They may not have been parallell covenantal authorities or alternative centers of governance, nor competing mediations of communal order, but they certainly were, as far as I know, “distinct modes or agents of Yahweh’s activity”.
In other words, they were divine ways that God articulated His presence and action.
Excuse me? “Automatic”? I agree; the move from "distinct modes or agents of Yahweh’s activity” to "plurality of ecclesial authority structures: was not, AFIK, and never will be automatic.
That raises a practical question: is there really no alternative for herding cats? In other words, must visible coherence necessarily take the form of a single centralized authority, or could unity also be sustained through shared confession, sacramental communion, and conciliar recognition among multiple centers?
Yes, Hokmah, the Word, and the Shekhinah were differentiated expressions of the one God’s activity, not rival authorities. And I agree that these forms of divine mediation did not generate parallel governance structures within Israel.
Where I wonder is at the step you’re now raising: whether covenantal unity requires a “visible principle of coherence.” Most Christian traditions would agree that some form of visible coherence is necessary.
But that still leaves an open question about what form that coherence must take. Does it require a single centralized reference point, or could it also be sustained through shared confession, sacramental communion, and conciliar recognition among multiple centers?
In other words, the alternative to a single apex authority may not need to be fragmentation or “herding cats.” Historically there have been models of communion that are structured, visible, and coherent without being strictly monocentric.
Yeah, sorry, this was an incorrect “italianization”. By “automatic” I meant logically entailed. In short: the existence of differentiated divine agency does not logically necessarily entail pluralized structures of covenantal governance.
I certainly agree that visible coherence does not necessarily have to take the form of maximal centralization, the real issue, though, is not whether such a model can function in times of relative harmony. It is whether it can remain stable in moments of deep doctrinal rupture.
Shared confession presupposes agreement, but what adjudicates when confession itself is disputed? Sacramental communion presupposes unity, but what restores communion once broken? Conciliar recognition presupposes reception, but who determines whether a contested council has truly spoken for the whole Church?
In other words, plurality of centers can sustain unity when there is consensus. The structural problem emerges precisely when consensus collapses. At that point, either unity dissolves into fragmentation, or some identifiable principle of final coherence becomes necessary. That is why the historical question of primacy arises, not as a power grab, but as a response to crisis.
Structured, visible, and coherent models of communion have historically existed without strict monocentrism, the real problem is how such a model adjudicates serious doctrinal rupture.
This is not merely a Catholic concern. It has been recognized across confessional lines. John Henry Newman, in An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine (1878 ed., pp. 148–151), argues that the test of authentic development is precisely the capacity of a structure to preserve identity amid controversy. The issue is not ordinary governance, but crisis resolution.
Similarly, Yves Congar acknowledges in Tradition and Traditions (1966 English ed., pp. 332–340) that councils function effectively only when there exists a principle capable of determining their ecumenicity. Reception alone, he notes, cannot function as a circular criterion (a council is ecumenical because it is received; it is received because it is ecumenical).
Even Orthodox theologians recognize this structural tension. For example John Meyendorff, in Byzantine Theology (1974, pp. 97–102), discusses the conciliar model of the East and admits that its strength lies in consensus, but that consensus itself requires a mechanism of recognition when contested.
Alexander Schmemann, who is also orthodox, in The Primacy of Peter (1963, pp. 25–28), concedes that primacy in some form is intrinsic to episcopal communion, even if its juridical articulation is debated.
The problem, therefore, is not monocentrism versus polycentrism, the real crux of the matter is adjudication, because as I said shared confession works when agreement exists about its meaning; sacramental communion works while communion remains intact; conciliar recognition works when councils are universally received.
But what determines whether a contested council is truly ecumenical?
Francis Dvornik, in Byzantium and the Roman Primacy (1966, pp. 72–90), shows that even in the first millennium, appeals to Rome functioned as a stabilizing reference point in moments of doctrinal crisis, not as administrative domination, but as a court of final appeal.
Joseph Ratzinger, in Called to Communion (1996 English ed., pp. 70–83), frames the issue not as power concentration but as the need for a “personal principle of unity” within a sacramental communion that cannot tolerate indefinite doctrinal indeterminacy.
This brings us to the heart of the matter: a polycentric model can function ( and function beautifully ) so long as consensus holds. The structural question emerges precisely when consensus collapses.
At that point, is unity restored by negotiation? By majority? By reception? Or is there a determinable instance capable of rendering a binding resolution? That is not a rhetorical question, it is an ecclesiological one, as as historical emergence of primatial function can be interpreted not as an inevitable endpoint, but as a response to precisely this structural need: a visible principle capable of restoring communion when communion fractures.
So the debate is not whether alternative models are imaginable, because they absolutely are, the crux of the matter is whether those models possess, intrinsically, a principle capable of resolving deep doctrinal rupture without either fragmentation or indefinite suspension.
I think that’s a fair clarification. My argument was not intended to show that centralized authority lacks any theological rationale, only that it should not be treated as historically inevitable.
Where the question seems to arise is in your phrase “a theological instinct intrinsic to covenantal life.” Covenant communities clearly develop visible structures of coherence. But it is not obvious that such coherence must take the form of a single centralized authority rather than a communion of mutually recognized communities.
In other words, visible unity and monocentric authority are not necessarily identical.
Great! At the rate that you’re allowing me to respond, I should get through your first post in a week, through your second post in at least another week; through your link to your work on the Eucharist in another week after that. Perhaps by May, I may have caught up with all your posts, assuming that you don’t post any more after your latest.
It does not logically have to, but history and theology suggest that in moments of crisis, covenantal embodiment gravitates toward a personal principle of unity.
If so, that’s a historical pattern argument, not a logical proof.
That phrase is doing a lot of work. So the unity of the community becomes anchored in a person, not merely in structures or doctrines.
Even if your historical observation is correct, it still does not prove:
that such a principle must be singular
that it must be permanent
that it must be Roman
For example:
early Christianity often looked to councils in crises
the Eastern churches emphasize conciliar unity
multiple patriarchates historically existed
So the historical pattern is more complex than your summary suggests.
If I understand you correctly, you’re suggesting that in moments of crisis covenant communities often gravitate toward a personal embodiment of unity. That may well occur in some historical circumstances. But it seems equally true that communities have also turned to conciliar processes or shared confession to resolve crises. In other words, the instinct toward visible coherence does not necessarily resolve itself into a single personal center; it can also manifest through structures of mutual recognition and deliberation. So the historical question might be less about whether unity becomes visible and more about the different ways communities have embodied that visibility.
And sometimes, precisely in the absence or failure of ecclesiastical structures, particular individuals become active and decisive. But that would seem to show the recurring importance of embodied personal leadership in times of crisis, not necessarily the theological necessity of a single permanent centralized authority.
