Speaking of the Problem of Evil, what's up with Bill Frist? He's not really a moron, so how can he be so confused about the moral difficulties involved in stem cell research, calling it a matter of science rather than a matter of faith? Dorothy Rabinowitz, whom I love dearly as a social commentator, made a similar mistake on the PBS show Journal Editorial Report, when she complained that holding up stem cell research is about as smart as holding up research into viral innoculations, which requires the use of live viruses to produce the serum. She apparently thinks there is no difference between a human being and a virus. I guess her strong point is social commentary rather than biology, but let that pass. What's Bill's problem? He presumably knows something about biology, unless he got his medical degree in Jamaica or some place like that.
He seems to believe, along with other genuinely sloppy moral thinkers, that the acquisition of knowledge is worth whatever price we have to pay for it. So, even though we don't actually have any guarantee that stem cell research really will bring about cure after remarkable cure, he thinks we should sacrifice human lives now on the off chance that we'll save a few in the future.
One cannot help but be reminded of the discovery, a few years ago, of data collected by the Nazis during the 30s and 40s regarding the effects of hypothermia. Unwilling subjects were frozen--sometimes to death--in order to facillitate the study of cold on the human body and the discovery of new treatments for hypothermia. When this data was found lying around not so long ago, there was a debate among current researchers over how it ought to be used, if at all. Can we ethically use data gathered from unwilling subjects by such evil mad scientists? Some thought not--some thought that the pursuit of knowledge ought to be tempered by just conduct. Some things, in other words, may not be worth the cost of knowing.
The Tuskeegee Experiment, in which African Americans were unknowingly exposed to syphillis, in another such case. Is it right to use human beings in this way, merely to gather more information that might be useful to the rest of us? It is impossible for anyone who understands morality to condone this sort of thing.
And yet that is exactly what Bill Frist is recommending that we do now: make it easier to use human beings--against their will, obviously, since embryos are not yet sentient and hence cannot possibly give consent--in the pursuit of knowledge at any cost. These particular human beings, of course, will die in this pursuit, but the rest of us might be able to live a little longer or a little more comfortably thanks to their "sacrifice". Too bad they couldn't give consent but, hey, what's a little technical detail like that when it comes to scientific progress?
Bill might change his mind if someone decides to use him in a scientific experiment against his will. But if he is to be consistent in his view he will not be able to protest when the utilitarian argument is made that his death will make other lives better.
Way to go, Bill. Welcome to the ranks of the morally bankrupt.
Friday, July 29, 2005
What Problem?
I just posted a reply to an essay at Pontifications by Michael Liccione, an able and articulate writer who also happens to have some expertise in philosophy. One sometimes hesitates to rush in where angels fear to tread, but his essay--quite well done and also somewhat moving--addresses a philosophical argument about a theological question, and that mix--the attempt of skeptical philosophers to say something meaningful and important about theology--has always made me nervous.
The argument at issus is the so-called Problem of Evil. I write "so-called" because in my opinion it isn't really a problem at all; but it has been a perennial favorite of philosophers since antiquity, and has given rise to a whole sub-division in the philosophy of religion called Theodicy (< Gr. theos, god, + dikê, justice), the investigation into how to reconcile God's justice with the existence of pain, suffering, and evil in the world.
In its barest outline, a simplified version of the Problem of Evil would go something like this:
1. If God is Omnipotent, Omniscient, and Omnibenevolent, then there will be no evil in the world.
2. But there is evil in the world.
3. Therefore, God is either not Omnipotent, not Omniscient, or not Omnibenevolent.
Since omnipotence, omniscience, and omnibenevolence are necessary properties of the God of Christianty, this argument is sometimes taken to prove that God does not exist at all; others take it only to mean that God does not have all of the perfections that are traditionally ascribed to him.
Clearly the first premise is crucial: it claims a necessary connection between God's key properties and the absence of evil in the world. Just as clearly, this premise is open to question. In fact, St Augustine, famously, offered a solution to the problem of evil in the form of a rejection of this first premise, on the grounds that it simply isn't necessary that evil will not exist even if God is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent. Why? Because what evil and suffering does exist in the world is brought about by human agents who possess free will, itself a good thing but capable of producing evil results when used incorrectly (i.e., not in accordance with what God himself wills).
I think it is worth making a methodological point here. Answering the "problem of evil" cannot be necessary for belief for the Christian, since the whole Christian religion, in itself, offes a counter-claim to that first premise in the form of an extremely elaborate explanation as to why there is, in fact, suffering in this particular God's creation. St. Augustine was not the first to recognize this, nor will he be the last--it is at the heart of John Paul the Great's encyclical The Christian Meaning of Human Suffering. So aside from sheer intellectual curiosity--not an ignoble goal in and of itself--the only real purpose in finding a confutation of this problem, for the Christian, will have to be for the purpose of persuading non-believers. That also is not an ignoble goal, but it is not a goal that must necessarily be met in this particular way.
