Progressive Orthodoxy
Christianity For the Modern World
To propose a progressive Christianity is to propose a living Church, a church that is not dead but rather alive, evolving, and still making progress towards perfection. Progressive Christianity does not reject the historical faith as espoused by the Church Fathers in ancient times. It does not reject the Bible as a sacred text. However, it applies a hermeneutical method of dialectical context-keeping. This method allows the Christian worldview to evolve and come to terms with the discoveries of modern science and the realities of living in the modern world without being bound by superstitions and archaic ideas that were merely the product of their historical context.
Dialectical Context-Keeping
Progressive Christianity remains open-minded and takes a more liberal view towards the inspiration of the Bible. The Bible is viewed as a human work inspired by a divine encounter — inspired by an encounter with God rather than dictated by the Deity. This does not diminish its spiritual value but rather enhances it, freeing the text from the constraints of literalism and allowing it to breathe again as a living, evolving testament to the human search for God. This liberal approach does not represent a shift away from Scripture but rather a turn towards a deeper, more honest engagement with the text. It is a shift away from rigid dogma toward theological imagination, a shift from fear of questioning to the freedom to seek understanding.
Progressive Christianity applies a hermeneutical method of dialectical context-keeping. This means that when we interpret Scripture, we want to place the passage in both its textual context and in its historical and cultural context. We must be cautious of reading into the text answers to questions that were utterly foreign to the authors. An example of this would be the medieval Christian idea of judicial justification before God, which was unwittingly read into the text of St. Paul. St. Paul, of course, came from a 1st-century Jewish context, where “justification” had a totally different meaning. To be “made just” (justified) in his context meant to be brought into a covenantal relationship with God. (For more on this, see N. T. Wright’s Justification: God’s Plan & Paul’s Vision and Paul Nadim Tarazi’s Galatians: A Commentary)
To the progressive Christian, to say the Bible is “inspired” is not to claim that its authors were stenographers for the Almighty. Rather, inspiration should be seen as we see it in the arts: a painter moved by beauty, a poet stirred by grief, a prophet burdened with justice. The biblical writers were ancient people shaped by their cultures, languages, and mythologies. They wrestled with the divine in the same way we do: through stories, metaphors, laws, rituals, and dreams. Their insights are profound, but they are not perfect. They point us toward God, but they are not God. This is not to say that they did not have mystical experiences that amount to a direct encounter with the divine but rather that their communication of said experience was bound by their context.
This understanding reframes the authority of the Bible. Rather than demanding submission to every word as inerrant, it invites discernment. We no longer need to unquestioningly accept the problematic parts — the genocide in Joshua, the exclusion of women in Leviticus, the condemnation of queer people in Paul’s letters — as divine decrees. Instead, we can recognize them as the echoes of ancient social norms, now transformed in the light of the radical love and inclusivity taught by Jesus.
The Bible and Ancient Mythology
When we take a critical look at the content of the Hebrew Bible, we see clear evidence of intertextuality with older Mesopotamian mythologies. The creation account in Genesis parallels the Enuma Elish, the Babylonian epic, where the god Marduk creates the world from the mutilated body of the goddess Tiamat. Yet Genesis offers a different vision: one God, not many; a peaceful act of creation, not violence; and humans not created as slaves of the gods but as beings made in the divine image. What is most significant about the biblical account is precisely how it differs from the older mythologies.
Likewise, the story of Noah’s Ark echoes the flood stories in the Epic of Gilgamesh and the Epic of Atrahasis. But where Gilgamesh and Atrahasis portray the gods as petty and capricious, Genesis presents a God grieved by human violence but ultimately seeking to renew creation. The character of the divine is absolutely different in the biblical narrative. The biblical account is not telling us about historical events as much as declaring how the God of Israel is different from the gods of rival Mesopotamian cultures.
The law of Moses, too, bears a striking resemblance to the Code of Hammurabi. And yet, the Mosaic law often shows a moral and theological development, emphasizing justice for the poor, mercy for the vulnerable, and reverence for the divine presence in community. The Law of Moses inherits the language of lex talionis (retribution) from the Code of Hammurabi, so you see a lot of “an eye for an eye” type language in both systems of law. But what is most important is the ways in which the law of Moses departs from that of Hammurabi. For instance, human life is taken lightly in the Code of Hammurabi, where the death penalty may sometimes be enacted for petty theft. In the Law of Moses, the death penalty is reserved only for the most severe infractions. Furthermore, Hammurabi deals mostly with issues surrounding money and property, whereas Moses’ law weighs in on ethics more broadly, even delving into matters of worship and faith.
