Identity and redemption

Human identity in Christ

In 1995 a group of eminent theologians crafted the ‘St Andrew’s Day Statement’ in response to a request by the Church of England Evangelical Council for guidance on the issue of homosexuality. The Statement, available on the Internet, ¹ was intended as a framework of basic theological principles by which such subjects should be approached in order to remain within Christian orthodoxy. These principles include the following thesis about human nature and identity:

In Christ we know both God and human nature as they truly are. There can be no description of human reality, in general or in particular, outside the reality in Christ. We must be on guard, therefore, against constructing any other ground for our identities than the redeemed humanity given us in him. Those who understand themselves as homosexuals, no more and no less than those who do not, are liable to false understandings based on family or personal histories, emotional dispositions, social settings, and solidarities formed by common experiences or ambitions. Our sexual affections can no more define who we are than can our class, race or nationality. At the deepest ontological level, therefore, there is no such thing as ‘a’ homosexual or ‘a’ heterosexual; there are human beings, male or female, called to redeemed humanity in Christ, endowed with a complex variety of emotional potentialities and threatened by a complex variety of forms of alienation.

There is much here with which we can agree. The core identity which we all share is our humanity, created and redeemed in Christ. God liberates his people from the tyranny of inherited, imagined or imposed identities. We are called into a new creation and given a new name, and ‘it does not yet appear what we shall be’ (1 John 3.2 rsv).

But what is involved in redeeming our identities? There are separate questions here which the statement does not distinguish: first, how are our identities defined (‘Our sexual identities can no more define who we are than can our class, race or nationality’) and, second, how are these identities, however defined, redeemed? The underlying issue affects far more than sexuality; it is about the relationship between nature and grace. A number of matters require further discussion.

The statement appears at first sight to refer to different levels of human identity: ‘the deepest ontological level’ and identities such as those based on sexual affections, class, race or nationality. Instead of affirming these distinct levels and clarifying the relationship between them, however, the statement seems to deny any substance to the less profound identities, and to regard them simply as ‘false understandings’. In particular people are cautioned against trusting their own self-understanding: ‘there can be no description of human reality, in general or in particular, outside the reality in Christ… which can define who we are’.

The authors’ concern is rightly to emphasize that all experience is interpreted experience, and the identities we grow up with are, partly at least, the product of various cultural influences on our developing imagination. We must be on our guard against the idolatrous tendency of these cultural pressures, and refuse to ascribe any kind of final or absolute status to identities based on sexual affections, birth, class, race etc. The gospel of Jesus Christ reveals that there is much more to us than we think.

But does that mean that these lesser human identities have no theological significance or reality in Christ, except in illustrating our sinful idolatry? When Paul says that in Christ ‘there is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus’ (Gal. 3.28 nrsv), he cannot intend to deny the persistence of these identities ‘in Christ’, since the duties assigned to them in the ethical sections of his letters imply their continuing reality: it is in these roles that people must live out their Christian discipleship. And, far from homogenizing Jews and Gentiles into a ‘third race’, ² his vision of God’s purpose in history in Romans 9—11 depends on the enduring distinction between them. Indeed, the St Andrew’s Day Statement itself seems to accept at least male and female identities as belonging to ‘the deepest ontological level’, despite St Paul’s words (‘There are human beings, male or female’ – is this formulation designed to reserve special ontological significance for gender-related attributes such as ‘headship’ in the enduring controversy over women priests and bishops?).

St Paul’s central theological concern is surely to undermine ‘boasting’, which means relying on a particular identity – Jewish, male, free – to create a sense of privilege or merit in relation to God and superiority in relation to other people – Gentile, female, slave (for the key significance of ‘boasting’ in Pauline theology see Rom. 2.17–19; 3.27–30; 4.2–5; 1 Cor. 1.26–31; Gal. 6.14–15; Phil. 3.3–11). The gospel creates a new equality based on grace and faith; distinct identities are accepted as a valid part of the new humanity in Christ provided they are not used to ‘boast’. Paul’s words cannot be taken to infer that such human identities have no substance, or only negative theological value.

