Virtue Ethics

Virtue ethics emphasizes the development of moral excellence in terms of character qualities called virtues. Virtues are (1) habituated dispositions involving both an affective desire for the good and the skill to both discern and act accordingly; (2) learned through practice within a tradition (i.e., a historical community with a rich account of the “good”); and (3) directed toward this tradition’s particular conception of the good (making virtues “teleological”). From a Christian perspective, virtue ethics is an ethics of discipleship, which emphasizes the development of the habits, practices, and wisdom necessary to pursue the “good” exemplified by Christ. Reading Scripture is such a practice: disciples are formed by reading with more mature members of the church and thus gradually develop virtues and skilled judgment necessary to faithful interpretation.

In contrast, much contemporary ethical discourse focuses on decisions in hard cases or moral quandaries. Such ethics of decision stress defending a difficult choice by appealing to universal principles of obligation (deontological ethics) or to calculations of utility (consequentialism). In virtue ethics, the question, what kind of people ought we to be? takes priority over the question, what are we to do? Virtue ethics is more concerned with truthful description of the moral life than with the theoretical construction of a normative system. A virtues approach does not reject law or rules but suggests that the application of moral rules requires the prior cultivation of good habits and skilled reflexes (namely, virtues). Correlatively, morality is the development of character through an entire life, not simply the ability to rationally discern the right course of action on a particular occasion.

Classical Virtue

Many, if not all, premodern societies in the West assumed an ethics of virtue. The moral life was conceived in terms of the development of the attributes necessary for pursuit of the “good,” the telos or purpose of life as understood within the tradition. The character of the person was expected to be shaped by and oriented toward the good of the whole. In ancient Israel, the people were called to righteousness in a joint covenant with God. But the golden age of Athens (fourth century BCE) provided the most thorough explication of “virtue.”

Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics defined virtues as habitual dispositions that incline the human person to act in accordance with the good. Such dispositions are acquired through the practice of acting well under the tutelage of mentors and involve a sincere desire for the good, not merely acting rightly despite contrary desires. Virtues are of two distinct types: the intellectual habits of skillful thinking (in solving problems, in responding to other people, in making things) and character habits that incline one not only to do the right thing but also to behave in the right manner. Phronesis, the intellectual virtue that perfects the practical reasoning toward the good, is absolutely central to this account (Gk. phronesis; Lat. prudentia). Through the right exercise of practical reason and aided by the other virtues, the prudent person is able to recognize what goods are worth pursuing as well as what it might mean to act with excellent character in a particular situation. Phronesis can be distinguished from mere cleverness because the clever may figure out the means to an end but fail to know which ends are worthwhile. Phronesis, like all the virtues, is ordered toward the “good” and requires cultivation.

Aristotle calls the ultimate telos, or end, to which all the virtues are oriented eudaimonia, usually translated as “human flourishing” or “happiness.” In theological terms, it is closest to “blessed,” which in the OT means “able to walk well” (cf. use of the Heb. ’sr in Mal. 3:12, where the Piel verb means “to bless,” while in Prov. 9:6 the Qal form of ’sr means “to walk straight”; this double entendre is present in the fifty-two occurrences of “blessed” in the book of Psalms and is repeated by Jesus some forty-six times). Human living aims at this ultimate good in the sense that this good is identical to what human life is for. However, virtue acquisition may be foiled: individuals often are confused about their true end and may be habituated into vices rather than virtues.

Virtue lists vary from society to society because the concept is tied to what a given community holds to be the chief good for human beings. For example, ancient Greeks understood the telos of the virtues to be the perfection of citizens for their particular function in the society through obedience to one’s teachers and the fostering of friendship. Aristotle, and Plato before him, advocated those particular virtues necessary to life in the Greek city-state, the polis, at a time when the older heroic list of virtues appeared to be breaking down with the disappearance of clan life. Aristotle’s teacher Plato identified four linchpin or cardinal virtues: courage, temperance, justice, and prudence. Both men were resisting what they saw as increasing pluralism and moral decline in Greek culture. Yet both were rightly accused of elitism. In particular, Aristotle’s account condoned the social hierarchy of his culture. Slaves and artisans kept their place, and few had the leisure for the sort of philosophical contemplation that was presumed to be the noblest human endeavor. As we will see, Christians borrowed the language of virtue but substituted a radical vision of the good society (Luke 4:18-19).

