The in-group

I’m going to propose a modest little argument for infant baptism. Mind you, I don’t think there’s much riding on this issue one way or the other.

The usual arguments for and against infant baptism are theological. Mine is sociological. Let’s begin with some illustrations.

When I’m born, I’m born into a community. I have an individual identity, but I also have a social or familial identity. I have a built-in set of relationships. I’m born into a family. I’m related to my parents. I’m related to my siblings, if I have any. I’m related to aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents.

By “relation” I don’t mean a blood relation, per se. After all, some of my relatives are in-laws.

Rather, there’s a sense in which I belong to that social unit. I’m a member of that nuclear family or extended family. And there’s nothing I did to achieve that status. Rather, that’s an ascribed status.

Likewise, if I’m born to rich parents, that puts me in a differential social class than if I’m born to poor parents. And I did nothing to merit or demerit that social status. It’s a role I’m born into by virtue of second parties I’m related to.

Or take nationality. I was born in America to American parents. That automatically made me an American citizen. The United States claims me. I have certain rights and responsibilities as an American, in contrast to rights and responsibilities I’d have as an Italian or Scotsman or Frenchman.

Suppose your parents belong to a church. They belong to a religious community. If you’re born to your parents, you are thereby born into their religious community. Because they belong to that religious community, and you belong to your parents (“belong” in the sense of being a family member), you belong to that community. You acquire their preexisting social attachments. Their affiliation becomes your affiliation via your affiliation to them.

Infant baptism is a public acknowledgement that you’re a member of that religious community by virtue of your relationship to your parents, and their relationship to the religious community. It carries over. (This would also be true if your parents joined a church.) You are born into whatever in-group your parents belong to.

You’re not treated as an outsider. It’s not like you just walked in off the street.

To take another illustration, when I was a young kid, the principal of the school where my father taught held a summer picnic on school grounds for the faculty. But, of course, attendance wasn’t restricted to faculty. Spouses and children of faculty members were both allowed and expected to come. They were part of the in-group. Although they weren’t employed by the school, they were treated differently than a stranger who simply walked onto the campus to crash the party. The man on the street wasn’t invited to the picnic.

By the same token, it’s possible to lose your ascriptive membership. In principle, I could renounce my American citizenship. I could apply for citizenship in another country. That would be analogous to apostasy. Or I could be convicted of treason and deported. That would be analogous to excommunication.

Ascriptive membership is different from communicant membership. That’s not transmissible. Communicant membership requires a credible profession of faith. Kinship doesn’t cut it.