There are plenty of objections that could be raised to the Christian position. Why didn't God create a world in which free creatures freely choose only good things? Why doesn't God intervene to prevent natural disasters, since that would not compromisee free will but it would prevent apparently needless suffering? But these are all hypothetical objections, and they carry force only for those who find it impossible to believe that a world in which free creatures actually fall short of God's will once in a while can be better, in some sense, than a world in which that is a mere potentiality. For the Christian, the human condition would be difficult to make sense of had we never fallen short of God's will. We might be tempted to believe that we are God. Hey, wait a minute--that's what did happen!
Oh well, so much for that problem. For the philosopher, of course, that isn't the end of the story, because the philosopher always wants a solution that doesn't have any loopholes, or at least that has as few loopholes as possible. But because there are about as many different perspectives and first principles in philosophy as there are individual philosophers, it simply isn't possible to construct an argument that has absolutely no loopholes whatsoever, and it is virtually impossible to construct one with few loopholes. So the discussion of this so-called Problem of Evil will continue, not only among philosophers, who find the problem intellectually interesting, but also among believers, who have an honest and salutary desire to make sense of a loving God who permits us to suffer and do evil things. In the end, though, the Christian knows that, however the Holocaust, or Stalin's purges, or natural disasters, might appear to those of us who stand on the sidelines observing the intensity of the pain and the extraordinary numbers of deaths brought about by such things, nevertheless each individual innocent soul is precious to God and is not harmed in the least by the nasty things that might happen to the material body. When the physical suffering is over, these very same innocent individuals, like our own Christian Martyrs, find themselves in a place where every eye is dried and every tear wiped away, a place of peace that surpasses all understanding.
And all philosophical argument.
The argument at issus is the so-called Problem of Evil. I write "so-called" because in my opinion it isn't really a problem at all; but it has been a perennial favorite of philosophers since antiquity, and has given rise to a whole sub-division in the philosophy of religion called Theodicy (< Gr. theos, god, + dikê, justice), the investigation into how to reconcile God's justice with the existence of pain, suffering, and evil in the world.
In its barest outline, a simplified version of the Problem of Evil would go something like this:
1. If God is Omnipotent, Omniscient, and Omnibenevolent, then there will be no evil in the world.
2. But there is evil in the world.
3. Therefore, God is either not Omnipotent, not Omniscient, or not Omnibenevolent.
Since omnipotence, omniscience, and omnibenevolence are necessary properties of the God of Christianty, this argument is sometimes taken to prove that God does not exist at all; others take it only to mean that God does not have all of the perfections that are traditionally ascribed to him.
Clearly the first premise is crucial: it claims a necessary connection between God's key properties and the absence of evil in the world. Just as clearly, this premise is open to question. In fact, St Augustine, famously, offered a solution to the problem of evil in the form of a rejection of this first premise, on the grounds that it simply isn't necessary that evil will not exist even if God is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent. Why? Because what evil and suffering does exist in the world is brought about by human agents who possess free will, itself a good thing but capable of producing evil results when used incorrectly (i.e., not in accordance with what God himself wills).
I think it is worth making a methodological point here. Answering the "problem of evil" cannot be necessary for belief for the Christian, since the whole Christian religion, in itself, offes a counter-claim to that first premise in the form of an extremely elaborate explanation as to why there is, in fact, suffering in this particular God's creation. St. Augustine was not the first to recognize this, nor will he be the last--it is at the heart of John Paul the Great's encyclical The Christian Meaning of Human Suffering. So aside from sheer intellectual curiosity--not an ignoble goal in and of itself--the only real purpose in finding a confutation of this problem, for the Christian, will have to be for the purpose of persuading non-believers. That also is not an ignoble goal, but it is not a goal that must necessarily be met in this particular way.
There are plenty of objections that could be raised to the Christian position. Why didn't God create a world in which free creatures freely choose only good things? Why doesn't God intervene to prevent natural disasters, since that would not compromisee free will but it would prevent apparently needless suffering? But these are all hypothetical objections, and they carry force only for those who find it impossible to believe that a world in which free creatures actually fall short of God's will once in a while can be better, in some sense, than a world in which that is a mere potentiality. For the Christian, the human condition would be difficult to make sense of had we never fallen short of God's will. We might be tempted to believe that we are God. Hey, wait a minute--that's what did happen!
