Christian Wagner recently released a video arguing that sola Scriptura is false and self-defeating. His approach is slightly different, but it ultimately fares no better than the standard “canon argument.” Here is a strong response to Wagner:

Wagner’s Video

Wagner Debunked:

“As an olive branch to my Protestant friends listening to this video, I’ll actually give you the right way to refute this argument from the beginning. Protestants will often give some sort of fallacious comeback—attempting to refute it with rhetorical one-liners rather than actually showing the fundamental equivocation that takes place in the common form of the argument.

“For example, many Protestants will respond by saying, ‘Well, Catholics have a fallible list of infallible papal statements, so it’s okay for Protestants to have a fallible list of infallible books in the canon.’ This is not the proper way of going about it. What you’ve done is simply give a rhetorical comeback that doesn’t resolve the objection. The Catholic could simply respond, ‘Well, I guess both of our positions are wrong, since this is impossible in either case.’

“The main issue with this argument is that it suffers from the fallacy of equivocation. The first ‘fallible’ refers to the fallibility of the subject—that is, the fallibility of the one reasoning. The ‘infallible’ in ‘infallible book’ refers to the infallibility of the object—that is, the infallibility of the thing known. If we were consistent and referred to the infallibility of the object, then the Protestant would agree there is, in that sense, an infallible list. On the other hand, if we were consistent and referred to the infallibility of the subject, then we wouldn’t even be able to call the books of Scripture infallible, since any knowledge of Scripture would have to pass through the fallibility of a subject.

“Here’s an analogy to highlight this. Suppose, instead of the infallibility of the canon list, we were discussing the infallibility of the meaning of Scripture. If I said, ‘the fallible meaning of infallible Scripture,’ the term ‘meaning’ could refer either to the objective sense of the passage (in which case it would obviously be an infallible meaning), or to the subject who is understanding Scripture (in which case it would be a fallible meaning). So if someone tried to berate me about the fallible or infallible meaning of the infallible books, I would simply ask whether they mean the objective sense or the subjective understanding. If they mean the objective sense, then obviously it’s an infallible meaning of infallible Scripture. If they mean the subjective sense, then obviously it’s a fallible meaning of infallible Scripture, since it subsists in a fallible intellect.

I had planned to respond to this video with a brief commentary, but as I watched “Ultimate Refutation of Sola Scriptura,” I felt the need to pause and say something about one point in particular.

In the video, Wagner actually recognizes some of the bad rhetoric Catholic apologists often use with the standard “canon argument.” In particular, he notes that they frequently fail to distinguish between (1) infallibility as a property of a person’s act of knowing and (2) the infallibility of Scripture itself. That distinction matters, and I’m glad he sees it.

But first: I’ve always hated the “infallible list of fallible books” line, and I’ll explain why in a moment. For now, here’s the issue.

Wagner says Protestants respond fallaciously when they retort to a Catholic objector with something like: “Where is your infallible list of infallible things that must be believed?” He doesn’t specify the fallacy, but it seems pretty clear he has tu quoque in mind—basically, “you too,” or “you’re guilty of the same thing.”

However, I’ve argued before that tu quoque objections are not automatically fallacious, and this is another case where it isn’t. The Protestant point here isn’t, “Therefore Catholicism is false because you’re inconsistent.” The point is narrower: if the Catholic is using a standard that would undermine the Protestant (“you need an infallible list to have certainty”), then the Catholic needs to show that same standard doesn’t boomerang back onto Rome. If it does, the argument is self-defeating as deployed—at minimum, it can’t function as a decisive refutation of sola Scriptura.

Wagner’s reply is basically: the Catholic could just say, “Yes—both are wrong.” But that actually accomplishes the Protestant’s immediate goal, which is to expose that the “canon argument” isn’t being used consistently. And in practice, it’s highly unlikely the Catholic will actually abandon his original position; more often, he’ll continue to wield the argument selectively.

And a Christian shouldn’t remain silent about that kind of epistemic inconsistency—especially when it’s being used as a rhetorical weapon against the Protestant position.