These similarities and differences reveal that the Bible was not composed in a vacuum. The originality of the Bible consists of its innovative reinterpretation of earlier texts. The Hebrew Scriptures are a reimagining of myth through a monotheistic and ethical lens. What matters most is not what was borrowed from earlier texts but what was transformed.
The Evolution of Theology
If the biblical stories are theological retellings of older myths, then we are invited to approach them not as literal histories but as sacred stories. This opens the door to reconciling the Bible with the findings of modern science. When the creation account says that God created animals “according to their kind,” this need not be read as a denial of evolution, but can be seen as a poetic acknowledgment of natural order. When the Book of Genesis is not asked to be a science textbook, it becomes free to be what it is: a profound meditation on the goodness and order of creation.
In this view, the spiritual message of the Bible survives the loss of literalism. Adam and Eve become archetypes, not biological ancestors. The flood becomes a symbol of renewal, not a global catastrophe. And the Tower of Babel becomes a parable about the dangers of pride, not a historical event.
Progressive Christianity embraces the insights of modern science and philosophy, understanding that revelation is ongoing and multidimensional. Darwin’s theory of evolution is not a threat to faith but a deepening of the mystery of creation. The expanding universe, the intricate web of life, the unfolding story of humanity — all of these are sacred texts in their own right, waiting to be read alongside Scripture.
And if all that language about God creating things “male and female, according to their kind” is not to be taken literally, this opens up room for reinterpreting some of what the Bible has to say about gender roles and sexual orientation. Perhaps homosexuality is not really contrary to God’s plan after all. The biblical stance against homosexuality can then be seen as an archaic superstition reinforced by an overly literal reading of the biblical creation account.
As you can see, this shift also affects how we interpret biblical ethics. Many of the laws in the Hebrew Bible reflect the patriarchal, tribal, and xenophobic attitudes of their time. We honor the courage and insight of the biblical writers, but we also recognize their limitations. When Leviticus condemns homosexuality, it is not speaking with the voice of eternal truth — it is echoing the cultural assumptions of a society concerned with ritual purity and national survival.
Likewise, when Paul speaks of gender roles, he is not laying down immutable divine law. He is navigating the realities of 1st-century Jewish culture while trying to articulate the implications of the gospel. His core insight — that in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female — points beyond his own context toward a radical equality we are still learning to live out. (Cf. Galatians 3:28)
A progressive reading of Scripture allows us to distinguish between the eternal spirit and the temporal form. We can embrace the biblical call to justice, mercy, and love while rejecting the remnants of patriarchy, slavery, and homophobia. In doing so, we affirm that the Bible is not a cage but a springboard — a means of grace, not a weapon of control.
Beyond Platonism, Toward Process Philosophy
Another dimension of this progressive vision is a move away from Platonic essentialism — the idea that behind every particular thing there is an eternal, unchanging essence. This idea has shaped much of Christian theology, especially in the West, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to reconcile with what we know of the world.
Instead, many progressive theologians are drawn to a more dynamic understanding of reality — one found in nominalism or process theology. In this view, there are no fixed essences, only evolving relationships. Things are not defined by static categories but by fluid relationships. God, too, is not a distant, unmoved mover but the living source of change, love, and becoming — the one who is always present in the unfolding of each moment. This view opens up the possibility of a Christian Daoism or a Christian Buddhism. The contradictions between Western and Eastern thought dissolve when one shifts from Neo-Platonism to process thought. (Cf. Damascene Christensen’s Christ the Eternal Tao)
This process approach resonates deeply with the biblical portrayal of God not as a dispassionate abstraction, but as a God who weeps, repents, loves, and acts — a dynamic God who seems to change rather than remain static. A God of covenant, not coercion. A God whose name is “I Am Who I Am.” (Cf. Open Theism)
Living Faith in a Changing World
Progressive Christianity is not about discarding the Bible. It is about engaging it honestly, critically, and reverently. It is about holding the text in one hand and the world in the other, and listening for the voice of the Spirit between them. It is about affirming the sacredness of reason, experience, and science alongside tradition and Scripture. It is about expanding the table of belonging, embracing those who have long been excluded, and discovering Christ in the margins.
