As war captives exiled to the court of Babylon, Daniel, Azariah, Hananiah, and Mishael are chosen for service to the conquering king, trained in Babylonian sciences, and given new names (1:3-7). Yet they abstain from the king’s food and wine, relying for sustenance not on imperial patronage but on divine providence (1:8-16). Six stories portray their trials and success (chaps. 1-6). God grants them wisdom (1:17; 2:19-23) as they rise to power (2:46-49; 3:30; 5:29; 6:4, 29). Daniel interprets dreams, solves riddles, and speaks hard truth to raging, proud, and drunken kings (chaps. 2; 4; 5). The heroes give their bodies over to death rather than worship the king’s idol (chap. 3) or abandon the practice of prayer (chap. 6). God delivers them (3:25-29; 6:23).
Symbolic visions follow (chaps. 7-12): a parade of beastly empires, exposing the monstrosity of warring and rapacious kings who deal out deception and death; the fiery throne of the Ancient of Days; judgment against the beastly empires; and eternal dominion given to one like a human being (chap. 7); and future persecution, when some will betray the covenant while wise teachers of Judea fall to sword and flame (11:30-36). By their witness and self-sacrifice these teachers will make the many righteous and wise (11:33-35; 12:3). The angel Michael will take his stand in this anguished time to set the faithful free (12:1). Many of the dead will rise: some to eternal life, others to eternal disgrace (12:2).
The visions were written and joined to the stories during this persecution. In 167 BCE the Seleu-cid king Antiochus IV Epiphanes, ruler over Judea, banned the practice of Jewish faith, commanding Jews to sacrifice on alien altars, eat defiling foods, and profane their holy days and sanctuary. He burned Torah scrolls. Those who refused his commands he killed (1 Macc. 1).
In response, the book of Daniel promotes an ethic of nonviolent resistance and civil disobedience. Its politics is theopolitics, viewing all human rule in the light of divine rule. Daniel’s critique of empire highlights its violence, greed, ambition, and deception. The vision of one like a human being promises the alternative of humane rule in which God’s holy people participate in and imitate the justice of God’s rule (7:13-14, 18, 27). The author’s belief in God’s deliverance and confidence in their angelic champions excluded the path of armed resistance. Instead, the book exhorts its readers to hold fast to the covenant and give public witness to truth even in the face of death.
Daniel is the first biblical book to articulate a belief in the resurrection of the dead, assuring its readers that God honors the covenant promises even when appearances say otherwise. God’s faithfulness encourages their own. At the same time, when faced with the choice between worshiping an idol to preserve their life or dying in faithful service to God, the heroes Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego (here called by their Babylonian names) give no consideration to outcomes (3:15-18). They do not need to believe that God will save them in order to do what is right.
The ethics of the book of Daniel draws on Israel’s sacred traditions, including the Torah of Moses and the prophets (9:6-13). Daniel himself consults the scroll of Jeremiah (9:2); the author identified the wise teachers with Isaiah’s suffering servant. Traditional prayers of penitence modeled appropriate confession of sins (9:3-21). Myths of the divine warrior who defeats the beasts of chaos and death provided a powerful symbolic framework for critiquing the empires and asserting God’s power and will to save (chap. 7). At the same time, the book of Daniel draws on and engages traditions from other cultures. Israel adapted the divine warrior myths from Canaanite tradition. Daniel recasts the Babylonian art of interpreting dreams, drawing it within the purview of God’s revelation. The apocalyptic worldview so central to the book’s moral vision similarly adapts elements from Persian and Babylonian religious traditions. The visionary critique of empire borrows techniques from prophetic resistance literature elsewhere in the Hellenistic world. The multiple sources of Daniel’s moral vision testify to a dynamic process of acculturation, affirming the authority of Israel’s native traditions while speaking a new authoritative word into a new cultural moment.
The book of Daniel’s activist stance demands engagement with the powers of the earth. While the visions engage in radical critique of empire, aiming to position the faithful outside its web of deception, the stories show the heroes enmeshed in imperial structures of power. They serve in the courts of Babylon, exercise rule, and accept the king’s patronage. They participate in the moral economy of the empire and speak their critique from within. What is empire today? Does the contemporary reader stand inside or outside? How does one defend against royal and self-deception in the exercise of power?
Finally, how do those who seek to actualize Daniel’s theopolitics, as many have done, avoid reinscribing structures of domination? Over the centuries, Daniel has been used to demonize nations, regimes, and religious traditions, fanning hatred and fueling violence among those who would inaugurate the eternal rule of Daniel’s holy ones. The book’s nonviolent ethic, recognition of our complicity in the imperial economy, and emphasis on a posture of humble penitence speak against such interpretations. Its call to martyrdom challenges believers in every age.
See also Colonialism and Postcolonialism; Eschatology and Ethics; Exile; 1 Maccabees; 2 Maccabees; Martyrdom; Old Testament Ethics; Pacifism; Powers and Principalities; Resurrection; Theocracy
Bibliography
Barton, J. “Theological Ethics in Daniel.” Pages 661-70 in The Book of Daniel: Composition and Reception, vol. 2, ed. J. Collins and P. Flint. Brill, 2002; Fewell, D. Circle of Sovereignty: Plotting Politics in the Book of Daniel. Abingdon, 1991; Goldingay, J. “Daniel in the Context of Old Testament Theology.” Pages 639-60 in The Book of Daniel: Composition and Reception, vol. 2, ed. J. Collins and P. Flint. Brill, 2002; Pace, S. Daniel. SHBC. Smyth & Helwys, 2008; Rowland, C. “The Book of Daniel and the Radical Critique of Empire. An Essay in Apocalyptic Hermeneutics.” Pages 447-67 in The Book of Daniel: Composition and Reception, vol. 2, ed. J. Collins and P. Flint. Brill, 2002; Smith-Christopher, D. “The Book of Daniel.” Pages 19-152 in The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 7, ed. L. Keck. Abingdon, 1996.
Anathea Portier-Young Deadly Sins See Seven Deadly Sins
Between the years 1946 and 1956, the caves near the Dead Sea surrendered nearly nine hundred scrolls dating from the period 150 BCE-70 CE. Of these scrolls, 222 were of biblical and apocryphal materials, and 670 were of a nonbiblical nature. The nonbiblical materials contain treatises, hymns, and commentaries on Scripture that are sectarian in origin and character, as well as some nonsectarian and presectarian materials. The consensus view holds that the Jewish sect of the Essenes, or some subset of the Essenes, lived in the nearby installation at Qumran as a priestly introversionist community and produced the scrolls as a critique of larger Second Temple Judaism, though this view has been subject to revision or outright rejection in some quarters. Sectarian works from the Dead Sea Scrolls include the Damascus Document (CD), which may be a narrative of the community’s formation that tells of the coming of the Teacher of Righteousness and the community’s self-imposed exile to “Damascus” or the Dead Sea wilderness. It also provides codes of everyday conduct for members who appear to live in scattered towns. The Rule of the Community (1QS being the most complete copy of the document) is a guide for the community’s leader, the Maskil, on how to form sectarian character. Its codes of admission and conduct assume that its readers are males living communally (and perhaps celibately) with other males. A key portion of this document, the “Two Spirits Treatise” (1QS 3.13-4.26), describes the ongoing battle between two angels and their followers: the Prince of Light and the children of righteousness versus the Angel of Darkness and the children of injustice. Both of these warring angels were created by God. Other important sectarian documents include legal works such as the Halakhic Letter (4QMMT), which describes explicit differences between the sect of the temple cult on issues of purity; the War Scroll (1QM); the Hodayot, or thanksgiving hymns; and a commentary (pesher) on Habakkuk (1QpHab), which reinterprets Ha-bakkuk in light of the conflict between the Teacher of Righteousness and the Wicked Priest (the high priest of the Jerusalem temple cult?).