Dr. Cloos helps us identify the two distinct arguments that Wagner sometimes confuses and blends together:

The “Divine-Faith Gap” Argument:

(1) Under SS (sola scriptura as “Scripture alone is the rule of faith”), nothing outside Scripture can bind the conscience as an object of divine faith; extra-scriptural sources can only help by pointing back to Scripture.

(2) Protestants treat “these specific NT books are inspired” as something they believe with divine faith (the canon as Scripture).

(3) That proposition isn’t in Scripture (no table of contents) and can’t be deduced for each book by good-and-necessary consequence (3 John, apostolicity ≠ inspiration of everything written, Mark/Luke not apostles, etc.).

(4) What’s believed with divine faith must be believed as revealed by God (formal object).

(5) So the canon-as-inspired must be divinely revealed via some extra-scriptural medium that can present it as revealed.

(6) Therefore Protestants can’t consistently have divine-faith assent to the NT canon while maintaining SS. hence sola scriptura is incoherent and the canon requires sacred tradition (as proposed by the church’s authority).

The “Bootstrap Sufficiency” Argument:

(1) Under SS (classic Protestant sufficiency: all things necessary for saving faith / Christian doctrine are either in Scripture or deducible from Scripture by good-and-necessary consequence), any necessary article for the rule of faith must be obtainable from Scripture alone (directly or by deduction).

(2) Knowing which books are Scripture (i.e., “these specific NT books are inspired”) is necessary for Scripture to function as the rule of faith (you can’t appeal to “Scripture alone” unless you know what counts as Scripture).

(3) But Scripture does not provide a complete canon list (no table of contents), and it does not yield—by good-and-necessary consequence—each book’s inspiration/canonicity (e.g., many books don’t self-identify; apostolic office doesn’t entail “everything written is inspired”; Mark/Luke aren’t apostles; etc.).

(4) So, by SS’s own standard, the canon proposition is not obtainable from Scripture alone.

(5) Therefore, SS is internally inconsistent: it requires Scripture alone to supply what is necessary, but Scripture alone does not supply the canon.

(6) Hence Protestantism must either (a) deny/modify sufficiency (admit a necessary extra-scriptural source for the canon), or (b) accept a rule of faith beyond Scripture (tradition/church authority), which concedes the Catholic point.

These two arguments overlap in what they point to (Scripture doesn’t hand you a neat “table of contents,” and you can’t straightforwardly deduce each book’s inspiration from Scripture alone), but they’re not the same objection.

First is an assent-type objection. The issue isn’t merely, “You can’t prove the canon from Scripture.” The issue is that Protestants typically treat the canon as something to be believed as God-revealed, conscience-binding truth (“this book is God’s word”). But divine faith, by definition, is assent to a proposition as revealed by God, not merely as “highly supported historically.” So the charge is: historical evidence and church testimony might get you warranted or probable belief that these books are apostolic/authoritative, but they cannot give you the revelation-status (“God revealed that these books are inspired”) unless some extra-scriptural medium presents that claim as revealed. In other words, it’s about whether you can see the canon as revealed—the kind of assent you claim to have.

Second is a rulebook-consistency objection. If your version of sola scriptura says, “Everything necessary for saving faith (or for the rule of faith) is either in Scripture or deducible from it,” then the canon looks necessary—because you can’t even appeal to “Scripture alone” unless you know what counts as Scripture. Yet Scripture neither lists the canon nor yields each book’s canonicity by good-and-necessary consequence. So, by its own standard, the principle doesn’t deliver what it requires. The pressure is: either soften/modify sufficiency, or admit a necessary extra-scriptural source for identifying the canon. In other words, it’s about whether you can see at all—whether your rule lets you get the canon needed to use the rule in the first place.

