Composed between the years 130 and 100 BCE, 1 Maccabees documents the Jewish struggle for independence from their Seleucid overlords following a brutal persecution by Antiochus IV Epi-phanes. The book’s drama revolves around the priestly family of Mattathias, known to history as the Maccabees or Hasmoneans. They liberate and purify the Jerusalem temple, free the occupied citadel, expand their nation’s borders, and establish a new dynasty to rule over Judea. The book of 1 Maccabees aims to legitimate this dynasty’s claim to the high priesthood and kingship and to unite its readers through common identity and values.
Among the moral sources of 1 Maccabees, “the law” holds a primary place. Scrolls of the law and obedience to it are proscribed during the persecution (1:56-57), but the resisters carry a Torah scroll with them, perhaps even searching in it for guidance as they prepare for battle (3:48-54). Judas musters troops “according to the law,” following the prescriptions of Deut. 20:5-8 (3:56). The law contains not only statutes (2:21) but also moral exemplars. When the king’s messenger commands Judeans to sacrifice on an alien altar, Mattathias kills messenger and sacrificer alike (2:24-25). The narrator reports, “Thus he burned with zeal for the law, just as Phinehas did against Zimri son of Salu” (2:26). In his last testament to his sons, Mat-tathias exhorts them to imitate not only Phinehas (2:54) but also Abraham (2:52 [cf. Gen. 15; 22]) and Joseph (2:53 [cf. Gen. 39:7-10; 41:38-45]).
Mattathias similarly urges his sons to imitate Joshua (2:55), Caleb (2:56 [cf. Num. 13:30]), David (2:57), and Elijah (2:58 [cf. 1 Kgs. 19:10, 14]). Each models piety as well as military leadership or militant zeal. Mattathias also invokes the examples of Hananiah, Azariah, Mishael (2:59 [cf. Dan. 3]), and Daniel (2:60 [cf. Dan. 6]). Elsewhere, “the holy books” provide encouragement (12:9).
Among specific practices targeted in the persecution, 1 Maccabees identifies sacrifice, Sabbath and feast days, circumcision, and purity laws (1:45-49, 60-63). Regarding idolatry, Mattathias counters the king’s command with God’s, declaring, “We will not obey the king’s words by turning aside from our religion to the right hand or to the left” (2:22). The question of Sabbath observance is more complex. Early in the persecution a thousand women, children, and men flee to the desert (2:31, 38). Seleucid soldiers prepare to attack them on the Sabbath but first call them out, promising to spare them if they will obey the king’s command (2:32-33). The Jews choose death rather than obey the king or violate the Sabbath (2:34-36). Learning of the massacre, Mattathias and his friends weigh Sabbath observance against the cost of human life, resolving to fight on the Sabbath to defend their lives and laws (2:39-41).
The book of 1 Maccabees contributes to moral discourses regarding just war (jus ad bellum), Sabbath observance, and conflict between divine commands and laws of the state.
Morally problematic features of the text also demand serious engagement. The call to arms in 1 Maccabees exceeds the charge to defend people and laws, aiming also at vengeance (2:67-68; 9:4042; 13:6). Defense of the law extends to killing sinners (2:44; 9:73; 14:14). Mattathias and his comrades forcibly circumcise young boys (2:46). As their wars shift from defense to offense, his sons raze and plunder neighboring cities (5:51, 65-68; 10:84; 11:61; 12:31). Labeling certain inhabitants of Judea as “lawless” justifies their extermination (2:44; 3:5-6; 7:5; 9:23, 58, 69; 11:25; 14:14), while references to the hatred and aggression of “the nations” justify expansion (12:53; 13:6). The Judeans surrender their autonomy to this rhetoric of security through radical othering, shouting to Simon, “Fight our battles, and all that you say to us we will do” (13:9). Finally, as Jonathan and Simon broker alliances with Seleucids and Romans, they enter a world of political patronage fraught with deception and manipulation (12:43-48; 16:18-22). The favors that they exchange are costly: they kill one hundred thousand inhabitants of Antioch to aid a king who will betray them (11:41-53). They too trade moral autonomy for an illusion of power and self-determination. Readers do well to look at their own alliances and count the cost.
See also Deuterocanonical/Apocryphal Books; 2 Maccabees; Sabbath
Bibliography
Collins, J. Daniel, First Maccabees, Second Maccabees. OTM 15. Michael Glazier, 1981; idem. “The Zeal of Phine-has: The Bible and the Legitimation of Violence.” JBL 122 (2003): 3-21; Hieke, T. “The Role of ‘Scripture’ in the Last Words of Mattathias (1 Macc 2:49-70).” Pages 61-74 in The Books of the Maccabees: History, Theology, Ideology, ed. G. Xeravits and J. Zsengeller. JSJSup 118. Brill, 2007; Schwartz, D. “The Other in 1 and 2 Maccabees.” Pages 30-37 in Tolerance and Intolerance in Early Judaism and Christianity, ed. G. Stanton and G. Stroumsa. Cambridge University Press, 1998.
Anathea Portier-Young
The book of 2 Maccabees details events in Jerusalem between 175 and 160 BCE. Jerusalem’s priests trade ancestral traditions for “Greek glories” (4:15). A tableau of horrors follows: slaughter, slavery, the temple profaned, Jewish faith outlawed (5:11-6:11). The stories of nine martyrs occupy the book’s center (6:18-7:42). With God’s help (8:23-24; 10:1), Judas Maccabeus and his brothers lead an army against the oppressors, liberate the city, purify the temple (10:1-5), and finally defeat the enemy general Nicanor (15:27-36).
In the moral economy of 2 Maccabees, God defended the temple and people of Jerusalem when they obeyed God’s law (3:1; 8:36). When they abandoned it (4:16-17), God disciplined them (6:12-17; 7:32-33). The willing deaths of martyrs atoned for the people’s sins, effecting a turning point for the nation (7:38; 8:3-5). Living and dead alike intercede with God through prayer (3:15-21; 7:37; 10:4; 12:42; 15:12-14). Sacrifice gains God’s mercy for an enemy (3:32-33) and atones for the sins of the dead (12:40-46). God’s justice works through human and supernatural agents (1:15-17; 3:24-34; 4:38) and through illness and calamity (9:5-11). Punishment frequently “fits” the crime (4:16, 26, 38; 8:25; 9:6, 10).
The law and ancestral traditions prescribe a way of life, including sacrificial worship, diet, Sabbath, and circumcision. For these and for “temple, city, country, and commonwealth,” the book’s heroes are willing to die (13:14). When the law appears secure, Judas makes peace terms with a view to what is sympheron, or advantageous (11:15; cf. 12:12; see also Aristotle, Eth. nic. 9.3 §1004b30-31). Here and elsewhere in the book (6:20, 27, 31;
7:12; 15:12) the narrator may show the influence of Greek moral philosophy.
The book of 2 Maccabees gives special attention to the moral reasoning of the martyrs. When El-eazar refuses to eat pork, he is encouraged to save his life by pretending. He refuses on the grounds that the young would mistake his action and be led astray by his example (6:24-25 [note later discourses on “scandal”—e.g., Thomas Aquinas, ST II-II, q. 43]). The seven brothers who give their bodies to death are emboldened by belief in resurrection, valuing eternal life over the present one (7:9, 11). Their mother encourages them with words from the Song of Moses, alluding to the belief that God will vindicate God’s people “when their power is gone” (Deut. 32:36). She deduces God’s power to restore life from her experience of the mystery of conception and gestation (7:22-23 [cf. Eccl. 11:5]). In a similar vein, she instructs her youngest son to observe heaven and earth and deduce from them God’s life-giving power, so that he should not fear death (7:28-29). The stories of these martyrs have inspired many in multiple religious traditions and may be considered the book’s most profound moral legacy.
The book also tells of Razis, a confessing Jew who took his own life when the enemy came to arrest him (14:37-46). The Donatist bishop Gau-dentius cited Razis’s example in support of his own plans for suicide. In a letter to Dulcitius (Ep. 204), Augustine countered that Razis’s actions were “great” but not “good.” In Augustine’s view, the book offers Razis’s example not for imitation but for judgment.