Above all, it is about rediscovering faith as a journey rather than a destination. A path of questioning, doubting, growing, and loving. A way of being that sees God not as a tyrant demanding submission but as a presence drawing all things toward wholeness.
The Bible remains our sacred text — but not because it is inerrant or infallible. It is sacred because it bears witness to generations of people wrestling with the same questions we face: Who is God? What is justice? How shall we live? And like those who came before us, we too can be inspired by mystical experiences. We too are called to tell the story anew.
Progressive Orthodoxy
For me, the purest forms of Christianity are Eastern Orthodoxy, on the one hand, and Christian anarchism on the other. I speak of progressive orthodoxy because I believe that a Christian can affirm faith in the Nicene Creed, in the teachings of the Church Fathers, and in the Bible while still accepting modern scientific discoveries and progressing towards a fuller understanding of our place in the world. We must learn to read the Bible not as a divinely dictated text but as an inspired work of art. To me, orthodoxy (or correct belief) means both Eastern Christian theology and Christian anarchism.
Eastern Christianity
Eastern Christianity, and especially Eastern Orthodoxy, presents a vision of the Christian faith that is radically distinct from its Western counterparts. At the heart of Eastern Orthodoxy is a mystical, experiential approach to theology that contrasts sharply with the rigid rationalism of Western Christianity. While the West, shaped by figures like St. Augustine, often emphasizes systematic theology and philosophical speculation, Eastern Orthodoxy insists on the primacy of divine mystery, paradox, and the lived experience of the divine.
One of the most significant theological divergences lies in the understanding of the Trinity. Whereas Western Christianity tends to collapse the three Persons into a single, monadic essence, Eastern Christianity upholds a clear distinction between God’s essence and His energies. This distinction preserves both divine transcendence and immanence: God’s essence remains unknowable, but His energies — His presence and actions in the world — are knowable and transformative.
This theology is not merely theoretical but is embedded in a way of life. The Eastern path to knowledge of God is not through syllogisms but through theosis — participation in the divine life. Theology is not something you study; it is something you do. As the Eastern tradition teaches, “a theologian is one who prays truly.” This emphasis on mystical encounter fosters a humble apophaticism: we know God best when we confess our inability to fully describe Him.
Furthermore, Eastern Christianity places the person of Christ, the God-man, as the epistemic center of faith. Theology is not the product of human reasoning about God but the fruit of union with Christ. This theanthropic focus stands in stark opposition to Western humanism, which, ultimately enthrones man as the measure of all things​.
Eastern Orthodoxy also rejects the notion that faith can be reduced to intellectual assent or rational proof. Faith is an encounter, not a conclusion. The goal of Christian life is not merely to believe the right doctrines, but to enter into communion with the living God through prayer, sacraments, and ascetic practice.
In the context of progressive Christianity, this Eastern orientation offers fertile ground for reimagining the faith. Its rejection of rationalist dogmatism, its embrace of mystery, and its prioritization of love and transformation over legalism align naturally with progressive values. Eastern Christianity reminds us that Christianity need not be wedded to Western metaphysics or conservative social norms. It offers a deeper well from which to draw — a tradition that sees the Christian journey not as a series of propositions to be believed, but as a transformative path into divine communion. Christianity is a mystical experience rather than a logical proposition.
Biblical Anarchism
When Israel was first formed, it existed as a community, not a state. God’s people were simply called to obey His commandments freely, without coercion. Government arose only later, as a response to human sinfulness. A system of judges was established, but even this degenerated into corruption: “They turned aside after dishonest gain, took bribes, and perverted justice.”(1 Samuel 8:3)
When the people demanded a king to “be like all the nations” (1 Samuel 8:5), they rejected not Samuel, but God Himself. Samuel prayed to the Lord and sought guidance on this. God said to him, “Heed the voice of the people in what they say to you; for they have not rejected you, but rather they have rejected Me, to bring to naught My reign over them.”(1 Samuel 8:7) Despite God’s warning that kings would oppress them — drafting their sons into war, taxing their goods, and enslaving them — the people insisted. (Cf. 1 Samuel 8:11–20). Thus, the monarchy was established, a tragic moment of idolatry in Israel’s history.
The Bible says that the end of statism’s role in human history will not come until the return of Christ. “Then comes the end, when He delivers the kingdom to God the Father, when He puts an end to all rule and all authority and power.”(1 Corinthians 15:24) Eventually, Christ will usher in the anarchic Kingdom of God.