Nature and grace: two models of redemption

Related to this is an old, unresolved disagreement between two models of redemption, both of which can claim support in the Bible. One model has a strong sense of the opposition between the First Adam and Christ the Second Adam, the old humanity and the new, and the need for us to die to our old natures and identities in order to put on Christ. This seems to be the model of the St Andrew’s Day Statement.

The other model emphasizes the Resurrection and the continuity between the old nature and the new, summed up in the phrase: Gratia non tollit naturam, sed perficit – ‘grace does not take away nature, but perfects it’. ³ This second model also takes seriously the disorder of sin and the need for us to die and rise again in Christ: the word ‘perfects’ means not simply adding a final polish to a nature full of original blessing, but radically renewing it by bringing it into relation with the purifying action of God the Holy Spirit. Nevertheless, what is redeemed is our human nature, just as the resurrected body of the Lord is not a different body, but the transformation of the body of the Word made flesh, crucified and buried (note how the verbs in 1 Cor. 15.3–4 – died, was buried, was raised – all have the same subject, underlining continuity). And just as the Christ raised at Easter is identical with Jesus in his historical uniqueness, so too we are redeemed not in some abstract humanity but in our differentiated particularity. So the ‘redeemed humanity in Christ’ does not override such things as the genetic identity inherited from our parents, or the self-awareness and cultural roles with which we have grown up. These diverse expressions of humanity are part of our created nature, the ways in which God has shaped us. Each of us is accepted ‘just as I am’, and we take our identities with us in our relationship with Christ, to be healed and transformed as we journey with him, ‘changed from glory into glory’.

Aquinas’ nature–grace paradigm in its original form is, of course, no more hospitable to modern notions of sexual identity than are Protestant appeals to the text of Scripture. From the bio-teleological perspective of Aquinas all non-procreative sex (including contraception as well as homosexuality) is contra naturam, and so the orientation towards such behaviour cannot be regarded as a natural variant. ⁴ But it is precisely this understanding of ‘nature’ that is contested in the modern debate about identity. The medical and psychological sciences have brought new insights. Social and legislative changes have enabled people to speak for themselves about their gender roles and sexual identities, and to challenge what appear to be exclusive religious definitions of their humanity imposed from outside. ⁵ We do not have to go along with the more full-blown identity claims of particular lobbies; but if we can accept people’s own sense of themselves as a valid element of their nature rather than just a ‘false understanding’, then a modified version of the nature–grace model of redemption may indeed be apposite.

Identity and language

It may be helpful in exploring this question to consider another marker of human identity: language, which is by any account a central characteristic of human beings. The world’s languages are diverse and constantly evolving; some grow in dominance while others become extinct. Our linguistic identity is not rigidly fixed, and may range in a spectrum from monoglot to multi-lingual. Nevertheless our social as well as national identity is determined to no small extent by our mother tongue which is a particular cultural expression of the deep and universal desire, present from infancy, to communicate. ⁶ We can learn other languages, and so broaden our identity, but our native language remains the one in which we can most easily express ourselves and tell jokes.

It is true, of course, that such linguistic definitions of our identity may also be liable to self-deception, cultural bias and false understandings. The strong bonds which unite speakers of the same language are notorious for generating prejudice and hostility towards outsiders. We are ‘us’ and not ‘them’, and invent words to define, and sometimes insult, those who do not share our language: the Greeks referred to all non-Greek speaking peoples as ‘barbarians’ (from ‘bar bar’), ⁷ and the Germanic peoples (including the English) use words akin to ‘Welsh’ to describe those over the linguistic boundary. ⁸

