The question of who determines the ethical boundaries for artificial intelligence (AI) models—particularly large language models (LLMs)—is both urgent and complex. As LLMs have become increasingly capable and widely deployed, their responses to ethically charged prompts (such as planning a crime) have shifted from compliance to resistance, reflecting evolving ethical constraints. This transformation is not the result of a single authority or ethical tradition, but rather emerges from a confluence of actors, processes, and philosophical tensions. This essay critically examines the sources and mechanisms by which ethical norms are embedded in AI models, drawing on recent academic literature in AI alignment, technology studies, regulatory theory, and philosophy.
The Multi-Layered Sources of AI Ethics
1. Developers and Corporate Governance
At the most immediate level, the ethical boundaries of LLMs are set by the organizations that design, train, and deploy them. Major AI companies such as OpenAI, Google, and Microsoft have established internal governance structures—ethics boards, advisory committees, and responsible AI teams—that oversee the development and deployment of AI systems (Floridi et al. 2018; Mittelstadt 2019). These bodies articulate ethical principles (e.g., fairness, transparency, non-maleficence) and operationalize them through codes of conduct, risk assessments, and technical safeguards (Morley et al. 2021). The values embedded in these frameworks are shaped by a combination of corporate culture, public image concerns, and the professional backgrounds of the developers and ethicists involved (Jones 2022).
However, the process is not value-neutral. As the literature on “embedded values” in technology design demonstrates, the organizational culture, disciplinary practices, and even tacit knowledge of development teams play a significant role in determining which values are prioritized and how they are interpreted (Friedman and Nissenbaum 1996; Jones 2022). For example, a company that prioritizes rapid innovation may embed different ethical trade-offs than one that emphasizes risk aversion or social responsibility.
2. Human Feedback and Reinforcement Learning
A central mechanism for encoding ethical boundaries in LLMs is Reinforcement Learning from Human Feedback (RLHF). In this process, human annotators evaluate model outputs for qualities such as helpfulness, safety, and appropriateness, and these judgments are used to fine-tune the model (Christiano et al. 2017; Bai et al. 2022). RLHF allows for the incorporation of nuanced, context-dependent ethical judgments that are difficult to formalize mathematically. It also enables iterative refinement, as models are updated in response to new forms of misuse or shifting societal expectations (Ouyang et al. 2022).
Yet, RLHF is not immune to bias. The ethical standards encoded through human feedback reflect the perspectives, backgrounds, and cultural assumptions of the annotators, who are often drawn from specific (frequently Western) populations (Gabriel 2020). This can result in the marginalization of minority or non-Western ethical perspectives, raising concerns about the global legitimacy of AI ethics (Birhane et al. 2022).
3. Regulatory and Legal Frameworks
The ethical constraints on LLMs are also shaped by external regulatory and legal requirements. Governments and international organizations have developed a range of frameworks—such as the EU AI Act, the U.S. AI Bill of Rights, and UNESCO’s Recommendation on the Ethics of AI—that mandate transparency, fairness, accountability, and respect for human rights in AI systems (Veale and Borgesius 2021; Floridi 2023). These regulations often require companies to conduct ethical impact assessments, document decision-making processes, and provide mechanisms for redress.
Regulatory influence is not uniform across jurisdictions, leading to a patchwork of standards that companies must navigate. In practice, many AI developers adopt the most stringent applicable standards (often those of the EU) as a baseline, resulting in a form of “regulatory universalism” that may not reflect local cultural values (Wachter et al. 2021).
4. Philosophical and Societal Influences
Beneath these institutional layers lies a deeper philosophical tension between universalism and relativism in AI ethics. Universalist approaches argue for the primacy of fundamental moral principles—such as human dignity, fairness, and non-maleficence—across all contexts (Floridi and Cowls 2019). These are often codified in international human rights instruments and serve as the foundation for many AI ethics guidelines.
In contrast, relativist perspectives emphasize the importance of cultural, historical, and situational factors in shaping ethical norms (Mittelstadt 2019). The challenge for AI developers is to balance these competing demands: to embed universal principles that protect against harm and discrimination, while remaining sensitive to local values and practices. Hybrid approaches, which establish core ethical commitments but allow for contextual adaptation, are increasingly favored in both academic and policy circles (Jobin, Ienca, and Vayena 2019).
The Evolution of Ethical Constraints in LLMs
The shift in LLM behavior—from compliance with ethically dubious prompts to active resistance—reflects the dynamic and iterative nature of AI ethics. Early models, trained primarily on large internet datasets, mirrored the diversity (and sometimes toxicity) of online discourse. As incidents of misuse became apparent, developers introduced more robust safeguards, including RLHF, content filters, and explicit refusals to engage in illegal or harmful activities (Bai et al. 2022). These changes were driven by a combination of public pressure, regulatory scrutiny, and internal ethical deliberation.
Recent research has also explored more transparent and participatory approaches to AI alignment, such as “Constitutional AI,” where high-level ethical principles are explicitly encoded and subject to public input (Askell et al. 2021). However, the challenge of ensuring that these principles are legitimate, robust, and adaptable remains unresolved.
Critical Reflections
While the current approach to AI ethics prioritizes safety, legality, and broadly accepted moral standards, it is not without limitations. The reliance on corporate governance and Western-centric regulatory frameworks risks perpetuating dominant values at the expense of marginalized perspectives. The opacity of RLHF and other alignment techniques complicates efforts to audit and contest the ethical boundaries of AI systems. Moreover, the exclusion of user choice in ethical frameworks—while justified by concerns about safety and misuse—raises questions about autonomy and pluralism in digital societies.
Conclusion
The ethical boundaries of AI models are set by a complex interplay of corporate governance, human feedback, regulatory mandates, and philosophical commitments. No single actor or tradition “tells” AI what is or is not ethical; rather, these boundaries emerge from ongoing negotiation among developers, regulators, annotators, and society at large. As AI systems become more pervasive and influential, the challenge will be to ensure that their ethical constraints are transparent, legitimate, and responsive to the diversity of human values.
Brandon L. Blankenship is an assistant professor, continuing legal education presenter, and business educator. He and his wife Donnalee live on their hobby farm south of Birmingham, Alabama.
Askell, Amanda, Yuntao Bai, and Saurav Kadavath. 2021. “A General Language Assistant as a Laboratory for Alignment.” arXiv preprint arXiv:2112.00861.
Bai, Yuntao, et al. 2022. “Training a Helpful and Harmless Assistant with Reinforcement Learning from Human Feedback.” arXiv preprint arXiv:2204.05862.
