The question of whether Christianity has been good for women is one that deserves interest from across the religious and cultural spectrum. It is not exclusively the query of the historian, cultural critic, or feminist—or of the pastor seeking to winsomely narrate a culturally-distasteful faith. As both a woman and one who shares the same ecclesial community as Gerald Hiestand, I believe he poses a question we each should ask, for what we say is true flourishing for women will define what we say is true flourishing for men.
With this in mind, I’m grateful for the framework Hiestand provides. Exploring the long arc of history allows the Christian narrative to ‘show the receipts’ as it were, displaying the societal consequences of its ethical demands. How else would the male-dominated culture of the Greco-Roman world be so radically transformed into our present–day society in which sexual assault is a fully prosecutable crime even at the hands of those with the greatest power? If these are our points of comparison, the contrast is stark: a woman of the #MeToo movement has, at a minimum, legal recourse in her own right that would have been unfathomable to a woman of the Roman empire.
What I find persuasive about Hiestand’s work, however, is also what I find incomplete. To determine the good of Christianity bears a fundamental assumption of both the nature of that good and its durability. What does it mean that Christianity has been good for women? Is this movement merely an overcoming of wrongs or clearing of the slate—or is it a declaratory movement towards an ongoing vision of flourishing? Hiestand’s central claim is that “Christianity carries within itself a feminist impulse that is actually more responsible for the flourishing of women than its modern secular counterpart.” I pose that this claim is undercut in three primary ways: by an under-defined conception of good, by its dependence on a narrow comparison between the Greco-Roman period and our contemporary era, and by being a narration largely to and for men. Has Christianity remained good for women? What do we mean by good? And what does this say, if anything, to women?
When narrating the first century society and Pauline declarations, Hiestand documents well the relationship between male power and the plight of women. It is women who first inevitably bear the weight of unrestrained men. But in a world influenced by Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, Hiestand narrates female flourishing as a via negativa: divorce is not a good, sexual promiscuity is not a good, and marital sex is not exclusively at the beck-and-call of the husband. However, while radically transformative to first-century society, this is primarily a removal of wrong. Are these good for women? If we mean that it is better that these are no longer present in marriage, then yes, it is good. What this assumes is that, with men chastened, women will, of course, flourish. What is missing in this articulation is a true vision for women: what does it mean for them to thrive beyond the absence of harm?
The second way this claim seems incomplete depends upon the frame of comparison. As Hiestand concludes when drawing out the present-day implications: “Nowhere else in the world, and at no other time in human history, have women been afforded the kind of inherent dignity, freedoms, respect, and opportunities that we find in the western Christian tradition.” It is a persuasive statement and undergirded by Tom Holland’s remarkable tracing of Christianity through the ages. Truly, a woman of the first century does not have the kind of bodily dignity and legal rights of a woman today, a striking contrast that Holland provides when considering the #MeToo movement.
However, the period of time Hiestand highlights as marking the turning point of feminism against Christianity is arguably the point where the long arc terminates. While first-wave feminism sought legal representation within society, second-wave feminism flooded the sheltered and patronized world of the domestic woman through Betty Friedan’s monumental The Feminine Mystique. Her complaint was not a question of violence against women, but a complaint for freedom from domestication, for a greater vision and vocation of what it meant to be a woman. I don’t name this to pretend that the consequences matched the impulse: Louise Perry excoriates the result of this and ensuing waves, and rightly so. As Abigail Favale notes in The Genesis of Gender, feminism has now been turned upon even the definition of woman. The pro-woman posture of modern feminism is difficult to see now as it cannibalizes itself. However, is it possible that the secular feminism that Perry and Favale lament is itself a response to an anemic Christian feminism? Even worse, is it the result of the ‘feminist impulse’ of Christianity being in truth a narration to men that offers no vision to women?
An interesting contrast can be noted here that draws together our first two concerns with the third. In the first-century world, a woman depended upon a marriage to facilitate her rights, dignity, and safety. A good woman was of high social class, fertile, and capable of productive household management. Modern feminism asks if the value of a woman has changed since the first century, though her rights remain intact. Second-wave feminism, most expressly, asked why the worth of a woman remained her social value, fertility, and housekeeping skills. Is female flourishing so minimal as to be equivalent with mere bodily dignity—and nothing more? While the fruits of secular feminism have arguably poisoned both men and women, the impulse of feminism is to uphold the worth of women and the robust good to the world that they might bring. Hiestand’s claim that Christianity is more feminist than secular feminism incurs the question: can we not answer questions of worth better than telling others what not to do? The claim of flourishing grows uncomfortably fragile when we further ask: where is the good of Christianity for women today?
