Ramblings of an Incoherent and Unqualified Sailor, part #1: The Mystery of the Origins of the Universe

I don’t intend to get uber-philosophic here; nor do I intend to get swamped by scientific fact. I have even less of a claim to this latter knowledge, even considering the very little claim I have to the former. Perhaps not diving too deeply into either of these disciplines is problematic when discussing this topic, especially the absence of pertinent and contemporary scientific data; and perhaps this will prove to be the downfall of my overall idea or conclusion. Perhaps. You can be the judge of that. I simply intend to ramble in a slightly more than incoherent fashion. Using an analogous image, I sort of see the direction and pertinence of my ideas as a drunken sailor attempting to teach himself calculus, while barely having a footing in algebra one. Here it goes.

No matter how you figure it, the answer to the questions surrounding the origins of the universe is a bizarre one. There’s no way around it. If you categorize the different possibilities by placing them into groups, perhaps you could come up with three or four distinct classes of answers – perhaps more. (I will be attempting to categorize them in a few moments.) What I see as present in each of the possible answers is two things: 1) an encounter with something eternal or non-material, or at least different from the temporality of everything else we experience on a material and scientific level; and 2) an answer that is distinctly different, both in terms of logic and empirical conclusions, from any other subject or question we pose – especially in the scientific field.

The interesting part of this is the fact that one of them must be correct. The universe does in fact exist; I exist. (Yes, I’m telling you to take your Cartesian doubt and flush it down the toilet for a moment: there are things that exist, independently of whether or not we can prove them empirically.) The very existence of anything whatsoever has such bizarre consequences.

Allow me to attempt to break down the different classes of answers to the following question, “How is it that the universe, at least the material universe, exists?”

Answer One: God. Here I place all answers that deal with a deity or deities that can create ex nihilo, out of nothing. These answers are somewhat simple, at least to begin with. How is it things exist? Easy: there is a being or beings that can create matter, space, mass, etc. from nothing. Of course, this answer only brings up a separate, similar question: what sort of being is this? This post does not intend to answer this question, or even categorize the different types of answers to this question. Let me simply say that this being must be non-material, at least in a certain sense – for if the cause of all matter in the universe is material, then it wouldn’t be the cause of everything material in the universe; therefore, it is non-material. Besides the fact that we are now discussing something non-material, something not able to be discussed in scientific terms – science can only deal with things empirically, and non-material beings cannot be dealt with in this manner; science necessarily deals solely with the material – we are dealing with answering a question, an important question, in a bizarre sort of way. We are positing that the cause of everything that is physical is something non-physical. No matter what way you spin it, this is bizarre. (By the way, bizarre in the way I’m using it here is closely aligned with the terms awe-inspiring, mind-boggling, or beyond our intellectual reach.)

(There are two good responses to this: a) Well, this being could be material; and something else could have been the cause of it; etc. ad infinitem. This sort of infinite regress theory will be addressed later; b) Well, this being could be material; but it could have been the cause of itself. On the one hand, all we know about matter and material is that it can’t be the cause of itself. However, the theory of a self-created universe will also be discussed later.)

Two: The universe has always existed; therefore, we don’t need to find a cause for it, since there is none. This, of course, gets us into problems with the philosophic idea of “sufficient reason:” Does everything need a sufficient reason for being the way it is? Does everything need a sufficient cause for existing? I would throw the idea of infinite regresses into this category. For everything physical and material, there must be a cause for it. Instead of taking this line of reasoning and coming to the conclusion Aristotle and many others have, saying there must be a Unmoved Mover for we can’t keep finding a cause behind every effect, there must be a stopping place – instead of this, the proponent of infinite regresses says that there is always a reasonable explanation behind each physical effect, and it is simply the physical cause behind it, and this “tracing back” can go on infinitely. Although I disagree with the idea of infinite regresses existing physically (as opposed to mathematically or abstractly), I grant them their space here is this discussion.

But despite allowing them their place, this sort of answer is bizarre in its own way. Somehow the universe, and everything physical within it, is eternal. What caused the big bang? Well, what caused that? Ad infinitum. Even if we allow this sort of reasoning, the answer remains bizarre. Scientifically, we are always looking for causes and effect – but this answer simply says, there is no real cause of the universe as a whole. Science can deal with individual pieces of the universe, but never its entirety. (Side note: My favorite question relating to this sort of answer is this: Why, then, does the universe exist at all? Why is it that something exists, instead of nothing? This isn’t a philosophical rebuttal to this second theory. It simply shows the problems and complexity of this theory as to the universe’s origins – just like all of the theories have bizarre-like complexities.)

