I’m thankful to have been able to spend some time in the Carolinas recently with family and friends. Special thanks to the Schoolhouse in Scranton, South Carolina for the fantastic buffet!
Rethinking Women’s Rights
When most of us hear phrases like “women’s rights” or “feminism,” our spines instinctively stiffen. We know how problematic these are given how they’ve been deployed in public discourse since the 1960s.
Like “reproductive rights” (abortion) or “equal pay for equal work” (an oversimplification of the gender pay gap discussion), most conservative Christians are dubious about women’s rights due to the assumptions and worldview that underwrite modern thinking about them.
I’ll never forget the first time I heard a female church member assert, “I’m liberated.” I somehow knew that she wasn’t thinking of what Paul meant in Galatians 5.
The contemporary scene hasn’t improved much in the last few years, although some beams of light are beginning to penetrate the darkness. As it eventually does, nature strikes back. I’ve read more than one article lately by non-believers about how consent isn’t enough when it comes to moral choices about sexual relations between men and women. Rightly so.
In preparation for a talk I’ll be giving later this summer about men and women in the church, I’ve been carefully reading Erika Bachiochi’s The Rights of Women: Reclaiming a Lost Vision (University of Notre Dame Press). The subtitle obviously implies that Bachiochi believes an earlier vision for women’s rights needs recovering. Over the course of 300 pages, she seeks to do just that.
Bachiochi channels the voice of the progenitor of the modern women’s rights movement, Mary Wollstonecraft. Wollstonecraft isn’t without her faults, intellectually and personally. To be fair, some of the negativity associated with her stems from unkind and probably untrue things written by her husband after her death. Yet if one studies what she and other women’s rights pioneers wrote and thought, it’s largely unrecognizable compared to modern feminism.
Many of the earliest writings on this subject focused almost as much on the responsibilities of men as they did the rights of women, seeing the two as inseparable. You can feel the word “complementary” floating just over the page. Bachiochi explains that the modern fusion of the feminist movement with the sexual revolution has eclipsed the earlier movement—one that was intellectually serious, logically coherent, religiously respectful, and always mindful of the centrality of children and the domestic sphere.
I was especially struck by a line cited from Frances Willard: “It is from the creed and cult of the cradle that woman has derived those qualities most worshipped by men…”. Childbearing and childrearing were never secondary or tertiary considerations within the women’s rights movement of old. “The creed and cult of the cradle” were to be embraced, honored, and respected. Bachiochi further explains, “Willard believed that men and women, although different from one another, ought to be full companions…sharing in moral and familial, and eventually societal, leadership” (105). The worry was that women or men would be tempted to subordinate the goods of the home to the “individualistic temptations of professional and public life.”
We can sense where the argument leads if we listen closely. It leads to a full-throated affirmation of men’s responsibilities within the domestic sphere. Not only must women never lose sight of their children’s needs and the leadership they require, neither should men.
One primary reason why “creed and cult of the cradle” has resounded in my ears lately (besides the fact that it’s an awesome phrase) is my recent experience of fatherhood. It has been all-consuming, challenging, and wonderful.
My wife commented how the earliest weeks felt as though we were living in a tunnel. In those days I was the only one leaving the home regularly for work, worship, and groceries. Moreover, it was the dead of winter, so leaving home was often undesirable. But the moment-to-moment needs of our son preoccupied both of us. She was certainly doing the hardest work, yet I resolved to do everything I could to meet both her needs and his. I didn’t see this just as a kindness, but a spiritual obligation.
I have no doubt I failed in those obligations more than once, but I can confidently say that the creed and cult of the cradle consumed us both. I felt it drawing me outside of myself and closer to my wife and son. It has been messy, beautiful, and humbling.
If more women had this expectation of would-be fathers, and more men had a desire for “success” in the domestic sphere first, our conversation about rights and responsibilities would sound much different.
The church of Jesus Christ should be the kind of place primed for that kind of conversation. We not only nurture the faithful in the truths of Genesis 1-2 and Ephesians 5-6, but we equip believers to understand the need for Scripture to instruct a world obsessed with a warped view of freedom and rights.
I’ve always had a general and episodic interest in family ancestry. I’m not alone. Companies like Ancestry and 23andme have done remarkably well with products such as family genealogy construction and DNA testing. Libby Copeland’s fascinating book The Lost Family charts some of the surge of interest in these ventures over the last two decades, while also calling attention to the disparate emotional outcomes for those who discovered a long-lost, not always distant relative.
I’ve stuck my toes in these waters from time to time. We have a mostly intact family Bible on one side of the family, and a decent family tree on another dating to the late 1800s. I’ve tried to go as far back as I can on my Grandaddy Watts’ side, which I’ve been able to trace to 1695. Then about three years ago, my wife and I sent our DNA in for testing to see which regions of the world our profiles best matched. It’s not an exact science, though many working in this field will tell you that it’s improving all the time.
