Why shouldn't the Church of England elect its bishops? That is the question the Church should be considering following the Prime Minister's decision to withdraw from church appointments. But the consultation paper issued by the Archbishops of Canterbury and York doesn't even put that possibility on the agenda. Faced with an unparalleled opportunity to introduce some form of participatory democracy, they have opted to continue a largely self-perpetuating oligarchy.

Bishops are currently chosen by the Crown Nominations Commission, a mixture of synodical and local representatives, church and state advisers, and the archbishops themselves. No aspect of church government is more imbued with unease and suspicion, if not downright distrust. The proceedings are confidential so that even those who are under consideration may not be aware of it, and the antecedent process (I am told) involves bishops circulating lists of individuals deemed suitable for preferment.

This process has traditionally been defended on the ground that, since these are Crown appointments, there is no other way because confidentiality must be ensured. But one result of appointment by committee is that the process of making bishops has become remote from ordinary Anglicans. Indeed, most are in total ignorance of the system and assume (with some justification) that appointments are rewards for deference and docility. Since the heady days of Bishops John Robinson and David Jenkins, appointments have increasingly been of the “safe” managerial variety. Church leaders, in the words of Donald Reeves, “have probably never been so competent, hard-working, moderate — and dull”.

Cronyism is another danger. Even the archbishops acknowledge the need for some “independency” in the system — since they lament the possible future absence of the Prime Minister's Appointments Secretary, who “has the independence to be able to ask the difficult questions”. They speak of the danger of “a uniformity that squeezes out flexibility or threatens the ‘biodiversity' of the Church”. But closed committees that operate within the confines of confidentiality are unlikely wells of diversity.

There is no divine law that says churches have to be undemocratic. The Church in Wales appoints bishops through an Electoral College, with 12 of its 47 members being elected from the diocese in question. And the Episcopal Church in the US invariably points out that, unlike English bishops, the openly gay Bishop Gene Robinson was elected by the Episcopalians of New Hampshire.

Democracy was not unknown in the early church. Pope Celestine I (c. AD425) held that “No bishop should be installed against the will of the people”, and the Council of Toledo (AD633) held that “He whom the clergy and people of his own city have not elected ... he shall not be a bishop”. Since the Church of England does not subscribe to papacy, and is now going to be freed from state interference, democracy should at least be on the agenda.

But how could participatory democracy work in practice? The key issue is determining the franchise. The weakness of the existing system is the way in which it privileges the episcopal and clerical elite, or the professional groups of laity that have the time and the money to spend on church business. One radical way of addressing this would be to enfranchise not only the laity on a “one man, one vote” basis with the clergy, but also extend it to all baptised Anglicans on a diocesan basis. This would be an opportunity for the Church to reclaim its rhetoric about how it is the community of all the baptised, and to demonstrate its conviction about the equal worth of all of its members.

Candidates should be required — as is currently the case in the Episcopal Church — to answer questions in person and in writing, usually about their own histories, their beliefs, as well as their views on church polity. The diocesan cathedral should be given over to a whole week's public interrogation of the candidates, interspersed with prayer and communion, culminating in a ballot based on the preferable vote system. We would at last see the Body of Christ in operation — as a body with equal votes for all.

Such an arrangement would have one redeeming characteristic above all: transparency. With no more closed committees or backroom jockeying for power, Anglicans could debate openly the issues that face them and, where there are differences — well, at least they will be public ones properly aired and in the context of prayer. Some will reply that this devolution of power would reduce the Church to autonomous dioceses and threaten catholicity. But safeguards could easily be built into the system. In the Episcopal Church, for example, each diocesan election must be ratified by a majority of “consents” from diocesan bishops and their standing committees. Thus the Episcopal Church allows a high degree of autonomy within a unitary system.

Perhaps the most important theological question is posed by Rosemary Radford Reuther: how can the Church “most authentically manifest” its vocation “as a redemptive community?”

Such a community needs to foster just, loving and truthful relations between people based on mutual respect. But a “Church whose system of power fosters the opposite of these traits falls below, rather than rises above, the ‘world' to which it seeks to speak a saving word”. Democracy is not a Christian doctrine, but it might provide a means of renewal in a time of crisis.

The Rev Professor Andrew Linzey is a member of the Faculty of Theology, University of Oxford, and co-editor of Gays and the Future of Anglicanism (O Books, £17.99)