Oh well, so much for that problem. For the philosopher, of course, that isn't the end of the story, because the philosopher always wants a solution that doesn't have any loopholes, or at least that has as few loopholes as possible. But because there are about as many different perspectives and first principles in philosophy as there are individual philosophers, it simply isn't possible to construct an argument that has absolutely no loopholes whatsoever, and it is virtually impossible to construct one with few loopholes. So the discussion of this so-called Problem of Evil will continue, not only among philosophers, who find the problem intellectually interesting, but also among believers, who have an honest and salutary desire to make sense of a loving God who permits us to suffer and do evil things. In the end, though, the Christian knows that, however the Holocaust, or Stalin's purges, or natural disasters, might appear to those of us who stand on the sidelines observing the intensity of the pain and the extraordinary numbers of deaths brought about by such things, nevertheless each individual innocent soul is precious to God and is not harmed in the least by the nasty things that might happen to the material body. When the physical suffering is over, these very same innocent individuals, like our own Christian Martyrs, find themselves in a place where every eye is dried and every tear wiped away, a place of peace that surpasses all understanding.
And all philosophical argument.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Nunsense
RomanCatholicBlog has this piece on a formerly Catholic school run by Immaculate Heart of Mary sisters and their reasons for going, well, Outside the Fold, as it were. Here's an interesting quote:
"We'll start fresh," Charnley said. "We're appealing to continue playing in the Catholic League as Covenant."Surely the operative phrase there is "playing in the Catholic League". What one would like, of course, are folks who are really in the Catholic League rather than merely playing at it.
Wait! I Meant REALLY Strict Constructivism!
An excellent article in the 24 July edition of the Chicago Sun-Times Online by Mark Steyn about how the Democrats love it when Justices legislate from the bench, but only if the Democrats come out as winners.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
On Wretched Mistakes
I certainly did not intend to write about Jim Tucker's blog twice in a row, but it's been something of a slow week, and something he posted on Tuesday struck me as quite puzzling. In particular, I was struck by this bit:
A number of interesting terms jump out of the text. It's one thing to say that it's a mistake to give uncritical support to something, but to characterize the mistake of giving uncritical support as "wretched" calls out for analysis. The Oxford English Dictionary says that "wretched" means "distinguished by base, vile, or unworthy character or quality" and says that something that is "wretched" is also "contemptible". So a "wretched mistake" is a pretty bad mistake. Surely it's right to to frown upon "uncritical" support for anything, but when I come across students in my classroom who defend their views in an uncritical way, I don't usually think of them as wretches who are base, vile, or downright contemptible. I think that they are young and inexperienced and that they will eventually learn to be more critical.
On the other hand, when someone like John Kerry comes along, claiming to be a Catholic while at the same time saying that there is nothing at all wrong with endorsing policies that would make it much easier to get abortions, I don't hesitate for a moment to think that such a person is wretched, because that is a person who ought to know better, whether or not he does, in fact, know better. So perhaps Tucker thinks that the folks who are less critical than he in their support of the modern state of Israel ought to know better, whether or not they do, in fact, know better.
Ought to know what better? That they should be more critical of the modern state of Israel? Critical of what? Tucker doesn't say. He seems to think that the faults of the modern state of Israel are obvious enough that he doesn't need to say what they are. If you support the state of Israel, he appears to be saying, there is a good chance that you are doing so uncritically, since any critical person would hesitate to give them support, especially in light of the fact that, Hey, these folks aren't even the real Jews of Scripture anyway!
But what of that last bit? We're not supposed to give Israel "uncritical" support merely on the grounds that the Scriptures speak of them as the Chosen People of God. Granting for a moment that "uncritical" support is not an intellectually sound approach to geopolitical problems, surely there is an implication running through this text that one of the reasons why we need to be more critical in our support of Israel is because they are not the Chosen People of Scritpure, we> are. If they were the Chosen People of Scripture, we might be warranted in cutting them a little more slack.
This has got to be one of the most naive and dangerous views about the Middle East Problem that I have ever seen. Forget the Chosen People of Scripture argument--as laughable as that is it is at least roughly within the bounds of sanity. But to think that folks who support Israel do so "uncritically" because they don't, in the end, feel the same way about Israel that Jim Tucker appears to feel, is just plain bizarre. It seems to me that it is at least possible that the folks who support the state of Israel simply have different first principles than Jim Tucker, and that is why they come to different conclusions about what level of support is warranted.
