238. No Longer Accretions. The Problem of Roman Catholicism in Dialogue with Gavin Ortlund

In the beginning was the church, then something went wrong, and Roman Catholicism emerged. What did go wrong? The answer is: accretions. Accretions were innovations added to the faith and life of the early church mainly in the realm of Mariology, sacraments, and devotions. Roman Catholicism is the cumulative result of such accretions, having become a religion where these additions have found citizenship and have become identity markers of the Roman Catholic account of Christianity.

This is one of the points made by Gavin Ortlund in his recent book What It Means to Be Protestant (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2024). The volume is a superb commendation of the Protestant faith against the background of recent attraction to Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy experienced by younger evangelicals. The advice given by Ortlund to people who are searching is to think twice (and pray even more) before dismissing Protestantism as a “new” and “sectarian” departure from ancient and traditional Christianity, as some Roman Catholic apologists depict it. As a matter of fact, the Protestant faith is the best pathway to catholicity and historical rootedness. In essence, Protestantism is “a movement of renewal and reform within the church” (xix). Its Sola Fide (faith alone) and Sola Scriptura (Scripture alone) principles, properly understood and applied, represent biblical teaching at its best and make Protestantism the best-suited movement for “an always-reforming Church”, as the subtitle of Ortlund’s book suggests.

This is not going to be a review of this insightful book but only a reflection on one of the arguments that Ortlund puts forward in addressing the problem of accretions in Roman Catholicism and how Protestantism deals with it in its renewing and reforming drive.

Accretions Explained
As already indicated, central to his analysis is the idea of “accretion”. Here is what happened. In post-apostolic times, the “gospel has been both obscured and added on to” (xxiii) and Roman Catholicism is the institutionalized result of such an accretion process. Again, “Many of the essential, necessary features of Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox theology and worship represent historical innovation and error” (149). Both traditions “have inadvertently added requirements on the gospel that Christ himself would not require” (221).

Ortlund’s book explores in detail two examples of accretions and presents them as case studies: Mary’s bodily assumption, a belief sneaked in during the 5th century that was dogmatized by Rome in 1950, and icon veneration as was affirmed by Nicaea II, the seventh ecumenical council, in 787. In both cases, we are confronted with two add-ons that are not part of the biblical core of the gospel.

Protestantism and Accretions
What’s the calling of Protestantism then? In the 16th century, Protestantism called for “the removal of various innovations or accretions” (xx). To put it differently, “The point of Protestantism was to remove the errors. Their goal was to return to ancient Christianity, to a version prior to the intrusion of various accretions” (138). This is not confined only to the Reformation age. The very mission of Protestantism is to be “a historical retrieval and a removal of accretions” (147, 149, and 220), even its own internal ones.

This is to say that Protestantism has accretions too and is not immune from deviations. According to Ortlund, “Accretions are inevitable. In an imperfect world, the intrusion of errors will be a constant possibility and frequent occurrence. The difference is that Protestant accretions are not enshrined within allegedly infallible teaching” (149). Unlike Rome, which has locked accretions in a system that is allegedly infallible, the Protestant faith through the Sola Scriptura principle has a mechanism that is at the service of “an always-reforming church”, at least in principle. Through retrieval of biblical teaching and removal of deviations that are incompatible with it, Protestantism submits to the infallibility of Scripture rather than to a pretentiously infallible church and its magisterium that is already infected by accretions.   

No Longer Accretions
The theory of accretions is certainly plausible from a historical point of view, and Ortlund does a great job in raising the issue and sampling it. The point is that Roman Catholicism is no longer Christianity in its biblical outlook but an accrued version of it.

Whereas the historical awareness is present, what is perhaps lacking in Ortlund’s book is the theological appreciation of the impact of accretions on Roman Catholicism as a whole. As already noted, an accretion is a belief and/or practice discordant if not contrary to the Bible that is added. When the accretion is made by Rome and it has received the official approval by the magisterium, it is no longer an add-on but has become part of the whole doctrinal and devotional system. Accretions are integrated in such a way as to infiltrate the religious core at the deepest level. They start as additions but result in becoming part of the theological DNA.  

