The following is a draft of a review of an article by Valerie A. Karras.
Es ist nicht einmal falsch…
Introduction
The eminent physicist Wolfgang Pauli Valerie
A. Karras
Theology, in the Eastern Orthodox tradition which Karras claims,
ideally enhances or seeks to protect an authentic encounter with the living God
within the context of the Church, the Body of Christ. Perhaps in its most basic form, it permits
one to come to an answer to the pertinent question of the Lord Himself (Matt
16:15): “Who do you say that I am?” In
this sense, theology first helps the faithful to articulate a personal answer,
avoiding the pitfalls of error, and promoting reflection in an appropriate
direction consonant with the experience of all the saints throughout the
ages. Our answer, founded on our
relationship with the Lord Jesus ,
is both personal and shared, for there is only one Jesus
Christ . Secondly, and by
extension, theology also seeks to communicate the Gospel and the truth of Jesus Christ to those beyond the Church in a critical
dialogue with the plausibility structures of each culture and society in which
the Church dwells through time. Thus, there is a need for critical reflection by the faithful of each generation in all places to ensure that the life of the Church maintains and offers the fullness of the truth.
As for theology in the first sense, Karras’ conclusions cannot always claim consonance with the experience of the Church throughout the ages, and in some ways directly challenges or contradicts it. In some cases, without thinking through the logical conclusions of her assertions, she proposes a very serious break with the common experience of the saints throughout the ages.
In the second sense, Karras seems to reverse the process, and instead of accommodating the plausibility structures of contemporary culture to proclaim the faith she has accommodated the faith to fit into her own ideological vision formed by certain plausibility structures of her culture. Certainly, there is room within the Church for criticism of elements that may require change precisely because historical norms can come to demonstrate or communicate something other than that for which they were initially introduced. This is amply demonstrated by changes in a single language over time. The archaic English of the King James (or Authorized) Version of the Bible are not only sometimes distracting to the casual or unlearned reader, but may lead to confusion or misunderstanding rather than edification. Despite the appearance of excesses or potential abuse, the drive toward gender-neutral language in biblical (and liturgical) translation is one example of adaptation to contemporary need. The problem, of course, is when theological criticism (broadly defined) is not properly rooted in the ageless consciousness of the Church, and Karras often seems to call for changes that are rooted rather in the socio-political mood of her own era. In other words, instead of changing the mode and means by which the Church communicates and interacts with the world (in it but not of it), in order to change it in accordance with the faith in Christ, Karras often seems to be calling the Church to change so as to conform with the surrounding secular culture.
As for theology in the first sense, Karras’ conclusions cannot always claim consonance with the experience of the Church throughout the ages, and in some ways directly challenges or contradicts it. In some cases, without thinking through the logical conclusions of her assertions, she proposes a very serious break with the common experience of the saints throughout the ages.
In the second sense, Karras seems to reverse the process, and instead of accommodating the plausibility structures of contemporary culture to proclaim the faith she has accommodated the faith to fit into her own ideological vision formed by certain plausibility structures of her culture. Certainly, there is room within the Church for criticism of elements that may require change precisely because historical norms can come to demonstrate or communicate something other than that for which they were initially introduced. This is amply demonstrated by changes in a single language over time. The archaic English of the King James (or Authorized) Version of the Bible are not only sometimes distracting to the casual or unlearned reader, but may lead to confusion or misunderstanding rather than edification. Despite the appearance of excesses or potential abuse, the drive toward gender-neutral language in biblical (and liturgical) translation is one example of adaptation to contemporary need. The problem, of course, is when theological criticism (broadly defined) is not properly rooted in the ageless consciousness of the Church, and Karras often seems to call for changes that are rooted rather in the socio-political mood of her own era. In other words, instead of changing the mode and means by which the Church communicates and interacts with the world (in it but not of it), in order to change it in accordance with the faith in Christ, Karras often seems to be calling the Church to change so as to conform with the surrounding secular culture.
In fact, however, despite her numerous observations regarding
contemporary Church life and the title of her essay, there is nothing that really amounts
to a “theology” of women, much less a discussion of several such “theologies.” If anything, she
argues that not only would such a “theology of women” be unnecessary, it is
actually impossible since the distinction of gender is contrary to an ideal human
nature, and to draw distinctions between the genders is “sinful.” Still, regarding the ecclesiastical life of
women, the questions that Karras raises merit attention by the contemporary
Church inasmuch women within the Church actually pose them. Unfortunately, the answer she suggests—or,
often more accurately, implies—cannot be judged right or wrong based on the
arguments or evidence she presents.
Thus, es ist nicht einmal falsch—it
is not even wrong. However, there is
good reason to believe, based on earlier efforts, that her premises are, as Pauli might declare, “utterly wrong” (ganz falsch) or is, as the writer Asimov
quipped, “wronger than wrong.”[2]
Prior to discussing Karras’ own perspective, it may be noted
that she gives scant attention here to two respected theologians of the twentieth
century who did endeavor to articulate a broad theological vision of gender and
sex distinction: Elizabeth Behr-Sigel and Paul Evdokimov.
