Can God Suffer?: How to Discuss God and Suffering like a Pro.

John: God is said to be "impassible," I think I understand what that means, but can you give a brief definition? I think I disagree with the teaching, but I want to be certain I understand it correctly.

Pius: Defining terms is always the best place to start. Divine impassibility is the doctrine that God does not suffer, indeed, cannot suffer.

John: That's what I thought. I'm not sure I can agree with it.

Pius: Doubt is always a good place to start when journeying towards the truth.

John: I'm a Christian. I find truth in the Scriptures. Is this doctrine taught by the Bible?

Pius: It isn't specifically mentioned in the Bible, but the conceptual framework that requires the doctrine is present. God is immutable, i.e. He doesn't change. If God doesn't change, then He doesn't change emotional states, and therefore God can't suffer - He is impassible.

John: How do we know God can't change? Isn't God able to do anything? If so, why wouldn't He be able to change? Doesn't saying "God is immutable" conflict with God's omnipotence?

Pius: How would you describe the omnipotence of God?

John: That's easy. God is all-powerful. There are no limits on what He can do.

Pius: Would it be fair to summarize and qualify you're position as "God can do all possible things" or are you uncomfortable with that? I want to make sure I'm understanding you before going on.

John: I'd simply say God can do all things. Why do we need the word "possible" added in?

Pius: Can God do impossible things?

John: There are no impossible things to God. That's what being "all-powerful" means.

Pius: All things, we'd agree, that are possible to do, God can do.

John: Yes, but to God that means all things, full stop.

Pius: Would you say God can "zing-ding a wall and blah-blah a bag?"

John:  I'm not sure I understand what that would mean?

Pius: I'm asking, does the sentence "God can zing-ding a wall and blah-blah a bag" make sense?

John: No, it's gibberish.

Pius: And God can't do "gibberish?"

John: Gibberish isn't a thing to do. It's not a lack of power in God, it is a lack of sense in the sentence  that makes it something that can't be done.

Pius: God can do all things, but what I said isn't a thing to done?

John: Yes.

Pius: Is it also gibberish to speak of logical contradictions?

John: I'm not sure. Can you provide an example?

Pius: Certainly. Would it make sense to say "God can make a circle with four sides?"

John: Clearly not. If it has four sides it isn't what we call a circle, it's what we call a square.

Pius: And that doesn't limit God's power?

John: Of course not. It's a confusion of words. God can turn a circle into a square, but it doesn't make sense for us to call a four sided object a circle. That's a problem of our language, not of God's power.

Pius: Precisely. It is like the gibberish we explored before.

John: Right.

Pius: What about the statement "God can make it bring as day and dark as night at the same moment in the same place at the same time"? Does that make sense or is it gibberish too?

John: God can make day night and night day.

Pius: Yes, but can He make it both at the same time in the same place?

John: Well...

Pius: Is that a confusion of terms, a confusion in our words?

John: Yes. It is like with the square and circle. God can make it night or day, but to say it is both bright and not bright is a failure in language. But what does any of this have to do with whether God can change? Surely, asking that isn't like confusing words.

Pius: Maybe, but I'm not so sure. Let's dig deeper and see if we can be sure of that. For now, I'm only asking whether adding "God can..." in front of nonsense - in front of a series of confused words - suddenly makes those words mean something.

John: Not at all. But that has to do with our ways of speaking and thinking not with God's power.

Pius: So logical contradictions, things that end up being nothing more than a confusion of words, are failures in our understanding and speech, not in God?

John: I don't see how anyone can conclude otherwise.

Pius: Going back to my clarification of your statement, "God can do all things" would you agree now that it is a better definition to say "God can do all possible things." Or better, "God can do all things that are doable things."

John: Yes, I see why you've added that in. Some "things" really aren't "things to do" but are just a series of confused ideas or words.

Pius: Right. Now we are discussing whether God can be happy now and suffer later.

John: Yes, let's get back on track.

Pius: I'm not sure we have been off-track. Would you agree that God being happy now and then suffering later is a change?

John: Clearly it is.

Pius: And the doctrine of Divine Immutability says God cannot change?

John: That is what it says, but I'm not sure how we can agree with that. It is a limit to God's power to say He can't change. That isn't a confusion of words. Changing is a doable thing. You can't disagree with that?

Pius: Change it certainly a "doable thing" for us. Is it for God?

John: I don't see how it can't be. If we can do it, surely God can too. Otherwise, He is less powerful than we are! If He's less powerful than you or me, then He isn't God at all.

Pius: Agreed. If God is less powerful than you or me, He isn't God.

John: Then God can change and if He can change why shouldn't He be able to have emotions?

Pius: I think we might be moving too fast here. Let's explore whether God can change a little more before moving on. Is God perfect?

John: Of course, He is. If He isn't it's not God we're talking about.

Pius: If God is perfect would a change make Him more perfect?

John: No. God is perfect, there is no such thing as "more perfect." If you can be "more perfect" then you aren't perfect, just really good. You're back to spewing gibberish. I'm afraid we aren't getting anywhere.

Pius: So saying God can be "more perfect" is gibberish?

John: Yes.

Pius: Can God, then, become less perfect?

John: No. If God became less than perfect, He wouldn't be God anymore and that's absurd. More gibberish!

Pius: So God can neither become more perfect nor can He become less perfect. Can He become something else that is equally perfect?

John: No. Nothing can be "equally perfect." If you are perfect, you are perfect. There are no other perfections to add or you aren't perfect in the first place.

Pius: So God can't become more perfect, less perfect, nor add some new perfection to what He has already.

John: Exactly.

