Walls, Rules, and Freedom
Why we need the creeds
“Catholic doctrine and discipline may be walls; but they are the walls of a playground.” If, like me, you are not Roman Catholic, it might make you feel better to know that G.K. Chesterton was not either at the time he wrote these words in his 1908 book Orthodoxy. It was not lost on him that the terms “catholic” and “orthodoxy” could also be taken to refer to a specific church. But this view of doctrine is fascinating, especially having grown up evangelical, where creeds and confessions are rare or nonexistent. Chesterton expounds upon this point:
“We might fancy some children playing on the flat grassy top of some tall island in the sea. So long as there was a wall round the cliff’s edge they could fling themselves into every frantic game and make the place the noisiest of nurseries. But the walls were knocked down, leaving the naked peril of the precipice. They did not fall over; but when their friends returned to them they were all huddled in terror in the centre of the island; and their song had ceased.”
What Chesterton is saying is that without the doctrine of creed, without the discipline of confession, life cannot be lived abundantly, as Christ meant for us to do. By destroying the rules, you destroy the game. A football field with no bounds, yard markers, goalposts, or penalties would lead to either a very boring or very deadly game. The only options left are apathy or anarchy. Professor Peter Kreeft of Boston College has shared a demonstration he likes to perform with his students. He asks a random student if he or she is willing to participate in a game with him, to illustrate a point to the class. The student readily agrees to help, and Kreeft responds with, “You go first,” or “Your turn,” or something to that effect. Of course, the student always asks, “What game are we playing?”
The point Kreeft makes with this exercise is that the student cannot start the game without knowing the rules and limitations. It is essential to know what pieces you have, what moves you can or cannot make, and what the objective is. Otherwise you cannot do anything (or you can do anything, but without any meaning). It is rather like playing make believe with a five year old boy. He comes at you with a sword, so you put up a shield. Then he decides that his sword can cut through any shield. Because he cannot confine his imagination to the limits of logic, the imaginary game immediately comes to an end. This is the first lesson a child has to learn to play with others. If you will not play by the rules, then you will play alone–which is an apt description of hell.
As a father, I know there is no greater joy than playing, carefree and silly, with my child.
But she can only be carefree because of my protection. If I were suddenly removed from the equation, she would be terrified. Children who have suffered abuse do not fully commit to their play; they watch the behavior of others nervously. Only a secure and loved child can play wholeheartedly–which is an apt description of heaven. Why should our Father in heaven not desire the same for us? Why would he not build the firm walls of doctrine around the house of his church, and put a clear fence around the bounds of his land–not to trap the children in, but to keep heresy out. Within his walls, we know we are safe. Within his wide fences, we can explore and play freely, and his lands are wide enough for many adventures.
As a side note, I think this is exactly what all Christian theology or art is doing. In fact, I do not think there is much difference between Christian theology and Christian art. Both seem to be an exploration of God’s wide lands; the main difference is whether the account of the adventure reads as a fairy tale or a lab report. Within the guidelines of our doctrines, we can freely speculate upon our faith, or even stretch it to its limits. Remember that the early church did not attempt to define what God is, but rather what He is not. There are certain things we cannot say, certain parts of the land to which we must not go–but other than that, we are free to question and imagine everything about God.
Our modern world has confused what freedom really is. The idea of liberty has come to mean the total lack of restrictions, a freedom from any standard or ideal. Rather than the freedom to choose which opportunities to pursue or which standards adhere to, it has come to mean choosing your own outcome, and ignoring any standards. Just like in a game, when you break down all the rules, the game itself is destroyed. When you can choose anything you want, the choice itself becomes pointless.
To apply this to Christianity, the branches of the faith which uphold the ancient creeds are the ones who still have Christian liberty. “The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it.” The Puritans would have outlawed the earth, and everything in it, if they could have. A Baptist may turn up his nose at the idea of religious dancing, much as the daughter of Saul did at David’s celebration around the Ark. Pentecostals abstain from alcohol, but Christ himself made delectable wine at the wedding in Cana. As Chesterton sees it, the evangelicals have broken down the wall on the island, and they are huddled, scared, in the middle. But, safe within the fence of the creed, other Christian traditions are free to frolic and play, to dance and sing, and to hold–well, a garden party. The Catholics drink wine, the Lutherans have beer, and the Greek Orthodox pour ouzo. It’s a shame they don’t drink together.
Our Western world is split into three general groups; those that maintain both the ideal and the guidelines (orthodox Christians), those who acknowledge neither (secularists), and those who acknowledge one without the other. I think this is what has happened to some branches of Christianity. They continue to praise God, but they confess no creed but Christ and no doctrine but the Bible. So, for fear of stepping outside His bounds, they limit their own freedoms–and their own joys. The object of the game is still there, but you are hardly allowed to make any moves to pursue it. They are essentially caught between the two competing understandings of how freedom really works.
This is why we need the creeds. There is a comfort in knowing your limits–for you will certainly have limits, whether you know them or not. The creeds give limits to the church, and therefore they also give her freedom.