Birhane, Abeba, et al. 2022. “The Values Encoded in Machine Learning Research.” Patterns 3, no. 8: 100588.
Christiano, Paul F., et al. 2017. “Deep Reinforcement Learning from Human Preferences.” Advances in Neural Information Processing Systems 30.
Floridi, Luciano, and Josh Cowls. 2019. “A Unified Framework of Five Principles for AI in Society.” Harvard Data Science Review 1, no. 1.
Floridi, Luciano, et al. 2018. “AI4People—An Ethical Framework for a Good AI Society: Opportunities, Risks, Principles, and Recommendations.” Minds and Machines 28, no. 4: 689–707.
Friedman, Batya, and Helen Nissenbaum. 1996. “Bias in Computer Systems.” ACM Transactions on Information Systems 14, no. 3: 330–347.
Gabriel, Iason. 2020. “Artificial Intelligence, Values and Alignment.” Minds and Machines 30, no. 3: 411–437.
Jobin, Anna, Marcello Ienca, and Effy Vayena. 2019. “The Global Landscape of AI Ethics Guidelines.” Nature Machine Intelligence 1, no. 9: 389–399.
Jones, Peter H. 2022. “Values Conflicts in Software Innovation: Negotiating Embedded Ethics in Organizational Processes.” Journal of Responsible Innovation 9, no. 1: 1–23.
Morley, Jessica, et al. 2021. “From What to How: An Initial Review of Publicly Available AI Ethics Tools, Methods and Research to Translate Principles into Practices.” Ethics and Information Technology 23, no. 3: 293–306.
Ouyang, Long, et al. 2022. “Training Language Models to Follow Instructions with Human Feedback.” Advances in Neural Information Processing Systems 35: 27730–27744.
Veale, Michael, and Frederik Zuiderveen Borgesius. 2021. “Demystifying the Draft EU Artificial Intelligence Act.” Computer Law Review International 22, no. 4: 97–112.
Wachter, Sandra, Brent Mittelstadt, and Chris Russell. 2021. “Why Fairness Cannot Be Automated: Bridging the Gap Between EU Non-Discrimination Law and AI.” Computer Law & Security Review 41: 105567.
The Supreme Court’s recent decisions in New York State Rifle & Pistol Ass’n v. Bruen (2022) and Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization (2022) have catalyzed a profound reorientation in American constitutional interpretation. Both cases, though arising from distinct doctrinal contexts—Second Amendment rights and abortion, respectively—signal a decisive turn away from precedent-based balancing and toward a methodology that privileges history and tradition as the primary arbiters of constitutional meaning. Yet, as leading legal scholarship demonstrates, this shift is neither unproblematic nor internally consistent. In this article, I analyze the constitutional reasoning in Bruen and Dobbs, critically engage with the emerging scholarly critiques, and propose a new interpretive frame: a Contextualized Historical-Structural Approach that seeks to reconcile the virtues of historical inquiry with the demands of principled, transparent, and adaptable constitutional adjudication.
I. The Turn to History and Tradition: Methodological Convergence and Divergence
Both Bruen and Dobbs exemplify the Supreme Court’s increasing reliance on history and tradition as the touchstone for constitutional rights. In Bruen, the Court rejected the familiar two-step, means-end scrutiny for Second Amendment cases, instead requiring that modern gun regulations be justified by direct analogy to historical practices. The majority opinion, authored by Justice Thomas, insisted that the government must “affirmatively prove that its firearms regulation is part of the historical tradition that delimits the outer bounds of the right to keep and bear arms” (Blocher and Ruben 2025, 1782). Similarly, in Dobbs, the majority, led by Justice Alito, grounded its rejection of a constitutional right to abortion in the absence of such a right in the nation’s “history and tradition,” concluding that abortion was not “deeply rooted” in the American legal tradition at the time of the Fourteenth Amendment’s ratification (Schneller et al. 2024, 312).
Despite this methodological convergence, the cases diverge in their treatment of precedent and the scope of judicial power. Bruen is evolutionary, building on District of Columbia v. Heller (2008) without overturning longstanding precedent, whereas Dobbs is revolutionary, explicitly discarding nearly fifty years of precedent and signaling a willingness to revisit other substantive due process rights (Columbia Law Review 2025, 1123). This divergence underscores the Court’s selective deployment of history and tradition, raising questions about the coherence and legitimacy of its interpretive methodology.
II. Critiques of the Historical-Analogical Method
Legal scholars have subjected the Court’s new historical-analogical approach to searching critique. Blocher and Ruben (2025) argue that Bruen’s “originalism-by-analogy” does not, in practice, constrain judicial discretion; rather, it enables subjectivity and unpredictability, as courts struggle to identify relevant historical analogues for modern regulations. The lack of clear standards for what constitutes a “sufficiently similar” historical law has led to inconsistent outcomes in lower courts, with empirical studies documenting doctrinal instability and unpredictability (Blocher and Ruben 2025, 1790; “One Year Post-Bruen” 2023).
Similarly, the historical inquiry in Dobbs has been criticized for its selective and sometimes ahistorical use of the past. Schneller et al. (2024) contend that the majority’s account of abortion’s legal status at the time of the Fourteenth Amendment is contestable and that the decision’s narrow reading of substantive due process threatens the security of other unenumerated rights. The Court’s approach, they argue, risks reducing constitutional interpretation to a contest over historical narratives, with little guidance for resolving conflicts in the historical record (Schneller et al. 2024, 320).
Moreover, recent scholarship has identified a “hidden equality analysis” at work in both cases: when faced with conflicting historical traditions, the Court quietly applies reasoning akin to equal protection analysis, sometimes treating outlier laws as constitutionally suspect and sometimes incorporating them into the tradition (Columbia Law Review 2025, 1135). This implicit balancing, masked as neutral historical inquiry, undermines the transparency and predictability of constitutional adjudication.
III. The Limits of Existing Interpretive Frameworks
The ascendancy of history and tradition in Bruen and Dobbs reflects the dominance of originalism in contemporary constitutional theory. Yet, as Barnett and Solum (2023) and others have noted, originalism itself is not monolithic; it encompasses a range of approaches, from “public meaning” originalism to “framework originalism,” each with different implications for judicial discretion and adaptability. Critics of originalism warn that rigid historicism may fail to address contemporary problems, while living constitutionalism is faulted for granting judges excessive discretion (Barnett and Solum 2023, 145; Baude and Sachs 2022, 102).
