The book of Exodus recounts God’s liberation
of the Israelites from slavery and their departure
from Egypt (chaps. 1-15), the challenges of the journey through the wilderness (chaps. 16-18), the establishment of a special covenant relationship between God and Israel at Mount Sinai (chaps. 19-24), the breaking and restoring of the covenant in the incident of the golden calf (chaps. 32-34), and the building of the tabernacle as a visible sign of God’s holy presence in the midst of the Israelite community (chaps. 25-31; 35-40).
Ethical Issues in Exodus 1-15
Women and civil disobedience. Exodus begins with the Bible’s first instance of peaceful civil disobedience against an oppressive empire. The two Hebrew midwives refuse to carry out Pharaoh’s orders to kill the male babies of the enslaved Hebrew minority community (1:8-22). Women—in-cluding Pharaoh’s daughter, who disobeys her own father’s decrees (2:1-10)—also figure prominently in rescuing the baby Moses.
The use of violence for the sake of social justice? Moses secretly kills an Egyptian supervisor who was beating a Hebrew slave (2:11-15). Was Moses justified in this act of violence for the sake of social justice? Both Jewish and Christian interpreters have differed widely in answering that question. The biblical text itself does not render a clear verdict one way or the other, inviting readers to contemplate the complex ethical issues involved.
The ten plagues: Justice and ecology. God sends a series of ten plagues upon the Egyptians in an effort to persuade Pharaoh to let the Israelites go (chaps. 7-13). These anticreational plagues that disturb the natural order and balance of nature may be understood as ecological disasters that are the consequences of Pharaoh’s human injustice, which disturbs the moral order of the cosmos (Fretheim 105-11).
The hardening of Pharaoh’s heart: Human freedom and divine determinism. Exodus brings the theme of God’s “hardening Pharaoh’s heart” (9:12; 10:1, 20, 27; 11:10; 14:4, 8) together with other texts that speak of Pharaoh’s “hardening” his own heart (7:22; 8:32; 9:34). The motif of the hardening of the heart appears to hold human free will and divine determinism together in complex interplay. But at some point later in the plague sequence, Pharaoh’s sin becomes so engrained that he reaches a point of no return. It is then that God hardens Pharaoh’s heart.
God’s liberation of the poor or of Israel? The story of God’s liberation of slaves living under oppressive conditions in Egypt has been a defining narrative for many exponents of liberation theology and postcolonial criticism of the Bible. The exodus story, they argue, reflects the dynamics of oppressive empires and God’s preferential option for the poor. Others argue that the biblical form of the exodus story is primarily not about God’s preference for the poor in general but rather for the people of Israel in particular. Yet Israel’s laws do refer to Israel’s experience in Egypt as a motivation for justice and generosity to slaves, the poor, resident aliens, and other marginalized members of the society (22:21; 23:9; Deut. 15:12-15).
The Ten Commandments—Exodus 20:1-17 The centerpiece of the covenant on Mount Sinai is the Decalogue, or Ten Commandments. The first and most important commandment demands singular loyalty: “You shall have no other gods before me” (20:3). This is followed by a ban on all graven images or idols (20:4-6), which Israel would soon disobey in the incident of the golden calf (32:1-24). Other commandments prohibit the misuse of God’s name, require the observance of a Sabbath day of rest every seven days, and obligate children to honor their parents. The commandments conclude by prohibiting murder, adultery, stealing, bearing false witness against a neighbor, and coveting what belongs to a neighbor (20:7-17). The commandments hold together obligations to God with obligations to humans and also to nonhuman creation (20:10).
The Covenant Code—Exodus 20:22-23:19
Most scholars argue that these laws are some of the oldest laws of the Bible. They resemble other law codes of the ancient Near East in their form of case law with conditional statements followed by consequences or penalties. These laws cover a wide range of quite specific circumstances within an ancient society. Since they follow immediately after the more generalized Ten Commandments, the Covenant Code functions as an illustrative exposition of how the Ten Commandments might be applied in specific rulings. The juxtaposition of the Decalogue and the Covenant Code signals the need for ongoing legal and ethical interpretation and application to specific contexts.
The Golden Calf—Exodus 32-34
Israel’s first great sin is to make and worship a golden calf while Moses is away on top of Mount Sinai with God. The disobedience is so severe that God initially plans to destroy all Israel (32:10). However, Moses successfully intercedes with God so that God does not completely destroy the Israelites (32:11-14). Moses also convinces God to reveal something deeper about the divine character and goodness that has not been seen before. In the process, God reveals his name and character, shown to be grounded much more in his love, faithfulness, mercy, and forgiveness (34:6-7) than previous presentations of God’s name and character in Exodus indicate (see 3:13-16; 20:5-6; 23:20-21). However, obedience to God’s newly reformulated laws continues to be required, and consequences remain in effect for acts of disobedience (34:7, 10-28).
See also Civil Disobedience; Colonialism and Postcolonialism; Covenant; Ecological Ethics; Free Will and Determinism; Idolatry; Law; Liberation; Liberationist Ethics; Old Testament Ethics; Preferential Option for the Poor; Sabbath; Slavery; Ten Commandments; Violence
Bibliography
Fretheim, T. Exodus. IBC. Westminster John Knox, 1991; Levenson, J. “Exodus and Liberation.” HBT 13 (1991): 134-74; Meyers, C. Exodus. NCamBC. Cambridge University Press, 2005; Olson, D. “The J agged Cliffs of Mount Sinai: A Theological Reading of the Book of the Covenant (Exod. 20:22-23:19).” Int 50 (1996): 251-63; idem. “Violence for the Sake of Social Justice? Narrative, Ethics, and Indeterminacy in Exodus 2:11-15.” Pages 138-48 in The Meanings We Choose: Hermeneutical Ethics, Indeterminacy and the Conflict of Interpretations, ed. C. Cosgrove. JSOTSup 411. T&T Clark International, 2004; Pixley, G., and C. Boff. “A Latin American Perspective: The Option for the Poor in the Old Testament.” Pages 207-16 in Voices from the Margin: Interpreting the Bible in the Third World, ed. R. Sugirtharajah. Orbis, 2006.
Dennis T. Olson
The basic premise of exploitative activity is intrinsically related to notions of power, control, and dominion and how these are utilized by moral agents in their relationship with others. Exploitation assumes a relationship between two or more moral agents—the exploiter and the exploited— and it is in this dynamic relationship that power is instrumental in defining exploitation.
From the perspective of biblical ethics, all power comes from God (Matt. 6:13; John 19:11; Rom. 13:1), and God is by definition all-powerful; therefore, power itself is not morally pernicious, but the way that power is exercised determines the moral value of it. How, then, does God employ power? In answering this question, some have argued that the biblical narrative contains cases in which God uses power in an exploitative manner. Examples cited by those who follow this approach include God asking Abraham to offer his son in sacrifice, God’s role in the story of Job, and God’s influence in directing Jesus to his death at the cross. In the interpretation of these stories the common denominator is that power is being employed exclusively for the benefit of the powerful—God—and thus the ones with “inferior” power become victims of exploitation. In response to this interpretation, others have suggested that in these and other stories God does not obtain personal benefit, nor does God make a profit for personal gain, but rather God respects the will of moral agents and does not coerce them to do what is being asked, and what God is doing is asking a question in a framework of respect in a given relationship. It is in this last approach that the essence of exploitation becomes evident, which is the use of power by a moral agent—person, institution, and/or state—to obtain personal benefits at the expense of others by coercing them against their will and in some instances by inflicting physical harm.
Exploitation calls for an analysis of power, first to determine the power differential among participants, and second to determine if one or more agents are employing their privileged position to impose their agenda and/or will on others. However, it is important to note that in the biblical narrative exploitation is not exclusive to relationships between individuals and/or institutions, but also includes the environment. Although the environment itself is not a moral agent, having neither individual nor corporate will, institutions and individuals are in many ways in relationship with the environment. When they use their power as dominion and control for self-centered reasons and to obtain personal benefit, these practices constitute exploitative acts against nature and should be deemed morally wrong and as reprehensible as other practices including individuals and institutions.
