Voluntary Works besides, over and above, God’s Commandments, which they call Works of Supererogation, cannot be taught without arrogancy and impiety: for by them men do declare, that they do not only render unto God as much as they are bound to do, but that they do more for his sake, than of bounden duty is required: whereas Christ saith plainly When ye have done all that are commanded to you, say, We are unprofitable servants.
by J. Brandon Meeks
Article XIV is the last in a series on the subject of Good Works. Whereas Article XIII teaches us that those works “done before the grace of Christ, and the inspiration of His Spirit, are not pleasant to God” since they do not find their source in faith in Christ, Article XIV goes further in limiting the meritorious value of works performed in true and living faith. As such, this Article is a trenchant denial of the Roman Catholic Dogma which serves as the logical basis for indulgences, penance, purgatory, and all other accretions related to the supposed “Treasury of Merit.” With prophetic verve, the Anglican Divines abominated the concept of supererogation, maintaining that such ideas could not be taught “without arrogancy and impiety.”
Defining “Works of Supererogation”
What, then, is meant by the anathematized term? The term derives from the Latin, rogare, which meant “to propose a law.” Erogare meant to propose a law dealing with money matters, or with things which pertained to the treasury. From this came supererogare, which meant “to pay out more than was necessary.” For the purposes of Roman Dogma, this became supererogatio, which was understood to mean doing more than that which God required.
The ecclesiastical usage likely comes from a particular interpretation (and translation) of the story of the Good Samaritan in the Latin Vulgate. In that parable, the Samaritan says to the innkeeper, “Whatsoever thou spendest more when I come again, I will repay thee” (Luke 10:35 KJV). The Vulgate renders the phrase,“spendest more,” as quodcumque supererogaveris. This is the probable root from which the bitter fruit of supererogation sprang; namely, that it is possible to go beyond the requirements of revealed law, and render unto God more than He has required of men.
The Doctrine in History
Though we find little of the dogma in its fully developed form until the thirteenth century, it appears to have been cobbled together from concepts and conflicts which arose over the course of a thousand years. During the Decian Persecution in the third century, there were numerous examples of martyrdom, and countless other examples of apostasy as men’s hearts failed them for fear. When confronted with the choice between Christianity and the Colosseum, many believers suffered a lapse of faith. When the immediate threat of death subsided, many of these deserters sought refuge again in the arms of Mother Church. The problem, though, was that they were subject to penitential discipline—if they were to be readmitted to the Communion at all. Some, hoping to escape paying the price yet again, sought help from perspective martyrs to intercede to the Church on their behalf. These mediators were perceived as being superabundantly holy on account of their willingness to die for the Faith, and “Letters of Peace” were granted to those for whom they interceded which allowed the fallen to be taken up into the bosom of the Church without penalty.
Since these were taken as the basis by which confessors could grant remission of ecclesiastical penance, the “Letters of Peace” issued at the behest of would-be martyrs may be viewed as the first form of indulgences. The “Letters” set a dangerous precedent which would be used for nefarious purposes in the years to come. Though charity demands that we stop short of attaching blame to these early practices for every later corruption, a tree is known by the fruit which it bears.
In addition to an overvaluation of the inherent righteousness of martyrs, there arose an undervaluation of the holy estate of matrimony. There sprang up within the Church of the sixth century a fascination with virginity. By taking a line from Saint Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, “Now concerning virgins I have no commandment of the Lord, yet I give my judgment…” theologians deduced a distinction between “commandments” and “judgments.” That is, between that which was necessary and that which was advisable. This ultimately led to the formation of discrete categories of ordinary and extraordinary; necessary and voluntary. Since some acts were deemed voluntary, yet unnecessary—even if advisable—the latter became known as the “Counsels of Perfection.” From this came the idea that those voluntary actions accrued a special value in the economy of God, thus meriting a form of spiritual credit laid up in Heaven’s Treasury.
Again, in deference to charity, we must note that the original meaning of the “Counsels” referred simply to those actions which were undertaken in the service of God concerning which no positive precept of obedience was explicitly given. Among those who given preeminence were martyrs, confessors, and anyone choosing a life of celibacy. Yet, it was upon this foundation that later churchmen would erect the twin pillars of merit and indulgences which support the burden of Tridentine Dogma. Wisdom has built her house, she has hewn out seven pillars; yet it appears that Folly is satisfied with two brittle posts.
As was mentioned earlier, it was around the thirteenth century that the doctrine of supererogation was officially sanctioned as teaching by the Church of Rome. The various abstractions which served as the underbelly of the dogma were reified by Alexander of Hales, and then later codified by Albert Magnus, under the title thesaurus perfectorum supererogationis. According to Magnus’ opus, the Pope—since he possessed the keys to the kingdom—could set aside temporal penalties here and purgatorial punishments hereafter.
But it was Thomas Aquinas who most fully dignified the proposal. According to Saint Thomas, the Church has many members who have supererogated beyond the measure of their debts, and by virtue of the mystical unity of the Body of Christ those merits are transferable to others, whether they be living or suffering in purgatory. Furthermore, the Bishop of Rome has the contents of the Treasury at his disposal, and may distribute the gathered fruit of the Church’s good works withersoever he will.
It is easy to see how such beliefs led to practices that were fraught with abuses, shrouded in scandals, and laden with superstitions. Thus, it should come as no surprise to us that these aberrant doctrines became fodder for the wild boar that tore through the tangled mess which was the papal vineyard. Unfortunately, despite her many concessions to the Reformers and their heirs, the Roman Church still has this counterfeit concept of merit on the books.