The book of 2 Maccabees asserts that God fought on the side of Judas and his army, in many cases claiming divine support for actions that violate modern understandings of just conduct in war (jus in bello). Judas sets fire to villages at night (8:6-7); burns alive an enemy who has taken refuge in a house (8:33; cf. 10:37); takes revenge by night on refugees (12:6); slaughters the people of Caspin, Carnaim (where women and children have been sent for refuge), and Ephron (12:16, 26-27); and mutilates the dead body of Nicanor to display his head, tongue, and arm as proof of God’s help (15:30-35). Serious engagement with 2 Maccabees requires that we confront these and similar claims and actions not only in the text but also in the world we inhabit today.
See also Deuterocanonical/Apocryphal Books; 1 Maccabees; Martyrdom; War
Bibliography
Doran, R. Temple Propaganda: The Purpose and Character of 2 Maccabees. CBQMS 12. Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1981; Ego, B. “God’s Justice: The ‘Measure for Measure’ Principle in 2 Maccabees.” Pages 141-54 in The Books of the Maccabees: History, Theology, Ideology, ed. G. Xeravits and J. Zsengeller. JSJSup 118. Brill, 2007; Heard, W. “The Maccabean Martyrs’ Contribution to Holy War.” EvQ 58 (1986): 291-318; Schwartz, D. 2 Maccabees. CEJL. De Gruyter, 2008; van Henten, J. The Maccabean Martyrs as Saviours of the Jewish People: A Study of 2 and 4 Maccabees. JSJSup 57. Brill, 1997.
Anathea Portier-Young
3 Maccabees See Orthodox Ethics
4 Maccabees See Orthodox Ethics Magic See Divination and Magic
The book of Malachi provides very little information about the prophet. Even the name Malachi has been the subject of debate as to whether it is a proper name or a prophetic title. Most scholars assign a date in the Persian period, sometime after the rebuilding of the temple in Jerusalem (515 BCE). From a literary perspective, two features stand out. First, the book is unique within the prophetic corpus in the way it deftly employs a series of imaginary discourses to communicate its message. In this regard, the intersection of the priestly and the prophetic in Malachi is noteworthy. The priestly aspect has to do with the main message: the concern for adherence to the Torah. The prophetic aspect has to do with the mode in which it is presented. The major portion of the book (1:6-3:24) is an excellent example of priestly instruction presented in the form of a prophetic disputation. Second, the literary parallels between the opening words of Malachi and Zech. 9:1; 12:1 have raised the issue of the book’s status as an independent work. But the literary integrity, prophetic creativity, and theological sophistication displayed in the materials strengthen the case for an independent status.
The book opens on an affirmative note that God still loves Israel. For Malachi, God’s love is the source of renewal and sustenance for the people. God’s love is the basis of hope and the reason for the proper ethical response. In the rest of the book Malachi exposes the barriers to renewal. The longest section in Malachi (1:6-2:9) is a complex piece that reflects the rivalry between priestly groups. The prophet offers an indictment on the Aaronide priests for improper ritual practices and for usurping the role of the Levitical priests as providers of instruction and judgments. Malachi’s own allegiances become clear in his explicit support of the role of the Levitical priests within the society. From an ethical perspective, the book’s pointed exploration of the connection between worship and ethical/moral practices is of lasting value. Of primary importance to Malachi is the preservation of the covenant relationship between God and Israel, especially the obligation on the part of Israel to follow the stipulations, whether in regard to married family life (indictment against mixed marriages and divorces in 2:10-16) or support of cultic life (insistence on full payment of tithes in 3:6-12).
See also Covenant; Old Testament Ethics
Bibliography
Brown, W. Obadiah through Malachi. WestBC. Westminster John Knox, 1996; Floyd, M. Minor Prophets, Part 2. FOTL 22. Eerdmans, 2000; Nogalski, J., and M. Sweeney, eds. Reading and Hearing the Book of the Twelve. SBLSymS 15. Society of Biblical Literature, 2000; Petersen, D. Zechariah 9—14 and Malachi. OTL. Westminster John Knox, 1995.
D. N. Premnath
Malice is the desire or intent to inflict pain, injury, or distress on another person, particularly without legal or ethical justification or excuse. In English translations of the NT, the Greek word kakia often is translated as “malice,” “wickedness,” or “evil,” and it regularly appears in Pauline lists of virtues and vices (Rom. 1:29; Eph. 4:31; Col. 3:8). Malice here serves as an all-inclusive vice, like anger, describing an attitude or inclination that can lead to further sinful thought and behavior. Within the NT, the presence of malice indicates a disordered relationship with God (Acts 8:22) and is placed in juxtaposition to the new life in Christ (Col. 3:8; Titus 3:3; 1 Pet. 2:1), which is marked by grace and goodwill. The worldly ubiquity of malice is acknowledged, but its insidiousness is presented as a particular danger to the relationships that are central to Christian community. It is a contaminating presence that cannot be ignored (1 Cor. 5:8). In the OT, malice or evil often is seen as resident in the human condition, a result of human free will (Gen. 6:5), and a constant presence among the community’s oppressors (Ps. 73:8), which is redeemed within the community by the wisdom of God (Prov. 9:10).
Within the discipline of moral theology, considerations of malice attend to the place of intention in determining the relative morality in particular human action, as in debates concerning violence inherent in just-war theory and euthanasia.
Various moral theories allow the possibility that killing in wartime or killing to relieve mortal suffering does not necessarily require an act of malice. The classical foundation is provided by Augustine’s political philosophy, which held that some types of violence, such as coercion by the state, are not malicious but are justifiable if they emanate from a rightly ordered will—that is, one ordered toward the will of God. Thomas Aquinas too regarded malice as a defect of the will that can move one to choose evil despite knowledge of the good. Malice renders control of the passions ineffective, yet the one who acts with malice retains culpability. Protestant thinkers likewise have focused on what Martin Luther called the “bondage of the will,” which is transformed only by God’s agape and faith in Christ. Contemporary virtue ethics, as compared to utilitarianism or deontological theories, continues to focus on the connection of virtue and vice with the will and moral agency, although not exclusively. Rather than locating the morality of a particular action through examination of obligation, duty, or consequence, it is determined by issues of character, such as maliciousness or benevolence.
See also Evil; Intention; Vice; Vices and Virtues, Lists of
Bibliography
Crisp, R., and M. Slote, eds. Virtue Ethics. Oxford University Press, 1997; Ogletree, T. “Agents and Moral Formation.” Pages 36—44 in The Blackwell Companion to Religious Ethics. Blackwell, 2005; Stump, E., and N. Kretzmann, eds. The Cambridge Companion to Augustine. Cambridge University Press, 2001; Sweeney, E. “Vice and Sin (Ia IIae, qq. 71—89).” Pages 151—68 in The Ethics of Aquinas, ed. S. Pope. Georgetown University Press, 2002.
Gary B. MacDonald
The word manipulation signifies a means of control by which persons are intentionally influenced in secretive and often sinister ways to serve the purposes and advantages of others. As a form of power, manipulation aims to control and direct the actions and decisions of others who often are unaware of being manipulated. As a more subtle form of power, manipulation can be used by individuals who possess no identifiable legitimate power or control. For example, in asymmetrical relationships, such as between children and adults, and subordinates and superiors, manipulation can be a means to obtain desired results for those lacking more formal means of achieving their ends.
In situations of oppression, manipulation may be one of the few means available to avert further harm and to simply survive. In general, however, manipulation is a morally dubious use of power because of its subtlety in concealing motives, its use of other persons as objects and means to other ends, and its proclivity to capitalize on the vulnerabilities of others.
Manipulation uses morally suspicious strategies to influence persons by concealing the motives and ends of the manipulator. The means of manipulation can be cognitive or emotional (Wartenberg 111), involving tactics such as omitting or skewing information, lying and deception, fomenting fear and hatred, and promising reward or threatening punishment. These tactics are designed to diminish the awareness and consciousness of those being manipulated. This also makes manipulation an ethical concern because people are viewed as objects and means to the ends of other persons and purposes. Manipulation violates basic principles such as respecting the dignity, freedom, and agency of others. In Kantian ethics, treating persons as means rather than ends themselves is a violation of human freedom and will, autonomy and rationality. While Christian ethicists may share these concerns, a moral evaluation of manipulation is also informed by virtues such as honesty, justice, fairness, truth-telling, communal obligations, and responsibility for others, especially for the “least of these,” the powerless and the marginalized. Moral assessment is particularly called for in Christian ethics because manipulation often capitalizes on the vulnerabilities of others.
