers and start from scratch. That might satisfy you, but it wouldn’t do the garden much good. On the other hand, you could leave it as it is, but that wouldn’t do the garden much good, either. But what if you saw life remaining in that garden, and began to weed, water, fertilize, cut away the deadwood, and tended the garden day by day? Gradually great beauty and fertility would emerge, and the garden would become fruitful and a delight to the eye.

Now let us next suppose that you lived in a community, or even a country, that was falling apart. You could hate it, and either move elsewhere or try to tear it down and start from scratch. That might make you happy, or satisfy your sense of grievance, but neither option would help the community. On the other hand, you could just leave it as it is, ignoring its problems. That wouldn’t be much good for the community, either. But what if you loved it simply because it was your home, and you began to encourage, cultivate, rebuild, address the problems and the evils with care and vision. Would not growth and beauty emerge?

Coincidentally, at the time I am writing this, I am also rereading The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. If you have not read it, I encourage you to do so. I think it illustrates Chesterton’s point, at least in part. A young girl, Mary Lennox, herself unloved and unlovely at the beginning (spoiler alerts to follow), falls in love with a neglected garden and works, with the aid of Dickon (a boy from the village who loves all things growing), to awaken it. In the process, she and the entire household come to life, most particularly her despairing uncle and invalid cousin. This does not happen because Mary is anyone special—she is rather plain and unpleasant when she starts. Nor, I think, does it happen because Mary “feels” loving, although that comes as well. It is not even that she intends it all to happen. No, it is because she starts the work of love.

And that is what love is. It is seeking the good for no earthly reason.

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This year marks the 1700^th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea, in which the first version of the Nicene Creed was affirmed. Many of you, if you attend a liturgical church, will be familiar with the second version of the Creed, the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed, adopted in AD 381 at the Council of Constantinople. Those who don’t, may still have heard of it. What I want to focus on here is what may be the most important purpose of the Creed at the Council of Nicaea in 325: to answer the question, “On which side of the creator-created distinction does the Son of God fall?” I want to give full credit for the approach given here to Fred Sanders of Biola University. I attended the Credo Conference in Washington, DC this past May, and was impressed by all of the presentations. The talk by Fred Sanders2 focused on the “Nicene Line” and that is the line between:

of one essence (or substance) with the Father;

—————————————

by (or through) whom all things were made.

The line, Sanders would say, is the Creator-created distinction, and the Son, the Word of God is firmly, according to the Creed, on the Creator side. (Sanders puts the line before the work of creation, to emphasize that we are talking about God as He is in himself, rather than the work of God on our behalf). The Alexandrian priest Arius and his followers wanted to put the line much higher, between:

of all things visible and invisible;

—————————————

And in one Lord, Jesus Christ,

Arius and his followers quite aggressively taught that the Son was a second, or inferior God, somewhere between the First Cause and creatures. The Arians could affirm that all things were created through the Son, but insisted that the Son was himself created, prior to the creation of all other things. Only the Father was without beginning, while the Son once had not existed—“there was when he was not.” For Arius, the Son is not of the same essence of the Father, nor equal in dignity, nor co-eternal. In other words, the Son was from nothing (creation ex nihilo) just like everything else. Sanders notes that the orthodox position was, and is, that the Son is from the Father. It was this that the Council of Nicaea was called to decide.

What is at stake here? Why did much of the church fight to affirm the oneness of the Son with the Father, even if some in the church denied it, or sought weak compromises?

We find some of the answers in the “Deposition of Arius,” written by St. Athanasius before the Council, around AD 321, on behalf of Alexander, Bishop of Alexandria.3 The problem with the Arian position is that by asserting that the Son, the Word, is said to belong to the world of created things, then much of what the apostolic witness, preserved in scripture, says about him makes no sense. Here are Athanasius’ own words:

“Who that has heard the words of John, In the beginning was the Word [ John 1:1], will not denounce the saying of these men, that there was a time when He was not? Or who that has heard in the Gospel, the Only-begotten Son, and by Him were all things made, will not detest their declaration that He is one of the things that were made. For how can He be one of those things which were made by Himself? Or how can He be the Only-begotten, when, according to them, He is counted as one among the rest, since He is Himself a creature and a work? And how can He be made of things that were not, when the Father says, My heart has uttered a good Word, and Out of the womb I have begotten You before the morning star? Or again, how is He unlike in substance to the Father, seeing He is the perfect image and brightness [Hebrews 1:3] of the Father, and that He says, He that has seen Me has seen the Father? And if the Son is the Word4 and Wisdom of God,5 how was there a time when He was not? It is the same as if they should say that God was once without Word and without Wisdom. And how is He subject to change and variation, Who says, by Himself, I am in the Father, and the Father in Me, and I and the Father are One; and by the Prophet, Behold Me, for I am, and I change not? [See also Hebrews 13:8]

As to their blasphemous position that the Son knows not the Father perfectly, we ought not to wonder at it; for having once set themselves to fight against Christ, they contradict even His express words, since He says, As the Father knows Me, even so know I the Father [John 10:15].6 Now if the Father knows the Son but in part, then it is evident that the Son does not know the Father perfectly; but if it is not lawful to say this, but the Father does know the Son perfectly, then it is evident that as the Father knows His own Word, so also the Word knows His own Father Whose Word He is.”

In sum, the Arian position puts forth a Son, a Word, who, like us, is from nothing, not from the Father, and therefore limited, finite, circumscribed, on the creaturely side of the creator-creation divide, however elevated above us. Interestingly, the Arians could say from the Father, but what they meant by that is “from” in the sense of being “made.” Hence, the Nicene insistence on the only-begotten Son as “Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one substance with the Father.” If he is not that, he cannot be the Word and Wisdom of God in any true sense, nor can he make known the Father, since his own knowledge would be limited. Further, being a creature, he would be subject to change, and therefore unreliable.

Also at stake is our salvation, as Athanasius expresses in his work On the Incarnation (ch. 20).

We have, then, now stated in part, as far as it was possible, and as ourselves had been able to understand, the reason of His bodily appearing; that it was in the power of none other to turn the corruptible to incorruption, except the Saviour Himself, that had at the beginning also made all things out of nought and that none other could create anew the likeness of God’s image for men, save the image of the Father; and that none other could render the mortal immortal, save our Lord Jesus Christ, Who is the Very Life; and that none other could teach men of the Father, and destroy the worship of idols, save the Word, that orders all things and is alone the true Only begotten Son of the Father.

But since it was necessary also that the debt owing from all should be paid again: for, as I have already said, it was owing that all should die, for which special cause, indeed, He came among us: to this intent, after the proofs of His Godhead from His works, He next offered up His sacrifice also on behalf of all, yielding His Temple to death in the stead of all, in order firstly to make men quit and free of their old trespass, and further to show Himself more powerful even than death, displaying His own body incorruptible, as first fruits of the resurrection of all.7

In other words, we needed a Redeemer who was both God and man. “No creature can cancel the power of sin and death and offer eternal life to other creatures. Only the Creator can do this” (Justin Holcomb, “Arianism: Its Teaching and Rebuttle,” Credo Magazine, August 19, 2020).

Image: Dome of St. Peter’s Church, Munich, Germany. The triangle appears as a symbol of the trinity in art of the church. Photograph by Marilyn Lundberg Melzian.

“O God Beyond All Praising”

Original hymn by Michael Perry (1942–1996), Tune: Haxted, Gustav Holst (1874–1934)

Arranged by Dan Forrest (b. 1978)

This anthem always makes me cry—especially when I sing it with a choir, which makes it a little awkward, since I end up not being able to sing. The line that hits me the most is “to marvel at your beauty.” Think about that for a minute. How often do we speak of God’s beauty? What is it that is beautiful about God? I’m sure there are some who think that God is not very beautiful, but rather someone who is always angry, and who gets in our way.

Why do I think God is beautiful? I invite you to think about the glory of the self-giving love that is the Trinity, the outpouring of creativity that brought forth the worlds and the myriad forms of life. The God who created man and woman to be His representatives and created for them a garden with all good things to eat. And when they had turned aside, He sought to bring them back by choosing a family, whom he brought forth out of slavery. Who invited them to be his people, and gave them a way of life that would enable them to live prosperously in the land. And who even when they failed continue to work through the prophets to again call them back to Himself. Who sent His only begotten Son to be incarnate in human form to again call them back. Who as the Incarnate Word went all the way into death, and by doing so conquered it, and arose to new life. Who formed the church from ordinary people and has sent His spirit among them to call the world back to Himself.