The Rule of the Community expresses the ethical desideratum of the community to be that of seeking God wholeheartedly and doing what is just according to the divine commandments mediated by Moses and the prophets (1QS 1.1-3). This would seem to establish the Torah as the source for moral knowledge and deliberation. This is not an especially distinctive articulation of ethical thinking within early Judaism, but the Rule of the Community and other sectarian documents from the Dead Sea Scrolls define and nuance this ethical ideal in distinctive ways.
The community associated with the Dead Sea Scrolls understands the Torah to be a divinely revealed and rigorous code of covenantal demands rather than a divinely revealed narrative of Israel’s origins. Narrative and story are not the chief means of character formation in the scrolls. Instead, the community prides itself on its unique ability and authority, over and against common readings of mainstream Judaism, to interpret the Torah commands according to the divine plan. This divine plan for humanity features a profoundly dualistic view of the cosmos and created order in which God has created both good and evil angels who fight for the hearts of humanity. Even the members of the community are subject to both angels, but sectarian formation is designed to strengthen the power of the righteous angel within each member.
The scrolls indicate a complex view of human virtue and character. Sectarian discourse explicitly valorizes the qualities of obedience to the covenant, moral and ritual purity, humility to the point of self-abnegation, intelligence, discreet concealment of God’s mysterious plan, and hatred of the “sons of darkness” (1QS 1.1-7a; 4.3-5; 10.1-11:22). These virtues, however, are not personal; they are not a matter of individual disposition or choices. They result from the confluence of external forces, including the rivalry of the angelic forces, the divine election of the individual, and the community environment and its discipline that nurtures these virtues (Newsom). Moreover, although the individual is accountable for deeds and actions and subject to reproof, the Rule of the Community does not value a morally autonomous self. The self is to be submissive and receptive. The member’s ability to be obedient, however, is the result of, on the one hand, God’s previous allotment of the two angels within the member and, on the other hand, God’s eschatological provision of a spirit of holiness, which has already been realized, in part, within the community.
This distinctive articulation of covenant ideals underwrites particular issues of ethical practice in the sectarian documents. A stringent dedication
to moral and ritual purity characterizes the sectarian writings and demands the separation of the community from outsiders and their contaminated items. Outsiders include not only foreigners but also Jews not belonging to the sect—that is, all those belonging to common Judaism. This radical principle of purity goes hand in hand with the cosmic dualism of the sect and leads the community to fear and avoid others and to anticipate their destruction at the eschaton. Thus restorative justice and a concern for “the other” are not among the ethical norms of the community. Nevertheless, certain scrolls indicate the circumstances under which “the stranger” or the resident alien may become part of the community, though the resident alien is never permitted full status (Harrington).
The use of wealth and assets is a recurring theme in the sectarian and presectarian scrolls and is tied to the ideal of “covenantal fidelity” (Murphy). Both the Damascus Document and the Rule of the Community critique the economic systems of Second Temple Judaism that fostered wealth and arrogance. These documents suggest that the community was to be an alternative economic community where usury was prohibited and resources were distributed to help the poor and needy within the group in accordance with the demands of Torah. The Torah laws concerning wealth and tithes are also reinterpreted and extended. For example, the command of Deut. 6:5 to “love God with all one’s strength” is understood to mean that members are to give all of their assets—property, wealth, food—to the entire community.
Marriage practices are also a concern of the
sectarian materials, which resist and denounce polygamy for the sake of gaining wealth and discourage divorce. Marriage with foreign women is denounced for reasons of purity.
The contents of the War Scroll raise the question of whether the scrolls view war and violence as legitimate tools in the cause of purity and covenant fidelity. Certainly, there were groups within Second Temple Judaism that conceptually and actively embraced the use of physical violence for political ends, yet the view of the sectarians remains ambiguous. The War Scroll describes an eschatological holy war between angelic factions—the sons of light and the sons of darkness—and understands that humans will participate in this battle, at the end of which enemy factions (including the Romans) will be utterly destroyed. Moreover, this battle, which draws on “holy war” traditions, serves the purpose of ensuring the purity and righteousness of the children of light in accordance with Torah commands. Yet this battle remains future. So although the community embraced the concept of war and violence, even divine violence, as legitimate tools, the community that lived at Qumran did not necessarily directly engage in the war against the Romans that took place during the 60s CE (Elliott).
The ethical ideals of the scrolls are often important for the way in which they shed light on NT and early Christian convictions and practices such as communal property and the distribution of resources to benefit those in need (see Acts 2:42-47; 4:32-37). More generally, the sectarian attempts to build an alternative community raise for the reader’s consideration both the moral promises and the problems that inhere in any radical community’s attempt to resist the dominant culture of its time.
See also Covenant; Divine Command Theories of Ethics; Eschatology and Ethics; Free Will and Determinism; Holy War; Koinonia; Narrative Ethics, Biblical; Priestly Literature
Bibliography
Elliott, M. “Retribution and Agency in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Teaching of Jesus.” Pages 191-206 in vol. 1 of
The Destructive Power of Religion: Violence in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, ed. J. Ellens. Praeger, 2004; Harrington, H. “Keeping Outsiders Out: Impurity at Qumran.” Pages 187-203 in Defining Identities: We, You, and the Other in the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. F. Garcia Martinez and M. Popovic. Brill, 2008; Murphy, C. Wealth in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Qumran Community. Brill, 2002; Newsom, C. The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran. Brill, 2004; Smith, B. “ ‘Spirit of Holiness’ as Eschatological Principle of Obedience.” Pages 75-99 in Christian Beginnings and the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. J. Collins and C. Evans. Baker Academic, 2006; VanderKam, J., and P. Flint. The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Significance for Understanding the Bible, Judaism, Jesus, and Christianity. HarperSan-Francisco, 2004.
Amy C. Merrill Willis
Although death gives the appearance of finality, its definition is problematic because it reflects a complex interplay of social, professional, and ethical forces. Over the centuries, new scientific discoveries in resuscitation, suspended animation, and experimental physiology have played crucial roles in contributing to the uncertainties associated with the definition of death. Conventional attempts to describe death as “when the soul leaves the body” presuppose a dualistic view of human beings and sit uneasily alongside the notion of embodied personhood.
Prior to the advent of sophisticated technologies of rescue and intensive care in the 1960s, patients were declared dead when breathing and cardiac activity had stopped, on the grounds that failure of this single vital organ system led to death of the entire organism. However, once the technology became available to maintain these functions artificially, a clearly defined boundary between life and death disappeared. This, in turn, raised the intensely practical issue of when life-sustaining treatment should be discontinued—a matter of considerable relevance for grieving relatives and those involved in managing the distribution of scarce resources for intensive care. In addition, the advent of organ transplantation and, with it, the need for viable, intact organs from cadavers necessitated a precise determination of when death occurs. Since dependence on cardiac activity no longer served this purpose, an alternative had to be found, and this led to the elaboration of brain-based criteria of death.
Brain death was first described in 1959 as coma depasse (a state beyond coma). The concept of brain death is now widely accepted and is entrenched in legislation and practice guidelines in most countries (Ad Hoc Committee of the Harvard Medical School to Examine the Definition of Brain Death; Conference of Medical Royal Colleges and Their Faculties in the United Kingdom).
