Shaping Conscience on Issues where Scripture is Silent

In what is now the fourth installment of responses to Haley Baumeister’s original post against vasectomies, I take up Andrew Koperski’s critique of my article on the need for better moral guidance on sex.¹ Koperski misunderstands my intentions and raises many good points on the use of Christian history and its application to modern theological issues. Koperski may be surprised to learn that I have already made many of these critiques in a separate lecture I gave at a Protestant Theology of the Body conference in 2023, which I am currently modifying and expanding into a short book. Koperski and I agree that Christian history (or “tradition,” as our Catholic friends call it) should be interpreted carefully. Where we seem to differ is in what we think this difficulty means for our attempts to apply historic Christian teaching to our contemporary situation.

Intentions: (Not) A Ressourcement Project

Where Koperski gets me wrong is in his assumption that I have “a moral agenda,” or that the questions I am asking are rhetorical. My agenda is always, as my parents and pastors have always taught me, to bring everything under the lordship of Christ. When I ask the question, “Why should it be licit for me as a 21st century American Christian to participate in a practice that almost two-thousand years-worth of Christians abhorred?,” I mean it earnestly. I am not asking it rhetorically to imply a black-and-white pronouncement on the evils of contraception. I do not actually think that the ethics of contraception are black-and white, which is why the question needs asking in the first place. 

As an ancient historian, this is presumably a question Koperski could answer! To his credit, he does attempt to do so (albeit unsatisfactorily – more on this later). 

I haven’t shared publicly about my own entry into this project and the reasons why I continue it, almost a decade later. I am overdue for another publication on writing that story. In short, I am personally convicted about the use of contraception, having learned from devout Catholic friends in divinity school about St. Pope John Paul II’s theology of the body. I did not, at first, accept it, despite its elegant logical coherence. 

But as I sought for a Protestant answer to this teaching against contraception, I found instead echoes of the Roman Catholic teaching in Augustine, Luther, and Calvin, to name just a few. And somewhere along the way, most notably at Lambeth, Protestants broke from this historically Christian teaching and haven’t looked back. That would be fine and good, if the reasoning at Lambeth had been sound. Unfortunately, it was not. 

Koperski summarizes this exact trajectory, which he calls a “declension narrative” (something I dispute and do not ascribe to). But then he says the following:

There are different variations of this story, but the throughline is that it distorts the conversation precisely by implying some kind of seamless continuity is still on the table. For one, it leaves out the overwhelming internal support that existed within Catholicism for changing along the lines of Lambeth. Worse still, it breezes through the patristic era—the real bedrock of contraceptive proscriptions—much too quickly, leaving out that anti-contraceptive Church Fathers like Augustine would not approve of the Roman Catholic dogmatic exception for NFP.

Where I take issue is Koperski’s assumption that appealing to Christian history “implies some kind of seamless continuity” with it. You can (and I do) appeal to history and believe that our current particularity might make us arrive at different conclusions than our forefathers. I do not think that one Christian denomination has perfectly preserved the historic Christian teaching down through the centuries. As Koperski says, “All parties in 2025 have staked out positions that differ from the consensus moral theology articulated in late antiquity.” Yes! I think we all might be a little bit wrong, and that we should all have the humility to admit that.

The real crux of the matter is this: Anglicans broke with historic Christian teaching on contraception at Lambeth, and they did so making no moral arguments for or against its use. Every single argument was made on the basis of eugenics.² That should be concerning to us as 21st century Christians for whose culture sex is a foremost idol. 

And here’s where Koperski is wrong: he seems to think that appeals to Christian history regarding contraception are a cheap attempt at “immediately adopting [the patristics’] conclusions,” “bypassing serious theological reflection” or “flatly outsourcing difficult theological questions to the past” rather than “think[ing] more deeply about the interstitial reasoning of older theologians and ecclesiastical bodies.” And the funny thing about the last quote is: it is exactly what I have also found wanting and am trying to facilitate!³

In the fall of 2023, I was honored to have the opportunity to lecture at a first-of-its-kind Protestant Theology of the Body conference in Washington, D.C. In that lecture, I had the time and the space to do more of this theological and historical engagement with the patristics. 