So Tucker has conflated the truth that we are all Sons and Daughters of Abraham with the strangely familiar accusation that contemporary Jews aren't the Real Jews of Scripture. That accusation, of course, has been bandied about by plenty of folks for the last 150 years or so, if not longer, but it is distressing to find it in a 21st century Catholic writer.
In fact, it's more than distressing: it's wretched.
It's a wretched mistake for Americans to give uncritical support to the modern Israel because the ancient Israel holds a privileged place in the Scriptures.He goes on to suggest that "the ancient Israel" of the Scriptures is now embodied by the Christian Church. I can only imagine what a Jew might have to say about that, but I think there's already plenty to say about the small passage quoted.
A number of interesting terms jump out of the text. It's one thing to say that it's a mistake to give uncritical support to something, but to characterize the mistake of giving uncritical support as "wretched" calls out for analysis. The Oxford English Dictionary says that "wretched" means "distinguished by base, vile, or unworthy character or quality" and says that something that is "wretched" is also "contemptible". So a "wretched mistake" is a pretty bad mistake. Surely it's right to to frown upon "uncritical" support for anything, but when I come across students in my classroom who defend their views in an uncritical way, I don't usually think of them as wretches who are base, vile, or downright contemptible. I think that they are young and inexperienced and that they will eventually learn to be more critical.
On the other hand, when someone like John Kerry comes along, claiming to be a Catholic while at the same time saying that there is nothing at all wrong with endorsing policies that would make it much easier to get abortions, I don't hesitate for a moment to think that such a person is wretched, because that is a person who ought to know better, whether or not he does, in fact, know better. So perhaps Tucker thinks that the folks who are less critical than he in their support of the modern state of Israel ought to know better, whether or not they do, in fact, know better.
Ought to know what better? That they should be more critical of the modern state of Israel? Critical of what? Tucker doesn't say. He seems to think that the faults of the modern state of Israel are obvious enough that he doesn't need to say what they are. If you support the state of Israel, he appears to be saying, there is a good chance that you are doing so uncritically, since any critical person would hesitate to give them support, especially in light of the fact that, Hey, these folks aren't even the real Jews of Scripture anyway!
But what of that last bit? We're not supposed to give Israel "uncritical" support merely on the grounds that the Scriptures speak of them as the Chosen People of God. Granting for a moment that "uncritical" support is not an intellectually sound approach to geopolitical problems, surely there is an implication running through this text that one of the reasons why we need to be more critical in our support of Israel is because they are not the Chosen People of Scritpure, we> are. If they were the Chosen People of Scripture, we might be warranted in cutting them a little more slack.
This has got to be one of the most naive and dangerous views about the Middle East Problem that I have ever seen. Forget the Chosen People of Scripture argument--as laughable as that is it is at least roughly within the bounds of sanity. But to think that folks who support Israel do so "uncritically" because they don't, in the end, feel the same way about Israel that Jim Tucker appears to feel, is just plain bizarre. It seems to me that it is at least possible that the folks who support the state of Israel simply have different first principles than Jim Tucker, and that is why they come to different conclusions about what level of support is warranted.
So Tucker has conflated the truth that we are all Sons and Daughters of Abraham with the strangely familiar accusation that contemporary Jews aren't the Real Jews of Scripture. That accusation, of course, has been bandied about by plenty of folks for the last 150 years or so, if not longer, but it is distressing to find it in a 21st century Catholic writer.
In fact, it's more than distressing: it's wretched.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Close, But No Pipe
In an essay in today's edition of his blog Dappled Things the Ordinarily Straight-Thinking Occasionally Pipe-Smoking Jim Tucker complains about homemade wedding vows in which putative couples deliberately leave out any reference to their pairing lasting "'till death do us part", and he's not angry merely because of the further paring down of Hopkinsesque language in our rituals. What irks him is that nobody is complaining about this sort of thing the way they complain about civil "unions" between homosexual couples. He says that it is "inconsistent" to protest the one but not the other. His reasoning appears to be that, since folks who protest civil unions for homosexual couples do so on moral grounds, then anyone who has any objection to any other kind of pairing on moral grounds ought to protest as loudly.
But that doesn't follow at all, and for two reasons. The first is merely practical. It may be that I do not approve of "marriages" in which the couples have no intention of staying together forever, but that's not to say that I find that kind of arrangement as worrisome as other possible arrangements. To say that all morally dubious arrangements ought to be protested with equal vigor would entail that we protest unjust parking tickets with the same vehemence that we protest abortion. Both are cases of injustice, after all. Or, in a more realistic example, it is to say that we ought to invade North Korea and bring down its government, because that's what we did in Afghanistan and Iraq.
