‘Egalitarianism’ as a slippery slope?

I have heard or read a number of people recently arguing that an ‘egalitarian’ (hate the term…) position is to be rejected by evangelicals because it necessarily involves an approach to the the Bible which tends towards the erosion of Scriptural authority. This argument comes in two forms, one which has a degree of prima facie plausibility but is weak, and one which would be powerful but is in fact simply implausible. The plausible/weak form is based on hypotheticals: ‘someone who treats 1Tim 2 or Eph 5 like egalitarians do must therefore …’ The problem with this is the hidden premise in the argument is the theological (exegetical/hermeneutical) imagination of the one making the argument: in fact what is being said is ‘I cannot imagine a way of responsibly understanding Scripture that allows these conclusions…’ The limits of my, or anyone else’s, imagination are not particularly interesting theological data; historical reality (how have people who take this view in fact dealt with Scripture?) is far more interesting, which brings us to the second form of the argument. This involves an assertion that it is a matter of historical fact that someone who accepts an ‘egalitarian’ position will probably – not necessarily, but probably – soon cease to be evangelical because they have lost any adequate account of the authority of Scripture. An acceptance of the ministry of women is a/the first step on a slippery slope to liberalism, and that can be shown by historical example. This would be a strong argument if it were plausible. Any serious student of evangelical history can point to positions that do seem generally to correlate with a later loss of evangelical faith – the most obvious would be the refusal (on solid grounds of Biblical authority, usually) to use traditional but non-Scriptural language in talking about the Trinity. If it could be shown historically that there is in fact a correlation between the acceptance of the ministry of women and a later denial of Biblical authority then that would be a telling point. There is only one problem: there is no historical support whatsoever for this position; in fact, I would argue that there is a significant body of historical data pointing in precisely the opposite direction. Since the Reformation, there has been a broad correlation between a high view of Scriptural authority and an acceptance of the ministry of women. Those who advance the ‘egalitarianism as slippery slope’ position often rely on assertions drawn from personal experience: ‘I have seen this over and over again’; ‘in three decades of ministry it has become clear to me’; ‘I, sadly, can think of many former friends who…’. There is a place for personal reminiscence in forming historical argument, but it is a carefully delimited one. Responsible scholarship knows the extent to which our narration of our own experiences tends to be conformed to what we think we should have observed. I am sure Christian pastors and scholars who say things like the above are honestly reflecting what they think they have experienced, but I am equally sure that, were we able to test their narratives against the facts of their life, we would find the intrusion of a considerable amount of unconscious bias. What is needed is proper historical scholarship: in the case of the Trinitarian language issue above, there is a classic case (drawn from older Dissenting history rather than evangelicalism): the Salters’ Hall synod of 1619. We have lists of those who subscribed to a traditional confession of faith, and of those who refused on grounds of fidelity to Scripture; we can trace their future careers, or the later denominational alignment of their churches; the correlation is easy to demonstrate on the basis not of imperfect recollection, but documented historical evidence. Where is the equivalent detailed historical work that shows that those who embrace the ministry of women tend to fall from a conviction of the authority of Scripture? It is just not there. I submit that there is a good reason it is not there: there is no available historical evidence to support assertions that ‘egalitarians’ tend to cease being evangelical. Such assertions are, when tested against historical evidence, simply fantasies. More than this: as any student of evangelical history knows, until the second half of the twentieth century, evangelicalism was more consistently hospitable to the teaching and leading ministry of women than any other Christian tradition except the Quakers. (And the change in the C20th was generally other traditions becoming more hospitable, not evangelicals becoming less so.) Major evangelical leaders have often accepted the ministry of women: Wesley and Booth stand out, but there are many,...

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The bare minimum gospel?