See also Authority and Power; Manipulation; Submission and Subordination
Bibliography
Allen, J. Love and Conflict: A Covenantal Model of Christian Ethics. Abingdon, 1984; Hinze, C. Comprehending Power in Christian Social Ethics. AARAS 93. Scholars Press, 1995; Wink, W. Engaging the Powers: Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination. Fortress, 1992.
Hugo Magallanes
The book of Ezekiel is the third major prophetic work in the OT, attributed to Ezekiel son of Buzi, a Jerusalem priest deported to Babylonia by Nebuchadnezzar in 597 BCE. The book falls into three parts: chapters 1-24 are mainly oracles of judgment against Jerusalem and Judah, chapters 25-32 are oracles against the nations, and chapters 33-48 are principally taken up with promises of restoration, including the visions of the dry bones (37:1-14) and the new temple (40-48). The book is punctuated by dramatic visions of God, which set the scene for the prophet’s call in exile (1:1-28), then describe Yahweh’s abandonment of his temple to destruction (8-11) and return to his new dwelling place at the heart of a perfected Israel (43:1-9).
Sources and Assumptions
Ezekiel’s ethic is fundamentally one of obedience to God’s will revealed in “statutes and ordinances” (5:6-7; 11:12, 20; 18:17; 20:11; 36:27). Ezekiel draws on a range of earlier traditions, but the priestly influence is preeminent, and Ezekiel is much more positive about worship and ritual than are prophetic predecessors such as Amos and Micah. The prophet’s personal commitment to purity is evident in his claim never to have defiled himself with unclean food (4:14). His moral language is heavily dependent on priestly forms of speech; his arguments often resemble priestly case law (14:1-11, 12-20; 18:1-32 [cf. Lev. 17; 19]); and his analysis of Israel’s behavior is full of ritual concepts such as defilement, profanation, and purification. From the perspective of exile, where all Judah’s old certainties are crumbling, Ezekiel succeeds in keeping the temple as a focal point for communal values and aspirations (Mein). As a priest, Ezekiel places a high value on hierarchy and order (especially visible in 40-48), and honor and shame also play a significant part in the prophet’s worldview. Indeed, the logic of the book (seen in a nutshell in 36:16-32) is that Yahweh has been shamed by Israel’s disobedience, and that both judgment and salvation are “for the sake of my holy name” (36:22).
Moral Issues
Ezekiel’s oracles of judgment condemn Judah’s failings in three main areas: cultic apostasy, political faithlessness, and social injustice. However, the main purpose of these oracles is not social analysis but rather theodicy. Ezekiel’s task is to persuade the exiles that the current disaster is fully under Yahweh’s control, indeed that it is Yahweh’s only possible response to Jerusalem’s grievous sins. In turn, the oracles of restoration promise a divine re-creation of both individuals and national institutions that will preclude the possibility of disobedience.
Responsibility is perhaps the key ethical theme in the book. Ezekiel 18 overturns the exiles’ claim that their current troubles are not their fault but rather that of their parents. By setting out a test case in which each of three related individuals— a wicked father, a righteous son, and a wicked grandson—is judged on the basis of his own sins, Ezekiel challenges his hearers to take responsibility for their own situation. Past scholarship saw Ezekiel as the great herald of individual responsibility, moving beyond more “primitive” notions of corporate responsibility and punishment visible in both the Decalogue and the Historical Books. Ezekiel’s contribution probably is more modest than a wholesale ethical revolution; rather, he takes ideas of individual responsibility that had long prevailed in legal proceedings and applies them afresh to the matter of divine judgment (Joyce).
Jacqueline Lapsley notes a tension in Ezekiel between different understandings of the moral self. The calls to repent (14:6; 18:32) presuppose that human beings have the capacity to do good and to reform themselves, whereas the promise of the new heart (11:19; 36:26) is both more deterministic and more pessimistic about the possibility of human virtue. It is the deterministic view that ultimately predominates in the book, as we see a shift from Jerusalem’s responsibility for judgment to Israel’s passivity in the face of restoration. Andrew Mein sees this theological shift as also reflecting the social experience of Ezekiel’s hearers, who have moved from positions of power and responsibility in Jerusalem to live with the much more limited moral possibilities of life in exile.
The force of Ezekiel’s rhetoric at times raises its own moral difficulties. This is most true of the two chapters (16; 23) in which Jerusalem is portrayed as a promiscuous wife, guilty of adultery and murder, destined for shame and brutal punishment.
The rhetoric works by placing Ezekiel’s (probably male) hearers in the position of a shamed and degraded woman and thereby shocking them into accepting their guilt. At the same time, it implies that women’s sexuality is wild, defiling, and in need of control, and feminist critics warn that an ethical reading of these metaphorical texts must take into account their potential to perpetuate male dominance and even to justify violence against real women.
Contribution
Ezekiel’s readers have sometimes been ambivalent about the prophet’s contribution to ethics. Recent concerns about gender follow on earlier criticism of the prophet’s emphasis on ritual. However, Ezekiel’s very strangeness helpfully marks the distance between our world and that of the texts and reminds us that biblical prophecy does not approach ethics in a sanitized, theoretical way. The oracles arise out of the pain and confusion of the Babylonian deportations and the destruction of Jerusalem. Driven by an absolute conviction of God’s holiness and power, the prophet articulates views of responsibility, free will, and social order that are still contested in contemporary ethical discourse.
See also Feminist Ethics; Free Will and Determinism; Old Testament Ethics; Priestly Literature
Bibliography
Block, D. The Book of Ezekiel. 2 vols. NICOT. Eerdmans, 1997—98; Darr, K. “Ezekiel’s Justifications of God: Teaching Troubling Texts.” JSOT 55 (1992): 97-117; Joyce, P. Divine Initiative and Human Response in Ezekiel. JSOTSup 51. JSOT Press, 1989; Lapsley, J. Can These Bones Live? The Problem of the Moral Self in the Book of Ezekiel. BZAW 301. De Gruyter, 2000; Matties, J. Ezekiel 18 and the Rhetoric of Moral Discourse. SBLDS 126. Scholars Press, 1990; Mein, A. Ezekiel and the Ethics of Exile. OThM. Oxford University Press, 2001; Odell, M. Ezekiel. SHBC. Smyth & Helwys, 2005; Odell, M., and J. Strong, eds. The Book of Ezekiel: Theological and Anthropological Perspectives. SBLSymS 9. Society of Biblical Literature, 2000.
Andrew Mein
The books of Ezra and Nehemiah are considered a single volume in the Jewish canon. Ezra-Nehemiah recounts events in Judah during two distinct periods, of approximately a quarter century each, in the postexilic era. The first (538-515 BCE) covers the return of the Jews from Babylon and the subsequent reconstruction of the temple (Ezra 1:1-6:22). The second (458-433 BCE) covers Ezra’s commission to teach the Torah in Jerusalem and the appointment of Nehemiah as governor (Ezra 7:1-Neh. 13:31).
The narratives of both the temple reconstruction and Ezra’s marriage reform serve to identify the authentic Israel after the exile as consisting of the families of Judah and Benjamin along with the Levites and priests, who returned to Judah from Babylon (Ezra 1:5; 2:1-67; 4:1; 10:9). The “people of the land,” foreigners who remained in the territory throughout the exile, must have no part in the reconstituted community Zerub-babel, the leader, and Joshua, the priest, forbid them from working on the temple project, while Ezra demands that Judahite men sever marriage ties with foreign women (Ezra 4:1-3; 6:21; 10:2-3, 10-11). Ezra’s marriage reform aims at preserving the “holy seed” by separating the exiles, who returned to Judah, from all outsiders (Ezra 9:1-2; 10:6-9, 44).
The book of Ezra invites reflection on the rights of refugees to return to their native territories and reconstitute their communities. Although underwritten by the Persian authorities, Ezra’s reform is an exercise in ethnic self-determination. The text, however, sustains only one voice in a debate among various factions that claimed membership in the reconstituted Israel of the postexilic era. The author asserts the rigorist position of those “who tremble at the words/commandment of God” (Ezra 9:4; 10:3) by narrowly defining the community as consisting of the exiles from the families of Judah, Benjamin, and Levi. The reader needs to contemplate, however, the protests from the people of the land who are the subject matter of the correspondence between regional authorities and the Persian administration (Ezra 4:1-2, 7-22; 5:3-6:12). More important, a modern reader must protest the absence of any advocacy on behalf of the women and children whom the leaders banish from the community (Ezra 10:44).
