The Doctor of Development

'And this one thing at least is certain; whatever history teaches,  at least the Christianity of history is not Protestantism. If ever there were a safe truth, it is this.' ~ John Henry Newman, MA(Oxon)

From Crisis

By Casey Chalk, MA(Theol)

Newman’s doctrine of development is important for understanding why Protestants have such an incoherent, ungrounded basis for their various doctrines, which differ significantly from one tradition and denomination to another.

Of Protestantism’s problems (of which there are many), one which does not provoke sufficient comment is its account of doctrinal development. For many Protestants, the very idea of such a concept seems patently illegitimate and unbiblical—how could doctrine develop? Isn’t that akin to saying that Christianity is subject to evolutionary forces, that it is not absolute? 

Yet even a cursory study of Christian history reveals that some account of doctrinal development is inevitable (more on that below). Few people have understood this as well as St. John Henry Newman, whose feast day we celebrate today. Indeed, as demonstrated in an excellent new book by Guy Mansini, O.S.B., titled The Development of Dogma: A Systematic Account, we owe much to the Anglican clergyman-turned-Catholic-cardinal for clarifying the meaning and scope of doctrinal development.

What is the development of doctrine? Mansini defines it as “the unfolding of Christian faith into hitherto unformulated and undefined doctrinal propositions…. The successive unfolding of the one, once-and-for-all revelation of God, completed by and in Christ and first possessed by apostolic faith, into newly articulated doctrines.” Though the idea of doctrinal development is presumed even within the pages of Holy Scripture itself (“You have heard it said to you…but I say to you…”), it takes Mansini all but three pages into his first chapter to cite Newman, the doctor of development par excellence, and his famous articulation of the concept, An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine.

Mansini observes that doctrinal development entails a recognition of a “one,” or integral, cognitive whole; a many into which that one thing unfolds, develops, and is articulated; a temporal distance of the many from the one that allows the many to be formulated and articulated; a reasoned recognition in faith of that one in the many; and, finally, an “extended temporal course in which the many appear,” and in which we affirm them as expressing one revelation. Far from being a peripheral doctrine, Mansini provocatively argues it is in fact at the center of theology, and is intimately linked to Holy Tradition, the Holy Spirit, and Christ Himself. 

If the above sounds a bit esoteric, the early debates and conciliar decrees over the Christian conception of God offer a powerful (and quite straightforward) example of this in action. From the Gospels, we know that the early Church affirmed a baptismal formula recognizing “the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” But, early Christians wondered, what does that mean? Are the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit coequal or coeternal? Are they the same or different?

Debates over these questions went on for centuries following the Resurrection, but they reached a fever pitch during the Arian controversy, when an Egyptian priest named Arius began asserting that the Son is “created” and thus not eternal with God the Father. Like the rest of creation, Arius argued, Jesus proceeds from the will of God. St. Athanasius, also an Egyptian cleric, repudiated Arius, declaring instead that the Son is of the same nature as the Father. And though Arius enjoyed significant support among many leaders in the early Church, it was Athanasius’ articulation of the Godhead which triumphed at the Council of Nicaea in 325.

It was at Nicaea that the Church began in an authoritative, doctrinal sense to speak of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as three persons (hypostasis) in one nature (ousia), language that is absent from the New Testament and owes its pedigree to Greek philosophy. It is also from Nicaea that we have the language of “true God from true God”; “Begotten, not made”; and “consubstantial with the Father.” None of this language, strictly speaking, can be found in Holy Scripture, either. Declared Athanasius: “Even if the expressions are not in so many words in the Scriptures, yet, as was said before, they contain the sense of the Scriptures…”

On what grounds did Athanasius and the bishops who convened in a city of Asia Minor in the fourth century believe themselves capable of making such doctrinal pronouncements regarding the true meaning of Scripture vis-a-vis trinitarian dogma? Their apostolically-derived authority, of course. But, even if not explicitly stated, also an implicit recognition in the reality of doctrinal development. What the Nicene Fathers were doing was exactly what Mansini (and Newman) call the development of doctrine: acknowledging a single revelation, the doctrines of which unfold over time and are believed to be legitimate based on a reasonably informed faith.

This presents a problem for Protestants, even those who repudiate “me and my Bible” in favor of a theology (and salvation history) that seeks to draw upon tradition and historic councils. Mansini hints at this in quoting the great twentieth-century Catholic theologian Yves Congar, who observes that the very idea of dogma presupposes “the existence of a magisterium.” This is so because there must necessarily be some institutional organ that serves to authoritatively shepherd this developmental process—otherwise, how would one know which doctrinal developments are authentic and which are not? 

Granted, there are many Protestant thinkers who, perceiving this problem, affirm some version of doctrinal development, as does the esteemed Reformed scholar Carl Trueman. “It is one thing to argue for the development of trinitarianism and quite another to advocate the development of Marian dogma or Roman primacy,” writes Trueman. 

As a Protestant, I could see the exegetical basis for the former, with the dogma developing as the result of debates over biblical texts. But Marian dogma stands too free of biblical warrant, and Roman primacy has too complicated a history for me to see with clarity the hand of God behind it.

In other words, Trueman does not find the biblical (and Tradition-based) arguments in favor of Marian dogmas or Roman primacy to be persuasive, and thus he refuses to accept them. 

I hope I am not the only one to see the irony in this. Though seeking a theology that is historically grounded, one that affirms conciliar decrees and patristic sources, Trueman, and all other Protestants for that matter, cannot help but ultimately fall back upon the personal interpretations of their Bibles. Hoping to offer some explanation for why they subscribe to the trinitarianism of Nicaea or the Christology of Ephesus (431) or Chalcedon (451), they can do little more than effectively say those councils’ decrees have an “exegetical basis.” 

This is why Newman’s doctrine of development is so important for understanding how the Church came to affirm that Christ has a human and divine will (the Third Council of Constantinople, 681), that veneration of icons is to be encouraged (Nicaea II, 787), or that man is saved by grace through faith working through love (Trent, 1563). And, alternatively, it is also important for understanding why Protestants have such an incoherent, ungrounded basis for their various doctrines, which differ significantly from one tradition and denomination to another. For, lacking a magisterial authority to guide this process of development, they are, like Luther, inevitably thrust back upon the individual conscience as informed by personal biblical interpretation. 

Every great idea develops, Newman explains at the beginning of his Essay on Development. “Once introduced into history and the mind of man, it shows its reality, its intelligibility, its parts, its aspects only slowly over the course of time,” writes Mansini. “Now, Christianity is a great idea, and therefore we should expect developments.” Yet without a magisterial authority, the ability to accurately (and comprehensively) appreciate those developments is stymied. Perhaps Newman says it best: 

And this one thing at least is certain; whatever history teaches, whatever it omits, whatever it exaggerates or extenuates, whatever it says and unsays, at least the Christianity of history is not Protestantism. If ever there were a safe truth, it is this.