The Making of Biblical Womanhood: How the Subjugation of Women Became Gospel Truth, by Beth Allison Barr, Brazos Press, 2021.

The beginning of the 8th and final chapter (‘Isn’t it time to set women free?’) makes uncomfortable reading.  The author tells of an early relationship with a boyfriend who, apparently influenced by Bill Gothard’s ‘Basic Life Principles’ teaching, according to which ‘a wife owed total submission to her husband’ applied this to their own dating relationship.

Now, Beth Barr was clearly hurt and ‘scarred’ (her word) by this experience.  I feel very sorry about that. We should all care deeply about abuse of all kinds.  I have to concede that there have been men who have appealed to biblical texts in order to justify domestic abuse.  Abuse of women by some men in Christian leadership, and the reluctance of some churches and denominations to deal properly with it, are, tragically, well documented.

But the main task I have set myself here is to evaluate Dr Barr’s argument.  And, since her motive in recounting her  own experience is obviously to add something to her overall argument against complementarianism, I must make a few points by way of analysis:

Barr tells us little or nothing about the nature of the abuse she suffered.  Obviously, I have no wish to pry into personal or highly sensitive details.  But, given the significance of this incident for her and for the book, the reader is entitled to know something about what she is talking about.

The link between this episode of abuse (whatever it was) and complementarian teaching is assumed, not demonstrated.  In any case, it has not been shown that Gothard’s version of male authority and female submission has much, or indeed anything, in common with the complementarian teaching of Piper, Grudem and others of that ilk.

Barr fails here, as elsewhere in her book, to distinguish between the various forms of complementarianism (which might crudely be categorised as ‘hard’ and ‘soft’).  She tarrs them all with the same brush.

Similarly, Barr describes certain North American (specifically, Southern Baptist) expressions of complementarianism that translate to few church situations in (for example) the UK.

Moreover, she fails to engage seriously with any of the arguments that complementarians advance in favour of their position.

The ‘scars’ traced back to this experience (and to a later experience of her husband being fired from his church job because she and he challenged that church’s position on complementarianism), seem to me to have turned what might have been a more rational argument into a piece of extended and one-sided rhetoric.

On point 4 above, I note that Dr Barr quotes Rachael Denhollander as saying:

“I think it is very telling that I have heard hundreds, literally hundreds, of sermons directed on the quiet and submissive sphere that a woman should have,” she said. “I have heard not one on how to value a woman’s voice. I have heard not one on the issue of sexual assault.”

This extraordinary statistic does not fairly describe the UK situation that I know and am a part of.  Moreover, anyone who thinks that complementarians are silent on the question of domestic abuse should read Claire Smith’s book God’s Good Design (especially chapter 8, in the 2012 edition).

Barr spends most of her time in this last chapter repeating and summarising the rhetoric of the previous chapters.  She claims, with a flourish, that ‘evidence’ is on her side:

‘While experience shapes my perspective of complementarian teachings, evidence from my research as a scholar, my teaching as a college professor, and my professional and personal study of the Bible has led me to abandon these teachings. Evidence shows me how Christian patriarchy was built, stone by stone, throughout the centuries. Evidence shows me how, century after century, arguments for women’s subordination reflect historical circumstances more than the face of God. Evidence shows me that just because complementarianism uses biblical texts doesn’t mean it reflects biblical truth. Evidence shows me the trail of sin and destruction left in the wake of teachings that place women under the power of men. Evidence shows me, throughout history, the women who have always known the truth about patriarchy and who have always believed that Jesus sets women free.’

But I believe I have shown that, time and time again, Barr’s appeal to ‘evidence’ is unpersuasive.  She assumes that something is true because a favourite writer says so.  She chooses interpretations of biblical texts that support her point of view, but without properly weighing the alternatives (example: I can perhaps agree that Phoebe was a ‘deacon’, and certainly that Junia was a female ‘apostle’, but we have not warrant for assuming that ‘deacon’ necessarily implies leadership, or that to call someone a distinguished ‘apostle’ places him or her in the same rank as Paul or Peter).

Perhaps Barr’s inability to understand any view except her own is best illustrated in the following:

‘For those who still believe that biblical womanhood is God-ordained, my advice is…: Stop it! We have become so embroiled in arguments about Greek grammar and whose Bible translation is better that we have forgotten what Jesus told us was most important: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. . . . [And] love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37–39). We have forgotten that the harshest words Jesus utters in the Bible are not to the ordinary people and sinners around him—the tax collectors and prostitutes and gentiles and women, whom the disciples kept trying to push away. The harshest words Jesus utters in the Bible are to the strict male religious leaders functioning as self-appointed border guards of orthodoxy. “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead and of all kinds of filth” (Matthew 23:27). Doesn’t it sound like Jesus told the Pharisees “Stop it!” because what they were doing led to death instead of life?’