Cloos’ Rebuttal

First: Wagner’s philosophical move is that “inspiration is substantially supernatural, so it can’t be known by ordinary criteria; it must be known only by explicit revealed testimony.” Cloos’s reply is basically: that’s not a neutral axiom—it’s a contested scholastic epistemology being smuggled in as if it binds Protestants. And it’s self-defeating: if “substantially supernatural” realities can only be known by explicit revelation, then how does Wagner know that epistemic rule? If it’s naturally knowable, then the door is open (in principle) to knowing supernatural realities by their effects; if it’s only knowable by revelation, then where is it revealed?
Cloos also presses the theological oddity: Wagner’s framework makes Christians epistemically helpless in practice—first-century believers receiving apostolic letters allegedly couldn’t responsibly recognize them as Scripture without later institutional pronouncements—yet the NT treats “Scripture” as something God’s people can actually identify, search, and appeal to. And if Wagner tries to solve it by shifting everything onto the Church’s infallibility, Cloos says the same problem reappears: church infallibility is itself a supernatural charism, so by Wagner’s own rule it would require the same kind of “explicit revealed testimony,” which typically forces Catholics back onto the very kinds of historical/mark-based reasoning Wagner wants to forbid for Scripture. That looks like special pleading.

Second: Wagner also runs an internal “rulebook” critique (The “Divine-Faith Gap” Argument): if sola scriptura includes the thesis that everything necessary for faith/salvation is either in Scripture or deducible by good-and-necessary consequence, then the canon looks “necessary,” and yet Scripture doesn’t hand you a table of contents nor does it yield each book’s inspiration by deduction. Cloos’s response is to split two categories Wagner collapses: doctrinal sufficiency and epistemic autonomy.

Sufficiency is a claim about content (Scripture contains all necessary doctrine), not a claim that Scripture contains every precondition for accessing Scripture (history, literacy, language, manuscript transmission, etc.). So yes, the Church’s historical testimony is “necessary” in the same way a mailman is “necessary” for delivering a letter—but that doesn’t make the mailman a rival source of doctrinal content. Wagner’s “canon is necessary, therefore must be in Scripture” principle is too strong; if you universalize it, Scripture would have to include instructions for every epistemic prerequisite, which is absurd.

Then Cloos adds pressure points Wagner allegedly can’t answer cleanly. How did Second Temple Jews identify “the Scriptures” without a pope or an infallible magisterium? Jesus and the apostles treat “Scripture” as a stable, usable authority, and the Bereans are praised for testing claims by Scripture—so either Judaism had a hidden infallible tradition-list (good luck showing that), or recognition operated through convergent public criteria and communal reception (which is basically the Protestant model), or else the NT’s posture becomes bizarre. Cloos also says Wagner commits a “single-criterion fallacy”: Wagner attacks each canon criterion in isolation (apostolicity, orthodoxy, liturgical use, etc.) and says none is unique—yet Protestants typically argue by convergence: the canonical books uniquely satisfy the full cluster, while the patristic favorites Wagner cites (Didache, 1 Clement, Augustine, Aquinas) fail multiple key criteria at once. Finally, Cloos flips Wagner’s “tradition solves it” claim by pointing to competing apostolic traditions (Roman, Eastern, Ethiopian, Syriac, Armenian canons). If “sacred tradition” straightforwardly transmits a canon list, why do ancient apostolic communions diverge? At that point, “the canon is known by tradition” just relocates the problem: which tradition, and by what non-circular standard?

Cloos will even concede what Wagner does prove: you don’t get a deductive canon list “from Scripture alone.” But he denies that this refutes sola scriptura. It just means canon recognition is a historical-cumulative judgment (warranted by convergence and providence), not a syllogism forced out of an inspired table of contents.

My Thoughts:

Here are my thoughts. I’m not an evidentialist like Dr. Cloos, and I think Wagner is basically right at the crucial pressure point: apart from divine revelation, you can’t finally know “this book is God-breathed” in the conscience-binding sense Protestants actually mean by “Scripture.” Historical inquiry can, at best, yield a well-supported conclusion that certain writings are early, apostolic, widely received, doctrinally orthodox, etc. But inspiration is not a merely historical property like authorship, date, or circulation. It’s a claim about God’s act and God’s authority—that God is the principal author, that these words are to be received as His Word.