Early Christian Virtue

Although the Greek term arete (“excellence, virtue”) is rare in NT usage (Phil. 4:8; 1 Pet. 2:9; 2 Pet. 1:3, 5), biblical authors presumed that the moral life is a matter of development and growth. The biblical authors assumed that a person of good character is more apt to have a right reading of Scripture and must be formed within the body of Christ to desire and rightly perceive what is true and good. God, and thus love and desire for God, is central to Christian accounts of virtue. Early Christians overturned Hellenistic assumptions about the telos of human life, insisting that human purpose and ultimate good is found in Christ. As the phrase “in Christ” is closely related to “the body of Christ” (Eph. 4:12), the human good was said to be found in ecclesiam, in the congregation of believers that is Christ’s body, for that is where Christ sent his Spirit. The early church also stressed different virtues than did its classical forebears: patience, humility, obedience, and, especially, Christlike love. The martyr, rather than the heroic warrior, was the model of courage. And care for the marginalized rather than preserving class distinction was the model of justice. These virtues were understood to be the by-product of both grace and the practice of discipleship.

Like Aristotle, early Christians understood virtues to be habitual dispositions involving the perception of and desire for human “good,” which for

Christians is ultimately found in God. Discipleship in the NT requires a love of the good that goes beyond an ethic of obligation or mere obedience (e.g., Sermon on the Mount) and results in seeing a “whole new world” (kaine ktisis [2 Cor. 5:17]). John speaks of “abiding” with Christ as necessary to perceive the glory of Christ and the nearness of the kingdom of God. This abiding bears “fruit,” namely, the life of discipleship shaped by love after the pattern of Christ (John 15:7-17).

There are several lists of character traits or virtues in the NT letters (e.g., 2 Cor. 6:3-10), including Paul’s triad of faith, hope, and love (1 Cor. 13:13), which came to be called the “theological virtues” by later Christians. Yet, for early Christians, mature discipleship in the “Way” of Christ (Acts 9:2; 19:9) was not simply the human acquisition of godly habits but rather a gift of God’s grace that must be cultivated through worship and the other social practices of the church. As a free gift of God, these practices comprise the Way and constitute (in part) the free gift of salvation. Conversion, particularly in the Pauline writings, may initially appear sudden but thereafter requires the ongoing growth of sanctification. Paul argues that sanctification is both a result of God’s grace and requires cultivation of gifts of the Spirit (Gal. 5:16-24; Eph. 4:1-5:2; see also 2 Pet. 1:3-8). These are gifts in that they come from God, but they function as virtues and can develop over time. Sanctification involves not only a habitual disposition toward acting well but also the ability to discern the good. The author of Hebrews distinguishes between new converts and mature Christians. Only the latter are ready for solid food because they have been “trained by practice to distinguish good from evil” (Heb. 5:14; cf. 1 Cor. 2:14-3:1). To borrow Aristotle’s terminology, such persons are skilled in the exercise of practical reason.

Paul himself explicitly uses cognates for “practical wisdom” (phron-) thirty-four times, ten times in Philippians alone. (Interestingly, the usage in Philippians is aimed at corporate achievement, whereby the church as a unit is to display the same skillful practical wisdom as Christ himself [Phil. 2:2, 5].) In addition, Paul employs the other Greek term for wisdom, sophia, which he lists as one of the gifts of the Spirit (1 Cor. 2:13; 12:8). This may have been a bit confusing for some first-century readers. For Greek-speakers since Plato, sophia connoted the skill of theoretical reasoning (math, logic, etc.), but phronesis (“intelligence”) was the term used for practical wisdom. But somewhere along the way, usage was reversed; “wisdom” came to indicate one who lives well, while “intelligence” referred to someone who was merely smart. An important contributor to this change is the fact that the Pauline corpus never refers to theoretical reasoning but only to practical reasoning (i.e., deliberation about how, when, and in what manner to act) and its correlative skill, phronesis. Indeed, the mystery is solved simply by noting that Paul is employing not the classical Greek notion of sophia but that of the Greek translation of the OT (the LXX). Paul’s use of sophia, like its Hebrew counterpart hokma, is something that is both a gift of God (Job 38:36) and something for human beings to seek and progressively acquire (Prov. 4:5, 7). Thus, in the NT, wisdom is a gift that goes beyond natural reason, and it is also the fruit of a life of faith and prayer oriented to God and must be embodied as the imitation of Christ (1 Pet. 2:21). Of course, the gifts are fully realized only eschatologically. Nevertheless, in the meantime their cultivation within the gathered body of Christ is real, albeit incomplete (1 Cor. 1-2; Eph. 1:7-9; Col. 1:9-14; 3:14-16).