Pius: Then how can God change? Isn't all change either moving from two things of equal value, or moving from a better thing to a worse, or moving from something worse to something better?

John: Yes, I can't disagree with you there.

Pius: Then God, being perfect, can't change.

John: Okay.

Pius: That establishes God's immutability, then.

John: Yes.

Pius: And if God can't change, He also can't change emotional states.

John: That would seem to follow.

Pius: Is suffering now and not suffering later a change in an emotional state?

John: Yes.

Pius: And...

John: And so God can't suffer. Okay I get that. Doesn't it also mean that God is indifferent to us? If a baby is starving to death, He simply doesn't care? Isn't that the God of the Deists, the "Divine Clockmaker" instead of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob?

Pius: The apostle who you are named from, how does he define God?

John: He says, "God is Love" (1 John 4:8).

Pius: Is love indifferent?

John: No, not at all. That's precisely my objection to what we've said about God. It seems to refute the Biblical God.

Pius: Can God love us, without changing? Does love necessitate change?

John: Not at all. God loves us without change. He always loves us, loves us unconditionally.

Pius: Then God can both love us and be unchanging, the two aren't contradictions, we aren't speaking in gibberish?

John: Right.

Pius: Then it doesn't follow that God is indifferent, that God is a "clockmaker" who leaves His creation on its own without a care.

John: I see that.

Pius: God loves us, but we can't blackmail Him. We can't make Him suffer. He is always joyful. Is that fair to say?

John: Yes, but He loves us and thus can love us to the point of sending His Son to die for us. Surely, the death of Jesus (who is God) suggests that God can suffer after all. How does this square with what we've been saying? It seems we've proved that God doesn't suffer, but in the process have disproved Christianity, the religion that specifically teaches that God did suffer!

Pius: Well, that's certainly possible.

John: So we should leave off Christianity?

Pius: Not necessarily, we've not proven that yet, but it is possible.

John: Well, let us go on then. I'm a firm Christian, but I won't continue to be if we find it false.

Pius:  You're a true philosopher, John. I'm with you, if we can't square what we know to be true - that God can't suffer - with what as Christians we believe - that Jesus is God and did suffer - we ought to seriously reconsider our Christianity. Let's review our premises. Christians believe Jesus is...

John: God.

Pius: And Jesus suffered?

John: Clearly. In fact, according to Christianity, He suffered more than anyone else ever has or ever could. That is the contradiction. Is Christianity gibberish?

Pius: Perhaps. Why would Jesus suffer?

John: He descended from Heaven to become a man to save men from sin.

Pius: Jesus is both man and God.

John: That belief pretty much defines who is and who isn't a Christian.

Pius: Jesus had two natures, one Divine and another human. One person, two natures. That is the teaching of Christianity, correct?

John: It is.

Pius: Can men suffer?

John: I can attest to that from personal experience, as I'm sure you can!

Pius: And Jesus was a man?

John: Man and God.

Pius: But still a man? He has a complete human nature. He became fully human. He became a man. Correct?

John: Yes.

Pius: Then Jesus can suffer as a man, in His human nature, while, in His divine nature, He remained impassible, that is logically possible? That isn't gibberish?

John: That is logically a possibility.

Pius: Then there is no logical contraception in saying that Jesus suffered and yet Jesus is God (and man).

John: That makes sense.

Pius: Did God the Father and God the Holy Spirit also become men?

John: Not according to Christian teaching, no.

Pius: Do Christians believe they suffered?

John: No, only Jesus suffered and only Jesus died on the Cross.

Pius: Then Christianity doesn't contradict Divine Impassability after all.

John: It doesn't. Unfortunately, I've got to get on to work. Thanks for an interesting conversation!

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Does Religion Cause Warfare?

Atheist Communist China.

Jimmy Akin, Catholic apologist extraordinaire, published an interesting article yesterday on Catholic.com. In it he examines the oft-cited objection to religion that it is the major cause of violence, bloodshed, and countless wars in the world.

An excerpt,

Religion is a human universal, and historically there have been no atheist societies. It is thus impossible to argue that non-religious societies were less violent than religious ones. The officially atheist societies that arose in the Communist world in the twentieth century were not more peaceful than others. They warred, exported revolution, and killed tens of millions of people, including their own citizens. 

If religion predisposed people to violence, we should see this on the small scale, yet violent criminals don’t usually seem to be devout churchgoers.

You can read the whole thing over there: The Myth that Religion Causes War.

Allow me to add few additional thoughts:

 - The most destructive wars in human history have been waged by officially secular states for entirely secular reasons, to achieve exclusively secular goals. States such as Nazi Germany, Stalinist Russia, Napoleonic France, Ancient Rome all come to mind. As do wars such as, The American Civil War, the two World Wars, etc. The West in the twentieth century (the most secular continent at it's most secular) killed more people in it's wars than all the wars up to that point combined.

- Most wars are caused not by religion but to advance economic interests. One thinks of the conquests that led to the British Empire, the conquests of ancient Persia, Japanese expansion in the twentieth century, and the Venetian Republic's creation of a Mediterranean Empire all serve as examples.

- Some wars have a religious motivation, but these are rather few in comparison to the overall number of wars. If the argument advanced by atheists was true, religion would have to be responsible for most (or at least a majority) of the wars in human history. This simply isn't the case.

- Many of the wars supposedly caused by religious differences, on further examination, were primarily caused by the advancement of political, economic, or national interests. One needs only think of the most obviously religious wars (the Crusades and the wars of religion in the sixteenth century) to see this. For example, the Crusaders sacked and conquered Christian Constantinople during the Fourth Crusade and during the wars of religion, Catholic France oppose the Catholic Holy Roman Empire. These battles between co-religionists during "religious" wars underline that other reasons trumped religious motivations even in the most explicit religious wars.

