Love, Liberty, and the Gravity of a Brother's Soul
Introduction: The Strong and the Weak
We are continuing our study in 1 Corinthians, and we find ourselves in the middle of a very practical, very messy, and very necessary discussion. The issue on the table in Corinth was meat that had been offered to idols. Some believers, whom Paul calls "the strong," understood that an idol is nothing. It's a block of wood or stone. The meat is just meat, and the earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof. Their knowledge was correct. But other believers, "the weak," had been recently converted out of paganism. For them, that meat was spiritually radioactive. Their entire lives had been entangled in the demonic worship associated with those idols, and to eat that meat felt like participating in that worship all over again. Their conscience was still sensitive, still raw from their former life.
This is not an abstract problem. We face analogous situations constantly. Can a Christian drink alcohol? Can a Christian listen to certain kinds of music? Can a Christian get a tattoo? These are questions of Christian liberty. And Paul's answer is that the question is framed incorrectly. The first question is not "What am I allowed to do?" The first question is "What does love require me to do?" Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. A Christian who only ever asks about his rights is a spiritual toddler, banging his cup on the high chair. A mature Christian asks about his responsibilities. The strong are not called to educate the weak by running them over with their liberty. The strong are called to protect the weak, to bear with them, and to love them.
In our passage today, Paul moves from the general principle, knowledge puffs up, to the specific, disastrous consequences of a loveless liberty. He shows us that exercising our freedom without regard for our brother is not a neutral act. It is a destructive act. It is a sin against our brother, and therefore, a sin against Christ Himself. This is a weighty matter. We are talking about the spiritual well being of a soul for whom Christ died. That is the price tag. And if we understand that, it will radically reorient how we think about our freedoms.
The Text
However, not all men have this knowledge; but some, being accustomed to the idol until now, eat food as if it were sacrificed to an idol; and their conscience, being weak, is defiled. But food will not commend us to God. We neither lack if we do not eat, nor abound if we do eat. But see to it that this authority of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak. For if someone sees you, who have knowledge, dining in an idol’s temple, will not his conscience, if he is weak, be built up to eat things sacrificed to idols? For through your knowledge he who is weak is ruined, the brother for whose sake Christ died. And in that way, by sinning against the brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if food causes my brother to stumble, I will never eat meat again, ever, so that I will not cause my brother to stumble.
(1 Corinthians 8:7-13 LSB)
The Defiled Conscience (v. 7)
Paul begins by acknowledging the reality on the ground in Corinth. Not everyone has the same level of understanding or the same spiritual history.
"However, not all men have this knowledge; but some, being accustomed to the idol until now, eat food as if it were sacrificed to an idol; and their conscience, being weak, is defiled." (1 Corinthians 8:7)
The strong brother says, "An idol is nothing." And he is right. But Paul says, "Hold on. Not everyone has that knowledge settled in their bones." For the weak brother, the idol is not nothing; it is a powerful, dark memory. He has spent his life in bondage to the demonic reality behind that idol. The association between the meat and the worship is not a fine theological point for him; it is a visceral, gut-level reality. He has been "accustomed to the idol until now." The grooves of his old life are still deep in his soul.
So what happens? He sees a strong brother eating, and he thinks he should be able to as well. But in his heart, he still eats it "as if it were sacrificed to an idol." He cannot disconnect the two. And the result is that his conscience, being weak, is "defiled." This is a crucial point. A defiled conscience does not mean he has committed an act that is, in itself, sinful. Eating the meat is not the sin. The sin is violating his own conscience. Romans 14:23 says, "...for whatever is not from faith is sin." If you believe something is wrong, and you do it anyway, you have sinned, even if the thing itself is permissible. You have trained yourself to override that internal moral governor that God has given you. To defile your conscience is to pour dirt in the gears of your own soul.
Notice Paul calls the conscience "weak." This is not an insult. A weak conscience is not a more sinful conscience; it is an over-scrupulous one. It is a conscience that is not yet fully informed by the gospel and is therefore prone to seeing sin where there is no sin. The goal is for the weak conscience to become strong, to be educated by the Word. But you do not strengthen a weak limb by putting a crushing weight on it. You strengthen it through patience and careful exercise.
Food is Neutral, Liberty is Not (v. 8-9)
Paul then clarifies the theological status of the food itself, before immediately returning to the central issue of love and responsibility.
"But food will not commend us to God. We neither lack if we do not eat, nor abound if we do eat. But see to it that this authority of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak." (1 Corinthians 8:8-9)
Here Paul agrees with the strong. "Food will not commend us to God." Our standing before God has nothing to do with our diet. We are not more holy for eating or for abstaining. This cuts against all forms of legalism and asceticism. Our righteousness is in Christ, not in our stomachs. This is basic Christian freedom.
But then comes the pivot in verse 9. "But see to it..." Pay attention. Be careful. Your liberty, your "authority," is not the ultimate value. Your brother's soul is. Your freedom can become a "stumbling block." What is a stumbling block, a skandalon? It is not merely something that offends someone's sensibilities. In our therapeutic age, we think being offended is the great sin. That is not what Paul is talking about. A stumbling block, in this context, is an occasion for another person to sin. It is causing someone to fall. You, in your strength, walk confidently over a log. The weak brother, trying to follow your example, trips over it and breaks his leg. Your strength has become the occasion for his injury.