Three: The universe is self-causing. There was nothing – and out of this nothing, something came to exist. I find this argument the least intellectually grounded; but it is an argument nonetheless. I hope the bizarre ramifications of this sort of thinking are apparent. Everything has a cause, science argues; however, in this line of argument, essentially nothing has a cause. If everything came to be at once, everything has no cause.

At the moment, I can’t think of a fourth explanation or category. If I’m wrong, please correct my error.

Reasons one and three go beyond science, as we know it. They purport something being created from nothing, which is in direct contradiction to the basic tenants of science. Reason two is probably the most scientifically based, but it too steps beyond our basic grasp of science; it regards the world as essentially eternal or infinite – and it allows the chain of causes to find no beginning. For everything in the world as we know it, we can ask, What is the cause of this? and science can give us an answer – or at least potentially it can. This works on a micro-level – what is the cause of the leaf on this tree? – and a macro-level – what are potential causes of the big bang? But according to theory two, science cannot answer the question, What is the cause of the universe? Hence, in all three, we have the limits of science.

I recognize that the scientist arguing for theory two can attest, in relation to my most recent comments, that science does in fact answer everything in the universe. For every single, physical thing, there is a physical and scientific answer. Asking the larger question of what is the cause of the universe as a whole is an artificial or contrived question. Evening granting this scientific sidestep, the idea that we cannot answer the question of the ultimate origins of the universe is bizarre, especially since theory two attests there are no ultimate origins of the universe, for it is eternal. At the very least, we can say that the universe operates on a scale different than anything else we discuss, since the idea of cause-and-effect don’t apply to it.

So what is my ultimate conclusion of this line of thinking? I’m working out a few responses. For one, it reminds me of the ultimate mystery of the universe and existence. Even cold-hard scientists that despise the idea of mystery must purport a theory that rests ultimately on mystery – a theory that ultimately answers a question in terms that no other question can or has been answered. Second, it is often the theist that is criticized for his bizarreness, his faith in a superstitious being that is non-material and has the power to create things. But isn’t the belief that the universe created itself, or the idea that the universe has always existed and is eternal – and that the universe exists simple because, well, because it is exists – isn’t this just as bizarre as accepting the philosophical argument that infinite regresses cannot exist in physical matter, and therefore there must exist some sort of Unmoved Mover?

Lived Truth: Destroying the Myth of the Objective Seeker

There have been many points in my life when I’ve internally uttered the following statements: “I want to seek truth in a genuine and authentic manner. I want to – as objectively as I can, putting aside all previous biases and assumptions – seek that which is. And no matter where this journey takes me, I will follow it. I want to judge a way of thinking, a series of analysis, simply on the grounds of logic and reason, and not be tainted by my former prejudices and beliefs.” There is a drive in me for authenticity of knowledge, experience, and personal decisions. Even if I think something is true, if it’s been “preached to me” by another person, my reaction is to discover it on my own. This is simply the person I am.

Of course, there are problems inherent in this type of thinking. How does one recognize authenticity, even in oneself? Does this authentic searching involve reading? If so, aren’t we being influenced by what we’re reading? But in my opinion, the biggest hurdle in trying to seek pure objectivity is the problem Descartes ran into; in some ways, in Descartes’ search for pure objectivity, he revealed the deepest flaws of this line of thinking. No matter how hard you try, you cannot find perspective-less reasoning. Descartes’ hyperbolic, steamroller of doubt crushes all in its path, and there is no hope of rebuilding a coherent city of logic in its wake. You cannot think without making assumptions. At the very least, my statements above made the assumptions that there is truth, that I can find it with reason, and that is it good to search for it.

I must make two points in relation to this sort of thinking. First, the idea of truth-seeking is not completely released to abject and illogical subjectivity on account of this. There are still alive the categories of “more objective” or “less objective.” We may not find an assumption-less position, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be open and genuine about what assumptions we are making. Second, this conclusion of modern philosophy is often seen as depressing and nihilistic. However, as the saying goes, “We only bemoan the absence of something when we feel it should be there.” We only find the conclusion of our reading of Descartes as disheartening if we feel there should be a perspective-less, purely objective way of thinking. But we are humans within three dimensions; we are necessarily limited by our place in space and time. Just as we must look at an object in space-time from a specific point of reference, so must we view all of truth-seeking from a specific point of reference. However, this is not to say we don’t distinguish between seeing an object fifty feet in front of us through fog, and seeing that same object right in front of our eyes, along with cameras that can show us all of the angles of the object at once. Even though both perspectives are “trapped” within space-time, we are allowed to refer to one as more objective than the other.