Manipulation can also be exercised through things such as education, advertising, political campaigning, fund-raising, and even religion,
where the tactics may be the same, such as omitting
and skewing information, lying and deception, and capitalizing on fears. Indoctrination may be a form of manipulation in education. Political advertising can manipulate the fears and sentiments of voters by distorting opponents’ records and policies. Fund-raising can manipulate people into giving money for the hope of reward and promises of future gain. Religion can be a tool of manipulation to shape persons’ perceptions of God and to direct their actions in particular directions.
Reflections on Scripture can help readers make moral assessments about manipulation, its exercise, purposes, and effects. One of the best known examples is David’s manipulation of Uriah, recorded in 2 Sam. 11. David, after his brazen use of power to sexually exploit Bathsheba, now needs to manipulate Uriah in ways that will serve his purposes, because Bathsheba is pregnant with David’s child. In his desire to convince Uriah that the child is his own, David begins to draw the unaware Uriah into his plan (11:6-8). David rewards Uriah by allowing him to return home,
hoping that Uriah will then have reason to think that he is the father of the child Bathsheba is carrying. David also sends a gift to Uriah. The narrative provides a delightful irony and subversion to David’s manipulative power. Although Uriah may appear to be vulnerable to manipulation, he does not go home but instead stays on duty with the ark and his fellow soldiers (11:9-11). Uriah does not do what David influenced him to do. David again attempts to manipulate Uriah to return to Bathsheba, but again Uriah does not return home (11:12-13). The narrative ends with the ramping up of power after manipulation’s failure. Since manipulation failed to achieve David’s desired end, he resorts to the overt and abusive use of his political power for his own gain (11:14-27).
See also Authority and Power; Deontological Theories of Ethics; Ends and Means; Honesty
Bibliography
Bowman, R. “The Complexity of Character and the Ethics of Complexity.” Pages 73-97 in Character and Scripture: Moral Formation, Community and Biblical Interpretation, ed. W Brown. Eerdmans, 2002; Cave, E. “What’s Wrong with Motive Manipulation?” ETMP 10 (2007): 129-44; Haring, B. Manipulation: Ethical Boundaries of Medical, Behavioral, and Genetic Manipulation. St. Paul Publications, 1975; Wartenberg, T. The Forms of Power: From Domination to Transformation. Temple University Press, 1990, 110-12.
Wyndy Corbin Reuschling
The author of the Gospel of Mark is anonymous, although early tradition held that Mark wrote Peter’s memoirs. The name Mark appears in a later title rather than the text. This is the earliest Gospel, and its sources are unknown. Interpreters have used methods such as the following for deriving ethics from Mark.
Extracting norms for judging people and events. In Sabbath controversies, human welfare takes precedence over Sabbath restrictions; stated positively, it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath (3:4). Sabbath legality no longer proscribes activity but prescribes redemptive activity. The commandment is still valid, but it alone is not decisive. Similarly, the rich man’s use of possessions in 10:17-23 qualifies keeping commandments.
Determining bases for evaluating motivation, purposes, and objectives. As an act of faith, a
bleeding woman violates social norms and touches Jesus to be made well (5:25-34). Out of compassion, Jesus feeds the hungry (6:34-44; 8:1-9). Jesus teaches forgiveness as a basis for relationships with others and with God (11:25).
Cultivating virtues. In the Aristotelian tradition, some interpreters look for virtues to practice to build character. Does perseverance in suffering strengthen faith and facilitate moral development (e.g., 4:19)? Is sacrifice to the point of death vicarious for others (8:34-35)?
Discovering Jesus’ ethical teachings. After a discussion with some stereotyped Pharisees, Jesus teaches that a man who sends his wife away and marries another commits adultery (10:11). But more than teach about life, Jesus restores life (3:1-5). Further, rather than repeat Jesus’ teachings, recipients and witnesses of Jesus’ healings bear testimony to Jesus’ activity as God’s doing.
Finding critiques of people, systems, and structures that perpetuate injustice, and envisioning justice. Jesus’ programmatic proclamation of the advent of God’s kingdom (1:15) means, on the one hand, a critique of other kingdoms. On the other hand, if God rules, then ethical correlates are predicated of humans who live under God’s rule. Restorations of the “unclean” to normal society (like the Gerasene demoniac [5:2-15]) implicitly critique social marginalization. Conversely, restorations of marginalized people to the social order dramatize God’s rule. Mark evaluates negatively the execution of John the Baptist under Herod Antipas and Herodias, who are collaborators with the Roman Empire, and who see their elite status as exempting them from social propriety and as empowering them to execute John over a grudge (6:17-29). Following Jesus is an alternative to rulers of imperial systems (10:42-45). The high priestly party consists of ruling elites (who inevitably collaborate with the empire) against whom Jesus makes a claim on the temple (11:15-18; 12:112). Similarly, J esus critiques scribal abuse of legal systems (12:38-40) and anticipates that following him will cause retribution from imperial col-laborators—councils, synagogues, governors, and kings (13:9-20). This materializes immediately in his crucifixion implicating the governor, scribal systems, and the high priestly party (14:1-15:31).
Locating ethics in God’s will for humanity and the world. The parable of the sower in 4:3-20 presents living under God’s rule as analogous to seed in good earth that stands over against seed in unproductive soil—that is, over against evil. Similarly, living under God’s rule is like the earth producing a harvest from growing seed (4:28-29).
Living in response to God. Mark points beyond its own story for living. First, Mark elicits a relationship with God that transcends its own narrative. When Jesus and a scribe agree that the greatest commandment is to love God and neighbor (12:28-34), Mark evokes a relationship with God that is inseparable from a relationship with other people. Mark also anticipates readers who will encounter God in reading the narrative. Living in response to God is not arbitrary, as it is subject to communal confirmation and has to do with the God characterized in Mark and the biblical tradition on which it draws. Because relationships with God are the source, motivation, and empowerment for praxis, ethics means giving up knowing in advance what one is to do. Praxis deriving from God also goes beyond Mark’s story because it is impossible to know what love looks like until one confronts concrete situations. An instance is Jesus’ “Abba” prayer that he may derive his behavior from the God to whom he is related as a son to a father (14:35-36). Some interpreters take this prayer as an example for imitation, but if so, it is noticeably ineffective for the disciples who fall asleep while Jesus is at prayer.
The Gospel of Mark points beyond itself because it anticipates following Jesus into the future beyond the end of the story. On the one hand, Mark is full of failure. The disciples regularly miss the mark; a widow casts all her livelihood into the temple treasury (12:41-44), but the very next verses inform readers about the temple’s destruction (13:1-2); a woman anoints Jesus royally but for his burial (14:3-9); when Jesus is arrested, his gathering of followers disintegrates when they run away (14:27, 50). On the other hand, over against this failure and collapse, God remains Lord in a world that can turn into chaos. Further, Mark points to disciples following the risen Jesus beyond the end of the story (16:7).
Interpreters tend to characterize God by values. For instance, God is a God of justice. True enough, but the God of Mark’s Gospel is primarily a God who acts and whose power gives life. This power of God at work beyond the end of Mark is the good earth out of which the seed bears fruit.
See also Imitation of Jesus; Kingdom of God; New Testament Ethics; Parables, Use of in Ethics
Bibliography
Burridge, R. Imitating Jesus: An Inclusive Approach to New Testament Ethics. Eerdmans, 2007; Fowl, S., and L. Jones. Reading in Communion: Scripture and Ethics in Christian Life. Eerdmans, 1991; Hays, R. The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, and New Creation; A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament
Ethics. HarperSanFrancisco, 1996; Matera, F. New Testament Ethics: The Legacies of Jesus and Paul. Westminster John Knox, 1996; Via, D. The Ethics of Mark’s Gospel—in the Middle of Time. Fortress, 1985.