- Unlike the other major causes of warfare (economic interests and the establishment and expansion dominion over other peoples), religion provides examples of decreasing warfare. In the violent Middle Ages (Catholic on Catholic non-religiously motivated violence there as well), the Church (i.e. religion) banned certain weapons (e.g. the crossbow), banned attacks on non-combatants (The Peace of God), and banned warfare from being enacted during certain times and on Sundays (The Truce of God).

- Many world religions teach non-violence or limit the use of violence severely. Judaism has the fourth commandment (fifth if your using the Protestant numbering system), Christians have the teaching of Jesus to "turn the other cheek," Buddha taught "not to injure living beings is good," and Hinduism restricts all violence to resisting evil.

This "objection" to religion is, simply put, absurd. Whether you are an atheist or religious, we all ought to be able to call out a bad argument. It's the only intellectually honest thing to do and intellectual honesty is something atheists and theists alike should value.

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How Can God Be Three, But One? Can't Christians Do Math?

Thomas Jefferson, a brilliant statesman, author, and lover of architecture and natural science, once made the comment that belief in a being who is both 3 and 1 is simply ridiculous and thus ought to be dismissed as a relic of a superstitious past. He said, 

The hocus-pocus phantasm of a god like another Cerberus with one body and three heads had it's birth and growth in the blood of thousands and thousands of martyrs.... In fact the Athanasian paradox that one is three, and three but one is so incomprehensible to the human mind that no candid man can say he has any idea of it, and how can he believe what presents no idea. He who thinks he does only decieves himself.¹

Which shows that Jefferson, brilliant in so many ways, was a horrible theologian.² However, his question remains a good one. How can anyone be so insipid to believe 3 = 1? This used to be one of the major objections I myself hurled at Christianity. In fact, being a lover of American history that I am, I used to use this passage from Jefferson to show the ludicrousness of it all. It seemed obvious enough, indeed (to use another set of Jeffersonian words) it seemed like a truth to be held as self-evident that three is in no way one nor is one, three. And that should be that for the Christian God.

But thinking on the matter a bit longer makes one realize that the Christian doctrine of the Trinity is neither so simple nor so easily refuted as Jefferson (and my younger self) so confidently thought it was. Christians, I later learned, do not believe in one God who is three Gods. They believe in one God who is three persons. Of course, something can be one in one way and three in another way, that's no contradiction. I can be one person, yet hold three jobs, for example. It turned out, Christians could do basic math after all.

But what would this God be like? Was Jefferson still right when he said no human mind could comprehend the Trinity? Not exactly. First, Jefferson has confused being able to "comprehend" something with being able to imagine it. We can't quite imagine a three personal God, but we can, at least begin, to comprehend Him.

Frank Sheed, in his classic, Theology and Sanity, gives a great summary of the problem of confusing imagination with comprehension,

The first difficulty in the way of the intellect's functioning well is that it hates to function at all, at any rate beyond the point where functioning begins to require effort. The result is that when any matter arises which is properly the job of the intellect, then either nothing gets done at all, or else the imagination leaps in and does it instead.... Consider what imagination is. It is the power we have of making mental pictures of the material universe. What our senses have experienced... can be reproduced by the imagination.... What the senses cannot experience, the imagination cannot make pictures of.... To say that something is unimaginable is merely to say that the imagination cannot make a picture of it. But pictures are only of the material world; and to that imagination is limited. Naturally it cannot form pictures of spiritual realities, angels, or human souls, or love or justice.... To complain that a spiritual thing is unimaginable would be like complaining that the air is invisible....Thus the reality of any spiritual statement must be tested by the intellect, not by the imagination. The intellect's word of rejection is "inconceivable."This means that the statement proffered to the intellect contains a contradiction within itself, so that no concept can be formed embodying the statement. A four-sided triangle, for instance, is inconceivable.... Thus the first test of any statement concerning spiritual reality is not can imagination from a mental picture of it, but does it stand up to the examination of the intellect, do the terms contradict each other.³

Something similar happens in science. We all, no doubt, can remember being taught about molecules in high school science class with styrofoam balls and tooth picks. This was a learning tool designed to help us imagine molecules, but - the scientists remind us - molecules don't actually look like that. Scientists don't believe in a bunch of balls and sticks when they speak about molecules, rather they believe in the mathematical formulae that are merely represented by the foam ball models. The scientist can comprehend molecules without needing to or even being able to imagine them.

When Jefferson says the Trinity is "incomprehensible" he really means it is "unimaginable," which, of course, it is. That shouldn't surprise Jefferson however, nor should it undermine our Faith in a Triune God. In fact, it should bolster it. A "make believe" God would be an imaginable God, like the pagan gods of old. He would have an elephant's head or look like a perfect man or be presented in some other easily imagined way. Any such simplified version of God, should all be immediately suspect as possible human inventions. We'd expect the real God to be unimaginable precisely because He isn't a part of the material universe. We can't sense Him, therefore we shouldn't be able to imagine Him either.