I’ve been involved in a discussion recently, connected to the excellent Evangelical Alliance Confidence in the Gospel campaign, which raised, amongst other issues, the question ‘what is essential to a gospel presentation?’ I understood the reason the question was on the table – are their certain things that, if they are not included, make an account of the Christian gospel simply inadequate – a ‘bare minimum gospel’? – and I sympathise with the concern: of course there are ways of calling people to faith that are so misleading, or just so anaemic, that they need to be criticised. That said, this way of presenting the question was one I struggled with. The good news of what God has done in Jesus Christ His Son, the gospel, changes absolutely everything, or so I believe. There is no human possibility left untransformed, no human story that does not now have different possible endings. Sometimes we will not be able to see immediately how the gospel is transformative of this or that reality; sometimes we will honestly disagree about the nature of transformation brought by the gospel, but I cannot begin to conceive of an adequately Christian presentation of the gospel that does not hold out such far-reaching consequences, at least potentially. Now of course, some of these consequences will be more central than others. We might disagree on how the gospel transforms our diet (Rom. 14:13-21) without that being a major problem; disagreeing, however, on how the gospel transforms our attitude to the ancient covenant practice of circumcision is, or at least once was, extremely serious (Gal. 5:2-6). There are some truths of the gospel that are more central, some truths indeed that are absolutely central: the triunity of God; the true humanity and true deity – and the true Lordship – of our Lord Jesus Christ; the sinfulness of humanity; salvation available only by God’s grace, through Christ’s sacrifice; the sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit; the privilege and responsibility of adoption into God’s family; … In a proper process of Christian initiation, one would want to insist that each of these points is covered, and also that other points, perhaps less central to the gospel, but important for Christian initiation, are dealt with – I am here thinking of local practices of discipleship and being church: homegroups are not central to the gospel, for example, but if they are the primary mode of caring for and discipling believers in the particular church fellowship that a new convert is joining, they become a matter of importance; equally, for someone joining a Baptist (or other congregationalist) fellowship, explaining the practice of church meeting is very important, but hardly central to the gospel. This, however, is an account of what must be covered in a process of Christian initiation; a gospel presentation is not, of itself, a process of Christian initiation, or at least not necessarily. A gospel presentation can be an invitation to a journey to find out more; as such its content needs to be true and worthwhile, but can be really very partial, and certainly does not have any required content. I can see three possible rejoinders to this. The first I will call the ‘elevator pitch‘ question: ‘But if you only had 30 seconds to explain the gospel to someone, what would you say? – that’s the essential truth of the gospel, the “bare minimum”!’ The second we can call the ‘moment of conversion’ question: ‘Yes, you might interest people in all sorts of ways, and there is much truth you want them to believe – but what makes the difference between death and rebirth? What is the one thing that must be believed for someone to be truly converted –  that’s the essential truth of the gospel, the “bare minimum”!’ The third might be described as the ‘power of the Spirit’ issue: ‘The Holy Spirit empowers true gospel preaching; what is the thing that must be said to be confident that the Holy Spirit will be at work? that’s the essential truth of the gospel, the “bare minimum”!’ It seems to me the ‘elevator pitch’ is a non-question, except in a very particular circumstance (described later). If you only have a minute or two to speak to someone about following Jesus you should do exactly what you would do if you had an hour or a day: find how the promises of Jesus relate to the most pressing felt need in her life, and press that so that she will want to find out more. There is no ‘bare minimum gospel’ on this telling, just a responsibility to be wise (and to seek...

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Why ‘complementarianism’ matters: reflections occasioned by Carl Trueman

Carl Trueman has an excellent blog post on the Reformation21 site, expressing puzzlement at why so many (American, evangelical) parachurch organisations make complementarianism (male-only leadership) a defining point of their platform. He highlights the potential absurdity of this in characteristically sharp and witty fashion, pointing out that the historical divisions that these organisations choose to bridge (baptismal practice; church polity; doctrines of grace) are, or should be, far more basic than complementarianism, and asking some sharp questions about practice (he imagines a situation of a male, paedobaptist, Presbyterian minister and a female Baptist minister visiting a Baptist church that is part of one of these coalitions, and asks how this will be played out, indicating that every possible answer is absurd.) As a committed evangelical (indeed, someone who has defended inerrancy in print a couple of times), who is also committed to the principle that not only should all areas of church life be open to women, but that every local church should in fact have female leaders, I might be expected to applaud Carl’s post. He certainly makes his point well, but I think he misses something about the significance of praxis in defining unity. Reflection on that point illuminates something about British evangelicalism also. Carl’s post asks about theology, and considers practice in the local church; what he misses, I think, is any consideration of what organisations like the Gospel Coalition actually do. I have commented before that church division generally happens on issues of practice rather than doctrine: two people can probably find a way of negotiating a disagreement over (say) Christology, particularly if they both agree not to preach on it; if they disagree over how to celebrate the Lord’s Supper, they are fairly soon going to be worshipping in different congregations, simply because they cannot both practice their beliefs in the same one. The original genius of the first evangelical parachurch groups back in the eighteenth century was their ability to negotiate differences over church order and sacramental practice by removing their organisational activity from the context of the local church: a Bible Society meeting in a town hall can be attended by Baptists, Presbyterians, and Episcopalians indifferently. At this functional level, what a group like The Gospel Coalition does is hold conferences and write stuff; the fracture points for such a group, then, are going to centre on disagreements over how to organise a conference and/or what stuff gets written and by who. The question of who is allowed to speak in public, then, inevitably becomes a point of division, and so of identity. If the group is going to organise conferences, and is only going to invite men to preach/teach at them, then the restriction of the teaching ministry to men is a defining point of the group, and it is as well to be honest about that. Why has this not generally happened this side of the Atlantic? We might point to the generally more relaxed attitudes of British churches (Carl’s illustration of a Presbyterian pastor being refused admission to the Lord’s Table because he has not been baptised as a believer does not describe something that would happen in very many British Baptist churches, rightly or wrongly). We might also point to some more nuanced accounts of complementarianism that operate in Britain, largely due to the weight of influence of the Church of England. I suspect, however, that the most honest response would be to say that the same point of division has happened in British evangelicalism, but we have generally been less than open about it. To take the issue of nuance, a common form of British complementarianism has focused on the issue of authority, rather than the issue of teaching per se. So there are many British evangelical churches which have articulated a position where women are allowed to teach, indeed to be part of the ordained ministry team, but are not allowed to hold the senior role in the team. Churches holding such a position could cheerfully be a part of a conference with both male and female speakers, although they may want some visible asymmetry to reflect their theology. (In some cases this gets convoluted to the extreme, with certain central platforms being denied to women; I have never been able to fathom what theological principle is at play in allowing women to speak to only a certain size of audience…) That said, some British evangelical parachurch groups do in practice restrict their platforms to men only; I have been told by people on UCCF staff that this is, or recently has been, common amongst university Christian Unions, for example. The rhetoric deployed...

