Stories have great power – we all know that. The Bible is full of them.
Partly their power comes by helping us make sense of the world, bring mental order to it. Partly they have power by clarifying what needs to happen next, and sometimes, therefore, who is best qualified that lead that change.
There is a powerful story that is told in and about our Diocese. It goes like this.
Human sinfulness means that all people, and therefore all organisations and institutions tend to depart and drift from godliness. That’s just the way things are until glory.
The way this drift happens is observable and inevitable. Even when an organisation has good, gospel-minded, theologically sound and godly leadership, a change can take place. It is a subtle but decisive change. The change is the move from what could be called ‘closed’, or ‘hard’ conservatism, to ‘open’ or ‘soft’ conservatism.
The difference between the two might not necessarily be in terms of the content of their convictions, but in the manner in which they are held. Open or soft conservatives are, well, more open to new ideas, and softer towards difference; this is their way by temperament. They tend to be centre defined, not boundary defined.
But that very openness, softness, tolerance, means that there is an inevitable move from soft conservatism to liberalism. It can’t be helped, and it can’t be stopped. It will as a matter of necessity happen.
This is the story told in the book The dying of the Light, about 17 US colleges and universities which started out as theologically reformed, orthodox and conservative, but have since entirely lost their way.
And because this move is unavoidable, it means that the only way to stop the drift to liberalism is to oppose soft conservatism as though it were in fact liberalism – with the same vigour and passion. Here is where the story clarifies action.
So, do you recognise this narrative? Does it make sense of some parts of our Diocese?
And finally, what’s wrong with it? Because it is my conviction that this is a deeply flawed account.
I recognise the story — it often comes in the ‘three generations’ mantra (‘It only takes three generations to lose te gospel: the first teaches it, the second assumes it but puts energy into other things, and the third rejects it in favour of those other things’).
Theologically, I want to ask what happened to redemption, the work of the Spirit, and the confidence the Apostles displayed — even when it came to the future of not-very-together Christians (like those in Corinth)?
But I guess, I might want to moderate this by asking about the evidence. Because 17 once-reformed institutions sounds like a lot. How did they ‘fall’ if not in the manner described in that book? And, by extension, what is it those in the Diocese should aware of as genuine threats to the good stuff that’s going on?
Looking forward to your thoughts!
This narrative is often summarised in the saying: The first generation preaches the gospel, the second assumes and the third denies.
True enough in some institutions and movements. But there is another pattern, namely:
The first generation preaches the gospel
The second codifies it
The third fossilises it
I would think that is a fairly common pattern, especially in reformed circles. In that second pattern, hard conservatism is the culprit.
The first generation preaches the fundamentalist gospel, the second generation preaches the evangelical gospel and the third generation preaches the social gospel?
From Justin Moffatt:
Fascinating, Rory. A thought: there are always two things we need to protect: the Gospel and Mission. You can’t protect one without doing the other. Your two patterns name two separate ‘culprits’: the ones who lose the gospel (because everyone is let on the island), and the other ones who also lose the mission (because ‘we are the only ones left on the island’). May we lose neither.
Justin, very helpful to recognise the two issues of faithfulness to Christ – purity of the gospel and passion for the mission. It seems to me that the really big question is how to maintain both at the same time (but that’s getting ahead of myself a little)
From Richard Humphrey:
Can you really separate Gospel and Mission, perhaps thinking that we can is part of the problem, and in that separation we then also imagine that there is an island. If you try to protect the two you presumably keep trying to convert the people who are on the island, leading to gospel services to no one. Rather protecting the Gospel of the Kingdom must lead to mission whether you are on an island or not (A comment coming from an island)
Here is a very delicate issue to broach, which verges on ad hominem (since it certainly doesn’t engage with the arguments of the book directly). It’s fair to say that sometimes those living secret lives can create a public persona that espouses an extreme conservatism. Although this book has been referenced at talks where I’ve been present, those citing it had no idea that Burtchaell – an outspoken opponent of homosexuality – was forced to step down from Notre Dame after sexual misconduct with male students. I wonder what initial stance that ought to encourage towards his conservative academic work?