Ezra’s marriage reform extends beyond earlier tradition insofar as the Torah does not stipulate that Israelites must divorce their foreign wives. However, his reform appeals to the Deuteronomic laws excluding Ammonites and Moabites from the assembly of Yahweh and prohibiting Israelites from marrying foreigners who reside in the land (Ezra 9:1-2, 11-12; 10:10; cf. Deut. 7:1-4; 23:3-6). These precepts would rule out the marriage of the Moabite Ruth into the Judahite family of Elimelech and ultimately to Boaz (Ruth 2:1; 4:7-17). Indeed, Ezra would have banished from the reformed community Ruth and her son Obed, ancestors of David. The story of Ruth suggests a vision of inclusivity in contrast to the exclusivity of Ezra’s covenant community.
See also Nehemiah; Old Testament Ethics; Ruth Bibliography
Blenkinsopp, J. Judaism, the First Phase: The Place of Ezra and Nehemiah in the Origins of Judaism. Eerdmans, 2009; Grabbe, L. Ezra-Nehemiah. OTR. Routledge, 1998; Williamson, H. Ezra and Nehemiah. WBC 16. Word, 1985.
Michael W. Duggan
Faith
Theologically, faith expresses the fundamental disposition or response of the human person to God. Faith in God sets the standard for other faiths, sometimes unseating them: “Trust [batah] in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight” (Prov. 3:5).
In Hebrew, the basic sense of ’mn, from which we get not only ’emuna (“faith”) but also “amen,” is “to be dependable.” Various forms of ’emAna occur forty-eight times in the OT and are variously rendered as “truth,” “faithfulness,” and, occasionally, “faith.” Nevertheless, the concept of faith, linked also with “trust” (batah), is foundational to all the biblical writings.
The Greek noun pistis (verb pisteuo; adjective pistos) is used more than 240 times in the NT, with various nuances. Sometimes the verb pisteuo is rendered “to believe,” which connotes assent to certain truths. Yet one might hold a truth but lack faith. So James warns, “You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder” (2:19). James’s concern is that faith not be merely cerebral or internal: “Faith [pistis] by itself, if it has no works, is dead” (2:17).
Catholic tradition especially conceives faith (with hope and love) as one of three theological virtues. Since virtues are habits, settled dispositions to act, faith must do work. Moreover, virtues are something we “have”; faith dwells in us, transforming us. So Jesus urges his disciples to “have faith,” which proves difficult, especially in crisis. In a storm Jesus says to them, “Why are you afraid, you of little faith?” (Matt. 8:26). Certain other characters in the Gospels have faith more
easily. Jesus tells a centurion who is certain that
Jesus can heal his servant, “In no one in Israel have I found such faith” (Matt. 8:10). If the disciples can come to have faith, beginning small like a mustard seed, it can deepen and grow powerful, moving mountains (Matt. 17:20).
Faith’s growth comes also with spreading, as it forms faith communities that extend through time. This nuance is extended in the NT letters when the definite article is twinned with pistis, as in “I have kept the faith” (2 Tim. 4:7)—as we say today, “the Christian faith” or “our faith tradition.” Although a Christian’s faith involves more than assent to certain truths, it nonetheless requires such assent. Christian faith eschews the modern notion “faith in myself”; faith is always shared, and it is passed on from the apostles. So Paul wants to make sure that the members of the church in Philippi are “standing firm in one spirit, striving side by side for the faith of the gospel” (Phil. 1:27). Faith in this sense is a stronghold, or a shield (Eph. 6:16), that protects and surrounds an individual, rooting that person in the church. In the words of the Roman Communion Rite: “Lord, look not on our sins, but on the faith of thy church.”
The notion of shared faith mitigates the dispute, sometimes portrayed as dividing Protestant and Catholic Christians, of faith’s relation to works, especially in connection with salvation. Paul presses that we are reconciled to God “not by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ” (Gal. 2:16). Abraham models faith, not only because he “believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness” (Gal. 3:6) but also because he acted on a promise. “Works-righteousness” lacks faith not by working, but by purporting to achieve salvation by its own effort, which is idolatrous for both Catholics and Protestants. Not only is faith received from God (Eph. 2:8) but also we know it from our forebears, as the litany in Heb. 11 recalls: “by faith Abraham . . . offered up Isaac” (v. 17), “by faith [Moses] kept the Passover” (v. 28), and so on. Christian faith always depends on a prior gift, but it must live anew in each age.
The book of Hebrews also provides the basic definition of faith as a requisite Christian virtue. “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Heb. 11:1). Here, two seemingly opposed elements combine: surety of knowledge, yet without verification. Faith involves knowledge; it is a virtue in the intellect (Thomas Aquinas [on faith, see ST II-II, qq. 1-16]). Moreover, true faith requires that we rely
on this knowledge with a certainty that supports daily life and action. Faith has the property of “endowing the believer with knowledge that would not be available to him by the exercise of his own powers” (Pieper 44-45). Yet faith’s knowledge is “not seen” (i.e., verified) but comes “by hearing” (Rom. 10:17; 2 Cor. 5:7), which requires trusting another’s word. This makes it in one sense less “perfect”; unlike love, faith (and hope) will disappear in the future, when we know God directly, seeing “face to face” (1 Cor. 13:12). Yet this makes faith key in our world since it accesses supernatural reality. Love remains the greatest of the theological virtues, but faith is its gateway. On Simone Weil’s definition, “Faith is the experience that the intelligence is enlightened by love” (Grant 38). Far from opposing reason, faith activates thought, for it sends the mind searching (Pieper 52), striving to perceive the world in love’s new light. The new vision of faith, however, can never be compelled; faith remains always the free response of the human person to God that must be renewed with each generation. Jesus’ question remains forever valid: “When the Son of Man returns, will he find faith on earth?” (Luke 18:8).
See also Hope; Love, Love Command; Vices and Virtues, Lists of; Virtue(s); Virtue Ethics
Bibliography
Grant, G. “Faith and the Multiversity.” Pages 35-70 in Technology and Justice. University of Notre Dame Press, 1986; Kierkegaard, S. Fear and Trembling: A Dialectical Lyric. Trans. A. Hannay. Penguin Books, 1985; Luther, M. The Freedom of a Christian. Trans. M. Tranvik. Fortress, 2008; Pieper, J. “On Faith: A Philosophical Treatise.” Pages 13-85 in Faith, Hope, Love. Trans. R. and C. Winston. Ignatius Press, 1997.
Charles R. Pinches
False Witness See Speech Ethics
Scripture is, in many ways, an unlikely source for a twenty-first-century ethic of family. The coarse and patriarchal life of households in ancient Israel bears little resemblance to the life of most families in the West today. And the ambivalence toward family found in the NT in the words of both Jesus and Paul is not an obvious source for a constructive ethic of the family.
In the OT, the closest Hebrew equivalent to the English word family is bet ’ab, the “father’s household.” This multigenerational household was the basic unit of society. Although the bet ’ab took on different forms, there was significant continuity through much of the history of ancient Israel. Millennia ago in small towns and open country in Israel, several family units, linked by kinship and mutual interdependence, lived together, normally, in a group of small houses made of mud bricks or in tents made of animal pelts.
Within this larger household or grouping of houses lived a patriarch, his wife or wives, their dependent children, and their adult sons and families, older relatives, and sometimes others such as orphans or servants. Within each of the small houses in the compound lived a father and mother, their young children, and perhaps an elderly relative or an orphan. Some scholars suggest that within the average smaller house lived six people. When the patriarch died, the oldest son took his place in the compound.