In addition to calling to Protestants’ attention our own theological anemia with regard to sexual ethics, I also critique Catholicism’s evolving view of sex amid assertions that it has always been the same. (Casti connubii, issued in direct response to Anglicanism’s broad acceptance of contraception at Lambeth, seems to be the very first time that a secondary, albeit lesser, end for sex was ever admitted: unitive, marital love.) I note that Augustine seems to think all sex is wrong except for the intent to procreate (which would render Catholic practice of NFP illicit). I note that the Pontifical Commission on Birth Control’s Majority Report resembled Lambeth in its application (couples defaulting to abstention and only using barrier methods in consultation with their priest/pastor). 

In another paper I treat Calvin’s faulty assumption that the spilling of seed is equivalent to murder, and note that changing scientific understanding calls for updated moral teaching (which may stay the same, or may change, according to the topic). I critique Catholicism for not incorporating modern science into its current teaching on contraception, even while praising them for pioneering some of the most cutting-edge science regarding women’s health to date. 

If you read my article carefully, you will see that I make no black-and-white pronouncement about whether contraception is licit or illicit. I do not know! What I do know is that I am extremely hesitant to break with historic Christian teaching on an “unpleasant moral dilemma” where there are strong pragmatic incentives and desires to break from that teaching. 

Koperski critiques “bare deferential traditionalism,” as would I. But if not that, then what?

A Biblical Hermeneutic is a Communal Hermeneutic

In the case of contraception, as is the case with many other topics that are ethically fraught (such as IVF, for example), Christian moral reasoning often comes down to hermeneutics and epistemology: how one interprets Scripture and how one knows things, including how to make ethical decisions that Scripture is (or seems) silent on. Hermeneutics is particularly salient in bioethical considerations, as Christians have to grapple with new technologies that didn’t exist in biblical times and are not directly addressed by Scripture. 

Koperski seems to imply that because sex and contraception are complex issues and because we exist in a different time and place from the Christians who dealt with them, we needn’t bother ourselves with wrestling with them. He says, “Reasonably catechized Christians seem to know how to navigate intent, first principles, reasoning, and context with the New Testament itself.” In other words, we can just read the Bible and know what it means. 

As a Protestant, this sentiment ignites a kind of warmth and pride in my chest. We certainly can read and understand the Bible, by God’s incredible and immeasurable grace. However, I am not so proud a Protestant as to not be able to admit that we can fall off the horse in the other direction, eschewing tradition for individualism, assuming, hubristically, that we can interpret and understand Scripture apart from all the many generations of Christians, that great cloud of witnesses, who came before us. 

This would be impossible. For starters, language itself is communally derived. The English language did not just “crop up” one day. It evolved into existence, over time, via the Germanic tribes that collided in Saxony, were invaded by the Vikings, and who were overtaken by the Norman French. At some point, the Bible was translated from its own (also communally derived!) original language, into the English that we now speak. We would have no Bible to read (apart from learning ancient languages) if this communal process were not undertaken, and if the Christian tradition of interpretation had not existed since the inspiration of the Scriptures themselves. 

Likewise, what would it even mean to be “catechized” apart from community? The act of catechesis assumes an instructor! At the very least, one would need a pastor (a church father, if you will) to catechize him or her; that pastor would have needed catechesis from a spiritual father or mother before him; so on and so forth through the ages. As Alasdair MacIntyre said (and I am wont to quote), 

I inherit from the past of my family, my city, my tribe, my nation a variety of debts, inheritances, rightful expectations and obligations. These constitute the given of my life, my moral starting point. This is in part what gives my life its own moral particularity. This thought is likely to appear alien and even surprising from the standpoint of modern individualism. From the standpoint of modern individualism, I am what I myself choose to be… The story of my life is always embedded in the story of those communities from which I derive my identity. I am born with a past, and to try to cut myself off from that past, in the individualist mode, is to deform my present relationships… What I am, therefore, is in key part what I inherit, a specific past that is present to some degree in my present…

There is no biblical hermeneutic apart from tradition. At least, not an orthodox one. 