Forceful words, indeed.  Barr follows them up with an assurance that the Bill Gothard movement was a ‘whitewashed tomb’.  Well, maybe it was.  But are all complementarians so neglectful of love toward God and neighbour?  And what if love for God and neighbour entailed honouring the good design that God’s word set out for the relationships between the two sexes?  The thought doesn’t seem to have occurred to Barr.  Or, rather, it probably has occurred to her and she judges it to be self-evidently false, and not worthy of serious consideration.

There can be no doubt, proclaims Barr, that complementarianism fosters abuse:

‘We can no longer deny a link between complementarianism and abuse. So much evidence now exists that John Piper, Al Mohler, and Russell Moore have gone on the defensive, trying to proclaim how their “Christian patriarchy” is different (see my first chapter). Du Mez eviscerates their claim, providing the proof my friend could not see—that the conservative church model of authoritarian leadership combined with rigid gender roles fosters a culture of abuse (decade after decade, church after church, leader after leader).’

Kindly note how Barr seeks to support her claim.  It is true, apparently, because another writer (Kristin Kobes Du Mez) says so.  I’m sorry, but this is preaching to the choir again.  Only those already convinced (or more than willing to be convinced) would accept this claim.

Is there abuse in complementarian churches?  Tragically, yes,  But there is also abuse in egalitarian churches.  And the whole #MeToo movement indicates that abuse occurs in plenty of settings where biblical teaching is not known or respected.  Moreover, what about the counter-evidence, according to which church-attending conservative Protestant men were less likely to be violent in the home that their mainline (and more egalitarian) Protestant counterparts?  Indeed,

‘They outpace mainline Protestant and unaffiliated family men in their emotional and practical dedication to their children and wives… and they are the least likely to physically abuse their wives.’

Untangling the causes and effects will take more than a few anecdotes and appeals to ‘X says so’.  At the very least, Dr Barr needed to consider a wider range of evidence and engage in a deeper level of analysis before making such sweeping claims about the evil tendencies of complementarianism.

For Barr, complementarianism is cut from the same cloth as white supremacy.  Both demand the subservience (of women and of black people respectively) to the strong (the men and white people).  But, once again, the comparison cannot be considered valid just because someone (in this case, Katie Cannon) says so.

Then we return once more to women who have stood up for the public ministry of women.  The noted author Dorothy L. Sayers supported women’s ordination.  But she was referring to ordination to the priesthood, and it is axiomatic among evangelicals that the New Testament priesthood is that of all believers – women and men alike.

In the early 15th century, a well-educated and well-connected Christian woman named Christine de Pizan  champtioned education for women and confronted mysogyny.  She is a model for us (in Barr’s eyes) because the mysogyny of complementarianism needs to be confronted in our own day.

Barr returns to one of the main themes of her book, which is that evangelicals have forgotten (if they ever knew) so many of the outstanding women leaders and preachers of the past:

‘From Mary Magdalene to Waldensian women, Ursuline nuns, Moravian wives, Quaker sisters, Black women preachers, and suffragette activists, history shows us that women do not wait on the approval of men to do the work of God.’

She asks:

‘What if evangelicals remembered women like Christine de Pizan and Dorothy L. Sayers? What if we remembered that women have always been leaders, teachers, and preachers, even in evangelical history? What if our seminaries used textbooks that included women? What if our Sunday school and Bible study curriculum correctly reflected Junia as an apostle, Priscilla as a coworker, and women like Hildegard of Bingen as preachers? What if we recognized women’s leadership the same way Paul did throughout his letters—even entrusting the Letter to the Romans to the deacon Phoebe? What if we listened to women in our evangelical churches the way Jesus listened to women?’

Well, yes, such women should be remembered.  Any many of them should be celebrated and honoured.  But, thinking of the biblical references in particular, it does no good to Barr’s side of the discussion (except for those already convinced by it) to assume that there is no dispute over what it actually means for Junia to be recognised as a woman ‘apostle’, or for Phoebe to be recognised as a woman ‘deacon’.

Towards the end of this final chapter, Barr becomes ever more polemic.  As a (retired) university teacher myself, I was surprised at the number of times she says, in the course of the book, “I told my students…”, or words to that effect.  Quite frankly, I’m not sure if they were being educated.  Or indoctrinated.  Or preached at.