Robert L. Brawley
Twentieth-century Christian ethics was preoccupied with the question of markets, especially the question of whether Christianity supports a socialist, capitalist, or mixed economy. Socialism assumed that markets should be planned and controlled, primarily by some state mechanism. Capitalism assumed that markets work best when freed from any interference—governmental, eccle-sial, or moral. The “efficient markets theory” assumed that markets, if left to themselves, readjust to form the most efficient distribution of goods. Theologians debated whether they should throw themselves behind socialism, as many liberation theologians affirmed, or behind capitalism, as most neoliberal (or neoconservatives) affirmed. Many progressive liberals affirmed some kind of mixed economy such as “democratic capitalism” or “Keynesian” models of governmental influence. Once the Berlin Wall collapsed in 1989, the debate changed. Some suggested that we were now at the “end of history,” and that, like it or not, everyone, even the pope, was now a capitalist. Both major political parties in the United States implemented strategies for the deregulation of the market based on the “efficient market thesis.” This was a heady time of optimism, where some economists argued that, left to itself, the Dow Jones would rise to 30,000. Then came the recession of 2008, which shook the confidence of even the most ardent defender of the “efficient market” dogma.
Twenty-first-century theologians and economists seem less assured of any specific market proposal. Movements for neoconservatism or state-sponsored socialism are both in disarray. Progressive liberalism appears to be on the ascendancy, although no one knows the proper proportion of government interference and free-market exchange. We find ourselves in unstable times. It is not the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last.
The uncertainty of “markets” should not produce fear or undue anxiety among Christians. Although the negative consequences of such instability for the poor requires an attentiveness to their plight consistent with the traditional understanding that the patrimony of the church exists primarily for them, nonetheless the fact that markets cannot, and will never, provide security reminds us of what truly matters, which we see in the Gospel of Luke. It begins with Mary proclaiming that God has “filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:53). Those who trust in riches, who think that they secure life, are depicted as foolish. Jesus reaffirms this when he refuses to use his power to turn stones into bread, citing Moses’ words, “One does not live by bread alone” (Luke 4:4). We then find three stories about the security of wealth. First is the rich ruler (Luke 18:18-25). He is saddened and cannot abide by Jesus’ command to sell all that he has and give the proceeds to the poor. Jesus’ denunciation of the rich causes anxiety even for his disciples. Who could obey this command? Jesus’ response to the disciples gives hope: “There is no one who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not get back very much more in this age, and in the age to come eternal life” (Luke 18:29-30).
Does Jesus seek poverty? Does he say no to life? These passages in Luke gain intelligibility after the pentecostal miracle of Acts 2:43-47; 4:32-37. The true pentecostal miracle is a “common” life where teaching and possessions are held in common (koinonia). Here we see the beginning of the fulfillment of Jesus’ promise to the disciples in Luke 18:29-30. This is the “market” to which Christians are called.
What Christian advocates for socialism, capitalism, or mixed economies assume in common is that it is the vocation of Christians to determine which market should rule. It assumed “the Christian century,” where the task of the church was to rule. In a post-Christian context that assumption, for better or worse, no longer works. Perhaps the Christian response to markets has less to do with which one they advocate for or against and more with how they make the church, and then by witness and analogy all of God’s creation, embody the pentecostal miracle.
See also Capitalism; Ecclesiology and Ethics; Economic Ethics; Koinonia; Poverty and Poor; Wealth
D. Stephen Long
Marriage is the joining of two lives in a “one flesh” union to be characterized by fidelity. A “one flesh” union is both a mutual and exclusive sexual union and a sharing of the whole of life. Divorce is the sundering of that “one flesh” union.
Attending to Scripture
According to Mark, some Pharisees asked Jesus whether it is lawful for a man to divorce his wife (Mark 10:2). Moses, after all, had allowed it (Deut.
24:1-4), and every rabbi worth his salt had some interpretation of this law. But Jesus swept the law aside and reminded them of the story of creation. The law, he told them, was given “because of your hardness of heart” (Mark 10:5). The story, he said, is that “God made them male and female” (Mark 10:6 [cf. Gen. 1:27]), and “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh” (Mark 10:7-8 [cf. Gen. 2:24]).
Already at the beginning of the story there is marriage. God made of the one, two, so that the two might be one. “It is not good that the man should be alone” (Gen. 2:18). Marriage is a good gift of God. It is a story of an embodied relationship, a “one flesh” union of male and female, marked by mutuality, equality, and fidelity. It included from the beginning delight in the flesh, companionship, and the blessing of children. The two were at home in their flesh, “naked and . . . not ashamed” (Gen. 2:25); at home with each other, vulnerable and not anxious; and at home with God, the giver of life and love and joy. And from the beginning commitment was the way to love into the future, the way to give a future to their present love, binding not only Adam to Eve and Eve to Adam, but also binding present and future together. Their love would have a history. Their relationship would endure, either as fidelity or as betrayal. The story forms people to be ready to keep their promises, forms them to resist infidelity and divorce—so Jesus remembered the story, in any case.
Creation, however, is only the beginning of the story. Marriage continued, but it did so under the shadow of human sin and the curse that came in its wake. The vulnerability of nakedness, once an occasion for delight and mutuality, became an occasion for shame (Gen. 3:7). The equality and communion of marriage fell under the curse of patriarchy, and to the promise and blessing of children was joined the pain of the curse (Gen. 3:16).
Human sin might have smashed the cosmos back to chaos—and marriage along with it—but the grace of God would not let sin have the last word. Far as the curse is found, so far the grace of God would reach to restore and to bless, including marriage. The first sign of hope is this: “Now the man knew his wife Eve, and she conceived and bore Cain, saying, ‘I have produced a man with the help of the Lord’ ” (Gen. 4:1). Later, the grace of God made its power felt in Sarah’s “laughter” (her “Isaac” [see Gen. 17:19; 21:6]); in Joseph’s fidelity against the temptations of Potiphar’s wife; in the tender affection of Boaz and Ruth and in their fecundity; in the forgiveness and faithfulness of Hosea to Gomer; in the mutual passion of the two lovers in Song of Songs.
These signs of God’s grace, however, came in the midst of a fallen world, a world of patriarchy and polygamy, pain and barrenness, infidelity and jealousy. Polygamy was practiced by some in ancient Israel, notably by the patriarchs and by the kings, but by how many is uncertain. Patriarchy deeply shaped practices of marriage, rendering women passive and reducing them to property Men “married,” but women were “given in marriage.” The strict prohibition of adultery (Exod. 20:14), which is defined as a man having sexual intercourse with a married or engaged woman (Lev. 20:10), did not eliminate infidelity. In such a world Moses made a concession to divorce and to remarriage following divorce (Deut. 24:1-4). It too was an exclusively male prerogative.
Marriage (and divorce) came to be used as an analogy for the covenanted relationship of God and the people of God (e.g., Jer. 3:1-5; Ezek. 16; 23; Hos. 1-3; Mal. 2:13-16 [see Sampley]). These several texts suggest that the relationship of marriage was to be monogamous. Israel was to have no other gods, and God had chosen Israel as God’s own. The relationship was to be marked by delight and desire, by mutual love (in Hos. 2:16 it is noteworthy that the wife calls her husband her “man,” not her “master”). And it is to be marked by fidelity. Unfaithfulness was accepted as grounds for divorce, but “I hate divorce, says the Lord” (Mal. 2:16).
And so, evidently, did Jesus. That is where we began this account. When asked whether it is lawful for a man to divorce his wife, Jesus remembered the story of creation and drew this startling conclusion: “Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate” (Mark 10:9). Divorce is not what God intended. It is a mark of our fallenness, an effect of the curse. When God’s own sovereignty is at hand, when God’s good future is making its power felt, the concession that Moses offered is no longer the finally decisive thing. Instead, “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery” (Mark 10:11). This remark is noteworthy for at least three reasons. First, women are regarded as agents in marriage and divorce no less than men. In the law and in patriarchy only men were regarded as agents, and in Deut. 24:1-4 only men could divorce their wives. This equal standing of men and women is a new thing, not found in the law, but found in the good future that Jesus announced and made present. Second, a man can commit adultery against his wife. In the law adultery was an offense against a man’s property, a matter of taking another man’s property. Technically, a man could not commit adultery against his wife but only against other men. But in Jesus’ word a stunning new world of sex and marriage is created, a world where the wife is not simply property but rather is a partner, a partner who has the same rights over her husband that her husband has over her (cf. 1 Cor. 7:3-5). This too is a new thing. Third, of course, this remark calls those who would follow Jesus to renounce divorce. God’s good future does not make its power felt in divorce.