Although this sort of thinking used to trouble me, I find it rather comforting these days. There are two major reasons for this. First, I wondered why people didn’t find the same objective truth as much as they should have. To return to the opening statements, I know that there are thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of people who have expressed the same attitude. Why, then, do these people come to so disparate conclusions? If we all want to find the truth and accept it no matter what – if we are all so desirous of authenticity – why then do we not arrive at the same conclusions – or at least similar ones? Well, one of the major answers lies in the fact of our station in space-time. I don’t discount the fact that many people, like myself, truly want to find out what really is; but we don’t all begin at the mythical perspective-less, assumption-less point zero. Nowadays, this gives me comfort, rather than disquiet.

[On a bit of a side note, I have a separate theory as to why we don’t all come to the same conclusions, despite our protestations, genuine they may be, that we seek truth no matter our former prejudices or beliefs. I ran across a wonderful line in a truly enjoyable book, The Quiet American, by Graham Greene: “Perhaps truth and humility go together; so many lies come from our pride.” My theory runs as follows: Most people who are prompted and able to ask the “big questions” of life, to seek objectivity, are intelligent, on one level or another – and with intelligence comes a strong pull toward the ego, pride. Intelligence may be a prerequisite to genuinely deep thinking; but it also threatens the individual to a worship of pride. This was the answer I arrived at years ago in college studying philosophy. I wondered how so many brilliant people could espouse just as many different philosophies of life. What I also sensed in their writing, deeper than their intelligence and acumen, was a tendency to pride. Perhaps later I will write a full post on this idea.]

The second reason I find the idea that seeking truth always comes from a perspective or assumption engaging rather than perturbing is connected to a thought that has been floating around my head a while these days. (There’s a lot of room for things to float around in my head.) This is the idea that truth is lived, not learned; truth must experienced, not arrived at abstractly. This idea is very related to my encounters with religion and philosophy, so the best way I can explain myself is to recount certain aspects of my experience.

I have a similar experience a few times throughout my life. There is something I have a problem with in terms of Christianity or Catholicism – or religion in general. The skeptic in me finds an apparent flaw in an aspect of my belief system. My usual approach is to step back from the situation and to try and view it as objectively as possible. Now, there is nothing wrong with this – and a few times I have stumbled upon an answer in just this fashion. However, more times than not, if it was a more powerful doubt, simple engagement of the faculty of my reason did not quell my uncertainty. Here is where my more recent paradigm shift comes into play: When I pretend to stay objective and authentic, I am disallowing the deepest truth to enter my self. There are so many things, and I would argue the most significant things, that can only be fully grasped when they are lived.

So I don’t understand intellectually the idea of prayer? So what. I immerse myself in prayer, and in this experience, I learn the real truth of prayer. It’s almost as if truth can only be fully understood from the inside. Philosophy, while it is great, necessarily stays on the outside. Only a leap of faith can get us to the inside. I can’t understand fully prayer unless I am doing it. Although this may have sounded in the past to me like an excuse or a rationale for the irrational – “I don’t actually understand this, but do it anyway because I say so,” or “because that’s what tradition has taught us” – I recognize this as necessary within the inherent subjectivity of our position here on earth. It’s not as if we’re accepting there is no objective truth; but it’s simply saying that you can’t encounter the objective truth unless you take that leap of faith. Remember, there is no staying neutral. You can’t take the cold scientific approach and say you’ll only believe what you can prove. Besides other things, this train of thought is making the assumption that all truth can be proved in an empirical sort of way. But this is an assumption, for there is no assumption-less position in space-time.

To make this more specific, Christianity can be analyzed intellectually. It can be found as reasonable, or perhaps unreasonable. But the real truth of Christianity can only be found in abandoning oneself to it completely; it can only be found in complete surrender. And this happens through experience of the person of Jesus. Can this be approached through logic and reason? Yes. Can its deepest reality be approached through logic and reason? No. This happens solely though throwing oneself as the foot of the Cross and experiencing the power of the Creator’s love.

I’m not sure I find myself at the Kierkegaardian position of making the leap of faith because it’s rational. All I’m saying here is that truth can’t be experienced without that leap of faith. In fact, nothing can be truly experienced without the leap of faith. The myth of the cold, hard sciences – or the authentic searcher for objective truth – no longer holds water. And this isn’t because we’re trapped in a subjective world where we can trust nothing and no one. No, this is the case because truth was never intended to be approached in this cold, hard way – it was intended to be lived and experienced.

The Philosophy Group: Social Justice & Liberation Theology

Introduction

I have given too much space between the night we discussed social justice and the time I spent actively categorizing and meditating on our discussions, ramblings, disagreements, and conclusions. Therefore, permit me to admit that I will probably, more than once, misinterpret someone’s idea or main point. I am sorry.