The second reason why Tucker's argument won't work is more philosophical. The reason why conservatives are opposed to civil unions among homosexual couples has nothing to do with the moral status of the proposed union. Not all conservatives agree that such unions are, in fact, immoral. What all, or at least most, conservatives would agree on is that the government has no reason to involve itself in legislation--either pro or con--regarding friendships between private citizens. This means that, in fact, the government not only has no business "recognizing" civil unions between homosexual couples, it doesn't really have any business recognizing unions between heterosexual couples either. Marriage, in a perfect world, would be entirely within the domain of the Church. The fact that most governments do recognize heterosexual unions has nothing to do with morality and everything to do with protecting the interests of the state: it is in the state's interest to see to it that its population does not dwindle to zero. For that reason it provides incentives, in the form of various government-sponsored perks, for heterosexual unions. The value of these unions is independent of how long they last, just so long as they are more likely than not to produce offspring. Civil unions between homosexual couples cannot produce new life, even in principle, so no state has any particular interest in promoting such unions.
Catholics, as a matter of doctrine, must oppose civil and private unions between homosexual and heterosexual couples if those unions violate either the divine or the natural law, as both would if there were any sexual relations outside of the Sacrament of Matrimony. In this regard everyone is treated equally. The difficulty, of course, lies in the fact that homosexuals have no particular inclination to have sex with folks of the opposite sex, and so they are not inclined to enter into the Sacrament of Matrimony. What they tend to want is recognition of the love they feel for their partners, on the one hand, and some sort of share in the government-sponsored perks of heterosexual marriage on the other. There's no compelling reason to think that it is inconsistent to think that civil unions of the homosexual kind could lead to the recognition of all sorts of bizarre things being granted government-sponsored perks while thinking that those of the heterosexual kind are less likely to have that effect.
But that doesn't follow at all, and for two reasons. The first is merely practical. It may be that I do not approve of "marriages" in which the couples have no intention of staying together forever, but that's not to say that I find that kind of arrangement as worrisome as other possible arrangements. To say that all morally dubious arrangements ought to be protested with equal vigor would entail that we protest unjust parking tickets with the same vehemence that we protest abortion. Both are cases of injustice, after all. Or, in a more realistic example, it is to say that we ought to invade North Korea and bring down its government, because that's what we did in Afghanistan and Iraq.
The second reason why Tucker's argument won't work is more philosophical. The reason why conservatives are opposed to civil unions among homosexual couples has nothing to do with the moral status of the proposed union. Not all conservatives agree that such unions are, in fact, immoral. What all, or at least most, conservatives would agree on is that the government has no reason to involve itself in legislation--either pro or con--regarding friendships between private citizens. This means that, in fact, the government not only has no business "recognizing" civil unions between homosexual couples, it doesn't really have any business recognizing unions between heterosexual couples either. Marriage, in a perfect world, would be entirely within the domain of the Church. The fact that most governments do recognize heterosexual unions has nothing to do with morality and everything to do with protecting the interests of the state: it is in the state's interest to see to it that its population does not dwindle to zero. For that reason it provides incentives, in the form of various government-sponsored perks, for heterosexual unions. The value of these unions is independent of how long they last, just so long as they are more likely than not to produce offspring. Civil unions between homosexual couples cannot produce new life, even in principle, so no state has any particular interest in promoting such unions.
Catholics, as a matter of doctrine, must oppose civil and private unions between homosexual and heterosexual couples if those unions violate either the divine or the natural law, as both would if there were any sexual relations outside of the Sacrament of Matrimony. In this regard everyone is treated equally. The difficulty, of course, lies in the fact that homosexuals have no particular inclination to have sex with folks of the opposite sex, and so they are not inclined to enter into the Sacrament of Matrimony. What they tend to want is recognition of the love they feel for their partners, on the one hand, and some sort of share in the government-sponsored perks of heterosexual marriage on the other. There's no compelling reason to think that it is inconsistent to think that civil unions of the homosexual kind could lead to the recognition of all sorts of bizarre things being granted government-sponsored perks while thinking that those of the heterosexual kind are less likely to have that effect.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
In Honor of the First Covenant
On Saturdays I like to go to Confession. Not because I have a plethora of grievous sins to own up to each week, mind you, though I certainly have my share. Even if I had none, I would still go so as to make some reparation, however insignificant in comparison with Christ's, for the little ways in which I have failed to live up to my calling to be an image of God in the order of creation. It is a fine preparation for Communion and, if you live in a parish like mine, there's never any waiting because academics are far and away too pompous to admit that they've done anything wrong, being far more interested in pointing out the faults of others. Sometimes, when I'm finished, the priest will try to chat me up, knowing full well that once I leave he'll be sitting in lonely isolation until time for the vigil Mass.