The point of Jesus’ word to the disciples was not to provide a new Torah, not to establish a new and extremely rigorous statute. The point was to announce the good future of God and the ways it already makes its power felt not only in singleness and celibacy but also in sexual relationships of equality and mutuality, where husband and wife are “one flesh,” joined to each other in an embodied and enduring relationship. The power of God makes itself felt when husband and wife are “one flesh” and in their glad faithfulness when their marriage endures. The power of sin makes itself felt in divorce and in the patriarchal hegemony of husband over wife. God’s purpose from the beginning is revisited and restored. Marriage is still the embodied love of a man and a woman that expresses and sustains both intimacy and continuity, that signals a covenant undertaken in vows and carried out in fidelity.
If those who would follow Jesus are to renounce divorce, then Christians may ask, and must ask, whether they may ever choose divorce. To begin to answer that question, we should note that we face the problem of diversity here. Matthew, Luke, and Paul handle the question of divorce somewhat differently.
Matthew, for example, tells the story that Mark told somewhat differently (Matt. 19:1-12). According to Matthew, the Pharisees ask whether it is lawful for a man to divorce his wife “for any cause” (Matt. 19:3); they ask, in effect, for Jesus to comment on the legal dispute about the interpretation of Deut. 24:1-3. Then Matthew artfully changes the order of Jesus’ reply found in Mark. Jesus first takes up the Genesis texts and gives the Markan conclusion, “Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate” (Matt. 19:6). Then the Pharisees cite Deut. 24:1, and Jesus responds, as in Mark, by saying that it is a concession to the hardness of their hearts, but he does not for that reason brush aside either the law or the necessity of interpretation. Instead, he interprets the law in the light of God’s intentions. The law holds (see Matt. 5:17-20; 23:23), and Jesus is its best interpreter (see Matt. 9:9-13; 12:1-8). He gives a legal (halakic) interpretation for his community, an interpretation similar to the interpretation by Rabbi Shammai (m. Git 10.10): “Whoever divorces his wife, except for unchastity, and marries another commits adultery” (Matt. 19:9 [cf. Matt. 5:32]). Because this is an interpretation of the Torah, it does not, as in Mark’s version, make women agents in marriage and divorce, and it omits the stunning point that a man could commit adultery against his wife.
This passage is indeed a legal ruling. Should we, then, revise our renunciation of divorce in order to make allowance for men to divorce their wives “for unchastity” (for porneia, the precise meaning of which is disputed)? But what of Paul’s words in 1 Cor. 7:10-16? Paul too cites the “command” of the Lord “that the wife should not separate from her husband . . . and that the husband should not divorce his wife” (1 Cor. 7:10-11), but he does not use that command as the basis for a legal ruling. Instead, faced with the concrete problem of whether marriage to an unbeliever can be dissolved, he exercises discernment. He offers the church his own advice (“I say—I and not the Lord” [1 Cor. 7:12]). On the basis of “one flesh” the couple is “holy” if one of the partners is (1 Cor. 7:14); therefore, the Christian wife or husband should not divorce an unbelieving spouse (1 Cor. 7:12-13). But if the unbelieving partner initiates divorce, then Paul’s advice is to “let it be so,” for “it is to peace that God has called you” (1 Cor. 7:15).
One other new thing may be traced to Jesus. In the good future of God, Jesus said, “they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven” (Mark 12:25 pars. [cf. Matt. 19:10-12]). That was something new, and suddenly singleness and celibacy were an option, an option signaled by Jesus’ own singleness. Marriage was no longer a duty of Torah or a necessary condition for human fulfillment and divine approval.
So too Paul honored celibacy as a “gift” (charisma) of God (1 Cor. 7:7). It was not, however, as some Corinthian enthusiasts evidently understood it, a new requirement of truly Christian devotion. It was not a necessary condition for spiritual fulfillment and divine approval. Marriage was, in the light of God’s good future, no longer a duty, but it remained a legitimate option on the way to that future. Although marriage may belong to the order of things that will pass out of existence (1 Cor.
7:31), in the present context of temptations to immorality, marriage may be the prudent option (1 Cor. 7:2). Moreover, Paul honored marriage too as a “gift” (1 Cor. 7:7) and as a place where the new order of things can make its power felt. The new identity and community owned in baptism prompted a retrieval of marital relationships of mutuality and equality, a renewal of creation. The full mutuality and equality of the marriage partnership in 1 Cor. 7, including the sexual aspects of that partnership (7:3-5), is stunning. It was hardly surprising, of course, that in the first century Paul should say, “The wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does” (1 Cor. 7:4). Patriarchies past and present have always welcomed and treasured that line. But that Paul should continue then in the first century to say, “Likewise the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does” (1 Cor. 7:4), was stunning, and it shattered patriarchal traditions. The mutuality of authority, of ruling and submitting, within the partnership of marriage is itself a token of God’s good future, a sign that the curse is being lifted, an indication of a future in which there is “no longer male and female.”
Within marriage, moreover, sexual intercourse was not merely tolerated but rather was encouraged. Paul had accepted the Corinthian slogan, “It is well for a man not to touch a woman” (1 Cor. 7:1); celibacy is good. But marriage is also good, and within marriage “not to touch” your spouse is definitely not good. The sort of “spiritual marriage” that some Corinthians were attempting, and sometimes imposing on a partner, was not good. “Do not deprive one another,” Paul says, “except perhaps by agreement for a set time, to devote yourselves to prayer” (1 Cor. 7:5). Sex is good, even in this chapter of Paul’s letter where celibacy is called “better,” and good sex gestures “one flesh,” the unity and the mutuality and the equality of partners committed to each other and to God. Neither Christian identity nor Christian marriage requires asceticism.
Indeed, the Pastoral Epistles explicitly reject asceticism. Some of those whom the author opposed evidently had forbidden marriage (1 Tim. 4:3). These epistles condemn such teaching and the dualism behind it, for “everything created by God is good” (1 Tim. 4:4). In opposition to these heretics the author seems even to retreat from the Pauline recognition of celibacy as a gift and an option, for he evidently makes marriage a requirement for ecclesiastical office (“husband of one wife” [1 Tim. 3:2, 12; Titus 1:6 RSV]). It is possible, however, that “married only once” was directed not against the celibate but rather against those who engaged in the degenerate Hellenistic practice of successive brief marriages.
Ephesians retrieves the analogy of marriage and the covenanted relationship of God and God’s people, rendering an analogy between marriage and the relationship of Christ and Christ’s church (Eph. 5:25-33). This “one flesh” union is “a great mystery,” and the author applies it to Christ and the church (Eph. 5:31-32).
The Tradition and Scripture “Let marriage be held in honor by all” (Heb. 13:4). The early church always held marriage in honor. To be sure, there grew up in the early church a preference for celibacy, and marriage was regarded as being somewhat less holy in comparison to it. Certainly, the curse of patriarchy was not easily overcome. And some theologians, among them Augustine, were suspicious of delight in the sexual union of marriage, as though intercourse could be employed but not enjoyed. Nevertheless, the church honored marriage both in its theological reflection and practice, resisting various forms of dualism that would have insisted on celibacy.
Theological reflection on marriage ranges widely, from “sacrament” in the Catholic tradition to a “social estate” in Lutheran reflection, from a “covenant” binding spouses to each other and to God in the Calvinist tradition to “a little commonwealth” for the common good of the partners and the glory of God in some Anglican reflections. Accounts of marriage as a sacrament reach back to Ephesians and its identification of the “one flesh” union of marriage as “a great mystery” (mysterion), and yet further back to Hosea’s use of marriage as a prophetic symbol of God’s covenant with Israel. Others have been adamantly opposed to such an account of marriage as a sacrament. John Calvin, for example, called the transformation of marriage into a sacrament “a den of abominations” (Institutes 4.19.37). A good deal depends, of course, on how “sacrament” is defined. Some who use the language mean to insist only that Christian marriage is not to be reduced to something natural and secular but rather participates in the new order of God’s new covenant. Calvin’s polemic was aimed especially at what he regarded as the assertion of an excessive ecclesiastical jurisdiction over marriage. However, he hardly surrendered marriage to an arena of privacy inaccessible to the discipline of the Christian community.