All images of the Trinity must therefore fail. Apples, shamrocks, "another Cerberus with one body and three heads," all must be rejected out of hand as trying to imagine the unimaginable. We instead can only have the idea and, if it helps, a "model" much like the one used to teach non-scientists about molecules,

 If you still need help understanding the doctrine (not imagining it), C.S. Lewis might help,

You know that in space you can move in three ways - to the left or right, backwards or forwards, up or down.... They are called the three Dimensions.... If you are using only one dimension, you could draw only a straight line. If you are using two, you could draw a figure: say, a square. And a square is made up of four lines. If you have three dimensions, you can then build what we call a solid body: say a cube... And a cube is made up of six squares.⁴

Each dimension, therefore builds off the previous ones. But, at the same time, if you or I were trapped in a two dimensional world (say we were cartoon characters) we couldn't even imagine a cube. We'd simply have no experience of such an object, no experience, in fact, of "solidity" at all. Thus, by definition we could never have a physical experience of such an object or, therefore, an image of one.

Lewis continues,

the Christian account of God involves just the same principle. The human level is a simple and rather empty level. On the human level one person is one being, and any two persons are two separate beings - just as, in two dimensions (say on a flat sheet of paper) one square is one figure, and any two squares are two separate figures. On the Divine level you still find personalities but up there you find them combined in new ways which we, who do not live on that level, cannot imagine. In God's dimension, so to speak, you find a being who is three Persons while remaining one Being, just a cube is six squares while remaining one cube.⁵

Is it "complicated?" Yes, it is. But so is reality. Right now I'm sitting at a computer writing this blog post. That seems like a simple enough activity. But bring in a computer scientist to describe, in detail, all the various complex procedures and programs that my computer is running to write this, or all the more complex processes that lead to it being able to be published online and read by people around the world and it gets a bit more "complicated." Let the computer scientist be joined by a neuroscientist to tell us all about the electric discharges my brain makes use of to move my hands to type the words that express my thoughts (let alone all the unconscious mental processes that it simultaneously is performing to keep me alive) and we've got greater complexity still. Add a physicist to tell us how my body and computer are both managing to stay put on the Earth while I speed 67,000 mph around the center of the solar system and an electrical engineer to add his two cents in on how the computer is being powered and we've reach a level of maddening complexity. Should we, then, really expect the inner life of the All High God, the God who created this complex world, to be so very simple to understand? Shouldn't we rather expect religion, if it be true, to be one of the most complex subjects and the doctrine of the being of God to be the most complex of it's doctrines?

One of the greatest minds in the history of Christianity, St. Augustine of Hippo, spent more than three decades writing one of the greatest books on our subject, De Trinitate (On the Trinity). While writing it he had a very famous dream in which he encountered a small boy on the beach carrying water in a seashell from the sea and pouring it into a hole in the beach. The great saint asked the child what he was about. "Transferring all the water from the sea into this small hole." "Why that is impossible my boy." "As is what you are trying to do in your book." Tradition holds that this was a angel sent by God to remind the great saint that some mysteries are too much for the human mind to ever fully understand. In fact, a good test as to whether your idea of God is "made up" or not is this "seashell test." If you fully understand it, it isn't God.

That shouldn't reduce us to intellectual impotence or indifference. We can understand the Trinity, we can gain some light from the doctrine, but we shouldn't be surprised when our finite minds can't entirely contain the inner life of a "supra-personal" God. We shouldn't be surprised when imagination fails and the intellect can only begin to comprehend the mystery⁶. Rather we ought take comfort in knowing that we haven't made God in our image and likeness (despite our imagination's continual demands to reform Him so). Rather, He is something entirely unexpected.

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___________________
1. Jefferson, Thomas, Letter to James Smith 12/8/1822 (he must have been in the Christmas spirit)
2. The tradition of people, learned in subjects other than theology, thinking themselves master of this subject too is long and sad. People with little skill or training in religion or theology find themselves well qualified to speak on theology in a way no one would with any other discipline. Being a great statesman, like Jefferson, clearly doesn't make someone ipso facto a theologian. Such should be a lesson to biologists (Dawkins), physicists (Hawking), journalists (Hitchens), astronomers (Sagan), and others. Just as being a great biblical exegete or Thomistic philosopher wouldn't qualify one as an expert on human anatomy or neuroscience, so too being learned in other fields doesn't qualify oneself as an authority on philosophy, theology, or Biblical exegesis.
3. Sheed, Frank, Theology and Sanity, pgs. 31-36
4. Lewis, CS, Mere Christianity, pg 161
5. Lewis, CS, Mere Christianity, pg 162
6. In Christian theology the word "mystery" is used in a very different sense than it is in the secular world. Here we are not speaking of something Sherlock Holmes would "solve." It isn't a puzzle. Nor are we speaking of something that we simply have to accept without being able to understand anything at all about it. A "mystery" isn't a Christian way of "copping out" on having to be reasonable. A "mystery" in the sense we are using it here is simply something that has a dimension greater than what we know. It is something that goes beyond being entirely understood by the intellect, although it can be understood to a degree. For a great, short look at what Christians mean by "mystery" I highly recommend this post by Mgsr. Charles Pope: Mystery is Deep and Yet Vertical - A Brief Meditation on the Christian Meaning of Mystery.

Encountering Jesus in Beauty. A Reflection on the Sistine Chapel.

We've discussed the argument for the existence of God from beauty a couple times here on the blog:

• Bach's Music Exists, ergo Atheism is False
• What to Make of Atheists who Reject the Argument from Beauty

It should, then, come as little surprise to long time readers that my own conversion to Catholicism was influenced by beauty. Truth may have been the primary factor in my conversion, but the other two transcendentals (beauty and goodness) each had their own, significant, role to play.

I go into a bit of detail on how beauty shaped my journey towards truth over at Catholic365, in my latest:

Michelangelo and Metanoia. A Personal Reflection on the Sistine Chapel.

That's an odd moment when I'm feeling more like St. Augustine than St. Thomas Aquinas at my desk, but Rome (and beauty) can do that to a blogger!