Perhaps more usefully (and hence deserving of a separate comment), I’m curious why a largely accepted reality – the inevitable distancing of of mature universities from their sponsoring religious bodies – should become a generally applicable model. Just as the narrative of sin and decay is a biblical one, so is repentance and sanctification. I wonder if we are seeing an expression of a deeper suspicion towards institutions as institutions, as if they have a necessary proclivity towards the darkness of individuals without a capacity for the light.
The ‘flaw’ in the narrative you’ve described is that is confuses radical (love-fuelled) practises of engagement with liberalisation of doctrine, which is neither inevitable nor unavoidable. Radicalism in engagement and conservatism in doctrine is essential to maintain the integrity and priority of Gospel and Mission. This is because the eternal gospel must be brought to bear in the particular circumstances of the contemporary mission environment. Liberalism reverses this dynamic being radical in doctrine and conservative in practise – faithless and fruitless.
For mine, the narrative in Jim Collins’ ‘How the Mighty Fall’ is starting to become scarily recognizable. Interesting to think how that fits with the issues you describe. There seems to be what I call a ‘pious arrogance’ (cf Collins’ Stage one ‘hubris’? Perhaps a different issue…) which feeds our hard conservatism. ‘Humble intentionality’ might be a better approach to these doctrinal issues I think.
Yes, recognise it and the siege mentality that goes with it. Isn’t that one of the reasons why a certain Bishop was pilloried in an Archbp’s election synod?
And surely that is one of its major weaknesses: fine, gospel-minded, mission-minded, and theologically conservative and astute people get squashed under the ramparts that are designed to keep “liberalism” at bay. And it’s justified by recourse to protecting the flock.
If you are going to use narrative – it seems by definition it will have an ‘us’ and ‘them’….. Nobody wants to be the ‘them’? (just like nobody wants to be Mr Pink – and yet why have I landed this pattern next to my name!)
Hi AB,
interesting comment about us and them.
I think you’re right, a narrative involves protagonists and antagonists, us and them.
And actually, I think the gospel involves an ‘us’ and a ‘them’.
The crucial thing is getting those identifications right! And especially, when it’s a cross-shaped us and them
Here is a quotation from Ashley Null that reflects on Anglican history. Here is a way to maintain gospel integrity and mission. Adaptation can become the enemy of mission. Gospel integrity is necessary.
‘Effectiveness in mission is the highest historic priority in Anglicanism, for the church derives its existence, purpose and power from the faithful proclamation of the gospel in word and sacrament. Because of this divine call, the church has God’s assurance of his abiding presence among his people. Nevertheless, since
the church as a human institution can err, adapting the proclamation of the gospel to a specific culture can all too often lead to the culture adapting and changing the gospel to its own human idolatries. Therefore, a global fellowship is necessary to help individual national churches to discern whether a specific gospel proclamation is adapting to the culture or capitulating to it.’
I understand the difference between hard conservatism and soft conservatism, however I find it difficult to think that “hard conservatism” is such an appropriate term for the gospel of Jesus who lved God and people so much. He set his face like flint to go to Jerusalem, never swayed from the path he had to go, yet was so loving, tender and gentle that like Isaiah 42 says, he wouldn’t break a bruise reed. His justice was brought by faithfulness not by smashing human opponents. So should ours. The “soft conservatives” are accused of not being as faithful to the word in order to “love” people. By our actions & faithfulness to the God whose word we have, we should be such tender loving people, those whom the down-trodden & vilified will long to be near because we reflect God’s love… at least that is how it should happen.
Some of the earlier comments of 1st generation, 2nd etc come near to showing how in the past our Diocese has used law to protect grace (thus the oft repeated accusation that “synod has ministers pretending to be lawyers and lawyers pretending to be theologians”). Yet for me, God only ever has children, never grandchildren or great grandchildren. Each generation needs to be inflamed with love for the Lord, living by grace through faith.
Hi Rob,
there’s something very powerful in what you say – Jesus was hard yet soft, and how can we be otherwise, especially since we are saved sinners who ought always to doubt ourselves, aware of our ongoing sin, and he was God the Son.
And at the same time, we need to preserve the purity of the gospel, and sometimes that means fighting the good fight, even against those who call themselves fellow servants – as in the Pastorals.
the question is, how to do both?
And the narrative that has been used as an answer to that question is the hard/soft narrative.
My point is that I don’t think the narrative either fits or in fact works!
