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The sincere Roman Catholic will no doubt bristle at our summary of Tradition in our previous post:

The pattern for Rome is this: “we already know this to be true, so there is no error in creating evidence to support it.” This is why I call ‘Tradition’ the historical revisionism that it clearly is.

It is nonetheless a true, and verifiable statement. John Henry Cardinal Newman, one of the most famous converts to Rome from the Church of England, was a prolific writer and, after his conversion, a staunch apologist for Rome. He provides one of the best examples in recent memory of an apologist who was committed to the circularity of Roman epistemology: “we already know this to be true, so there is no error in creating evidence to support it.” When commenting on A Legend of St. Gundleus, Newman not only allows for adding fictional dialogues to the gospel narrative—he insists that it is necessary. To confine the artist “to truth in the mere letter” would be to cramp his style.

In like manner, if we would meditate on any passage of the gospel history, we must insert details indefinitely many, in order to meditate at all; we must fancy motives, feelings, meanings, words, acts, as our connecting links between fact and fact as recorded. Hence holy men have before now put dialogues into the mouths of sacred persons, not wishing to intrude into things unknown, not thinking to deceive others into a belief of their own mental creations, but to impress upon themselves and upon their brethren, as by a seal or mark, the substantiveness and reality of what Scripture has adumbrated by one or two bold and severe lines. Ideas are one and simple; but they gain an entrance into our minds, and live within us, by being broken into detail.

Thus, placing words on the lips of Jesus, the apostles and other gospel characters is merely an aid to meditation on the “truth” already present in the passage. As was plain in our previous post, inserting dialogue in order to bring the narrative back to a “truth” already held by the expositor is precisely the purpose of the interpolation. The difference between the interpolation and the “truth in the mere letter” is the difference between “fact” and “fact as recorded,” Newman assures us. What harm is there in this? Newman acts as if there was no danger in this at all:

Who, for instance, can reasonably find fault with the Acts of St. Andrew, even though they be not authentic, for describing the Apostle as saying on sight of his cross, “Receive, O Cross, the disciple of Him who once hung on thee, my Master Christ”? For was not the Saint sure to make an exclamation at the sight, and must it not have been in substance such as this? And would much difference be found between his very words when translated, and these imagined words, if they be such, drawn from what is probable, and received upon rumours issuing from the time and place?

And when St. Agnes was brought into that horrible house of devils, are we not quite sure that angels were with her, even though we do not know any one of the details? What is there wanton then or superstitious in singing the Antiphon, “Agnes entered the place of shame, and found the Lord’s angel waiting for her,” even though the fact come to us on no authority?

And again, what matters it though the angel that accompanies us on our way be not called Raphael, if there be such a protecting spirit, who at God’s bidding does not despise the least of Christ’s flock in their journeyings? And what is it to me though heretics have mixed the true history of St. George with their own fables or impieties, if a Christian George, Saint and Martyr, there was, as we believe? (Emphasis added)

A clearer example of “we already know this to be true, so there is no error in creating evidence to support it,” can scarcely be imagined, yet Newman is among the chiefs of all Roman apologists in history. Of course, there is never any intent to deceive in these interpolations—there never is. The intent is only to bring the narrative back to the “truth” of Roman Catholic teachings that already exist in the mind of the expositor.

We object, of course, to the fabricated words of Jesus from the cross, “My Wounds are the sources of grace, but their streams, their currents, are spread abroad only by the channel of Mary.” We are at a loss to see how this “fact” can be superimposed on the “fact as recorded” in the Gospel accounts of the crucifixion.  We object strenuously to the fabricated words of Jesus, “No one can come to Me unless My Mother draws him to Me,” and again, we cannot see how these words can justifiably be interpolated into Jesus’ sermon in John 6.

Newman saw no problem accepting “facts” received on no authority at all, or “facts” based “upon rumours issuing from the time and place.” Yet it is precisely these rumors and “facts received on no authority” that led to much error among the followers of Christ, who, basing their pious beliefs “upon rumours issuing from the time and place” of Jesus’ last appearance in the Gospel of John, concluded that John would never die:

Then went this saying abroad among the brethren, that that disciple should not die: yet Jesus said not unto him, He shall not die; but, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? (John 21:23)

Who can honestly believe that there is no harm in rumors so long as they emanate from a time and place where truth was once known to exist? Or that there is no error in placing on Jesus’ lips words that He did not say? The Roman Catholic may be offended at the summary of his church’s epistemology—”we already know this to be true, so there is no error in creating evidence to support it”—but his disagreement is with Cardinal Newman, not with us.

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