Your liberty is a powerful tool. But like any tool, it can be used to build up or to tear down. The strong brother's liberty is a bulldozer. He can use it to clear a path for the weak, or he can use it to run right over him. Paul is telling them to get off the bulldozer.
The Anatomy of a Stumble (v. 10-11)
Paul then gives a specific, vivid example of how this happens. This is not a theoretical problem.
"For if someone sees you, who have knowledge, dining in an idol’s temple, will not his conscience, if he is weak, be built up to eat things sacrificed to idols? For through your knowledge he who is weak is ruined, the brother for whose sake Christ died." (1 Corinthians 8:10-11)
The scene is an idol's temple. In the ancient world, these temples were often the social centers of the city, like a restaurant or a public hall. A strong Christian, knowing the idol is a fraud, might accept an invitation to a feast there. He's just having dinner. But a weak brother sees him. He sees this mature believer, this man "who has knowledge," reclining at the table.
And what happens? His conscience is "built up." This is a fascinating, almost sarcastic, use of the word. It is the same word Paul used earlier when he said "love builds up." But here, the weak man is built up in the wrong direction. He is emboldened, not in faith, but in a way that leads him to violate his own conscience. He thinks, "If he can do it, I can do it." But he can't, not without defiling himself.
And the result is catastrophic. "For through your knowledge he who is weak is ruined." Ruined. Destroyed. This is the Greek word apollumi, which is often used for eternal destruction. Paul is not mincing words. This is not a minor faux pas. Your theological cleverness, your insistence on your rights, has participated in the spiritual destruction of your brother.
And then Paul brings out the ultimate argument, the trump card that silences all debate. He is "the brother for whose sake Christ died." This is the price tag hanging on that weak brother's soul. The eternal Son of God shed His blood for him. Jesus Christ considered that weak, scrupulous, difficult brother to be worth His own life. And you are going to trip him up for a steak? You are going to endanger the soul that Christ purchased with His own blood because you want to prove a theological point? The disproportion is staggering. It is cosmic treason.
The Sin Against Christ (v. 12-13)
Paul now draws the devastating conclusion. Sinning against your brother is not a horizontal affair. It is vertical. It is an attack on Christ Himself.
"And in that way, by sinning against the brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if food causes my brother to stumble, I will never eat meat again, ever, so that I will not cause my brother to stumble." (1 Corinthians 8:12-13)
When you sin against the brothers, you are "wounding their conscience." It is an act of violence. You are striking them in the most tender part of their soul. And because the church is the body of Christ, when you wound a member of the body, you are wounding the Head. Jesus said to Saul on the road to Damascus, "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting Me?" Saul was persecuting Christians, but Jesus took it personally. To sin against the least of these my brethren is to sin against Me. This elevates the entire discussion. This is not about etiquette; it is about loyalty to our King.
Faced with this reality, Paul's conclusion is absolute and sweeping. "Therefore..." Because of all this, because of the price Christ paid, because sinning against my brother is sinning against Christ, my personal liberties are nothing in comparison. "If food causes my brother to stumble, I will never eat meat again, ever."
This is not hyperbole. This is the logic of cruciform love. Paul is saying that his right to eat meat is infinitely disposable when compared to the spiritual health of his brother. He would become a vegetarian for life rather than cause a brother to fall. The principle is this: my liberty ends where my brother's spiritual welfare begins. Love does not ask, "What am I allowed to do?" Love asks, "What is best for my brother?" Love is willing to build a fence around its liberty for the sake of another.
"so that I will not cause my brother to stumble." (1 Corinthians 8:13)
This is the great principle of Christian freedom. True freedom is not the right to do whatever you want. True freedom is the power to lay down your rights for the good of others. This is the freedom Christ modeled for us. He had all the rights and privileges of deity, but He "emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant" (Philippians 2:7). He laid down His rights in order to serve and save us. Our liberty, then, must be a reflection of His. It must be a servant liberty, a liberty that builds up, a liberty that protects the weak, a liberty that would rather go without meat forever than harm a soul for whom Christ died.
Conclusion: Liberty in the Shape of a Cross
The world's idea of liberty is autonomy. It is the right to be left alone, to do as I please, to be the king of my own little kingdom. But Christian liberty is covenantal. It is the freedom from sin and death in order to be bound in love to God and to our brothers and sisters. Our liberty is not a solo performance; it is an instrument in the orchestra of the church, and it must be played in harmony with the other instruments, especially the quietest and most fragile ones.
So we must examine ourselves. Are we strong? If so, are we using our strength to serve or to swagger? Are we using our knowledge to build up or to demolish? Do we see the weak brother as an annoyance and a project, or do we see him as a precious soul with a price tag on him that reads, "The blood of Christ"?
And if we are weak, we must not make our conscience the king. We should strive to grow in knowledge and have our conscience educated by the Word, so that we can rejoice in the freedom Christ has purchased. But the primary burden here is placed on the strong. The burden is to love. The burden is to remember that our rights are always subordinate to the law of love.
Christian liberty is liberty in the shape of a cross. It is the freedom to lay down our lives, our preferences, our rights, and our freedoms for the sake of our brothers. It is the freedom to say with Paul, "I will never eat meat again," if it means protecting one of Christ's little ones. That is true strength, that is true knowledge, and that is true freedom.