Here I note explicitly the third concern: the ground-clearing work of naming harm and seeking legal or social equality must be paired with the restorative work of building and cultivating female flourishing. A society that simply tells men to keep it in their pants is not therefore a pro-women world, though it contains the potential. Hiestand begins to name this as he looks ahead and sees that “the best days of Christian Feminism lie in the future.” But the loss of trust in the feminist power of Christianity is not merely solved by affirming the good it has done. If Christian feminism is a move to merely charge and chasten men, secular feminism will continue to appeal to women by sheer virtue of speaking to them as women.
I acknowledge that Hiestand’s essay largely answers the question it poses: has Christianity been good for women? If the beginning and end of our comparison is Greco-Roman culture to our contemporary society, then our answer can be yes. If our definition of good is a call to sexual fidelity that preserves bodily dignity, then our answer can be yes. And yes, I affirm with Hiestand that secular feminism has run awry in attempting to architect a vision of flourishing for women. But, is Christianity good for women?
Here, I grieve that our answer is so lifeless. As a Christian, I believe in its good for the world; as a woman, I cling to its good for both sexes, despite my experiences to the contrary. I’m grateful for scholarship like this essay that reminds us of the kind of radical, culture-changing power that it holds and the ways it chastens and uplifts. But I’m skeptical of our ability to navigate a way forward when the good for women remains so undefined. Our good must be more than the establishment of protection by men, from men.
Hiestand begins to gesture towards a fuller vision when he calls the church the Queen of Heaven, the Bride of Christ in whom all believers participate. The shared regency so beautifully named speaks to men and women—a co-mission and commission given to all who bear the image of God. But the mission seems to be offered to men, rather than women: we call them to protect and tend, to be aware that their grip can leave bruises and that all of the world is not theirs for the taking by virtue of their power and position. What is the mission for women? If Christianity is to be a continuing good for women, we must find a better narrative than knowing we can find a lawyer when we bleed.
Hiestand began by asking us: has Christianity been good for women? The answer must be so much more than “Yes—look what it has said to men.” I long for a joyful and enduring—“Yes—look what it proclaims to us.”
Rae Paul is Director of Operations for the Center for Pastor Theologians, and Ministry Associate for Adult Education at Calvary Memorial Church.
The question of whether Christianity has been good for women is one that deserves interest from across the religious and cultural spectrum. It is not exclusively the query of the historian, cultural critic, or feminist—or of the pastor seeking to winsomely narrate a culturally-distasteful faith. As both a woman and one who shares the same ecclesial community as Gerald Hiestand, I believe he poses a question we each should ask, for what we say is true flourishing for women will define what we say is true flourishing for men.
With this in mind, I’m grateful for the framework Hiestand provides. Exploring the long arc of history allows the Christian narrative to ‘show the receipts’ as it were, displaying the societal consequences of its ethical demands. How else would the male-dominated culture of the Greco-Roman world be so radically transformed into our present-day society in which sexual assault is a fully prosecutable crime even at the hands of those with the greatest power? If these are our points of comparison, the contrast is stark: a woman of the #MeToo movement has, at a minimum, legal recourse in her own right that would have been unfathomable to a woman of the Roman empire.
What I find persuasive about Hiestand’s work, however, is also what I find incomplete. To determine the good of Christianity bears a fundamental assumption of both the nature of that good and its durability. What does it mean that Christianity has been good for women? Is this movement merely an overcoming of wrongs or clearing of the slate—or is it a declaratory movement towards an ongoing vision of flourishing? Hiestand’s central claim is that “Christianity carries within itself a feminist impulse that is actually more responsible for the flourishing of women than its modern secular counterpart.” I pose that this claim is undercut in three primary ways: by an under-defined conception of good, by its dependence on a narrow comparison between the Greco-Roman period and our contemporary era, and by being a narration largely to and for men. Has Christianity remained good for women? What do we mean by good? And what does this say, if anything, to women?
When narrating the first century society and Pauline declarations, Hiestand documents well the relationship between male power and the plight of women. It is women who first inevitably bear the weight of unrestrained men. But in a world influenced by Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, Hiestand narrates female flourishing as a via negativa: divorce is not a good, sexual promiscuity is not a good, and marital sex is not exclusively at the beck-and-call of the husband. However, while radically transformative to first-century society, this is primarily a removal of wrong. Are these good for women? If we mean that it is better that these are no longer present in marriage, then yes, it is good. What this assumes is that, with men chastened, women will, of course, flourish. What is missing in this articulation is a true vision for women: what does it mean for them to thrive beyond the absence of harm?