In 1981 a core document, Defining Death, established the central significance of brain death while not abandoning cardiopulmonary criteria of death. According to this document, “An individual who has sustained either (1) irreversible cessation of the circulatory and respiratory functions, or (2) irreversible cessation of all functions of the entire brain, including the brain stem, is dead” (President’s Commission for the Study of Ethical Problems in Medicine and Biomedical and Behave ioral Research 2). As the concept of brain death has been developed, two definitions have emerged.
The longer-standing and more generally accepted definition is “whole-brain death.” This refers to death of all parts of the brain: the cerebral hemispheres (the brain’s higher cene ters responsible for consciousness and higher cognitive functions) and the brain stem (the lower part of the brain responsible for maintaining most of the homeostatic functions essential for life). Confirmation is provided by a flat electroencephalogram (EEG), with absence of circulation to the brain as an important criterion. Such a patient is dead, whether or not there is maintenance of function of some organs, such as the heart, by artificial means.
The “whole brain” definition of death is a biological concept of death, in the sense that there is no material difference between the death of a dog, cat, or human being. Generally accepted as this definition is, debate still surrounds it because death of the brain does not mark the irreversible loss of the integrated functioning of the various subsystems and hence may not signify death of the whole organism. However, it is difficult to see why an individual is considered to be alive simply because that individual is “breathing” with the aid of a respirator.
More recently, a second definition has emerged, “higher-brain death,” marking death of the cerebral hemispheres even when the brain stem continues to function. An individual in this state has lost the capacity for consciousness and the ability to think, feel, and be aware of others, but can still breathe.
The practical significance of this debate comes to a head when confronted by patients in a persistent vegetative state (PVS), which is the clinical manifestation of higher-brain death. The patient is wakeful and yet not aware (Royal College of Physicians), retaining an irregular sleep/wake cycle and many basic reflexes, but without any self-awareness or recognition of external stimuli. Nutritional support can preserve multiple organ systems in the PVS patient but cannot restore the patient to conscious life. In this sense, no treatment is available for these patients, although there are a few cases in the literature of limited recovery of mental functioning. Such cases appear to be rare, and the pressing ethical question is considered to be whether the patient as a person is alive in any meaningful sense. If not, should all forms of medical treatment, including hydration and nutrition, which are keeping the body functioning, be withdrawn? In adult PVS patients such termination is accepted by a variety of medical societies and interdisciplinary bodies after an agreed period of time, generally six to twelve months or longer. Appropriate consent by the families is essential, as is a definitive clinical diagnosis of PVS (American Academy of Neurology; British Medical Association; Royal College of Physicians).
To date, advocacy of the “higher brain” definition is limited to academic scholars; it has not been approved by any medical society and has not been adopted into law in any country or jurisdiction. Nevertheless, it raises penetrating questions about what it means to be alive as a human being, whether the notion of personhood is one that should be taken into account in ethical decisionmaking, and focuses attention on the qualities that make us persons.
The major contrast between the “whole brain” and “higher brain” definitions of death is an emphasis on the loss of bodily integration in the former case, and a loss of consciousness in the latter. Debate centers on whether the most fitting emphasis is the irreversible loss of bodily capacities in general, or the irreversible loss of specified capacities characteristic of the personal life of human beings (Bernat).
The theological contribution to this debate has been muted. The rabbinic tradition lends greatest support to a definition of death as indicated by the absence of breath at the nostrils, though an alternative position requires both the absence of respiration and cardiac activity. The emphasis on breath as determinative is supported by reference to Gen. 7:22 (“all in whose nostrils was the breath of the spirit of life” [NASB]) and is allied with the acceptance of whole-brain death as a form of physiological decapitation (Rosner). The focus on the brain rather than the heart poses challenges for Christian thinking, as does the role given to personhood in ethical decision-making. Never before have we had to think about the status of a living body in the absence of a living brain. For Christians, this focuses attention on what it means to be, and/or to function, in the image of God and demands an analysis of this issue far beyond anything previously undertaken.
See also Death and Dying; Dependent Care; Euthanasia; Healthcare Ethics; Quality of Life; Science and Ethics
Bibliography
Ad Hoc Committee of the Harvard Medical School to Examine the Definition of Brain Death. “A Definition of Irreversible Coma.” JAMA 205 (1968): 337-40; American Academy of Neurology. “Position Statement on Laws and Regulations Concerning Life-Sustaining Treatment, Including Artificial Nutrition and Hydration, for Patients Lacking Decision-Making Capacity.” Neurology 68 (2007): 10971100; Bernat, J. “A Defense of the Whole-Brain Concept of Death.” HCR 28, no. 2 (1998): 14-23; British Medical Association. Withholding and Withdrawing Life-Prolonging Medical Treatment: Guidance for Decision Making. 3rd ed. British Medical Association, 2007; Conference of Medical Royal Colleges and Their Faculties in the UK. “Diagnosis of Death.” BMJ 1, no. 6159 (1979): 332; President’s Commission for the Study of Ethical Problems in Medicine and Biomedical and Behavioral Research. Defining Death: Medical, Legal and Ethical Issues in the Determination of Death. Government Printing Office, 1981; Rosner, F. “The Definition of Death in Jewish Law.” Pages 210-21 in The Definition of Death: Contemporary Controversies, ed. S. Youngner, R. Arnold, and R. Schapiro. Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999; Royal College of Physicians. “The Vegetative State: Guidance on Diagnosis and Management.” Royal College of Physicians, 2003.
D. Gareth Jones
Death is the process by which the natural body ceases to function physically. The term death has been used medically in somewhat different ways over the course of the last several decades. Traditionally, death was determined by the cessation of the heart. Medical advances over the course of the past century have led to debate over how to define death.
The Uniform Determination of Death Act (UDDA) of 1980 states, “An individual who has
sustained either (1) irreversible cessation of circulatory and respiratory functions, or (2) irreversible cessation of all functions of the entire brain, including the brain stem, is dead.” It further states that a determination of death must follow accepted medical standards. The UDDA was adopted by the American Medical Association in 1980, the American Bar Association in 1981, and subsequently adopted by a majority of states in the United States.
Since the UDDA, there has been much discussion as to how death should clinically be understood. For example, Robert Veatch has pointed out that although the term brain death is commonly used in a somewhat separate way from death (i.e., an individual suffered brain death one day and died the next day), brain death should be defined as clinical death such that one who suffers brain death can be said to be dead. David Kelly notes that the term brain death is used clinically to explain to a patient’s family that that individual is genuinely dead even though cardiovascular activity continues. Before the existence of medical technology that forces the heart and lungs to function when the brain does not, brain death would have meant instant cessation of heart and lung function. It is currently debated whether a definition of death that requires the cessation of all brain function is actually necessary, as neurologists since the 1970s have observed that isolated brain cells could potentially continue to function even if integrated supercellular brain function had ceased. This has led some to argue that one could measure death with similar accuracy by defining it as an irreversible loss of consciousness.
These types of issues have led to debate about how to understand the status of individuals who are in a persistent vegetative state (PVS). Because the UDDA makes clear that the irreversible cessation of all brain activity is needed for a determination of death, PVS and permanently comatose patients are not dead by current legal standards in the United States, as they have not lost function of the brain stem. At the same time, they have lost all neocortical brain function and thus will never recover higher-brain functioning, even though the heart and lungs continue to function
without mechanical intervention. This leads to
controversy over whether nutrition and hydration can be withdrawn from these patients. The controversy would be ended if the definition of death were broadened to include such patients, but it is not clear that society is willing to, or ought to, claim that breathing bodies are dead. Kelly argues that to declare such patients dead would simply be
to avoid the ethically complex questions surrounding the withdrawal of care for these individuals.