Karras admits to Behr-Sigel’s influence on her thought, common enough
among contemporary Orthodox women such as Susan
Ashbrook Harvey ,
Kyriaki Kardoyannes-Fitzgerald ,
and Despina Prassas Paul Evdokimov
Karras’ ultimate assertion is that there is no “theological”
justification for the Church to continue excluding women from the ranks of the
presbyter and bishop, not to mention other ministries in the life of the
contemporary Church. To make this
assertion more attractive, Karras relies on anecdotal evidence of women’s
“subservient” position in the Church, a limited reading of patristic
authorities, false analogies, a narrow view of an Orthodox “anthropology,” and
an overly-schematized view of “history” and eschatology which is certainly
subject to dispute. If this is not
enough, she has also neglected apparently more contrary evidence from ancient
and contemporary authors and canonical sources (including Holy Scripture),
largely dismissed contemporary “hard” science and social science and, perhaps
most importantly, ignored a great deal of the liturgical-sacramental life of
the Church. The discerning reader cannot
but help notice that her argument reveals a predetermined conclusion which is
not at all supported directly and positively by the evidence she provides, and
she certainly has not provided convincing arguments to account for the more
obvious contrary evidence (such as Holy Scripture) that seems to support a
conclusion opposite of her own.
Her argument is akin to a negative proof fallacy: because a
premise has not been proven false, the premise must be true. That the Church has not clearly articulated
an indisputable “theological” reason to exclude women from the ranks of
presbyters and bishops might be admitted, but this does not mean that such a
reason does not exist. While it may seem
obvious today, it took the Church a long while to overcome Arianism and its
various heretical offspring; even the First Ecumenical Council did not fully
resolve the problem, and the Christological arguments springing from those
controversies persisted for many centuries, requiring a great deal of
theological effort. Of course, the
hierarchs gathered at the Ecumenical Councils did nothing other than affirm, in
their estimation, what was already confessed by the Church to be true, and had
been true despite the lack of specific articulation. In other words, they recognized certain
heretical teachings to be beyond the legitimate tradition of the Church as they
were inconsistent with the faith confessed “everywhere and from all time.”
Certainly, and contrary to Karras' implication, there have been theological arguments against the ordination of women as presbyters and bishops, and one or more of these might also be correct. It remains, however, that there is yet to be a consensus on this theological (and anthropological) question, though in practice the consensus is clear enough: women are not ordained as presbyters and bishops in the Orthodox Christian tradition.
To be fair, the opposite mode of reasoning would be just as
fallacious as the one demonstrated by Karras: because a premise cannot be
proven to be true does not mean that it is necessarily false. It is possible, even if most unlikely, that a
theological reason justifying the ordination of women as presbyters and bishops
may emerge as the consensus of the Church.
Although Karras fails to offer any real justification to reverse the
Church’s undisputed and consistent practice in this regard, she might one day be justified in her
views. Unfortunately, by neglecting an
assessment of so many dimensions of the Orthodox Christian tradition, her
argument remains woefully incomplete. So
for now she is not even wrong, even when, as it happens at significant points
in her article, she is right.
Being Wrong when Right
Not everything Karras posits in this article is wrong. It is important to note where she is correct
and right for the discussion regarding the role of women in the Church. Yet even here there are significant problems,
as much of what is correct is coupled with significant omission.
Karras admits that the Church never has (knowingly) ordained
a female as a presbyter and bishop.[3]
She fails to mention that such ordinations did occur, reportedly, in heretical
sects, and there were negative reactions to this in the canonical Church. Though noting that in our era other
Christian traditions do ordain women, she neglects to mention where these
traditions also diverge from Orthodoxy in other matters regarding human
sexuality (such as acceptance of openly homosexual ministers, same-sex
marriages, and so forth), and therefore fails to note that it may be that they
have a “theological” justification for ordaining women based on very different
doctrinal or anthropological presuppositions—some of which might be most incompatible
with Orthodox tradition.
Setting aside the fact that every Christian, male and
female, is “ordained” in the initiation rites of Baptism and Chrismation,[4]
one thing that is beyond dispute today among Orthodox theologians is the fact
that women were (and can be, in theory if not yet regularly in practice)
ordained as deacons in the Orthodox Church, at least in some places and in some
eras. Karras is certainly correct to
note this, especially as it may surprise many of the faithful today.
No Orthodox Christian observer of Church history can deny
that women were called deacons in the Church: Saint Paul refers to at least one
woman unambiguously as a deacon. Saint
John Chrysostom has extensive correspondence with a woman, Olympias, who was
named a “deacon.” Canonical and imperial
legislation deals with the role and qualifications of female deacons. Liturgical manuscripts preserve ordination
rites for female deacons. What the role
of the deacon was in the apostolic and sub-apostolic eras (not to mention the
roles of the presbyters, bishops, prophets, etc.) is less certain, not to mention geographical variation, and there
still can be a legitimate discussion about the scope and scale of the female
deacon’s ministry in later centuries.
Still, women in the apostolic and early Church were clearly serving in some official capacity, and
it is clear that there was a formal liturgical role, however limited and
evolving over time and within diverse regions.[5]
Because it has not been done for so long on anything nearly
approaching regularity, there has been some dispute on the manner by which
women became recognized deacons in the Orthodox Church; whether this was an
“honorary” position or an “official” order of the ministerial priesthood was,
at one time, a matter of contentious debate.