The discipline of the church with respect to divorce has also ranged widely. The Orthodox Church typically has followed Basil’s recommendation of “pastoral prudence” (oikonomia), permitting divorce in some circumstances. The same “pastoral prudence” is on display in the liturgy for remarriage after divorce in the Orthodox Church, which recognizes that such relationships are marked by our fallenness even while it blesses and consecrates the marriage. Protestants too typically have permitted divorce and remarriage, but on a spectrum that moves from a legalistic use of the concessions by Matthew and Paul to a surrender of discipline to the private decision of the parties. Roman Catholics have insisted on the indissolubility of Christian marriage but have allowed annulment of an unconsummated marriage, divorce of a recently baptized Christian from a nonbaptized spouse who is unwilling to continue the relationship with the Christian (the “Pauline privilege”), and other divorces as long as they are not of two Christians (the “Petrine privilege”).
Contemporary Applications Mark, Matthew, and Paul remembered Jesus’ word about marriage and divorce, and each of them remembered it faithfully and creatively. They received and modified the tradition so that Jesus and his word could be remembered and performed in their own communities. None of them individually nor all of them combined into some elusive harmony should be read as a timeless code to settle directly and immediately contemporary questions about particular choices concerning marriage and divorce. But all of them are a part of the whole Scripture that the churches read and struggle to perform even as they face new challenges. Those challenges are many.
The “sexual revolution” now seems more commonplace than revolutionary, but still we struggle to find a way between promiscuous license and dour asceticism, between liberalism and legalism, a way to honor both sexuality and marriage with both sobriety and delight. Expectations of marriage as a gateway to human fulfillment may be extravagant and idolatrous, and when dashed, they may be one reason for the prevalence of divorce. Perhaps Protestants should retrieve an appreciation of the “gift” of celibacy. The phenomenon of “serial marriages” retrieves the degenerate Hellenistic practice of successive brief marriages and should be challenged by the discipline of the church. And, of course, there is the question of “gay marriage.” Perhaps the Orthodox ritual for the remarriage of divorced persons can provide a model here as well as a reminder that even in a world of fallen sexuality, fidelity and mutuality can be a mark of God’s good future. We need not regard divorce as good or homosexual acts as good in order to acknowledge fidelity and mutuality between divorced and homosexual persons as good. If we allow divorce in a world such as this for the sake of protecting marriage and marriage partners, and remarriage after divorce, then perhaps we should also consider blessing homosexual unions for the sake of nurturing fidelity and mutuality and protecting the homosexual partners.
The greatest challenge, however, may be to recover a practice of mutual admonition within the churches concerning marriage and divorce. Members of Christian churches too frequently regard these matters simply as private matters, as “no one else’s business.” Personal responsibility is not to be disowned, but it is to be exercised in Christian community, attentive to the voices of the community attentive to Scripture.
Scripture is not a timeless code for marriage and divorce, but in Christian community it is somehow the rule of our individual lives and of our common life. We set the stories of our lives, including the stories of our singleness and of our marriages, alongside the story of Scripture to be judged, challenged, formed, re-formed, and sanctified. Fidelity to this text and to its story does not require (or permit) us to read Mark (or any other particular text) like a timeless moral code. We do not live in Mark’s community (or in Matthew’s or Paul’s), but we do live in memory of Jesus, and we test our lives and our readings for fidelity. Fidelity requires creativity. And creativity licenses the formation of rules and judgments concerning divorce that need not be identical to Matthew’s concession or Paul’s, but that respect both the vows of marriage and the partners of a marriage, safeguard both the delight and the vulnerability of sexuality, protect vulnerable partners, and honor God’s creative and redemptive intentions.
So, for example, in a world such as this—still, sadly, not yet God’s good future—although divorce is never to be celebrated as a good in itself or as a way God’s good future makes its power felt, a Christian community may acknowledge that divorce sometimes may be necessary to protect either marriage itself or one of the marriage partners. For example, it might (and perhaps should, given God’s promise to protect the weak and defend the humiliated) permit divorce in cases of abuse. Or, taking a cue from the just-war tradition, the Christian community might insist that divorce be “a last resort.” Fidelity to Scripture and to its story surely does require a disposition not to divorce, even when the law (or a self-interested and patriarchal reading of the law) would permit it. It chastens any effort to read the text of Deuteronomy or the texts of Matthew and Paul as if they provide easily accessible justifications for divorce.
Divorce should not be the last word, not even of this article. Let the last word rather be a celebration of marriage as God’s gift, a celebration of a covenant that is a fit analogy for God’s faithful love, a celebration at a wedding at Cana of Galilee long ago (John 2:1-11). “Let marriage be held in honor by all” (Heb. 13:4).
See also Adultery; Asceticism; Celibacy; Homosexuality; Polygamy; Sex and Sexuality
Bibliography
Hays, R. The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, New Creation; A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethics. HarperSanFrancisco, 1996, 347-78; Sampley, J. And the Two Shall Become One Flesh: A Study of Traditions in Ephesians 5:21—33. SNTSMS 16. Cambridge University Press, 1971. Verhey, A. Remembering Jesus: Christian Community, Scripture, and the Moral Life. Eerdmans, 2002, 212-42; Witte, J., Jr. From Sacrament to Contract: Marriage, Religion, and Law in the Western Tradition. Westminster John Knox, 1997.
Allen Verhey
Martyrdom refers to being put to death for one’s belief in God. The root word of martyrdom, Greek martys, originally meant “witness,” in the sense of one who testifies before a court. Martys occurs throughout the NT, but only a handful of cases refer to a witness who dies (Acts 22:20; Rev. 1:5; 2:13; 3:14; 11:3; 17:6). The first Christian work that clearly uses “martyr” (and “martyrdom”) to refer to someone who dies for the faith is Martyrdom of Polycarp, around 150 CE. Thus, the concept of dying for God or faith predates the development of the more specific terminology of martyrdom.
The biblical message about martyrdom is not univocal. Although the OT does not overtly encourage martyrdom, it presents those who die for their faithfulness, from Abel to Zechariah, in a sympathetic manner. The Second Temple texts 1-2 Maccabees recount the deaths of Jewish believers under Antiochus Epiphanes with a reverence that inspires imitation (see especially 2 Macc. 6-7). In the NT, martyrdom is presented in a variety of ways. First, Jesus’ sacrificial death on the cross serves as the prototype and impetus for later suffering and death on account of one’s faith. Jesus’ teaching about martyrdom is more practical than theological; he foresees martyrdom as a probability for his closest disciples (Matt. 24:9-13; Mark 13:9-13; Luke 21:12-19) and a possibility for his other followers (Matt. 16:24-28; Mark 8:34-38).
Several NT writers depict martyrdom positively, exalting the deaths of faithful forerunners (including Jesus) to encourage perseverance under persecution (1 Thess. 2:14-16; cf. Heb. 11; Jas. 1:2-4; 1 Pet. 2:19-25; Rev. 1:5; 6:9-11; 11:1-13; 20:4). Paul also reflects a more cautious view of martyrdom in his Letter to the Philippians when he contemplates dying but decides that remaining alive would benefit them more greatly (Phil. 1:21-26).
Since the earliest years of the church, Christians under persecution have struggled with ethical questions such as these: Should a Christian seek martyrdom? Should martyrs receive special rewards for their sacrifices? Ignatius, a second-century bishop, believed so fervently that dying for God would help him “attain to God” that he pleaded for Roman believers not to impede his death so he might become a true disciple through martyrdom (Ign. Rom. 2). Although the Bible does not explicitly encourage the pursuit of martyrdom or promise greater rewards to those who die for their faith, the descriptions of martyrs as blessed (cf. Matt. 5:10-11) and reigning with Christ (Rev. 20:4) have fueled questionable ethical practices throughout church history, such as the cultic veneration of martyrs and the zealous pursuit of martyrdom. However, interpreting the biblical message about martyrdom as situational encouragement for believers under persecution rather than as universal example or promise of reward will allow the church to faithfully maneuver through the ethical dilemmas raised throughout the history of Christian martyrdom.
See also Ars Moriendi Tradition, Use of Scripture in; Cruciformity; Faith; Suffering
Bibliography
Castelli, E. Martyrdom and Memory: Early Christian Culture Making. Columbia University Press, 2004; Droge, A., and J. Tabor. A Noble Death: Suicide and Martyrdom among Christians and Jews in Antiquity. HarperSanFran-cisco, 1992; Frend, W. H. C. Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church: A Study of a Conflict from the Maccabees to Donatus. Blackwell, 1965.