Church’s Teaching on Social Justice

We digressed often from the, nominally speaking, main topic: the Church’s teaching on social justice. Here are three simple points that stuck in my head: 1) Every person must be given what he or she needs to develop as a person. Although I understand the often vagueness used by the Church (in order for Her not to overstate Her case, or so that the Truth can apply to all places, peoples, and times), there is a problematic indistinctness here. Who is “in charge” of making sure all people obtain what they need to develop as persons? Is biological subsistence enough to fit within this definition, or are we discussing an individual’s need to fit within a cultural level too? (Do people have a right to broadband Internet?) Are we speaking on a national or global level? Etc? 2) Private property is enormous part of a society’s insurance that it is potentially just. Regardless, this isn’t an “absolute” right. For example, your individual right to a specific piece of material property can be trumped by a greater good. 3) Giving “charity” to people who actually need it – i.e. food, water, shelter – isn’t charity, but justice. Giving people something they have a right to is justice. This is a hard truth for us.

I sped through that preliminary work to get us to what I found most engaging: the discussion of liberation theology, why it gets such a knock, how it (potentially) changes our perspective on salvation, and whether or not we can take Marxist analysis at all – I add a further section on my reflections on these matters.

Arguments Against Liberation Theologies: “Straw Men”

As Mike Clemente so aptly explained, perhaps B16’s and others’ criticism of Liberation Theology are straw man arguments. (I am not well-read enough in this area to give personal opinion.) This is the way this story goes: Yes, there are bad, violent liberation theologies; and these were and are incompatible with Church teaching. Rightfully so, the Church came out and declared these theologies as incorrect. However, this is only the extreme liberation theologies. There are more moderate ones, ones that are comparable with the Church. However, when people preach against these moderate theologies (I’m not sure moderate is the correct word, but it’s all I have recourse to at the moment), they are essentially arguing against the violent, bad theologies. Therefore, in the end, they aren’t actually making arguments against the liberation theologies, as they are espoused by, say, Gustavo Gutiérrez. Mike C said that B16’s arguments fall into this “straw man” trap. Of course, what needs to be explored, if this narrative holds water, is a more in-depth analysis of the good (moderate) theologies – those compatible with the Church. We obviously didn’t have time to go into too much depth here; however, we did discuss one of Gutiérrez’s major points concerning our perspective on salvation and the afterlife. I will get to that in a moment.

Using Marxist Analysis Within a Catholic Framework

Another problem Mike C saw in B16’s analysis is that Benedict categorically rejects any analysis that sounds as if it comes from Marx. More specifically, Gutiérrez uses Marx’s analysis of class struggle, and places it within a Catholic framework. Because Marx was a deep-set atheist and his conclusions were anti-religious, B16 distrusts anything related to Marx, and that includes some of his more basic analysis. This is an interesting question – and it goes beyond. Can we use analysis from any thinker who arrived at conclusions we disagree with? I think this is a case-by-case question. For example, a lot of Freud begins with the assumption that our sexuality is analogous to our desire to eat. His analysis that proceeds from this assumption is bound to be flawed on some level, since I believe man’s sexuality is so much more than a desire. Although it may express itself sometimes simply as a desire, it is, in my opinion, one of the deepest connections between the physical and transcendent aspects of ourselves. Because Freud looks only at sexuality’s materialistic side, he misses half of the story. On the other hand, with some of Freud’s other analysis, such as his perceptions about the unconscious, are fine to examine and use, trusting that we aren’t unknowingly accepting assumptions we find as false. Back to the discussion at hand, I think it is fine to use a portion of Marxist analysis, since I don’t find the entire critique rests on a theory that is necessarily materialistic and atheistic – some of it, definitely; but not all of it.

The Salvation Narrative as Singular

Now back to Mike C’s quoting of Gutiérrez. I know I’m doing a huge injustice to the both of them, but I must continue. Gutiérrez wanted people, and the Church, to see salvation not simply as something for the afterlife, or that there are two different modes/avenues/roads of salvation: one for this world and one for the next. Instead, our salvation story is singular – and, therefore, salvation here on earth is essentially the same as the salvation we refer to when we discuss heaven. Although I initially reacted poorly to this idea – on an emotional level, I’ll admit – I think my problem is centered more on how I view certain people can use or interpret this. This is similar, perhaps, to Mike C’s reaction to my point that life’s goal is to “get as many people in heaven as possible.” This idea could be interpreted as a complete ignoring of anything temporal or physical, i.e. “Don’t worry about the physical position of the poor since all that matters is whether or not they get to heaven.” However, this is not what the first sentence necessarily implies. Despite my acceptance of Gutiérrez’s statement (I actually find the idea quite powerful now), I will end this entry by pointing out some of my potential issues with its possible interpretations, as well as some thoughts on liberation theology in general.