The early church drew heavily on the concept of Christianity as a “way,” distinct from other forms of social life because of its orientation to the kingdom of God as the true telos of human life. New Christians were expected to spend an entire year (and in some cases as many as three years) preparing for baptism. They learned the tenets of the faith but also were expected to begin developing in the likeness of Christ; sin committed after baptism was understood to be particularly grievous. The retraining of desires and cultivation of virtue were essential. To this end, the practices of the church, particularly worship, formed the Christian in love of God and the habits of faithful discipleship. By the fourth century, Augustine argued explicitly that the love of God was the true telos of human life—all our actions are directed toward this end—but that we err because our desires have been disordered such that we settle for lesser goods. For Augustine, virtue is conformance of our desires to love of God, and love is the form of all of the virtues, including the cardinal virtues identified by Plato.

Virtue in Medieval Christianity Medieval moral theology also stressed the cultivation of virtue within a life of discipleship. Although Thomas Aquinas (d. 1174) is sometimes misunderstood as a natural philosopher, his moral theology is a reworking of Aristotle in light of Scripture and early Christian discipleship. In the medieval university, philosophy and the other disciplines were assumed to be at the service of theology and knowledge of God. Thomas was first of all a monk and a member of the Dominican Order of Preachers. His Summa theologiae is the most important systematic account of Christian virtue ethics. Drawing on Paul, Thomas identified wisdom and the theological virtues (i.e., faith, hope, and love or “charity”) as gifts of grace and argued that charity (caritas, love) is the “form” that shapes and directs the other virtues toward union with God as our true end.

For Thomas, like centuries of Christians before him, the virtues are habituated dispositions involving a desire for the good. Yet he distinguishes between infused and acquired virtues. Acquired virtues are oriented toward natural ends and habituated through acting in accordance with the good, while infused virtues are oriented toward our supernatural end, eternal union with God. Although the infused virtues, which genuinely inhere in the person, require cultivation through prayer and worship, they receive their beginning as a directly imparted divine gift. Thomas argues that the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love are infused, but prudentia (practical wisdom) and the other virtues may be acquired through practice, through divine gift, or some combination of the two.

Thomas held that moral virtue requires an intellectual grasp of the good and a capacity to apply practical reason in concrete situations. Every human action is, in this sense, a moral act. Some may be trivial, while others are monumental. But insofar as an act is deliberate (as opposed to being absentminded, such as scratching one’s chin), it is moral because it aims at some perceived good. Problems arise when we are mistaken about what is good and what is not. Such a mistake amounts to a failure in practical reasoning. Thomas attributes this clouding of judgment to sin, the propensity toward selfishness, self-deception, and independence from God. Prudentia (what Paul, writing in Greek, called phronesis), as a gift from God, is an antidote (in part) for the effects of sin. As a natural intellectual virtue, prudentia requires practice, memory, and teachability as well as seasoned judgment. For Thomas, prudentia is best cultivated within a community. Alongside a naturally developed trait, the infused gift of prudentia also aids in practical reasoning. Infused wisdom via the indwelling Spirit is manifest as an affinity for the good. In sum, wisdom as a natural virtue can judge rightly in ordinary practices, such as in medicine or architecture, but wisdom as a gift of the Spirit is additionally necessary to judge according to God as the highest cause and end. Thus might one opt for death by martyrdom over bodily health and still be choosing wisely.

Thomas structures his discussion in the Summa theologiae around the classical cardinal virtues of courage, temperance, justice, and prudence, but he adds to these the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love (Gk. agape; Lat. caritas). For Thomas, following Augustine, caritas is the form of both intellectual and character virtues, including prudentia, because love is necessary for knowing what human life is for: eternal union with God. In his commentary on Paul’s prayer that love might abound in the church with “knowledge and all discernment” in Phil. 1:9, Thomas writes,

Does knowledge arise from charity [caritas] ? . . . Charity is the Spirit, of whom it is said in John (16:13): “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth.” The reason for this is that when a person has a habit, if that habit is right, then right judgment of things pertaining to that habit follows from it; but if it is corrupted, then false judgment follows. . . . Now all things that are done by us must be informed with charity. Therefore, a person with charity has a correct judgment both in regard to things knowable; hence [Paul] says, “with knowledge,” by which one recognizes the truth and adheres to the truths of faith . . . and in regard to things to be done; hence [Paul] says, “and all discernment.” (Comm. Phil. 1.2)

Thus, receptivity to grace through the practices of prayer and worship is crucial to medieval moral theology. In addition to the cultivation of virtues as acquired habits, the moral life requires an infusion of grace that directs the other virtues by imparting a love of God, which is the telos of the other virtues.