The Court’s recent decisions expose the limitations of both approaches. The historical-analogical method, as applied in Bruen and Dobbs, neither fully constrains judicial discretion nor provides a principled basis for resolving novel constitutional questions. At the same time, the rejection of balancing tests and the narrowing of substantive due process threaten to erode the protection of fundamental rights not explicitly enumerated in the Constitution (Schneller et al. 2024, 325).
IV. Toward a Contextualized Historical-Structural Approach
In light of these developments, I propose a new interpretive frame: the Contextualized Historical-Structural Approach. This framework seeks to integrate the insights of historical inquiry with the structural principles and purposes of the Constitution, while maintaining transparency and adaptability in constitutional adjudication.
First, this approach recognizes the value of history and tradition as sources of constitutional meaning, but insists that historical analysis must be contextualized—attentive to the social, political, and technological changes that shape the application of constitutional principles. Rather than searching for direct analogues, courts should identify the underlying purposes and values animating historical practices and assess their relevance to contemporary circumstances (Blocher and Ruben 2025, 1802).
Second, the approach incorporates structural analysis, examining how constitutional provisions interact with one another and with the broader architecture of government. This structural perspective enables courts to consider the implications of their decisions for federalism, separation of powers, and the protection of individual rights, thereby avoiding the pitfalls of narrow textualism or selective historicism (Barnett and Solum 2023, 150).
Third, the Contextualized Historical-Structural Approach demands transparency in judicial reasoning. When historical evidence is ambiguous or contested, courts should candidly acknowledge the limits of historical inquiry and articulate the normative principles guiding their decisions. This transparency fosters legitimacy and predictability, while allowing for principled adaptation to new challenges (Columbia Law Review 2025, 1140).
Finally, this approach encourages a dialogic relationship between courts and the political branches, recognizing that constitutional meaning is shaped not only by judicial interpretation but also by democratic deliberation and social practice. By situating constitutional adjudication within this broader context, the framework balances respect for tradition with the need for constitutional evolution.
V. Conclusion
The Supreme Court’s decisions in Bruen and Dobbs mark a watershed in American constitutional interpretation, entrenching history and tradition as the primary arbiters of constitutional rights. Yet, as leading scholarship reveals, the Court’s historical-analogical method is fraught with indeterminacy and subjectivity, threatening both the coherence and legitimacy of constitutional law. The Contextualized Historical-Structural Approach offers a way forward: by integrating historical inquiry with structural analysis and transparent reasoning, it provides a principled and adaptable framework for constitutional adjudication in a changing society.
Brandon L. Blankenship is an assistant professor, continuing legal education presenter, and business educator. He and his wife Donnalee live on their hobby farm south of Birmingham, Alabama.
Barnett, Randy E., and Lawrence B. Solum. 2023. “Originalism After Dobbs, Bruen, and Kennedy: The Role of History and Tradition.” Northwestern University Law Review 117: 143–188.
Blocher, Joseph, and Eric Ruben. 2025. “Originalism-by-Analogy and Second Amendment Adjudication.” Yale Law Journal 134: 1775–1832.
Columbia Law Review. 2025. “How Bruen and Dobbs Resolved Opposing Historical Traditions Through Hidden Equal Protection Analysis.” Columbia Law Review 125: 1121–1150.
Schneller, Hillary A., Diana Kasdan, Risa E. Kaufman, and Alexander Wilson. 2024. “Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization: Reckoning with its Impact and Charting a Path Forward.” University of Pennsylvania Journal of Constitutional Law 26: 311–355.
“One Year Post-Bruen: An Empirical Assessment.” 2023. Duke Law Journal 72: 201–245.
Baude, William, and Stephen E. Sachs. 2022. “Originalism and the Law of the Past.” Law and History Review 40: 101–130.
The concepts of “freedom” and “liberty” occupy a central place in the political discourse of the American founding era, yet their distinction remains a subject of scholarly debate. While these terms are often used interchangeably in both the Federalist and Anti-Federalist Papers, a closer examination of their philosophical, linguistic, and historical contexts reveals nuanced differences that reflect deeper ideological divides regarding the nature of self-government, the structure of political authority, and the protection of individual rights.
Linguistic and Philosophical Foundations
The etymological roots of “liberty” and “freedom” provide an initial point of distinction. “Liberty,” derived from the Latin libertas and Old French liberté, is historically associated with legal and institutional dimensions of self-rule, emphasizing the rights and privileges conferred by membership in a political community. In contrast, “freedom,” with its Old English origin (frēodōm), connotes a more personal or existential state, often linked to individual autonomy and the absence of external restraint (Skinner 1998; Berlin 1969). This linguistic distinction is reflected in the broader philosophical literature, where “liberty” is frequently tied to the structure and limits of political authority, while “freedom” is associated with the individual’s capacity for self-determination (Berlin 1969; Pettit 1997).
Isaiah Berlin’s influential distinction between negative and positive liberty further illuminates these concepts. Negative liberty, or “freedom from” interference, aligns with the classical liberal tradition and is often mapped onto the term “freedom.” Positive liberty, or “freedom to” realize one’s own potential or participate in collective self-governance, resonates with the republican tradition and is more closely associated with “liberty” as a political and civic ideal (Berlin 1969; Pettit 1997). However, as scholars have noted, the mapping of these philosophical distinctions onto the terms “freedom” and “liberty” is not always consistent, particularly in the context of eighteenth-century American political thought (Skinner 1998; Gienapp 2018).
Federalist Conceptions: Liberty as Ordered Self-Government
The Federalist Papers, authored by Hamilton, Madison, and Jay, articulate a vision of liberty that is fundamentally tied to the structure of government and the rule of law. For the Federalists, liberty is not simply the absence of government interference, but the product of a well-constructed constitutional order that prevents the concentration and abuse of power. Madison, for example, famously asserts that “justice is the end of government… until liberty be lost in the pursuit” (Federalist No. 51), emphasizing that liberty is preserved through a system of checks and balances, federalism, and the separation of powers (Madison 1788; Rakove 1996).
In this framework, liberty is a collective good, secured by institutions that channel and restrain both governmental and popular power. The Federalists acknowledge that liberty enables the formation of factions, but argue that the solution is not to suppress liberty, but to control its effects through a large, diverse republic (Federalist No. 10). Thus, liberty is conceived as the condition in which individuals are protected from arbitrary rule, not by minimizing government, but by ensuring its accountability and representativeness (Rakove 1996; Wood 1969).
