THE THREE-BODY PROBLEM & BIBLICAL POLYGYNY: FINDING STABILITY IN SACRED COMPLEXITY

Written by Abrie JF Kilian.

Shortly after completing my bar exam—and still recovering from intellectual bruising—Jared Brennen, during a coaching session, lobbed a question at me with the precision of a physicist and the mischief of a theologian: "Might there be a connection between the Three-Body Problem in celestial mechanics and Biblical Polygyny?" At the time, I confess, the analogy eluded me entirely. But after two weeks of theological brooding and mental orbiting, a pattern began to emerge. What follows is my attempt to chart that orbit. Thank you, Jared, for lighting the fuse.

Introduction

If celestial orbits can teach us anything, it is that chaos may sometimes be the dance of hidden order. To the untrained eye, three gravitational bodies locked in mutual pull appear destined for disorder. Yet under the laws of physics—immutable and often unseen—some of these systems find harmony. So too with Biblical Polygyny.

In the court of modern relational opinion, polygyny is often indicted without trial—presumed guilty of inevitable jealousy, emotional fragmentation, and sociological collapse. Our cultural lens, shaped by Enlightenment individualism and Greco-Roman legalism, sees any departure from dyadic monogamy as relational heresy. But what if, like the Three-Body Problem in physics, the perceived instability of polygynous marriage masks a deeper potential for dynamic equilibrium?

This article draws a sustained metaphor between the Three-Body Problem in celestial mechanics and the covenantal dance of a man and his multiple wives under Torah. We will explore how what seems chaotic at first glance may, under divine regulation and moral gravity, become an elegant choreography of mutual submission, spiritual maturity, and sacred order.

Rather than argue from sentiment or scandal, we will reason from Scripture, history, and scientific analogy. If divine law governs both the stars above and the families below, then perhaps it is time we reconsider whether Biblical Polygyny is not a moral miscalculation but a misunderstood system of sacred stability. (Matthew 6:10)

The Basics — Gravity and Relationship Orbits

In physics, the Three-Body Problem refers to the unpredictable gravitational interaction of three celestial masses in space. Unlike the neat precision of two-body systems—such as Earth and Moon—adding a third participant destabilizes predictability. Their mutual pulls form a system so mathematically complex that even modern supercomputers struggle to forecast their trajectories over time. And yet, in rare cases, these triplets find balance—not through uniformity, but through patterned resonance.

This image offers a fitting metaphor for Biblical Polygyny. In such a covenantal household—composed of one husband and two or more wives—the “gravitational pulls” are not physical forces but relational vectors: affection, jealousy, duty, covenantal loyalty, and spiritual growth. These dynamics—when untethered—can indeed spiral into emotional chaos. But under the steady force of divine instruction, they may be drawn into stable relational orbits.

Consider the case of Jacob, Leah, Rachel, Bilhah and Zilpah (Ironically two sets of sisters). From the outside, theirs was a system fraught with rivalry and imbalance. Yet within that complex structure emerged twelve tribes and a redemptive lineage. Each wife’s emotional and covenantal force shaped the system’s trajectory. There were perturbations—yes—but also fulfillment of divine promise. In other words, instability did not preclude divine intention.

To view polygyny as inherently unstable is to commit the error of early Newtonians: mistaking the inability to predict for the absence of order. But complexity need not equal chaos. In orbital mechanics, certain tripartite configurations—such as Lagrange points—demonstrate equilibrium through shared gravitational submission. Analogously, Biblical Polygyny finds its own “relational Lagrange points” when participants orient themselves around Torah, mutual humility, and shared purpose.

Rather than envisioning polygynous marriage as a careless collision of hearts, it may be more apt to picture it as a dynamic constellation—where emotional gravity, properly ordered, draws participants into sacred resonance.

Two-Body Thinking — Modern Western Relational Physics

Like Newtonian physics before the age of chaos theory, modern Western relational thinking prefers simplicity, linearity, and predictability. Enter the “two-body paradigm”—our cultural assumption that intimacy must revolve around a dyadic core: one man, one woman, locked in exclusive orbit based upon an eisegetical interpretation of Genesis 2:24. Any intrusion into this closed system is viewed as inherently destabilizing, an adulteration of the gravitational purity of romantic union.

This model is not biblical—it is Roman.

The monogamous ideal, though now sacrosanct in Christian ethics, owes more to Greco-Roman jurisprudence and later ecclesiastical absolutism than to the textual witness of Scripture. As John Witte Jr. has meticulously demonstrated, the Western case for monogamy was not developed through theological inquiry alone but was enforced through imperial law, canon pressure, and the Greco-philosophical privileging of symmetry, permanence, and civic order (Witte, The Western Case for Monogamy, 45–72).

