That the distinctively ‘Protestant’ understanding of biblical authority can be grasped only by seeing it against its medieval background, may appear to be a truism. But the affirmation is necessary, if for no other reason, at least because the relationship of Protestantism to Catholicism has too often been interpreted as one of simple opposition in every respect. In part, however, the Reformers' understanding of biblical authority arises directly out of scholasticism, not by conscious opposition, but by unquestioning acceptance. The differentia of Protestantism cannot be defined simply by appeal to the so-called ‘formal’ and ‘material’ principles, unless the twin principles be themselves carefully defined. There was nothing new in the mere fact that the Reformers resorted to the Bible for verification of their theological convictions, nor even in their affirmation of the necessity of grace for salvation. The medieval Church had a rigorous doctrine of biblical inspiration, and it found grace as indispensable for justification as did the Reformers themselves.

No doubt the earliest disciples took their view of inspiration and authority from Judaism. To begin with, their Scriptures were the Jewish Scriptures, and they themselves were all Jews. But it was natural enough that the Jewish doctrine of ‘verbal inspiration’ should persist even after the Church had become predominantly Gentile. The authority of Scripture is made to rest upon a theory of inspiration: the words of Scripture are binding because, in the last analysis, they are the Words of God.

The following is intended as a contribution to the current J. demythologising controversy. I hope it will either bring some clarification or else add profitably to the prevailing confusion.

I write as a man of faith to men of faith. That is to say, I am not here concerned with whether the Christian faith is true or how much of it ‘we can accept’. That is a question which must be discussed in quite another way and in quite another context. I shall assume that we accept it in the same way as Carlyle accepted the universe, only more so, for Christ is Lord of the Universe. I am concerned rather with the way in which the symbols in which we express our belief behave.

‘Shall two walk together except they be agreed?‘ may well been a widespread question asked on both sides of the Border when the appointment of a joint Committee of Representatives, nominated respectively by the Archbishop of Canterbury and by the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, to consider means of establishing closer relations between the Anglican and Presbyterian Churches was announced. The Report entitled ‘Relations between Anglican and Presbyterian Churches’ offers a provisional answer to this question, by affording evidence of a surprising degree of mutual rapprochement and by setting forth the bases for further action. Perhaps this measure of agreement is more surprising than ought to have been the case; for the history of the two national, established Churches of England and Scotland indicates how near they have been to each other in polity in the past; and how fortuitous were the circumstances which drove them apart. ‘This is the ideal which springs to light in the last months of 1558’ wrote F. W. Maitland of the relationship of the two nations at the accession of Elizabeth I, ‘deliverance from the toils of foreign potentates; amity between two sister nations; union in a pure religion.’ A Scottish contemporary, William Maitland indeed wrote to William Cecil in England, that ‘earnest embracing of religion will join us straitly together’. It was a consummation then devoutly to be wished; and no less still to be desired in the reign of Elizabeth II after the lapse of four centuries.

There are many idealists who have no conviction of sin. They are not immoral; indeed they are quite aware of the difference between good and evil, and in certain cases they are anxious to do what is good in their own lives, and in national and community life. They are conscious also of faults both in themselves and in their surroundings, and certainly do not think that everything is perfect. They lack, however, conviction of sin. They interpret the faults which they see as imperfections which are to be explained by the fact that the ideal or the good can be only partly achieved because of circumstances. They have no sense of guilt. Rather than speak of human sin, they speak of human frailty and of the recalcitrance which exists in human nature and which prevents more than the partial realisation of the ideal.

Theological discussions are not infrequently stultified because terms used in them are interpreted in different senses by the parties involved. This paper is offered as an attempt to clarify one such ambiguous term, that of priesthood, by an examination of the relevant New Testament passages. We must obviously begin with the priesthood of our Lord and much of our discussion of this point will centre upon the Epistle to the Hebrews, the only NT book which calls our Lord a priest. Here a preliminary warning is necessary against the danger of assuming that when you know what a thing means in the Old Testament you also know its meaning in the New Testament. It is quite true, of course, that you cannot know the latter without discovering the former, but that does not mean it is the same as the latter. Moberly has expressed the point well.