Modern Eclipse and Recovery of Virtue Ethics Eighteenth-century Enlightenment philosophers sought a certain foundation for knowledge in objective “truths” accessible to the autonomous individual and apart from traditional teaching and communal practices. In this environment, virtue ethics was replaced by various systems of theoretical reasoning that claimed an objective, universal foundation for morality but in fact more often led to competing and irreconcilable positions. In a seminal 1958 essay, G. Elizabeth Anscombe highlighted the unexpected breakdown of modern theoretical attempts to describe moral obligation. She suggested that once the sense of moral authority of God was lost in philosophy or was excluded from argument, theorists found it impossible to move from the “is” of brute facts to the “ought” of moral obligation. Subsequently, contemporary Westerners tended to see morality as a matter of subjective choice among a range of possible values and beliefs despite philosophers’ (Locke, Kant,

Mill, Rawls, etc.) perennial attempts to author a universally compelling account of ethics.

Alasdair MacIntyre, in After Virtue, argues that this state of affairs precludes any rational resolution of moral disputes; discussions of moral obligation reduce to attempts at persuasion. As an example, MacIntyre describes the lack of consensus on the meaning of “justice” in Western culture. Does justice consist in equality ensured by the redistribution of goods and opportunity or in the protection of private property and ownership earned by hard work? These rival ways of conceiving justice result in competing claims about morality of taxation, which cannot be easily resolved by an obviously circular appeal to “justice.” MacIntyre argues that contemporary thought is missing any shared agreement on the purpose, or telos, of human life, which in turn would provide a shared meaning to terms such as justice, obligation, and the good. He calls for a return to an ethics of virtue as a way forward in recovery of these concepts.

Implicit communal agreement concerning what the good is and which habits are virtuous derives from at least three kinds of sources. First, there are narratives both factual (e.g., history) and figural (e.g., the parable of the good Samaritan) that exemplify what human life is for. Second, there are social practices (for Christians, the list includes evangelism, prayer, worship, caring for the needy, etc.) that embody what human life is for. Third, there are explicit statements taken by a tradition to be definitive of their identity (e.g., creeds, confessions). Thus, virtues are those skillful habits that enable one to live in ways that “fit” the authoritative stories, that faithfully extend the constitutive practices and emblematize the traditional identity. Of course, each individual is on a journey to learn well these three identity markers. Along the way, individuals may become confused about what human life is for (e.g., accumulating wealth) and thus unwittingly be habituated into vices (e.g., miserliness) rather than virtues.

Discipleship as Moral Formation through Practices MacIntyre’s work reflects a broader interest in recovering virtue as an approach to both philosophical ethics and moral theology in the late twentieth century. A more theologically specific version of MacIntyre’s vision has been voiced by Stanley Hauerwas, who advocates an ethics of dis-cipleship rather than an ethics of decision. Like MacIntyre, Hauerwas stresses the importance of tradition and practices of particular communities in formation of the virtues. Some contemporary Christian virtue ethicists utilize a virtue approach with less emphasis on Christian particularity. Jean Porter, for instance, uses the Thomistic account of practical reason in an attempt to bring together ethics of virtue with deontological ethics. Others appeal to virtue as a complement to utilitarian or deontological decisionist ethics, arguing, for instance, that virtue is necessary to be a competent judge in these theories or emphasizing particular virtues, such as “care for others,” that seem to be undervalued by other approaches. In contrast to these attempts to reconcile virtue with philosophical theories, Hauerwas stresses the importance of embodied traditions for the development of virtue. He argues that Christians develop virtuous dispositions through communal practices and stories. Reading Scripture is such a communal practice, learned within the church, not simply private devotion. It requires virtue but also contributes to the cultivation of virtue and moral vision.

Hauerwas describes practices as communal ways of life developed over time and extended from one generation to the next. There is no virtue “in general,” but only specific virtues within particular traditions with specific accounts of the human telos. Like his theological forebears, Hauerwas uses “virtue” to denote publicly visible relational habits rather than a hidden psychological state. Virtue is acquired through ongoing imitation of those who have mastered the virtue-cultivating practice. In an ethics of Christian discipleship, the master is Christ, yet secondarily, disciples also learn to recognize excellence of practice by observing and imitating those who are more mature in the faith (1 Cor. 4:16; 11:1; Phil. 3:17; 1 Thess. 1:6; 2:14; 2 Thess. 3:7, 9; Heb. 6:12; 13:7). To follow Christ is not simply to imitate specific acts but also to aspire to an entire life of wisdom and moral virtue. Worship, reading Scripture, prayer, feeding the hungry, and the like are specific practices that are central to the broad task of community formation or disciple-making. Through these practices, faithful disciples become habituated in the virtues, learn to desire what is good, and thus make wise, prudent judgments about moral action. Especially through the practice of communal worship (i.e., abiding with Christ) followers of Christ become open to the grace of the infused virtues and spiritual gifts.

