by Professor Morwenna Ludlow, a historian, theologian and priest, specialising in historical theology. She is Professor of Christian Theology at the University of Exeter and Canon Theologian at Exeter Cathedral
The question of how Christians understand celibacy has not gone away. Recent debates over Living and Love and Faith (LLF) in the July 2024 sessions of the General Synod of the Church of England show that. But this time, the issue of celibacy seemed to me to be tied to the question of the protection of conscience. It’s this connection I want to unpick here.
In our General Synod debates, I continue to be moved by the testimonies of those who speak about their conviction that they are called to a life of celibacy. (These have, so far as I recall, all been speakers who have also stated they are sexually attracted to those of the same sex.[1] I would love also to hear testimony about the vocation of celibacy from heterosexual Christians!) I do not think that I am in position to question their sense of vocation. In good conscience, that is not my call to make. As a heterosexual woman in a long, happy and fulfilling marriage, which began with a ceremony in my parish church, there is especially an imperative on me not to be too quick in my judgment.
Where I baulk, however, is when I hear some claim that their conscience should determine not just their own, but other people’s behaviour. There are two related ideas here. First, there is the idea that a conscientious restraint on one person’s part should be universalised to a demand for restraint by all who find themselves in a similar position – in this case, the idea that all lesbian and gay Christians should commit to celibacy. But, as I argued in an earlier blog, the church’s consistent, scriptural and traditional teaching (i.e. doctrine) of celibacy is that it should be a freely willed response to God’s call, not a demand placed on all. Second, there is the idea – put forward notably by the Church of England Evangelical Council (CEEC) – that the consciences of those who hold the conservative position should be protected by the provision of “a permanent structural rearrangement resulting in visible differentiation” from the rest of the Church of England.[2]
But this second idea seems to me to involve the unexamined movement between several related positions:
(a) In good conscience, person x believes that they can neither have an active sexual relationship outside heterosexual marriage, nor take positive steps which would condone or welcome such relationships (e.g. like offering the Prayers of Love and Faith for same-sex couples);
(b) The conscience of x is troubled by those in their church who do have an active sexual relationship outside heterosexual marriage, or who take positive steps which would condone or welcome such relationships;
(c) Person x has the right for their conscience to be protected from being troubled in this way.
Points (a) and (b) are statements of fact; point (c) makes an ethical demand. In brief, I certainly think that the church and its members should acknowledge (a) by ensuring that no-one has to act against their conscience with respect either to their own intimate relationships or in offering prayers of blessing for others (and the current proposals are emphatic on this point). I also think that it would be wise for those like me to recognise the depth of feeling surrounding point (b): I may disagree with the conservative position, but I need to acknowledge the way these questions are bound up with profound aspects of faith like the interpretation of Scripture and understandings of holiness. I can acknowledge the depth of hurt, while considering its cause to rest on a misunderstanding of the gospel. Nevertheless, it is possible to recognise point (b), without conceding the demand in (c). The question is: precisely what purchase should troubled consciences have on the rest of the church?
It might be helpful here to reflect briefly on the role of conscience in theological ethics.[3] Broadly speaking, the Reformed tradition has been cautious about the role of conscience seen as a natural faculty because conscience, like other faculties, has been impaired by the fall. My conscience is subject to distortion by pride, selfishness and lack of attention to the other, especially those others who are vulnerable. At best my conscience can skew my moral judgment; far worse, it can become an instrument of ‘godless self-justification’ as I put my ‘personal innocence’ above my responsibility for my neighbour.[4] For this reason, theologians in the Reformed tradition see conscience not so much as a natural faculty but as that point of encounter between God and myself in the time and place I find myself in, in the world. Conscience then becomes the recognition, through grace, of God’s demand on me – or, to put it another way, the discernment of God’s call to be who God wants me to be right here and right now. This call might be addressed to me as an individual or to a community – the church.
But what if we disagree? This question is sharp because the possession of a troubled conscience is not unique to those holding the conservative position on LLF. My conscience is deeply troubled by the fact that I am not just part of, but I am a priest in a church which I believe not to be including LGBTQIA+ people as I believe it ought. My conscience is troubled by the church’s treatment of people who are very dear to me. My conscience is troubled by the fact that, as a married heterosexual priest, I am part of a system which treats me better than it treats many LGBTQIA+ priests.
So where might we look to resolve our disagreement on conscience? Reference is sometimes made by conservative evangelicals to Romans 14:14-15 and 1 Corinthians 8, where Paul insists that the conscience of ‘weaker’ believers to be protected. I am not sure that reference to this passage is helpful for our current disagreements. The issue in Romans and 1 Corinthians concerns beliefs circulating about the effects of eating certain kinds of food: some believers thought that eating food sacrificed to idols (or food which might be thought to have been sacrificed to idols) would imperil their salvation. But Paul is clear that he thinks that these ‘weaker brethren’ are wrong in their belief: ‘Hence, as to the eating of food offered to idols, we know that “no idol in the world really exists” and that “there is no God but one.” …. “It is not everyone, however, who has this knowledge. Since some have become so accustomed to idols until now, they still think of the food they eat as food offered to an idol, and their conscience, being weak, is defiled’ (1 Cor. 8:4-7). So any use of these passages to urge the protection of one’s position as a weaker sibling is implicitly acknowledging that one might be wrong, whilst also placing a demand on oneself to protect the conscience of those whom one believes to be wrong. Secondly, these passages are about what kinds of food are permissible, which is very different from questions of how to treat our LGBTQIA+ sisters and brothers. Thirdly, Paul begins Romans 14 with an absolutely explicit call for mutual compassion: ‘Some believe in eating anything, while the weak eat only vegetables. Those who eat must not despise those who abstain, and those who abstain must not pass judgment on those who eat, for God has welcomed them.’ Fourthly, Paul seems to be addressing issues in local communities, not making pronouncements for the whole church. In essence, the current proposals from the House of Bishops already allow for our ‘weaker’ siblings, in that they clearly allow priests and communities who do not wish to use the Prayers of Love and Faith not to use them.