These definitions of death become theologically complicated when questions are raised regarding medical care for the dying. Such questions can be connected to issues surrounding the meaning of personhood and the inherent dignity of the human being.
The Roman Catholic Church has argued consistently against both euthanasia and physician-assisted suicide, calling for the provision of ordinary care (such as nutrition and hydration) at the end of life, while allowing for the withholding of extraordinary care (though usually not the withdrawal of such care). This position is rooted in the understanding of human dignity, which is prominent throughout Catholic social teaching. Human dignity is inherent in all people because all are made in the image of God and because the life of each human being is given freely by God. The Catholic Church holds that the inherent dignity of all human beings calls for the protection of life at all stages, from conception through death.
Pope John Paul II draws on this understanding of human dignity when he asserts in Evangelium vitae that the current culture of death, which understands a life that requires greater care as either useless or burdensome, has fundamentally failed to see the inherent value in every human life regardless of disease, age, or handicap. This view of human dignity is critical when considering “death with dignity” movements that claim that in order to die with dignity, one must be given the ability to choose the time and manner of his or her own death. Human dignity, in Catholic social teaching, though, is inherent. As a result, one can never lose one’s own dignity, and thus the Catholic Church advocates the protection of life even at its end.
The OT does not often comment on the meaning of death. In Evangelium vitae, John Paul II looks to Gen. 3 to argue that death was not part of God’s original plan for humanity. He argues that death and suffering come about as a result of sin, and thus death and suffering are a part of our common human experience.
The Gospel of John comments on death as part of human existence, which comes into the world as a result of sin. Similar to its dualisms of light and darkness and righteousness and sin, there is a clear dualism of life and death in John’s Gospel. Death is seen as a given in this world, but with the coming of Christ, life has come into the world so that all might escape death and experience eternal life.
The apostle Paul also clearly makes a connection between death and sin. Paul uses thanatos
(“death”) and related words at times to refer to the cessation of earthly life. More frequently, though, he discusses death in the context of that which comes to humanity as a result of human sin. “Death” and “sin” (hamartia) are often used in relationship to each other, and this is particularly apparent in Rom. 6. There, Paul acknowledges human death as the consequence of sin. In the same passage, though, Paul also talks about the death of Christ.
Paul’s understanding of death is different from Greek views of the period. Whereas some Greek schools of thought looked to the flight of the soul from the body that it might find freedom in the spiritual realm, Paul looks to the final destiny of humanity as the resurrection of the body rather than a state in which the soul is separated from the body. Paul often describes the state of death as sleep (koimao-mai [1 Cor. 7:39; 11:30; 15:6, 18, 20, 51; 1 Thess. 4:13-15]), but it is important to remember that sleep was a common way to describe death in both Greek and Hebrew literature. Paul does indicate some kind of intermediate state in 2 Cor. 5:8, where he speaks of being away from the body and at home with the Lord, which would further raise questions about Paul’s understanding of death as sleep.
A thorough account of the understanding of death in the Bible cannot be offered apart from a discussion of the resurrection. The Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed, recited every week by millions of Christians, states, “We look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.” It is clear in the NT that death is not the end for the Christian. For Christians, the future will ultimately bring the redemption of the body in the form of resurrection. Paul talks about the centrality of the resurrection to teaching about Christ in 1 Cor. 15, where he states, “If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain. . . . If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. . . . If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, then we are of all people most to be pitied” (1 Cor. 15:13-14, 17, 19). This is not the only place where Paul addresses this issue. In 1 Thessalonians, Paul writes, “But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died” (1 Thess. 4:13-14).
In Surprised by Hope, N. T. Wright argues that the medieval depictions of heaven and hell (as found in Dante’s Divine Comedy) that have been so influential on Western ideas of life after death are not supported by the language of the NT. Wright argues that when Jesus refers to “God’s kingdom” in his preaching, he is referring not to the destiny of humanity after death, but rather to God’s rule coming on earth in the same way as it is in heaven. At the end of Revelation, Wright observes, what is depicted is not bodiless souls en route to heaven, but rather the new Jerusalem coming down to earth. Because of this, life after death for the human being is ultimately an embodied existence. Wright argues that there are clear implications for how human beings are to live in the temporal realm. Human beings are called to partake in the building of the kingdom of God.
Wright wants to be clear that human beings cannot build the kingdom of God by their own efforts, but he also claims that God brings about the kingdom through the work of human beings. If the eschaton is characterized by the coming of the new heaven and the new earth, human beings are called to build for the creation. He writes, “Every act of love, gratitude, and kindness; . . . every minute spent teaching a severely handicapped child to read or to walk; every act of care and nurture, of comfort and support, for one’s fellow human beings or for that matter one’s fellow nonhuman creatures . . . —all of this will find its way, through the resurrecting power of God, into the new creation that God will one day make” (Wright 208).
Death is not something that simply happens to human beings at the end of life; it is something that also has the potential to affect how individuals understand themselves and relate ultimately to God in the course of their lives. Paul Tillich appropriates the ideas of Martin Heidegger regarding the human being facing death. For Heidegger, the human being is one who should be Sein-zum-Tode (“being-toward-death”) in order to be authentic. Heidegger argues that the experience of the human being is one that is aware of the reality of death both as something encountered in those we know and also as something that happens in the wider world. Death is thus “a familiar event.” At the same time, Heidegger notes that it is easy for one to tacitly acknowledge the reality of death and then move beyond it. As discussion of death arises, it is easy to quickly acknowledge one’s own mortality and then just as easily see oneself as currently not involved. But to be truly authentic, Heidegger claimed, a human being must live in light of an awareness of the reality of his or her own death. Tillich appropriates this idea for Christian theology and describes the human awareness of death or finitude as the beginning of the process of asking questions about God. Tillich held that the experience of finitude, or human awareness of the possibility of nonbeing, raises the question of God in the minds of human beings. Human beings, he claims, are aware of their own finitude, but are at the same time able to conceptualize infinitude in a way that leads them to questions about God. As a result, for Tillich, awareness of one’s own mortality is what leads to a questioning about and awareness of God.
The writings of Tillich, Heidegger, and Wright show not only that the end of one’s life brings ethical questions in and of itself but also that the reality of death will have, or at least should have, a profound impact on one’s ethical decisions well before the event of death itself.
See also Death, Definition of; Euthanasia; Healthcare Ethics; Image of God; Quality of Life; Resurrection; Sanctity of Human Life
Bibliography
Berkman, J. “Medically Assisted Nutrition and Hydration in Medicine and Moral Theology.” Pages 143-72 in Medicine, Health Care and Ethics: Catholic Voices, ed. J. Morris. Catholic University of America Press, 2007; Breck, J. The Sacred Gift of Life: Orthodox Christianity and Bioethics. St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1998; John Paul II. The Gospel of Life—Evangelium Vitae: On the Value and Inviolability of Human Life. Times Books, 1995. Kelly, D. Contemporary Catholic Health Care Ethics. Georgetown University Press, 2004; Ladd, G. A Theology of the New Testament. Rev. ed. Eerdmans, 1993; Morris, J. “Death and Dying.” Pages 127-41 in Medicine, Health Care and Ethics: Catholic Voices, ed. J. Morris. Catholic University of America Press, 2007; O’Donovan, O. “Keeping Body and Soul Together.” Pages 223-38 in On Moral Medicine: Theological Perspectives in Medical Ethics, ed. S. Lammers and A. Verhey. 2nd ed. Eerdmans, 1998; Paul VI. Gaudium et Spes: Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World. Pages 164-237 in Catholic Social Thought: The Documentary Heritage, ed. D. O’Brien and T. Shannon. Orbis, 1992; Veatch, R. “The Impending Collapse of the Whole-Brain Definition of Death.” HCR 23, no. 4 (1993): 18-24; Verhey, A. Reading the Bible in the Strange World of Medicine. Eerdmans, 2003. Wright, N. T. Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church. HarperOne, 2008.
