MATTHEW 14:1-12
AT THE BEGINNING OF MATTHEW 14, we are presented with two characters who are spiritually worlds apart. To use the language of Psalm 1, we have “the wicked” man and “the righteous” man. The wicked man is Herod the tetrarch (or Herod Antipas as he is also called), and the righteous man is John the Baptist.
In almost every passage thus far in Matthew’s Gospel Jesus has been the subject. That is, he is the one speaking or doing. But here in 14:1-12, which is a flashback to John’s death that also foreshadows the fate of Christ, Herod is the subject. He is the one acting in nearly every sentence. It is Herod who hears about Jesus, Herod who seized John, Herod who desired to put John to death, Herod who feared the people, Herod who promised an oath, Herod who was sorry after he promised that oath, yet who nevertheless acted out that oath: Herod commanded; Herod sent for John’s head.
So, in a Gospel about Jesus this is one place where the camera lens shifts from the hero to a villain. We see something of Herod’s sad saga. Due to this, in this chapter and the next we will look not directly at Christ but at two responses to him. In this chapter we will look at Herod and his vices that blinded him both to his sin and to the person of Jesus. For as our text begins, Herod thought that Jesus was John raised from the dead, a response thus far in Matthew’s Gospel not only furthest from the truth but furthest from reality.
Sigmund Freud's Analysis of Herod
One of God’s greatest gifts to me is the gift of an inquisitive mind. My areas of formal study are the Bible, Christian theology, and history. While never bored by these subjects, I am always intrigued by other subjects, usually subjects about which I know little.
For example, last year I wanted to know more about science. So I picked up our Children's Science Encyclopedia and read it through. After that I was intrigued by the infamous Charles Darwin, so I read his Autobiography, then a scholarly book on his theory of evolution, and finally his famous and controversial Origin of the Species. Just a few years before my study of Darwin, I wanted to know something about Sigmund Freud. So guess what I did? I read him, and I read about him. And let me tell you that Freud is as fascinating, controversial, and influential as Darwin.
I bring up Darwin only to get to Freud, and I bring up Freud only to tackle this text in an intriguing way. Knowing what I know about Freud and Herod, I thought, “How interesting it would be to have Freud psychoanalyze Herod!” In a moment, God’s Word will analyze Herod. But first I thought to myself, What would Sigmund Freud make of Herod Antipas?
Play along with me. Just imagine Herod, after all he has done in our text, and his obvious paranoia in verses 1, 2, lying down on Freud’s couch, staring up at the ceiling, ready for therapy session number one. Then imagine Freud’s first question. What do you think it might be? Knowing what I know of Freud, I think it would be something like, “So, Herod, tell me about your father.”
What a question that would be for Herod Antipas to answer! His father was Herod the Great, whom we have already met in Matthew 2, which describes the slaughter of the innocents, the Herod who put to death all the boys under the age of two in Bethlehem. That small window is a clear window into his life, for Herod the Great was anything but great. They should have called him Herod the Less or Herod the Small or Herod the Envious Egotistical Tyrant.
Herod Antipas’ mother (Freud would want to know about her too) was Herod the Great’s fourth wife out of ten. With all his wives and fourteen children, Herod grew insanely suspicious of whoever had claim to his throne. He grew so insanely suspicious that he had many who were closest to him murdered, executed, assassinated. At this time there was a popular saying: “It is safer to be Herod's pig than Herod's son.” If you thought your dad was bad, imagine having Herod the Great for your dysfunctional father.
So Herod Antipas’ answer to Freud’s question—“Tell me about your father”—would be of great interest to the doctor.
If that were the first question Freud would ask, what would be the second? Perhaps something like, “Why are you here?”
If you thought Herod’s first answer was of interest, the second is even juicier. Do you like day-time dramas? Are prime-time soap operas your thing? Well, Herod’s life is more intriguing and evil than anyone on The Young and the Restless, Sex in the City, or whatever other comparable shows are on television today.
Let me tell you some of his story. Herod Antipas was first married to an Arabian princess, Phasaelis, the daughter of King Aretas IV of Nabatea. This was a political marriage, which is intriguing because Herod the Great was Jewish. The Roman Senate elected him as "King of the Jews.” But in reality, like Freud, his Jewishness did not affect his moral views and choices.
Herod Antipas had a brother named Aristobulus, who was murdered by Herod the Great. Aristobulus had a daughter named Herodias, who is mentioned in verse 3. (Guess who she was named after?) Herodias married Herod Philip, Herod Antipas’ half-brother. So, technically Herodias was Herod Antipas’ niece as well as his sister-in-law. Are you following the genealogy here? And are you seeing a scandal brewing?