Karras highlights the work of scholars, both Orthodox and
from other Christian traditions, who have settled that debate, at least to a
point.[6] Without doubt, manuscript evidence shows
that, at least somewhere and at some point in history, women were ordained
essentially in the same manner as male deacons, in a ceremony all but identical
to our current liturgical ritual during the Divine Liturgy at the Holy Altar.[7] Less clearly presented by Karras, if at all,
is the fact that the female diaconate does not seem to have been as “universal”
as were the orders of (male) deacons, presbyters and bishops at a relatively
early date in the Church’s history, nor does it appear that the role of female
deacons was identical everywhere throughout early Christendom. It also seems to have faded into obscurity or
obsolescence at different points in different regions. Likewise, it is not at all clear that women
deacons were always established in such positions as were their male
counterparts; in other words, it is possible that over time there existed more
than one “method” of ordaining or “appointing” female deacons, and in some
cases the “office” may have been or have become only honorary.[8]
Simply because women were ordained as deacons does not mean
that female deacons could be ordained presbyters or bishops. Karras does not, in fact, suggest this, but
she also fails to mention that the very nature of the major orders of the
sacramental priesthood in the Church (deacon, presbyter, bishop) is a very
complicated subject in itself. Even the
male diaconate in the Orthodox Church has generally become, in most cases,
liturgically ceremonial at best and a mere formality prior to ordination to the
presbyterate at worst.[9]
It would be wrong simply to assume that ordination to the diaconate
would permit or assume ordination to the “higher” orders of the presbyter or
bishop.[10] Along with this is the lack of any
substantial attention to why the order of the female deacon basically
disappeared. While the implicit “common
wisdom” is that it had to do with changing cultural attitudes and gender bias,
it is likely a more complicated matter.
After all, there is no specific canonical prohibition from ordaining
women in the common canonical tradition of all Orthodox Churches.[11]
And yet if the female diaconate declined and then vanished, the example
of the contemporary state of the “male” diaconate should also be considered,
for here the decline would have nothing to do with gender bias. Nonetheless, along with the renewal of the
diaconate as a “permanent” order of the Church among men, it may be the
appropriate time for the female deacon to once again appear among the Church’s
ministers. Karras is by no means out of
the mainstream on this matter, at least among theologians.[12]
Karras also rightly points out the paradox of gender bias
and prejudice within the Church. Yet
here again, it is intellectually dishonest to simply attribute the limitations
on female liturgical and ministry participation on the bias of men. The cultural milieu of the Churches in the
“East” obviously had a different perspective on gender roles, though even these
changed over the centuries. While we may
safely presume some level of gender bias on the part of males, not everything
that appears to us today as negative regarding the social (and ecclesial) roles
of women may have been perceived as such by women of the time (or even
today!). In traditional,
gender-segregated societies, matters are usually more complicated than in our
own contemporary “Western” culture. For
example, many women in Muslim societies prefer to be veiled even when it is not
required, and discuss the veil as a protection against lust and objectification
even if westerners might consider it to be “dehumanizing.“ Westerners have long decried the practice of
female circumcision as cruel and inhuman, but the reality is that in many of
those cultures—particularly in Africa—where it is practiced, the chief
practitioners and proponents are often women, whereas many men are not
generally in favor of it despite its portrayal as a “patriarchal” institution;
it is a complicated cultural issue.[13] This is not to state that there was (and is)
no gender bias or discrimination among the members of the Church, for indeed
several patristic commentators either describe it when denouncing it in whole
or in part (as Karras notes), or actually display it. Still, even among those patristic authorities
who demonstrate what might be seen today as a special sensitivity to the
“plight” of women, or explicitly expound on the “equality” of males and
females, there is no example of any authority ever suggesting women should be
ordained as presbyters and bishops. In
fact, only the opposite is the case when the notion of women serving is
considered at all: women do not and should not be presbyters and bishops.
Of course, while suggesting that gender bias continues due
to an apparent lack of women participating on such governing bodies at the
parochial level (parish councils) or in the administration of broader Orthodox
ecclesial structures, Karras fails to mention that, at least in the Greek
Orthodox Archdiocese of America (GOA), this “deficit” of women has nothing to
do with institutional bias or discrimination—apart, perhaps if one sees it
thus, from the exclusion of women from the ranks of presbyters and bishops. At least at the parochial level, it is
obvious that there is something different occurring. As an example, the GOA has formally allowed
women to serve on parish councils for decades.
If—and Karras provides no documentation—there is a lesser representation
of women on such councils in comparison to the male-female ratio of
parishioners, it is not due to any statutory limitations. Likewise, if Karras can rely on anecdotal
information as she apparently does, it may even be safe to state that in terms
of actual participation, attendance and activity, women outnumber men in parish
life. So if women are not serving on
(elected) parish councils in greater numbers than they do, the reasons are
likely to be complicated—but not systemically institutional.[14]
Even the “theological” discussion regarding the image of God
and women is a more complicated matter than Karras suggests, attributing this
also to gender bias. Questioning whether
women were “in the image” to the same degree as men was an exegetical exercise
among commentators trying to reconcile the creation narrative(s) of humanity
with statements by Saint Paul. As Harrison , to whom Karras refers, points out, the conception
of being “in the image” by Antiochene exegetes certainly did not entail any
disparagement of female capacity for salvation, virtue, and so forth, and they
only affirm the ontological equality of male and female.[15] That the early Christian writers often
expressed themselves in the midst of an androcentric cultural milieu is readily
admitted. Even so, the fact is that
their exegesis still maintains a fundamental equality of males and females in Christ . “Equality” or
“equal honor” does not necessarily mean “identical” in terms of function, role
or capacity to relate to the community in some manner.[16] It is not only anachronistic but also a bad
reading of patristic texts to presume that we can clearly recover such
“psychological motivations” as gender bias or even misogyny when these are not
explicitly stated.
