Equivocation and the Ten Words
By R. Hal Ritter, Jr., Waco, TX
The Ten Commandments, as given to Moses, are divided into two parts: the first four commands (Ex 20:4-11) establish the relationship the people are to have with Yahweh; the second six commands (Ex 20:12-17) establish the relationship the people are to have with one another.
This pattern of relationship with God and relationships with others is the pattern followed in Jesus’ love commandment (Mt 22:34-40). In this passage, an expert in the Hebrew law asks Jesus which is the greatest commandment. Jesus answers that the love of God (Yahweh) is both the first and the greatest commandment, but the second commandment (to love your neighbor as yourself) is equally important, for “All the Law and the Prophets depend on these two commandments” (v. 40, RSV).
What Christians generally refer to as the “Ten Commandments,” the Jews refer to as the “Ten Words.” In their original form, these ten statements were very short—terse commands without any further explanation:
No gods but Me.
No idols.
No misuse of God’s name.
Keep the Sabbath.
Respect father and mother.
No killing.
No adultery.
No stealing.
No false accusations.
No coveting.
Some Hebrew scholars hypothesize that the original number of ten was chosen so the fingers of the hand could be used by the Children of Israel for remembering them.
The Ten Words are in the form of what is called apodictic law. It is law that is self evident, beyond refuting and absolute. So apodictic law is a universal absolute, and it is not related to any particular real or hypothesized historical situation, but it is intended to apply at all times to all circumstances. The counter part to apodictic law is casuistry: casuistric law, or case law. It is law that develops around various hypothetical, but nonetheless real, possibilities and cases, and it generally follows the form of if, then—“If this happens, then this is the consequence.”
The Hebrew Bible, as we have it today, contains a total of 613 mitvot, or commandments. (The Hebrew text never refers to the Ten Words as the Ten Commandments.) These ten commands are like ten categories of absolutes for thinking about God and others. All 613 of the mitvot fit into one of the ten categories. So then, the Ten Words are apodictic law, while the 613 other mitvot are casuistric law. They are case law based on, “If this happens, then this is how the Law applies in the circumstance.”
The last command, “No Coveting,” is the only one which focuses on intentionality. In other words, coveting someone else or what someone else has leads to idolatry, killing, adultery, stealing and falsely accusing. It is similar to 1 John 3:15 in the New Testament: “Whoever hates a brother or sister is already a murderer,” or Jesus’ comment that anyone who lusts after another person has already committed adultery in one’s own heart (Mt 5:28).
A person’s intentions are often difficult to assess, and acting or deciding to act with pure motives and intentions is oftentimes self deceiving. Saint Augustine, in one of his famous Latin turns of phrase, says every act, regardless of the Christian’s intention, is incurvatus in se, curled back on oneself. In other words, because all human life is corrupted and infected by sin, therefore, there are no pure motives and every decision has within it some self interest. It is like the tail of a scorpion, curled back toward the agent, as a reminder of the danger of deceiving oneself into feeling some self righteousness for one’s actions. This complexity of intentions emerges in the final of the Ten Words—No Coveting. If many people do not identify coveting as one of the primary commands, then possibly it is because it is not behaviorally oriented, such as No Stealing, No Killing or No Adultery. Being an intention of the heart, coveting is perceived as being less significant and less egregious, because it is less obvious. This kind of minimizing or dismissing of severity is indicative of how covetousness, as well as other intentions of the heart, is hidden in self-deception.
In philosophical discourse, two words are used for statements regarding their truthfulness. First is the word, univocal. Univocal means, literally, uni (one) plus vocal (voice). It is intended to mean a statement that is clearly stated and cannot be explained away or misunderstood. It means one thing and one only. A related word is the word, “unique,” one of a kind, like no other. Jesus says we are to speak univocally when he says, “Let your ‘Yes’ mean Yes, and your ‘No’ mean No. Anything more than this comes from evil” (Mt 5:37).