The second way this claim seems incomplete depends upon the frame of comparison. As Hiestand concludes when drawing out the present-day implications: “Nowhere else in the world, and at no other time in human history, have women been afforded the kind of inherent dignity, freedoms, respect, and opportunities that we find in the western Christian tradition.” It is a persuasive statement and undergirded by Tom Holland’s remarkable tracing of Christianity through the ages. Truly, a woman of the first century does not have the kind of bodily dignity and legal rights of a woman today, a striking contrast that Holland provides when considering the #MeToo movement.
However, the period of time Hiestand highlights as marking the turning point of feminism against Christianity is arguably the point where the long arc terminates. While first-wave feminism sought legal representation within society, second-wave feminism flooded the sheltered and patronized world of the domestic woman through Betty Friedan’s monumental The Feminine Mystique. Her complaint was not a question of violence against women, but a complaint for freedom from domestication, for a greater vision and vocation of what it meant to be a woman. I don’t name this to pretend that the consequences matched the impulse: Louise Perry excoriates the result of this and ensuing waves, and rightly so. As Abigail Favale notes in The Genesis of Gender, feminism has now been turned upon even the definition of woman. The pro-woman posture of modern feminism is difficult to see now as it cannibalizes itself. However, is it possible that the secular feminism that Perry and Favale lament is itself a response to an anemic Christian feminism? Even worse, is it the result of the ‘feminist impulse’ of Christianity being in truth a narration to men that offers no vision to women?
An interesting contrast can be noted here that draws together our first two concerns with the third. In the first-century world, a woman depended upon a marriage to facilitate her rights, dignity, and safety. A good woman was of high social class, fertile, and capable of productive household management. Modern feminism asks if the value of a woman has changed since the first century, though her rights remain intact. Second-wave feminism, most expressly, asked why the worth of a woman remained her social value, fertility, and housekeeping skills. Is female flourishing so minimal as to be equivalent with mere bodily dignity—and nothing more? While the fruits of secular feminism have arguably poisoned both men and women, the impulse of feminism is to uphold the worth of women and the robust good to the world that they might bring. Hiestand’s claim that Christianity is more feminist than secular feminism incurs the question: can we not answer questions of worth better than telling others what not to do? The claim of flourishing grows uncomfortably fragile when we further ask: where is the good of Christianity for women today?
Here I note explicitly the third concern: the ground-clearing work of naming harm and seeking legal or social equality must be paired with the restorative work of building and cultivating female flourishing. A society that simply tells men to keep it in their pants is not therefore a pro-women world, though it contains the potential. Hiestand begins to name this as he looks ahead and sees that “the best days of Christian Feminism lie in the future.” But the loss of trust in the feminist power of Christianity is not merely solved by affirming the good it has done. If Christian feminism is a move to merely charge and chasten men, secular feminism will continue to appeal to women by sheer virtue of speaking to them as women.
I acknowledge that Hiestand’s essay largely answers the question it poses: has Christianity been good for women? If the beginning and end of our comparison is Greco-Roman culture to our contemporary society, then our answer can be yes. If our definition of good is a call to sexual fidelity that preserves bodily dignity, then our answer can be yes. And yes, I affirm with Hiestand that secular feminism has run awry in attempting to architect a vision of flourishing for women. But, is Christianity good for women?
Here, I grieve that our answer is so lifeless. As a Christian, I believe in its good for the world; as a woman, I cling to its good for both sexes, despite my experiences to the contrary. I’m grateful for scholarship like this essay that reminds us of the kind of radical, culture-changing power that it holds and the ways it chastens and uplifts. But I’m skeptical of our ability to navigate a way forward when the good for women remains so undefined. Our good must be more than the establishment of protection by men, from men.
Hiestand begins to gesture towards a fuller vision when he calls the church the Queen of Heaven, the Bride of Christ in whom all believers participate. The shared regency so beautifully named speaks to men and women—a co-mission and commission given to all who bear the image of God. But the mission seems to be offered to men, rather than women: we call them to protect and tend, to be aware that their grip can leave bruises and that all of the world is not theirs for the taking by virtue of their power and position. What is the mission for women? If Christianity is to be a continuing good for women, we must find a better narrative than knowing we can find a lawyer when we bleed.
Hiestand began by asking us: has Christianity been good for women? The answer must be so much more than “Yes—look what it has said to men.” I long for a joyful and enduring—“Yes—look what it proclaims to us.”
Rae Paul is Director of Operations for the Center for Pastor Theologians, and Ministry Associate for Adult Education at Calvary Memorial Church.
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