Ortlund hints at this when discussing Mary’s assumption. He writes, “The bodily assumption of Mary is held to be an infallible dogma, and thus an irreformable and obligatory part of Christian revelation” (161). True, this “historical innovation” (185) was introduced as an accretion but now according to Rome is to be considered as inherently belonging to divine revelation. After it became dogma in 1950, it is “irreformable” and “obligatory”. It is no longer an add-on: it is a defining mark of Roman Catholicism.

The same is true for icon veneration. As historical accretion, the practice was given doctrinal status only in the 8th century. Since then, though, in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, “The icon is placed on a level with the Holy Scripture and with the Cross” (190). This means that icon veneration infringes on the authority of Scripture and the significance of the cross, i.e., two tenets of the Christian faith. Also in Roman Catholicism, icon veneration is grounded in the incarnation of Christ, thus touching on a basic Christological point. It is no longer a historical addition that can be detached and disposed of. It has become embedded in the core account of the Roman and Eastern gospels at the highest theological level, i.e., the doctrines of revelation (Scripture), salvation (cross), and Christ (incarnation).

While not investigating the issue with the same historical depth as the previous two, Ortlund makes reference to the doctrine of the papal office as another example of accretion. The papacy is evidently not part of the New Testament message. It is a child of imperial culture and politics, the result of “Slow historical accretions – a gradual accumulation and centralization of power within the Western church” (109-110). Yet Roman Catholicism has elevated the papacy to the highest theological status, i.e., the dogma of papal infallibility promulgated in 1870. The papacy is now another defining mark of Roman Catholicism, and this means that the Roman Catholic account of the gospel considers the papacy as central in the deposit of faith. Introduced as accretion, it is now organically part of the whole.

A Perplexing Conclusion
With all these accretions added to a system that deems itself to be infallible when elevated to dogmas, we are confronted with an integrated theological whole. Accretions were added in history but are now part of theology and practice. Borrowing an expression used by the Church Father Cyprian, Ortlund refers to “muddy water” (151) to indicate the mixed nature resulting from the accretions: it used to be water, but after the dirt is added, the water is no longer separable from the dirt.

This is the problem of Roman Catholicism from a Protestant viewpoint: it is muddy water in all areas. The muddiness is not equally dirty but is everywhere: the accretions have percolated in such a way as to modify all doctrines and practices.

Considering this, Ortlund’s final comment is perplexing. When he sums up his argument, he writes, “While we (Protestants) can share the core gospel message with many of the traditions outside of Protestantism, certain of their practices and beliefs have the unfortunate effect of both blurring it and adding on to it” (221-222). An inconsistency is evident here. On the one hand, the devasting reality of irreformable accretions is reckoned with; on the other, he still thinks that “we can share the core gospel message” as if the accretions have not altered it.

The case studies presented in the book show something different, i.e., accretions have infiltrated the core gospel message. Mary’s assumption is dogma although it has no biblical support. Icon veneration is thought of in terms of the incarnation of Christ. The papal office is dogma although it is a child of imperial ideology. We could add other examples of accretions:

In other words, the Roman Catholic “core gospel message” is Roman, papal, Marian, and sacramentalist. After the Council of Trent (1545-1563) that anathemized “faith alone”, the First Vatican Council (1870) that promulgated papal infallibility, the two modern Marian dogmas of the immaculate conception (1854) and bodily assumption (1950), the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) that made steps towards universalism, Rome’s “core gospel message” is imprisoned in irreformable and unchangeable dogmatic commitments that are beyond the Bible if not against the Bible. After the Counter-Reformation there is no core gospel message that is left untouched by accretions.

There is a vast difference between what Paul writes in Galatians and what he writes to the Philippians. In Philippians 1, Paul is able to rejoice because, despite leaders’ wrong motives, the true gospel is preached. But in Galatians, the gospel is being distorted although some gospel words are still used, and Paul confronts this. Post-accretions Roman Catholicism is more of a Galatians 1 than a Philippians 1 issue.

Accretions are not Lego bricks that once added can be taken away. They are additions that impact the whole system and transform it into something different. Roman Catholicism is no longer biblical Christianity; it is “muddy water”. It is not half gospel and half accretions. It is an integrated whole where non-biblical accretions define its foundational outlook and not only its secondary-tertiary aspects. As “a historical retrieval and a removal of accretions”, Protestantism serves the cause of an always-reforming Church and calls Roman Catholicism to a biblically radical reformation of its core commitments: back to Faith Alone and Scripture Alone.