Mary M. Veeneman
Debt
In the year 2000, the Roman Catholic Church declared “Jubilee.” Many within the church sought forgiveness for the massive indebtedness of poor countries to wealthier ones. This declaration and call reminded Christians and all persons of good will of God’s economy found in Lev. 25, which states that not only people but also the land should keep a Sabbath to the Lord. The land can be tilled for six years, but in the seventh year it is to lie fallow. Then, after seven times seven years, on the fiftieth year, a “Jubilee” is to be declared. It is a year of return and renewal. Debts are relieved, and property is returned.
The Jubilee did not prohibit loans and indebtedness, but it contextualized debt within God’s mercy. We are all sojourners whom God redeems out of God’s generosity. No one, therefore, could permanently own what belonged to another, for God was the true owner of everything. God states, “The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine; with me you are but aliens and tenants” (Lev. 25:23). For this reason, any debt was to be of a limited time and related to actual services or goods that could be exchanged. Debt was not to be a way of life. Debts are to be forgiven.
The biblical prohibition against usury also regulated debt within the context of hospitality and mercy. Loans were not to be given out at interest. This too is part of the legislation of the Jubilee: “If any of your kin fall into difficulty and become dependent on you, you shall support them; they shall live with you as though resident aliens. Do not take interest in advance from them, but fear your God; let them live with you. You shall not lend them your money at interest taken in advance, or provide them food at a profit. I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt to give you the land of Canaan, to be your God” (Lev. 25:35-38). As God freely brought Israel out of Egypt and prepared a land for them, so they were to treat their own kin in a similar fashion. Similar judgments are found in Exod. 22:25; Deut. 23:19-20; Ps. 15:5. Although most of these judgments dealt primarily with how Israel treated its own kin, the church fathers read Luke 6:36 as Jesus affirming and expanding this type of economy.
Jesus strengthens the prohibition against certain forms of credit and interest by telling us,
If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. (Luke 6:32-36)
We find here another example of how Jesus fulfills the law. He does not view it as bare prohibitions or permissions, but orders it toward its true end. Law is not an end in itself, but a means to embody the holiness by which all of creation becomes God’s habitation. Loans are means to love even enemies.
For much of Christian tradition, this passage was understood to be a statement about political economy. Usurious interests on loans were prohibited by both reason and faith. Most ancient philosophers claimed that such loans violated the nature of things. Money does not naturally fructify, so to assume that it could increase without any relation to things that actually did was unnatural. For Christians, faith illumined reason. Jesus’ statement was heard in the context of both what is naturally obvious—money does not fructify—and what has been received in faith. Jesus affirms and strengthens this when he states, “Do good and lend, expecting nothing in return.” Eventually, Christian tradition made a distinction between genuine profit and interest. A loan could be made and profit received if the loan was used for a licit increase in goods. Animals and plants do fructify. If someone becomes a debtor to engage in an enterprise in which an increase came about, then the creditor and debtor could share in legitimate profits. But interest could not be charged prior to the actual profit or loss. This would be to sell “time,” and it is not something that can be sold. Nonetheless, Jesus poses an important question about the nature of loans, credit, and debt in his recontextualizing of the tradition: “What credit is that to you?”
Most loans are for the purpose of a gain, a “credit” to one’s account. But here Jesus puts this assumption into question and asks if living solely from such exchanges really is a credit, a favor, or benefaction (charis). He does not then deny that transactions should have benefits. He avoids any “Kantian” disinterestedness whereby ethics is defined by doing one’s duty without reciprocity. Nor is this teaching similar to Adam Smith’s butcher, brewer, and baker who look only to self-interest and thereby serve the common good through unintended consequences. This is not the credit that imagines a blessed future. Of course we have a legitimate self-interest; that is a necessary feature of Christian ethics. We should desire to live and have that same desire for others. This desire to be requires living out of “credit” (faith), for none of us can sustain his or her own life. Jesus therefore affirms a proper reward when we lend expecting no return: “Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.” Loans and our expectations of them signify what we will be, as well as how our being relates to the good and to the blessed Trinity. How we exchange shows how we are or are not like God. The point of Jesus’ teaching is that exchange is to be turned into communion.
Debts are based on contractual obligations that can easily be determined. They do not invite us to live as friends or to commune in one another’s lives. The relation with a mortgage company is based solely on such a contractual obligation. It is a form of exchange, which is not inherently wrong, but it is not a form of communion that makes the world more holy. Such a relation knows only the barest of legal obligations; once those obligations are finished, we have no need of each other. Communion entails something much more than this. It assumes that no nice cost-benefit calculation can be made. The relation between debtor and creditor does not keep them at a distance from each other; instead, the relation brings them together such that they literally share in each other’s lives. The paradigmatic example of this is the Eucharist, where God and creatures share in each other’s lives, a sharing made possible only because God in Jesus becomes fully human and divine, two natures that remain unchanged but now indivisibly joined in one person. In the kingdom of God, all our relations will be like this. We will not have the alien character of the debt relation. For this reason, we are to pray every day, “Forgive us our debts as we forgive those indebted to us.”
See also Economic Ethics; Greed; Jubilee; Loans; Poverty and Poor; Wealth
D. Stephen Long
Decalogue See Ten Commandments
Deception, the act of deluding or misleading others, is an important ethical issue in the Bible and in moral discourse. In Scripture, deception basically constitutes a false witness and is condemned (Exod. 20:16). The crux of the ethical question is whether a person, in order to achieve a morally good result, is justified in being misleading or engaging in outright lying.
Some of the Bible’s best-known heroes are commended for lying or deceiving in order to achieve a greater good. For example, the book of Exodus begins with the oppression of the alien Hebrews in Egypt, focusing on Pharaoh’s plan to diminish their numbers by instructing midwives to execute every Israelite male at birth (Exod. 1:15-16). But the midwives, because they “feared God,” allowed the infant boys to live. Then they reported to Pharaoh why the Hebrew males escaped execution: “The Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them” (Exod. 1:19). The truth is obvious: the Hebrew midwives lied to the Egyptian king in order to prevent the murder of innocent babies. Most who read this story consider the midwives heroes.
Perhaps the best example of “righteous deception” is the story of Rahab, the prostitute of Jericho who aided two spies from Joshua’s invading army, hiding them in her house (Josh. 1-2). When the king of Jericho sought the foreigners, Rahab concocted a grand lie, claiming that the men had fled: “Where the men went I do not know” (Josh. 2:5). Not only were Rahab and her household saved when Joshua conquered Jericho (Josh. 6:17) but also she is lauded twice in the NT as a hero of the faith (Heb. 11:31; Jas. 2:25).
From the beginning of serious ethical discourse by early Greek philosophers, the “truth” question has been central. Socrates and Plato believed that truth was predetermined by the gods and thus was inviolable. Aristotle, however, asserted that truth, or the ultimate good, was determined by the end result of an act. From these two streams of thought came two major categories in ethics: deontology, or the ethics of obligation, which asks, “What is right?” and teleology, or the ethics of consequences, which asks, “What is the good that I seek in this act?”
As an absolutist, Immanuel Kant believed that in order to be ethical one must speak the truth without exception. Truth-telling is a moral obligation that must be followed. No matter if the goal is to avoid a wrong or to achieve a good, to lie or deceive is always wrong because it violates basic ethical obligations.