What does this mean for contraception?

Koperski says the main goal of his response is to answer directly my (earnest, not rhetorical) question, “Why should it be licit for me as a 21st century American Christian to participate in a practice that almost two-thousand years-worth of Christians abhorred?” Unfortunately, he does not. 

Instead of answering the question, Koperski complicates the question (Augustine, Catholic inconsistency) and illustrates the difficulty in answering it (new scientific understandings, modern particularity). He also gestures toward other biblical issues that are difficult to apply in the modern day (asceticism, physical adornment, head coverings, eating meat with blood, usury, nursing homes), noting that most don’t care about these issues, and calling the ones who do “literalists.” Koperski seems to imply, then, that it is just too difficult and we are just too far removed from the issue to warrant taking it under consideration. 

As noted above, I very much appreciate the historical and theological complexity of contraception. (I also happen to appreciate the complexity of forms of asceticism, outward physical adornment, wearing headcoverings in church, eating meat with blood, the problems with our usury-based and sometimes even predatory loaning system, and improper care for our lonely elderly, among many other things, and I think it is strange to wave these very biblical, Christian ideas off as oddities.) I think we can and should consider all of these issues and why they may or may not be permitted or required now as opposed to then (many if not all of them have been sufficiently considered by theologians and historians past). I also think each of these issues is particular, and while our present-day teaching on some of them may differ from the historic teaching, teaching on others may hold the same. 

Koperski does attempt an answer. He says, “articulating why this break with tradition is acceptable and even advisable, however, requires us to do some actual theology beyond vague gestures to tradition. Rather than immediately adopting their own conclusions, it would require us to think more deeply about the interstitial reasoning of older theologians and ecclesiastical bodies.” But here’s where I get squeamish about Koperski’s position. He says, “it seems that a consistent and uncritical application of church history should be able to liberalize our morality as much as constrain it.”

If Christian history can liberalize or constrain our morality, what is the limiting principle at play? How do you decide what to liberalize on and what to constrain? Why, for example, should orthodox Christians maintain a constrained view of homosexuality (as I believe they should), but not of contracepted sex? I think there could be an acceptable answer that both maintains the historic and biblical teaching on homosexuality and allows for a more liberal understanding of contraceptive sex within marriage. But I have yet to see an acceptable argument to this effect. 

The question of how one should develop Christian moral guidance about things Scripture is seemingly silent on remains. I propose a four-pronged inquiry, which both recognizes our present context while seeking to maintain a kind of continuity with the Christian past: 

1. Scripture: Are there analogous issues on which Scripture does speak? If so, can those teachings be applied to the issue at hand? 
2. Tradition: How have Christians in the past have thought about this or analogous issues, and how have they interpreted the relevant Scriptures regarding it? Have there been one or many approaches or interpretations to the issue? Has the approach or interpretation changed or morphed over time, and if so, why?
3. Reason: What does creation and natural reason reveal to us about the telos of the thing(s) or person(s) in question? What are the ends in view? How do we comport ourselves with the laws of nature and Nature’s God, that is, honoring the ends God intended for a particular person or thing?
4. Context: How is our current context unique or different? Do we have new information about the world that necessitates an updated articulation of what we understand to be the natural law, in keeping with Scripture but perhaps breaking with historic interpretation(s) or practice(s)?

This four-pronged inquiry would help Christians to determine the guiding principle in each case, considering Scripture, historic interpretation of that Scripture, and the natural world (or natural law) concomitantly. It would go a long way in guiding moral action on issues Scripture is seemingly silent on, even when those issues are complex. It would especially aid in forming conscience, especially when deep and even good desires are at play (such as the desire for a child, in the case of IVF, or the desire for your spouse in the case of sex and contraception).⁴ 

Importantly with regard to bioethics, it allows for incorporating natural discoveries, God’s general revelation, into our understanding of the natural law. Much like Copernicus and the heliocentricity of the universe upended Christian theology, this four-pronged approach allows for new scientific understandings to be brought into conformity with Christian practice, paying very close attention to what Scripture does and does not say, and breaking with historic teaching when there is good reason to do so. But I am inherently skeptical about breaking with historic teaching, especially when many Christian denominations are wont to do so (and specifically are wont to do so regarding teachings on sexuality in particular!).