My Thoughts

There is only one story of salvation, and an integral part of that narrative is Christ’s death on the Cross; therefore, it is essential (and almost obvious) that our salvation story here on earth is the same as the salvation story of heaven. In this way, I full-heartedly agree with Gutiérrez. However, what is our salvation? Fundamentally, it is a freedom, but a freedom from sin. Our salvation story is not a story about Jesus coming to ensure material success or material freedom: “My kingdom is not of this world.” Of course, I understand that there are shortcomings of focusing too much on this side of the story, i.e. “Let’s not worry at all about poverty or people’s status in society, since the kingdom is not of this world.” Regardless, humanity’s essential poverty is not a poverty of material goods, but a poverty of spiritual goods. These are two exclusive categories.

This comes down to putting Gutiérrez’s comment into practice. Yes, the salvation story is one and not two; but what part of the salvation story here on earth means trying to work for material equality here on earth? Is salvation essentially about material equality? (By the way, I’m not saying working for equality isn’t good.) I guess what I’m driving at (and I’m still working out a lot of this in my own head) is this question: what is the relationship between spiritual and material poverty? I don’t see, as some medievalists may have seen, these as two completely mutually exclusive groups. But what part of working for salvation here on earth means working for material equality or fairness? Of course, some of it is connected. A person must be treated with the human respect and dignity that his intrinsic value requires. But how else does material poverty or success or fairness actually affect the salvation story? To return to Gutiérrez, how is freeing the oppressed in a poor country working toward Christ’s salvation? I’m not saying there isn’t an answer; I just can’t think of a cogent one at the moment. I’d prefer someone else who can think beyond my limitations to let me know where I’m wrong.

My final thought on liberation theology: Because spiritual poverty is distinct from material poverty, what I sometimes find potentially problematic in liberation theologies is that the rich get overlooked. (Yes, I see the irony in this statement.) What I mean is that those who are spiritually poor but materially well-off – or at least materially comfortable – are forgotten. Now, I understand that not everyone can fight for everything, so this problem doesn’t mean that liberation theologies are in any way incorrect. However, what I see as problematic is when material poverty is emphasized more than spiritual poverty. This, of course, gets back to the connection between the two poverties. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, I recognize that there is a deep connection between these the poverties, but I can’t put it into words or even emotional utterances.

Encouraging Dialogue

At times, I overstated what I believe (or overemphasized certain aspects of what I believe). But the point was so that people who disagree with me will feel led to respond. The salvation story is essentially the Christian story; it is the heart of life. I seek a better understanding of this story, but I recognize that this comes in dialogue. Where my intellect and experience ends, another’s can inform me.

{By the way, what is life’s goal? I may sum it up by saying, like Mike C, it is to show people who they truly are. However, considering we are made in the image and likeness of God, to show people who they truly are is to introduce them to Christ. If I wanted to have an eagle know what it truly was, if I didn’t mention that it could fly, or if it didn’t figure this out on its own, the eagle’s knowledge of itself would be lacking.}

The Human Dimension of the Mystery of the Redemption

Chapter 10 of Redemptor Hominis, the first encyclical of Pope John Paul II.

Man cannot live without love. He remains a being that is incomprehensible for himself, his life is senseless, if love is not revealed to him, if he does not encounter love, if he does not experience it and make it his own, if he does not participate intimately in it. This, as has already been said, is why Christ the Redeemer "fully reveals man to himself." If we may use the expression, this is the human dimension of the mystery of the redemption. In this dimension man finds again the greatness, dignity and value which belong to his humanity. In the mystery of the redemption man becomes newly "expressed" and, in a way, is newly created. He is newly created! "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus." The man who wishes to understand himself thoroughly - and not just in accordance with immediate, partial, and often superficial, and even illusory standards and measures of his being - he must with his unrest, uncertainty and even his weakness and sinfulness, with his life and death, draw near to Christ. He must, so to speak, enter into Him with all his own self, he must "appropriate" and assimilate the whole reality of the Incarnation and Redemption in order to find himself. If this profound process takes place within him, he then bears fruit not only of adoration of God but also of deep wonder at himself. How precious must man be in the eyes of the Creator, if he "gained so great a Redeemer," and if God "gave his only Son" in order that man "should not perish but have eternal life."