A consequentialist (e.g., Martin Luther, Dietrich Bonhoeffer) would argue that often, especially when conflicting moral values are involved, the end result is relevant to the right moral choice. Not that the choice is ideal, but it may be the best of all the options available—the greatest good when the choice involves, for example, saving a life.
In light of the few biblical examples of “righteous deception” and the strong moral norm of truthfulness, it seems reasonable to conclude that lying or deception may be permitted as a lesser evil in exceptional circumstances, but truthfulness is the overriding principle in most instances.
See also Consequentialism; Deontological Theories of Ethics; Dishonesty; Ends and Means; Fidelity; Honesty; Teleological Theories of Ethics; Ten Commandments; Truthfulness, Truth-Telling
Joe E. Trull
Dementia can be caused by a variety of diseases, the most prevalent of which is Alzheimer’s disease, a progressive and irreversible condition that can be loosely described in terms of stages of loss. Yet researchers also refer to Alzheimer’s as a disease of “fluctuation,” for there are occasional good mornings when an affected individual seems surprisingly insightful, even when very deep into the disease progression. Thus, there is a resurrection of a sort even for the most deeply forgetful.
A number of Christians have pioneered the path of love for persons with dementia. Methodist minister Tom Kitwood, who directed the Alzheimer’s Care Center at the University of Bradford in the 1990s, did more than any other leader to encourage humane care for this population. In his widely influential book Dementia Reconsidered: The Person Comes First, Kitwood described the power of agape love within the context of dementia care. He viewed such love as a constellation of tenderness, closeness, and the calming of anxiety and bonding. Kitwood and Kathleen Bredin developed indicators of well-being in people with severe dementia: the assertion of will or desire, usually in the form of dissent despite various coaxings; the ability to express a range of emotions; initiation of social contact (e.g., a man with dementia has a small toy dog that he treasures and places it before another person with dementia to attract attention); affectional warmth (e.g., a woman wanders back and forth in the facility without much socializing, but when people say hello to her, she gives them a kiss on the cheek and continues her wandering). All is never lost in the deeply forgetful, Kitwood argues, and they clearly fall within the inclusive scope of agape love.
Memory is, of course, a wonderful evolutionary gift, and we rightly treasure it, but its diminish-ment is no cause to devalue moral status. In his Confessions, Augustine wrote these elegant words about the majesty of memory—lines that have echoed over the centuries in Western thought:
All this goes on inside me, in the vast cloisters of my memory. In it are the sky, the earth, and the sea, ready at my summons, together with everything that I have ever perceived in them by my senses, except the things which I have forgotten. In it I meet myself as well. I remember myself and what I have done, when and where I did it, and the state of my mind at the time. In my memory, too, are all the events that I remember, whether they are things that have happened to me or things that I have heard from others. (Conf. 10.8)
Memory, which remains in many ways mysterious, is one of the miracles of neurological evolution and is the source of all the connections between past and present experience that allow us to have self-identity and autobiography. Note that for Augustine, it is the temporal glue between past and present that allows us to “meet myself as well.” Augustine’s assertion was that all human beings have a kind of spiritual dementia due to the fall of humankind away from a state of original oneness with God. We are all equally unable to remember that oneness, except for a “still faint glow” of that original union when we knew perfect happiness. We are all, in this sense, demented, and we all need to be reminded of God through the Christian community with its ritual of remembrance in the Lord’s Supper. Forgetfulness is no cause for exclusion, but is cause for a community of recollection that provides prosthetic support for those who cannot recall whose they are or who they are. By extension, the Christian community should support persons with Alzheimer’s disease as well as their caregivers, reminding the forgetful of who they are and of the worthiness of their lives despite their faded memories.
Many non-Christian philosophers tend to exclude the deeply forgetful from moral consideration because of their diminished cognitive powers, but they do so without any real experience of proximity, caregiving, and observational proximity over time. It is said that people with severe cognitive disabilities are not persons because they cannot project into the future. This general idea of personhood emerged from John Locke of Christ Church College, Oxford University. Locke wrote of the person as a being able to “consider itself, the same thinking being, in different times and places.” Yet, because Locke was a physician and a Christian, it is hard to imagine this philosopher of the Enlightenment resting comfortably with the current exclusionary application of his ideas. Since when does the ability to project plans into the future define who counts in the eyes of God? Children of the Enlightenment vastly overrate the moral significance of rationality and intentionality. A half century ago, Christian ethicist Reinhold Niebuhr pointed out the crucial snobbery of rationalist elitism: “Since the divine principle is reason, the logic of Stoicism tends to include only the intelligent in the divine community. An aristocratic condescension, therefore, corrupts Stoic universal-ism. In the thought of Jesus men are to be loved not because they are equally divine, but because God loves them equally” (Niebuhr 53). Agape love assumes a universalism that is not compromised by memory disorders.
Hypercognitive values systems confer worth only on those who are cognitively strong (Post, Moral Challenge [2nd ed.]). Stephen Post coined the term hypercognitive in 1995 to underscore a persistent bias against the deeply forgetful that is especially pronounced in modern philosophical accounts of the “person” (Post, Moral Challenge [1st ed.]). Such systems have less to do with “pure” reason than with existential fears of forgetfulness, cultural norms of economic productivity, imperious and baseless utilitarian calculations, and arrogance. Modern utilitarians, for instance, have no particular moral authority in the eyes of caregivers when it comes to definitions of per-sonhood or happiness, especially with regard to the cognitively imperiled. Utilitarians see persons with dementia as useless, couple this with the idea that no action is intrinsically wrong, and assert a narrow hypercognitive definition of personhood; thus the destruction of the deeply forgetful is almost assured, at least in principle. Yet family members are not influenced by such academic theories. Even Peter Singer, the arch-utilitarian proponent of painlessly killing the senile of mind, is by all reports an honorable and compassionate man who has cared well for his mother, who had Alzheimer’s disease.
See also Agape; Altruism; Benevolence; Care, Caring; Dependent Care; Disability and Handicap; Image of God; Utilitarianism
Bibliography
Kitwood, T. Dementia Reconsidered: The Person Comes First. Open University Press, 1997; Kitwood, T., and K. Bredin. “Towards a Theory of Dementia Care: Personhood and Well-Being.” Ageing and Society 12 (1992): 269—87; Niebuhr, R. An Interpretation of Christian Ethics. Meridian Books, 1956; Post, S. The Moral Challenge of Alzheimer Disease. 1st ed. Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995; idem. The Moral Challenge of Alzheimer Disease: Ethical Issues from Diagnosis to Dying. 2nd ed. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000; Singer, P. Practical Ethics. Cambridge University Press, 1993.
Stephen Post
The term democracy applies to a polity or form of governance in which members of a body participate in the decisions that affect the whole by voting on issues that demand a common policy (direct democracy) or by electing those who will make such decisions (representative democracy). This political definition, however, omits other social factors that also are democratic: provisions that protect civil society institutions from oppression by the majority; guarantees that each person have access to education, employment, and medical care; a free press; a pluralism of political parties; and freedom of religion. Such polities are held to be most fitting to the human condition.
Historically, republican polities also attempted to avoid the threats of monarchy, which can easily become imperial or tyrannical, and of populism, which can become “mobocracy” or anarchist. Republican advocates resisted monopolistic power and anarchy by accenting the rule of law as administered by jurists, legislators, and state leaders who became the guardians of the well-being of society. The temptations of republican thought were oligarchy (rule by the few) or plutocracy (rule by the wealthy). In recent centuries, with the spread of constitutions placing governments under law, democratic and republican theories and practices have blended. Most democracies are now actually democratic republics (or republican democracies). In fact, several limited monarchies with strong parliaments are counted as democratic. Consequently, various examples of democratic orders find their commonality in their support of electoral representation, government under law, human rights, regulated economies, social welfare, and, especially, religious freedom.
