Reflections on the Ubi v. Ybarra Debate - Part 1

---

These are my reflections after watching the debate between Erick Ybarra and Denny Sellen (Ubi Petrus). I am working off memory, so I apologize in advance for any incorrect references. Unfortunately, I can’t comment on every important exchange in the debate, and I don’t have the time to cite or timestamp all the sections I do comment on. These reflections simply address the parts that stuck out to me while I watched and I hope you find them useful or edifying.

Due to Substack’s word limit, I’m splitting the review into two parts. The contents are as follows.

Contents - Part 1

• Preliminary Reflections

• Critical Reflections:

  • Problems with Debate Subject and Moderation

  • The Autocracy Straw-Man

  • Sophistical linguistic objections

  • “Judging” St. Leo’s Tome at Chalcedon?

Contents - Part 2

• Critical Reflections Continued:

  • Misreading Gasser’s Relatio

  • Erick’s minimal facts approach

  • Selective Skepticism

  • Closing remarks

Postscriptum on “auctoritas”

Preliminary Reflections

1. Debating live is difficult, and viewers should recognize (though many don’t) how challenging it is to think quickly under the pressure of time constraints, especially when faced with objections. It is important to keep this in mind when evaluating a debate performance. Both debaters performed well in several respects.

2. If I had to choose a winner, I would pick Erick. He presented solid arguments within the framework of the stated resolution, and he adequately rebutted enough of the objections Denny raised. Denny even conceded that the Pope could de jure convene an ecumenical council and was the head of the universal synod. That said, Denny posed some interesting skeptical arguments and Erick had some missteps of his own, which I’ll address later. Still, much of Denny’s case depends on misrepresenting—or at least misunderstanding—the Catholic view of the papacy.

3. What many may not realize is that both participants are “blue-collar” workers, not academics. To my knowledge, neither holds a specialized degree in history or theology; both are husbands and fathers, and entirely self-taught. That merits respect. It’s encouraging to see laymen engage these questions outside the walls of academia. If some scholars lament the rise of “non-experts,” they might first ask whether they’ve left gaps that others must fill. When those called to teach fall silent, others—sometimes ordinary laymen—will speak.

4. Both Denny and Erick are clearly well-read in these topics. I was impressed by their ability to recall and discuss historical figures and events without hesitation.

5. The final third of the debate was off-topic but enjoyable. By that point, the two were conversing like old acquaintances, veering into interesting, though somewhat unrelated, subjects in church history.

6. While Erick maintained a calm and friendly demeanor throughout the debate (perhaps too friendly, in my view), I was disappointed to see Denny lose his composure at times. One instance that stood out was the part where he said, “How’s that working out for you?” which came off as emotive and passive-aggressive. While, as a Catholic, I share his dismay at the liturgical abuses permitted (or even encouraged) by Catholic bishops, or the lack of doctrinal clarity, we must remember that abusus non tollit usum—the abuse of something does not negate its proper use. And unless Denny believes his church has never suffered abuse, he already accepts that principle himself—whether he acknowledges it or not.

7. What’s striking is that Denny’s objections could just as easily have come from a skeptic or atheist. So, even if Erick had lost the debate outright, that does not by itself prove anything about Eastern Orthodoxy. A poor defense does not prove the opposing position—only that the defense was poor.

Critical reflections:

The Debate Was Not Sufficiently Focused or Moderated

Several key arguments and objections strayed from the core issue at hand. Neither participant seemed to catch this, but ultimately the moderator, Matt Fradd, should have kept the debate on track.

As many readers may know, Vatican I gave authoritative statements on the infallibility and supremacy (or primacy) of the Bishop of Rome. However, according to Fradd’s description, the debate was framed solely around supremacy, specifically evidence supporting it from the 5th and 6th centuries. The resolution clearly stated: “Is the Vatican I Concept of Primacy Manifest in the 5th/6th Centuries of the Undivided Church?”