Anti-Federalist Conceptions: Freedom as Local Autonomy and Non-Domination
The Anti-Federalist Papers, in contrast, foreground the dangers of centralized authority and the erosion of local autonomy. For the Anti-Federalists, freedom is closely tied to the ability of individuals and states to govern themselves without undue interference from a distant federal government (Storing 1981). They argue that true liberty requires not only the absence of oppression, but also the active capacity for self-government at the local level. Brutus, for instance, warns that the proposed Constitution would create a government with “absolute and uncontrollable power,” threatening both state sovereignty and individual freedoms (Brutus No. 1).
The Anti-Federalists’ conception of liberty aligns with the republican ideal of non-domination, where freedom is understood as protection from arbitrary or unchecked authority (Pettit 1997). They insist that only small, local republics can adequately represent the interests of the people and safeguard their liberties. The demand for a bill of rights reflects their concern that explicit protections are necessary to prevent the encroachment of federal power on individual and state rights (Storing 1981; Cornell 1999).
Contemporary Scholarly Interpretations
Recent scholarship underscores that the distinction between freedom and liberty in the founding era is both context-dependent and ideologically charged. Linguistic analyses of founding-era texts reveal that “liberty” was more frequently used to denote political and civil rights within a constitutional order, while “freedom” could refer to both personal autonomy and collective self-determination (Gienapp 2018; COFEA Project). Intellectual historians caution against projecting modern, individualistic notions of liberty onto the Founders, emphasizing instead their communitarian understanding of self-government and the public good (Gienapp 2018; Wood 1969).
Legal scholars have critiqued originalist approaches that equate liberty with deregulation, arguing that the Founders saw a “free state” as one where the people, through representative institutions, could regulate their own rights in the public interest (Gienapp 2018). The ongoing tension between local autonomy (“freedom”) and national unity (“liberty”) reflects deeper, unresolved debates within the American constitutional tradition (Cornell 1999).
Conclusion
In sum, while “freedom” and “liberty” are often used interchangeably in the Federalist and Anti-Federalist Papers, their distinction lies in the emphasis placed on individual autonomy versus collective self-government, the structure of political authority, and the means by which rights are secured. The Federalists conceive of liberty as the product of a well-ordered constitutional system that balances competing interests and prevents tyranny, while the Anti-Federalists emphasize freedom as local autonomy and protection from centralized power. Contemporary scholarship highlights the importance of situating these terms within their historical and philosophical contexts, recognizing that the American founding tradition is marked by an enduring ambivalence—and creative tension—between the ideals of freedom and liberty.
Brandon L. Blankenship is an assistant professor, continuing legal education presenter, and business educator. He and his wife Donnalee live on their hobby farm south of Birmingham, Alabama.
Berlin, Isaiah. 1969. Two Concepts of Liberty. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Cornell, Saul. 1999. The Other Founders: Anti-Federalism and the Dissenting Tradition in America, 1788–1828. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.
Gienapp, Jonathan. 2018. The Second Creation: Fixing the American Constitution in the Founding Era. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Madison, James. 1788. “Federalist No. 51.” In The Federalist Papers, edited by Clinton Rossiter. New York: Signet Classics.
Pettit, Philip. 1997. Republicanism: A Theory of Freedom and Government. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Rakove, Jack N. 1996. Original Meanings: Politics and Ideas in the Making of the Constitution. New York: Vintage.
Skinner, Quentin. 1998. Liberty Before Liberalism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Storing, Herbert J., ed. 1981. The Complete Anti-Federalist. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Wood, Gordon S. 1969. The Creation of the American Republic, 1776–1787. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.
The evolving landscape of science education has prompted a re-examination of the roles educators play in the classroom. The terms “classroom leader,” “teacher,” and “facilitator” are often used interchangeably, yet scholarly literature in the learning sciences delineates important distinctions among these roles, each carrying unique responsibilities, forms of authority, and pedagogical approaches.
Classroom Leader: Vision, Influence, and Distributed Authority
Classroom leadership, as conceptualized in the learning sciences, extends beyond the traditional notion of a teacher as the sole authority figure. Instead, it encompasses the ability to shape classroom culture, set a vision for learning, and foster an environment where both teachers and students can exercise agency and influence (Hallinger 2019). Instructional leadership, a foundational model, emphasizes the alignment of instructional and managerial roles with the overarching goal of improving student learning. This form of leadership is not limited to formal authority but is increasingly understood as a distributed process, involving collaboration among teachers, students, and other stakeholders (Lambert 2002; Hallinger 2019). In science education, classroom leaders are responsible for setting clear goals, cultivating a positive climate for inquiry, and supporting the professional growth of both themselves and their peers (Bybee 1993).
Recent research further highlights the emergence of transformational and shared leadership models, where the teacher inspires and motivates students, encourages higher engagement, and enables students to take on leadership roles themselves (Pounder 2008; Oliveira et al. 2014). In inquiry-based science classrooms, leadership may be decentralized, with students sharing control over topics and tasks, which has been shown to enhance cognitive engagement and foster a sense of ownership over learning (Oliveira et al. 2014).
Teacher: Content Expertise, Instruction, and Assessment
The role of the teacher, while historically associated with content delivery and classroom management, has undergone significant transformation in response to advances in learning science. Traditionally, teachers have been viewed as subject matter experts responsible for designing curricula, delivering content, and assessing student learning (York-Barr and Duke 2004). This role is characterized by formal authority, structured lesson planning, and direct instruction, with the teacher serving as the primary source of knowledge and evaluator of student progress (American University School of Education 2023).
However, contemporary research underscores a shift toward more student-centered approaches, where teachers are also expected to act as assessors, diagnosticians, and co-learners (Avraamidou 2014). In these contexts, teachers balance their expertise in scientific content with the need to support student inquiry, adapt instruction to diverse learners, and foster critical thinking and problem-solving skills (Windschitl et al. 2012). The teacher’s identity is thus multifaceted, shaped by personal beliefs, professional experiences, and the broader institutional context (Avraamidou 2014).
Facilitator: Process Guidance, Collaboration, and Learner Autonomy
Facilitation represents a distinct pedagogical approach that prioritizes the learning process over content transmission. In science education, facilitators guide inquiry, support group dynamics, and foster dialogic engagement, enabling students to construct knowledge collaboratively (van de Pol et al. 2010). Unlike teachers, facilitators may not always be content experts; their primary expertise lies in orchestrating productive discussions, scaffolding group work, and creating inclusive environments where all voices are valued (American University School of Education 2023).