In other words, we need a better, truer, more faithful-to-the-gospel narrative.
G’day Andrew,
I like your thinking! The hard/soft seems to set up a boundary line that is perhaps the wrong line to be fighting over.
I’ve personally always struggled with the tension contained within the single Great Comandment (which I think is somewhat similar to the eg of gospel/mission tension but framed in a much more relationally constructive way). Love the Lord your God with all your heart and mind and soul and strength, and your neighbor as yourself. The spectrum (I think?) you talk about are both contained in this one line of tension and are both framed positively. And as individuals in community we are to grow in both areas. Yet there is also order and sequence contained in the great commandment which is to be noted.
Hope that’s helpful! Looking forward to hearing more.
Mike
From Phil Wlker-Harding
I feel the big problem with the way of thinking you describe is that it treats all issues as ‘of first importance’. It is good to be lovingly ‘hard’ about the facts of the gospel. Being ‘soft’ on them may lead all sorts of bad places.
But being ‘hard’ about other issues – church tradition, cultural expression, debated issues in ethics or christian practice – is a different thing. I think the epistles model a softer approach here, where re-preaching the gospel into these difficult situations can help churches change.
I think the problem in some Evangelical circles is that any ‘secondary’ issue can get turned into an ‘authority of the bible’ issue right away. This can shut down discussion and I think is part of the reason some see almost every disagreement as a place to be ‘hard’.
There are two different reasons from ‘X is true and undebatable’ to ‘X is true and there is room in our fellowship for people who disagree.’ The first is ‘I’m not really sure why I believe X and I don’t want to be embarrassed by having to defend it.’ The second reason is ‘I’ve got some really good arguments for X that I’ll never get to use if there’s no room to debate it.’ If everyone in the group making the change falls under the first reason then a slide into not believing X is likely. But if a substantial portion fall under the second then all that will happen is that the understanding of X is clarified, maybe a few people are persuaded to X and everyone gets an opportunity to sharpen their logic and reasoning skills. So you have to ask yourself, are you ready to give a defense for the hope that is within you, with gentleness and reverence?
Andrew, your post reminds me of the narrative of the Harry Goodhew days. I think Harry was pilloried as a soft conservative. And I wonder if that kind of campaign could re-emerge later this year?
Perhaps this is true on a parish level as well, but I think in any organisation it is good to recognise when your current successes may be based on the hard work of people who disagree with you, have simply ignored you, or even opposed you within that organisation.
I think ‘Soft’ conservatism fits pretty well into that category.
The danger with the narrative above is if you keep telling ‘soft’ conservatives that they are liberals, some of them eventually will be. This is just anecdote, but I’ve seen far more liberals created from aggressive ‘hard’ conservatives than from principled ‘soft ones
I think the narrative you describe has a kind of logic. Within every organisation lie the seeds of its own destruction. Love is naive, Christians are generous and gentle, and this makes churches a soft target, vulnerable to infiltration by their enemies.
So enable us to keep bringing the grace of God to our neighbours at the local level, there need to be some hard men kicking heads at night, at the institutional level. The only way to protect the message of peace is for the guardians manning the walls to shoot down the enemies outside – and if necessary within. These guys do stuff we would rather not hear about, they get their hands and consciences dirty so that we have a safe place to practice godliness and purity of heart.
They do such a good job protecting us, that we even have the luxury of feeling disgusted at what they do.
But you try taking them away, and see what horrors are unleashed on the Diocese.
Jono,
are you saying we can’t handle the truth!?
Not irony really, not saying anything in particular. Just trying to imagine myself into the shoes of someone in our diocese who lives out this narrative. I’m guessing this is how it feels to be them. And it’s a pretty strong argument, don’t you think?
‘code red’ katay – it has a ring to it don’t you think? 😉
Hi Katay,
Thanks for the blog. I feel if you have come out of blogging semi-retirement I might come out of commenting retirement. It is a pretty crucial time for us as a nation and as a diocese, and it would be great to keep up an informed debate. I have grown up Sydney diocese but blissfully unaware of the politics that lay underneath until the last few years.
I am just trying to work out your logic in this blog. I am becoming more and more convinced that people rarely debate issues such as these on rational or logical terms, but more on intuitive terms. (Have a read of Jonathan Haidt’s excellent book “the righteous mind.”
