Inerrant, Infallible and Other Absolutes of Limited Value

Some well-intentioned words and concepts create more problems than they solve. 

The first two words in this essay’s title—inerrant and infallible—fall into that category. I would argue that those words, at least when it comes to describing the Bible, do considerably more harm than good. They don’t enhance the Bible’s credibility as much as their defenders would like to believe. In fact, I would suggest, they actually diminish it.

Any time we use a word that’s so absolute that, when we use it, we find ourselves immediately backtracking and having to explain the exceptions to, and limitations of, our strongly worded assertion, we probably aren’t being well served by using that word. So the moment fundamentalist Christians use the word “inerrant” when referring to the Bible, they have little choice but to quickly add: “Well, at least the original ‘autographs’ were without error.” 

The term “autographs,” as used here, refers to the original manuscripts. The manuscript written by the book’s author himself. Of course, we don’t have any of those originals to study and compare. So there’s no way to prove or disprove that part of the inerrancy theory. Which is the reason that it’s only a theory.

We don’t know how smoothly the prose or poetry flowed in the original. We don’t know how clear or convoluted the sentences were. We don’t know if the writing was superior to all the other writing of that time and place. And we don’t know if the originals included retellings of the same story that included different facts in each version. And these are just a few of the things we don’t know.

When we use the words inerrant and infallible, it seems we’re seeking the impact and credibility that come from such absolute terms—but then immediately have to start explaining the conundrums that also come from such concepts. Nevertheless, inerrancy is considered a foundational doctrine—a pillar of the faith—by many fundamentalist Christians. 

Belief in the doctrine of inerrancy is a prerequisite to being viewed as a bona fide Christian. It’s a bellwether of Christian orthodoxy in some circles. And a person not believing in inerrancy quickly earns the label “heretic” or something equally damning and dismissive. 

Claiming inerrancy solely for the original autographs is tacit admission that all the ancient manuscript fragments we currently have—as well as the array of Bible translations that have been based on those manuscripts, are at  least to some degree error-prone. Yet wouldn’t God be just as capable of ensuring perfection in the copying process, and in the translating process, as in the original writing process? Why should inerrancy apply only to the original autographs?

The fact is, a lot of biblical-manuscript fragments have been found over the centuries, and they don’t all say the same thing in the exact same way. And in the absence of the autographs, we don’t know the degree to which any given copy is a reliable replica of the original. 

Those who employ the term infallible when referring to the Bible often emphasize another form of perfection. Their argument is that the scriptures provide an infallible picture of God, Jesus, the plan of salvation and divinity’s spiritual and behavioral expectations for human beings. But if the picture of such truths is so unambiguously presented in scripture, why is Christianity so fragmented? And why are the perceptions of the various fragment groupings so diverse in what they teach?

And why would Peter—himself inspired by God to write—suggest that Paul’s writings are hard to understand (2 Peter 3:16)? And why would there be so many seeming contradictions and discrepancies, which have kept theologians and laypersons alike spending years and decades trying to decide whether a given passage means this or that or something else altogether?

One doesn’t have to believe in biblical inerrancy and biblical infallibility to have deep respect for scripture and to recognize in it the imprint of God—while at the same time seeing the unmistakable imprint of the human writer. That Bible’s writers speak within the context and confines of their own language, their own culture, their own life experience, their own personalities.   

Most Christians see in the writings of the Bible a divine-human collaboration, with the human role being highly significant. Rarely does the truly human role in the writing of scripture shine forth more than in 1 Corinthians 1:11-17. 

The situation described in this passage is that the apostle Paul is concerned because he’s heard that the congregation in Corinth is setting up little fan clubs around their favorite preacher, with each club striving for ascendancy. 

Paul says, addressing the matter, “‘Some from Chloe’s household have informed me that there are quarrels among you. What I mean is this: One of you says, “I follow Paul”; another, “I follow Apollos”; another, “I follow Cephas”; still another, “I follow Christ.”

“‘Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized in the name of Paul? I thank God that I did not baptize any of you except Crispus and Gaius, so no one can say that you were baptized in my name.’”

It seems Paul had noticed that preacher fandom in Corinth tended to increase for the preacher who’d officiated at a person’s baptism—which caused him to breathe a sigh of relief because he’d baptized only a couple of the members of the congregation. So he wasn’t as much in the running to be idolized. And certainly being idolized was something he didn’t want—not for himself or any other preacher of the gospel.

Then suddenly Paul remembers something: Crispus and Gaius aren’t the only ones he baptized. So he corrects his previous assertion:  “‘Yes, I also baptized the household of Stephanas . . .’"

Having initially spoken incorrectly and then having realized his mistake, he seems to lose confidence in the accuracy of his memory. So he adds: “‘Beyond that, I don’t remember if I baptized anyone else.’”

I can’t imagine the Holy Spirit telling Paul to say he had baptized only two people in Corinth, then reminding Paul his statement was wrong—that he’d also baptized others. The telling Paul to admit that, actually, he wasn’t sure just how many people he might have baptized. I can’t imagine that level of divine dictation to the writer. Rather, I think Paul is demonstrating here the very real role humanity played in the writing of scripture. The specific words and style of expression—and memory lapses—are very much Paul’s own. 

In harmony with what we read in 1 Peter 1:21, I believe that Paul had indeed been moved by the Spirit to address an adverse situation in Corinth. But he employed his own approach and argument style—which just happened to start off based on an incomplete/inaccurate set of facts. But there remained an underlying truth that was practical and beneficial to his listeners. 

Which leads me to repeat something I stated earlier in this essay: “Most Christians see in the writings of the Bible a divine-human collaboration, with the human role being highly significant.” It’s just that some of us see the human role as so significant—so human—that employing such well-intentioned descriptions as inerrant and infallible clouds rather than elucidates how the process of inspiration actually works.