During this debate the notions of supremacy and infallibility were conflated. At certain points, Denny even raised objections to infallibility and criticized Erick for using a “minimal facts” approach (which I will discuss in part 2), claiming it was a failure to present more and historically earlier evidence. But the debate was about supremacy, not infallibility, and it was supposed to focus on evidence from the 5th and 6th centuries, not earlier centuries. Therefore, Erick was entirely justified in limiting his evidence to that period.

In response to attacks from Denny, Erick should have simply reminded him and the listeners of the debate resolution and reasserted his right to focus evidence only on primacy during the 5th and 6th centuries. Instead, Erick reiterated that he didn’t need to cite that evidence, though Denny had called for evidence of infallibility, which was not part of the debate resolution at all. Although he was correct, this was somewhat of a rhetorical miss on Erick’s part.

This point matters because when a debate has a clearly defined resolution, and one participant prepares accordingly, he can be unfairly disadvantaged if the moderator allows the discussion to drift too far afield. That didn’t happen here—Erick was more than capable of addressing the broader range of topics—but as a matter of principle, it’s poor form in any formal debate setting.

The Autocracy Straw-Man

In debates between Catholics and Eastern Orthodox critics, a common rhetorical move is to demand historical evidence that the Pope acted like an autocrat. For example, Denny insisted that Catholics must prove that “in the first millennium, the Pope was an autocrat” to justify Vatican I. But this sets up a strawman. Vatican I does not teach that the Pope is an autocrat, so Catholics are not obliged to prove it.

Now, if you're going to lecture Catholics on the meaning of their councils, the least you can do is read them. Here's what the Council actually said:

This power of the supreme pontiff by no means detracts from that ordinary and immediate power of episcopal jurisdiction, by which bishops, who have succeeded to the place of the apostles by appointment of the Holy Spirit, tend and govern individually the particular flocks which have been assigned to them. On the contrary, this power of theirs is asserted, supported and defended by the supreme and universal pastor; for St Gregory the Great says: “My honour is the honour of the whole church. My honour is the steadfast strength of my brethren. Then do I receive true honour, when it is denied to none of those to whom honour is due.”¹ [emphasis mine]

The exercise of authority in the Church admits of minimum and maximum degrees of perfection. The ideal—the maximum degree of perfection—is for the Church to operate under the principle of subsidiarity.² It is more ideal for the pope to rule in collegiality with his fellow bishops or allow subsidiary rule than to do something on his own. Vatican I merely says that he has the authority (de jure) to do it on his own if needed. It doesn’t say he should exercise that power all the time or even most of the time. It also says that a charism of infallibility, which already belongs to the whole Church (as Denny himself would accept), belongs to it insofar as it is united with its Head and belongs to the Head itself when certain conditions are met.

The practice of subsidiarity, therefore, cannot be opposed to papal supremacy; it is rather the perfect expression of papal authority in practice. The evidential standard of “find an autocrat” is nothing more than a dysphemism—a straw-man—and it is a cheap attempt to corner one’s opponent. The pope is the supreme pastor of the Church, not an autocrat. His authority is ordered toward the good of safeguarding the faith and confirming the bishops, as Vatican I affirms. He bears moral duties to the universal flock. Reducing papal supremacy to mere power is simply to misread the council’s decrees.

In Leo XIII’s encyclical Diuturnum (On the Origin of Civil Power), the Holy Father wrote about the grave responsibility that rulers of State enjoy, and this applies equally well to the pope:

16. But in order that justice may be retained in government it is of the highest importance that those who rule States should understand that political power was not created for the advantage of any private individual; and that the administration of the State must be carried on to the profit of those who have been committed to their care, not to the profit of those to whom it has been committed. Let princes take example from the Most High God, by whom authority is given to them; and, placing before themselves His model in governing the State, let them rule over the people with equity and faithfulness, and let them add to that severity, which is necessary, a paternal charity. On this account they are warned in the oracles of the sacred Scriptures, that they will have themselves some day to render an account to the King of kings and Lord of lords; if they shall fail in their duty, that it will not be possible for them in any way to escape the severity of God: “The Most High will examine your work and search out your thoughts: because being ministers of his kingdom you have not judged rightly… Horribly and speedily will he appear to you, for a most severe judgement shall be for them that bear rule… For God will not accept any man's person, neither will he stand in awe of any man's greatness; for he made the little and the great, and he hath equally care of all. But a greater punishment is ready for the more mighty.” [emphasis mine]