Here I'd like to elaborate a bit more on why I think my experience in the Sistine Chapel, my experience with beauty, was so profound.

If I had to sum it up in a single word it would be "encounter."

Reading the Scriptures, one can't help but notice the power of the first encounter with Christ. When St. Peter first meets Jesus he receives the command, "put out into the deep (Lk 5:4)." Peter cooperates and is forever altered. The disciples on the road to Emmaus, depressed over the death of Jesus, encounter the Risen One and cry out to one another "where not our hearts burning within us (Lk 24:32)." Saul, on the road to Damascus, meets Jesus and goes from being the most fervent anti-Christian persecutor to become the Apostle to the Gentiles. Encounter. Transformation. It is always the same story. Archbishop Fulton Sheen once noted, when reflecting on the Christmas narrative, that of course the Wise Men returned home "by another way (Matt 2:12)" for "no one who ever meets Christ with a good will returns the same way as he came. (Magi and the Slaughter of the Innocents)"

That encounter is what our great Catholic Faith is all about. It isn't about rules. It is about a relationship - a relationship with the God who becomes a man so that we might encounter Him. So that we, so that you and I, might meet Him. That is what everything in our Holy Catholic Faith is all about. Nothing in our religion, the prescriptions, the rituals, the morality - none of it makes sense apart from meeting the man Christ Jesus. That is why the original proclamation wasn't morality, wasn't even (despite what some liberal Christians might wish to think) "be kind" but rather was "He is Risen" (i.e. you can meet this man!).

Dr. Peter Kreeft has said he personally has known several people who were converted by beauty, who were converted by listening to Bach's St. Matthew Passion. Such beauty, they realized, simply wasn't compatible with a meaningless, atheistic, materialistic worldview. Dr. Kreeft, in his Letters to an Atheist explains that these moments are

"signals of transcendence," fingers pointing beyond themselves towards exits from the cave (i.e. this world).... It's not just sentimentalism; it's an intellectual intuition: the music we have in our soul just has to match the music outside our soul. There has to be more. Not that it's not a great cave. But there has to be more. We see this with most conviction not when we are poor and in pain, when the cave is the smallest and darkest and most uncomfortable. It's precisely at those moments when we feel the cave's greatness the most, when we are most open to the charms and beauties of our physical and emotional universe, that we feel this "divine discontent," this "lover's  quarrel with the world."

My Sistine experience was quite a bit subtler. I wasn't converted (I'm too much a philosopher for that I suppose. I needed arguments to finish the job), but my soul had been enriched by Michelangelo's masterpiece. No longer was I one type or another of "bad soil" described by Christ in the Parable of the Sower (Matthew 13:1-23, Mark 4:1-20 and Luke 8:4-15). I would, slowly, be prepared to receive the Gospel years later by this first encounter.

C.S. Lewis, himself a covert to Christianity, in his book Miracles masterfully captures the feeling - and the resistance - to this encounter and why we often prefer something less "personal" than the "living God,"

"Men are reluctant to pass over from the notion of an abstract and negative deity to the living God. I do not wonder. Here lies the deepest taproot of Pantheism and of the objection to traditional imagery. It was hated not, at bottom, because it pictured Him as a man but because it pictured Him as a king, or even as a warrior. The Pantheist’s God does nothing, demands nothing. He is there if you wish for Him, like a book on a shelf. He will not pursue you. There is no danger that at anytime Heaven and Earth should flee away at His glance. If He were the truth, then we could really say that all the Christian images of kingship were a historical accident of which our religion ought to be purged. It is with a shock that we discover them to be indispensable. You have had a shock like that before, in connection with smaller matters – when the line pulls at your hand, when something breathes beside you in the darkness. So here; the shock comes at the precise moment when the thrill of life is communicated to us along the clue we have been following. It is always shocking to meet life where we thought we were alone. “Look out!” we cry, “it’s alive!” And therefore this is the very point at which so many draw back – I would have done so myself if I could – and proceed no further with Christianity. An “impersonal God” – well and good. A subjective God of beauty, truth and goodness, inside our own heads – better still. A formless life force surging through us, a vast power which we can tap – best of all. But God Himself, alive, pulling at the other end of the cord, perhaps approaching at an infinite speed, the hunter, king, husband – that is quite another matter. There comes a moment when the children who have been playing at burglars hush suddenly: was that a real footstep in the hall? There comes a moment when people who have been dabbling in religion (“Man’s search for God”!) suddenly draw back. Supposing we found Him? We never meant it to come to that! Worse still, supposing He had found us? So it is a sort of Rubicon. One goes across; or not. But if one does, there is no manner of security against miracles. One may be in for anything.

That is what happened to me in Rome, in the Sistine.

For more check out my latest at Catholic365: Michelangelo and Metanoia. A Personal Reflection on the Sistine Chapel. 

And, if you want to learn more about the Pope's Chapel, I suggest you take a few moments to watch a fantastic TED talk which has been making the rounds on the Catholic blogosphere:



If you really enjoyed Ms. Lev's talk, you can head to Rome with Catholic apologist Steve Ray and have a tour of the Sistine from Ms. Lev.

You will go with my seething envy, but don't let that stop you! Mr. Ray is a top-notch apologist and, from what I've read, an excellent pilgrimage guide.

If you can, head to Roma. Allow yourself, like the pilgrims of old, to deepen your love for the One, Holy Faith at tombs of Peter and Paul and in the Sistine. You won't regret it.

Pax et bonum.

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How to Discuss Abortion Like a Pro. A Dialogue Between a Catholic and an Atheist.