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237. Conclave: The Movie that Takes Francis’s Papacy to Excruciating Consequences

It is no secret that the conclave (i.e. the assembly of cardinals for the election of a pope) always arouses voyeuristic interest. What happens inside the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican among the cardinal electors once the “extra omnes” (everyone out) is decreed is a source of almost morbid curiosity. In recent years, movie director Nanni Moretti chronicled his conclave in the film Habemus Papam (2011). Now, Swiss director Edward Berger is trying again with his own Conclave (2024), based on the novel of the same title by Robert Harris.
 
The film’s plot and setting are typical of the genre: the pope dies, and the “sede vacante” (vacant seat) is declared. The operations of the election of a successor then begin, culminating in voting in the Sistine Chapel. After an open-minded pope on doctrine and morals, different fronts clash: there is the progressive candidate who wants to continue the policies of the previous one, there is the conservative candidate who wants to bring the Catholic Church back into the groove of tradition, there is the “center” candidate who aims to administer the system by freezing the ongoing diatribes, and there is the African candidate who embodies the openness of Roman Catholicism to the global south.
 
In his homily at the beginning of the conclave, the Dean of the College of Cardinals says that it is no longer the time for “certainties” but for doubt and that the church must be the home of diversity that must be welcomed. It is a clue to the narrative so close to that of Pope Francis that it forms the spiritual framework of the film. Indeed, a Jesuit mark of Francis’ papacy is the exaltation of confusion and ambiguity, generating new solutions and stigmatizing traditionalism as a backward flight.

The film chronicles how tight negotiations are constructed and unraveled over one candidate or the other. In short, all the strong candidates, one by one, fall under the weight of skeletons kept in the closet and which emerge during the conclave. The careerist and clericalist candidates involved are routed one by one. This, too, is a feature of the film that reflects a tendency dear to Pope Francis. Several times, Pope Francis has said that the Catholic Church is full of officials who are not shepherds who “smell of their flock” and who instead aspire to power. In the film, these corrupt candidates are exposed and pushed aside.
 
Eventually, in a conclave riven by scandal and conflict, the latest and unknown cardinal becomes pope. He comes from Baghdad, the “end of the earth,” as Jorge Bergoglio said of himself. He is outside the Roman system. He has been a priest in cities and countries at war: rather than the halls of power, he has been close to those who suffer. He is not doctrinaire, and in his brief address to the cardinals, he talks about inclusion, mercy, and universal fraternity. These are clearly themes that Francis always stressed. The new pope, both geographically and spiritually, resembles a candidate who mirrors Pope Francis’ portrait of the ideal priest. He seems to have no certainties except that of a church that embraces everything and everyone.
 
But there is more. While the new pope is in the “room of tears” (a small antechamber within the Sistine Chapel where a newly elected pope changes into his papal cassock for the first time), it turns out that he is also intersex. The pope who selected him as a cardinal had encouraged him to undergo uterine removal surgery, but he eventually refused, and the pope appointed him anyway.
 
The election took place, so there is not much room for maneuver. Moreover, the conclave had opened with a call to abandon certainty and open up to doubt. Now, the new pope precisely embodies that uncertainty and fluidity and invites acceptance of what is different and outside the traditional patterns.
 
Is this not the message of Pope Francis over the years of his papacy? Who does not remember the “who am I to judge” with which he introduced himself to the world? Who has not noticed the “todos, todos, todos” (all, all, all) that has been the refrain of his speeches? Who does not have in mind the blessing of people involved in homosexual relationships? Who has not heard the pope say that we are “all children of God”?
 
Here is the point: the film Conclave takes the seeds planted by Pope Francis during his pontificate to their extreme consequences. It seems that the novel on which it is based, although written by Robert Harris, was inspired by an idea of Pope Francis. The movie only anticipates some outcomes that are perhaps unsettling and excruciating, but congruent and consonant with respect to the “catholic” (inclusive, all-embracing) direction that Jorge Bergoglio imprinted on the Roman Catholic Church.

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