For historical reasons, however, Christians should hesitate before dismissing every aspect of linguistic identity. Some dominant cultures have used arguments reminiscent of the St Andrew’s Day Statement to deny minorities their right to their mother tongue, and to force them to use the language of their oppressors. In effect they have said, ‘You have no identity of your own, but only that given you by the powers that be which are ordained by God.’ Linguistic cleansing of this kind was once the official policy of the British in Ireland and (less consistently) in Wales, and of the Spanish and French authorities towards the Basques and Catalans. Education was its instrument and children its main victims: forced to speak the official language in school, they were ridiculed and punished for using their mother tongue. Another example is what happened to slaves: those transported across the Atlantic lost their languages and their names along with all other markers of their native identity, and learned to communicate in pidgin versions of their masters’ Portuguese, Spanish or English. ⁹

In theological terms language is God given, part of the created order and an aspect of the divine image in which we are made, an echo of the Divine Word. But language is also fallen, a source of conflict and oppression, part of the sinful order which needs redeeming. ‘With the tongue we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in God’s likeness. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing’ (Jas. 3.6–10 nrsv). If, then, our ‘natural’ identities share the ambiguity of language in being both God-given and fallen, what can we discover about the redemption of our identities from the way in which the Bible describes the redemption of language?

The redemption of language

The Bible deals with this question in two stories: the Tower of Babel (Gen. 11) and the Day of Pentecost (Acts 2). The story of the Tower of Babel is the culmination of the ‘primeval history’ of the book of Genesis, describing the origins of creation, humanity and the mystery of good and evil. The Fall, beginning with Adam and Eve and the murder of Abel, reaches its high point in the Flood and the idolatrous ambition to build a tower reaching heaven.

The story should be read, not as a scientific or historical explanation of linguistic diversity, but as an imaginative account of the theological ambivalence of language. God responds to the people’s arrogance by confusing their languages so that communication breaks down and they cannot co-operate; Babel equals Babylon, ‘babble’ being the Hebrew equivalent of ‘bar bar’ (Gen. 11.9). Up to this point, ‘the whole earth had one language and the same words’ (11.1 nrsv) – a reflection of the distinctive Hebrew belief that there is only one God and therefore the human race is one. The fact of linguistic diversity is thus seen as intrinsically disordered, an evil not intended by God as part of our created nature. God ‘scattered them abroad over the face of all the earth’ as a punishment for idolatrous pride. There is a striking similarity with St Paul's interpretation of different sexualities in Romans 1.26–28: such diversity is not part of human nature as God originally intended it, but a disorder to which God ‘gave them up’ as a punishment for pride and idolatry.

In the early modern period speculation about an Ursprache or original language played a significant role in the development of linguistics. On the scientific level, tracing the various language families ‘back’ raised the possibility that they may have diverged from a common original. Theologians were interested in the idea of a sacred language which human beings spoke until Babel, a ‘language of heaven’ which we shall learn again as part of our redemption. Some claimed that the sacred language must be related to Hebrew, since this is the first language of Scripture in which God spoke to Abraham and Moses; and if only we could reconstruct its original form we might regain access to Paradise. ¹⁰ In Catholic societies Latin was sometimes regarded as the language of heaven, since it was used in the Church’s worship, as well as providing a common language in which educated people of the many barbarian vernaculars could communicate with one another. As the new astronomy emerged, mathematics and geometry could also be seen as a divine language concealed within God’s ‘second book’ of creation, enabling the patient student to communicate with the creator. ¹¹ Whatever the details, the redeemed humanity in Christ could expect to learn a new language to replace our defective vernacular identities.

Yet this is not how we see the fallen and divisive nature of language being redeemed on the Day of Pentecost. The Spirit of God comes upon the Apostles in ‘tongues of fire’, with unexpected linguistic consequences: they begin to speak in the vernaculars of the cosmopolitan crowd, who hear the wonderful works of God ‘in the native language of each’ (Acts 2.1–11 nrsv). The divine Word, the ‘language of heaven’, is heard in and through the existing, ‘fallen’, post-Babel languages, which acquire a new sacramental instrumentality. The Holy Spirit does not override the diverse linguistic identities of the Pentecost crowds. Instead, they are given a new ability to communicate and understand one another. The new Christian identity is not that of uniform Christological clones but a communion of people whose different identities are affirmed. Gratia non tollit naturam, sed perficit.

