Most Americans are in favor of abortion under certain circumstances. This is not all too surprising when one considers that, for many, the values and practices of the sexual revolution are an intuitive part of daily life. This is due in large part to the common intuition that human beings are autonomous, unencumbered individuals whose primary purpose is the pursuit of personal happiness. The widespread acceptance of no-fault divorce was the harbinger of many great changes, from gay marriage to transgenderism to the shift in abortion rhetoric; what was once a “necessary evil” is now a “reproductive right.”

The immediate question for many is what will happen after the November election. It’s unlikely that the U.S. will have a strong pro-life option at the ballot box, at least one with a credible chance of power. Beyond that, however, lies a real pedagogical challenge for the churches, particularly the Protestant churches. In times past, the moral intuitions of society at large and those of the Protestant churches (at least the orthodox ones) were largely consonant with each other. The churches taught, for example, that homosexual practices were wrong, and that tracked with the general outlook of the culture. The reasoning in each case might well have been very different. The churches no doubt looked to biblical texts; society perhaps operated with the residue of such an approach, a form of “cultural Christianity.” But the result was that the churches never really had to do any significant thinking in this area. The culture carried the issue.

Today the situation is far different. In the space of a few decades, the moral intuitions of society have not simply parted company with those of Christianity—they have come to stand in direct opposition to many of them. That changes the pedagogical dynamics of church life. The churches now need to teach Christian ethics more explicitly and more thoroughly, because that is where the wider culture will challenge Christian discipleship most powerfully. Indeed, it is already doing so, and orthodox Protestantism seems ill-equipped to address this.

Take, for example, issues surrounding the creation of new life. Over the last few years, I have been approached by several younger Christians (and here “younger” means “under thirty years of age”) asking about contraception and IVF. Many commented that I was not the first minister or professor they had approached; those they'd questioned before me regarded contraception and IVF as obvious goods, not to be discussed. Indeed, in the last six months, I have heard of two instances where book proposals critical of IVF were refused by conservative Protestant publishers because the issue is too controversial.

An opinion column is not the place to parse the arguments pro- and contra-contraception or IVF. What is interesting is that few Protestants are willing to take up these issues. It makes some sociological sense in the case of contraception, which functioned for Christians of my generation as a clear identity marker that separated Protestants from Catholics. The assumed good of IVF is more obviously revealing. That it goes unquestioned tilts me toward three conclusions. 

First, the recent (as in, since the nineteenth century) evangelical Protestant practice of building ethics on proof texts is remarkably limited in our day and age. Proof texts work when the moral intuitions of the culture track with the broad shape of biblical teaching. That is no longer the case. Further, advances in technology now raise all kinds of questions about what it even means to be human—which in turn raises questions not only about fertility, but about other issues, from end-of-life care to the use of AI. The broader biblical account of human nature, not isolated proof texts, must now factor into Christian discussions of the most pressing ethical issues that we face.

Second, it is clear that a kind of utilitarianism or ends-justify-the-means thinking grips the evangelical imagination at some level, much as it does that of wider society. If IVF leads to a good (the creation of children for a barren couple and the obvious joy that would involve) then it must itself be good, whatever processes are otherwise involved. Such thinking needs to be challenged.

Third, Protestant circles need a new pedagogical strategy. It is striking that in the New Testament and in the early second century (see, for example, the Didache) Christians and pagans were differentiated not simply by what they believed but by how they behaved. The Christian community must have a practical, moral distinctiveness. On one level, this means that we live at a time of great opportunity: It should be easier to identify the different moral attitudes and practices between the church and the world. Our congregations should be the place where the weak and the vulnerable are treated with care. But it is also a challenge: We need to understand why we think and act differently. Now that the wider culture will not help make plausible our thinking on, say, sexuality or reproduction, we have to catechize our own communities in these things. The days when ministers could eschew connecting their indicative theological claims about Christ to the particular ethical challenges of the day died with cultural Christianity. The person thinking about IVF or wrestling with whether to use preferred pronouns as demanded by his or her employer needs to know how to make a decision that could well be costly and painful.

In short, we need good Protestant ethicists who are able to come up with solutions to the various challenges that we face, solutions rooted in our Christian understanding of what it means to be human. Sadly, the field is not strong—the names of Gilbert Meilaender and Oliver O’Donovan stand out, of course, but they are a rare breed. We need to pray that their tribe increases.

Carl Trueman is a professor of biblical and religious studies at Grove City College and a fellow at the Ethics and Public Policy Center. 

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