Some are willing to borrow the supposedly compelling arguments developed by this worldview to support the "sanctity of marriage." Well, the only question is how many people today believe in the doctrine of "marriages are made in heaven" in its form. In any case, it is clear that there is very little chance of success for those who offer such a teaching to a world that has completely departed from this view of life in everything—in science, in politics, in art, and in religion. Moreover (and more importantly), it is far from clear that such a doctrine has any basis in the teachings of Jesus or in the New Testament. In it, as in the mythological worldview, there is nothing specifically Christian. This is simply the metaphysics of the pre-scientific era. To link Christianity with it means to discredit it along with this obsolete metaphysics.

But there is another version of the supranaturalistic marriage ethic that is much more prevalent, especially among Protestants. According to this version, marriage, like everything else in life, is based on an absolute commandment, or the Law of God, or on the teachings of Christ, which are interpreted in an equally legalistic way. God has established "laws that must never be broken." Divorce is always absolutely unjust. If any concessions were made, it was only "because of the hardness of human heart." But even in this case, people must remember where they came from. After all, "absolute moral norms" are predestined for everyone and forever. The supranaturalistic ethic is sanctioned by Mount Sinai228 and "the clear teaching of our Lord." There can be no doubt about Christian standards in this area, as in any other. With all changes, they are unchanged; The Church's task is to call people to observe these rules and to the religion on which they are based.

This position remains much more attractive in the eyes of society. Indeed, people think, this is exactly what the Church should stand for. And when it turns out that someone, and even more so a bishop, does not agree with this, it makes a deeply shocking impression. However, it is obvious that the laws in question are among those that are written mainly in order to violate them. The sanctions of Sinai are no longer intimidating, and the authority of Jesus, even as a great moral teacher, is no longer heeded. By depriving these authorities of their supernatural support, people found that the code of generally accepted rules of life based on them was now difficult to take seriously. "Why not?.." or "What's wrong with that?.." are the questions that our generation demands answers. And the answers of the supernaturalists—that God or Christ has declared that this is a "sin"—retain force or even meaning only for the "religious remnant" that is waning before our eyes.

But is it possible that Christian ethics is addressed only to this remnant? Of course, the Gospels do not give reason to believe that the gate has ceased to be narrow. Yes, "few find them" (Matt. 7:14). But in the Gospel there is no indication that Christian ethics is suitable only for "religious". It is for everyone: it is based on human nature, and it is no accident that Jesus did not turn to Moses and the Law to substantiate His teaching on marriage, but directly to the days of creation (Mark 10:29). It is universal: it is not only for homo religiosus.

THE TEACHINGS OF JESUS

There are even more serious objections to this supranaturalistic ethic. Not only is it now suitable only for a limited number of people who can accept its foundations, but it also greatly distorts the teaching of Jesus. "The clear teaching of our Lord" is usually understood to mean that Jesus gave certain precepts, universal and universally binding. Some actions are always right, others are always bad, and this is true for everyone and under all circumstances.

But this means that the Sermon on the Mount is interpreted as a new Law. However, even if Matthew interpreted Jesus' words in this way, today almost any New Testament scholar will tell you that it was a misinterpretation. Jesus' moral precepts were not intended to be interpreted legalistically, as if they prescribe to all Christians what to do regardless of circumstances, or that they proclaim certain courses of conduct to be universally correct and all others to be universally wrong. These are not laws that determine what love demands always and from everyone; rather, they are examples of what love can demand of everyone at any time.230 They are parables of the Kingdom as presented in its moral demands, vivid images of the uncompromising demand that can be made of anyone who responds to the call of the Kingdom. The word said to the rich young man: "Go and sell all that you have" (Mark 10:21) is not a universal principle of moral behavior, but a parable translated into the language of the moral imperative about the rich merchant who did just that for the sake of possessing a pearl of great price (Matt. 13:46). This transition to the imperative: "Go and do likewise" (Luke 10:37) is not a law; such a turn of phrase is comparable to the words that Nathan said to David at the conclusion of the classic Old Testament parable: "You are that man" (2 Samuel 12:7). This is a reminder that parables are not at all entertaining stories that can be remembered in different situations of life; they express the Kingdom's call to a particular person or group of people in a particular situation.

