The Church, the Map, and the Almighty

There is perhaps no greater irony in religion than man's ability to take a faith founded upon the supremacy of God and construct an institution founded upon the supremacy of certain men's understanding of God.

The transformation is generally accomplished with the best intentions, which makes it all the more dangerous.

A man discovers what he believes to be a truth in Scripture. He shares it with his neighbors. A congregation forms, teachers are appointed, and its beliefs are written down. Nothing could be more reasonable.

Then something curious happens.

The understanding becomes a doctrine. The doctrine becomes a test of loyalty. The test becomes a measure of faithfulness to God. Eventually, disagreement with yesterday's committee is treated as rebellion against eternity.

The congregation has committed the ancient error of confusing the map with the territory.

A mapmaker may possess great knowledge, considerable experience, and the finest instruments available. But when a traveler points out a mountain missing from his map, the proper response is to correct the map, not denounce the traveler for disrespecting geography.

Yet religious institutions have displayed an astonishing talent for defending the map against the mountain.
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The Peculiar Problem of Knowing God**

The difficulty begins with human knowledge itself.

Man cannot know anything without employing the mind whose limitations he is attempting to transcend. Everything he perceives, understands, or believes must assume a form within his consciousness.

We do not bring reality itself into our minds. We construct representations of it.

We understand unfamiliar things through analogy with familiar ones. We describe the unknown using concepts acquired from the known. This is how we learn, reason, and communicate.

It is also how we make extraordinary mistakes.

We speak of Jehovah existing before creation, imagining moments before moments existed. We say he dwells outside space, inventing another location beyond location. We speak of his thoughts, intentions, and decisions, imagining a consciousness resembling our own, only considerably better informed.

We then devise elaborate explanations of how God manages to exist without the limitations we have imposed upon him.

But if Jehovah is the uncreated source of existence, why should he be subject to the conditions of what he creates?

If time is an ordered succession of events and Jehovah originated that order, asking what he was doing before time existed is like asking what lies north of the North Pole.

The question does not reveal a deficiency in God. It reveals a confusion in the questioner.

Scripture may tell us truly that Jehovah is the source of creation, that the Word was with him, and that creation occurred through the Word without providing a technical account of divine consciousness or the underlying structure of spiritual existence.

We may understand what Scripture asserts without comprehending everything its assertions imply.

And here lies the denominational danger: the less Scripture explains, the more confidently men sometimes explain it on Scripture's behalf.

An inference becomes a doctrine. A doctrine becomes an obligation. An obligation becomes a condition of salvation.

Soon the believer is no longer asked merely to believe what God has revealed, but to believe everything an organization has inferred from it.
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The God Who Was Not in the Earthquake**

Consider Elijah.

A mighty wind shatters the mountains. An earthquake follows, then a fire. Yet Scripture repeatedly declares that Jehovah was not in these extraordinary manifestations.

Then comes qol demamah daqqah—the calm, low voice, sometimes rendered the sound of a thin silence.

The account distinguishes Jehovah from the phenomena associated with his presence.

It is a distinction religious institutions would do well to preserve.

A denomination may preach across continents, translate Scripture into hundreds of languages, erect impressive buildings, and assemble multitudes of sincere worshippers.

These accomplishments may demonstrate devotion, generosity, sacrifice, and extraordinary organizational ability.

They do not establish that the organization is Jehovah.

Nor do they confer infallibility upon its interpretations.

The wind may be mighty, the earthquake impressive, and the fire magnificent.

But Jehovah is not thereby identical with any of them.

And a governing committee does not acquire divine authority merely by acquiring a printing press.

The Remarkable Invention of Infallible Fallibility

Some religious authorities acknowledge that they are neither inspired nor infallible.

This is encouraging—until one discovers that members are nevertheless expected to treat their current interpretations as practically unquestionable.

"We may be mistaken," says the leadership.

"Then may we examine the matter?" asks the believer.

"Certainly, provided you accept our conclusion."

"But what if the conclusion is wrong?"

"God will correct it in his own time."

"Through whom?"

"Through us."

Thus the organization has achieved the remarkable distinction of admitting its fallibility while exempting itself from the ordinary consequences of being fallible.

The teachers retain the privilege of being wrong. The students inherit the obligation to agree.

This is not humility. It is authority wearing humility's clothing.

The Bereans were commended for examining Scripture to determine whether Paul's teaching was correct. Paul publicly corrected Peter. Peter warned overseers against lording it over those entrusted to them.

Evidently, apostolic Christianity made room for both teachers and thinking Christians.

Modern Christianity might profit from recovering the arrangement.

Unity Is Not Intellectual Surrender

Naturally, every denomination insists upon unity.

And rightly so.

A congregation unable to agree upon anything will eventually discover that even selecting a meeting time produces a schism.

But unity is not uniformity.

A choir must sing in harmony; it need not sing in unison.

Likewise, Christians may share faith, worship, moral commitments, and mutual love without possessing identical interpretations of every prophecy, symbol, chronology, or disputed passage.

There are explicit scriptural commands. There are conclusions strongly supported by Scripture. There are reasonable interpretations upon which conscientious believers may differ. And there are speculations that should never have escaped the conversation in which they arose.

The tragedy begins when these distinctions disappear.

A scriptural command is not an interpretation of a scriptural command. An interpretation is not an organizational policy. And an organizational policy is not the voice of Jehovah.

A denomination may teach its convictions firmly. It may defend them vigorously. It may establish reasonable qualifications for those who teach on its behalf.