Since the Pope is not an autocrat, Catholics don’t need to supply evidence of his autocracy. Vatican I defines the pope’s authority as “supreme, full, immediate, and ordinary,” but not arbitrary. He governs as a steward, not a tyrant. As such, Catholics are not obligated to comb history for examples of papal heavy-handedness to validate the office. Quite the opposite: the weight of the papacy calls for restraint, not showmanship. The true image is not an iron-fisted ruler, but one who walks softly and carries a big stick.

This is the model offered by Pope St. Gregory the Great. Gregory explicitly rejected the title universal bishop—not because he denied Rome’s supremacy, but because he believed the title could be misconstrued as a denial of the dignity of other bishops. When John of Constantinople arrogated the title for himself, Gregory rebuked him sharply:

Lo, [Peter] received the keys of the heavenly kingdom, and power to bind and loose is given him, the care and principality of the whole Church is committed to him, and yet he is not called the universal apostle; while the most holy man, my fellow priest John, attempts to be called universal bishop.³

But refusing the title “universal bishop” was not rejection of universal jurisdiction, for

the title of “universal bishop” has a twofold meaning. The first implies that there is but one bishop in the whole Church, in whose person the universal episcopate is comprised, and, as it were, concentrated. The other asserts a supreme power over every bishop in the Universal Church.⁴

The title’s first meaning regards the order of bishops, and it is wrong because it deprives all other bishops of their proper dignity, for every bishop is equal to the Pope in order. The second meaning regards the jurisdiction of the pope, and although it is correct, Gregory knew that the title would mislead people who saw within it the claim of primacy of order.

Gregory says:

Who is this that, against the evangelical ordinances, against the decrees of canons, presumes to usurp to himself a new name? Would indeed that one by himself he were, if he could be without any lessening of others—he that covets to be universal.

. . .

Certainly, in honour of Peter, Prince of the apostles, it was offered by the venerable synod of Chalcedon to the Roman pontiff. But none of them has ever consented to use this name of singularity, lest, by something being given peculiarly to one, priests in general should be deprived of the honour due to them. How is it then that we do not seek the glory of this title even when offered, and another presumes to seize it for himself though not offered?⁵ [emphasis mine]

The popes also

refused this honorary title because they remembered that they were the vicars of Him who said, “Learn of Me, for I am humble of heart” (Mt. 11:29). Their office was to inspire their fellow bishops with the same sentiments of humility, and they could not have effectively succeeded in this task had they coveted so singular a title. They recalled the great lesson taught them by Christ: “He that is greatest among you, let him be as one who serves” (Lk 22:26).

Having refused the title of “universal bishop,” they adopted instead that of servi servorum Dei, in order to follow the divine counsel by making themselves the least of all—though superior to all in power and authority. And certainly, by that mark of humility alone could the Popes check the pride and ambition of the Bishops of Constantinople, who, in opposition to every principle of right and justice, had usurped the title of “universal,” extending their authority and jurisdiction beyond all lawful bounds.”⁶

Gregory understood himself as the successor of St. Peter, the one to whom Christ gave the keys and entrusted “the care and principality of the whole Church.” Power, rightly held, comes with rights. But a just ruler does not claim every right merely because he can. The virtue Gregory embodied—authority exercised with restraint, strength that does not need to prove itself—is exactly what we see in the scandal of the Cross.

Why did so many Jews reject their true Messiah? They rejected Christ in the face of His claims to supreme power—not because He lacked what he claimed, but because He did not exercise or manifest it in a manner that fit their expectation and attachments. Expecting a triumphant military figure or a political redeemer, they missed him because they wrongly assumed that possessing power meant enjoying power's every right. In other words, they were looking for an autocrat.