Beyond this there is beauty in God Himself, even aside from what he has done for us. In Him is a goodness beyond anything we can even attempt. Apart from the Triune God, all is dust and ashes, grayness, murkiness, weakness, and death. In Him all is glory, radiance, holiness, light.

“One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple.” (Psalm 27:4).

(Image by Marilyn Lundberg Melzian. St. Peter’s Church, Munich, Germany.)

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David Yeago, “Writing the Apostolic Faith and Escaping Ritschl’s Long Shadow: A Theological Memoir” (YouTube Video).

“I began to count up how many sermons I ever heard that were actually about Christ, and it turned out to be embarrassingly few. I discovered that the story at the beginning of the sermon actually served to move from the Gospel lesson—from the particular figure of Jesus—to some value or experience which became the real topic of the sermon . . .

But the displacement of the soteriological center of gravity from Christ’s person to something disclosed by Christ seemed to me well-nigh universal in contemporary North American mainline Protestantism . . . and it’s matched in a way by a strand of evangelicalism for which Christ’s past work of “paying the price for our sins” makes it possible for us to enjoy an essentially Christ-less religiosity of inward feeling and outward activism in the present. In neither case is salvation, so to speak, contained in Christ’s person, to be found only in him . . .

What I want to avoid is any notion that salvation is an outcome or product of Christ’s doing and suffering which is somehow separate from the crucified and risen Christ himself, in which we could participate apart from his living presence.

Instead of saying that Christ acted and suffered in the past so that we might experience salvation now, I think it is better to say that Jesus lived and died and rose again so that communion with him would be our salvation.”

Several years ago I had a minor revelation. I forget the exact context, but something I listened to prompted the realization. It wasn’t anything that I hadn’t heard before, but for me it took on new meaning. It is echoed in this final paragraph from Dr. David Yeago, a Lutheran theologian and ethicist. At the time I was struggling with pressure, from both the church I then attended, and the academic world, to sideline orthodox Christian belief, in favor of what was called “relevance” in my church (that is, going the way of the culture), or a questioning of the truth of scripture in the academy. The revelation came as water in the desert to my struggling soul, and I was delighted to find this video which mirrored my own struggles.

The early church fathers talked about the process of divination, theosis. By this they did not mean that we actually become God in his eternity, omnipotence, omniscience, etc. What they meant was that we are invited by participation in Christ to share in the divine life. John 1:12 says “but to all who received him [the Word], who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God . . .” (see also Galatians 3:26).

I have in the past been a part of both mainline Protestantism and evangelicalism, and I attest to Yeago’s experience that salvation is often displaced from Christ to something detachable from him. In mainline Protestantism Jesus is often presented as an example of how we are to be kind and accepting of others. It is the being kind and accepting of others that is our salvation, if salvation is talked about at all. Even then, the goal is mainly to have a better society and to make people feel loved. Evangelicalism is quite diverse, and I have great respect for the tradition of my youth. Nevertheless, in evangelicalism there can be a sense that Jesus provides a ticket to heaven, which is the real goal.

The revelation I had was an improved sense (for me) that it is by being in Christ, who is the Son, who is the second person of the Trinity, that we are brought into the divine life as we live in him. This is what Yeago is trying to emphasize. This living in Christ involves being part of the body of Christ, partaking of the sacraments on a regular basis, prayer, study of the word, acts of mercy, following God’s commandments, and above all, putting our love for God first. To be truthful, I do this very imperfectly, and I fail—a lot. But all the great spiritual masters of the Christian tradition say that this is indeed the case for all of us, as we live in a fallen world. What is important is consistency, that we keep showing up. For we are not alone, or even primary, in this, but God’s grace works through us to bring us to himself.

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David Yeago, “Writing the Apostolic Faith and Escaping Ritschl’s Long Shadow: A Theological Memoir”