John Macquarrie (1919- ) is one of the
Anglican Communion’s pre-eminent theologians. Of his many highly-esteemed
works, the best-known, perhaps, is Principles of Christian Theology (New
York: Scribner, 1966). He began his career as a Scottish Presbyterian, but while
living in New York and teaching at the Union Theological Seminary he came into
the Episcopal Church and was ordained to the priesthood. Later he was appointed
Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity at Oxford.
This essay, originally copyright © 1970 by Herder and
Herder, is posted here by permission of the author, to whom ownership of the
copyright has reverted. It may not be reproduced in any medium without his
permission. The essay was published in Post-ecumenical Christianity,
edited by Hans Kung (New York: Herder and Herder, 1970), 45-53.
I.
The Catholic Church as a
Common Heritage
What still
separates us from the Catholic Church? I am asked to give an Anglican answer to
this question. Needless to say, I cannot answer on behalf of all Anglicans.
The Anglican communion is noted for the great diversity of views which it
embraces. Some like to speak of the “comprehensiveness” of Anglicanism while
others would use less laudatory words and would talk of the “indefiniteness” or
even the “confusions” of Anglicanism.
Nevertheless, I think that a great many Anglicans, even an
overwhelming majority of them, will agree with me if I first of all answer the
question by saying that, in a very real and important sense, nothing
separates us from the Catholic Church. Anglicanism has never considered
itself to be a sect or denomination originating in the sixteenth century. It
continues without a break the Ecclesia Anglicana founded by St. Augustine
thirteen centuries and more ago, though nowadays that branch of the Church has
spread far beyond the borders of England. Our present revered leader, Arthur
Michael Ramsey, is reckoned the one hundredth Archbishop of Canterbury, in
direct succession to Augustine himself.
It is often claimed that Anglicanism has no
special doctrines of its own and simply follows the universal teaching of the
Church. When one considers the nature of the English Reformation, one see that
there is strong support for this claim. In England there was no single dominant
figure, such as Luther or Calvin, who might impress upon the Church his own
theological idiosyncrasies. The conscious aim of the English Reformation was to
return, so far as possible, to the Catholic Christianity of the undivided Church
of the first five centuries. No doubt the vision of that early Church was
idealized (especially with regard to the idea that it was “undivided” and that
it displayed a “uniformity,” so beloved of sixteenth-century minds—and of some
ecumenists today). But there was a conscious striving for continuity as well as
for renewal, and the result was that the classic shape of Catholic Christianity
was more clearly preserved in the English Reformation than in the more violent
religious upheavals which took place in some other countries.
In spite of Puritan pressures, the Catholic tradition
persisted in Anglicanism, and was powerfully reaffirmed by the Oxford Movement
in the nineteenth century. In recent decades, the Catholic character of
Anglicanism has been evidenced in ecumenical discussion by the insistence of
Anglican theologians on the so-call Chicago-Lambeth Quadrilateral as the
minimal characteristics of a Church fully Catholic—the Scriptures of the Old
and New Testaments, the Catholic Creeds, the Dominical Sacraments, and the
Historic Episcopate.
No doubt all Christians participate, in greater
or less degree, in Catholicity. They have all maintained something of the
classic form. Vatican II recognized that Anglicans had done this in a quite
distinct way, and we are glad to have this recognition from our Roman
brethren—it is a tremendous step forward from the old “all or nothing” position
of 1896—and I shall have something to say about this later. But if we are to
take this change of attitude seriously, then I must insist on changing the form
of the question which stands at the head of this article. Because both Romans
and Anglicans (as well as some others) have been true to the classical shape of
Catholic Christianity, the question for us is not, “What still separates us
from the Catholic Church” but hat still separates Anglicans and Romans
within the Catholic Church to which they both so visibly and manifestly
belong?”
In putting the question this way, I am
emphasizing how much the Roman and Anglican communions have in common. They
have always had much in common, but since the reforms of Vatican II, their
convergence is more apparent than ever. The celebration of the liturgy in the
vernacular and the new stress on the collegiality of the bishops are moves on
the Roman side which significantly narrow the gap with Anglicanism. There are
many minor matters where convergence has occurred, such as the proposed new
Roman marriage service. It is at least possible that in the Roman communion, as
in the Anglican, celibacy will come to be regarded as a prized but optional
vocation for some, and that many parishes will be served by married priests. If
present trends continue, then the Roman and Anglican communions will become more
and more alike.