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Keep Saturday Special?

The question of Sunday trading is in the news again. Here in Scotland, there is no difference in retail law between Sunday and other days; in England and Wales, however, there has been a limitation on trading on Sunday such that ‘large’ stores are only able to open for six hours. This southern limitation was relaxed over the course of the Olympics, with government ministers and spokespeople lining up to assert that this was a one-off, extraordinary relaxation, not a test case for a broader relaxation. It now seems that the line-up of ministers and spokespeople was misinformed or mendacious; the government is now publicly suggesting that a permanent change in the law would be desirable. There’s a political story here, about incompetence in managing the news agenda – who would have thought it, from our current government? The more significant issue, however, is the rightness or wrongness of the maintenance of one day in the week as somehow special, and the way this is done. To take the latter point first, it is striking that the most powerful sabbatarian cultures in Britain were and are found in parts of Scotland, where they have been maintained by custom rather than by law. This might seem attractive, except that ad hoc mechanisms for ensuring social conformity tend to be rather less professional and rather more painful than mechanisms of legal redress. Law is the method civilised societies use to enforce their norms for the reason that it is just more, well, civilised than the alternatives. Should Sunday be kept special? I do not see that a straightforward appeal to Christian sabbatarian principles is a plausible argument: the large majority of people in the UK choose not to attend church on any given Sunday, and legislation, whilst protecting the significant interests of minorities, should generally reflect the social mores of the majority in a democracy. It is noteworthy, however, that – at least from the launch of the Keep Sunday Special Campaign in the mid-1980s – the mainstream Christian opposition to Sunday trading has not been based on a sabbatarian argument; rather it has been based on the idea that keeping one day in the week as free as possible from professional commitments for all people benefits family life, local communities, and so society as a whole. This argument has found considerable support from trade unions and other organisations concerned with workers’ rights; how theological is it? KSS had its origins in Michael Schluter’s Jubilee Centre, which at the time was offering an interesting account of the principles underlying the law codes of Israel in the Old Testament as a model for thinking about society. My memory of going to some of their seminars 20+ years back (feeling old…) is that two things stood out: an account of multiple centres of final authority (from memory, they found six) – the king had authority over some areas of life; the priest over others; the head of clan over others again; … – and a focus on good relationships as the central issue for building a healthy society. We might defend this focus on relationships in many ways: a doctrine of the Trinity; a theological anthropology; a reading of Scripture; an analysis of the central Christian virtue of love; … (I did it once in print via a Calvinist account of the nature of freedom!) There is little doubt, though, that a protest against forms of individualism that see human beings as atomised, in favour of accounts of the importance of good relationships to human flourishing, is a major theme of much contemporary theology. (This is usually an insult in my usage; here it is not; the instinct is there in earlier theology but did not need to be developed the way it has recently because the individualistic drive was never there. Blame Romanticism and its vision of the inviolable interiority of the self, perhaps.) The campaign to Keep Sunday Special was an attempt to derive public policy from this theological instinct; a good – but not perfect – one, in my estimation. UK employment law recognises the need for a pattern of work and rest; indeed, this aspect of the law has been strengthened in various ways (mostly driven by Europe) in my working life. There has however been no recognition that there is social value in my patterns of work and rest being to some extent coherent with my wife’s, my children’s, my friends’, … Employment law, that is, constructs me as an atomised individual whose welfare does not depend on relationships. This is a dangerous fantasy, and needs to be named as such. The KSS...

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