All practices have goods that are best known by those who practice well. For instance, Jesus condemns those who pray in order to gain the respect of others (Matt. 6:5), an external good, rather than communion with God, a good that is knowable

only to those who pray well (making communion with God a good internal to the practice of prayer).

Ultimately, Christian practices are oriented to God as our true end. Christian narratives, both biblical and historical, provide a context that makes sense of our practices and exemplifies the telos of human life as understood within the Christian tradition. To return to an earlier example, the Christian practice of reading Scripture as a communal story trains disciples to understand their Christian identity in the context of the scriptural witness and subsequent story of the church. Scripture is paradigmatic for the ethics of discipleship, but reading well requires wisdom. And wisdom is not a habit that Christians are prone to develop in isolation. Rather, only by learning to read Scripture together, especially in the context of worship, can Christians become more skilled at hearing and living the gospel as their story.

See also Cardinal Virtues; Character; Conversion; Habit; Moral Formation; Narrative Ethics, Biblical; Narrative Ethics, Contemporary; Practices; Prudence; Sanctification; Teleological Theories of Ethics; Vice; Vices and Virtues, Lists of; Virtue(s)

Bibliography

Anscombe, G. “Modern Moral Philosophy.” Philosophy 33 (1958): 1-19; Crisp, R., and M. Slote, eds. Virtue Ethics. Oxford University Press, 1997; Fowl, S., and G. Jones. Reading in Communion: Scripture and Ethics in Christian Life. Wipf & Stock, 1998; Hauerwas, S., and C. Pinches. Christians among the Virtues: Theological Conversations with Ancient and Modern Ethics. University of Notre Dame Press, 1997; Hays, R. The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, and New Creation; A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethics. HarperSanFrancisco, 1996; MacIntyre, A. After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theology. University of Notre Dame Press, 1984; Mattison, W., III. Introducing Moral Theology: True Happiness and the Virtues. Brazos, 2008; McClendon, J., Jr. Ethics. Vol. 1 of Systematic Theology. Abingdon, 1986; McInerny, R. Ethica Thomistica: The Moral Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. Catholic University of America Press, 1997; Murphy, N., et al., eds. Virtues and Practices in the Christian Tradition: Christian Ethics after MacIntyre. Trinity Press International, 1997; Porter, J. Moral Action and Christian Ethics. NSCE 5. Cambridge University Press, 1995; Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Saint Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians and the Letter to the Philip-pians. Magi Books, 1969; Verhey, A. Remembering Jesus: Christian Community, Scripture, and the Moral Life. Eerd-mans, 2004.

Nikki Coffey Tousley and Brad J. Kallenberg Virtues and Vices, Lists of See Vices and

Virtues, Lists of

Vocation

In contemporary usage the term vocation (or calling) has a range of meanings. Most generally and simply, it is a synonym for occupation or job. In high school, students are introduced to the term as a way of distinguishing students on a college preparatory track from those taking vocational classes, which prepare them to enter the workplace immediately following graduation. For young people with more education and therefore more occupational options, the term vocation sometimes is associated with choosing a career that suits their abilities, inclination, and training. In this case, it is used as an exhortation to select an occupation that they will find intrinsically satisfying and valuable rather than extrinsically rewarding in terms of social status or financial compensation. In religious contexts, this basic range of meanings is sanctified by a sense that God has a particular occupation in mind for each person. The added religious dimension does not alter the understanding of vocation in any significant way because most Christians assume that God intends them to do work for which they are well suited and that they will find satisfying.

