The Minority Report at Trent and the Vatican Councils: Dissenting Episcopal Voices as Positive Sources for Theological Reflection

Abstract

This paper argues that the record of theological dissent at Trent and Vatican I are positive and fruitful sources of theological reflection on the sensus fidelium. Not only do these “minority” voices (minority in the literal sense of opposing a majority group or opinion) help us to accurately interpret the drafts and final documents of these councils, but these minority figures can sometimes preserve the sensus fidelium through their calls for various concessions from the majority.

First, I revisit Trent's decree on Scripture (1546). Due to the interventions of two Italians (Nacchianti, the Bishop of Chioggia, and Bonuccio, the General of the Servites), the question of the relationship between scripture and tradition was left open – that is, the “two‐source” partim‐partim theory was not dogmatically enshrined. This was an important episode wherein a tiny minority gained a critical concession. I argue that this minority intervention bore fruit not only in a final Tridentine document that better echoed the faith of the ages, but also bore fruit centuries later at Vatican II in Dei verbum.

Second, I argue that the minority at Vatican I protected the Church from extreme ultramontanism. This relatively large and intellectually powerful minority, many of them rooted in Gallicanism, played a key role in tempering a dogmatic proclamation that was further balanced and interpreted a century later in Lumen gentium and Christus Dominus.

I conclude by suggesting theologians should look for ways in which the minority at Vatican II could serve future generations of Catholics in unforeseen ways.

Introduction

While a recovery of the concept of the sensus fidelium has rightly coincided with a new focus on the theological significance of the laity, the terms are sometimes misunderstood to mean a “sensus laicorum.” But this is not actually what Cardinal Newman meant by sensus fidelium. While Newman's well‐known assertion in The Arians of the Fourth Century (1833) that the “laity” in fact preserved the true faith about Christ's divinity while the bishops in many cases did not is rightly famous, it does not seem that Newman had the laity in mind exclusively, in the sense that we normally use the term.¹ Here the focus will be on the bishops, a group of the Catholic faithful that are included in Lumen gentium 12's definition of the sensus fidei.² Specifically, I will examine several incidents of bishops at recent ecumenical councils who held “minority” opinions. I use the term “minority” in the literal sense of opposing a majority group or opinion.³

Newman himself, while definitely avoiding extreme ultramontanism, actually came to look even more skeptically at ecumenical councils as arbiters of teaching than the papacy. Councils are “with a few exceptions, a dreary, unlovely phenomenon in the Church.”⁴ No doubt one reason for Newman's sobriety regarding councils was his knowledge of the history of discord, dissent, and even intrigue present at them. Given the climate at the First Vatican Council, one can perhaps forgive Newman for his gloomy outlook. Had he lived during the years of Vatican II he might have had similar concerns about machinations on the council floor or behind closed doors.

Notwithstanding Newman's understandable pessimism, I will argue that the record of theological dissent at Trent (1545‐63) and the Vatican Councils (1870; 1962–65) are positive and fruitful sources of theological reflection on the sensus fidelium. Not only do these “minority” episcopal voices help us to accurately interpret the drafts and final documents of these councils, but these minority figures can sometimes help preserve the sensus fidelium through their calls for various concessions from the majority. That is, disagreement and discord even in the college of bishops can be providential, and I suggest it is one way the Holy Spirit leads the People of God “into all truth” (John 16:13).

Dissenting Bishops at Trent: From partim‐partim to et

First, let us revisit Trent's “Decree Concerning the Canonical Scriptures” (April 8, 1546), which sought to answer the Protestant cry of sola scriptura.⁵ The Tridentine fathers taught that revelation was “contained” in scripture and tradition. The source [fons] of revelation at Trent is the evangelium, the gospel. The Decree teaches that this revelation is contained “in the written books and in the unwritten traditions.”⁶

At Trent, the primary concern was to defend the traditiones (plural) – concrete practices and beliefs that had been attacked as unscriptural by certain Reformers (e.g. infant baptism in some circumstances).⁷ At Vatican II, tradition (singular) is a more dynamic phenomenon of growth through reflection⁸ – a position similar to that held at Trent only (as far as we know) by Jacopo Nacchianti, Bishop of Chioggia and Agostino Bonuccio, the General of the Servites – both seen as eccentric innovators!⁹