Contrast this with the Hebrew Bible, which opens not with monogamy as a mandate but with plurality as tolerated, regulated, and even blessed. Abraham receives Hagar without divine rebuke. Jacob builds the covenant people through his four wives. David’s wives: Michal, Ahinoam of Jezreel, Abigail, Maacah, Haggith, Abital, Eglah and Bathsheba), are many, and yet Scripture calls him a man after God’s own heart. These men—flawed, yes—are not chastised for polygyny itself but for how they handle covenantal imbalance.

Modern relational physics simply isn’t designed to handle this level of complexity. Like the limitations of Newtonian equations for three-body systems, modern relational theology breaks down when faced with multi-person covenants. Rather than adapt the model, most discard the reality. The assumption becomes moral: monogamy equals virtue; polygyny equals vice.

But this is not the logic of Torah.

If divine law can govern systems as vast as solar clusters, why assume it falters at the level of family? Perhaps the failure is not in the model but in the limitations of our lens. Two-body thinking, like classical mechanics, comforts us with predictability. But it is ill-equipped to fathom a relational cosmos governed by divine law rather than emotional minimalism.

When Complexity Becomes Harmony

If the Three-Body Problem warns us of complexity, it also whispers of possibility. Not all triads collapse into chaos. Some enter resonant configurations—rare, beautiful, gravitationally stable. These systems don’t erase complexity; they orchestrate it.

Likewise, Biblical Polygyny is not an invitation to anarchy, but a call to covenantal alignment. The question is not whether such households are complex—they are—but whether they are governable under the architecture of divine design. Not including the principle of Synergy as found in Quantum Physics.

In celestial mechanics, harmony emerges when three bodies reach equilibrium through balance of mass, velocity, and distance. They do not occupy identical roles, nor are their paths symmetrical. Rather, their orbits resonate—locked into mutually reinforcing rhythms that prevent destructive collision. The famed Trojan asteroids, sharing Jupiter’s orbit, do not rival the planet—they submit to a gravitational structure larger than themselves.

In sacred households, the analogy holds. Where the “masses” (personalities, emotional intensity, spiritual maturity) are proportioned well, and where trajectories (goals, roles, covenantal commitments) are aligned, what appears unstable becomes a pattern of interdependent order. Crucially, this depends not on romantic sentiment, but on external structure—Torah, the Law of YHWH.

As William Luck and Tom Shipley have observed, biblical law does not reject polygyny; it regulates it. The Mosaic framework in Exodus 21:10–11 protects a wife’s rights to food, clothing, and marital intimacy—even in a plural marriage. Deuteronomy 21:15–17 safeguards inheritance rights for children of the “less loved” wife. The law anticipates asymmetry—and dignifies it.

The conditions for relational resonance, then, are threefold: balance of character, alignment of purpose, and submission to Torah. Where these are present, Biblical Polygyny is not a celestial accident, but a sacred orbit.

Harmony, in both heavens and households, does not come by simplification. It comes by submission to law. In the kingdom of YHWH, divine order does not eliminate difference—it gives it rhythm.

Torah as the Gravitational Constant

In a cosmos governed by order, gravity is not optional. It is the law by which chaos becomes choreography. And in the relational universe of Biblical Polygyny, Torah functions as that gravitational constant—an invisible, immovable force that holds each participant in tensioned harmony with the others and with YHWH. The zero-point energy within Quantum Mechanics.

Without gravity, celestial bodies drift, collide, or collapse. Without Torah, plural marriages likewise drift into injustice, collide in rivalry, or collapse under emotional entropy. The answer to polygynous instability is not prohibition, but regulation—regulation that dignifies, structures, and sanctifies.

The Torah never commands polygyny, but neither does it condemn it. Instead, it assumes its reality and sets in place covenantal laws to prevent its abuse. Exodus 21:10–11 imposes upon a husband the duty to uphold a first wife’s physical and emotional rights when taking another: food, clothing, and “onah”—conjugal care—are protected under divine statute. Should the man fail, the wife will be forced out of alignment. The covenant is broken not by plurality, but by neglect.

Deuteronomy 21:15–17 addresses the temptation of partiality, where love might distort justice. The text mandates that the inheritance of the firstborn cannot be rearranged to favour the child of the “beloved” wife over the “unloved.” In this, Torah declares that affection must bow to righteousness. Emotion cannot dethrone divine instruction.

This is the profound corrective Torah offers—not sentimentality, but stability. As Tom Shipley observes, “Biblical law does not protect feelings. It protects persons.” The Torah’s vision of household order is neither libertine nor romantic—it is juridical and covenantal.