And that’s where the evidentialist move starts to wobble. Whatever historical criteria you craft—apostolicity, early reception, liturgical use, “internal marks,” coherence with the rule of faith—each one is debatable, and the whole package remains a defeasible inference. But more fundamentally: what “historical facts” can you even marshal about divine revelation if you don’t already know what divine revelation is, or how it is recognized, in the first place? History can tell you what people claimed, what communities used, what councils listed. But moving from “the early Church treated X as authoritative” to “God revealed that X is inspired” requires a bridge principle. And that bridge principle is not itself a “historical fact.” It’s a theological claim about how God binds the conscience and how His revelation is identified.

Put differently: the moment you try to “verify” divine revelation by historical methods alone, you’ve quietly made human historical judgment the highest court of appeal. But then you’re asking historians to do what historians, as historians, cannot do: certify God’s own testimony as divine. “God said this” is not the kind of thing you can confirm the way you confirm “Caesar crossed the Rubicon.” It’s not just what happened; it’s what God is saying and the authority with which He says it.

So the problem isn’t merely, “you can’t deduce a table of contents from Scripture.” The deeper problem is: if you don’t already have access to divine revelation as divine revelation, you can’t bootstrap yourself into it with historical probabilities. At best you get, “these texts are historically central to early Christianity.” But Protestants don’t treat the canon as “historically central.” They treat it as God’s revealed, conscience-binding Word. And that kind of assent—seeing it as revealed—is precisely what bare historical method can’t generate without smuggling in what it’s trying to prove.

Overall, I think Wagner’s approach ends up self-defeating in exactly the ways Dr. Cloos highlighted—and honestly, I couldn’t have said a lot of it better myself. The deeper reason there’s a real disagreement here isn’t just “history vs. tradition” or “probability vs. certainty.” It’s that Wagner is quietly operating with a prior epistemology and metaphysic that he treats as a neutral starting point, when it isn’t.

Wagner’s move is basically: inspiration is a substantially supernatural fact, so it cannot, even in principle, be known by historical criteria; it must be known as revealed. But the moment you start legislating what “can” and “cannot” count as knowledge of inspiration, you’ve already erected a method over the question. And once you do that, the argument inherits the very problem it’s trying to exploit: the problem of the criterion.

This is why I’ve argued for a while that “canon arguments” tend to commit people to Methodism—trying to settle the conditions for knowing revelation prior to any particular instance of revelation. I see no reason why Wagner escapes that. He doesn’t simply note that Scripture lacks a table of contents; he adds a thick principle about what sort of access to the canon is even possible, and then uses that principle to declare Protestantism incoherent. But now the pressure is immediate: where does that principle come from? If it’s just “reason,” then reason is doing the very kind of epistemic heavy lifting Wagner says it can’t do with respect to supernatural realities. If it’s “revelation,” then you’ve already presupposed the very thing you’re claiming Protestants can’t have—namely, a way to identify what is revealed as revealed.

The reason Rome can’t plausibly present itself as divine in origin is that it denies the very perspicuity it would need in order to be self-attesting. It systematically relocates the locus of clarity from God’s public Word to an institutional voice that must be identified, authenticated, and interpreted through layers of mediation. But once you do that, you’ve effectively removed yourself from the adult table of Christian discussion—because you’ve made the knowledge of God’s speech depend on a prior epistemic apparatus that is neither self-evident nor divinely guaranteed on Rome’s own terms. You don’t get “divine authority” by obscuring the only public, shareable standard and then demanding everyone trust your interpretive machinery to recover it.

And this is where the self-attesting model matters. It does not require denying Scripture’s sufficiency. Sufficiency is a claim about doctrinal content: Scripture contains all things necessary for faith and godliness. The self-attesting claim is about epistemic ground: divine revelation is its own justification because it is divine testimony. God is not a witness who must be vetted by a higher court of human method. He is the sort of being for whom “He intends it” entails “it cannot fail”—not because creatures are coerced into belief, but because God is fully capable of making His voice known as His voice.