Saturday has become one of my favorite days of the week. I like it that I can humble myself before the Lord in the Sacrament of Confession, making right my wayard path. I like it that I can pray an Office in honor of Our Lady during Ordinary Time when there is no competing memorial. I like it that I can be with my family in a special way, a way that continues through Sunday and that reminds me that simply to live, to move, and to have any being at all is a blessing beyond reckoning.
Today was a particularly beautiful Saturday, too, and that can help. I was up before dawn, at about 5:45, to pray the Office and read the Martyrology. By 7:00 I was done and ready for my bike-ride. We have a very nice bike-path here in Athens County, running nearly 20 miles from the east side of Athens to the south side of Nelsonville. It travels along an old canal tow-path, which, in turn, tends to follow the Hocking River, of Harvard on the Hocking fame. I like to ride about 20 miles, so I usually head up towards Nelsonville for about 10 miles and then come back. Today the temperature was perfect for going fast, though my top speed, even on the relatively flat bike path, is really only about 25 miles per hour, a snail's pace compared to the resting speed of really serious bikers. The path goes through cool wooded areas as well as open meadows, and with the sun low in the sky and the air still moist from the cool night the ride is just about as pleasant as one could wish. You have to watch for rabbits, deer, box turtles, and other critters, but if you keep your eyes peeled you'll be OK. Other creatures are more dangerous. About a month ago I was headed up my usual route when I say a large figure in the middle of the path. The bike path is only wide enough for three bikes to go abreast, and as I approached I saw that this particular figure was effectively blocking the whole path. It was a man, laid out right across the path and snoring loudly. Beside him in the grass was his own bike, along with his backpack. I had to go off the path to get around him. As I biked back in the other direction, nearly 40 minutes later, he was still there, soundly sleeping.
The day was getting ever more beautiful, so I decided to say my Rosary out in the hammock. It just don't get no better 'n that, folks. On days like this one must simply breathe in life and be grateful.
On Saturdays I like to remember the First Covenant. The Old Sabbath day is a good day for that, I think, and the Office often reflects it, with readings that refer to God's promise to His people and in the frequent commemoration of Our Lady, the last type of the Old People and the first type of the New, a bridge between the Covenants. The Jews were Chosen to be an image of God in the world--to represent what it is to live according to God's precepts. Though they did not always succeed, they are still to be honored for this role that was so graciously given them. We, too, are called to live as Imagines Dei, living a life that is full of praise and thanksgiving to our God and Redeemer. It's difficult to think of a more fitting way to bring a day such as this to an end than by kneeling down before God's minister and offering up those ways in which we have squandered, through our fault, our own fault, our own most grievous fault, the beautiful promise that has been handed on to us.
But the natural beauty of a day like this is not, I don't think, a coal that we ought to heap upon our own head. Rather, let it serve as a promise of what awaits us in the Confessional--let it be a physical sign of the ineffable beauty of Absolution, and of a return to life as it was meant to be lived. Confession can be difficult--especially if, like me, you are sometimes embarrassed to find yourself confessing sins you've confessed many times before. But it should also be beautiful, invigorating, and cleansing, like a fine Saturday filled with the joy and love that comes of being alive in God's presence.
Saturday has become one of my favorite days of the week. I like it that I can humble myself before the Lord in the Sacrament of Confession, making right my wayard path. I like it that I can pray an Office in honor of Our Lady during Ordinary Time when there is no competing memorial. I like it that I can be with my family in a special way, a way that continues through Sunday and that reminds me that simply to live, to move, and to have any being at all is a blessing beyond reckoning.
Today was a particularly beautiful Saturday, too, and that can help. I was up before dawn, at about 5:45, to pray the Office and read the Martyrology. By 7:00 I was done and ready for my bike-ride. We have a very nice bike-path here in Athens County, running nearly 20 miles from the east side of Athens to the south side of Nelsonville. It travels along an old canal tow-path, which, in turn, tends to follow the Hocking River, of Harvard on the Hocking fame. I like to ride about 20 miles, so I usually head up towards Nelsonville for about 10 miles and then come back. Today the temperature was perfect for going fast, though my top speed, even on the relatively flat bike path, is really only about 25 miles per hour, a snail's pace compared to the resting speed of really serious bikers. The path goes through cool wooded areas as well as open meadows, and with the sun low in the sky and the air still moist from the cool night the ride is just about as pleasant as one could wish. You have to watch for rabbits, deer, box turtles, and other critters, but if you keep your eyes peeled you'll be OK. Other creatures are more dangerous. About a month ago I was headed up my usual route when I say a large figure in the middle of the path. The bike path is only wide enough for three bikes to go abreast, and as I approached I saw that this particular figure was effectively blocking the whole path. It was a man, laid out right across the path and snoring loudly. Beside him in the grass was his own bike, along with his backpack. I had to go off the path to get around him. As I biked back in the other direction, nearly 40 minutes later, he was still there, soundly sleeping.