The morality of contraception (and the ethics of sex more broadly) has not been sufficiently considered in this way. The arguments made in favor of contraception at Lambeth were all done on eugenic grounds, and then those judgments were quickly and uniformly accepted by most Protestant denominations, without a backward glance. I would be happy to see contraception vindicated on acceptable moral grounds; I have yet to see it. Perhaps my own project will turn toward applying this four-pronged inquiry to sex and contraception for clearer answers to the questions that plague my own conscience. 

As a student of theology and ethics, and particularly theology of the body and bioethics, my question remains: why is our teaching on the purpose of sex (which implicates our use of contraception) different from the teachings of 2,000 years of Christian history, and would our current scientific understandings have changed our forefathers’ moral calculus? Should it change our own now? 

In the meantime, and perhaps even if these questions are answered more robustly, the ethics of contraception will remain an issue of conscience for Protestants. But we never have a pass for letting our consciences go malformed.

Footnotes

1. I am grateful to Jake Meador for hosting this incredible (and much needed) conversation at Mere Orthodoxy. If you are interested in reading the whole progression of articles and responses, they are published as follows: Haley Baumeister’s The Case Against Vasectomies, Kirsten Sanders’ Desiderata for a Protestant Theology of the Body, my Sexuality and the Need for Moral Guidance, Kirsten Sanders’ A Few More Desiderata and Tending Our Own Gardens (published on Substack), and finally, Andrew Koperski’s On Contraception, Tradition, and the Wise(r) Use of Christian History, to which I am responding in this piece. 

2. From my Protestant Theology of the Body lecture: “In 1908 and 1920, two “episcopal eugenicists” were influential in persuading the conferences to denounce contraception “for a return to the Christian ideal of fruitful, reproductive marriages,” primarily because they were afraid of the idea of “race suicide,” the idea that the “incapables, the degenerates, the criminals and the imbeciles” would reproduce more quickly than the “more refined,” higher classes, and overtake them. By 1930, however, contraception had become a means by which to control the reproduction of these lower classes, and clergy were actively “advocating the use of contraception for eugenic purposes.”” Quotes taken from Anna Louise Poulson, An Examination of the Ethics of Contraception with Reference to Recent Protestant and Roman Catholic Thought (London: The King’s College London, 2006), 26.

3. In Koperski’s defense, all of this nuance was perhaps not captured in the one article he read, which was responding very specifically to Sanders’ own response to Baumeister. And I can also imagine that he, like Sanders, is responding not only to me, but to a broader array of Protestants who are writing about “Protestant Theology of the Body.” Indeed, he lists the other “ressourcement” projects beyond contraception with which he takes issue. I cannot take account for anyone else undertaking this or other projects. But as for me, I can say that not only do I not conceive of this as a “ressourcement” project, I also have serious critiques for the Catholic teaching on contraception and Catholic Theology of the Body, which are documented elsewhere.

4. Stiven Peter has an excellent article for Mere Orthodoxy considering the moral status of IVF, in which he applies a similar framework to the one I propose. That article was in the back of my mind as I wrote this piece, and specifically Andrew Walker’s critique of it. Walker says, “As Protestants retrieve the natural law tradition (which is very good), it would be an equal and opposite error to somehow speak as though Scripture is dispensable to moral reflection. Though I doubt the author of this article intends as much, an over-reliance on natural law that treats Scripture as a merely peripheral conversation partner robs Protestantism of its essence and, in its own way, fails to understand the moral grammar of Scripture’s witness to creation order.” I would agree and add that the interpretation of Scripture and practices of Christians past (what I broadly refer  to as “tradition”) should also be considered alongside Scripture and the natural law, especially on issues where Scripture seems relatively silent (like many bioethical issues).