In you argument you pit the study of 17 empirically based case studies against your “conviction”. It seems to me the story about slow drift in organisations has some empirical support. Here also think Wayne Grudem and his book “evangelical feminism…”. Have you got some kind of empirical basis that so called soft conservatism doesn’t drift over time, and even better, hasn’t led to further drift over time? As it stands you pit you inner conviction against researched support for the position you decry.
Also this seems particularly sectarian to refer to hard and soft. These pejorative a are not very helpful. As Forrsest Gump so wisely said, “life is like a box of chocolates.” I have known many who are “soft centres” but “hard on the outside and supposedly “soft” on the outside but are hard on the outside, willing to treat people as collateral damage. (interestingly Haidt finds that so called progressives are actually more dogmatic that conservatives.) Do you think as a collective we can rewrite the narrative with less pejorative terms? It might lead to a less heated and better lit discussion.
Hi Mark,
welcome out of retirement!
I think you’re exactly right about the intuition issue, and in fact that will be one of my major points later on.
I was going to make the same point as Mike Wells, re the Dying of the Light study.
And I agree wholeheartedly about the language of hard and soft – I’m just using the terms in which the narrative is put by others. Again, to preempt, it’s is silly / simplistic / utterly reductionistic to think that people and the positions they hold and the way they interact with others can be reduced to 2 hard and fast – and emotive – categories like that.
But I’m going to suggest, that’s a significant part of the function of the narrative!
Hi Mark,
umm, I don’t know that you could really call ‘The Dying of the Light’ an empirical study. Nor do I think it is easily transferable, either to Australia, or to our diocesan church scene.
So, for instance, I don’t really see any of our parishes moving away from their denomination because they start getting funded by a Tobacco tycoon (ala Wake Forest), or of the diocese capitulating because of a desire for government funding (ala Boston College). If anything, the book is useful for independent churches, about how moving away from a denominational connection can lead to drift.
Or how denominational bodies can alienate their institutions by needlessly hampering what the institutions are there for (So the Baptists losing contact with their universities because of the rampant anti-intellectualism within the denomination).
Or how a lack of intelligent engagement seems to strengthen your position but actually leads to collapse
Hi Mike,
thanks for that. I am tracking down a copy of the book at the moment, but have a read a review of it, which is accessible here.
Click to access Dying%20of%20the%20Light%20review.pdf
The review made for interesting reading. As far as I can tell, it seems to suggest that the book provides little to no support for the narrative I have outlined, but which claims the Dying of the Light as historical evidence!
But I’ll have more to say shortly.
Another fallacy of the narrative you have identified is that the description of “soft/open” already admits some level of compromise or deviance from the norm… it is built into the language used.
The silliness of this is exposed by how fundamentalists regard hard conservatives who appear too soft/open/compromised. In this case the narrative would apply equally to the hard conservatives with different beginning (ie. fundamentalist) and end points.
Less relevant to the theme of your current blogging but alive and well in other parts of the Anglican world are those who are criticised for the opposite: too hard-lined/evangelical and excluded because they represent the stepping stone to fundamentalism!
Hi Geoff,
really interesting observation, particularly because the thing you identify reveals something the social function of the narrative, over and above its theological function.
Thanks Katay,
As they sometimes say on the radio: long time …, first time …. I appreciate reading all this, after hearing a sneak peek one fine day in Chicago!
Is there a danger, though, in this whole narrative discussion, of both groups simplistically writing off the other as either ‘hard’ or ‘soft’? It’s so easy for us to shift from specific critique into general and global critique. Or at least, I find it so.
Reading through the comments has put in my mind two reflections on recent leadership of our Diocese for which I am very grateful: a) the call to mission in the form of our Diocesan mission, however faithfully or not we, as a whole Diocese, have enacted it; and b) the fact that the mission spoke of ‘Bible-based churches’, thereby (in principle, at least) reminding us that we aren’t the only ones on the island.
Obviously there are genuine critiques and/or questions you want to raise. I am certain I will find them thought-provoking. But avoiding a tendency to globalise may be a challenge for all of us.
Like another reader, I would also love to know if there are good stories of what the narrative might call ‘soft’ avoiding a slide into liberalism? Also, if we were to think out of the Bible, what would you suggest should be our greater expectation: the negative narrative or the positive one?