We see this mindset on full display at the foot of the Cross:

And those who passed by derided him, wagging their heads, and saying, “Aha! You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” So also the chief priests mocked him to one another with the scribes, saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Christ, the King of Israel, come down now from the cross, that we may see and believe.” (Mk. 15:29–32).

On the one hand, our Lord had said that “all power is given unto me in heaven and in earth” (Mt. 28:18). The Father gave Jesus “authority to execute judgment" (Jn. 5:27), and Jesus taught “as one having authority” (Mt. 7:28-9), and “with authority and power he [commanded] the unclean spirits” (Lk. 4:36). He had such power to forgive sins (Mk. 2:10), and even the wind and the sea obeyed him (Mk. 4:41). He told Pilate, no one would have “power at all against me, except it were given [him] from above” (Jn. 19:11).

On the other hand, our Lord had also said that “whoever would be great among you must be your servant... the Son of man came not to be served but to serve” (Mt. 20:26–28). Jesus came as the Prophecies foretold, not to boldly retake the kingdom with pompous entourage, but to “cometh unto thee, meek, and sitting upon an ass” (Mt. 21:5).

The Incarnation itself involves not asserting every claim of rightful power:

[Jesus], though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men (Phil. 2:5).

Like the mocking Jews and Roman soldiers at the foot of the cross—who jeered, Where is thy mighty Messiah?—modern Eastern Orthodox skeptics ask Catholics, Where is thy autocratic Successor of Peter? Both miss the nature of the promise—and the power it entails.

A final analogy: as a husband and father, I have a primacy of authority within my home. But I am not an autocrat, and it is a crude misrepresentation of my headship to describe it as raw power. My authority is ordered to the good of my family, and I am morally bound to exercise it towards that end—including the manner and tone of its exercise. To the extent that I fail in this duty, I sin gravely. The same applies to the pope—indeed, it applies to any metropolitan bishop with respect to his sphere of authority.

Sophistical linguistic objections

Denny objected to Erick’s appeal to the Formula (or Libellas) of Pope Hormisdas, on the grounds that its use of “always” wasn’t literal: “for in the Apostolic See the Catholic religion has always been kept unsullied.”⁷ The reason for thinking it wasn’t literal seemed to be nothing more than the fact that “always” in other ecclesiastical contexts was used in an exaggerated or flowery sense. Denny provided some quotations showing these contexts during cross examination.

This is a terrible objection, however. First of all, nearly every word in any language may be used literally or figuratively— precisely or with exaggeration. That’s how language works. The fact that a word is exaggerated in one context doesn’t mean it is exaggerated in another. That is a fallacious inference and Denny committed it with his objection about “always”.

Moreover, Denny’s objection proves too much. If taken seriously, it would undermine the authority of councils and Sacred Scripture. For every council that contains binding decrees does so with words that in other contexts are (or can be) used figuratively or with exaggeration.

As an example, take a definition implying the perpetual virginity of Mary from the 5th Ecumenical Council (Constantinople II):

If anyone shall not confess that the Word of God has two nativities, the one from all eternity of the Father, without time and without body; the other in these last days, coming down from heaven and being made flesh of the holy and glorious Mary, Mother of God and always a virgin, and born of her: let him be anathema.⁸ [emphasis mine]

Jesus told his disciples that he would be with them always, even to the end of the age. Perhaps Denny is doubtful of our Lord’s promise. After all, “always” doesn’t always mean always, and we might need to ensure that the Greek usage of that term is consistent across all of the New Testament before we take Him at his word.

Sarcasm aside, Edward Siecienski notes that the Libellus of Hormisdas

was an uncompromisingly Chalcedonian document that contained one of the strongest affirmations of Rome’s teaching authority ever accepted in the East.⁹

How could that be if it involved a mere exaggeration?