One thing I appreciate about these types of inquiries is the humbling and leveling effect that it can have. People who style themselves as coming from nothing or being rednecks start finding lords and dukes in their lineage. Those committed to Social Justice, Inc. learn of the slaveowners in their history. These and hundreds of other surprising findings engender surprise, intrigue, or even shame.
I don’t subscribe to the school of thought that says heritage hunting necessarily tells you “who you are.” Should the redneck now spruce up his wardrobe and lose the drawl? Should the social justice warrior revoke his inheritance, seeing it as ill-gotten gain? This kind of straight-line thinking when it comes to history, identity, and morality is filled with holes, contradictions, and limits.
However, we should consider the moral force of our own histories. The apostle Paul noted in Romans 15:4, “For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.” Paul isn’t claiming that personal history is an infallible guide to one’s present identity and faithfulness. But he certainly has in mind passages that include both moral triumphs and moral failures. There’s plenty of those on offer in the Old Testament!
As we learn to spot godly virtue in biblical figures, it positions us to imitate that with the help of the Holy Spirit. But there’s a larger historical horizon. When we look at Grandpa or Grandma, Uncle Bill, or even when we’re able to learn more about our ancestors who were millers or bakers, farmers or the first factory workers in the Industrial Revolution, we remember that we aren’t self-made people.
One of the great lies of modernity is that we can sever ourselves from that which came before. This paved the way for the postmodern tendency toward self-creation.
The truth is that we’re neither merely the product of our ancestors’ personalities and choices, nor are we self-made people whose identities and tendencies stand above historical antecedents. We have free will and we have been shaped by forces, known and unknown. We are rightly known by blood, ethnicity, and gender, and we’re more than that by power of God as it builds a glorious, diverse church.
As with most modern lies, we can fall into the ditch on either side of the road. Ancestry is to be valued, studied, and appreciated, but not worshipped or feared.
At the risk of excluding many good and useful thoughts, I’m launching this new feature: “Quote of the Week.” I aim to share quotes from articles, essays, or the occasional blog post that say something substantial in an interesting, significant, and hopefully accessible way.
“Some churches have amazing music or impressive programs, and we want that for our church. Other churches tutor neighborhood kids, support homeless shelters, or find jobs for the unemployed, and we want that too. We hear of gifted preachers, pastors who know how to be fully present with the sick and elderly, and congregations that are richly diverse, while our own congregation is missing some or all of that. Every local church has the concrete particularity of these circumstances rather than those, and consequently does this but not that—and, of course, we often focus on the that and feel perpetually disappointed.”
Newsletter #13
Newsletter #13
Newsletter #13
On Women’s Rights and Ancestry
I’m thankful to have been able to spend some time in the Carolinas recently with family and friends. Special thanks to the Schoolhouse in Scranton, South Carolina for the fantastic buffet!
Rethinking Women’s Rights
When most of us hear phrases like “women’s rights” or “feminism,” our spines instinctively stiffen. We know how problematic these are given how they’ve been deployed in public discourse since the 1960s.
Like “reproductive rights” (abortion) or “equal pay for equal work” (an oversimplification of the gender pay gap discussion), most conservative Christians are dubious about women’s rights due to the assumptions and worldview that underwrite modern thinking about them.
I’ll never forget the first time I heard a female church member assert, “I’m liberated.” I somehow knew that she wasn’t thinking of what Paul meant in Galatians 5.
The contemporary scene hasn’t improved much in the last few years, although some beams of light are beginning to penetrate the darkness. As it eventually does, nature strikes back. I’ve read more than one article lately by non-believers about how consent isn’t enough when it comes to moral choices about sexual relations between men and women. Rightly so.
In preparation for a talk I’ll be giving later this summer about men and women in the church, I’ve been carefully reading Erika Bachiochi’s The Rights of Women: Reclaiming a Lost Vision (University of Notre Dame Press). The subtitle obviously implies that Bachiochi believes an earlier vision for women’s rights needs recovering. Over the course of 300 pages, she seeks to do just that.
Bachiochi channels the voice of the progenitor of the modern women’s rights movement, Mary Wollstonecraft. Wollstonecraft isn’t without her faults, intellectually and personally. To be fair, some of the negativity associated with her stems from unkind and probably untrue things written by her husband after her death. Yet if one studies what she and other women’s rights pioneers wrote and thought, it’s largely unrecognizable compared to modern feminism.
Many of the earliest writings on this subject focused almost as much on the responsibilities of men as they did the rights of women, seeing the two as inseparable. You can feel the word “complementary” floating just over the page. Bachiochi explains that the modern fusion of the feminist movement with the sexual revolution has eclipsed the earlier movement—one that was intellectually serious, logically coherent, religiously respectful, and always mindful of the centrality of children and the domestic sphere.