Jennifer Garcia Bashaw Masturbation See Sexual Ethics
The word materialism admits a variety of meanings. In philosophical terms, materialism can refer to the belief that matter is all that exists. In Marxist analyses of history the phrase “historical materialism” has a particular nuance, identifying the ultimate cause and driving force of human events to be economic in nature. In ethical discourse, however, materialism refers to the notion that the accumulation (and perhaps the display) of material resources is an ideal pursuit. To say that an individual or a culture is materialistic is to say that either is unduly consumed with the quest for material goods.
The Scriptural Witness
In general, the biblical tradition is thoroughly positive in its assessment of material existence, for the writers of Scripture frequently emphasize the goodness of the material world. In the creation narrative that opens the book of Genesis, for example, God’s delight in the material world is accentuated by the oft-repeated phrase “it was good” (ki-tob) as a summary for God’s own reaction to the work of creation (Gen. 1:4, 10, 12, 18, 21, 25; cf. in Gen. 1:31 the emphatic wehinneh-tob [“it was very good”]). God’s call of Abram in Gen. 12 includes an implied promise of land (Gen. 12:1-3), and the struggle to claim this blessing becomes a central motif in the unfolding story of Israel (cf. Gen. 17:1-8; 26:2-5; 35:9-12; Deut. 1:8; Josh. 23:1-16). The promised land is frequently identified as a “land flowing with milk and honey,” a phrase that emphasizes the fruitful life that the people of God will enjoy through God’s blessing (e.g., Exod. 3:8; Lev. 20:24; Num. 13:27; Deut. 6:3). Yet the affirmative perspective on material existence in the OT is by no means limited to the creation accounts and Israel’s possession of land. With an emphasis on the cosmic dimensions of material existence, on the one hand, several psalms extol the handiwork of God in nature, reflecting an appreciation of the natural world and highlighting the extent to which the earth and all that is within it display the glory of God (e.g., Pss. 8:3-9; 19:1-6; 104). On the other hand, Song of Songs offers a narrower perspective on the joy of material existence through its reflection on the pleasure of physical love between a man and a woman.
This positive estimation of the material world continues in the NT. J esus’ proclamation and embodiment of the kingdom of God—seen in exorcisms, healings, and the supply of food for the hungry, among many miraculous demonstrations of divine power—includes both physical restoration and the provision of material resources (see Matt. 12:28 // Luke 11:20). Moreover, Jesus teaches his disciples to pray for daily bread (Matt. 6:11 // Luke 11:3), and his death is commemorated by his earliest followers through the celebration of a common meal (1 Cor. 11:17-34; cf. Mark 14:22-26 pars.). Indeed, from a theological perspective, the doctrine of the incarnation itself is a radical affirmation of material existence. The Christian claim that the advent of Jesus represents “the Word become flesh” (John 1:14) stands at odds with any docetic or gnostic rejection of the physical world as inherently tainted by sin. Not surprisingly, the biblical canon as a whole is punctuated with an eschatological vision of the new heaven and the new earth (Rev. 21-22), a picture of the beauty of material existence that stands in deep continuity with the OT stress on God as creator of the world.
Yet in spite of this characteristically affirmative outlook on the goodness of the material world, the Bible consistently maintains that it is the Creator, not the creation, that is worthy of human worship and allegiance. Since the accumulation of possessions offers the temptation to trust in one’s own resources rather than in God, who is the source of all things, materialism in Scripture is often associated with idolatry. Moreover, since the biblical tradition strongly highlights the extent to which material resources are to be used to provide for the needs of others, materialism in Scripture is also frequently connected with economic injustice.
Materialism and idolatry. In both Testaments— to say nothing of noncanonical Jewish and Christian literature from the ancient world—there is often a close relationship between the accumulation of possessions and idolatry. At a basic level, both materialism and the worship of foreign gods involve focused attention on objects made of silver and gold, elements often associated with idol worship in the OT (Deut. 29:17; Pss. 115:4; 135:15; Isa. 2:7-8, 20; Jer. 10:1-5; Ezek. 7:19; Dan. 5:23; 11:8; Hos. 8:4; Philo, Spec. Laws 1.22-23). More substantively, materialism is associated with idolatry because the powerful and the wealthy are more prone to trust in themselves rather than God. Numerous biblical texts warn against the dangers of placing one’s confidence in riches as opposed to the faithful Creator. With reference to the assessment of evildoers by the righteous, Ps. 52:7 makes the point explicitly, for the righteous will declare, “See the one who would not take refuge in God, but trusted in abundant riches, and sought refuge in wealth!” (cf. Ps. 49:6; Prov. 11:28). Similarly, Prov. 18:10-11 employs the metaphor of the name of the Lord as a strong tower that stands in contrast to “the wealth of the rich [which] is their strong city.” Conversely, the poor have an advantage over the rich in that those of lesser means are more apt to trust in God (Pss. 9:18; 14:6; 22:26; 40:17; 68:10; Isa. 66:2).
This theme is continued in the NT. For example, in the parable of the rich fool, Jesus warns against the foolishness of material hoarding and the dangers of economic autonomy: the man’s plans to “relax, eat, drink, and be merry” from his abundance are thwarted when his life is taken from him (Luke 12:16-21). Jesus himself exhibits a dependence on God that leads him to a kind of itinerant homelessness (Matt. 8:20 // Luke 9:58), and he charges his disciples to engage in missional activity with minimal resources (Mark 6:7-11 // Matt. 10:1-16 // Luke 9:1-5). Greed is labeled as idolatry in two NT vice lists (Eph. 5:3-5; Col. 3:5-9). The notion that possessions threaten trust in God is stated most directly in 1 Tim. 6:17-19, a passage that challenges the wealthy to depend on God instead of the uncertainty of material abundance: “As for those who in the present age are rich, command them not to be haughty, or to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share, thus storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of the life that really is life” (cf. Matt. 6:19-21 // Luke 12:33-34). Several verses earlier, in 1 Tim. 6:10, Paul reminds Timothy that materialism produces evil and is a danger for faith: “For the love of money [philarguria] is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains” (cf. Heb. 13:5-6).
Materialism and injustice. The text of 1 Tim. 6:17-19 points toward another sense in which materialism is problematic from a biblical perspective: the desire for and the accumulation of possessions works against the ideals of communal sharing and social justice. The tenth commandment, for example, prohibits coveting as a violation against the covenant community (Exod. 20:17); this summary commandment proscribes an attitude that might lead to a breach of any or all of the other nine commandments. Material goods are not ends in themselves, but rather should be employed wisely and generously to provide assistance to the marginalized.
Many biblical writers link the pursuit of prosperity with oppression of the needy. Israel’s prophets often assert that the wealth of the ruling elite has come at the expense of the poor (e.g., Isa. 3:14-17; 10:1-2; Jer. 2:34; Amos 2:6-8; 4:1; 8:4-6; Zech. 7:9-11). Also in the NT is the accumulation of possessions coupled with economic injustice. The book of James is perhaps most direct in this accusation: “Come now, you rich people, weep and wail for the miseries that are coming to you. Your riches have rotted, and your clothes are moth-eaten. . . . You have condemned and murdered the righteous one, who does not resist you” (Jas. 5:1-2, 6 [cf. Luke 6:24]). Similarly, Rev. 17-18, with its image of Rome as a whore, offers a profound critique of the exploitative character of the Roman imperial economy. Part of what makes Rome a harlot, the author suggests, is that she dresses luxuriously (cf. Rev. 17:4 with 18:16) by using others for her own economic benefit. In the list of imported luxuries in Rev. 18:11-13 is a depiction of Rome as the ultimate consumer city, the port of destination for these opulent goods traded by merchants. That the final item on the list of imported goods is tragically described as “human beings sold as slaves” (TNIV) is to be seen as a protest against the dehumanizing nature of the imperial consumption, and it is this economy that readers are warned to “come out of” earlier in the chapter (Rev. 18:4). Those who actively resist the temptations of this harlot may find themselves like the believers in Smyrna: materially poor yet spiritually rich (Rev. 2:8-11).