Well, Herod Antipas fell out of love with his wife and in love with his brother’s wife, and she fell in love with him. And one day while Herod Antipas was visiting Philip, he proposed marriage to Herodias. He, a married man, proposed to her, a married woman. She accepted, and on they went to sever their previous nuptial commitments. Their oaths! She got a divorce. He got a divorce. She and her daughter moved in with Herod. This was common knowledge, as we see in verse 4, since even camping-in-the-desert John the Baptist knows what happened. So what do we have here? Hollywood, eat your heart out! Adultery, divorce, backstabbing, deceit, high-handed political maneuverings, and the voice of one crying in this wilderness of debauchery.
That is only half of the story. (Imagine all the notes Freud would have to scribble down.) Then we have Herod’s infamous birthday party.
Do you like birthday parties? Who doesn’t? Well, the Jews didn’t because only pagans celebrated birthdays. There are only two birthday celebrations mentioned in the Bible. The first is Pharaoh’s birthday in Genesis 40:20, and the second is right here.
Anyway, Herod has this birthday party, which is more like a crude bachelor party. All the leading men of Galilee are gathered—the prestigious and powerful. And when it is time for the entertainment, which usually meant the slave girls would come in and dance, instead Herodias’s daughter Salome dances. She “danced before the company,” we are told. We are also told that all this “pleased” Herod (v. 6), a very tame way of speaking of his lust.
Like any man in that state of idiocy driven by sexual fantasy, he “promised with an oath to give her [Salome] whatever she might ask” (v. 7). In Mark's version, Herod says to her (with words nearly identical to what King Ahasuerus said to Queen Esther)," “Whatever you ask me, I will give you, up to half of my kingdom” (Mark 6:23). He is boasting. Herod is just a minor “king.” He is a tetrarch; that is, he rules a quarter of his father’s territory. And his father works for Rome. So Herod technically has no kingdom to give away. What territory he rules (Galilee and Peraea) he rules only by the will of his father and as confirmed by Emperor Augustus.
“Whatever you ask me... up to half of my kingdom” (Mark 6:23). You can almost feel the thickness of his vices in the air—his lust, his pride. He thinks he is walking on air. But little does he know that his new wife has set a trap through his stepdaughter. And into it he falls. Salome says, “Give me the head of John the Baptist here on a platter” (14:8). Can you imagine? For a moment a teenage girl wields such wicked weight over the “king” (v. 9). Herod was caught. He could either keep his oath or John could keep his head—that was his choice. Her seductive dance, his foolish oath, her gruesome request, and five minutes later John is dead. His head is served. Everyone gasps. But then the music starts again, the drinks flow, and Herod’s birthday party marches on.
What would Freud make of all this? Freud would surely speak of paranoia and repression—how Herod’s present problems are a result of his childhood. He could blame Herod’s dad for his issues, perhaps also suggesting that Herod suffers from some sort of Oedipus complex, which would explain why the two women in his life dominate his decisions. However, because of Freud’s humanistic philosophy that undergirded his psychoanalysis, one thing he would never do is make any moral judgments. That is the first rule of psychoanalysis. If he had Herod lying on his couch, he would never blame Herod’s wicked behavior on wicked Herod. Freud taught that every action could be accounted for by two basic instincts: eros (the sexual or erotic instinct that causes someone to lust or covet someone or something else) and thanatos (the death instinct that causes someone to be aggressive, self destructive, and at times cruel). This fits Herod pretty well. But the Bible’s analysis is that lust and death are fruits of sin. Herod’s lust after Herodias and her daughter and his cruelty toward John are only symptoms of a heartless king, a sinner, a man who refused to hear the word of God, first from John and then also from Jesus (see Luke 23:7-16).
So Freud’s analysis would only get us so far (if it gets us anywhere). There is secular analysis, and there is Scriptural analysis. Here is what the Bible has to say about Herod.
The Bible's Analysis
To determine the Bible’s analysis, we could turn to the Sermon on the Mount and see how Herod fared with Jesus’ teachings on lust, adultery, oaths, hatred, murder, revenge, and so on. Instead we will turn to Proverbs 6:16-19, where I have found a very interesting correlation to our text. That portion of God’s Word says, “There are six things that the Lord hates, seven that are an abomination to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil, a false witness who breathes out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers.”