Each house, consisting of just a few rooms, connected with the other houses to form a larger family compound, the bet ’ab. These larger households generally were self-sufficient, producing through agriculture and animal husbandry their own food and the materials for clothing. The various members of the household worked together, and all, including children, had responsibilities. The household was the center not only of economic production but also of teaching, religious life, moral instruction, and protection. The bet ’ab included not just the people and their houses, but also the animals, the crops, and, above these, the land itself. The needs of the household as a whole took precedence over the needs and desires of individuals within it. Moreover, the patriarch of the family was responsible for the care not only of his own family but also of widows and orphans who were without family.
Each father’s house (or, more accurately, each grouping of houses) joined with other households to form a clan. Within the clan people learned the customs and laws. Within the clan justice was meted out when those laws were violated. Clans taken together formed a tribe. Although the twelve tribes of Israel were thought of as large family units, the kinship was often more symbolic than genetic.
The bet ’ab of ancient Israel could hardly be more different from postindustrial families. Unlike households of ancient Israel, approximately 25 percent of the households in many Western nations are made up of only one person, and most of the remainder consist of a couple alone or an individual family unit often isolated from extended family, sometimes by hundreds or thousands of miles. These family units are rarely self-sufficient but rather relate to and depend on a global network of food producers and other businesses, often half a world away. Families in the West rely on an array of other institutions to provide legal and judicial services, protection, and teaching. Their relationship to the land often is tenuous, as is their relationship to extended family. Roles within the family, whether by gender or by one’s position within the family, are much more egalitarian and fluid today.
As strange as this biblical pattern of family life might seem to our twenty-first-century context, some of the explicit biblical advice is even stranger. If a son strikes or curses his parents, the consequences could be deadly. Deuteronomy 21:18-21 offers to parents a method for handling chronically rebellious sons who defy correction: “His father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the gate of that place. . . . Then all the men of the town shall stone him to death.” Those who curse or strike their mother or father likewise will be “put to death” (Exod. 21:15, 17). It may be that these penalties were rarely enacted, but their existence in the canon is unsettling to modern sensibilities nonetheless.
Even some of the more reasonable advice is suspect today. The advocacy of corporal punishment is at odds with much contemporary childrearing advice and practice. Many recent studies suggest that corporal punishment may be linked to slightly higher rates of violence in adulthood. Several dozen countries have enacted laws prohibiting the use of corporal punishment. Increasing numbers of parents in the United States forgo its use.
And then there are the stories of the families themselves. Siblings do not present a pretty picture in much of Scripture. Barely out of Eden, the first set of brothers starts things off poorly when Cain kills Abel. Jacob tricks his brother Esau out of his inheritance. Joseph’s older brothers sell him into slavery. David’s son Amnon lures his sister Tamar into his quarters and then rapes her.
Nor do parents and children always behave in exemplary fashion. Jephthah sacrifices his daughter to make good on a rash promise. Absalom plots against his father, David. Rebecca conspires against her husband and their son Esau, and Lot’s daughters seduce their father. Even the honored patriarchs engage in questionable family behavior. Abraham casts out Hagar and their son, Ishmael, in Gen. 21, and in the very next chapter he lifts the knife in readiness to sacrifice Isaac.
And then there is Jesus. He left his own family, and when the disciples followed Jesus’ call, they did the same. Jesus was, literally, a man without a household. “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head” (Matt. 8:20; Luke 9:58).
Leaving one’s family is not simply praised in the NT, it is also rewarded. When Peter exclaims to Jesus that the disciples have left everything, Jesus counters that those who have left their houses, wives, brothers and sisters, parents and children, and even their fields will be rewarded a hundredfold and will, besides, receive eternal life (Matt. 19:27-39; Mark 10:28-30; Luke 18:28-30).
Jesus insists that his reign brings not peace to families, but division and alienation. Jesus sets “father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law” (Luke 12:49-53). Jesus also distances himself from his own family. When his mother and siblings call for him, Jesus insists that his true family consists of those who follow him (Mark 3:31-35). Throughout the Gospels Jesus places loyalty to God above loyalty to family.
Jesus’ ambivalence about family finds parallel in Paul’s hesitation about marriage. In 1 Cor. 7 Paul uplifts celibacy as the better path while acknowledging that for Christians who find it difficult to abstain from sexual activity, marriage is preferred.
There are, of course, many positive sayings and stories about the family in both Testaments. Children are seen as a blessing and a source of joy in life (Pss. 127:3-5; 128:3-6). The faithful are enjoined to provide for the basic needs of their families; failure to do so is a sign of unfaithfulness. For example, 1 Tim. 5:8 says, “Whoever does not provide for relatives, and especially for family members, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.” The head of the family is also responsible for providing guidance and discipline to the household (Eph. 6:4). This guidance was central for the formation of Christian children and a Christian household.
Many contemporary readers are troubled by NT texts describing the proper order of the household. Wives are instructed to submit to their husbands, and husbands to love their wives. Children are enjoined to obey their parents, and fathers to discipline their children. Slaves, a part of the household, are to obey their masters, and masters are to treat slaves fairly (Eph. 5:21-6:9; Col. 3:18-4:1; see also 1 Tim. 3:1-13; Titus 2:1-10).
In the NT Epistles, familial language is often used to refer to the church (Gal. 6:10; Eph. 2:19), and throughout Scripture the family is a key metaphor for the family of God or the household of faith. Old Testament scholar Leo Perdue goes so far as to say that the family or household was the primary metaphor of the OT. Perdue writes,
Throughout its history, ancient Israel’s major understandings of God, creation, the nation, the nations, and morality were forged in large part by the social character and experience of the family household. Many of the key metaphors for imaging God, Israel, the land, and the nations originated in the household. . . . Indeed, the household not only grounded OT theology in Israel’s social reality but also became the primary lens through which to view the character and activity of God, the identity and self-understanding of Israel in its relation to God, the value and meaning of the land . . . and Israel’s relationship to the nations. (225—26)
Key scriptural themes about family have been picked up within the Christian tradition. For example, the ambivalence about marriage and family found in the NT and Paul’s preference for celibacy formed the basis for vows of celibacy among priests, monks, and nuns in Catholicism. Many theologians who explicitly value marriage, such as Augustine and Thomas Aquinas, see it as less than a life of celibacy.
For all the ambivalence about family within the Christian tradition, the family was also seen as a key site of Christian formation. For the Eastern Orthodox, the family is, before all other things, a school for Christian faith. There are two paths to Christlikeness or deification: one in the monastery, the other in the household. John Chrysostom described the household as “a little church.” The household is not a second-tier way of life beneath the monastery. “It is possible,” Chrysostom wrote, “for us to surpass all others in virtue by becoming good husbands and wives” (Bunge 64). Others throughout Christian history have described the family as a “little church” or a “domestic church.” The NT theme of the proper ordering of the household comes up repeatedly in Christian reflections on the family. Thomas Aquinas, John Calvin, and many other theologians draw on texts from the NT Epistles to talk about the relationships of submission and obedience within the household. This theme is troubling for many people today who live in societies that emphasize equality and the rights and agency of the individual. Critics charge that the emphasis on submission and obedience in the family is subject to abuse and even can be, in and of itself, distorting.
From this perspective, the optimism of theologians like Chrysostom about the key role of the family in Christian formation can seem naive. If one sees the hierarchical nature of Christian family life as necessarily distorted, then any idea of the family as a primary locus of good Christian formation would have to be balanced by an awareness of the very real possibility of being badly formed within that hierarchical family.
Indeed, some scholars have seen the Christian family as a root cause of violence and distortion. Philip Greven, for example, explores the religious—largely Christian—roots of corporal punishment against children and insists that the resulting damage to the human psyche is devastating.
Recent criticisms of the family as a place of brutality and conflicting power interests sound very familiar to anyone who reads Scripture. What with all the intrafamilial jealousy, deceit, betrayal, assault, rape, abuse, and killing, it is difficult to find a model family in Scripture. And yet it is through this highly flawed body that God appears to be working throughout Scripture. God forms Adam and Eve as a family and instructs them to bear children. God’s promises and covenants generally are made within the context of families. The people of Israel are organized by family groupings. In the Gospels, Jesus’ birth is described through the ancestral families from which he came. The people of Israel, the disciples, the church, and even the Trinity are described in familial language. Scripture gives witness to God’s redemptive work through families, to the brutal failure of many families to live up to God’s commands, to the devastating consequences of failed families, and, ultimately, to God’s power to work with and in spite of the best and worst of families to bring about God’s redemptive purposes.