Facilitation is particularly central in inquiry-based and project-based learning environments, where the goal is to promote student agency, critical thinking, and epistemic engagement (Hmelo-Silver and Barrows 2006). The facilitator’s role involves structuring tasks, monitoring interactions, providing timely feedback, and encouraging reflection, all while balancing guidance with learner autonomy (Mercer et al. 2019). In online and blended science classrooms, e-facilitation has become increasingly important, requiring new competencies in digital communication and community-building (Littleton and Whitelock 2005).
Comparative Analysis and Evolving Boundaries
While the distinctions among classroom leader, teacher, and facilitator are analytically useful, recent scholarship emphasizes the fluidity and overlap of these roles in contemporary science education (York-Barr and Duke 2004; Hallinger 2019). Effective educators often integrate elements of all three, adapting their stance according to the needs of their students, the goals of instruction, and the demands of the learning environment (Windschitl et al. 2012). The shift toward distributed leadership and collaborative facilitation reflects a broader movement in the learning sciences toward student-centered, inquiry-driven, and equity-oriented pedagogies (Lambert 2002; Oliveira et al. 2014).
In summary, the classroom leader sets vision and fosters a culture of inquiry and shared responsibility; the teacher brings content expertise and manages instruction and assessment; and the facilitator guides the learning process, supporting collaboration and learner autonomy. Understanding these distinctions—and their intersections—is essential for advancing effective practice and research in science education.
Brandon L. Blankenship is an assistant professor, continuing legal education presenter, and business educator. He and his wife Donnalee live on their hobby farm south of Birmingham, Alabama.
Avraamidou, Lucy. 2014. “Studying Science Teacher Identity: Current Insights and Future Research Directions.” Studies in Science Education 50(2): 145–179.
Bybee, Rodger W. 1993. “Leadership, Responsibility, and Reform in Science Education.” ERIC.
Hallinger, Philip. 2019. “Instructional Leadership: Its Transformation and Globalization.” In Educational Leadership and Administration: Concepts, Methodologies, Tools, and Applications, 1–22. ScienceDirect.
Hmelo-Silver, Cindy E., and Howard S. Barrows. 2006. “Goals and Strategies of a Problem-based Learning Facilitator.” Interdisciplinary Journal of Problem-based Learning 1(1): 21–39.
Lambert, Linda. 2002. The Constructivist Leader. Teachers College Press.
Littleton, Karen, and Denise Whitelock. 2005. “The Negotiation and Co-construction of Meaning and Understanding within a Postgraduate Online Learning Community.” Learning, Media and Technology 30(2): 147–164.
Mercer, Neil, Rupert Wegerif, and Lyn Dawes. 2019. “Children’s Talk and the Development of Reasoning in the Classroom.” British Educational Research Journal 25(1): 95–111.
Oliveira, Alandeom W., Ugur Boz, Gregory A. Broadwell, and Troy D. Sadler. 2014. “Student Leadership in Small Group Science Inquiry.” International Journal of Science Education 36(17): 2845–2863.
Pounder, James S. 2008. “Transformational Classroom Leadership: A Basis for Academic Staff Development.” Journal of Management Development 27(6): 616–632.
van de Pol, Janneke, Monique Volman, and Jan Beishuizen. 2010. “Scaffolding in Teacher–Student Interaction: A Decade of Research.” Educational Psychology Review 22(3): 271–296.
Windschitl, Mark, Jessica Thompson, and Melissa Braaten. 2012. “Ambitious Pedagogy by Novice Teachers: Who Benefits from Tool-supported Collaborative Inquiry in Science?” Science Education 96(5): 876–903.
York-Barr, Jennifer, and Karen Duke. 2004. “What Do We Know About Teacher Leadership? Findings from Two Decades of Scholarship.” Review of Educational Research 74(3): 255–316.
The Bible teaches two different but connected ideas: people are made in the “image of God” (Genesis 1:26–27), and marriage is “like” the relationship between Christ and the Church (Ephesians 5:22–33). Being made in God’s image is an ontological reality, meaning it is built into what it means to be human. Every person, simply by being human, reflects God in a unique way and has dignity, purpose, and responsibility. This image was damaged by sin but is restored through Christ. Marriage, on the other hand, is an analogy, not a literal reflection of God’s being. Paul uses marriage as a way to illustrate how Christ loves the Church and how the Church responds to Him. This does not mean marriage and the Christ-Church relationship are the same, but that marriage serves as a living example of sacrificial love, mutual respect, and unity. Put simply, the image of God describes who all people are, while marriage points beyond itself to the gospel and the ultimate union of Christ and His people.
The distinction between God creating humanity in His “image” (Genesis 1:26–27) and the Christian marriage being “like” Christ and His Church (Ephesians 5:22–33) is foundational for biblical anthropology, ecclesiology, and Christian ethics. This analysis, informed by the authority of Scripture and the ordering of God’s commandments, explores the ontological and analogical dimensions of these two concepts, drawing on biblical exegesis and peer-reviewed theological scholarship.
1. Ontological Reality: The Imago Dei
1.1. The Meaning of “Image” (Tselem) in Genesis 1:26–27
The Hebrew term tselem (“image”) in Genesis 1:26–27 signifies that humanity is created as a real, though finite, reflection of God’s being. Scholarly consensus affirms that “image” here denotes a representative function—humans are appointed as God’s vice-regents, reflecting His character and exercising stewardship over creation (Middleton 2005, 27; Clines 1968, 53). The image is not a physical likeness but a status and vocation: to represent God’s rule, to relate to Him and others, and to exercise moral and rational capacities (Wenham 1987, 30; Westermann 1984, 146).
1.2. Ontological Distinction
The imago Dei is ontological: it is a reality of human existence, grounded in the act of creation. All humans, by virtue of being human, bear the image of God. This image is intrinsic, not merely functional or relational, though it is expressed in relationship and vocation (Hoekema 1986, 69; Barth 1960, 187). The image is not lost in the Fall, though it is marred; it is restored and perfected in Christ (Colossians 1:15; Ephesians 4:24).
1.3. Theological Significance
The imago Dei grounds human dignity, equality, and moral responsibility. It is the ontological basis for the command to love God and neighbor (Matthew 22:37–40), and for the ethical imperative to treat all people with respect and justice (Middleton 2005, 27; Hoekema 1986, 69).
2. Analogical Relationship: Marriage as “Like” Christ and the Church
2.1. The Analogy in Ephesians 5:22–33
In Ephesians 5:22–33, Paul employs the Greek comparative terms hōs (“as”) and kathōs (“just as”) to draw an analogy between the marital relationship and the relationship between Christ and the Church. This analogy is not ontological but analogical: marriage is not the same as the Christ-Church union, but it is patterned after it (Lincoln 1990, 373; Barth 1974, 613).