That’s precisely what Wagner never seriously considers. His critique only “works” if you smuggle in his epistemology—an inferentialist, natural-theology framework where divine faith must be licensed by philosophical preliminaries: first reason your way to a generic deity, then run historical criteria, arrive at “credible,” and finally require an extra-scriptural presenting medium (tradition/magisterium) to upgrade that into “revealed-as-revealed.” But that is exactly the methodism Protestants reject. And, frankly, that is all you have left once you deny the self-sufficiency of divine revelation as divine testimony.

History isn’t useless—and I’m not trying to dissuade anyone from using it. But it is a tool with its own proper realm. History can corroborate, remove obstacles, and expose frauds; it can deliver prudential warrant and tighten the case. What it cannot do is function as the formal ground of divine-faith assent. History can illuminate God’s voice, but it can’t ground God’s authority. The ground is God speaking.

So the category mistake in Wagner is straightforward: he treats “knowing Scripture is God’s Word” as if it must be a conclusion of natural theology plus historical inference, rather than something God can and does make known by His own testimony.

I’ve pushed back on the slogan “a fallible list of infallible books” because it’s slippery. People say it like it’s obviously clear, but it can mean two very different things, and the whole debate changes depending on which one you mean.

(1) The “access” sense. The books are infallible, but Christians in different places/times didn’t always have every book in hand. So the “list” is “fallible” only because it may be incomplete at a given moment, not because the books it does have are misidentified. On this view, there could be canonical books that some communities simply hadn’t come into contact with yet.

(2) The “recognition” sense. The books are infallible, but our identification of them is inherently fallible. Since we aren’t God, we can only ever get to “probably” or “best explanation” about which writings are divine. So the “list” is fallible because it might actually be wrong—adding books that aren’t Scripture, or losing books that are.

Those aren’t the same claim, and a lot of people bounce between them without noticing.

Now (1) doesn’t bother me much. Josiah’s generation “found the Book of the Law,” and it didn’t undermine the faith—it exposed negligence and forced repentance. So even if you grant uneven access in history, that doesn’t mean the rule of faith collapses. Sola Scriptura isn’t the claim that all divine revelation is “in the Bible” in some abstract sense; it’s the claim that the public, covenant-binding revelation God has given the church is deposited in these writings. The faith isn’t “waiting on a perfect library catalog” to become binding.

And yeah—I don’t think there are NT books floating around out there that we somehow lost. But even if you entertained that as a bare possibility, it wouldn’t be a logical contradiction. If God had preserved additional apostolic writings we haven’t seen, they wouldn’t function as “surprise revelations” that overturn what the church already knows from the public deposit. Because the point is: whatever else God may have said, God does not contradict Himself. So if I know the books I have are God’s Word, then I also know they won’t be overturned by “new” books—at most, supplemented in a way that coheres with and confirms the same faith once delivered.

But (2) is a totally different animal, and I don’t buy it. I’m not a fallibilist here. I don’t accept the premise that our knowledge that “this is God’s Word” has to stay trapped at the level of fallible historical reconstruction. I’m an infallibilist about certain knowledge claims: whatever God causes you to know—His existence, His speech, His Word—you know infallibly, because the ground of the knowledge isn’t your method, it’s God’s own self-authenticating testimony.

And that’s the real problem with the “fallible list of infallible books” slogan: it slides between two meanings without admitting it. As I’ve said already: what historian is in a position to “verify God’s testimony” as though God is a witness on trial? And what “historical criterion” do you even devise for identifying divine revelation if you don’t already know what divine revelation is supposed to look like? The moment you start talking that way, you’ve already smuggled in the assumption that something more basic than God’s testimony has to certify God’s testimony.

So before someone throws around “a fallible list of infallible books,” they need to pick one:

• If they mean (1)—uneven access over time—that’s not the killer objection people pretend it is.
• If they mean (2)—fallible recognition as a principle—then they’ve moved the whole discussion into an epistemology where God’s Word can’t actually give knowledge of itself as God’s Word.

And that is exactly what I reject.