An Atheist and a Catholic Discuss Abortion.

The Scene: A Catholic is praying the Rosary outside a Planned Parenthood when he is approached by an atheist pro-choice Planned Parenthood supporter who happens to be on his lunch break. A conversation ensues…

Atheist: You’re praying for this woman’s health center to be closed aren’t you?

Catholic: Yes, I am.

Atheist: And you pray that abortion may be outlawed, don’t you?

Catholic: I do.

Atheist: In all circumstances?

Catholic: Yes.

Atheist: That’s my problem with you religious nuts. My daughter just had an abortion. You’d have stopped her, wouldn’t have you?

Catholic: I’d have tried to dissuade her from getting an abortion, yes.

Atheist: But then she’d be dead! It was an ectopic pregnancy. She removed the fertilized egg, what you’d call “murder,” to save her own life! You think your God would rather they both were dead don’t you?

Catholic: You say she removed a “fertilized egg,” you mean she removed a living human, correct?

Atheist:  No. A fertilized egg is not a human anymore than a sperm is! If I wanted to say “living human” I would have.

Catholic: If the “fertilized egg” isn’t human, what is it?

Atheist: That’s a stupid question. It’s a fertilized egg! I thought that would be obvious. Why would you have wanted my daughter to painfully die instead of going to see a doctor?

Catholic: Nice appeal to emotion, but I haven’t said I wanted your daughter to die, have I? But let’s look closer at your “obvious” claim. Sure, a “fertilized egg” is a “fertilized egg” (that would be the law of identity), but that doesn't mean that a “fertilized egg” is not a human anymore than saying a toddler is a toddler means a toddler isn’t a human. You do admit toddlers are human?

Atheist: Of course.

Catholic: Let’s take a step back. Is a “fertilized egg” alive?

Atheist:  Yes, but I’m saying that isn’t enough to say removing it is wrong.

Catholic: I agree. We need to ascertain what kind of living thing this “fertilized egg” is. 

Atheist: It’s an egg.

Catholic: Right, but is it a living human fertilized egg or is it some other kind of living fertilized egg, perhaps we’re talking about a canine fertilized egg or a feline fertilized egg?

Atheist: Are you suggesting my daughter had sex with an animal? You Catholics…

Catholic: I’m not “suggesting” anything, I’m just trying to figure out what kind of living fertilized egg we are talking about. We both agree it’s human, correct?

Atheist: Of course it’s human. I’m insulted by the question! But that doesn’t mean anything. Did you wash your hands this morning?

Catholic: I’ve washed my hands several times today.

Atheist: Then you’ve murdered thousands of living things! Worse yet, thousands of living human things!

Catholic: I wonder if your analogy holds up. Is the “fertilized egg” genetically distinct from your daughter? Does it have it’s own, distinct, DNA?

Atheist: It does. It’s not a clone! What do you think my daughter is anyhow?

Catholic: Are the skin cells that die when I wash my hands genetically distinct from me? Do they have their own, distinct, DNA?

Atheist: No.

Catholic: Hand washing might not be the best analogy to abortion then as we both agree the “fertilized egg” is living, human, and genetically distinct from your daughter, while the skin cells in my hands do not possess those three characteristics. Lacking their own DNA code, the skin cells were just parts of my body. The genetically distinct “fertilized egg” that was removed wasn’t just a body part, it was a living human that is now dead.

Atheist: So you think my daughter should have died. End of story. Just like I said. You’re heartless.

Catholic: I don’t remember saying that and I’ll thank you for not putting words into my mouth. Would you agree that it is always wrong to kill an innocent person to save another person’s life?

Atheist: Well…

Catholic: Had your daughter needed a heart transplant and your perfectly healthy neighbor had a perfect match would it by right for you to kill him, harvest his heart and give it to your daughter to preserve her life? 

Atheist: Of course that would be wrong.

Catholic: I’m glad we agree on that too. Let’s call that “principle one.” Would you also agree with me that the following situation isn’t immoral?

Let’s say your daughter had gone on a cruise and the ship began to sink. There isn’t enough life boats for everyone, but your daughter ends up in one. She lives. Other people drown in the sea for lack of space in the boats. 

I’d say your daughter has done nothing wrong in this case. She hasn’t murdered anyone by getting into a lifeboat to save her own life even if it was foreseen that some people (as an unfortunate and unavoidable side effect) would die in the sea for lack of space in the boats. All she did was a morally neutral act - get into a lifeboat to survive a sea disaster. 

You don’t think she is morally responsible for murdering those who drowned, do you?

Atheist: Of course not. They died from the disaster at sea, not from my daughters actions. Maybe your God is to blame!

Catholic: If she had smashed someone over the head with a hammer and tossed them into the sea to make sure they didn’t take a seat she wanted, however, you’d agree that is murder?

Atheist: Yes, yes. You can’t go around killing people to save your own life, we already agreed to that.

Catholic: But in our example above, she is just saving her life, not killing other people, which is morally neutral? It is alright to save your life even if an unavoidable, unintended consequence of your morally neutral act results, indirectly, in the death of some other person.

Atheist: Quite right.

Catholic: Let’s call this “principle two.”

Atheist: Very well.

Catholic: Then with our agreement on these very basic moral principles and with what we’ve already agreed on regarding the nature of a “fertilized egg” I think we can conclude the following:

The unborn, as living, genetically distinct humans cannot be justly killed even to save another living, genetically distinct human. That is our “principle one.” Does that mean your daughter should have been left to die when her fallopian tube would have inevitably burst? Not at all.

