Pelikan on Apostolic Succession

[A]n acknowledgment of Roman orthodoxy, fundamental though it was, was not an adequate exegesis of the promise of Christ, according to the Latin church. That promise laid down certain conditions that would guarantee the church against the gates of hell: the church, the entire church, had to be built on the rock.

That rock was Peter. To be built on the rock, the church must show that it stood in the succession of Peter and that it was an heir of the promises given to him. It was agreed on all sides, moreover, that this succession pertained to the church as an institution. Right believing and correct teaching could be achieved and maintained only within a proper structure: for the church to be apostolic in doctrine, it had to be apostolic in polity. From very early times an episcopal polity, presumed to stand in unbroken succession from the apostles, had been taken to be one of the criteria of apostolic continuity, in conjunction with the authoritative canon of Scripture and the creedal rule of faith. There was, of course, a pragmatic and even a political aspect to the administrative structure of the church, but questions of jurisdiction became (or were) questions of theology because Christ had built his church on Peter the rock and had vouchsafed his protection against the gates of hell only to that church which could legitimately claim this foundation of apostolic polity. [Pelikan, The Christian Tradition, vol. 2; p. 157f.]

Just a few observations here:

• Pelikan suggests that the understanding of Peter as the rock on which the Church is built is quite ancient
• The episcopacy dates to "very early times"
• Episcopal continuity was reckoned a fundamental of the Church's claims
• It was recognized that institutional connection with Peter was viewed as essential, it was to Peter as the rock that Christ had promised his protection against the gates of hell.

If some group or other claims to be "a" or "the" church of Christ, how do we measure the claim? Surely we do not take them merely at their word, else we'd have to welcome the LDS to Christendom. It seems essential to be tied to the Church throughout the ages. Apart from this, the claim to be a church of Christ stands on an assertion that might be defended from the Bible, but I do not see how it could be sustained. Even in the Bible the particular churches were connected, even if not to the formal and institutional degree that we enjoy today; how then shall we say that an entirely disconnected group merits description as a "church of Christ"?

Why Apostolic Succession Matters

As a point of controversy, the Protestant rejection of apostolic succession demands some questions: if the Church Fathers really did "blow it," as Protestants would have us believe, why on earth should we give any credence to their own claims? If God did not preserve the Church from error from the beginning until now, there is absolutely no reason why we should believe that the Holy Spirit has guided Protestant eyes to the truth.

You can't have "The Catholic Church Fell Away" and at the same time "The Reformers Rediscovered the Gospel." It won't work.

Iconophiles vs. Iconoclasts

In a previous post I discussed (among other things) the Iconoclast notion of what an icon actually is, and noted both that their definition followed the pagan notion that underlies the prohibition of the first commandment and the mockery of Isaiah 44:13-19, and that it is contrary to what Catholics have always said about them. In this post I want to look closer at what the orthodox said during the iconoclast controversy about what an image is. Unless otherwise noted, all quotations (and most other material) in this post are from Pelikan's The Spirit of Eastern Christendom, pp. 118-122.

Although there were differences of wording among them, it seems that their definitions followed more or less what was said by John of Damascus, who said that an image is

a likeness, an illustration, and a representation of something, showing forth in itself that which is imaged.

Nicephorus, Pelikan says, was more thoroughgoing:

[An image is] a likeness of an archetype, having impressed upon it the form of what it represents by similarity, differing from it only by the difference of essence in accordance with the materials...or an imitation and similitude of the archetype, differing in essence and substance; or a product of some technical skill, shaped in accordance with the limitation of the archetype, but differing from it in essence and substance.

Elsewhere Nicephorus insisted that an image represents its archetype "in such a way that it also maintains some distinction from it."

Now obviously these definitions are completely unlike the iconoclasts' ideas about images, and the modern iconoclast is going to have to do better than to simply wave his hand and say that the distinctions that Catholics and Orthodox make are irrelevant. They're not. Nor will a simple appeal to the first commandment suffice, as I pointed out in my earlier post. (For that matter, an appeal to the "second commandment" [by their numbering] won't suffice either, since a Catholic doesn't accept the Protestant's numbering scheme.)

There were other arguments made, too. One Leontius of Neapolis compared veneration of icons (and, presumably, relics would fit here as well) to the reverence we show to articles of clothing (we might add photos today) that belonged to a beloved departed spouse. Damascene said something similar:

I have often seen those with a sense of longing, who, having caught sight of the garment of their beloved, embrace the garment as though it were the beloved person himself.