What is most significant for our purposes is what Trent did not say. The original draft of the Decree (22 March 1546) stated that the gospel (which Trent identifies with revelation, just as Vatican II's Dei verbum identifies the person of Jesus) was contained partly in the written scriptures, partly in the unwritten traditions – the famous partim‐partim formula.¹⁰ This was changed, as we have seen, in the final document, to “in the written books and the unwritten traditions.” This change from partim‐partim to et has massive significance, because the latter does not rule out a belief in the material sufficiency of scripture (although it does not of course assert it either) nor does it teach a “two‐source” theory. It is ambiguous, and we do not have an unambiguously clear statement in the conciliar Acta as to why this change was made. A reason can be confidently inferred, however, due to the record of two minority voices at the Council who wished to assert the primacy of scripture and were uncomfortable with language that suggested “two sources.” The interventions of these fascinating and idiosyncratic characters did not win any debates per se, but it appears they gained a concession in the final document that was to prove enormously significant for the future of Catholic theology.

Cardinal del Monte (the future Pope Julius III), one of the three papal legates of Pope Paul III, was the first on record to use the partim‐partim formula at Trent.¹¹ While most of the fathers saw this as a perfectly adequate way to defend practices and beliefs not explicit in scripture from Protestant rejection, there were two key dissenters. Nacchianti argued for the material sufficiency of scripture (“everyone knows that everything that pertains to salvation is contained in the sacred books”) and wanted the discussion of tradition abandoned entirely!¹² Many were “scandalized” by this radical opinion,¹³ but Nacchianti was not accused of heresy.

Bonuccio shared these misgivings and would not be dissuaded. During debate on the partim‐partim draft Bonuccio declared “I judge that all evangelical truth has been written down, not therefore ‘partly.’”¹⁴ While Bonuccio did not sway the opinions of his confreres, he created such a spectacle through his heated confrontation with the Bishop of Feltre that Cardinal Cervini ordered both to be silent.¹⁵ Significantly, neither interpretation was rebuked. Thus, the partim‐partim formula was disputed (albeit by very few) and the Council Fathers expressly wanted to avoid disputed questions. Even after pressure from other Fathers, Bonuccio still insisted “it is not pleasing that the truth of the Gospel is contained partly in the Scriptures and partly in the traditions.”¹⁶

The change from partim‐partim to et in the final draft was clearly purposeful, since we have record of isolated but colourful dissent. It seems that the legates decided that in this circumstance the Council should do as it said it would: proclaim only settled Catholic doctrine (against Protestantism), not settle intra‐Catholic debate.¹⁷ Two important theological points emerge. First, the beliefs of the majority of the Council Fathers (while by no means irrelevant) cannot be finally determinative when considering conciliar documents. The Council of Trent taught et and not partim‐partim, even though the vast majority of the Council Fathers seem to have believed that partim‐partim was correct, and thus believed in a “two‐source” theory and did not believe in the material sufficiency of scripture. The final conciliar document, of very high authority in Catholic teaching, neither confirms nor denies the “two‐source” theory, and does not condemn or teach the material sufficiency of scripture.

Although space prevents even a brief recounting of the developments from the sixteenth century to the eve of Vatican II, the history of the Geiselmann thesis and the debates it sparked further underscore the importance of this episode.¹⁸ At Vatican II, there were ressourcement theologians who shared Geiselmann's desire to revisit the “sources” debate, and those who interpreted the Tridentine Decree to have basically settled the matter in favour of a partim‐partim view (and duplex fons – “double sources”).¹⁹ This latter persuasion was displayed in the first draft of the “Schema on Revelation” (which eventually became Dei verbum) prepared by the Theological Commission, headed by Cardinal Ottaviani. The rejection of this draft, which explicitly taught the partim‐partim view, was considered a great success for the growing number of council fathers who wished for a document that was more historically conscious, personalistic, and ecumenically sensitive; many of these fathers also sought to avoid the persistent charge that Catholicism subordinated scripture to tradition or the magisterium.²⁰ Indeed the final document, Dei verbum, has been widely considered to have taken this criticism to heart. The result is a document that clearly exalts Jesus Christ as the only true source or fons, and displays a prima facie primacy of scripture, without any denigration or rejection of tradition.