For all the differing themes in Scripture and the Christian tradition regarding family, there is an underlying unifying claim: families, however important to survival and even to faithfulness, are never the primary sites of human loyalty. That belongs alone to God, the one who created families, who sustains them in their failure, and who continues to work redemptively with and in spite of families.
See also Adoption; Celibacy; Children; Household Codes; Marriage and Divorce; Orphans; Parenthood, Parenting; Sex and Sexuality; Spousal Abuse
Bibliography
Anderson, H., et al., eds. The Family Handbook. Westminster John Knox, 1998; Balch, D., and C. Osiek, eds. Early Christian Families in Context: An Interdisciplinary Dialogue. Eerdmans, 2003; idem. Families in the New Testament World: Households and House Churches. Westminster John Knox, 1997; Browning, D., et al. From Culture Wars to Common Ground: Religion and the American Family Debate. Westminster John Knox, 1997; Bunge, M. The Child in Christian Thought. Eerdmans, 2001; Cahill, L. Family: A Christian Social Perspective. Fortress, 2000; Carr, A., and
M. Van Leeuwen, eds. Religion, Feminism, and the Family. Westminster John Knox, 1996; Greven, P. Spare the Child: The Religious Roots of Punishment and the Psychological Impact of Physical Abuse. Knopf, 1990; Perdue, L. “The Household, Old Testament Theology, and Contemporary Hermeneutics.” Pages 223-58 in Families in Ancient Israel, by L. Perdue et al. Westminster John Knox, 1997; Post, S. More Lasting Unions: Christianity, the Family, and Society. Eerdmans, 2000; Rubio, J. A Christian Theology of Marriage and Family. Paulist Press, 2003; Ruether, R. Christianity and the Making of the Modern Family. Beacon Press, 2000; Thatcher, A. Theology and Families. Blackwell, 2007; Waters, B. The Family in Christian Social and Political Thought. OSTE. Oxford University Press, 2007; Witte, J., M. Green, and A. Wheeler, eds. The Equal-Regard Family and Its Friendly Critics: Don Browning and the Practical Theological Ethics of the Family. Eerdmans, 2007.
Rebekah Miles
Decades after the invention of the birth-control pill, family planning remains a contentious topic among both Catholics and Protestants. Some Christians take for granted the wisdom of using technological means to limit family size; others see large families as obedience to God. In Scripture, husbands sometimes take concubines as a remedy to barrenness (Gen. 16; 30), though the practice is never explicitly recommended. The only example of contraception occurs when Onan takes Tamar, the wife of his dead brother, as his own, as required by law (Deut. 25:5-10), but then “spills his semen on the ground” rather than produce an heir for his dead brother (Gen. 38:9).
Church bodies universally rejected contraception until 1930, when Anglican bishops agreed that contraceptive devices could be used where there was a “clearly felt moral obligation” between married people to limit family size for unselfish purposes. Most mainline Protestant bodies followed suit. In 1968, Paul VI reiterated the traditional Catholic prohibition against all but “natural family planning” (abstinence during fertile periods), which many Catholics and some Protestants continue to practice.
All Christian traditions maintain that children are gifts from God, which means that procreation should be neither undertaken nor forgone without serious consideration. The infertile, meanwhile, may take some small comfort in the affirmation that (in Barth’s words) “the Child who alone matters has been born for them too.”
See also Abortion; Birth Control; Childlessness; Conception; Marriage and Divorce; Population Policy and Control; Procreation; Reproductive Technologies
Bibliography
Barth, K. Church Dogmatics. Vol. III/4. Trans. A. Mackay et al. T&T Clark, 1961, 265-76; Blanchard, K. “The Gift of Contraception: Calvin, Barth, and a Lost Protestant
Conversation.” JSCE 27, no. 1 (2007): 225—49; Noonan, J. Contraception: A History of Its Treatment by the Catholic Theologians and Canonists. Belknap Press, 1986; Paul VI. Humanae Vitae. United States Catholic Conference, 1968.
Kathryn D. Blanchard
Feminist reflection, whether in the scholarly disciplines of feminist ethics, feminist theology, or feminist psychology, for example, centers on ethical commitments to the well-being of women and criticism of those ideas and structures that inhibit or fail to enhance the well-being of women. Lisa Cahill insists that, for all the differences among various kinds of feminist ethics, they are held together by “a universal moral imperative: Justice for women!” (Cahill, “Feminist Ethics,” 184).
Many feminists have also been advocates of justice for others who are oppressed, including children, ethnic or religious minorities in the United States and around the world, and gay and lesbian people. These commitments have led to the exploration of many topics, including social and economic justice, racism, and homophobia. Although feminist ethicists have addressed a wide array of issues, some issues with particular import for women have received greater attention—for example, abortion, domestic violence, children and parenthood, sexuality and reproduction, household labor, gender discrimination in the workplace, and sexual abuse.
The primacy of moral questions in feminist disciplines generally means that there is no hard-and-fast distinction between feminist ethics and other feminist disciplines. For example, Carol Gilligan is in the field of psychology, but her work was groundbreaking in feminist ethics. Likewise, most of the scholarship in feminist theology centers on ethical questions. And typologies of Christian feminist ethics typically include thinkers such as Rosemary Radford Ruether, who ordinarily is classified as a theologian.
Feminism and Scripture interact as some feminists explore the intersection between women’s well-being and the OT and the NT. They ask how Scripture and its interpretation over time have served to promote ideas and social structures that enhance and/or inhibit the well-being of women. Moreover, how might the Bible now be interpreted to promote women’s flourishing?
Although the whole of Scripture has been subject to the interpretive gaze of feminists, some texts have received greater attention and analysis. These include egalitarian texts (e.g., Gal. 3:28; Acts 2:17-18; Joel 2:28-29); texts that have often been used to support the subordination of women (e.g., 1 Cor. 11; Eph. 5; 1 Tim. 2); biblical stories of courageous women (e.g., Deborah, Esther, Judith, the women at Jesus’ tomb); stories of women who were subject to abuse and injustice (e.g., Tamar [2 Sam. 13], Jephthah’s daughter [Judg. 11]); stories of Jesus’ interactions with women (e.g., Mary and Martha [Luke 10:38-42], the Samaritan woman [John 4:4-42], the adulterous woman [J ohn 7:53-8:11]); stories and sayings of Mary the mother of Jesus, especially the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55); texts concerning the reign of God and those calling for justice (e.g., the books of Isaiah and Amos); and texts concerning divine wisdom personified as Sophia (e.g., Prov. 8; Wis. 7).
The work of feminist biblical scholars has been driven in part by ethical norms and commitments. Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza, for example, insists that the goal of her critical feminist biblical interpretation is not simply to “understand” Scripture; rather, she seeks to “change” not only the way Scripture has been interpreted but also oppressive social and political institutions. She adopts the metaphor of “struggle” as her hermeneutical lens for interpreting Scripture (Schussler Fiorenza 78-79).
Within the field of feminist ethics, many scholars operating from a secular framework do not consider Scripture at all. Of course, among many feminist religious ethicists and theologians, Scripture is a key topic. In the early years of feminist theology, feminists sometimes were placed into two categories: those who sought to reform the Jewish and Christian traditions, and those who sought to separate from them. Over the years, the major work in feminism and Scripture has been done by those who are in the “reformist” group. The reformist project has become so broad and diverse, however, that it is rarely described now as a category or type unto itself.
Many feminist ethicists, whatever their interest in Scripture, share some common assumptions. In addition to the commitment to the well-being of women and the subsequent affirmation of that which promotes women’s well-being, many feminist ethicists share a common appeal to the experiences of women (all women or a particular group of women) as a source and norm for moral reflection.