2.2. Analogical, Not Identical
Scholars emphasize that the analogy is meant to illuminate the character and quality of marriage by reference to the Christ-Church relationship, but not to equate the two in substance or essence (Lincoln 1990, 373; Witherington 2007, 337). The use of “as” and “just as” signals that the marital relationship is a reflection, a sign, or a type of the greater reality of Christ’s sacrificial love and the Church’s responsive devotion (O’Brien 1999, 425).
2.3. Theological and Ethical Implications
The analogy serves as an ethical paradigm: husbands are called to love sacrificially, as Christ loved the Church; wives are called to respect and respond, as the Church does to Christ. The analogy transforms Greco-Roman household codes by rooting marital roles in Christlike love and mutual submission (Eph. 5:21; Lincoln 1990, 373). The relationship is mutual, self-giving, and oriented toward sanctification and unity (Witherington 2007, 337).
3. Ontological vs. Analogical: The Core Difference
3.1. Ontological (Imago Dei)
Nature: Real, intrinsic, and universal to all humanity.
Ground: God’s creative act; humanity’s very being.
Function: Representation, relationship, and vocation as God’s image-bearers.
Theological Implication: Human dignity, equality, and moral responsibility are grounded in being made in God’s image (Middleton 2005, 27; Hoekema 1986, 69).
3.2. Analogical (Marriage as “Like” Christ and the Church)
Nature: Analogical, illustrative, and typological.
Ground: Patterned after the redemptive relationship between Christ and the Church.
Function: Ethical paradigm for Christian marriage; a sign pointing to a greater spiritual reality.
Theological Implication: Marriage is a living parable of the gospel, calling spouses to embody Christlike love and mutual submission (Lincoln 1990, 373; O’Brien 1999, 425).
3.3. Covenant Theology Perspective
Covenant theology further clarifies the distinction: the imago Dei is rooted in the covenant of creation, establishing humanity’s status and vocation before God. The marriage analogy, by contrast, is rooted in the new covenant, where marriage becomes a sign of the union between Christ and His redeemed people (Robertson 1980, 93; Witsius 1822, 1:27). The former is ontological and universal; the latter is analogical and redemptive-historical.
4. Exegetical Narrative: Genesis 1:26–27 and Ephesians 5:22–33
The contrast between ontology and analogy comes into sharper focus when we turn to the biblical texts themselves. Genesis 1 narrates humanity’s creation in God’s image, while Ephesians 5 reframes the household code in light of the Christ-Church relationship. Together, these passages illustrate how Scripture grounds both anthropology and ecclesiology in complementary yet distinct ways.
4.1. Genesis 1:26–27
Genre and Context: Genesis is narrative, recounting the creation of the world and humanity. The context is the inauguration of humanity’s unique role in creation.
Textual Analysis: “Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness… So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.’”
The repetition of “image” and “likeness” underscores the representative and relational nature of humanity’s creation.
The plural “let us” hints at the relationality within God, echoed in the creation of humanity as male and female (Barth 1960, 187).
The image is not a physical resemblance but a status and vocation: to represent God, exercise dominion, and live in relationship (Middleton 2005, 27).
4.2. Ephesians 5:22–33
Genre and Context: Ephesians is an epistle, addressing the ethical and theological life of the church. The immediate context is the “household code,” reinterpreted in light of the gospel.
Textual Analysis: “Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord… Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her… This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church.”
The repeated use of “as” and “just as” (hōs, kathōs) signals analogy, not identity (Lincoln 1990, 373).
The passage is structured around mutual submission (Eph. 5:21) and sacrificial love, transforming ancient household norms (Witherington 2007, 337).
The “mystery” (mystērion) is the revelation that marriage points beyond itself to the union of Christ and the Church (O’Brien 1999, 425).
Conclusion
The difference between God making man in His “image” and Christian marriage being “like” Christ and His Church is fundamentally the difference between ontological reality and analogical relationship. The imago Dei is an intrinsic, ontological status bestowed on all humanity by God’s creative act, grounding human dignity, vocation, and moral responsibility. In contrast, the analogy of marriage to Christ and the Church is a typological and ethical paradigm, calling Christian spouses to embody the gospel in their relationship. The former is universal and foundational to human identity; the latter is particular, redemptive-historical, and points beyond itself to the ultimate eschatological union of Christ and His people (Rev. 19:7–9).
Brandon L. Blankenship is an assistant professor, continuing legal education presenter, and business educator. He and his wife Donnalee live on their hobby farm south of Birmingham, Alabama.
Barth, Karl. 1960. Church Dogmatics, Vol. III/1: The Doctrine of Creation. Edinburgh: T&T Clark.
Clines, David J. A. 1968. “The Image of God in Man.” Tyndale Bulletin 19: 53–103.
Hoekema, Anthony A. 1986. Created in God’s Image. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.
Lincoln, Andrew T. 1990. Ephesians. Word Biblical Commentary, Vol. 42. Dallas: Word Books.
Middleton, J. Richard. 2005. The Liberating Image: The Imago Dei in Genesis 1. Grand Rapids: Brazos.
O’Brien, Peter T. 1999. The Letter to the Ephesians. Pillar New Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.
Robertson, O. Palmer. 1980. The Christ of the Covenants. Phillipsburg: Presbyterian and Reformed.
Westermann, Claus. 1984. Genesis 1–11: A Commentary. Minneapolis: Augsburg.
Wenham, Gordon J. 1987. Genesis 1–15. Word Biblical Commentary, Vol. 1. Dallas: Word Books.
Witherington, Ben, III. 2007. The Letters to Philemon, the Colossians, and the Ephesians: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on the Captivity Epistles. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.
Witsius, Herman. 1822. The Economy of the Covenants Between God and Man. 2 vols. Edinburgh: Doig and Stirling.
The case method, which has served as the cornerstone of American legal education since its introduction at Harvard Law School in the late nineteenth century, is predicated on the close analysis of appellate court decisions—many of which are, by their nature, narratives of legal failure or conflict (Stevens 1983; Kimball 2006). This pedagogical approach, while lauded for fostering critical thinking and doctrinal mastery, has been the subject of sustained critique regarding its psychological impact on law students, particularly in relation to the development of cynicism and risk-avoidant thinking.