The day was getting ever more beautiful, so I decided to say my Rosary out in the hammock. It just don't get no better 'n that, folks. On days like this one must simply breathe in life and be grateful.
On Saturdays I like to remember the First Covenant. The Old Sabbath day is a good day for that, I think, and the Office often reflects it, with readings that refer to God's promise to His people and in the frequent commemoration of Our Lady, the last type of the Old People and the first type of the New, a bridge between the Covenants. The Jews were Chosen to be an image of God in the world--to represent what it is to live according to God's precepts. Though they did not always succeed, they are still to be honored for this role that was so graciously given them. We, too, are called to live as Imagines Dei, living a life that is full of praise and thanksgiving to our God and Redeemer. It's difficult to think of a more fitting way to bring a day such as this to an end than by kneeling down before God's minister and offering up those ways in which we have squandered, through our fault, our own fault, our own most grievous fault, the beautiful promise that has been handed on to us.
But the natural beauty of a day like this is not, I don't think, a coal that we ought to heap upon our own head. Rather, let it serve as a promise of what awaits us in the Confessional--let it be a physical sign of the ineffable beauty of Absolution, and of a return to life as it was meant to be lived. Confession can be difficult--especially if, like me, you are sometimes embarrassed to find yourself confessing sins you've confessed many times before. But it should also be beautiful, invigorating, and cleansing, like a fine Saturday filled with the joy and love that comes of being alive in God's presence.
Corrigendum
If I had even a fraction of Tom Kreitzberg's theological insight I could retire a happy man, but as it is it looks like I'm going to be working for many long years to come. That's not to say that I always agree with him, though it is to say that probably I would be a lot better off if I did.
In a recent post of his on his blog Disputations he refers to one of my own posts as saying that I think that Cardinal Schönborn doesn't know what he's talking about when he enters into the evolution vs. intelligent design debate. I would just like to say that, although it looks like I did say that, I did not say exactly that. I don't really want to be accused of being a sophist, either, though, so I will also apologize if I left the impression that I think that the good Cardinal is a know-nothing.
What I said was that the Cardinal is not in a position to speak "authoritatively" about evolution, since that is not his field of expertise, and that anyone who wants to speak authoritatively on that subject must first meet the necessary condition of knowing a great deal more about the field than the Cardinal does.
As Tom rightly points out, the Cardinal may have been speaking theologically and not scientifically. If so, then he is eminently qualified to speak. But there do seem to me to be cases where folks who are trying to make theological or philosophical points wind up making scientific claims instead, and vice versa.
It is a claim of science, not of theology, to say that evolution is or is not a strongly confirmed theory, and that intelligent design is not a scientific theory at all and hence, a fortiori, not a serious contender to be a rival to evolutionary theory--and that was the main point I was making. If what you want to claim is that evolutionary theory is not the final answer as to how or why there is ensouled life in the universe, then that is a theological and not a scientific claim, and I would certainly agree that there's nothing that evolution in particular or science in general can possibly say on that score. Certainly we must, as orthodox Catholics, believe that the universe is shot-through with meaning, is a teleological place in which everything has some sort of purpose (whether empirically verifiable or not) and, as I mentioned at the end of my other essay, we must loudly reject both materialism and empiricism (though we may, of course, accept limited versions of them--versions that apply only withint the very limited domain of discourse of science).
In a recent post of his on his blog Disputations he refers to one of my own posts as saying that I think that Cardinal Schönborn doesn't know what he's talking about when he enters into the evolution vs. intelligent design debate. I would just like to say that, although it looks like I did say that, I did not say exactly that. I don't really want to be accused of being a sophist, either, though, so I will also apologize if I left the impression that I think that the good Cardinal is a know-nothing.
What I said was that the Cardinal is not in a position to speak "authoritatively" about evolution, since that is not his field of expertise, and that anyone who wants to speak authoritatively on that subject must first meet the necessary condition of knowing a great deal more about the field than the Cardinal does.
As Tom rightly points out, the Cardinal may have been speaking theologically and not scientifically. If so, then he is eminently qualified to speak. But there do seem to me to be cases where folks who are trying to make theological or philosophical points wind up making scientific claims instead, and vice versa.