The contemporary use of the term vocation bears only a tangential resemblance to its biblical meaning. In Scripture, vocation or calling is associated more closely with election than with occupation. In the OT, God calls (qdrd) those whom God chooses or elects (bahar). For example, “But you, Israel, my servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen [bahar], the offspring of Abraham, my friend; you whom I took from the ends of the earth, and called [qdrd’] from its furthest corners, saying to you, ‘You are my servants, I have chosen [bahar] you and not cast you off’ ” (Isa. 41:8-9). As this passage makes clear, biblical notions of election and calling have less to do with receiving a divine reward than a divine commission to participate in God’s purpose in the world. In addition to calling the whole people of Israel, God calls individuals—for example, Moses (Exod. 3:1-12), Abraham (Gen. 12:1-4), Samuel (1 Sam. 3:1-14), and prophets (Isa. 6:1-13; Jer. 1:2-10). Those who are called are summoned to become servants of God in the world. So, for example, God calls the people of Israel to be a “priestly kingdom and a holy nation” (Exod. 19:6), and God blesses Abraham so that “through him all the nations of the world might be blessed” (Gen. 12:4). In each case, the call is to serve God and God’s purposes in the world. Like the contemporary understanding of vocation, the biblical idea of calling includes certain roles or responsibilities. Far from corresponding with a particular secular occupation or job, however, the biblical concept draws people toward participation in God’s cosmic reign.

The NT builds upon this fundamental understanding of vocation. Jesus “calls” (kaleo) disciples to leave their occupations and social roles behind in order to follow him (Mark 1:19—20). Those who are not ready and willing to leave everything immediately are considered unworthy of discipleship (Matt. 22:1-7; Luke 9:59-62). God’s call demands a joyful and immediate commitment of one’s whole life in service to God and God’s purposes. Paul uses the language of calling to designate salvation and the mode of life that grows out of it. He exhorts the Thessalonians to “lead a life worthy of God, who calls [kaleo] you into his own kingdom and glory” (1 Thess. 2:12), and he begs the Ephesians to “lead a life worthy of the calling [klesis] to which you have been called [kaleo]” (Eph. 4:1). In other words, Christians are called to live in a manner consistent with the reconciliation embodied in and brought about through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Again, there is a corporate as well as an individual dimension to calling. Those who follow Christ are the ekklesia, “those called out.”

Persons’ occupations have little bearing on their Christian calling. In fact, when Paul does relate worldly occupations and the Christian calling, it is simply to encourage Christians to remain in and be content with the status that they had when they were called to Christ. “Let each of you lead the life that the Lord has assigned, to which God has called you” (1 Cor. 7:17). Here Paul seems to use the term call in relation to a person’s occupation or worldly standing, whether the person is married or single, Jew or gentile, slave or free. What he intends to communicate, however, is not the significance of worldly occupations and status but rather their insignificance. “Circumcision is nothing and uncircumcision is nothing; but obeying the commandments of God is everything” (1 Cor. 7:19). In Scripture, whether OT or NT, “calling” is always God’s gracious call to become God’s own, to be those called out (ekklesia), in order to bear witness to and serve God’s creative and redemptive purposes in the world.

The early church maintained this sensibility, by necessity as much as design. In the Roman Empire, becoming a Christian required subordinating one’s worldly standing to a divine calling. Christians were considered a threat to the social order because of their refusal to participate in the pagan practices insinuated in every aspect of social, economic, political, and family life. Following Christ guaranteed not only occasional and intermittent persecution but also relentless and persistent constriction of one’s social and economic opportunities. When Christianity became legal in the empire, and eventually its official religion, some Christians rejected the comforts of legitimacy, retreating to the desert in order to maintain an absolute and unwavering commitment to God alone. These early ascetics continued to conceive of God’s calling as requiring a rejection of the world and all its mundane temptations. Just as the martyrs provided a model of Christian vocation in the face of Roman persecution and exclusion, so the desert fathers, such as Antony, were admired for their singular commitment to God in Christ. The medieval church maintained this pattern as well, associating calling or vocation with the “religious” life of priests, monks, and nuns. Again, vocation was seen as the complete commitment of one’s whole self to God and God’s purposes in the world. The vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience liberated the “religious” from worldly goods, allowing them to respond to God’s call wholeheartedly. Like the martyrs and the desert fathers before them, they provided a model of the Christian life to which all ought to aspire, but that only a few could claim: wholehearted commitment to God and God’s purposes in the world.

The Protestant Reformation in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries revolutionized the language of vocation and calling. Martin Luther did not reject the sense that calling required a complete commitment to God and God’s purposes, but he saw these purposes as consistent with rather than in conflict with worldly goods. Rather than rejecting the obligations and blessings of family and society for the sake of God’s call, Luther assumed that God’s call was realized within the context of these other roles, responsibilities, and goods. Furthermore, he assumed that God’s calling was for everyone, not just a select few. The distinction that the church had made between the “spiritual estate” and the “temporal estate” was illegitimate. All Christians were equally called, and every aspect of life was an appropriate context for serving God and neighbor. Rather than closing the monasteries, therefore, it might be better to say that Luther’s intention was to turn the whole world into a monastery. All people in all walks of life were called to participate wholeheartedly in God’s purposes amid their worldly commitments. In whatever “stand” or station, a Christian should endeavor to “give myself as a Christ to my neighbor, just as Christ offered himself to me; I will do nothing in this life except what I see is necessary, profitable, and salutary to my neighbor, since through faith I have an abundance of all good things in Christ” (Luther).