What I found so interesting about this text as it relates to our passage is that it sheds tremendous light on God's analysis of Herod as well as his wife and stepdaughter. For Herod, by marrying his brother Philip’s wife (Philip still being alive) surely sowed “discord among brothers” (abomination, according to Proverbs 6). The actions of Herodias, with her carefully crafted manipulation of both her daughter and her husband, make up one of the best examples in the Bible of abomination, “a heart that devises wicked plans.” In the rash vow Herod made we have highlighted abomination, “a lying tongue” (when he offers Salome up to half of his kingdom when he doesn’t really have a kingdom to give). Then in fulfilling this vow we have abominations 1 and 5. It is Herod’s pride, his “haughty eyes” as Proverbs describes it, that compels him to hastily “run to evil” to save face instead of saving the prophet’s head. Finally, in their triangle of transgression, Herod, Herodias, and Salome are all guilty of abomination, “shedding innocent blood," the innocent blood of John the Baptist.
Isn’t that remarkable? Here in this story we have illustrated at least six, if not all seven, “things that the Lord hates,” according to Proverbs 6. How is that for judgment! You see, the Lord would only need one brief session of analysis to diagnose Herod’s problem (sin) and offer a one-word answer as his solution (repent).
What is the purpose of all this? The purpose is not merely to prove that the three villains in this text are indeed villainous. Rather, the primary purpose of identifying such abominations is to serve as a mirror to our souls. That is, when we look at this wicked man in our text, in what ways do we see ourselves? If we are to recognize Jesus’ true identity and live under his divine Lordship, there are at least two aspects of Herod’s life that we must be careful to avoid: (1) repeatedly acting against our conscience, and (2) repeatedly refusing to lay aside the sins that so easy entangle us.
Clarity about Our Consciences
Let’s look at our consciences first. In my old office I had pictures of three of the most prominent Protestant Reformers—Martin Luther, John Calvin, and Thomas Cranmer. Throughout the day those three dour faces would stare down upon me, making sure I was not slacking off (and making sure I’m still protesting).
Thomas Cranmer was the key theological figure of the English Protestant Reformation. From the reign of King Henry VIII to the reign of Queen Mary (“Bloody Mary” as she was to be remembered), Cranmer served as the Archbishop of Canterbury. When Mary came to power, as a devout Catholic she demanded that all Protestant bishops reconvert to Roman Catholicism on pain of death. For a time Cranmer refused to recant. He stayed Protestant. Yet, after being forced to watch his good friends Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley burn at the stake, Cranmer agreed to sign a number of recantations. In doing so he officially renounced his faith. But on the eve of what would turn out to be his execution “his courage returned to him as he stood in St. Mary’s Church in Oxford. Instead of repeating his recantations, he repudiated them.” This is what he said:
And now I come to the great thing which so much troubleth my conscience, more than any thing that ever I did or said in my whole life, and that is the setting abroad of a writing contrary to the truth, which now here I renounce and refuse as things written with my hand contrary to the truth which I thought in my heart, and written for fear of death, and to save my life… And forasmuch as my hand offendeth, writing contrary to my heart, therefore my hand shall first be punished; for when I come to the fire [to be burned at the stake], it shall first be burned.
According to John Foxe, in his Book of Martyrs, that is precisely what happened. Thomas Cranmer, when tied to the stake and surrounded by flames, in good conscience placed his right hand in the consuming fire, allowing his body rather than his soul to burn.
Herod Antipas’ actions were the opposite of Cranmer’s. In Mark’s version of this same story, Mark tells us that Herod thought John was “a righteous and holy man” (Mark 6:20). Herod knew the difference between righteous and unrighteous, between good and bad, right and wrong. That
is why Herod, again in Mark’s version, “kept him John safe” (6:20) and why he would actually go and listen to the prophet. He “heard him [John] gladly” (Mark 6:20), we are told, and yet with great perplexity and fear. In other words, something about John and John’s message pricked Herod’s conscience.
Herod’s conscience was alive and well, working within him, inwardly testifying along with the words of the prophet to the truth and the necessity of John’s message, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (4:17). However, though hearing, Herod would not hear. And by refusing to accept the word of God that aligned perfectly with the word in his soul, he only seared his conscience each time he listened to John and severed his own head, we might say, when he complied with Salome’s wish. Oh, he felt “sorry,” as verse 9 says (“exceedingly sorry,” Mark 6:26), about the choice he’d made regarding the life of John the Baptist and his ignorant oath. But he felt the kind of sorrow that Judas did. He was filled with remorse but not repentance. There is a world of difference between the two.
To murder a man you know is right and righteous and to show no remorse—we call such people psychopaths. But Herod was no psychopath. He was just an ordinary guy who made one small foolish step after another—a small step toward a woman who was not his wife, another step behind his brother’s back, a momentary fit of passion at a birthday party, and next thing you know there’s John’s head staring at you, so to speak, served on a royal platter.