We have seen that through the interventions of two idiosyncratic Italians the question of the relationship between scripture and tradition was left open. That is, the “two‐source” partim‐partim theory was not dogmatically enshrined, even though the great majority of council fathers found it either obviously true or at least unproblematic. This allowed for wider latitude in doctrinal speculation for future generations of Catholic theologians, and led to the stimulating debates sparked by figures like Geiselmann and Congar. However one judges the various doctrinal conclusions, the twentieth‐century speculations and debates surrounding scripture and tradition have been positive ecumenically and within the Catholic Church. Arguably, the “two‐source” theory (which was omitted centuries later in the re‐drafting of Dei verbum) was a departure from the sensus fidelium of the ages. This was an important episode wherein a tiny minority gained a critical concession. This minority intervention bore fruit not only in a final Tridentine document that better echoed the faith of the ages, but also bore fruit centuries later at Vatican II in Dei verbum.

The large and intellectually powerful minority at Vatican I, many of them rooted in Gallicanism, played a key role in tempering a dogmatic proclamation that was further balanced and interpreted a century later in Lumen gentium and Christus Dominus and so protected the Church from extreme ultramontanism. This assertion may seem tendentious since the constitution Pastor aeternus (1870) bluntly rejected the lynchpin of Gallican ecclesiology in the “ex consenu” clause (i.e. the “definitions of the Roman Pontiff are of themselves, and not by the consent [non ex consensu] of the Church, irreformable”).²² While some eminent Catholics of the time, such as the great German church historian Ignaz von Döllinger, simply could not reconcile the new dogmas with their conciliarist past,²³ most of those bishops who entered the council with reservations (even grave ones) were able to reconcile the proclamations with their sensus fidei. In fact, a number of those bishops in the “minority” were actually relieved by a definition which, while in desperate need of balancing (attempted nearly a century later by Lumen gentium) was not in fact the extreme definition the minority feared.

And the minority's fears of such an extreme definition were definitely justified. While the great majority of ultramontanes would almost certainly have stopped short of the kind of fanatical statements made by figures like W.G. Ward (who famously wrote, “I should like a new Papal Bull every morning with my Times at breakfast”) there was a very valid fear of a definition that would sweepingly place all or most papal teaching into the realm of the ex cathedra and infallible.²⁴ In the era and the papacy of the Syllabus of Errors (1864), we should recall that such a definition would have not just theoretical future consequences, but a great deal of political and theological consequences in the contemporary day. We should also recall that the embarrassing story of Pius IX shouting “I am Tradition!” during an argument with Cardinal Guidi, General of the Dominican Order, is now generally accepted to be historical.²⁵

In successfully promulgating the dogma of papal infallibility, the ultramontane majority certainly won the day at Vatican I. However, there was an important neo‐Gallican rearguard action fought that was also successful, and allowed the great majority of those who entered the council as anti‐infallibilists to reconcile themselves to the definition and thus stay in communion with the rest of the Church. This includes names as eminent as Lord Acton, Bishop Ketteler of Mainz, Archbishop Darboy of Paris, Henri Maret, Montalembert, Dupanloup, and of course Newman himself. Margaret O'Gara, in her aptly‐titled work Triumph in Defeat (1988), details the different kinds of anti‐infallibilism with special focus on the French episcopacy, the most important bloc of minority dissent at the council.²⁶ Some simply believed such a definition was untimely, like Newman. Others believed papal infallibility, at least as proposed, could not be defined. And a third group believed the dogma was actually not true.²⁷ These three strands of opposition, however, were well‐organized in their opposition and the majority ultramontane perspective had to take them into account.