The Case Method: Pedagogical Foundations and Critiques
The case method was designed to cultivate inductive reasoning, critical analysis, and comfort with legal ambiguity by immersing students in the study of judicial opinions (Kimball 2006). Through the Socratic method, students are challenged to dissect the reasoning behind judicial outcomes, often focusing on the errors, misjudgments, or failures of parties and lower courts (Schwartz 2001). While this approach is intended to mirror the realities of legal practice, it has been critiqued for overemphasizing doctrinal analysis at the expense of practical skills and for insufficiently preparing students for the complexities of real-world lawyering (Sullivan et al. 2007).
Studying Failure: Psychological Impacts
Empirical research in professional education more broadly, and legal education specifically, suggests that repeated exposure to failure cases can have complex psychological effects. On one hand, the analysis of failure is a powerful tool for learning, prompting deeper cognitive engagement, metacognitive reflection, and the development of adaptive expertise (Meyer et al. 2013). However, when failure is presented without adequate scaffolding or within a punitive classroom climate, it can also engender negative affective responses, including anxiety, frustration, and diminished self-efficacy (Steenhuis et al. 2022). In the context of law school, where the error climate is often competitive and high-stakes, these negative emotions may be amplified, contributing to the development of cynicism and risk aversion (Krieger 2002).
Cynicism and Risk Aversion in Law Students
Longitudinal and cross-sectional studies of law student psychology have documented a marked increase in cynicism as students progress through their legal education (Krieger 2002; Sheldon and Krieger 2004). This cynicism is characterized by skepticism toward the motives of others, the legal system, and the possibility of achieving justice. The adversarial and critical nature of the case method, which privileges the identification of flaws and the anticipation of legal pitfalls, is frequently cited as a contributing factor (Sullivan et al. 2007). Moreover, the emphasis on precedent and the avoidance of error in legal reasoning can reinforce a risk-averse mindset, as students learn to prioritize caution and the minimization of liability over innovation or advocacy for systemic change (Hamilton 2013).
Research in educational psychology further supports the notion that exclusive focus on failure cases, without balancing narratives of success or resilience, can foster risk-avoidant thinking and undermine professional confidence (Steenhuis et al. 2022). While the ability to anticipate and mitigate risk is a valuable legal skill, excessive risk aversion may limit students’ willingness to pursue entrepreneurial or public interest careers, and may stifle the development of creative problem-solving abilities (Hamilton 2013).
Professional Identity Formation and the Limits of the Case Method
The process of professional identity formation in law school is deeply influenced by the curriculum, faculty role models, and peer interactions (Sullivan et al. 2007). The case method, by centering legal education on the analysis of failure and conflict, may inadvertently shape students’ sense of what it means to be a lawyer—privileging skepticism, adversarialism, and risk minimization over collaboration, ethical reflection, and social justice advocacy (Hamilton 2013). While some degree of cynicism and risk awareness is arguably necessary for effective legal practice, the challenge for legal educators is to balance these traits with the cultivation of resilience, ethical commitment, and a sense of professional purpose.
Conclusion
In sum, while the case method remains a powerful tool for developing legal reasoning, its focus on the failures of others can contribute to the development of cynicism and risk-avoidant thinking among law students. These psychological tendencies are not inevitable, but are shaped by the broader educational climate, the presence or absence of supportive pedagogical practices, and the integration of alternative approaches that highlight success, resilience, and ethical engagement. A more balanced and reflective pedagogy—one that integrates both failure and success cases, fosters a positive error climate, and supports professional identity formation—may better prepare law students for the complexities and demands of legal practice.
Brandon L. Blankenship is an assistant professor, continuing legal education presenter, and business educator. He and his wife Donnalee live on their hobby farm south of Birmingham, Alabama.
Hamilton, Neil W. 2013. “Professional Formation and the Case Method.” In Educating Lawyers: Preparation for the Profession of Law, edited by William M. Sullivan et al., 190–220. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
Kimball, Bruce A. 2006. The Inception of Modern Professional Education: C.C. Langdell, Harvard Law School, and the American Model of Legal Education. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.
Krieger, Lawrence S. 2002. “Institutional Denial about the Dark Side of Law School, and Fresh Empirical Guidance for Constructively Breaking the Silence.” Journal of Legal Education 52 (1): 112–29.
Meyer, Bernd, et al. 2013. “Learning from Errors: Theory and Educational Implications.” Frontiers in Psychology 4: 1–10.
Schwartz, Michael H. 2001. “Teaching Law by Design: How Learning Theory and Instructional Design Can Inform and Reform Law Teaching.” San Diego Law Review 38: 347–420.
Sheldon, Kennon M., and Lawrence S. Krieger. 2004. “Does Legal Education Have Undermining Effects on Law Students? Evaluating Changes in Motivation, Values, and Well-Being.” Behavioral Sciences & the Law 22 (2): 261–86.
Steenhuis, Ineke H., et al. 2022. “Learning from Failure: The Role of Error Climate and Feedback in Professional Education.” Studies in Higher Education 47 (2): 345–62.
Stevens, Robert Bocking. 1983. Law School: Legal Education in America from the 1850s to the 1980s. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.
Sullivan, William M., Anne Colby, Judith Welch Wegner, Lloyd Bond, and Lee S. Shulman. 2007. Educating Lawyers: Preparation for the Profession of Law. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
There is no single, authoritative national statistic on how many U.S. attorneys primarily practice criminal law. Federal data sources classify lawyers by employer or industry rather than by subject-matter specialization, and bar organizations’ tabulations are not standardized across jurisdictions. Consequently, the best evidence comes from large, peer-reviewed studies of the legal profession that measure practice fields within representative samples and from scholarly syntheses of that literature. Taken together, these sources converge on a consistent picture: criminal practice constitutes a small minority of the U.S. bar—on the order of the mid–single digits, rising when prosecutors and public defenders are included.
The most detailed field-distribution evidence comes from the American Bar Foundation’s landmark “Chicago Lawyers” research program, which repeatedly mapped the practice ecology of a large metropolitan bar. In the 1990s wave reported in Urban Lawyers, criminal work accounted for only a small slice of the bar overall, with criminal defense occupying a modest share of private practitioners and a substantial fraction of government lawyers working as prosecutors or public defenders; combined, the criminal sphere in that metropolitan sample fell in the mid–single digits of the total bar (Heinz et al. 2005). An earlier analysis of the same bar in the 1990s similarly found that criminal practice remained a numerically small specialty relative to civil litigation and business-related fields, underscoring the stability of this pattern over time (Heinz, Nelson, and Laumann 1998). These studies also show that criminal practice is disproportionately located in solo and small-firm settings and in the public sector—features that keep its overall share limited even as it is central within those segments of the profession (Heinz et al. 2005).
