Written by James E. Bruce |
Tuesday, July 11, 2023
The question about atheists and oaths does not need to be resolved by making philosophical arguments about the rational instability of atheism; by exploring sociological data suggesting atheists are an honest bunch; or by offering probabilistic judgments about whether a certain atheist will tell the truth in a particular instance. These questions, though interesting and helpful, do not determine the answer to the question of whether atheists can take oaths in a church court. Instead, we must look to an oath itself. An oath requires God as witness and judge. To suggest that an atheist can offer an oath contravenes the meaning of an oath. We must look to the third commandment.

Should atheists offer testimony before a church court? Given the desirability of truthful testimony, the relevance of the ninth commandment to this question is obvious: Can someone be trusted not to bear false witness against his neighbor, if he refuses to call upon God as witness and judge? That’s an important question, and one we should consider.
But it’s not the most important question. The third commandment is determinative in a way the ninth commandment is not. The Westminster Assembly understood the connection between honoring God’s name and telling the truth in court. Indeed, the word perjury occurs only once in the Westminster Larger Catechism, and the catechism identifies perjury as a sin forbidden by the third commandment, not as a sin forbidden by the ninth.
The most pressing question is not whether an atheist will bear false witness. The most important question is whether we can neglect to require God’s name when we must require it. The third commandment clearly teaches us that we must not walk away from God’s name when it is required. Because an oath is one such instance, atheists should not offer testimony before church courts, so long as church courts require oaths.
HONEST ATHEISTS
Before we consider the importance of the third commandment, let me say something about a question raised by the ninth: Can an atheist speak truthfully about judicial matters, even if doing so will harm his own interests? Here I may differ from those with whom I am in overall agreement. My answer is straightforward: of course. I happily grant that many atheists will tell the truth with great care.
But the question isn’t whether atheists can tell the truth (of course they can) or whether they will tell the truth (presumably many will). The question instead is whether their promise to tell the truth impresses upon them an obligation to tell the truth that is equivalent to a believer’s oath that calls God as witness and judge. The answer to that different, but related, question? Of course not. An oath is greater than a promise, just as a promise is greater than a mere statement. An atheist can recognize the difference between an oath and a promise, even if he believes it is irrational. God does not exist, he may say, but if God did exist, then calling upon him as witness and judge would be a very solemn thing, indeed.
So let’s be clear: The following arguments do not depend upon a characterization of atheists as uniquely horrible or especially prone to lie. On the contrary, the arguments assume that many atheists will tell the truth. The issue is not the moral character of the atheists. The issue is the nature of the oaths themselves, and the third commandment.
TWO ARGUMENTS ABOUT OATHS
Let’s make our case explicit:

Oaths just are statements that call God as witness and judge.
Atheists cannot make statements that call God as witness and judge.
To say atheists can take an oath without calling God as witness and judge is a contradiction, because that’s just what an oath is.
To permit an oath without using God’s name is a violation of the third commandment, because God’s name is required for an oath.

We will assume that everyone agrees with statement 2, that atheists cannot call God as witness and judge. So the first argument focuses on statement 1, on what an oath is. The claim is that a so-called “oath” without God is actually not an oath at all. The conclusion of the first argument, statement 3, follows from the first two statements: To say that an atheist can take an oath is to say that someone who claims not to believe in God can claim to believe in God as witness and judge, which is incoherent.
The second argument focuses on the honor due God’s name. For me, this argument, which concludes with statement 4, is determinative. The first argument shows that calling God as witness and judge is required for an oath. The second argument shows how the third commandment forbids us from neglecting to use God’s name when his name is required. Because oaths require God, we cannot neglect to mention him in them.