The bottom line is this: you cannot infer a priori that “always” in the Formula is figurative or mere exaggeration simply because in other contexts the same word is exaggerated or figurative. You have to assess each usage in its own context, on its own merits. The meaning of a term should be discerned from the immediate and broader context, not from its use elsewhere (though that usage may sometimes be helpful).

Excursus: suggestione

We’ve seen this linguistic tactic before—for example, in attempts to undercut the acceptance of Pope Agatho’s letter at the 6th Ecumenical Council by noting that the use of the Latin term “suggestione” meant something like a mere suggestion in our modern English sense—a sense that connotes tentativeness. Pope Agatho was just making a suggestion, you see!

There is a clear reason the terms suggestione in Latin and ἀναφορά (anaphora) in Greek appear in the records of the Third Council of Constantinople. These words do not imply hesitation or tentativeness. They reflect the formal, procedural language appropriate for addressing the Emperor. In Roman and Byzantine administrative practice, those were formal terms for submitting a document, report, or doctrinal decree to a superior. At the Council, their use conveyed deference to imperial protocol, which was required, while still expressing binding theological judgments. They were not rhetorical modesties, but the proper legal form for delivering authoritative doctrine within the imperial-ecclesiastical structure of the time.

ἀναφορά (Anaphora) in Greek:

• The term “ἀναφορᾶς” comes from the Greek verb “ἀναφέρω” (anaphero), which generally means “to carry back,” “to report,” or “to bring up.”

• In the context of Agatho's letter and the council, “ἀναφορᾶς” could be translated as “report” or “declaration.”

• It suggests a formal and authoritative communication rather than a mere suggestion.

“Suggestione” in Latin:

• The Latin term “suggestio” is derived from the verb “suggestus,” which means “to bring up” or “to prompt.”

• In legal and ecclesiastical contexts, “suggestio'“ could indeed imply a more authoritative communication or declaration rather than a mere suggestion.

Even apart from that background, the “it's just a suggestion” objection fails on its own terms. The Emperor and the Council Fathers also use the term suggestione—which would mean that the entire council, including the imperial authority it appealed to, was merely floating suggestions. That’s plainly absurd. For example, consider:

[The Emperor said] Let George, the most holy archbishop of this our God-preserved city, and let Macarius, the venerable archbishop of Antioch, and let the synod subject to them [i.e., their suffragans] say, if they submit to the force (εἰ στοιχο στοιχοῦσι τ σι τῇ δυν δυνάμει) of the suggestions sent by the most holy Agatho Pope of Old Rome and by his Synod... Therefore I give my submission to them [the suggestions] and thus I profess and believe.¹⁰ [emphasis mine]

Are they supposed to say whether they submit to the force of a mere suggestion? Did the emperor submit to suggestions in our everyday colloquial American sense? The questions answer themselves.

Obviously, you can’t read common English parlance back into historical Greek or Latin. The Latin term suggestione and its Greek equivalent can mean something like “declaration” and, in any case, the context of use must determine the meaning.

Support for this context is found even from Eastern Orthodox scholar Edward Siecienski, who acknowledges that:

Pope Agatho… insisted that there could be no doctrinal debate since the matter had already been decided at the Lateran Synod…¹¹

And he adds that Agatho’s delegation’s

opening message stated that they had been sent by Agatho with “the confession of our Apostolic Faith… not as those who wished to contend about these things as being uncertain, but, being certain and unchangeable to see them forth in a brief definition.”¹²

In the Prosphoneticus to the Emperor, we read:

But the highest prince of the Apostles fought with us: for we had on our side his imitator and the successor in his see, who also had set forth in his letter the mystery of the divine word (θεολογίας). For the ancient city of Rome handed you a confession of divine character, and a chart from the sunsetting raised up the day of dogmas, and made the darkness manifest, and Peter spoke through Agatho…¹³ [emphasis mine]

It is beyond ridiculous to suggest that Agatho, Council Fathers, the Emperor, etc., were proffering suggestions, as we might understand that term today. No one mistook Pope St. Agatho as merely suggesting a view for consideration.