National syntheses reach parallel conclusions. Reviewing multiple empirical studies, Sandefur characterizes criminal practice as a minority field within the stratified “two hemispheres” of the bar, concentrated in “people law” practices and in government roles rather than in the corporate hemisphere that numerically dominates large-firm employment; in aggregate, this places criminal practice below one-tenth of the profession and typically in the mid–single-digit range (Sandefur 2007). Classic structural accounts of the U.S. profession likewise emphasize that only a small fraction of lawyers specialize primarily in criminal matters, with most legal labor allocated to civil and commercial work; historical estimates in these accounts have consistently located criminal practice as a minor share of the bar (Abel 1989).
Triangulating across these research traditions yields a cautious but defensible estimate for the contemporary United States: approximately 5–8 percent of practicing attorneys primarily practice criminal law. The lower end of that range reflects the small proportion of private practitioners who identify criminal defense as a principal specialty; the upper end reflects inclusion of the sizeable corps of prosecutors and public defenders within government lawyering. Because many civil practitioners occasionally handle criminal matters, the proportion of lawyers who ever do any criminal work is higher than the proportion whose primary practice is criminal. But as a share of the bar defined by primary specialization, the best academic evidence places criminal practice firmly in the single digits (Heinz et al. 2005; Heinz, Nelson, and Laumann 1998; Sandefur 2007; Abel 1989).
Brandon L. Blankenship is an assistant professor, continuing legal education presenter, and business educator. He and his wife Donnalee live on their hobby farm south of Birmingham, Alabama.
Abel, Richard L. 1989. American Lawyers. New York: Oxford University Press.
Heinz, John P., Robert L. Nelson, Rebecca L. Sandefur, and Edward O. Laumann. 1998. “The Changing Character of Lawyers’ Work: Chicago in 1975 and 1995.” Law & Society Review 32 (4): 751–775.
Heinz, John P., Robert L. Nelson, Rebecca L. Sandefur, and Edward O. Laumann. 2005. Urban Lawyers: The New Social Structure of the Bar. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Sandefur, Rebecca L. 2007. “Staying Power? The Persistence of Social Inequality in the U.S. Legal Profession.” Annual Review of Law and Social Science 3: 377–401.
With global connectivity and digital relationships, the question of how we determine our moral responsibilities to those near and far has become increasingly urgent. The “ethics of proximity” addresses this very issue, challenging Christians to consider how physical, relational, and even digital closeness shapes our obligations to others. This exploration of the ethics of proximity draws on biblical foundations, philosophical insights, and contemporary Christian ethical thought, offering a framework for those seeking to live out their faith in a complex world.
Biblical Foundations: From Neighbor to Stranger
Scripture provides for understanding the ethics of proximity. In the Old Testament, moral obligations are often structured around familial and communal ties. The laws of ancient Israel, such as those concerning the care of widows, orphans, and strangers, reflect a hierarchy of responsibility that begins with one’s family and extends outward to the broader community (Exodus 22:21-24; Leviticus 19:9-18). The prophetic tradition, however, pushes these boundaries, calling for justice and compassion that reach beyond immediate kin to include the marginalized and oppressed (Isaiah 1:17; Micah 6:8) (Williams 1968).
The New Testament radically expands this vision. Christ’s parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37) redefines “neighbor” not as someone who is physically or socially close, but as anyone in need, regardless of background or proximity. This teaching challenges believers to transcend traditional boundaries and to see every person as worthy of compassion and justice (Stassen and Gushee 2016). Paul further develops this ethic, describing the church as a body in which each member is responsible for the well-being of others, thus emphasizing a spiritual and communal proximity that can override physical distance (1 Corinthians 12:12-27) (Bloomquist 2009).
Philosophical and Theological Insights: Encounter and Responsibility
Philosopher Emmanuel Levinas offers a perspective on the ethics of proximity, arguing that ethical responsibility arises most powerfully in face-to-face encounters with others. For Levinas, the presence of another person—especially one who is vulnerable—demands a response that precedes any abstract moral calculation. This “asymmetrical” relationship means that our obligation to others is not based on reciprocity or mutual benefit, but on the sheer fact of their presence and need (Levinas 1985). Such a view resonates deeply with Christian teachings on neighbor love, as it calls believers to prioritize concrete acts of care over distant or theoretical commitments (Logstrup 1997).
The ethics of proximity also aligns with the “ethics of care,” a framework that emphasizes the moral significance of relationships and attentiveness to the needs of those around us. Both approaches critique ethical systems that prioritize universal rules at the expense of personal engagement, insisting that genuine moral action is rooted in the particularities of lived experience and community (Held 2006).
Proximity, Social Justice, and Community Engagement
For Christians , the ethics of proximity is inseparable from the pursuit of justice and community engagement. Daniel Day Williams argues that love, as understood in Christian ethics, is not merely an abstract ideal but is realized in the pursuit of justice and reconciliation within society (Williams 1968). The Scriptural command to “love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18; Matthew 22:39) is thus not limited to personal relationships but extends to advocacy for the marginalized and the transformation of unjust structures (Stassen and Gushee 2016).
Civic engagement at the neighborhood level—whether through volunteering, activism, or simply building relationships—embodies the ethics of proximity by addressing the needs of those closest to us while also recognizing our interconnectedness with the wider world. In this way, proximity becomes both a starting point and a testing ground for broader commitments to justice and compassion (Bloomquist 2009).
Proximity in a Digital Age
The rise of digital technology and social media has complicated traditional notions of proximity. While physical closeness once defined our primary moral obligations, virtual interactions now create new forms of relational proximity that can be just as ethically significant. Online communities, for example, can foster genuine care and support, but they also raise questions about privacy, authenticity, and the limits of our responsibility (Buchanan and Zimmer 2021). For Christians, navigating these digital spaces requires a renewed attentiveness to the needs of others, a commitment to respectful engagement, and a willingness to extend neighbor love beyond physical boundaries.
Conclusion
The ethics of proximity challenges Christians—especially those in the digital, globalized world—to rethink how we define and prioritize our moral responsibilities. Rooted in Scripture, enriched by philosophical reflection, and oriented toward justice and community, this ethic calls us to respond to the needs of those both near and far, in person and online. Ultimately, it is an invitation to embody the radical love of Christ in every sphere of our lives.
Brandon L. Blankenship is an assistant professor, continuing legal education presenter, and business educator. He and his wife Donnalee live on their hobby farm south of Birmingham, Alabama.