Well, does the bereaved love the clothing or the one who wore it? Does he love the photo, or the one pictured? Do we really have to ask these silly questions? Pelikan writes:

Christian worship of the icons was an instance of this same devotion, in which respect and affection were being paid to the garment, but were in fact addressed to the person of the departed, be it Christ or his mother or some other saint. ... Such arguments suggested that the use of icons in Christian worship was not a relapse into paganism, but a concession to the psychology of all normal men, whether Christian or pagan. [emphasis added]

But it was more than just human psychology that was in view, argues Pelikan:

When they put such an emphasis on the role of the senses in worship, the iconophiles were affirming the role of the body in salvation - of the physical body of Christ as the means of achieving it and of the physical body of man as a participant in it together with the soul. The iconoclasts claimed to worship the invisible God in a purely spiritual and mental way, disdaining the use of visual aids such as images. ... [But] Man was body as well as soul, and the means of grace were accommodated to this condition; therefore there was a baptism in water as well as in the Spirit, and therefore man also needed to see the divine represented in images. ... The spiritualism of the iconoclasts seemed to put them into the same class with the ancient Gnostics, who claimed that the body of Christ was not physical but heavenly, and who despised the physically minded believers as less spiritual than they.

Just so. Now of course modern iconoclasts aren't Gnostic (at any rate, I've never heard of any such). But it still bears saying, it seems to me, that when it comes to worship, they seem to loathe the body and anything physical. Hence they despise images; hence they deny the Real Presence; hence they deny that Baptism actually does wash us of our sins; etc.

Iconoclasm

Pelikan's chapter on the Iconoclast controversy (in vol. 2 of The Christian Tradition) is well worth reading, and the one or two snippets that will find their way into posts here really won't suffice. Get the book and read the whole thing. Seriously.

One immediate and superficial observation about what we may learn from the controversy, at least with respect to those today who fling charges of idolatry at Catholics and Orthodox over images, is to say, "been there, done that, got the conciliar endorsement." In short, I've never heard an argument against images today that wasn't already advanced and addressed over a millennium ago. It's nothing new. Unfortunately there must be more to our answer to the modern despisers of images than simply appealing to an ecumenical council, since (on average) the modern iconoclast sympathizer will not be interested in what councils have to say when they differ from his own theological tradition's views.

(As a fascinating aside, the old Catholic Encyclopedia reports that the Iconoclast controversy began with Nestorians managing to persuade Leo the Isaurian to start persecuting iconophiles. Once again we see Nestorians afoot; once again we are reminded that some Protestants have been charged with Nestorianism.)

One thing Pelikan reports strikes me as interesting in view of other facts.

Constantine V [asserted] that a genuine image was 'identical in essence with that which it portrays.' The term used here, 'identical in essence [homoousious],' came from the trinitarian language of orthodox dogma...This definition of the relation between the image and the thing or person imaged, which 'undoubtedly was characteristic not only of Constantine but of all the leading minds of iconoclasm,' meant that an image of Christ being used in worship was in fact the 'falsely so-called image of Christ,' since it obviously could not be 'identical in essence' with the person of Jesus Christ himself; not even the most vigorous defenders of the images maintained that it was. The very definition of a true image necessarily implied for the iconoclasts that no painting or statue could ever be an image of Christ. [p. 109]

This reminds me of something that we moderns find hard to imagine but which, apparently, was literally true. I'm having trouble locating the reference, but I think that it was in the works of Justin Martyr. As I recall, he pointed out that the idolaters of old really did consider their idols - works of wood and stone - to be literal gods. It wasn't just a question of them thinking that the idol represented the god; it was that the idol was itself the god. I was pretty shocked by this, but really it makes complete sense with Isaiah 44:13-19!

The wood carver takes his measurements, outlines the image with chalk, carves it with chisels, following the outline with dividers. He shapes it to human proportions, and gives it a human face, for it to live in a temple. He cut down a cedar, or else a cypress or an oak which he selected from the trees in the forest, or maybe he planted a cedar and the rain made it grow. For the common man it is so much fuel; he uses it to warm himself, he also burns it to bake his bread. But this fellow makes a god of it and worships it; he makes an idol of it and bows down before it. Half of it he burns in the fire, on the live embers he roasts meat, eats it and is replete. He warms himself too. "Ah!" says he "I am warm; I have a fire here!" With the rest he makes his god, his idol; he bows down before it and worships it and prays to it. "Save me," he says "because you are my god."

They know nothing, understand nothing. Their eyes are shut to all seeing, their heart to all reason. They never think, they lack the knowledge and wit to say, "I burned half of it on the fire, I backed bread on the live embers, I roasted meat and ate it, and am I to make some abomination of what remains? Am I to bow down before a block of wood?" [JB]

This passage makes no sense unless that wood carver literally believed that his block of wood was his god: not just a representation of it, but really his god. Why else does Isaiah say that such a man has shut his heart to all reason? Does such a thing make any sense? Of course not. But this is apparently what they literally did. And this is consistent, it seems, with what the iconoclasts' idea of an image was, as seen in the quotation from Pelikan above. Now the only problem with this, when it comes to the Catholic view of images, is that no Catholic says any such thing about an image of Christ or the saints.