In reality, the name for that deep amazement at man's worth and dignity is the Gospel, that is to say: the Good News. It is also called Christianity. This amazement determines the Church's mission in the world and, perhaps even more so, "in the modern world." This amazement, which is also a conviction and a certitude - at its deepest root it is the certainty of faith, but in a hidden and mysterious way it vivifies every aspect of authentic humanism - is closely connected with Christ. It also fixes Christ's place - so to speak, His particular right of citizenship - in the history of man and mankind. Unceasingly contemplating the whole of Christ's mystery, the Church knows with all the certainty of faith that the Redemption that took place through the cross has definitively restored his dignity to man and given back meaning to his life in the world, a meaning that was lost to a considerable extent because of sin. And for that reason, the Redemption was accomplished in the paschal mystery, leading through the cross and death to resurrection.

The Church's fundamental function in every age and particularly in ours is to direct man's gaze, to point the awareness and experience of the whole of humanity towards the mystery of God, to help all men to be familiar with the profundity of the Redemption taking place in Christ Jesus. At the same time man's deepest sphere is involved - mean the sphere of human hearts, consciences, and events.

Tiller and Killing in Self-Defense

A little after George Tiller, the infamous late-term abortion doctor, was murdered outside of his church, I had a conversation with a middle-aged Catholic man. It was a similar conversation I’ve had in the past. The man boiled down his reaction to the entire killing the murderer incident in these words: “I would never do that, but I can’t help saying I’m happy it’s been done. I guess I wouldn’t do that because I have a family, wife, and kids; but I’m not sure I see anything wrong with it.” My disappointed reaction was similar to my past reactions to these sorts of arguments: “Come on, now. If you go down that road, you lose the dignity of life that you’re protecting by being pro-life. Your gut-emotional reaction may tell you you’re pleased with Tiller’s murder, but your reason and ethics should tell you otherwise.” I could have added: “And whenever these two aspects of our humanity – the emotional and the rational – disagree in situations such as these, it’s because our humanity is fallen. We should never be pleased with something that is immoral.”

Of course the man responded with the usual “Tiller has given up his right to life,” and “he is guilty, while babies are innocent,” and “you’re actually saving lives by killing him.” I had my preprogrammed rebuttals to each of these arguments – and I stand by them today. However, unlike other times, the topic stayed with me over the next few days. I spent a few hours in sustained thought on the subject about a week after the conversation. I didn’t necessarily reason myself to the other side of the argument; but I did run into some logical problems with any positions other than complete non-violent pacifism. I’m pretty sure there are answers to my problems, so please join in the conversation if you have anything to add.

Let me begin by stating the conclusion I came to: Perhaps there is no real way of condemning the killer of George Tiller except through the idealist’s proclamation of complete non-violence. Related, it seems we run into a lot of other issues like this outside of the clearly and simply defined parameters of complete non-violence. Let me see if I can put in a few paragraphs the general outline of my thoughts.

Murder is different than killing in the sense that murder is not done for the sake of self-defense. I may not be correct in my huge generalization, but I think all moral killing is done for the sake of self-defense. This covers the rather specific instance of you shooting a man that is running at you or your children with a broadsword and/or scimitar, with the intent to kill – as well as the general case of killing within the context of a just war.

Since George Tiller was one of a very limited number of doctors willing to do extremely late-term abortions, killing him has the very real (although I suppose it is only potential) effect of saving lives. Let’s take out societal norms and rules, and apply only the laws we know are eternal and true. Are we not saving innocent lives by killing George Tiller? And if this is wrong, how is this any different than killing in time of war? In fact, most who are killed in times of a just war are probably innocent – a Christian German family man during WWII – while George Tiller is not innocent.

As I look back on the previous two paragraphs that outline my initial thoughts, there is nothing new or complex or inventive in my thoughts. I guess my idea right now is that I don’t see a glaringly convincing response to the simple argument stated above. My secondary response is this:

When we take the ethics that allows us to call certain wars just, it seems we can apply that to other situations that we would normally be against, i.e. this George Tiller situation. For the life of me, I can’t think of another example off the top of my head at the moment. (I did before, though…) I realize this post is ending on somewhat of a weak note, but I ask for those we do see a “glaringly convincing” response to my rather simple argument above to respond to me. Thank you.

Brief Thoughts on a Sensory Experience

Earlier this year, I went to Dr. McGuire to have my wisdom teeth pulled. After taking one look at the x-ray, McGuire let out a quiet, “Ooh.” This is never a good sign. Ever. In this case, I had a cyst growing around one of my teeth, thus explaining the nearly excruciating pain I’d been in for the past few days. Fortunately, he could operate and fix the issue that day. The only real side effect (other than obtaining a few dreamy days’ worth of Percocet) was a numbing of a nerve that went across the left side of my chin. McGuire assured me this was normal, and that the feeling would return, even if it took a few months.