In 14:5 we read that Herod “feared the people.” I also think he feared God. He feared God in the sense that he was frightened of the revenging justice of God, for verse 2 tells us Herod thought that Jesus’ miracles were best explained as some kind of reincarnation/resurrection of John. What do you make of that? William Barclay called it the “verdict of a guilty conscience.” I agree, for after John’s murder Herod was like a defendant who got off the hook legally but was haunted by the accusations of his own conscience.
In 1 Timothy 1:18, 19 Paul says to Timothy, “This charge I entrust to you, Timothy, my child, in accordance with the prophecies previously made about you, that by them you may wage the good warfare, holding faith and a good conscience. By rejecting this, some have made shipwreck of their faith.” To go against the better judgment of your conscience repeatedly, as Herod did, is to poke holes in the vessel of your soul. Sinning against one’s conscience is the first step in shipwrecking one's faith, or, in Herod’s case, never having faith in the first place. Sinning against his conscience kept him from Christ.
So, in looking at the Hawed character of Herod, we should be exhorted to hold on to “faith and a good conscience” and "always take pains,” as Paul says in Acts 24:16, “to have a clear conscience toward both God and man.”
Little Sins, Big Sins, Big Problem
Along with a clear conscience it is important that we rid ourselves of any known sin, especially sin, as Hebrews 12:1 says, that “so easily entangles” (niv).
Sir Walter Scott wrote, “Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.” In the case of Herod, we might better say it this way: “Oh, what a tangled web we weave when by our sinful pleasures we’re deceived.” Herod was entangled by sinful pleasures. He was vise-gripped by his vices. When he first met Herodias, as a married man he should never have entertained the idea of a possible marital relationship with her. Yet, as the historian Josephus tells us, it was Herod who sought this sinful relationship, and as our text portrays, once he obtained it he refused to let it go. Proverbs 9:17, 18 says, “Stolen water is sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant. But he does not know [by drinking of this water and eating of this bread] that the dead are there, that her guests are in the depths of Sheol.”
In Mark’s account four times we read of Herod “hearing.” Herod heard John’s message well enough. In fact, the truth was enticing to him. He must have contemplated submitting to it. But as preacher Mark Connelly has noted, “in the end Herod loved his sinful pleasures more than God’s truth.” Thus instead of severing his immoral relationship with Herodias (which John was calling him to do), he severed (literally) his relationship with John. “Off with John’s head, and on with my sin.”
In this way Herod is the perfect illustration of the third soil in Jesus’ Parable of the Sower, where the seed is sown among thorns. Herod hears the word, but “the cares of the world” (he has a “kingdom” to run and important people to impress), “the deceitfulness of riches” (he’s not about to give up his position and the wealth that goes with it to follow some hermit from an obscure little town in Judea or some traveling peasant from Nazareth), and lusts for other things (women, power, you name it) enter in and choke the word, and it proves unfruitful (13:22). So it never grows.
That was Herod. Yes, he had an awful father. Yes, he was surrounded by temptations. However, he is not a man who so easily gets off the hook. Matthew puts Herod’s story here because Herod heard the prophet and heard of the Lord, and yet he refused to listen. That was Herod.
What about you? Are you, like Herod, entangled by some sin? Maybe it’s a sinful relationship. Maybe it’s a sinful thought life. Maybe it’s a sinful indulgence, a hobby or a habit that you refuse to stop. Maybe it’s one of those deadly vices that receives little attention today because they are no longer thought to be lethal—the sin of greed or sloth or gluttony. Whatever it is, we know why we won’t get rid of it. We allow it to take up residency in our lives because we like the temporal pleasure it provides. And when we’re confronted, like Herod was, with Biblical truths that challenge us to forfeit our pleasure, our temptation is to come up with some middle ground where we feel like we’ve made some effort to follow Christ without really having to give up our favorite sin. I know this from experience, and I assume you do too. We try to negotiate the sin in our lives rather than eradicate it. However, what happens, whether we are conscious of it or not, is that the web of self- deception encircles us until we are helpless (caught like a bug). Oh, what a tangled web we weave when by our sinful pleasures we’re deceived!
A Simple Lesson
From having Herod psychoanalyzed and then Scripture-analyzed, we learn a simple lesson. We learn not to be like him (cp. 1 Corinthians 10:6). If we want to see Jesus for who he is, we must not be like Herod. We must be careful to cultivate a good conscience and to be proactive in cutting ourselves free, by the power of the Word, from any and all sinful pleasures that entangle our souls.
The headless prophet and the heartless king. To be continued.
(R. Kent Hughes. and Douglas Sean O'Donnell., 2013; edited Carl Hinton., 2020)