The Anarchism of Jesus Christ
The anarchism of Jesus Christ emerges clearly in His teachings. Anarchy, properly understood, does not mean chaos but “no rulers” — governance based on free association rather than coercion. Christ’s Sermon on the Mount outlines a vision of radical nonviolence, voluntary mutual aid, and rejection of domination of man over man.
Jesus blesses the meek, the merciful, and the peacemakers (Matthew 5:5–9), condemns anger and insult (Matthew 5:21–22), and commands nonresistance to evil: “turn the other cheek” (Matthew 5:38–39). He not only forbids violence but also the thoughts and speech that can lead to violence. Violence, including the violence of the state, is incompatible with the ethic of Christ.
Christ commands love of enemies, charity toward all (Matthew 5:41–44), and points to the corruption of tax collectors — not to demonize them, but to expose systems of exploitation (Matthew 5:46). Christ’s teachings stand radically opposed to militarism, nationalism, and the violent enforcement of arbitrary laws.
Moreover, Christ warns against the accumulation of wealth (Matthew 6:19–24). You cannot serve both God and money— nor God and Caesar. When the apostles faced imprisonment for preaching, they declared: “We must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29). Civil disobedience to unjust authority is embedded in the Christian tradition.
Early Christian communities functioned as voluntary, anarchistic societies. Disputes were resolved within the church itself, not in secular courts (1 Corinthians 6:1–8; Matthew 18:15–18). The local church operated as an anarchistic dispute resolution organization, where grievances were handled by communal consensus rather than imposed authority. Members shared their possessions, holding “all things in common” (Acts 2:44), practicing a form of mutual aid rather than compulsory redistribution.
Participation in the community was voluntary but required contribution. Those unwilling to work were not entitled to share in the communal goods (2 Thessalonians 3:6–15). This model was not about state-enforced communism but about voluntary Christian solidarity.
Christian anarcho-communism does not reject property rights but reorients them toward charity and community. The ideal Christian society would be composed of small, local, voluntary communes — an anarcho-distributist model rooted in freedom and mutual aid, not coercion.
Conclusion
The heart of Progressive Orthodoxy lies in the paradoxical fusion of ancient faith with open-hearted progress. It is a vision of the Christian faith that is both deeply rooted and dynamically evolving — grounded in the sacred traditions of the Church Fathers and yet unafraid to confront the challenges and discoveries of the modern world. It draws water from the deep well of Eastern Christianity and lets it flow freely through the rivers of reason, experience, science, and justice.
From Eastern Orthodoxy, we inherit a Christianity that is not a list of doctrines but a divine encounter — a way of life centered on theosis, mystery, and communion. Its apophatic theology reminds us that silence before the divine is often truer than speech, and that real theology is born of prayer, not debate. It offers us a living tradition in which paradox is not a problem but a path, and love — not dogma — is the highest truth.
From Christian anarchism, we receive a prophetic critique of worldly power. Christ’s kingdom is not built through coercion, domination, or violence, but through radical love, voluntary association, and mutual aid. The Church, in its truest form, was never meant to be an arm of the state or an empire of control — it was meant to be a countercultural community of peace, humility, and service. Christian anarchism reminds us that God reigns where love reigns, not where men rule.
Progressive Christianity allows these two threads to be brought together into a coherent whole. By reading the Bible not as a dictated rulebook but as a divinely inspired human response to the sacred, we free ourselves from the chains of literalism and rediscover the living Word beneath the words. By applying a hermeneutic of context, compassion, and transformation, we find room for affirming the dignity of LGBTQ+ people, embracing modern science, and rethinking inherited hierarchies.
Progressive Orthodoxy, then, is not a compromise between tradition and modernity — it is a transcendent synthesis. It is a call to return to the essence of Christianity: a mystical faith rooted in divine love and enacted through radical justice. It sees the Sermon on the Mount not as a lofty ideal but as a blueprint for a new society. It affirms that true orthodoxy is not static belief but right relationship — relationship with God, with neighbor, with the earth, and with our own becoming.
In this vision, we can confess the Creed without compromising conscience. We can honor the Fathers while still listening to the Spirit who speaks today. We can reclaim the Church not as a fortress of fear but as a sanctuary of transformation. In short, we can be orthodox and progressive — not because we are redefining Christianity, but because we are remembering what it was always meant to be.