As Karras notes, it is certainly true that both Saints
Gregory of Nyssa and Maximos the Confessor have a particular eschatological
vision regarding the persistence, or perhaps non-persistence, of the division
of human beings as male and female in the fullness of God’s Kingdom. Karras appears to read both in the most
literal manner, but misses important distinctions between both authors. Nyssa admits to “speculation,” and his
position is rather consistent with the noticeable platonic or neo-platonic
influences in his theological method and premises.[17] Maximos, who in regard to male and female
seems to follow Nyssa closely in some respects, is perhaps a more subtle and
complex thinker. Karras is wrong to
simply equate their views, for Maximos has, in many ways, refined his
Cappadocian influences. It is one thing
to note that for Maximos the “division” between male and female is destined to
disappear in Christ, and quite another to suggest the distinction itself will
cease to exist. Division and distinction
are not interchangeable concepts in Maximos’ writings, as several of the
leading Maximian scholars have rightly observed. Indeed, one of the leading researchers
into Maximos’ anthropological thought (Thunberg) specifically rejects the
conclusions that Karras draws regarding this matter.[18]
Being Right When Wrong
Perhaps part of the problem in Karras’ argument is a distinction that she is right to question but entirely wrong to dismiss. This is the conceptual distinction between sex and gender. Now usually used interchangeably, the initial distinction between these terms served an important purpose: to distinguish between physiological phenomena related to male and female (the biological differences) and social or cultural differences that were not necessarily (or so obviously) “genetic.”
By dismissing the distinction between sex and gender, Karras
prematurely but conveniently eliminates an important observation that has been
both better articulated and more frequently abused in our modern (and
post-modern) culture. The distinction
between sex and gender is an important one in both the hard and soft sciences
of our era. What we now, rather
inaccurately, refer to as the “nature-nurture” debate has become more refined
in modern anthropology, sociology and psychology, but it was not entirely
absent in ancient times—even if it was not articulated in the same manner as
today.
One is hard pressed to refute patristic authorities who
envision the cessation of the distinction of biological sex in the age to
come. As most biologists would now
affirm, the biological distinction between male and female serves the purpose
of species reproduction (in a Christian context, procreation is a better
term). However, as biologists and at
least two patristic authorities would affirm (Chrysostom
and Nyssa), species’ “multiplication” does not necessarily require the
distinction of sex, for not all species make use of sexual reproduction. Whether it be a multiplicity of angels (the
patristic consensus being that they are sexless), or amoebas, there are other
possibilities and means to “multiply,” and certainly God was free to determine
the form and “system” of human procreation.
Likewise, the patristic tradition seems to be rather consistent in
affirming procreation—in the sexual form that we know it—as a remedy against
mortality. This is commonly the context
of any exegesis of Jesus ’ reply to the
Sadducees regarding the resurrection: “they are neither married nor given into
marriage.” Yet there is also no doubt
that by “marriage” both the Evangelists and the patristic commentators see
sexual intercourse as the main content.
This is, after all, the more literal meaning of the Greek word for
marriage, gamos, from which we derive
the English “gamete.”[19] If the “content” of marriage for Saint Paul
in his Corinthian correspondence seems to be the fact that male and female are
joined into “one flesh,” it may be noted that his conception of marriage
extends beyond the (Roman and contemporary Western) conception of legal
marriage when he notes that sexual relations with a prostitute also means being
joined to her/him as “one flesh.”[20] At least for Saint Paul, the “oneness” of the
marital (or, in the case of prostitution, sexual) bond is related to the idea
of communion—sharing of a common existence—as we find explicitly developed in
(the later) the fifth chapter of Ephesians.[21]
Furthermore, while we may affirm the cessation of human sexuality in the Kingdom, we may note
that the distinction of male and female not only precedes the Fall but also is
changed following it. Therefore, there
may not be such a problem in seeing the sexual aspect of human existence as
ultimately ceasing to be relevant (or perhaps existent) in the general
resurrection, but also at the same time allowing for the distinction of male
and female to hold meaning for human existence beyond the procreative function
of each. This is where a distinction
between sex and gender, which Karras dismisses, may be useful.
Accordingly, one of the greatest deficits of Karras’
argument is her near complete non-consideration of the mystical meaning and
purpose of marriage itself. That
Christian marriage is not, in an Orthodox context anyway, strictly for the
procreation of offspring, is self-evidenced by the fact that the Church celebrates
liturgically as a sacrament (mysterion)
the joining of husband and wife even when the couple is incapable (apart from
miraculous means) of procreating. Of
course, one might argue that the “other” chief purpose of the “communion of
matrimony” is the avoidance of fornication (“it is better to marry than to
burn”). This would also be in line with
a great deal of patristic commentary.
