Marriage with a deceased wife's sister: Leviticus XVIII. 18, considered in connection with the Law of the Levirate

In Short

This work is a theological and legal defense of the long-standing English marriage laws that forbade a man from marrying his deceased wife’s sister. Written as an open letter to the Lord Chancellor in 1869, the text argues that such unions are inherently incestuous according to the Levitical code. By dissecting the relationship between different biblical verses and the ancient "Law of the Levirate," the author attempts to clarify divine will. It remains a fascinating artifact of nineteenth-century moral argument, capturing the intense, scholarly, and deeply anxious debate over the sanctity of marriage.

The Story

The narrative arc of this work follows a rigorous intellectual pursuit: the reconciliation of seemingly contradictory biblical injunctions. The author begins by asserting that the sanctity of England’s "Table of Degrees"—the list of prohibited marriages—is under immediate threat from the proposed "Wife’s Sister’s Marriage Bill." He frames the issue not merely as a matter of civil law but as a grave spiritual crisis. His objective is to prove that the 18th verse of Leviticus chapter 18, often cited by reformers as a permission to marry a deceased wife’s sister, has been fundamentally misunderstood.

The argument commences with the foundational principle of "nearness of kin," established in the early verses of Leviticus 18. The author insists that this prohibition applies equally to relationships of affinity as it does to blood, viewing the wife as "one flesh" with the husband. He walks the reader through the tension between two key verses: verse 16, which forbids a man to marry his brother’s wife, and verse 18, which provides a conditional restriction against taking a wife’s sister "in her lifetime." Reformers argued that verse 18 implicitly permits the marriage once the sister has passed away. The author vehemently rejects this, positing that such a reading would create a logical contradiction within the divine text, which he finds impossible.

To resolve this, he introduces the "Law of the Levirate" from Deuteronomy, which commanded a man to marry his brother’s childless widow to preserve the family line. He argues that the confusion arises because critics have failed to see Leviticus 18:18 as a specific, narrow exception designed only to prevent the complication of two sisters being wives to one man under the Levirate law. By presenting his interpretation as a coherent "statute," he attempts to strip away the perceived contradiction. The argument builds toward a moral climax, where the author warns that if the state adopts a permissive stance toward these marriages, it risks sliding into the "abominations" of the ancient Canaanites. He concludes by dismissing contemporary objections as absurd, using the literary example of Hamlet’s uncle Claudius to illustrate the moral incoherence of disregarding these divine prohibitions.

How It Unfolds

The key-note of kinship The argument begins with the sixth verse of Leviticus, which establishes the foundational prohibition against "nearness of kin." The author asserts that this mandate defines the scope of all subsequent rules, bridging the gap between blood relationships and affinity.

The conflict of interpretation The text pivots to the central dispute: whether verse 16’s prohibition against marrying a brother’s wife should be overruled by the literal phrasing of verse 18 regarding sisters. The author highlights the "over-riding" nature of this debate, where he must prove his reading provides a more harmonious synthesis of scripture.

The Levirate resolution He introduces the Deuteronomic law of the Levirate as a necessary context for understanding the specific prohibitions in Leviticus. This serves as the crux of the argument, framing verse 18 not as a general rule, but as a protective exception to prevent domestic rivalry.

The final warning The work culminates in a solemn appeal to the nation’s Christian identity. The author warns that setting human law against divine prohibition is an act of rebellion that echoes the sins of antiquity.

The People

The text is driven by the voice of the author, Mayow Wynell Mayow, who acts as the quintessential Victorian polemicist. He wants to uphold the structural integrity of the Church of England’s marriage canons and is driven by an earnest, almost desperate, need to prevent what he considers a "grievous sin." He positions himself as a defender of tradition, finding comfort in the authority of figures like John Keble and Archbishop Parker.

Opposing him is the shadow of the reformers and the specific arguments of Dr. M’Caul. The author treats M’Caul as a worthy but misguided antagonist whose reliance on the Mishna leads to a fatal misunderstanding of the text. M’Caul represents the "modern" impulse to use legalistic logic to bypass ancient prohibitions. The Lord High Chancellor, Lord Hatherley, serves as the silent, idealized audience—a figure whom the author respects as a champion of traditional values and to whom he looks for validation. These figures do not evolve in a narrative sense, but rather represent fixed poles in a debate: one standing for the literal, traditionalist reading of scripture, the other for an interpretation that seeks to modernize the law by pointing out perceived textual contradictions.

In Its Own Voice

The author highlights the necessity of viewing the Bible as a cohesive, non-contradictory body of law, rather than a collection of conflicting verses.

"To over-ride a command, which is distinct and precise, you must have a very clear verse and a very clear interpretation."

In explaining the necessity of reading the prohibition against marrying a wife's sister as a permanent moral restriction, he argues against the idea that such laws are mere suggestions.

"It is incest and not adultery which is the subject of the prohibitions throughout."

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exercise in biblical hermeneutics applied to civil policy. It explores the question of whether sacred law can be treated with the same analytical machinery as an Act of Parliament. The underlying concern is the preservation of the domestic sphere as an extension of spiritual law. Mayow is deeply preoccupied with the nature of "affinity," or the bond created by marriage, and whether that bond carries the same permanent weight as biological kinship. The book asks whether a society can remain truly "Christian" if it permits the state to define marriage in ways that deviate from traditional scriptural interpretations. It is fundamentally an argument about the limits of human authority in the face of what the author perceives to be divine, unchangeable truth.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of Victorian social morality or the evolution of marriage law will find this an evocative, albeit dense, experience. It offers a clear window into the high-minded, intensely scholarly rhetoric used by the nineteenth-century clergy to influence government policy. The prose is formal and earnest, reflecting the gravity with which the author views his mission.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the book's difficulties. Its reliance on highly technical theological arguments and constant references to the "Leviratical law" can feel remote to contemporary sensibilities. The author’s period-specific attitudes toward marriage and his stern warnings against "abominations" may feel jarring or overly rigid. Yet, for those who appreciate the intellectual rigor of a bygone era, the text provides a fascinating look at how deep-seated cultural anxieties were framed as purely logical, scriptural problems. It stays with you not because the argument is necessarily persuasive to a modern secular reader, but because it so perfectly captures the intensity of a moral world that felt its very foundations were slipping away. It is a demanding read, but one that rewards the patient student of nineteenth-century thought with a profound sense of the era’s intellectual and spiritual landscape.