An ectopic pregnancy can be morally resolved, not by directly killing the genetically distinct, living human (that would be like killing your neighbor for his heart), but it can be resolved by removing the part of the fallopian tube which is set to burst. Here we are treating the pathology in a morally neutral way (just like getting into a lifeboat is morally neutral), even though an unfortunate side consequence will be the death of the baby (like those left behind to die on the sinking ship). In the philosophy of ethics this is known as the law of double effect. It is a sad situation, but it isn’t an immoral one.

Atheist: Well… maybe you wouldn’t have let her die, but what about women with cancer or in other cases where the life of the mother is in danger? 

Catholic: Our basic principle can be applied to any of those cases. We can treat the disease, even if it unfortunately results in the unavoidable death of the baby (our “principle 2”), but we can never directly kill the unborn simply to save the life of a born person (our “principle 1”). Directly killing the unborn (“abortion”) is always wrong.

Atheist: Yeah, well you Catholics are still heartless. You might not let a woman die but you still would punish women who are raped by making them have babies they didn’t choose to.

Catholic: The other “hard case,” eh? First, let me ask you do you oppose abortion in all cases other than rape and when the mother’s life is in danger? Do you support outlawing the 99% of abortions that occur for reasons other than these two? If so, let’s stop bickering and start working to end those abortions, the one’s we both agree are wrong.

Atheist: Not so fast. I think a woman has the right to choose.

Catholic: Your use of these “hard cases” is, then, just a rhetorical strategy?

Atheist: It sounds like you are avoiding my question. Would you punish a rape victim by forcing her to become a mother? Yes or no?

Catholic: I’m not avoiding your question. We’ve agreed on quite a lot, maybe we ought to see if we can agree on another basic moral principle to help us resolve this case. Let’s say a man went on a murderous rampage and then killed himself. Should the State execute the children of the murderer as they can’t execute the murderer himself?

Atheist: That sounds like some barbaric religious morality, not like mine.

Catholic: You don’t think the child of a murderer ought to be executed for the crimes of his father, even if those crimes are incredibly heinous?

Atheist: Absolutely not.

Catholic: Is rape a heinous crime?

Atheist: Do you even have to ask?

Catholic: Is the child the rapist or the rapist’s child?

Atheist: Obviously the child isn’t the rapist.

Catholic: The unborn child hasn’t committed a crime?

Atheist: Certainly not.

Catholic: You don’t think the crimes of the the father ought to allow a capital sentence to be executed on the son or daughter, right?

Atheist: Not at all.

Catholic: Then we seem to agree on this point too. From this we can conclude…

Atheist: Wait a minute. I don’t think abortion is okay in cases of rape because the child deserves a death sentence, but I do think it’s okay because the woman shouldn’t be punished for being raped! She isn’t the criminal either, you know. You pro lifers only care about unborn life. What about the woman’s life? Should she be made to suffer?

Catholic: The woman hasn’t done anything wrong and it is horrible and unjust that she has been violated in such a way. I certainly agree with you there.

Atheist: But you still want to punish her. You want her to be forced, against her will, to be a mother. That’s cruel.

Catholic: Do you think a raped woman should be able to kill a born child if that child was conceived against her will? Say the trauma is still too much for her after three years and she decides to kill the toddler on his third birthday. Do you think that is an okay choice?

Atheist: Of course not.

Catholic: I’m only extending that same protection to the life of those same children before  they are born. I’m being consistent.

Atheist: But the children aren’t the same before they are born…

Catholic: Oh… I see. Your objection isn’t about rape, is it? You object to treating born and unborn children the same.

Atheist: Because the unborn aren’t the same!

Catholic: We’ve already shown they are living, genetically distinct humans. They aren’t “parts” of the woman’s body, but people in their own right. It sounds like you favor age discrimination. Can you give any good reason these living, genetically distinct humans ought to lack the rights of their born brothers and sisters?

Atheist: Yes and that is why I picked rape as an example. The unborn are burdensome to the mother. They are completely dependent on her! That makes them different.

Catholic: Are newborns “completely dependent” on others to help them?

Atheists: Not as dependent as the unborn!

Catholic:  Are newborns or teenagers more dependent on their parents?

Atheist: Newborns, clearly. A teenager can suffice for themselves if they have to, but a newborn can’t.

Catholic: If the parents of a 17 year old leave their child home alone for an evening out or even a weekend vacation, would you say they are doing something wrong?

Atheist: No. I have a teenager myself and I have left them alone longer than that.

Catholic: Even without care being provided? No babysitter?

Atheist: They don’t need one at that age. You must be a helicopter parent.

Catholic: What if the parents of a newborn left for an evening out without providing any care for their newly born child, would that be wrong?

Atheist: That would be criminal. The baby would likely die.

Catholic: So you’re saying parents are more responsible for their children the more dependent they are on them for survival?

Atheist: Yes.

Catholic: And the unborn are the most dependent of all children?

Atheist: And therefore the parents are most responsible to keep them alive, that’s your point, isn’t it?

Catholic: Well?

Atheist: But what about the rights of the woman, she is a victim here?

Catholic: If you steal my car is it okay for me to steal my neighbor’s TV?

Atheist: What? Of course not. Two wrongs don’t make a right.

Catholic: Right. And the horrible wrong of rape isn’t righted by another horrible act - killing the innocent unborn child.

Atheist: So you’re fine with making this woman suffer more?

Catholic: It’s regrettable and we should do everything possible as a society to eliminate the crime of rape and to punish rapists to the full extent of the law. Nonetheless, killing the innocent child is not an acceptable solution.

Atheist: You’re making this woman, this victim, be the mother of her assailant’s child.