Church tradition, inflamed by asceticism and Roman legalism, sought to outlaw polygyny. Scripture, however, never does. Even the New Testament, when rightly interpreted, does not legislate monogamy. The torpid theologian may cite the episkopos clause—'the husband of one wife'—but that is a reasonable qualification for church leadership, not a repudiation of Torah nor a universal declaration of monogamy-only ethics.

In the metaphorical sky of covenantal relationships, Torah is the unseen force that makes complexity livable. It is not a cage, but a compass. In polygynous families, Torah holds each orbit in check—not by equalizing affection, but by demanding justice, mercy, and restraint.

Where Torah governs, gravity holds. Where gravity holds, orbits form. And where orbits form, sacred complexity becomes durable beauty.

Reframing the Chaos — Sacred Polygyny in Action

If Biblical Polygyny were a mere theory—an abstract allowance from ancient law—its relevance would be easily dismissed. But theory gives way to testimony when lived practice emerges. When rightly ordered, plural marriage does not merely survive Torah’s scrutiny—it thrives under its guidance.

In practice, a Torah-aligned polygynous household does not resemble the caricature of the patriarch lording over jealous women in an emotional powder keg. Rather, it functions more like a structured constellation: each wife occupies her orbit, tethered not by competition, but by covenant. The husband, far from being a sensual dictator, is burdened with priestly responsibility—charged with upholding justice, impartial provision, and emotional discipline.

Consider Elkanah, husband of Hannah and Peninnah (1 Samuel 1). Though rivalry existed, the narrative’s emphasis lies in the husband’s attempt to comfort, provide, and minister to both. YHWH does not condemn the structure; instead, He honours Hannah’s pain and hears her prayer—within the plural context.

In modern times, where polygyny is practiced according to biblical and not cultural whim, the fruit often surprises its critics. When wives are brought into covenant—not coerced, not commodified, but entered through choice and Torah instruction—something paradoxical occurs: peace by structure, liberty through law.

Tom Shipley reminds us, “Polygyny is not about male license. It is about covenantal multiplication under divine constraint.” This is not chaos—it is a sanctified system of cooperative dominion. Each participant plays a distinct role, yet all orbit the same center: obedience to YHWH.

The chaos so feared by modern eyes may still appear at the edges—but like the shifting vectors of heavenly bodies, it is governed by an unseen harmony. Torah is not there to suppress complexity. It is there to master it—so that love may take root in law, and beauty arise from bold design.

Conclusion — Replacing Fear with Reverence

The Three-Body Problem has long haunted physicists because it resists easy answers. So too, Biblical Polygyny unsettles the moral instincts of a culture steeped in linear logic and sentimental idealism. Yet perhaps our discomfort reveals more about our intellectual habits than about the system itself.

We have been taught to fear complexity—to conflate it with dysfunction. But the heavens declare otherwise. Not all orbits are circular; not all families are nuclear. Some of the most stable cosmic systems are those that defy simple models and demand deeper conviction.

Biblical Polygyny, when rightly ordered, is not a rebellion against moral gravity. It is an expression of it. When structured by Torah, tempered by character, and aligned with covenantal vision, the polygynous household reveals not moral chaos, but sacred sophistication. It is not easy. But it is not evil.

The modern reader must choose: to view polygyny through the inherited anxieties of Greco-Romanized monogenism or to behold it anew through the lens of divine instruction and sacred history. The former breeds fear; the latter, reverence.

As with the stars, so with the saints: what appears unstable may in fact be divinely ordered. We need not simplify the heavens to make them beautiful. Nor must we flatten marriage to make it holy.

If the Torah is our gravity, then sacred complexity is not a problem to be solved—but a mystery to be honored.

References

• Campbell, E. N. The History and Philosophy of Marriage. Chicago: Charles H. Kerr, 1869.

• Friedman, David. They Loved the Torah: What Yeshua’s First Followers Really Thought About the Law. Altadena, CA: Messianic Jewish Publishers, 2001.

• Josephus, Flavius. The Works of Josephus: Complete and Unabridged. Translated by William Whiston. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1987.

• Goldstein, Herbert, Charles P. Poole, and John L. Safko. Classical Mechanics. 3rd ed. New Delhi: Pearson Education, 2011.

• Luck, William. Divorce and Remarriage: Recovering the Biblical View. Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Publishing, 2009.

• Stivers, Wesley. Eros Made Sacred: Or the Biblical Case for Polygamy. 2nd ed. 1991.

• Shipley, Thomas. Man and Woman in Biblical Law. 2nd ed. Chalcedon Foundation, 2010.

• Shipley, Thomas. They Shall Be One Flesh: The Biblical Case for Polygamy. Self-published, 2009.

• Valtonen, Mauri, and Hannu Karttunen. The Three-Body Problem. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006.

• Witte, John Jr. The Western Case for Monogamy Over Polygamy. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015.