This appeal to women’s experience is connected to a common judgment that traditional ethical reflection is flawed because until recently it has been done almost exclusively by males, especially elite males, working out of elite male experience. These ethicists have, unwittingly, made male experience primary and thereby, consciously or not, have devalued female experience and in the process harmed or failed to enhance the well-being of women. Moreover, as the field of ethics was shaped almost exclusively by male experience, the whole of ethical reflection became distorted. The field of ethics is poorer, the argument runs, when shaped only by privileged males.
Carol Gilligan provides a classic example of the argument that ethics is weakened when male and not female experience is taken into account. Gilligan challenged Lawrence Kohlberg’s theories about moral development. His original research had been done almost exclusively on men and boys, and Gilligan noticed that when women and girls were interviewed using Kohlberg’s process, they tended to be scored at a lower level of moral development. Gilligan argued that Kohlberg’s stages were seriously flawed because they claimed to show a pattern of human moral reflection, when in fact they overlooked the experiences of women. Working from research on groups of women, Gil-ligan came up with an alternate and complementary model of the stages of moral development. Kohlberg’s research on men highlighted and gave priority to an ethic of justice with a concern for abstract rights, whereas Gilligan’s research led her to emphasize an ethic of care involving assessments of complex responsibilities within particular concrete relationships. Emerging from these criticisms of Kohlberg, Gilligan and others put forth an alternate model that has attracted many supporters: a feminist ethics of care.
Gilligan’s arguments, though quite popular, are in no way monolithic among feminist ethicists; indeed, they have been widely disputed. Working from the one simple fact that until recently the scholarly field of ethics was the nearly exclusive domain of men, feminists have developed a broad array of criticisms and alternatives. Different feminists have criticized traditional ethics for various offenses, including these: attaching greater importance to traits often associated with men (e.g., rationality, independence) and ignoring or giving less value to traits often associated with women (e.g., empathy, interdependence); creating an ideal moral person that was, unwittingly, made in the image of men, not in the image of women or people generally; not extending to females the moral rights and responsibilities of males (or privileged males, in any case); not considering women as full moral agents; neglecting to address fully issues in the so-called private sphere that are thought to be of particular importance to women (e.g., children, reproduction, birth control, and household labor); giving greater prominence to styles of moral reasoning typically associated with men and ignoring or devaluing those typically associated with women; developing moral theories or frameworks that show women as morally immature; and promoting or failing to work against social injustice toward women and others.
While feminist ethicists generally agree that traditional ethics has been weakened by the dominance of men and the absence of women, they disagree dramatically on the particulars. For example, while some feminists, as noted above, criticize traditional ethics for overvaluing male traits and devaluing female traits, other feminists deny that there are such things as male and female traits.
Indeed, different types of feminists and feminist ethicists can be distinguished in part by what they think is wrong with traditional ethics and what should be done to compensate for that weakness. Susan Parsons offers a typology of feminist ethics that has become a standard, particularly among Christian feminist ethicists. Parsons describes three types of feminist ethicists: liberal, social constructionist, and naturalist. In the case of the second and third types, they are shaped in response to criticism not only of traditional ethics but also of earlier models of feminist ethics.
Liberal feminism, like liberalism generally, is confident about the human capacity to discern both our true human nature and the rights that derive from that nature (Parsons, chaps. 2-3). The moral task of justice is to work so that all humans have the freedoms and material support that are their proper rights. Liberal feminism, then, takes the liberal discussion and insists that these same rights be extended to women. A classic example of this liberal feminist voice is the eighteenth-century writer Mary Wollstonecraft. A more recent example within the Christian tradition is found in the early work of Rosemary Radford Ruether, who uplifts as her primary norm “the full humanity of women,” insisting too that this feminist norm is in keeping with what she claims is the key strand of Scripture: the “prophetic liberating tradition.” This prophetic tradition, seen throughout Scripture, especially in Isaiah, Jeremiah, Amos, and the Synoptic Gospels, is a mechanism offered in Scripture for the critique of Scripture and subsequently of the entire Christian tradition.
Parsons’s second type of feminist ethics, social constructionist, is shaped by its criticism of the liberal model, including liberal feminism, which is censured for its naivete about the human capacity to discern some universal human nature and rights (Parsons, chaps. 4-5). All claims about human beings, as well as the very formation of human beings, are radically shaped and constructed by social context. In attempting to discern some common human nature by which moral judgments could then be made, liberals are arrogantly and arbitrarily making their own socially constructed model of the self normative for all. They are also turning a blind eye to the differences that concrete, social factors of human life, such as class, ethnicity, and gender, make in the formation of humans and of ideas about humanity. Feminist theologians operating out of this perspective, such as Sharon Welch, have no compelling reason to seek, as Rue-ther does, a biblical norm that would offer moral leverage for making claims about human rights and freedoms. A key criticism of this position is that it lacks moral leverage that would help women and others as they seek to evaluate and transform various social structures and ideas (Parsons, chaps. 4-5).
Parsons’s third type, naturalist feminist ethics, finds that critical leverage in claims about human life (Parsons, chaps. 6-7). Unlike liberal feminist ethics, naturalist feminist ethics grounds its moral claims not in reference to a common humanity known by reason, but in the concrete lived experience of embodied, relational human beings. Lisa Cahill provides a minimalist naturalist ethic. Claims about human nature from various sources, including, for example, biology, the social sciences, Christian theology, and Scripture, are important for moral reflection. In contrast to many liberal positions, as well as some other naturalist positions, one holds these claims about human nature lightly or tentatively. Within this position, Scripture is an important resource alongside others.
Mary Daly offers a more radical naturalist position, calling for women to be attentive to their own experiences and their processes of moral reflection as women. Women’s experience is the source of an alternative ethic that can both shape women’s lives for good and provide a place from which to judge dominant male ethics and social structures. Because of her sharp distinction between male and female experience and the contrasting ethics that emerge from these two types of experience, Daly has been accused of a naive essentialism. Daly’s understanding of the place of Scripture in her work can be summed up in an exclamation she is reported to have made: “Who the hell cares what Paul thought!” (Haney 4).
Some naturalist positions, like Daly’s, have been criticized not only for affirming significant differences between men and women but also for failing to note the great differences that exist among women themselves. Just as feminist theologians and ethicists criticized male ethicists for claiming that their own experiences as men reflect those of human beings generally, so some African American and Latina women have criticized European American feminists for claiming that their own particular experiences reflect those of women generally.
Within the field of mujerista ethics and theology, for example, Latina women are engaged in moral reflection out of their experiences as, and in the interests of, Latina women. Ada Maria Isasi-Diaz writes, “A mujerista is someone who makes a preferential option for Latina women, for our struggle for liberation” (Isasi-Diaz 61).
African American women in the field of wom-anist ethics have reflected on the experiences of African American women and on the moral implications of those experiences. For example, in Black Womanist Ethics, Katie Cannon argues that the dominant ethic of Western culture assumes a level of freedom or agency unavailable to many African American women. Cannon describes an ethic of endurance that helps African American women and their communities survive and continue the struggle in the face of limited choices and oppression of many kinds. Womanist ethicists have addressed other ethical issues with particular import for many African Americans. For example, in Breaking the Fine Rain of Death, Emilie Townes examines the way that the healthcare system and some industry practices (e.g., disproportionately placing toxic waste dumps near poor, African American neighborhoods) have compromised the health of many African Americans.
Mujerista and womanist theology and ethics, emerging partly out of and in response to feminist theology and ethics, are fields of inquiry in their own right, distinct in many ways from feminist theology and ethics. There are also many distinctions among various kinds of mujerista and wom-anist ethicists. These two complex fields provide examples of the way feminist theology and ethics, which began with moral reflections on the experiences of women and on behalf of women, gave rise to many different kinds of theologies and ethics emerging from the experiences of women in a variety of contexts. These diverse theologies and ethics include some that do not even specifically mention the words feminist, womanist, or mujerista. With this explosion in the varieties of women’s theologies and ethics, it becomes difficult to make absolute, fixed statements about the nature, aims, and scope of feminist ethics. Indeed, the impact of feminist ethics has been so widespread that most contemporary ethical models, whether written by men or women, whether feminist or not, have been shaped in part by feminist ethics.