While some of the tactics for dealing with the minority were unseemly, such as the treatment of the bishop of St. Augustine, Florida during his rather blunt speech against papal infallibility,²⁸ the minority was too persistent to simply be ignored altogether. After the debate was finished and the votes were cast, the great majority of the minority, although some of them were scandalized, could rest assured that the infallibility that was in fact promulgated was not the separate, personal, and absolute²⁹ infallibility that they had feared (and that some ultramontanes had hoped for). In fact, however in need of balancing or interpretation Pastor aeternus was, it did retain the innately ecclesial sense of infallibility, that is, that infallibility is first and foremost a gift to the Church.³⁰ This is illustrated in the ironic fact that the maximalist view of papal infallibility preached by Cardinal Manning, who swore an oath at the tomb of St. Peter to not rest until papal infallibility was defined, was much less well supported by the actual text of Pastor aeternus than that of the hesitant Newman.³¹

Francis Oakley sees the only surviving “ghost” of the ecclesiological battles that raged from 1300 to 1870 to be the “confident” ghost of Bellarmine.³² While in some sense that is no doubt true, it is a Bellarmine that has had to offer very generous terms of surrender to the ghost of Gallicanism. Thus, in their rear‐guard action, this last stand of Gallicanism was in fact very fruitful. Yves Congar even saw these minority bishops as the “vanguard of Vatican II.”³³ After intense dispute and discord, sometimes marked, unfortunately, by unseemly tactics, the Church was gifted with a strong affirmation of papal prerogative and Petrine authority. While in serious need of balancing and careful interpretation, the ultimately moderate definition does not destroy the harmony and unity of the Church, and can even aid it.

The Minority at Vatican II: A Source for Positive Reflection?

I conclude by tentatively suggesting theologians should look for ways in which the minority at Vatican II could serve future generations of Catholics in unforeseen ways, just as I have argued that a tiny minority at Trent and a much larger, well organized minority at Vatican I served the Church by protecting the sensus fidei when a majority risked obscuring it. It is not that the Vatican II minority definitely did preserve the Church from such an obscuration, only that it is possible and that theologians and church historians should be open to discovering this possibility, which may only become apparent in years to come.³⁴

At Vatican II, the minority was a bloc of council fathers who tended to vote against drafts of texts backed by a majority that was, in some instances, intent upon challenging the ecclesial status quo. One prominent group of minority fathers was very well‐organized (and, in the opinion of some commentators, somewhat devious), namely: the Coetus Internationalis Patrum, which included notable figures like Cardinals Ottaviani, Siri, and Ruffini, and Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre. The minority notably opposed certain innovative elements of documents including Nostra aetate, Lumen gentium (fighting especially hard during the debate over chapter 3 on the hierarchical structure of the Church and the doctrine of episcopal collegiality), and most of all Dignitatus humanae, which evinced doctrinal development perhaps the most clearly (or even starkly) of any Vatican II document.

Just as the conciliar majority included such disparate characters as Hans Küng and Karol Wojtyla, Cardinal König and Joseph Ratzinger, so we must resist the temptation to view the minority as always in lockstep with one another or always holding positions that would be erroneously and negatively stereotyped as reactionary. For example, Cardinal Ottaviani, who with his episcopal motto semper idem [“always the same”] perhaps more than anyone epitomized opposition to the conciliar majority and to innovation, was appalled that bishops like the Americans and Germans (the same bishops who were so “progressive” on religious liberty) would not unequivocally condemn nuclear weapons.³⁵

Perhaps the most critical take‐away, to my mind, is the following: most theologians now insist on a very careful, contextual reading of Trent (for example, in order to allow for as much ecumenical rapprochement as possible) rather than, at least on certain matters, appealing to the “spirit” of Trent (which was decidedly un‐ecumenical, at least in the modern sense of the word). Likewise, most theologians insist on a very careful framing of Pastor aeternus and the dogma of papal infallibility to avoid insinuations of papal despotism or “creeping infallibility,” rather than embracing the nineteenth‐century ultramontanist spirit, which is now almost universally recognized to have pitfalls. So, it seems to me, we must also be open to the possibility (perhaps even the probability) that future generations of Catholics will recognize the exaggerations and missteps of our generation, the Vatican II and postconciliar period. In doing so, they may rightly look directly to the text of Vatican II, and identify areas in which the minority, through dissent and disagreement, helped the bishops promulgate better documents.