The Doctrine: Tried and Found Wanting
In seeking to hold fast the form of sound words and cleave to that which was good, the English Church tested the teaching of Rome against the pattern of doctrine laid out in Holy Scripture. The end result constituted the wholesale rejection of the supposed “works of supererogation.” Being reasonable men, but mortal men still, the divines who labored to give us a faithful confessional expression of the Christian Faith were repulsed by the idea of a crass, monetary principle trespassing upon the domain of grace. That men did not think that they owed God as much as they actually did was bad enough, but to go as far as to suggest that He was in their debt was beyond the bounds of sanity. For Anglicans, such high-mindedness was nothing short of brazen arrogance and godless impiety. Their response was to issue a statement which would deny any principle they feared threatened the saving efficacy of Christ’s redemptive and mediatorial work. The fear of the Lord was the beginning of their confessional wisdom; thus, Article XIV was a natural end.
This Article makes its assault on several fronts at once. First, by condemning the exaggerated notion of the sanctity of finite creatures. Second, by excoriating those who would diminish the elusive (and exclusive) sanctity of the Holy One of Israel. Third, by criticizing those who would strip the law of its unbearable weight. Fourth, by reminding those who would esteem themselves more highly than they ought of the humbling words of our Incarnate Lord.
The Roman Dogma presupposes that men have the ability (albeit by grace perfecting nature) to attain to a status of total conformity to the moral integrity of God. This is no mean feat! This suggests that the Holy One enjoys no unique place with regards to His holy estate. It is to darken the brilliance of the Light Unapproachable; it is to snuff out the heat of the All-Consuming Fire; it is to join Lucifer on his fool’s quest to usurp the alabaster throne of the Most High God! To say that mortal man can, by his labors or devotion, ascend to the lofty heights of the perfection required of God is the quintessence of human depravity. It is the primum mendacium; the chief cornerstone of the Devil’s Dogma—that by striving, “you shall be as gods” (Genesis 3:5).
The Scriptures uniformly exclude such attempts at boasting (Romans 3:27). They testify to humanity’s frailty and spiritual incompetency. Rather than that which grounds human pride, the law stands as the inviolable and inflexible standard which shatters proud imaginations. The law doesn’t give rise to lips that sing their own praises; indeed not! When the law comes, every mouth is shut up, and the whole world owns its universal guilt before its singularly Holy Lord (Romans 3:19). The law isn’t offered as some ladder whereby sinful creatures may climb to the gates of Heaven. On the contrary, the law comes as a hard disciplinarian which illuminates the utter futility of human effort, and drives us to the feet of a sinless Christ (Galatians 3:24). Whereas Rome says that through diligent effort men may exceed the righteousness which the law demands, Saint Paul condemns such haughtiness, declaring “by the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in His sight” (Romans 3:20).
The Wanting: Found and Freely Favored
God calls us to perfection—absolute, total, complete perfection. This He does to expose our neediness. The demands of the law were intended to empty our hands of self-sufficiency so that they may be filled with the gift of God. The gift is free and unmerited. It is an unspeakable gift—God gives God. Whereas the Serpent spins gilded lies of demigods and immortality; the gospel of free and sovereign grace offers us the prospect of sharing in God’s own abundant life.
One will find here no hint of spiritual remuneration! For does man possess that he did not receive at the hand of God? All that we could possibly do by way of obedience—whether such actions are construed as voluntary or otherwise—is owed to the One who fills our lungs with breath and gives strength to our feeble hands. All things come from Him; thus, it is from His own that we give back to Him (1 Chronicles 29:14). Or as Saint Paul says, who has so given to the Lord that something should be repaid to him in kind? For of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things. To Him be glory forever and ever (Romans 11:35-36).
What is there, then, “that bounden duty” does not require? After we have done all, says the Master of the House, we are but unprofitable servants (Luke 17:10). Truly, it is only of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed (Lamentations 2:22). Surely those do not come to us through toil and labor! No, we wake up to a fresh batch of mercies every morning, as though they rained down like manna at midnight (Lamentations 2:23).
Though we are ineligible to receive requital for service owed to our Maker, a better bargain was struck in the living heart of God. He does not ask us to pawn our filthy rags of righteousness in hopes of some dismal payout. Instead, He calls us—empty, hungry, thirsty, destitute—to come and buy wine and milk without money and without price (Isaiah 55:1). He then takes us—naked and ashamed—into His own wardrobe, and chooses from His own fine robes those suitable for beloved sons and regal heirs.
Thus, salvation is not a reward for the righteous, it is a gift for the guilty. If it is the wages that are owed to us that we desire, then we must be paid in the currency of death (Romans 6:23). However, if we truly come to understand our unworthiness, then we may finally find that Lone Worthy Figure who was left standing after Heaven’s own celestial search, and then we may add our own voices to that unending cosmic chorus: “Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing” (Revelation 5:12).
Grant us, O Lord, to trust in you with all our hearts; for, as you always resist the proud who confide in their own strength, so you never forsake those who make their boast of your mercy; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer)
J. Brandon Meeks (Ph.D., University of Aberdeen) is an Anglican theologian who resides in his native state of Arkansas. In addition to constructing poor prose, he also dabbles in bad poetry. He is the author of God, the Universe, and Everything Else. You can also find his (ir)regular writings at www.highchurchpuritan.wordpress.com.