See also Gender; Women, Status of Bibliography
Cahill, L. Between the Sexes: Foundations for a Christian Ethics of Sexuality. Fortress, 1985; idem. “Feminist Ethics, Differences, and Common Ground: A Catholic Perspective.” Pages 184—204 in Feminist Ethics and the Catholic Moral Tradition, ed. C. Curran, M. Farley, and R. McCormick. RMT 9. Paulist Press, 1996; Cannon, K. Black Wom-anist Ethics. AARAS 60. Scholars Press, 1988; Daly, M. Gyn/Ecology: The Metaethics of Radical Feminism. Beacon Press, 1978; Farley, M. Just Love: A Framework for Christian Sexual Ethics. Continuum, 2008; Gilligan, C. In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women’s Development. Harvard University Press, 1982; Haney, E. “What Is Feminist Ethics? A Proposal for Continuing Discussion.” Pages 3—12 in Feminist Theological Ethics: A Reader, ed. L. Daly. Westminster John Knox, 1994; Isasi-Diaz, A. Mujerista Theology: A Theology for the Twenty-First Century. Orbis, 1996; Newsom, C., and S. Ringe, eds. Women’s Bible Commentary. Westminster John Knox, 1998; Parsons, S. Feminism and Christian Ethics. NSCE 8. Cambridge, 1996; Ruether, R. Sexism and God-Talk: Toward a Feminist Theology. Beacon Press, 1983; Russell, L., ed. Feminist Interpretation of the Bible. Westminster, 1985; Schussler Fiorenza, E. Sharing Her Word: Feminist Biblical Interpretation in Context. Beacon Press, 1998; Townes, E. Breaking the Fine Rain of Death: African American Health Issues and a Womanist Ethic of Care. Continuum, 1998; Traina, C. Feminist Ethics and Natural Law: The End to the Anathemas. Georgetown University Press, 1999; Welch, S. A Feminist Ethic of Risk. Fortress, 1990.
Rebekah Miles
Fetishism See Sexual Ethics
The word fidelity is derived from the Latin fidelitas, meaning “faithfulness, loyalty, trustworthiness.”
Fidelity of God
In the OT, the fidelity of God is expressed in the terms being “merciful,” “gracious,” “faithful,” and abounding in “steadfast love.” The God of Israel is distinctively characterized as being faithful, denoting not only that Yahweh is committed to maintaining and confirming his covenant with his people (Deut. 7:2; 1 Kgs. 8:23) but also that he is truthful, as he is true to himself and has proved himself to be faithful to his people (Exod. 34:6-7; Ps. 89:1-4; Isa. 49:7). Yahweh is absolutely trustworthy and dependable, and so is his word (1 Kgs. 8:26; 2 Chr. 6:17), as evidenced in blessings that Israel received. God’s people, in time of adversity, often appealed not so much to the power of Yah-weh as to his promises of fidelity (2 Sam. 15:20; Ps. 36:7-10). Since Yahweh’s fidelity also means self-consistency, being faithful to himself, he is also insistent on human accountability for wrongdoing (Exod. 34:7). God’s name is “Jealous” (Exod. 34:14). Yahweh will tolerate no compromise in Israel’s fidelity to him. Idolatry is strictly forbidden (Deut. 32:21). In the midst of judgment for Israel’s apostasy, there is still hope because of Yahweh’s restoring fidelity (Lam. 3:21-23). Yahweh will heal Israel’s disloyalty and faithlessness (Jer. 3:22).
In the NT, the covenant God is the one who always remains faithful to his promise (2 Cor. 1:1822; Heb. 6:15-20). He is the benevolent Father, whose generous mercy and abundant grace allow his children to experience needed forgiveness and to fulfill the righteousness that he demands (Matt. 5:45-48; 7:7-12; Rom. 5:15-21; Jas. 1:5). This new relationship of God’s people with their Father in heaven is made possible only through Jesus, the obedient Son of the Father (Matt. 11:27 // Luke 10:22; Gal. 4:6).
Response to the Fidelity of God As the covenant partner of Yahweh, Israel is called to respond in fidelity to the initiator of the covenant (Josh. 24:14; Ps. 119:30). Just as Yahweh is a faithful God, Jerusalem should be a faithful (aman) city (Isa. 1:21, 26), which is essential for its continual existence. Its obligation of fidelity is summarized in the Shema: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might” (Deut. 6:5). Fidelity and duty are inseparable. Israel is to imitate God’s fidelity in the practice of justice and holiness (Lev. 19:2-4; Deut. 10:17-19). Infidelity is more than a failure to obey God; it is choosing to obey forces hostile to God, allying and even surrendering oneself to another rival source of power (Exod. 17-18; Deut. 13:6-10). The prophetic writings provide many examples of defections of fidelity among the Israelites (e.g., Isa. 1:2-4), though there are also many exemplars of faithfulness (e.g., Moses, Hezekiah, Daniel).
In the NT, the eschatological and saving act of God (Mark 1:15) demands undivided loyalty (Mark 12:29-30 pars.), taking priority over duties of marriage and family (Matt 19:12; Mark 3:31-35 pars.). Discipleship means following Jesus, with no distraction, no rival, and no compromise. Jesus himself is the paradigm for discipleship. He showed fidelity as the Son of God in the face of temptation from Satan (Matt. 4:1-11 // Luke 4:113) and exemplified perfect fidelity to the Father to the point of dying on the cross (Matt. 6:10; 26:42).
Christ’s act of righteousness brings about justification of humankind (Rom. 5:18). The “faithfulness of Christ” (e.g., Rom. 3:22, 26; Gal. 2:16, 20) refers to the faithfulness of Christ in dying on the cross, through which the promise of salvation comes to fulfillment. In Hebrews, Jesus’ faithfulness is seen as what qualifies him as the high priest who offers himself up as atoning sacrifice in heaven (Heb. 5:7-10). His fidelity to God is the ultimate paradigm for all who hold fast to the confession of Christ (Heb. 3:1-6), inspiring and enabling them to be faithful to the end (Heb. 12:1-3).
Communal Fidelity
Israel is a community of persons bound together in loyalty in covenantal membership to one another. Proper human behavior involves proving oneself to be trustworthy, upright, and faithful in human relationships (Prov. 19:22). The essence of true friendship is loyalty (Job 6:14).
The very opposite of the community faithfulness demanded by social structures, as in family and kinship, is faithlessness, disloyalty, or treachery, which the OT prophets condemn (Jer. 12:6; Mal. 2:10-11). An offense of faithlessness against a fellow member of the covenant family amounts to an act of infidelity against God. God’s demand for marital fidelity is interwoven with his demand of covenant faithfulness from Israel (Mal. 2:10-16).
The demand for community fidelity is expressed in terms of justice (e.g., Hos. 5:1; Mic. 3:1), righteousness (e.g., Isa. 33:5; Mic. 6:8), faithfulness (e.g., 1 Sam. 26:23; Jer. 5:1), and mercy (e.g., Hos. 12:6). All these are characteristics of Yah-weh, whom Israel worships. Being a member of God’s people means turning away from idol worship (1 Thess. 1:9-10) to wholehearted devotion to the living God. Believers are those who love God (2 Thess. 3:5; Jas. 1:12) and live in obedience to his word (Rom. 1:5; 2 Thess. 2:15; 1 John 2:5-7). They belong to God and Christ, living under the lordship of Christ (1 Cor. 1:2; Eph. 4:15).
Jesus summarized the whole law in the double love command: love of God and love of neighbor (Matt. 22:37-40 pars.). The commandment to love one another echoes throughout the NT (e.g., John 13:34-35; 1 Cor. 13; Eph. 4:2; 1 Pet. 1:22; 4:8; 1 John 3:11). Again, Christ’s sacrificial love is the paradigm for loving relationship in the Christian community (John 15:12; Eph. 5:1-2; 1 John 3:16). The demand for community fidelity is this embracing love and mercy, which, as in the OT, are the very character of God (Matt. 5:48 // Luke 6:36).
See also Covenant; Idolatry; Integrity; Love, Love Command; Temptation
Bibliography
Brueggemann, W. Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy. Fortress, 1997; Gerhardsson, B.
