The Third Commandment: Sacred Silence
How Reverence Became Control
“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.”
— Exodus 20:7
Having monopolised worship and restricted imagination, the commandments turn inward with the third — targeting language itself. This is not a rule about manners or reverence, but a mechanism for regulating speech, intent, and ultimately thought.
On the surface, it appears benign: treat the divine name with respect. In sermons, it is reduced to a warning against casual swearing. But this reading is historically thin and intellectually evasive. In its original context, the third commandment functioned as something far more severe: a mechanism for enforcing silence, obedience, and deference to authority through fear.
This is where faith stops asking and starts policing.
The Power of Names in the Ancient World
In the ancient Near East, names were not labels. They were forces. To know a name was to possess access — sometimes even leverage. Gods were invoked, summoned, bound, or petitioned through their names. Names anchored ritual, oath-making, curses, and covenants. Speech itself was an act.
This is the cultural soil from which the third commandment grew.
To “take the name of a god” was not simply to mention it. It was to invoke authority, claim legitimacy, or bind oneself — or others — under divine witness. Kings ruled in gods’ names. Contracts were sealed by them. Violence was justified through them.
Against this backdrop, the commandment is not about manners. It is about control of invocation.
Only authorised uses of the divine name were permitted. Only sanctioned voices could speak on God’s behalf. Everyone else risked guilt, punishment, or worse.
From Sacred Name to Forbidden Word
Over time, the Hebrew divine name יהוה (YHWH) became unspeakable. What began as reverence hardened into taboo. The name was replaced with substitutes — Adonai (אֲדֹנָי), HaShem (הַשֵּׁם) — until the original was effectively erased from common speech altogether.
This was not accidental.
A god who cannot be named cannot be casually invoked. A god who cannot be invoked cannot be challenged. And a god who cannot be spoken plainly exists only through intermediaries — priests, scribes, institutions.
Silence became sanctity.
The third commandment thus completed the transition begun by the second: God was not only invisible, but increasingly unutterable. Faith retreated from experience into regulation.
Reverence as Regulation
The standard religious defence claims that the commandment simply promotes sincerity — that God’s name should not be used hypocritically or deceitfully. But this interpretation collapses under scrutiny.
If sincerity were the goal, the commandment would target actions. Instead, it targets speech. Worse still, it attaches undefined guilt: “for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes his name in vain” (Exodus 20:7; cf. Deuteronomy 5:11). No criteria. No defence. No appeal.
This vagueness is the point.
Once a concept becomes too sacred to question or parody, it becomes immune. Mockery turns sinful. Criticism becomes offence. Doubt becomes moral failure. As Christopher Hitchens observed, this is not reverence — it is pre-emptive censorship.
The third commandment protects not God, but the structures that speak for him.
The Birth of Blasphemy
From this commandment flows the idea of blasphemy — the crime of saying the wrong thing about the divine.
Historically, blasphemy laws have had little to do with theology and everything to do with power. They have been used to silence reformers, punish critics, and eliminate dissenters. From medieval Europe to contemporary theocracies, the charge is remarkably consistent: speech that threatens authority is reframed as offence against God.
Ironically, many of those punished under blasphemy laws were challenging corruption, not divinity. The commandment intended to protect holiness instead protected hierarchy.
Even today, blasphemy laws persist in various countries, sometimes carrying lethal penalties (also see The Holy Legal Hangover). Their moral lineage traces directly back to Exodus 20:7 — a divine threat repurposed into human law.
When Respect Becomes Compulsory
The third commandment exposes a fundamental contradiction in religious morality: respect cannot be commanded.
Genuine reverence, if it exists at all, arises freely. It cannot be coerced under threat of guilt or punishment. The moment reverence is enforced, it becomes fear. And fear is not virtue.
By demanding respect for a name under threat of divine retribution, the commandment reveals its authoritarian core. Belief is not persuaded. It is compelled.
This is not about protecting the sacred. It is about preventing challenge.
The Final Silence
Perhaps the greatest irony of the third commandment is its outcome. In seeking to protect the divine name, it ultimately erased it. The name became unspoken. Then unknown. Then abstract.
What remains is not intimacy with the divine, but a linguistic void guarded by taboo.
The first commandment claimed exclusive loyalty.
The second forbade representation.
The third now controls speech itself.
Together, they form a closed system: worship without alternatives, imagination without images, language without freedom.
A god who must not be named, pictured, or questioned does not invite faith.
He demands silence.
And silence, enforced by fear, has never been a virtue — only a tool.
Sources
Armstrong, Karen. The Case for God. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2009.
Hitchens, Christopher. God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. New York: Twelve Books, 2007.
Levenson, Jon D. Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985.
Wright, N. T. The New Testament and the People of God. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992.
Zenger, Erich. A God of Vengeance? Understanding the Psalms of Divine Wrath. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1996.