One of the most insidious forms of moral corruption is not the open exploitation of others — it is the subtle reclassification of people as resources. It happens in relationships, in institutions, in economies, and in communities. Scripture identifies it consistently and treats it as a serious moral failure.
The Mistaken Assumption
Using people to achieve goals is normal and acceptable as long as no one is openly harmed. Relationships naturally involve an element of utility — you need things from people, they need things from you, and that mutual usefulness is not exploitation. The line is only crossed when someone is obviously and intentionally harmed.
What Scripture Actually Shows
Scripture draws the line much earlier. The commandment against coveting is not merely about wanting things — it is about the orientation that treats others as means to your ends. The prophets condemn those who trample the poor (Amos 2:7) and use the needy for gain. Jesus’s summary of the law — love God and love your neighbor — frames neighbor love as the opposite of using people. First Corinthians 13’s description of love explicitly names what love does not do: it does not seek its own. James 5:4 describes the cries of workers whose wages were withheld reaching the ears of the Lord — the exploitation of people for economic gain is not a minor social issue in Scripture. It is a matter of divine attention.
Why This Feels Hard
The line between using someone appropriately within a relationship and treating them primarily as a resource is genuinely difficult to draw. The difficulty does not make the distinction less real. It makes honest self-examination more necessary.
What Faith Looks Like Here
The habit of examining your motivations in relationships — asking honestly whether you are engaging with people as ends in themselves or primarily as means to your own ends — is part of what it means to love your neighbor. It is not a comfortable examination. Most of us will find more resource-orientation in our relationships than we would like to admit. The discomfort of that discovery is the beginning of the correction.