The doc was right. After about a month, feeling began to return – but in the form of pins and needles. Then something very odd happened. Every time I drank something, especially if it was cold, it felt as if a little was spilling out of my mouth. I was constantly wiping my chin. My beard made my discovery that nothing in fact was spilling out take a few days. Finally I realized this. It’s sort of hard to explain, but let me try:

Whenever any cold liquid touched the inside of my bottom lip and chin, it ran across the nerve that was regaining sense – and this experience made it feel exactly as if there was something cold pouring on the outside of my lip and chin. Exactly. I kept experimenting with this, because it was so odd. I could recognize that nothing was on the outside of my lip and chin, but still feel like it was.

Although this is odd, and I could dive into a Cartesian doubting of all sensory experience on account of this, I am more interested in what happened after this. Our minds are powerful things, and mine did something truly wonderful.

After I recognized that there was nothing on the outside of my lip and chin even though it felt as if there was, my mind’s interpretation of the sensory data changed. The actual sensory data did not change; and it still hasn’t – but how my mind chose to relay this data was transformed. No longer did the feeling convey the conclusion that liquid was spilling out of my mouth. At first I thought perhaps that the nerve in my mouth was healing or “normalizing.” But when I consciously thought about the feelings occurring, I came to the conclusion that no sensory data had changed. However, since my mind recognized (through the use of my eyes, different sensory data) that my initial interpretation was not valid, it was modifying itself.

Now when I drink, technically the same feelings occur; but I now recognize this sensory experience as feeling inside of my mouth. Two conclusions/questions for me stem from this: 1) Sensory experience is not first-level type of experience. What do I mean by this? I’m not positive, but it’s something like this: When I feel something, I don’t actually feel that thing. My nerve endings experience something and translate the data into workable conclusions. 2) Our mind, using new data, can reinterpret what the nerve endings tell us. I’m not sure if proves the existence of a “mind” completely separate from “the senses,” (I’m not sure I believe that) – but I think it points to the idea that we have a “mind” that works independently from, even if constantly connected to, our senses. I take a Thomist/Aristotelian approach to this discussion; and I feel like this experience reinforces it.

Why High School Freshmen are Hardly Ever Really Pro-Choice

Every year I’ve been teaching (and that’s four), I have taught a unit on persuasive writing. Ostensibly, the focus is on structuring an argument in a logical and coherent manner, and maintaining a tone that is forceful and persuasive (as opposed to most arguing, which is rooted in belittling the opposing side, e.g. radio show hosts).

The kids are allowed to pick any topic, as long as it is controversial. I don’t limit the topics, and so I invariably am met with a bunch of essays on legalizing marijuana, lowering the drinking age, and stopping animal testing. Of course, I am also met with a bunch of papers on abortion. Bingo. These I like to deal with.

The kids know that I like to argue, and can argue for any side of any argument. One of my mantras is (and I’m sure I didn’t make this up), “You don’t really know your side of the argument until you completely understand the other side.” Toward this end, part of the paper must include a Devil’s Advocate: the strongest, most intelligent argument against their position. Because I emphasize this so much, I can pretty much argue anything I want without people feeling that I am pushing my beliefs; intelligent adolescents, at least in this culture, automatically rebel and defend themselves against “belief pushing.”

The other day, I was meeting with each individual student about their essay proposals, which were basically outlines for their papers. I was discussing with a pro-choice student (let’s call her Abigail) about her argument. Her three arguments were pretty much regurgitations or rewordings of the same idea: the government can’t make choices for women; and so even though I wouldn’t have one, women need to have the choice to have abortions. Abigail’s Devil’s Advocate didn’t even mention the fact that pro-life people claim the fetus is a child.

Very simply, I explained to Abigail that we don’t have the freedom to choose whatever we want; for example, “Abigail, are you free to go over and strangle Ben over there?” Abigail shook her head. Then I connected this to the real pro-life argument, that of the child’s, albeit inchoate, life. “So the pro-life argument says that, just like you don’t have the freedom to strangle Ben, you don’t have the freedom to take the life of a child in the womb, even though it isn’t as tangible.” Abigail is a smart girl, and I could almost physically see the argument sinking into her intellect. She thought for a few moments, and then said back to me: “So how I am supposed to argue against that?”

What I have realized through this experience and others like it is this: Children, at least up to the age of 16 or so, are hardly ever truly pro-choice. If I took a poll in class, I’d bet it would be split 50/50. But if I broke down the argument, fairly mind you, there would hardly be anyone arguing for abortion. You see, to truly argue for abortion, you must make some intellectual concessions that an innocent and natural intellect simply cannot accept. For example, a lot of true pro-choice people accept that the fetus may be a baby at some point in the womb, and that either a) we can somehow draw a line as to where that is, such as the third trimester or something like that, or b) the individual right of the woman and her freedom to choose takes precedence over the life of the unborn baby. But what I find absolutely amazing (perhaps it shouldn’t amaze me) is that innocent Reason, epitomized by extremely intelligent honors 15 year-olds, can’t make either of those concessions. In fact, they seem either ridiculous or cold-blooded to them.