The opposite of materialism, of course, is to employ possessions that God has provided for the benefit of others. Scripture is consistent in its affirmation that those with material wealth have a responsibility to share their resources with those of lesser means (e.g., Lev. 25:8-55; Deut. 14:22-29; 15:1-11). Other legal traditions in the OT highlight God’s special concern for the marginalized. The prohibition in Exod. 22:25 against lending at interest to the poor, for example, is designed to protect the interests of the vulnerable, not to maximize profit for the lender. In the NT, the members of the early church seem frequently to have pooled resources for the purpose of assisting those in need (Acts 2:44-45; 4:32-35; 6:1-7; Phil. 4:10-20; Rom. 12:6-8). Paul’s efforts to organize a financial contribution for impoverished believers in Jerusalem among the largely gentile congregations of his mission stand as an exemplary episode of mutual assistance within the nascent Christian church (1 Cor. 16:1-4; 2 Cor. 8:1-9:15; Rom. 15:25-32).
Contemporary Reflection
Studies show that many American Christians are acutely concerned about materialism (Wuthnow; Smith, Emerson, and Snell). Yet most of those same believers are also participants in a consumer-ist economic system that stands in serious tension with the witness of Scripture. Studies of charitable practices and spending behaviors among American believers inspire little confidence that the church is winning the battle against materialism: on average, American Christians give somewhere around 3 percent or less of (pretax) income to religious and charitable causes. The power of advertising, the pressure to conform to consumptive spending practices, the temptation to find happiness and security in material possessions—all these offer significant challenges to those who want to affirm, with Scripture, the goodness of the material world and yet do not desire to bow down at the altar of mammon. With the rise of laissez-faire capitalism as the dominant global economic system, these challenges have perhaps become even more daunting.
The worldwide financial crisis of 2008 unfortunately illustrates the difficult nature of the problem. The international economic meltdown was caused by any number of factors: excessively negligent governmental regulation of financial markets; mass consumer greed; unscrupulous and predatory lending practices; overspending in both the private and public sectors. Yet at least in the United States recommendations to emerge from the recession were pinned, to a significant degree, on the return of consumer spending. This was hardly an environment conducive to the questioning, let alone the avoidance, of materialism.
The church is called to embody a faith that denies the world’s claim that the accrual of material possessions is an ideal pursuit. Christian ethics must maintain a balance between an affirmation of the goodness of the material world and a willingness to critique the idolatrous and greedy accumulation of material goods.
See also Capitalism; Consumerism; Economic Ethics; Greed; Idolatry; Wealth
Bibliography
Hudnut-Beumler, J. In Pursuit of the Almighty’s Dollar: A History of Money and American Protestantism. University of North Carolina Press, 2007; Murove, M. “Moving beyond Dehumanization and Greed in the Light of African Economic Ethics—A Statement.” R&T 15 (2008): 74-96; Rosner, B. Greed as Idolatry: The Origin and Meaning of a Pauline Metaphor. Eerdmans, 2007; Sider, R. Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger. 5th ed. Thomas Nelson, 2005; Smith, C., M. Emerson, and P. Snell. Passing the Plate: Why American Christians Don’t Give Away More Money. Oxford University Press, 2008; Wuthnow, R., ed. Rethinking Materialism: Perspectives on the Spiritual Dimension of Economic Behavior. Eerdmans, 1995.
David J. Downs
The author of the Gospel of Matthew is anonymous. The author does not appear in the text but in a later title. Scholars generally consider this Gospel a third-generation witness to Jesus that includes among its sources the Gospel of Mark and a sayings source known as Q. This view has led some to attempt to isolate material from the historical Jesus or from developments between Jesus and Matthew as sources for ethics. For example, some have concluded that Jesus opposed divorce, but Matthew contains a development whereby divorce is forbidden “except for adultery.” Recognizing the narrative nature of Matthew, however, other scholars have shifted their emphasis to the Gospel’s final form as a source for ethics. Still there are multiple approaches to how Matthew serves the enterprise of ethics. This article deals particularly with extracting principles, imitating role models, the hermeneutics of suspicion, character formation, and deriving ethics from a relationship with God.
One approach is grounded in the commandments to love God and neighbor, because “on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” (22:40). As central as the two commandments are, they point to Scripture as a whole (“all the law and the prophets”). Thus, they are part of a grand plot reaching back to Abraham in which God makes promises, such as blessing all the people of the earth, and acts to keep these promises alive.
Conventionally, the double “love commandment” is supplemented with Jesus’ teachings, especially the Sermon on the Mount, parables, and direct commands. A long tradition takes the Beatitudes (5:3-12) as exhortations, although no imperatives occur until 5:12: “Rejoice and be glad” (in the midst of opposition). The outcome is a love ethic, an intensification of the law (e.g., broadening the interpretation of murder), and specific instructions on things such as divorce, with the assumption that Jesus’ sayings interpret God’s unchanging will.
Another approach takes characters as role models. This is reflected in the popular platitude “What would Jesus do?” On the one hand, Jesus demonstrates living under God’s rule. The same is true of other characters, such as the Canaanite woman (15:22-28). But ordinarily the characters are too flawed to be role models. After Peter confesses Jesus as the Messiah and Son of God, for example, he plays a satanic role (16:13-23). But this case also shows that the norms of the narrative enable readers to distinguish Peter’s appropriate from his inappropriate praxis. On the other hand, to make Jesus a role model presents readers with unattainable challenges (teacher, healer, divine agent). Further, Matthew’s Jesus repeatedly surprises. What would Jesus do? Matthew’s readers should probably confess, “We cannot say, because he would surprise us.”
A hermeneutics of suspicion asks if Matthew’s rhetoric may be a part of sustaining injustices.
Does Matthew give a derogatory portrayal of the Jews (e.g., 27:25)? Are women portrayed passively, and is their prominence among the followers of Jesus suppressed (e.g., 10:2-4)?
Such approaches tend to isolate commandr ments, God’s will, role models, and suspicious perspectives from the framework of God’s reign. Matthew establishes this framework early. It appears in the proclamation of John the Baptist (3:2). Then 4:17 is programmatic: “From that time Jesus began to proclaim, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’ ” Henceforth, Jesus proclaims God’s kingdom. When he begins the Sermon on the Mount nine verses later, he is interpreting God’s kingdom. If the Beatitudes are taken as exhortations, they no longer reflect instances of God’s rule, and rather than the outcome of God’s rule, they become conditions for entering God’s kingdom.
The communal nature of these relationships is an important part of several approaches to ethics in Matthew, including character ethics. Character ethics holds that the community’s use of Scripture shapes the character of people who are nurtured in its life. Someone steeped in Matthew’s story will likely have an orientation toward life quite distinct from the prevailing culture.
Another option is that Matthew mediates encounters with God out of which the community lives. For these relationships Matthew uses particularly kinship language: a “Father” in relationship with children who are brothers and sisters. Agricultural metaphors also reflect these relationships (“trees bearing fruit”). Beginning with these relationships means that ethics in Matthew is not merely determining appropriate praxis but is preeminently a matter of the source, motivation, and empowerment for living. When God is the source, motivation, and empowerment, living appropriately is the fruit of God’s rule. For example, when God is parent, God’s children love their enemies (5:45).
In several cases Matthew speaks of “righteousness” (dikaiosyne). On the one hand, this means a right relationship with God, and its other side is ethics. But English poses difficulties in representing dikaiosyne, because it also means “justice.” So seeking dikaiosyne also means seeking justice. Additionally, seeking justice alone may be inadequate. Joseph, on the basis of justice (1:19), wishes to put Mary away quietly. His motivation is not deficient, but his understanding of God’s purposes is, and so he intends to act at crosspurposes with God. Consequently, God informs Joseph what the divine purposes are. Thus, God’s rule is not only the motivation or empowerment for praxis but also a source beyond what may be written. Because ethical praxis depends on God, ethics remains open to God’s future.
Finally, justice has a particularly acute meaning in the context of the Roman Empire, which claimed to have established justice in the world. Imperial rule operated through collaboration of client kings and local elites, such as Herodian rulers and the Judean council. For Matthew, the rule of God is an alternative to this system that Rome called justice.
See also Anti-Semitism; Beatitudes; Imitation of Jesus; Kingdom of God; Love, Love Command; New Testament Ethics; Sermon on the Mount
Bibliography
Burridge, R. Imitating Jesus: An Inclusive Approach to New Testament Ethics. Eerdmans, 2007; Carter, W. Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading. Orbis, 2000; Fowl, S., and L. Jones. Reading in Communion: Scripture and Ethics in Christian Life. Eerdmans, 1991; Hays, R. The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, and New Creation; A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethics. HarperSanFran-cisco, 1996; Wink, W. Engaging the Powers: Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination. Fortress, 1992.
Robert L. Brawley