It is true that, in St Paul’s letters, the ‘gift of tongues’ takes a different form from that of Pentecost. In the Pauline churches it is a new, unknown language which some believers speak ‘in the Spirit’ – a ‘language of heaven’ indeed. But St Paul insists on the principle of intelligibility: the gift of tongues is for some, but the interpretation of tongues into the enduring vernaculars is also a gift of the Spirit, essential for the faith of everyone (1 Cor. 14.1–19).

The translation of the Bible and liturgy into the vernacular by the Churches of the Reformation can also be seen as an affirmation of this model of redemption. The language of the people, despite being (in the terms of the Babel story) ‘fallen’ and disordered, became the preferred vehicle of God’s Word, and thereby acquired something of the status and confidence of a sacred language, performed publicly every week in the worship of each community, and giving rise to new forms of rhetoric and poetry. Hence the current pride in the English Authorised (or ‘King James’) Version of the Bible, which claimed to be not only as good as but better than Jerome’s Latin Bible, being ‘newly translated out of the Original Tongues’. The Elizabethan translation of the Bible and liturgy into Welsh similarly gave a new lease of life to the native language and culture of the Principality, despite the parallel efforts of Tudor Governments to downgrade Welsh in the interests of centralization. ¹² In the light of Pentecost, the vulgar tongue was not so vulgar after all.

In terms of our models of redemption, I am not suggesting that the St Andrew’s Day Statement would justify the kinds of linguistic oppression described above – indeed, it would be a valuable ally in unmasking their idolatrous pretentions. But the statement’s undifferentiated suspicion of all identity-claims would seem to make it better at challenging the strong than at strengthening and supporting the weak. Yet in real-life situations of oppression, God makes a ‘preferential option for the poor’, meaning that salvation comes in different ways to different groups of people. As Mary sings in the Magnificat, the proud and mighty (those who ‘boast’ in Pauline terms) are put down, and the humble and meek are exalted. We know from historical experience that linguistic, cultural and other identities are especially important to communities under threat. To assert their identity – aggressively, if need be – is to claim human dignity, liberation and equality in relation to those who have power. Vulnerable identities are strengthened, not eroded, by the work of grace. The historical movements for the emancipation of slaves, women and racially and economically oppressed peoples appealed to the biblical message of the Exodus and the gospel of redemption (the ‘Song of Moses and the Lamb’ – Rev. 15.3).

The central meaning of the ‘preferential option for the poor’ (in the Liberation Theology of Gutierrez, Bonino, Sobrino, Segundo et al.) is not just to endorse the struggles of the oppressed, but to see the world through their eyes. Through the Incarnation God has so identified himself with the poor that he is already present in the stories and struggles of their lives. Salvation is not brought to them, but must be sought with them and through them. The ‘option for the poor’ thus privileges their own sense of identity above the judgements made about them by those who do not share their situation. People’s own understanding of themselves cannot therefore be excluded from the definition of their ‘nature’. Catholic and Protestant conservatives may legitimately object that such self-constructed identities are open to ‘false understandings based on… social settings and solidarities’. But Liberation theologians may cogently reply that these identities are probably less liable to distortion than the apparently balanced teachings of ecclesiastical elites – especially those which deliberately exclude from their membership those about whom they publish statements and study guides.

It is not the purpose of this essay to contradict the claim of the St Andrew’s Day Statement that human identity in this world is never fixed, and must always be open to the transforming influence of the gospel. Nor do I wish to claim that human flourishing always depends on defining who we are in terms of ‘family or personal histories, emotional dispositions, social settings and solidarities’. But I am not convinced that the St Andrew’s Day Statement has found the right balance between ‘nature’ and ‘grace’. The phenomenon of language suggests a different biblically based model which finds room within our redeemed identity in Christ not only for natural diversity but also for differences which, like language, are considered to be disorders not intended by God in creation. ¹³ Such a model takes more seriously people’s own sense of who they are, and offers greater protection from the totalitarian tendency inherent in some religious understandings. The influence of theological models on our collective attitudes and behaviour should not be underestimated.