Yet there are a number of “theological” problems with such a view.
First, a view that God only
creates the male-female distinction in foresight of the Fall permits no
positive content to the distinction.
Rather it is relegated to serving only as a remedy against a possible-but-not-predestined mortality
or as a remedy against sinful passion and action (fornication). Thus there is nothing to be said for the fact
that when God creates humanity, the initial human beings are wholly distinct
though not yet divided by sin, not to mention that they are commanded to be
“fruitful and multiply.”[22] The distinction, if we accept the
psychosomatic unity of the human person, would include both physical and
spiritual or psychological distinctions.
The fact is that such distinctions “devolve” in the biblical narrative
into causes of division (nudity and shame), yet such a division is not itself
the act or will of God. In Maximos the
Confessor, the unity of all in Christ is not
achieved, by the way, by the elimination of distinctions (created by God), but
by the transcendence of divisions (introduced by sin) to which distinctions may
lead in a sinful world. Indeed, Maximos
generally affirms that distinctions are a pre-condition of unity and communion
even as they may devolve into divisions that are the marks of sin.[23]
So there is a manner by which the apparently negative view
of sex in Maximos may be reconciled with a persistence
of the male-female distinction even in the age to come: the biological
purposes of sex (as known in a fallen existence) may cease, but the
psychosomatic distinctions fostered by gender difference could persist. After all, the distinction of male and female
fosters the possibility of a unique, complementary relationship between human
beings, and it is the “relational” content that the distinction provides that
may be held in positive assessment.
Thus, it is certainly possible and right to refer to the Virgin as the mother (a relationship unique to women)
of the Son of God, and it is by no means clear that such a relationship—founded
on a gender difference (as well as a sex difference!) ceases in the
Kingdom. Maximos the Confessor confirms
a belief that Mary intercedes for the
faithful in the Kingdom, and nowhere suggests she is no longer a woman or a
mother, or that she will someday cease being these in relationship to her son.[24] This would be a repudiation of the real
content of history.
Second, the argument
based on the disappearance of the male-female distinction in the eschaton and the suggestion that women
could be ordained on this basis also ignores marriage in another fashion. The Church does not, nor ever has, celebrated
the joining of persons of the same sex.
If sex is ultimately irrelevant, why do several of the same patristic
authorities Karras cites fail to argue not only for the ordination of women but
condemn homosexual activity? It is not
as if homosexual activity was unknown by the early Church; in fact, there is
usually a strong condemnation of it in principle if not always in
practice. Yet if gender or sex does not
really matter, the ultimate conclusion Karras would want the reader to accept
regarding ordination, why should it matter in any other area? Indeed, it may be important to question the
fact that most Christian traditions that permit the ordination of women as
presbyters and bishops (or their equivalents in a traditions’ hierarchy) also permit
or tolerate same-sex marital unions. Of
course, Karras makes no move in exploring the logical consequences of her
rhetorical suggestion regarding the irrelevance of sex in the Kingdom, the
affect of such a view on the doctrine of marriage being only one.
As an aside, one may also question Karras on other elements
of God’s plan for human beings vested in the “garments of skin” (a
post-lapsarian and mortal existence as we know it now). For example, only women bear and give birth
to children. Men do not. Is this sex difference simply a matter of God
“rolling the dice,” meaning that it is no more than spontaneous and rather
arbitrary choice God makes once God imposes (or permits) the consequences of
the ancestral sin? With Einstein ,
I do not believe God plays dice, and do not believe the order of the universe
(and humanity within it) is arbitrary even following the primordial
“Fall.” Yet here would be one example of
“inequality,” if one chooses to characterize it thus, between men and
women. Preferable would be to note that
this is a difference that arises to serve the purposes of God’s dispensation
for the world. Thus we may affirm that
there may be God-chosen distinctions between the roles of men and women in the
world, clearly manifest after the Fall in what would be a “fallen” mode, but
just as clearly created before it. In
any case, it may be hasty to conclude that such roles do not exist within the
Church by divine will.
Thus, if it is agreed that there is neither sex nor gender
in the divine nature or Persons, as Karras rightly notes, this is rather
irrelevant for an Orthodox anthropology other than to reveal a fundamental
dissimilarity between created and uncreated being. What is of consequence from an Orthodox
perspective of the Holy Trinity is not the absence of sex or gender, but rather
the hypostatic (personal) distinctions of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, all
of whom share wholly the divine nature (as consubstantial, homoousioi). A hypostatic
distinction between human persons who share the same (created) human nature
would involve a distinction (though not division) between the constitutive
“parts” of human nature. It is at least possible and perhaps likely that the
biblical narratives of human creation reveal such a distinction between,
according to the text, the only two human beings at the time, and this
“hypostatic” distinction is revealed in the “original” names of the human
beings in their personal distinction—male and female.[25]
Therefore, it seems strange that Karras ignores the
importance of the very “otherness” (alterité) she mentions elsewhere as
fundamental to human (and divine) personhood.
