There are people or institutions we follow on the assumption that doing so will help us get more beliefs right. We call these people or institutions epistemic (from episteme, meaning knowledge—epistemic refers to belief formation). In fact, we rely on epistemic authorities all the time—especially in science and medicine, but also in far more mundane situations, like hiring a trail guide for a hike.
Our powers of reasoning and private judgment are often sufficient to recognize when an epistemic authority is needed, and to identify who or what that authority might be. However, although our rational faculties might be perfectly capable of identifying an epistemic authority, they are usually not adequate to replace one.
This is obvious in cases like medicine, where a certain level of expertise is required to navigate complex conceptual terrain. We can recognize that we lack the expertise, that an epistemic authority is needed, and we can often discern such an authority (namely, a doctor). But it would be foolish to think that because we can identify a medical expert, we’re also qualified to “figure it out on our own” or just “do our own research.” In some situations, it really is unreasonable and even irresponsible to bypass an epistemic authority and try to work things out as a fallible, non-expert individual.
Now, what about religion—specifically Christianity? Here, too, there are good reasons to expect epistemic authority—that one would be required and, indeed, provided. If God reveals propositional truths—that is, specific claims or statements meant to be understood and affirmed as true—then he should also provide a reliable means of transmitting and interpreting and preserving them. And not just any authority, but one capable of teaching without error on matters essential to salvation. In other words, there are good reasons to expect something like a living, infallible Magisterium—and that is precisely what the Catholic Church claims to possess.
Let us consider some “epistemic challenges” for the Catholic Church to overcome.
If God is going to reveal something, then for that revelation to be useful and accessible to the people it’s revealed to, it would have to be delivered in the language and customs of that culture. However, times change—cultures, attitudes, and languages evolve—so as revelation is passed down, it must be properly interpreted. Otherwise, propositional revelation will become increasingly confusing or even outright unintelligible.
Thus, an authority capable of preserving, transmitting, and interpreting that revelation wouldn’t just be helpful; it would be almost certainly necessary if successful transmission is to occur. Surely this is something God would want—and something all Christians agree that God did want.
It is clear that God was not so worried about “being interpreted properly” that he gave us some highly technical, logically rigorous version of revelation. In other words, Scripture is not a philosophical treatise in the style of analytic metaphysics. God didn’t say, “I possess maximal power constrained only by logical possibility and the coherence of my essential attributes.” He said, “Nothing is impossible with God.”
This is a tame and easy example. Many other passages are far more obscure to a modern audience because they are so deeply embedded in the assumptions of a culture long since past. Think, for instance, of Jesus’ words at the Last Supper—”This is my blood of the covenant” (Matt. 26:28)—which to a first-century Jew would immediately recall the blood sacrifices of Exodus 24, but which a modern reader could easily miss entirely. Or his parable of the wedding feast (Matt. 22:1–14), which is suffused with prophetic allusions to Israel’s covenant history yet can sound to modern ears like little more than a quirky banquet story.
The simple point is this: No degree of rigor would ever fully prevent the problem of obscurity for future generations. A far better—and perhaps the only really feasible—approach to divine revelation is to deliver it in the language most accessible to the people at the time . . . and then, as we’ll see, provide an epistemic authority to ensure its successful transmission and interpretation across changing contexts.
What we received, in other words, was revelation heavily clothed in the culture it was delivered in—and because of just this, we have strong reason to think that interpretive authority must accompany such revelation. We have reason to expect, in other words, a religious epistemic authority. Moreover, we know that Christ left disciples—representatives—who functioned in this role (not only this, but surely this) and who were able to teach on Christ’s behalf and explain what God’s revelation truly means. This epistemic authority was not confined to a single individual, but was embodied in an institution: a visible, hierarchical Church. And it makes sense that in any institution, you’d need a clear principle of unity—someone or something capable of settling disputes, not only doctrinal, but also juridical, as they arise. In that context, something like a chief executive—a head, if you will—makes a lot of sense.
What we have, then, are expectations—formed simply by reflecting on the kinds of mechanisms needed to ensure the effective transmission and interpretation of revelation—of something very much like the Catholic Magisterium and the papal office.
But why should this authority be infallible—that is, incapable of binding the entire Church to error on essential matters (faith and morals)? Simply, I think, for the reasons John Henry Newman articulated:
In proportion to the probability of true developments of doctrine and practice in the Divine Scheme, so too is the probability of the appointment in that scheme of an external authority to decide upon them, thereby separating them from the mass of mere human speculation, extravagance, corruption, and error, from which they grow. This is the doctrine of the infallibility of the Church.
If errors are allowed to creep into the deposit of faith as doctrine develops—and some level of development is inevitable, since all Christians are minimally committed to the idea that doctrine grows in clarity and articulation (think of the Trinity, Christology, etc.)—then those errors will eventually compound. And if they compound unchecked, the Church will no longer be generally reliable, and the content of revelation will become, for all practical purposes, useless—so riddled with distortion and falsehood that there will be no point in providing such revelation at all.
And so we have very good a priori reasons to expect that, given the logic of revelation, God would establish not only an epistemic authority, but an infallible one. Notice that the scope of this authority is restricted—we shouldn’t expect people in the Church to be right about everything (especially in matters outside of faith and morals), nor should we expect them all to be saints (clearly false). Rather, we should expect that God would provide a mechanism to ensure that the revelation he gives does not become corrupted or lost. It is a protective measure—and ultimately, a gift—for the Church, the body of Christ as a whole—not just for the pope, or the college of cardinals, or any individual officeholder.
In other words, God gives us the authority of the Catholic Magisterium so that we are never put in the impossible position of having to choose between heresy and schism. And if you think it would be most unreasonable for God to do that—to offer revelation without any safeguard against its distortion—then you already have good reason to believe that God would establish such an infallible authority.
The Protestant paradigm offers no living, infallible epistemic authority. Just sola scriptura. And no book interprets itself. So inevitably, the final arbiter is the individual—and nothing beyond himself. But that individual is—according to his own paradigm—no less fallible than the many Christians throughout history he believes got these matters wrong. For any intellectually honest or responsible individual, this ought to inspire skepticism—a lot of skepticism—about how they could possibly know that their doctrines are true, that their interpretations are correct, and that they have the right canon of Scripture. Within their own paradigm, they really shouldn’t feel confident about any of it!
It’s really not difficult to see why an authority of the sort described here is required for propositional revelation. Nor is it difficult to discern what Church that might be, since, really, the Catholic Church is the only candidate with a tenable claim to historical continuity while also meeting the a priori expectations of an authoritative magisterium. It meets the expectations, and it has the history to back it up. There are no other serious contenders.