The second word used for truthfulness in discourse is equivocal. Equivocal means, literally, equi (equal) plus vocal (voice). A thing cannot be equal to itself, so equality requires at least two of something, in order for there to be a comparison. This value is equal to that value. However, equivocation means that even if the two statements “appear” to be equal, they are not. The statements may not be literally false, but they may be evading an unpleasant truth. To “equivocate,” means not to speak directly and clearly, but to try to say something another way, generally for the purpose of misleading the listener: “No, I am not saying something different. All I am trying to say is. . . .” In other words, as the saying goes, “The more you talk and explain, the guiltier you look.” Sometimes, instead of univocal, the word “unequivocal” is used, in order to imply certainty. But equivocation is generally for intentional ambiguity. It is similar to saying “Yes” and “No” at the same time, in order, supposedly, to clarify what is being said. The apostle Paul wrote, “Was I vacillating (equivocating) about what I wanted to do? As God is faithful, our word to you was not Yes and No. The son of God, Jesus Christ, is always Yes. All the promises of God find their Yes in Christ” (1 Cor 1:17-20).
We have established that the Ten Words are apodictic law—absolutes for all times and circumstances. In this regard, we can claim that they are “univocal.” They are unique and literal, to be taken as they are. In the observation of human behavior, particularly Christian behavior, it seems that many Christians seem to approach the Ten Words more like eight of them are apodictic and univocal, while two of them are casuistric and equivocal.
While No Killing and No Adultery are given as apodictic (mitvot), it seems that many religious people have parsed them so carefully, that the two words sometimes lose all meaning. It is interesting that the founder of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud, claimed that there are two basic instincts that drive the human race: violence and sex (killing and adultery). The command of No Killing seems fairly straight forward. As is sometimes observed, the Hebrew word translated as “kill,” can also be translated as “murder.” This seemingly benign wordplay allows for all kinds of hermeneutic mischief.
For example, as the United States’ justice system continues to execute criminals, the system is, after all, not murdering, but only carrying out deserved killing—rhetorically camouflaged as “capital punishment.” When the United States goes to war, it is not murdering the enemy, but it is killing the enemy. When a homeowner attacks an intruder, the owner is not committing murder by killing the intruder. And on and on the casuistry of No Killing goes. As Christian people, do we affirm the command, No Killing, as a univocal absolute, or do we equivocate for our own self deceiving needs and purposes?
In the early church, the principle of No Killing, and even no assault of any kind, was a basic principle and taken very seriously. Jesus told his followers to “bless those who curse you” and “turn the other cheek” when you are assaulted (Lk 6: 28-29). The early Christians refused to serve in the military, because to do so they had to pledge allegiance to Caesar and to kill people for the sake of Caesar’s kingdom. In the United States today we pledge allegiance to the flag of our kingdom and not to an individual, the President. Rhetorically, such a pledge of loyalty makes killing for the flag of the kingdom more acceptable than killing for the President.
Perhaps the greatest equivocation for No Killing in Christian history is Saint Augustine’s just war theory. In the fifth century C.E., Augustine of Hippo—a city in north Africa that is now in the country of Algeria, built his theory on the work of the first century B.C.E. Greek philosopher Cicero. Since Augustine, many Christians now accept his theory as the only way to think about war. Augustine establishes certain principles that must be met for a war to be considered as just, or justified.
For example, when the United States invaded Iraq, numerous Christian leaders claimed that the war fully met all of the Augustinian criteria for a just war. Just War, when a nation can “justify” itself, seems to be a long way from No Killing and turn the other cheek if someone attacks you. It is an equivocation. It claims that No Killing does not really mean No Killing of any kind, ever, under any and all circumstances.
Like No Killing, No Adultery is another apodictic statement that seems fairly straight forward. It is a univocal statement. However, the equivocators have long been quick to point out that adultery is, technically, between one person and another person, at least one of whom must be married for the term to apply. Others point out that it says nothing about two people, both of whom are single. And others claim it only refers to intercourse, but not other forms of sexual pleasure. Such equivocating was enjoined by President Bill Clinton in his affair with Monica Lewinsky: “I did not have sex with that woman, Monica Lewinsky.” Parsing his words carefully, he was defining sex as only meaning intercourse.
In 1964, Joseph Fletcher wrote a book titled, Situation Ethics: The New Morality. It is from this book and its title that the terms “situation ethics” and “new morality” entered the general public discourse. Fletcher argued that the “situation” of any ethical decision becomes part of the decision-making process, including sexual decision-making. In addition to using the word situation, today’s discourse also uses the phrase, “contextual variables.”