It is a claim of science, not of theology, to say that evolution is or is not a strongly confirmed theory, and that intelligent design is not a scientific theory at all and hence, a fortiori, not a serious contender to be a rival to evolutionary theory--and that was the main point I was making. If what you want to claim is that evolutionary theory is not the final answer as to how or why there is ensouled life in the universe, then that is a theological and not a scientific claim, and I would certainly agree that there's nothing that evolution in particular or science in general can possibly say on that score. Certainly we must, as orthodox Catholics, believe that the universe is shot-through with meaning, is a teleological place in which everything has some sort of purpose (whether empirically verifiable or not) and, as I mentioned at the end of my other essay, we must loudly reject both materialism and empiricism (though we may, of course, accept limited versions of them--versions that apply only withint the very limited domain of discourse of science).
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
A Lot of Good It Does Us
OK, so he’s Catholic. Do we care? Does it matter? At first glance it may seem rather promising, but as I’ve mentioned in several installments this week, calling oneself a Catholic and actually acting like one don’t always go hand in hand. This is particularly true of folks who have to pass through Senate confirmation processes. The reason, of course, is that as soon as they find out you’re Catholic they do everything they can get away with to make sure you don’t actually vote your conscience (assuming that you actually have a properly formed conscience to begin with), so anyone who makes it to SCOTUS while claiming to be a Catholic is probably someone who is willing to say and do what it takes to get through the gauntlet. Such folks are not all that likely to be pleasant surprises on the bench.
This is not how it should be, of course. It’s pretty lame to pretend that there are no litmus tests, because literally everything is by definition a litmus test. You want someone who will uphold Roe? That’s a litmus test. You want someone who will overturn Roe? That’s a litmus test. You want someone who will not legislate from the bench? That’s a litmus test. You want someone who is immune to litmus tests? That’s a litmus test. In short, whatever necessary and sufficient conditions one puts on candidates for SCOTUS become, ipso facto, the litmus test. There is no principled reason why a Catholic who promises to vote his properly-formed conscience should not sit on the Supreme Court—it is a fiction to pretend that the folks who make it there are somehow value-neutral with respect to issues touching on matters of life and death and the rest.
What we want, of course, is someone who applies constitutional principles in a non-constructivist way. That’s our litmus test. But such a person could still believe that abortion is the unjust taking of innocent human life. Such a person ought to be able to say so to a confirmation hearing. And since there are no constitutional grounds for regarding any particular court decision as in principle non-reversible, such a person ought to be able to subscribe to the view that Roe is eminently overturnable. But of course nobody in his right mind would say that, if what he really wanted was to serve on the Supreme Court.
Given that he has not been involved in cases involving Roe, he will be able to say, as he must to win confirmation, that he cannot speak to any such cases in the abstract, that he will do his best, if confronted with such a case, to apply constitutional principles strictly construed, without letting personal bias or conviction sway him. Perhaps that will be enough to win confirmation. Who knows what else it will be enough for.
This is not how it should be, of course. It’s pretty lame to pretend that there are no litmus tests, because literally everything is by definition a litmus test. You want someone who will uphold Roe? That’s a litmus test. You want someone who will overturn Roe? That’s a litmus test. You want someone who will not legislate from the bench? That’s a litmus test. You want someone who is immune to litmus tests? That’s a litmus test. In short, whatever necessary and sufficient conditions one puts on candidates for SCOTUS become, ipso facto, the litmus test. There is no principled reason why a Catholic who promises to vote his properly-formed conscience should not sit on the Supreme Court—it is a fiction to pretend that the folks who make it there are somehow value-neutral with respect to issues touching on matters of life and death and the rest.
What we want, of course, is someone who applies constitutional principles in a non-constructivist way. That’s our litmus test. But such a person could still believe that abortion is the unjust taking of innocent human life. Such a person ought to be able to say so to a confirmation hearing. And since there are no constitutional grounds for regarding any particular court decision as in principle non-reversible, such a person ought to be able to subscribe to the view that Roe is eminently overturnable. But of course nobody in his right mind would say that, if what he really wanted was to serve on the Supreme Court.
Given that he has not been involved in cases involving Roe, he will be able to say, as he must to win confirmation, that he cannot speak to any such cases in the abstract, that he will do his best, if confronted with such a case, to apply constitutional principles strictly construed, without letting personal bias or conviction sway him. Perhaps that will be enough to win confirmation. Who knows what else it will be enough for.
Blossoming Blossers
Just a quickie to promote another blog. If you like profound thought, careful argument, theological insight, and philosophical clarity, you couldn't do much better than reading Ad Limina Apostolorum.
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