The Testing of God’s Son (Matt. 4:1—11 & par.): An Analysis of an Early Christian Midrash. ConBNT 2. Gleerup, 1966.
Luke Leuk Cheung
Flesh See Body; Sin
Flourishing, Human See Happiness; Salvation
Food is the physical material taken into the body in order to sustain human life. Food issues are complex. In Scripture, the readings pertaining to food are varied and not always congruent. Jesus, the self-proclaimed Bread of Life (John 6:35), declared that humanity shall not live by bread alone (Matt. 4:4) and also chose bread as the symbol of his body (Matt. 26:26). In its production, preparation, distribution, and consumption, food lies at the nexus of nature, health, justice, culture, and sustainability issues.
Attending to Scripture
Food is first and foremost part of the created order and is therefore good (Gen. 1:31). God intends for all creatures to have food, and enough of it; witness the bounty of the garden of Eden (Gen. 1:29) and the promised land, flowing with milk and honey (Exod. 13:5), grain, olives, and new wine (2 Kgs. 18:32). Food can reveal the presence of God and his emissaries, as when Abraham and Sarah welcome the angels with a midday feast of bread and barbeque (Gen. 18:1-8). Food can also reveal God’s provision and power, as when the Israelites survive on manna and quail (Exod. 16) or when the widow of Zarephath feeds Elijah from a infinite store of oil and flour (1 Kgs. 17). Jesus transforms a modest meal into dinner for thousands (John 6:1-14), and it is over a meal that the risen Christ reveals himself to his disciples (Luke 24:28-31) and reconciles himself to Peter (John 21).
Throughout Scripture, food is both essential and perilous, viewed as potentially imparting the sacred; by its ingestion, one pursued either holiness or degradation. It can detract from God’s plans for us, as when Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit (Gen. 3) as well as when the newly liberated Israelites long for the cucumbers and melons of their captivity (Num. 11:5). In the wilderness, Jesus reminds Satan that food alone will not sustain us (Matt. 4:4). Yet because food is necessary for life, its presence indicates the desire to both continue and celebrate that life. Scripture shows that the purpose of food is unitive, not divisive, as when the early church ate together as an act of worship (Acts 2:46-47). Paul encouraged believers not to quibble over food details, such as whether a meal’s main course had come from pagan sacrifice (1 Cor. 10:23-32), and he exhorted them to remember the purpose of their meal—not gluttony and inequity but sharing and fellowship (1 Cor. 11:19-22). Food also figures prominently in many commemorative situations, including Passover and the Last Supper, where the very body and blood of Christ reside in the ordinary bread and wine (Luke 22:14-20).
The Tradition and Scripture
Food has been central to the life of the church from its inception. Inaugurated with the bread and wine, the early church had regular fellowship meals (Acts 2:43-47). Yet food rapidly lost its positive standing for the church and came to be viewed as hazardous (see Grimm). The first monastics practiced fasting in their asceticism, viewing food as potentially dulling their hunger for God. Food was also seen as potentially connected to sex and thus morally suspect. The medieval injunctions against gluttony also highlight its potential for distraction from the spiritual life. John Wesley echoed these concerns, denouncing what he called an “elegant epicurianism”; rather, one should “despise delicacy and variety and be content with what plain nature requires” (Sermon 50).
Contemporary Application
As stated before, food issues are complex. Those who approach the topic thoughtfully find a plethora of questions regarding the health, feasibility, and integrity of current food practices. As an area of growing moral awareness, food justice requires simultaneous attention to many (often competing) concerns. Consumers need access to food that is affordable, palatable, nutritious, and safe. Producers need access to production systems that are nonexploitative, nonhazardous, and financially just. The “consumed” deserve a system of participation that is humane for the animals and sustainable for the environment.
There is currently a groundswell of interest in food issues. The growing presence of urban gardens, backyard vegetable plots, farmers’ markets, and participation in community-supported agriculture all indicate an increasing dedication to pursuing health, justice, and relationship in our food choices. Among the blessings flowing from this commitment is the joyful rediscovery of ourselves, not merely as reconnected with the goodness of nature but also as literal cocreators in partnership with the creator God.
In the celebratory spirit of the Scriptures, food is one of the most powerful intersections of nature and culture (see Coff). As part of the created order, food is fundamentally natural; yet in its procurement, preparation, and presentation, it both shapes and reflects cultural mores. Many of these bear the blight of sinfulness. We demand constant access to exotic foods that bear an enormous carbon footprint; we expect lavish fare at budget prices. Yet when the relational aspect of food is recognized and honored, there is also much to celebrate. The rituals attendant to food preparation can provide a measure of stability and rootedness to our increasingly disconnected culture, as families reconnect at the end of the day by cooking and sharing the evening meal, and through the annual preparation of holiday meals and the passing down of cherished family recipes. How greatly it would honor God and God’s creation if the practices surrounding food began to live up to its honorific as tov me’od, “very good.”
See also Animals; Culture; Health; Justice Bibliography
Berry, W. Bringing It to the Table: On Farming and Food. Counterpoint, 2009; Capon, R. F. The Supper of the Lamb: A Culinary Reflection. Modern Library, 2002; Coff, C. The Taste for Ethics: An Ethic of Food Consumption. Springer, 2010; Feeley-Harnik, G. The Lord’s Table: The Meaning of Food in Judaism and Early Christianity. Smithsonian Institution, 1994; Grimm, V E. From Feasting to Fasting: The Evolution of a Sin. Routledge, 1996; Jung, L. S. Food for Life: The Spirituality and Ethics of Eating. Fortress, 2004; Schlosser, E. Fast Food Nation. Harper, 2005.
Maria Kenney
Use of force describes those actions in which some type of power is used to overcome resistance and compel someone or something into a particular form of behavior. Typically, such power includes either the use of or the threatened use of violence. However, not all coercive acts imply violence; both scriptural (e.g., 2 Cor. 12:11) and contemporary usages (e.g., a workers’ strike) include nonviolent actions.
Given the wide variety of Greek and Hebrew words used to describe the use of force and the range of scriptural contexts in which force is used, it is impossible to specify either a single biblical conception of the use of force or a uniform theological perspective on the criteria that would allow persons to distinguish legitimate and illegitimate uses of force. However, one may use a variety of distinctions in analyzing or qualifying its use. These include:
• Whether the use of force, in itself, is good, bad, or neutral. Those who, following Immanuel Kant, treat any use of coercive power as tantamount to violating another’s sovereignty, rights, or freedom will view the use of force as morally problematic (although perhaps justified). Those who, following Hegel, view power as de-centered and flowing dialectically through systems are more likely to treat the use of force as morally neutral or even beneficial. Whether one views the use of force as a failure of diplomacy or an aspect of its work turns, in part, on this distinction.
• Whether all uses of force imply violence. Any actions that include violence or the threat of violence bring with them a wide range of questions about morality, legitimacy, and efficacy. Answers to those questions have led some persons to favor nonviolence. However, not only do some forms of nonviolence (e.g., nonviolent resistance) make claims about their coercive efficacy, thereby bringing them under the purview of explorations into the use of force, but also some patterns of action that are not necessarily founded on moral concerns (e.g., economic sanctions and boycotts) are also premised on their coercive power.
• Who may use force. Since the rise of the modern nation-state and its claim to maintain a monopoly on violence, most attention to the moral questions that surround the use of force have been focused on the way force is used by the state, whether in military, policing, or penal contexts. The state acts as a surrogate for individuals, families, and communities who may otherwise feel obliged to use force themselves. However, this monopoly is not total; for instance, individuals may legally use force to defend themselves, and communities may hire private security firms to patrol their neighborhoods.
• Whether God uses or approves of the use of force. While a theologically construed understanding of the use of force will follow from one’s understanding of divine action, it is also the case that moral claims about the use of force can shape one’s understandings of God and God’s actions.
In most instances, individuals are less likely to face the question of whether to use force than that of how to respond to its use.
See also Authority and Power; Justice; Just-Peacemaking Theory; Just-War Theory; Pacifism; Security; Violence
Mark Douglas