I was especially struck by a line cited from Frances Willard: “It is from the creed and cult of the cradle that woman has derived those qualities most worshipped by men…”. Childbearing and childrearing were never secondary or tertiary considerations within the women’s rights movement of old. “The creed and cult of the cradle” were to be embraced, honored, and respected. Bachiochi further explains, “Willard believed that men and women, although different from one another, ought to be full companions…sharing in moral and familial, and eventually societal, leadership” (105). The worry was that women or men would be tempted to subordinate the goods of the home to the “individualistic temptations of professional and public life.”
We can sense where the argument leads if we listen closely. It leads to a full-throated affirmation of men’s responsibilities within the domestic sphere. Not only must women never lose sight of their children’s needs and the leadership they require, neither should men.
One primary reason why “creed and cult of the cradle” has resounded in my ears lately (besides the fact that it’s an awesome phrase) is my recent experience of fatherhood. It has been all-consuming, challenging, and wonderful.
My wife commented how the earliest weeks felt as though we were living in a tunnel. In those days I was the only one leaving the home regularly for work, worship, and groceries. Moreover, it was the dead of winter, so leaving home was often undesirable. But the moment-to-moment needs of our son preoccupied both of us. She was certainly doing the hardest work, yet I resolved to do everything I could to meet both her needs and his. I didn’t see this just as a kindness, but a spiritual obligation.
I have no doubt I failed in those obligations more than once, but I can confidently say that the creed and cult of the cradle consumed us both. I felt it drawing me outside of myself and closer to my wife and son. It has been messy, beautiful, and humbling.
If more women had this expectation of would-be fathers, and more men had a desire for “success” in the domestic sphere first, our conversation about rights and responsibilities would sound much different.
The church of Jesus Christ should be the kind of place primed for that kind of conversation. We not only nurture the faithful in the truths of Genesis 1-2 and Ephesians 5-6, but we equip believers to understand the need for Scripture to instruct a world obsessed with a warped view of freedom and rights.
Share
Ancestry Adventures
I’ve always had a general and episodic interest in family ancestry. I’m not alone. Companies like Ancestry and 23andme have done remarkably well with products such as family genealogy construction and DNA testing. Libby Copeland’s fascinating book The Lost Family charts some of the surge of interest in these ventures over the last two decades, while also calling attention to the disparate emotional outcomes for those who discovered a long-lost, not always distant relative.
I’ve stuck my toes in these waters from time to time. We have a mostly intact family Bible on one side of the family, and a decent family tree on another dating to the late 1800s. I’ve tried to go as far back as I can on my Grandaddy Watts’ side, which I’ve been able to trace to 1695. Then about three years ago, my wife and I sent our DNA in for testing to see which regions of the world our profiles best matched. It’s not an exact science, though many working in this field will tell you that it’s improving all the time.
One thing I appreciate about these types of inquiries is the humbling and leveling effect that it can have. People who style themselves as coming from nothing or being rednecks start finding lords and dukes in their lineage. Those committed to Social Justice, Inc. learn of the slaveowners in their history. These and hundreds of other surprising findings engender surprise, intrigue, or even shame.
I don’t subscribe to the school of thought that says heritage hunting necessarily tells you “who you are.” Should the redneck now spruce up his wardrobe and lose the drawl? Should the social justice warrior revoke his inheritance, seeing it as ill-gotten gain? This kind of straight-line thinking when it comes to history, identity, and morality is filled with holes, contradictions, and limits.
However, we should consider the moral force of our own histories. The apostle Paul noted in Romans 15:4, “For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.” Paul isn’t claiming that personal history is an infallible guide to one’s present identity and faithfulness. But he certainly has in mind passages that include both moral triumphs and moral failures. There’s plenty of those on offer in the Old Testament!
As we learn to spot godly virtue in biblical figures, it positions us to imitate that with the help of the Holy Spirit. But there’s a larger historical horizon. When we look at Grandpa or Grandma, Uncle Bill, or even when we’re able to learn more about our ancestors who were millers or bakers, farmers or the first factory workers in the Industrial Revolution, we remember that we aren’t self-made people.
One of the great lies of modernity is that we can sever ourselves from that which came before. This paved the way for the postmodern tendency toward self-creation.
The truth is that we’re neither merely the product of our ancestors’ personalities and choices, nor are we self-made people whose identities and tendencies stand above historical antecedents. We have free will and we have been shaped by forces, known and unknown. We are rightly known by blood, ethnicity, and gender, and we’re more than that by power of God as it builds a glorious, diverse church.
As with most modern lies, we can fall into the ditch on either side of the road. Ancestry is to be valued, studied, and appreciated, but not worshipped or feared.
Currently Reading:
Ryan T. Anderson, When Harry Became Sally: Responding to the Transgender Moment
Quote of the Week (NEW):
At the risk of excluding many good and useful thoughts, I’m launching this new feature: “Quote of the Week.” I aim to share quotes from articles, essays, or the occasional blog post that say something substantial in an interesting, significant, and hopefully accessible way.
Share Churchatopia