In summary, while the terms may have etymological roots that suggest bringing up or reporting, in the context of Pope Agatho's letter and the council they are used to convey authoritative declarations rather than mere suggestions. The weight and authority of these declarations were recognized by the council in its proceedings.

Whether “always” or “suggestion”, you can’t refute papal supremacy or infallibility by defining translated words a priori. You need to deal with each case on its own and argue the meaning and intent from the context, especially when dealing with ancient languages.

“Judging” St. Leo’s Tome at Chalcedon?

At one point in the debate, Denny suggested that Pope St. Leo’s Tome was not an instance of Papal supremacy or infallibility, but quite the opposite. The Council Fathers, he said, were each asked to judge whether it was true. However, the exact opposite is the case.

Everyone should to know that “I judge” can be used in an adjudicative or a cognitive sense. The adjudicative sense of “I judge that this is the case” is to issue a binding verdict. It settles a dispute or answers the question, “Is this the case (by authority)?” The cognitive sense is simply to express your assent or belief. It issues your personal commitment or conviction, answering the question, “Do you think this is the case?”

Now, anyone with even a cursory acquaintance with the history of Church Councils knows that one purpose of issuing a formal definition is to bind all attendees to it by compelling each to state, publicly and officially, whether he assents. At Chalcedon, then, when each Council Father declares “I judge the contents of Leo’s Tome to be true,” he is plainly speaking in the cognitive sense. He is not issuing a ruling; he is assenting to one. The Tome itself was the adjudication. The Fathers were compelled to respond to it by declaring their agreement or dissent. The adjudication already existed, and without it there would have been nothing to bind the Fathers to.

To suggest that the Tome was merely cognitive, and the Fathers’ affirmations of the Tome adjudicative, is a confusion so desperate that it scarcely merits refutation. It is, at best, a last refuge of rhetorical self-preservation.

This concludes the critical reflections, Part 1. In Part 2, we will begin with an analysis of how Bishop Gasser’s Relatio was handled during the debate.

1. First Vatican Council, Dogmatic Constitution on the Church of Christ (Pastor Aeternus), chap. 3, “The Power and Manner of the Primacy of the Roman Pontiff,” in Session IV (July 18, 1870).

2. Wilhelm, Joseph. "General Councils." The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 4. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1908. <http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/04423f.htm>.

3. Gregory the Great, Registrum Epistolarum, Book V, Ep. 20, trans. James Barmby, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, vol. 12, ed. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1895), rev. and ed. for New Advent by Kevin Knight, http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/360205020.htm.

4. Rev. Paul Bottalla, S.J., The Pope and the Church Considered in Their Mutual Relations: With Reference to the Errors of the High Church Party in England. Part I, The Supreme Authority of the Pope (London: Burns, Oats, & Co., 1868), 76.

5. Gregory the Great, Registrum Epistolarum, Book V, Ep. 20.

6. Bottalla, S.J., The Pope and the Church, part 1, 79-80.

7. The Formula is a confession of faith (regula fidei) that Pope Hormisdas sent for the Eastern bishops to sign. The sentence in which “always” appears isn’t the most important part of the Formula, and it needn’t be translated that way either: e.g., “the Catholic religion is preserved inviolable in the Apostolic See.”

8. Second Council of Constantinople. Translated by Henry Percival. In Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, vol. 14, edited by Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1900). Revised and edited for New Advent by Kevin Knight. http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/3812.htm.

9. A. Edward Siecienski, The Papacy and the Orthodox: Sources and History of a Debate (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017), 185.

10. Third Council of Constantinople. Translated by Henry Percival. In Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, vol. 14, edited by Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1900). Revised and edited for New Advent by Kevin Knight. http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/3813.htm.

11. Siecienski, The Papacy and the Orthodox, 205.

12. Ibid., 205, note 44.

13. Third Council of Constantinople, translated by Percival.