A GODLESS OATH IS NO OATH AT ALL

First, let’s ask what oaths are. To address this question, let’s think about how we identify anything at all. Usually, we appeal to a thing’s specific difference, that is, what distinguishes what we are talking about from other things that resemble it. For example, if you ask for a spoon, and I give you a knife, you’ll say you want the scooping thing, not the cutting thing. By contrast, if you ask for a spoon, and I bring you a shovel, you’ll say you want a utensil, not a digging tool. We identify things by acknowledging what they resemble and by emphasizing what distinguishes them from everything else.
Back to oaths: What is the specific difference between solemn speech and an oath, between stating something firmly and swearing to it? One word: God. In an oath, someone calls God as witness and judge. Indeed, an oath just is calling God as witness and judge. Put another way, there is no such thing as an oath without God as witness and judge. There is only one kind of oath, the one that calls upon God as witness and judge. Solemn speech that does not appeal to God may be called an oath by others, but calling something an oath does not make it an oath. Calling upon God as witness and judge makes something an oath.
How can I be so clear about oaths? Three things: Scripture, the Westminster Standards, and the practice of oaths in the history of the world.
My case rests considerably more on Scripture and the Standards, but I’ll first say something briefly about history. A survey of pagan oaths offers this concluding remark: “Even if effective military means were at hand, the gods provided the only written sanction. A treaty was not actually in effect unless it involved the solemn affirmation by the divine that one would be faithful to the details of the agreement” (Donald L. Magnetti, “The Function of the Oath in the Ancient Near Eastern International Treaty,” The American Journal of International Law 72:4 (1978), 829). The oaths of the Vulture Stele call upon different gods as witness and judge; one early Mesopotamian king wrote to another saying, “Let us swear a great oath by the gods.” Hundreds of years later, the Hittites made a variety of treaties, which included gods as witnesses as well as curses and blessings. Likewise, the ancient Hippocratic Oath calls upon Apollo and other gods. Rather than taking each century in its turn, let’s move forward to this more recent oath:
I do believe in one God, the creator and governor of the universe, the rewarder of the good and the punisher of the wicked. And I do acknowledge the Scriptures of the Old and New Testament to be given by Divine inspiration.
This oath for legislators came from the 1776 constitution of “tolerant Quaker Pennsylvania,” in the words of Mark David Hall. Even the current Pennsylvania constitution offers unique protection against disqualification from office for those who acknowledge “the being of a God and a future state of rewards and punishments.” God is witness, and God is judge. Other states have more stringent provisions about unbelievers, but these provisions have been unenforceable since Torcaso v. Watkins, 367 U.S. 488 (1961). Nevertheless, they offer textual evidence for my claim that the difference between a solemn declaration and an oath just is calling God as witness and judge.
But who cares? We have developed a better political system than the Hittites, and we have progressed beyond Euclidian geometry in mathematics. Why should we cling to a pre-1961 consensus — a consensus the civil authority has itself abandoned — if doing so prevents key witnesses from giving crucial testimony?
First, we are speaking here of church courts. In civil matters, someone who does not believe in God has an externally enforced motivation to tell the truth. The threat of a perjury conviction serves as an incentive to fulfill the requirements of one’s pledge. Even if you do not think God will judge you, the state may, and the amount of information collected on each one of us increases the likelihood that attempts at deceit will be discovered. We can treat civil oaths without God not as actual oaths but as recognitions by testifiers that they will perjure themselves if they testify falsely. Of course, such is not the case for a church court. There is no threat of perjury, and, for the atheist, no threat of excommunication, either. He is not in the church, so he can hardly be expelled from it. By contrast, in the civil realm, the threat of perjury sharpens the mind.
But, most importantly, the Scriptures and the Standards themselves understand oaths as solemn declarations calling God as witness and judge. To define oaths differently is to depart from their clear teaching. We cannot change what something is merely by speaking of it differently. Saying that a woman is a man or a man is a woman does not make it so. Calling a godless promise to tell the truth an oath does not make it an oath.
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Is the word defined by the “winsomer” or the “winsomee”? And Christians, well-meaning Christians, who want to be viewed as winsome in the public square, and are reading through their notes carefully before they go up to the public podium, are finding that their problem is not in their delivery, it’s not in their word choice, it’s not even in their body language. No, it’s in their actual beliefs. The problem is that the Christian perspective on marriage is viewed as hateful. And our winsomeness is being viewed as a mask, a get-out-of-jail-free card for ideas that should be banged up in solitary confinement.
 