This is not a proof of the invalidity of abortion in the normal sense; but I think it points out something about the potential flaws of purely intellectual and abstract thought. An intelligent person of the 21^st century can abstractly and rationally defend the act of abortion, using women’s rights and America’s idea of freedom to back him up. But a youth, who is less used to purely abstract thought, simply cannot grapple with the basic idea that abortion is the killing – or at the very least, the potential killing – of a human being. They can’t get past this point.

Pure intellectual thought, unconnected to physical reality – as in the case of Descartes – can lead to gross error; and perhaps the budding intellects of freshmen in high school can help us avoid these sorts of errors.

Greek + Hebrew = An All-Perfect Unmoved Mover Who Loves You Personally

Last Saturday, the People of Hope held a conference; the topic was the Scriptures, and the speaker was a Bible scholar from the farms of Idaho. The talks were fantastic, the speaker was engaging and holy, and the material was remarkable. Without getting into specifics, the talks were basically an introduction to the study of the Scriptures as a narrative of salvation history, paying particular attention to the historical contexts.

Since then, I’ve been contemplating the historical significance of Christ’s arrival on earth. Why choose the specific point in history? I remember learning somewhere (probably KA) about the progress in communication and travel around this time-period: it was a great time for Christ to come because His message could be dispersed through the nations in a relatively short period of time.

But I think the significance goes deeper. The intellectual framework for the message and theology of Christianity is essentially a marriage, albeit a bickering one, of Hebrew and Greek thought. From this amalgamation of philosophies we get much of our understanding of God. We get an all-perfect unmoved mover who can and desires to love us in a personal way.

One of the foundational tenants of Catholicism is the all-perfect and all-good nature of God. This is essentially a Greek idea. Aristotle’s unmoved mover becomes God in Aquinas’ writing. God’s very nature of Love is what holds all of creation together. Nevertheless, just as the term “unmoved mover” seems to imply, there is not much personality, affection, or involvement in this Greek idea of God. Why is it that this all-perfect and all-good entity would concern Itself in the affairs of squabbling, mortal men. There is not much exploration in Aristotle of a personal knowledge of this Unmoved Mover, let alone a relationship.

Enter the Hebrew theology and Scriptures. The God of the Old Testament is a loving, personal, jealous God. God gets angry at the wickedness of His people, but He also feels compassion and forgives. Although the Old Testament doesn’t disallow it, there is little exploration the Greek or modern Catholic idea of God’s perfection. Men, like Moses, seem to change God’s mind; and sometimes God seems to act purely out of an emotions.

Both individual theologies of God miss out on integral aspects of Who God is, how we’re supposed to view Him, and how we come to know Him. But when we marry them together, we get a wonderful window into the beauty that is God. The Greek without the Hebrew breeds movements like Deism, visions of God as a distant and unmoved deity, who cares little for the Universe He created, simply because “caring” is an emotion that would lessen His greatness; and the Hebrew without the Greek can give us a loving God, but one whose emotions could get in the way – a God whom we may be reluctant to trust, since his unaffected perfection is not established.

But as a Catholic, I believe in a God that created the entire world and controls every aspect of it right now; but this God loves me in an intimate way. This God created, maintains, and understands all of the galaxies, black holes, and supernovas; but he also desires that I come before Him and tell Him I love Him. There is nothing more perfect, more Good, or more powerful than this Being; but this Being chose to come to earth to die for the sins of each individual person, because He loves each and every human with a passion that is unsurpassable. This is an awesome God.

And so Christ became man when He did, so that we could understand Him in this way.

I have two intellectual reactions to this line of thinking: First, are there other theologies and intellectual frameworks by which we can understand God in a different way? I think this is what mystics and others preach, especially when they delve into Eastern thought. Perhaps the marriage of Hebrew and Greek thought was perfect for the establishment of the Catholic Church, but what other awesome truths can we learn about God from different contexts. There is no intellectual philosophy that can contain or fully explain God; likewise, there are no two that can do this.

Second, I don’t see it as a coincidence that when modern man began to cast doubt upon the foundation of Western thought, he began to doubt his faith; and when modern man began to rail against Western thought, he began to rail against his faith. Although the essence of individual conversations is beginning a relationship with God, for contemporary culture to turn away from sin and toward its loving Creator, the battle of philosophies needs to be fought and won.