Karras makes note that in some of the patristic witnesses, such as the
Cappadocians, that the difference between men and women is a bodily difference,
not one of “soul.” In such a case, she
seems to imply that personal distinction between human beings is, indeed, a
physical-bodily distinction. Yet the
“original” or initial bodily distinction affirmed in the scriptural narrative,
that of male and female, is destined to disappear according to Karras (and,
admittedly, to some patristic authorities who address the subject). One may question, therefore, the basis for
personal distinction (personal identity) in human existence.
Perhaps the basis is that of unique experience and
relationships. Yet this brings us back
to a psychosomatic existence for each and every human being, which will persist
in the age to come even if certain bodily realities (such as mortality) will be
transformed in the Resurrection. And
each and every human being has experience of the world and establishes
relationships that are mediated, in some manner, by the reality of gender if
not sex (in terms of sexual activity).
Not only is this a logical conclusion from the Orthodox affirmation of
the psychosomatic unity of the human person, but also an affirmation of our
contemporary scientific understanding of gender and sex differences. Male and female bodies react to and perceive
their environments in different ways.
Subtle as it may be, even the act of running—common to males and
females—is actually experienced differently due to the difference of the male
and female skeletal structures.
Accounting for all this is certainly a most complicated matter, but
Karras does not even address the fact that human identity is conditioned by
personal history (the accumulation of human experience), and such a history is
obviously conditioned by gender.
Finally, the sacramental nature of Christian marriage is
also a complex matter that would appear to have some eschatological
significance, at least according to the contemporary marriage rite. As the Eucharist (which is the current rite’s
true and original context even if separated from it for many centuries) is an
eschatological “event,” it follows that those events celebrated in a
eucharistic context are also, in some manner, of eschatological
significance. Karras does not follow
this in her own understanding of Orthodox anthropology and liturgy in
connection with the eschaton. Notably as well, the eschatological vision of
the Church continually makes use of nuptial imagery: Bride and Bridegroom,
wedding banquet, and so forth. The fact
that Gregory of Nyssa, himself married, or Maximos the Confessor, a monk,
develop their anthropological reflections without (directly) taking the ritual
of matrimony into account is not surprising. In the former case, the ritual was
not well developed, and Nyssa seems at times actually to resent his marital
status; in the latter, Maximos’s chief theological works consulted by Karras
tend to be written for a monastic or ascetic audience by an author who is
hailed as an ascetic master (not to mention problems with Karras’ reading of
his work).[26]
Not Right, Not Even Wrong
What Karras fails to
do is to place the question of ordaining women as presbyters and bishops within
a more coherent context accounting for the many dimensions of Orthodox
tradition (not custom) and theological boundaries. Except for reference to a long-abused, and
often mistranslated, biblical “proof-text” (Gal 3:8), there is a
lack of serious consideration of various scriptural passages that refer to
gender or sex roles within the human community and the life of the Church. They cannot be readily dismissed or
attributed, simply, to cultural norms of their era. In fact, there may be a need to place some of
the scriptural data within a particular cultural or social context, but doing
so requires serious exegetical reflection on what is “lasting” and what is
“passing away.” Otherwise, biblical
interpretation—as a message relevant at all times and every era—becomes
tenuous.
The same is true with making use of a real and important
distinction noticed by nearly all contemporary Orthodox theologians and
pastors: that which Karras describes as between “Tradition” (capital T) and
“traditions” (small case t). It is
perhaps better to note the distinction is one between sacred tradition which
remains consistent through time and location, and those customs that have
developed to express the sacred, “apostolic” tradition passed down through the
generations. Tradition thus is the
unchanging content of Orthodoxy, while customs are somewhat malleable depending
on circumstances as the means of expressing or conveying the truth of
tradition.
When Karras notes the custom of women abstaining (or being
directed to abstain) from liturgical participation and receiving Holy Communion
during menstruation, we may attribute this as a custom introduced into the life
of the Church since, historically, there is sufficient evidence indicating that
there was once no explicit prohibition to women partaking of the Holy Gifts for
such a reason. There is no mention of
such a prohibition in Holy Scripture. To
the contrary, as Karras correctly emphasizes, there is early evidence that
women were encouraged to ignore any consideration of menstruation in regard to
their liturgical participation (as in the Didache). However, there is within the canonical
tradition of the Church a prohibition of women partaking during menses. This raises another complicated issue that
Karras passes over in silence.
The canonical tradition itself is part of the sacred
tradition of the Church, since it is essentially the accumulated “guidelines”
(the meaning of “canon”) that have developed over time. True, some canons may reflect dogmatic
principles that are unchanging and therefore part of the sacred tradition of
the Church, but most are practical means of implementing the teachings of the
Church and regulating her life. The
problem is that while the canonical legislation of the Church that has
accumulated is, in most cases, authoritative, not all canons are given equal
“weight” in the canonical governance and pastoral practice of the Orthodox
Churches.
Karras wrongly compares, even implicitly, the canonical
prohibition of women partaking of Holy Communion during menstruation and the
ordination of women. First, there is no
real canonical prohibition against ordaining female deacons, as noted above, in
the canonical legislation shared as authoritative by all Orthodox
churches. Second, while Karras rightly
suggests that abstaining from Holy Communion during menstruation is a “custom,”
she does not demonstrate at all that any ordinations are “customs” in contrast
to being an element of sacred tradition.[27] That the Church basically stopped ordaining
women as deacons may be a custom, as would be the cessation of ordaining
married men as bishops, also a fact of history.