So here’s me choosing my Christian Word Of The Year.
Drum roll please, “The Christian word of the year is WINSOME!” Taa-dah!
That’s right, winsome! It’s everywhere you look at the moment. So please step forward “winsome” and take a bow. You’ve been over-used, over-realised, under-appreciated, over-stated, undered and overed, and whatever else can happen to a poor old lonesome winsome word in these topsy turvy times.
The big take away for 2022 is how Christians can engage in the public square in a way that is winsome. And if that is even possible. And of course the big question: Is winsome a strategy or a stance? We haven’t decided yet. We haven’t decided what winsome actually means. Does it mean speaking the truth in love? And when we’re told that certain truths that Christians hold can’t be loving in the first place, then we’re being told that we’re masking hate in love language. Where does winsome land in all of that?
As the culture wars roll on, (and on and on) and Christians find themselves in the firing line on ethical matters, is winsome is our ticket out of this? That’s a great question to ask, if only we could decide what winsome actually looks like.
So exhibit A was a great article I read in the New York Times last week by an orthodox Anglican priest in the US, Tish Harrison Warren, who called for respect from both sides of the marriage debate in the US. It was a thoughtful piece from a woman who is very clear about her view that marriage is between a man and a woman, God ordained, and unchangeable in bedrock definition irrespective of government intervention.
Yet at the same time she explored that because the law of the land has changed the definition of marriage legally, then both sides in this issue must find a way to get along with living side by side and respect each other’s differences. Without that ability then it’s going to be tricky to live in the same nation, let alone suburb, with those we deeply disagree with.
She told the story of her gay friend and his “husband” and her hope that he would support her religious school’s right to promote its view of marriage without fear of funding loss, just as she recognised but did not agree with him. He laughed and said, yes. I thought it was a useful article given the times we live in.
Tish Harrison Warren seems an impressive woman. As an egalitarian in the church she even recognises and affirms complementarians and refuses the trope (sadly even found increasingly among brothers and sisters in Christ) that it’s simply a mask for patriarchy. She states this:
Pluralism is not the same as relativism — we don’t have to pretend that there is no right or wrong or that beliefs don’t matter. It is instead a commitment to form a society where individuals and groups who hold profoundly different and mutually opposed beliefs are welcome at the table of public life. It is rooted in love of neighbour and asks us to extend the same freedoms to others that we ourselves want to enjoy. Without a commitment to pluralism, we are left with a society that either forces conformity or splinters and falls apart.
It was a totally winsome article from a woman who holds to a biblical orthodox view of marriage, but who is not looking for some sort of Christian nationalism that will enforce that view on everyone else. She’s nothing if not a realist. And nothing if not winsome.
And what was the response in the comments section of The New York Times? She was shredded. Absolutely shredded. Here I was thinking, “Wow, that’s the type of response we should be able to articulate, and that’s the way we should articulate it” and the general tenor of the comments was along the lines of “bigot, hypocrite, liar, abuser”, etc, etc, etc, including “equivalent of Jim Crow racist”.
Now granted it is The New York Times, which wouldn’t recognised a Hunter Biden laptop if it tripped over it. But winsome went right to the source, with a piece that was as Winsome McWinsomeface as you could get, and still the vast bulk of well over one thousand comments were in the “shred” category.
Which is all a way of saying, if we’re going to have a conversation around winsome (and something tells me it may well be word of the year for Christians in 2023, cos this debate is only getting started), then we’d better have a clear understanding of what we mean by winsome. And by that I mean determining who gets to define whether we are being winsome or not.
That’s the point isn’t it? Is the word defined by the “winsomer” or the “winsomee”? And Christians, well-meaning Christians, who want to be viewed as winsome in the public square, and are reading through their notes carefully before they go up to the public podium, are finding that their problem is not in their delivery, it’s not in their word choice, it’s not even in their body language. No, it’s in their actual beliefs.
The problem is that the Christian perspective on marriage is viewed as hateful. And our winsomeness is being viewed as a mask, a get-out-of-jail-free card for ideas that should be banged up in solitary confinement. That’s the problem right there. And the more words you say, words like “love”, “tolerance”, “acceptance”, “pluralism” are simply seen as special pleading. They are being used by the losers in the culture war to try and carve out a city of refuge to which they can flee for safety.
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Clary writes with all the calm and clarity one should hope for in a trustworthy pastor. Because of this, Clary is sure to garner the approval of not a few evangelicals exhausted by the whiplash of late modernity. Unfortunately, this book also comes with some significant downsides.