Catholic: If she’s pregnant, she’s already the mother of the attacker’s child. I’m just saying making her the mother of a dead child isn’t the solution. As you said, “two wrongs don’t make a right.” The horror of the attack isn’t lessened by making the mother complicit in the death of her unborn child.

Atheist: I support choice. That’s the difference here. You want to impose your religious beliefs on women. I don’t. I think women are smart enough to make these choices for themselves. Choice is good.

Catholic: Is choice always good?

Atheist: Overall? Yes. I might not respect everyone’s choices, but I respect their right to make them.

Catholic: Is the choice of the man to become a rapist “good?”

Atheist: Of course not. 

Catholic: Is the choice of the racist to murder African Americans “good?”

Atheist: I can’t believe you are even asking that.

Catholic: So “choice” isn’t always good.

Atheist: It depends on what is being chosen.

Catholic: Is killing innocent living, genetically distinct humans “good?”

Atheist: You know what, as a man, I don’t feel comfortable answering that. It’s a woman’s issue.

Catholic: Are all unborn babies female?

Atheist: No.

Catholic: So male babies are being aborted?

Atheist: I’d guess about half are male.

Catholic: You’d be wrong. More females are aborted, simply because they are female. That’s the true “war on women,” but you admit many male lives are being ended via abortion.

Atheist: Yes.

Catholic: How many of the aborted babies have male parents?

Atheist: Come now, all of them.

Catholic: Many male lives are being ended by abortion and every aborted child has a male parent? 

Atheist: Yes.

Catholic: How is this only a female issue again?

Atheist: It’s a woman’s body…

Catholic: I thought we agreed the unborn are genetically distinct.

Atheist: We did.

Catholic: Then we aren’t talking just about the woman’s body are we? We’re primarily talking about the unborn child’s body.

Atheist: Well, we men don’t understand what it is like to be pregnant.

Catholic: No, but we were once unborn. We can be parents. And we are “living, genetically distinct humans.” I think that’s more than enough to make us interested in stopping the termination of human lives, even if we aren’t able to be pregnant.

Atheist: I don’t know. With all the disagreement over when a “living, genetically distinct, human” becomes a person, I just think it’s better to not impose the views, especially the religious views, of one group on the rest of society.

Catholic: How many times have I referred to God in this conversation?

Atheist: None.

Catholic: How often have I quoted the Bible or Church teaching?

Atheist: Not once.

Catholic: It doesn’t sound like we’re talking about a “religious view” then does it?

Atheist: Does your Church tell you abortion is wrong?

Catholic: Yes and it also tells me rape is wrong. Are you saying I shouldn’t support laws against rape because the Church is opposed to rape?

Atheist: Even if your position isn’t “religious,” it’s still just one view in a pluralistic society. Why should your definition of when a person comes into existence trump any one else’s? I think if we can’t agree, then the best policy is to leave the question to the individual conscience of each woman. I’m not saying the unborn are definitely not persons, just that we don’t know.

Catholic: Have you ever been hunting?

Atheist: No. Hunting is barbaric.

Catholic: I’ll resist the urge to point out the hypocrisy of your position. 

Atheist: I’m okay with the mother animal eating it’s young, so I’m not a hypocrite.

Catholic: But you are aware that some people do enjoy hunting, yes? That it is a pastime some people partake in. 

Atheist: Yes.

Catholic: And, you’re familiar with the possible situation that one hunter might not immediately recognize another hunter and might, by accident, shoot another hunter.

Atheist: Yes. I remember Vice President Cheney doing something like that. I really can’t stand Republicans.

Catholic: What would you say if we were hunting together and I saw a bush moving. You happen to be behind the bush, but I can’t tell for sure if it’s you or a deer behind the bush. My friend tells me it looks like a person. He even advances solid arguments showing that the creature I see is, in fact, a man not a deer. I, however, have another friend that says he isn’t sure what we are seeing behind the bush. Would I be justified in shooting?

Atheist: No. In fact you’d be guilty of at least criminal negligence, of manslaughter, if you killed me and rightly so.

Catholic: Why? My friends and I were unable to all agree that we were seeing a man.

Atheist: Why? Because it is irresponsible to shoot unless you are 100% certain you aren’t shooting a person! 

Catholic: Right. And we shouldn’t abort an unborn child unless we are 100% certain they are not people. Are you 100% sure they are not people?

Atheist: No.

Catholic: Then abortion is, at least, a criminally negligent act, at worst premeditated murder. Either way, it isn’t something we can leave up individual conscience. We, as a society, have an obligation to protect all people, especially the most vulnerable. 

Atheist: I don’t like abortion either. I actually don’t disagree with you that it’s a horrible thing. I think it sound be “safe, legal, and rare.”

Catholic: What’s horrible about it? Why should it be rare?

Atheist: Well… it… uh…

Catholic: We don’t describe routine “women’s health care” as “horrible,” do we?

Atheist: No.

Catholic: Don’t you think your moral repugnance might be telling you something about abortion?

Atheist: Maybe. 

Catholic: Would you consider an elective operation with a 50% mortality rate to be “safe?”

Atheist: Absolutely not. That’s why I support legal abortion, so 50% of women aren’t killed in back alley abortions. Are you suggesting half of all women who get an abortion are killed in the process? That’s absurd.

Catholic: I’m suggesting half of all “living, genetically distinct, humans” die in abortion.

Atheist: Hmmm… Well, you’ve given me a few things to think about. I’ll admit that much. I’m not convinced, but you’ve given me something to chew on. I’ve got to get back to work.

As the atheist walks away the Catholic picks back up his Rosary and begins to pray for his conversion.

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