Where else might we look to learn about conscience? Because the term ‘conscience’ (suneid?sis) does not appear in the gospels we are perhaps in danger of leaving Jesus out of our accounts. If conscience is understood in God’s call to me, perhaps I should reflect on the way in which Jesus’ words frequently jolt his hearers’ out of their comfortable assumptions about their own virtue (the rich young man, those bringing the woman accused of adultery) or highlight the ever-present danger of hypocrisy and pride (the Sermon on the Mount). (I deliberately use ‘I’ here, for the danger of self-righteousness lies on both ‘sides’ of the debate.) Such encounters explain why theologians in the Reformed tradition write of conscience not as a natural faculty, but as the discernment of God’s demand on us. Conscience in this sense does not come ready-packaged; rather ‘individual moral judgement requires moulding by the believing community and its educative, pastoral, sacramental, disciplinary and therapeutic practices’.[5] This includes our reading and reflection on Scripture and a prayerful deepening of our understanding of the world. On this understanding, conscience cannot be something to be protected; rather, we are called to expose our consciences – to the gospel, to Jesus’ uncomfortable call on us, and to the messy realities of our complicated world.
By contrast, I am hearing calls from conservative evangelicals for their consciences to be protected. These calls amount in some cases to the demand to be protected from being in full communion with those who are using PLF or who are in same-sex marriages – as if being in full communion places too great a strain on their conscience. This seems to me to be in danger of treating conscience the wrong way. Far from being the place of encounter with the call of Jesus Christ on my life, this view of conscience seems to treat it as a thing of holiness to be polished and protected. This could be understood in two ways (and I suspect that both are in play). First, conscience is understood as a pure thing to be saved from taint. Underlying this are ideas of impurity, which so often creep into Christian discussions of sex – especially when it’s women or LGBTQIA+ people whose sexual activity we are discussing. Does the idea of protecting one’s conscience (‘keeping one’s conscience clean’) presume that in fact all sexual activity, and especially sexual pleasure, is dirty – which is why it must be contained in (heterosexual) marriage and, if at all possible, redeemed by the birth of children? Second, conscience is understood as a fortress to be defended from attack, ‘that inmost citadel of the personality, where the self is… king of its own castle, uncorrupted by the compromises and pressures of the crowd’.[6] On this understanding, the exposure of the self to the ‘crowd’ imperils its very identity.
Both understandings of why the conscience needs to be protected – a holy thing to be preserved from taint, a fortress to be protected from attack – help explain why feelings are so raw. But neither seem to me to reflect a good theological understanding of conscience as that point of encounter between God and myself. If attention to conscience means responding to Christ’s call on us, I don’t think that God wants us to focus on preserving our holiness – at least, not holiness understood in this narrow sense of protection from taint. God’s holiness does not withdraw from the reality of the world but is immersed in it. Neither do I believe that we need to preserve our identity from attack, for our identity has a sure foundation in our baptism in Jesus Christ.
God’s call to holiness, it seems to me, calls on us to step into that crowd outside the castle walls, that place where Jesus walked and talked and prayed and ate. Sometimes that means we have to eat with people who disagree with us on issues so painful that our hearts are raw. But if my conscience is found in my encounter with Christ, it is formed precisely in my encounter with all those whom he came to love.
Notes
[1] I am trying to echo the language they themselves have used in recognition that, while many are happy to identify as LGBTQIA+, for others this is difficult.
[2] See https://ceec.info/keepingfaith/: “What does the CEEC suggest as a way forward? CEEC remains committed to the highest degree of unity possible within the truth and doctrine of the Church of England. However, we believe that the current proposals will prevent us from walking together and promote disunity, even schism. It is clear that the strength of feeling amongst parties with differing convictions indicates that we have to find a better way forward. CEEC will continue to advocate a settlement, without theological compromise, based on a permanent structural rearrangement resulting in visible differentiation.”
[3] I approach this topic from the perspective of the Reformed tradition, because that is where the most vocal defenders of the conservative position seem to be speaking from. The issue is treated somewhat differently by ethicists in other traditions. The authors I cite on the topic of conscience should not be assumed to agree with my position on sexual ethics.
[4] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Ethics (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2009), 278, 276.
[5] John Webster, ‘God and Conscience’, in The Doctrine of God and Theological Ethics, ed. Alan J. Torrance and Michael Banner (London: Bloomsbury T & T Clark, 2006), 152.
[6] Henry Chadwick, Some Reflections on Conscience: Greek, Jewish and Christian (London: Council of Christians and Jews, 1968), p. 5, quoted by Webster, 152.
Any thoughts?