As a pastoral counselor, I have spoken to singles that are divorced who claim that the expectation of celibacy in post-divorce singleness is just not facing the reality of the “situation.” Once they have enjoyed the freedom of sexual pleasure within the bounds of marriage, it is unrealistic to expect the emotions and desires to just be cut off when the divorce is final.
I have even had counseling clients who, while going through divorce or even after the divorce is final but given the opportunity of place and privacy, will still have intercourse together. Somehow, the desire for closeness and intimacy empowers them to put aside the angry and hurt feelings of the divorce for a moment of sexual pleasure. Some of them regret the encounter at a later time, but some do not. Somehow, the familiarity with one another’s bodies makes it an easier decision than finding and developing another relationship with another person. In addition, the familiarity often keeps it from feeling like adultery: “No. I was always faithful during the marriage, and he/she is still the only one I have had sex with.”
And then there are the numerous Christians who have affairs and claim, “No one is getting hurt. My spouse does not know, so it’s no big deal.” Some will claim that the affair is actually improving their relationship at home with their spouse. If asked, they may acknowledge that it is adultery and then quickly claim that the “situation” at home is too difficult to expect otherwise. I also hear it from spouses of soldiers who are off at war, often justifying their behavior with a comment such as, “He/she’s probably doing the same thing over there.” I have had Christians for counseling who tell me that they have prayed together with the person with whom they are having the affair, and they feel that God has brought the two of them together. Do they plan to divorce their spouse and marry the affair person? No, but the question only indicates that I, as the counselor, do not understand the “situation.”
It is what is sometimes called emotional-ethical decision making. In 1977, Debby Boone recorded a hit song titled, “You Light Up My Life.” The last line of the song says, “It can’t be wrong, If it feels so right, ‘Cause you, you light up my life.” In other words, if it feels right, it must be the right thing to do. Many people seem to make their ethical decisions based on whether it “feels right.” However, some Christians are quick to point out, particularly regarding sexual ethics, just because it “feels” like the right thing to do, does not mean it is the right thing to do.
There are various clergy today who have affairs with congregants. Some of them apologize and believe the congregation should forgive and forget, or they move on to another congregation and repeat the same behavior. The television evangelist Jimmy Swaggart, apologized and cried and wept for forgiveness, and he is still on the television raising money.
These various responses are equivocations—attempts to justify the unjustifiable. The claim is that No Adultery does not really mean No Adultery of any kind, ever, under any and all circumstances. And it is similar to those who claim that No Killing does not really mean No Killing of any kind, ever, under any and all circumstances.
The existential psychologist Rollo May says, following Sigmund Freud’s logic, love-making and fighting are very similar neurologically in the physical body, because both reflect intimacy. We speak of sexual intimacy and love-making as the desire for closeness. In fighting, May says, we are pushing back against the threat of intimacy. To engage in the physical contact of a fight with another person is an intimate encounter, and the body’s various systems engage in the same neurological and physiological responses that are initiated in love making. By fighting, the person thinks that all intimacy is being avoided.
Spouse/partner violence in the United States and around the world is predominately by male partners. In many of these cases, the perpetrators claim over and over again how much they love their spouse. The violence creates a kind of false intimacy because the perpetrator is so frightened of genuine intimacy with their partner.
And so we have become a Christian faith of equivocators, situation deciders. We claim, absolutely, that killing is wrong. But then, we claim the murderer has “forfeited” the right to live, and, therefore, must die—by killing. We claim absolutely that adultery is wrong. But then, we make all kinds of excuses and exceptions for why the univocal, apodictic absolute does not apply to all circumstances.
In our various equivocations, we validate Saint Augustine’s dictum that in claiming our pure, godly, motives, we incurvatus in se—we deceive ourselves.
“And this is the judgment, that light has come into the world, and people love darkness rather than light, because their deeds are evil” (John 3:19).
“This is the message we have heard from Jesus and proclaim to you, that God is light and in God is no darkness at all. If we say we have fellowship with God while we walk in darkness, we are liars and do not live according to the truth; but if we walk in the light as God is the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus God’s son cleanses us from all sin. If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just and will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. But, if we say we have not sinned, we make God a liar, and God’s word is not in us” (1 Jn 1:5-10).
Do we live univocally or equivocally? Are the Ten Word apodictic for us? Or are they “ten suggestions” for those times when the situation seems to fit our self deceiving intentions?