The latter, however, was a custom adopted into the canonical legislation
of the Church and respected as authoritative for all. It could change if the Church
so decided. In light of her ultimate
point, there is no evidence that the Church ever ordained women as presbyters
and bishops, so it is a more complicated issue to determine if this fact is
only a matter of custom—and therefore able to change as she suggests—or a
matter of sacred tradition.
History is a complicated matter itself, and Karras
schematizes history in a manner that is subject to dispute. It is not the general scheme that is really
in question, though theologians might take issue with separating too neatly the
era of the Church in history and the eschaton
or “post-history” since the Kingdom of God interpenetrates even our current
“time.” Nonetheless, the real problem is
Karras’ attempt to “assign” certain canonical or liturgical customs as rooted
in her scheme. For example, the
prohibition of women partaking of the Holy Gifts during menses is assigned to
an “attitude” grounded in a “postlapsarian BC” perspective, though she provides
no real evidence that the canonical prohibition articulated by Bishop Alexander in the
third century relied on such a perspective.
In fact, the canon does not really provide any theological justification
of the matter at all. Silence, however,
does not mean that the bishop had no theological reason for his views, even if
it appears likely that his attitude about women’s “issues” does appear to be
influenced by the “patriarchal” views of his time and taboos common to the
culture. Still, if it is a matter of a
cultural phenomenon, it may be completely unrelated to any “postlapsarian BC”
perspective.
This comes close to the heart of the matter as to why Karras
is not right, but not even wrong. For an
Orthodox theologian, it is not right to pass over or ignore so much of the
doctrinal, liturgical, sacramental, exegetical, canonical and pastoral history
of the Church to address a legitimate, contemporary question, while basing
conclusions on but a brief selection of theological treatises and writers who,
themselves, would not have been so quick to draw the conclusions Karras
does—since they nowhere even suggest her conclusions despite challenging in
many ways the social and cultural norms of their own time.
Ultimately, the question regarding the ordination of women
as presbyters and bishops is a healthy one for the contemporary Orthodox Church
to address, since it inevitably touches on so many issues of importance
today. These include our ecumenical engagements
and encounters, particularly with those Christian groups that have a very
different perspective of human sexuality and ecclesiology; an Orthodox
anthropology that needs to account for, in a critical manner, the findings and
advances in the various sciences, both hard and soft; the canonical dimension
of ecclesial life; the liturgical and
sacramental dimensions; and an Orthodox ecclesiology which has been
transplanted from its Roman, Byzantine and Imperial Russian contexts through
and into Muslim, “Western” and other socio-political contexts.
“Thinking through faith,” the title of the volume in which
her article appears, is absolutely necessary.
It is right to “discern the sign of the times” so as to fulfill the
evangelical mission and commission of the Church in all places and in every
era, and the Church is too often treated as an artifact of former times. Questioning something such as the ordination
of women is healthy. Jumping to
conclusions without due consideration of all the dimensions of Orthodoxy is
wrong. Suggesting conclusions on only a
partial consideration of all the evidence or arguing from silence is not even
wrong.
[1]
Valerie A.
Karras , “Orthodox Theologies of Women and Ordained
Ministry,” in Thinking Through Faith: New
Perspective from Orthodox Christian
Scholars, eds. Aristotle Papanikolaou and Elizabeth
H. Prodromou
(Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir ’s
Seminary Press, 2008), 113-158. Karras
has demonstrated similar views in many places before and since its publication.
[2]
Isaac Asimov ,
The Relativity of Wrong (New York:
Doubleday, 1986), as quoted by Michael
Shermer
[3]
Karras, “Orthodox Theologies of Women,” 116-117. Even if, as some historians try to assert,
women were ordained in the canonical Church through disguise or other
deception, this would not undermine the canonical Church’s opposition in
principle to such ordinations.
[4]
Although it is not typical to speak of initiation rites this way, the work of
(Metropolitan of Pergamon) John Zizioulas clearly justifies the idea—as he
explicitly asserts—that each member of the Church is assigned to their own
“order,” the first being that of the laos,
the people of God.
[5]
By “liturgical” I would include assisting at the baptism of women and bringing
the Holy Gifts to women outside the Eucharistic assembly, not to mention a
clearly liturgical ordination (as I note below). It does not appear that female deacons
actually served as did their male counterparts in the Eucharist. They may have, however, assisted (as did
subdeacons) in keeping order within the women’s galleries and sections of the
congregation during the eucharistic assembly.
[6]
Ibid., 144-145 (esp. fns. 44, 45).
[7]
That a ceremony of ordination for female deacons, in a form parallel to that of
male deacons, has been preserved is beyond dispute. How widespread its use may have been, its
historical development, authorship and other such questions remain.
[8]
The point is not to dispute positive evidence, but that Karras glosses over
complicated historical circumstances that others advocating the restoration of
the female diaconate readily admit. See,
for example, references and comments in notes 8and 9 below.
[9]
On this see John
Chryssavgis
[10]
It has long been customary that persons being ordained to any of the three
“higher” orders first “pass through” the lower orders, starting with the fact
that all deacons are first appointed sub-deacons. In many cases, a sub-deacon is appointed at
the Matins (Orthros) on the same day
that he will be ordained a deacon at the Eucharist. Many presbyters are ordained having served as
a deacon at only one Eucharist—often the following day.