The Calvinist wing of the Protestant Reformation further accentuated the egalitarian and inner-worldly impulses with which Luther imbued the notion of Christian vocation. However, the Reformers were not satisfied simply to sanctify the mundane; they wanted to transform it. Puritans such as William Perkins identified two aspects of vocation: the general and the particular. The former is the common calling to the Christian faith and life, while the latter is the particular context within which it takes place. According to Perkins, these two aspects cannot be separated; the general calling to love God and neighbor can be realized only in the context of the particular Christian’s life, relationships, and responsibilities. Moreover, “That we may the better joyne both our callings together, wee must consider the maine end of our lives, and that is, to serve God in the serving of men in the works of our callings. . . . [God’s] pleasure is that men should be his instruments, for the good of one another” (Perkins). Max Weber, Ernst Troeltsch, and other prominent sociologists properly identify the Protestant notion of vocation as an important factor in the modern transformation of the political, economic, social, and familial spheres. However, their emphasis on the influence of its egalitarian and inner-worldly aspects often ignores the centrality of service to God and neighbor in the Protestant vision of vocation.

Modern individualism and materialism in contemporary economic, political, and social spheres are not the unambiguous realization of Protestant vocation but rather are its distortion and corruption. Contemporary uses of the term vocation, whether emphasizing occupation generally or fulfilling work more specifically, depart from its more robust and radical meaning. A culture of self-interested individualism has subverted the true meaning of vocation, absorbing it into a preoccupation with self-reliance and personal satisfaction. Contemporary use of the terminology would do well to recall these words of William Perkins: “He abuseth his calling, whosoever he be that against the end thereof, imployes it for himself, seeking wholly his own, and not the common good. And that common saying, ‘Every man for himselfe, and God for us all,’ is wicked, and directly against the end of every calling or honest kind of life” (Perkins).

Recovering the biblical and theological heritage of the term vocation may rejuvenate its radical and transformative implications. At the heart of Christian calling is Christ’s gracious and demanding invitation to follow him. The only appropriate response is to commit oneself wholeheartedly to God and God’s purposes in the world. All things— occupation, family, social standing, personal satisfaction—must be subordinated to this absolute and ultimate responsibility. In a society characterized by personal and social fragmentation, such a calling comes not only as a daunting command but also as a joyful opportunity. It offers a vision of the integrity of life that reveals the interdependence and unity of all creation within the providence of God’s gracious sovereignty, which the current culture of individualism masks and distorts as profoundly as Roman imperialism did in the first century.

Vows

In the Bible, a vow is a promise spoken directly to God by a petitioner who offers to dedicate property, self, or other persons to God on the condition that God fulfill the request made by the individual. Vows were made by individuals, typically were spoken in private prayer to God, did not require mediation by religious officials, and usually involved situations of great distress. Thus, the making of vows operated largely within the arena of popular religious devotion apart from official or formal worship. However, payments of vows often were done in the context of communal worship and praise in thanksgiving for God’s fulfillment of the vow’s request (Pss. 22:25; 50:14; 116:12-19). Priests also played a role in certifying that sacrificial animals offered as payment for vows were without blemish (Lev. 22:18, 21; Mal. 1:14). When a vow involved the promise to dedicate a person to serve God (as in 1 Sam. 1:22), the one who made the vow had the option to redeem the person by paying a fee to the priests. The amount of the fee was adjusted according to the age and gender of the individual being redeemed and the economic capability of the one paying the fee (Lev. 27:1-8).

In general, making a vow to God was considered a solemn commitment that should not be broken (Num. 30:2; Deut. 23:21-23; Eccl. 5:4-5). However, there were exceptions. Most women in biblical times were seen as being under the guardianship of a male, typically father or husband. Thus, if a woman made a vow to God and her husband or father disapproved, he had a right to nullify the vow if he acted promptly to do so. Otherwise, the woman’s vow would stand (Num. 30:1-16). This provision reflects the imbalance of power and rights between men and women in ancient Israel.