The biblical records, and thus most streams of Christian and Jewish tradition, have examples of all these possibilities. The Bible celebrates David’s creation of an empire—a point not lost on historic Christian royalty and on the Holy Roman Empire particularly. But it also contains passages opposing both monopolistic power and those appeals to “the freedom of the gospel” that tended to justify libertine behavior, as we find in some gnostic tendencies and in some contemporary liberationist advocacy.
No book of the Bible represents anything like Plato’s Republic, Aristotle’s Politics, Cicero’s Laws, or any modern treatise on polity, or offers a direct theological legitimization of democracy. Nevertheless, Christian thought has drawn on biblical themes that point toward an affinity for the compound that we call, today, democracy. Humans have a dignity, for each is created in the image of God, and with it are given the capabilities and the mandate to care for and cultivate the earth and to create cultures. However, when they distorted the gifts God gave them, they fell into sin and had to face the harsh realities of historical existence and their own sinfulness. Still, they were preserved by God’s providence and were called to form covenanted societies under God’s law and for God’s purposes. They anointed leaders: prophets to preach justice, priests to nurture faithful worship, and kings to defend the community from violence and crime—although false prophets, unfaithful priests, and wicked monarchs were and are a perennial pitfall. They hoped for a messiah who would redeem the world from evil and be the truest prophet, the most faithful priest, and the righteous, peaceful king of kings.
Indeed, when Jesus came and was recognized as the Messiah, the church was formed as the exemplar of a just, loving, and realistic polity and as a witness to the coming reign of God. All who are in Christ or aspire to be like Christ are called to be prophetically, pastorally, and politically responsible for the whole society. In a long and complex history, various branches of the church developed distinct polities for how to best accomplish this, each citing preferred biblical passages as warrants for its normative status and advocating a parallel order in society.
Most scholars of this history identify three types of polity: hierarchical, federated, and locally independent. In time, most churches adopted elements of these types into their predominant model. Thus, strong hierarchical traditions developed councils, embraced subsidiarity, and supported constitutionally limited governments with locally rooted parliaments externally. Federated polities formed centralized bureaucracies and supported congregational initiatives for service or advocacy and representative democracies in society. And independent churches have formed unified publishing and lobbying wings that support religious freedom and moral causes. All advance and legitimate democracy today and see it as a temporal implication of the gospel for the sustaining of the common life in this world.
See also Authority and Power; Government; Theocracy Bibliography
Dillistone, F. The Structure of the Divine Society. Westminster, 1951; Dulles, A. Models of the Church. Doubleday, 1974; Elazar, D. The Covenant Tradition in Politics. 4 vols. Transaction Publishers, 1995—98; Long, E., Jr. Patterns of Polity. Pilgrim Press, 2001; Nichols, J. Democracy and the Churches. Westminster, 1951; Stackhouse, M. Public Theology and Political Economy: Christian Stewardship in Modern Society. Eerdmans, 1987; Troeltsch, E. Protestantism and Progress: A Historical Study of the Relation of Protestantism to the Modern World. Beacon, 1958, 89—127; Witte, J. Law and Protestantism: The Legal Teachings of the Lutheran Reformation. Cambridge University Press, 2002.
Max L. Stackhouse
Denial See Speech Ethics
In ethical theory, the phrase “deontological ethics” is often used synonymously with “duty-based ethics,” since the term deontology is derived from the Greek word for “duty.” Hence, a deontological theory of ethics properly entails a duty-based ethical theory. Broadly speaking, ethical theorists distinguish between two major types of deontological theories: act deontology and rule deontology.
Theories of act deontology, also called “particularism,” contend that particular situations or circumstances faced by a given individual determine the course of action that the individual in question should follow. In other words, if one is faced with a particular situation S, one must be certain about the facts of S, which in turn will enable one to determine a particular course of action A, which one is subsequently obligated to follow.
Thus, it is quite possible, for example, for the particularist to suggest to Mr. Smith that he love his neighbor John for mowing his lawn, while at the same time advise another neighbor, Ms. Brown, to hate John for performing the same act of mowing her lawn. It might just be that John’s act of mowing the lawn contributes to the overall beauty of the neighborhood, a situation that pleases Mr. Smith immensely. However, John’s act of mowing the lawn also causes Ms. Brown’s allergies to flare up, thereby aggravating Ms. Brown. This shows that theories of act deontology do not commit themselves to universal rules of ethics. Their view is that such universal or general rules are not only unavailable; they are also impractical, if they exist at all.
Theories of act deontology are further subdivided into two categories: intuitionism and decisionism. Intuitionists are extreme act-deon-tologists because they insist on deciding, via intuition, what the right course of action ought to be for every particular situation. The intuitionists consult their conscience without subscribing to any preexisting moral rules, and without basing their decision on the consequences that might be caused by that decision. Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean sometimes has been placed in this category. But there are good reasons for contending that, overall, Aristotelian ethics is more virtue-based than duty-based.
E. F. Carritt and H. A. Pritchard are listed by many ethical theorists as modern examples of intuitionists. Joseph Butler is sometimes considered an intuitionist as well, though some theorists prefer to categorize his views as decisionist.
For example, William Frankena regards Butler as an intuitionist, but Louis Pojman places him in the decisionist category. Irrespective of his placement, Butler contended that all humans have a conscience capable of determining the rightness or wrongness of actions in all situations. For this reason, argued Butler, general rules for determining the rightness or wrongness of actions are unnecessary. Instead, human conscience intuitively instructs all humans on the right thing to do or the right course of action to follow.
Decisionists, however, stress the importance of decision rather than intuition. They contend that the rightness of one’s actions is decided or determined by the choice that one makes. It is not decided by any preexisting rules or laws; rather, it is decided by the act of choosing. Prior to choosing, the act in question is neither right nor wrong. Moreover, the more choices an agent makes in particular ethical situations, the more the agent develops general rules that would prove useful in deciding future courses of actions. However, these general rules should not override particular decisions concerning the course of action to be followed.
Theories of act deontology have been severely criticized by ethical objectivists for being too relativistic. An ethical objectivist believes that objective moral laws exist and are universally binding on all people. According to the objectivist, theories of act deontology provide no standard for deciding the rightness or wrongness of actions. By suggesting that particular situations dictate the course of action to be followed, the decision is left entirely on the agent. But according to the ethical objec-tivist, morality is something into which humans must learn and grow. A morally immature person needing instruction on a specific course of action to be followed will thus be helpless when faced with situations that call for ethical decisions to be made.
For example, many Christian ethicists are also objectivists and will therefore reject act deontology, for they contend that the Bible is their standard for faith and conduct. In other words, they make their moral decisions based on insights drawn, directly or indirectly, from Scripture (see 2 Tim. 3:16-17). This comes in sharp contrast with act deontology, which fails to provide any standard for making moral decisions.
Second, a given theory of act deontology is deemed self-defeating in the following sense. It must base its highly relativistic view on some underlying objective principle in order to reject the objectivity of morality. For example, consider its underlying ethical principle: given a particular situation S, one must get the relevant facts of S in order to determine a given course of action A. The ethical objectivist could quite conceivably contend that this principle is objective because it is general and universal, thereby applying to all ethical situations that the agent might face in the future. If so, the principle itself is undercut by the act-deontologist’s contention that general rules or principles of ethics are unavailable.