Michael Clary, God’s Good Design: A Biblical, Theological, and Practical Guide to Human Sexuality, Ann Arbor, MI: Reformation Zion Publishing, 2023.
In his recently published, God’s Good Design, D. Michael Clary speaks about the moral and emotional bankruptcy promised by the sexual revolution, and, by contrast, the beauty and goodness of the Christian sexual ethic. Clary’s book is not merely a diatribe against modern sexual madness; he posits a better story and revels in the beauty of God’s design in human gender and sexuality. “In this book,” Clary states up front, “we will demonstrate the truth, goodness, and beauty of God’s design for sexuality. We will show how God’s story of his covenant love for his people, ultimately revealed in the gospel, was a profound mystery, written into the created order from the beginning of time” (3). In this book, Clary neither engages in cowardly obfuscation nor boastful pugilism. Which is to say, the author refrains from virtue signaling, regardless of the audience. Instead, Clary writes with all the calm and clarity one should hope for in a trustworthy pastor. Because of this, Clary is sure to garner the approval of not a few evangelicals exhausted by the whiplash of late modernity. Unfortunately, this book also comes with some significant downsides.
Structurally, God’s Good Design does not necessarily hang together as a single, unbroken argument. Clary lays the foundation for what he intends to argue in the first three chapters, but for the rest of the book, he structures his chapters topically. While I think the book could have benefited from some rigorous editorial work to cut down repeated and redundant material, its topical arrangement (and repetitive content) means that it can serve fruitfully as a reference book of sorts.
Rather than offering a blow-by-blow summary of the book, I would like to commend three of its strengths (of which there are many more I could enumerate), before concluding with a reflection on three of its weaknesses (which, though far outnumbered by the many positive features of the book, are nevertheless significant and, unfortunately, quite costly).
First, in terms of the book’s strengths, Clary demonstrates a non-anxious confidence in the Christian vision of gender, sex, and sexuality. He understands that the blustering pearl-clutching of reactionaries (even of the conservative variety) is neither profitable nor becoming. The author opts instead to outshine the secular script with a story that is better, truer, and more beautiful than its secular alternative. Relatedly, Clary does marvelously at showing the mutual enrichment of men and women. The sexes, he shows convincingly, are made for one another (132).
Second, Clary attends carefully to both books of divine revelation: sacred Scripture and Nature. In this way, he shows how God’s specially revealed assigned gender roles in the home and in the church are not arbitrary; they cohere with the way in which he made man and woman. In other words, to submit to divine revelation regarding matters like headship and submission (in the home and in the church) is to go along with the grain of created reality. Clary concludes, along with the best of the Great Tradition’s reflections on natural theology, that the difference between men and women has everything to do with biological teleology: fatherhood and motherhood. In this way, Clary approaches his subject material from numerous vantage points to tie together again what should have never been torn asunder: marriage, sex, and procreation.
Third, Clary writes with a pastoral sensitivity that is desperately needed in today’s discourse. Clary is direct but not callused; tender but not cowardly. He is also careful to distinguish between what Scripture plainly teaches and requires, and what he thinks is a wise application of biblical truth. One can tell that Clary is a shepherd who has learned to take seriously the requirement to bind his flock’s consciences to what Scripture requires without overstepping the boundary of “teaching as commandments the teaching of men” (cf., Matt. 15:9).
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