II.
Serious Barriers
But although these convergences are striking, we
would be deceiving ourselves if we did not recognize that there are still
serious differences, and it is not likely that these will be quickly or easily
overcome. Let me mention a few of the more obvious.
Let me say something first on the problem of the
Papacy. In the summer of 1968 I was a consultant at the Lambeth
Conference, which brought together in London bishops from all over the Anglican
communion. In general, these bishops were well disposed toward the Roman
Catholic Church and eager for better relations (though I wished that more of
them would show as much enthusiasm for unity with Rome as some did for rather
parochial schemes of union with Protestant bodies). But in the midst of their
deliberations, we learned of the publication of the encyclical Humanae vitae.
There can be no doubt that this definitely chilled the ecumenical
atmosphere, so far as our relations with Rome were concerned. Let me hasten to
say that I do not think we underestimated the difficulties confronting the Pope
as he tried to give guidance to a Church deeply divided between progressives and
conservatives. On the contrary, there was much sympathy with him, and a
recognition of his deep sincerity. But rightly or wrongly, it did seem to
Anglican eyes that this was an example of an autocratic action, taken without
sufficient regard to a very large and impressive body of opinion, both
theological and demographical.
This was a definite setback to the possibility of
coming to some common mind on the place of the Papacy in ecumenical
Christendom. Up till that point, the image of the Papacy had been steadily
enhanced over a number of years. John XXIII, by his human warmth and loving
spirit, had led many people outside of the Roman communion to have a new respect
for the successors of St. Peter. The present Holy Father also, by his concern
for peace and for the poor, had gone far towards winning a place of influence
and affection in the hearts of many people, both Christian and non-Christian.
(His fraternal reception of the Archbishop of Canterbury had made an additional
favourable impression among Anglicans.) Many Christians including Anglicans, had
begun to see in an invigorated Papacy a rallying-point for Christian action and
a centre for Christian unity. But Humanae vitae gave a sudden check to
these thoughts. It appeared once more that the Papacy concentrates in a single
individual a measure of power which many Christians, including most Anglicans,
find intolerable and in conflict with their understanding of the nature of the
Church.
I still believe myself (and I think that many,
though by no means all, Anglicans would agree) that the Papacy has an important
role to play in the future of the whole Church. I do not wish to have the
Papacy abolished as the price of unity, and I do not even wish to have the Pope
reduced to a mere figurehead or ceremonial leader. I believe that the Papacy
can provide dynamic leadership for all of us. But this can come only from a
Papacy that is truly integrated with the bishops and, eventually, with the whole
People of God. The Pope is a sacramental person, an embodiment of the whole
Church, but he is nothing apart from the Church. Whether a renewed doctrine of
the Papacy that would be acceptable to Anglicans can be worked out remains to be
seen. I should think that the notion of infallibility, even in some subtly
diluted form, would be quite unacceptable to most of us. So the Papacy remains
at present a formidable barrier. But who knows what two hundred more years of
reflection and working together may do for both Romans and Anglicans on this
matter?
The question of the Papacy, however, seems to me to be only
part of a wider problem. There is in the Roman Catholic Church a tradition
of authoritarianism with which those accustomed to less rigid structures
will find it hard to come to terms. Of course, some kind of authority is
necessary in the Church if it is to retain its cohesion as the People of God and
the Body of Christ. In the Anglican tradition, an attempt has been made to
diffuse authority through a number of agencies, so that there is no
over-concentration of authority in any single area. One of the great architects
of the Anglican communion, Richard Hooker, sought a middle way between the
Puritan insistence of the absolute authority of the Bible and the Roman Catholic
tendency to repose authority in the Church and the hierarchy. But this middle
way was no mere compromise. It was an attempt to reach a concept of authority
more flexible and more responsive to the needs of the Church, and this was to be
achieved by allowing the several factors constituting the authority to check and
correct each other. The Bible has a certain primacy, yet it is the Bible as
interpreted in the Prayer Book and under the guidance of the Church. More than
this, Anglicans from Hooker to Temple have laid stress also on the authority of
reason and conscience. This means in effect that Anglicans are treated as
responsible adults, for whom authority is not external or oppressive.