This inherent character of Jesus' ethical utterances must be emphasized in order to prevent ourselves and our hearers from being misunderstood as literal precepts or universal principles applicable to all occasions. It is impossible to preface the Sermon on the Mount with a title. "This is what you should do under any circumstances." Rather, the following words would be appropriate: "This is the kind of action that the kingdom (or love, if you are open to the absolute, unconditional will of God) can demand of you at any moment."

Jesus' teaching on marriage (as well as everything else) is not a new law that declares divorce to be the greater of two evils in all circumstances, whereas under the Mosaic law there are times when it is not. The teaching of Jesus states that love, unconditional love to the end, does not tolerate compromise; it cannot be satisfied with anything other than complete and unconditional self-giving. How can this manifest itself? To sell all that you have (Mark 10:21), to put all your possessions in the treasury of the temple (Mark 12:44), to give away your clothes or lend your money without asking for anything (Matt. 5:4042), to cut off your right hand or to pluck out your eye (Matt. 5:2930). However, it is quite clear that this is not the case in every situation. After all, in the sayings of Jesus there is no attempt to judge what to do in cases of rivalry of interests (Luke 12:14) or how to take into account the needs of a third person that are present in any real life situation (who, for example, will support a widow after she has donated all her means of subsistence? or the children of a person who gave everything to a beggar?). Of course, love must also take all this into account – and just as unconditionally. But Jesus never solves all these questions for us, it is enough for Him to know that if we have penetrated the matter, if our eye is pure, then love will find its way, will make its own way in any given situation.

Supranaturalistic ethics, on the other hand, seeks to subordinate the real relationship between people to some external universal law, metaphysical or moral. Decisions are not made on the basis of this particular relationship between people. Man was created for the Sabbath, not the Sabbath for man. Whatever the individual circumstances, the moral law remains the same for all time. It is imposed on this relation from the outside, from above. And in order to "apply" the law to this case, there is casuistry.

Such ethics is "heteronomous" in the sense that it derives its norms from the "otherworldly," and this, of course, is its strength. It supports "absolute", "objective" moral values, it restrains the currents of relativism and subjectivism like a dam. And yet, heteronomy is at the same time its very vulnerable point. It has irresistible persuasiveness and self-sufficient validity only for those who believe in an "otherworldly God." It cannot answer the question "Why is this bad?" based on the inner realities of the situation itself. The revolution from supranaturalism to naturalism, from heteronomy to autonomy in the field of ethics, has happened to us so long ago that there is no need to say much about it now. It began with the sublime grandeur of Kant's autonomous ideal, which gave perhaps the greatest and most objective of all ethical systems. But in reality it was simply a secularized deism—and not entirely secularized, for although Kant dispensed with the hypothesis of God as the source of the moral law, he nevertheless reverted to it (and in the crudest form of deus ex machina) in order to ensure the ultimate coincidence of virtue and happiness. Kant's moral idealism lived at the expense of religious capital. As the latter was exhausted or rejected, this idealism was supplanted by ethical relativism of all kinds—utilitarianism, evolutionary naturalism, existentialism. These systems, so different in themselves, are united by the fact that they have opposed (and quite rightly) any subordination of the specific needs of the individual situation to some alien universal norm. But their development led to the fact that all objective or unconditional rules one after another drowned in the swamp of relativism and subjectivism. Tillich summed up the current situation in words that are said about culture as a whole, but can no less rightly be attributed to its ethical aspect:

"Autonomy is viable as long as it can draw strength from the religious tradition of the past, from the remnants of a lost theonomy. But the further it goes, the more it loses this spiritual basis. It becomes more and more empty, more and more formalistic or ascertaining, and slides into skepticism and cynicism, to a loss of meaning and purpose. The history of autonomous cultures is a history of the gradual loss of spiritual essence. This process ends with autonomy turning back to the lost theonomy with an impotent nostalgic yearning or rushing in search of a new theonomy."236