People called “Nazirites” formed a special category of individuals whose lives were devoted in service to God by a vow made by oneself or by someone else (often a parent). Certain vows of abstinence were associated with Nazirites during their time of service: they would not drink wine or eat grapes, cut their hair, or touch a corpse (Num. 6:3-6). If a Nazirite inadvertently violated one of these vows, certain ritual actions and sacrifices could restore the status of the Nazirite. Other rituals also marked the end of the Nazirite’s term of service if the vow was for a temporary period (Num. 6:9-21). Other Nazirites retained their status throughout their lifetimes, from birth until death (Judg. 13:5; 1 Sam. 1:11).

Examples of Nazirites include the prophet Samuel, son of Hannah (1 Sam. 1:11; 3:19-21), and the warrior-judge Samson (Judg. 13:5). Interestingly, Samson’s mother assumed some of the Nazirite vows of abstention (wine, strong drink, unclean food), while Samson only had to keep his hair uncut (Judg. 13:4-5). Samson’s revelation of this one secret of his extraordinary strength to Delilah led to his downfall (Judg. 16:16-21).

Some scholars argue that the Nazirite vow may have played a role in the understanding of Jesus and his ministry. Jesus is called a “Nazorean” in Matt. 2:23, perhaps a double-voiced allusion to his hometown of Nazareth and his dedication to God as a Nazirite. The apostle Paul is portrayed as ending the term of his own “vow” by allowing his hair to be cut (Acts 18:18). Paul also paid the redemption fee for four other individuals who ended their Nazirite vows by having their heads shaved (Acts 21:15-27). Thus, the practice of making vows seems to have been known in early Christian communities, and it has continued as a practice of religious devotion throughout the church’s history.

Two other OT figures make noteworthy vows to God. Jacob made a vow after seeing a nighttime vision of angels ascending and descending from the heavens at Bethel and hearing God’s promise to bless him. In grateful response, Jacob vowed to give God a tenth of his possessions and to worship God if God continued to protect him (Gen. 28:10-22). In a more negative portrayal, the judge Jephthah recklessly vowed to offer as a burnt offering to God “whatever” came out of the door of his house when he returned from battle if God granted him victory against the Ammonites (Judg. 11:29-40). Presumably, Jephthah had expected an animal to emerge from the house, but instead his own daughter came out on his return. Jephthah viewed his vow as irrevocable and thus felt that he had no choice but to offer his only child as a burnt sacrifice, even though biblical law allowed paying a fee in order to redeem a child from a vow (Lev. 27:1-8). Other biblical laws also associated the practice of child sacrifice with the worship of other gods (Lev. 18:21; 20:2-5; Ezek. 20:31).

The biblical treatment of vows to God raises a number of ethical issues. The use of vows appears to put God under obligation and may appear to function as a crass bribe to move God to some desired action. “If God will do x, then I will offer God y.” This would seem to contradict the claim that God “takes no bribe” (Deut. 10:17). But biblical vows offer not so much a payment or a bribe as a token of desperate need by someone in distress and as a sign of anticipatory thanksgiving if and when God fulfills the request. The biblical witness also balances the seriousness of any commitments or vows that a person makes to God with some degree of reasonable flexibility in how the vow is fulfilled in light of the desperate circumstances in which vows often are made. The biblical vows do suggest God’s willingness to take into consideration the prayers and pleas of his people in distress and at times to be moved by them in response.

One of the most troubling vows in the Bible is associated with the holy war laws, in which God commands the Israelites to “annihilate” the Canaanites and their towns as they approach the promised land (Deut. 20:16-18). In Num. 21:2 the Israelites make a vow to God. If God grants them a military victory against the Canaanite king of Arad and his troops, then the Israelites pledge to “utterly destroy” the Canaanites’ towns and dedicate everything in them to God. The text reports that God “listened to” the Israelites’ vow and then gave them the victory. This use of the vow is entangled with the ethical perplexities associated with the broader theme of holy war in the Bible, especially in the book of Joshua.

See also Holy War; Oaths; Promise and Promise-Keeping Bibliography

Berlinerblau, J. The Vow and the "Popular Religious Groups” of Ancient Israel: A Philological and Sociological

Inquiry. JSOTSup 210. Sheffield Academic Press, 1996; Cartledge, T. Vows in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East. JSOTSup 147. JSOT Press, 1992; Olson, D. “Dialogues of Life and Monologues of Death: Jephthah and Jephthah’s Daughter in Judges 10:6—12:7.” Pages 43—54 in Postmodern Interpretations of the Bible: A Reader, ed. A. K. M. Adam. Chalice Press, 2001.

Dennis T. Olson