Let me at once admit that Anglicans are not always
responsible in the use of their freedom. Sometimes the Anglican communion must
look, in the eyes of other Christians, like the ecclesiastical version of the
“permissive society.” From time to time, Anglican clergymen, theologians, and
occasionally bishops, create a sensation by teaching some wildly unorthodox
doctrine or by engaging in some bizarre behaviour. Anglicans have become
tolerant of such eccentricities, and I do not think that many of us would wish
to have it otherwise. We believe that the best answer to deviant beliefs and
practices is not to try to suppress them but to bring them into the open and by
free criticism, to show what is mistaken in them as well as learning something
of the truth that is hidden in every error. No doubt there is a risk in this
permissiveness, but we believe that it is a risk worth taking if there is to be
progress in theological understanding and in the practical application of the
faith. Furthermore, it can be argued that willingness to take this risk shows a
fundamental confidence in Catholic truth and in the capacity of this truth to
survive in the free market of ideas. One may recall the words of St. Irenaeus
about the false teachers of his day: Adversus eos victoria est sententiae
eorum manifestatio (Adv. Haer.,I, xxxi, 4). [“Victory against them is the
exposure of their opinions.”]
It is true that within recent years the concept
of authority is being subjected to renewed scrutiny in the Roman Catholic
Church, and that some of the old rigidity has been abandoned. There is a new
freedom, and it is hoped that it will be strengthened. But authoritarian and
autocratic attitudes still persist, and many Roman Catholic bishops still seem
to have the idea that if anyone’s teaching deviates from the accepted norm, he
ought to be silenced. This would be quite unacceptable to Anglicans, and we
would need to look long and hard at any move towards closer relations with Rome
if there was any danger that this might impair the reasonable liberties which we
prize.
A somewhat amusing feature of contemporary Roman
Catholicism is that even supposedly “progressive” bishops still entertain very
old-fashioned ideas of authority, and try to enforce reforms by methods quite as
arbitrary and dictatorial as the “reactionaries” ever used in opposing reform.
In the United States, we recently had the unedifying spectacle of two priests
being harassed and eventually silenced by the hierarchy, one because he was
considered to progressive, the other because he still wanted a few Latin Masses
and the old ceremonial! This would have been funny, if it had not shown to what
an extent the old inflexible ideas of authority still prevail and how much fear
there is of departure from uniformity. Anglicanism could gladly accommodate the
positions of both of the priests mentioned, and if it makes for a somewhat
untidy Church, it is nevertheless one in which there is opportunity for
experiment and dialogue.
A related question is that of dogmatic
definition. There are, I think, no really unbridgeable differences of
doctrine between Rome and Canterbury. Indeed, for my own part, I think that
Anglicans are much closer to Rome in their understanding of the Christian faith
than they are to Protestants—though here I must add that, because of the wide
diversities to be found within Anglicanism, many of my brethren in the Anglican
communion would disagree with me and would believe that their affinities were
rather with Protestantism. However, Anglicans do not attempt to formulate
precise dogmatic definitions of the kind that have multiplied in the Roman
Catholic Church, and most of us would not want to be committed to such
definitions.
Let me give a couple of examples of whit I have
in mind. Anglicans agree with Roman Catholics that the Eucharist is not merely
a memorial meal but is a sacrament in which Christ is really present. This,
however, is not spelled out in a precise definition in terms of
transubstantiation (or transignification!) or anything of the sort, but rather
it is implicit in our invariable liturgical practice (for instance, in the
various Prayer Book rites and in the rubrics concerning the disposal of the
consecrated Elements). There is no one officially received and
promulgated theology of the Real Presence, though the mystery itself is
unambiguously affirmed. A second example concerns the place of the blessed
Virgin Mary. Throughout the Anglican communion, her feasts are observed
according to the Prayer Book. Implicit in this is a theology of her role in the
economy of salvation, and an acknowledgment of the veneration which is due to
her. But we do not insist that particular ways of understanding, let us say,
her conception or her dormition, shall be de fide, as Rom has done in the
dogmas of the Immaculate Conception and the Assumption.