But it cannot reasonably claim that every disagreement with its interpretation constitutes disobedience to God.

That is not Christian unity. It is intellectual conscription.

The Conscience Entrusted to a Committee

The consequences become grave when institutional interpretations govern matters of personal conscience.

It is one thing to determine how a congregation conducts its meetings. It is another to demand conformity in medical decisions, family relationships, personal associations, or other matters carrying irreversible consequences.

A Christian may conscientiously refuse a particular medical procedure because he believes Scripture requires it. That is an exercise of religious conviction.

But if he refuses because disagreement may cost him his family, friends, or congregation, we must ask whether conscience has been respected or merely surrounded.

A prisoner may sincerely agree that the prison door should remain locked. His agreement does not establish that he freely chose imprisonment.

Conscience is not an administrative department of the congregation.

It is the individual's moral responsibility before God.

Paul did not appoint himself master over another's faith. He expressly rejected that position.

And the declaration that Christians must obey God rather than men does not cease to apply when the men demanding obedience happen to occupy religious offices.

Indeed, that is when the distinction becomes most important.

A Modest Proposal

I therefore propose a reform so modest that it may initially appear revolutionary:

Let religious organizations actually practice the fallibility they profess.

Let every congregation acknowledge, not merely in speeches but in its governing constitution, that Scripture possesses authority while its interpretation of Scripture remains subject to examination.

Let every doctrine be open to reasoned scriptural challenge—including doctrines concerning the authority of the organization itself.

Let teachers answer arguments rather than merely invoke their appointments.

Let teachings distinguish what Scripture explicitly states, what reasonably follows from it, and what remains uncertain.

Let members be free to question, examine, and conscientiously disagree without the disagreement itself being classified as apostasy.

Let there be a transparent process for reviewing disputed teachings, including independent examination when those responsible for a doctrine are asked to reconsider it.

Let those appointed to teach be expected to demonstrate not only knowledge but a willingness to learn.

Let a congregation distinguish between declining to appoint someone as its representative teacher and condemning that person's religious integrity.

And when an organization discovers that an earlier teaching was mistaken, let it acknowledge not only the correction but, where appropriate, the consequences suffered by those who followed its previous instruction.

None of this requires abolishing doctrine, leadership, discipline, or congregational order.

A congregation may maintain its beliefs and standards. It may distinguish sincere disagreement from deliberate misconduct. It may insist upon respectful conduct without insisting upon intellectual surrender.

The entire proposal might be written into a single constitutional provision:

We shall continually bring our understanding into harmony with Scripture, never require Scripture to conform to our understanding, and never treat conscientious disagreement with our interpretation as, by itself, rebellion against God.

One might reasonably suppose that an organization devoted to truth would welcome such a commitment.

The True Test of Religious Authority

The test of a congregation is not how warmly it receives those who agree with it.

Even a political party can accomplish that.

The test is what happens when an informed, respectful, conscientious believer presents a substantial scriptural argument against a cherished teaching.

Is the argument examined?

Can the leadership acknowledge uncertainty?

Can a teaching be corrected without the correction being treated as a threat to God's sovereignty?

And can the believer remain a brother while the disagreement is considered?

If the answer is no, the organization has confused loyalty to Jehovah with loyalty to itself.

The reasoning then becomes circular.

Its leaders are authoritative because God appointed them. Their appointment is established by their interpretation of Scripture. Their interpretation is authoritative because God appointed them.

Anyone questioning the conclusion is therefore accused of questioning God.

The circle is complete, the doors are locked, and truth is safely protected from examination.

One might observe that truth requiring such protection is in a precarious condition.

The Humility of Knowing

We return at last to the limitation common to every theologian, elder, minister, priest, governing body, and ordinary believer.

We are human.

We encounter reality through our senses and comprehend it through representations constructed by our minds. We reason by analogy, interpret through experience, and express ourselves through imperfect language.

Our understanding may be genuine without being exhaustive.

A map may be accurate without being the territory. A portrait may reveal character without becoming the person. A parable may convey truth without describing a historical event.

And a theology may teach something true about Jehovah without becoming Jehovah's own knowledge.

This is not an argument for skepticism.

It is an argument for intellectual honesty.

The possibility of error does not require abandoning conviction. It requires preserving the means of correction.

A denomination should be neither a society in which nobody believes anything nor one in which a few gentlemen imagine themselves incapable of misunderstanding anything.

It should be a fellowship in which Scripture is studied seriously, truth is pursued courageously, conscience is respected, and correction is welcomed.

The teachers should teach.

The students should reason.

The overseers should shepherd.

And all should remember that Jehovah has not surrendered his authority to the most recent committee to issue a doctrinal statement.

There is no need to abolish religious organization. The attempt would doubtless produce another organization, complete with officers, bylaws, and a disciplinary committee for members insufficiently opposed to committees.

The object is not to abolish the church but to restore its proper purpose.

The congregation exists to help people know and serve God. God does not exist to validate the congregation.

If our understanding of Jehovah proves less complete than we imagined, that should occasion neither panic nor embarrassment.

It would merely mean that Jehovah is greater than our explanations of him.

One might have thought this an entirely acceptable conclusion for Christians.

A religious organization is valuable as a servant of truth. It becomes dangerous when it claims the privileges of truth itself.

Our proposal is therefore modest indeed:

Let Scripture remain the standard, not the servant.

Let conscience remain a responsibility, not a concession.

Let teachers remain teachable.

And, above all, let God remain God.