Theories of rule deontology, by contrast, contend that general rules for morality are available. Thus, general rules such as “We must always tell the truth” are accepted by the rule-deontologist. Moreover, the rule-deontologist maintains that such rules are morally binding whether or not they have good consequences. The consequences do not determine the rightness or wrongness of the course of action to be pursued; neither is the course of action derived from or determined by particular situations as suggested by act deontology. Rather, one decides the right course of action based on the general rules. Hence, the standard for determining right and wrong is nonteleological, or for that matter, nonconsequentialist in essence.
Examples of rule-deontologists are Samuel Clarke, Richard Price, Thomas Reid, W. D. Ross, and Immanuel Kant. Consider, for example, the views of W D. Ross. He drew distinctions between what could be called “actual duty” and “prima facie duty.” According to Ross, the former refers to the actual right thing to do. Put differently, it refers to and involves the course of action that one is obliged to follow in some certain situation. According to Ross, under such circumstances there are exceptions to the rules governing what one ought to do. However, under prima facie duty it is possible to prescribe moral rules that are binding without exceptions.
For example, a prima facie rule can be stipulated as follows: one must always keep the promises one makes. Whereas this is the sort of rule that one must try to obey constantly, certain considerations could override it. For example, suppose Elaine borrows one hundred dollars from Peter and promises to repay him in about a month. But a week later, Elaine contracts a debilitating disease whose treatment not only renders her incapable of going back to work but also wipes away, in a matter of days, all of her savings to the extent that she cannot afford to buy food or pay bills. It would perhaps be immoral, under these circumstances, for Peter to ask for his money from Elaine. Thus, the prima facie duty to always keep one’s promises can be quite legitimately overruled by another prima facie obligation: one individual should not subject another individual to deeper stress if the latter is already overwhelmed by circumstances beyond his or her control.
The most famous rule-deontologist perhaps is Immanuel Kant. In agreement with Aristotle, Kant believed that human reason is the source of morality. But he disagreed with Aristotle’s claim that the goal of human reason is happiness. Kant believed that instinct did a better job than reason in producing happiness. Kant postulated, as an alternative, that the goal of reason is to produce a morally good person. He contended that humans ought to act in a certain way because acting in that way is the right thing to do, regardless of the consequences that follow that act.
But how does one determine the rightness of a given act A? Kant suggested what he called the “categorical imperatives” as the formula for determining the right thing to do. The first categorical imperative, called the “formula of universal law,” proposed the following principle: act in such a way that you can at the same time will or desire that it become a universal law; that is, when deciding whether to lie, one should ask the following questions: “Do I want to live in a world where everyone tells lies? Can I live consistently in a world where everyone tells lies?” Reason informs the reasonable person that the answer to these questions is no. Hence, at least one universal law exists: we must always tell the truth.
The second categorical imperative, called the “law of humanity,” proposed the following: always act, whether in your own person or in the person of another, in a manner that treats everyone as ends, not merely as means. Kant is suggesting that humans should treat one another as humans, not merely as tools. Thus, if Elaine borrows money from Peter on the promise to repay it in two weeks, she will be treating Peter merely as a tool if she breaks that promise.
The third categorical imperative, called the “law of autonomy,” is really an enforcement of the first categorical imperative. Kant suggests, under this law, that maxims that do not follow the formula of universal law ought to be rejected. Kant believed that reason enables one to see that these three laws are morally binding on all people. One has a duty to follow them, regardless of the consequences they produce. If a given course of action is not consistent with any of these laws, it conflicts with duty, for Kant believed that only actions done from duty have moral worth. Moreover, they have their moral worth in the maxim according to which they were determined; that is, the three categorical imperatives give moral worth to the actions they prescribe.
First, for Kant, actions that conflict with duty have no moral worth. These include actions such as murder, adultery, and theft. Second, some actions are consistent with duty, but they have no moral worth because one has no immediate inclination to do them. For example, one pays taxes not because of an immediate inclination to do so, but rather because of a desire to avoid penalties. Or one performs acts of kindness not because of an immediate inclination to do so, but rather because of a desire to be elected to some public office.
Third, Kant also believed that some actions are consistent with duty, but they have no moral worth because the agent in question has an immediate inclination to perform the act. For example, one spreads joy to all people specifically because it is pleasurable to do so. Or one does not commit suicide because one’s life is comfortable on the whole. Here, one is inclined to do what one already wants to do. For Kant, this sort of action has no moral worth.
To clarify what he meant by an action having moral worth, Kant drew attention to actions consistent with duty but contrary to immediate inclination. Examples of such actions include a person refraining from suicide even though his life is painful, or a teller not stealing money from her bank even though she is severely broke and could use the money if it was made available. In both instances, the agent in question is doing what duty demands. But the agent is also fighting off a contrary inclination, a temptation of sorts. According to Kant, such actions have moral worth precisely because they involve successfully fighting off such temptations, whether severe or mild. Kant’s aim was to emphasize the importance of doing the right thing not because the rightness is determined by external reasons such as pleasure, happiness, or the good of the community; rather, one does the right thing because it is the right thing to do.
In light of these considerations, Kant defined duty as the necessity of an action done out of respect for the law—law here understood as the three categorical imperatives. Thus, for Kant, if a certain course of action in a given situation is consistent with the three categorical imperatives, one is duty-bound to follow that course of action.
Rule deontology seems to succeed where act deontology fails. It recognizes that ethical rules can be universalized in a way that enables the agent to make relevant ethical decisions. Also, Kantian deontology seems to place a high value on human reason. It recognizes that humans are rational creatures, and that the dictates of their reason ought to be respected. However, two common criticisms have been raised against rule deontology. First, it leaves the agent quite helpless when confronted by ethical dilemmas. For example, Kant’s contention that it is never right to lie suggests that one must always tell the truth even when such truth-telling puts one’s life in danger. Lying to protect a life from death, according to Kant’s theory, is wrong.
A second criticism commonly raised against rule deontology is its apparent lack of motivation to follow a certain course of action. Whereas it locates the reasonableness of a certain course of action, it fails to give the agent the required motivation to follow that course of action. For example, an alcoholic could know by reason that it is wrong to sustain the habit of drunkenness, but the alcoholic’s rational faculties fail to provide the motivation to stop drinking. The rule-deontol-ogist, however, could respond to this critique by referring to Kant’s definition of duty: the necessity of an action done out of respect for the law. The rule-deontologist could say, for example, that respect for the law is motivation enough to make the agent perform the necessary action. The Christian ethicist could counter by suggesting that since humans are, by nature, fallen creatures, they are incapable, by their own volition, of obeying or, for that matter, respecting any moral laws. To be sure, Christians will invoke Titus 2:11-12, contending that morality is made possible only by the grace of God.
See also Consequentialism; Duty; Moral Absolutes; Right and Wrong; Teleological Theories of Ethics; Virtue Ethics
Bibliography
Butler, J. Five Sermons Preached at Rolls Chapel; and, A Dissertation upon the Nature of Virtue. LLA 21. Liberal Arts Press, 1950; Denise, T., N. White, and S. Peterfreund, eds. Great Traditions in Ethics. 12th ed. Thomson-Wadsworth, 2008; Frankena, W. Ethics. 2nd ed. Prentice-Hall, 1973; Kant, I. Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals. Trans. and ed. M. Gregor. CTHP Cambridge University Press, 1997; Pojman, L. Ethics: Discovering Right and Wrong. 5th ed. Thomson-Wadsworth, 2006; Rashdall, H. The Theory of Good and Evil: A Treatise on Moral Philosophy. 2nd ed. 2 vols. Oxford University Press, 1924.
Joseph B. Onyango Okello