[11]
See Chryssavgis, Remembering and Reclaiming
Diakonia, 164, n. 1; 165, n. 52, on the fact that there were canonical prohibitions and
restrictions (notably the First Ecumenical Council of Nicea, 325 CE, canon
19). As Chryssavgis notes here, such
canonical prohibitions did not prevent later ordinations in some places, and it
is likely that Nicea 19 was directed to a specific circumstance without setting
a general precedent. The emergence of a
female diaconate in the Coptic Church tradition—which acknowledges the canons
of I Nicea as authoritative—would seem to provide additional support (among
others) to Chryssavgis’ conclusion by a contempory “eastern” Christian
tradition.
[12]What
Karras does not state in conjunction with the historical data and her advocacy
of the restoration of the female diaconate is that the practice among Anglican
and Protestant groups of ordaining women to the presbyterate and episcopacy has
probably made it more difficult for Orthodox Church officials to countenance
such a development in fear that it may suggest to the faithful that women could
subsequently be ordained to the orders of the presbyters and bishops, or that
the reason for ordaining women would be perceived as a capitulation to
Protestant influence by more conservative elements within the Orthodox world. This would involve erroneous perceptions about the ordained ministry
in the Orthodox Church, but such perceptions present a pastoral challenge in
the contemporary climate.
[13]
See, for example, Francis
A. Althaus
[14]
In fact, women have served as Parish Council members and officers, as well as
on diocesan (Metropolis) councils and the national Archdiocesan Council of the
Greek Orthodox Archdiocese and analogous bodies within other Orthodox churches
and jurisdictions in the United States and abroad.
[15]
Verna Harrison Harrison
notes that for each of the Antiochian authors she discusses (Diodore of Tarsus,
Theodore of Mopsuestia, Theodoret) salvation of women is never the issue, only
whether or not women were created in the image of God, and thus this is an
exegetical peculiarity. She also notes
that all three were eventually condemned for heretical views—though not
specifically for these particular exegetical opinions.
[16]
Karras, “Orthodox Theologies of Women,” 130, fn. 34, considers the accurate translation of the
Greek isotimos as “equal in honor” to
be “unfortunate,” preferring that it simply be rendered “equal” as she does in
her translation of the word (p. 130). As
Karras rightly notes, the Greek isos,
“equal” is not normally used for unique persons. So the question remains why Karras prefers referring to unique persons (or,
in the case, genders) in such manner. Chrysostom notes that male and female are different but worthy of the same
honor. Certainly for Chrysostom ,
not to mention perhaps the greater mass of humanity, male and female were
neither identical nor equal in all things.
Furthermore, two persons can be equally dishonored or dishonorable!
[17]
See the preface to Nyssa’s On the
Creation of Man, and the introduction to his On the Soul and Resurrection.
[18]
And Thundberg (Microcosm and Mediator
) is not alone. In fact, the notion of
communion and unity in Maximos (the opposite of division) presupposes
distinction, not the eradication of it.
The eradication or abolishment of distinction creates not communion, but
identity (sameness).
[19]
The “sexual” content of marriage may be one reason why Chrysostom denies Adam
and Eve were “married” prior to the Fall—there were no specifically sexual relations in the form we know it
now.
[21]
Questions of authorship for Ephesians are irrelevant to this point. The same idea is seminally found in the
Corinthian correspondence.
[22]
In the LXX of Gen 1, the expression may be translated (as apparently understood
by Irenaeus of Lyons and others) as “grow/mature and multiply.” Admitting that sexual reproduction (as noted
above) might not be the only means for human “multiplication” in a prelapsarian
setting (hypothetically), it would appear that this is a task set before the first
human beings, male and female, to accomplish together.
[23]
Communion is predicated on distinctions; identity would lead to narcissim and self-love (philautia), the opposite of authentic
love for an “other.”
[24]
Maximos obviously could not venture beyond the definitions of the Third
Ecumenical Council that defined Mary
as Theotokos. It should be noted that Maximos does,
however, suggest that men too become “birth-givers” of Christ
in a spiritual manner, though not a literal manner!
[25]
“Man” (Adam )
and “Woman” are the first “names” offered to the human beings in Genesis
2. The name “Man” (or human; Hebrew: Adam ) is
stated by God for the species. The name “woman” is uttered by the
first-formed human being upon his discovery of her following her creation and
is, of course, predicated on her personal distinction “from the man.”
[26]
It may also be noted that Nyssa’s apparent “contempt” for marriage (or, perhaps
better stated, his disappointment at not pursuing the ascetic/monastic ideal)
may only be a literary pretense due to the rather obvious “imitation” of
Platonic ideals where such passages occur.
Likewise, in his correspondence, Maximos nowhere criticizes marital life
to those living in the world outside the monastic milieu.
[27]
Again, the reality of Holy Orders (and their history) is a complicated
ecclesiological issue, for it is evident that the tri-partite distinction of
bishop-presbyter-deacon is one that emerges (very early) following the initial
foundation of the churches by the Apostles.
The point is that there was once a time when these orders did not exist
in the life of the Church. The question
then becomes whether this “scheme” is the only possible one for the
organization and order of the Church.
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