Does this mean that Anglicanism has only a
diffuse and indefinite theology? I think the answer to this question is both Yes
and No. Our theology is diffuse in the sense that it is not precisely
formulated; for we recognize that various formulations are possible, that these
vary according to historical and cultural circumstances, and that no single
formulation can claim a monopoly of truth, for it cannot be more than an
approximation to truth. On the other hand, our theology is not an indefinite,
“Believe what you like, so long as you feel good!” This kind of sentimentalism
is just as far from Anglicanism as is rigid dogmatism, and the Prayer Book makes
clear Anglican adherence to the central mysteries of the Catholic faith. It is
obvious further that this flexibility in the manner of formulating belief is
closely connected with the question of theological freedom, which I mentioned in
the paragraphs dealing with authority.
III.
Irritants which could be
overcome
The problems I have talked about up till now will
not be quickly solved, though I believe that there can be a gradual “growing
together” and convergence of the two communions, so that these barriers will in
course of time come to be less formidable. However, I think there are some
minor matters that separate us from the Roman Catholic Church. These are in the
nature of “irritants.” It would surely not be too hard to get rid of them, and
until they are got rid of, they definitely interpose a barrier in the way of a
rapprochement between Rome and Canterbury.
Let me mention first the Roman Catholic attitude
toward “mixed marriages”—marriages where one of the partners is not a
Roman Catholic and the other either and Anglican or an adherent of some other
faith. The decree Ne temere requires an undertaking from the partners
that all children of the marriage shall be brought up in the Roman Catholic
faith. I consider this to be an oppressive requirement. I was not surprised to
read recently that one branch of the Anglican communion (the Church of Ireland)
has decided that its priests will no longer participate in joint marriage
ceremonies with Roman Catholic priests where the Ne temere promise is
exacted. I think this decision of the Church of Ireland is correct, for there
is no true ecumenism in polite gestures against a background of ecclesiastical
imperialism.
The other irritant which divides us from genuine
fellowship with our Roman brethren is the condemnation of Anglican orders
by Rome in 1896. According to Apostolicae curae, Anglican orders are
“utterly null and absolutely void.” I know, of course, that such a harsh
judgment would not (in all likelihood) be passed in the ecumenical atmosphere of
today.[1]
I know also that many individual Roman Catholic theologians tell us that this
judgment no longer represents the mind of the Church. I know too that Pope Paul
VI made the splendid and significant gesture of giving his ring to the
Archbishop of Canterbury. But in spite of all this, the condemnation remains
“on the books” as the official Roman Catholic position. It is still being
printed in the most recent handbooks of official Roman Catholic teaching—some of
these books edited by very eminent and supposedly “progressive” theologians.
What is Rome going to do about this? It will not do to say (as some Roman
Catholic theologians seem to be saying) that we can sweep it under the carpet
and that many of the terms of reference under which the question was discussed
in 1896 no longer apply. The point is that many of them do apply.
Perhaps a bigger question lurks in the background: can Rome ever admit that it
has been mistaken, or must there always be the subterfuge that one is merely
“supplementing” what was said on a former occasion? What a tremendous ecumenical
breakthrough would take place as regards Rome and Canterbury if Rome could only
frankly dissociate itself from the one-sided and unjust condemnation of 1896!
My personal love and admiration for the Roman
Catholic Church, and my commitment to the catholic form of Christianity are
great, and I am sorry if some things in this article may seem harsh. But the
kind of ecumenism which glosses over genuine differences with ambiguous phrases
and sentimental claptrap is worse than useless. So is the impatient kind that
demands immediate intercommunions as if differences did not exist. We are
historical beings, and we have to grow together historically, just as in the
past we have grown apart historically. I rejoice that even now we are so close
to each other, and look forward to our drawing still closer together in the
decades ahead.
[1] [Regrettably, Cardinal Ratzinger has
recently reaffirmed it.]