This is why, for one thing, it cannot be said that Catholics violate the first commandment. When we do not worship images; we do not serve them. What we pray before a statue or icon is directed not to the stone or paint, but to the Lord represented there, or to the saint represented there. The first commandment is not concerned with such things, but rather with the literal worship of the literal image.

The modern iconoclast has a problem, it seems to me. He would have us believe that any veneration before an image - whether by an idolater literally worshipping the stone, or by a Catholic offering veneration to the one represented in the image - is idolatry. Well, how then could such a man offer veneration to a king or emperor? It is beyond all argument that men in all ages have rightly and necessarily and justifiably knelt in veneration of their rulers and other betters. If it is a sin to venerate him who is represented in an icon, would it be any less a sin (on this reckoning) to venerate a mere man?

There is no sin intrinsic to the use of images and statues. A mere appeal to Exodus 20 is insufficient to say otherwise. Historical context demonstrates clearly what is forbidden in the first commandment, and it is not praying to God or the saints while kneeling before an icon.

Perry Robinson on Christology and Abortion

Here is an article by Perry Robinson presenting a christological argument against abortion. It's very interesting.

It is on the christological basis of recapitulation that infants are baptized, since not to baptize them until they reach the 'age of reason' or 'accountability' implies that communion between God and man is impossible at this stage of life. If this principle were pressed into the Incarnation itself, it would mean that Christ only became God subsequently to His conception. Likewise, the Church’s condemnation of abortion is rooted in the recapitulational principle, since this stage of human life was united indivisibly and unconfusedly with God the Word. It is therefore contradictory to maintain at one and the same time that infants cannot be baptized, and yet to argue against abortion on the basis of an abstract principle of the 'sanctity of life' divorced from its Christological basis."

One of the commenters makes a further salient observation:

[T]hat Mary was Theotokos implies that God was united to pre-natal humanity.

So we see (not for the first time) that dogma necessarily affects how we think about other things. Because the Truth is one just as God is one, there cannot be one truth of dogma and another for the baby-killing abortionist.

The Holy Trinity and Human Nature

A couple days ago I mentioned an upcoming post concerning dogma and how we think about other things. I think this is an interesting example of what I was talking about in that post.

Pelikan writes (p. 72):

This clarification and expansion of Chalcedon in the direction of teaching two wills and two actions ... took its start from the doctrine of the Trinity, clarifying its christological terminology on the basis of trinitarian usage. In the Trinity there were three hypostases, but only one divine nature; otherwise there would be three gods. There was also a single will and a single action. Thus will was an attribute of a nature and not of a hypostasis, natural and not hypostatic. Hence the person of Christ, with a single hypostasis and two natures, had to have two wills, one for each nature. [emphasis added]

Although it might seem to us - if we think carelessly about the question and ignore the implications of christology described by Pelikan - that a will is something I have by virtue of being a person - an individual hypostasis - we see that the consequences of such thinking fall afoul of what is actually true. In the case of Christ, it would mean that - since he was a divine person with two natures - he had a single will (the divine one); or, if that were to be unacceptable to us, we might go the Nestorian route and insist that in Christ a divine and human person - two hypostases - were united, because Christ clearly had a human will.

But both of these conclusions are false. So we see that what we believe about God and Christ has profound implications for what we believe about ourselves. Likewise what we believe about ourselves may affect how we think about the Incarnation and the Godhead. It is important that we get the feedback cycle right here. Dogmas about the Incarnation and the Godhead are absolutely true because they are divinely revealed. We reject them at our peril. Given a conflict between dogma and our own ideas, we necessarily must conclude that it is our ideas that are wrong rather than the reverse.

Obviously it is not easy sometimes for us to reach that conclusion. On such occasions, we must take refuge in the virtue of humility.

Pelikan on the Nestorian view of the Eucharist

This is said only in passing in The Spirit of Eastern Christendom, and I don't have sufficient chops at this time to be able to be able to flesh it out adequately.

[I]t was recognized that there was a connection between Nestorian christology and a view of the Eucharist that stressed its memorial aspect rather than the real presence. [p. 61]

In context he's saying that this was recognized in the sixth century. If I understand things rightly, it seems that because of the Nestorian objection to the communication of properties (whereby we may say, for example, that God was crucified for us because Jesus Christ is God Incarnate - though of course it must be understood that in his divinity he neither died nor suffered) it's impossible for Christ's Body to have such properties as would allow it to be literally present in the Eucharist - which can only have the consequence of reducing the Sacrament to a memorial.

It's interesting (and unlikely to be merely coincidental) that many Protestants today view the Eucharist as nothing more than a memorial, given that they are sometimes charged with holding to a Nestorian christology due to their unwillingness to ascribe the title of Theotokos to the Blessed Virgin. One must wonder whether that which walks and quacks like a duck is really a duck or not.